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cinnaminsvga · 1 year ago

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Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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doyoulikethissong-poll · 2 years ago

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Jamiroquai - Virtual Insanity 1996

"Virtual Insanity" is a song by British funk band Jamiroquai, released on 19 August 1996 as the second single from their third studio album, Travelling Without Moving. The song interpolates parts of Jocelyn Brown's 1984 post-disco hit "Somebody Else's Guy". "Virtual Insanity" was a number-one hit in Iceland and reached number three on the UK Singles Chart, as well as becoming a top-10 hit in Finland, Ireland, and Italy, the song also climbed to number 38 on the US Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart upon the single's release in the US in 1997. The song also earned the band a Grammy Award for Best Pop Vocal Performance by a Duo or Group. Thematically, the lyrics are concerned with issues like overpopulation, human genetic enhancement, eugenics and ecological collapse. In the beginning of the song's album version, a sound that is sampled from the 1979 sci-fi horror film Alien appears. It is the sound sequence when the S.O.S. signal appears on the screens of the spaceship Nostromo at the start of the film.

The music video for "Virtual Insanity" was directed by English filmmaker, director, and screenwriter Jonathan Glazer. At the 1997 MTV Video Music Awards it won 4 out of 10 nominations; Breakthrough Video, Video of the Year, Best Visual Effects and Best Cinematography. In 2006, it was voted 9th by MTV viewers in a poll on music videos that 'broke the rules'. In addition to heavy rotation on MTV and other music television networks, the video for "Virtual Insanity" has amassed more than 250 million views on Youtube as of August 2023 and has seen renewed attention on TikTok, gaining millions more views through various memes and remixes. It has been parodied, referenced, remixed or imitated in countless music videos, television shows, and internet memes.

On a personal note, I love each and every one of you who tagged the poll as "#rearranging furniture" in your reblogs! 😂💖

"Virtual Insanity" received a total of 80,7% yes votes!

youtube

#finished #high yes #high reblog #jamiroquai #90s #o1 #lo3 #popular

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skzdust · 7 months ago

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Going Dumb

SMUT--MINORS DNI

Sooooo me and @palindrome969 have been obsessed with mean dom Seungmin for a while and also I'm obsessed with vampires so this happened. Also heavily inspired by the song Going Dumb. Pali wrote a fic with this theme of Seungmin too, go read it here!!! It's really hot!

Summary: You've been hooking up with vampire Seungmin for far too long... but you always keep coming back.

Pairing: vampire!Kim Seungmin x afab reader

Includes: vampire sex, "slut", overstimulation, vampire Seungmin, blood/vampire feeding, kissing, "whore", "baby"

Word count: 1.2k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

You can feel when Seungmin’s fangs pop as you kiss him, a slight shift in his upper lip as the secondary teeth slide into place.

It’s a rare signal from the vampire. He’s usually one to string you along, to fuck you, use you, then leave before you’re awake. Seungmin’s a player, and you should probably stop responding so enthusiastically to his short, uninterested texts which usually consist of a time, a location, and nothing more.

But a vampire’s fangs only appear when they’re really hungry or turned on. Sex is the optimal time for a feeding. The saliva of a vampire increases a human’s sensitivity—and some say submission—and a freshly fed vampire has more strength, speed, and stamina.

You pull away. “Your fangs…”

Seungmin rolls his eyes. “It’s rude to comment on someone’s fangs.”

“But…”

Seungmin gives you a look before shutting you up with another kiss, more venomous than before. Your eyes flutter shut as his fangs brush against your teeth, and you moan.

“Keep that up and I’m gonna bite you.” He murmurs.

Your eyes open. “What?”

“I said—” He presses another harsh kiss to your lips. “I said I’m gonna bite you.”

Your pulse leaps. Seungmin laughs. “Someone’s excited.” He must be pretty horny to be paying such close attention to your blood pressure. “Does that turn you on? The thought of being a toy to be used by me in so many ways?”

“Yes,” You confess in a whimper. “Yes, Seungmin.”

“I won’t suck you dry.” He whispers. “I’ll just take a sip or two. It’ll make you feel so good when you’re coming on my cock… c’mon, baby, show me that pretty neck of yours.”

You know it’s a bad idea to let a vampire you regularly hook up with—any vampire, really—feed from you, but you’re just as turned on by the idea as Seungmin is. Still, you resist. “Fuck me first.”

“Excuse me?” Seungmin looks at you.

“Fuck me first… please.” You add at the end.

“Oh, baby.” Seungmin pushes you down into the hotel mattress. “I’ll fuck you when I want to… but take off those panties.”

You obey, keeping eye contact with him as you slide them off: one leg, then the other. You swallow, squirming slightly under him.

He wastes no time in pushing a thigh between your legs. You can’t help but grind against it, knowing you’re most likely making a mess on his dark pant leg but not even caring.

It’s as if he’s read your mind as he clicks his tongue—and maybe he has. “Making such a mess on my pants. Maybe I’ll punish you for that. Take your blood, then fuck you real good, make you forget your own name, every name but my own.”

Seungmin’s really good at dirty talk, and you push harder against his leg. He gives a low laugh as he moves it back, and you whine.

“Be a good little slut and tilt your head for me.”

You shake your head, your stomach full of butterflies. You like being a brat, but you know Seungmin’s punishment will be brutal, although you’re looking forward to that, too.

“Alright. You want me to fuck you, first? I’ll fuck you first.” He unzips his pants, slipping them off in a smooth motion. “I’ll fuck you till you can barely speak, and then I’ll feed, make you real brainless, and then then I’ll fuck you some more.”

You moan in agreement at this plan. You know Seungmin’s big, but he doesn’t bother to prepare you before he lines himself up with your hole, which you know is part of the punishment. His tip sinks inside you, and you moan deeper, the penetration blissful.

“Yeah, you like that?” He mumbles, adjusting himself before pushing all the way inside you in a sharp thrust. Your hips stutter up, and you cry out in pain-pleasure at his length.

As he begins to rock back and forth, though, the pain fully becomes pleasure. You can feel your eyes sliding shut, and Seungmin grabs your throat, squeezing just tightly enough that you can feel your heartbeat against his palm.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good, such a good little hole for me.” His voice is low as his thrusts get faster and faster. “So tight, you’re so desperate for me, aren’t you?”

You nod, feeling his hand around your throat. It moves up, cupping the side of your face before tilting it to one side. “I’m gonna feed from you now.”

You don’t have it in you to resist any longer, and you willingly move with him. His lips find where your neck joins your shoulder, and he sucks a deep hickey into the skin before gently scraping it with his fangs. “You’re gonna taste so good.”

He bites, and you moan loudly at the pain, twitching around his cock. He doesn’t say anything as he pulls away and begins to suck, and your eyes roll back as it turns to pleasure. His tongue laps at your neck, and he groans as he continues to feed.

Finally, he pulls back, and it takes a moment, but you can feel your body almost alight as it grows more sensitive with the effects of his saliva. He licks the wound a few times, but you can feel a couple of trickles making their way down your neck. He pulls up the white blanket to dab at his mouth, staining it red, and you know the sheets below you will be stained, too. You idly wonder if the hotel will charge extra for that—if they’ll charge Seungmin extra for that—before the thoughts leave your head as Seungmin begins to move inside you again.

His hips snap back and forth, and your moan this time is broken. Seungmin’s made good on his promise; your mind blanks out, overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand comes down to your clit, and he begins to gently circle it. You clench around him, and he makes a strangled sort of sound. He begins to talk.

“Such a good little hole, taking me so well. So well behaved now that you’ve got a big cock inside you. You’re so easy to satisfy.”

You react to his words, your back arching.

“Yeah, such a slut. Such a little whore for me, so willing to let me bite you and fuck you. Maybe I’ll get you a pretty collar, mark you as my property, my little fucktoy to feed from and play with whenever I want.”

That sounds pretty good to you, some part of your fucked-out brain noting that it’s his first time indicating he wants anything long-term with you. You whine in agreement.

“You like that idea? Being my pet? My little fucktoy? You already are, baby.” His thrusts become more irregular, more desperate, and you can tell he’s approaching his climax. “I’m gonna keep you fucked dumb whenever I want.” His voice is breathier. “I’m gonna cum in you, baby.”

You pant and heave under him, unable to do anything but feel. You cum at the same time as he hilts himself inside you, and you can feel his seed filling you up as you ride out your orgasm.

You both pause for a moment, your breath syncing up, and Seungmin brushes a kiss against your temple.

He’s not even stopped for a minute before he begins to fuck you again.

#mirohsaurorasociety #stray kids #stray kids fic #smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #kim seungmin #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin #skz #skz x reader #seungmin smut #vampires #skzdust writes

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edenesth · 1 year ago

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TWTHH Spinoff: Written in the Stars [2]

Pairing: military strategist!Mingi x royal physician!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 10.3k 🤡

Summary: Mingi had spent countless years searching for the angel who saved his life when he was on the verge of death. He believed god was on his side when she finally reappeared before him, but she was now so near yet so far, so unobtainable. No longer just a young medical trainee, she had become an esteemed royal physician—a woman working within the palace walls. And what did that mean? It meant she now belonged to His Majesty.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"I still can't believe you actually said yes to him. What happened to love being a luxury for us, hm?" Subin teased, not letting you off the hook since she found out about the military strategist's bold invitation. That was surprising enough, but nothing shocked her more than your acceptance.

You sighed, tightening the bow of your hanbok before heading to the full-length mirror in your room to check your hair. "Oh, stop it. You know this is nothing more than a way to demonstrate our teamwork. Officer Song is a colleague, and we are simply taking the chance to network and show support for the union with Ruhon."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, you keep telling yourself that, unnie."

You truly didn’t want to think much of it.

You were already planning to attend the banquet anyway, with or without Mingi's invitation. As one of the more senior and recognised royal physicians in the palace, your attendance at these events was mostly expected. While his attempts to spend time with you hadn't gone unnoticed, you treated them as nothing but friendly gestures.

As you finished adjusting your hanbok, you resolved to keep things strictly professional. Whatever he thought might happen, you would make it clear that you were unavailable. You would convince him to give up, knowing his efforts would only be in vain.

Right, let's get this over with.

The evening of the banquet arrived, and the palace buzzed with activity. Lanterns illuminated the courtyards, and the air was filled with music and laughter. Excitement filled you as you stepped out of the female physicians' quarters to find the tall and dashing military strategist already waiting. He wore a grand hanbok, a stark contrast to his usual training clothes. His hair was slicked back, and his hands were clasped behind his back as he paced, eyes fixed on the ground.

You took a deep breath to calm your racing heartbeat. After all, you were only human, and this was a stunning man before you. But you had to remind yourself that nothing was ever going to happen between you two and that you had only agreed to attend the event with him as a gesture of camaraderie.

Nothing more, nothing less.

After composing yourself, you cleared your throat and called out, "Officer Song, you really didn't have to come all the way here. I could have just met you at the grand hall along with everyone else."

Mingi perked up, his heart thundering at the sound of your voice. When he turned to face you, his breath momentarily caught at the sight of you so dressed up. You were always beautiful to him, but tonight, you were even more enchanting.

He bowed slightly and stepped closer. "You look… perfect, my lady."

You blinked rapidly, hoping the blush you felt wasn’t obvious on your face. He continued, "Of course, I had to come here. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t? More importantly, you're not just anyone else to me, Royal Physician Ahn. You're my—"

Not wanting to hear the rest, you flashed a large, courteous smile. "Ah, we should probably head over if we don't want to be late. Let us go, Officer Song," you said, cutting him off. His smile faltered slightly before he nodded. "R-right, let us."

Throughout the night, the military strategist remained faithfully by your side. Unfortunately, his attentive gestures did not go unnoticed by those around you, leaving you flustered and repeatedly clarifying that you were merely colleagues.

"Really, Royal Physician Ahn? That's a shame, you two would make a beautiful couple," teased Lady Park. You sputtered, choking on your drink. She panicked and reached over to pat you on the back, glancing at a very concerned Mingi who was conversing with the general. With a reassuring smile, she mouthed, "I'll take care of her."

Officer Song resisted rolling his eyes as Seonghwa smiled dreamily at his adorable wife, not realising he was just as guilty of it—if only he knew he looked the same whenever you were around.

"I-I'm fine. Thank you, Lady Park. But I assure you, nothing can happen between us. It is forbidden; I am a woman of the palace."

The pregnant woman grinned in response. "So, are you saying that if you weren't a palace woman, you definitely would have given General Officer Song a chance?"

You sighed, offering her a half-hearted smile. "There's no use pondering that, my lady. It's impossible," you whispered the last part.

She softened, touching your shoulder gently. "Nothing is impossible if only you desire it hard enough, my dear."

Your heart warmed at her words, but you knew better than to believe them. With an appreciative nod, you gestured to her baby bump. "So, how has pregnancy been treating you, my lady?" you asked, steering the conversation away from dangerous territory. You were afraid of temptations and could not afford to give in to any of them.

The conversation with Lady Park was cut short when a certain fourth prince appeared behind her, hesitantly taking an uncertain step forward. You blinked, trying not to stare too obviously, but she noticed your eyes shifting toward something over her shoulder.

With furrowed brows, she wondered aloud, "Just what are you looking at, Royal Physician Ahn?" She turned and froze upon locking eyes with Prince Yeosang. As she moved to bow, he hurriedly reached out to stop her, gently holding her by her forearms.

"It's been a while, my lady. Would you… care to catch up?" he asked.

She bit her lip, turning to meet her husband's warm gaze. Seonghwa nodded, signalling that the decision was up to her, and she excused herself to speak with her friend. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the prince's one-sided feelings for Lady Park persisted. Everyone in Joseon had heard of His Highness' not-so-subtle advances back then. The gossip at that time was quite juicy, but it was good to see him accepting defeat gracefully. The once bratty fourth prince had disappeared; it seemed the general's wife truly had a strong hold on his heart, changing him for the better even with her firm rejection.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your chaperone reappeared by your side. You weren't sure how to feel around the gentle giant. His presence was both comforting and unnerving.

"Everything alright?" Mingi asked softly, concern evident in his eyes.

"Yes, everything is fine," you replied, smiling up at him. "Just a bit of palace drama."

He chuckled, nodding in understanding. "Palace drama indeed. Shall we continue to mingle, or would you like to take a break?"

You appreciated his attentiveness, but the whirlwind of emotions from the evening had left you feeling somewhat drained. "A break sounds nice," you admitted.

Mingi beckoned for you to follow and you did, allowing him to lead you to a quieter corner of the grand hall. As you walked, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. The evening was proving to be far more eventful than you had anticipated, and you knew you had to stay vigilant against his allurements that seemed to be lurking at every turn.

As you both reached a more secluded area, he quickly said, "Wait here, I'll get you something to drink."

You sighed, reaching for his arm. "You don't have to do that, Officer Song. I don't want anyone to misunderstand. I've been meaning to tell you: there's nothing between us, and there never will be."

He paused, turning to face you properly. You looked away almost immediately, guilt gnawing at you as you caught a glimpse of the hurt reflected in his eyes. A heavy silence settled between you, each struggling to collect your thoughts.

