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atxxzist · 1 year ago

Text

broken | c.s (13)

prev // next //series m.list

pairing: choi san x reader

word count: 8.9k

warning: traumas, idk wut else but lmk

you're not sure how long you've been crying, your sense of time completely lost and only able to tell day from night by how the blueish sky and clouds turned into an orange horizon before the stars came out of the pitched darkness.

only able to tell the cafe is near closing time when the pitiful and sorry expressions of passersby starts decreasing and the place grows so quiet, you can hear the clinking of cups and utensils as the workers begin cleaning up.

they probably feel sorry for you, one of them even offered a cup of coffee earlier when they noticed your swelling eyes in the corner and the fact you were obviously not okay.

you wipe another lone tear with your sleeve when a gentle tap on the table takes your attention, snapping around to see one of the workers who looks about your age and is most likely a local student working part-time.

"hey, miss, just letting you know we're closing in about ten minutes," she says, treading carefully because you already look like you had an awful day.

"oh, i'm sorry," your voice comes out hoarse, bowing slightly in apology as you stand up. "i'll get going."

"would you like anything before you go?"

you shake your head, the first smile of the day settling on your lips faintly as you thank her.

the air outside is crisp as the months go by, leaving summer behind to accomodate fall. time have passed and the leaves are changing.

you didn't go back to the dorms earlier because you didn't want to face yuna when she'd occasionally return in between classes for breaks and whatnot. she would notice something immediately given how conflicting your guys' schedules are in the first place.

you didn't want to tell her that you got your heart broken (the short version) and didn't attend any classes at all. you're not ready for that conversation yet, settling for isolating and humiliating yourself in a public space instead until you're ready to go back.

but you just feel absolutely defeated and foolish, all this time clinging onto something that was never going to work out. something that you knew from the beginning was doomed to fail.

you've had so many chances to make it right and cut it off when time still hasn't ran itself into the ground and things were still in your favor.

had the relationship stopped when mingi and yunho asked you to, and had you not let him back in the day he came to the dorm, it still wouldn't feel so hard to breathe and you could've been spared the worst possible heartbreak.

but after all, you did it to yourself. so you will wallow in your own pity party and regrets, rethinking of all the stupid choices in life you've made--this being one of many.

you take the time walking back to the dorms and readjusting yourself to make sure your appearance doesn't give off you've been crying all day, and the first time you see him in a few months... he feels like the calm standing in the middle of an ongoing storm.

for just the slightest seconds, you feel relieved at the familiar head of black hair that used to be blonde and the pair of spectacles over his eyes. you forgot how strikingly good looking yeosang actually is.

"hey!" he's the first to greet, one hand in the air by natural reflexes and there's something that dances in his body excitedly before he catches on and tones it down.

"where did you come back from?" he asks after you two agreed on a spot at the side of the building, the ghostly breeze passing by the almost empty area.

"the cafe," you answer, your delivery a lot stronger than expected.

"oh. studying? i just came back from the library after cramming for chemistry."

you just shake your head, not offering anything else. you really are happy to see yeosang again but it's hard to show the enthusiam after what happened today, and yeosang can tell something isn't right.

"hey, you okay?" he speaks softly, attempting to catch a glance of your profile since you have it hidden behind your hair all this time.

and that's all it takes for you to break down again, your tears hurling before you even give it permission, because it hurts so much.

it may had stung with junseo, your ex-boyfriend. but with san, despite the fact you guys never actually dated, the pain is so much more unbearable because you loved san. you still love him.

yeosang can only stare with alerted eyes, unsure how to console you because this scenario is a first.

"i-i just feel so stupid," you drag it out, clogged throat and all, finally turning to face yeosang and he can see how puffy your eyes are even in the poor lighting.

you're not sure why it's him of all people you're telling this to. you just need to get it out of the system, having kept it to yourself for so long like a dark secret that's been slowly killing you from the inside, but now that you're about to spill it, it does feel like some of the burden will be lifted.

"i should've listened to mingi and yunho. i should've never let him back in. i should've never even remotely think that i had a chance."

once you speak, you just keep going. you feel you can trust yeosang.

"i've been seeing san behind their backs, and he dumped me today, obviously and rightfully so. i should've seen it coming," your voice changes from defeat to acceptance so quick, by the time you're finish, only a tired sigh comes out.

yeosang is stunned initially, still not sure how to react at such a raw and vulnerable confession, especially coming from you. but you must've been pushed to the last option judging by the current state.

he's not surprise san turned out to be exactly how he predicted. guys like that are cliche, but girls like you will fall for it because you're too sweet and naive, lacking of experiences and easy to take advantage of.

he had suspicions, but again, it wasn't any of his business.

"and why are you only blaming yourself for it?" his first reply is full of frustration toward the amount of slack you're giving san.

you're about to say something in response but stops because you realize he's right, recalling how mad you were at san before, but now taking it out on yourself.

"if you liked him that much, he knew it for sure and used it against you. i don't know what went down, but you should be kinder to yourself. you need it after whatever that douche just put you through."

you stay quiet, not because you don't have anything to say but because you really needed to hear that after today. something kind and heartwarming.

"i just don't know how i'm going to tell mingi and yunho. eventually they will have to know, i don't want to keep it from them forever."

yeosang curls his lips together, arranging his thoughts before speaking again, "i really do say this with the best intention, and i know mingi and yunho cares for you dearly but at the end of the day, you don't owe them anything. you're your own person and you made a mistake... a choice, and whenever you're ready, you'll tell them."

you reside in the thought for long enough before nodding in agreement. he's probably right. for now, you need time to yourself and to think everything through before pleasing anybody else.

"thank you, yeosang... for listening to me."

he smiles and nod.

