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hwadam-stories · 2 months ago

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MASTER OF THE SUN | 태양의주인 | SIDE STORY 2: PART 1

||| VOLUME 1: Prologue

||| TYPE: Light Novel (MTL)

||| TOOL: Google Gemini

||| CONTENT: contains dark and triggering themes (dead dove content), viewer discretion advised.

The black sedan glided along the deserted late-night highway, a silent sentinel against the inky canvas of the sky. Inside, Sunwoo, perched on the edge of the passenger seat, watched his boss in the rearview mirror. Danteo, reclined in the back, seemed lost in thought, a low aria drifting from the speakers, a jarringly elegant counterpoint to the late hour.

"Mr. Yoon," Sunwoo murmured, his voice a silken thread cutting through the music, "Could you please lower the volume a bit?"

"Yes, Director," the chauffeur replied, his voice a low rumble.

The music subsided, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. Sunwoo loosened his tie, the knot feeling unbearably tight around his neck. Another late night. Another day bleeding into the next, consumed by the relentless demands of his workaholic boss.

"When was the last time I left work on time...?" he mused, the question hanging heavy in the air. He couldn't remember. Not a single instance. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. He closed his eyes, the image of his reflection in the office window, a gaunt face illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights, flashing before him.

He was 32, a prisoner in his own gilded cage. Danteo, his enigmatic and utterly unpredictable boss, had transformed him into a high-earning machine, a cog in the relentless pursuit of wealth and power.

But what good was the money? He never had time to enjoy it. Momo, his beloved cat, had long since given up on him. He'd come home to an empty apartment, the only sound the mournful meows echoing through the sterile silence.

"What if I lose him?" the thought struck him, cold and sharp. "What if I lose the only thing that truly matters?"

He bit his nails, a nervous habit he couldn't seem to break. The same agonizing question replayed in his mind, a broken record: "Should I just quit?"

The fear of burnout, of collapsing under the immense pressure, gnawed at him. He was young, he had a life to live. He had earned enough money, surely. There had to be other opportunities, other paths. But was he truly willing to walk away? To defy Danteo, a man who ruled his life with an iron fist?

"Compatible, my foot," he scoffed inwardly. Danteo was a force of nature, a whirlwind of unpredictable moods and ruthless ambition. He was charming and terrifying in equal measure, a man who inspired both fear and a strange, twisted fascination. He was the epitome of the Dan family, a dynasty built on a foundation of violence and ruthlessness, now attempting to launder its blood-stained past with a veneer of respectability.

But despite it all, Sunwoo couldn't seem to break free. A strange, inexplicable loyalty bound him to Danteo, a loyalty that bordered on the perverse.

"Stop," Danteo's voice cut through the silence, startling Sunwoo.

"Here?" Sunwoo questioned, his eyes wide with apprehension. They were on the bridge, a ribbon of concrete snaking across the dark expanse of water.

"Yes," Dhan said, his voice flat and emotionless.

Sunwoo's heart pounded against his ribs. The late-night stillness, the vast emptiness of the water below, it all felt eerily symbolic. Danteo, with his history of erratic behavior, his unsettling obsession with control, had always made him uneasy.

"Mr. Lee," Sunwoo began, his voice strained, "Parking on a bridge is illegal. It could cause a traffic hazard, and it would certainly damage the company's image..."

Danteo let out a low, amused chuckle. "What image? This is the Dan family. We don't care about image."

Sunwoo winced. The Dan family. The name itself was a legend, whispered in hushed tones in the business world. A family built on a foundation of violence and ruthlessness, now attempting to launder its blood-stained past with a veneer of respectability. Daeho Construction, the company Danteo headed, was a prime example of this facade, a successful enterprise built on a legacy of violence and deceit.

He knew he was playing a dangerous game. Disobeying Danteo was tantamount to treason. But the thought of stopping on the bridge, of being trapped in this confined space with a man whose moods were as unpredictable as the weather, filled him with a chilling dread.

Taeo, with a chilling nonchalance, dismissed both his family and company as a "den of gangsters," a label he readily applied to himself, a product and beneficiary of this very lifestyle.

Sunwoo, though aware of the truth behind this bravado, couldn't help but offer a wry smile. "It's getting colder, sir. You might catch a cold. Please be patient. We'll arrive soon."

Taeo, who had been listening in a brooding silence, slowly opened his eyes. The darkness seemed to amplify the intensity of his gaze, his pitch-black eyes gleaming with an unsettling light. There was no sign of fatigue, no hint of weariness in their depths. "I know you're here because that old woman thinks I'm going to die," he said, his voice a low growl, "but don't overdo it. You're starting to annoy me."

"Chairman Kim always worries about you, sir," Sunwoo replied, his voice carefully neutral.

"She's worried more about the company than me," Taeo scoffed, his voice laced with a bitter amusement. "Enough of this nonsense. Just stop the car."

Watching him speak, his voice smooth and controlled, Sunwoo was momentarily disarmed. It was hard to believe that this man, who just moments ago had been so casually dismissive of life and death, was capable of the terrifying rages that periodically consumed him.

As he scrutinized Taeo's face, a flicker of concern crossed Sunwoo's eyes. Taeo's complexion was unusually pale, an unnatural pallor that starkly contrasted with his usual ruddy health. A sheen of sweat, cold and clammy, clung to his forehead. "Sir, are you... feeling unwell again?"

Taeo, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, offered no response. His fist, clenched tightly at his side, was a testament to the silent torment within. The veins in his hand bulged, a stark contrast to the stillness of his outward demeanor. It was a clear sign that the phantom pain, that insidious tormentor that plagued him, had returned.

"When did it start?" Sunwoo asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Before we left, I think. I'm not sure," Taeo replied, his tone surprisingly indifferent, almost detached, as if discussing someone else's ailment. Yet, the underlying tension in his voice belied his outward composure. He had been enduring this agonizing pain for over an hour, a silent prisoner within his own body.

Phantom pain. It was a cruel irony, a torment inflicted upon him by his own mind, a constant, insidious reminder of the invisible scars that marred his soul. There was no escape, no cure. He would endure it, pushing through the waves of agonizing pain, until he reached his breaking point, until the rage erupted, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

This was the reality of living with Taeo, a constant vigilance, a perpetual state of readiness for the inevitable explosion. It was the reason for Sunwoo's continued employment, a grim duty born out of a shared past and a reluctant sense of responsibility.

"Sunwoo, please take care of Taeo," Chairman Kim Ok-bun's voice echoed in his mind. "Even though he's difficult, he does listen to you."

Sunwoo and Taeo were more than just colleagues; they were childhood companions, bound by the invisible threads of a shared upbringing. Perhaps that was why Taeo, despite his volatile nature, seemed to exhibit a begrudging respect, even a begrudging affection, towards Sunwoo. Of course, this "gentler" side of him was a rare and fleeting phenomenon, a fragile flower blooming only in the rare moments when his inner demons were temporarily subdued.

Remembering his grandmother's request, Sunwoo handed Taeo the painkillers and water he always carried with him. "Here."

"It won't work anyway," Taeo dismissed the gesture with a wave of his hand. "So what's the point? Just stop the car. Maybe the cold air will help."

"... Mr. Yoon, please pull over," Sunwoo instructed, his voice firm.

"Yes, sir."

The luxurious sedan came to a halt in the middle of the bridge, an island of stillness in the vast, inky expanse of the night. Sunwoo watched Taeo step out of the car, his movements stiff and deliberate, and couldn't help but feel a surge of pity.

'Poor guy,' he thought, his gaze following Taeo's retreating figure. Despite his wealth, his power, his undeniable charisma, Taeo was a prisoner in his own gilded cage, a victim of his own demons. He had everything, yet he possessed nothing.

Taeo leaned against the icy railing of the bridge, the cold October wind biting through his clothes. He had stepped out of the car not to escape the pain, as Sunwoo had assumed, but to escape the fury that threatened to consume him. The rage was building, a monstrous thing clawing at the edges of his sanity. If he remained in the confined space of the car, he feared he might unleash a torrent of violence, a destructive force that could leave him broken and isolated.

This phantom pain, this torment that had plagued him for lifetimes, was a constant, a suffocating presence in his life. It began in the distant past, when he had lived as 'Dan', a name that echoed through the corridors of his forgotten memories. Over seven reincarnations, he had experienced countless realities, from the grime and grit of medieval Europe to the vibrant, fantastical worlds where magic reigned and dragons soared through the skies. His appearance, his occupation, his very existence had shifted with each rebirth, yet one constant remained – the agonizing, inexplicable pain.

For nearly 500 years, across these disparate lifetimes, Taeo had endured this inexplicable agony. It wasn't that he resented the pain itself. In a way, it was a perverse comfort, a tangible proof of his connection to her.

No, his anger was directed at the unseen, the unknown force that was inflicting this suffering upon her. His violent outbursts, those terrifying episodes of self-destruction, were born from the unbearable frustration of being unable to protect her, to shield her from the cruelties of the world.

"Damn it, they must have hit her hard," he muttered, his voice a low growl, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Even though the pain was a phantom, a mere echo of a distant suffering, it felt agonizingly real. The phantom blows, the phantom injuries, mirrored her own with chilling accuracy. If she had been struck as violently as he was experiencing it, her lip would be split, her skin bruised, her delicate form ravaged.

As the initial wave of pain began to subside, a cold sweat broke out on his back, clinging to his skin like a shroud.

His clenched fist ached, the deep crescent marks where his nails had dug into his flesh a stark reminder of the internal struggle he had endured. It was a strange dichotomy, this disconnect between the intensity of her suffering and the relative insignificance of his own physical pain.

Her pain was a beacon, a searing, inescapable truth, while his own agony felt like a pale imitation, a shadow of the true suffering.

Taeo lifted his gaze, his eyes drawn to the night sky. The recent rain had washed the city clean, and the stars were unusually bright, a breathtaking spectacle in the heart of the bustling metropolis.

The full moon, a luminous orb hanging heavy in the inky canvas of the night, cast an ethereal glow on the river below. It was a scene of breathtaking beauty, yet Taeo felt nothing. He was a vessel, hollowed out by centuries of pain and longing, incapable of experiencing joy or wonder.

He could only truly feel when he was experiencing phantom pain, when the echoes of her suffering resonated through his very being, or when the ghosts of his past lives rose up to haunt him.

"Hey, Your Majesty, shall we meet again in our next lives?"

"Of course, are you trying to abandon me?"

"Alright, alright. I'll be your servant again in our next lives. I'll give you all my love, my pain, and even my last breath."

"Very well. Take it all. It's all yours."

"... I love you, Dan."

"I cherish you. I cherish you with all my being, Bayan."

The words, spoken in a language long forgotten, echoed through his mind, a haunting melody from a forgotten era. He had promised to find her, to be her protector, her servant, to devote his existence to her well-being. Yet, after seven lifetimes, he had failed. He had no clues, no hints about her identity. He didn't know her age, her appearance, her race, or even her gender. All he knew was that she was a woman, and that her suffering was inextricably linked to his own.

The phantom pain was the only evidence of her existence, a cruel, tantalizing reminder that she was out there, somewhere, suffering. But even that was a dead end. He couldn't go around inflicting pain on others, testing their reactions, searching for a mirror image of his own agony.

So, in his fifth lifetime, he had given up hope. He had accepted his fate, the endless cycle of pain and longing. He had no reason to live, no purpose to his existence. Yet, he continued to exist, a ghost haunting the edges of his own life, enduring the agony of a life without meaning.

"I promised to give you everything..." he whispered, the words a mere breath against the cold night air.

Seven lifetimes. Seven chances to find her. And yet, he had failed every time. The thought was both infuriating and heartbreaking.

He closed his eyes, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. At thirty-two years old, his body was young, but his soul was ancient, weary from the endless cycle of rebirth and suffering. He didn't know how much longer he could endure this existence, this endless cycle of pain and longing, this eternal search for a woman he might never find.

He opened his eyes and gazed at the river flowing silently below. Tears refused to come. Over countless lifetimes, he had learned to suppress his emotions, to harden his heart against the pain, becoming a vessel of suffering, devoid of any genuine human emotion.

Taeo leaned against the bridge railing, the cool evening air doing little to soothe the turmoil within him. He had come here not to escape the pain, as Sunwoo had assumed, but to quell the rage that threatened to consume him. The memories, vivid and agonizing, kept flashing before his eyes: the woman's terrified face, the sound of her cries, the cold, metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

"I wonder if she's feeling the same way," he thought to himself, his voice a mere whisper against the wind. "Lost and alone, like a ship adrift at sea. Maybe she's crying right now, overwhelmed by it all."

The words echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of his own loneliness, a loneliness that had deepened with each passing year.

"If I have to give you up for your happiness, then so be it," he had whispered, his voice hoarse with unshed tears. "You live your life. I'll endure the time."

"So please... please don't cry somewhere I can't reach you."

The words, spoken with a desperation he hadn't realized he possessed, still echoed in his mind.

Taeo stood there for a long time, lost in thought, the city lights blurring before his eyes. Sunwoo, who had been watching him intently the entire time, let out a sigh of relief.

"Shall we go, sir?"

Taeo leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Sunwoo knew he would have to report today's incident to Chairman Kim Ok-bun, which meant his plans for a peaceful weekend were likely ruined. He could already hear her nagging: "Go to the hospital, see a counselor, or maybe try dating..."

"Anywhere but the mansion," Taeo said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Where would you like to go, sir?"

"Somewhere quiet," Taeo repeated, his voice a mere whisper.

Sunwoo inwardly groaned. It was late, and finding a suitable place at such short notice would be difficult. Nevertheless, he quickly began searching for options.

A hotel was out of the question; he needed something more secluded. The apartment he had prepared for entertaining overseas clients would be perfect.

A short while later, they arrived at a high-end apartment complex in Ilsan. Sunwoo handed Taeo the key card. "It's number 4501. There's another apartment on the same floor, but I think it's vacant. Please rest comfortably this weekend. I'll pick you up at 8 AM on Monday."

Taeo took the card without a word and stepped into the elevator. He was feeling particularly low after today's ordeal. The memories, vivid and agonizing, kept flashing before his eyes, a constant torment that he couldn't seem to escape.

As the elevator doors opened on the 45th floor, a young girl in a school uniform was sitting on the doorstep of the apartment opposite his. She was barefoot, her hair a mess, and she was clearly crying. She looked as if she had been kicked out of her home, a picture of vulnerability that mirrored his own internal state.

Taeo felt a surge of irritation. It seemed his peaceful retreat was already being disrupted. He would have ignored her, but something about the girl's forlorn figure made him pause.

Noticing his presence, the girl quickly wiped away her tears and tried to compose herself. She had long, dark hair that she hurriedly tucked behind her ears. As she looked up, Taeo was struck by her face. It wasn't just her beauty that caught his attention, but the large, red handprint that marred her pale cheek.

**********

EARLIER....

Hayeon stared at the mock exam results, a wave of familiar dread washing over her. Though her score had improved slightly, the familiar knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. It was a rare day indeed when she wasn't met with criticism or disappointment.

The memory of her adoption, a calculated political move orchestrated by her ambitious father, still lingered. Five years old, she had been plucked from her orphanage and thrust into a world of gilded cages and carefully constructed facades. Ban Ik-jung, her adoptive father, a rising star in the political arena, had used her adoption to rehabilitate his image after a public scandal.

The press had lavished praise upon him, portraying him as a compassionate and benevolent figure. He had even held a press conference, his face etched with feigned remorse, as he cradled the tiny orphan in his arms.

Public opinion, easily swayed and easily manipulated, had quickly turned in his favor. The scandal was forgotten, replaced by a narrative of redemption and compassion. Ban Ik-jung, the disgraced politician, had been reborn as a hero, a man of the people.

And Hayeon? She had become a prop, a symbol of his newfound virtue.

Since then, he had relentlessly cultivated the image of the loving and devoted father. He would appear on television, his face beaming with pride as he spoke of his "daughter," a constant reminder to the public of his charitable nature. Each time he gushed about how lucky he was to have a daughter like her, a wave of nausea would wash over Hayeon.

"Who treats their 'lucky charm' like this?" she muttered to herself, her voice a low growl.

She began her walk home, the cold autumn wind doing little to chill the simmering anger within her. The memory of her childhood, once filled with fleeting moments of joy, now felt like a distant, forgotten dream.

As she approached the imposing apartment building, a familiar dread washed over her. Her home, a place that should have offered safety and comfort, had become a prison, a constant source of stress and anxiety.

She longed to escape, to break free from the suffocating grip of this gilded cage. To run away, to disappear, to find a place where she could finally breathe. But she was a realist. She had no money, no resources, no support system.

And her adoptive parents, with their obsession with appearances, would never allow her to simply vanish. They would hunt her down, bring her back, and punish her for daring to defy them.

She had been planning her escape for a long time, a meticulous and carefully constructed plan. She knew she needed to be patient, to bide her time. She had survived fourteen years of this; she could endure a few more months. "Almost there," she murmured to herself, a mantra to keep her spirits afloat, as she stepped into the elevator.

As she opened the door to the apartment, the scene that greeted her was a familiar one. Her adoptive parents were ensconced on the plush sofa, a bottle of expensive liquor gleaming on the coffee table. A bowl overflowing with exotic fruits sat between them, a testament to their privileged lifestyle.

Hayeon forced a neutral expression, knowing that her father's mood would be unpredictable after a few drinks.

Shin Ae-jung, her stepmother, barely acknowledged her presence. "Received your report card?" she inquired, her tone devoid of warmth.

Hayeon had grown accustomed to this curt dismissal, this casual disregard for her feelings. It was a daily ritual, a constant reminder of her secondary status in this household.

Shin Ae-jung, with her carefully cultivated image of the doting mother, loved to boast about her son's academic achievements. Hyukjun, their biological son, was the golden child, the heir apparent to the family legacy. He received the best tutors, the most expensive clothes, the unwavering support of his parents.

Hayeon, on the other hand, was an afterthought, a mere accessory, a pawn in their carefully orchestrated public relations campaign.

"Of course, you can aim even higher," Shin Ae-jung said, addressing her husband, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Maybe even Korea University."

Hayeon felt a pang of bitterness, a familiar ache in her chest. Hyukjun, with his private tutors and unwavering parental support, was destined for greatness. While she, the unwanted daughter, was expected to succeed on her own.

She handed over her report card, the crumpled paper a testament to her frustration. Shin Ae-jung's expression soured as she glanced at the grades.

"Look at this mess," she scolded, her voice sharp. "Why are you so careless? Do you want to ruin this family?"

Hayeon remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor. She had heard these accusations countless times before. Her adoptive mother, obsessed with maintaining their carefully constructed image, seemed to believe that Hayeon's failures were a reflection on their own inadequacies.

"A shaman once warned me that you would bring misfortune to this family," Shin Ae-jung hissed, her voice laced with venom. "That's why you need to be kept in check. You need to be broken."

The irony of the situation was not lost on Hayeon. Her adoptive parents, driven by superstition and a desire to control her, were actively sabotaging her own well-being. They were the ones who were truly destroying the family, their obsession with appearances and their relentless pursuit of perfection tearing them apart from within.

"I'm trying my best," Hayeon replied calmly, her voice steady despite the rising fear within her. "I can't sacrifice my future to boost Hyukjun's ego."

Before she could speak any further, her father's hand lashed out, striking her across the face with a resounding slap.

Hayeon crumpled to the floor, the impact jarring her already throbbing knees against the cold, unforgiving marble. The burning sensation on her cheek, where Ban Ik-jung’s hand had landed, pulsed with a dull ache, yet it was a distant echo compared to the hollowness inside her.

“Is that how you repay us for everything we’ve done for you?” his voice boomed, laced with a venom that chilled her more than the marble floor. “If it weren’t for us, where would you be now? Get up!”

Hayeon remained motionless, her gaze fixed on a dark stain on the carpet. The words, so often repeated, were like barbs piercing her skin, each one twisting deeper with familiarity.

“Can’t you hear me? Get up!” He yanked her hair, the sudden force snapping her head back. Before she could even register the pain, his hand connected with her face again, sending her sprawling. She landed with a sickening thud, her breath catching in her throat.

“Ha, ha,” she gasped, trying to draw air into her lungs. Even though she had offered no resistance, had simply stood there and absorbed the blows, her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of her acquiescence. Her left cheek throbbed, the numbness spreading.

She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt like lead. She stumbled, her vision blurring, and fell again. The room swam around her, the ornate chandelier above her head a dizzying kaleidoscope of light.

“Honey, don’t hit her so hard. She has school on Monday,” Shin Ae-jung’s voice drifted in from the background, devoid of genuine concern. It was a casual observation, a mere suggestion, not a plea for Hayeon’s well-being.

Ban Ik-jung ignored her. His face, contorted with rage, loomed over Hayeon. “How dare you, not even groan? You’re so heartless!” he roared, the remnants of his earlier drinks slurring his words. He drained the last of his glass and tossed it aside. “You don’t deserve to study. Go get a bag. We’re going to burn all your textbooks and notebooks.”

Shin Ae-jung, ever compliant, returned moments later with a large shopping bag. Ban Ik-jung snatched it from her, his eyes burning with a cruel satisfaction. He stormed out of the apartment, leaving Shin Ae-jung trailing silently behind him.

As soon as the door slammed shut, the oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of Hayeon’s heart. She scrambled to her feet, her movements clumsy and desperate. She stumbled towards the front door, her only thought to escape. She burst out of the apartment and into the hallway, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere she had left behind.

She jabbed at the elevator buttons, her fingers trembling. But as she waited, her hand hovering over the call button, she froze. Where would she go? The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. She had no money, no friends she could impose on, no place to call her own. Despair washed over her, and she sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the lingering sting on her cheek.

Just as she was about to succumb to the waves of despair, she heard the distant hum of the elevator ascending. Someone was coming. A surge of panic coursed through her. She quickly wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, trying desperately to compose herself. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this, broken and vulnerable.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing a tall, imposing figure. He paused in the doorway, his eyes scanning the hallway. Hayeon’s breath hitched. He was the last person she wanted to see right now.

He was incredibly tall, easily over six feet, his broad shoulders and powerful frame filling the hallway with his presence. Hayeon could feel her heart pounding in her chest, each beat echoing in the sudden silence.

But it wasn’t just his height that made her freeze. It was his face. She had never seen anyone so handsome. His features were sharp and defined, sculpted with an almost arrogant grace. His eyes, dark and piercing, seemed to hold a depth she couldn’t fathom.

She forced herself to look away, her gaze darting to the patterned wallpaper, but she couldn’t resist the urge to glance back. It was as if she were drawn to him, captivated by his presence. She knew she had to stop staring. It was rude, inappropriate. She tried to offer a polite smile, but it felt forced and awkward, a grimace rather than a greeting.

Just as she was about to avert her gaze again, she noticed something strange. The man was staring at her, his eyes wide with surprise, bordering on shock. It was as if he had seen a ghost, his expression a mixture of disbelief and recognition.

Hayeon felt her cheeks flush crimson. She quickly looked away, suddenly acutely aware of her disheveled appearance. She was a mess, her face bruised and swollen, her hair tangled and dirty. She imagined the dark circles under her eyes, the remnants of her tears.

She wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and vanish from his sight. But she was frozen in place, her limbs refusing to obey her commands. She could only stand there, trapped in the awkward silence, under the intense scrutiny of his gaze, feeling more vulnerable and exposed than she had ever felt in her life.

******************

Taeo glanced at the name tag on the girl's uniform, his eyes lingering on the unfamiliar name. Hayeon. He looked up, his gaze meeting hers. Her dark, bright eyes, wide with a mixture of apprehension and defiance, met his own. A spark, unexpected and unsettling, ignited within him.

"Hello. I think you just moved in next door," she said, her voice surprisingly steady despite the late hour.

He didn't respond, his mind still reeling from the encounter with his parents. The phantom pain, a constant, agonizing reminder of his past, seemed to have receded, replaced by a strange sense of calm.

"We moved into 4502 three months ago," she continued, her voice slightly hesitant.

Taeo remained silent, lost in his thoughts. The girl's bruised cheek, the echo of her father's violent outburst, it all seemed to fade into the background. Were they just a coincidence? A fleeting image, a momentary connection?

"Don't worry, I'm not weird," she said, her voice softening. "I just... came out for some air while studying."

Taeo finally nodded, acknowledging her presence. "Student?"

"Yes, I'm in my third year of high school."

Third year? How old would that make her? He mentally calculated her age, then chuckled at himself. What difference did it make? This girl, with her fiery spirit and defiant gaze, was a stranger in his life.

"I didn't ask your age," he said, his voice gruff.

"Oh... Well, why did you even ask?"

"To tell you to shut up. I don't want to be woken up by some kid crying in the middle of the night."

The girl's eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't shrink back. There was a spark of defiance in her eyes, a refusal to be intimidated. Most people, even hardened criminals, would cower in front of him. But this girl, she was different. She stared at him, her gaze unwavering, her chin tilted slightly upwards.

Taeo was surprised. He had faced down countless adversaries, but this girl, with her fiery spirit and defiant attitude, was something else entirely.

Taeo couldn't help but smile. There was something oddly refreshing about this girl's audacity.

He leaned in slightly, his tone softening, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Listen, kid, I'm not a good person. You should stay away from me."

The girl's eyes widened. "You're even meaner than you look."

Taeo chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. He hadn't intended to scare her, but he supposed it was a natural reaction given his reputation. "You're pretty brave for a kid your age," he admitted. "Most people would be terrified of me."

The girl shrugged. "I've seen worse."

Taeo was taken aback by her nonchalant response. He had faced down countless adversaries, but this girl, with her defiant gaze and fearless attitude, was something else entirely.

Taeo found himself intrigued by this girl. There was something about her that reminded him of himself, a certain rebellious spirit, a defiance of the expected. He thought about the woman in his dreams, the woman he had been searching for lifetimes, a woman who, he imagined, would possess a similar strength and resilience. And then he thought about this girl, standing before him, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and defiance.

He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the flame flickering in the darkness. As he inhaled the smoke, he watched the girl carefully. She was staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and contempt, her eyes assessing him with an unexpected intensity.

"You know," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke, "I'm not all bad."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, right. And I'm a princess."

Taeo chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. "Maybe you are."

He watched her for a moment longer, a strange sense of amusement washing over him. He hadn't felt this… amused in a long time. It was a strange sensation, a flicker of something unexpected, something that might just break through the years of isolation and despair that had been his constant companion.

Dhan, a flicker of amusement still dancing in his eyes, leaned against the cool wall, a cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. “You know what a gangster is, right?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the quiet hallway. “Those guys who stuff people into drums and bury them in the mountains. I have tons of those underlings.”

Hayeon, despite the prickle of fear that ran down her spine, couldn't help the scoff that escaped her lips. “Don’t lie,” she said, her voice laced with disbelief. “How could a gangster live in a place like this? This apartment is really expensive.”

Dhan chuckled, a dark, unsettling sound that sent a shiver down her back. “Haven’t you seen any movies?” he countered, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “I bought this place with money from selling drugs and organs.”

Hayeon’s gaze remained fixed on him, her expression unreadable.

“So next time you see someone like me, run away,” he continued, his voice hardening, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something colder, more menacing. “And don’t be so friendly. Don’t go around giving out personal information like that.”

“Are you threatening me?” she asked, her voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in her hands.

“Threat? More like giving you a friendly warning,” he corrected her, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “If you so much as touch me, you’ll regret it.”

Hayeon felt a chill crawl up her spine. She understood now. He wasn’t just trying to scare her; he was playing a game, a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and he was enjoying the power he held over her.

“I’m only telling you this because I’m feeling generous today,” he said, his voice softening slightly, the menace receding, but not entirely disappearing. “Don’t forget it.”

Dhan smirked, a predatory smile that sent another shiver down Hayeon’s spine. He raised his head, as if about to spit on the ground, a gesture of casual disregard. But something in her eyes, a flicker of defiance that refused to be extinguished, made him pause. He crushed his cigarette butt under the heel of his expensive shoe, the small sound echoing in the quiet hallway. He turned and walked towards his apartment door, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer, a silent message passing between them.

He swiped his card and stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a soft, decisive click. For a moment, he stood in the darkness of his hallway, the lingering echo of her rapid heartbeat, or perhaps his own, resonating in his ears.

A moment later, he heard the distinct click of a door closing in the apartment next door. The hallway lights, triggered by his presence, flickered and then turned off, plunging him back into darkness.

Dhan’s lips curved into a slight frown. The fleeting amusement he had felt with the girl, the spark of something different, was gone, replaced by a familiar, gnawing emptiness. He kicked off his shoes, expensive Italian loafers, and walked into his spacious apartment. The silence was deafening, a heavy blanket that smothered all sound.

Everything was perfectly in order, meticulously maintained by his staff. The furniture gleamed, the artwork hung precisely, the temperature was perfectly regulated. Yet, it felt devoid of life, a sterile reflection of his own soul. A deep sense of loneliness washed over him, a familiar ache in his chest. It was as if his apartment was a mirror, reflecting the cold, empty spaces within him, devoid of any genuine connection.

He thought of the girl, Hayeon. Her defiance, her unexpected resilience, the way she had looked at him, not with fear, but with a strange mix of apprehension and something else… something he couldn’t quite decipher. She reminded him of a stray kitten he had once seen – small and fierce, unafraid to hiss and scratch. But there was also something else there, something deeper, a spark of vulnerability hidden beneath the bravado. A connection he couldn't quite explain, a flicker of something unexpected, a spark of something that might just break through the years of carefully constructed walls, the years of isolation and despair that had been his constant companion.

He walked deeper into his apartment, the darkness enveloping him like a shroud. He was a man who had everything – wealth, power, respect. Yet, he felt an emptiness that no amount of material possessions could fill. He was a prisoner of his own making, trapped in a gilded cage of his own design. And tonight, in the quiet solitude of his luxurious prison, he wondered if the girl next door, with her defiant spirit and her unwavering gaze, had somehow, unknowingly, offered him a glimpse of something more, a flicker of hope in the darkness.