Mingi knew winning your heart wouldn't be easy, but the early rejection still stung deeply. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but steady. "I understand your concerns, truly. But my intentions are genuine. I'm sorry if I've caused you any discomfort or misunderstanding. I just want you to know how much I care."

You bit your lip, the sincerity in his words making it even harder. "I appreciate your honesty, but I have my duties and responsibilities. My life is here in the palace, and I can't afford distractions."

He nodded slowly, taking a step back to give you space. "I respect your dedication. I just… before I let you go, there's one thing I need to know. We've actually met each other years ago. Did you… did you remember me when you saw me again?"

Your expression remained unreadable as you mustered a response. After what felt like an eternity, with the military strategist standing with bated breath and his heart pounding in his ears, you finally met his eyes and softly said, "No, I'm afraid don't know what you're talking about. I'm sorry, Officer Song…"

His heart sank. "Oh."

The weight of his disappointment hung in the air. He took a step back, struggling to mask the hurt that flashed across his face. He had held onto the hope that perhaps, even faintly, you had remembered him. That tiny hope had been a beacon for him, a justification for his persistence. But now, it seemed all for naught.

What if His Majesty had been right?

"That's… that's okay," he finally said, forcing a weak smile. "I must have been mistaken."

You nodded, the guilt intensifying as you watched him grapple with his emotions. "I'm really sorry. Perhaps you have."

Except that was a complete lie.

You remembered. In truth, you had never forgotten. How could you? To have seen Song Mingi in person was to understand that he wasn't someone easy to forget, even when pale and sickly on his deathbed. He was undeniably gorgeous. Beyond his appearance and physique, his warm gaze, soft touch, and sweet words lingered in your memory, impossible to leave behind.

You'd recognised him since day one.

It took everything in you to maintain a composed façade and steady your racing heart as you locked eyes with the military strategist for the first time in years. Before you stood a man, well and strong, embodying everything you had ever wanted.

But you had to quell your desires, silence your dreams, and dismiss any thoughts of the impossible. Years had passed, and you had assumed he was married by now. Later, you discovered he wasn't.

Yet, it changed nothing.

You were now a palace woman, and that sealed the hopelessness of your situation. So you chose to pretend, to feign ignorance of your shared past. It was for the best—for him and for you.

Sometimes, you wondered if you were trying to convince him or yourself more. It was the very reason you dreaded seeing him; not out of dislike or annoyance, but because you were just as captivated by him as he was by you. Had you been an ordinary physician outside the palace walls, you would have accepted his love in a heartbeat.

But things were different now.

Rules were rules.

You and General Officer Song were a beautiful impossibility, and you had to do everything to keep it that way.

Yet, his constant presence was a quiet storm, eroding your resolve. Every gentle gesture, each attempt to show he could protect and cherish you, made it increasingly difficult. His persistence, so tender and genuine, weakened your defences, and you were frightened—terrified, even—of the feelings blooming within you.

Why must he be so cruel?

His kindness, his sincerity, his unwavering dedication—they all tugged at your heartstrings, weakening your defenses. Every time he appeared with that soft smile, every time he looked at you with those earnest eyes, it became increasingly difficult to remember why you had to keep him at arm's length.

And tonight, standing in the secluded corner of the grand hall, facing the man you had spent years trying to forget, you felt your carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. The reality of your situation pressed heavily on you, a constant reminder of the boundaries that could not be crossed.

Song Mingi, with his genuine concern and quiet strength, embodied everything you had ever wanted but could never have. His mere presence was a cruel reminder of what could have been in another life, another world. A world where you were free to love him without consequence.

But you weren't in that world. You were here, bound by duty and rules that were impossible to break. So you swallowed your feelings, pushed down the burgeoning hope, and forced yourself to remember the impossible nature of your situation.

Because letting yourself love him—truly, deeply love him—would only lead to heartache for you both. And you couldn't bear the thought of causing him any more pain than you already have.

You sighed, swallowing the lump forming in your throat as you gazed up at him solemnly. "I, uh… I'm feeling rather tired. I shall retire to my quarters for the night. Thank you for accompanying me tonight, Officer Song. It truly is a joy to befriend Lady Park. It's also wonderful to finally see Joseon and Ruhon getting along well. It seems like things are really looking up for us."

But they weren't.

Both of you thought it, but neither dared to say it aloud.

You smiled courteously, bowing respectfully. "Goodnight, Officer Song. I hope you enjoy the rest of the banquet with your friends."

Just as you turned to leave, he reached out an arm to stop you, though not touching you. Damn it. Damn him and his gentlemanly gestures. "Wait, my lady. Please allow me to escort you back—"

You bowed again, cutting him off, afraid to hear the rest of it. "Please enjoy the rest of the banquet."

With that, you left, leaving behind a strong man staring longingly after you like a lovesick puppy. You didn't have the courage to spare a final glance at him, knowing another look at his pleading eyes would make you give in, and you couldn't have that. Not now. Not ever. You needed to put an end to this.

As you walked away, your heart ached with every step. The distance between you and Mingi grew, but the weight of your emotions only became heavier. The grand hall's festive atmosphere faded into the background as you focused on maintaining your resolve.

Arriving back at the female physician's quarters, you couldn't summon the energy to put on yet another fake smile for Subin. Your friend waited excitedly for you by the entrance, but her beam faltered as she registered the expression on your face.

"You told him to stop, didn't you?" she asked softly, reaching over to grab your hand.

You nodded wordlessly, too weary to say anything more. Subin wrapped an arm around your shoulder, guiding you into your room, murmuring, "It'll be okay… I'm here."

You broke into a tiny smile, leaning into her hold appreciatively. Her warmth and understanding were a balm to your frayed nerves. As you settled into the familiar comfort of your quarters, the weight of the evening began to lift, if only slightly.

Subin's presence was a reminder that you weren't alone, even in your struggle to keep your feelings at bay. She helped you sit down, then knelt beside you, her eyes filled with concern and compassion.

"I know it's hard," she said gently, "but you're strong. You did what you had to do."

You sighed, closing your eyes as you leaned back against the wall. "I just... I can't believe I'm saying this, but I just wish things were different, you know?"

She nodded, squeezing your hand. "I know, unnie. But remember, you're not alone in this. We'll get through it together. Besides, you said it yourself: we have each other, and we have our duty. That's enough. It has to be."

Her words, though simple, offered a small measure of solace. You knew the path ahead would be challenging and that things with the military strategist would never be the same again, but with her by your side, you felt a glimmer of hope.

"Trust me, you'll get over it in no time."

God, I sure hope so.

Meanwhile, Mingi did his best to keep it together for the rest of the event. After all, you had told him to enjoy it with his friends, so he did—or at least he tried his hardest. Feigning a huge grin, he returned to General Park and Royal Secretary Choi's side, casually mentioning that you had retired early. He didn’t want to burden them with his love troubles; the last thing he wanted was their pity. He didn't need to feel any worse than he already did.

Despite having braced himself for the possibility of hearing those words, the pain of your rejection cut deep. "There's nothing between us, and there never will be." Those words echoed in his mind like a broken record as he lay in bed that night, unable to find solace in sleep. He was caught between the urge to fight harder for you and the need to honour your wishes.

Yet, he couldn't shake the image of your face when he asked if you remembered him. The fleeting look of conflict troubled him deeply. Why did you seem so torn? Why did you hesitate? Could you have been lying? If so, why hide the truth? He needed answers. Whether or not you would ever be his, he needed to know them.

Mingi resolved to seek those answers, slowly and carefully. In the process, he hoped to soften your seemingly hardened heart, guarded by steel walls that showed cracks despite your efforts to conceal them. He might have been a fool most of the time, but his attentiveness had never been keener than now. All for you. Because he believed fate must have brought you back into his life for a reason.

"You good, hyung?" Junghoon asked, feeling his mentor shift on the bed for what seemed like the thousandth time that night.

The older man nodded despite the internal turmoil within him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Go to sleep already, young man."

"I'm trying... if only you'd stop moving."

Heaving a sigh, Mingi turned to face his apprentice. "Hey, what do you think it means when a woman tells you to stop pursuing her but looks really sad while saying it?"

The younger man rolled his eyes. There goes my sleep, he thought as he pushed himself up into a seated position, legs folded and hands intertwined. "Alright, sit your dumbass up. Time for Love Lessons for Dummies 101."

"Are you sure this is going to work? She's not—" Mingi's words were cut off by his apprentice, who mocked him with air quotes. "'Not like other girls.' Yeah, yeah, I know. That's what every man says about his crush. Trust me, women are all the same. Nothing melts their hearts more than an attentive and caring man. Now go before she's already out for her lunch break."

Junghoon had finally convinced his mentor to see his dream girl after avoiding the royal medical hall for nearly a week, giving you the space you needed. But Mingi knew that to win your heart, he couldn’t stay away. He'd have to approach gently and slowly.

With a handmade lunchbox in hand, the military strategist's first mission was to show you he wasn’t bound by gender norms, relegating kitchen tasks only to women. He wanted to demonstrate what having a husband like him would be like. If you wished, he could drop by each day with lunch prepared just for you.

His heart pounded with anticipation when he arrived at the medical hall for the first time in what felt like forever. He had missed you like crazy, each day without seeing you dragging on like a year. As he stepped inside and approached the counter, confusion set in when you were nowhere in sight. Could you have gone out with the first batch of royal physicians for your lunch break? That was odd; you always preferred the second batch.

"Good day, Officer Song. Are you injured or feeling unwell?" one of your colleagues asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. Mingi blinked and cleared his throat. "N-no, I'm here for Royal Physician Ahn. Is she already out for lunch?"

Your colleague suppressed a knowing grin, pursing her lips before answering, "She's not. She hasn't been in for a few days now. She's been down with food poisoning ever since attending the royal banquet with you."

Mingi felt his heart sink.

He muttered a quick thanks and dashed out, his feet moving automatically towards the female physicians' quarters. Nothing else mattered; he needed to see you, to know you were okay, to apologise for not taking better care of you that night.

Meanwhile, you pressed your face into your pillow, curling into a ball and clutching the comforter around you as another stab of pain hit your stomach. The discomfort was unbearable, making it impossible to go to work today. Seeing your agony, the head of the royal physicians had allowed you a day or two to feel better before returning to the royal medical hall.

As the pain subsided and you slowly felt a wave of drowsiness enveloping you, an unusual rustle from outside alerted you. Someone was there. But who? Everyone else should be at work. Was it Subin coming to check on you? Your thoughts were interrupted when your breath hitched, realising a man's silhouette was standing by your room entrance through the paper walls.

What fool would dare come here, a place meant only for women? Not even eunuchs were allowed in, let alone a well-built man of his stature. Was it a prison escapee? Lord knows what he'd do if he found you alone. Before you could attempt to get up and go someplace safe, another sharp pain hit, and the wince you let out was inevitable. Unfortunately, the man heard you and immediately reached to pull the doors open.

As the door slid open, your heart raced, fear gripping you as you braced for the worst. But instead of a stranger, you saw Mingi's concerned face. His eyes widened in alarm as he rushed to your side.

"Physician Ahn, are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

"O-Officer Song? What in the world are you doing here?" you managed to say between breaths, the pain still lingering.

"I heard you were sick. I had to make sure you were okay," he replied, his voice softening as he knelt beside your bed.

The concern in his eyes was genuine, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, a small part of you felt relieved. "You're not supposed to... you shouldn't be here," you whispered, the rules and propriety still at the forefront of your mind.

"I know, but I couldn't stay away," he said, gently placing a hand on your arm. "I'm here to make up for my mistake. I should have been more attentive. This is all my fault."

You frowned, pushing yourself up to a sitting position as the pain subsided again. "What do you mean by that? How is any of this your fault? This has nothing to do with you."

He sighed. "Nonsense. If only I’d been more attentive to what they served you at the banquet, you wouldn’t have been suffering from food poisoning this badly."

"F-food poisoning...? Who told you that?" you asked, already having a clue. He twiddled his fingers nervously. "One of your colleagues. I was at the medical hall earlier and you weren’t there. She told me you were sick, and I came here as fast as I could..."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you were exasperated at your friends’ mischievousness. They hadn’t let you live it down since learning you had gone to the royal banquet with the military strategist, though they didn’t know what had transpired between you two or how the night had ended. The teasing was one thing, but you didn’t think they’d actually go this far. But of course, they probably didn’t think this fool would actually come here himself instead of sending a court lady to check on you.

You sighed. "I don't have food poisoning… it's just that time of the month. You know, the women thing…" His eyes widened in horror, and his cheeks turned red with embarrassment. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, muttering, "Gosh, why'd she lie about this?"

You pulled your comforter close as another cramp hit. "Listen, I'm not in the mood to talk right now. Besides, you really shouldn't be here. I appreciate you checking on me, but you should leave. We'd both be in huge trouble if someone saw you here."

He nodded quickly, gesturing to the bag he had brought with him. "Right, I-I'll leave immediately. These are for you, by the way. I made them myself. Please enjoy them when you're feeling hungry."

Usually, you would have melted at that, but you really needed him gone. "Yes, thank you."

As if the world had something against you, just as the military strategist neared the door, another familiar silhouette appeared at the entrance. "Are you feeling any better, my dear? I've come with some heat packs to soothe the cramps," the head of the royal physicians called out, her hands reaching for the door handle.

Mingi froze, and you panicked, all menstrual pain forgotten as you jumped out of bed and rushed towards him, exclaiming loudly, "I'm feeling much better, Head Physician Seo! Thank you for your concern. Would you give me a minute? I'm not properly dressed."

You sighed in relief when that worked like a charm as she removed her hand from the door handle and took a step back. "Oh, my apologies. Of course, let me know when you're ready."

Scanning the room in alarm, you hurried to the cabinet that usually held your mattress, pillows, and comforters when you weren't sleeping, now empty. "Get in here, quick!" you whispered urgently. He obeyed, moving as stealthily as he could to avoid making a sound and raising suspicion.

Oh god, can things get any worse today?

After shooting him a stern look and pressing your pointer finger against your lips to signal a firm 'be quiet,' you shut the cabinet doors and took a deep breath. Plastering on a huge smile, you opened the door for your superior, letting her in. She smiled warmly, handing you the heat packs she'd brought. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard someone in here earlier."

Your breath caught as you noticed Mingi's bag still by your bed. Quickly moving to conceal it with your hanbok, you feigned innocence. "Huh, really? That's weird. It's only me. I'm sure it's nothing."

She shrugged and nodded. "You're probably right. I guess all the lack of sleep must be getting to me. Well then, it’s good to see you doing better. I shall get back to work then."

You mustered a fake laugh. "That must be it, ma'am. Thank you so much for the heat packs. I really appreciate it."

She patted your cheeks softly. "Anything for my best physician. Hope to see you back at work tomorrow."

You nodded, waving goodbye as she left. As you shut the door, exhaustion overwhelmed you, and you sank to your knees. The cabinet doors creaked open as the tall man emerged, muttering, "Phew, that was close—"

As if jinxing it, your superior returned. "Oh yes, my dear!" she called through the door.

Rushing up to Mingi, you smacked a palm over his mouth to shut him up as you answered her, "Yes, ma'am?"