"i'm honored to be someone you can trust," he says at the same time he stands up and offers a hand. "i'll walk you to your room."

you start off by throwing away any reminders of him, whether it's the jacket with a humiliating history or the stupid bear he won to fool you, it's all gone. you don't want anything of him left behind.

you can still recognize him by touch, by his unique scent that if it was to whisk past your nose, you would immediately know who it belongs to. sometimes your heart would skip a beat when there's a knock at the door or when your phone goes off with a notification because you're so afraid by chance, it just might be him.

truth is, regardless of anything, thoughts of san will always linger like a bad headache but you just figure it might make it easier.

you focus on refining your drafts and old works, and even started taking more interests in other classes unrelated to your major. as long as your mind is occupied, you won't have time to think about him.

mingi and yunho are busy with their own schedules which you're grateful for in your own callous ways because then, you get to procrastinate on telling them.

before you know it, your routine has reverted back to its old way of tedious school assignments, your job, and long periods of seclusion, it doesn't seem like you're talking to anybody these days.

when you finally decide to leave the dorm for a change of scene, not much options on the list besides the nearby cafe as you send the workers from before a shy smile and head nod, trailing to the usual table at the back.

"this seat taken?" that familiar voice makes you pick your head up from digging through your backpack.

yeosang stands tall and has his own bag hanging over his shoulder, one eyebrow quirking when he meets your gaze.

"no. i just sat as well."

he nods and takes the seat across, throwing his bag to the side before asking, "you feeling any better?"

you blink a few times before shrugging and answering, "i'm okay."

granted it's only been a couple of days, he isn't expecting a world of changes, but just that you're feeling better even if little by little.

"have you talked to mingi or yunho at all ever since?"

"small conversations, mostly texts but haven't really gotten the time to sit down with them and hang out or anything. they're busy."

"i see. haven't really got the time with yunho as well. the guy i work for, he had to run somewhere so the shop was closed early and i just thought i'd pass by."

you hum at his words, reaching for your laptop but yeosang continues on, "by the way, i didn't see you at all in any of the major classes. did you finally took my advice? or am i just pushing it?"

a genuine chuckle makes your mouth burst until your face calms into a smile because thinking of it, it's actually been so long since you've properly spoken to yeosang if not counting the one from days ago.

so many things have happened since then, notably the fall from grace of yours and san's 'relationship' and all the highs and the lows. it's been a while.

most of your past encounters with yeosang was because you two shared the same class, but it's harder now given the circumstances. you haven't even had the chance to tell him he was the one who persuaded you to follow your passion (in the making).

"yeah, i dropped that stupid major so long ago much thanks to you."

"tskk," he scoffs, both flattered and offended because technology is in his blood. "geez, one class and you already sworn off the entire field. funny, because that was actually one of the easier classes."

you have to reframe from an eye roll but give in when a smirk so confidently paints his expression.

"i just found out it wasn't for me the hard way. better now than later."

"and that's okay," he switches from the playful tone to a more stern one, "so, you went into writing after all?"

"yeah..."

"and how are you liking it so far?"

"a lot better," you chuckle lightly and even he returns one, "but i'm still exploring... trying to find my style and who i am when it comes to writing."

there's been times where you felt envious of the students in your class just seeing the average scores on papers and thinking to yourself how is it possible for someone to get such a perfect mark or to be so sure of themselves and who they are when enaging in discussions.

you wish to be that certain of yourself and your abilities.

"that's good. you still have a lot of time so don't rush it."

you don't know what it is, but in the darkest of times and when you're in need of comfort the most, yeosang is always there as the light at the end of the tunnel.

he isn't always around but will show at the right time, and perhaps it's a bit dramatic but it's as if he's your guardian angel--always aware of what to say and do to make you feel better.

you're grateful to have him... especially when he becomes the only thing keeping you sane within the next few days--something to look forward to so you're not stuck dissecting another dream and what it means.

it only takes some desperate appearances at the cafe and some pitiful day-to-day life stories for yeosang to offer you his number, saying you can call or text anytime and he'll respond when he can.

the exchange makes you so happy and honestly is the first feeling of joy in a while that before you know it, you're growing even closer to yeosang and it's almost hysterical thinking back to the first meeting.

some days and nights are easier than others, sometimes able to go the entirety without thinking of san too much or letting that wave of anxiety and doom consume you. and some nights... both of these things would strike hard making you turn and toss until you're staring at the wall lifelessly.

you're not even sure if writing it down will make it any better. you haven't touched that notebook in forever and can't recall the last time you actually wrote in it.

at this point in time, it appears to be just one more reminder of him.

you didn't think anybody would take notice to your behavior, not that there's a plethora of people you know anyways. but aside from mingi and yunho, the only other person who would possibly give a shit about you is your own roommate.

and for as little credits as you tend to give her sometimes, yuna notices, asking out of the blue one sudden morning if you're okay.

it's so abrupt, you have to blink a few times before assuring her you're fine, but she doesn't look convinced in the slightest.

"you've been looking troubled these past few days. sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night and you're awake, staring at the ceiling, wall, or on your phone," she says with distress, getting up from her bed to sit at the edge of yours and locking eyes concernedly.

"i know i'm hardly ever around, but if anything's bothering you... you can tell me. i mean, if you want to, of course..."

because you and yuna may hold a lot of differences down to personalities, interests, lifestyle, but she is still a girl. you're a girl. if there's anyone in your life who would be able to relate to stupid boy dramas and getting your heart torn apart by one, it's her.

"it's uh... it's about san," you admit, even his name on your lips already triggering, but maybe telling one more person might rid some of the guilt for not telling mingi and yunho, yet.

"ooh..." she thinks of the name for a second but is quick to remember. "the guy from the party."

"yeah..."

"i could tell he liked you then, but you didn't seem very happy when i brought him up again so i just assumed you guys had something going on but it ended for some reason."

"we had a... thing, i guess you can call it. it was on and off, and mostly stupid. but it's over now and i'm just having a hard time..." you don't finish the sentence, unable to find the words you're looking for.

"being away from him?" yuna adds, a short staring contest ensuing before you nod.

"yeah."

when he becomes a part of your routine, most of your waking moments spent in the presence of him, everything suddenly feels so wrong when he's not by your side.

"sorry to hear," another apologetic tone falls from her. "i can't offer much, but if you need someone or something, i'm here."

you send a gentle smile her way, nodding.