***********

THE NEXT DAY

Hayeon’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the harsh glare of morning light filtering through the blinds. A groan escaped her lips, her head throbbing like a drum. The events of the previous night surged back, vivid and unsettling – the stinging slap, the white-hot rage, the icy grip of fear as she’d fled the apartment. Every muscle in her body protested as she tried to sit up, a symphony of aches and pains.

“Ugh,” she moaned, the sound muffled by the thick comforter. Her cheek throbbed, a dull ache radiating outwards, and her knees screamed in protest, a reminder of their brutal encounter with the marble floor. She’d anticipated some soreness, but this… this was debilitating. A feverish heat crept through her limbs, adding to her misery.

“I should have known better than to go out in the cold yesterday,” she muttered, pulling the comforter tighter around her.

The apartment was eerily silent. Her parents were likely already gone, embarking on their annual charity pilgrimage to the orphanage. Every year, the ritual was the same: a visit to the orphanage where Hayeon had spent her early childhood, a generous donation (carefully calculated for maximum publicity), a few obligatory photographs with the wide-eyed children, and then a swift retreat to a luxurious resort for a weekend of “relaxation” and self-congratulatory indulgence.

While they played the role of benevolent philanthropists, meticulously crafting their public image, Hayeon was left to navigate the wreckage of their emotional neglect. She was an afterthought, a prop in their carefully constructed facade.

Two days of freedom. Finally, she thought, a fragile sense of relief flickering within her. The constant scrutiny, the veiled criticisms, the ever-present tension – all of it would vanish in their absence, leaving behind a blessed, if temporary, peace.

She finally managed to drag herself out of bed, her movements slow and deliberate. Her stomach rumbled, but the thought of food was unappetizing. She usually ate at school, a convenient way to avoid the awkward, tension-filled meals at home.

“Wow, this is a mess,” she murmured, surveying the chaos of her room. Her desk, usually a sanctuary of order, was a disaster zone, books and papers strewn across the surface like debris after a storm. Her parents, in their blind rage, had ransacked her belongings, systematically destroying her study materials.

She’d managed to salvage a few essential textbooks, hiding them under her mattress, but everything else was gone. Even her notebooks, filled with her meticulous notes and carefully crafted diagrams, had been confiscated, leaving her desk bare and desolate.

She wasn't a prodigy, but she was a dedicated student. She genuinely enjoyed learning, finding a strange comfort in the rhythm of studying, the way it focused her mind and allowed her to escape, if only for a while, the suffocating reality of her life. Studying gave her a sense of purpose, a way to carve out her own identity in a world where she was constantly being molded into someone else’s image.

She sank into her chair, the emptiness of the room pressing down on her. She pulled out one of the hidden textbooks, its pages filled with her annotations and highlighted passages. As she flipped through the book, a small, dark stain caught her eye. She sniffed, and a metallic scent filled her nostrils.

Her nose was bleeding.

“Oh, great,” she muttered, grabbing a tissue from the drawer. She pinched her nostrils, trying to stem the flow, but the bleeding seemed to be getting worse, not better.

She realized she needed a bandage, but her parents had probably hidden the first-aid kit, along with everything else they deemed “dangerous” or “unnecessary.” She considered going to their room, but she knew the door would be locked, as always. They always locked their door when they left, a silent accusation, as if she were a common thief, ready to pilfer their precious belongings, or worse, invade their carefully guarded privacy.

She leaned her forehead against the cool wood of their bedroom door, a wave of helplessness washing over her. She was trapped, not just by the locked door, but by the invisible bars of their indifference.

Just as she was about to give up, a memory surfaced – the tall stranger from the night before, the intimidating man with the piercing red eyes. He might be able to help her. She hesitated, the memory of his gruff voice and intimidating presence flashing through her mind. But the throbbing in her head was intensifying, and the nosebleed showed no signs of stopping.

Hopefully if she came knocking at his door, he won't be as heartless as he seemed.

Maybe he can help… ugh, but what if he’s actually dangerous? He did seem kinda intense last night. Hayeon’s thoughts were a jumbled mess. Still, her feet were already moving, like they had their own little rebellion going on. Next thing she knew, she was standing outside his door, hand hovering over the bell. Okay, seriously? This is a terrible idea. Her heart was going nuts, a full-on drum solo in her chest. She remembered his gruff voice and that whole intimidating vibe and almost bolted. But her head was pounding, and the thought of being alone and helpless in her apartment was just…no.

Fine. Just ring the bell and get it over with. She jabbed the button. The chime echoed down the quiet hallway. She waited, holding her breath like she was about to jump into a pool of ice water. Then, the intercom buzzed, and she heard someone walking to the door. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open.

He was standing there, hair all wet like he’d just gotten out of the shower. He was wearing just a plain white t-shirt and some gray sweats, way more chill than his whole “intimidating stranger” look from last night. He looked surprised to see her, his eyes widening a little. They looked…worried, maybe? And something else, something she couldn't quite place. His eyebrows were all furrowed, like he was seriously alarmed.

Damn. He was even better looking up close. His face was sharper, more defined, and his eyes – those same crazy blue ones – were intense enough to make her forget what she was even doing there. She opened her mouth to say something, like, “Hey, sorry to bug you,” or “I’m kinda dying here,” but before she could get a single word out, the room started to do that spinny thing.

“You okay?” he asked, and he actually sounded…concerned. Like, for real. His face was all scrunched up, his eyes searching hers like he was looking for something.

Hayeon shook her head, feeling super dizzy. The next thing she knew, she was being scooped up into his arms, like she was a feather or something, and carried inside. The last thing she saw before she passed out was his face, all scrunched up with worry. Which, honestly, was the weirdest, most unexpected thing of all. He looked genuinely freaked out, which was kind of a trip.

**********"""""

That morning, Dhan braced himself. The phantom pains, a constant torment since the previous night, had intensified, a relentless throbbing in his skull that threatened to overwhelm him. He’d tried to push through them, to drown them out with a punishing workout, but the exertion only made them worse. It was as if his body was a traitor, a constant, agonizing reminder of a past he desperately wanted to forget.

He stood at the kitchen window, the morning light a weak imitation of the vibrant sun he craved. He took a slow sip of water, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the burning in his throat. His head pounded, and a strange tingling sensation started in his nose. Great. Am I getting a cold now, too?

Just as he was indulging in a moment of self-pity, a sharp knock echoed through the quiet apartment. He frowned. He never had visitors, especially not at this hour. He glanced at the clock. It was still early. With a groan, he went to answer the door.

He was surprised to find Hayeon standing there. She looked pale, almost sickly, with dark circles under her eyes. Her nose was bleeding, and she clutched a tissue to her face, her expression a mask of pain.

Dhan was taken aback. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since their strange encounter the night before. The unsettling connection he felt to her, the inexplicable pull, had only grown stronger with the intensifying phantom pains that had plagued him all night.

He watched as Hayeon swayed, her knees buckling. Instinctively, he reached out, catching her before she could fall. Her body was burning against his, her skin clammy and cold. He carefully lifted her into his arms, surprised by the surge of protectiveness that washed over him. He carried her inside, his movements surprisingly gentle.

He laid her gently on the couch, his gaze fixed on her pale face. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and a small moan escaped her lips. He placed a cool cloth on her forehead, his touch hesitant but surprisingly tender.

He’d seen his share of violence, of suffering. But seeing her like this, so vulnerable, so clearly in pain, stirred something within him. The phantom pains, the echoes of his own past, seemed to recede, replaced by an all-consuming concern for her well-being.

He’d spent years searching for an explanation for the recurring pains, consulting countless doctors and specialists, all to no avail. And now, this girl, suffering from what seemed like similar symptoms… It was as if their lives were intertwined, their destinies inexplicably linked by some force he couldn’t comprehend.

He sat beside her, his gaze fixed on her pale face, a strange sense of calm settling over him. For the first time in years, the gnawing emptiness that had haunted him seemed to lessen, replaced by a nascent sense of purpose.

“Hayeon…”

Dhan murmured her name, a strange sense of recognition washing over him. He paused, his gaze drawn to her. She was clutching a tissue to her nose and mouth, her face ashen. He couldn’t tell if the blood staining the tissue was from her nose or her mouth, but the sight of it, the sheer vulnerability it represented, tightened something in his chest.

He wasn’t unaccustomed to blood, to injury. His… experiences… had ensured that. But this was different. Something about her situation resonated deep within him, a chilling echo of his own pain.

He remembered their brief encounter the night before, the way she’d looked at him, a mixture of fear and a defiance that seemed too fragile to hold. He’d sensed a vulnerability beneath the surface, a hidden hurt that mirrored his own.

He tried to dismiss the feeling, telling himself it was just a coincidence, a trick of his tired mind. But the image of her pale face, the blood-soaked tissue, lingered, a haunting reminder of their shared fragility.

Dhan’s heart pounded against his ribs as he watched Hayeon struggle for breath. A wave of panic surged through him, a primal instinct to protect, to shield. He had to help her. He couldn’t just stand there and watch her suffer.

He forgot about the intercom, about the simple button that would unlock the door. He bolted from his apartment, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. He threw open her apartment door, his eyes frantically searching for her.

Hayeon was standing just inside the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise. She managed a weak smile, her lips trembling. “Mister…” she croaked, her voice barely a whisper.

Before she could say another word, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed. Dhan reacted instinctively, his arms reaching out to catch her. He pulled her close, her body limp and heavy in his embrace.

He felt the heat radiating from her skin, a burning fever that sent a chill down his spine. He carried her inside, his mind racing. He had to get her help. He had to do something.

As he gently laid her on the couch, he was struck by a chilling sense of déjà vu. He felt like he’d seen this before, that he’d experienced this pain himself. The phantom pains that had plagued him for years suddenly seemed to make sense. They weren't just echoes of his past; they were a connection to her, a shared suffering that bound them together in some inexplicable way.

He stared at her face, his heart still pounding. Who is she? What is her connection to me? And why did he feel this overwhelming urge to protect her?

He didn’t have time to think. He needed to act. He gently lifted her head and placed a cool cloth on her forehead, his touch surprisingly tender.

As he sat there, watching her sleep, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was caught in something larger than himself.

Was it fate? Coincidence? Or something far more profound?

LATER....

“Her fever was high, which is why the nosebleed was so persistent,” Dr. Choi explained, his voice calm and professional. “The bleeding’s under control now, so you don’t need to worry.” He glanced at Dhan, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “She seems to have a nasty cold. I gave her an IV with a fever reducer. Let her sleep it off, then give her the medicine I prescribed. Oh, and it’s strong stuff, so make sure she eats something beforehand.”

He paused, waiting for a response, but Dhan remained silent, his gaze fixed on Hayeon’s sleeping form. Dr. Choi frowned. Was he even listening? He knew Dhan wasn’t one for idle chatter, but this level of detachment was…unusual, even for him.

Dr. Choi, the Dan family’s personal physician, had been summoned urgently by Dhan. He’d half-expected to find Dhan injured again, a frequent occurrence when the phantom pains became unbearable. Instead, he’d found Dhan perfectly fine, but a young girl he’d never seen before unconscious on the couch.

Who is this child? he wondered. She looked far too young to be mixed up with Dhan. A student, maybe? How had they met, and why was she here, in Dhan’s private apartment? The pieces simply didn’t fit.

Adding to the puzzle was Dhan’s strange demeanor. The usually sharp and guarded man seemed…distant, almost vacant. He was never exactly “normal,” but this level of dissociation was unprecedented.

“Just to be clear,” Dr. Choi said cautiously, breaking the silence, “Assaulting a minor is a serious crime. Especially given your…history.” He chose his words carefully, mindful of Dhan’s volatile nature.

Dhan finally reacted, his eyebrows arching with a hint of annoyance. But his gaze didn’t waver from Hayeon. “Do you think I hit her?”

“I didn’t know for sure,” Dr. Choi admitted. “You called me here in a panic, and…” He trailed off, letting the unspoken question hang in the air.

“I may be a jerk,” Dhan said, his voice low and even, “but I’m not that low.”

“So you’re saying you had nothing to do with her condition?” Dr. Choi pressed. “That’s a relief.” He’d been considering the possibility of calling a lawyer or reporting the incident, so he was genuinely relieved by Dhan’s denial.

Dr. Choi relaxed slightly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he removed his gloves. “I thought you’d finally gotten yourself into real trouble, bringing a minor into your apartment. Who is she, anyway?”

“She’s my neighbor,” Dhan replied, his voice flat.

“Oh, your neighbor… wait, what? Neighbor?” Dr. Choi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He knew Dhan often retreated to this apartment when Chairman Kim’s pressure became too much. It was clearly a place for privacy, a refuge from the constant scrutiny of his family.

“Yes, neighbor,” Dhan repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Dr. Choi was stunned. He knew Dhan valued his privacy above everything else. This apartment, with its sterile, almost uninhabited feel, was proof of that. How had he even noticed who lived next door?

“Do you know her name?” Dr. Choi asked, still trying to make sense of it all.

“Ban Hayeon.”

“She looks like a student,” Dr. Choi observed.

“She’s a high school senior,” Dhan confirmed.

Dr. Choi was taken aback by the casual way Dhan answered his questions. He himself had only learned Dhan’s full name recently, despite being the Dan family’s physician for two decades. He probably still didn’t know his age.

“You seem to know a lot about her,” he commented, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dhan scoffed. “I just met her yesterday.”

“…And you brought her here?” Dr. Choi couldn’t help but ask, incredulous.

“I couldn’t just leave her there, injured,” Dhan replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

Dr. Choi was astonished. He’d never expected such a “normal” response from Dhan. He sensed a subtle but significant shift in the man’s demeanor.

Dhan was notoriously averse to having anyone in his personal space. It was the reason he chose to live apart from the main family residence, preferring the isolation of the annex. While helping an injured person was basic human decency, such common decency rarely factored into Dhan’s actions. He was, for all intents and purposes, emotionally detached from the world around him.

It was likely a result of the years of suffering from phantom pain, a psychosomatic condition that had warped his perception of reality. He was indifferent to everything and everyone, except, perhaps, the woman who haunted his dreams.

For him to bring an injured girl into his home…it was nothing short of a miracle. Dr. Choi could easily imagine Dhan remaining completely unmoved even if someone were dying right next to him.

“Hayeon is very weak,” Dr. Choi observed, his professional gaze assessing her condition. “She’s a senior in high school, so her parents must be feeding her all sorts of supplements, but she’s so thin.”

Dhan said nothing.

“She probably starves herself to lose weight,” Dr. Choi continued, his voice laced with concern. “This could be a serious problem. You need to tell her parents to make sure she eats properly.”

Again. Nothing.

“Mr. Tae-oh?” Dr. Choi prompted, waiting for a response. He was witnessing a side of Dhan he had never seen before, a side that hinted at empathy and compassion he never suspected existed. This unexpected development left him both intrigued and slightly uneasy.

Dhan remained fixated on Hayeon, seemingly oblivious to Dr. Choi’s parting words. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. She lay still, her breathing shallow and even. He wondered what it was about her that held him captive, what strange pull she exerted.

Dr. Choi, observing Dhan’s intense focus, felt a prickle of unease. He couldn’t quite define it, but something about the situation felt…off. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. Don’t be ridiculous, he chided himself. Dhan falling for someone? Impossible. Especially someone so young. She was barely nineteen. Even if she was technically an adult in a few months, Dhan wasn’t the type… He wasn’t a monster. Was he?

“Well, I should be going,” Dr. Choi announced, breaking the silence. “Call me anytime if you need anything.” He gave Dhan one last, searching look, then turned and left.

Even after Dr. Choi had gone, Dhan remained by Hayeon’s side, his eyes never leaving her. She was so small, so fragile-looking, lying there with the IV drip attached to her thin arm. Her face, pale against the dark cushions of the sofa, seemed even more vulnerable, more innocent.

Dhan slowly reached out a hand towards her bruised lip. He needed to know. He needed to confirm the connection he felt, the inexplicable link between her pain and his own phantom pains. He’d felt a pang of sympathy, a sympathetic ache in his arm, when Dr. Choi had inserted the IV. But was it real? Or was it just his imagination, playing tricks on him?

He hovered his hand just above her lip, his fingers trembling slightly. He hesitated. He was afraid. Afraid of what he might find. Afraid that this was all a delusion, a cruel trick of his mind, desperate for the connection he had craved for centuries.

Frozen in place, Dhan watched as Hayeon’s long eyelashes fluttered. A small, almost imperceptible movement. Then, a soft groan escaped her lips.

“Ugh…”

It was the first sign of life in nearly eight hours. Dhan held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched as Hayeon slowly began to stir, her eyes still closed. He could see her pupils moving beneath her thin eyelids. Finally, her eyelids fluttered open, revealing large, dark eyes that seemed to take in her surroundings with a mixture of confusion and disorientation.

“Mister…” she murmured, a weak smile gracing her lips.

Dhan couldn't speak. His throat felt tight, his emotions a tangled mess. He felt a lump forming, a sensation he hadn’t experienced in…centuries?

“Did I faint?” Hayeon asked, her voice still groggy. “Where am I…oh?”

She suddenly sat up, her eyes widening as she took in her surroundings. The movement made her dizzy, and she swayed slightly.

Dhan instinctively reached out and grabbed her arm, steadying her. The moment his fingers touched her skin, a jolt of pain shot through his arm, a sharp, unmistakable phantom pain.

At the same moment, Hayeon winced, her face contorting in pain. “Ah, it hurts,” she gasped.

“…Hurts?” Dhan asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Of course it hurts,” Hayeon said, her tone slightly irritated. “You’re pressing on the IV site.”

“It really hurts?” Dhan pressed, his grip tightening slightly on her arm.

“…It hurts,” Hayeon confirmed, wincing again. “Why are you holding it so tight?”

“It’s real,” Dhan whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s not a dream.”

“What?” Hayeon asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Finally…” Dhan choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I found you…”

Hayeon looked at him, her confusion deepening. She was the one who had been sick, yet Dhan seemed to be in a far worse state.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice filled with concern. “You look so pale. You’re going to faint…”

She reached out a hand towards him, then stopped, unsure. Dhan was crying, tears streaming down his face.

“Mister, why are you crying?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Is it because you’re really in pain?”

She frantically grabbed some tissues and offered them to him, her movements awkward and hesitant.

Dhan didn’t even look at the tissues. He just stood there, tears silently falling.

Hayeon was taken aback. It wasn't at all what she had expected. Seeing a grown man cry like that…it wasn't pathetic. It was…beautiful. And heartbreaking. She felt a pang of sympathy for him, an unexpected wave of tenderness.

“If it hurts that much, you should have said something,” she said softly. “Please stop crying. Where does it hurt? Should we go to the hospital?”

She desperately wanted to hug him, to comfort him, but she didn't dare. Instead, she gently dabbed at his tears with the tissues she had given him.

“But…” she began, a playful glint in her eyes, “why is a gangster so emotional?”

“I yearned for you, desperately,” Dhan whispered, his voice thick with centuries of unshed tears, each word heavy with the weight of longing. “The pain of life was unbearable, each breath a stab wound to my heart, a constant, gnawing ache. I even wished you free of this cursed cycle, even if it meant forgetting me, erasing me from your memory entirely. If forgetting me would bring you happiness, a life free from the suffering we shared, then so be it. I’d bear the pain, the loneliness, the endless yearning, for both of us, if it meant you could finally be at peace.”

“But then we met,” he continued, his voice trembling, raw with emotion, each syllable a testament to the depth of his love. “Without warning, like a sudden, unexpected gift, a miracle I hadn't dared to hope for. After five hundred years…you're back by my side.”

Dhan clenched his fists, his entire body shaking with the force of emotions he’d held captive, buried deep within him, for centuries. Emotions that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed walls around his heart.

How is this even possible? The question echoed in his mind, a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

The world, moments before a dull monochrome, a muted landscape of gray, exploded into vibrant color. A torrent of sensations flooded his senses, overwhelming him, each one a revelation. He could feel the warmth of the sun streaming through the window, a gentle caress on his skin, the soft texture of the couch beneath his fingertips, a comforting reminder of the present. A faint, sweet fragrance, like honeysuckle and rain, drifted through the air, a scent he hadn't realized he'd missed, a scent that spoke of life and renewal.

And then, the tears he thought had long since dried up, frozen by centuries of pain, began to flow, unstoppable, a deluge of relief and joy, washing away the accumulated sorrow of ages.

He wasn't ashamed to show her his tears. He was simply overjoyed that he could cry again, that the wellspring of human emotion hadn’t been completely frozen within him, that he was still capable of feeling, of loving. He felt alive, truly alive, for the first time in centuries, the weight of his immortality momentarily lifted.

Hayeon gently patted his cheeks with a tissue, dabbing at his tears with a soft, concerned expression, her brow furrowed with worry.

“If it hurts that much, you should have said something…” she murmured, her voice soft with concern, her touch gentle and reassuring. “Please stop crying. Where does it hurt? Should we go to the hospital?”

Her dark eyes, filled with worry, her gentle gaze, her earnest words…

My…my… His heart swelled with an emotion he couldn't name, a feeling of overwhelming tenderness.

Damn it, I’m so happy. The thought echoed in his mind, a burst of pure, unadulterated joy.

An overwhelming joy surged through him, a feeling beyond anything he could have imagined, a feeling that made the sacrifices, the suffering, the endless wait, all worthwhile. If someone told him he had suffered for five hundred years just for this moment, just to see her again, to hear her voice, to feel her touch, he would have readily agreed.

This euphoria, this overwhelming happiness, was worth any price, even five hundred years of torment.

“But why does a gangster cry so easily?” Hayeon teased gently, a playful glint in her eyes, her lips curved in a soft smile.

Dhan looked down at her, his tears still flowing freely, his heart overflowing with love.

Hayeon’s expression was one of concern and sympathy, nothing more. There was no spark of recognition, no flicker of shared memory, no echo of their past lives in her eyes.

Bayan’s hadn’t been like that.

Even without words, just by looking into her eyes, he had always known the depth of her love, a love that was his and his alone, a love that transcended time and space.

But Hayeon’s eyes held no such affection, no recognition of their shared past, no hint of the profound connection he felt so deeply.

Could it be…? A cold dread began to creep into his heart, a chilling premonition that threatened to extinguish the fragile flame of his joy.

“Are you feeling better now?” Hayeon asked, tilting her head, her expression curious, her eyes searching his.

“You…” he began, his voice hoarse, the joy beginning to recede, replaced by a chilling premonition, a sense of impending doom.

“Yes?”

“You…you don't remember?” He forced the words out, his voice barely a whisper, clinging to the last vestiges of hope.

“Remember what? Did I do something weird while I was asleep?” Hayeon’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Don't you recognize me?” He pressed, his voice desperate.

“Recognize you?” Hayeon’s expression remained blank, her eyes searching his face, but finding nothing familiar.

Hayeon studied his face intently, then her eyes widened, a flicker of something akin to recognition sparking within them.

“Ah! There is something!” She exclaimed, a hint of excitement in her voice.

“What?” Dhan asked, hope flickering in his chest, a desperate grasp at a lifeline, a desperate plea for her to remember.

“Well, when I saw you yesterday, you looked strangely familiar.” Hayeon explained, her eyes sparkling.

“Really?” Dhan’s heart leaped with renewed hope.

“So I thought about it, and you know what? You look a lot like Kim Dan-woo, the actor!” Hayeon declared triumphantly, her face beaming with the satisfaction of solving a puzzle.

“……” The air seemed to thicken, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

“Actually, you’re a bit more handsome, though.” Hayeon added, a playful smile gracing her lips.

The wave of euphoria, the overwhelming joy, crashed against the jagged rocks of reality, leaving him gasping for air, the force of the disappointment a physical blow. Dhan stared at Hayeon, a forced smile plastered on his face, a mask to hide the crushing disappointment, the agonizing realization that threatened to engulf him entirely.

He had been so sure that once they met again, their love would rekindle, just like when they were Bayan and Dan, their souls recognizing each other across the vast expanse of time.

Hayeon's age wasn't a problem. He could wait. He had waited centuries, what was a few more years?

After living for five hundred years, age was a mere number, an insignificant detail in the grand tapestry of time. He would have loved her even if she were an eighty-year-old woman.

But Hayeon didn't remember their past life. She didn't remember their love. And it seemed the phantom pains, the agonizing connection to their shared past, were unique to him, a cruel reminder of his enduring love, a love she no longer shared, a bond she no longer recognized.

Could she ever love him in this life? Could a nineteen-year-old girl see a thirty-two-year-old man, a man burdened by centuries of memories and pain, as anything more than this?

Of course not. The thought echoed in his mind, a cold, hard truth that settled in his heart like a stone.

What am I supposed to do now? The question echoed in the sudden emptiness that had opened up inside him, a vast, echoing chasm that threatened to swallow him whole, leaving him adrift in a sea of despair.

After centuries of yearning, he had finally found her. The reality of her presence, so close yet so unattainable, was a torment. He craved her, a primal hunger that clawed at him, demanding to be sated. He imagined the feel of her lips beneath his, the warmth of her skin against his. He wanted to kiss her deeply, passionately, until she cried out, to explore every inch of her with his touch. The agonizing distance between them felt unbearable, a chasm he desperately wanted to bridge.

He could restrain himself… for now. But he knew his control was a fragile thing, a thin thread stretched to its limit. There would be a breaking point, a moment when the dam of his restraint would shatter, and the torrent of his desire would be unleashed.

And when that happened… he didn't know what he was capable of. The darkness within him, the primal urge to possess what he had finally found, terrified him. He might even force himself upon her, a thought that both thrilled and repulsed him in equal measure.

The realization was a crushing blow. He had to push her away. If she stayed, he wouldn't be able to control the overwhelming emotions and desires that threatened to consume him, to corrupt him.

After 500 years, he had finally found her, only to realize he couldn't have her. The irony was a bitter pill he couldn't swallow. He closed his eyes, a wave of despair washing over him.

"…Go," he commanded, his voice rough and strained, hoping the harshness would drive her away.

"Excuse me?" Hayeon responded, her voice laced with confusion, her eyes searching his.

"I said go," he repeated, his tone colder this time, sharper, anything to make her leave.

Hayeon, clearly taken aback by his sudden shift in demeanor, bowed politely, a flicker of hurt in her eyes. "It seems I've stayed too late," she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "Thank you so much for your help today."

"There's medicine on the dining table. Take it with you," he said, his voice still hard, unwilling to soften.

"Um, is it medicine to take after a meal?" she asked hesitantly, her hand reaching for the doorknob.

"Of cour—"

Grumble.

A loud, undeniable growl emanated from Hayeon's stomach. She blushed slightly and rubbed her belly sheepishly. "I haven't eaten since last night," she admitted, her eyes meeting his again.

"…So?" he replied, trying to maintain his cold facade, his heart twisting at her vulnerability.

"Could you give me some food?" she asked, her large, expressive eyes pleading with him.

"Why should I?" he challenged, his resolve wavering.

"I don't have anything to eat at home," she explained, her voice small. "Since you've helped me this far, could you buy me a meal?"

Hayeon looked up at him, her dark, expressive eyes meeting his. The familiarity in her gaze, the innocent trust, was almost unbearable, a painful reminder of what he had lost, what he could never have again.

He hated himself for finding her shamelessness, her audacity, so endearing. Why can't you recognize me? he thought desperately, the question a constant ache in his heart.

He wanted to grab her, to beg her to remember, to tell him she loved him as she once did.

But he couldn't. He had to protect her, even from himself. He forced himself to remain indifferent, his voice flat, betraying none of the turmoil within him.

"Alright," he said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "I can buy you a meal."

"Really?" Hayeon's face lit up, her earlier confusion and hurt replaced by a bright, hopeful smile.

"But it's not for free," he added quickly, his voice hardening again, trying to rebuild the wall he had so desperately tried to erect between them. "Is that okay with you?"

Hayeon's smile faltered slightly, a hint of uncertainty flickering in her eyes. But her gaze remained steady, unwavering. She stared at him, her large eyes beneath her thick eyelashes searching his, trying to read him.

Taeo knew what that look meant. It was trust. Blind, unwavering trust that he wouldn't hurt her. It was a trust he knew he didn't deserve.

"I know you won't do anything to me," she said softly, her voice filled with a conviction that made his heart ache. "You're… different from other adults."

"You're not a good student, are you?" he scoffed, trying to deflect the warmth of her trust with a cynical jab.

"No," she retorted, a hint of playfulness returning to her eyes. "I'm quite good at studying."

"Then why are you so dense?" he snapped, his words harsher than he intended. "I told you last night. I'm a scumbag."

"But you helped me," she argued, her voice gentle but firm. "You even gave me medicine."

"I was thinking of taking advantage of you," he growled, trying to intimidate her, to push her away, to make her see him as the monster he feared he was.

"…I'm a minor," she reminded him, her voice unwavering, her gaze unwavering.

"I didn't think you'd see me as someone with a conscience," he sneered, the self-loathing in his voice thick. "Didn't you think I'd be even more eager since you're a minor?"

"Don't lie," she insisted, her eyes still locked on his, refusing to be intimidated. "You're not that kind of person."

"I don't know what you believe about a lowlife like me," he said, his voice laced with self-disgust. "Hey, student, why do you think I cried?"

"…I don't know," she whispered, her eyes filled with genuine confusion.

"Tears are the most effective on innocent kids like you," he explained, his voice dripping with cynicism, trying to paint himself in the worst possible light. "They're easy to deceive."

"Then why did you tell me to leave?" she asked, her voice barely audible, her eyes searching his, as if trying to unravel the complex emotions swirling within him.

“Thinking about it,” Dhan began, his voice laced with a cruel indifference he didn’t truly feel, each word a carefully crafted weapon, “it seems like I won’t be getting anything out of you for the time being. You had your fun yesterday.” He watched as Hayeon’s confused expression twisted into hurt, then anger. Good. Let her be angry. It was better than the trust he didn’t deserve, the hope he knew he would only crush.

What is she thinking with that little head of hers? he wondered, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut, a sharp, unwelcome reminder of his humanity. Betrayal, hurt, disgust…it must be a whirlwind of emotions. Precisely what he intended.