She chuckled. "I heard that General Officer Song of yours dropped by the medical hall earlier, seemingly with lunch prepared for you. Don't be so hard on him, hm? I know we’re not allowed to love, but he's a sweet guy. At least be a friend to him. We’re still allowed to have friends, you know? Please don’t deprive yourself of that right too."

You swallowed, meeting Mingi’s eyes as they softened at your pained expression. "I understand. Thank you, ma'am."

Finally, she left for good this time. Eyes locked with his, you pondered her words. Could you really be friends with this man? Just... friends? Perhaps that was all you could ever be.

In that moment of closeness, you became acutely aware of your position, your hand still covering his mouth, his hands gently supporting you on your back. The atmosphere crackled with tension until it was broken by the rumble of his stomach. Flustered, you withdrew, your heart racing.

What in the world just happened...?

With a nervous bite of your lip, you dared to break the silence. "You uhh... haven't eaten either, have you?"

He shook his head bashfully, his eyes reflecting a mix of embarrassment and longing. "No, I haven't."

Oh, to hell with it.

You gestured towards the lunch he had brought. "Join me then."

Things had obviously shifted between you since then, and it did not go unnoticed by those around you. General Officer Song started coming by the medical hall at least once a week, no longer pretending to have an injury but simply to share lunch with you.

As friends.

That was what you told your friends, colleagues and every other palace staff whenever they tried to tease you. Yes, friends. That was all there was to it. All you both were ever going to be. Nothing more, nothing less. Just friends. Good friends. That was all you would allow… all you were allowed, really.

But you were happy with it. You had to be. It wasn't something you had a say in.

This was your life.

Mingi's visits became an oddly comforting routine. Every week, he would show up with a handmade lunch, and you would sit together, talking and laughing. The bond between you grew stronger, and although you constantly reminded yourself that you were just friends, there was an undeniable warmth in your interactions.

One afternoon, after the military strategist had patiently waited for you to finish caring for a patient, the two of you shared lunch in a quiet corner of the medical hall. He looked at you with a soft, contemplative expression. "You know," he began, "the first time I saw you, I thought you were the most admirable woman to exist. I'm glad I wasn't wrong. You really are an angel sent by the heavens."

You felt a flutter in your chest but quickly suppressed it, grinning softly. "Am I really? You know I'm not the only female physician around. The others are just as admirable."

Yes, but they're not you.

He nodded, though his eyes held a depth of emotion you couldn't quite decipher. "I suppose you're right," he said gently.

Not wanting to dwell on the serious atmosphere, you playfully nudged him on the shoulder. "Of course I am. I'm always right. And I bet you were a complete crybaby the day we first met, wailing like a child as you received treatment."

He scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically and feigning offence. "I was not. I'll have you know I was the most courageous soldier on site that day."

Brave enough to ask you out.

"Sure you were," you mocked sarcastically, sticking your tongue out at him. Your heart warmed internally because he was right. You remembered how calm he was despite the pain he endured. But he could never know you remembered. Never. That would complicate things too much, and you didn't need that. Not now, not ever.

Things were perfect as they were.

Or were they?

Irked by your teasing, he swiftly reached out to snatch a piece of dumpling—your favourite—from your lunchbox and stuffed it into his mouth as revenge. You let out a surprised yelp, smacking him on the arm. "Wha—hey! That was my last piece! Give it back, Song Mingi!" Your laughter filled the space as you wrestled with him, his eyes disappearing into adorable slits as he hurriedly chewed on the dumpling, annoying you with it. He chortled, speaking through his mouth full, "Ha! That's what you get!"

The fun was abruptly cut short when the head of the royal physicians appeared at the doorway. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked, her tone light but curious.

You sputtered and shook your head, immediately pushing yourself off the tall man. "Absolutely not, ma'am. He was just about to leave. We're done eating," you said, glaring playfully at Mingi as he swallowed the last of your dumpling.

The military strategist bowed respectfully to the elderly woman, seizing the opportunity to escape your wrath. "I apologise for taking up so much of Royal Physician Ahn's time. I'll leave at once," he said.

She shook her head, smiling warmly. "Don't apologise. I'm not sure I've seen Physician Ahn this happy in a good while. Please stay for a bit more if you wish, Officer Song."

Both your cheeks grew warm at her words as Mingi scrambled to pack up his belongings and leave, clearly shy. "Thank you, ma'am, but I really shouldn't. Besides, I have training to attend as well."

With a final bow to you both, he was gone, leaving you standing there, your heart still racing from the sudden interruption and the unexpected compliment from your superior.

Head Physician Seo approached you, a knowing smile on her face. "You and General Officer Song seem really close. Are you sure there's nothing more going on?"

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. "We're good friends. That's all."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. "Well, as long as you're happy. I'm glad you took my advice and allowed him in."

You nodded, reaffirming your own belief. "You were right, it's nice to have someone who genuinely understands and cares."

In the back of your mind, you couldn't ignore the ache of wanting something more, but you reminded yourself that this was your reality. And so, you continued to cherish the time spent with him, finding solace in the friendship that had blossomed between you.

As the weeks turned into months, the boundaries of your friendship were constantly tested. Every shared smile, every lingering glance, and every comforting touch made it harder to maintain the illusion. Deep down, you both knew what you had was special, even if you could never openly acknowledge it.

Despite the constraints, you found happiness in the moments you shared. Each lunch, each conversation, and each quiet moment of understanding reinforced the bond between you. The stolen glances when no one was looking, the way he would subtly take care of you, and the warmth that filled your heart when he was near—it all painted a picture of a love that couldn't be spoken.

In the silence of the night, when you lay awake thinking about him, you allowed yourself to dream of a different life. A life where societal expectations didn't dictate your choices, and you could be free to express your true feelings. But for now, those dreams remained just that—dreams.

You took comfort in the friendship that had become an integral part of your life. It was a bittersweet reality, but one you had come to accept. And in those precious moments you shared, you found a contentment that made the impossible feel almost within reach.

Meanwhile, Mingi found himself growing more hopeful with every step closer to you. Though it hurt to hear you remind everyone that what you shared was merely friendship, he was almost certain you returned his feelings. Yet, he didn’t want to make assumptions; he needed to hear it from you. He was prepared to wait a long time, even forever, as long as you continued to allow him to be near you. This closeness was already more than he had ever hoped for, and a part of him had accepted that this might be the way things were meant to be.

Being friends was better than nothing.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Junghoon smirked before letting out a whine as his mentor hit him on the back.

"Shut up, kid. What do you know about love anyway? Taking advice from you nearly got me and her in trouble," Mingi grumbled.

The apprentice rolled his eyes, rubbing his back. "Oh, please, don't act like it didn't help you get close to her. I dare you to say you didn’t enjoy having her pressed up against you that day, keeping your mouth shut with her hand, all alone in her room—"

Mingi slapped a hand over the younger man’s mouth, eyes wide and face burning with embarrassment. "If you don't shut your trap right now, I'll tell His Majesty you’d like to quit and join the eunuchs."

That was all it took to silence Junghoon.

Truthfully, the apprentice was right, being close to you had made Mingi greedy for your affections. He often wondered what it would be like to have you willingly run into his arms. But the military strategist knew that was probably as far as he would ever get. Friends were not meant to be any closer than that, and he had come to accept it. If only you would stop making things more difficult.

One day, a soldier was seriously injured during training due to faulty weapons, and the royal medical hall was notified. You appeared at the training grounds with Subin beside you not long after, slightly out of breath as your eyes searched hastily for something or… someone. When you didn’t find who you were looking for, you blurted out, "Where's Officer Song? Is he okay?"

The soldiers greeting you furrowed their brows in confusion. "Officer Song…? Yes, he's fine. It's not him who got injured. Did someone tell you that by mistake?"

You sputtered messily, flustered for giving yourself away, while your childhood friend suppressed her giggle beside you. "O-oh, no... I just... I assumed it was him since he gets injured nearly every week. Never mind that, please take us to the injured soldier."

"Yes, my lady. Come with me."

Quickly, you followed the man, eyes glued to his back, not wanting to catch any knowing glances thrown your way. Unbeknownst to you, Song Mingi was hidden by a stand and had heard everything, struggling to keep the smile off his face at your concern. Were you thinking about him just as much as he thought about you? Were you worried about him? Did you... feel the same?

He desperately wanted to hear it from you but dared not ask the questions, fearing the answers you'd give him—answers that he knew would never reflect your true feelings. He watched you tend to the injured soldier from a distance, the smile lingering on his face, feeling a warmth that hadn’t been there before. Though it stung to always be reminded that what you shared was nothing more than friendship, he clung to the moments when your actions betrayed your words, showing a deeper, unspoken bond.

For now, he would be content with this.

Until he couldn't.

He arrived at the medical hall the next day with lunchboxes in hand, ready to spend time with you as usual. Instead, he was met with the devastating news that you had been dispatched to a plague-ridden village to provide assistance. His heart fell, and his world crumbled.

"I don't understand. What do you mean she's gone, my King? She was just here yesterday."

"Forget her, Officer Song. I told you it's impossible to be with her," said the ruler, rubbing a hand on his temple. "She volunteered to go without hesitation. I think you have your answer loud and clear. And as much I hate to say this, we're not sure she will return from this trip. Most physicians going on such missions are like soldiers going to war; they risk their lives and could be gone for months or even years. You deserve someone who can stay by your side."

The King's words cut deep, but Mingi's mind was a whirlwind of worry and despair. The thought of you in danger, far away, made it hard for him to breathe. The idea of losing you, of not knowing if you were safe or if you would ever come back, was unbearable.

"Where is this village, Your Majesty?"

The elderly man sighed deeply, shaking his head. "What will it take for you to give up? You'll only end up in pain, as if you haven't already been in enough pain. She has denied all your attempts from the start. Why do you do this to yourself, hm?"

Officer Song clenched his fists, his voice trembling with emotion. "Because love isn't about possession. Love is unconditional. I don't care if she will never accept my love in this life; I will continue to be there for her, to protect and care for her as long as I am alive. I'll be damned if I let her face all that danger on her own. So, I'm asking again, Your Majesty, where exactly is this village?"

The desperation in his voice was palpable, the rawness of his love laid bare. He would do anything, go anywhere, to ensure your safety. For the military strategist, there was no greater purpose than being there for you, no matter the cost.

Meanwhile, you struggled to keep yourself together as you arrived at the terror-stricken village. The place had been overtaken by a sudden, rapidly spreading disease, claiming lives at a frightening pace. Violently woken in the middle of the night by Head Physician Seo, you joined the royal physicians gathered in the main hall to hear the grim news. Guri, the very village where you and Subin had lost everything, was now cursed with another wave of illness, intent on wiping out the population and destroying families again.

But you were stronger now.

You would rather die trying than let more innocent villagers endure what you did all those years ago. This time, you were capable of saving lives. Without a second thought, you and your friend volunteered to go. It wasn't until you were in the carriage that you remembered a certain Officer Song. Crestfallen, you realised that perhaps this was all for the best. Maybe, with your absence, he could finally move on and find someone with whom he could have a future, instead of being held back by you.

And you... you would be doing the very thing you had trained for all your life. There was no time to dwell on matters of the heart.

Forget him, lives are at stake.

As you arrived in Guri, the sight was both familiar and heartbreaking. The streets were eerily quiet, with only the occasional sound of distant weeping or the hollow coughs of the afflicted. You, Subin, and the rest of the royal physicians immediately set to work; assessing the situation and organising the sick villagers for treatment.

"Help my mother, please!"

"It hurts, make it stop!"

"I don't want to die yet... I'm scared."

Doing your best to calm the terrified villagers, your mind was a whirlwind of medical procedures and strategies to contain the spread. Every moment was a battle against time, a race to save as many lives as possible. But amidst the chaos, thoughts of Mingi lingered at the edge of your mind. His gummy smile, his stupidly cute laughter, the way his eyes lit up when he saw you—they all haunted you, a bittersweet reminder of what you had left behind.

Sometimes, it felt like those thoughts of him were the only thing keeping you going. Nearly a week had passed, and the situation had only slightly improved. With minimal sleep and just enough food to keep you alive, you worked tirelessly to tend to the sick. All the while, you wished you had a certain tall, handsome, and silly strategist to help lighten the constantly heavy atmosphere. At this point, you had lost count of the times you had imagined him by your side. The imagination could be so vivid, you were convinced you were hallucinating from the immense lack of rest.

"Need a hand, my lady?"

You froze, your actions of reaching for the top shelf of the makeshift clinic for some medicine halted at the familiar voice that had been haunting your well-being for the past week. Shit, were you hearing things now? Surely, it was the sleep deprivation acting up.

It can't be.

But then, you turned around, and there he was. General Officer Song, standing in the doorway, looking just as real and solid as ever. His eyes held a mix of concern and determination, and he was carrying a medical kit of his own.

"Mingi?" you whispered, almost afraid that speaking his name would shatter the illusion.

He stepped closer, a gentle smile on his face. "Yes, it's me. I'm here."

To his surprise, you were angry when you realised it was really him and not just a hallucination. "What… in the world are you doing here?" you questioned, your voice filled with frustration and disbelief.

His smile fell. "I came to help—"

You cut him off. "This isn't a joke, Song Mingi! This is serious. People are dying! You shouldn't be here just because you wish to keep pursuing me or anything stupid!"

His expression hardened with determination. "That's exactly why I'm here—because I can't lose you!"

You were left speechless, grappling with the rush of emotions at his sudden presence as well as his words. You felt conflicted, overwhelmed by the happiness that he was really here in the flesh, anger at his recklessness, fear for his survival, and frustration because you wanted so badly to run to him but knew you could not.

After what felt like an eternity, you sighed and tossed him a handkerchief. "Cover your nose and mouth with this at all times. Since you're here, make yourself useful. Get that bag of herbs and come with me. We have no time to waste."

As he opened his mouth to speak, you shot him a warning glare. "Save your breath. If you do not intend to work, please leave."

With a firm nod, he complied, grabbing the bag of herbs and following you into the chaos. Despite the tension, having him there added a strange sense of comfort and determination, and together, you continued to fight the disease that had plagued Guri.

The entire day passed by in a blur, just like the previous ones. There was not a moment of respite as you rushed around, with Mingi following you obediently, doing as he was told without question. Subin and your other colleagues raised surprised brows at his presence, but the situation left no room for teasing or questions.

At the end of the day, even when things had calmed down a little and most villagers were asleep, your work was far from done. You sat by the bed of a small child who was badly affected by the disease, your tired hands rinsing and wringing a towel repeatedly, wiping the sweat from his tiny head over and over to ensure his fever didn’t worsen. Mingi remained by your side, watching you care for the child.

Sensing your lethargic movements, he gently offered, "Here, let me do it." He reached out for the cloth, and you gave in, handing it to him. He took your spot, and you moved aside to make space for him on the bed, finally having the opportunity to take a good look at him since his arrival.

His face was etched with concern and determination, his usual playful demeanour replaced by a steadfast resolve. He worked with a quiet intensity, carefully tending to the child as if his life depended on it. The sight filled you with a mixture of emotions—gratitude, admiration, and a touch of sorrow.

"You shouldn't have come," you whispered, the weight of the day's events pressing down on you. "But... thank you."