"you listening is enough."

yuna is a good friend and a good person and you can finally appreciate all of it now that you're not so stuck chasing something else.

she buys some treats for you on the way back from her usual rendezvous and although you tell her she didn't have to, you also make sure she knows you appreciate the kind gesture.

you had subtly dropped the hint that she cannot, in any way, let it slip to mingi or yunho--if she by chance ever crosses path with them which you don't doubt could happen considering the proximity in which you live within each other.

but the fact she knows proves to be just about the last push you need to muster up the courage to tell both mingi and yunho.

you think you've held it for long enough and it doesn't seem fair that yeosang and yuna got to know it before them, the ones you swore an oath to only to break it.

the day you plan to fess up, you send a short text to yeosang if he's available to meet at the usual place.

"so you're really going to do it?" is his immediate response to the announcement.

"yeah. i don't know for how much longer i can keep it from them. it's killing me."

"have you thought of how you're going to do it?"

you shake your head, every possible scenario you already thought of not at all satisfying or fitting.

"no, but... i want to tell them in person and be as truthful as possible, down to every last lie."

he nods, a sympathetic look on him but understanding that this is a matter between only the three of you.

"let me know how it turns out. they might be upset for a while but they're still your friends."

for the longest time, you grew up without any form of love or affection from those around you, always falling behind the other kids and feeling as if you didn't belong anywhere.

all of your primary and middle school years spent alone because you were shy and timid and didn't know how to talk to anyone.

mingi was the first to break the ice after noticing one too many times the way you'd always look so lost sitting under that oak tree by yourself, and being a barely fourteen year old social butterfly who at the time didn't understand some circumstances are not by choice, he felt the need to befriend you.

it took a lot of pestering and embarrassing himself to get you to open up, but eventually, you knew he and yunho were people you could trust.

so you didn't only went behind your friends back, but you lied to mingi and yunho, two of the only people to ever show you love and affection.

anything is possible at this point and you believe betrayal is a very reasonable reaction.

you text them when they're off work and likely able to spare some time, asking if they can drop by because you want to talk.

"if you really miss me, you know could've just cal--"

mingi's figure halfway through the crack of the door stops when he meets yunho's equally perplexed glare, both of them unknowing to the fact the other was gonna be showing up.

"what? is this some kind of surprise because we haven't hung out in so long?" he closes the door and stands before you and yunho, who shrugs in response.

"i just got here as well."

while the two continues jokingly theorizing the reason you called them here, your body is tense the entire time because they really are in front of you now and you're so nervous about their reactions it sounds like their voices have muffled into a commotion matching your heartbeat until you're blurting out, "i've been seeing san behind your guys back all this time."

the silence after is so deadly, from the way the small talk immediately stops to the fall of their expressions as the room grows uneasy.

"you're kidding me," yunho is the first of the two to say something.

"i'm being serious, and i know what i did is awful," you go on because you told yourself you wouldn't stop until everything is out, but it proves to be more of a struggle than predicted despite the preparation because of the two, the person you expected to have the most compassion, looks the angriest right now.

"i don't expect you guys to--"

but your words are cut short when mingi just turns around and leave the room instead, your sight starting to blur as you fight back the tears.

yunho deflates with a sigh of his chest and shake his head at you, disappointment all over his face that crushes your soul because letting your friends down actually feels so much worse.

"when? why? and for how long?" he interrogates.

"around the beginning of summer? i-i promise, i did tried to stay away at first but then he came into my room and--"

"--jesus christ, y/n. that's almost what? four, five months?"

"i know." and you just start bawling then, absolutely guilty and wrong and ashamed.

"he didn't force anything on you, did he? because i swear, i will knock his fucking teeth out."

"he didn't," you deny weakly, a silence hanging in the air as yunho's at loss for words, honestly still so many questions running through his mind.

and then you tell him everything. from the night san busted into your room to the secret meetups, the carnival date, the trip, the parties, and down till the last second where he 'dumped' you pathetically.

he's not taking it very well but he's taking it a lot better than you expected, and is surprisingly the least upset of the two. said you can still reach out to him but he's going to need some time.

you don't hear from mingi for the next four days. he doesn't answer to any of your calls or messages.

it's rare and unusual to see him genuinely upset, you could probably count on one hand the amount of time something really pissed him off.

you hurt him and is now suffering from the consequences.

once yunho starts coming around, he replies to one of your texts regarding mingi and said for you to also give him time. that sooner or later, he will most likely want to talk to you about it. tell him what you told yunho but know that you lied and broke their trusts in some form.

in the midst of dealing with your friends not speaking to you, yeosang keeps you company for most days.

he entertains you by telling stories of his day-to-day job working at a computer repair shop, most of the time spent assembling customized gaming pcs, that if you're to ever stop by, he can teach you a thing or two (if you're interested).

"the guy that owns the shop, he's chill. but on slow days, i use the time to do most of my school works," he tells you.

and time passes by like that until mingi's ready to talk.

he makes an appearance by paying a surprise visit one unsuspecting evening, a knock at your door to a sullen look on him.

"hey," you awkwardly greet, attempting to lessen the tension with a light smile after.

"let's talk."

he walks himself in, flopping on the edge of your bed as he pats the spot beside for you to take a seat.

there's no prolonging or beating around the bush, and you're honestly glad for it, dying to address and settle everything to savor the few things you still have.

"i want to know, how long exactly after that conversation we had did you start seeing him again?"

the serious, sullen look on him never leaves, and it only intensifies when he asks that question. you try the best digging into scraps of your memories for accuracy but truthfully, the timeline is a little hazy.

but from mingi and yunho telling you to stay away from san to the day you relasped, it must've been a month at least.

"i did mean what i said at the time, i swear."

because you don't want him to think that the lies already started then; only giving him what he wanted to hear, if that's why he's asking you the question.

"i didn't text or call him, and if he did, i ignored him. i was spending most of my time inside or at the cafe and i was fortunate enough yeosang was there sometimes to accompany me. he even showed up drunk one time but i kicked him out."

you tell him the things you did right first, because you know you're about to disappoint him.