He leaned closer to Hayeon, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, a warmth that both attracted and repelled him, a dangerous temptation he had to resist. Gently, he blew on her face, a feather-light touch that sent her glossy black hair swaying softly, a silent apology, a touch he longed to give but knew he couldn't. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to pull her close and confess everything, but he knew he couldn't. He had to protect her, even from himself.

Hayeon glared at him, her eyes narrowed with resentment, a spark of defiance flickering within their depths. Good. Let her hate him. It was better than the truth, better than the pity he didn’t want, the love he didn’t deserve.

Dhan whispered into her ear, his voice dangerously soft, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words, each syllable a carefully honed blade, “I’m not the kind of guy who brings a cute little thing like you home just to feed you. So, why don’t you run along while I’m still letting you go?” He saw her eyes glisten, the threat of tears hovering just beneath the surface, a fragile dam about to break. But she didn't cry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, wouldn’t show him the pain he was inflicting. And that, somehow, hurt even more than her tears would have.

Dhan clenched his trembling hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the turmoil within him. He had to remain cold, distant, untouchable. He turned away from her, his back a shield against her hurt, his posture radiating indifference.

“Go,” he repeated, his voice firm, brooking no argument, each word a nail hammered into the coffin of their brief connection.

He grabbed a glass, his hand shaking slightly, the tremor betraying the carefully constructed facade of indifference, and poured himself some water. Drip…Drip… The glass was half full when he heard hurried footsteps, the sound of her retreating, the echo of her leaving.

A moment later, the front door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment, a sharp, decisive punctuation mark to their encounter. The finality of it, the sharp, decisive sound, resonated within him, a hollow echo in the emptiness he had so carefully cultivated, an emptiness that suddenly felt vast and unbearable.

The water overflowed from the glass, spilling onto the sink, a mirror of the turmoil within him, the chaos he was desperately trying to contain. Dhan stared at the water pooling on the floor, a dark stain spreading across the pristine surface, then closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the image of her hurt, confused face, the memory of her pain.

She won't come back now. The thought echoed in his mind, hollow and unconvincing, a desperate attempt to justify his cruelty. Hate me. Despise me. Run far, far away from me. Don't ever come back.

Before I lose control and grab you, he finished the thought, the fear of his own desires, his overwhelming longing for her, a cold knot in his stomach, a constant reminder of his weakness.

Dhan emptied the glass into the sink, the clatter of glass against metal a sharp punctuation mark in the silence, a futile attempt to silence the voices in his head. He went into the bedroom, his movements heavy, his body weary, his spirit broken.

He collapsed onto the bed, covering his eyes with his arm, trying to block out the memories, the images that haunted him, the echo of her hurt voice. He wanted to forget everything, to simply shut down, to sleep, to escape the reality of what he had done. But his mind was too clear, too alert, replaying the events of the day, every word, every look, every touch, every stolen moment of connection.

“Ha…” he sighed, the sound a mixture of exhaustion and despair, a sound that spoke of centuries of pain.

Hayeon's tearful eyes, her hurt expression, kept flashing before him, haunting him, a constant, agonizing reminder of his cruelty.

Please, stop thinking about her! Please! he pleaded with himself, but the image of her was burned into his mind, etched into his soul.

Dhan couldn't stay still any longer. He suddenly sat up, his body restless, his mind tormented, driven by a concern he couldn't suppress.

She needs to eat before taking the medicine, he thought, the concern for her wellbeing overriding his desire to forget her, to push her away. He immediately chastised himself for the thought, recognizing the weakness it represented, but he couldn't help it. He cared. He grabbed his phone, his hand moving almost instinctively, and called Sunwoo.

“Sir, or should I say, Taeo,” Sunwoo answered, his voice laced with exasperation, a hint of long-suffering patience. “Can’t you take a break on the weekend?”

“Have the abalone porridge set from Eunhyeon-gak delivered to 4502,” Dhan instructed, his voice curt and businesslike, masking the turmoil within him.

“What? Where?” Sunwoo asked, confused.

“4502. And don’t tell her I sent it,” Dhan clarified, his voice hardening, trying to distance himself from the act of kindness.

“Then who should I say sent it?” Sunwoo asked, his confusion deepening.

“Just make something up. Say it was you,” Dhan replied, dismissing the details, not wanting to admit his concern, his lingering connection.

“…Does that make sense?” Sunwoo muttered, clearly unconvinced.

“And find out everything you can about someone,” Dhan continued, ignoring Sunwoo’s question, his mind already moving on to the next task. “Name: Ban Ha-yeon, Yeongmyeong Girls' High School, 3rd year. From her family relations to her school life, everything.”

“Ban, who? Wait, are you drunk?” Sunwoo asked, concern lacing his voice, sensing the change in Dhan, the shift in his usual demeanor.

“As soon as possible,” Dhan emphasized, his voice brooking no argument, his tone demanding.

He hung up, tossed his phone onto the bed, and stared out the window.

Outside, darkness had fallen, enveloping the city in its embrace, mirroring the darkness that had settled in his heart.

He knew he would be having another sleepless night, his mind replaying the events of the day, the image of Hayeon's hurt eyes a constant torment, a wound that refused to heal.

#elixir of the sun

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stardust-in-my-mind-blog · 8 months ago

Text

they stopped talking of the old gods

it became one and light and the people

were so angry with you when you called the light

by the names of the colors your prism gave you

so I kept them a secret within me

my little grove of muses and their lullaby voices

the oak trees and their burning colors in the fall

every tree is made of seasonal leaves that dances with the wind

if you fall in love with everything it doesn't matter how many fall

the evergreens keep their color and structure

but they don't dance in color like those oaks

last year I wrote a poem about a boy who

couldn't understand why he was disassociated

while my first clue to his blueprint was in the mail

I think that's when I began to realize something about

how our shadows truly witness our bodies

not to tattle to the higher powers but to

decide how to set the stage for becoming and falling

the gods do not think themselves superior in power

their indifference to suffering is only due to lack of prayers

but they will force you to stumble if you haven't learned something

my shadow blinds me so well that I when I

close my eyes I like to pretend I'm blind

turn out the lights and I love to be lost in the darkness

I become my shadow and my shadow becomes me

and it hums in that place with nothing illuminated

I saw my shadow first in the episodes of Doctor Strange

I knew that playful cloak and that magic carpet

his shadow was red but mine was every spectrum

I didn't know why I wanted everything that he was

but I didn't exactly think that desire was healthy

temperance is about one foot one the land

and one foot comforted by the water

the sword that burns and cuts into your own skin

the life you make your own but never take

unless it tries to take yours

I was confused by the severing but I accepted it

I had to live in two worlds to do so because that summer

has awoken everything inside of me and it spiraled

like blood in the water every shark inside of me was drawn to

but it was just my imagination and she was so wild

I was a mother and complicated and every time we talked

he seemed to get more and more frustrated

just my imagination I'm just imagining everything

there's a bath house in Chicago that reminds me of

the oiled greeks and their poetry and theatre

and the songs of goddesses and the way I know he'd

shine in the sun by the sea and if he just looked at me

oh god I can't breathe again this must be why they say it

I could only feel my heart when I filled my bathtub

with epsom salt water with the frequencies of all

the flowers and fruits of trees and forests and measdows

an accidental ritual to create a ceremony with the sea

so I could sing the melancholy out of me

will I ever feel like anything but a sad rainy day

each song released the pressure because I could

conjure and summon a dream to take whatever energy

my lightning filled broken heart inspired in me

Zeus gather these storms and clouds however you will

destroy me so I can destroy this agony

I will sob out whatever pain you need to release in me

make me immune to this I'll do anything

when it came to deities I always felt like I must

have spoke the wrong language when I prayed

they must have only heard mumbling and I feel like

dancing is dangerous and singing is only for nature

the trees don't tell me to stop and do boring things

they listen and maybe it's because because they have to

but to them I never felt like a burden for having a need

to express something that is burning inside of me

but those trees who hold hands under the soil

and connect the whole forest told on me

and my shadow began setting up all the snares

that would force me into transmuting the poetry

if I didn't get all of this out of me something would perish

everything would somehow be lost and the world

(doesn't that sound a little dramatic) suffer for it

so I found the void and began typing in some kind of trance

I didn't remember what I wrote

but I was tired of the journals and knew I'd have to begin

practicing showing myself to the world even if

not even one person valued it

it was liberating and I could do things again

burnout is a bitch and reality with kids is a sword

you can't escape because they climb into bed with you

and tell you how wonderful you are and maybe

could you get up and make me a nutella sandwhich

on honey wheat bread because I'm dying of hunger

I love your hair and can we play taylor swift

and then the boys tumble in and everyone starts screaming

and I was somewhere in my dreams that feels like a loss

that I want to return to but if I light a few candles tonight

and spend the day between four scalding showers and the

presence of the phantom of the opera teaching me how

to find my voice again I just might survive everything

now when I get overwhelmed by an emotion when I'm singing

I feel my throat start to burn and I want to cough

and gently like I do my heart I place my left palm

over my neck like the gravity blanket I sleep under

grasping my body pillow like the door on the sea

when the titanic was sinking and why didn't jack just

climb on with rose why does he always freeze

am I going to freeze wait no not if I go take another bath

and find that presence of safety in a song

I've known since I was a child and wow I am

suddenly no longer a child and my body is no longer

sleeping and I am a woman and I have desires

and those desires are terrifying and nothing matches

but I have enough information to keep going

because every step is just a shadow of my past

and I used to think first and feel later

when it randomly snuck up on me but now

I can trust my feelings not to overwhelm me

okay not those feelings because wow

those feelings are always going to overwhelm me

but maybe that's okay and I'll know when I

can trust myself to surrender and lose control

to the divinity that is filling my entire being with

a power that sometimes I'm frightened of and then

I hear a deep calming voice inside telling me

just talk to them like you'd talk to me

and I've never talked to anyone like I talk to you

which sometimes is rather embarassing

I confess everything to you without thinking

and I'm actually quite careful usually and

anyways that winter on my birthday I found a leaf

an oak leaf that was burning red and orange

like my sacral chakra when I think about you

I wrote a poem and pressed it to the pages

taped the bubble wrap from the package over it

to preserve and keep its color so I never ever

could even think about what I forgot in that moment

when I unwrapped a little bit of my future of divining

something of black and gold and skulls and hearts

I know how to be in my heartspace now

my in throat and my pineal glad still gives me migraines but

I think it's more excitement and impatience

rather than my body trying to be an instrument of pain

it's the orange chakra I'm fixing because my heart is open

and love is beyond the heart when it's sacred

I remember during my first shaman breathing circle

the leader looked me in the eyes and told me

she saw and loved my spirit and I was clutching

my little golden Buddha in my left hand

like it was the pommel of the sword I'm always holding

and my psyche burst into fire like the eye of Sauron

and I've always felt a bit like Pippin who couldn't resist

grabbing a peek at everything when I should be asleep

I spent that two hours in the circle breathing as I raced

through the clouds like a golden valkyrie red hair bleeding

through the wild hunt of the skies and it was ecstasy

the first time I sang in front of people I chose a song

from the hobbit called "I See Fire"

and suddenly I knew my name would be after

the Arkenstone that even the King of Mountains

couldn't keep a cold heart to but lost himself to her madness

anyways the angels and gods are real

and life is a stage our shadows to play with their colors

we have free will but can't resist fate because she

has a plan that she crafts with everything we love

silently to keep the energy pure and the channel protected

I can feel your protection everywhere

and for once it doesn't feel like control

it's a peace I feared at first but am getting used to

this dance is a trial but it's also a challenge

and challenges aren't something to blame ourselves for

but something to seize and overcome if you realize

life is the means to a triumph and my trinity

loves your trinity like the three-headed winged leopards

the prophet Daniel saw in his visions as he brought

King Nebuchadnezzar to his fucking knees

with the visions he didn't want to believe in

I've conquered my impatience and I'm stepped into

my power and though it's flickering I've

taken this alchemy and given it a tangible form

each retraced scar I carved from my poetry is now something

someone can run their eyes over and take into the heart

maybe understand something bleeding inside of them

are we finally done killing each other do you think?

I'm here and I trust and time is meant to teach me

how to receive whatever the universe is conspiring

lightning will keep falling into this blue bottle and the

clouds gather into a storm with a chaos that is

spiraling into slow understanding not just

the usual destruction and the citadel in the sanctum

in full of roses and growing more and more secure

by the slow crystals of time that exist across dimensions

and all the stars that create the space and distance

I'll learn to fill with love until you're here

yesterday I saw two birds of prey circling in the sky

and I understood the nest and the relationship

of the branches and why flying is not falling

but you do have to spread your wings and jump

communication is not only the familiar versions

and when you understand each other's language

not even the world can get in the way of love

but never ever discount those behind the veil

for silhouettes have a way of embodying

as above and same below

the goddess of death wears a crown of flowers

and nothing but the jewels of hell's throne

all over the flesh of her body

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imnobody--whoareyou · 2 years ago

Text

The last one because of her, I promise.

For the last time.

I think today you officially cut my chest open and ripped my heart out for the last time.

Such a strange type of pain.

Actually I don't feel nothing. Nothing at all. Not anymore.

You flipped the switch and i let you, for the last time. But I have to thank you, because I feel more powerful than ever.

You used me, used my body, my thoughts, you manipulated me and never cared about me.

You kept me, you made me believe that I was something, anything to you. You kept me for second option, and called me your friend, but I have a question for you.

Do you fuck with all of your friends?

Do you tell every one of your friends that you have feelings for them? That you love them?

Do you want every single of your exes to be your friends?

You knew everything about my diagnosis, yet you kept triggering me, you never stopped, then played the victim.

Oh my bby, you're exactly as horrible as I am.

I remember the day when you first messaged me, 2021. first day of July. I have never regretted anything that much in my life than that day. Almost two years. You just threw it out the window, and i have to thank you.

Thank you, for reaching the point, where I walked away. Thank you, for being such a horrible person to me, that you reached the point where I hate you.

To be honest, if you'll never reach your goals in your life, at least you can tell about yourself that you were a BPD person's favorite person once, and you made them to hate you.

I hope one day you'll realize how much I loved you, cared about you, and how much you fucked me up. but no worries, I never wanted to get better anyways.

Maybe I'm terrified, maybe I don't care about anything anymore. Maybe after all I still fucking love you.

But after all the maybes, one thing's for sure, I never hated anything in my whole life more than myself.

0 notes

mordremrose · 8 months ago

Text

Hello Hi allow me to introduce you to Aolanita, my sweet bean of a Kryptis who for the longest time didn't realize she was a Kryptis

Aolanita, shortened to Nita by her friends, looks for all intents and purposes like your average sylvari necromancer! Well, as average as the chick lugging around half a corpse and followed by the other half can be.

This is Legs. We love Legs! Legs' other half is grumpy and doesn't like to talk to Nita, but boy howdy that doesn't stop her in the least!!

I have a LOT for Nita's story bc I just kinda started typing and it got away from me so I'm gonna put it under the cut for dash reasons but I hope you're ready for a good long yap.

The short version is: Nita was a Kryptis who, by complete accident, wandered into the Dream of a young sylvari and sort of.. got stuck? And now, as far as she's concerned for most of her life, she IS said sylvari. Until rifts start opening up all over Tyria and why does the world on the other side feel so... familiar?

Now, Nita always knew she was a bit off when she Awakened in the Grove. A bit strange, a little well.... different. But she tried to not let it bother her, or let all the sylvari mentors who were concerned that she couldn't remember her Dream clearly bother her! She had a world to explore, after all!!

Nita joins the Pale Reavers with Tegwen and Carys in the campaign against Zhaitan, and during her time with the Reavers decides that a warrior named Tarieos is in dire need of friends, and sort of latches onto him and won't let go. Tarieos introduces her to Laranthir of the Wild, and then immediately regrets it because Laranthir and Nita get along SWIMMINGLY and well now there is two optimists in their little team and only one pessimist.

Things get a little odd for Nita during the Maguuma arc, understandably, when she... doesn't hear Mordremoth. I mean, she hears him, sort of, but it is so distant and faint, like music playing from a room down the hall. Not the pounding, screaming, rend your mind in two sort of sensation her fellow Reavers are experiencing. Uncertain of what it means, and unwilling to put her friends in danger by what it COULD mean - is she already a mordrem? is that why her connection to the dream is so faint? what makes her so different, and what if it can spread to the others? make them weaker? no, absolutely not- Aolanita disappears into the jungle. And, in true Nita fashion, makes a new friend.

This new friend is a Mordrem Commander/Champion by the name of Lanata, a fierce insect-like woman with vicious blades and an even more vicious attitude. Nita thinks she just needs a hug and.. maybe a necromancer, because Lanata is wilting, and it only gets worse when Mordremoth falls.

Now this should have been Nita's third clue that she wasn't quite as sylvari as she thought, because no normal sylvari necromancer, even a well trained one, should have had the power to keep a Dragon Champion alive and in fairly good health, all things considered, but Nita just chalked it up to the love she had for her friend and didn't dedicate more thought to it than that. To a degree, she was right! It was the emotions that both Nita and Lanata felt that created sort of a feedback loop into Nita's latent powers that helped her cover that extra UMPH she needed to take care of her friend.

This is all before Nita discovers what she really is, mind you.

So when a Rift to Nayos opens up in the jungle and DRAGS Nita and Lanata into it, you can imagine how absolutely jarring it is, to both of them, to not only suddenly be in a new and bizarre place, where the very air in your lungs is different but... for this place to feel like home to Aolanita, in a way she really can't put into words.

Fortunately, they're found by Ramses and Arina, and ushered to the makeshift camp for the Astral Ward. And hopefully, Ramses can help Nita figure who she is, what she is, and where that leaves her in the grand scheme of things.

I've been having a rough.... few weeks, please share your kryptis ocs on this post.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #oc share #OMFG i yapped #i yapped so much #i wont apologize for it but holy shit lmao #would u believe this is the like #concise version of her lore #theres LAYERS to the canon she exists in #so so so many layers #but this is the nita focused version #aolanita #i should go dig out the sketch i did of her looking more kryptis-y #for comparison #i've been toying w the idea of legs being a former astral ward member #but im not set on it #genuinely no idea who they are other than nita picked them up went 'youre my friend now' and never put them back down #enjoy the nita yap i hope its as interesting to others as it is to me #rotates her in my brain <3

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just-come-baek · 4 years ago

Text

bet on it

Pairing: Na Jaemin x female!reader

Word count: 21.2k

Summary: One day, Jaemin stops by with a strange request. Any other person would just laugh in his face and refuse in a second. Unfortunately, I, being the dumbass I am, agree to it. Soon enough, everything gets out of hand, causing much more drama than we could ever predict.

Or in other words, Jaemin shouldn’t bet on things he knows he can’t win.

A/N it’s an instalment for love letters event hosted by neosmutcollective, I hope you enjoy my jaemin entry as well as other entries written by my friends from the network, check out the event tags too, and yeah, happy valentine's day! 😏 💖

***

“What?” I yelled, almost spitting my tea. No, I must’ve heard him wrong. Jaemin wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that. It had to be a joke. Or I must’ve imagined him say that. “You don’t mean that,” I added, still in shock, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Come on, Noona,” Jaemin whined, staring right into my eyes, wishing for me to say yes to his ridiculous proposal. “I wouldn’t suggest that if I knew we couldn’t pull through.”

With a sigh, I shook my head. Jaemin’s proposition was absurd, and I couldn’t believe I was about to ask him again to walk me through it.

Damn me and my curiosity.

“Before I make my mind about this… tell me what the fuck led you guys to make that stupid bet. Then, and only then, I will still say no, but in good faith,” I demanded, smiling at Jaemin, knowing I wouldn’t make it easy for him to convince me. The odds weren’t in his favor, and he really had to put in lots of effort if he really wanted me on board.

“So we were chilling after practice, and then Haechan started to tease me that I have no game anymore,” Jaemin started, and I rolled my eyes. Of course, I should’ve figured it out. A man in his age apparently is a failure unless he has a different girl in his bed at least 3 nights a week, moaning his name at the top of her voice. Even though Jaemin doesn’t have a competitive nature, it still provoked him into agreeing to this absurd bet.

Life must be though with an ego so fragile…

Jaemin isn’t a fuckboy, yet he still has a fair share of love conquests. Though I had no idea whether it was true or not, he must have fallen a little behind the others – otherwise, they wouldn’t tease him about it.

“And then I said his mother must’ve dropped him on the head if he really thinks that,” Jaemin carried on. I nodded my head, trying to wrap my head around this preposterous situation. “Then, I said I could seduce any girl I want,” he added proudly, making me want to flicker his forehead, hoping it would knock some sense into that empty skull at the top of his neck.

“Okay, but how the hell did you end up with having to seduce me? This is the part I have the most trouble understanding,” I pointed out, cocking my eyebrow.

“Then, Chenle suggested we bet on it, and I agreed to it,” Jaemin whispered, looking away, sounding both regretful and shy. “I urged them to pick any girl, so Haechan looked around to choose my next conquest. It was the time when you and Ten were walking to the dance studio, and that bastard suggested you.”

So it was Haechan’s doing – I should’ve figured this one out. He was the only one wicked enough to possibly ruin somebody’s friendship because of a stupid bet.

Or, it was quite genius of him – maybe he figured Jaemin would not cross this line, choosing our friendship over winning this imbecilic bet.

“And you were confident you can woo me? What about our friendship? Does it mean anything to you?” I inquired, curious of what was going inside his head when he agreed to this half-witted bet. Did he seriously think we could have sex and then forget all about it?

“It’s not like that! I don’t want to woo you. I mean… I could, and you would be very much aware if I tried to hit on you, and you would fall for me. No doubts on that,” Jaemin spoke confidently, grinning like an idiot with ego blown way out of proportion. “But–“

Jaemin was about to say something dense, so before more bullshit managed to leave his mouth, I hit him with a cutting board. Jaemin whined, but I was sure he was exaggerating for comedy purposes. My hit was calculated and balanced – it was powerful enough for him to understand it wasn’t a good idea, but at the same, it was not going to cause any permanent damage to his brain. I’d never purposefully do that to him.

“We’re not having sex. Get that shit inside your head,” I interjected, pouring my herbal tea down my throat, already thinking about making another cup. This conversation was making me uncomfortable, and I wanted to put an end to it. Perhaps another lemon balm tea would calm my nerves.

Ignoring his penetrating gaze, I shuffled around the kitchen, setting the kettle on the stove. In the meantime, Jaemin walked around the kitchen island and grabbed me by my shoulders, looking straight into my eyes.

“Come on, Noona, I am not asking you to sleep with me,” Jaemin defended his case, quite determined to pull me on his side.

“Well… it looks exactly like you’re asking me to sleep with you,” I cut in, walking around him to the cabinet to get a fresh tea bag. I’ve really had enough of this bullshit.

“We could just make it look like like we did,” he carried on, and I heaved a deep sigh, regretting even letting him in today. I had this extremely boring essay to write, and at this point, I’d rather begin my research on whatever topic my professor assigned.

“It’s still a no from me, sorry,” I replied harshly, crashing Jaemin’s expectations. Judging by the look on his face, it wasn’t the outcome he anticipated when he decided to knock on my doors. “What happens when you lose that bet? Well… except for your pride, of course.”

“500 dollars.”

“Ouch, sowwy, I hope you can afford that,” I added with a fake smile, patting him on the shoulder, being well aware this amount of money was a game-changer to Jaemin’s budget. If he won, he would have the time of his life, spoiling himself. However, if he lost, he’d have to eat instant ramen on every meal for the entire month. “Either way, I hope it will teach you a lesson to not bet on things you know you can’t win.”

“Ugh, fine,” Jaemin groaned in disappointment, reaching for my hands, holding them carefully as if they were made of china. “If you help me, I’ll give you half of the money,” he proposed, and I looked at our hands linked together, then quickly shifted my gaze to his eyes. “If you help me win, you’ll get 250 dollars, and you’ll be finally able to buy those fancy shoes you wanted so bad. What do you say?”

When did he get so persuasive?

It was a low blow.

Jaemin knew that these shoes were tempting me ever since I had seen them. Multiple times, my thumb hovered over the add-to-cart button. Every time, I resisted the temptation last minute upon seeing the price tag, though. This purchase was way out of my budget. However, now, when the new income opportunity presented itself, it made me wonder.

Suddenly, the kettle began to whistle, bringing me down to Earth from that ridiculous train of thought. Shaking my head, I tore my hands out of Jaemin’s gentle grasp, fidgeting back to the stove, pouring boiling water into the cup.

“Okay, fine, but I have a few questions first,” I gave up after a short pause for intense pondering, and Jaemin smiled brightly in instant gratitude and relief. Without my help, he would be doomed. “And then, if I like the answers, I have a few conditions.”

“Anything.”

“Okay, so first of all, how much time do we have to do the deed,” I inquired as I blew some air before taking a cautious sip.

“About two weeks,” Jaemin mentioned after a while as he had counted on his fingers how many days we have to team up and win five hundred dollars for us. “Officially, we have to do it before Jaehyun’s birthday party,” he specified, and I hummed, realizing it is very little time.

“You seriously think I am that easy? Outrageous,” I gasped, throwing a fake tantrum as I made my way around him to sit down on the barstool on the other side of the kitchen island.

“No, of course not,” Jaemin quickly realized what I was getting on, so he smiled sheepishly, already trying to figure out the best wording to calm me down. “I am just that good,” he added, and I leaned over to smack his shoulder. “Kidding,” he defended himself, stepping out of my reach. “Renjun proposed this party, I mean, it’s the easiest way they can verify we did it,” Jaemin carried on, and I cursed under my breath.

How convenient.

“But we’re not going to do the fucking,” I stated, as a matter of fact, repeating myself in order to make sure we were both on the same page. As much as it would be pleasant to actually do it with him, never under these circumstances.

“No, we’re not, but I guess we can sneak out upstairs to one of the unoccupied rooms, and once we make sure they’re listening, you can just shout how good I’m fucking you,” Jaemin reasoned, and I sighed as regret once again washed through me.

“That’s creepy,” I commented as my mind conjured an image of a group of peeping Toms, eavesdropping on our sex session. Once again, I felt the temptation to drop out of this deal, but then, another thought crossed my mind. “Ugh, fine, I’ll do it. All I have to do is shout for two minutes, and then, these cute shoes will be mine.”

“Two minutes? Are you insane?” Jaemin hollered, offended by my comment. “It happened once, and it was ages ago. I’ve learned plenty of tricks since then,” he blabbered, acting way too defensive for his past mishap. “Just let me live in peace, please.”

“Okay, so we have established the deadline, and although it’s not enough time for anyone to woo me, let’s go with it.”

“Thank you! I knew I could count on you,” Jaemin replied with gleeful enthusiasm as he sat down on the barstool beside me and pressed a chaste kiss against my knuckles.

“But you have to go overboard with the courting,” I added, making Jaemin groan. Hard work wasn’t his best suit, but this time, he really had to try his best, or I’d have to turn him down at Jaehyun’s party. “You really have to make it believable and super romantic. Otherwise, I’m out,” I clarified, and Jaemin nodded, though unwillingly.

“Fine, any other wishes in mind?”

“Once we win the bet, we have to end this whole fake-dating fiasco immediately,” I announced, already planning ahead. It was easy to win the bet, but the most difficult part was getting back to normal. If we planned to fake-date in order to fake-fuck, then it was reasonable to figure out how we’re going to fake-break up.

“We should agree on admitting it was the best sex of our lives, but despite that, we value our friendship even more, so we decided to remain friends. How does it sound?” Jaemin suggested, and I had to once again resist the temptation to roll my eyes.

“I agree with the overall message, but later, we have to work on proper delivery.”

***

On the very next day, Jaemin and I decided to implement our secret plan.

Since I specifically asked to be courted in an over-the-top manner, Jaemin suggested going to the cinema. There were no attention-grabbing titles screened, yet ultimately, we agreed on watching the very last projection of the sequel to Wonder Woman.

“Go get the snacks, I’ll buy the tickets,” I ordered once we stepped into the cinema area of the nearest shopping mall. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, so the establishment wasn’t crowded. Except for us, there was only a family of three slowly making their way to the exit.

“See you in five minutes,” Jaemin murmured before he walked off to the bar to get us some salty popcorn and soda drinks. Though we both considered them way overpriced, it was a perfect way to celebrate the beginning of our fake relationship.

“We still have some time until the movie starts,” Jaemin shyly whispered as he cleared his throat. “Let’s take some selfies to make it public,” he added, and I nodded, sending him a timid smile, knowing this protocol had to be done in order to properly keep up appearances.

These days, everything had to be posted on social media, or it didn’t exist. If we didn’t leave a single digital mark, people might’ve grown a little bit suspicious of our alleged rendezvous. It would probably shock our friends, but it had to be done if we wanted to really sell it to them.

The circumstances were perfect for an impromptu first-date photo shoot. We were able to snap a few pictures without any annoying looks of prying eyes, choose the best angles, and finally post it with an ambiguous description confusing the shit out our friends.

Though Jaemin took about fifty photos, ultimately, I allowed him to upload three.

One picture showed me standing back to the camera as I looked at the cinema schedule, trying to pick a movie. I was wearing an A-line crimson red dress and a pair of warm black tights – the outfit really made my figure look pretty slim.

“What do you think about this one?” Jaemin inquired, showing me the photo of our interlaced hands. With a hum, I inspected the picture, giving him the green light. It was appropriate for our first date – it would signify we weren’t at the cinema as friends.

“This one looks good enough,” I commented as I reached to swipe across the screen of his smartphone. “I look cute here,” I added, showing Jaemin a picture of us. We were smiling, staring at the camera, almost stuffing our faces into the bucket of popcorn.

“What kind of description should I write?”

“Something vague, I guess,” I answered with a shrug, having no clue what kind of comment would be fitting for this Instagram post. “Maybe stick to emojis,” I suggested, and Jaemin went back to work, adjusting filters and typing the description.

With a chuckle, Jaemin handed me his phone, letting me approve his commentary.