He glanced at you, his eyes softening. "I had to. I couldn’t just stay behind knowing you were here, facing this alone."

You sighed, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I'm sorry for the harsh words I said. I was just... worried about you. I still am."

"And I was worried about you," he replied, his voice firm yet gentle. "We’re in this together now. We'll get through it."

Shaking your head, you squeezed your eyes shut. "It's not going to be easy. You don't understand… this, Mingi. This village was once my home. I was born here, and for the first few years of my life, I had a family. Until a plague, one similar to this one, broke out, taking my parents and siblings, leaving me with nothing," you explained, your voice breaking as you finally revealed your past.

He sat, shell-shocked, learning about your tragic history for the first time. He hadn’t known you had endured such a tough life, and it only strengthened his affection and admiration for you. You were even stronger than he had perceived.

"And that's why I was so afraid of seeing you here," you continued, your voice trembling. "Because I… I can't lose you too."

His breath hitched at your words, a moment of silence enveloping the room before he dared to cover your hand gently with his bigger one, whispering a soft, "Really?"

Embarrassed, you cleared your throat and nodded, avoiding his eyes. "Yes, because you're a good friend to me."

He chuckled, nodding in defeat. "Right, of course." He knew better than to expect anything more by now. He was just glad you no longer pushed him away.

That was all that mattered.

The following days settled into the same gruelling routine, but your shoulders undeniably felt lighter with Mingi's presence. His unwavering support and the arrival of the physicians who had raised you and Subin provided much-needed relief. Their presence brought a sense of comfort and familiarity.

On a slower day, the military strategist sat with one of the senior physicians, assisting with brewing medicine. Catching the tall man's eyes glued to your busy figure in the next room, Kyungsoo, who had been like an older brother to you, smiled and remarked, "Quite the workaholic, isn't she? Nothing can stop her from working. She's been that way for as long as we can all remember."

"She really is," Officer Song replied.

Through your mentors, he learned more about your childhood years. Kyungsoo shared stories of how hard you had worked and studied to get where you were, all to repay them for taking you in. Mingi now saw the depth of your dedication and the sacrifices you had made to become the renowned royal physician you are today.

As he watched you tirelessly care for the villagers, a realisation struck him. It might be selfish to want to tie you down in marriage just because he thought he loved you. If he truly loved you, he should let you do what you loved. You had fought so hard to achieve your dreams; how could he possibly take that away from you?

His heart ached as he finally understood the wisdom in His Majesty's words. Maybe you really were not meant to be, not in this life. Perhaps in the next, he thought to himself, his eyes lingering on you with a mixture of admiration and sorrow.

For now, he would support you in the best way he could—by standing by your side, helping you save lives, and cherishing the moments you shared. Because that, he realised, was also a form of love.

You've won, my King. I yield.

You had somehow felt the distance Mingi seemed to be putting between you, no matter how minuscule. You were hyper-aware of him, always had been, so this change, despite how small and unnoticed by the rest, bothered you more than you cared to admit. Was he growing tired of this? Of you? Perhaps he was realising how impossible it was to reach you and was giving up.

And who could blame him, really?

He deserved to be free; free to love another, to love someone who could give him so much more, all the things you never could.

"Hey, everything okay?" Subin asked, noting how you had nearly disposed of a new bandage instead of a used one.

You snapped out of your thoughts, apologising for the mistake as you rubbed your eyes. "Oh, I'm fine. Just tired, that's all."

She sighed, squeezing your shoulder. "It's Officer Song, isn't it?"

You stilled. "Huh? I-I don't know what you're talking about—"

She rolled her eyes, cutting you off. "Save it, unnie. I'm tired of hiding it from you. He's already received permission from His Majesty to pursue you. That's why he's been so bold in his attempts. If you feel the same way about him, then please, for the love of god, stop putting yourself and him through this nonsense any longer."

Your heart pounded as her words sank in. "Permission from His Majesty?" you echoed, disbelief and confusion in your voice.

She nodded firmly. "Yes, my dear friend. He's been allowed to court you on one condition—only if you willingly agree to it. That’s why he’s here, risking his life. He’s doing it all for you. If you care about him even a fraction of how much he cares about you, you need to let him know. This back-and-forth is tearing both of you apart."

You swallowed hard, grappling with the revelation. It felt as if a door had opened, one you had convinced yourself was forever locked.

"But Subin-ah... what if he realises I'm not worth the effort?" you whispered, voicing your deepest fear.

Her eyes softened. "That's not for you to decide. Let him make his own choices. If he’s here, fighting for you, it means you are worth everything to him. Don’t push him away because of your own insecurities. Give him—give yourself—a chance."

Before you could process her words, chaos erupted as sudden screams filled the air, panicked villagers running in all directions. You rushed outside to see what was happening, your heart pounding in your chest. Amid the commotion, you finally caught on to someone yelling, "Fire! Fire! There's a fire in the kitchen!"

Gasping, you spotted billowing black smoke rising from a hut at the back, where the kitchen was situated. Turning to Subin with wide eyes, you began, "I-isn't that where—"

She nodded before you could finish, confirming your fears. "Officer Song and Kyungsoo oppa were brewing medicine!"

Without a second thought, you sprinted towards the kitchen, your mind racing. The heat and smoke intensified with each step closer. Villagers and fellow physicians frantically attempted to extinguish the flames with buckets of water, but the fire raged on.

"Kyungsoo oppa! Mingi-yah!" you shouted, your voice trembling with fear and urgency.

Amid the thick smoke, Kyungsoo stumbled out alone, coughing violently. You rushed to him, desperation gripping your heart. "O-oppa, where is he? Where's Song Mingi?!"

Pointing towards the kitchen, nearly engulfed in flames, the senior physician gasped, "That fool's still in there. He insists on saving the medicine. We need to get him out, now!"

Your heart pounded with dread. "I'll go!" But Kyungsoo grabbed your arm, panic in his eyes. "No, it's too dangerous—"

Ignoring his warning, you darted inside.

Your heart plummeted when you spotted Mingi foolishly attempting to salvage the pot of medicine. "Stop, you idiot! Leave it!" He froze at the sound of your voice, turning to see you. "What are you doing here? Get out, the place is falling apart!"

Rushing up to him, you desperately tugged on his arm. "Not without you!" Yielding to your urgency, he abandoned the medicine and turned to leave with you. But dread washed over him as he noticed the fragile beam above you, threatening to collapse at any moment. Time seemed to slow as he pushed you towards the exit just in time for the debris to crash down in front of him, trapping him inside.

Your cries echoed as you saw him trapped. "No!" He managed a weak smile, feeling the smoke filling his lungs. "I'm sorry, my lady." Tears streamed down your face as you screamed for help, men rushing to save him. Kyungsoo and Subin restrained you, their grip firm as you thrashed against their hold.

"It's okay, he'll be okay," they repeated, their assurances failing to ease the turmoil in your heart. When they finally emerged, carrying his unconscious body, relief washed over you, but it was quickly replaced by a profound sense of guilt and regret.

God, you were such a fool. How could you have been so blind to his importance in your life? Why did you take him for granted, making him wait for so long?

"Wake up, Song Mingi! Please, listen to me," you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion. "I remembered everything, okay? I never forgot about you, not for a single moment. I'm sorry for lying, for pushing you away. But I accept it now—I want to be with you. Please... don't leave me."

Amidst your sobs against his chest, you halted as you felt his hand tenderly stroking your head. Lifting your gaze to meet his, you found him smiling weakly down at you.

"Wow, I never thought I'd hear those words," he murmured softly.

"So, that's your secret, huh? Faking your own death to get the girl?" Junghoon quipped, wearing a mischievous grin. Mingi let out an exasperated sigh and playfully smacked the younger man on the back of the head. "Faked my death? I nearly died," he retorted.

Junghoon raised a sceptical brow. "Yes, but did you die though?"

"I swear to god, you rascal—" Mingi's fist hovered in the air threateningly until you appeared, hands on your hips.

"Excuse me, no violence is permitted in the medical hall. If you two want to settle this, take it to the training grounds," you scolded.

The military strategist turned to you with a pout, attempting to play innocent. "But, my angel, I brought you lunch."

You rolled your eyes. "Alright. What's Junghoonie doing here then?"

The apprentice eagerly showed you his sprained ankle. "I actually got hurt, noona. Unlike someone, I don't fake my injuries."

Before Mingi could retaliate, you quickly summoned a colleague to tend to Junghoon, then dragged your idiot away, much to his chagrin. "That's enough, you baby."

"Yes, I'm your baby."

A month had passed since the plague in the village was eradicated. It was after the fire, that you managed to find a quiet moment with Mingi and poured out your heart to him. To your surprise, he didn't immediately respond with joy.

"Are you sure this is what you truly want?" he had asked, his expression serious. "Because I could never ask you to choose me over your career if it's more important to you."

His words struck a chord deep within you, revealing the depth of his love and understanding. He wasn't seeking to possess you but to ensure your happiness, even if it meant letting you go.

In that moment, you realised that this man was worth loving, worth everything. He had waited patiently for years, only to ask you that question when he finally had you.

In response, you didn't need to speak. Your answer was a simple and direct kiss to his lips, conveying all your love, gratitude, and certainty in that one tender moment.

Upon your return from Guri, you promptly sought an audience with His Majesty. There, you expressed your desire to be with Mingi. Needless to say, the soft-hearted King who had been secretly rooting for you both did not take too long to agree.

Granting you the freedom to be courted by the military strategist, the King also bestowed his blessing for marriage, should you both deem it the right path. With a sense of relief, you exchanged grateful glances with your lover. It marked the beginning of a new chapter, brimming with hope and love, as you eagerly anticipated embarking on this journey together.

"I still can't believe you're meant to be the coolest and most renowned military strategist in all of Joseon. If only the people knew what an adorable little princess you could be," you chuckled, playfully feeding Mingi a spoonful of rice as he attempted to fashion you a new handkerchief, boasting about his newfound skills learned from his dressmaker friend.

"Oh wow, is that really how you thank your devoted future husband, who's putting all this effort into making something special for you?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with affection as he reached for another piece of cloth, determined to create something perfect for you.

You snickered mischievously. "Alright, princess, how about this? You handle the cooking and cleaning, and I'll be the queen of the castle, bringing home the gold. Deal?"

He stared at you, unamused. Leaning in, you stole a kiss from his lips, and in that moment, his resistance melted away. "Ugh fine, I suppose that doesn't sound too bad," he admitted with a playful sigh.

Anything for you, my angel.

You couldn't contain your laughter at his surrender, eagerly returning his affection as he leaned in for another kiss.

Sometimes, it's astonishing how, despite years of separation, no matter how distant you've become or how impossible it seemed to reunite, you always find each other again. It's as if your paths were meant to intersect once more, as though guided by the stars.

You were destined to find each other.

Lord, I did not plan for this to be so long. I'm so sorry this part took like a thousand years and I sincerely hope it was decent! I've managed to include all the details I came up with but am somehow not too happy with the delivery (then again, when am I not unsatisfied with my own work lmfao).

More importantly, I cannot believe I now have 2k followers😭 thank you all so much! I cannot wait to finish Jongho and Yeosang's spinoffs and then work on more new stuff!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/10):

@itstheghostofmypast @huachengsbestie01 @minghaoslatina @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr |

@cheolliehugs @the-kpop-simp @writingwieny @stayatinykatsy @skzline |

@green-agent @stayinhellevator @vampzity @tinyteezer @evidive |

@vantediary @superbbananananana @kimyeolchan @chocolate-scoups @decadentstrangernacho |

@vic0921 @marievllr-abg @sunnyhokyu @seungmin-in-thebuilding @heyitsmetonid |

@sansaurora9904 @darkestacademiamindsx12-blog @myblovedjyh @professormingisglasses @newworldwritings |

@chicken-fifi @thunderous-wolf @shythinggiver @madnpan @yandere-stories |

@anxiousskylar @frobin4ever @starssongs98 @dollce-exe @jan-l |

@lovelyred2 @haven-cove @watermelon2319 @dreamingofyeo @akimkim |

@scuzmunkie @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @borntoshineateez @st4rhwa |

@ddaeing @tropicalsstuff @bts-army380 @skteezcursed @beauty143 |

@naps-over-degree @brown88 @sis-101 @lemon-sage17 @jcalicocatj

#edenesth #the way to this heart #written in the stars #twthh spinoff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #song mingi #ateez mingi #historical au #joseon era #mingi x reader #mingi x you #ateez fic

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itstheghostofmypast · 7 months ago

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Mini Series Ateez x (F)Reader

Summary: A mini series of each member of ATZ Mafia. Each member fic will have two parts, a Prequel and a Sequel.

Genre: Hurt+Comfort+Angst

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: Will depend on chapter

Est. Read Time: Will depend on chapter

Warnings: Blood, kidnapping, gore, language, guns, murder, gothic anxiety, phantasmagoric reality (if that makes you uncomfortable), human trafficking, domestic violence.

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

☆Kim Hongjoong- Cosa Nostra☆

Prequel / Sequel

☆Park Seonghwa- Jaded Love☆

Prequel / Sequel

☆Jeong Yunho- Fragility of Morality☆

Prequel / Sequel

☆Kang Yeosang- Mia Cara☆

Prequel / Sequeal

☆Choi San- A Goodfella's Moondance☆

Prequel / Sequel

☆Song Mingi- Selfish Waltz☆

Prequel / Sequel

☆Jung Wooyoung- Bell'uccellino☆

Prequel / Sequel

☆Choi Jongho- Dolce Melodia☆

Prequel / Sequel

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theguywithaplan · 5 months ago

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List of Games Turning Twenty (20) Years Old in 2025

Advance Wars: Dual Strike

Advent Rising (they started planning the trilogy before the first game was out lmao)

Age of Empires III

Animal Crossing: Wild World (the DS one)

Arc the Lad: End of Darkness

Area 51 (the FPS that was low-key kinda creepy)

Banjo Pilot (the Banjo-Kazooie racing game on GBA).

Battalion Wars (the spin-off of Advance Wars).

Battlefield 2

Brothers in Arms: Road to Hill 30

Brothers in Arms: Earned in Blood (yep, they released two mainline games in one year).

Burnout Revenge (this cleared Burnout 3, and I will fight you on that).

Call of Cthulhu: Dark Corners of the Earth

Call of Duty 2

Castlevania: Dawn of Sorrow (go play the Castlevania Dominus collection. It has this game and a few others and it's GREAT).

Castlevania: Curse of Darkness

Civilization IV

Cold Fear (answering the age old question: what if Resident Evil 4 was on a boat and not as good?)

Condemned: Criminal Origins (a launch title for the Xbox 360 and a pretty solid horror game).

Conker: Live & Reloaded (maybe a controversial opinion, but this is WAY better than the original).

Crash Tag Team Racing

Dead or Alive 4 (aka, the one with not Master Chief in it).

Destroy All Humans!

Devil Kings (all the sequels would be under it's non-translated title: Sengoku Basara).

Devil May Cry 3: Dante's Awakening (let's rock, baybeeeeee)

Donkey Kong: Jungle Beat

Dragon Ball Z: Sagas (I saw a stream of this game a few months back, and oh my god, this looks so shitty/funny).

