#but then I remembered life on mars exists
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chickengeak · 1 day ago
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Communications
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hueseok · 4 months ago
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it was always you.
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for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.
so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.
or at least, that’s what you think.
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pairing: jungkook x reader
word count: 13.2k
rating: 18+
content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts
warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)
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MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken
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opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗
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“Any questions?”
A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”
You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.
You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”
More than half of the class raises their hands.
“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”
A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.
“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”
“I love you, Ms. ____!”
“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.
“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”
The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.
There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.
Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.
“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.
“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”
He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Is that how you greet an old friend?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”
You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.
“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”
“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”
“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”
“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”
“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”
“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”
“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”
“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”
He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”
“You didn’t?”
He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.
“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”
“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.
Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.
It isn��t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.
It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.
At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.
“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”
“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”
“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”
Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.
“He meant well, ____.”
You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.
“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.
He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”
You wince.
“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”
“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”
“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”
“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”
“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”
“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”
“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”
“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”
“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”
Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.
“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”
“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.
“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.
He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”
“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”
“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”
“An apology?”
“For being the last person to know about your condition.”
“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”
“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”
Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.
“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”
“I can make space for you.”
Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?
You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”
“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”
“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”
“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.
“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”
“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”
“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”
Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.
“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.
“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”
“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Fine.” You deadpan.
This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”
“Okay.”
****
When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.
He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.
And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 
He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.
Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.
“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.
Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”
“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.
“You’ll do it then?”
He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”
“Even as crazy as marrying her?”
“Sure.”
Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”
“I don’t like her.” 
“You’re in love with her.”
“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”
Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”
He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”
“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”
“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”
“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”
“That can work.”
“What?” Jungkook laughed.
Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”
He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”
“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”
“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.
Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”
Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.
“Noted.”
****
It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.
You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 
“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.
You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.
“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.
Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”
He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.
“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”
The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”
“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”
“Precisely.”
“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”
“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”
 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”
“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”
“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”
“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”
You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”
“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.
He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”
“Hell no.”
“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.
“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”
He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”
“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”
The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.
You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.
When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.
After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.
“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.
He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.
“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 
“That’s no need, Kook.”
“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”
So, you allow him.
It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.
“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”
“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”
Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”
“Agreed.”
You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”
Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.
“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.
“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”
“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”
“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”
“It’s not as bad as you think.”
“That’s not convincing at all.”
“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”
You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.
You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”
There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”
“I can’t promise that either.”
“You have to.”
“Why do I have to?”
“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”
You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”
“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”
“Misunderstand what?”
“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”
“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”
“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”
“You should be.” You grumble.
Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.
“What?” You hiss.
He swallows hard.
“I want you to marry me, ____.”
You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.
****
Jungkook was your first kiss.
It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 
He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.
“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”
You blushed.
Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.
5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.
“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”
You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”
“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”
Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”
“So, it’s not true?”
“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.
It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”
You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”
“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.
He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.
“Okay,” you told him.
“Huh?”
“You can kiss me.”
“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”
You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”
“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”
“It is?” Hope sparked within you.
“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”
You cackled. “Deal.”
56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 
****
You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.
“What’s up?”
“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.
A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”
The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.
“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”
“Are you hearing yourself right now?”
“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”
“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”
“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”
“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”
“Why not?”
“It just won’t!”
“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”
You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”
“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”
“It’s a sham marriage!”
“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”
“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”
Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”
“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”
“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”
“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”
“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”
Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”
“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”
“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”
“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”
“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”
There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.
“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.
“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”
“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”
“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.
You hang up and glance at the door.
You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.
He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.
As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 
Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.
Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack
You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.
You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw
Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first
You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you
Jungkook: oof that’s harsh
You: sorry not sorry?
He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.
However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.
Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind
You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.
You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey
Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣
****
It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.
He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.
Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.
“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.
“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.
You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”
“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”
“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”
“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”
“Ah.” You nod in understanding.
You two continue walking forward.
This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.
“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.
You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”
“Busy day?”
“Yep.”
“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”
He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”
“Why not?”
“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”
“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”
“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”
“The assurance you’re taken care of.”
“That’s cheesy.”
You share a laugh and he grins.
“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”
He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.
Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.
“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”
You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”
Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.
“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.
“Glucometer.”
He halts. “What does that look like?”
“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.
He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.
“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.
You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.
“Let me do it,” he says.
You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.
“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.
Another sigh. “Better.”
“Does this happen a lot?”
You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”
“____—”
“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”
Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”
“Thank you.”
He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”
Before you can protest, he closes the door.
****
Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.
In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.
“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.
“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”
“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”
“It’s not.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.
Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?
“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.
“Four months, I think.”
“Four months? And you already brought him home?”
You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”
“You must really like him then.”
“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”
“Does he treat you well?”
You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”
“What’s with it?”
“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”
Fuck, thank God, he thought.
“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.
“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”
“But I’m not your brother.”
“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”
“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”
“Oh, so you don’t?”
He pressed his lips into a tight line.
“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”
“Instead you implied it.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You kinda did.”
He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”
“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.
He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.
“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”
“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.
“He might not like it. You’ll see.”
That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.
You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.
****
“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.
Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.
“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.
“Jungkook—”
“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.
You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”
“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 
“That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”
“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”
“I’m not willing to take the risk.”
“I’m not willing to see you die.”
You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”
“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”
“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”
“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”
“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”
“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”
“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”
“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”
“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”
His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”
“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”
Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”
“That won’t make me feel better.”
“Then what will?”
You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.
Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.
Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.
You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”
He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”
“For one, I grew up.”
“Ouch.”
You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”
That piques his interest. “Anything.”
“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”
“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”
You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.
“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.
It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.
You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”
His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!
He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.
“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”
That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.
“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.
“What?”
“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”
Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.
“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.
Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.
“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”
“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”
And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.
It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.
However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.
“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.
You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.
“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.
It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.
“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.
You grin. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”
You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.
“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”
You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.
He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”
“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.
He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”
You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.
It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.
Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.
“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.
You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“I’m going to take you up on that.”
“Please do.”
After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.
“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.
You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”
A boyish grin erupts on his features.
Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.
“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.
You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”
He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”
“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”
“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”
****
“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.
The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.
“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”
“I don’t care.”
You laugh. 
He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.
Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.
“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”
You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.
“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.
“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”
“Of course.” You kiss him too.
His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.
“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.
The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.
Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.
Jungkook unwillingly places you down.
“I think I need to go,” you say.
He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
“Call you tomorrow?”
“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 
He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”
“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.
“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.
“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”
“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”
“You,” he answers without missing a beat.
You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”
“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”
You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”
Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.
You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.
“What?” you ask.
“Please never do that in front of me again.”
His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”
“Want what?”
“Me and Jungkook to be together.”
“When on earth did I say that?”
“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”
A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”
“We’re not—”
“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”
“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”
“Wait, so the two of you have?”
Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”
He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”
You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.
You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”
You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.
A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”
You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”
When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”
You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.
You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.
“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.
You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.
Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.
You: look how cute we look 🥹
You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.
If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.
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irndad · 10 months ago
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Hi, I’m so sorry, I searched for request guidelines and must be missing them so if this isn’t something you write I apologize-
Flower prompt heliotrope with Spencer where reader sacrifices herself/or gets shot to save Maeve so Spencer can be happy, even though she’s hopelessly in love with him. 🥹
Little angst, little fluff. You can decide if reader fully sacrifices or just gets really badly hurt and how Spencer reacts.
my dear!! there are no rules yet- i have things i won't fill but thus far the onus has been on me to clarify. i had so much fun writing this- thank you for requesting it!!! requests r open :^) wc: 1.1k
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“Is Maeve okay?”
It’s the first thing she says when she wakes up from her hospital bed. Spencer’s shaking, a little woozy too. It turns out that they have the same blood type, and she lost a whole fucking lot of it. He’d been happy to give it to her, although ‘happy’feels like the wrong word to use in this situation. 
She had internal bleeding, and collapsed harshly from the gunshot, scuffing her forehead so badly she needed stitches. Comparatively, it’s the least of her worries, but still- Spencer can’t stop staring at it. She���s literally marred by the choice she made to protect him. 
Maeve is okay. She’s in the same hospital, but Spencer’s spent about ten minutes with her- the rest of the last 12 hours of his life were spent oscillating between donating blood and praying to a deity he’s not sure exists. 
She’d survived. They’d both survived. He should feel relieved- why doesn’t he feel relieved?
It’s a stupid question that he keeps asking himself. Two of the most important people in his life are alive, but still in the moment, her blood spilling over him- the gasp of her breath when the bullet hit her- He’s going to remember the sound of it forever, what it sounded like for her to almost die for someone else. He hates that she’s the type of person to do it. To jump in front of a loaded gun for a woman she’s never met before. 
He’s mad at her. He has no right to be- he gets a chance with Maeve now, and that’s all due to the choice she made. And yet- he’s so, so angry at her. Because she could be dead right now. He could never, ever talk to her again. She made a choice that meant that he might have never been able to hear her voice, do a magic trick for her, ever, ever be near her again. How the fuck could she do that to him?
“Yes,” he replies, “she’s okay.”
She nods agreeably, before wincing at what appeared to be an intense ache at her temples. 
“My head hurts,” she says, her voice low and endearing, and his heart roars with protectiveness. “Do you think I could have a juice box?”
She’s so sweet- he wants to laugh, in a sad desperate kind of way. This is his favorite person in the world, sitting up shakily and asking for juice, clearly groggy and so endearing. He almost lost her. 
“You’re okay too,” he says, “If you’re wondering. You scared us. You had internal bleeding and a concussion. You lost a lot of blood.”
It’s only then she frowns. 
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she pouts, trying to sit up and speak to him. “But it all worked out, Spence. She’s okay.”
“It didn’t all work out!” Her eyes widen at his outburst, and he feels like scum. Yelling at her when she’s in a hospital bed, taking a bullet so he’d have a chance at romance. 
“You said she’s okay,” she says back, slowly. “I don’t understand.”
“You lost blood. You almost died. That is not it working out. You have to tell me you understand that.” He doesn’t know why he’s being so harsh, but he also doesn’t know why he has to explain this to her. 
“I know,” she sighs, “I know. But this is the job, and I didn’t have time to get a vest on!”
“Then you wait. You wait. You don’t just burst in-“
“And you would’ve lost the love of your life!”
“What makes you think she’s the love of my life?”
A nurse shuffles by the room and Spencer takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to be kicked out of her room, and on some level he knows how crazy it is to be yelling at a gunshot victim. He pinches his nose, eyes winced in frustration. 
She’s been his favorite person by a wide margin for an incredibly long time. She joined the team as a consultant and he remembers the first time he did a card trick for her- the first time he’d fallen asleep on her shoulder. He was so grateful to know her. Still is. In this moment, knowing feels like time slipping out from an hourglass- like it was almost numbered. Their time was almost finished. 
Maeve was lovely. Maeve listened and she was kind and Spencer really did like her. He’s glad she’s safe, now. But his best friend, his coworker and favorite person- Spencer thought everyone could tell that he’s been in love with the team consultant since the first week he knew her. 
Everything he liked about Maeve reminded him of her. 
And she’d jumped in front of a bullet for someone she thought he was in love with. And fuck, maybe he did love her in some way- but whatever ‘in love’ meant with Maeve, this sorrow, the pain of knowing she’d almost been someone he’d have to remember was far, far deeper. 
“You’ve never mentioned anyone to me romantically. I’ve known you for years, Spencer. She’s important to you.”
Maeve is. She was. It’s all so confusing now. He has liked someone for years, though. He couldn’t tell her, though. Maeve was a welcome distraction from a love he thought was wholly impractical and impossible to love him back— a love that now he has to witness languish in a hospital bed. 
Morgan knew. Morgan would tease him every time Spencer drew a smiley face in purple marker on her coffee cup. He would tell him to just ask her out, and it had always felt so improbable. She’d never go for someone as lanky and uncharismatic as him. 
“You’re important to me.” 
She has no idea how much. 
Her eyes soften at that, and not for the first time, he wants to curl into her arms. He wants to lay next to her in the hospital bed, and feel her pulse beat against bare skin. Feel her pulse and with every beat know that she is alive. 
“I know that, Spence,” she breathes out.
Even though it’s not kosher, not necessarily the right thing to do when your not-girlfriend/girl you went on one date with is in the same hospital, but when his best friend opens up her arms for a hug, he ends up doing exactly what he wanted. 
The team finds her asleep in her hospital bed, with Spencer asleep in her arms. It feels voyeuristic to look at, but Spencer really, really couldn’t care. 
He resolved to tell her that he loves her as soon as she’s healed. With the way Morgan side eyes him every time he ‘helps’ her walk across a room by holding her waist, he’s not sure he’ll last that long. 
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audliminal · 4 months ago
Text
Survivability Bias Pt 1
Danny stares at the screen in front of him. The fact that he’s in a library is the only reason he’s not squealing at the clearly well-maintained website he’s currently exploring. As it turns out, this dimension does have NASA. That fact on its own isn’t too terribly surprising, considering all the other ways it’s similar to Danny’s home. What is surprising (and, in no small part, exciting!), is that in this dimension NASA seems to have much better funding. Danny had managed to resist looking up anything related to space for the first hour of his time in the library, but then Danny had chanced across an article about the ISS, and his resolve had crumbled. Not even fifteen minutes later, and Danny is here, exploring the very nice NASA website. Plumbing its depths, really, for all the information it can provide on what space is like in this world.There’s lots of new information; space research is definitely more advanced here than it was back home, and there’s occasional vague allusions to odd things like the livability of Mars, and other oddities, it’s almost like this dimension has come to the forgone conclusion that aliens must exist. Which is certainly an exciting thought, but it also seems odd to Danny. What divergent experiences lead to such a conclusion Danny wonders, as he absently hovers over the opportunities tab for the fifth time. He knows he really shouldn’t get his hopes up, but with a more funded NASA, maybe he could find a way to get a job there eventually. After all he has no real idea when, or even if, he’ll ever manage to go home, so maybe it’s okay to think about the future a little bit.
Maybe they’ve already come into contact with aliens, Danny thinks. Maybe I could get a job working with aliens! It’s that thought that gets him to actually click the tab, desperate to know if that’s even a possibility. The page that opens doesn’t really list specific jobs or anything. Mostly, it seems to just be advertising that NASA is always looking for smart people that are passionate about space (Danny’s definitely one of those things, at least). But there is an interesting little banner advertising a special summer camp for aspiring astronomers, ages 14-18. The idea of that is both surprising and exciting. Danny doesn’t think his home world’s NASA had anything like that. Sam had sent him through with some money, but he’s still unsure if it’ll even work here, and he’s also not sure he wants to risk getting in trouble if it’s just a really close match. Plus it’s definitely not enough to afford the inevitable cost of a whole entire space camp. Danny remembers going to summer camps a couple times as a kid and he knows they weren’t cheap. Still, Danny remembers that Sam had also given him a few pieces of really nice jewelry that he could pawn off for cash, and maybe that could let him afford it?.
It would be so much easier if Danny had a social security number. Or, like, literally anything proving that he really does exist. But, well, technically he doesn’t exist here. Obviously, physically he is here, but he certainly wasn’t born here. He’s basically an undocumented immigrant, just from a place that he literally can’t ever physically go back to. Even the computer he’s using right now highlights just how alien this place is to him, with its large, flat screen and graphics better than anything he’s ever seen in his life. It runs so smoothly, too, that he just knows Tucker would cry if he could see it. And this is what they have in a library. Danny can’t even begin to imagine what high end tech here might look like.
Everything here is strange and new, and Danny doesn’t even really know what he needs to catch up on. He wishes he could have stayed. He had wanted to stay. Of course he had. But after the second time the Guys in White managed to capture him, well, it wasn’t hard to see why they wanted him gone. So when Sam and Tucker and Jazz had cornered him, and explained that they’d found a way to send him away, to somewhere that the GIW couldn’t follow, he hadn’t argued. He hadn’t argued when they dragged him down to the lab, and he hadn��t argued when Jazz shoved a backpack into his hands, and he hadn’t argued when Sam had told him that she’d added cash and jewelry to what Jazz had gathered. He hadn’t argued as Tucker had messed with the portal, and he hadn’t argued when they pushed him towards it.
He can’t go home. Maybe just for a while, but maybe not ever again. He can’t see his friends, and he can’t go to sleep in his own bed, and he can’t come home from school and play Doomed with Sam and Tucker. But maybe all that wouldn’t be so terribly painful, if he could just have one little thing here that he couldn’t have done back home. Danny knows it’s a long shot, but he clicks on the banner, just to see.
The first thing he notices as he reads through the description, is that it offers a lot. Eight weeks, overnight in a specialized science camp facility, an opportunity to experience both a shuttle launch simulation and a zero gravity simulator? The opportunity to experience multiple different kinds of jobs? This isn’t some camp that wants to introduce kids to the idea of astronomy, this is designed for kids who already want to be astronomers. All in all, it’s everything Danny could have imagined and more. It’s not exactly cheap, though. Five thousand dollars isn’t exactly affordable when all you have is some cash that may or not work, and a few necklaces, fancy as they may be. After all, it’s not like Danny knows enough about jewelry to have even a hope of not being ripped off.
At the bottom of the description, there is mention of scholarships, though, and maybe if he angles it right, he can manage to make use of one of those? Danny glances through the list. He doubts he can prove himself worth the aptitude scholarship. His grades weren’t exactly good back home, even if he did have his transcripts. And he’s hardly going to get the financial hardship scholarship if he’s got no proof that he even exists here. One of the scholarships catches his eye, though, specifically because he has no idea what it’s for. 
Danny knows the word meta. It’s like self-referential shit or something. But it’s not exactly a scientific thing. That’s language arts stuff, the kind of thing Mr. Lancer goes on about, and there should be no reason for it to be a kind of scholarship. But maybe it’s an acronym or something? Danny mouses over, and clicks through to see what exactly it is, even if it probably won’t be relevant to him.
“Here at NASA we understand that people don’t always fit our standard expectations of normality!” The meta scholarship page reads. Danny tries not to let his hackles go up at the mention of normality. They can’t possibly be talking about people like him, after all. Nothing he’s seen so far has implied that ghosts have any sort of presence here. “In our efforts to expand our understanding of the infinite expanse of space, it only makes sense to do our best to work with those who do not conform to those expectations, especially when those exceptions often represent unique opportunities for possible field work. If you identify as a meta, and believe your talents make you uniquely suited to extreme environments, we welcome you to apply for our full-expense meta scholarship!*”
The introductory paragraph only leaves Danny more confused, and a bit wary. The references to normality and unique opportunities for field work have bile rising into Danny’s throat, and he shakily opens a new tab, and types the word meta into the search bar. If they’re experimenting on people here too-
The search returns an astonishing number of results. Among the first ones are a wikipedia article on metas, and so many news articles. Danny clicks on the wikipedia page first.
“Metas refers to an individual who possesses meta powers. Derived from the prefix “meta-”, meaning beyond or transcending, meta powers are innately defined by the natural capabilities of the general population. Thus, on Earth, the term meta, or metahuman, typically refers to anyone who has abilities beyond the standard human experience. A significant portion of metas can be attributed to the human metagene,  which typically triggers in moments of intense physical or mental stress, and can produce unique situational abilities. Other metas, may belong to other species who naturally have certain abilities, or to individuals who are granted powers by various deific forces or even objects.”
What.
It can’t possibly be that easy. This world can’t possibly be that perfect. Danny keeps reading. He realizes as he continues that this article is long, with literally dozens of subsections. On top of that, as he begins to read, there are references to numerous other events, and topics that he’s never heard of before. And by the time the librarian arrives to usher him out of the library for the night, he still isn’t finished with it, but he has learned quite a bit.
Apparently, it isn’t exactly as perfect as it sounded. Rather, this dimension has a long history of meta-related conflict. There’s been plenty of discrimination and mistreatment in the past; the kind of thing that Danny is more than familiar with. But on top of that, there’s literal, actual superheroes here. A lot of them. Superheroes that have fought against numerous world-ending threats and won. And those same superheroes have worked with the world governments, and ratified the protection of metas’ rights as being fundamental human rights. If Wikipedia is to be believed, Danny really is safe.
Still, Danny knows first-hand the way that governments can and will lie. And just because the internet claims that these so-called metas are treated fairly, doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s true. 
Propaganda, Danny thinks. Who’s to say it isn’t all just propaganda? I need to be more careful about transforming tonight.
But the library does need to close, so Danny heads out into the second night in his new hometown, mind racing as he thinks about the implications of everything he’s read. The space camp seems so far away now, in the aftermath of the following revelations. Danny needs to get further from civilization if he wants to transform tonight. He follows the main street out, away from town. Maybe in a field somewhere, he’ll be okay? This doesn’t exactly seem like a large town. Even if it’s not true, Danny thinks as he walks. At least I’m not alone here. And I didn’t see anything about Anti-Ecto Acts.
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crucialplayer · 1 year ago
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Thoughts on Mars placements 
!! everything is based purely on my experiences with signs, written with no other purpose than to share my observations and be unserious.
Aries mars. Practical jokes lovers, gentle touch haters. Hit u while laughing. Love the banter, sometimes a lil too much. Go for it (whatever it is) fiercely and without a single backthought. Explosive in conflict, but in a sense of crying screaming throwing up banging against the wall. 
Taurus mars. Life could be on Mars but they still be going on and on about that one thing. Sudden outbursts of anger. It might seem out of the blue but they’ve probably been brooding some hurt for a long time. They just hoped it’d go away… naturally. Also surprisingly horny. 
Gemini mars. Mind fuckers. That one guy defending polygamy «as a concept» rather too enthusiastically. Can talk their way out of hell with one leg already in the hottest boiling cauldron. I suppose it’s a placement most people will find charming at some point (says a lot about society…). 
Cancer mars. Rumors are true, the sky is blue, and they are manipulative. Watching anybody else display vulnerability is the same as watching a children’s play to them. Ur rawest and most disturbing moment? To a cancer mars its a chill Tuesday morning. Humanization of a silent treatment. 
Leo mars. You’d gather that its serious by the sheer scale of their reaction but I promise its not. 9 times out of 10 will cause a huge scene and won't be able to remember it 2 days after. Very defensive. Won't put themselves out there if they’re not guaranteed a 10-minute standing ovation. 
Virgo mars. They believe that they make sense but usually they don't. They’re calculating but it’s like they do it backwards resulting in some of the most unhinged decisions made. Want to be praised for… um… existing as they are. Kind of a menace in conflict. 
Libra mars. If u think it's hard for you to wait for them to make up their mind imagine how they feel. It’s similar to watching a plant move without a time-lapse. Cry when they’re angry. Go with the flow not because they’re chill but more cause it's easier for them. 
Scorpio mars. They ARE vengeance and I'm scared. Slash 3 tires after one fight mars. Not the person you’d try to make jokingly jealous. For further information read the lyrics to… really any Taylor Swift song. 
Sagittarius mars. Don't think before they do and think after they’ve done smth only if u make them. The kind of people that will try everything once just to know how it feels (and then present that to everyone as if they’ve found god by bungee jumping one time). Very easy to dare. Also are always checking someone out. 