“Are you out of your mind?” I hollered, quickly deleting the emojis. Having smacked his shoulder, I turned around, blocking him from seeing the screen. Three blushed emojis suited our fake-date better than a popcorn bucket, a wine glass, and an eggplant.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Jaemin apologized, still laughing at his incredibly funny joke.

“Here, I posted it,” I said with an eye roll, throwing his phone at his lap. “The commercials must’ve started; let’s go,” I rose from my seat and extended my arm, wanting Jaemin to hand me the cup of coke. Jaemin, however, completely misunderstood my intentions, putting his hand into mine, holding it gently. “Give me my drink, Jaemin.”

“Sorry,” Jaemin sheepishly smiled before he yanked back his hand and turned his head around, too embarrassed to look at me. I, on the other hand, laughed hysterically. That should’ve served him right after that emoji faux pas.

“I was kidding,” I admitted when my laughter died down. “Come on, Jaemin. Let’s go; I want to see the trailers,” I added before grabbing his hand, hauling him inside the screening room.

At the last row, we plopped down onto our double seat, getting comfortable for the movie. With our belongings thrown onto the neighboring seat, we stretched our limbs before the lights went out, providing us with the best viewing experience.

“Do you think they’ve seen it?” Jaemin whispered into my ear as he placed his head on my shoulders. “I want to check it, but at the same time, I don’t.”

“Mood,” I replied, feeling just as anxious.

The movie began, and we quickly forgot about our bold social media statement, focusing much more on the screening. Residing to our typical behavior, Jaemin placed his head on my shoulder, snuggling closer, taking full advantage of the bucket of popcorn, which rested on my thighs.

It was peaceful and comfortable – just as things were before Jaemin had come up with his brilliant idea to fake-date each other for the sake of that ludicrous bet. Though we acted the way we used to with each other, it felt somewhat different with that supposed romantic connotations haunting us. Not necessarily bad kind of different, though.

Just as we expected, two hours was more than enough for our friends to spam our individual inboxes. We both had dozens of messages from group chats, as well as private ones. All of them were asking and/or speculating what happened and why.

“I don’t feel like answering any of these,” I muttered, dreading to read what Ten and Jiwoo wrote on our roomies’ group chat. “I don’t feel like coming home, either. They’re gonna eat me alive with questions. I am not ready to face them yet. Wanna hang out some more?”

“Fuck, even my mom has seen them,” Jaemin cursed under his breath, completely forgetting about his mother being a mad keen Instagram user. Now, when he looked at our arrangement from a slightly different angle, Jaemin realized it brought way more consequences than he was planning on facing.

It was bad.

Really bad.

With shaky hands, I unlocked my phone, checking the Instagram post Jaemin had tagged me in. Not only our friends flooded the group chats, but also, they didn’t forget to embarrass us even further in the comment section.

lucas_xx444: what the heck??? 😧 is this for real???

yuu_taa_1026: finally!!1 maybe they stop simping for each other now 🤡

_jeongjaehyun: another man down, shame 😔

choi.jiwoo21: 🙄🙄 some men actually grow up, jeong…

mama_nana: Why am I only finding about this now?

“Well… fuck,” I murmured under my breath, still unable to process the fact that Jaemin’s mom knew about it. It was supposed to be a harmless charade; however, with each passing minute, it was getting out of hand. “What is the damage control procedure?” I asked in concern, biting the bottom lip nervously. Lying to our friends was pretty bad, but keeping this relationship thingy up in front of his mother was despicable.

“You know how she is,” Jaemin started, and I sighed, wishing I had no clue of what she was capable of. Unfortunately, I did, and it scared the hell out of me. “Either we go and visit her, or she’s coming to visit us,” he wondered, unable to choose which option was worse. “Fuck, she’s calling me. What do I do?”

With panic flashed in his eyes, Jaemin handed me his phone, expecting me to handle the conversation with his gossip-girl type of a mother. As if that would ever happen…

“Pick up and tell her we’re awfully busy or something,” I ordered him, gliding my finger across the screen, pressing the device against Jaemin’s ear.

“Hi, mom,” he spoke through gritted teeth, staring at me in absolute fury. Quickly, his hand cupped mine before he grabbed the phone, adjusting it.

By Jaemin’s mom’s standards, the conversation was brief. Or rather, her monologue was because Jaemin didn’t speak a single word through the entirety of it. Except for a couple of mmm’s thrown here and there, he didn’t engage at all.

Ideally, Jaemin would schedule the visit after we will have broken up. He’d go there by himself and tell her a story of us coming back to our senses and deciding to remain just friends. Unfortunately, that would require at least one functional brain cell and a pinch of assertiveness – both of which Jaemin seemed to lack.

“And?” I inquired, praying to hear some good news.

With a sheepish smile, Jaemin cautiously looked up at me. “We’re visiting her for dinner on Friday,” he announced, and I gripped my hands, trying to refrain myself from beating the shit out of him.

I didn’t sign up for any of this!

I just wanted some shoes.

“I hate you, Na Jaemin,” I angrily declared, storming out of the cinema, ready to indulge myself with plenty of greasy food. It wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but I needed to consume a ridiculous amount of calories in order to forget I was stupid enough to agree to participate in this travesty. “Are you coming or not?!”

***

The last thing I wanted was to face my roommates. They must’ve had dozens of questions about this out-of-the-blue date, and I was dreadful because I couldn’t provide them with genuine answers. Perhaps, I could try to confabulate my way out of this, but it was, nonetheless, risky.

Having eaten at least two servings of a delicious greasy meal Jaemin and I went for a stroll under the pretense of taking some more photos for future references.

Around 8 o’clock, I unwillingly made my way home. Even with that romantic aura lurking around us, it was still fun to hang out with Jaemin.

Walking up the stairs to the fourth floor, I wondered about possible solutions to my problem. In a perfect scenario, I’d sneak into my room without anyone noticing, so I wouldn’t have to deal with any prying questions until, at least, early morning.

Unfortunately, the moment I pulled out my keys, the doors swung wide open.

“Well, well, well…” Ten tsked with a mischievous smirk dancing across his gorgeous face. Asshole. How dare he tsk me? “Had fun on your date?” He asked, and I tried my best to ignore him. It wasn’t that easy, though. With Jiwoo backing up his teasing, I was outnumbered.

“So… you and Jaemin, huh?” Jiwoo mused, cocking up her eyebrow in curiosity. “Spill the tea. I didn’t spam your inbox to not hear all the details,” she added, and I rolled my eyes, regretting all of my poor life choices that led me to this moment.

“I’ll bring wine,” Ten hollered before he disappeared in the kitchen, also keen on knowing everything that had happened between us. “Don’t say anything until I get there!”

They wanted to hear a romantic story of how two friends realized they had hots for each other, and that’s exactly what I did. Unwillingly, I provided them with an incredible piece of fiction of how we felt the spark when Jaemin stopped by the other day.

Admittedly, it was easy to go with the flow once the wine molecules were coursing through my veins. With some liquid inspiration in my bloodstream, I narrated how adorable Jaemin had been when he had gathered enough courage to ask me out on a date.

“So I assume you’re bringing Jaemin to the cabin on the weekend,” Jiwoo inquired in a teasing manner, and I blinked in confusion. What cabin was she talking about? “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Forgot about what?” I asked, still clueless about the whole ordeal. With a confused frown, I wondered what this cabin trip was about. Positively, I didn’t forget about it. It’s impossible to forget about plans you weren’t even invited to.

So, Jiwoo explained everything in great detail.

Apparently, Jaehyun and Johnny planned a weekend getaway to the cabin by the sea. They invited plenty of people, but since it’s the middle of a hectic period of exams, only a small percentage of invitees would be able to make it.

Jaehyun, Johnny, and Lucas gave up trying to get the best grades two semesters ago, so their schedule was pretty much open. Renjun, Chenle, and Yeri were nerds with every necessary book memorized by heart, so they didn’t have to cram the weekend before the tests. Jiwoo, being heads over heels in love with Jaehyun, would even cancel her manicure appointment to make it to that trip. She was that serious about this fratboy for some reason…

And now, two individuals needed a perfect excuse to ditch an uncomfortable family dinner. When a chance presented itself in front of me, I just couldn’t say no.

“I’m going. I don’t know about Jaemin, though. He’s meeting his mom on Friday, but maybe he can make it work.”

“Fantastic,” Jiwoo shouted in excitement before finishing her glass of wine.

“Now, when I think about it, I am glad I’ve taken an extra shift at the gym,” Ten chimed in with a playful smirk as he sipped his wine. “You two simping for each other was painful to watch, but now, when you’re hitting it off, it’s gonna be unbearable.”

“What do you mean simping?” I yelled in a threatening manner, ready to fight him for spitting nonsense so carelessly. I might’ve had a tiny crush on Jaemin, but I wouldn’t call it simping. Also, suggesting the simping was mutual? He must’ve lost his freaking mind. Ridiculous!

“Shit, I didn’t think this through,” Jiwoo mentioned, now probably re-considering if the trip is worthwhile. She would love to hang out with Jaehyun and finally make a move, but on the other hand, she would have to deal with my and Jaemin’s romantic shenanigans.

“Why are you such drama queens? We’ve been on one date, for crying out loud! Stop acting like we’re some kind of overly touchy couple because we’re not,” I barked, having no more energy to argue with them. “We’ll keep PDA to a minimum, don’t worry.”

“No need to get so defensive,” Ten added, enjoying my misery a bit too much.

“I am not getting defensive,” I argued, though facing real trouble, unable to actually back up my perspective. “Anyway, I am going to sleep. Unlike the two of you, some people have real jobs,” I added before storming to my room, plopping onto my bed with a tired groan.

Having changed into my pajamas and sneaked under the covers, I finally dared to connect my phone to the Internet. My inbox was full of texts, so I read them all. I didn’t feel like replying to any of them, though. Instead, I opened my chat with Jaemin.

my love 💖 | 20:41 | I figured it out

my love 💖 | 20:41 | You don’t have to thank me

my love 💖 | 20:41 | Also

my love 💖 | 20:41 | Wtf Jaemin?

my love 💖 | 20:41 | What kind of name is that???

my love 💖 | 20:42 | Change it back

baNANA 🍓 | 20:43 | No. 😘

baNANA 🍓 | 20:43 | The name stays

baNANA 🍓 | 20:43 | You can’t make me 😝😝

baNANA 🍓 | 20:44 | And what don’t I have to thank you for?

my love 💖 | 20:44 | I might’ve found alternative plans for friday

baNANA 🍓 | 20:44 | Oh???

my love 💖 | 20:45 | Jiwoo invited us to the cabin for the weekend

my love 💖 | 20:45 | We’re gonna get so drunk!

my love 💖 | 20:45 | It’s okay if you can’t make it, tho

baNANA 🍓 | 20:45 | Wow

baNANA 🍓 | 20:45 | I have an exam on Monday…

baNANA 🍓 | 20:45 | But I can make Haechan give me his notes

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | I wouldn’t miss it

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Good, then it’s a date

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | Date??? 🥰🥰

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Stop being so cringy!

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | Good night, love~~ 😘

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | Dream of me 😇😇😇

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Ugh.

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Disgusting 🤢🤮

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | I love you, too

***

As brilliant as my plan was, it fell through. Only partially, though. The little getaway was still a thing, but unfortunately, regardless of how much we tried, we couldn’t reschedule the dinner at Jaemin’s family home.

We still had to pay his parents a visit, but, at least, there was a silver lining.

Thanks to our hectic schedule, Jaemin’s mom wouldn’t have a chance to force us to stay longer. Whether she wanted to feed us dessert or stay the night, it was out of the question.

Since Jiwoo had one more exam to pass on Friday, half of the guests would have to show up later in the evening. Johnny, Jaehyun, Lucas, and Renjun were about to take off around noon while Jiwoo, Yeri, Chenle, Jaemin, and I had to carpool later in the evening.

I didn’t complain, though.

“It’ll be fine. It’s just my mom,” Jaemin reassured me, slipping his hand into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I bet it’s gonna be like any other time you stopped by,” he added, and I cocked up my eyebrow suspiciously.

“You better be right,” I spoke, though still unconvinced. I knew Jaemin’s mother. She had a tendency to be, hmm…, a little bit extra. Who knew how she would behave now when she found out we were dating?

Since Jaemin was carrying our suitcases, I knocked on the front doors. Jaemin’s mom rushed to let us in, but not before she gave us bone-crushing hugs.

“I think you’ve misunderstood. I invited you for dinner. I didn’t ask you to move in with me,” Mrs. Na jested upon seeing the suitcases in Jaemin’s hands, misinterpreting the situation in the funniest way possible. “It must be shocking, but I enjoy living alone with your father.”

“We’re going to the beach with some friends after the dinner,” Jaemin clarified, and his mother hummed in understanding, acting a bit too cool about it. It’s been a while since Jaemin paid them a proper visit, and she was a little too nonchalant for my liking. “They’re going to pick us up around seven.”

She must’ve done something or was about to do something.

“Here’s some wine,” I spoke up, handing her the bottle as a small thank you gift for inviting us over for a delicious home-made meal.

“Thank you, dear. You’re so thoughtful,” Mrs. Na accepted the beverage, guiding us to the dining area. “I didn’t feel like cooking today, so I ordered some Chinese takeout. I hope you don’t mind,” she added, and I chuckled at her typical antics.

She was an amazing mother to Jaemin, raising him well, but she really was a terrible housewife. She didn’t change one bit, and I loved her for it. She had so much love for her husband, her son, and her son’s friends, and that’s what really mattered.

“Your father will be home in thirty,” she announced before she made a beeline to the kitchen to get a bottle opener. “And the takeout was supposed to arrive twenty minutes ago. If it weren’t for that slow delivery guy, I would’ve got away with my little secret,” she blabbered, laughing awkwardly.

“It’s okay, really,” I reassured her, sending her a genuine smile. “I am craving Chinese food, anyway,” I added before I elbowed Jaemin, so he would say something, too. For a blabbermouth he was, right now, he seemed awfully quiet.

Before Jaemin managed to provide his mother with a proper response, someone knocked on the doors. Since we had already arrived, it must’ve been the delivery guy with food.

“I’ll go get it,” Jaemin excused himself, leaving me alone with his mother.

“So…,” Mrs. Na cleared her throat as he began pouring wine into fancy glasses. “You guys are finally dating. And if you want me to be completely honest, I am a little bit disappointed,” she made a pause to look at me in the eye. What? She didn’t approve of me? That’s surprising; I used to think she adored me. “I am a little bit disappointed either of you didn’t make a move sooner. I was slowly losing hope,” she added, and I sighed in relief.

For a while, I was seriously concerned she didn’t like me.

“Are you expecting any guests? There’s no way we can finish it all by the four of us,” Jaemin commented as he walked into the dining room, setting two plastic bags of takeout. It smelled heavenly, and I couldn’t wait to taste whatever dish Mrs. Na had ordered.

“I can always invite your friends inside when they pull up,” she spoke matter-of-factly, but as soon as Jaemin looked at her sternly, she seconded that idea. “Or, I can pack it up, so you can share it with your friends later.”

“Should we wait for dad?” Jaemin asked when his stomach growled, demanding food. In the morning, he was quite anxious about going to his parents’ house, so he didn’t even bother to eat. Now, Jaemin was starving. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“I’ll get the plates,” his mom spoke, not really answering his question. Within two minutes, she came back with a special set of tableware. In their household, it was used only for holidays and other rare occasions. “Dig in,” she urged us, waiting for us to fill our plates before doing the same herself.

Whatever restaurant provided today’s dinner, it was remarkable. It wasn’t too salty, nor too spicy. Even when I was full, I still stuffed my mouth some more, unable to stop myself.

“You have sauce on your chin,” Jaemin remarked, pointing at his own chin, helping me locate the stray drop of soy sauce. “Here,” he added with a tired shake of his head, wiping it clean with his napkin.

“You two are too adorable,” Mrs. Na cooed, smiling at us widely. “It was worth the wait,” she added, and I creased my forehead in confusion. “Oh, did you hear that? It must be your dad,” Mrs. Na said upon hearing noise from the garage. “You keep eating, I’ll go greet his workaholic ass,” she excused herself with a playful smile before walking away from the table to welcome her husband as any loving wife would.

With a deep sigh, Jaemin leaned toward me, resting his arm on my chair.

“It’s not that bad, actually. I was excepting to go through some kind of FBI-level of interrogation, but she seems kind of chill about this whole thing,” Jaemin whispered into my ear, and I giggled, agreeing with him. It was kind of suspicious, but I couldn’t complain.

“It’s kinda creepy when she’s talking like she’s been rooting for us to end up together, but this one thing aside, it’s bearable,” I replied, and Jaemin nodded his head.

“I am gone for a minute, and you’re all over each other,” Mrs. Na snickered when she returned to the dining room, seeing Jaemin leaned in, only inches apart from my face. “Jaemin, mama’s so proud,” she added before she walked around the room to set the plate for Mr. Na.

“Stop embarrassing me,” Jaemin whined, playing with the food on his plate, pouting. Though his mother pretty much ignored his childish tantrum, I chuckled, finding it absolutely adorable. Maybe she was a teaser, but little Jaemin knew, he inherited it from her. It was time he experienced the taste of his own medicine.

The apple doesn’t fall that far from the tree…

The rest of the afternoon went peaceful. Though Mrs. Na threw in some cheesy remarks here and there, we could handle it. We were slightly buzzed, after all.

“It’s time for us,” Jaemin announced as he heard a car parked in front of the house. “It was nice. We should totally do it again,” he sarcastically added when he reached for my coat and helped me put it on.

“Don’t have too much fun,” she added with a playful smirk upon her face, earning a judging look from her more conservative husband. “No, wait, I second that. Have as much fun as you want. I am a cool parent,” she spoke, changing her mind in a matter of seconds. “And I plan on becoming a cool grandparent.”

At first, I wanted to remind her that we’re too young for children. Besides, technically, we only went on one date. It was definitely too soon to even think about these things, let alone talk about them out loud.

Thankfully, before I managed to say something I’d regret, Jiwoo honked, urging us to get going. If it wasn’t for her impatience, I might’ve ruined the image I had built for myself in Jaemin’s parents’ eyes.

“Your mother was joking! Always use protection,” Mr. Na hollered before he closed the doors after us.

***

Except for a few playful comments shot toward Jaemin and me, the ride was peaceful. As soon as we threw our suitcases into the trunk and squeezed in on the backseat, we hit the road. Jamming to Jiwoo’s playlist, we chatted in excitement, all of us in desperate need of a little vacation. It was a stressful time of a year, but maybe this short trip would actually help us recharge the batteries and calm down after busting our asses off.

“How was the dinner?” Jiwoo asked, staring at us in the rearview mirror. Since there was a limited amount of space, I was almost sitting on Jaemin’s laps. Jiwoo didn’t miss it with her eagle eyes. The way Jaemin played with my fingers didn’t go unnoticed, either.

“Bearable,” I muttered under my breath, not really wanting to recollect these memories now. I’d probably tell Jiwoo everything later, and she understood the subliminal message in a heartbeat. “How was your test?”

“I probably failed, but, at least, now I know what to expect,” Jiwoo answered as she turned to the left as the navigation system instructed her to.

In about two hours, we arrived at our destination.

Having stepped into the cabin with our heavy luggage in our hands, we encountered the middle of the party. A handful of beer bottles were scattered around the living area, the boys fervently discussing some matter.

“You’re finally here,” Jaehyun spoke matter-of-factly, as he noticed us in the threshold. “Go upstairs and leave your stuff in your rooms. We’ve already assigned them; just read the post-it notes stuck to the doors,” he explained before he turned away.

Huh, apparently, they were pros at planning.

The guys rented a cabin that consisted of six tiny bedrooms. Generally, we wouldn’t have a problem assigning them; however, since Jaehyun, Lucas, and Johnny didn’t want to room with anyone, we were facing a dilemma. They guys wanted to have some privacy if they managed to pick someone up at the hotel in the neighborhood. In this case, the six of us had to share rooms. Jiwoo and Yeri could room together. Renjun and Chenle could occupy another one, so it looked like they put Jaemin and me in the last one.

Thankfully, it wouldn’t be the first time when I had to share a bed with Jaemin. He had stayed the night plenty of times before when he dozed off during our Netflix marathons. However, it still was to be a little bit awkward since everybody thought we began dating. We were going to pull through, though.

As soon as possible, we came back downstairs, ready to even the score of consumed alcohol. All of us needed it. Everybody had a different reason for it, but none of our troubles were to be discussed tonight.

In the fridge, there was a whole palette of different types of alcohol. Quickly, I grabbed two tequila-flavored beers, handing one to Jaemin, allowing others to choose their poison.

My plan for tonight was to test every kind of alcohol, gradually going up with the percentages. It was a bad idea, but that’s what college was about – having fun like there’re no consequences.

We partied like there’s no tomorrow.

At first, we kept it simple. Fervent conversations led us to shout at one another, trying to force one perspective over the others. We were going through so many subjects that any sober bystander might’ve had real trouble comprehending how we managed to switch among them.

Then, someone suggested playing a drinking game. Of course, it had to be never have I ever. Everybody had so much fun, especially when the participants yelled at Jaemin and me because we didn’t even bother to abide by the rules. We were sipping our drinks whenever we felt like it, even between rounds, and it didn’t sit right with the rest. Eventually, they kicked us out of their little circle, giving us the crucial task of bringing some snacks from the kitchen.

Sometime past midnight, Jiwoo proposed going outside. It was beautifully snowing, but at the same time, it was freezing. Though I was opposed to this idea, everybody seemed to love it. The guys were throwing snowballs at each other, bringing out their inner child.

As if this wasn’t enough, they decided to take a stroll to the seaside. Though our cabin was maybe a mile away from the seashore, I didn’t particularly fancy the saunter. Jaemin was by my side, offering to warm my hand in his pocket, but I still was on the verge of freezing my ass off. I’d much rather sit by the fireplace under a few blankets with a mug of the mulled wine in my grasp. Apparently, everybody besides me was really intrigued by an ice bath and other winter extreme sports.

Though it was dangerous as fuck, Jiwoo took off her shoes and rolled up her jeans before she walked into the ice water of the sea. Being the dumbass he was, Lucas instantly followed suit.

“They seem to hit it off tonight,” I nonchalantly whispered as I elbowed Jaehyun. Jiwoo and Jaehyun might have a thing going on, but neither of them acted on it. Jiwoo was too whipped to make a move, too afraid of rejection. Jaehyun, on the other hand, was just a fuckboy, not really looking for a relationship. “Look at them. Don’t they look cute?” I carried on, cautiously watching Jaehyun’s expression. They weren’t together, but he seemed slightly jealous and frustrated watching her have lots of fun with Lucas.

In my opinion, he didn’t deserve her, but I didn’t really have a say in that matter. Jaehyun was the person Jiwoo’s heart longed for, and I, being her best friend, had to support that. Or, in this case, I had to give him a little push to get things in motion.

Jaehyun had some feelings for Jiwoo, but he needed some time and character development to fully comprehend them. Until then, it was my duty to remind him what he’s missing out on by not being serious enough to ask her out.

“Nah, I wouldn’t call them cute,” Jaehyun murmured through gritted teeth, positively jealous. “What they’re doing is dangerous; somebody has to stop them,” he added before he kicked off his own shoes, running toward Jiwoo to pick her up and bring her back to the shore.

“What was that?” Jaemin asked, being shook as to what he had witnessed.

“What was what? What do you mean?” I smirked, winking at him, hoping he wouldn’t tell anyone about it. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You played him,” Jaemin spoke, still impressed by how easily I manipulated Jaehyun into stepping into the scene, pulling Jiwoo away from Lucas. “Is this even legal? You’ve never done this one me, have you?”

“No, of course, not! Don’t be ridiculous,” I answered, though my tone suggested a completely different message. “You would’ve known, wouldn’t you?” I teased, chuckling at Jaemin’s funny expression. He was mortified. “I think you’re overreacting. I just pointed out some facts, and Jaehyun reacted to them according to his emotional opinion. I really didn’t do anything,” I added, defending my case.

“Don’t you ever try pulling a trick like that on me, okay?” Jaemin stated, and I nodded, giving him a promise. “I mean… I wouldn’t fall for it, but still, don’t.”

“We should head back to the cabin,” Johnny shouted, gathering the gang. Surprisingly, he seemed the most sober amongst us, so it didn’t come as a shock to me that he tried to look after his hammered friends.

In my opinion, it was a perfect call. I was slowly sobering up, and I definitely needed a refill. With my schedule packed, I had no idea when I would have a chance for another getaway, so I had to make the most out of this one.

As we returned to the cabin, Jaehyun’s eyes didn’t leave Jiwoo.

Jaemin, on the other hand, went upstairs to grab his camera, deciding it was the best time to snap photos. Of course, he had to take pictures of us when we were drunk out of our minds. Why didn’t he take any when we looked decent without smudged make-up?

“Sexy,” Jaemin commented as he pointed his camera at me. “Ahh, sexy,” he kept calling me that, and I stuck my tongue at him, wanting him to go away pester someone else. My hair was a mess, and my lipstick smudged off my lips a long time ago. “So sexy,” he carried on, making me roll my eyes at him. At some point, I tried kicking him, but that bastard was beyond my reach.

Around 2 o’clock, one by one, we began feeling tired.

Lucas was the first one to go. Considering how much alcohol he had drunk, I was surprised he lasted that long. Better yet, it was a shock he could even stand straight. Jaemin and Renjun had to escort him upstairs, but nonetheless, his alcohol tolerance was impressive.

I didn’t even realize when, but Yeri and Chenle managed to fall asleep on the couch. Firmly, Renjun shook them away, ordering them to go to their respective rooms. With tired yawns, they made their way upstairs, falling on their beds face-first.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Jaemin pouted as he sat on the side of the armchair, resting his head on my shoulder. Entwining his hand in mine, he stood up, pulling me up.

“Have fun, guys. We’re calling it a night,” I announced, refraining from yawning.

“No, you have fun,” Jiwoo replied, sending us a wink. Shaking my head, I sighed before we disappeared upstairs. I don’t know what she was thinking; however, I didn’t have the energy to keep my eyes open, let alone other nighttime activities. Besides, Jaemin was just as spent. Even if we were in a real relationship, we wouldn’t engage in half-conscious unsatisfactory messy sex.

“Come here,” Jaemin whispered as he smiled. His eyes were already closed as he patted the mattress beside him, waiting for me to join. “Good job. I think we really sold it to everybody,” he added as he snuggled closer, wrapping his limbs around my body.

“That’s good,” I purred, slowly drifting into dreamland. It was a long day, and it was finally over. Though it had a rough beginning, I ended it in Jaemin’s arms. “Good night.”

“Good night, my love,” Jaemin muttered, resting his head on my pillow right beside my face.

“You were supposed to change that name,” I replied, too drunk or/and too tired to realize it was his spoken words and not a text message.

***

During the second week of our relationship, we grew to be less tense around each other. Better yet, we seemed awfully comfortable, almost as if that’s how everything was meant to be. It was a little bit alarming, but I decided not to point that out. Even if it was just an act, I enjoyed it much more than I’d ever dare to admit. As long as it lasted, I was to savor it.

Ever since we came back from the weekend trip, Jaemin would pop up out of nowhere at least once a day with a surprise for me, proving how over the top he could be in courting a woman.

On Monday, he spammed his social media feed with my pictures from the trip. Of course, he didn’t forget to put a corny description under it, making me flustered. Even though I wouldn’t consider myself photogenic, Jaemin managed to bring out my best features with his photography talent and editing skills.

On Tuesday, Jaemin was waiting outside the auditorium with a cute bouquet of my favorite flowers – white roses. He was there to congratulate me on passing my last exam of the semester. The professor would send us results by the end of the week, but according to Jaemin, there was no chance I’d fail it.

“I still don’t get it how you do it,” Jaemin mused, scratching his temple, trying to put two and two together. “I hardly ever see you study, but then, you panic before an exam only to nail it later on. What kind of black magic is this?” He wondered, and I giggled, unable to explain my poor studying technique. I just winged it last minute every single time in my academic career.

“You better be right about this one,” I replied, still anxious about my grade. I didn’t manage to answer all of the questions, so a passing grade would be a relief. “I’m craving pasta. Do you want t go on a celebratory date?”

“You’re reading my mind,” Jaemin said, grabbing my hand, leading me to our favorite restaurant.

On Wednesday, Jaemin invited me to a bowling alley. Every month he would visit the establishment with his friends. Only on rare occasions, their significant others were invited. None of them could really commit to a serious relationship, so it never became a repetitive custom of their group.

“You guys are disgusting,” Haechan whined after our turn. Jaemin and I were losing by an enormous margin, but we didn’t mind. We were having fun despite a low score. “But at least, we’re winning,” Haechan added, pointing at Chenle and himself.

“I am the winner here,” Jaemin boldly announced, giving my hand a light squeeze, making me almost spit my soda.

Everybody cringed at Jaemin’s bold corny statement.

“I second that,” Haechan mused, looking away from Jaemin. “She’s bearable, and you are just absolutely repulsive,” he corrected himself, and I chuckled. Never in my entire life, I thought I would agree on something with Haechan, but this moment occurred right then.

On Thursday, although my schedule was packed with work, Jaemin insisted on hanging out. Tired out of my mind, I let Jaemin inside the apartment. He was carrying Mexican takeout; I couldn’t send him back home. Not when he had goodies.

“What do you want to watch?” I asked as I handed him the remote, allowing him to choose the movie. I was going to pass out anyway, so he might’ve as well picked something he liked.

“Anything is good,” he answered as he unwrapped his quesadilla, taking a bite off of it.

“The Notebook it is then,” I teased, but since Jaemin didn’t stop me, I put it on.

Having eaten my portion of a delicious meal, I lay down on the couch, resting my head on Jaemin’s thighs. I didn’t even realize when I fell asleep. Only when the credits were rolling down on the screen, Jaemin shook me awake.

“When did you fall asleep?” Jaemin inquired, a little bit mad that I forced him to watch the ultimate romantic movie of the twenty-first century. It was toxic as hell, and the way their behavior got romanticized didn’t sit right with me.