Dragon Quest VIII: Journey of the Cursed King

Dynasty Warriors 5 (who's excited for Origins???)

Far Cry Instincts (a console version of the PC exclusive original game)

Fatal Frame III: The Tormented

F.E.A.R. (if you haven't played this before, change that. it's fantastic)

Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones

Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance (the one with Ike the Bisexual in it).

Forza Motorsport (the very first one).

Gauntlet: Seven Sorrows

Geist (the rare M-rated Nintendo game).

The Getaway: Black Monday

God of War (the very first one).

Gran Turismo 4 (one of the few PS2 games that could be played in HD, along with... Jackass: The Game...)

Guild Wars

Guitar Hero (the very first one).

Haunting Ground (a very rare PS2 horror game from Capcom).

Hot Shots Golf: Open Tee

The Incredible Hulk: Ultimate Destruction

The Incredibles: Rise of the Underminer (since the second movie came out, this game is now considered non-canon).

Indigo Prophecy/Fahrenheit (the second game from known hack/fraud David Cage).

Jade Empire (the last game that BioWare made before they got acquired by EA).

Jak X: Combat Racing

Judge Dredd: Dredd vs. Death (there was a for real-ass Judge Dredd game on the GameCube).

Kameo: Elements of Power (another Xbox 360 launch title, this one made by a post-acquisition Rare. It's pretty fun).

Killer7 (from the greatest to ever do it, Suda51)

Peter Jackson's King Kong: The Official Game of the Movie (you guys think it's based on the movie or what...?)

Kirby: Canvas Curse (a really fun DS game that only used the stylus)

Klonoa 2: Dream Champ Tournament (i think klonoa would get along really well with sonic)

The Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap (the one where Link gets really small)

Lego Star Wars: The Video Game

Lunar: Dragon Song (one of the worst RPGs I've ever played. Don't play it).

Mario & Luigi: Partners in Time (the one with the Baby Mario Bros.)

Mario Kart DS (the first one with online play).

Mario Party Advance

Mario Party 7 (my personal favorite)

Mario Superstar Baseball (we didn't get a Mario Baseball game on the Switch. Because they're saving it for the Switch 2).

Mario Tennis: Power Tour (so many Mario games...)

Dance Dance Revolution: Mario Mix

Marvel Nemesis: Rise of the Imperfects

The Matrix Online (an official continuation from the movies)

The Matrix: Path of Neo

Medal of Honor: European Assault

MediEvil: Resurrection

Mega Man Battle Network 5 (the only one in the series to have a DS version)

Mega Man Zero 4

Mercenaries: Playground of Destruction

Metal Gear Acid (a launch title for the PSP, and a card game set in the Metal Gear universe. It works better than you might think).

Meteos (a puzzle game made by Masahiro Sakurai, the Smash Bros. guy)

Metroid Prime Pinball

Mortal Kombat: Shaolin Monks

Myst V: End of Ages (the final Myst game)

Need for Speed: Most Wanted (did you know that this game outsold the entire Halo series?)

Neopets: The Darkest Faerie (is Neopets still a thing?)

Nicktoons Unite! (a crossover between Spongebob, Fairly Oddparents, Jimmy Neutron, and Danny Phantom).

The Nightmare Before Christmas: Oogie's Revenge (an honest to god sequel to the movie that plays like Devil May Cry).

Ninja Gaiden Black

Nintendogs

Oddworld: Stranger's Wrath

Pac-Man World 3

Perfect Dark Zero (yet another Xbox 360 launch title, also made by Rare, and a sequel to one of the best FPS games ever made. It was fine).

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney (it had been out in Japan for a few years, but us Yankees got this four years after it came out).

Pokemon Dash (a Pokemon racing game. It was not very good).

Pokemon Emerald Version (I sunk like 500 hours into this game).

Pokemon XD: Gale of Darkness (a sequel to Pokemon Colosseum where you could capture other people's Pokemon).

Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones

Psychonauts

The Punisher

Quake 4

Ratchet: Deadlocked

Resident Evil 4

Serious Sam 2

Shadow of the Colossus (one of the best games ever made. Play it if you haven't yet).

Shadow the Hedgehog (pretty good to be a sonic fan right now).

Shin Megami Tensei: Digital Devil Saga (parts 1 and 2).

Sly 3: Honor Among Thieves

Sonic Rush

SoulCalibur III (RIP, SoulCalibur. Tekken is just too powerful.)

Splinter Cell: Chaos Theory (RIP, Splinter Cell. Ubisoft just sucks too much to make you anymore).

Spyro: Shadow Legacy

Star Fox Assault

Star Wars: Republic Commando

Star Wars: Battlefront II (this game's story mode is permanently etched into my brain).

Stubbs the Zombie in "Rebel Without a Pulse" (presenting it to you with no context. Look it up. It's hilarious).

Super Mario Strikers

Super Monkey Ball Deluxe

Tak: The Great Juju Challenge

Tekken 5

TimeSplitters: Future Perfect (RIP, TimeSplitters. Embracer Group killed you before you could come back).

Trace Memory (got remade in 2024 as Another Code)

Twisted Metal: Head-On (another PSP launch title)

Ultimate Spider-Man (you could play as Venom in this one)

WarioWare: Touched!

WarioWare: Twisted!

We Love Katamari

Wild Arms: Alter Code F (a remake of the first game)

Xenosaga Episode II

X-Men Legends II: Rise of Apocalypse

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aventurineswife · 7 months ago

Note

HIII I SAW YOUR LATEST WRITINF ABOUT THE ALLERGIES AND ATUFF AND IT WAS SO GOOD BUT UHM ANYWAY....

may I pretty please request for Obey Me about MC who's a famous singer on Earth? Like MC's music is very versatile and makes multiple songs of multiple genres that the characters will most likely listen to, and the characters find out about this either by their own or someone helped them find out about singer!MC. You can pick which characters you want to write this with, I don't have a preference on whoever gets chosen!!!

If you can't take this request it's okay!! There's still more content of yours for me to feast on!!! 😋😋 have a nice day!!

Singer at Devildom!

Tags: Lucifer x Reader, Mammon x Reader, Leviathan x Reader, Satan x Reader, Asmodeus x Reader, Beelzebub x Reader, Belphegor x Reader, Singer!Reader/MC, I'm lazy on adding more tags.

Lucifer

Lucifer had always prided himself on being aware of everything that happened in the Devildom, but this was a revelation that caught him off guard. It all started with an article from an Earth-based publication that appeared on the Devildom news network. The headline caught his eye: "Rising Star of Earth’s Music Scene—The Versatile Artist Who’s Taking the World by Storm!"

The singer’s name? MC. Lucifer furrowed his brows, the name ringing a bell, but it wasn’t until he saw a picture accompanying the article—MC. His heart skipped a beat. The face was unmistakable, and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

"MC…" he muttered to himself, not sure how to process the information.

Later that night, Lucifer approached you, his expression unreadable.

"I didn't realize you were so talented." he said, his voice smooth but with an undertone of something deeper—was it admiration or was he trying to figure out how you managed to keep such a big secret?

You smiled lightly. "Well, not everyone needs to know everything about me, right?"

Lucifer couldn't suppress the faintest smirk. "I suppose you're right. But don't think I won't be keeping an eye on you."

Mammon

Mammon’s love for Earthly things was no secret, and he often spent his time scouring the internet for anything shiny and new. That’s when he stumbled upon a link that caught his attention. It was a YouTube video titled "MC: The Artist Who Does It All! (Pop, Rock, R&B, and More!)".

He clicked it out of curiosity, and within seconds, his mouth dropped open. He had no idea you were that famous! Not only were you on Earth’s charts, but you were in multiple genres—ranging from catchy pop anthems to soulful ballads to energetic rock songs. Each song sounded completely different, yet all of them had something that was undeniably you.

Mammon watched every video for hours, his heart swelling with pride. “That’s my human! My MC!” he exclaimed as he bounced around the room, not caring about who could hear him possibly.

When he finally found you, he didn’t know how to express how impressed he was. “Why didn’t ya tell me yer were famous?!” he nearly shouted. “I would’ve been showin’ yer off to the whole Devildom!”

You chuckled softly. “I guess I wanted to keep it lowkey.”

Mammon grinned ear to ear. “Well, now that I know, everyone’s gonna hear about it, MC. Yer mine to brag about now!”

Leviathan

Levi, who was always glued to his screen, was indulging in his usual obsession with Earth media. He was scrolling through his favorite streaming platform when an alert popped up: "Exclusive Interview with MC: The Earth Star Who’s Conquered Every Genre!"

He clicked immediately, his eyes widening as he saw your face and heard your voice. It was surreal to him. The person he had been living with, the person he joked around with, was not just some random human—but a huge star on Earth?

“This… this is amazing!” Levi squealed, clutching his Ruri-chan plushie. “MC, you’ve been hiding this from me?! A multi-genre superstar? How is that even possible?”

When he confronted you later that day, it wasn’t in anger, but pure shock.

“MC, how long were you gonna keep this from me?” he said, his eyes wide with excitement. “You’re famous! You’re like, a legend!”

You laughed, giving him a sheepish smile. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal…”

Leviathan's jaw dropped. “Not that big of a deal? You’re a rockstar!” His eyes sparkled with admiration. "Can you teach me how to make a song? I wanna be like you!"

Satan

Satan discovered your secret in the most unexpected way: through an obscure literature blog on Earth that also reviewed music. It was a niche article on artists who used their songs to convey deep, poetic messages, and of course, your name appeared. The article praised your ability to blend complex lyrics with diverse melodies.

Intrigued, Satan listened to a few of your songs—one being a deep, melancholy ballad, another a poetic piece about the struggles of the soul. He was mesmerized. You, a human, had an ability to express such profound thoughts through music? It resonated with his own love for literature and words.

He found you in the library later, his eyes gleaming. “MC… your music,” he started, his voice unusually soft. “It’s… it's incredible. You convey emotions and ideas so deeply. It’s something I rarely encounter.”

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “So, you’re saying you’re a fan?”

He smiled, though it was subtle. “I suppose I am. Do you have any other songs that explore the nature of human emotions? I would love to discuss them with you.”

Asmodeus

Asmodeus discovered your fame through the Devildom’s social media channels. A post about a viral music video caught his attention. It was you—dressed in a fabulous outfit, singing and dancing with effortless elegance. The sheer glamour of it all had him hooked instantly.

“Oh my, MC! You didn’t tell me you were a superstar!” Asmodeus squealed the next time he saw you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and a little envy. “Look at you! You’re stunning, so talented, and iconic!”

You laughed, your cheeks flushing slightly. “Well, I try to keep it humble.”

Asmodeus winked. “Humble is so last season. Darling, you’re a god/goddess on stage! You should let me style you for your next performance—I’ll make sure you outshine everyone.”

Beelzebub

Beel’s discovery was almost accidental. He was scrolling through Earth’s food blogs when he saw an ad for your latest single. The ad was paired with a video of you performing live, and he couldn’t help but click. What drew him in wasn’t just your voice, but the way you performed with such passion and ease.

Later, he approached you quietly in the kitchen while you were making snacks. “MC, I didn’t know you were… um, a famous singer,” he said, a bit shy. “Your music is really good. I… I like it a lot.”

Your eyes softened. “Thanks, Beel. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret, it’s just something I’ve done for a while.”

Beel smiled, his usual warm, comforting smile. “I think you’re great. I’d love to hear more of your songs.”

Belphegor

Belphegor discovered your secret when he overheard a conversation between Lucifer and Diavolo. They were discussing a music video that had gone viral on Earth, and your name came up. Belphegor was half-asleep on the couch, but that single mention was enough to grab his attention.

“MC? A singer?” he muttered lazily to himself, still processing the information. "That’s a little surprising."

When he finally saw you again, his tone was teasing. “So, you’re a famous singer on Earth, huh? Must be nice. Do you get a lot of fans singing your praises, or is it all just too much for you?”

You smiled knowingly. “It’s a lot, but I enjoy it.”

Belphegor let out a yawn, resting his head on his arms. “I guess you’re not so bad. Just don’t get too full of yourself, okay? If you want me to listen to your music, just know I won’t be impressed that easily.”

You chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, Belphie.”

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potionorchard · 7 days ago

Text

Okay, but because the Vees might totally vanish/perish after S2 and the show certainly won't have time to focus on it, I wanna talk about how fucked up Valentino's concept of love probably is.

IMPORTANT: I'm not naive. I know that there are some people out there in the world who are just plain abusers and that Val probably is one of those. I know that they get off on the power trip of control and misery they bring on to others.

However! I also don't it's a hard stretch to consider that a pansexual (who leans towards servicing men in romantic/intimate situations), Latino man in the 70s has probably seen his fair share of abuse in the sex industry. I don't think we will be getting information about Val's human life or past aside from maybe how he met Vox because it's just not integral to Hazbin Hotel as a whole.

That said, Valentino's concept of love seems to be based around it being conditional.

It's a give and take. He showers a subject like Angel in love and affection, overwhelms him with this Loverboy persona that he plays up until they're wound around his finger and in total need and dependency of his time, shelter, or affection.

That's why when the lovebombing doesn't work and instead, Angel pulls away from Val's control, Valentino switches to physical abuse to keep Angel under control, to rattle his mind until Angel can chase away his support network (Charlie).

And Valentino is uncomfortably good at what he does and how second nature it is to him. It's his entire business for him and his souls to be lusted after and desired, after all.

Does Valentino love Angel? No, I don't think he does *love* Angel. I think he's obsessed with him and to Valentino, I think that feels like love in his warped mind. Otherwise, why would he text Angel constantly and leave him these lovebombing voicemails in between his usual manchild temper tantrums? I do think Valentino is obsessed with the control he has over Angel and interprets that as some sort of misguided true affection. There's a clear high point during the Poison song sequence where the two consensually have sex and it's addicting, but the rest is overflowing with Val's need to use Angel for all he's worth and Angel unable to escape from it.

But on the other hand, there's Valentino's on again and off again relationship with his business partner, Vox.

Now there's a lot to say about these two. They argue and fight and are clearly toxic, but at the same time, they dance, kiss, and hold each other in these soft moments of tender gazes.

It seems like Val may actually be in love with Vox. And I think he is!

However... look at what's normalized in Vox and Val's relationship.

Valentino's room is filled with cameras, about six and counting according a thread on Twitter that counted the frequency of Vox's cameras in the show. They're in Angel's dressing room, Valentino's directing space in the tower, and even following him in his favorite clubs. Vox is always watching Val and considering he can zap through the cameras in a moments notice, Valentino is never out of reach for Vox.

And Val knows this, according to the final episode of S1. He acknowledges the camera and seems into it, given that he flashes it a smile. It's normal for him.

Beyond that, Vox talks down to Valentino, infantalizes Val to his face. He doesn't take Val's tantrums seriously and ignores him, texting on his phone until Valentino grabs it and breaks it. Now one could perceive this as more physical violence from Val. After all, before that, he threw his glass at Vox as well. But Vox merely steps aside in silence and continues to ignore him until he believes for a moment, Angel has quit. Which you know... prompts an excited remark from him.

Furthermore, to stop Val's rampage, he roughly grabs Valentino and shakes him, even turning up his screens brightness to temporarily mesmerize the moth and stop him in his tracks.