"then he came again one day, and i just... gave in. that must've been about a month after the conversation."

the manner in which mingi's shoulders drop the same time he heaves out irritatedly is expected, only watching in silence as he rakes his hair in frustration.

"what pains me the most is not that you lied to me, but that you would willingly hurt yourself."

he's had time to come to terms with the fact although it bugged him greatly because it just wasn't you... to lie countless times, and over a guy. but to some extent, he can let it slide depending on the circumstances.

but what he can't get around to is you going back to san, knowing one-hundred percent in the deepest of your heart whether you want to deny it or not, that he won't be able to give you what you want.

that you will get hurt, you are going to get hurt.

he tries his best to protect you without all the coddling or cradling, afraid of coming off overbearing but it is so disheartening to watch you do this to yourself.

it must take a level of low self-esteem and self-hatred, and... he really just feel so fucking sorry for you.

"and the worst part was that he actually tried ending things sooner and i was the one to seek him out for the last time," you unveil because he's right and the only thing you know how to do when guilty is to fess up.

"he said maybe someday, he could see himself with me... but not right now."

sympathy is quick to take over mingi, because in spite of it all, he will always hold a soft spot for you.

"and you're not thinking he actually means what he said, now do you?"

because san's a dickhead and could be using that as leverage for the last time; give you false hope and feed ideas into your gullible mind that there's a chance; a maybe in the future.

"the first part? no." you chuckle bitterly. "i won't ever be the one for him and i don't wish for anything more between us from now on."

"good. because fuck that guy. i hope for nothing but only the worst for him."

and for all your fuck-ups and downfalls, you don't know if you're ever deserving of mingi whose only punishments is the four days of silent treatments, and that for the next two months, he's going to be wrecking your wallet because you're now responsible for treating him and yunho.

it's as if getting a slap on the wrist for what you did, you will be eternally grateful.

he also tells you--in light of trying to find the positives in a rather fucked-up situation, that in some sick and messed up way, at least you experienced what it's like to love someone.

that you may feel san left you hanging, but him running you off is closure. it is as much of an ending as it can be.

a week and a half after you talked to mingi, mostly everything went back to normal.

you had been so scared confessing your sins to your two best friends, deathly afraid they wouldn't forgive you only for yunho to start speaking to you again not even a day later.

a repetitive routine, tedious school works and job; you're all too used to it by now, going on most days like there still isn't a lasting sadness always present and your heart still isn't healing.

you're better, but not completely okay.

mingi notices as he always does, spewing something about the best way to get over a broken heart is to have some fun, joining hands with your roommate behind your back in order to drag you to some club-restaurant.

you had put on exactly what she suggested: a black silk dress that hugs your frame perfectly, heels you can barely walk in--plus she even did your hair and makeup.

"come on, y/n. you look totally hot," yuna assures, after you told the both of them 'to get over someone is to go under someone else' isn't gonna work and you're not gonna start shaking ass on some random stranger.

"yeah, lighten up a little. but we're not only here to pimp you out, we're also here to feast and to officially say: fuck that son of a bitch, choi san, he can--"

"--oh my gosh, can you be any louder?" you hiss, flustered by the volume.

"actually, i can. he's so lucky to have his balls still intact because the urge to cut them off."

"can't believe i thought he was nice," yuna joins.

"that's how it all starts, honey."

you dismiss the chattering and switch focus to the dance floor that's actually quite empty, but mingi had made a point about more people turning up later. and truthfully, the place kind of scares you just as every loud and obnoxious settings do.

"no but forreal y/n, don't worry if you're unable to find anyone. we got just the perfect person for you."

you don't think too much of what he said, disregarding it like you do to all things mingi, only for yunho to show with none other than yeosang not even ten minutes later.

you were wondering where he was.

"sit your fucking asses down, i'm starving," mingi urges the two boys who finally sits after a few comments under their breath, and of course, yeosang is in the middle and facing you.

"hi, i'm yuna. you must be yeosang," your roommate introduces herself. it would be their first time meeting.

he nods and ushers her a thin smile, muttering out a "nice to meet you."

"so what are we getting? any suggestions?" yunho speaks.

"margarita, anyone?" mingi says, sloppily flipping through the menu.

"okay, at least one of us needs to stay sober to keep eyes on the rest just so nobody does anything stupid."

mingi blows, mocking the idea.

"no, fuck that. we're here to have fun and are taking cabs back anyway. might as well go all out."

"and by nobody, i mean you," yunho rebuts.

"i'm great at handling my alcohol, right, y/n?" he looks to you but you only brush it off with a chuckle because if there's anyone to do something stupid under the influence, it's definitely mingi.

"i'll just take a pepsi," yeosang chips in, offering to be that person. "i'm not great with alcohol."

you stare at him momentarily before agreeing, "yeah, me too. i'll take lemonade."

"geez, it's like i'm out with my grandparents," mingi snarks, you and yeosang locking eyes briefly before giggling quietly.

after some time and a lot of quarrelling, you guys decide on a pepperoni pizza and some hot wings, mingi pressuring the two boys next to him to go up and order.

they're barely a feet away from the table when your friend and roommate already start sticking their noses up your business.

"so..." the both of them echo together, it's scary how in sync they are. mingi being the one to eventually finish it off.

"what do you think of yeosang?" he hasn't even blinked at all.

"he's... cool." you shrug, the answer making both of them roll their eyes.

"cool? bitch please."

"he is totally cute, though," yuna adds.

"right. and smart, and totally one-hundred percent approved by us, and was there for y/n when chicken boy san fucked her over even though she was bitching about him at first."

"enemies to lovers?"

"that's what i'm saying!"

"you guys are so dramatic," you squeak, annoyed, "and i'm not gonna use yeosang just to get over him. that would be unfair to yeosang."

the both of them hum and nod, actually in agreement.

"you're right. yeosang shouldn't be a rebound. he's a keeper, that means after you get your shit together--"

he stops when he can hear the two making their way back to the table, passing a knowing glare to both you and yuna before dropping the topic.

and just when you think they would forget about it--too busy chewing your own food and listening to the chitters and music, you completely miss the exchange between your friend and roommate as they smirk mischievously and mumbles something inaudibly to each other.