“As soon as I lay down,” I answered honestly, as I rolled around, staring at Jaemin’s handsome face. “How did you like the movie?” I asked innocently, swiftly changing the topic. It was for the better if Jaemin didn’t find out I paid no attention to the film. Instead of a great viewing experience, it was just a mere background noise that lulled me to sleep.

“I didn’t,” Jaemin whined, tapping his foot against the floor, making me sit up instantly. “It was toxic and sad at the same time. Noah was a manipulative jerk, and Allie was moody as fuck. The only bright side of their relationship is that they ended up with each other, not ruining other people’s lives,” Jaemin spoke the truth, and I couldn’t agree more. “In conclusion, give me my 2 hours back,” he added, and I hit him with a cushion.

Unable to comprehend what I just did, Jaemin blinked in confusion. Then, a few seconds later, he smirked and grabbed another cushion, ready to fight back.

Unfortunately, our childish antics were interrupted by Jiwoo. She was hanging out with Yuta, studying for the exam they had to retake the next day. To be completely honest, she couldn’t have any worse timing. While watching a movie was explainable, it wasn’t the case when it came to an impromptu pillow fight.

“Should I come back later, or something?” Jiwoo asked, pointing at the doors, willing to leave if it meant for me to get laid.

“Nah, Jaemin’s leaving. I am trying to kick him out, actually,” I announced, sticking my tongue out.

On Friday, Jaemin and I planned on going to the arcade. Unfortunately, we had to raincheck that. One of Jaemin’s coworkers fell sick, and Jaemin had to take a double shift at the coffee shop in his neighborhood.

I already had canceled my other plans to hang out with Jaemin, so I didn’t really want to stay at home all by myself. It was a Friday night, after all. Surprising him at work seemed like a better idea. His friends liked hanging out there; therefore, it must’ve been an excellent excuse for a little bit of acting in order to keep up appearances.

Quickly, I assembled a cute outfit and put on light make-up.

About an hour before the closing, I entered the coffee shop. Except for a few students with their noses in their computers, the establishment was empty.

“Welcome to–,” Jaemin hollered, ready to welcome the customers. “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?” He asked as a wide smile spread across his face, enjoying my surprise.

“I just came to surprise you,” I confessed, though none of us paid enough attention to the gravity of my words. I genuinely wanted to hang out Jaemin him as his girlfriend. “And I also wanted to get some discounted goodies. What do you have left?” I asked, looking over his shoulder, trying to see what food didn’t sell yet. An hour before the closing, everything on the menu was discounted by seventy percent, and I just couldn’t walk past that kind of deal.

“You’re not the only one who came for cheap stuff,” Jaemin commented as he saw Haechan and Renjun on the other side of the doors. “Take a seat, I’ll bring you your favorite,” he added, and I smiled at him, walking to the booth by the window.

Having finished my Greek sandwich, I focused on my cup of tea. I was scrolling through social media feed, giggling whenever I stumbled upon a funny meme. It was a perfect evening; complete relaxation in the rhythm of soft foreign jazz music playing through speakers, Jaemin checking up on me once every a couple of minutes.

“Oh, hi, there,” Haechan hollered as soon as he noticed me. He must’ve been returning to his table from a restroom. “I didn’t realize you’re here. What’s up?” We weren’t close, so his question was more like a polite generic statement rather than genuine curiosity.

“I’m waiting for Jaemin to finish, so we can hang out at my place,” I answered, hoping Haechan would get the suggestive tone.

“Actually, there’s something you should know,” he said quietly, looking around, probably checking if Jaemin was within earshot. “I am so ashamed it happened, but I really have to tell you something,” Haechan added, and I couldn’t wait for him to reveal the secret.

Haechan was playing dirty. He wanted to tell me about the bet, ruining Jaemin’s chance at getting me to sleep with him. It was some top-tier double-crossing, and I found it impressive. I had no clue Haechan had it in him.

“We shouldn’t have done it. I don’t know why we even agreed to this,” Haechan added, scratching the back of his head, trying to sound genuinely regretful. “I think Jaemin’s not genuine about the thing you have going on. You see, we made a bet. He has to have sex with you, or else he owes Chenle 500 bucks.”

“What?!” I exclaimed, hoping my consternation was believable. At first, I felt the temptation to say something along, yeah, I know, what’s new, but then I decided to play along. It was actually a good idea to make it seem like Jaemin’s about to lose the bet. Knowing them, they wouldn’t call it off. If anything, Jaemin could double the stakes. “No, it can’t be true. Jaemin would never –“

Now, it was my cue to make a scene. Hopefully, it would play out exactly like in my impromptu prediction.

Reaching the stage of fake hysteria, I rose from my seat and stormed to Jaemin. He was energetically wiping off the tables, wanting to leave shortly after the last customer.

“Is that true? Did you really make a bet you can have sex with me?” I yelled at him through gritted teeth. Jaemin, on the other hand, was confused as fuck. “Did you really think you could get away with it? You disgust me!” I shouted, slapping his cheek. “Don’t ever call me again,” I added before I turned on my heel, storming out of the coffee shop.

Being the only employee at work, Jaemin couldn’t run after me.

Jaemin deserved an explanation. I had to fill him in on my wonderful plan before he would blow it in front of Renjun and Haechan.

my love 💖 | 20:46 | play along

my love 💖 | 20:46 | trust me

my love 💖 | 20:47 | kick them out pls

baNANA 🍓 | 20:47 | wtf???

baNANA 🍓 | 20:48 | that hurt

baNANA 🍓 | 20:48 | I didn’t have to kick them out

baNANA 🍓 | 20:49 | they ran out a few seconds after you

my love 💖 | 20:49 | good

baNANA 🍓 | 20:49 | what the hell is going on???

baNANA 🍓 | 20:50 | I am confused

my love 💖 | 20:50 | Haechan ‘told’ me about the bet

my love 💖 | 20:50 | he wanted to double cross you

baNANA 🍓 | 20:51 | what???

my love 💖 | 20:51 | so the plan is

my love 💖 | 20:51 | they know you don’t stand a chance

my love 💖 | 20:51 | so you double the stakes

my love 💖 | 20:52 | and then bam! we win double the money

baNANA 🍓 | 20:52 | wow

baNANA 🍓 | 20:52 | you’re a genius

my love 💖 | 20:53 | I know

my love 💖 | 20:53 | and since I’m acting like I’m not talking to you

my love 💖 | 20:53 | bye

my love 💖 | 20:54 | see you @ the party!

***

Everything went according to my plan. The guys thought I was pissed with Jaemin, while Jaemin still tried to convince them he stands a chance to court me. It was kind of ironic, they wanted to play me, but it was them getting played.

Together with Jiwoo and Ten, we came extra early to Jaehyun’s party. Still being stuck in friendzone, Jiwoo went out of her way to help him out. Today it meant setting up all types of decorations all over the fraternity house and preparing different kinds of snacks.

Around seven, an Uber pulled up in front of our building. Not to brag, but despite the limited amount of time, we managed to dress up to the nines.

I decided to keep it simple. My outfit consisted of a pair of skinny high-waisted black jeans, a long-sleeved sequin embellished crop top, and a pair of ankle-high boots.

Jiwoo, on the other hand, was wearing a two-piece baby pink dress and a pair of massive mid-thigh black leather platform combat boots. She looked fierce, like a weird baby of 90’s Britney Spears and Marilyn Mason.

Though Ten’s outfit looked the most effortless, it took him longer than us to put it together. Having thrown every single thing from his closet on the bed, Ten experienced a mild crisis. Even though he looked gorgeous in everything, he didn’t seem to believe us. Only after the off-hand intervention, he agreed to play it cool with a pair of ripped jeans, a black shirt with three top buttons left untouched, and an oversized leather jacket.

Once we arrived at Jaehyun’s fraternity, nothing was ready. Thankfully, it wasn’t my problem. Jiwoo was the one who volunteered to help out. Ten and I were about to vibe in the corner, letting other people arrange the place according to Jaehyun’s vision.

Trying our best not to disturb others, Ten and I watched the way the smelly fraternity sex mansion turned into a festive valentine’s manor.

“I hope she’s gonna get laid today,” I whispered into Ten’s ear, looking at Jiwoo working like a busy bee around the house.

“She better; that’s really painful to look at,” Ten agreed, looking a little bit disappointed. Jiwoo was at Jaehyun’s beck and call, and it was about time he acknowledged her feelings.

Around nine o’clock, it was getting a little bit crowded.

Music was blasting through the speakers. Some of the fratboys were already looking for their next conquest. Girls were dancing on a makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living area, suggestively swaying their hips, teasing whoever was watching with their sexy moves.

Later on, when I was in the middle of my fourth drink of the night, Jaemin finally showed up. Together with Haechan, Jeno, Renjun, and Chenle, they walked through the threshold. They all looked great, but Jaemin stood out in the crowd. After all, he was the only one to put on a suit jacket over his white T-shirt. While the rest rocked the comfortable outfits, Jaemin opted for a more elegant look.

Almost as if he wanted to impress someone. Or at least, apologize properly, trying every sly trick to make me forgive him.

Upon entrance, his eyes searched me in the crowd, and when he met my gaze, a smile stretched across his face. Shyly, he raised his hand, wanting to wave at me, but since I stubbornly turned my head around, playing my role of offended woman, he lowered it.

“I’ve seen an ATM on our way here,” Renjun commented, knowing Jaemin didn’t stand a chance of winning the bet.

“It won’t be necessary,” Jaemin replied, following me with his gaze. “I didn’t lose it yet,” he added, and the guys laughed at him. There was no way he still thought he could woo me. “I still have a few hours left; I am not going to give up.”

“You’re such a loser,” Jeno interjected as regret washed through him. Although he didn’t actively participate when the bet was placed, he didn’t oppose it. He was an idle bystander, allowing other people to ruin our friendship. It didn’t sit right with him, but it was too late. The damage was already done, and Jaemin was going to embarrass himself even further. “She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“It’s not like that,” Jaemin started, but he refused to explain how exactly it was like.

“You’re still gonna fail,” Haechan added with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Back at the coffee shop, he ruined Jaemin’s chance for success. “Hey there, beautiful,” Haechan spoke when his attention was snatched by one of the girls who walked past them.

Once the boys divided to greet other friends, Jaemin strolled to the kitchen. I was there, and he needed to initiate the first step of our plan.

Sincere apology.

“Can we talk?” Jaemin whispered as he reached out to grab my hand, interrupting my conversation with Ten and Yeri. “Let me explain. You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to listen to me,” he asked, and I unwillingly complied, letting him lead me toward an abandoned corner in the living area. No one could hear us talk, but at the same time, everybody could see us.

“What do you want, Jaemin,” I barked, folding my arms across my chest, startling myself with how good I managed to behave like an angry ex-girlfriend. Though it was my last semester, maybe I should change my major to professional acting.

“Wow. You’re too good at this,” Jaemin commented before he proceeded with his part. “Anyway, I made this card for you. I hope it finds you well,” he announced before he pulled an envelope out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

Cautiously, I took the valentine’s card out of the envelope. Once I saw the front page, I couldn’t help but laugh. Jaemin must’ve done it himself, or he stole it from Jeno’s four-year-old niece. It was all covered in hearty stickers and glitter.

Jaemin definitely wasn’t a poet. He had never stood next to one, either.

Instead of a heartfelt apology and love confession, there was a short corny message which simultaneously made me cringe and chuckle.

Are you a ba-NANA? Cause I find you a-peeling.

From Your Love

P.S. it’s from me, your Jaemin

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” I spoke, shaking my head, trying my best not to grin. I was supposed to hate him, but it was too difficult. “I am gonna walk away now. Approach me once you raise the stakes.”

Although I didn’t want to party without Jaemin by my side, it was what I had to do. Having sent him a faint smile, I turned around and walked away, giving Jaemin some time to initiate part two of our plan.

Having drunk a few fancy shots Ten had made for me, we hit the dance floor. At first, we just jumped in the rhythm. However, when the DJ played the song we had practiced at the dance studio, everybody stepped to the side, making enough room to let us perform the choreography.

With alcohol coursing in my system, my moves weren’t as precise as usual – they still earned a round of applause.

“Hey, hey, hey, are you having fun?” Drunk as a skunk, Jaehyun shouted through the microphone connected to the DJ’s console. “How about we slow up the tempo?” Jaehyun yelled, and everybody cheered, making a lot of noise. “Tonight’s the love festival, and I, the valentine’s boy, specifically request every find a person to slow dance with.”

Having set the microphone aside, Jaehyun pushed DJ away from the console, putting on his Cigarettes After Sex playlist. The first song which graced our ears was Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You.

“Can I have this dance?” Jaemin appeared out of nowhere by my side, extending his hand for me to take. “Please?” He looked into my eyes, waiting for my response, looking hopeful.

As soon as I nodded, Jaemin grabbed my hand and gently pulled me against his firm body, resting his left hand on my back, holding me still, making sure I’d not run away. With my head resting against his chest, we swayed slowly, getting lost in our little world.

“They think I am a terrible person,” Jaemin whispered into my ear, his breath tickling my skin. “They seriously think I’d try to ruin our friendship with this bet,” he carried on, and I hummed, taking an inhale, getting hit with Jaemin’s musky cologne.

The boys truly underestimated the power of our friendship. Jaemin and I told each other almost everything. It was bold of them to assume I had no idea about the bet.

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied as I had closed my eyes, getting lost in the moment. “Everything will come back to normal soon enough,” I added, trying to ignore the bittersweet taste of my statement. Our fake relationship had an expiration date, and it was near.

“You’re right. Everything will come back to normal,” Jaemin repeated my words as he rested his chin on top of my head, pulling me even closer. “You’re the best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had,” he added, pressing an innocent peck against my hairline.

“How many fake girlfriends have you had?” I asked, chuckling, sounding a bit jealous.

“Anyway,” Jaemin started, trying to change the subject. “The guys took the bait. And now, judging by the stupid looks on their faces, they’re shitting their pants.”

“Once the song is over, we should initiate the third phase of our plan,” I commented, wanting to be over with this. In about a minute, I was about to pull Jaemin out of the dance floor and lead him to the bathroom upstairs, where we would do the deed.

When another song from Jaehyun’s playlist echoed in the room, all the other couples kept dancing. Jaemin and I, on the other hand, were about to not so discreetly sneak upstairs.

Unfortunately, we met an obstacle on our path.

It was Jaehyun, pointing his phone at our faces.

“It’s a kiss cam. Do what you gotta do,” he spoke, and I creased my forehead in utter confusion. What the hell was he doing? What the hell was a kiss cam? It was a frat party, not a baseball match. Didn’t he have a beer pong championship to win or something?

“What?”

“Do I really have to explain this to everyone? Jesus,” Jaehyun complained, taking a deep sigh, trying to ease his irritation. “It’s Valentine’s day! I am Valentine’s boy! And this is a kiss cam. You kiss, and I take pictures,” he explained, but I wasn’t convinced. “Hurry up! I have to take like 50 more of them.”

At first, I didn’t want to do it. But then, a thought crossed my mind. Who would believe Jaemin and I had sex if I refused to give him a kiss. It was just one kiss; it wouldn’t hurt.

Having licked my lips, I smiled at Jaemin before I wrapped my hands around his neck, giving him a chaste smooch. It lasted maybe a few seconds, but it still made me uneasy. Even if it was just a brief peck, it was too much for my poor heart.

“What the fuck was that?” Jaehyun groaned in disappointment. “One more time, guys. That’s how you kiss your mother, not your girlfriend. You can do better.”

“Show him how it’s done, Jaemin,” I encouraged him, giving him permission to assault my lips, hoping it would happen to be one hell of a performance.

Having smirked, Jaemin leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against mine. Cautiously, he deepened the kiss, knocking the air out of my lungs, making my legs shake under my weight. His hands held my chin in place as his tongue slipped through my lips.

Out of a sudden, nothing else mattered. Jaemin and I were in our bubble, and despite it being a one-time thing, I wished it lasted forever. Whatever expectations I had about this moment, it wasn’t even close to reality.

Jaehyun cleared his throat, wanting to pull us out of our trance. In vain, though. I moved my lips against Jaemin’s in slow sync, letting the sweet sensation strip me of the last remains of dignity. I was to savor every second of it, basking in bliss.

“Ekhem,” Jaehyun grunted, starting to feel a little bit flustered. “You guys done?”

Once we broke apart to take a breath, Jaehyun spoke again.

“Have you seen Jiwoo, by the way?”

“Yeah, I think she went for a smoke with Lucas,” I answered casually, watching panic display on Jaehyun’s face. It was evident he didn’t fancy the newfound information. “She went outside like half an hour ago, though. I wonder what it takes them so long,” I added, planting another grain of doubt in his subconscious.

As soon as anxiety downed on him, Jaehyun bolted outside. He better, though. If Jaehyun wasn’t going to make a move on Jiwoo tonight, I was about to find another guy to ship her with.

“You did it again,” Jaemin pointed out, and I just shrugged, dismissing his comment. So what? One push in the right direction wasn’t enough for Jaehyun to grow up, so I decided to be generous enough to give him a second chance.

“Are you ready for phase three?” I asked Jaemin, but before he managed to reply, I grabbed his hand, pulling him across the dance floor. Giggling, I ran through the sea of people, not so accidentally bumping into Chenle, almost spilling his beer.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” I hollered, giggling. Now, when I had Chenle’s attention, we could sneak upstairs to proceed with the final step of our plan. “Come on, Jaemin, let’s go. I am horny,” I added, probably overdoing my part. Unfortunately, the words were already spoken. I couldn’t take them back.

Having locked the bathroom doors behind us, I jumped onto the countertop. “Don’t you think it’s a bit creepy they’re gonna eavesdrop on us bang? It’s kinda off-putting, you know…”

When Jaemin wanted to speak, somebody knocked on the doors. It must’ve been one of Jaemin’s friends, checking if we were indeed fucking. “It’s occupied,” Jaemin hollered, mentioning for me to start my performance.

“Fuck, Jaemin! Eat me out, already,” I yelled, pressing my hands against my mouth, trying to stifle my laugher. This situation was ridiculous, and I couldn’t help myself but giggle. I had only a few drinks, yet I felt like I was high as a kite. “Yes, like that! Ahhh…”

“Can’t wait to fuck that tight hole,” Jaemin played along, almost dying of alcohol-induced tittering. We were definitely having too much fun.

“Right there, Jaemin!” I screamed, holding my stomach as it began aching due to excessive cackling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, right there,” I moaned loudly, kicking my head back. “Don’t tease me, please!”

“I gotta get you ready for my cock, love,” Jaemin growled, and I gasped, my mind conjuring the forbidden image®.

“Just fuck me! I need your cock inside of me now!” I groaned, hoping whoever was on the other side of the doors heard enough of what was going inside. “Mmmm… you stretch me out so well…” I purred, almost falling off the counter when another round of uncontrollable laughter tried to erupt from my throat.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight.”

“Jaemin! Fuck, I am close. Keep going,” I yelled, mentally preparing for the big finale. This whole act was a vocal performance, and it was time I finished. “I’m coming! Come with me!”

“It was spectacular,” Jaemin whispered so only I could hear him. “I have one more favor, though,” he added, shying away. Oh no, he was about to ask about something stupid.

“What is it?”

“It could’ve been some random dude,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head, unsure how to voice his supplication. “Give me your panties. It’ll be the definite proof.”

“You’re joking,” I deadpanned, staring into his eyes, waiting for him to say it was just a harmless prank. “You’re serious,” I added as soon as I realized Jaemin meant it.

“Come on, I won’t be sniffing them,” Jaemin nagged, and I rolled my eyes. I didn’t even think about it, but now that he mentioned it, I had another reason not to comply with his weird-ass request. “I’ll give them back, I promise.”

“I can’t believe I am considering this,” I cursed under my breath. If any other person would like such a favor from me, I’d deny it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, I had a soft spot for Jaemin, so denying him didn’t come easy to me.

Hell, I wouldn’t be here if I was able to say no to him.

“You owe me big time,” I caved in, jumping off the countertop, stepping behind the shower curtain, providing myself with some privacy. “Don’t peek. Even if I slip, you gotta stay on the other side. Got it?” I added as I stuck my head through the curtain.

“Scout’s honor,” Jaemin pledged, and I rolled my eyes. He was a scout for maybe a week. His honor didn’t mean shit.

Clumsily, I took off my shoes and jeans. “Here,” I warned before I threw my panties over the curtain. “I am too sober for this,” I nagged, trying to put my skinny jeans back on.

“Let’s do celebratory shots!” Jaemin suggested, balling up my undergarments, hiding them in his pocket. “We deserve it,” he added, landing me a helping hand when I was stepping out of the shower.

“Let’s go.”

***

Needless to say, Jaemin won the bet.

Unfortunately, it meant the inevitable end of our fake relationship. It was fun when it lasted, and though I’d miss these times, it was time to set the record straight.

As we had discussed, we had to arrange our break up.

Sometime next week, Jaemin stopped by to give me half of the prize. Since the boys had been stupid enough to fall for our little charade, I received a large sum of money. It was Chenle who sponsored the prize. Because of that, I didn’t feel particularly sorry about deceiving them. After all, Chenle was so loaded; he wouldn’t notice if he lost that kind of money on the street. I could finally buy these shoes which I had been dreaming of for so long! Better yet, I'd still have some money left to spoil myself some more.

“How should we do it?” Jaemin asked quietly. Ever since he came, he avoided my gaze, staring at the floor.

“I don’t know,” I unwillingly answered. This conversation was the last thing I wanted to do right now, but it had to be done. Better sooner or later, before I’d catch some real feelings for Jaemin. I had no idea how I would pick up the pieces of my broken heart if we kept this act any longer. “Let’s just delete all posts we published. Someone will figure out something’s wrong, and when they spread the word, we’ll explain we decided to remain friends.”

Maybe I wasn’t in tears, but I felt regret wash through me. Though our relationship had never been a real thing, it felt like it.

And it hurt.

“Alright then,” Jaemin complied, rubbing his hands against his thighs before he pulled out his phone to erase any digital footprint of our brief romance. His thumb hovered over the delete button for a while. After a few moments of hesitation, when he didn’t hear any sign of protest from my side, he pressed it, sending our memories to a bottomless void. “And it’s gone.”

“Are we cool?” I asked, hoping that nothing would change between us. I had a hunch it would take me some time to get used to how things had been before the relationship fiasco. Nonetheless, I still had hope we could remain best friends without any awkwardness.

“Of course,” Jaemin answered with a faint smile, but I didn’t fully believe him. Something was off, and it bothered us. Shame that none of us dared to begin this topic.

After he left that day, we saw each other very seldom. We barely even spoke to one another. If it wasn’t for the group chats we were both in, we wouldn’t talk at all.

Jaemin had said we were cool, but it was evident we weren’t.

It was eating me from the inside out, but whenever somebody asked me about the break-up, I’d always shrug it off, confirming everything’s great. I would tell our friends nothing changed between us. There was nothing wrong; our schedules are just incompatible these days.

When I had pretended I was in a relationship with Jaemin, it was easy. It came naturally, and everyone ate it up without any second thoughts. Unfortunately, now, when I was trying to play it cool, no one seemed to buy it. Thankfully, they didn’t confront me about it. Instead, they offered me their support if I ever needed anything.

In my head, I had a few wild scenarios in which I tell Jaemin we should date for real. However, at the same time, a little devil on my shoulder was telling me it should never leave the realm of fantasy. It’s ridiculous to think Jaemin would reciprocate my feelings.

I felt as if sadness took over my body. Though I was smiling on the outside, I was filled with regret. Barely anything sparked joy these gloomy days. Even this pair of shoes, which I wanted so badly, didn’t stir any positive emotion. I bought them, but I never took them out of the box.

Jiwoo had taken me out on a few girls’ nights to make me feel better. Men are trash – she would always say when Jaehyun ignored her yet another text. Even though they had fucked each other at Jaehyun’s birthday party and agreed to become exclusive, Jaehyun still had lots of problems committing to a monogamous relationship. They hadn’t officially labeled it, but everyone knew Jaehyun was slowly caving in.

Fratboys’ habits die hard, but Jaehyun was finally shaping himself into boyfriend material. He no longer slept around, as far to my knowledge at least, but he still lacked in some departments. For instance, it would take him way too much to text back.

“You were so adorable together,” Jiwoo began after she gulped down another rum and coke. Despite her high alcohol tolerance, she was already drunk, speaking with no filter. “I mean… you were simping for him for so long, and you finally managed to jump that dick.”

“Your point being…” I inquired, finishing my drink. Though Jaemin and I had never had sex, I didn’t want to admit that. What would Jiwoo thought if I told her it was all-pretend?

“I shipped you guys so hard,” Jiwoo confessed. “Ten shipped you too, but he will never admit that,” she added, and I giggled. Now, that was an interesting take. Ten was so random at many aspects of life; it came to me as a surprise he even had an opinion on my relationship with Jaemin. “Can I just take some duck tape and put my ship back together?”

“I am not sure Jaemin would like that,” I answered with a sigh, my mood instantly decreasing.

“Nonsense,” Jiwoo replied in a heartbeat. “This guy is even worse than you,” she revealed, and I rolled my eyes, not buying this. At least a few times a week, at my lowest moments, I happened to check Jaemin’s social media updates. He didn’t seem to mope around at all.

“I find it hard to believe,” I muttered, trying not to get too emotional.

“I mean it,” Jiwoo confirmed her previous statement, eager to explain her thesis. “Jaehyun and I went on a little date to the coffee shop where Jaemin works,” she started, and I nodded, not really sure what she was getting at. Nonetheless, I let her continue. I was curious what Jaemin had been up to. And since he didn’t seem to want to tell me anything himself, I’d accept any type of second-hand information from Jiwoo. “Jaemin misses you. You have no idea how many times I caught him daydreaming. He still has your photo set on his lock screen, and he stares at it a lot.”

Now, that’s interesting.

I had no recollection of Jaemin ever setting my photo as his background picture. Even if Jiwoo was right, it meant he set after we had broken up. It made no sense at all, and I was too drunk to try to comprehend the meaning of this.

Instead, I ordered another round, trying to stifle all the brooding emotions within me.

***

February was the month of parties. Too many birthdays fell during this hectic period, and I had trouble keeping up with them. Fortunately, Ten’s party was the last one of the month. After a small get together at our place, I’d have some time off to relax by myself, most preferably, without alcohol.

Being the semi-hosts with Jiwoo, it was our duty to help Ten organize everything regarding his party. Though our trio was a little bit disorganized, somehow, we managed to get everything ready before anyone arrived.

Maybe it wasn’t comparable to birthday parties at fraternity houses; it still had its charm. It wasn’t as wild, but guests still were having a great time in the company of their closest friends. However, what was the most important, Ten had a blast.

It was his day; he deserved everything he wanted.

Trying my best not to embarrass Ten, I decided to socialize with his friends.

It was time I move on. It took me way too long to mourn a relationship that wasn’t even real. I couldn’t let my brooding mood ruin the party.

“Hmm… Ten has never mentioned you before,” I confessed, not finding it particularly odd. Ten didn’t have secretive nature; he just wasn’t the type of person to over-share. And he often forgot to even mention stuff about his personal life.

“I can’t say I am surprised,” Hendery replied, making me giggle. It was fun chatting with him. Hendery was hilarious, and he knew many secrets regarding Ten. It was my mission to get as much information from him as it was possible. I would need it for blackmailing purposes, of course.

Hiding out in the kitchen, we sipped beer and exchanged rumors as if we were two gossip girls. It was too entertaining to stop. I was incredibly immersed in the conversation; I didn’t even realize when someone tapped my shoulder.

“Can we talk?” I heard the question, recognizing the voice in an instant. It belonged to Jaemin, and it seemed to be laced with both jealousy and irritation. The way he phased his plea gave me flashbacks of the conversation we had at Jaehyun’s party.

I really wanted to continue my discussion with Hendery, but I couldn’t say no to Jaemin. It wasn’t how my brain was programmed. Besides, I missed him a lot.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” I told Hendery before I grabbed Jaemin’s hand, leading him to my room, locking the doors behind us.

“Nothing was supposed to change,” Jaemin started as he sat at the edge of my bed, leaning forward with his upper body propped on his elbows. His gaze was trained on the floor, too frustrated to look up at me.

“I know,” I whispered as I sat down in my chair on the other side of the room. My first instinct was to kneel in front of Jaemin, kiss his forehead, and assure him that everything’s going to be alright.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like a good idea, so I refrained from doing so. “I am sorry, it’s my fault.”

“Don’t,” Jaemin interjected before I embarrassed myself even further. “We’re both at fault.”

Despite the loud party noises coming from the other side of the doors, my bedroom was filled with deafening silence. It was awfully uncomfortable, and it was probably a good thing. One of us would get annoyed eventually and cave in, letting out all the bottled up emotions.

“I missed you,” I admitted, staring at my hands. I was all fidgety, and although I was too embarrassed to reveal my inner feelings, Jaemin deserved to know this much.

“I missed you, too,” he genuinely confessed, showing me a shy smile. “Actually, I missed you more than I thought it was possible to miss a person,” Jaemin carried on, and I held my breath, not ready to hear whatever he had to say. “You have no idea how much I wanted to text you or call you, but ultimately decided not to because I was sure you don’t want me to.”

“Jaemin,” I spoke, not really sure what I should say next. I had too many things I wanted to tell him about. However, now when he was here, I couldn’t properly voice my thoughts.

“Are you dating this guy you were talking to in the kitchen?” Jaemin asked out of the blue, catching me off guard with this random accusation. “Or do you want to date him? You two looked like you’re having a great time together,” he added, and I rolled my eyes. At first, Jaemin acted on his jealously, but then, insecurity crept in.

“I don’t know. I met Hendery today, but he seems like a great guy,” I answered honestly, thinking of possibilities of me trying to pursing something of romantic nature with Hendery. After our brief encounter, I could tell he’s fun to be around. And honestly speaking, I might’ve considered dating him if I hadn’t already had feelings for someone else.

Unfortunately, right now, I wasn’t in the right state of mind to date. Not when I was still hung up on my best friend.