And again, all of this is just... normal for Valentino. He doesn't question it. He doesn't resist it. Valentino is dependent on Vox. It makes sense. He's his business partner, he uses his technology for his work as the Overlord of Porn, and he relies on Vox for comfort and intimacy.

But Vox has all this control over Valentino and Val simply doesn't seem to question it. Ultimately, once again, this points to Val having normalized love being a form of control. It doesn't bother him how Vox keeps this form of control and lack of respect over Val, because why would it? Val does the same to the souls he owns.

Why would it be any different in the sex industry, in a cycle of perpetual abuse?

Anyways, this was just a few of my thoughts on how Valentino may just approach or reconcile love in his mind as an abuser and possibly a victim in the cycle given his likely origins in the sex industry both in his human and afterlife. I just wanted to muse a bit and I'm not sure where I was going with this.

Val just utterly fascinates me, that's all.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino #angel dust #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel angel dust #charlie morningstar #staticmoth #<3 #valangel #help I'm obsessed with the moth again #the vees #character analysis #kinda...

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goodlucktai · 5 months ago

Text

one of the rotten ones

rottmnt word count: 2k pairing: don & leo, don & OC title borrowed from anthems for a seventeen year old by yeule part of the archer au :) read on ao3

“I don’t think Gio likes me,” Donnie blurts.��

He’d feel self-conscious if he was pressed to admit it anywhere else, but he’s in the infirmary, and the only one around to hear him say so is his twin.

They’re moving into hour two of Leo’s “faves” playlist and the fourth consecutive Taylor Swift song even though he swore he put it on shuffle. Leo is going through cabinets and shelves systematically, updating inventory on his phone, while Donnie infodumps about energy storage and projectile dynamics and the breaking strength of crossbow string.

Donatello’s base knowledge of this particular ranged weapon is severely lacking, which is a significant personal problem for him now that he has a sibling with a preference for archery. He needs to be the world’s leading expert on the subject yesterday. He has half a dozen half-formed plans for things like sonar bolts for 3-D mapping, which may or may not have been inspired by the Jupiter Jim Pluto Vacation run.

Only every glance at the project folder simply labeled ‘G-01’ causes an uncomfortable feeling to squirm to life in his stomach, not unlike the Krang tentacles that had attached themselves to his carapace on the day the world didn’t end.

Donnie isn’t good at people. He doesn’t know how they tick, and there are no reliable lines of code or handy user manuals that he can fall back on when he’s mystified by human behavior.

His siblings don’t have the same problem. Leo is perceptive to a degree that borders upon clairvoyance, Mikey is the single-most emotionally intelligent member of their family, Raph is more charming than he gets credit for, and April can talk her way through any closed door, police tape or VIP-only entrance. None of them fumble the way Donnie does when a social interaction goes off-script, like it’s a volleyball that got served his way without the ample warning he needs to be anything approaching passable at the sport.

But he knows he’s not imagining it—the way Gio seems to brace himself when Donnie comes into the room, like he’s expecting a confrontation every time. Like the last thing Donatello could want with him is something good.

Donnie can be a lot. They all can. They come by it honestly, equal parts chaotic lab experiments and their father’s sons. And not every structure is built to withstand hurricane winds. Not every person is equipped to deal with a Hamato level weather event.

But he has never seen Gio flinch away from anyone else.

So he did what he always did when confronted by something outside his formidable repertoire—he took it to Leo.

There had never in Donnie’s life been a problem that couldn’t be made into their problem. It came with twin territory.

And Donnie’s twin in particular is good at translating Donatello and translating other people for Donatello, and jumps on any chance to be helpful and feel wanted, and absolutely loves problems. It’s one of the most annoying and endearing things about him. If there is any trouble within a hundred miles, Leo will find it. He will worm his way into the center of it and then puzzle his way out from the inside. Most other clever and curious people were satisfied by the daily Wordle; Leo would chew through a wall unless he had something more hands-on to occupy his mind with. As polar-opposite as the two of them could be in, in that regard, they were one and the same.

It’s somewhat reassuring to Donnie that Leo’s immediate reaction is plain incredulity. He looks baffled, like Donnie has just started throwing stuff around the room for no reason.

(He knows better. In the medbay, of all places, that would be a death wish. Leo runs a tight ship here and only here.)

“Sorry, you don’t think Gio likes you?” Leo says slowly. “Our Gio? The guy who let you infodump about the mycelial networks of fungi to him for almost two hours, all because Mikey mentioned he was making mushroom stir-fry for dinner?”

Donnie scoffs, but he can’t help but feel warmed by the reminder. Gio had settled right in, the way he always did once he was sure of his welcome, and watched Donnie talk like nothing more interesting existed on this side of the equator.

“His eyes didn’t even glaze over,” Leo goes on, doing what he always does and pressing the advantage. “That’s a new personal best in this family. Even April started looking for a window to climb out of at the thirty minute mark.”

“There was bound to be at least one other mutant turtle in the New York metropolitan area with an appreciation for botany,” Donnie says imperiously, tilting his chin up.

But the worry is still there, firmly rooted, trying to flower. Leo must be able to tell because his frown deepens, playfulness evaporating by the second. He pauses the music and sets his phone down. The room rings in the sudden silence, but it’s not uncomfortable, because it’s a room Donnie exists in with his twin.

“I just want him to like me,” Donnie says. It’s a childish want, it makes him feel half his age, but it’s true.

He was never one of those human kids lingering near the playground, on the edge of the classroom, desperate to fit in. He was never on the outs because he never had the chance to be. But this is probably what that would have felt like.

Giorgio is quiet by default, absorbing everything with dark brown eyes, always pausing to think before speaking in a low, flat register that is becoming as familiar to Donnie as Raph’s comforting rumbles and Mikey’s energetic shrieks and Leo’s sweet or sly laughter.

He hasn’t been anything but kind since he got here. He saved Leo, brought him home from a place it should have been impossible to come home from, so Donatello would put up with any manner of assholery from that quarter in exchange—but it’s not that at all.

Once Gio’s initial guard goes up and then comes down, once they outlive that moment of consideration that verges upon scrutiny without ever crossing the line, the eldest turtle softens for any younger one like clockwork. He indulges whatever noise or nonsense they’ve brought with them like there is no better use of his time.

It doesn’t seem like a lie. But Donnie is the least qualified person he knows to make that judgement call.

There’s a lot at stake if he’s wrong, is all.

Leo looks like Donnie has taken a melon baller to his insides just for fun.

“I’d know if he didn’t like you,” Leo says with absolute certainty. And he probably would. And he would take it so personally. He wouldn’t let Gio know a single moment’s rest until the spotted turtle had a coming-to-Jesus moment and acknowledged his wrongdoings in canceled Youtuber apology video format.

Since that isn’t the reality they live in—and Leo’s daily relentless pestering of Gio is harmless and little-sibling-shaped and decidedly not mean-spirited by any stretch of the imagination—some small part of the tight, unhappy feeling in Donnie’s heart has no choice but to accept that as the compelling argument it is.

“He probably misses you, Tello,” Leo adds, something softening in his face that it hurts to look directly at. “His you, I mean. I know I would be a train wreck cosplaying as a person if I had to go someplace I’d never see you again. Can you imagine how screwed-up I’d be?”

Donnie’s whole soul shudders at the idea, at the nightmare that almost came true when the portal closed around the Technodrome and as good as severed Donnie clean down the middle. At the glimpse of a life he’d be forced to live with one leg, one lung, one arm, one eye, half a heart.

“That’ll never happen,” he says, a little too loud.

“You’re stuck with me,” Leo agrees. He means it, Donnie can tell—even after that almost-nightmare he put his family through, he means it. It’s one thing to take the nuclear option at the actual on-paper end of the world, it’s another to sit in a safe, warmly-lit room with his twin brother and try to conceive of an existence in which their dynamic duo was whittled down to a solo act.

When they were little, Donnie once tried to explain how big the unobservable universe was. He told Leo that light from the big bang hadn’t reached Earth from all the way over there yet. It was a concept he struggled with as a child, that something could be so unknowable and immeasurable.

“That’s how big my ‘I love you’ is,” he said, all of seven years old and putting it into words the best way he knew how.

“I love you bigger than that,” Leo said promptly.

“Ugh, you can’t,” Donnie said, frustrated at his twin for always trying to one-up him, for not understanding the huge thing Donnie was trying to compress and fit into his hands. “It’s not possible.”

“It is,” Leo said firmly, eyes gold to match Donnie’s, warm and shining in a way that was all his own. “I do.”

And then Leo went on to prove it. In a way Donnie never would have wanted him to—in an explosion that split the sky and left flash burns in their eyes, and the hollow pain of a surgical removal as the still-beating heart of their family was cut away, and the discordant electronic fuzz where a beloved voice had been rushing through last words, replaced by the sound of a radio without a signal, a device unpaired—but he proved it in a thousand other ways, too.

He was even proving it now, this afternoon he spent leaning on a forearm crutch and ambling around to various shelves and cabinets to keep up with his stock of medical supplies that had been severely depleted in the weeks after the invasion. Leo had carried bandaids and lidocaine spray in a tiny tote bag since he was two feet tall. He couldn’t stop bad things from happening but he could try to make the bad things better.

He’s looking at Donnie like he would right every wrong for him if he knew where to start. Like the unobservable universe was small enough to fit in his pocket compared to the lengths Leonardo would go for Donatello.

Leo is the younger twin, but sometimes the only thing there is for Donnie to do is shuffle over and bonk their foreheads together and believe him.

“If Gigi hated you, he wouldn’t be a Hamato,” Leo announces, muffled and silly and entirely correct. “It’s a required qualification. You must have missed that meeting with HR.” And then, because it’s important, he whispers, “I promise, okay?”

“Okay,” Donnie whispers back.

At about that moment, TSwift’s I Think He Knows comes on, proving once and for all that there is actually no way Leo’s playlist is on shuffle. The weighted moment they’re holding on tight to transitions into a lighter one that gets flung haphazardly around as an immediate life-or-death struggle for the phone ensues.

Stalemate is only reached when Splinter barges in to read them the riot act for daring to roughhouse while they had a non-zero number of broken bones between the two of them. Leo is bright-eyed with mischief and already fast-talking their way out of trouble the same effortless way April can rattle off her brothers’ favorite coffee orders, and Donnie’s worry has been soundly evicted, all its belongings in boxes in the yard.

Sitting around has never been his style. He’s a turtle of discovery and invention. And now that he’s been reassured that the absolute worst-case scenario is not on the table—that it, in fact, was never on the table to begin with—curiosity rears its head and snaps up the dregs of anxiety like a hungry wolfhound who mistook it for an unattended rack of lamb.

Hypothesis: Georgie isn’t being weird out of dislike of Donatello. Leo’s certain he’s not, so certain that he was willing to promise, point-blank and absolute, instead of being tricky and sly in the name of cheering Donnie up instead. Leo even offered a much more palatable alternative, but further evidentiary support is required.

So after dinner a week later, as the whole family crowds comfortably around the banana split bar spilling across the entire kitchen island and argues over which toppings Gio and Casey should stack their bowls with first, Donnie blurts, “Can I see your crossbow?”

Giorgio really is one of the clowns in this circus. He proves it by putting his ice cream down, and picking the bow up from where it was relegated to the bench seat where everyone tosses their coats and shoes when they get home, and passing it right over. No normal person would put a loaded weapon in Donnie’s hands just because he asked nicely.

As if in tacit agreement, both of Casey’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline and Raph makes incredulous scoffing noises. April says, “You did not just—” at the same time Splinter blusters, “Purple, you fire that thing off in this house even once and I am grounding you from everything you know and love, including Orange!” and Donnie screeches, over Mikey and Leo’s hysterical laughter, “I can be trusted with projectile weaponry!”

The crossbow has been carefully maintained, but it hasn’t been used in weeks that Donnie is aware of. They’ve all stuck pretty close to home since the invasion, and it’s not like Gio knows anyone but them—it’s not like they need firepower for grocery hauls or pizza runs, though, knowing their luck, that could change any given day.

But Gio still cleans it regularly, and he’s become a familiar sight at the kitchen table; parts spread out on an oil-stained rag, meticulous and methodical with the one belonging he brought here with him from the future other than the clothes on his back and the colorful friendship bracelet on his right wrist.

It’s important to him, clearly, but he’s letting Donnie handle it with an indulgent look on his face. Like there are no better hands to leave it in than his little brother’s.

Because he’s at risk of having a whole emotion about that out loud, where his entire family is assembled to witness it, Donnie quickly turns his mind onto the much safer road of gadgetry.

He has never actually held a crossbow before, has never built or used one, but he’s been doing a lot of research. He has a lot of ideas. He wants to print mechanical broadhead arrows with explosive tips, or tear gas canisters, or EMP charges. It’s a brand new world of creative chaos and that’s not even touching all the build customizations Donnie has in mind. His fingers are already itching to dismantle and reassemble the machine into something better, something that won’t ever fail, something his big brother will love.

Only—huh. What feels like a low-level electric current thrums to quiet life like it was waiting to be noticed by the right pair of eyes, just enough of a static shock to get his attention and guide his hand to the rail. Glowing purple does the work of an allen wrench in seconds and a handful of screws clatter to the table. Donnie removes the scope in one sure motion, and moves on to snap the rail from the stock.

Raph says, low and warning, “Donnie,” intimately familiar with gremlin gadget mode and all the kitchen appliances and shared toys destroyed in Donnie’s early years in the name of science. But he’s not breaking this time, he’s just looking.

He flips the rail over in his hands and finds the source of that odd electricity-conductive feeling. Hidden on the underside is a small embossed logo that Donnie would recognize anywhere, because it’s his.

“A-ha!” he says, absurdly pleased with the discovery. “A Genius Built mod.”

The rail was one of the first things he’d had in mind to upgrade, but it looks like he’d beaten himself to the punch.

“With a custom rail, we can add whatever attachments we want to the stock, way beyond just an average scope or a rangefinder,” Donnie says eagerly, his mind darting ahead in three different directions at once. “The world is our oyster, Georgie!”

He can’t help grinning. His logo on Gio’s prized possession is that last little bit of evidence he needed. He’s never been happier to be wrong, and will endure Leo’s smugness for an unheard of two entire business days before initiating retaliation.

No version of Donatello would put that mark on anything unless he really cared about it.

And Gio wouldn’t lift the rail from Donnie’s hands, and touch his thumb to that stylized “D” as if to prove to himself that it was real, an expression of painful wistful longing on his face, unless he really cared, too.

#rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #hamato donatello #hamato leonardo #disaster twins #the archer au #my writing #tmnt fic

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i-have-stolen-endless-names · 4 months ago

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The Devil In Love - Chapter 1 "The First Step"

Possible Trigger Warnings

>>Alucard is a Warning on his own.<<

Overall Yandere Themes

Mentions of: Manipulation, Stalking, Alucard is thinking of biting you and drinking your blood, the beginning of obsessive and possessive behavior

Minors please do not interact!