"i'm full, anyone up for some dancing?" yuna picks her head your direction, the food in your mouth not even fully swallowed when she snatches your wrist and hauls it to the dance floor, "let's dance, y/n."

in the midst of your protest, you can hear yeosang in the background as mingi drags him along.

yunho is unable to do anything except laugh because it was so obvious what the two was trying to do, having caught the act himself.

"yuna, i don't know how to dance," you tell her, eyeing the people around you up and down as they grind against each other.

"you don't need to know how. just have fun!" she playfully pushes you by the shoulder, rocking her head to the beat of the song playing.

and just as you start loosening up a little, someone crashes into your back... rather purposely.

"oop, sorry. didn't see you there," mingi apologizes for yeosang who was the one to bump into you because he was pushing the boy through the crowd like a ragdoll.

you already know where this is going and they're so annoying for it.

there's a second where you and yeosang meet eyes, but are quickly taken away when yuna speaks again.

"well dang, i think i drank a little too much. gonna head to the restroom."

"yeah, me too. that margarita, man," mingi exaggerates, and just like that, they're both scuttling away. leaving you on the dance floor with yeosang.

you're livid at your friends for setting you up, but once you turn to yeosang and sees the soft look in his eyes, some of the rage dissipates.

"well, uh... you look good," he starts by complimenting your outfit, because he's never seen you in that style before. it suits you, he thinks.

"thanks, i guess." you chuckle it off, because yes, you meet him occasionally in the cafe, but this setting is so different and so is the vibe right now. "it all belongs to yuna."

"still looks good on you."

and you're thankful for the dark lightings in here as a blush run across your cheeks.

"i don't know how to dance at all," you confess again out of thin air, bringing a laughter from him.

"me too. this is my first time at a place like this. it's... interesting."

he looks around, and so do you, able to see through the open spaces and spot annoying ass mingi and yuna just off to the side and watching the two of you like hawks.

"if you--" you're cut short when someone elbows you from behind, losing your footing only to fall onto yeosang's chest exactly like a scene from some soap opera.

he balances you out by catching your hips, staring down at you and asking, "you okay?"

you nod, pushing yourself back up.

the night was interesting for sure, and if not for the fact you actually ended up having plenty of fun on the floor even though you could barely dance to save your life, you would never let mingi and yuna live this one off.

yeosang was better than you of course, but it was kind of amusing watching him and yourself try it for the first time.

the rest are drunk enough when it's time to head back, you and yeosang are the only ones still right in the mind.

you take the bills as promised but yeosang offers for the other half, and even in mingi's drunken state, you can clearly hear him passing a comment and telling the both of you to get a room.

halfway into october, things start looking more promising, and again, you feel a little better. not completely okay, just always better than the last time.

your periods of isolation or with yeosang at the cafe were quick to turn into group hangouts when mingi and yunho would join, and occasionally, yuna.

you grow closer with the other two and in a long time, finally allow yourself to make space for someone else besides just mingi and yunho.

by the end of the month, almost every last remnants of san is gone.

it first began during a conversation you were having with mingi, when he casually threw in the revelation that he's no longer friends with wooyoung.

you had felt so guilty at first, feeling like it was your fault. mingi and wooyoung had clicked immediately and were so compatible together. but because you were stupid and ignored all warnings, you ruined a perfectly good friendship.

but mingi had assure you that it was his choice. he no longer wanted to be friends with someone who still associated with san. people come and go, and wooyoung won't be the last, no matter how good of a friend he was.

there was no fight, really, he said. he confronted wooyoung and he just offered to move out. wooyoung must've felt bad about it, but there was no use in dwelling.

mingi has a new roommate now and though they didn't click as fast as he did with wooyoung, he will learn to get along with him.

and in your last attempt to rid all reminders of san, it ended with you quitting your job. the job you got because of him.

it was definitely a risky move considering your age and lack of experience, but you thought long and hard about it, finally pulling the trigger when yeosang told you he might be able to talk to his boss into opening up another position if you're interested.

but whether you get the job or not, you feel you made the right decision.

fortunately, when november comes around, yeosang breaks the news that you got the job. it would be a cleaning position considering the guy is rarely ever around and he needs someone to tidy up the shop when yeosang's too busy running it.

by mid november, mingi brings up the idea that you should join a book club, later supported by yunho and yeosang when you ask for their thoughts.

he said it's a great way for you to meet other like-minded people who mostly likely share a similar passion for writing. that you can learn a thing or two by exposing yourself to just more than your classes.

you were unsure initially because the semester is already coming to an end, but yeosang had convinced you there's still many more to come and was worth giving it a try.

you find the head of the club's email after lurking on the school website and she gives you all informations needed and tells you to be there this friday, the one weekday they usually meet.

said you can come and see for yourself first before she puts you on the official roster.

when friday arrives, you look for the room number she had given but didn't have to look far because it's obvious by the amount of people lining up outside.

you merely have just gotten in line, observing each and every of their faces to hopefully see someone you recognize but to no luck, turning to the sound of incoming footsteps instead, and much to your shock and irony, you see someone you haven't in forever.

popping in with his dark hair and wide smile, he recognizes you as well, waving in the air with a hint of surprise in his eye.

"hey!" he stops in front of you.

"hey hongjoong. wow... it's been so long," you can't help but to comment the obvious which he returns with a short chuckle.

"yeah it has. what are you doing here? haven't seen you around at all."

you give him a shy smile before replying, "i took on your advice and started writing a little... so my friends thought it would be good if i joined the club to expand my interest."

"really?" he looks genuinely taken aback, "that's great! creative writing as well?"

"yeah." you nod. "i thought you didn't go to our school."

"oh, i don't. but i just like hanging around, also because the campus is close to mine and the discussions here are quite compelling so i usually drop by."

"i see." you smile.

"you'll like it, don't worry."

there's so many things you wish to ask hongjoong, given the time he's been away and the heaps of events that has happened since. you did say so yourself that if you meet him again, you would want to hear his story.