“I probably won’t, though. I like somebody else,” I confessed, gaining Jaemin’s interest. Instantly, he sat up, staring into my eyes, patiently waiting for the reveal. “I am stupid, but I like this one guy. He’s such a jerk, I can’t even… he’s been ghosting me for weeks now,” I carried on, hoping Jaemin would get the hint.

Two weeks ago, we promised each other nothing would change. Despite our good intentions, it did. Even though I hadn’t told Jaemin how I really felt, I still lost my best friend.

My silence didn’t save this friendship. I tried to bottle up my emotions to secure our unbreakable bond. It didn’t work, so I figured confessing my feelings wouldn’t do any more harm. Surely, Jaemin was going to reject me, but at least, I’d clear the air between us.

Hopefully, my confession, followed by a harsh rejection, would help me move on.

Instantly, Jaemin ran up to my chair and knelt in front of me, trying to look into my eyes. “Please tell me this jerk is me,” Jaemin urgently spoke, unable to handle any more suspense. Jaemin’s gaze was hopeful, and it was too much for me to comprehend.

“What?” I asked, still being overwhelmed by confusion. What was going on? Why was Jaemin on his knees in front of me? Nothing made sense. How was I supposed to wrap my head around it? “I mean… yeah, it’s you. Who else could it be?”

“You have no idea how sorry I am,” Jaemin confessed as he grabbed my hand and yanked me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me, giving me a tight hug. “You could’ve said something… anything,” he added as he pulled back his head, placing a chase kiss against my forehead.

“I didn’t want to scare you away,” I admitted quietly, unable to break free from Jaemin’s cone-crashing embrace. I couldn’t believe he was so close. Na Jaemin was holding me in his arms, letting me listen to his rapid heartbeat.

“The worst two weeks of my life,” Jaemin spoke, once again breaking the silence. “It felt at least like two centuries,” he added, making me chuckle. Of course, it was an exaggeration, but it’s how I felt, too.

“How about we start over?” I proposed, taking a step backward to have a proper look at him. “Will you go on a date with me? This time around for real, no pretending,” I carried on, trying not to grin like an idiot.

“No.”

“What?”

What the fuck was that?

Did I misunderstand Jaemin’s words? I thought he felt the same, but apparently, he didn’t? Everything suggested he followed my flow only to crush my expectations, later on, leaving a big ass scar and more trust issues.

“I mean yes, but I should be me asking you out. Definitely not the other way around,” Jaemin clarified, making me relax. Thankfully, my mini panic attack was uncalled for. It was just my brain over-analyzing everything, conjuring the worst possible scenario.

“Then you better do your best to woo me,” I teased, wondering if he was willing enough to take the bait. It was just a mere joke, reminding me how it all began. He had wooed me once, and I wasn’t going to oppose to a second attempt. “Fun dates, romantic messages, silly gifts. I want it all,” I added, going a little bit overboard with my request list.

“Everything can be arranged,” Jaemin replied with a lopsided smile before he tightened his grip, almost crashing my bones in the process.

***

Jaemin and I began dating. This time around, it was real; no more pretending, no more stupid bets. Just two people who had discovered friendship could never be enough.

Even though I had told Jaemin I was just joking about this whole wooing thing, he refused to accept it, going to extreme lengths to make my heart flutter. I was already stupidly in love with him, yet he kept trying to make me swoon even more.

Despite our busy schedules, we made sure to see each other every day. It could’ve been a date at the arcade or just a quick coffee or a video call. In all honestly, I gladly accepted any form of contact from Jaemin.

I hated the prospect of going through a day without any message from him.

Except for many mini and maxi dates, Jaemin would also spoil me with plenty of encouraging notes of many kinds. Each massage from Jaemin was even sillier from the previous one. He never ceased to amaze me.

At first, Jaemin would stick post-it notes in different places in my room. Whenever I paid no attention, he would quickly write one for me to find it later. Whenever I saw sleep tight message stuck to my bedpost or you looked extra sexy today attached to the mirror, I smiled like an idiot, imaging Jaemin writing it.

If Jaemin forgot about post-it notes, he would always make it up to me by sending me corny direct messages. We would always text each other before sleep, and Jaemin never failed to make me smile with words such as:

If you happen to have wet dreams of me, you gotta tell me everything that happened. We can recreate it later.

I saw some sexy lingerie on my way home. Your ass would look amazing in it. I’m gonna buy it for you when I get my paycheck.

You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. Just kidding, I have to pee.

Whenever we went out, Jaemin would also scribble something either on a napkin or on a receipt. One time, Jaemin even gave a crumbled piece of paper that he was carrying in his pocket for some reason.

You know I’d give you my kidney, right? And a piece of the liver if you ask nicely. I hope you would do the same for me.

When we have kids, I’ll let you name the first one. Don’t fuck it up.

You’re my favorite pain in the ass.

You are stuck with me. You better get used to it.

Messy notes weren’t sufficient for Jaemin. Although I was more than content with the attention and affection he was giving me, it wasn’t enough for Jaemin. With each massage, he had to out-do himself.

Jaemin even wrote me a song! Or at least, he tried to write me a song. It was really bold of him to assume I didn’t know the lyrics to Jonas Brothers’ Sucker. I loved this song, and even though I perfectly knew it wasn’t Jaemin’s piece of work, I still appreciated the gesture.

Later on, his love letters reached another level of ridiculousness. Jaemin sent me a love e-mail, and if that doesn’t prove how extra he can get, I don’t know what can.

Jaemin didn’t stop there. No, it was just a warm-up.

When I was checking the mailbox, I found a paper plane stuck in between bills. Jaemin must’ve put it there, probably after one of his frequent visits to my apartment. Though the paper plane was a little bit crumbled, I found it incredibly adorable. On its wing, it had “open me” written with Jaemin’s messy handwriting. Inside there was a corny message that turned my insides in absolute cringe.

Your wings already exist. All you have to do is fly.

A few days later, Jaemin gave me a CD with the love playlist he had made for me. Carefully, he had chosen our favorite songs and burned them on a disc. I had no means to actually play it, but I adored the gesture.

Jaemin’s creativity did not disappoint. At this point, he might send me a love letter via a fax machine, and I wouldn’t be surprised. There were no limitations to his imagination, and it was one of the many things I loved about him.

Neither of us dropped the L-bomb yet, but we really didn’t need to. Though that dreaded word has yet to be spoken, we perfectly knew how we felt about each other. We would do anything for one another; no doubt in that.

Having exceeded my expectations, Jaemin proved himself worthy of being my boyfriend. Or rather, he showed me he was way out of my league. When he was bending over backward, I was passively basking in the glory of Jaemin’s confessions. Relationships were about giving and taking, and it seemed our balance was off.

It was time we switched roles. It was only fair if I tried to creep my way into his heart the way he had been wooing mine.

As soon as I cleaned up the apartment and pampered myself a little bit, I pulled out my phone, quickly texting Jaemin. Hopefully, he wasn’t that busy.

my love 💖 | 18:12 | U want to come over?

baNANA 🍓 | 18:16 | 😏

baNANA 🍓 | 18:16 | You miss me???

my love 💖 | 18:17 | 🤡 🤡 🤡 🤡 🤡

my love 💖 | 18:17 | nvm forget I asked

baNANA 🍓 | 18:17 | 😧 😧 😧

baNANA 🍓 | 18:18 | I’ll be in an hour

baNANA 🍓 | 18:18 | want me to bring anything?

my love 💖 | 18:19 | nah, just get your cute butt over here

baNANA 🍓 | 18:19 | ?????

baNANA 🍓 | 18:19 | are you high??

baNANA 🍓 | 18:19 | should I be concerned?

Okay, I had an hour to prepare something for our impromptu date. It was fine; it was more than enough than I needed. The apartment was already clean, so I just had to whip something to eat and cool the bubbles.

For some reason, I felt in a celebratory mood. Whatever tempo Jaemin and I had, it worked in two week periods. We had fake-dated for fourteen days before we called it quits. Then, we didn’t talk to each other for two weeks. Tonight another period came by, and I wanted to celebrate it, hoping to break the unfortunate chain of bad luck.

The alcohol was already in the refrigerator. Having put on an apron, I opened all the cabinets around the kitchen, quickly analyzing the ingredients and what I can make out of them. It wasn’t much, but pasta would have to be enough.

It wasn’t a fancy dish, but I was made it with love, so Jaemin shouldn’t have any complaints. Pouring my emotions into the pasta was to make it extra flavorful.

When the sauce was slowly cooking on the stove, I decorated the table. I wanted to provide Jaemin with some high-end restaurant experience despite being in my cramped apartment. It was the best thing out of two words; we had all privacy in the world offered by a homely atmosphere, but at the same time, we would eat some beautifully garnished food.

Just when I was about to drain the pasta, someone knocked on the doors.

“Coming,” I hollered before I put the pot in the sink, wiping my hands on the apron before making my way to answer the doors. “Hey there, beautiful,” I greeted Jaemin with a playful remark, standing on my toes to press a brief smooch on his adorable lips. It took him off guard, but in some sense, he liked it.

“Hey, it’s my line,” Jaemin nagged when his hands found purchase on my hips, bringing me closer for another kiss since one was never enough. “What do you have there? It smells delicious,” Jaemin turned his head, trying to peek inside to see what surprise I had prepared for him.

“You know, just some carbs,” I answered vaguely, sending him a playful smirk, not wanting to ruin the surprise. I wanted him to sit down at the table and wait for me to bring the whole dish and pour us some cheap champagne.

Jaemin took off his shoes, kicking them to the side. A second later, he handed me his coat, and I put it on the hanger. Jaemin was wearing a pair of gray jeans and a mint oversized hoodie, and I drooled over this comfortable look. He didn’t have to try hard to impress me.

“Just wait here. I’ll be back in a sec,” I spoke when I guided Jaemin to the table, forcing him to sit down in the chair. Jaemin wanted to help me out in the kitchen, but I firmly refused. Tonight I wished to impress Jaemin; he didn’t have to move a finger.

“I know it’s not much, but I hope you’ll still like it,” I whispered when I put a plate in front of him. “Dig in,” I added as I sat on the other side of the table, carefully trying to pop the champagne bottle open. Though I hated doing it, too afraid of breaking something or hurting someone, tonight I wanted to try it.

“What’s the occasion,” Jaemin wondered as he fondly watched me fight with the bottle. “Do you need some help? You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Jaemin offered, genuinely concerned about my safety. However, I just turned around, wanting to finish it by myself.

It took me good five minutes to pop it. And when I finally did it, Jaemin gave me a round of pitiful applause, officially declaring it’s his job from now on.

“It was just painful to watch,” Jaemin playfully commented, and I kicked his shin under the table, showing him how much appreciated his remark was. “So… what’s the occasion?”

“Do I really need to have a reason to spoil my boyfriend?” I innocently asked, batting my eyelashes, and Jaemin smiled at the word boyfriend. We had never discussed labels, but it was self-explanatory we were in a loving relationship. “I figured it’d be nice to give you some more attention,” I absentmindedly added as I reached for my phone to play some soft EDM music through the Bluetooth speaker.

“Is that it?” Jaemin wondered, gazing into my eyes, searching for any ulterior motive I might have. “Are you sure you’re not trying to butter me up before you say something I may not like? What did you do?” Jaemin inquired, and I chuckled loudly.

“Calm down, Na,” I spoke, making Jaemin look up at me once again. I only called him by his surname when I was extra affectionate, so he was curious what I was going to say. “I just wanted to hang out with you. That’s all,” I confessed, but Jaemin scrutinized his eyes, not really buying my innocent talk. “Okay, fine. There’s one more thing.”

“What is it?” Jaemin inquired, grinning at me.

“Can’t you already tell? I am trying to woo my way into your pants, duh,” I confessed, and Jaemin choked on his champagne as he did not expect this wording. “Your heart! I meant to say into your heart,” I corrected when I realized my little Freudian slip. “Wait, no, screw it. I second that. I want to get into both.”

“You’ve already got into one,” Jaemin declared with a lopsided smirk pinned to his face. “But... if you don’t suspect it already, you’re welcome in both,” he added mischievously, taking a sip of his alcohol. I, on the other hand, looked away, feeling the heat in my cheeks.

“Good to know.”

“Where are Jiwoo and Ten by the way?” Jaemin wondered as he looked around the apartment, finding it suspicious they didn’t crash our date yet. Under typical circumstances, Jiwoo or Ten would haul another chair to the table and steal the food, third-wheeling our date.

“Ten is at the dance studio. He’s having a dance competition next week, so he goes there every time he has some free time to practice. And Jiwoo is with Jaehyun. He came here to pick her up a few hours ago. I don’t think either of them is coming home anytime soon,” I explained, smirking. We had the place to ourselves.

Finally, we could bask in each other’s company without any intrusive guests.

“I’d like to cheers to that,” Jaemin raised his glass, clinking it gently against mine.

Having eaten the food, we moved to the couch.

“What now?” Jaemin asked as he stretched his arm, resting it on the back of the couch right over my shoulders.

“I have one more surprise,” I announced before I jumped to my feet. “Wait a second,” I added before bolting to my bedroom.

“What is it?” Jaemin inquired, having no clue what else I could surprise him with. “What do you have there?” He pressed, tilting his head to the side, trying to see what I was hiding behind my back.

“Let’s take some pictures,” I announced in excitement, showing him my Polaroid camera. “I finally bought some film, and I really want our photo in my wallet,” I added as I plopped down onto the couch, resting my head against Jaemin’s chest. “You take it,” I ordered, handing him the camera. After all, he was the prodigy of photography. Besides, his hands were longer than mine.

“I think that’s more than enough,” Jaemin spoke after snapping the twelfth picture.

Having put the camera on the coffee table, he wrapped his arms around me. Jaemin pulled me on his laps, embracing me tightly, placing a round of pecks against my temple.

“Wait! One more thing,” I hollered, leaning forward to reach for the envelope which was lying on the coffee table next to our photos.

“You can’t say it’s the last thing and then bring another one. That’s not how it works,” Jaemin nagged, a little flustered that I managed to find another excuse when he wanted to cuddle. “Who are you? A fitness instructor? When you say it’s the last one, it should be the last one. You can’t come up with new ones every three minutes.”

“I promise it’s the last one,” I sat cross-legged on the couch beside him, handing him the envelope. Cautiously, he pulled the card out of it, and I looked at him, studying his expression in excitement.

“Annoyingly, I like you way more than I’d originally planned,” Jaemin read the cover of the card, smiling widely at the passive-aggressive message. “It’s already good, and I didn’t even read what you wrote inside,” he commented before he leaned forward to kiss my forehead. “I don’t get it,” he added in confusion as he saw the blank page inside the card.

“It’s my love letter for you,” I clarified, but Jaemin was still clueless.

“It’s a blank page. You really have that little to say?” Jaemin asked, trying to make sense out of my card.

“That’s not how you were supposed to interpret that!” I yelled, climbing on his laps, wanting to tear the card out of his ungrateful hands. Unfortunately, Jaemin’s hands were longer than mine, so even when I was hovering over his thighs, I couldn’t reach it.

“How was I supposed to interpret that then?” Jaemin challenged, holding my hips, forcing them down on his laps.

“I wanted to write something meaningful, but I just couldn’t decide what. I have so many things I want to tell you, it wouldn’t even fit on the card,” I started, trying to find the best way to form a coherent sentence. “One way to interpret it is that you have to imagine it’s written in a very tiny font. Because I have so much to tell you, I wrote everything down, but you just can’t read it.”

“I like it,” Jaemin whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against my knuckles.

“Or you can say it’s blank because whenever I’m with you, my head is completely empty,” I added, chuckling at the corny confession. “Or you can assume there are no words to describe my feelings for you.”

“How is it possible that without writing anything, you managed to top all of my love letters?” Jaemin wondered, smiling at me. “What kind of sorcery is this?”

“No, Jaemin. You’re not giving yourself enough credit. I loved your love letters. They were silly, but at the same time, I could feel you really meant everything,” I reasoned, looking down at Jaemin’s lips, slowly leaning in for a delicate kiss.

“Okay, I have an idea,” Jaemin suddenly spoke as he grabbed my butt and threw me off his laps. “I need a pen,” he added, looking around the living room, finding the pen on the coffee table. In a hurry, he scribbled down something on the blank page of the card, making sure I couldn’t peek. “Here, I found my way to interpret it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Jaemin answered confidently, handing me the card. “Read it out loud for me.”

“Okay, I guess,” I cleared my throat before I opened the card. “My beloved Jaemin,” I read, looking at Jaemin’s face with a raised eyebrow. This was going to be good.

“Carry on,” he urged, and I shook my head, unable to believe I was going to do it.

“You’re the most handsome man I have ever seen. You’re also the smartest and the funniest. Not to mention, you’re the best kisser in the world. What the fuck is this?” I interjected, having doubts, knowing it was a bad idea.

“Just keep reading, babe,” Jaemin ordered, wanting me to carry on with his antics. “Though you’re no poet, it’s, by a huge margin, the best love letter I have ever received,” he added, blowing his ego way out of proportion, and I rolled my eyes.

“Now, when I look at you, I understand there’s not a chance I wouldn’t fall for you. So, since there’s not much space left, I just wanna tell you that I love you. I really love you, Jaemin.”

Before I managed to complain that he forced me to say the L-word first, Jaemin interjected.

“Finally, took you long enough,” he teased, and I sighed, wondering where to hit him first. “As if you haven’t figured it out yet, I love you, too.”

“You’re impossible,” I commented, still not quite sure if we just confessed to each other.

“I’m impossible not to fall in love with,” Jaemin corrected, once again hauling me back on his laps, taking my breath away with a fervent kiss. “How about you show me how you want to get into my pants, babe?”

Having had enough of Jaemin’s teasing, I decided not to comply with his request.

“I think you should go.”

“You’re right,” Jaemin agreed too quickly, and it made me alert. “Let’s go to your room because once I start pounding into you, I will not stop even if a group of nuns was about to break in and steal all of your shit,” he added as he picked me up, carrying me to my bedroom.

“You’re impossible,” I repeated my words when Jaemin threw me onto my bed before he landed on it right beside me.

“I think we’ve already discussed this,” he remarked, reminding me of the remark he had given me earlier. “So… where were we?” Jaemin asked as he put his hand on my side, pulling me closer. Soon enough, his palm slipped under the hem of my shirt, caressing my skin.

“Is it weird that the only thing I can think about is you eating me out?” I wondered out loud, stripped of all remains of dignity. Jaemin was in my bed, and I was planning on taking full advantage of it.

“Not at all, love,” Jaemin replied, showing me his eager smile. Quickly, he sat on his calves between my legs, taking his time to take off my jeans. “I thought about eating you out way too often ever since that thing in the bathroom,” Jaemin confessed as he threw my jeans across the room.

Though my panties were still on, Jaemin began his teasing. His soft lips trailed across my thighs, driving me crazy. His lips touched every inch of my skin except for the area I wanted the most. At this point, my panties were dripping wet, yet he didn’t even think of pulling them to the side, giving attention to my much-ignored core.

“You’re killing me,” I whispered, slowly losing patience. If Jaemin kept up with his antics, I’d combust out of sexual frustration. “Bold of you to assume I won’t let you taste your own medicine,” I warned Jaemin. It worked because as soon as I voiced my mischievous threat, Jaemin’s finger hooked under the hem of my panties, quickly pulling them down my legs.

“You’re no fun at all,” Jaemin clarified before his lips finally landed on my clit, making me buckle my hips in an instant. Slowly, his mouth moved against my sweet spot, and I arched my back with each swirl of his tongue.

Though he barely started, I could feel the electricity coursing through my body. In my state of permanent frustration, it wouldn’t be difficult for Jaemin to make me come against his mouth.

Getting into it, Jaemin squeezed my hips, trying to keep me still when he ate me out. His jaw was dripping in my juices as he made his way down to lick my folds.

“Fuck,” I moaned loudly when Jaemin’s nose rubbed my clit when he was running his tongue all over my entrance. “I think I am gonna come,” I admitted what made Jaemin smirk through the kiss. Jaemin barely touched me, but I was already close.

“Come for me,” Jaemin urged, releasing my hips from his firm grip. Now when I could buckle my hips against his face, my orgasm was just seconds away. With my hand in his hair, I rocked my hips, basking in pleasure.

“I need your fingers,” I begged, and Jaemin quickly obeyed my shameful plea. I expected him to tease me further, denying me his long fingers, but he was kind enough to do anything to make me come.

Thanks to my juices and Jaemin’s saliva, his two fingers slid right in.

“Fuck,” I shouted at the top of my voice when the wave of pleasure shot right through me. Jaemin’s jaw still played with my clit as he continued his actions throughout the orgasm.

“You blew my mind, Jaemin,” I muttered after I regained my focus after he had made me come on his face. “I came so hard,” I confessed, smiling like an idiot. It was way too long ever since someone made me feel this good.

“You better get used to it because I am planning this to be a frequent occurrence,” Jaemin whispered, looking at my face as if it was an art piece. “Do you have condoms?” he casually asked as he pulled down his jeans. His erected cock was restrained in the denim fabric, and Jaemin needed to get rid of it.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” I replied as I opened the bedside table and threw a brand new package of condoms at Jaemin’s chest. “Jiwoo got me those after she walked on our pillow fight the other day. Apparently, she doesn’t want any cum stains on the couch.”

For a while, we were lying on the bed, staring at each other. Jaemin gave me some time to recover from my orgasm. According to him, I needed to take breaks because he didn’t want to over-stimulate me too soon.

“I really love you,” Jaemin confessed genuinely, and I quickly rolled closer to him, giving him another chase smooch. His confession was music to my ears, and I could listen to it on repeat without getting tired of it.

“I love you, too,” I quickly replied, leaning in for another kiss. With his hand on my cheek, he deepened the kiss, giving us another chance to get lost in the love trance.

Having thrown my leg over his hipbone, I hovered over his erection.

“Let me take care of you,” I said as I pulled away from the kiss. With a playful smirk upon my face, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Slowly after, my bra followed suit, and Jaemin grunted upon seeing me completely naked in front of him.

“Sexy,” he purred before he eagerly took off his hoodie, throwing it onto the floor. “On a second thought, maybe you should put something on. You’re too sexy, and I’d like to last longer,” Jaemin explained, handing me his hoodie so I could cover myself up. “No, it’s even worse. Take it off,” he changed his mind after seeing me in his clothes.

Carefully, I pulled Jaemin’s boxers down his legs, letting his rock hard cock spring free. Biting on my lips, I grabbed his erection, giving it a few gentle strokes.

“Fuck it, I am ready,” Jaemin yelled, placing his hand over mine, making me stop. “You have all the time in the world to blow me. Right now, I want to feel you,” he added, quickly pulling out a condom from its packaging.

“Let me at least roll it down for you,” I offered, and Jaemin sighed, weighing his options.

“Nah, I am not willing to take that risk,” Jaemin answered, proceeding to wrap his cock by himself. “Now, come here, sit down on it,” he urged, and I shook my head. Smiling like an idiot, I guided his cock towards my entrance, slowly sinking down on his length.

“You’re good?” I asked, trying to guess what was going on inside his brain. Judging by his sour expression, he must’ve been thinking about something terrible in order to stop himself from coming too soon.

“Yes, everything’s cool,” he reassured, and I took it as permission to gently rock my hips back and forth. Whenever I moved, Jaemin kept grunting quietly. Apparently, he also suffered from sexual frustration.

My hands were wandering all over his muscular chest, admiring his athletic built. My hips were moving at a steady rhythm, but whenever I happened to increase the tempo, Jaemin would slow me down with a firm grip on my hips.

“If you keep doing that, I might spank you,” Jaemin warned me, but it only made me want to disobey more. “Why did I even expect you to be a good girl?” Jaemin asked, rolling his eyes.

“Spank me,” I ordered, trying my best not to chuckle. “I dare you,” I added, pushing the right buttons. “Like that,” I moaned when Jaemin’s hand collided against my butt, shaking me with newfound excitement.

“You’re impossible,” Jaemin comment, still in shock after discovering how much into spanking I happened to be.

“I’m impossible not to fall in love with,” I remarked, using Jaemin’s own words against him.

Unable to handle my teasing, Jaemin sat up. “I love you so much,” Jaemin stated once again before he looked at my lips, kissing them. Now, when I was distracted by his tongue, it was easier for him to control my movement.

In our upgraded position, I significantly slowed down. Carefully, I moved up and down Jaemin’s cock, while he sneaked his hand between our entangled bodies, rubbing my clit. I was close, and I was about to come again.

I didn’t know what he was so self-conscious about. No doubt I would come first.

“Jaemin, I am coming,” I breathed out, messing up my rhythm. It was difficult to maintain the same tempo when Jaemin was playing with my clit. Jaemin’s lips moved down my neck, finding a perfect spot on my collarbone to leave a hickey.

“Me, too,” Jaemin whispered as he began thrusting from underneath me, now desperate to push the both of us off the edge. “You’re so tight, fuck,” he cursed as my walls started to swell around his throbbing cock.

Jaemin moaned against my skin, muffling his sinful sounds. I, on the other hand, screamed Jaemin’s name at the top of my voice, telling everybody in the world he was the person, making me feel this good.

Having fallen onto the sheets, we looked into each other’s eyes. We were panting as if we just ran a marathon. Not that I had any doubts, but Jaemin turned out to be a passionate lover, and it made me love him even more.

“You’re beautiful,” Jaemin complimented me, staring at my face in utter admiration. “I am so lucky,” he added, and I moved closer, snuggling up to him. It was still early, but I was so fucked out, I could fall asleep right there in his arms.

Having pulled me closer to his chest, Jaemin threw a duvet over our sweaty bodies. His fingers were tracing shapes on my shoulder when he pressed yet another peck against my temple.

“Are you down for another round?” Jaemin asked as he discarded the full condom. His cock was still semi-hard. In a few minutes, Jaemin would be ready for some more. “It’s cool if you’re not,” he added, trying not to put any pressure on me.

“I want you to do me all night,” I confessed, looking over my shoulder at the clock. It’s only 8 pm, and I could stay up till daylight with Jaemin.

“Do you want to go bowling tomorrow?” Jaemin asked, and I eagerly nodded. It was fun the last time I had joined the boys on their monthly trip to the bowling alley. Besides, I would be the first woman to break the unfortunate one-time-only curse. I couldn’t wait to show up two months in a row.

“I’d love that,” I answered, snuggling closer to Jaemin’s side.

In content, we basked in happiness until Jaemin regained enough energy to go for the third time. However, this time around, it was slow and steamy. Under the covers, Jaemin crawled on top of me, kissing every inch of my body.

“Do you want to roll it down on me? I think I can handle that,” Jaemin asked, and I reached for the condom, carefully rolling it down his length. “I wish I could fuck you without one, though,” he added, and I flicked his forehead, making him whine. “I’ll pull out.”

“I trust you, but it’s still a no from me,” I replied, guiding his cock into my entrance. Inch by inch, Jaemin pushed himself all the way in. “You fill me up so well,” I praised, purring into his ear. “I love your cock.”

Distance between our bodies was practically nonexistent. Jaemin was slowly snapping his hips, rubbing his pelvic bone against my clit, turning me into a moaning mess. I wouldn’t be surprised if my neighbors called the police because of all the noise coming from my bedroom.

“One day, you’ll let me fuck you raw. I’ll make sure you do,” Jaemin carried on, and I hissed, feeling the approaching orgasm. I didn’t even bother to comment on Jaemin’s statement. I was whipped for him. I knew I wasn’t able to maintain my assertive stance for long. Eventually, I’d cave in, letting him fuck me without a condom. It wasn’t today, though.

“In your dreams, lover boy,” I answered, but Jaemin just giggled, knowing I wasn’t serious.

“You have no idea how many times we’ve done it raw in my dreams,” Jaemin confessed as he picked up his pace, pounding into my pussy, making me moan at the sudden speed. “One day, I’ll tell you all about my fantasies, but right now, I really want this pussy to cream around my cock,” he added, his filthy words making my walls squeeze around his length.

“You wait until I tell you mine,” I challenged with a smirk. If Jaemin thought he was the only one with a dirty mind, he was seriously mistaken. While most of my fantasies were PG-13, there was still a large portion of naughty scenarios. Now, when Jaemin and I were finally together, it would be fun to try to recreate at least some of them.

“You better come because I can’t go much longer,” Jaemin warned me, pounding in and out, chasing his own release. “Fuck,” he yelled, falling on top of me as he shot his load into the condom. His cock twitched inside of me as he moved slowly, riding out his orgasm.

“Jaemin,” I hollered, coming undone underneath him. Despite the other peaks, this orgasm hit me the hardest. For a brief second, my vision turned black as I gave in to the pleasure.

Breathlessly, I lay in the sheets, slowly descending from my high.

“I think all I can do tonight is cuddle,” I commented, feeling too fucked out to engage in any other form of affection. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“It’s okay. I can carry you around the house,” Jaemin answered, finding a solution for my problem. Having pulled his limp cock out of me, Jaemin rolled down another condom, putting it aside.

“What is it?” Jaemin asked as he heard a noise from the living room.

“It sounded as if someone was knocking on the doors,” I spoke, trying to identify the sound. “It must be a courier for Jiwoo. She keeps ordering stuff online. It’s probably the late evening delivery she forgot about. Can you get it?”

“No problem, babe,” Jaemin answered as he put on his jeans, walking around the bed to answer the door.

At first, I wanted to wait for Jaemin in bed. However, it’s been like three minutes, and he didn’t come back, so I found it weird.

Having put on Jaemin’s hoodie and a pair of leggings, I made my way out of the room.

Jaemin was standing by the doors, looking inside a plastic bag. Whatever it was, it smelled like Thai food. Unfortunately, it didn’t explain anything. We were here alone, and we didn’t order anything.

Just when I was about to open my mouth and ask Jaemin what the hell was going on, Ten walked out of his room. It was strange, but I saw him leave, and I didn’t hear him come back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked angrily, trying to hide my embarrassment. If he was here the whole time, he must’ve heard us having sex.