Capricorn mars. Blood is cold, the heart is beating twice per minute. ISN’T IT lonely on top of the world fellas??? If u get them to like u your love language better not be words of affirmation. Instead of arguing chances are high they disappear for a while or just go into a rock regime. 
Aquarius mars. Are only attracted to intellectuals so naturally in a room full of sweet gentle people will go for the most narcissistic motherfucker out there. They’re sorta very patient but I feel maybe it's just them dissociating… Ponder a lot before making a move. 
Pisces mars. I'm afraid no one knows whats going on there. It's like they’re never actually present. Therefore often times can have a delayed reaction to smth, which people might read as passive aggression. Very sentimental, will write u a song or a poem on a second date. Also low LOW energy. 
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yourownutopia · 16 days ago
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Shadowborn [Jin Woo x !Shadow !Fem Reader]
When the Shadow Monarch adds you to his ranks, he has no idea what he's in for. Not only are you uncontrollable, but you also harbor a secret that even the System keeps hidden from him. As he searches for a way to bring you under control, it becomes clear that your existence exposes a flaw in the perfect structure of the shadows—one that no one could have foreseen. Why don’t you yield to his will, and more importantly, why doesn’t the System want you to remember?
Chapter: [Prologue], [1] Song: Shadowborn - Hiroyuki Sawano Calm before the storm It's me they all are coming for Be my shadowborn
We're back to take the pain My soul is indestructible I steal you from the grave So cursed to be a slave
»»———-»--•--«———-«« Information: The prologue is written in the third person. I’m honestly unsure whether I want to keep it that way or write the following chapters from different POVs. Feel free to let me know if you’d be interested in a second-person perspective as well. This idea has been stuck in my head ever since I saw a similar start to a roleplay on Character AI. I’ve had so many thoughts since then, and I hope I can integrate them meaningfully into the story! I’m known for starting ideas and never finishing them, but I really hope it’ll be different with this story. At the very least, I still have plenty of fuel in the tank and a lot of motivation to write! <3Ideas, story requests, and feedback are always welcome, so don’t hesitate to reach out 😊
Enjoy the prologue!
Note: I want to clarify that English is not my first language. I’m sorry if there are any mistakes or if I sometimes use incorrect words. Please feel free to send me corrections so I can continue improving my skills! 😊
[Prologue] “Arise.”
The Shadow Monarch’s voice reverberated through the room, deep and commanding, shattering the silence like fragile glass. Clear and resonant, his words echoed off the stone walls, lingering as though the air itself sought to hold onto them. The sound was low and powerful, vibrating faintly, giving the room a brief sense of life before the quiet crept back in.
A translucent window appeared in the air, the oppressive dark aura blanketing the ground retreating like mist. Once again, the extraction had failed. [Soul Extraction failed. 1/3 attempts remaining.]
Jin-Woo’s cold gaze flickered down to the lifeless figure lying on the ground. He exhaled deeply, raising his hand again.
“Is this truly where you wish to meet your end?” he asked, his eyes beginning to glow faintly. His voice was the only thing animating the desolate room. Vines crawled up the cracked stone walls, fractured beams of sunlight piercing through the shattered ceiling above. It looked like an abandoned boss chamber—ancient extinguished torches lined the walls, weapon gouges marred the hard stone—but there was no trace of life to be found. Not even the body before him radiated vitality.
So why couldn’t he extract her shadow?
Had it been too long since this monster’s death? Monsters decayed, yet her body showed no signs of rot. Only the deep lacerations across her skin, the missing heartbeat, and the faint, oppressive aura around her gave away the truth—she was dead.
“What a pitiful end,” he murmured. Jin-Woo didn’t expect a response, but something about her unnerved him enough to speak aloud, as though testing the air for answers.
“Arise,” he commanded once more, his hand tightening into a fist as though he could will her soul to obey.
The black smoke coiled around the lifeless body, intertwining with the tendrils rising from her chest. Slowly, the shadow took shape. Jin-Woo’s lips curled into a victorious smirk as the dark form solidified into the outline of a woman. Her glowing white eyes locked onto nothingness, the telltale mark of a newly risen shadow.
The system window popped up again, prompting for a name. Jin-Woo glanced at his latest recruit, who now knelt before him, one leg folded beneath her and the other bent upright. Her gaze remained forward, never meeting his.
“You belong to my Shadow Army now,” Jin-Woo declared, lowering his hand. “From this day on, you will serve me and obey my commands.”
He pondered briefly, then began typing a name into the prompt. Just as his finger hovered over the “Confirm” button, the window glitched, flickering erratically before closing. The chosen name replaced by another. [Y/N]
“No.”
The voice was so faint it barely registered. Jin-Woo paused, convinced he must have imagined it. Yet, before he could dismiss the notion, the shadows surrounding her physical body dissipated, retreating into the darkness along with the lifeless form on the ground.
“What?” His voice was sharp, his composure slipping for an instant as the word lingered in disbelief.
“No.” The second time was louder, firmer. The shadowy figure began to rise, her form shifting. The darkness coating her crumbled away, replaced by color. Her eyes, once glowing white, now gleamed a vibrant shade of [E/C], locked onto his in defiance. Her hair, [H/C], shimmered with an unnatural vitality, stark against the bleak surroundings.
Jin-Woo’s usually impassive expression flickered with subtle astonishment. A shadow capable of speech? Only Beru had ever displayed such an ability.
He cast his gaze toward the floating information above her:
Name: [Y/N] Level: ???
He couldn’t read her level. And she already had a name.
A tense silence filled the space, his dark aura intensifying until even Igris, his loyal Blood-Red Commander, shivered. Yet, [Y/N] stood unflinching, her jaw tight as she met Jin-Woo’s penetrating stare. Despite the icy dread running down her spine, an unyielding resolve kept her rooted. She refused to kneel.
“I refuse,” she ground out through clenched teeth, watching as the black-haired man’s glowing eyes narrowed into sharp slits. Her voice was thin but steady.
Before she could react, he had grabbed her chin and leaned down toward her; after all, he was a good head taller than she was. His grip was firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to convey his dominance. His hands were icy cold. Could shadows even feel such sensations? His face was mere inches from hers, and his piercing gaze sent a cold shiver crawling up her limbs.
[You are forbidden from harming your master.]
The window that briefly popped up caught her eye for a moment before her gaze returned to the Shadow Monarch’s icy stare.
“What was that?” he asked in a deep voice, as though his physical intimidation and the flicker in his glowing eyes could compel her to reconsider her defiance in light of what he was capable of.
“Say that again,” he growled, his tone icy and measured, daring her to reconsider. He was giving her one more chance to retract her initial refusal and do what—at least in his mind—was the only correct thing. [Y/N] stared at him for a moment. Her irritation over the situation gradually gave way to anger, which settled heavily in her chest. Who did he think he was? More importantly, who did he think she was? ... Who was she?
But there was no time to dwell on that thought, as the Shadow Monarch grew impatient. He made this clear with a brief but painful squeeze of his hand. But her defiance didn’t falter. “I. Refuse.” The words were deliberate, slow, and unwavering.
For the first time, Jin-Woo felt something beyond annoyance—curiosity laced with disbelief. Never had a shadow disobeyed him. His dominion was absolute. So why did she stand so boldly against him?
“You’re either very brave or very foolish,” he said, his voice low as his violet eyes flickered dangerously. “Do you even realize who I am?”
Her lips curled into a faint smirk. “When you’re dead, titles lose their meaning. Honestly, nothing really matters anymore.”
For a fraction of a second, Jin-Woo’s stoic mask slipped. Her words, blunt and logical, were disconcerting. Yet his pride demanded he reassert his authority.
“If you won’t obey me, I have no use for you,” he declared coldly. “I’ll kill you again a second time”
“Go ahead.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her expression challenging. “I have nothing to lose.” Something in her tone—half daring, half resigned—made Jin-Woo hesitate. The tension between them crackled like static, thick enough to choke. Shadows coiled at his feet, thick as ink, creeping toward her like serpents. Yet, as they reached her, they paused, lingering for a moment as though recognizing her as one of their own before retreating.
Even Jin-Woo couldn’t deny what he had just witnessed. Releasing her chin, he let out a heavy sigh, his energy dissipating as the oppressive weight in the room lifted.
This was no ordinary shadow.
The shadows retreated as quickly as they had appeared, his eyes returning to their cool gray, and the immense energy he exuded vanished entirely.
He couldn’t simply let the chance of having a powerful shadow slip away, even if her lack of respect infuriated him to no end. The fact that he couldn’t determine her rank and that she didn’t yield to his will suggested she must be strong.
[Y/N] exhaled in relief; the whole ordeal hadn’t left her unscathed, but she was incredibly fortunate that the black-haired man hadn’t killed her on the spot. Despite her earlier words, she really didn’t want to die again.
His cold expression remained unchanged, but his gaze lingered on the [H/C]-haired woman, who stared back at him blankly.
Her appearance was human—different from his other shadows. She had color, glowing eyes, and if not for the name and lack of rank floating above her head, he wouldn’t have even guessed she was part of his army.
“Let me put it another way: as the one who revived you, you don’t have a choice but to follow my commands. So stop being so stubborn and just obey,” he said, his voice slicing through the silence as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Stubborn? Me? Does he even listen to himself? [Y/N] thought.
“Clearly, we’re both stubborn,” she stated , rubbing her chin, which still bore faint pressure marks from his firm grip.
She didn’t notice the faint flicker of concern in his eyes. Did he hurt her?
“If you’d stop being stubborn and accept that you can’t just go around resurrecting people and making them your slaves,” she retorted, earning another angry glare from the black-haired man. He at least seemed to accept that physical intimidation wasn’t going to work on her.
Jin-Woo turned slightly away from her and opened the window displaying the current number of his shadows.
“I revived you for a reason. You are now part of my army and will serve me. End of discussion.”
[Y/N] laughed humorlessly—a cynical laugh. He still didn’t get it.
She rolled her eyes, though there was that peculiar feeling in her chest—a strange connection that had been there since her resurrection. It felt more like a tether pulling at her core, drawing her toward him.
But she didn’t feel compelled to obey him—so why should she?
“Nope, as long as you act like an asshole, I’m not even going to consider it.”
The Shadow Monarch froze mid-movement, shooting her a deadly side-eye.
Did she just insult him?
His frustration grew with every passing second. No one had ever defied him like this, especially not someone he had revived.
“And why should I be nice to you? You’re the one defying me here. You’re the one refusing to obey me. What have you done to deserve my kindness when all you’ve shown me is disrespect?” he said.
[Y/N] responded without thinking, “You reap what you sow.”
Yes, he was an asshole, and she couldn’t stand him, but her reaction wasn’t exactly the best icebreaker either. Besides, they were both in a pretty crappy situation, and it wouldn’t get any better if they kept clashing.
Plus—what choice did she have? She had no idea who or what she was, where she was, or where she was supposed to go.
A resigned sigh escaped her lips, and her tense posture relaxed a little.
“Maybe... just maybe, we got off on the wrong foot,” she said, her voice softening slightly, almost innocent—though theatrically so.
The Shadow Monarch was once again surprised by her words. She had personality—and plenty of it, apparently.
He could insist that she was his shadow and that he was therefore superior to her, but what would be the point in the end? Perhaps it was time to swallow his pride and admit he might have been wrong.
Maybe he had simply spent too much time alone, consumed by his role as the Shadow Monarch, losing whatever social skills he once had.
His expression remained cool for a moment longer before his features softened slightly, and he scratched the back of his head. “That’s an understatement,” he muttered, reflecting on how he was almost the cause of her second death. [Y/N]’s eyes lit up slightly. Had she just detected a hint of humor in his voice?
His tone had lost some of its anger, which gave her a bit of relief.
“Okay. What am I even supposed to do, and where the hell are we anyway?” she asked, glancing around the room and taking it in. She knew she had seen this place before—clearly, it was where she had died—but it didn’t feel familiar. Jin-Woo, still a bit taken aback by her sudden cooperation, followed her gaze.
“We’re in a dungeon,” he said matter-of-factly. He really didn’t share more than he absolutely had to, did he? As for what she was supposed to do? Well, his shadows usually fought for him, but what about her? She had no weapon and didn’t seem magically inclined—at least he couldn’t sense any significant mana coming from her.
“Follow me. That’s enough for now,” he finally said, turning on his heel. His cloak lifted slightly with the abrupt movement before settling back down.
Jin-Woo didn’t look back, his footsteps silent on the cold stone floor. The young woman hesitated for a moment, but the invisible force seemed to nudge her forward, almost pushing her to follow him. She let out another frustrated sigh. “Okay,” she said, taking a few quick steps to catch up with him, though she stayed a few meters behind. “I’ll follow you,” she said after a brief pause. “But I won’t follow your orders blindly. If a command seems pointless to me, I’ll refuse,” she added—a compromise she could live with. Jin-Woo stopped abruptly, nearly causing her to bump into him. He paused, processing her words. For a moment, he hesitated. With a sigh, his expression softened slightly. “Fine. I’ll accept your compromise,” he said, reluctantly agreeing to her terms. “But if your reason for refusing seems pointless to me, don’t expect my mercy,” he added without glancing at her and continued walking. Though he was satisfied with this for now, there were limits—even for her.
What had he gotten himself into? ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊
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cybernaght · 1 year ago
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The fandom echo chamber: fanon, microanalysis and conspiracy brain 
As someone who has been in fandom spaces, on and off, for 20 years, I find some fascinating trends popping up in the last decade that I thought to be fandom-specific but clearly aren’t. So, I would like to do a little examination of where those things come from, how they are engaged with, and what it says about the way we consume media. This is a think piece, of sorts, with my brain being the main source. As such, we will spend some time down the memory lane of a fandom-focused millennial.
This is largely brought about by Good Omens. But it’s also not really about Good Omens at all.
Part one. Fanon.
The way we see characters in any story is always skewed by our very selves. This is a neutral statement, and it does not have a value judgement. It’s simply unavoidable. We recognise aspects of them, love aspects of them, and choose aspects of them to highlight based entirely on our own vision of the universe. 
Recognition comes into this. There is a reason so many protagonists of romance novels have a “blank slate” problem. Even when they do not, we love characters who are like us or versions of us that we would like to be. And when we say “we”, I also mean, “me”. 
(I remember very clearly this realisation hit me after a whole season of Doctor Who with writing which I hated utterly when I questioned why I still clung so incredibly hard to Clara Oswald as my favourite companion. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh. Well. That would do it, wouldn’t it?)
Then, there is projection, and, again, this is a neutral statement. Projection exists, and it is completely normal and, dare I say it, valid way of engaging with — well, anything. Is the character queer? Trans? Neurodivergent? Are they in love? Do they like chocolate? Are they a cat person? Well, yes, if this is what the text says, but if the text does not say anything… You tell me. Please, do tell me. Because, in that moment of projection, they are yours. 
And then, there is fandom osmosis, and that is the most fascinating one of them all, the one that is not very easy to note while you are inside the echo chamber. It’s the way we collectively, consciously or not, make decisions on who or what the characters are, what their relationships are, and what happens to them.  
(Back when I was writing egregiously long Guardian recaps on this blog I actually asked if Shen Wei’s power being learning actually was stated anywhere in the canon of the show. Because I had no idea. I have read and reread dozen of fanfics where that is the case, and at some point through enough repetition, it became reality.)
We are all kind of making our own reality here, aren’t we? 
Back when things were happening in a much less centralised manner - in closed livejournal groups, and forums of all shapes and sizes - I don’t remember there being quite as much universally agreed upon fanon. Frankly, I don’t remember much of universally agreed upon anything. But now, everything is in one place: we have this, and we have AO3, and it’s wonderful, it really is so much easier to navigate, but it’s also one gigantic reality-shifting echo chamber, with blogs, reblogs, trends, and rituals. 
Accessibility plays its part, too. If you were, say, in Life on Mars (UK) fandom between seasons, and you wanted to post your speculation fic, you had to have had an account, and then find and gain access to one of the bigger groups (lifein1973 was my poison, but ymmv), and then, if you feel brave you may post it, but also, you may want to do so from your alt account if you wanted to keep yours separate, and then you would have to go through the whole process again. And I’m not saying that fan creations then were somehow inherently better for it than fan creations now (although Life on Mars Hiatus Era is perhaps a bad example - because some of the Speculation Fic there was breathtaking), but there is something to say about the ease of access that made the fandoms go through a big bang of sorts.
(I mean, come on, I can just come here and post this - and I am certain people will read it, and this blog is a pandemic cope baby about Chinese television for goodness sake.)
The canon transformations that happen in the fandom echo chamber truly are fascinating to witness as someone who is more or less a fandom butterfly. I get into something, float around for a bit, then get into something else and move on. I might come back eventually when the need arises, but I don’t sustain a hiatus mind-state. This means that when I float away and return, I find some very intriguing stuff.
Let’s actually look at Good Omens here. Season two aired, and I found it spectacular in its cosy and anguished way; deliberately and intelligently fanfic-y in its plot building; simple but subversive, and so very tender. (I will have to circle back to this eventually, because, truly, I love how deliberately it takes the tropes and shatters them - it’s glorious). And, to me - a person who read the book, watched the first season, hung around AO3 for a few weeks and moved on - absolutely on-point in terms of characterisation. 
So imagine my surprise when the fandom disagreed so vehemently that there are actual multi-tiered theories on how characters were not in possession of their senses. Nothing there, in my mind, ever contradicted any of the stated text, as it stood. This remained a strange little mystery until I did what I always do when I flutter close to an ongoing fandom.
I loaded AO3 and sorted the existing fic by popularity. And there it was, all there: the actual earth-shattering mutual devotion of the angel and the demon; willingness to Fall; openness and long heart-aching confession speeches. There was all of the fanon surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley, which, to me, read as out of character, and to one for whom they became the reality over the last four years, read as truth. 
Again, only neutral statements here. This is not a bad thing, and neither this is a good thing, this is just something that happens, after a while, especially when there are years for the fandom-born ideas to bounce around and stew. I can’t help but think that so much of what we see as real in spaces such as this one is a chimaera of the actual source and all the collective fan additions which had time and space to grow, change, develop, and inspire, reverberating over and over again, until the echoes fill the entirety of the space. 
Eventually, this chimaera becomes a reality. 
Part two. Microanalysis 
Here are my two suppositions on the matter:
1. Some writers really love breadcrumb storytelling. 
Russel T Davies, for instance, on his run of Doctor Who (and, if you are reading it much later - I do mean the original one), loved that technique for his seasonal arcs. What is a Bad Wolf? Who is Harold Saxon? Well, you can watch very very carefully, make a theory, and see it proven right or wrong by the end of the season. 
Naturally, mystery box writers are all about breadcrumb storytelling: your Losts and your Westworlds are all about giving you snippets to get your brain firing, almost challenging you to figure things out just ahead of the reveal. 
2. We, as humans, love breadcrumbs.
And why wouldn’t we? Breadcrumbs are delicious. They are, however, a seasoning, or a coating. They are not the meal. 
Too much metaphor?
Let’s unpack it and start from the beginning.
Pattern recognition colours every aspect of our lives, and it colours the way we view art to a great extent. I think we truly underestimate how much it’s influenced by our lived experiences.
If you are, broadly speaking, living somewhere in Western/North-Western Europe in the 14th century, and you see a painting in which there is a very very large figure surrounded by some smaller figures and holding really tiny figures, you may know absolutely nothing about who those figures are, but you know that the big figure is the Important One, and the small ones are Less Important Ones, and the tiny ones are In Their Care. You know where your reverence would lie, looking at this picture. And, I imagine, as someone living in the 14th century, you may be inspired to a sense of awe looking at this composition, because in the world you live in, this is how art works. 
If you, on the other hand, watch a piece of recorded media and see the eyes of two characters meet as the violins swell, you know what you are being told at that moment. You don’t have to have a film degree to feel a sort of way when you see a green-tinged pallet used, when cross-cuts use juxtaposing images, or notice where your focus is pulled in any given shot. This stuff - this recognition of patterns - has been trained into us by the simple fact that we live in this time, on this planet, and we have been doing so long enough to have engaged recorded media for a period of time. 
As humans, we notice things. Our brains flare up when they see something they recognise, and then we seek to find other similar details and form a bigger picture. This often happens unconsciously, but sometimes it does not. Sometimes we do it on purpose: finding breadcrumbs in stories is a little bit like solving a mystery. It allows us to stretch that brain muscle that puts two and two together. It makes us feel clever. 
So yes, we love breadcrumbs, and, frankly, quite a lot of storytelling takes advantage of this. It’s very useful for foreshadowing, creating thematic coherence, or introducing narrative parallels and complexity. It’s useful for nudging the viewer into one or the other emotional direction, or to cue them into what will happen in the next moment, or what exactly is the one important detail they should pay attention to.
Because this is something media does intentionally, and something we pick up both consciously and not, it is very hard to know when to stop. We don't really ever know when all of the breadcrumbs have been collected. It becomes very easy to get carried away. There is a very specific kind of pleasure in digging into content frame by frame, soundbite by soundbite, chasing that pleasure of finding. 
But it is almost never breadcrumbs all the way down. They are techniques to help us focus on the main event: the story. I truly believe those who make media want it to reach the widest possible audience, and that includes all of us who like to watch every single thing ever created with our Media Analysis Goggles on and those who are just here to enjoy the twists and turns of the story at the pace offered to them. And I think, sometimes in our chase to collect and understand every little clue we forget that media is not made to just cater for us.
One can call it missing a forest for the trees. But I would hate to mix my metaphors, so let’s call it missing a schnitzel for the breadcrumbs. 
Part three. The Conspiracy Brain. 
If you are there with me, in the midst of the excited frenzy, chasing after all those delicious breadcrumbs, then patterns can grow, merge together, and become all-encompassing theories. Let’s call them conspiracy theories, even though this is not what they truly are.
So, why do we believe in conspiracy theories?
One, Because We Have Been Lied To. 
All conspiracies start with distrust.
If you are in fandom spaces - especially if you are in fandom spaces which revolve around a queer fictional couple - especially-especially if you have been in such spaces for a period of time, you have most certainly been lied to at one point or another. 
We don’t even have to talk about Sherlock - and let’s not do that - but do you remember Merlin? Because I remember Merlin. Specifically, I remember the publicity surrounding the first season, with its weaponised usage of “bromance” and assertions that this whole thing is a love story of sorts, and then the daunting realisation that this was all a stunt, deliberately orchestrated to gather viewership. 
And, because we were lied to in such a deliberate manner for such an extensive period of time, I genuinely believe that it forever altered our pattern recognition habits, because what was this if not encouragement to read into things? Now we are trained to read between the lines or see little cries for help where they might not be. Because we were told, over and over again, that we should.
(Yes, I think we are all existing in these spaces coloured by the trauma of queer-bating. I am, however, looking forward to a world where I can unlearn all of that.)
Two, Cognitive Dissonance.