“that’s a first. but thanks. if you told me a couple years ago that i’d end up choosing writing, i wouldn’t believe it either. it was never really something i was ever into or cared too much for growing up.” he pauses briefly.

“but there was a tough period in my life, and to deal with it, i kind of just started journaling and writing my thoughts down onto whatever paper or notebooks i could find, and it made me feel a little better afterward.”

hongjoong may not know it, but for someone who's hardly ever in your life, he has quite an indirect impact with just what he said at that party alone.

you feel in some way, hongjoong is your other half, though loosely: long, lost tortured souls who pours their miseries out onto papers and write their feelings away.

but just as you open your mouth to say something, the door swings open and the students start rushing inside. you figure you will ask him after.

you sit in the back and watch the entire time as the group of students ramble on about the book they all read for the week, hongjoong just slightly off at the side and listening to the discussion but will provide inputs from time to time.

after an hour, and after everyone agreed on a new book, you tell the head of the club to put you on the roster, figuring it's something you want to partake in, but you won't admit hongjoong's addition also played a role in the decision.

you thought you were gonna have to run and catch up, but thankfully, he was waiting at the door for you.

"what did you think?" he asks on the walk together.

"it was interesting for sure. fun to see everyone's take on it."

"oh, yeah." he snickers.

it's then that you debate whether you should ask, fearful of coming off intrusive but you also may never get the chance again.

"hey hongjoong..." you kick off, making him spin his head slightly to face you, one eyebrow quirking attentively.

"yes?"

"back at the party, you talked about going through a tough period. i was just wondering if you're comfortable enough to share what it was? no pressure though, just thought i'd take the chance."

he goes blank for a second and you're thinking you might've crossed the line, but your chest drop in relief once a warm smile coats his lips.

"i don't mind. if it will help."

because he also gets the feeling that in some ways, you're like him.

"it was freshman year of high school and i was stupid just as every other boys my age was, and had the bright idea of sneaking into our school's pool at night because it sounded fun and rebellious, and it made us felt cool."

you can tell where the story is heading, but hongjoong doesn't look fazed by it at all. he keeps going.

"it was me and two of my other friends at the time. none of us knew how to swim, and amidst all the fucking around, pushing and pulling, one of my friends fell into the ten feet pool. at first i thought he was messing with us, but it got obvious pretty quickly that all of us were idiots and he really was drowning."

"my other friend went after him. he wasn't a great swimmer but he was the most athletic out of us and i remember at the time, i felt so freaking scared and helpless, i didn't know what to do. what if he couldn't find him as well? what if something happen to the both of them?"

"i'm so sorry... did your friends make it out okay?"

he nods.

"yeah. but the first one was blue in the face when my other friend found him. we honestly weren't sure he was gonna make it. he's fine now. they're both fine. but i don't think i've ever felt that much fear in my life before. it fucked me up for years after... that's when i started journaling."

"oh..."

if you didn't know, you never would have guessed someone like hongjoong, always so kind and lively, went through something so horrible.

now, it's as if he's an entirely new person. nothing to show that he was the traumatized boy in the story at all. you wonder how he does it.

"how did you overcome the trauma? you seem... so much better now."

he dryly chuckles.

"well, it wasn't easy. i thought i could overcome it on my own as well, but when i was becoming merely a shell of the person i once was, not getting out of my room or interacting with anybody, my mother took matters into her own hand and took me to therapy."

"therapy?" you repeat, mostly talking under your breath but hongjoong hears it nonetheless.

"yes. it's now why i'm able to talk about the situation somewhat without breaking down or reliving it all over again. you may think that over time, it will pass and one day, you won't even think of it anymore. but you close your eyes and it comes back to haunt you, you can't get it out of your head, and then you realize... it will continue happening unless you get help. in therapy, i've not only developed coping skills, but i've also learned to heal from my past."

you don't say anything, but are listening so keenly, every of his words ingrained like you can recite them for yourself.

"the lady i saw, she was really good. i still keep in contact with her to this day. if you want, i can give you the address of their office."

he don't have to ask because he just knows, that you two really are long, lost tortured souls who pours their miseries out onto papers and write their feelings away.

and if he's correct, you will need just as much help as he did.

when you finally bring it up to mingi, he thinks it's the greatest idea ever. so great that he can't believe he didn't think of it himself, being a psychology major and all.

the only problem he had at first was that you heard it from hongjoong, a friend of wooyoung, and knowing all too well who that ties back to, you had to assure him that hongjoong is good.

but you have expressed doubts regarding seeking therapy, that it would be beneficial but would take up so much time and not to mention, money. but mingi is adamant about it, that no matter the time or money, it would be worth it for your mental health.

"no, bitch. you need therapy," he would say.

and after a couple more pushes from your other friends, you cave and make the first phone call to the office, a sweet lady answering on the other side as you give her your name and information and the reasons why you would like to schedule an appointment.

she tells you that within the next few days, the therapist will call you again for a more in-depth discussion before she can meet you in-person at the office for the first session.

and though initially doubtful and hesitant, the one-on-one conversation with the therapist over the phone makes you so hopeful that this is gonna work out because she sounded so sweet and understanding, just like how hongjoong described her.

mingi offers to come along for the first in-person appointment, reassuring you through the nervous, shaken hands and pounding heart, that when you walk out of that building today, you are gonna feel so much better.

you want for him to be right, that the efforts put in so far are gonna be worth it. and the minute you walk into the therapist's office, a middle aged lady with a welcoming smile that could warm the entire room, you for some reason just knew then, it's gonna work out.

you start off by telling her about your upbringing. mainly your parents, how your mom accidentally got pregnant at a young age and how she never failed to remind you of it, most of your adolescents were of you being passed around when one parent got too tired.

then you move onto your aunt and uncle, that you started living with them after your mom dropped you off one sudden day and ran away with another man, as told by your aunt. to this day, you have no idea what your father's up to, but you know he doesn't want you.

if he did, he would've came back for you so long ago.

and lastly, the romantic partners in your life; men, who most likely fucked up your view of love forever, or at least for a very long time, which is why you're here in hope to reverse that.

learn to love again, and that just because some pretty boy with dimples and broad shoulders lied to you one too many times and broke your heart, it's not the end of the world.

you are gonna be okay without him, no matter how good he used to make you feel or how strong the butterflies were when he was around.

you are gonna learn to be okay.

dr. hwang, as she tells you to call her by, said she took notes of everything you have told her so far and has a plan for what would be the best type of treatment for you but you'll have to come back for another session just to make sure.

by end of the appointment, taking the elevator back to the first floor, mingi pries away from the magazine he was reading and runs to you immediately.