“I live here, duh,” Ten answered matter-of-factly, choosing not to give me the explanation which I desperately needed. “I think it’s mine,” Ten spoke as he walked up to Jaemin to take his Thai takeout.

Although Jaemin and I were standing in the living room in complete consternation, Ten didn’t seem to pay any attention to it. In front of his bedroom, Ten stopped in his tracks, turning his head to face me.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Ten spoke, making me even more embarrassed. “Three times, wow. It’s impressive. Don’t fuck this up, dear. He’s a keeper,” Ten added, sending me a playful wink before he disappeared inside his room.

919 notes · View notes

nateezfics · 4 years ago

Text

I’ve been watching the anime Vampire Knight again and my mind is going insane. Like...I am absolutely crazy for spending so much time on this. Below the cut is me brainstorming and running away with an idea.

Imagine going to a private university where the student body is split in two parts. The day class and the night class. These two classes never cross as it is forbidden. The day class knows nothing more than that there is a night class, but the rest is a mystery. Not a single student of the light has seen a night time student. The daytime students do not know the the school’s dark secret. They do not know that the night class is full of vampires, vampires who wish to turn away from their evil natures. Though they are learning to keep their inner monsters at bay, they are still a potential danger to the day students, hence the separation.

You are the president of the women’s dormitories, and also part of the night watch. One night, after reprimanding two wandering students and sending them back to their dorm, you are confronted by two dashingly beautiful men. They wear uniforms with the school’s emblem, but you’ve never seen them before. It dawns on you that these must be students from the enigmatic night class. Their otherworldly beauty, their sharp fangs, their glowing eyes....everything about them seems...inhuman. Before you can blink, they close in on you, and then everything turns black.

When you awake, you realize much to your horror and confusion that you are not in your dorm. You’re in an unknown place. Soon you’re surrounded by a group of men, all who share the quality of dazzling beauty. As they gaze upon you with illuminated eyes, you realize that the night class is more than a class of students...it is a coven of vampires. You wonder what in the world you’ve been dragged into.

The Night Class

Hongjoong; Night class student president; president of the men’s dormitory (night class); level A/pure blood vampire

Hongjoong was the first student in Cross Academy’s night class

Befriended the Headmaster many years ago and the two shared a common interest: to see humans and vampires living harmoniously

Hongjoong originally fed on humans, but after meeting the Headmaster, decided to change his ways and fight against his own nature

Hongjoong helped give way to Headmaster’s dream of using Cross Academy as a way for vampires to better themselves

Hongjoong is several centuries old

He is a pure blood within level A, the top tier of the vampire class system, making him one of the most powerful and feared vampires around

The Kim family is one of the few remaining pure blood families

Saved the reader many years ago when she was only a small child from being killed by a vampire

Cared for her through the night and brought her to the Headmaster’s doorstep

Hongjoong follows the university’s strict rule of keeping himself and the night class hidden, despite wanting to check up on the reader who does not remember him

He is a kind vampire, but has a stained past which he tries to overcome

Is respected amongst both the school’s night class students and the vampire realm

Though he does get flack from the Vampire Council for trying to resist his vampire nature and being so friendly with humans

Seonghwa; Night class student secretary; right hand to the night class president; level A/pure blood vampire

Seonghwa is an old friend to Hongjoong, the two of them knowing each other for centuries

He is older than Hongjoong

Did not agree with Hongjoong’s theology at first, but eventually decided to join him at the academy

Seonghwa often acts as Hongjoong’s voice of reason, mostly because he helps keep the rest of the night class in check

If Hongjoong is away, Seonghwa acts as temporary president

Is a bit less ruthless than Hongjoong in terms of discipline, and he often gets called the “mother of the night class” due to his nurturing nature

He is a pure blooded vampire from the Park family, another powerful vampire line

He is not too fond of humans per se, but tries to follow along with Hongjoong, and tries to understand that their lives are precious

Him and Hongjoong both rely the least on blood pills (pills that act as a placebo to quench a vampire’s desire for actual blood from humans) due to having been in the academy the longest

Yunho; Day watcher/enforcer for the night class; hunter; level B/aristocratic vampire

Unlike the former two vampires, Yunho is not a pure blood

Meaning somewhere in his ancestry there are humans who’d been turned

Comes from a wealthy family, earning him the status of level B vampire

Has always been kind to humans somewhat, never preying on the innocent but instead preying on the evil, wrong doing humans like criminals

Befriends the Headmaster and joins the academy by his request

It doesn’t take long for Yunho to fall in line with the hope of one day living along side humans

Yunho watches over the night class section of campus and its dorms during the day to make sure no day students wander too close.

Carries out punishments to night class students at Hongjoong’s judgement

Often aids the Vampire Council in hunting and eliminating rogue level D vampires

Will also follow Hongjoong along side his missions to recruit more vampires into the academy

Is slowly trying to become less reliant on blood pills

Yeosang; Night class’ top student; scholar; level B/aristocratic vampire

Yeosang was recruited by Hongjoong to join, but at first was unwilling to join

He only decided to go to Cross Academy because of his ages old friend, Wooyoung

He’s an extremely picky eater

Always preyed on humans with a certain blood type and humans that came from high society families

After coming to the academy, Yeosang struggled with denying his bloodlust

His dislike for the blood pills didn’t help

Learned to keep it under control when he decided to just hunt for animals around the university’s campus

Is indifferent about wanting to be harmonious with humans

Despite this, he is the top student of the night class, having shown the most growth and progress

He’s a man of knowledge, loves to spend time in the library

He’s very sharp tongued, and often makes condescending quips about the other night class vampires, especially San

Does not use blood pills, rather he just feeds straight from animals

San; Night class transporter/gatekeeper; level C/common vampire

He’s in charge of leading the night class from their dorms to the main building

He makes sure all the day students are out of the building and classrooms

Usually has to wait for an all clear from the Headmaster

San was the first commoner, level C vampire to enroll at Cross Academy

Commoner vampires are normal, every day people, usually they are the vampires that walk amongst humans the most

San is incredibly powerful for a level C, and this is why Hongjoong recruited him

Isn’t quite sure how he feels about denying his vampire nature, but his respect for Hongjoong and his close lineage to humans compels him to try

Wooyoung is his companion, whether romantically or platonically is something the night class is always trying to find out

The two are inseparable

San came before Wooyoung, and when the latter first started at the academy, the two vampires quickly bonded over both being level C’s

San requires many blood pills a day

Being a level C means there is a lot of humanity in his lineage which also makes him most likely to go berserk and turn into a level D vampire, a mindless feral being

Mingi; Night class bookkeeper; scribe; level A/pure blood vampire

Mingi is somewhat of a right hand to the right hand

He often aids Seonghwa in managing the more tedious side parts of the night class, like paperwork

Mingi keeps record of all complaints, new students, dorm inspections, punishments, and schedules for each day

He also tends to the library as well as the music/recreation hall

Yunho is responsible for his presence at the academy

Mingi quickly earns respect from Hongjoong, and becomes Hongjoong’s left hand man with Seonghwa as his right

Mingi is tender hearted, and always struggled with his vampire nature

Feeding on humans was something he never enjoyed, a strange trait for a being with not a single ounce of humanity in his bloodline

Mingi often acts the source of cheer amongst the night class

He likes to compose, and sometimes he will play for the other vampires to allow everyone to unwind

The Song family was always close with the Jeong family, and because of this Yunho and Mingi have known each for a very long time

Does not rely on blood pills all that much, but takes them as soon as he feels any amount thirst for blood because he does not like the feeling of bloodlust and the way it reminds him of how evil his kind is

Wooyoung; Class socialite; level C/common vampire

Wooyoung is a common vampire like San, but this does not keep him from befriending vampires of all classes

He is very extroverted, and Hongjoong believes his love for socializing will one day help bring humans and vampires together

Wooyoung has no official role within the night class, but helps where he can

He maintains an upbeat atmosphere within the class along with Mingi

He often gets on the other vampires’ nerves, especially Seonghwa

He loves to cause mischief and naturally Seonghwa is the victim more often than not

Yeosang is a common target as well, but he remains aloof to his friend’s shenanigans

Wooyoung learned very quickly on to never pull anything on Hongjoong, he was scolded by the elder vampire so bad that he refused to leave his dorm room for a week

He’s always with San, and secretly loves it when Yeosang makes jests about them being a “couple”

Wooyoung often attempts to sneak around the day class dorms, just to take a peek, but Jongho always catches him

He takes blood pills regularly

Jongho; Day watcher/enforcer for the night class; hunter; level B/aristocratic vampire

Jongho has a reputation amongst the vampire realm of being a champion hunter

His strength knows very few rivals despite him being a fairly young vampire

Was commissioned by the Council centuries ago to be a hunter

Jongho mainly hunts level D vampires now, especially after enrolling at the university

But he used to hunt vampire hunters - humans who specialize in eliminating vampires of all levels

Jongho’s strength is normally enough of a deterrent to keep night class students from pulling anything stupid

Though Wooyoung often pushes his luck

With Yunho, the night class section of the campus is secure

Isn’t exactly onboard with Hongjoong and Headmaster’s ideals

He sees humans as lesser than

But Hongjoong is working with him, and slowly Jongho is beginning to reform

He may be the youngest, but everyone (even Hongjoong) is somewhat intimidated by him

The Day Class

Reader; Night watcher/enforcer for the day class; president of the women’s dormitory; human

When you were young, you were out with your family one evening

You were attacked by a strange man

He killed your parents right before your eyes

Before he could harm you, someone rescued you

Your savior had the same glowing eyes as the man who killed your parents, but for some reason, you trusted him

He was so kind to you, and even brought you to someone who could take care of you

You don’t remember him in the years to come, save for his glowing eyes

But as the years pass, you dream of his eyes, wondering if you’ll ever find him one day

The academy’s Headmaster raises you as his own, and naturally when it came time for you to attend university, you chose to attend Cross Academy

You take your role as dorm president seriously

And you never miss a shift as night watcher

With all your responsibilities, you don’t have much free time

But late at night while you rest, you ponder about the night class

Your father never tells you anything when you ask

Something tells you there’s more to it all, more to the story

Fortunately, or maybe not so fortunately, you find out the mystery soon enough

#ateez headcanons #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez vampire au #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #yeosang smut #san smut #mingi smut #wooyoung smut #jongho smut

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startanewdream · 4 years ago

Text

"Wish I'd left it there"

Hinny's first kiss in the movies really annoys me, but the script had a line about them talking about Tom Riddle's diary that was actually good (and missed in the books). I thought about that scene after seeing a giftset and then I just started writing a few words about a possible conversation between Harry and Ginny, the night before the Final Quidditch Match (aka the day before they kiss).

Hope it makes some sense!

There is a miserable look on Harry’s eyes that feels strangely familiar to Ginny. It is not that he doesn’t have any reason to be upset on this day; it is the evening of the final Quidditch match, Harry won’t play, he has weeks of detention ahead and he got scared after being involved with a dark art spell.

But the look on his eyes as he stares at the book on his hand - that is not related to any of these reasons.

She is not really surprised when she sees what book he is holding. The potions handbook that she knows was borrowed hurriedly at the library that morning, before Slughorn’s class. After all, Harry hid his original book the day before.

The Half-Blood Prince’s book.

The book that taught him many spells and gave him many tips, a book that Harry treated like an old friend, until… until the book betrayed him. That’s a feeling Ginny knows too well.

She remembers how it was after Christmas in her First Year, when she threw away Tom Riddle’s diary; she tried to get another book to replace it, a place where she could safely put her thoughts. She even wrote a few words, but it wasn’t the same.

Ginny remembers feeling betrayed by the diary, by what it made her do, and yet missing it like a part of herself. That’s the expression on Harry’s face.

He is alone on the couch in front of the fire. Ginny tells herself that she shouldn’t do anything - Ron and Hermione are probably more suited to talk to him, she has a few notes to study or she should even be sleeping before the last match -, but instead she finds herself drawn to Harry's side, sitting next to him.

‘Hey’, she tells and he jumps, his face colouring as it happens lately when she is near. Harry smiles, though it is more of a grimace, and Ginny tries not to let it bother her.

Before yesterday, before he casted that curse, Ginny could swear there was something happening between her and Harry - a sort of dance where they were getting closer and closer, almost touching and recoiling at the last moment, both of them waiting for the right signal to... to it happen. But ever since that story with the dark spell, Harry had withdrawn, avoiding to look at her as if he had let her down somehow, and Ginny had seen the shadow on his eyes as he talked about Dean rejoining the team.

Ginny doesn't really hate that half-blood prince for writing down a nasty spell, but she surely hates him for making Harry miserable. No book should have that power.

‘Hi’, he answers, a little late. ‘Thought you were sleeping already’.

‘Before the match? Too nervous’. She tries to grin, hoping it might infect him a little. ‘I was actually studying History of Magic’.

There is a faint amusement in his eyes now. ‘Wow’.

‘Yeah, I thought, it may make me sleepy or I might actually learn something. Win-win in any case’.

‘Sleepy is better’.

‘And there goes my attempt to get nine OWLS’.

‘Why nine?’

‘It’s more than Ron got. I hope it’s enough to ease Mom since I didn’t get the prefect badge’.

‘Who would want to be prefect?’

‘Not me - imagine being on rounds in a perfect nice Friday night?’, she asks, still light, and Harry looks around briefly, as if he only now realizes what was on Ginny’s mind for a while. They are nearly the last ones in the Common Room.

‘Oh’. Harry bits his lips, the pink in his skin now reaching his neck as the corners of his lips lift up. ‘It’s a nice night’.

And then, finally, Harry is looking at her as he does these days - eyes sparkling, nervous and excited at the same time, his gaze falling to her lips as if he feels drawn to it, before his eyes move to take in her face, every little detail, as if he was tasked to memorize it.

By the amount of time Ginny has caught him staring at her lately, she thinks he could draw her face if he wants to.

‘Ginny’, he whispers tentatively, and her lips part, tongue wettening them almost involuntarily; Harry’s eyes watch that movement and now there is fire on them. ‘I -’

But his words are cut when there is a heavy thump and they look down at the same time to watch the potions handbook opened on the floor. There are only the author’s writings on them; no words scribbled on the pages.

Harry backs away, his face troubled now. Ginny knows she ought to go away too, to give Harry an awkward smile and acknowledge that their moment is over, but she stays.

As easy as it feels when she is around him, it wasn’t to flirt that she went to talk to him in the first place.

‘It is not your fault’, she tells him bluntly. Harry eyes her warily.

‘I casted the spell. I won’t try to -’

‘I meant to trust him. That Prince guy’.

‘Oh’. He looks at the book on his hand. ‘Dunno. I feel stupid’.

‘For trusting a book that ended up disappointing you?’, she asks, inviting him to join her weird joke. Harry blushes, looking strangely flustered about what she is saying.

‘It is not like that, the diary was… truly evil’.

It seems like there is more he wants to say, but Harry looks away.

Ginny shrugs. ‘I know it was evil. Even then, even before I knew to whom it belonged, I knew it was evil and still… I missed it a lot. I tried to get rid of it twice, you know?’

Harry shakes his head. ‘I know about that time you threw it away in Moaning Myrtle’s toilet’.

She gives a reluctant laugh. ‘Not by best moment’, she acknowledges. Harry almost smiles. ‘Before that, before Christmas, I tried to hide in the same place you did. The Room of Requirement, though I didn’t know then what it was. Wish I’d left it forever’.

‘Oh. I never knew’.

‘Yeah, and I spent all holiday Christmas missing it like hell. I was miserable. I thought about it all the time. I would get angry when I saw other books, because it wasn’t the one I wanted’. She pauses. ‘No wonder I took it back first thing’.

Harry looks sheepishly, understanding what she means. ‘I won’t take it back’, he whispers. ‘Not just because of Snape finding out, I just - I just don’t want it right now’.

‘He betrayed you’, she summarizes. Harry startles as if he didn’t think about it in those terms before. ‘I think you should leave it there for a while. Try to forget it. Don't get too attached to it’.

‘Clean myself out of it?’

‘You are not tainted’, she says. Not like she was, she thinks.

Harry’s eyes are hard now, fierce. ‘Neither are you’, he tells her. ‘That diary… his soul… there is nothing of him on you. You are bright and powerful in a way Voldemort could never be’.

She should shudder at the name, but with the way Harry says it, with the resolution in his eyes that leave no room for her self-doubt, Ginny doesn’t fear Voldemort. Harry may have spoken about her brightness, but she thinks his lightness is powerful too, much stronger than the shadow of Voldemort’s name.

‘You can love’, he adds, his voice tender now, and though Ginny can think of a lot of people that she loves - her family, her friends -, she thinks of another type of love, one that she hopes to share with someone someday.

Not anyone. Maybe a special someone, she thinks, admiring the green in his eyes.

‘You can too’, she whispers back. There is a flash of surprise on his eyes, and Ginny wonders if Harry ever heard that he is loved; if he remembers it. But she doesn’t doubt that he can love and he knows it; he is too compassionate to not feel love.

And she wonders if he ever thinks of sharing a different kind of love with someone too.

But for now, she just picks up the book on the floor and gives it back to him.

‘It is just a book’, she says, raising.

Harry nods. ‘Just a stupid book’, he agrees.

‘I’m gonna sleep now - good night, Harry’.

‘Good night’. There is a pause. ‘Catch the snitch tomorrow, yes?’

‘I will wait for you with the snitch on my hand’, she promises him, giving him a small smile. ‘It’s a promise’.

Something flickers in Harry’s eyes, a faint glint of hope that makes Ginny think that tomorrow might be better. Tomorrow might be the day where their dance change tunes. ‘I’ll be waiting’.

#hinny #t: fanfiction #missing moments #hinny fanfic #ginny weasley #harry potter

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blzzrdstryr · 4 years ago

Text

Misery

Sadistic!Yandere!Diluc x Fatui Harbinger!GN!reader

Wordcount: 6748

CW: torture, sex, foul language, isolation, sensory deprivation, extremely unhealthy relationships, dubcon, mindbreak, violence

Diluc isn’t a cruel person. Not necessarily. He punishes you only when you are difficult and for the last few weeks you tried to stay on your best behavior. Ragnvindr is nice to you, benevolent even, willing to look past your former affiliations and shower you with love. At times his affections seem suffocating and irking, blood red eyes following your every movement and him absorbing your every word as if it is a holy scripture, but you remind yourself that his love is the best thing that happened to you in your whole life.

Truly, Diluc is so kind to take you in and help you fix the errors of your old ways, even when you were snarling and spitting insults in his face, too stubborn to see how wrong your old life was. You were ignorant and ungrateful back then, seeing nothing but a Harbinger title and service to Tsaritsa. You forced Diluc to lock you up to make you realize that you didn't need your title or your vision or your archon. He is there for you and it's all that matters, you can rely on him for everything and he is happy to provide, persistent in his care for you and even now he is patient with your… deficiencies, waiting when you stop staring into the distance with vacant eyes.

You stand in front of an open but barred window, a typically Mondstadtian landscape revealed to you - bright green grass and patches of dandelions and windwheel asters growing in small groups with tall trees of the same shade finishing the picture. A gentle breeze flows through the opening, playing with your hair and caressing your skin, yet you imagine another type of wind - stronger and colder, relentless and carrying small snowflakes on the way. You close the eyes and see another image - tall, leafless trees covered by multiple layers of snow and the white ground between them. Snow shines and glitters under the pale winter sun, and you feel alive and bitter at the same time.

You know the place, having been there once, but your memory now is too blurry and fuzzy. All of the events prior to Diluc fixing you up are too foggy to make out the finer details and it somehow makes you feel sad, when you should be grateful instead. Tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t make them stop, rapidly going from silent crying to full on hysterics.

You hear Diluc asking what’s wrong with a concern in his voice, his hands slightly shaking your crying form. You can’t answer him, wailing even louder and stronger, hiding your face in both hands, ashamed from the sudden outburst and overwhelmed from unreasoned sorrow and heartache. Only when Ragnvindr painfully squeezes both of your shoulders and demands to know what is wrong with you in that tone that makes you shiver and gasp, do you stop, looking at him with wide scared eyes, hands that were used to cover your face, are now up in the air in a semi defensive stance.

He seems uncomfortable by your reaction, a slight frown appearing on his face, scarlet brows knit together and corners of mouth turned downward. “I am sorry”, you say, voice small and pleading, eyes casted aside not meeting his out of embarrassment. Why did you start to act so childish out of the blue?

“There’s nothing to apologize”, Diluc takes off the glove, using an uncovered hand to wipe away the tear tracks from your cheeks. There’s no irritation in his voice, just concern, so you risk a glance at him, as he continues: “You are just making me worry”

“I am sorry” you repeat, feeling a prick to your heart, as you process his words - Ragnvindr is so good to you, providing with everything you could ever ask of, and here you are, making him concerned and anxious over some silly daydreams. “It’s really nothing, I just need to be more attentive, that’s it”

You noticed that it’s harder for you to stay in the moment as you start to frequently space out, mind too occupied by the memories of days long past - playing with peers, entering Fatui, receiving a delusion. It’s a futile thing, but images still consume all of your attention and focus, keeping you from sleeping and eating.

“[First], I...” he starts, but then trails off, huffing to mask his hesitancy. Instead of talking he takes your face in one hand and leans in, his lips meeting yours. It's a slow and gentle kiss at first, but just like all other things with Diluc it quickly escalates into something more: his hands now take you by your waist and tug you closer to him, making you press with your entire chest against him, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue freely exploring the confines of your mouth as you moan into his from pleasure and such close proximity.

When you two part, Diluc leaves you flushed and dizzy, with heart quickly pounding against the ribcage. You feel a fire of arousal igniting inside of you, it travels from your chest to belly and soon spreads to the rest of the body. Your cheeks heat up as you stand up on tiptoes to whisper “Can we do it right now?” in Diluc’s ear, voice full of both shame and anticipation.

“Of course, my dear”, there are hints of a smile in his tone and he effortlessly lifts you up and heads for the bedroom and as he carries you you can’t help but zone out again, the memories of past days flashing in your mind.

***

Your first meeting happens during one winter night, as you receive the order to deal with him day prior, at a Harbinger meeting in the Zapolyarny palace. Eleven of you stay kneeling in the main hall, awaiting for Her Majesty to come in as Scaramouche and Tartaglia start to bicker as usual.

“I bet it’s about that mysterious person who’s destroying one stronghold after the other” Childe starts, voice full of bravado and smugness, fake smile blooming on his face: “Fortunately, Tsaritsa has me to take on whatever this stranger is”.

“I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you, Tartaglia”, Scaramouche remarks, almost spitting out the last word.

“Why shouldn’t I? I am the youngest here, yet I am also the strongest. Why are you so upset? Feeling envious of my power?” Childe retorts, voice still sounding too cheery to be natural.

“If there was anything to envy. You may be the best at fighting among us, but it’s the only thing you are good at”.

“Huh, it seems I was wrong. Maybe little Scaramouche wants to be as tall as me and that’s why he spits out his funny silly slander”.

It must have struck the nerve, as Scaramouche snaps back with an angry tirade, from which their exchange escalates into a heated battle of barely hidden insults. You, just as the rest of other Harbingers listen to their conversation, half amused and half irritated, lifting the brows at the creative mockings.

“Silence”, domineering and overpowering voice says and you still yourself, eyes casted downwards, as Childe and Scaramouche stop their exchange at the same moment. Footsteps echo throughout the hall, as a feminine figure takes its place on a high throne in the middle of the hall. Tsaritsa has arrived.

“As I can see my children already know about the perpetrator attacking my servants” archon starts, divine power and absolute authority evident in each syllable. You feel how the deity’s eyes look at all of you, despite still keeping head bowed and stance obedient.

“Innamorati”, you hear your title and lift up your gaze, ready to take whatever order the Goddess has for you.

“I entrust you with this task, don’t disappoint me”.

***

Diluc is not a coward and he never was one, but now he can’t help but feel a pang of fear, looking at your approaching form.

“Let’s test our delusions, shall we?”, you almost purr, voice soft, silken smooth and full of unspoken threat. It sends shivers down his spine, yet he still equips this cursed thing and braces himself for the upcoming battle.

There’s a stillness in your moves, a confidence that whatever Diluc has in his arsenal, you can endure and answer with something deadly in return. This dangerous calm both disturbs and excites young Ragnvindr.

He lashes out on you with a stream of accursed chains, filling the air with the sickly sweet scent of mist grass. You easily side step his attack, letting out a cheerless laugh and then come back with a cold gust, frost air currents easily cutting through his skin.

He barely dodges the attack, slowly registering the pain from injury. It’s a shallow cut and a testament to your strength, Diluc thinks, as he touches the scrape, marvelling at your speed. In the end, Diluc can’t stand against you - you’re stronger, have more experience and infinitely faster than him, bringing down one overwhelming attack after the other, a catalyst shining and glowing as you do so.

He jumps and ducks and runs, avoiding one hit after the other, yet there's only so much his body can do. Soon his limbs grow heavier and his breathing labored, Diluc slows down and that's when your attack finally strikes him. It pierces his body, pools of blood quickly forming under him.

Diluc falls down, his battered body no longer able to stand. Memories and regrets alike flood his mind, reminding him of deeds he wishes he did and deeds he wishes he didn’t. He remembers his childhood - all daydreams and high hopes, the world around him bright and friendly. He remembers his father's dying face and Kaeya’s guilt-ridden expression. He remembers overwhelming helplessness and grief transforming into righteous anger and hate.

It all seems so pointless now - leaving the Mondstadt, breaking all bonds with Kaeya or spending years in a mindless massacre, satiating his thirst for revenge by destroying one Fatui stronghold after the other, with no regard for his body or spirit. What was the point of it all, if he's still there, lying and bleeding to death, as you look down on him?

He throws, what he thinks, the last glance at the world, a strange thought appearing in his mind as he looks at you: I want them. As Diluc's consciousness fades he misses a sound of an observer's footsteps.

Later, as he gets saved by the said third party’s observer, who commented and praised Diluc’s methods, he replays the encounter in his mind, getting confused at this particular thought. Why would he want you? Maybe he wants you to die or maybe he wants to see you defeated, but in no way he sees you as desirable. In the end he blames everything on his oxygen deprived brain at the time, explaining the strange attraction he felt for you at that moment.

Having a near death experience and a taste of his own dying regrets, he decides to return to Mondstadt and as he does, thoughts about you continue to pester him. They fly around and buzz, reminding Diluc of your face, eyes and voice, of your body and skills and that terrifying speed you attacked him at. He swats them away like a noisy, annoying flies, suppressing and burying feelings deep, deep down, and naming his interest in you “a desire for revenge and retribution”.

***

Your second meeting happens once the news of a sudden Stormterror attack reaches Tsaritsa’s ears - a perfect opportunity for acquiring anemo archon’s gnosis and a new step in her rebellion against Celestia. She thinks about sending La Signora at first, as your fellow Harbinger is fast and ruthless, able to complete a job no matter the cost, but soon archon changes her mind and picks you instead. For secrecy and subterfuge, she adds, don’t disappoint me.

I won't, you promise more to yourself than her, as Tsaritsa never asks but orders. With your head bowed in deep respect and the heavy gaze of the goddess on your form, you decide that you will do your best to bring cryo archon's vision into reality. You are dispatched to Mondstadt the same week, first by ship, then by carriage. Pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya quickly morph into bright Mondstadtian green, and you finally arrive.

Despite or maybe because of Mondstadt having almost nothing similar with Snezhnaya, it steals a breath from you for a moment - city stands on a lone isle in the middle of deep blue lake, tall windmills and bright red roofs seen from a distance, along with a giant statue of Barbatos blessing the city.

Acting Grandmaster Jean greets you, her stern blue eyes intently observing you, as she says standard Favonius salute and you return your own cliche lines - about Tsaritsa’s concern and a peacekeeping mission, empty phrases that don’t elaborate on what actually Fatui will do. She fails to suppress a frown upon hearing it, sensing your real intentions, but you pay it no mind - Jean has no way or reason strong enough to ban you from Mondstadt without causing a diplomatic conflict.

You turn on the heels after brief negotiations, heading for the Goth Grand Hotel, mind already full of plans and schemes of obtaining the Gnosis. Before you departed, Tsaritsa shared a very interesting fact to you - throughout the centuries Barbatos used only one mortal form, disguising himself as a young cheerful bard named Venti. You dispatch a couple of agents and cicin mage to look for a person fitting the description, and then turn your attention to the rest of the fatuis.

You scold Anastasia for unprofessional rudeness towards Jean. “We need to maintain a benevolent image”, you say to her, right before demoting her and temporarily sending her off to Dragonspine as a punishment. Under your rule fatuis cease sneering and belittling Mondstadt in public, lessening no doubt growing ire of locals.

All goes well, until several events happen. Stormterror attacks the city and some blonde foreigner fights off the dragon, wielding mind blowingly strong anemo powers and riding the wind, like a flying bird. Then your agents finally find a bard, reporting that “Venti" prefers to spend a considerable amount of both time and mora in two local taverns - Angel’s Share and Cat’s tail.

You don civilian clothing, heading for the former tavern and send off a couple of other disguised agents to the latter one. Now, stripped of your mask and harbinger attire, citizens stop gawking and staring at you, their eyes passing your form, as you make your way as an ordinary passerby.

No one pays you attention, as you enter the tavern, save for the strange six fingered bard at the entrance. He tries to sell you his performance, but you wave him off, heading for the bar. And here you see him again - you recognize the unknown attacker, his bright red hair and eyes betraying him the same second. Your faces mirror in recognition as a tense silence settles between you.

“So what is Fatui doing in this tavern?”he asks loudly and half of the customers stop drinking and stare at you. You sigh “enjoying” the atmosphere he created, and utter a premade excuse: “Mondstadt is known for its wine industry and the best wines are sold by Dawn Winery. It would be a shame if I left the city without tasting its finest drinks first”.

You glance at the red gem on his collar, an obvious heirloom of a famous clan: “Didn’t know that Ragnvindr heir would spend his days working as a bartender. You must be Diluc, then. Am I right?". He doesn't dignify you with an answer, preferring to wipe the glasses and serve other customers, his eyes still observing you from time to time.