Content

Reader is working at the Hellsing manor as a housekeeper

Story is set before the happenings of Hellsing - Still Spoilers ahead

Reader is gender neutral, no pronouns are used but "you"

Age, ethnicity, height, weight and any other physical attributes are never mentioned. You are free and encouraged to imagine yourself or an OC in this scenario.

Summary

Overall a rather harmless chapter

Alucard and Reader get to know each other better

Index

Previous Chapter: Prologue Next Chapter: In A Demons Embrace

Follow me for more!

Technology always interested him. The allure of modernity was something this old vampire was very curious about. Computer… the internet… Humanity evolved so quickly. This little invisible network they created was the closest they would ever have to magic. At least for those who have no access to such an ancient power. However, he must admit, those new courting rules were curious to him.

Alucard was by no means a foolish man. He had been very intelligent from the start. Had he been born in a time not torn apart by war, he could have had chances to become a great man. Not a man stained with blood. Not a man who was corrupted with power.

Nonetheless, the shift of old world courting and modern dating was… a curious thing. He had many lovers in his old life. Women, men, people who were neither or all at once. If he had any more knowledge about the "modern slang" he most likely would be labelled as pansexual. Nothing would stop this man from pursuing what he wanted. What he needed. His reason for desire was currently busy.

You were busy. Typing away on the keyboard in front of a massive computer. Hellsing had the most modern technology available and yet it all still looked so very chunky.

Not even Alucard could imagine that in a few years everything would change. As usual, he had been watching you for a while before he manifested behind you. Ittook so adorably long for you to notice him. The startled noise that left you amused him immensely. "Good evening."A sharp fanged grin welcomed you. His presence made you still a bit nervous. How delectable

"Good evening….I did not hear you come in." Your comment made him chuckle. He rarely used doors. Sliding through the walls was much more amusing. Especially when he could scare you in the process. "A library is supposed to be quiet, is it not?" His eyes narrowed with mirth. "May I join you?"

Always so polite, one could almost forget that he was a monster lusting after you. Once you have given him permission he sat next to you. Perhaps he had pulled the chair intentionally way too close to yours. Your knees were touching.

"What is the little help doing, mh?" One of the many nicknames he had given you. "Taking a break. I was checking this new website and…" You startled to babble about whatever currently interested you. His lips curled upward and he listened intently to you.

lt was curious, really, how suddenly he felt himself intrigued by your interests. Perhaps he should gain some more information about your little hobbies. He listened… and listened…

At one point he threaded his fingers together and leaned back in the chair. It almost appeared as if the vampire was content simply letting you talk for a very long time. Until you started to change the topic.

"On that note, there had not been many vampire attacks recently, have there?" Look at you, showing interest in his work as well. Or maybe you just had false hope that no more ghouls would threaten humanities existence. "How perceptive of you. I indeed have not been called to any mission for a while now."

Drinking from blood bags was simply not the same as devouring some hot blooded little thing, like you.

"What do you do when you are not out and about shooting ghouls?" Your question took him a bit off guard. What did he do? Aside from suffering nightmares and remembering the past…

Surely you would not appreciate being told that he was watching you so often. Even though he was a monster he still had his charm, in his own twisted way. Seemingly you took his silence as nothing positive, the little frown on your face was precious. "I enjoy going to the library."

Hellsings library was big. It offered books, computer and a silent space to do other things. Once he had seen a little maid painting in this room. The room simply offered many possibilities. "You should join me more often." What a horrible mistake to make. Perhaps you see him as this little thing that needed coddling.

Maybe you were simply lonely and sought any company you could get. Whatever it was… he could not stop the grin from forming onto his lips. Your occasional "accidental" meetings now had turned into something much more frequent and willing.

It may not occur to you but you were blindly feeding into his obsession. Like a little lamb strutting over to the wolf, so naive…

"It would be my greatest pleasure." For the first time in centuries something else than bloodshed excited him.

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Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated. Please engage with this post if you want me to continue writing. I hope you enjoyed it!

#hellsing alucard x reader #alucard x reader #soft yandere #gender neutral reader #vampire x reader #yandere love #yandere x reader #x reader #hellsing #hellsing ultimate #fanfic #fanfiction #hellsing fanfiction #vampire x human

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organsoutsidelovinglydescribed · 1 year ago

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Body Horror Week Prompts Are Live!

Welcome to Trigun Body Horror Week 2024!

We’ve set up a week of fantastic flavors of bodily horrors for you, and here is our official post sharing the prompts for you to cook with.

Body Horror Week is going to run from Feb 11th, 2024 until Feb 17th, 2024

For each set of prompts, we have an organ, two different songs, and a quote to inspire you into making the best horrors you’ve got.

The official hashtag for the week is #trigunbodyhorrorweek, and we’ll do our best to reblog your submissions the day of and whatever we may have missed during the week, we’ll reblog after. Feel free to tag us as well!

An AO3 collection is forthcoming.

There’s a copy of the prompts list below the cut, as well as links to the A-Sides and B-Sides for the music.

The art for the graphic was done by the wonderful @hashtagcaneven

Link for the music A-Sides and the B-Sides as playlists. Spotify playlist here.

Feb 11th: Eyes | Mama – My Chemical Romance | Mask of My Own Face – Lemon Demon | I hate it when humans and augmented humans ruin things for no reason. Maybe because I was a thing before I was a person, and if I’m not careful, I could be a thing again. - Network Effect, Martha Wells (Murderbot Diaries)

Feb 12th: Skin | This Body – The Dear Hunter | Hurt – Johnny Cash | Skin against skin, blood and bone / You’re all by yourself, but you’re not alone / You wanted in, and now you’re here / Driven by hate, consumed by fear – “Bodies”, Drowning Pool

Feb 13th: Lungs | Sin Eater – Penelope Scott | Between Two Lungs – Florence + the Machine | I remember seeing myself splayed across the floor of the kennel, a chimera split along a hundred seams, taking communion with a handful of dogs. - The Things, Peter Watts

Feb 14th: Heart | Love Me Dead – Ludo | Your Body, My Temple – Will Wood | The heart wants what it wants. What it wants is blood. - Welcome to Night Vale Twitter

Feb 15th: Limbs | Blood – My Chemical Romance | Body – Mother Mother | Pluck that crimson orb rusted package from the branches mother’s arms our tree you’ve chopped away at for too long with your mouth-bright ax pretty-teethed boy. - “A Brother Named Gethsemane”, Natalie Diaz

Feb 16th: Intestines | Void – Melanie Martinez | Blood on My Name – The Brothers Bright | It is a corpse rotting slowly from within while maggots writhe in its belly. - Warhammer 40k

Feb 17th: Alien | Roots – In This Moment | sprorgnsm – superorganism | To be trapped, unmoving, within the body that has betrayed her so often, feeling every sensation as it grows and warps and sprouts, never knowing what new mutation it will visit on her next. - The Magnus Archives, Episode 171, "The Gardener"

#trigun #trigunbodyhorrorweek #trigun maximum #trigun stampede #trigun 98 #trigun events #vash the stampede #fandom events

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earth-64 · 8 days ago

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DELTARUNE TOMORROW

In 1989 Trident Comics published a four-part comic titled St. Swithin’s Day.

St. Swithin’s Day follows an unnamed 19 year old who has decided to assassinate Margaret Thatcher. The comic follows him in the days leading up to the event. He steals, and later decides to throw away, a copy of Catcher in the Rye. He has a conversation with a woman in a cafe who only exists in his head. He sleeps in a maintenance train car. He dances to The La’s “There She Goes” in front of Karl Marx’s grave. He calls his mother, who begs him to come home and interview for a job at a grocery store. The morning of St Swithin’s Day he jumps in front of Margaret Thatcher, appearing as a madman reaching into his jacket pocket, "neurotic boy outsider" written proudly on his forehead. He pulls out nothing. He points his finger at her and simply says “bang” out loud and is promptly tackled by security. He rides home on the train, covered in bruises and less one tooth.

“It was worth it just to see her scared.”

St. Swithin’s Day was written by Grant Morrison, known for the incredibly metatextual first arc of Animal Man, as well as his run of Doom Patrol, The Invisibles, and All-Star Superman. He was part of the all-star lineup behind 52, the comic that got me into comics. It is illustrated by Paul Grist, an artist well-known for the series Kane. At least that’s what Wikipedia is telling me. I did not ever find the time to consume Grists’ other works, let alone study them as closely as I did Morrison’s, before deciding on my method of suicide.

[Recommended reading for this is on my new website, Earth-64. It is also available on Archive of Our Own.]

I tried to kill myself five times in a three year period. You’d say I’m being a bit loose saying I “tried” when I was never found unconscious on the pavement or bleeding out in the bath. Suicide is not a singular moment. It is weeks of spiraling. It is time spent feeling unreal. It is a decision made in a manner of thought existing below consciousness. It is a monster that festers inside of you, begging for the conditions to be met that would allow your conscious mind to accept it. A remaining sliver of your rational brain watches helplessly as you cut yourself off from your support network. You start consuming media that you know will make you sad. You want to get your brain to want to kill you. You want to feel like you want to die. You’re afraid you’ll get better, that you’ll miss your chance. You start writing a note in your head that you’re too afraid to put onto paper. Yet you may write it in a hurried panic late one night, because you need it with urgency. You’re afraid you won’t be able to write it later because you’ll be too far gone. You learn the songs that make you the saddest and assemble the playlist that will kill you. You plan the perfect day of melancholic vitriol that would make it possible and you set a date. I tried to kill myself five distinct times while in Seattle.

I’m hurtling towards the sixth attempt at forty miles per hour on the Sound Transit light rail as the soundtrack to my demise tocks Clark Powell’s “Ephemeral Muse” and ticks over to Will Wood’s “Against the Kitchen Floor”. Othello gives way to Columbia City and the Seattle skyline spells out a threat I know all too well it has the guts to follow through with. I’m thinking about how blind I must have been to think it said anything different to me as I was riding in just four years ago just as Mount Baker swallows the train whole. Will Wood’s apologies for his inability to become human echo through the maintenance tunnels of my brain.

We emerge from the tunnel out into Soho and Seattle is no longer a threat on the horizon but a looming beast. The light rail does not stop. We drive straight into the beast’s stomach as Ada Rook’s “Strangers” takes its turn stabbing me gently. This metal snake worms its way through the beast’s colon and I become aware of the other passengers for the first time as I start to bawl my eyes out. They do not react.

These underground stations are the familiar ones, the ones I would pass every day on my way to work. For the first year I lived in Seattle I took this train from Capitol Hill to the International District and back again. I remember every emotion I’ve ever experienced on this train. I remember how much hope and joy I had once felt. That was supposed to be the start of my Real Life. It wasn’t supposed to be an empty chapter of rot near the end of my book. I hate that I now feel so unwelcome here. I hate that being here now makes me want to die. I hate that I came here to die.

“Now arriving: Capitol Hill.”

I stand on the platform for a moment and take in the segmented planes I’ve passed under hundreds of times. On my first day here I took a selfie with them and made a joke about being with Eva-01. That’s just what happens when you show a daunting hunk of purple and green metal to someone who watched Evangelion for the first time just a few months prior. I wonder how many other people have made the same joke or even had the same fleeting thought for just a few seconds as they ride the escalator. Now I’m reminded more of the stealth bomber obscuring the moon at the end of Psycholonials, but that’s just what happens when you place a suicidal tranny underneath a daunting hunk of metal. It occurs to me for just a moment that I never once bothered to look up what this art piece is actually called or who made it. I don’t stop to do that now. I’m ascending up the escalator fast enough that the onism can’t keep up.

When I emerge I’m met with the heart-wrenching site of a clear blue sky. It’s a rare hot day in Seattle. I avoid a few nagging clipboard-wielders pedaling some kind of phone scam and make my way down Broadway. I should have exited the station from the other end. Old habit.

Each step I take into Cal Anderson feels like turning up the volume dial of a screaming static. The large round fountain is spilling water forth in an endless performance. The lawns are dotted with twenty-somethings smoking weed and throwing frisbees to their dogs. Only a couple kids are hanging from the monkeybars. I never saw many kids in this city. That horrid bright blue sky and roaring hot sun loom above it all. What is left of our natural world if you can’t count on rain in Seattle anymore?

My penchant for what the kids are calling “Aura and Hype” and I call “finding narrative fulfillment” and most would call “cringe” forces me to turn on Mike Oldfield’s “Nuclear” as I take a seat on a park bench.

Standing on the edge of the crater.

I try to imagine the cold ashes that must still lay embedded deep in the dirt. In my mind I see the lawns beaten down to workable soil. A sea of tents set up inside protective walls of chainlink and cardboard. And words, words everywhere. Cries for freedom and for change, mantras painted onto every surface. Endless crowds of people fighting loud and proud for a better world.

And I can’t see it.

I wasn’t there.

What a mess we made, when it all went wrong.

In June of 2020 I found myself back together with my long-distance right-wing ex-boyfriend after he simply refused to let me break up with him. I had quit my job in December 2019, he dropped the ball on moving me in, and I was stuck without a job when the pandemic hit. I tried to dump him as my politics took a miraculously wild turn left, then everything stagnated. The world came to a stop. My parents still wanted money for rent and there was a black void beyond our porch steps. They threatened to throw me out into it on more than one occasion that summer. Getting back together with my ex was the best option I had if I wanted to stay alive. But I did so with a stipulation: I told him that if a revolutionary movement started and led to a commune situation, anywhere on the planet, I would leave him immediately. I would drop everything and run to anywhere in the world to find freedom. Of course he didn’t think it would ever happen.

CHAZ was founded the following weekend.

I watched from afar as all the leftist history I had been reading for the past year played out in real time on my computer screen. I think to most people aware of it at the time it felt like a story of legend. Sparse images made their way online, stories passed around by pure written word promised a narrative that seemed magical, mythical. Even at that moment it was easy to dismiss it as a work of fiction. Five years removed and nothing here remains to prove it wasn’t.

I was uniquely positioned to know people who were there. I spoke to people who had their boots in this very soil. At the time it was a real thing I could see happening to people I cared about, and now I still see its echoes in their faces. The experience forever changed the ones that it didn’t kill.

I kept my promise to my ex-boyfriend, but I didn’t make it to Seattle until the following year. All that remained of CHAZ in 2021 was a community garden, which is now the green lawn of mowed grass I’m staring at while I sit here. That garden and the ghosts that haunt everyone I love.

CHAZ was a reprieve from culture. CHAZ was owning a gun and keeping a midnight watch. CHAZ was a fleeting glimpse into what really matters. CHAZ was all that has ever been real. CHAZ was the only chance we ever had to actually fight. CHAZ shattered the reality that internet drama or culture war means anything. The loss of CHAZ led to a lot of suicide.

4lung, in her song “Rat King World Champion - Quit While You're Ahead”, deals with the aftermath of there briefly existing a better world. Her lyrics–

“Oh my gosh I am so sorry! She gets so excited when we come here.”

“It’s fine,” I reply, taking off my headphones. The silence of the world hits me like a truck. I pet the dog. “What’s her name?”

“Maureen.”

“You have a very human name, Maureen.”

“She’s named after my sister,” says the woman as she takes a seat on the bench. We sit in silence for a few agonizing seconds before she breaks it. “You live here on the hill?”

“No, just visiting.”