"how was it?"

you smile at him, something hopeful and optimistic in your eyes.

"good. i think it's going to work."

# last entry

it's been a while since i've written in this thing, and honestly, i was losing my motivation to return because a lot have happened since... and this notebook really does hold so many memories of him. but this was where it all started so it's only fair i give it a proper goodbye. but i've officially made up my mind and will no longer be writing in this notebook anymore. i still have a passion for writing and i realize it is something i want to commit to, but i just won't be doing it here. my life's gone through a few changes and i just wish to leave a some things behind, this being one of them. but one day when i become a much better writer (hopefully), i can come back and laugh at this silly little journal. i have no idea what the next few years have in store or if therapy's going to fix me entirely, but i hope to become someone my current present self can look up to

sincerely, y/n

next // series m.list

taglist: @sorryimananti-romantic @revehosh @cookiechristie @avantalem @atiny68 @sannwa @shibera @mochibabycakes @justineasian @eastleighsblog @baguette-atiny @crimson-mia @yeosxxx @sleepychimm @atz-diary @diorwoo @naiify @becauseiloveyunho @damagelove @softie00 @s-nsanshine @atinytinaa @moonseonghwa @lemontreefantasy @wooyoung4eva @yeosangsbiceps @likexaxdaydream @knucklesdeepmingi @barbielibra @tmtxtf @brown88 @harusoraa @frankenstein852 @yujispinkhair @mermaid17venus @nolxverlikeme @writersun @kkayfan @wooyoungjpg @galaxypox @byunniebaekhyunnie @vixensss @interweab @svintsandghosts @moonchele

#i had major memory loss #writing this chapter #so if u see any retcons or contradictions #spare me pls #ateez angst #ateez x reader #san x reader #choi san x reader #yeosang x reader #kang yeosang x reader #san angst #ateez series #fic: broken

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electronickingdomfox · 6 months ago

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"Ishmael" review

Novel from 1985, by Barbara Hambly. A pretty great read, it's actually a crossover between Star Trek and a Western show from the 60's: Here Come the Brides. However, you don't need to have watched the other show to understand the novel, since the characters and their relationships are properly developed, and no previous knowledge is assumed.

The plot follows an amnesiac Spock waking up in 1860's Seattle (the setting of Here Come the Brides), and learning to navigate among the people there, all the while hiding the fact he's an alien (which is one of the few things that Spock remembers about himself). He takes the identity of "Ishmael", the nephew of local businessman Aaron Stemple. Funnily enough, Stemple was played by Mark Lenard (Sarek in Star Trek), which may have given the author the idea to combine both shows. Interspersed with Spock's chapters in Seattle, there are chapters focused on the "present", with Kirk and McCoy trying to figure out what happened to the Vulcan. I ended up finding those chapters a bit more interesting, since the reader is as much in the dark about the mystery as Kirk. But it was also nice to see Spock adapting to the townspeople, and being more human and emotional, given how little he remembers about his Vulcan education. Besides, this serves to confront Spock's values against those of XIX century America (addressing subjects such as the sexism and racism of the era).

I can't judge how well portrayed are the Brides' characters, not having seen the show myself, but they're all lively and easy to warm up to. As for the Enterprise regulars, they're fine, and in particular the portrait of Spock as a rootless, lonely stranger, carving his own place among those humans, is pretty moving.

On another note, it's curious how this is the first novel to involve time-travelling to Earth's past, considering it was a recurring theme in TOS (which even had its own Western episode!). And there are also parallelisms with the later movie The Voyage Home, where a somehow amnesiac Spock also visits San Francisco, though at a much later date. Apart from this, Spock's unofficial family name: "S'chn T'gai", is first introduced here.

To summarize, this is an intriguing story, that also manages to be quite poignant at times. Though there's still no cowboy Bones...

Spoilers under the cut:

During shore leave at Starbase 12, built in the vicinity of the Tau Eridani Cloud, Spock notices some unusual dealings in a Klingon cargo ship, and he's authorized to conduct a solo infiltration mission aboard the transport. Time passes without Kirk receiving any news from Spock, and the Enterprise follows the cargo discreetly, once it leaves the starbase. Suddenly, the cargo starts accelerating inside the Cloud, which is rife with magnetic anomalies, and then it simply... vanishes. The only transmissions from Spock that they receive before he disappears, are a cryptic series of words and numbers: "White dwarf. Khlaru. Tillman's Factor. Guardian. 1867."

The story moves then to 1860's Seattle, where Aaron Stemple finds a badly injured and unconscious Spock in the forest. He recognizes immediately that Spock's an alien, given his green blood and strange ears, and understands he's been tortured and will die if left alone. Not without misgivings, Aaron decides to take the alien to his cabin in the woods. There he takes care of him, until Spock recovers, and is surprised to find out that the alien can speak English. Spock, however, can't remember anything about his past or identity, though from time to time he gets impressions from his previous life, that he can't pinpoint. The only other person who is aware of the alien's existence is Lottie, the local saloon owner, but she keeps the secret. Back in the saloon, Lottie notices two foreigners asking a hell lot of questions (the reader will identify them as Klingons at once), but she doesn't mention it to Aaron, despite her suspicions.