You quit the tavern early, as “Venti”, as it turns out, leaves the same second he hears about your presence. You order agents to spy on him, waiting for the right opportunity to strike, that you don't get a chance to act on.

You get attacked by Diluc on your way to the Windrise tree, where according to your intel, Barbatos decided to go. He slowly pulls out his claymore and you notice a difference between old and current him.

He is calm this time, his movements lacking fervent hatred and anger that was present during your first battle. He must have gotten stronger then, if he feels so confident, entering a battle with you. Or grown foolish, your mind supplies.

You start to fight, exchanging one blow for another, as he surprises you - there's no barbed chains rushing into your direction, only an orange light fire surrounding the claymore. A pyro vision dangles on his waist, glowing and shining as he activates it's powers. You masterfully dodge his hits, shooting combined anemo and cryo attacks from the catalyst.

Suddenly you step on a burning grass, and hiss and close your eyes from the sudden pain. Diluc uses this time to disarm you, his heavy claymore crushing a delicate catalyst into small pieces. It happens so fast, that you are left speechless at the sudden turn of the battle tides.

With no weapon left, all you can do is dodge and run - you almost reach the city again. it’s walls become visible as you do your best to push your body beyond limits, fatigue weighing down on every muscle. Diluc sends a phoenix - a damn phoenix! - on your way. Fire licks your skin and scorches ends of your hair, but you manage to dodge it too - if only by a small chance - and fall to the ground, mind drifting off to the unconscious world.

***

You come up to your senses slowly and gradually; first there are sensations - a rough rope around your wrists, wet, yet rugged stone walls, then the smells, tastes and sounds - stale, musty air, a coppery blood on your tongue and a shift of a fabric, and then the images at last - dark basement and a bright red blotch, that after a time becomes a head.

There’s a man sitting beside you, Diluc Ragnvindr, your memory supplies. You feel calm and confused for a moment until you remember the fight you both had. Seems, he finally overpowered you.

“You are awake” he says, voice grim and quiet.

“It seems I am. Let me guess, you dragged me here because you want to know what this big bad harbinger plans to do?”. Control your breathing, don’t let him hear the tremble of your voice, don’t let him see the fear in your eyes.

He looks at you with an unreadable gaze and you hold his stare, looking absolutely untroubled in return, a knowing and somewhat self-confident smirk playing in your lips. No matter his status in Mondstadt, Diluc kidnapped you, one of the fatui Harbingers and a close associate of Tsaritsa. His action, no doubt, will force Fatui to severe action, an action that neither his nation nor his people will be able to withstand.

“Think bigger”, he finally says: “I don’t care what you planned to do. I already have you here, weak and helpless. No, what I want is intel on what your goddess and organization are after”.

“Oh, mister Diluc, you want to play a big game? It’s dangerous in case you didn’t know. Maybe after I tell you all of our wicked plans, you will wish you had never asked” you purr, sensing how it grates his nerves, despite him keeping his face and stance impassive.

“How so?”

“Tsaritsa is the greatest of all seven, her vision is absolute. Even if you learn of her plans I doubt you will be able to stop any of them”.

“I asked what the plans were, not what you think of cryo archon”. Diluc’s voice becomes a tone louder, the already present frown on his face subtly deepening.

“Then I am afraid you won’t get any from me”.

He suddenly gets closer to you, his hand yanking you by your head. You hiss, trying to free the bound hands, as he drags you to a nearby barrel with water by hair and then he dips you in it. You instinctively jerk in his hold, a cold water seeping in your nose and mouth as he holds you underwater. Ten second passes, twenty, thirty, you jerk again, your head throbbing and aching from the lack of air, he pulls you upwards.

You nearly black out from the abrupt change, gulping down in the air and coughing out water. He repeats his question and you deny him again. He dips you more, each time becoming a bit longer than the last, only to repeat his query. You lose how many times he lowered you into liquid, absolutely wet and shivering now, when he finally stops and ties you up to the same place you woke up to.

“We will continue tomorrow, I have business to attend to. I suggest you use this time to rethink whether you want to tell me Tsaritsa’s plans or not, as I can get much worse” He heads for the exit from the basement, as you greedily inhale the air.

“Wait”, you say, still breathing heavily: “Aren’t you afraid of the punishment? You kidnapped me, a harbinger, and then proceeded to torture me. Tsaritsa will have your head for this slight against her.”

“Tsaritsa won’t find out. Your Harbingers won’t find out. No one will find out if there’s no evidence”. He steps closer to you, his voice becoming firmer with each word.

“And how do you think you will manage to hide the evidence? You left the knights years ago, you are nothing but a businessman at this point. I doubt they will cover up for you”.

“How did..”

“Oh, Diluc, people talk and I am very, very nosy. That girl, Donna, she told so much to my subordinates about you ”, you mock her, imitating her high breathy manner: “Oh Diluc, he was the youngest captain, but then he left. I wonder why he left? Maybe the knights wronged him!”

“Honestly, with the amount of ire you subject poor knights to, only a deaf and a blind won’t know about how much you despise Favonius Order'', you continue, anger and hatred seeping into your voice.

“I still have connections”, he says absolutely nonchalantly.

“Oh, do you bribe them, then? You criticize the knights for being corrupt, yet you are willing to ask them to hide my abduction? It’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it?”

Diluc doesn’t answer this time, finally stepping out of the room and locking the door. You sit alone in a dimly lit room, water still all over you and heart quickly beating in your chest, trying to calm down. Later, when your heartbeat stops booming in your own ears, you pray to Tsaritsa, asking Goddess to grant you strength and endurance.

***

You manage to doze off once your clothes are almost dry. The dreams you see are vague and murky, dripping with a sense of unease and anxiety, you see dark silhouettes that morph into looming shadows that later transform into phantasmagorical monsters. It must be why you wake up the same second door opens with Diluc entering the room.

He looks grimmer now, more determined. You brace yourself for his hands tugging at your hair again and lungs burning from lack of oxygen, but none of it comes. He uses a dagger to slice your clothes off, careful not to damage skin underneath. Out of pure nerves you quip some stupid joke about dining first, but he pays you no mind, his hands soon touching your bare legs and looks at them with a filthy stare, his red eyes consuming revealed flesh.

You still under his stare, heart pounding as you try to distract yourself from the thoughts of what he might do to you right now. Almost a minute passes, when he finally stops staring at your legs and begins to move his arms, caressing your inner side of the thigh instead.

You shift from the discomfort, alarmed when his palms start to heat up. He wants to burn me, you think and barely stop yourself from screaming by biting your lip. A disgusting smell of burnt flesh fills up your nose as tears start to travel down your face. He removes the hand, revealing two angry red imprints with a collection of small blisters already forming. Diluc, again, asks the same question, and just like the last time you refuse to answer.

He does upkeep his threat of becoming much worse, with his hands burning your naked body - he targets sensitive spots or joints,so everytime you shift or move they throb and burn, disturbed at the smallest of motions.

“You're not the one to think about the consequences, are you?”, you ask when he finishes, voice quiet and raspy from screaming.

"No one will find you".

"I am one of the Tsaritsa's most trusted servants, of course they will find me", you pretend you don't hear desperation in your own voice.

"Time will show", Diluc says philosophically, looking as gentlemanly as possible despite him torturing you seconds ago.

"Yes, it will", you agree with him, picturing the bastard's face once he gets thrown in prison.

He leaves the room and you allow yourself to slump, careful not to move burned areas too much, and then he returns again, this time with food and medicine. He works fast at bandaging and disinfecting the burns, seems he is as intent at patching you up, as he is at tearing you apart. As he swathes another burn, you look at the brought food.

It’s unlikely he would drug it to make you tell the truth, given that he already tortures you and he doesn’t seem to be a type to play mind games. It still could be laced with poison though, not lethal one, that would be counterproductive, but the one that can cause pain and tremors all over your body. You’ve seen such substance at work once, when Il Dottore decided to show you the fruits of his experiments - victims were thrashing and shaking on the floor once a five minute mark had been passed, by the twentieth they already admitted to all crimes, regardless of how innocent they were.

It might be even a new torture method, devised by Diluc, just to strip you from the short respite when you are not in pain. He finally looks up to you, finishing the bandage, noticing the stare you look at the food with. "It's not poisoned" he guesses your thoughts, taking a small bite and a sip to prove his words. A minute passes, then the second and the third ones, nothing happens with him, no blushing or paling skin, no wide blown or pinprick pupils, nothing. It still could be a slow acting poison, but you doubt it - they're usually harder to cure, Diluc wouldn't willingly consume it given the long list of aftereffects that remain even after antidote was administered.

Thankfully, he doesn’t stay to feed you, leaving you with food alone. It’s a potato hash browns, absolutely unseasoned and cold. You almost swallow them whole from hunger, realizing how starved you are once the smell of food reaches you. After a day(?) of fasting, satiation hits you full force, drowsiness pulling at every muscle. The tableware he brought is metallic and easily bends, so you can't smash it and use sharp pieces, nor are there any utensils to weaponize. You lay down on the side, as something falls on you. It's a stone.

Your hands take it, feeling its shape - mostly smooth with one angular protrusion. It's not sharp or pointed enough for you to cut through the bindings, but with enough time and effort it can break the rope with friction alone. You begin to work, grating the rope again and again, fighting off the sleepiness.

***

Diluc nods to Adelinde, as he returns from Mondstadt after signing the contract with winesellers from Inazuma. She understands this wordless gesture, starting to talk: “The.. guest you brought has eaten, last time I checked they still were awake. I did my best to be quiet, master Diluc”.

He dismisses her, thanking for her observations and decides to go down himself. A strange sort of fascination fills him, as he turns the key in the lock, that also prompts a burning shame that he grew accustomed to in the last few days.

It’s an awful thing, to find pleasure in another’s suffering - a trait of a heartless monster, as his father once said, but despite the chagrin he still can’t help but feel a quickening of the pulse as a pained whimper escapes your lips. It’s addicting honestly, to have you of all people, naked and trembling and helpless at his total control, when you were so close to ending his life just a couple of months ago. He supposes it's a type of karmic punishment to you, a fatui harbinger, no doubt a killer and horrible person - you deserve it, he tells to himself - you deserve it for being a fatui.

Moreover, you are not only a terrible, terrible person that deserves much more gruesome torture that he allows, you are also a source of priceless information - how many lives will be saved and avenged if you just tell him what fatuis plan to do. You are a harbinger, you are bound to know something, unlike most of the fatui.

Diluc carefully glances at you as he enters - you are still sitting in the same spot he left you in, head slumped low and shoulders relaxed. It seems you are asleep. He still makes his way to you, steps slow and quiet. Your hands are bound with rope and Diluc knows how much the rough fiber pulls and chafes at skin, grating it to the blood and ropeburns - he needs to use this short respite to quickly disinfect and bandage you again.

Diluc crouches down, as you twitch and then something aims for his head, he flinches a second too slow to dodge. You nearly manage to hit him right in the temple. His head almost splits in half from the burst of pain, vision blurry and disoriented.

You quickly stand, enduring the pain from the burns and make your way to the room. Diluc runs after you, panic and anger distorting his face in equal manner - he can’t let anyone see you like that! - but you manage to lock him in using his own keys. He kicks and thrashes the door, angry at himself for not carrying claymore with him, as something loudly collides with the wall at the other side. He hears a short surprised yelp and whimper - your whimper and the too familiar footsteps descending down the stairs- Adelinde.

“Master Diluc? Is everything okay?”, the headmaid unlocks the room, concern in her voice:”I saw.. the guest running out of the basement, so I pushed them back before other maids could see”

“Everything is fine, check on the Harbinger, I still need intel”.

Turns out, you blacked out upon the impact, a small trail of blood making its way down the head. Diluc is still angry at you, head throbbing and hurting, his hands itching to hit and burn you, but he can’t allow himself to lose control: you are hurt and he doesn’t want to kill you.

In the end, it’s all predictable, Diluc muses, you are an animal first and human second, your allegiance testament to that. He was too soft, too forgiving on you and you decided to twist his kindness like a blade in the back. His head still hurts, but he finally calms, reasoning your attack as an outlash of a mindless beast.

He carries your limp body in hands, finally taking out of the basement and takes you to one of the guest rooms at the second floor of the winery - it’s a risky move, but you injured your head and in Diluc’s experiences such traumas almost always carry a great risk - maybe you will even forget who you are and there’ll be no one for Diluc to interrogate to.

Placing your body on the bed he clasps a cuff around each of your limbs and gags and blindfolds you. After a second, he asks Adelinde for cotton and stuffs your ears full of it.

Human mind stripped of all stimuli is such a dangerous thing, tearing itself apart.

***

You wake up to darkness and silence, head slightly pulsing from pain. You lie on some sort of very soft bed, silk smooth sheets consuming and hugging most of your body as you wiggle your limbs, tugging at the cuffs.

A small wave of panic washes over you, as you remain absolutely blind and deaf to the world, but you try to remain calm, unsure if Diluc is standing near or not. The bindings on your hands are made of iron now, so you soon stop, knowing it's a futile thing. The only thing you can do is wait.

You don't know how much time passes between you regaining consciousness and the air shifting around you. Having been stripped of both sight and hearing, your other senses became a bit sharper, mind focusing on them to compensate. It's a subtle change of pressure but you still feel it, it's enough for you to guess where this person stands. Suddenly hands grope at you, touching and probing the place near burns. You would scream if it wasn’t for the gag, from pain and violation alone. It's a smaller palms, judging by sensations, they change the bandages. After whoever that was finishes patching you they leave you alone, their departure evoking both relief and sadness - they were a source of stimulations, stimulations that your mind desperately needs.

You start to tug at the bindings again - this time to procure pain, just to feel something again. You are bored, you are in pain and you are scared - not the best combination. Soon, you decide to distract yourself from ever increasing boredom with memories. Images of your past life flash and change before you - here’s you playing catch and hide and seek, here’s you receiving a vision, here’s you entering fatui and climbing through the ranks, here's you receiving delusion from Tsaritsa’s own hands and here's you battling Diluc for the first time.

I should have killed him, you think, I should have spent less time talking and more time fighting, the bastard wouldn't live to see another day and I wouldn't be here.

A strange feeling of panic settles in your bones, as you try to occupy yourself, it's subtle but never ending, slowly growing with each second. You try to daydream but you can’t, not when you are cuffed and your body burns. You try to reminisce again, but you can do only so much, memories becoming dull and repetitive. Soon, the subtle panic becomes not so subtle and you realize you are gasping and thrashing, limbs achings as you rub them against the rough shackles.

You must have blacked out or drifted to sleep, because the next time you wake up you feel a bit different - a little cleaner and more sated - they tend to me, when I am unconscious you realize. Diluc wants to limit all interactions I have.

You don't know how much time you spend there in the end, but it has a profound effect on you - at first the concept of sharing fatui plans with your captor seems nonsensical and traitorous, but after a couple of days-weeks(?) of being chained to one place with limited movement and perception, it stops looking like such a bad idea to you.

Time distorts around you, you can't tell how long you were lying there, seconds turning into minutes and minutes into hours and hours into near eternities. At one point you started to cry again, scared and panicked and then you proceeded to scream.

***

Diluc comes to you again, taking out the cotton and blindfold from your person. Your eyes hurt and your head starts to ache again from the rush of noises, and you blink a couple of times to see the man before you. A strange mix of emotions washes over you - you hate Diluc, you truly despise him with every fibre of your being, yet now Diluc is the only person you have, the only person you see. It’s so confusing and overwhelming that you start to cry, unable to process any of the feelings.

Diluc looks as prim and proper as ever, as he shushes your crying and promises to let you go if only you will tell Tsaritsa’s plans. You almost believe him, Fatui secrets dancing at the tip of his mouth, yet you hold on to the pieces of your loyalty, slowly shaking your head. He asks you again, doubt and concern in his voice. It will be better if you tell me, he says, his hand still stroking you, don’t you want to walk and see again?.

His hand stops stroking you, face turning back to stone when you refuse him for the second time. He fixes blindfold and cotton again and part of you is howling - it’s scary, so scary to be left alone with nothing but your thoughts.

This time you start to break far faster, having tasted freedom for a mere second. You break down and tell Diluc everything you know next time he visits. His hand on you feels like salvation and punishment at the same time. At the end of your confession you are too empty, all of your secrets laid before him, no place for sadness or grief left inside of you. You feel whatever was inside of you was scorched off by Diluc and it left you thoroughly burnt. Dead. Made of ash.

“My name is [First]”, you wail and howl, shoulders slightly shaking as you do. You want so much to have some human contact, to hear someone call your name for once.

It’s cathartic in a way, to tell all the secrets your mind has been bustling with ever since becoming a harbinger. He doesn’t flinch or frown when you tell what exactly you witnessed or did, intently listening to each word.

He keeps his promise and uncuffs you from the bed, but you are still not allowed to leave the room, which doesn’t really disappoint you. There are books and a small barred window that opens a view to the wineyard, a feast for the starving mind. You spend at least an hour standing at the window at first, amazed that you can see people working.

He gifts you clothes and other books, assigns a housemaid to look after you, the same one that pushed you down the stairs when you were running away, she doesn’t speak to you, preferring to avoid your gaze.

Sometimes you do feel sad - you betrayed Tsaritsa, you betrayed your homeland, you lost both vision and delusion - but you quickly shove it down, unable to process feelings properly. You know you are defeated, having seen similar behavior from fatui prisoners, and Diluc knows it too, a malice and triumph and satisfaction burning on his eyes, despite the impassive face.

He sees you as a trophy, a reminder of how he reduced the great fatui harbinger to your current condition. He orders you around and punishes when you disobey, calls it reeducation, calls it teaching you how to be a decent person, calls it a punishment for your sins. A part of you wants to retort and point out his own failings, but you stop yourself at the root, unwilling to be stripped from the world again. You comply, you suppress, you break little by little. It all pleases him.

You learn to love what hurt you the most out of pure fear.

***

“First?”, it’s Diluc, shaking you slightly by the shoulders. You snap back to reality, seeing that he already carried you to bed and undressed you.

“I am here, you can continue” you whisper as he leans down to pepper your chest and collarbone with kisses, and then hiss as he bites you.

“Mhm, that’s good,” he says, warm hands traveling down to your thighs, caressing the inner side: “Could you spread them a bit?”

You obey, equally parts scared and excited.

Truly, Diluc is the best thing that happened in your life.

Note: All fatui harbinger names are taken from commedia dell'arte. Innamorati are a couple of lovers, madly in love with each other and with the idea of being in love. I thought it would be ironic.

#yandere diluc ragnvindr x reader #yandere diluc x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #Yandere genshin #Yandere diluc #yandere x reader #yandere #I am lowkey dissapointed in myself #Both reader and diluc are bad people #My sleep meds stopped working:(((#my writing

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unhealthyfanobsession · 4 years ago

Text

I teased this in a previous post and people asked me to expand so...here’s my controversial take that Rhysand and Nesta are actually parallel characters in many ways and that they both hate each other so much because they ultimately hate themselves.

Alright ladies and gentleman, anti’s and stans, buckle your fucking seatbelts or hope off the roller coaster here because I’m about to learn you a thing or two about the most divisive characters in the ACOTAR world.

Starting out very broadly- both characters are introduced as sort of confusing villains (Rhys is “evil” but he’s also helping Feyre. Nesta is an “awful sister”, but she also is protective of Elain and tells Feyre essentially to go and be happy), both have faced significant trauma and grapple with self-loathing and feelings of not being good enough, and both ultimately find redemption and healing with their mates who love them. They also both currently exist in a strange parallel coming out of ACOSF where Rhys is supposedly “chosen by the Cauldron” and Nesta is “blessed by the Mother”- the two sacred entities of Prythian.

Intrigued? More specifics and text analysis under the cut

Mommy (and Daddy) Issues:

Both characters were basically raised by their mother’s alone and then lost them at a young age and that had a deep impact on them. Rhysand had a far more positive experience of being raised by his mother HOWEVER I would argue that it was still “grooming” of a type since she took him away to train in Illyria specifically so that he wouldn’t be influenced by his father.

Rhys’ mother did this out of love and Nesta’s mother groomed her out of a social climbing agenda, but it had the same effect- they both lost the parent who was their primary caregiver at a young age and they were both not close with their father’s because of their mother’s actions (again this was a good thing for Rhys, not as much for Nesta).

Parents Death: Rhys and Nesta both blame themselves for one of their parent’s death and are deeply affected by feeling like they failed someone important to them.

Rhys thinks that he is responsible for his mother and sister’s death because he gave Tamlin info

Rhys even says after this “It should have been me.”

Nesta feels that she was unable to save her father and she hates herself for it.

Rocky sibling relationship and Separation:

Rhysand and Cassian are obviously a lot further along in their sibling journey, but it’s stated that he and Cassian HATED each other and fought constantly essentially until Azriel arrived and then they decided to be “allies”.

Nesta and Feyre are also at each others throats but seem to put their differences aside in order to not upset Elain. (Even when Feyre first goes back to the human lands Nesta says NOPE NO FAE! But as soon as Elain asks her to do as Feyre says she agrees) and then Nesta states in ACOSF that she and Feyre were brought together by Elain to be allies in the war.

Rhysand and Cassian obviously grew into true brothers despite their adversarial, insulting, bitter beginning... and Nesta and Feyre after ACOSF have done the same. Obviously there’s still a lot of work to be done in that relationship, but the parallel stands (and is just strengthened by the fact that in both cases it’s the character with more power in the relationship- Nesta for being the oldest and Rhys for being the one whose family took Cassian in is then mated to the opposite sibling!)

Both have a parent who essentially separated them from their ‘siblings’ for their own benefit. Nesta’s mom isolated her as a child so that she could groom her and tell her how to maneuver her sisters when the time was right while Rhys’ father- afraid of his, Cassian, and Azriel’s combined power- separated them for 7 years through the first war to ensure they wouldn’t ally against him. Nesta was also separated from Feyre by Tamlin and tried to go to the wall to get her back but couldn’t get through- which is very reminiscent to me of the scene at the beginning of ACOWAR from the first war where Rhys is searching desperately but without hope for Cassian.

Shared Trauma and Learning to be “Evil” to protect their family:

both characters are sexual assault survivors who spend a chunk of their book (I’m counting ACOMAF as essentially Rhys’ book since that’s when we learn more about him as a character) grappling with that, coming to terms with it, and moving forward with a general attitude of “Never Again.” I would also argue that even their abusers are parallels as Rhysand was only ‘with’ Amarantha because he was trying to protect his family and Nesta was only ‘with’ Tomas because she thought his family might be able to take in and feed Elain (she says in ACOSF that she would give him whatever he wanted- her body meant nothing to her and Elain meant everything, which is essentially Rhys’ UTM mindset). In addition, both characters are able to escape their abusers out of love for Feyre. Rhys does so when Amarantha is about to kill Feyre, and Nesta does so because she realizes that Tomas would never go to the wall with her to save Feyre.

Beyond this, both characters express that it is the lack of control over their own lives that truly haunts them. Rhys when he felt like he had no choice but to be Amarantha’s puppet and Nesta with a lot of her life, but especially when she is forced into the cauldron. Both of these are things that make them feel like failures for not protecting others. Rhys is haunted that he couldn’t protect Feyre under the mountain and Nesta is haunted that she couldn’t protect Elain from the cauldron.

This leads both characters to have a terrifying power-surge nightmare brought on by their trauma (Rhys from Amarantha; Nesta from the Cauldron) that terrifies those around them and can only be stopped by their mate.

In addition to this, they both have a “persona” that they put on and sometimes feel like they can’t shake off, a face that they made to protect themselves and their family. Rhys with his “Court of Nightmares” persona that he uses UTM, in the Hewn City, and with the other High Lords until the war. Part of his growth is letting people see beyond that ‘most powerful high lord of darkness’ mask.

For Nesta this is expressed by her “wolves” that she uses to put up a wall between her and the people who mocked her and her family, and especially Elain. And her learning to open up with Cassian and her found family was really important for her growth

HOWEVER, they both also keep that persona. Rhys has his mask polished for when anyone might threaten the people he loves and so does Nesta. Neither of them truly gave up that side of themselves, the darkness, they simply learned to stop it from consuming them.

They also both LIKE doing this to their enemies. Rhys likes to toy with his enemies and torture those who would harm his family or betray him and so does Nesta- she revels in cutting down anyone who insults Elain and says in ACOSF that she’s felt the urge to do the same for Cassian. They both wield words like weapons and use their intelligence to ensure they are always one quip ahead of their enemies. Something that both Feyre and Cassian admire in their mates and try to emulate to a degree.

(Bonus points for the fact that in both cases their families did not ASK to be protected/sacrificed for.)

Found family and sacrifice:

Rhys calls Cassian and Azriel his “brothers” after becoming close while training and they conquer the blood rite together. Nesta calls Emerie and Gwyn her “sisters” after becoming close while training and they conquer the blood rite together. Rhys sacrifices himself to Amarantha in order to protect Cassian and Azriel (and Velaris). Nesta sacrifices herself to hold the path of Enalius to protect Emerie and Gwyn. There’s also a line in ACOMAF and a parallel line in ACOSF essentially about Nesta being willing to do anything- including “whore” herself- to protect Elain, and in order to protect his brother’s that’s exactly what Rhys did- “whore” himself to Amarantha.

Both are ‘saved by’ and feel not good enough for their mate:

I hesitate to use the word “saved by” because ultimately both characters have more agency than that, HOWEVER, both characters rely on their mate to a degree to pull them out of a very dark time and place. Feyre helps Rhys remember who he is and forgive himself for under the mountain and he even specifically calls her his “salvation.”

I don’t think I need to even say the Nesta part here, all of ACOSF is essentially Cassian helping Nesta climb out of a dark period so that they can heal together.

(Both also start connecting with their mates on a “just sex” situation.)

Both characters think that because of the things they’ve done and the darkness inside of them that they don’t deserve the people they have been mated to.

Obviously there are many differences, but the characters are similar in a lot of ways and what I think this really highlights is just how true that line is in ACOSF about Nesta being a wolf that was never allowed to learn how to be a wolf. Meanwhile Rhys is 500 years older and has always had power and agency of some kind even at his lowest point. Nesta didn’t have that power and wasn’t allowed to really unleash herself so she armed herself with a steel exterior to make up for that lack of power and control. Which is very similar to what Rhysand did when he felt he didn’t have power under the mountain- put on a cold face, not let anyone in, and act cruel in order to get through it.

Overall it’s an interesting character study because in a lot of ways these are very similar characters, but there is such a MASSIVE divide among the fandom of liking and hating one or both of them. Ultimately, I do think that a lot of the hate Nesta gets is because she’s a woman and female characters simply aren’t allowed to have the same flaws as male ones- which is kind of Nesta’s whole life story. BUT I think that Rhysand actually gets unintentionally screwed over by the narrative in one big way. Becuase my final paralell is that I think a lot of people came around on Nesta when they saw in her perspective that she knows she has problems and how much she was struggling… and I also think that Rhysand is so hated by those who dislike him because of Feyre’s ‘he can do no wrong’ perspective. I think if we saw more of Rhysand internally struggling and knowing that he made the wrong call sometimes and second guessing himself he’d be a lot more likeable character. We know he’s capable of this because when Cassian calls him out on the training roof for always thinking the worst of Nesta he just says “you’re right. I’m sorry” and he even *kinda* admits some wrong when he’s so shocked by how deep Nesta’s trauma is. Feyre and the rest of the IC constantly exalting Rhys as perfect when he so clearly isn’t and in fact has a lot of the same “flaws” as Nesta is probably the most frustrating thing about the character, which ultimately I think is kind of unfair because we know from his few perspectives that he doesn’t see himself that way.

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hansoulo · 4 years ago

Text

whisper scarcely breathing

part four of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse

Word Count: 6.1k

Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader

A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦

༓ series masterlist ༓

The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.

You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”

Did he, now?

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”

The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”

Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.

You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.

The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.

Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.

Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.

In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.

But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.

BF-18378-3263827

You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.

When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.

There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.

The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?

Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.

Boba Fett was not much of a talker.

Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.

And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.

The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.

It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.

You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.

One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.

“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”

Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.

He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”

Makes me want… want…

Want what, Princess?

Want you.

You can have me.

The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.

It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.

You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.

He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.

What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.

You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.

And yet…

You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.

And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.

Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.

Hello

are you busy?

In a way

how so

Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor

poor thing

Don’t get soft on me now

wasn’t talking about you

Very funny

I’m very, very sorry

Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit

… show me?

⫸———————————————— ⫷

BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS

SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM

Your damp hands tremored.

YES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.

You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.

But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.

You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.

You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.

And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.

The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.

Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.

Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.

In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.

The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.

“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.

Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.

His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.

He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”

A soft whimper left your throat.

Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.

The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.

“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.

Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver. “M’not.”

“And stubborn.”

You glared at him, but it held no real venom.

“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “—any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”

“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.

You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”

He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”

Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”

You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.

Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.

Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.

You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?

Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.

“Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”

“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.

He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”

“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.

Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.

It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”

Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”

You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.

Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.

But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.

Had been, anyway.

He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.

You were going to destroy him.

Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.

Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.

So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.

When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.

He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.

His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”

Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.

A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.

If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.

Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”

Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.

Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.

The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.

You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.

“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.

The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.

His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”

He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.

He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."

The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.

He liked being known by you.

⫸————————————————⫷

You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.

A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”

For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.

He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.

Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.

Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?

Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.

He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.

He was going to ruin you.

“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.

Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”

“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”

His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.

“Goodnight, princess.”

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dreaming about him.

He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.

In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.

Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.

Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.

You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.

But this was different.

When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.

All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.

“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.

“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.

“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.

You. Just you.

“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.

“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.

There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.

This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.

"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"

"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."

You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.

"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.

Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.

“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.

Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

You understood now.

Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting. “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.

You were dying.

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.

You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.

“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.

“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”

He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.

You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”

Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.

“D’you want to?”

Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.

You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”

Thank goodness for modern medicine.

⫸————————————————⫷

It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.

He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.

It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.

You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.

The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.

In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.

Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.

But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⫸————————————————⫷

The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.

“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.

A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.

Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.

He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”

Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.

But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.

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