The chain reaction works a bit like this: the world is wrong - it can’t possibly be wrong by coincidence - this must be on purpose - someone is responsible for it.
Being Lied To is a preamble, but cognitive dissonance is where it all originates. In so many cross-fandom theories I have noticed a four-step process:
A) this is not good
B) this author could not have made a mistake 
C) this must be done on purpose
D) here is why 
(Funny thing is, I have been on the receiving end of the small conspiracy spiral, and it is a very interesting experience. Not relevant to this conversation is the fact that a lot of my job revolves around storytelling. What is relevant is that my hobbies also revolve around storytelling. And one of them is DnD. Now, imagine my genuine shock when one of the players I am currently writing a campaign for noticed a small detail that did not make a logical sense within the complexity of the world, and latched on to it as something clearly indicating some kind of a secret subplot. Their thinking process also went a bit like this: this detail is not a good piece of writing — this DM knows how to tell stories well — this is obviously there on purpose. It was not there on purpose. I created a clumsy shorthand. I erred, in that pesky manner humans tend to. And, seeing this entire thought process recited to me directly in the moment, I felt somewhere between flattered and mortified.)
This whole line of thinking, I think, exists on a knife’s edge between veneration and brutal criticism, relentlessly dissecting everything “wrong”, with a reverent “but this is deliberate” attached to it like a vice, because it is preferable to a simple conclusion that the author let you down, in one way or another. 
Three, Intentionality 
I believe that there is no right or wrong way of engaging with stories, regardless of their medium, and assuming no one gets hurt in the process. While in a strictly academic way, there is a “correct” way of reading (and reading into) media, we here are largely not academics but consumers; consumption is subjective.
However, this all changes when intentionality is ascribed. 
The one I find particularly fascinating is the intentionality of “making it bad on purpose” because, as open-minded as I intend to always be, this just does not happen.
It certainly does not happen in long-form media. Even in the bread-crumb mystery box-type long-form media. 
When television programs underdeliver, they also underperform, and then they get cancelled.
If all the elements of Westworld Season 4 that did not sit together in a completely satisfactory way were written deliberately as some sort of deconstruction for the final season to explore, then it failed because that final season will now never come.
(There will likely never be a Secret Fourth Episode.)
And look, I am not here to refute your theories. Creativity is fun, and theorising is fantastic. 
But, perhaps, when the line of thought ventures into the “bad on purpose” territory, it could be recognised for what it is: disappointment and optimism, attempting to coexist in a single space. And I relate to that, I do, and I am sorry that there is even a need for this line of thinking. It’s always so incredibly disappointing that a creator you believed to be devoid of flaws makes something that does not hit in the way you hoped it would. It’s pretty heartbreaking. 
Unfortunately, people make mistakes. We are all fallible that way. 
Four, Wildfire.
Then, when the crumbs are found, a theory is crafted, and intentionality is ascribed, all that needs to happen is for it to catch on. And hey, what better place for it than this massive hollow funnel that we exist in, where thoughts, ideas and interpretations reverberate so much they become inextricable from the source material in collective consciousness. 
Conspiracy theories create alternate realities, very much like we all do here. 
So where are we now?
I am not here to tell you what is right and what is wrong; what is true, and what is not. We are all entitled to engage with anything we wish, in whichever way we wish to do it. This is not it, at all. 
All I am saying is… listen.
Do you hear that echo? 
I do. 
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willowed-wisp · 1 month ago
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to the winter wedding [ ghost ]
part two
Was meant to write something else but this flowed from whatever sleep deprived brain I have…
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Growing up you had fated encounters with Simon Riley that would continue into your adulthood. You a combat medic and him, the one you ended up treating.
Simon isn’t nearly as intimidating as everybody makes him out to be
Well that’s what you always thought. He has a lot of baggage but that’s alright because so do you
You’ve known Simon since high school, he was a lone wolf and you faked that pretty smile you wore each day around fake friends
He was the one who found you behind a building while he puffed on a cigarette. You left that spot, but he never forgot you that day- the wolf in sheep’s clothing
From then on you and Simon Riley had frequented run-ins, like the universe was throwing you through a loop. Shoving the pair of you together.
You paid his bus fare one time, no seats except two beside each other. “Can I take a seat?”
“Sure.” Neither speaking, both going to the dreary hospital for separate reasons both involved loved ones.
An hour later, you found him trying to barter the cashier at the hospital shop and once again you jumped in. “You keep popping up and saving the day, huh?” It was the first time he had spoken a full sentence to you- other than the thank you on the bus.
Shoulders shrugged, “Seems like it…”
“How much do I owe you?” Brown eyes staring while you shook your head.
He stopped at the door, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around, Simon…”
It’s only then he realised, your back to him, that he didn’t know your name with a heavy heart. Watching you walk away.
It was a few years until you saw that boy again. On the battlefield, he was fighting while you were tending the wounded.
Fate even wove you together in the Special Forces- you the 22nd Regiment’s new medical sergeant and jom their new Private.He had remembered you. The one that got away. His luck with women non-existent after meeting you in the unlikeliest of circumstances.
“Long time no see, Private Riley…” You outranked him… something he would have to bite down. He would be a Sergeant if his home life had been steady. “What’s with the mask?” He didn’t intimidate you, no matter how built he had gotten or the growth spurt you bore witness to in the Army. But the mask was a new one for you.
He didn’t wear it in the Army and on his records you didn’t find a photo of him. “We have to stop meetin’ like this…” He was cheeky only with you. His oldest friend- you weren’t an acquaintance- you were Simon’s only friend in any place. Which is why he let you hug him, bringing him in with everything you had.
“It’s nice to see a familiar face, even under the balaclava…” Said with sincerity from all of the friends you had lost on the frontlines, holding their hands when the light faded from their eyes.
Taking medication for the looks on their faces. Or else they’d be branded in your memory forever.
A fucking landmine is all it took for you to almost lose your composure, “Shouldn’t your intel be able to uncover some land mines, Lieutenant Price!” Not a screech, but not kind either. Working to get the clothes off the burns, their smoulder already stopped by the rain clattering down. The poor soldier conscious and aware- eyes looking into yours, “The mask needs to come off, burns up left neck and jaw. Second degree up his left side,” cutting the mask down the middle. “This gonna hurt… I’m sorry…” Your apology whispered into his ear, whatever he could hear over the ringing- you didn’t know. But Simon was aware of it all.
That’s why his scream consumed the air, “Lieutenant, let us work… I’ll do my best, I assure you.” Rushing over to your colleague who had peeled back the rest of the cloth. Nothing had marred his face, only a smidge of burn crept up his jaw from his neck. “You’re lucky… they’ll heal naturally…” You didn’t know whether you were talking to Simon or yourself. A hand held yours, tears daring to peel down your cheeks but you held them there. Blurring your vision of the man you had known for almost a decade.
You were the one to check up on his healing progress, “Shouldn’t you be tending to other people?”
“You’re next on my rotor… and you should be leaving the wound uncovered…” His mask back on. “I guess all pretty boys are idiots…” You’d meant to just think it not actually say it aloud. His already wide eyes were shocked, he gave a laugh.
“Whatever chances of being a ‘pretty boy’ are gone with this scar…” You remained silent, heat on your cheeks. He didn’t comment on how you’d gone shy and then left muttering to leave the mask off until the burn had a chance to heal.
He seemed to have listened, you saw him around the town you grew up in. Where the world moved slow and you felt alone sitting on the park bench. Flurries of white trickled down unto the green, hands braced in your pockets against their cold. Not able to stop the floods of images from flickering, life was short especially in the line of work you earned a living off. You’d been burned, stabbed and shot…
War was ugly and you tried to find the beauty in nature, but even that was turning against you those days.
“Look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
How ironic, “That’s what the boys call you, right? Very funny…” Looking at his bare skin. “You actually listened to orders from a medic… thought I’d never see the day…” Not able to stop your thumbs from twiddling in their shelter.
He sat down beside you, “No. I listened to you, you run a tight ship…”
“People die if I don’t keep myself together,” no matter how hard it was day after day. “How’s your mum and Tommy?” You were in the same year at school as his younger brother, only in that town did you remember this guy was two years older than yourself and you outranked him.
He shuffled a bit, “They’re okay, Tom’s got himself together… he’s getting married next week…” Another fidget from the man, “I’m best man and I need a date for it… ‘or else’…” Trailed off with a laugh.
Then it dawned on you, “Are you asking me?” A slight nod, “To be your date? To your brother’s wedding?”
“There a problem? Got a boyfriend?” Your head shook to him, “Apparently I’m wearing a light purple tie, don’t know if you want t’ match or…?”
Scouring for a lilac dress when you got home, panicking… “Y/N, are you okay?” It was your mother, maybe she could help.
“I’ve been invited to a wedding… as a date, and something about a lilac tie…” Shoulders held like she always did when you freaked out.
“Alright, calm down, you’re a frontline medic for crying out loud… sit down…” On your bed, she joined you, “The only wedding I know of is Tommy and Beth’s… oh my gosh… it’s Simon, isn’t it? He always did make some googly eyes at you…”
“No he doesn’t!” Like a teenage girl you stood and folded your arms, “Mummy, I need help…”
“Be warned, it’s vintage…” That meant it was either ruffled or sleek… you were hoping for the latter.
————
Does anyone want a continuation? Thank you for reading, I love reading comments and all the support xx
PART TWO IS OUT!
————
cod m.list | request guidelines | ghost m.list
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8thhousepriestess · 13 days ago
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Hi! Was just wondering what could make someone consistently outcasted/alienated/bullied in their workplace? No matter how they act or where they work? Always with co-workers, not really their bosses.
Hey fellow misfit 🖤🤩
I can totally relate to this because I’ve also felt outcasted & alienated my entire life in social settings, including my workplaces & really just any new social environment where I had to interact with others. No matter how kind, funny, or friendly I was, there were always people who really just did not like me, or made no effort to connect. I spent a good chunk of my life & growing up wondering what was wrong with me, why I couldn’t hold convos or connections like other people & why I was “socially cripple”
Anyway, here goes…
• Mars, Saturn, or Pluto in the natal 6th house or transiting…can create tension in work environments, often leading to conflicts, power struggles, or feelings of alienation. these placements might unknowingly come across as intimidating, even if they don’t mean to. 
[ Pluto transiting my 6th house gave me years of difficulties at my work places & with co workers. I ended up being wrongfully fired & I was devastated .. BUT HONESTLY BEST thing that’s ever happened to me. Pluto completely destroyed my shit. But i found ME & where I belong ]
• Mars in the natal 11th house or transiting… Can bring conflict or competition. The person may find themselves repeatedly clashing with coworkers or facing tension in team dynamics. It’s like there’s always someone who wants to get competitive with you for whatever reason which can lead to defensiveness, aggravation, fighting.
• Saturn in the natal 1st house or transiting… can give off a “resting bitch face” or make someone seem overly serious, even if they’re really just shy or approachable at heart. The 1st house represents how others perceive you, so this can lead to first impressions that feel cold or distant, even if they’re far from reality. Pretty sure this is partly why the phrase “never judge a book by its cover” exists.
• Saturn in harsh aspect (square, opposition, or conjunction)… to Venus, Sun, Moon, or Mercury can create a disciplined or rigid demeanor that others might find unapproachable. Can struggle with feeling socially accepted, often being seen as too serious or distant.
• Saturn in the natal 10th or transiting… can create professional obstacles & a sense of isolation. People with this placement may feel unsupported or excluded by coworkers.
• Saturn in the natal 11th house or transit… can make it hard to feel like you belong in social groups…workplaces included. It could take you longer in life to find where you really belong .
[ Wherever Saturn is in your chart, it brings challenges, delays & restrictions but also rewards after hard lessons are learned. It’s important to remember that Saturn isn’t punishing you. The challenges aren’t happening to you; they’re happening for you—for your growth & soul’s evolution. ]
• Chiron in the 6th house or transit… can reflect deep wounding in daily work relationships or routines. The person can often feel like they don’t fit in, no matter how hard they try.
• Chiron conjunct the Ascendant or Midheaven… can bring repetitive themes of wounding & healing in social or professional settings. Though painful, these experiences often lead to finding your “tribe” after significant personal growth.
[ When transiting Chiron made a conjunct to my MC is when I entered a new profession & finally found my tribe of like minded people. Where my puzzle piece finally fit. I first had to change my career path in order to find my place in the world/with others. So this transit triggered career change & deep healing around my confidence & self worth. Chiron is the REAL MVP ] 
• Aquarius or Uranus in the 6th house or transiting… could indicate unique work style that might make the person stand out, sometimes in a way that others misinterpret as cold/distant or difficult to relate to. You could just rub some people the wrong way. Sounds like a THEM problem, not a you problem.
• Black Moon Lilith in the 6th, 10th, 11th or transit… can indicate being scapegoated, alienated, or made to feel like an outsider in social/work settings.
• Mercury or Venus retrograde in the natal chart… can cause communication or relational styles that feel “off” to others, even if unintentional.
• Moon square Saturn.. difficulty in expressing emotions in a way others find relatable, leading to misunderstandings or feeling emotionally cold. [ I have this placement ]
• Moon square Pluto.. intense emotions that others might find overwhelming or intimidating.
• Moon square Uranus.. emotional unpredictability that can disrupt social harmony, making connections harder to maintain. One day you might feel like talking & the next you don’t. Easily upset one minute &the next bubbly & joyful. Changeable mood. Hey it happens 🤷🏼‍♀️ it’s hard being crazy 🤣 [ I have this placement lol ]
• Sun, Moon, Mercury, or Venus in the 12th house.. can make someone feel unseen, misunderstood, or overlooked, even when they try to connect with others.
• Chiron in the 12th house or transiting… reflects deep wounds around invisibility or rejection, which can play out in workplace dynamics being opposite to the 6th house. [ I have this placement ]
• Leo Ascendant… ruled by the Sun, which shines bright & radiates high energy. Some people just do not like a bright light especially if they’re unhappy with themselves. So people will try to take that light & diminish your spirit. The spiritual shade being thrown around so freely out here is real.
✨🪐💫⭐️☄️
I’m sure the list could go on but I hope you found some of these helpful/insightful to your personal situation. You’re definitely not alone. These experiences are helping you grow into your highest self.
Ultimately, it’s not about changing who you are.. you are perfectly imperfect & exactly who you are suppose to be. It’s about embracing your unique energy & finding environments that appreciate & support it. Even if that means going in a completely different direction professionally.
Thank you so much for writing to me 🥰
-🫶🏻💜STEPH
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arcadia345 · 2 years ago
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Astro notes💋🥀
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Just my observations :)🔞
♡ Scorpio mercury or degree is the definition of elephant in the room, it’s like they try their best to make you uncomfortable with their words , on the brighter side I love how deep their minds are
♡Saturn in the 6th/2nd could go a long time without eating and not even notice
♡ One of my friends had a baby today(Aries moon) and she’s already threatening people not to play with her child💀 cute tho
♡ I feel like the only Libra placement that doesn’t try to be likable is Libra moons, their personality is so lovely for the most part☺️ I’ve only met men with this placement and WHEW they are sooooooo charming🥴
♡ I’ve noticed guys with Venus conjunct their sun can come off a little ✨ even if they’re not they’re just in touch with their feminine side. Also guys with Venus conjunct moon could have this energy as well just more subtle
♡ Aquarius in 7th will always give black sheep energy, no matter how “popular” they are it’s always something that differentiates them from everyone else, could be known for doing questionable things
♡ Taurus season I see lots of people getting lip piercings but lots of new tats and piercings in general
♡ 11th house has to do with hopes and dreams, mars is your passion and drive, having mars in 11th synastry with someone with someone could mean having fantasy’s about them,being fwb, or being friends with someone but wanting to be more. Me and my friend both have this synastry and the tension is HIGH especially with her Jupiter conjunction to my mars🥴
♡It’s not surprise Saturn babies look soo good in slicked back hairstyles since it rules hair and restrictions
♡Also they weren’t joking when they said prominent Saturn placements could make you a pothead😳 I thought I was a smoker but whew they SMOKE 💨
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♡ Aries moon moms are so PUSHY. They’re always trying to dictate your emotions like your not your own human then get insecure when you cut contact with them. And she never takes your emotions seriously till you act out of character, It’s like she never wants you to rest so draining. Also they can be intimidating/scary in a way especially from the stories the Aries moon child shares about them😅 did they lie tho?
♡ Scorpio moons could also resonate but I feel like with Aries moms(sidereal Pisces moon)there’s a innocence to it like they truly don’t recognize their toxic traits until you confront them about it but with Scorpio moon’s mom (sidereal Libra moon) they KNOW exactly what they’re doing when they manipulate. And other people could easily alter ur mother’s perception of you, very wishywashy. They type to be jealous of their kids especially if they have a daughter
♡ Chiron in 12th could get accused of things they didn’t do allll the time , it gets to a point where they don’t even try to defend themselves anymore cause it’s like no one listens why waste your energy 😭 a good example is Micheal Jackson
♡ Gemini moon children have moms that don’t hold back🥴 very blunt especially with some Aries energy added
♡ I giggle every time I remember Park Jimin has a Gemini moon I just know he has the best comebacks and inside jokes😂 (Jimin if you’re seeing this let’s be friends plz😆)
♡ I’ve noticed with Virgo moons children may see one parent more fit to be a parent than the other at some point in their life. Doesn’t mean the other is a shitty parent or anything but if they had to decide to live with one of them they’ll already know who😹
♡ Also Virgo placements why do y’all constantly complain about something you could easily solve? I see this more in undeveloped Virgo placements
♡ Leo moon children could have mothers that are selfish in one way or another, wheither it be their time, money, or love
♡Jupiter in 3rd (natal and transit) what is home? I’ve been to so many places in my city that I didn’t know existed, I also got a 🍕 delivery job so I’m on the go all the time, but since my natal Jupiter is in my 8th it’s kinda a darker transit for me- I literally hit and ran two people in counting 😭 (I’m not even a bad driver they happened on the same week!🙄) communication especially over the phone has been vile omg the amount of times I’ve been cussed out by strangers otp is crazy. Also I’ve lost old friends /gained new one
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That’s all for now💋
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roman-o-cheese · 6 months ago
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Me when I remember Frank Zhang’s is a child of the god of war whose mother died in combat and thus his mothers death is tied to his existence, and he will spend the rest of his life deconstructing that guilt.
Frank didn’t kill his mother, but his father is the incitement of all war. A soldier does not become a soldier without being at least acquainted with war, and in many cases they will fall to it, much like Emily. I’d be surprised if, in some capacity, Frank didn’t see Mars as a murderer. Like he understands that, on a wide scale, Mars did not kill Emily Zhang. But Mars started the war that killed her. And since Mars is his father, I think he’d feel disgusted with that fact, even if he logically knows that that’s not the case.
And then I think about how out of all of the gods Frank assumed he was the child of, Mars was never in the question. I almost wonder if he kind of knew, but convinced himself it wasn’t true. I mean his mom was a soldier, there’s a logical connection with the war god there. But the idea that he was a product of what hurt him and his family so much was too painful to consider. So he swore himself to his unshaken kindness. If cruelty took his mom, he would do anything in his power to counter that.
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atlaswav · 5 months ago
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EMPYREAN ☾
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INFO: 4385 words, dr ratio x gn!reader, college au SYNOPSIS: Art is the practice of capturing life in still motion, and yet Dr Ratio can never seem to capture your beauty in its entirety in his sketches. His waking thoughts are clouded by images of you, the bane of his existence. He hates it, but can't resist. The Gods - if there are any - are cruel. WARNINGS: none! for once! except attempted kiss. AUTHOR'S NOTE: my head hurts so bad rn and i need sleep but there were thoughts in my mind. also i think its really boring lowkey but hey! i said i'd publish something by sunday! also i think his characterisation is really off today but oh well.
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Divinity wasn’t real. There were no real Gods, they didn’t exist – couldn’t. Science proved such. Miracles were situations of insurmountable luck, and no one’s fate was “ordained” like astrology maniacs liked to think. 
But when Icarus fell from the great skies of myth, reaching for the sun and Gods and the heavens beyond, Veritas Ratio was sure that the gnawing terror and morbid awe that seized that man at the sight below was familiar to him. That sprawling city touched by the sublime sun, smiled upon with the benevolent God peering through the clouds whose gaze melted fragile wax. 
He was sure that that fear and unprecedented awe was the same as when he first glimpsed you. 
His fall, however, wasn’t graceful or worthy of any legend. 
“Oh– you alright?” 
“My apologies, I–” he glanced up, leaning down to immediately pick up his sketchbook which had fallen to the ground, then he froze. 
“...Are you okay?”
This, he wasn’t certain. You helped him gather his supplies again, and he thought he’d never see you again – there were so many buildings and so many classes, why would he? But as if fate was stringing him along, he wound up sitting next to you for his art studies class. The class he convinced himself he needed to take for a proper education.
Icarus’ fall was met with swift demise, and he was so sure that he would too. But who was he to compare himself to legends? Even still, why else would he be stricken by the malady of your existence, if you weren’t some overwhelming beauty that his greed desired to capture? 
Art, however, could not capture life as any man would like. It could never catch the way light reflected in the eyes, illuminating the soul. Neither the delicate intricacies of a smile, a twitch of muscle, a beating of a butterfly’s wings, the delicacy of life.
Try as one might, however, Dr Ratio aimed to do this, anyway. Charcoal was his chosen medium, pervading clean paper, marking intent, focus and desperation. 
He remembered you casting him a smile before seating yourself beside him, and all his doubts in taking the art course dissipated from his mind – despite your literal run in moments before. 
You became immersed in the artwork at your fingertips as the professor chirped about something he should’ve probably been attentive to, but to him, it was now entirely meaningless. Your cheeks lifted when you smiled, creasing the corners of your eyes. Your hair fell over your face in graceful lines that framed your features, and your hands moved with such gentle dexterity that he yearned to capture them in his drawings. Your eyes narrowed in the slightest as your brush met the canvas, mouth agape with your fixation on your art. 
The charcoal snapped, and Veritas Ratio likewise snapped from his immersion, frowning at the dark lines that marred the page. 
In his sketch, your eyes were obscured by a wall of smudged black ash instead of the curtain of hair that covered your features. Ratio sighed, leaning back from the desk. Your eyes were now downcast on your palette as you mixed paints. 
There was a divinity in you that he yearned to capture, like sunlight in a jar. Futile, but with noble intention, he swore to himself. 
Then, there were more classes. More days that passed, more instances where he observed your habits, your artwork that had you enrapt, just as he imagined his own perverse captivation with you. There were more charcoal sketches in sketchbooks that never saw the light of day, ones where your smile was too wide, didn’t meet your eyes, or didn’t carry the exact expression that yours projected. 
Art could never imitate life – Veritas was simply mortal. But mortals could always dream of something divine.
There were times where he left the classroom for a moment, and he feared you might glance over at his sketchbook to see the hundreds of sketches of yourself. Smiling and frowning and focused, the end of your paintbrush sitting absently between your lips, your gaze cast to the side, small splatters of paint smudged under your eyes and on your fingers. It was unsettling. He knew it himself. There had to be an extent to his observation when it became invasive, yet he feared losing your presence without ever capturing it in still motion. 