“Family? Friends?”

“I’m going to commit suicide by cop. Elon Musk is in town to attend an esports event. I am going to point my fingers at him, shout bang, and be killed.”

I let the next few seconds of silence wash over me like a cool breeze. She responds, calmly, “Why?”

“What else is there left for me to do?”

“You could do it for real, if you’re sure you’re going to die anyway.”

I don’t think about it. I think about something else instead. I turn around and point to an apartment skyrise that wasn’t there a decade ago. I say, “I toured one of those apartments last year. I was so certain I was going to bring my girlfriend up here from California. It was a modest plan. We would both have jobs and we would barely scrape by living in a one-bedroom apartment. The real estate agent showed me around the room and I filmed it. I was so excited to show my girlfriend even that tiny place we could call our own. The agent took me around the building, showed me a gym I would never use, then up to the top floor. It’s beautiful up there: pool tables and grills and sun lounges and a killer view. I looked out and saw this whole park, all at once. A beautiful green lawn under a shining sun. The real estate agent smiled at me from behind her clipboard, talking about prices while I took in the breathtaking view of the world’s most beautiful graveyard. They burned our future and stuck an exorbitant price tag on its corpse.”

“Did you find a place to be with your girlfriend?”

“I did. It wasn’t here and it didn’t last long.”

She points at me. No, she’s pointing at one of my buttons. “It comes out in a couple days, you know? Don’t you want to be alive to see what happens next? And someday to see how it ends?”

At first I’m caught off guard. Then I remember how mainstream Deltarune is. I have to remind myself of that often. It still feels like a niche within a niche within a niche. A comic begets a game that begets a game. The further down the rabbit hole you go the closer you get to the surface. Obscurity is eroded by entropy. I respond truthfully, “It’s become hard to care.”

She looks almost… angry? “Given the option of a world-changing martyrdom or a continued search for meaning you choose… a pointless suicide? You’re gonna march up to the oppressor and ask to be excused? You’re gonna let a cop watch you bleed out in the street? Millions of people will know about you, and you’re wrong if you think you’ll be inciting anything in them. They’re all scared and you’re gonna make it worse.”

“Don’t ever volunteer for a suicide hotline ma’am, you’re awful at it.”

“Who do you blame?”

“I guess, ultimately, it's all my own fault.”

“So what now then? What the fuck now?”

“Now this is the part where we zoom out to reveal I haven’t been talking to anyone. You’re just a figment of my imagination. I made you up to have a different excuse to exposit than the last three monologues.”

I take a deep breath and zoom out again. West this time. The Front Bottom’s “Twin Sized Mattress”.

I came here a lot, on my worst days in Seattle. A maze-like bookstore with a bunch of live-in cats. When I’d hit a point where I could not stand to sit alone in my apartment for another moment, but could not dare to reach out to any of the friends I suspected of hating me, I’d come here and pet a cat. I was sure none of these cats held any grudges towards me, sure that none of them would recoil from my pet and complain “Um, actually I’ve hated you for years! I kept hoping you wouldn’t come back!” before issuing a restraining order.

I used to play a game here. I’d try to see if I could find a book containing someone I knew or someone that meant something to me. Well that version of the rules sounds a little easy because “liking an author” is enough for them to mean something to you, and plenty of people like plenty of common authors. The version of the ruleset that exists in my head is closer to “find a book containing knowledge that pertains to The Plot.” The Plot meaning… the things important to my own personal narrative. It’s much too late for me to be unpacking what that means. It’s not like it meant anything in the end, anyway, it would seem.

I take a seat amongst the science fiction books, the corner where the cats like to sleep in the sun. One that reminds me of a childhood pet is curled up in the windowsill. I run my fingers through its fur.

I’ve fallen, my knees screaming into the hot California cement. Sweat streams down my face and I can’t catch my breath. I can’t breathe at all. I’m dying. I just had to shovel some fucking rocks and it’s killing me. I’ve been given everything I’ve ever wanted and I can’t give back even this. I lost my temper and I screamed and I cursed and I made a fool of myself again. She’s going to be afraid of me like everyone else is. Everyone is afraid of me eventually. Because I’m rash and I’m angry and I’m violent. I couldn’t be reasonable. I had to lose myself and push myself until I was raw and bloody. I’m bleeding everywhere. I’m dying. No, I’m already dead. I’ve been dead. I killed myself in Seattle. I never made it out. I jumped off my roof and landed in Heaven and everything is so beautiful now that I don’t deserve it. I’m crying and screaming and bleeding in Heaven. I look up and see an angel so beautiful that I can’t belong here.

The cat yawns and stretches and walks away. I sit there a moment among the shitty Star Wars novelizations, listening to my suicide-playlist. “The Leaving”, Marcus Carline. I take my own, refusing to play the game. The old woman who runs the place is arguing with someone trying to resell books they just bought at the thrift store two blocks over. Outside the sun continues its onslaught.

I’m wandering at this point, stumbling through familiar streets. I try to focus on the music but I’m breathing too loud, thinking too fast. The steps don’t come naturally, I have to think about each and every one. I’m processing a thousand smells and sounds and a million sights. I can’t will myself to zoom out this time.

I tear off the headphones and collapse at the base of a tree. I close my eyes and imagine the feather. I count the numbers on London’s tattoo. I remember seeing a bunny. I saw it a few times, right here, on this street, when I would walk home late at night. I know where I am. I open my eyes.

That’s the roof I didn’t jump off.

I know just across the alley are the dumpsters I always liked the graffiti on. Rawrdcore’s fursona and a Sparkledog Clownpuppy. I always thought I was meant to meet the artists. I always meant to reach out to the artists. Just beyond that is a little sub-alley I could see from my old apartment’s balcony. I’d go out on it to smoke weed. The view from there was the wrong way, so I couldn’t see the city, just the alleyway where the homeless slept. I’d probably have died a lot sooner if that balcony was a bit higher. The five minute walk from my floor to the roof was enough of a mental gap to hold back the times the thoughts were just intrusive.

The sun starts to set and I take my place in the alley.

I’m lying on some concrete steps, looking up and imagining where the stars must be hiding behind the pollution, hoping the rabbit I know lives on this block hops by and reminds me how even such a pathetic creature can survive here longer than me.

I wonder what everyone I’ve ever known must be thinking. I wonder how many of them notice my absence. It’s just been a couple days without posting, surely none of them have noticed. I think of my girlfriend I left in California. She knows where I went but not what I’m doing. She thinks I’m rooming with a friend for a bit, just to get some space. She’s absolutely worried now that I’m not responding to all the texts. I consider calling her and telling her everything. I don’t.

It’s cold. It’s so fucking cold. I put too much brain power into thinking of the most boring thing to listen to while falling asleep, just for the sake of the reference. All for the sake of the reference. All I know is references. I give up searching for Glenda Jackson interviews and turn back on my suicide-playlist. I fall asleep listening to Will Toledo seeking reprieve from depression through dissociation.

Haven’t you?

Something between a dream and a feverish thought-spiral fills the entire sweltering night. Skeletons and ghosts dance amongst playing cards and chess pieces. The world unfolds like a dead origami unicorn and everything before me is a flat piece of darkness. I see a figure with its back to me. At the shadow’s edge the twilight reverie is shattered. A column of intense light, a blinding beautiful blue streaking into the ether. I can almost make out their face. I can almost hear the music. I can almost… I can’t. I can’t see anything.

I can’t see fucking anything. I’m laying on the cold pavement at three in the morning pretending that I care about anything. I’ve felt the same way every time I’ve ever gotten high: a small part of me is always perfectly conscious. I’m faking it. I’m faking everything. I could be fine if I wanted to and it’s all in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut and beg to dream more.

What if I never see more? What if I die not knowing–

God, what if she’s right? What if this insignificant anchor to reality will keep me bound here? What if I chicken out because, no matter how much I believe in what I’m doing, in the end I care too much about seeking more knowledge? I’m just gonna keep floating through life, a ghost tethered by unfinished business.

A friend leaves a suicide note lamenting that he won’t see the end of Homestuck and I know now a decade later that Shahrazad never stops spinning her tales.

My brain writes a dozen shitty dream sequences that my conscious mind rejects for being cliche.

I finally drag myself out of the alley after the sun is already rising into another clear blue sky.

Today is the day. I don’t mentally dwell on it.

I have another stop to make first. One more plot beat to hit. I pay for a bus fare with the ORCA card given to me by the ego-destructing manufacturing job I had a couple years ago. They made me pay for the card initially but then never asked for it back. Its magically gotten renewed both years since and I’m not complaining. We pass over Lake Union, heading north, towards Fremont. “The Mind Electric” on repeat.

That manufacturing job was actually split into two periods of temporary positions. In between the temp agency had me do a couple other odds and ends. Security check for a concert at the zoo was a fine one. The card shop inventory was not. I was so excited to be working with something I loved, Magic the Gathering, but it turned out to be the worst job experience of my life. A dozen people down in a basement, opening hundreds of packs of cards and sorting them by value. A frenzied repetition of destruction: peel the cellophane, crack open the box, surgically strip each card-pack of its glossy exterior. Endless trash bags of discarded skin and husks. Hundreds of Gandalfs and Frodos thrown into sorting bins. Mr. Salt wanted a golden ticket for his daughter. I ran screaming. I took the first bus home while they kept on ripping and tearing down there. I cried on the bus, quitting yet another job, when I looked out and saw Vladimir Lenin staring back and I knew everything was going to be okay.

That’s where I am right now.

He promised me so goddamn much. The pandemic hit and I sought any hope left in the world and I found it in books and in movements and in camaraderie. I slept through two decades of my life not caring about anything and suddenly I cared about everything. My enemies became my friends and I finally understood why anything on Earth was worth fighting for. My old friends became my new enemies and I could not comprehend why I could suddenly see what they still can not. My parents threatened to throw me out into the void of the pandemic and my once rival called me and told me everything was going to be okay. I sat on the curb feeling like I was about to die, crying into my phone, and she told me things would be okay. My whole damn world was flipped on its head.

Those were the best couple years of my life. I felt part of something. I felt like I had finally found out what it was all for. Every piece of media I had consumed and every day spent meticulously cultivating a social life and every night lost to lamenting how little I had done with my life all led here. The internet discourse and the social failures and the cloud-hosted scriptures all came together to form the singular Plot that kickstarted my Real Life.

We were going to save the world.

So what the hell happened? It all stopped as suddenly as it started. Every hope was dashed and every friendship burned and I found myself back where I had started. Am I here to follow through on my karmic destiny? Or am I just sick to fucking death of arguing with teenagers online? Am I just a sickly pessimistic person who can’t hold herself together enough to play her part in keeping the spirit of revolution alive? I should be teaching people as I was taught, forming the next generation, trying again. And here I am on a deeply selfish adventure trying to satiate the self-fulfilling prophecy the way one orders McDonald’s on UberEats. A quick, messy, expensive, destructive, self-indulgence.

I’m trying to dance. You should see me dancing. The Velvet Underground’s “There She Goes Again” is blasting on repeat through my headphones and I’m catching glimpses of Lenin’s hard stare towards the horizon with each pirouette. I want to dance and not have a care in the world. I’m going to die. I’m going to die today! I’m going to die today!

My footwork is sloppy. I took two years of dance classes to get out of Gym and now I’m just a crazy person stumbling in the middle of the street. I turn up the music louder. She’s down on her knees, my friend. Tears are streaming down my face, my friend. I’m dancing. I’m dancing and I don’t care that I’m about to die.

Why can’t you see it?

I’M GOING TO DIE.

I’M GOING TO DIE TODAY!

I’M GOING TO DIE AND I DON’T CARE!

I DON’T CARE!

I’M GOING TO DIE TODAY!

LOOK AT ME.

SOMEONE LOOK AT ME.

GOD PLEASE SOMEONE SEE ME.

I’m in the bathroom of a nearby pizza place. I’m shaving my face one last time. The final performance of a daily show that ran for 15 years. I’d have done it twice a day if I ever actually cared for the opinions of the spectators.

How many people will get hurt because of me? Am I just going to spur on the campaign of hate? Is every public appearance we make one that spurs on the campaign of hate against us? Should we hide? Should we pretend to not exist so that we may do so in secret? Do we beg for acceptance? Is rainbow capitalism today worth the inevitable genocide tomorrow? They will never accept us into the world as it exists. We have to make something new. We have to.

Back on the bus, heading south. I turn on something that isn’t on the playlist, something buried in my Youtube likes. “04 min 20 with Large Prime Numbers”. I don’t know the title, I don’t know the words. It’s just loud and emotional noise.

I wish I liked trains.

The light rail emerges from the tunnel and I breathe a sigh of a kind of relief the likes of which I have never felt before. As I watch Seattle fade once more into naught but a distant threat I suddenly remember that I had forgotten to tell you about how much I wish I liked trains. I just think it would be a neat autism to have. I could spend my days reading about the different models and makes, tracing routes on maps and researching the histories of stations and supply lines. I’d play railroad tycoons and watch those old VHS tapes they’d air the infomercials for. There wouldn’t be broken friendships, touchy subjects, callout posts, and endless balancing acts. I wouldn’t be traumatized by the punishments for being oblivious to feigned familiarity nor lost in the labyrinthine social web I spun myself into. I’d just like trains.

“I guess, ultimately, it's all my own fault,” as I catch my mind rewinding back to when I was 16, looking for a way to make some friends. All the things I got into, all the communities I joined, all the discourse I sought just because even that fucked up hate was one of the kinds of love we shared.

“I guess, ultimately, it’s all my own fault,” as it wanders back to when I was 23 and seeking any guidance at all. I had no plans for sleeping anywhere but the twin-sized mattress on my parent’s living room floor. I was beating my head against the wall, begging myself to make art good enough to absolve me of the sins of my fandom years.

“I guess, ultimately, it’s all my own fault,” and I’m saying goodbye to my dad at the airport, about to embark on the only real adventure I’ve ever been on. A lifetime of theme parks and movies did not prepare me for anything I faced when I chased a brighter future. He’s telling me to start living, to meet people, to have sex, to try drugs from the safety of my home. I think of his words as I’m standing in that accursed graveyard of a city for the first time, still blind, still naive.

“I guess, ultimately, it’s all my own fault,” and I’m listening to the Psycholonials soundtrack as the plane touches down in California and I’m given one more chance.

“I guess, ultimately…” I’m back on the light rail after my sixth botched suicide and I know I can’t blame myself anymore.

The bus stopped in front of the Climate Pledge Arena and I couldn’t get off. This was my stop. I knew this could be my stop. Musk would be there in 20 minutes and I could exit. And I didn’t. I just kept riding.

I let Youtube autoplay a song I had never heard before. My brain refused to decode the soundwaves and it all streamed through my brain like white noise.

I called my girlfriend. Told her I wanted to come home. She bought me a ticket on the earliest flight.

I couldn’t change the world. I wouldn’t have changed the world. Very few can. They’ve made it so hard for any of us to matter. It’s not a personal failing, I’m just another victim of oppression operating on a scale I cannot fathom. I should read more theory. I should make more friends. Right now I just need to stay alive. At least one more day. Even just one more day.

#deltarune #story #fiction #st swithins day #grant morrison #seattle

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