This is when a man grows desperate. 
“May I draw you?”
“...draw me?” you glanced towards him, reluctantly tearing your gaze from your own work. “Why?”
“A study.”
You smiled a half smile. An expression that he was familiar with, given that you were already halfway through the semester. Still, there was nothing to your encounters but smiles of courtesy and niceties (he’d never admit that he so desired more).
“Sure. Show it to me later.”
Now, Dr Ratio discovers, there are few things that may disturb a man’s endeavours when he is enrapt in his studies. None of which affected Veritas in the slightest as his charcoal became dust on his fingers and he clicked his tongue at the material’s reluctance to bend at his will. 
None of which can successfully capture the being that is you, and he isn’t sure he wants to, anymore. Art isn’t made for the eyes of greed, it’s made for the soul that yearns for the cure of the senses. Or so the greats all say, but he thinks he cannot be one of them. He couldn’t imitate life, he was versed in the calculations of life instead. 
Caught in his thoughts, he taps his – new – stick of charcoal on the edge of the drawing pad, frowning at the new sketch he was pondering. 
“You’re really good.” your voice echoes from behind him. 
He turns abruptly to find you standing behind him, head tilted as you examine his sketches. Your nose scrunches the tiniest bit, and your eyes crinkle with a hint of mirth.
“Does my nose really look like that?”
“Of course.”
You laugh at his blunt reply. “Can I see your other drawings?”
There are over seven thousand languages that still exist in the world, and Veritas Ratio cannot think of a better, more dire way to say no than to agree completely. 
“Of course.” He flips through his sketchbook quietly, letting you glimpse his insanity. You were making him lose his mind, really. He watches your expression – how your eyes widen, your lips part, your brows furrow. 
“Did you do all of this since the last lesson?”
No, but he wouldn’t say that – 
“No, I've been studying you for a while.”
– Or maybe he would. 
Your laugh is another divine thing that he wishes he can capture. “Oh God, I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. You make a good muse.” 
“Do I?”
He nods, biting his tongue. He doesn’t want to incriminate himself any further than he already has, and he’s already become a stalker to you. 
“Is that a compliment?”
“Yes. Undoubtedly.” 
“Consider me flattered, then…” 
“Dr Ratio. Veritas. Veritas Ratio.”
“...Veritas.” 
He loves the way your lips mouth his name. He’d never say it to your face, though. This, at least, would die with him. 
“Well, thank you. You may return to your painting.”
You huff a laugh. “So formal. I’m nearly done, so I don’t really have anything urgent to worry about. Meanwhile you…”
He’s inclined to agree. The professor was checking everyone’s progress the next lesson, and he still hadn’t grasped what he thought to have been perfect. 
“Ah. Right.”
“Do you want me to like… pose for you or something?”
He hesitates. Why? He doesn’t know. Maybe something about morality and art and the truth, but he doesn’t care anymore. “That… would be ideal.”
“Alright, but you’ll owe me as well. Deal?”
This is how Veritas Ratio finds himself pacing his apartment, fixing his hair in the mirror, dusting the tops of the bookshelves that line the walls and polishing the kitchen counter so that each surface is devoid of any evidence of his own guilty conscience. 
His anxieties were immediately multiplied hundredfold when you knocked. He waited a couple of seconds – to not seem too desperate, with his heart racing out of his chest – then finally opened the door. 
You stood there, smiling with such casual ease that he found himself wanting to know everything about you. 
It was absurd. 
A tiny, suppressed part of him welcomed it. 
“Hey, Veritas,” 
There it was again, the unfamiliar way you said his name, smile widening. He decided against a verbal reply, instead nodding and guiding you into his living room. 
“You’re so… clean.” you glanced about the apartment, marvelling at how almost every surface had a shine to it. But it made sense, once you saw him sitting at the couch, already observing you with the unshakeable gaze you’d felt since that first class. 
You weren’t entirely oblivious to his stare, just as you weren’t unobservant with the way his cheeks dusted with pink the day before – and today, it seemed – as he made eye contact. 
You smiled, and watched him blink a couple of times before turning away with a cleared throat. 
“Yes. I can’t stand a mess of any sort.”
“Figured.” you shrugged, standing next to him. “So, where do you want to start? What should I do?”
He hesitated for a second before directing you to the armchair across from him. “Just sit there for now. We’ll start here.”
You complied, allowing him to hurriedly arrange the folds of your clothes and angle of your limbs with fleeting touches. 
He appeared nervous, but it was endearing. 
Minutes pass by in silence, faint scratching of charcoal on paper filling the space between you. The sunset’s light poured in through the balcony behind you, casting a dramatic shadow over the armchair. Purple, orange, yellow – you wondered if that scrutinising look he gave you was disapproval or awe. There was no way of telling, with his complex set of facial-expressions. 
But interpreting him through guesses wasn’t how you envisioned this would play out. 
You cleared your throat, but he didn't glance up. He held the sketchbook up next to you, but quickly returned to the page, making harsh lines across the page. 
“So… Veritas?”
His head snapped up, stray strands of violet hair splayed across his forehead. “Yes?”
“Why did you take art?”
His eyes narrowed on you. Examining, maybe. “I felt as if I needed to. For a well rounded study, of course.”
You laughed. “Of course you did.”
At this, he paused. “What do you mean by this?”
“Your reputation on campus. You have… what, four degrees? You’re famous.”
He bit the inside of his cheek, never putting down the charcoal, but tapping it against his fingers instead. “Oh? What else have you heard?”
“Well, they say you’re insanely smart, but you’re also pretentious.”
He frowned. The way his brows scrunched was endearing. “I’m not pretentious. Everyone else is simply far underqualified.”
“They also say that you’re an elitist.” you laughed. 
Concern only grew on his expression. “Do you think this of me?”
You shrugged. “I’m yet to form an opinion.”
He nodded. “Good. Wise.” he said, almost as if reassuring himself. 
“...How long will this be, though? I can only sit still for so long.”
He blinked, turning to the sketchpad again. “Not too long. I promise.”
“Can we go out to dinner, afterwards?” 
At this, he choked. You stifled a laugh at the renewed blush on his cheeks. 
“Dinner? Why?”
“You owe me, don’t you?”
This is when he realises that he was a fool in allowing you in, to allow the muse of his most divine visions to become human. 
He’s greedy, though. No one and nothing can change this. He wanted more of you. He wanted to hear each thought that crossed your mind and know each little item that occupied your attention. He wanted to dissect your mind and examine your memories and behaviours like an insect splayed under a glass, and he wanted to understand you so well that he became sick with the thought of you. But in his mind, you could do no wrong. You were so divine; with your secret smiles that held secret thoughts, and knowing glances that examined his frame with an artist’s scrutinising eye. 
“Fine. Just let me finish up.”
So you stay put, and you return to the thick silence that envelops the room. The clock ticking above the armchair only taunts you as your limbs begin to ache from lack of movement. 
Scratching on paper, huffs of exasperation, the occasional tearing of a page, and he finally sighs, rising from the couch. The sun had long since set, only remnants of daylight still lingering on the sky’s deep blue. The light was gone. You wondered if he’d captured the sun in his drawing, as well. 
“It’s done. Not good as the professor would like, but it will do for now.” he said, running a hand – dusted with black – through his hair. His forehead was coated in splotches of black thumb prints. 
You similarly rose from the armchair, stretching, and walked over to the drawing on the coffee table. 
You didn’t realise this was how you looked to him. Your features were only emphasised in the dramatics of the sunset, the slight turn of your lips and curve of your cheekbones accentuated with the shadows. He’d taken artistic liberty, you realised, in painting you within the sun’s dying light. 
You almost looked divine. 
“Holy shit.”
“Does that hold a negative connotation?”
“Veritas, you’re crazy.”
“...negative?”
“It’s so…” you met his gaze which was already searching yours for a reaction. “It’s brilliant. It’s so, so good.”
His shoulders relaxed as he sighed. “Good. Let’s go to dinner, then.” he turns to leave, but you stop him, grabbing his arm. You found that it was hard as chiselled marble, and almost want to find out exactly what’s underneath, but you dismiss the thought. 
“You have something on your forehead.” you point. 
He frowned, rubbing his forehead with the same hand that had been gripping the charcoal for the past hour. Smudged it even further. His forehead was thinly coated in black ash.
You sighed. “Here, let me.” 
He leaned down for you to wipe the stains, hair hanging over his eyes. He smelled faintly of the library with its old books, and partly of ink with something deeper. His eyes darted around to meet anything but your gaze, long lashes fluttering, crimson red eyes matching the shade of his complexion. 
You make him nervous, you confirm with delight. 
“There. That’s the most of it.” you withdrew, and he stood back up quicker than you thought possible. 
“Alright, dinner, then.” 
“Dinner.”
“I’ll go and… wash up.”
“Don’t keep me waiting.”
He realised how much he was doomed as the sky started to pour with rain, just as the two of you stepped outdoors, beyond his apartment complex. 
“How far is the place you wanted to go?” he asked you.
“Not too far. Let’s just keep walking.”
He shrugged, falling into step beside you. His steps were terrifyingly large, as would make sense with his tall frame. 
“So what are your interests?” he blurts out, staring at the ground as he walks. 
“Well, art, obviously,”
“Yes, of course, do you think I’m dense?”
“Maybe a little.” 
“I will interpret that as sarcasm.”
You laugh, and as if the heavens had heard you, the rain began to fall heavier, darkening the landscape, tingeing the air with smells of petrichor and a cold that wasn’t there before. 
Ratio thought it was ironic. A pathetic fallacy of his doomed fate. 
“You have to be kidding me.”
He sighed, massaging his temples with his fingers. “We are unfortuitous.”
“...You could’ve said unlucky.”
“I choose not to associate myself with idiots.”
You chuckle as you attempt to cover your head with your arms, running to the nearest block for shelter. The rain, however, doesn’t desist. It continues to pour until you’re both soaked through – his hair soaking wet, sticking to his forehead, white shirt clinging to his carved abdomen that you desperately try to avoid looking at. 
“Should we just go back?” you move your hair out of your eyes, squinting in the relentless downpour. Through the slight shelter of the building behind you two, the rain pours heavy as ever, unlikely to cease soon. 
“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion.”
“...Why didn’t you offer it first?”
Because he thought you looked good in the rain with wet hair. He wanted to remember the image – burn it into his eyelids – before he returned to sketch it. Number of things he’d never say aloud: two.
“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion yourself.”
“Pretentious.”
“Thank you. Now can we hurry? It’s only getting heavier.”
His situation, ironically, then becomes even more perilous. A series of unfortunate events, unfolding like a train of misfortunes. First, your meeting – strikingly uncomfortable for both of you, he imagined (it certainly was for him) – then your failed attempt at dinner, interrupted by an unforgiving rain storm. He didn’t think it could get much worse. But there was always room for improvement, as he knows better than anyone, the academic that he is. 
There are, now, puddles of water throughout Dr Ratio’s apartment that he hadn’t bothered to clean since you got into his shower.
You, in his shower. 
He wonders if there is a God, somewhere out there, delighting in his torment. It was never supposed to devolve into such interactions, only observing you long enough to capture your beauty on the page. 
He wonders if you know he is thinking about you often as he does. Thinks you’d be completely repulsed by him. This is what frightens him. 
“Veritas?” your voice echoes from within the house. 
He gets up from where he’s sitting in a puddle near the kitchen, racing to the bathroom at your call. Did he manage to miss something incriminating in his bathroom? He’d made sure that every surface was bare before you entered, had he not?
“Yes?”
“...This is embarrassing. Can you please get me a towel?” 
This felt like one of those cliches in romantic comedies that Ratio’s colleagues liked to watch. Mindless scenes of dry humour and burlesque attempts at “comedy” he found appalling. It was happening to him, now. Spiting his academic rigidity. 
“Of course. One moment.”
He tries not to think about you, standing completely bare behind the door, as he sticks a hand into the bathroom, head turned away. If you looked closer, you’d have seen the bright red shade of his ears – but to his merit, you take the towel, shutting the door, a muffled “thank you” audible through the door. 
He sighs, sitting on the floor beside the bathroom. 
Whatever Gods there were, were bestowing great suffering on him today. 
It takes a couple minutes for you to finish up in the bathroom. Another few more for him to wash up, and another handful of minutes for you both to be seated on the couch together in awkward silence. 
You wear one of Ratio’s old shirts and shorts, scrolling on your phone, and he is sitting, arms crossed, on the opposite end of the couch, staring at you again. Outside, the rain still pours in unceasing rivulets, dissipating any ideas for going out for dinner. 
He thinks his clothes look far better on you than on him. Thinks that you were made for this world and its inhabitants, crafted so perfectly. Wonders what wouldn’t suit your wear, because he can’t imagine anything that you couldn’t look good in. 
“Okay,” you say, turning off your phone to stare back at him, “I ordered. Should be here in about ten minutes.” 
He nods, and averts his gaze. 
You smile. His behaviour is amusing.  
“Veritas?”
“Yes?”
“What are your greatest fears?”
“Excuse me?”
You shuffle closer, and he notes a glint in your eye that suggests mischief. Teasing, as he’d seen before. “What are you afraid of? Like, the dark?”
“Nothing.”
“Boring. Come on, there’s gotta be something.” 
He frowns, brows bunching together as he stares at the wall. An easy, natural habit. “Nothing. Fear is irrational.”
“Right.” you laugh at his blatant refusal to cooperate with you. 
“Am I being funny?”
“No,”
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because you’re being so… unexpectedly childish.”
“What?” he seems to prickle up with indignation. “What do you mean?”
“Your stubbornness to just answer my question, and the way you’re…” you gesture to his posture, the way his arms are folded and he glares at the wall. “Behaving. It’s childish.”
“Well, what are you afraid of? Nothing, right? It’s a stupid question.”
“I’m afraid of insects, the dark, I could go on, really,”
Veritas glares at you, meeting your eyes for a second. “Fear is stupid.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you scared of holding eye contact?”
At this, he blinks. He turns to face you, still frowning, but his gaze flickers between your eyes and the rest of your face. Your laugh only makes him roll his eyes. 
“You really can’t hold eye contact, can you?” you say through a fit of giggles. “Have you ever dated?”
“Yes, I can hold eye contact,” – but not with you, it seemed. You intimidated him – “And no, I haven’t, it’s a distraction.”
“From what I’m seeing, you can barely even be near me without blushing.”
He blushes, breathing a sigh of exasperation. 
“Dr Veritas Ratio’s one fear is making eye–”
Then he grabs your shoulders, forcing you closer, and holds your gaze with such intensity that the words disappear from your lips. You blink as his stare bores into yours, crimson eyes deep, shining with something unfamiliar to you that you realise you want to decipher. 
People like to say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and Veritas Ratio’s was ridden with something that burned like the sun's dying light. 
It’s then that you realise how close you are to him, how his firm grip on your shoulders softens and his touch drifts to hover above your jaw, how he smelled so inviting, familiar and distant all at once, and how his lips were slightly parted, how they looked so soft –
Knocking, at the front door. 
You both tear away, and he stumbles to the front door to collect your delivery. 
You never regret anything more than this moment. 
“Delivery.”
You nod, obscuring your face with your hair as he sets down your meal on the coffee table. 
You’re both back to silence, pleasantries and common niceties as the meal passes. 
Neither of you meet the other’s eye. 
Time ticks away as you finish your food and clean up, wiled away by carefully weighed words and half-met glances. 
He hates it. 
He hates how you were looking at him with such curiosity, and he hates how he let you tease him. He also hates the delivery man for not being delayed by the rain, but he also hates himself for not ignoring the knocks on his front door. 
“I think I should go now.”
Yes, that would be best. “Why? It’s still raining, you could stay.”
“Well…”
He knows your dorm is far from his apartment complex. He knows that you’ll have to trek through the rain, and yet he also knows that if you stay, he won't be able to sleep. He still has images of you – fresh in his mind – to sketch onto the page. 
“It’s no trouble.”
“Okay. I’ll stay the night.”
“You can sleep in my room.”
“But–”
“Don’t argue.”
Somehow, you’re inclined to do as he says. 
Time, like all things, passes too quickly and too slowly all at once. Without time, nothing exists, but with it, it’s all too agonising to live through. 
This is exactly how Dr Ratio feels as he sits at the coffee table, the small space dimly illuminated by a lamp, as the entire apartment is still. You’re probably sleeping, as he reminds himself, tearing another page out of his sketchbook, unsatisfied with his own hand. 
The rain was now tame, a steady rhythm to his never-ending endeavours to capture your beauty on the page. 
Maybe it’s when the charcoal snaps in his hands, or maybe it’s when his lamplight flickers that he decides that capturing life in still motion is helpless – a pointless and impossible venture that can never succeed. 
You’re too deific to fit into a world of his creation. 
What are supposed to be your eyes – painted with fervour, but lacking depth – stare up into the ceiling as he dozes off, charcoal falling from his hand, eyes drooping closed. Slivers of moonlight cut across your painted face as he slumps onto the table, snoring softly.
You wake to sunlight in your eyes, blinding and harsh, and realise where you are. 
It all smells like him – that scent that you can’t place that smells good, and a lingering smell of the library with all its papers. It all smells like him, and when you walk into the living room, you find that his own apartment is completely devoid of any sense of himself. 
But when you find him slumped at the coffee table, lamplight still illuminating the space with its curtains drawn and rays of sunlight peering through, he’s obsessed with you. 
You’re unsure what, exactly, to feel. There are abandoned pages scattered all throughout the space, and unfurling one, you recognise your own face staring back at you. 
Each and every drawing is of you – your hair wet, clinging to your skin, you drowning in his clothes far too large for you, or your face painted with curiosity and entrapment. 
It’s you through Veritas’ gaze, and you think that beyond all else, he made you look divine. 
When Veritas Ratio wakes to his papers – all wrinkled and partly torn – sitting in front of him, neatly arranged with a note on top, realisation hits him, but he can only laugh. 
“Veritas Ratio’s greatest fear: eye contact with the person he’s obsessed with. Completely irrational – even though he can draw me perfectly from memory. A shame, really. Looks like you’ll have to invite me over to pose for you again.
So you can get my eyes right, of course.”
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written by @atlaswav , published 26th of August 2024
163 notes · View notes
h5eavenly · 7 months ago
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blank canvas — park sunghoon. ➢ one - run your hands over me. ➢ mlist.
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— when black and white sorrows loom on your life park sunghoon - a man with a cruel heart and destructive hands manages to color your days with splashes of rainbow. at least at first. wc: 17k
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'They say there are two types of people in this world. The type to have big dreams, ambition. Ego so high up enough to touch the clouds but they lack potential. They think of themselves higher than they actually are. Then there's the second type of people. The ones with potential to rule the world. Get anything they can but they lack the desire, the drive–'
You feel a tap on your shoulder purloining your attention away from the broadcast reverberating through your ears, you take one of your earbuds out. Facing the person who just touched you. It’s an old lady, with thinning gray and a freight of years upon years accumulating in the wrinkles gracing her face.
“Oh my!” she speaks with as much enthusiasm as age in her face “you’re absolutely beautiful sweetheart!” adulation flow from between her lips as easy as the droplets of rain falling from the sky, it has your cheeks marring in red with embarrassment.
“Thank you.” you reply, tone laced with transparent diffidence, enough for her palm to cup your cheek in mystifying warmth. It’s in the heat radiating off her hand, in contrast with the freezing weather.
Adoration colors her gaze as if you were truly the most appealing looking person she had to pleasure to witness in a while, and you could only duck your head in bashfulness. Burying it in the heat of your scarf as she coos over you.
"Ah!" The old lady speaks up, eyes widening as she brings her palm to her lips as if she just remembered what she came here to say in the first place "I think you missed the last bus already." A frown climbs its way up over features, taking over the redness adorning your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you check your phone for the time.
4:35 pm
31st December
"It's not even 6 yet." You mutter. More to yourself but she catches it "I guess they're cutting them short because of the rain." You make a sound of comprehension. Eyes fliting to the graying skies, it has been raining heavily for the last two hours and you have been so immersed in your broadcast, you only realize now that you’ve been waiting at the bus ride for close to thirty minutes. The old lady leaves you with a smile sent your way, doused in affability akin to the truant sun. As you put your earbuds back on, you suck in a deep breath.
Inculcating yourself for what’s about to come, using your bag as leverage to shield yourself from the rain, you hold it above your head as you start running out of the bus stop.
'– But you know? There is a third type of people. That is hidden. Vaguely, we know of them. We know they exist but we're hardly aware of them. Even though they're the most destructive. Those type of people that take everything they want in sight, it doesn’t matter if they worked hard for it. If they had potential, if they thought lowly or highly of themselves. They consume everything they get their hands on. Even humans–'
You huff with overflowing exasperation, turning off the dumb podcast and shoving your phone in your pocket. Your attempts at being productive and listening to something that could feed your soul have failed miserably by now. More so it doesn't seem like you'll be able to get to work in this kind of weather. You blame it on the fact that you don’t own a tv - Or truthfully you own one. It's an old rusty thing that you stole from your grandma's house before moving. It barely works so how were you supposed to know such cruel weather was waiting to unfold?
Or at least those are the excuses you feed your brain as you stumble in the closest building that comes to view, droplets of water trickle down the side of your face as you look around. Turns out bags does little to zero coverage from rain.
With another look around, you realize you had walked into an old museum, with the rain remaining unforgiving with the way it pours you decide to take a stroll around the neglected building. Barely hanging on by the few devoted people who probably deemed this place cozy enough to call it comfort. pausing for no longer than a minute on some of the gold and silver artifacts probably turned in by struggling artists. There’s a layer of dust collecting on some of the pieces, albeit your lack of understanding for art - the closest you’ve been to art was when in elementary school, drawing with crayons and showing it to your parents. Seeking praises, you never actually got- the sight of abandonment sheathing this place throws you into commiseration for it.
You would have believed this museum was forsaken if not for the employee chewing his gum in the corner and scrolling through his phone mindlessly.
You amble your way through a couple of paintings, pausing by a few to scour through your brain for your own elucidation that is probably nowhere near what it means. You linger by one that seems to seize your fascination for longer than the preceding ones.
Your eyes flicked across it, it was a painting of a woman’s naked body that’s facing away, with deeper and lighter hues of flesh, her face was ablaze with shades of flames. For a quaint reason it stirs a sense of disturbance within you. holding your gaze captive in an unsettling matter yet you can’t pinpoint why.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" An audible gasp slips past your lips, snapping you out of a daze and has you jolting in surprise.
Your eyes shift, flitting to whoever spoke to you and in mere moments you’re rendered mute. Every single word flees your mind leaving it blank. As you behold the embodiment of the snow on a human’s skin, the darkness of the night in his hair every single piece of art in this building dims in comparison.
You marvel at a beauty that feels so implausible to belong to a mortal.
“I wouldn’t know.” You clear your throat.
The stranger – clad in everything black from head to toe with faultlessly styled hair only tilts his head at you, something parallel to curiosity flourishes in his eyes, taking a few steps to close the distance between you two.
“How come?” His voice is low, like the feeling of a cool breeze dawdling past you amidst summer. His words dripping with softness, akin to the scent invading your space. Something heady and sweet yet you can’t seem to put your finger on what does he exactly smell like.
“I don’t understand art enough to appraisal it.” You reply, your eyes shifting back to the painting.
“Who says you need to understand art to form an opinion on it?” He asks and you swallow around nothing, eyes fleeting to his- they’re almost as dark as his hair- for a second only to find him already staring at you. The right side of your face burns with his intensity.
“I just think it’s a little ridiculous for someone ignorant like me to say anything about someone’s hard work.”
“But we all view things differently, no? We all have our different version of the world. It doesn’t take away from anyone’s hard work.” He responds and surely it is more than enough for you to consider his words, finding candour in them. You eye the painting meticulously.
“I think it’s sad.” You say after a while, slicing into the thick silence and from the corner of your eye, you see him turning to face the piece of art as well.
“Why do you think so?”
“It almost as if your thoughts are too overbearing to the point where they take over you. and then before you realize it you lost sight of yourself.”
An eerie silence fills the space between you, it stretches long enough to have you growing unnerved. You wonder if your thoughts are comical to voice. Maybe you just embarrassed yourself in front of the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Stealing a glance at him only to find his gaze already set on you yet again, the same sense of disturbance crawls over you once again, your heart starts beating rapidly.
“That’s interesting.”
“You don’t think it’s stupid?” You breathe out and his brows raise slightly upwards in what seems to be astonishment, it is the first display of emotions he unveils.
“Your words? Not at all.”
“Even though you found it beautiful and yet I can’t seem to find the same beauty in it?”
There’s a pause in the space between you two, his eyes prance over your features, and you fall into the same confusing haze as to why your heart starts picking up speed, as if tranced you cannot seem to look away from him. Your cheeks glow pink under the deliberation of his stare.
“We all have different versions of the world. It’s only fair we find beauty in contradictory aspects.”
You fail to find words to push out, stumbling into another silence. You find enough blame to place on the way he makes you feel, somehow you don’t feel the apprehensiveness that usually comes upon meeting strangers for the first time, instead it feels like finally stumbling upon a piece of paper you have lost track of a long time ago.
It’s uncanny, you and his harrowing glances that cut through you as if he knows the contents of your mind, as if he sees you.
“Do you think you’re beautiful?” he asks and you almost scoff at how ludicrous his question is, looking at him only to realize the seriousness clinging to his features. Pushing you further into confusion.
“I’m not sure what I think.” You say, softly. and his lips tilt upwards with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“How peculiar.” You don’t get to ask him what he means before he’s speaking again “You’re prettier than any of the paintings hanged on these walls.”
Your breath catches in your throat, your heart beats as if a hundred birds are trapped inside and they’re dying to be set free. Woven with unfathomable desolation.
You have always lacked resilience, a few words of adulation are more than enough to have you melting, there’s ample room in your heart to take claim over the sweet words, for your eyes to soften.
Yet you deem yourself demented with groundless thoughts provoked by him.
Your encounter with the man lingers in your head yet more than anything his eyes stay with you the longest.
They looked so empty.
"Good evening sweetheart." the sweet tone of none other than Yang Taeyeon rings in your ears and through the small store with familiarity, forcing a smile upon your face that was inundated with fatigue mere moments ago.
 A mother with two children who has been coming to this small store ever since you could remember. A week doesn't pass without her stopping by. Sometimes to buy bandages for her acholic husband who loves getting into fights. Other times she's buying necessities with the little money she could keep from her three jobs. Her life is another sorrowful story that’s twined into the streets of this neighborhood.
"Hello, how are you doing today?" you ask, tone gentle and polite as you help her empty her basket.
"I'm good darling. How have you been? You're looking a little pale." She responds, eyes etched with worry as they rack over your face.
Worry. It’s an emotion you’re so accustomed to getting by now. However, with her It's more than just petty wrapped with worry. She’s the third person to have told you today and your smile only ceases to flatter for a moment.
Truth is sleep hasn’t found home in you for a couple of days now. It’s a proclaimed miracle If you manage to get three hours of sleep that isn’t disturbed by unsettling nightmares. You’d like to blame that damned painting. It only started after your visit to that shitty museum.
You start scanning her things from canned beans to random bags of chips that are probably for her kids, you try to make it quick guessing she's probably rushing somewhere after this. It's how she always is.
"Yes, I've been very we–" you’re cut off by her worn out hand circling your wrist stopping your movement and when you look at her, questioning. She wears a deeper distressed expression.
"Oh my. You have grown so weak. Have you been eating, at all?" This time your smile crumbles, and you don’t react fast enough to keep it.
"I am very healthy don't worry. Exams season just ended so perhaps that's why." You reply with practiced excuses flying your mouth, you hope it’s big enough of a barrier for her not to notice the trembling of your lips.
Freeing your hand gently from her grip and resuming your work, you hope she doesn’t notice the pitiable fragility of a human that still coats you, your words are always colored in loneliness and an imbecilic need for someone to ask, to care. You miss the way her eyes linger on you in exactly that.
"You can have this." She tells you after you helped her put all her groceries into bags. Extending her hand out to you with a homemade sandwich in it. A warm smile sent your way is enough to have you vacillating.
Wondering how she manages to stay as warm as summer despite the number of betrayals she has been through, pain cladding every atom of her being and yet she manages to still be so kind. Alongside your perplexity, an odious feeling of envy blooms within you.
How lucky her children are. To have such a warm-hearted mother.
"I'm fine," you wave your hand dismissively "Please do not worry yourself-" you don’t even get to finish before Taeyeon is shoving the sandwich into your palms. Refusing to take no as answer.
"Thank you for everything, sweetheart." With another warm smile, she packs her four bags of groceries and leaves.
Perhaps you’ve had a rough week, the walls of your apartment have added a magnitude weight to your already dreadful despondency, as you stare down at the sandwich in your hands an uncanny urge clamber over you. To get out of here. To quit this stupid job, quit school. You were never lucky, but if you could get away, somewhere far away or maybe not even that far.
Maybe you could stop by the sea and cry your eyes out for a while. Spill your agony to the waves and abandon all your burdens into the unknown.
And maybe then just then you could be reborn as a different person. Was it a foolish yearning to have? To be someone else, someone who’s not this being seared with indelible scars?
Your questions, as always, stay unanswered as you pack the sandwich away and continue going through the dreadful hours of your shift.
It's when the clocks hit 10:30 pm that your stomach starts rumbling in hunger. A light humming noise fills the store as you plopped your sandwich into the microwave. Your fingers drumming against the counter as you look out the glass. Your eyes dance across the empty streets. It’s usually super slow at this time of the night, the store empty of customers and darkness fills the neighborhood. Streetlights flickering on and off, remaining brushed aside, not worthy enough to be fixed.
On
Off
On
Off
On.
A figure materializes on the sidewalk, as if they emerged from utter nothingness or magically brought forth from darkness, blending in with the night clad in black from head to toe. The drumming of your hand pauses, you can barely see anything from the distance, yet a daunting emotion slithers down your spine, evoking a shiver from you as if the person is looking straight at you.
You wait, brows furrowing together as unspecified anxiety manifests within you, working at a small convince store in one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city have made you tolerant of such disquiet. So, waiting for danger to unravel is more of a habit now. It’s only natural that you linger with unwavering gaze on the figure, with hope for them to do anything and help deny the looming thoughts that they're looking at you.
Beep Beep Beep!
Your body jolts in surprise, hand shooting to your heart in panic to calm the increasing speed, you turn to face the microwave.
 'I'm imagining things' you keep repeating to yourself.
The sandwich is still semi cold, so you start the microwave again giving it another ten more seconds.
The figure across the street has not moved an inch when you turn to face them once again. Telling yourself you’re being paranoid. That the enervation of the week is probably catching up to you, alongside your cruel nightmares, it’s added fuel to your anxiety. So, you try to ignore it, trying your best to act normally. Chewing on your sandwich once it’s done, forcing your eyes to focus on the screen small tv hung up in the corner, trying to find your interest in the news despite your mind protesting.
in a somber irony the news are talking about two gruesome crimes that the police believe are linked together, with anarchic deliberation you manage to catch a couple of things that are being said, something about dismembering body parts. With a swallow you turn the tv off with too much of a force.
Instinctively your eyes travel back to the sidewalk, the light flickers on to life and the figure is still there. A chill has the hairs on your arms arising, somehow the panic in you is amplified sending your fingers into a tremble. Your eyes flit to the clock hang on the wall for a second, it’s five more minutes until your shift ends and this person won’t move.
You grow agitated, chewing on your nails as you look back at the figure. And you watch, from a distance as they slowly raise their hand, your heart hammers against your chest, crippling anxiety taking over you when the person holds their palm up and then, they wave. Tilting their head to the side.
“What the fuck?” you mutter, legs shaking with actual fear at the realization that you were not imagining things. They were looking at you all along and now they’re fucking waving at you.
Oh my god they’re waving at you.
Amidst your raising perturbation, you grasp that you need to do something. You don’t feel safe and calling the police is the first option that comes to mind but what would you even say? There’s a weird person waving at me from across the street? And knowing the time that they would take to come to such a disreputable neighborhood? You’d be dead by then.
Maybe you should call someone. One of your friends? Someone can come and pick you up. But what if they take too long? The what ifs are almost endless as they come to your mind like crashing waves. You’re fully panicked now, chewing on your nails ferociously.
You look back at the figure, gaze hardened into a glare despite your petrified state. In your mind it might be enough to scare them away. A big truck passes by, beeping its horn and blocking your vision from the sidewalk. You wait for it to pass, as soon as the street comes back in view it's empty. The figure is nowhere to be seen. It's like they disappeared with the truck or with the wind. You blink multiple times, as if your mind had started playing tricks on you and yet the streets remains empty.
What the fuck
With shaky legs you grab the bat the store owner had placed for you -just in case things got rough one day- he had told you.
You walk out of the store, crossing the street with a jog, right to where the person was standing. The streetlight flickers for a split second on and off. Only enough for you to notice the small pool of liquid on the ground but it's too dark to tell exactly what it is. You squat down, placing the bat next to your feet. With furrowed brows your curiosity drives you to touch it with your finger. Bringing it to your nose, you grimace at the strong smell of metal.
A whirlwind of images flashes in your mind at an agonizingly familiar scent.
The light flickers back on and your eyes widen. Your stomach starts turning and turning in nausea, you feel the sandwich you just had come up. Bringing your palm right upon your mouth with a wrinkled nose, you attempt to push the feeling away. But your body shakes violently and you’re about to throw up.
It was blood.
You are panting, tears cling to your eyelashes in plaintive attempts to keep pieces of you together. As if you’re gonna end up falling apart if just one slips. You’re leaning your head against the wall, the cold bathroom floor makes your body shake, or perhaps it's because you just threw up violently not even two minutes ago. Your stomach aches in horrible pain, throat dry.
You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to simmer down your shaking. before reaching in your pocket for your phone. Scrolling through your contacts you stop at the name you were looking for. Immediately pressing the call button, you wait.
"yn?" His voice comes like waves of comfort washing over your body. For a mere moment, you’re okay. Breath’s steadier, they flow through your body easier now.
 "Jaeyun," your voice is groggy, a giveaway of your distress that you cannot be witnessed with. Clearing your throat, you attempt to speak again "Can you p-please pick me up? I just finished work-"
you hear shuffling on other line, the sound of sheets being tossed like he's getting out of bed and culpability stirs within you. Knowing he was probably sleeping, and your call had woken him up.
"Are you okay?" He asks, voice heavy with sleep and you suck a deep breath in. contemplating on how to exactly answer him. Jaeyun was one of the few people you never seem to hide from. The truth spills from your mouth involuntarily.
"I'm okay," you attempt to reassure him "B-but please can you pick me up?" you ask, tone low with heedless reluctance.
You hear more shuffling on the other line, the sound of Jaeyun getting dressed and your heart is cradled with warmth at his unyielding care. With no questions directed at the obvious shakiness in your voice.
“I’m on the way yn, alright?” your tears come back faster than you anticipated, it has you biting on your quivering lower lip “alright? Need to hear you say it yn.” he asks again, and you nod your head ceaselessly.
“Okay.”
As soon as Jaeyun hangs up, you pull your knees to your chest and bury your head in them. Your shoulders hang heavy, as if the freight of the world’s anguishes deliquesces upon your flesh, encumbers them. Your stomach is constricting with pain and the same sickening nausea is building again. You can still smell the blood in your nose, as if you’re drenched in maroon.
The scent always sends you back to the same place, a reoccurring purgatory, where you’re sitting with your head in your knees just like right now. You’re covered in bruises and blood and the very same irritable nausea is evident there too. You’re too feeble, covered in mistakes and the indignation of your parents. Their arguing is a dull noise in the background, tear streaks are an eternal trace upon your cheeks.
You’re reprimanding yourself because you need to patch yourself up, you need to grow up. stop being such a spoiled kid. Just like how your mother always told you. And you try to listen. To obey, you try so hard to be good, you want to be good.
But the smell of metal is unbearable. As if it’s seared on your being, as if it’s a layer of your skin and no matter how many times you wash up, it’s burned into you.
You feel the cut on your knee bleeding, the liquid trickling down your leg.
Blue
Violet
Red
It’s all an interchangeable loop that you cannot seem to break free from, a curse that has been set on you the day you took your first breath in. torment runs through your veins and you’re nothing but a slave with an open chest. Accepting your fate is the only way. It’s in the way it all makes itself known to you, the option of running away, breaking free slips further away with your multiplying tears. It’s in the violent shudders wracking your body as you empty your stomach for the second time.
You sit on the floor of your parents’ dirty old bathroom floor, crying with crippling affliction and bleeding out with declaration of their callousness.
Nothing has seemed to change. Life always finds a way to cackle sardonically at you. You’re an adult now. Nowhere near your parents so how come you keep feeling like you never stepped foot outside that bathroom? How come every waking moment is haunted by the ghosts of your past. They’re vicious, with claws around your throat. The poison had long seeped in.
You cannot escape.
"Yn!" With that familiar voice you’re snapped back to your reality.
You look at the floor beneath you. And it’s dirty- disgusting really but it’s not your parents’ bathroom floor. There are no loud voices or shouting and yelling. There's just the sound of the sink running and It's just you.
You’re not hurt. You’re not a kid.
You make an attempt to stand up. Your body is still feeling a little weak and sluggish. Using the wall to support your weight, you take small steps towards the sink and close the running water. You hear footsteps growing closer and closer. But at this moment in time, you are not panicked. Instead, relief washes over you when the door opens and it's Jaeyun.
With eyes colored in concern he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.
“yn,” he breathes out and you hug him back.
"I'm okay, Jae." You assure despite how your words flow out weak and choppy. Jaeyun squeezes you in his arms tighter.
Almost like you’ve been lost for years, and you’re finally found. You feel the same in a way.
When he pulls back his palms cradle your face gently, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds and when he doesn’t find any, his brows furrow in confusion. You wonder what kind of panic you caused him.
"What happened?” he asks.
"Nothing." You answer, averting your eyes. afraid they will betray your wounds, display that your scars remain on your soul rather than your body.
Jaeyun doesn’t pressure you or ask you for anything further. With a tender smile he nods, because he always knows.
He helps you out the bathroom, hand on your waist in all too similar sentiment. And as he helps you collect your stuff, even closes the store for you, you find yourself being lulled into a comfort that only radiates from him. A too striking familiar of a scene as he helps you into his car, helping you put your seatbelt on with gentle touches, tender glances at your face.
It's all too sweet, a too striking familiar scene of what you guys once had. When you were his and he belonged to you. The world had stilled for a short while. The loop of agony paused, tricking you into a joy that was never meant to last. Because everything that ever belonged to you was only meant to fall apart, you were never foreordained to be a survivor.
You collapse each time, left behind to pick up the fragments of you. Always abandoned.
The drive to your apartment is silent, albeit Jaeyun glances being thrown at you occasionally, you keep yours stuck on the window. Watching as the world passes you by.
"We're here." he declares, coming to a stop in front of your apartment complex. You let out a breath.
"Thank you." you reply, looking at him with a forced practiced smile.
His eyebrows furrow and your smile only stretches wider, futile tries to hide.
"Are you sure you’re okay?" He asks with concern laced in his voice that you turn a blind eye to. You’re starting to feel choked up with the storm of emotions you went through tonight and right now you want nothing but to go inside your apartment, maybe have a good cry then sleep it all away.
"Yes."
You watch with confusion as he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, inching closer to you. Inadvertently you lean back, your back hits the door and when his hand finds your thigh, he squeezes, your body trembles with a slight jump.
“Sorry.” He mummers awkwardly, taking his hand off.
"It's okay. I'm just shaking because it's probably cold outside." You say softly. And his eyes find yours with evident brittle emotions swimming in them.
"yn." He calls for you like he used to. With a voice as sweet as honey and deeper than oceans. You’re taken aback to when there was a sparkle between you, before he burned you with it.
Your eyes fall shut and this time his hand finds your cheek with a caress, you let him. Your heart doesn’t skip beats the same way it used to, in an ironic way it’s only a reminder of the ashes left between you two. You feel his breath hit your face, and when you open your eyes, he’s so close, your melancholy is tempting you to give in.
"What are you doing?" you whisper, shaking your head. He ignores you, his other hand sneaking to your waist and you attempt to back away even more in the cramped space.
"We can't do this Jaeyun." You stop him with a hand to his chest, his heartbeat reverberates against your palm.
"Why not? I still want you." His confidence makes you waver. The ache in your chest tells you it will only ever be soothed by the touch of his lips, yet you find yourself unable to give in, avoiding his gaze as your eyes fall upon your lap. An unwieldy silence swirls in the air yet again. He takes it as sign to back off, his hands leaving your body alongside his warmth.
"Why did you call me?" He asks after a while "Why did you call me out of all the people you know?" You know exactly which answer he's looking for and if you were somewhere else. Somewhere where you felt like you could belong to him. Like he could heal all the wounds you believed he would maybe you would have been able to give it to him.
"Because you're the only one who knows about my panic attacks."
He lets out a sound of disbelief, his face crumbling with disillusionment. And when he falls back in his seat with nothing to say, you unbuckle your seat and get out of the car.
"Thank you and goodnight." you say closing the door hoping he had heard you and the wind did not steal your words.
12:45am                                                                                                               7th of January
your phone stared back at you in full brightness. In contrast with the dim lights flashing across your features. Purple, dark green and blue.
There's a light buzz in your system, evoked by the few glasses of alcohol you had been sipping on throughout the night. A thin layer of sweat covers your forehead despite how cold it is outside. The remaining liquor in your cup is tempting you.
Sunoo’s head is on your shoulder, adding unwanted weight to your body "He’s not eben hat hot, ight?" his words slur together, meshing into somewhat a coherent sentence that he whines out. You follow his gaze that of course lands on none other than Minji, her body swaying to the music with some guy that you recognize from one of your classes. Her arms circle his neck, a huge smile on her face the darker her eyes get with overflowing lust.
Even from this distance you could see it all. Sunoo clings to you further, leg thrown over your lap, almost engulfing your body entirely. His breath reeks of cheap vodka when another whine escapes him.
"yn, 'm hotter yea?"
You hastily drink the very little liquor left in your cup.
"You're so much hotter babe." Sunoo hums happily at your answer, closing his eyes as he nuzzles his face into your neck.
You could only exhale loudly, starting to feel a little choked up with this proximity. You’re not drunk enough to be dealing with this cat and mouse game Sunoo and Minji like to play. you haven’t been present enough mentally this semester to see it all unfold. you just know that somewhere between the first and the second week Heeseung had found you during lunch, mouth agape as he whispered in disbelief;
"Did you know Sunoo and Minji fucked?"
All hell broke loose since that day. Sunoo who's hopelessly in love and Minji who won't commit or be tied down by anyone. It's a classic tale really, a chess game that you had participated in before. It isn't hard to tell who's gonna win, there's no competition here. You just wish Sunoo would realize that too.
"You okay?" Heeseung all but yells at you, loud enough to hear him over the roaring music as he plops down on the couch next to you. His hand brushes your fringe out your face and away from your sweaty forehead.
"Uh huh," Heeseung isn't looking at you though, eyes glued to the awkward girl standing by the stairs. Fidgeting with the red cup between her hands, looking around in what seem to be anxiety. She looks innocent, a lost look in her eyes that gives away the fact that she's a freshman.
She's Heeseung's favorite type of preys.
"Good, good." He says absentmindedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes rake over the girl's body. His hand travels from your hair to the back of your neck, squeezing. 
You roll your eyes, already knowing what’s about to come, witnessed the words tumble out his lips repeatedly.
"I'm gonna go get some ass, yn" He decides loudly. Taking what's left from Sunno’s drink and chugs it down. He then gets up, rolling his shoulders and with confident strides makes his way to the girl. You watch as Heeseung puts on his usual charming smile, all warm and inviting. A blush dark enough to be seen by you on the girl's cheek as they start chatting.
You grow a little miffed. Feeling like you’ve been ditched by all your friends and left to deal with a very drunk Sunoo. This was definitely not what you had in mind when you agreed to come to this party. You untangle yourself from Sunoo with force, the older all but whines refusing to let go.
“I’m just gonna go get a drink,” you tell him and he only whines in response, not a word was probably registered.
You stumble, feet almost interlocking but you manage to stand straight. Your own blushed cheeks are evidence of your tipsiness. Not drunkenness. You’re not there yet. You feel like you’re swimming through a sea of people as you push between them, your knit white sweater gets stuck in someone's bracelet. A string of apologies spills from your mouth. It’s the only few mishaps that manage to unfold before your night passes by with you drowning yourself in liquor.
It's only a few hours later that feels closer to years have passed by. You find yourself in one of the few open rundown 7/11 with Heeseung and a sobered-up Sunoo slurping spicy noodles. Your mind a little less cloudless, limbs aching as you stand up.
“I’m gonna get some air.” You tell your friends, stretching your arms above your head. Sunoo only makes a noise of acknowledgement with his mouth full.
“Don’t walk too far.” Heeseung tells you, eyes lingering on the back of your head as you wave your hand at him.
The frigid air hits you square in the face as you pull your jacket around you tighter, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of warmth. the cheap fabric fails to provide such. 
Keeping Heeseung’s words in mind, you don’t walk too far from the store, finding a bench close by that you settle upon with a sigh. Closing your eyes and breathing in fresh air. Your head grows a tad clearer. A comforting buzz settles in your being instead and despite the dull ache in your body, you feel okay.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” your eyes fall open, flitting to the source of the voice. It’s a middle-aged man so clearly high off his mind. A familiar sight in these streets.
You ignore him, too used to such situations.
“Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to ignore people?” When he speaks this time you glare at him, a scowl taking place upon your face.
“Fuck off old man.” You spit, tone imbued with indignation despite the tremble manifesting in your clenched fingers, nails digging into the insides of your palms.
“Watch your mouth bitch.” The man all but grunts, taking a step towards you, you brace yourself to run, your muscles growing rigid. Your palms are growing sweaty.
Just as the man takes another step towards you, you feel a presence behind you, the man’s eyes darting elsewhere.
“She told you to fuck off. Are you fucking deaf?” the voice is overfamiliar. Velvety smooth as it rings in your ears, evoking beats from your heart this time not out of perturbation. It’s something closer to exhilaration.
The man grumbles, a frown on his aged-up face as he glares at you then turns around and walks the other way. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your shoulders going lax as you turn your head, a familiar face of a stranger comes into view.
White as snow, dark as night and that same dizzying scent. heady and sweet.
It’s the same face that has haunted your mind longer than you’d ever admit, taking space you weren’t aware you’re willing to give. His eyes are hardened into a glare, glued to the back of the man’s head until he’s far enough to not be seen that they flit to you.
Just like the first time you saw him he’s clad in everything black, yet this time instead of formal attire it’s a hoodie and black jeans. Clear glasses on his face yet he remains prettier than any magnificent piece of art you had the pleasure to witness.
The way his gaze palliates instantly has your chest tightening, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a wind passes you by, somehow drowning you deeper into his intoxicating aroma.
“Are you okay?” His tone is so much softer, tender compared to the way he spoke mere seconds ago.
“Y-Yes. Thank you.” your words come out ignominiously scattered, tinted by your clear nerves that you cover up with a flimsy excuse, alcohol.
“You shouldn’t be alone this late at night. It’s dangerous, pretty girl.” He reprimands genially and your face burns, at the endearment, at his tone and more than anything at the tilt of his lip. A charming smile taking place onto his face, in contrary to how he was willing to shoot the man with his eyes not even minutes ago.
“I’m not alone. I’m waiting for my friends.” You lie, for unidentified incentives that you don’t even want to think about. It’s all deemed worthy when he tilts his head at you with a hum. A glint in his eyes and you’re overtaken by peculiar emotions. Rushing through you all the same as your last meeting.
“Shall I wait with you then?” he says, walking till he’s next to you, and you try hard not to stare at him, but it is reckoned unfeasible when he is so implausibly gorgeous.
You will enough strength to not to think about the way his necklace dangles when he leans down to take a seat next to you. Try hard not to imagine the same way his necklace would dangle over you if he was on top of you.
A space you hate remains between you two and you berate yourself, no amount of tipsiness should allow you to be this way.
“Don’t you remember me?” you ask. His eyes prance over your features in what seems to be attempts to recall where he had seen you before. You wither just a bit in disappointment, a strange hope in you dwindles ever so slightly.
Was it too ambitious of you to hope to take space in his mind as well?
“Ah! We met at the museum. Didn’t we?” his brows rise in recognition.
“We did.” You nod, chuckling nervously as you push strands of your hair behind your ears. You miss the way his eyes darken at your apparent shyness.
Above you the sky darkens just the same, collecting gray clouds as if to match his soul.
“It would be absolutely mad of me not to remember such a pretty face.” The words tumble out his lips so deftly, yet they remain brimming with intensity, and they manage to tinge your cheeks a darker shade of pink, a deplorable exhibit of your heartstrings being played with so effortlessly.
"Do you always flirt with people like this?" you ask, a playful smile tilting your lips upwards.
"I'm glad my attempts at flirting are being acknowledged," he replies, the same playfulness dances around his face and when his eyes dip to your lips for a moment before they’re flitting back to your eyes, it is enough to have your breath hitching.
There's a moment of silence that falls over you, it isn't necessarily awkward, yet the tension encloses itself around your neck, embraces you with a threat of bad decisions. At this moment, they don’t look bad enough.
The short silence is interrupted when you shiver, the cold remains cruel against your cheap clothing.
“Are you cold?” he asks, seeming to notice it all.
“A bit.” You admit, burying your hands in- between your thighs in search of warmth. He eyes your action carefully, and then he moves to take off his hoodie, left only in his turtleneck.
Extending it to you.
“Oh you don’t have to-“you attempt to refuse, shaking your head but he doesn’t let you finish, throwing the fabric onto your lap.
“Wear it.” Perhaps it’s the way his tone is so authoritative it has you crumbling quickly, not fighting back as you put it on, his scent engulfs you and your body rises in temperature instantaneously
“Are you perhaps afraid to look at me?" he asks when you keep your eyes on your tangled fingers, his tone is taunting, an underline of mockery prevails there.
A challenge presents itself to you and you swallow it up, head snapping to look at him with faux confidence clambering over your being. He smirks, somehow managing to remain doused in otherworldly beauty and something akin to victory ceases his eyes.
You wonder how it is possible to have such absurd desires like wishing you’re a mere emotion fortunate enough to flow within him. You must be going insane with loneliness.
"Why would I be?" your eyebrow raises, a plaintive venture to take the lead in whatever dance you’re having.
Something manages to coexist in the middle of all the loneliness meshing with your bones. A feeling akin to curiosity, excitement. A feeling that seems dangerous, a fire that will surely inundate you the longer you stay here.
Eyes midnight black, half lidded, stare back at you. Refusing to back down.
“Your eyes are prettier when they’re looking at me.” your confidence leaves, shattered as soon as it comes, the tips of your ears turning red and the flattery waters your heart so facilely. Your heart hammers against your chest, as if begging to be let out and you almost want to do just that.
At the realization that you lost so quickly you wish to throw up your heart, welcoming your defeat with open arms.
“If you’re gonna keep flirting with me, at least tell me your name.” You mumble, loud enough for your words not to be stolen by the wind and he chuckles.
“Are you interested in me?”
“Stop please.” You whine, bringing your palms to your cheeks. You’re so hot you could melt right on this seat.
“I’m only teasing, darling.”
“Well stop teasing me.” his eyes grow fond at the pout taking place on your face, you seem to be unaware of how utterly adorable you are.
“How about this,” he turns his body towards you, arms crossed on his chest, and you try your hardest not to stare” I have a little game for you if you manage to solve it then I’ll tell you, my name.” he suggests and you contemplate on what to say, yet you find yourself nodding.
“Give me your arm.” He whispers, inching closer to you and you do as he says, embarrassingly fast as if you were desperate to please, desperate for a glimpse of a smile from a stranger as you extend your arm towards him.
His touch is delicate as his fingers inch the sleeves of your (his) hoodie upwards, it has goosebumps erupting on your skin, setting your body ablaze and your breaths grow labored when his eyes catch yours, pulling you into him with a vigorous force
“I’m gonna write something on your arm and you have to guess it, simple yeah?” his voice is low as if he’s afraid to break whatever hue the both of you have fallen into and your lips separate with a familiar softness “okay.” You whisper back, the quirk of his lips, ever so slightly has a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat.
His nimble fingers feel cold against your skin, keeping his eyes fixated on your face as his fingers irritatingly, deliberately trace syllables upon your arm.
“Can you tell me what I just wrote?” You blink at him, realizing you have paid no attention whatsoever, instead all you did was stare at him, wandering in your own thoughts that are evoked by him.
“Sorry,” you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together “do it again.” You tell him and his lips twitch upwards in a way that slightly piques you. his fingers start tracing letters upon the skin of your arms again and this time, you pay your utmost attention to every move, every brush of his fingers.
“I can?” you answer when he pauses with a question in his gaze.
“Yes, good.” He resumes moving his fingers.
“I can, see?”
“Mhm.” You furrow your brows, seeming to have lost track and he’s lenient enough to do it again.
Your mouth shaping around the words fleeing to your mind, his stare stays affixed on your lips. A foreboding glint manifests in his stare, till yours widen, overtaken by brief triumph.
“I can see you! That’s what you wrote. I can see you.” you exclaim, excitedly. A gleam enough to blind anyone with your smile that has him chuckling and shaking his head.
“Hold on, I’m not done yet.”
“Oh,” you settle down with pink cheeks, embarrassed.
As his fingers move against your skin anew, akin to strokes of a paintbrush inundated with iciness, a benevolence lingers at the tips of his fingers. It’s competent at eliciting a shiver to run down your spine, your heart pulsating.
I
Can
See
Your
Just as he’s tracing what you assume to be the last word on your arm, the sky blights your little bubble, breaking through it with force as droplets of water hit your face. You look up at the sky as it starts to rain and his stays on your face.
As if feeling his stare slowly you find him, and then just like the first time you saw him he captures you in place. A hue of vulnerability and a sense of endearment colors his gaze. Just like the dewdrops of rain it grazes the surface of your heart prominently.
Inchmeal, he pulls the hood of the garment over your head, sheltering you from the rain and you hold your breath, waiting, anticipating for something as ardent as the feelings splashing across his face.
“Yn!” you hear Heeseung’s voice call for you from behind “Come on! Let’s go home.”
In a mere second, his eyes dart behind you before they’re back on you, he smiles, irreconcilable with how grim the sky looks above you.
Heady and sweet.
“Go.” He tells you, voice low and perhaps it was the tilt of his lips that has you obligating with a silent nod.
Your friends are not sober enough to ask you who you were with, and you colored with shades of red, attraction.
It is a veil against the questions that should be alarming like why a man with a such an expensive watch around his wrist lurking around this side of the city.
With a hand on your hip, eyes filled with flames of irritation you glare at an unconscious Heeseung sprawled on your couch. With a snore loud enough for you to grow deaf. Evidence of last night’s chaos lies on the ground. Empty bags of chips and empty beer cans.
You had awakened with a slight ache forming in the temples of your head, a myriad of visions conquering your mind, mainly of your mystifying encounter with the handsome stranger.
With a shake of your head, you take a seat on the small coffee table that's facing your worn-out couch. Your eyes stilling on your friend's peaceful sleeping face, too peaceful. delivering a hard jab to his side, the latter barely feels it, only groaning in response. You huff, reaching for his cheek and pinching, hard. And that seems to do the job because Heeseung’s eyes shoot open, slapping your hand away with enormous potency.
"Ow! what the hell?" He whines, rubbing his now reddening cheek.
"Had to wake you up somehow." You say with a shrug, getting up and walking to your kitchen, another overly dramatic whine of his has you rolling your eyes.
"You're fucked in the head, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah" you sip on your water, Heeseung shuffles from behind you, yawning as he leans his head on your shoulder, his body almost engulfing yours with his weight, arms wrapping around your waist in search for warmth, the morning weather remains frigid, sweeping in through the thin walls of your apartment.
“You’re heavy Hee and your breath stinks.” You sigh and he hums, making no effort to move away.
“Last night was interesting.” He says into your neck.
“Was it?”
“Who was that guy you were with?” your hand stills around the glass, had not expected such question.
“You saw us?” you retort, tilting your head to look at him.
“I did.” His arm loosens from around your waist to dawdle past you to brew some coffee, in search for some needed energy “so who was he? Mr. glasses?” he leans his elbow on the counter, facing you with a scrutinizing gaze.
You busy your fingers with toying with the plate of grapes in front of you, an awkward avoidance drapes over you.
“Just some guy.” You shrug.
“Didn’t take you as the type to chill in the middle of the night with just some guy.”
“I don’t know him Heeseung. We met once at some museum, and I just randomly saw him again last night.”
He keeps quiet, pursuing his lips. Seemingly not awake enough to register anything that meaningful. At his speech impediment, you take your glass with you, and settle upon your couch with a sigh, relaxing into the cushions. Heeseung follows you shortly after, his own cup of coffee in his hands.
“Jaeyun has been blowing up my phone.” He starts, sitting way too closely next to you.
“So?”
“He said you guys almost kissed in his car the other night.”
"I don't even understand why he's telling you all this shit." You mummer with an exhale, running your hands through your hair warily.
"He's just venting you know he has no one." You know he’s right, but it doesn’t lessen how hard the strings of irritation are pulling at you.
"Stop telling me about it then."
"Okay someone's in a bitch mood." Heeseung grumbles, hands up in surrender.
His eyes shift to your face, seeming to notice the bags under your eyes, the fatigue pasting itself to you almost invariably these days, wordlessly he pulls you into him, arms around your shoulders and you go easily, his touches, as gentle and warm as ever.
“I hope you’re being careful, angel.”
You keep quiet, eyes zeroed in on his cup of coffee.
You are walking home from work.
The sun has set too early, and the streets are sinisterly empty. The lights flicker;
 on
off
on
off
you’re feeling cold, you can barely feel the tips of your fingers and It's oddly windy, you’re clad in nothing, but a tank top and your mind is hazy. You can’t seem to recall where your jacket is. Did you leave it at home, or did you end up leaving it at the store? You wield yourself to remember yet nothing.
You pass by a clock that's arbitrarily tossed upon the cracked ground of the street, for an unspecified reason you go and pick it up. It’s pointing at 11, slowly turning to 12 and before you could blink the clock wire starts moving inhumanly fast, turning and you grow dizzy. Throwing it back on the ground as you bring your palm to your temples with a groan.
The clock disappears as soon as it touches the pavement.
I need to go home.
Your head is now pounding, legs wobbly as you stumble on the sidewalk. Your vison blurry and your chest tightens with insignificant trepidation.
I need to go home
I need to go home
I need to go home
You hear footsteps behind you and your chest tightens even more, breathing grows to be a harder task and you’re panting, terror nestles its way into you uninvited and hastily. You don’t need to look behind you to feel alarmed, instead your weak legs attempt to pick up speed, a futile way to flee from whatever danger lingering behind. abruptly pain spreads across the bottom of your feet as if you’re running on endless needles, it’s unbearable and you’re struggling to breathe, panting loudly yet no air seems to make its way into your throat. As if steel is lodged in the middle.
The footsteps grow closer and closer to you, agonizingly taunting, you can’t move when you feel a presence behind you, feel their breath hit the back of your neck and with one swift move, you feel a hand circle your wrist, its grip unrelenting and your body grows frail, unable to fight back.
You look down at the hand holding onto you and all you see is red blood. Dripping everywhere, down your wrist staining you. Your mouth opens with a scream but it’s silent, no sound can be heard.
With a frightened expression and widened gaze, you look up at the guy, with an unrecognizable face, he’s doused in blackness. It flings your soul into a substantial pool of horrific panic. You try to break free, your fingers twisting but to no avail. His grip is too strong, your own body too weak to fight back. You try to scream again, yelling to be let go and yet just the same it’s silent.
Your free hand touches your face only to realize your mouth has been sewn shut.
Suddenly the sky above you color with grey clouds and it starts to rain drops of crimson.
The scent of metallic invades your nostrils, you taste it on your tongue and your known nausea builds alarmingly swiftly. You only register your tears spilling out your eyes when the guy tackles you to the ground. His body is akin to a block of metal on top of you.
He starts to cackle at you, you can feel your heart beating its way out of your chest, loud and painful. You’re terrified, covered in blood and incapable of catching your breath.
There’s a knife in his hand, as his laughter gets louder and louder ringing in your ears, the blade cuts through your chest. He craves out your heart and you lie there, watching as he brings it to his mouth with a smile so wide and chews on it.
You can’t move, you can’t speak, you have no one to help you.
You wake up with a gasp, eyes lined with tears and shaking with tremors of terror running through your limbs. You look around and your panic subsides with an exhale, realizing you’re on your bed, in your room.
A wave of relief washes over you, like splashed cold water. It was just a bad dream. A really bad dream. Unwittingly your palm sprawls over your chest, right where your heart is and another exhale escapes you, it’s beating and it’s still here.
You’re okay, everything is okay.
Checking your phone, you scroll the seemingly monotonous messages from your friends. You had finished classes early and decided to go back home and nap before your planned study session with them. Your body has been feeling weak these few past days. Ever since your encounter with the pretty stranger, surely staying under the rain that late at night wasn’t the smartest decision. Despite it being short-lived it was more than enough for your frail body to fall apart with a sore throat and a runny nose. A flu lurks around the corner, and you know it’s coming.
Your eyes flit to the now washed hoodie you hung on the door of your closet, a constant reminder that whatever you felt was real. A hope etched onto the fabric for another chance, to see him.
You get ready in a haze, mind a little numb and limbs dragging with a dire ache. Heeseung ends up picking you up and he keeps rambling the whole ride about a new video game he needs to buy. You keep quiet, looking out the window, although your nap you still feel weary, head buzzing with recollection of the nightmare you had. You had an inkling that it was about the figure you saw outside your work a couple of weeks ago.
Although you’re accustomed to being surrounded by fret you never knew yourself to be this paranoid. You can't decide if you’re being way too anxious about such a minuscule matter, or you aren’t giving it enough magnitude.
You meet Sunoo and Minji outside the library, a small and cute one just around the corner from a cafe that you used to work at. Although it’s closed now.
The owner – who was a kind old man – had decided to close it after three years because he couldn't handle the terrible loss of his son and moved back to his hometown. You never knew the exact details of the incident.
The tension swirling in the air is hefty enough for you to feel it, somehow adding heaviness to your shoulders as your eyes dart between the two. Unresolved conversation hangs between them and it’s evident enough in the way there’s a frown plastered on Minji’s face. An avoidance in Sunoo’s gaze.
"Should we go for karaoke after?" Heeseung suggests as soon as you step foot inside, with an arm around your shoulder he brings you closer to him. It’s a salient striving to lighten the mood.
It earns him a glare from Minji who seems to have little to zero tolerance loitering in her.
“We have no time for bullshit. We came here to finish this stupid project.” She huffs and Heeseung holds his hands up in surrender.
“Damn okay. Chill.” He mummers and you chuckle, adjusting the falling strap of your tote bag.
On the contrary, Sunoo’s expression turns sour, his brows knitting together and his words fall like bombs that have been on edge, waiting to find a chance to be let loose “He obviously meant when we’re finished with our work.” He grumbles, voice laced with evident venom, Heeseung agrees with a nod.
"And you seriously think we're gonna have time to do anything? The due date is literally tomorrow." Minji retorts with an equal amount of venom tinting her tone.
You sigh at the glare the librarian throws your group, noticing the disturbance your discussion has caused across the stillness of the place “Can you guys cut it out and start actually doing your work?” the three of them look at you in union, nothing is said back at you and with a pleased nod you take a seat at one of the nearest tables. Your friends follow silently, unpacking their stuff, immersed in their work.
"yn," Heeseung calls. Brushing his shoulder against yours. His eyes are wide in a plea and a pout on his lips.
"What?" you ask with imitated disgust.
"Can you help me with this?" his pout intensifies as he points at the part he's confused about, batting his lashes at you and you bite back a smile as you lean over, bangs falling over your eyes and inattentive to the way Heeseung’s expression melts into an unfamiliar tenderness, gaze serious.
The question was related to personality psychology. You and he had decided to enroll in the course together. Thinking it would be easier if you had someone with you. It slipped your mind that one; Heeseung is an idiot at everything except for math and two; your attention span has been all over the place lately. Dozing off in almost every class.
"Sorry you're gonna need to help yourself because I don't understand it either." You say, patting his shoulder.
Heeseung looks away promptly leaving you with no answer and despite your perplexity at his behavior you don’t dwell on it. Putting your earbuds in and taking out your own notes to start studying.
A couple of hours have passed, Minji and Sunoo are much more mitigated, the air flows lighter and you can’t help the smile that disperses across your face at the sight of them working closely together. You stretch your arm above your head with an exhale, feeling your back muscles relax.
Leaning your chin on the palm of your hand, you look out the window. catching sight of the rain outside. Taking out your earbuds, the sound of raindrops hitting the window reverberates throughout the tranquil silence disseminating the place. It stirs a welcomed alleviation within you. Days of overworking yourself alongside the lack of sleep catches up to you, fatigue sears itself onto your being and you lie your head on the table. Eyes pasted on the dewdrops trailing down the window leisurely.
Minji's and Sunoo hushed conversation starts to feel like white noise. You fall into a distance lullaby and right at this mere moment you feel like you could relax for the first time in a while. A feeling so foreign you’re almost too afraid to settle in.
As your eyes grow heavier with sleep, you notice a familiar figure pass by in front of the window. Impossible to forfeit, amongst the crowd and the countless umbrellas there’s just no way for you to miss him. Not when he’s been haunting your mind for stretching hours. Not when your head hits the pillow and the only plaguing your thoughts are the words he traced upon your skin, as if tattooed by flames you cannot seem to relinquish.
You shoot up from your chair, your tiredness long obliterated as your eyes frantically follow him. The conversation of your friends dies down, their focus shifting on you with concern etched onto their features
"Are you okay?" Sunoo asks, his eyes shifting to where you’re looking.
"Yn?" Heeseung calls out to you.
But you’re impotent. Your attention stolen and you’re incapable of registering a word that’s being said to you.
"Sorry guys, I’ll be right back." You speak in a hurry, shoving your phone deep into your pocket and quickly storming out of the library. The rain is unforgiving as it dawns on your being, drenching you and earning you a few disdainful looks from the people passing by.
You don’t recognize yourself, you’re not usually like this. And you try to grasp meaning of your behavior, yet you’re empty handed, filled with a baffling urge for a glimpse of this man who’s nothing but a stranger to you. Perhaps it was the wind of grotesque emotions flinging through the air every time you two spoke, his few words have stuck in your mind like a record that won’t stop playing and no matter how many times you listen, you’re still scuffling to find elucidation.
Perhaps you were just edging yourself into deliration.
"What am I doing." You mumble to yourself as you’re about to go inside, you notice him at the end of the crossroad.
You stand still for three full seconds.
On the first one your brain chastises you, stridently yelling at you why do you care over and over again.
On the second one you shift onto rationality telling yourself to go back inside the library and continue the life you’re so used to. Where no weird guys you’re fascinated with exist and you act like a different version of yourself.
On the third one you start sprinting because the man takes a right turn, and you need to catch up. Water splashes under your feet as you gather whatever robustness is left in your body.
You don’t give room for yourself to abide on any raising questions in your head, like what would you possibly say to him if you caught up to him? You have no idea how you could explain this peculiar urge to see him again? Was this behavior odd enough for you to be deemed a stalker?
The space between you two grows smaller, your shorter legs remain lacking for you to fully catch up when he takes a turn to his right, you follow right after with a panting chest. Your feet come to a stop as the sight of an empty alleyway comes into view. Your brain racing with confusion that clampers over your face just the same. You attempt to look further yet only bags of trash greet you. The wetness of the rain mixing in with it makes the scent horrendous.
"Are you following me?" You jolt in surprise; a discernible gasp tumbles out your lips.
You swivel around, coming face to face with your desired target who stays as breathtaking as ever. Shrouded in black formalwear and hair styled to perfection, his glasses hang at the tip of his nose, His hand holding onto an umbrella while the other is buried in his pocket.
He’s a striking image of an ardent artist’s majestic creation, diabolically ethereal, nothing less. You in contrast, a ball of predicament, hair wet and a heaving chest.
"I wasn't." You answer shortly, an idiotic attempt to grasp control over the situation.
If the raise of his brow is anything to go by, he doesn’t buy it and you cannot blame him.
"Oh really?" he muses, taking a few steps towards you, a smirk curling at the end of his lips and you hold your breath in guilt.
He tilts his umbrella to you, harboring you from the rain.
He looks down at you, eyes dark and it is enough to set your cheeks ablaze, a blush mortifyingly potent enough to travel all the way to your ears. Your heart skips beat almost appallingly, loud enough you grow fearful he might be able to hear it. It sends you into enough panic to forget about how uncomfortable your clothes feel, sticking to your body.
“You shouldn’t be out without an umbrella when it’s raining this hard.” He reprimands, tone gentle.
“I know.” Sweat beads start cumulating at your forehead, albeit the frigid weather, your body growing hot.
“Where are you heading? I’ll take you.” he asks, tilting his head at you, a smile just as tender as the one that colors his voice, and you shake your head at him in disregard.
“Or would you like to admit now that you were following me?”
“I-I wasn’t following you!” you sputter, nowhere near convincing.
“I’m only teasing, darling.” He chuckles, a sound so strangely compelling, an urge crawls over you, so foolish like saving the sound between the palms of your hands alongside his sweet endearment.
“Aren’t you scared, to be here with me alone?” he deliberately asks, voice lowered.
“y-you don’t seem dangerous. Besides you saved me from that old man last time so.” You trail off, bunglingly and he hums, gauging the way you almost curl into yourself with precious diffidence.
Your eyes darts to his momentarily, holding you captive with manacles coaxed with deviant cravings, it tastes like candied impulses you wish to give into, it feels like addictive fire upon your skin ignited by his gaze.
Your body is overwhelmingly hot so that exhaling grows to be a harder task.
"We seem to always meet when it's raining." You whisper, traversing through the silence.
"I guess so." He hums, keeping his eyes on you “were you keeping track of our meetings?” He follows with a question, you dare with collected vigor not to look away despite the way your cheek burns so profoundly it feels excruciating.
“It’s hard not to.” You admit.
“How come?”
You chew on your lower lip, brain turning to putty, just like melting ice cubes under the vehemence of his stare. You aren’t feeling well, gravely trying to come up with a tolerable fib to spill. Yet the wheels in your head feel like they have turned rusty, unable to turn quick enough. The blink of your eye takes longer to unfold.
“they’re fascinating to say the least.”  You settle with the truth.
“Mm. are they or do you find me fascinating?”
“Do you always ask random strangers this many questions?” you huff out, you’re growing dizzy, your knees unsteady.
“Do you always follow strangers into alleyways?”
“No.” you answer, airily.
He takes a few steps towards you, closing the already very small distance separating you. Tentatively he brings his hand up to your face, with the back of his fingers he caresses your forehead so delicately, your eyelids fall shut, missing the way his eyebrow shoot up in surprise.
“You’re very warm. Are you alright?” his words fall upon your ears laboriously, like they echo within your being, and it takes longer than necessary for you to find meaning in them.
“’m okay.” You murmur, absentmindedly stumbling forward and resting your forehead against his shoulder, his body aids in providing comfort you didn’t realize you needed.
“I don’t think so darling. Are you friends near?” he asks, and you shake your head, his arm wrapping around your shoulders vigilantly. It spreads a pleasant buzz throughout your body,
You’re so tired you want to go to sleep.
“I’m gonna take you to my house. Okay? We need to take care of you, it seems you’re running a fever.” you think you answer, or maybe you nod your head. You aren’t very sure.
All you know is that you felt indisputable comfort in a sustained amount of time.
When you awake, you’re met with a foreign ceiling. It’s painted with spatters of colors atop one another. Dominated by three shades black, white and red. They expand into bigger arbitrarily sketches you’re not sentient enough to understand just yet. It’s very well done, inherently distinctive that you can tell it’s painted by the hands of whoever is residing here.
You sit up with a groan, twined with the throb of your forming headache. Pressing your thumbs into your temples, it is not even close pressure for the pain to subside. Blinking, your eyes take a swift look around the room you’re in. The space larger than your entire apartment.
You don’t get to linger in how much money this man has before you hear the door clicking open.
"Oh, you're awake?" He asks, Looking fresh out of the shower, with slightly damp hair and barefaced.
His black clothes are now replaced with a white button-up dress shirt and black formal pants. You slightly raise your eyebrows at the choice of clothes. His hair leaves droplets of water on his shirt leaving some spots transparent.
"Did I pass out?" you ask, voice just a tad groggy, your eyes following him as he turns his back to you, fetching something from the coffee table that you didn’t even notice.
Just how big is this room?
“No. you just fell asleep.” He answers, turning to face you with a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit while a lighter curls between the fingers of his other hand. The twitch of his lips is enough evidence of how comical he finds this to be.
“Oh.” You trail off, face burning.
As he walks to you, the intensity in his gaze remains as suffocating as flower petals blooming in the middle of your throat, you don’t allow yourself to breath as his slender fingers graze your forehead, your fists curling onto the sheets.
“Your fever has gone down. Thankfully.” He says, voice muffled by the stick between his lips.
His black hair drips water on your bare thighs causing you to shiver. It's cold. At the realization you look down at your lap, noting you’re not wearing any pants, clad in an unfamiliar sweatshirt.
“D-did you change my clothes?” you stammer, your cheeks falling into a darker shade.
“I couldn’t put you to bed with soaked clothes. Could I?”
“Well y-yeah.”
“I’m just teasing, darling.” He starts, his eyes skimming across your blushing face with relish “My maid changed your clothes for you. I’m a gentleman after all I wouldn’t undress you without your consent.”
“Gosh this is so fucking embarrassing. I’m sorry.” You whine, covering your face with your palms in hopes to somehow dissipate into air, or let this be another stupid nightmare of yours.
“Which is, the fact that you fell asleep on me or that you talked in your sleep about how handsome you think my face is?”
“Oh my god!” you exclaim, horrified at the information, you curl into yourself further. The way he chuckles so lightheartedly doesn’t make it any less humiliating.
"Would you like some food?" he asks, his finger brushing across your arm causing goosebumps to arise.
“No.” you groan “I wanna go home or maybe throw myself out the window.”
“Now you’re hurting me.” you peak at him through your fingers, expecting a teasing smirk to be displaying yet you’re met with an odd solemnity.
"I made some soup for you-" He pauses to light his cigarette, taking a deep inhale and puffing out the smoke. You watch with unalloyed attention as he throws the lighter on the table next to the bed mindlessly.
There’s an anomalous elegancy that coats his every move, enough to have you enchanted.
"So, you should really have some." He finishes, dark eyes finding yours with unfaltering assertiveness that has you silently nodding.
You cannot give voice to your emotions, not when he’s an embodiment of everything beauty gets the pleasure to breathe into. It’s an unyielding attraction, one that you cannot seem to scrimmage against, ideally you bare your neck, waiting to feel his teeth on your throat.
At your approval, he sends you a gentle smile, like a soothing wave of comfort descending upon your body that has been drowning in exhaustion. It’s ill-fitted, compared to his dusky room, or the cigarette slotted between his lips.
“I’ll go get it for you.” he tells you and you give him another nod,
With his absence, you fetch the opportunity with vigor, taking it upon yourself to snoop around. You start by examining the lighter he threw on the bedside table, the shiny exterior had managed to capture your attention. Brushing your fingers over the leather case, it’s not hard to tell even such a small item is expensive.
You notice an initial is engraved at the bottom, trailing the two letters with the tip of your index finger 'PSH'.
Putting the lighter back on the dresser, you stand up feeling slightly better, your legs gathering more strength compared to earlier. You turn your attention to the countless papers sprawled on the floor, collected in a pile as if they hold no importance anymore. Picking a few up, you go through them with inquisitive eyes. They all seem like first drafts of sketches, clearly unfinished. Few with a face etched onto them, void of any clear features, another is just a pair of eyes. While a different one is just an outline of a body, for some odd reason they all feel familiar. Like you have seen them somewhere or like you should know who they belong to.
It has an unsettling feeling nestling its way into you, the same one you felt back at the museum. Drifting your eyes to the corner of the page, the autograph there catches your eyes.
"Park Sunghoon." you read out loud. You check the other papers and surely every single one of them is signed with the same name. you don’t get to dwell on the discovery before you hear the door clicking open once again.
Placing the papers back in their original place, you face the door. He steals a glance at you, your gaze locking for a mere second before he’s walking over to the small coffee table, sitting in the middle of his room paired with a sofa that looks more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.
"Come here." He tells you, setting the tray he was holding down, and you follow quietly. Sitting down next to him with a good, measured gap between you.
He eyes you but doesn’t comment on it.
"Help yourself." He says pointing to the bowl of soup with a tilt of his head, his fingers curling around one of the cups that seem to be holding coffee.
You only nod, scooting closer to the table as the delicious smell invades your nostrils, evoking your hunger to raise and the realization that you haven’t eaten anything all day.
“Good?” he asks after you take a sip, eyes fond.
“Really good. Thank you.” you answer with a smile, diving in for some more.
"Have some green tea." Sunghoon suggests and you nod. Setting the bowl down on the tray. You reach for the cup. Your eyes immediately dart to the label of the tea, and you recognize it as one of the more expensive brands. They don't even sell it where you work.
Amidst your sip, you look at him only to find him already watching you. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes follow your every move with a slackened expression. With tinted cheeks you avert your attention to the huge window next to you, taking note that the rain has stopped completely. Although it's still cloudy outside.
You should head home soon before it starts raining again.
"So why were you following me?" Sunghoon asks, slicing into the congested tension. You don’t expect it, resulting in you choking on a sip, your face turning red in color as you fall into a fit of coughs.
Sunghoon’s emotions grow into amusement as if you weren’t on the verge of death.
"I wasn't following you." you state, clearing your throat.
“What were you doing then?"
“I was at the library with my friends,” you start, eyes lolling everywhere and he only hums, patience seeming unlimited “I saw you passing by, and I wanted to tell you that I figured out what you wrote on my arm that night.”
"So, you went out into the rain without an umbrella?” he puffs out a chuckle and you’re starting to feel a tad bit annoyed. Like you’re a source of entertainment to him.
“It was stupid. I’m so dumb for doing that I get it.” You huff, overwhelmed with discomfiture.
“It made me happy.”
“What?”
“Knowing I wasn’t the only one still thinking about you.”
“You think about me?” you ask, eyes flitting to his, they stay unwavering.
“I do.” There’s no way for you to prove it, but you know it’s the truth he speaks, woven with that same unfeigned smile.
Your silence stretches, as you ponder upon all the contingencies staring back at you. You can’t find anything worrisome and perhaps that’s why it worries you, you cannot be worthy of anything this gentle.
“You told me you figured out what I wrote on your arm?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts and you brighten with excitement, inching closer to him unwittingly, he leans into it. His arms stretching behind you.
“I did!”
“Mhm, go on. Tell me.”
“I can see your fears.” You answer, eyes dancing between his with overflowing delirium. Evoking a smile from him.
Your chest warms at the sight.
“Close enough.” He tells you and it’s enough for your excitement to melt right off you, replaced with a pout and a knot between your brows.
“I got it wrong?”
“It’s a T, not an F.”
“I can see your tears?” you ask, tilting your head in a too endearing of a manner.
“Yeah.” he answers softly.
“Does it have any special meaning behind it?” He shrugs at your question, leaving it unanswered as he stands up wordlessly, walking to his bedside table, he leans down to open a drawer and fetch something you can’t see.
You let your eyes wander, trailing over his slim figure, keeping yourself in check is almost deemed unobtainable. Not when you fall breathless as you’re pushed into the same space as him. He’s stunningly virtuoso as he’s surrounded by pieces of his own art, scattered around the floor, hung around the walls of his bedroom. Like it took decades to sculpt this man. Not a single flaw to be seen.
"Are you gonna tell me your name?" you ask when he turns to face you, a sketchbook between his hands and you’ve managed to stitch yourself woefully just in time.
“Although you got it wrong,” he sits himself back on the sofa right next to you, charm imbued into his grin “it’s Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon.” The name rolls off his tongue so fluidly, far from how it sounded in your head when you read it. The fact that you already knew is a hushed secret within the walls of your brain.
“What’s yours?” He opens his sketchbook, skimming through ones you don’t get enough time to steal glances at.
“yn,” you answer.
“Pretty name.” He doesn’t give enough time for his words to penetrate your mind, instead they hang over you like their own cloud replenishing with their own shades of emotions.
He inches closer to you, tilting your chin towards him with his thumb and index finger. You’re so taken back you don’t even get to inhale, cheeks glowing pink and body going rigid. His eyes skimming over your features, scrutinizing you as if you’re one of his paintings.
"W-what?" You stutter out.
His fingers loosen, abandoning the warmth of your skin, your fingers itch with a foolish urge, one like stopping him. An imprudent entreaty climbs up your throat, one like telling him you miss his touch the moment it’s gone.
“You have freckles.” he says, settling into an empty page and picking up a pencil that had been lying randomly on the table.
“They’re very faint. Nobody ever notices them.” You reply, dumbfounded.
“I can see them very clearly.” There’s a deeper meaning underlying his words, one that you cannot seem to comprehend "you’re bewitching. It has me questioning if you’re real." He continues, unceremoniously.
You find fiendish in his kind words, it’s as if your heart isn't swelling up in your chest. Inflating so beyond your control it feels like it might explode any minute. You exhort yourself not to be swooned so effortlessly. You shouldn't be taken away by so little yet flattering words like a weak branch swayed away by a fleeting wind.
You tell yourself you have been here before, you cannot stumble into the same mistakes over and over again, even if it grows harder by the minutes. The cravings of your heart screams grow louder when he looks at you, his hand pausing for a mere minute as if he’s taken back just the same. The softening of your gaze, an exposure of all your hidden fragility.
"I feel the same way about you," your words escape you without much thought, unconcealed.
You stare at each other for what almost feels like a decennary. Years of people dying, souls being reborn. And you’re still here, as if frozen in time and whatever colors the air between you two is enough to pump life into you for that long. It’s counted minutes, fewer seconds for you hold your breath and longer for you to blink.
Sunghoon doesn't reply, only hums as he goes back to drawing. Skilled fingers moving across the paper.
But you feel it, in the darkening of his eyes. The sharpening of his gaze. The tightening of his hold on the pencil. It's all so subdued but evident. A shift in the space between you, the tension amplifying, tethered with feverish intensity. You catch yourself breathing in deeper gulps of air. Wrapping an arm around your body, you look around. A failed attempt to calm your nerves.
"Are you uncomfortable?" Sunghoon asks, scrutinizing your movement.
"A little." You admit and he tsks, in what seems to be disapprobation, it has your arms tightening around yourself. An urge to please arises.
"You can ask me anything you want, if that will help." He suggests.
"Do you always draw strangers out of the blue?" you tease, striving for the air between you to be lighter.
It earns you a chuckle from him, a shake of his head that has you entranced. You never knew there were this many shapes of beauty and you did not know they could all exist in one person, in the tone of his voice, in the fluttering of his lashes, the sharpness of his jaw and even in between the strands of his hair.
"Only the pretty ones." He jokes back and you blush with a scuttling gaze, denying your heart.
"How old are you?" you inquire, attempting to start normal conversation.
"How old do you think I am?" He asks. Looking at you sideways with a tilt of his eyebrow that has you melting like butter. Squirming in your seat.
“Aren’t you supposed to be answering my questions?”
"I'm 28." He answers and you cannot hide the surprise taking place upon your face, not when he didn’t look a day over the age of 23.
“You’re young, aren’t you?” He asks, at your silence.
“I’m not that young.” Your tone comes out defensive, it has his lip twitching upwards in merriment “I turned 21 last month.” You continue and he only hums back.
You feel it again, the abrupt stopping of time for you, yet the ticking of the clock on the wall echoes resoundingly throughout the room. It is not enough to drown your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Not enough to conceal the allure swimming in his eyes when they dance between your eyes and then down at your lips.
You find yourself inching closer, you’re indistinguishable being pulled in by your heartstrings, with flames surging between you two, intertwined with lethal attraction and obscure intensity. The idea of burning alive does not sound all that bad right now. The space in the middle of you closes by inches, his breath reeking of cigarettes and coffee, the smell of his shampoo are all distinguishable.
He doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move, and you’re kneeling into it, with eyes turning hazy and labored breaths.
As your lips are about to touch, a striking sound cuts through, the ringing of a phone catches you both off guard. You wait for Sunghoon to get up, but he remains still, not moving a muscle, the twitch of his brows are the only giveaway of his annoyance.
"It's yours." He whispers, you’re confused for a minute but as the haze of enticement evaporates, you recognize the ringtone of your phone, spot it buzzing on the bed.
“Oh.” You stand up awkwardly, with stiffness in your bones you dawdle past him to grab your phone.
There are endless notifications of messages from Minji and Sunoo, a couple of missed calls from Heeseung. You cuss at yourself, had totally forgotten there are people waiting for you outside of whatever bubble you have stumbled into with Sunghoon. Who stays on the sofa with his back to you, seeming too busy admiring his own sketch of you.
You sway on your feet, with swaying thoughts, questions as foolish as the tint of red upon your cheeks. Is he admiring it because it’s you or is it an egotistical cherish?
Disappointment builds inside you at the thought.
"I should head home." You say, pocketing your phone.
"My driver will take you back." he replies, turning to look at you from the couch and you avert your eyes. Focusing on ripped up sketch on the ground.
It's disheartening to think about how something he probably cherishes so deeply is torn to shreds.
"There's no need. You have done more than enough."
"You're still tired. He'll take you." There’s an edge to his tone that kills the possibility of a clinch. It is not unkind in any way, in fact it’s implicitly sweet.
“I’m sorry and thank you for everything.”
“No need for apologizes, darling.”
You linger by the door, an evident nervousness coating the way your fingers are entangling and with the same meaninglessly endless tolerance inked into him, he waits for you just as well.
“I’m sorry for stealing your clothes again.” You say, an impish smile tilting your lips upwards as you point at the pair of sweats covering your legs.
The same one disperses across his lips, as he tips his head back at you, his arms crossing upon his chest and almost shamelessly his eyes trail over your body, loitering by your chest, it ignites a blazing fire right down to your core. Ardour -as cunning as you know it to be- coaxes it all. A master of temptation and the both of you toy with it religiously.
“They look better on you anyways.”
You are disentitled to silence, his words messing up the atoms of your being there’s no way for you to think straight. So you don’t ask how can you give them back, and instead you’re out of his space with a racing heart, wrapped in a deluge of his scent and an unendurable moisture between your legs. Your cheeks marring red with disgrace.
colored with shades of a duskier red, your attraction deepens, coexists with drops of lust.
The different atmosphere between your apartment and the place you were in kills your spirit. You were never really a thriver for luxury. You didn't grow up rich or poor. You had very basic living circumstances. In every aspect.
Although your living conditions were much better than now.
Is what you think as you greet the old lady that's dragging her drunken son into her apartment. Her face flushes with embarrassment every time. Even though you never comment on it nor mention it the next day. This happens every Sunday. Sometimes the timing is different, either it's too early in the night or far too late. But it's always Sunday and you always manage to witness it every time.
You unlocked the door to your small place and darkness welcomes you, killing your spirit a little more. Twist the knife in.
"Look who decided to finally show up." You almost jump ten feet into the air, eyes widening in shock at the sight of Heeseung sitting, crossed arms on your couch.
Like a fucking creep.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you genuinely wonder, settling down upon the steps to take off your shoes. They have been feeling uncomfortable the whole ride, an itch you wish to scratch away. You hear Heeseung’s footsteps behind you.
"Where the hell were you? I was so worried you just disappeared."
"Okay dad." You roll your eyes, untying your shoelaces.
"I'm serious yn, that was fucked up. You just walked out without telling us anything."
He's right. And you know he’s right, an apology hangs at the tip of your tongue but in the same moment you reach into your shoe to feel a rough crumpled up piece of paper. With furrowed brows, you pull it out. Heeseung’s scolding continues yet your focus is displaced, you peel it open and everything around you feels like it stops moving for a second. The wheels in your brain coming to a halt at the digits staring back at you. 10 to be exact with PSH signed at the corner.
He gave you, his number.
Something in you blooms, like splashes of color on a blank canvas, manifesting to life with a smile against your will.
"Yn." Heeseung calls, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts, shoving the piece of paper into the pockets of your sweatpants.
"Yeah?"
"You okay? You have been off lately." His hands are on your shoulder, squeezing.
“I’m okay.” You assure, standing up to face him with a smile. This time it’s not enough to subdue the concern lingering in his eyes.
“What happened today?”
You knew the question was coming, and you knew hiding the truth from Heeseung is something you never succeed in, but you still feel yourself growing slightly nervous perhaps due to the irrational actions that you, yourself are embarrassed of.
Taking out the piece of paper from the confines of your pocket, you hand it to him. He raises his eyebrow in confusion but takes it from you, nonetheless. His eyes dart rapidly between the paper and you
"I'm confused?"
"Mr. glasses." recognition fills his expression as he looks at the paper once more.
"PSH? That's him?" You nod "His number?" you nod once again.
"I was at his apartment earlier- well more like penthouse but yeah." you explain, playing with your fingers.
"Right." He says slowly, evidently still befuddled with the amount of information you’re daunting on him out of nowhere, you cannot find blame to fling at him not when you also cannot fathom what's going on with you recently.
"It's why I disappeared earlier - which I'm so sorry about. that was shitty of me. I just saw him and I-i-" you trail off, failing to find proper delineation to your actions.
"Hey." He ceases your rambling, “It’s okay. I'm not upset with you." He assures and you nod silently, yet with a glance at him it was apparent that he still has words in his mouth, if his pursed lips and twitch of brows anything to go by.
“Just say it.”
"You want fun Hee or logical Hee?"
“Oh god there's two." You wince and his pursed lips turn into a forced smile, one that he wears whenever he finds nothing to say at your usual discomfiture.
"Logic. Go on." You signal with your hand for him to speak, with defeat dousing your face.
"Okay." his eyes lock with yours seeming to be collecting his words "I can see you're enamored with this guy-"
"I'm not."
"You're into him-"
"No." you interrupt him once again and he tilts his head at you with that same look.
"you're not into him?” he asks, with a deadpan expression.
"I'm not that either." You mumble with a pout.
"Okay. whatever." he pulls you closer to him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears with benign touches, you grow weak at the nice gesture.
"I just don't think it's a good time for you to be involved with anyone romantically." You keep quiet "You and Jae ended a couple months ago. Your dad passed away recently. You're grieving-"
"I'm not sad about Jaeyun." You tsk, his gaze softens, clouded with disquiet.
"You're grieving your dad, yn."
You always envied Heeseung. You never told him that. But you did ever since you were kids running around his backyard and he’d cry if he fell, complain if he’s hurt. You envied how he knew exactly how he felt. How he was never confused. He knew how to figure out his emotions, knew how to wear them proudly and what labels to stamp on them. Scratch that, he knew what to call yours.
Grief? you? you never know what you’re feeling. All you know is either black or white. Sometimes it's too dark. Your vision cannot see past your feet and other times it's the lightest white a human could ever experience, it’s blinding. Yet your black lasts months upon months. While your white usually feels like evanescent heaven, floating by with a blink, not enough for you to settle in, for your hands to clutch into anything.
Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.
You chew on the inside of your cheek; your chest grows overwhelmed with the whirlwinds of emotions unraveling inside of you. you tell yourself you don’t want to shed tears – that you have no reason for agony to descend upon your cheeks. Yet pain spills into the cracks of your heart with familiarity, running down the same interchangeable patterns with a searing ache.
Your tears are persistent, filling your eyes with ineluctable force it makes you angry, feeding into your confusion. You can’t tell if you’re angry or sad anymore. You disentangle yourself from Heeseung’s embrace, turning your back to him as you melt upon the stairs of your doorway. Despicable tears fall from your eyes, silently colored with agony.
Heeseung wraps his arms around you once again, stubborn in being your comfort “I’m sorry.” He whispers, running his hands through your hair with tenderness that only flings you further into vexation.
“I can never forgive him.” Your words spill like an explosion of choked sobs, one that’s invoked by his hands traveling to your back with soothing swipes “It’s okay.” He tells and you could only shake your head with a heaving chest “now he's gone, and he never even apologized!" He pulls you further into his chest, a silly wish to take your pain for his "He's gone and it's so unfair because I have to deal with this."
"It's okay."
"I can never forgive him now." Your body is shaking violently with tormented weeping, a kind of heartbreak that cannot be caused by anything other than a parent.
"I wanted to." Your eyes flit to his and he can only nod at you with faith, his own eyes sparkling with unshed water "now I can't."
As you bury your face into his chest, his hold only grows tighter around you, with cravings to pacify your storms. You don’t know how much time passes by with you curled into his arms. It’s only when your sobs have died down, your breathing has settled and your tears have dried that he speaks;
"Angel?" he calls, carefully and you hum back an answer,
"What happened?" He asks, "You never told me what he did." Your mind goes blank, not finding enough words to explain. A strange numbness replaces the ache in your chest.
“Do you wanna make hot chocolate and watch shameless?” you ask, tipping your head back to look at him.
“Of course.” He smiles, standing up and offering his hand to you, a warmth envelope your body as you take it.
As Heeseung makes it to the kitchen before you, you linger by the stairs, eyes glued to the piece of paper that had ended up on the floor, picking it up, you brush your fingers over the initials.
"Come on! I'm not making yours!" Heeseung yells from the kitchen.
"Coming." You reply, tearing the paper into two and throwing it in the trash bin.  
Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.
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lirational · 7 months ago
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Purity and Pretense
Fallen Angel!Shalom x Reader
Note: Drabble inspired from this post by @sinful-lanterns
Warnings: Religious themes, slight prayer-blasphemg that doesn’t come from existing religions, fingering, and oral.
Deprivation fuels desire, emboldens curiosity, and entices even the innocent to sink into the abyss.
Purity, said to be a gift left within each human soul as the Creator sculpts them from stardust and hopes, a mirror that reflects how their souls were infused with the Creator’s wishes. With it, each human was allowed the chance to shine, to chase the sun, the symbol of the Creator, and kneel in reverence, the chance to reflect Their radiance being the only promised reward.
A gift that allows access to a reward that may well be illusionary. Perhaps it would be more fitting to call it a curse, a shackle that deprives the human soul from possibilities hiding within the dark.
As you kneeled on the stone floor, once clean clothes now tattered and stained with evidence of the sins you chose to embrace, your eyes focus on the fallen angel sitting on the stone altar in front of you, her gaze chaining you to the floor. Even though she, your master, has fallen from grace, with her wings no longer pure white, stained in graying black and glowing blue, she was still the epitome of beauty and grace, refinement and power.
“Offer your prayer, little one, or have you fallen so far you lost your reason?”
“Please, Shalom, I can’t do this anymore. I need, I need–”
Your body quivered, desire permeating each word. No longer were you able to hold onto any shred of sanity, your body begging, begging, craving for a taste of the ambrosia she would allow you to indulge as you were pleasing her.
“Offer your prayer, then. Go on, call the Creator, let Them bless and witness the pleasure of life you were about to partake in.”
Her voice drips with promise, honeyed enticement and tainted radiance that pulls– no, spurs your body to crawl closer. You were close, so close, the scent and taste of her lingering in the air just beneath her robes. A dry swallow, all from the sweet fragrance that was so close, and there, you pressed your head to the floor in reverent prayer, then, you took the final step, before you fell into the abyss.
“Oh, our Creator, ruler of the skies above,”
Perhaps it was proof that the place was once a holy one meant to worship, as each word tumbled from your lips, it echoed through the ruined halls, and Shalom drank each word, eyes gleaming in desire at the sincere plea. Despite everything, despite how she saw the human kneeling before her had almost drowned, their purity clouded with unending, insatiable thirst, the power behind the belief to the Creator still fuels their prayer, power intertwined between each syllable.
“Thy name the most sacred– ah!” Shalom had moved from her seating position, and then, a sharp pain on your ass. She had moved away from her seat, and thanks to her strike, a stinging pain interrupted your thoughts.
“I don’t recall telling you to stop.”
“-may thy sovereign rule last forevermore. From the firmament above, to–��� another strike, to your unmarred butt cheek this time, and you barely remembered to continue, “-to the lands below, thy will be done.”
A cold, almost loving caress of fingers to your stinging cheeks, and your words died in your throat. She punished you with another spank, and another as you opened your mouth. “Nourish our–”
The feeling of a slap to the aching bud between your legs almost caused you to lose all train of thoughts, tears streaming down your face and seeping into the stone floors below. Again, you stopped.
“Remember my order, pet, I won’t remind you again.”
“Nourish our souls, give the traces of our marred sins a thorough cleanse.”
Shalom licked your earlobe, giving it a quick nibble. With a whisper, she reminded you, “From today, as your soul and your purity sinks to the abyss, you belong to me.”
Selfish, selfish and full of want, such was the nature of fallen angels, creatures made of light created to serve, to praise and sing and echo the name of the Creator across everything Their will reaches. After the fall, their love of worship were twisted, corrupted, and mirrored into a void of want that will never be satisfied, perhaps a manifested dark side of always being the one to give, bend over, and praise a thing that could not even bother to truly cherish the beings They claimed to love most.
“Look at me, look at me like you would look at that Creator,” she hissed the last word, full of disdain that her refined visage would have never revealed before. “Praise me, love me, and call my name, and you will want for nothing.”
“Bestow us the will,” you continued, “to for–,” a finger slipped into your sopping wet folds, stopping in time as your breath hitched at the intrusion, “to forgive, and– mmh!” another joined in, scissoring motions causing your thighs to quiver, your will scattering everywhere as the hunger for Shalom’s touch felt sharper.
“Wrong, repeat the line,” She chided, her movements stopped, waiting for you to fulfill her order.
In that moment, you had surrendered your dignity, your place, your connection to a promise that might never have seen any fulfillment, all to the true, honest, and pure pleasure that you had seen, felt, and sensed with your very flesh.
“To forgive, the way I– no, the way we all shall be forgiven under–”
A gentle, sharp press at that sweet spot had you clenching, almost stumbling in your words as you barely hung on to the order she gave you, “forgiven under the eternal grace.”
“Excellent.” Shalom was still moving her fingers in and out, her lazy movements stimulating you all the same. The pad of her thumb pressed and rubbed circles onto your sensitive nub, eliciting noises that painted the pure prayer with tainted cries. “Come, just a little more, just a little more and you will be rewarded.”
You obey, with glee, not caring even as all traces of your devotion was subsumed, corrupted into a need to worship the beautiful angel in front of you. There was nothing more to desire than to follow your angel, your goddess, even as you both sunk into the endless dark, or would it be more accurate to soar to higher heights?
After all, the pleasure mounting in your veins, gathering in your lower belly, felt as pleasing, as free as soaring on the skies.
“When desires– ah, –lead us astray, we beg–”
Unbeknownst to you, Shalom allowed herself a small smile at the irony.
“We beg for the Creator’s deliverance, as–”
“Slow down.”
You were close, so close, and it took the skin of your teeth to take a deep, shuddering breath. Shalom was teasing you, that much was clear, but every attempt to press yourself closer, to finally break in sweet bliss, was denied, replaced by the inferior pleasure of her orders and praise. “Continue, properly this time.”
“For this is thy domain, thy glory and power–”
You shivered, she was brushing close to that sweet spot again. As each word left your trembling lips, the pleasure only heightens.
“That nothing shall eclipse.”
With that final word, you shattered, broken apart as your juices dripped down from your thighs, her fingers, and splattered into the floors. With a filthy, wet noise, Shalom withdrew her fingers and took her seat on the altar, exposing her clit. An invitation to partake while she licked her fingers, tongue swirling to savor your essence.
“Good girl, now, come, take your reward,” she said in-between licks.
As you lapped at her folds, her eyes held your attention, savoring the utter obedience once reserved for gods.
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lavishlyleo · 2 years ago
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Astrology Observations 3
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The power pisces placements hold is actually insane, like everyone talks about how intuitive Scorpios are, but have you seen what a Pisces can do when they set their minds to something? Especially a Sun / Mercury Combination in this sign. Like these people can not only predict many things and easily read foretold messages, getting insight on something before it happens, but they also have heavy manifesting powers when they have a lot of faith in something that they think will happen. It's like they speak it into existence. These people have a sixth sense I swear.
Like everything people think Scorpios are Pisces IS.
Having a Libra or Gemini Moon in your Solar return chart could indicate you being put in a situation where you appear fake and/or two faced. ( NOT Natal chart, Solar Return Chart ) I remember during 2020 I had this, and I used to always wanna keep the peace and harmony in my friend group, but when certain people left that I didn't like, I used to talk SO MUCH SHIT. It's a thing of not being liked by certain people or not liking certain people and them making you irritated and angry, but not wanting to cause more problems that would make the situation worse. So you just leave it be but as soon as you get the chance to vent about it, it's like a flood gate opening.
Moon in 11th house people CANNOT live without their group. I know someone with this placement and he always has a group to tag along with and he has so many connections to people. He's the poster child of social butterfly.
Being around someone with a Debilitated or Fall Moon ( Capricorn and Scorpio ) when they're irritated or angry is so draining. Like they WILL suck the energy out of the room when they're mad. Like you're walking on eggshells with what you say to them. However usually when the native realizes that it's affecting everyone they will leave the scene until they cool down, or try to sit down and talk about their feelings. This is because they don't want to stew in their own anger because it's draining to them too, so most would rather solve the issue than keep being angry.
Pisces Mars is another powerful placement to have for intuition and being able to dissect people's mind, intentions and feelings. Mars is the energy we put out into the world, but Pisces Mars uses their energy to absorb other peoples' energies to get the feel about somebody. This can also indicate someone who is very sleepy all the time, espeically around emotionally and spiritually draining people because they have to use more energy on these people.
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In synastry, we all know to check Venus, Mars, Moon, ect. HOWEVER! I feel like another huge determining factor in synastry is ruler planet chemistry. For example. If person A has Gemini Rising, and person B has Capricorn Rising, You would check how person A's Mercury aspects person B's Saturn. If A's Mercury trines B's Saturn then they could have a relationship based off similar experiences and having similar ways of thinking, despite their Rising signs being in quincunx. Also take into account where the chart ruler falls in each others charts. Another example is if Person A's Mercury could be in B's 6th house, making their relationship more work related and, and they sharing everyday little details to eachother.
Having a lot of strong and prominent aspects to one planet can make it a key focal point in your life, even if it's not the chart ruler, dominant planet, ect. This also means that planet has a more far reaching and influential power over the many planets it's aspecting. Think of dividing and conquering in a sense. And the planets being aspected by this one planet can even take on the qualities of the planets sign(s).
For example, someone can have many planets in fire or air, initially giving them those fire/air qualities. However, if their Saturn aspects alot of their planets (especially personal planets), then they may take on a more serious and calculated demeanor. Similar to that or a Capricorn or Aquarius.
What is it with fixed Mars signs and BEING SO FUCKING STUBBORN!? Especially Scorpio or Taurus Martians. I mean I know I can be stubborn sometimes but this is insane. In some instances, they KNOW they're in the wrong but will still defend their side of the argument until they day they DIE!! Obviously this is not everyone with this placement, at all times, but I've seen a couple people with this placement do this in when debating or arguing and it's like talking to a brick wall.
Having a lot of planets in the 10th house, or having personal planets in the 10th house in many of your Persona charts can indicate being very conscious of what you say to people, or to the public as to not have anything you say ruin your reputation. Any vile or ill feelings you have towards people are said in private to people you trust. These people are VERY conscious of their social and digital footprint.
Sagittarius Risings can have be very clever and calculating with their addictions. They're excellent at saving up money and rolling on a tight budget, thanks to their 2nd house being in Capricorn, however, with the full intentions of blowing all that money on something most people would find reckless or not essential. For example, saving up a months worth of rent to blow it all at the mall on anything they find and like when they get there. Calculating enough to know how much money they'll likely need for their adventure, but vague enough not to know exactly what they'll buy when they actually get there.
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I think this kinda goes without saying but also look at the house your planets are in along with the sign! For example, Someone with Libra Mars may seem really chill and compromising but if they have it in the 1st house they can be way more agressive and bold than a normal Libra Mars, and take on many traits of an Aries Mars.
On the same note, look at which specific house the planets are in, I feel like planets can be effected by the whatever house they are exalt, domicile, detriment, or fall in. For example, Venus could be in it's home sign, Taurus, however if Venus is in the 6th house it would still be in a somewhat fall because Virgo rules the 6th house and is in fall in Venus.
ALONG THE SAME NOTE, I don't see people talk about this enough but signs in domicile can be just as malefic as signs in detriment!! While a Capricorn Moon can have trouble showing their emotions and opening up to people, a Cancer Moon could be too emotional and always make the topic about how they feel and their emotions. Or while a Pisces Mercury could be avoidant and emotionally persuasive with their words, a Virgo Mercury could be overly analytical and constantly nitpick.
If you don't relate to a house placement, check your chart in whole houses.
With most of us alive today having Neptune sextile Pluto, this means we tend give a LOT of power to people we heavily idolize or are obsessed with greatly, for good or for worse.
I feel like the people who get stereotyped the most and/or have a warped stereotype applied to them that isn't consistant with the signs original stereotype usually have Pluto, Neptune or sometimes Uranus in their first house because those planets stay in a sign for years and can affect that generation of people. For example, Sagittarius Risings are stereotypically optimistic, easy going, adventureous and free spirited. However with most of Gen Z having Pluto in Sagittarius, this gives our generation of Sagittarius Ascendant natives a more serious, intense and secretive qualities.
A conjunction between two planets that are in different signs can weaken the conjunction. This is because while the planets energies are still combining, the planets have different ways of outputting that energy, which can sometimes disrupt the synchronization of the two planets.
This goes for opposition too, and I think it makes it worse because usually when two planets are in opposition, they are in sister signs, which gives them similar qualities and a basic understanding for each others energies. However if two planets in opposition aren't in sister signs, then this can make the placement feel more like a Square/Quincunx combination because there won't be that initial understanding or similar qualities, And the signs won't share the same modality or element.
I feel like Lilith aspecting the Moon can be more detrimental and powerful than the Moon being in Scorpio or Capricorn. This is because Lilith in astrology, like the moon is related to feminine energy (After all it's black MOON Lilith). But because of this very powerful and similar influence to the Moon, this can warp the effects and qualities the Moon has on the native, and the line where Lilith and the Moon's influence seperate can blur for the native. Personally me, I think this placement is the most powerful Lilith placement/aspect to have, even more powerful than aspects to the Ascendant or Sun, and is what typically makes someone a Lilith dominant.
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Placements that indicate having strong manifestation powers -
Jupiter or Venus in the 12th house.
Neptune in the 1st, 3rd or 8th
Having Pisces in a fire house (1st, 5th, 9th)
Sagittarius in Neptune and/or 12th house
Having planetary conjunctions where the planets in conjunction are in Pisces/Aries (One planet is pisces and the other is Aries)
Saturn in the water houses
Stelliums that include saturn or Neptune
Stelliums in the 8th house
Ruler of the 12th house in the fire houses (Co rulers count too)
having many planets in the 10th or 11th house (because they are Saturn ruled houses and manifestation here is a result of good karma and time).
On that note, not every planet in the 12th house is good for manifestation. Brash and scattered planets like Mars, Mercury, Moon, ect can be too chaotic and scattered for accurate and great manifesting.
While Venus Persona Chart can show what kind of lover you are, Juno persona chart can show what your lover's chart may look like.
Look at where the Ascendant of the Ascendant Persona Chart Ruler is in your natal chart for more insight about your identity and what your core themes are. For example if your Acsendant PC Rising is in Aquarius, check where Uranus and Saturn lies in your natal chart.
Personally, I think Venus should be exalted in Cancer and Jupiter should be exalted Pisces, they need to swap because it would make so many things line up with the placements exalts and domiciles for Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Mercury, ect. For a more in depth analysis check out my post here
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cece693 · 1 year ago
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Pain (Lestat de Lioncourt x Male Vamp. Reader)
This small fic came to me while looking through Pinterest. You know those little 'aesthetic' quotes? Well, it came from this one specifically: 'I loved you even when it hurt.' This fic includes things from both the movie and TV show, so no specific Lestat was used for inspiration. Enjoy.
Summary: On the anniversary of his transformation, m/r can't help but remember his past: one that includes his ex-lover and sire, Lestat de Lioncourt.
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M/n was tired. Though his outward appearance betrayed no signs of aging—no wrinkles, no gray hair, no creaking bones—the weight of centuries bore down on him. As he gazed at the midnight sun, a harbinger of his impending retreat to his coffin, m/n decided to indulge himself and spend more time out in the open. After all, this was the only time he could enjoy the new wonders of the world, yet this was not just any ordinary day. Tonight marked the anniversary of m/n's transformation into one of the undead.
Reflecting on the past, m/n reminisced about the persuasive allure of Lestat, the vampire who had sweet-talked his way around rationality, promising a life brimming with pleasure and abundance. In the initial decades, it was a splendid existence.
Lestat had a way of making m/n feel truly special. The once mundane aspects of mortal life were now elevated to extraordinary heights in the vampiric realm, and Lestat made sure m/n felt the full extent of his newfound powers.
There were moonlit strolls through shadowy alleyways, where Lestat shared the secrets of their immortal world. He spoke of the intoxicating thrill of the hunt, the taste of forbidden blood, and the freedom that came with transcending the limitations of mortality. Lestat created a world where every moment felt like an eternity of bliss. However, m/n should've known his novelty would wear off.
Lestat was a man driven by desire and ambition, wanting to taste the newest and finest things in life. What would m/n offer to such a monster who had already taken everything? So when Lestat's attention was redirected to another human named Louis, m/n felt pain.
He was angry at Lestat for casting him aside, yet the blame couldn't be placed on him alone—m/n should've known that a creature such as Lestat could never be tied down, despite how much he proclaimed to love you. So, when the ethereally beautiful vampire introduced Louis as his newest creation, a realization dawned on m/n. Lestat wasn't his anymore.
And Louis, the unwitting figure in their love triangle, bore no blame for his and Lestat's fallout. M/n grappled with conflicting emotions, attempting to cultivate hatred towards the vampire who seemed to have stolen Lestat away. Yet, against his own efforts, all he could muster was pity. For as much as Louis and Lestat showcased their 'love' through tender kisses and clandestine touches, m/n saw through the facade.
In the quiet moments when Lestat thought no one was watching, m/n observed the flickers of longing and boredom in the vampire's blue eyes. It became evident that the passion between Louis and him, while palpable, was also marred by perpetual restlessness. Not even months into Louis' stay did the cracks in their relationship begin to manifest themselves.
"Out with Antoinette?" Louis would hiss, the accusatory tone hanging heavy in the air, ensuing another argument between the two. As the discord between Louis and Lestat escalated, M/n found himself unwittingly becoming a refuge for Lestat. The vampire, seeking solace in the familiar, turned to M/n whenever the storms of conflict raged with Louis. In those moments of anger, Lestat was M/n's again, yet it also drove him to the brink of madness and unhappiness.
He had days, if lucky, where things would go back to how they were—a semblance of the love they once shared. But whenever the storms settled between Louis and Lestat, m/n would be relegated to loneliness once more. One day, unable to bear the emotional rollercoaster any longer, he confronted Lestat. The air was thick with tension as they stood facing each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between them.
"You can't keep doing this, Lestat." M/n pleaded, the frustration and anguish evident in his voice. "Keep me here when you clearly love Louis. How would you like it if I were to do the same?"
M/n regretted saying anything as Lestat's eyes darkened, and a snarl emerged on the vampire's lips. In a sudden, swift motion, Lestat pinned m/n to the wall, his grip firm and possessive. The room seemed to close in as Lestat hissed, "You belong to me."
"I don't belong to anyone." M/n retorted, anger engulfing his body.
Lestat laughed coldly in his face, grip tightening, he smirked. "That's where you're wrong, love," he taunted, his voice dripping with both amusement and cruelty. "I own you…"
The possessive declaration sent a chill down m/n's spine, his anger giving way to a growing sense of unease. Lestat's dark laughter reverberated in the confined space, echoing the shifting power dynamics between them. Trapped against the wall, m/n felt the weight of Lestat's control, a dominance that left him conflicted and vulnerable.
Lestat's smirk widened, his gaze predatory as he continued, "You're mine to protect, mine to control. I've tasted your blood, felt your heartbeat sync with mine. You're bound to me in ways you can't comprehend."
M/n, trapped against the wall, felt a cold chill run down his spine at Lestat's words. The once cherished intimacy between them now felt like chains, binding M/n to a fate he hadn't fully understood.
In a moment of intense emotion, Lestat, fueled by the strange dance of power and desire, leaned in, capturing m/n's lips in a possessive kiss. The meeting of their mouths was both a declaration of dominance and a desperate attempt of Lestat's to re-establish his control over m/n.
Perhaps, in his pursuit of novelty and excitement, he had unknowingly neglected his first creation in favor of the alluring Louis. However, what neither m/n nor Louis knew was that, hidden beneath the layers of Lestat's charismatic exterior, there existed a capacity for love.
As Lestat's lips sought dominance in the heated kiss, there was an intricate play of emotions beneath the surface.
The neglect that m/n had felt wasn't an absence of love but rather a reflection of Lestat's internal struggle to navigate the complexities of immortal relationships. Lestat, a vampire with a history of numerous lovers, had reveled in the pleasures of passion without feeling a deep emotional connection—until m/n entered the picture. Even his intense relationship with Louis didn't compare to the profound connection he shared with m/n.
As the intensity of their heated kiss began to wane, Lestat pulled away, his eyes fixed on m/n with a mixture of possessiveness and intensity. "If you dare to run away," Lestat whispered, "Know that I'll drag you back to my side. And that's a promise."
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