Back in the starbase, Kirk, McCoy and Maria Kellogg (the starbase commander), try to make sense out of Spock's transmissions. The mention of a "Guardian" is taken as a reference to the Guardian of Forever, and implies the Klingons are trying to tamper with the timeline. This is supported by the mentions of a "white dwarf" and "Tillman's factor", which describe a method to open a time warp. After some discussion, they also determine that 1867 must be a date... but from what calendar? As for "Khlaru", it could refer to a Klingon historian that was researching at the starbase. Khlaru's colleague, the Vulcan historian Trau, tells them a bit about their research. They were studying ancient Karsid records; a civilization that used to subtly infiltrate other societies through economic deals, before annexing them to their empire. The Klingons were part of that empire, until the rebellion that gave them independence (which is a very unusual backstory for the Klingons). However, Trau fails to see any connection between Karsid history and the Klingon's current plans.

Meanwhile, Spock is adapting to Seattle's society. He lets his hair grow to cover his ears, and passes as Aaron's nephew Ishmael, working for him as accountant at the mill. The general situation in the town is also explained. The Bolt brothers (Jason, Jeremy and Joshua) had brought several women from the East Coast to marry local workers. Aaron has placed a bet with Jason: if he fails to get all the women married by the end of this year, the Bolt's mountain property will pass to Aaron's hands. Ishmael (I'm going to refer to Spock as such, since that's the name used for most of the story) shows his super-human abilities when he's able to locate Jeremy and his fiancée Candy, lost in the forest, by hearing alone. However, Aaron manages to dispel any suspicions about his "nephew". Ishmael's acute hearing also comes in handy to save Aaron's life during a trip to San Francisco, where two men assault Aaron in the street. During this trip, Joshua meets Sarah, a doctor who faces discrimination for being a woman trying to work in the medical field. This is something that Ishmael can't understand; and he's constantly worried about slipping up, and showing traits unusual for a human in this era. The San Francisco bay also stirs something in his memory; Ishmael is certain of having seen that landscape in other time and shape, but whenever he tries to recover those memories, he feels intense pain around his temples (and if you know your Klingons, you'll probably guess by now that they used a Mind-Sifter on Spock).

For his part, Kirk consults with an engineer in the starbase, Aurelia Steiner (a curious alien that looks like a blob of gelatin, and shows her emotions through variations in her color and perfume). She devises a means for the Enterprise to create a time warp like that of the Klingons. At this point, they're certain that 1867 is a date from Earth's Christian calendar. And after Klingons try to kill Trau, and destroy the Karsid records, the historian concludes that there must be some relation with Khlaru's research. Effectively, they find out that the Karsid tried to infiltrate Earth around that date. However, they were stopped because a representative from Washington, Aaron Stemple, showed an unusual hostility and suspicion towards them. The Karsid abandoned their attempts, and soon thereafter, the Klingon rebellion put an end to them. Kirk and co. suspect the Klingons will try to kill Aaron before he enters local politics, so the Karsid succeed in their invasion and the Federation never comes to be. There's still the question, though, of why Aaron was so convinced that the Karsid were aliens (given how good were their disguises), since humans of that era wouldn't have reached that conclusion easily.

Back in 1867, Ishmael accompanies the Bolt brothers to San Francisco, in a gambling quest to earn $50.000 at the casinos. Aaron had promised Jason that he'd forget about the bet in exchange of that sum of money. Jason was likely to lose the bet, as nobody wanted to marry one of the girls, Biddy Cloom, who is considered loud and unattractive. Aaron and Ishmael, however, had grown fond of the girl, and deep down, Aaron doesn't want Jason to marry her just to win a bet, since he's developed feelings for Biddy. The Bolt brothers start making money at the casinos using Ishmael's mathematical system. And again, the two foreigners from the saloon show up there. Meanwhile, Joshua meets with Sarah and proposes to her, but he disappears before going out on a date with her. They find Joshua a while later, apparently drugged and with marks around his temples similar to those of Ishmael. He also suffers from a minor memory loss. In the end, Jason fucks up when he abandons Ishmael's system to win money more quickly, and ends up losing all their cash (and this whole passage, with Jason's winning streak surrounded by impending doom, was pretty exciting). So they return to Seattle empty-handed.

A bit later, during Jeremy's wedding with Candy, Aaron finally asks Biddy to marry him (even if this means that Jason will win the bet and keep the mountain), and Biddy agrees, as she also loves him. Sarah also comes from San Francisco to accept Joshua's proposal. However, Aaron receives a sudden call from the mill, and leaves the party alone. Ishmael notices two men following him, and recognizes them as Klingons. This brings back all his memories (and from this point onwards, the novel refers to him again as "Spock", to signify the change). Spock follows Aaron, but he arrives too late, and finds him gravely wounded by a disruptor blast. The Klingons take Spock for a common human, and not wanting to disrupt history further, they leave, confident that Aaron will die anyway.

Spock and Sarah try to keep Aaron alive during the following days, but with their primitive medicine, there's not much they can do for him. Fortunately, Kirk and McCoy arrive in the cabin just then, having finally pinpointed the correct time and place. They take Aaron to the Enterprise for proper treatment. And Spock has a tender farewell scene with Biddy, where he promises to bring Aaron back in a few days, even if Spock himself will never see her again. Aaron is healed and brought back to Seattle, with the Enterprise returning to its proper time. As it turns out, it was the Klingons' interference precisely, what thwarted their own plans. By sending Spock to that time and place, Aaron became familiar enough with aliens, to resist against the Karsid later. The novel ends with a nice touch, as Kirk consults Spock's family records, and discovers that one of Amanda's surnames is... Stemple.

Spirk Meter: 6/10*. Kirk becomes very depressed after Spock is lost in the Cloud, having recurring nightmares and being unable to sleep. To the point that he hopes that Spock was already dead, to not suffer anymore. It qualifies as McSpirk too, because McCoy is shown to be similarly depressed, and turning to heavy drinking. At the end, both Kirk and McCoy stare open-mouthed at Spock being so affectionate with Biddy (of course, it's not romantic affection... but they don't know that yet, and it's easy to read it as jealousy). Besides this, there are many mentions of Spock being unable to appreciate feminine beauty, and he takes his inability to ever marry a woman as a matter of fact.

*A 10 in this scale is the most obvious spirk moments in TOS. Think of the back massage, "You make me believe in miracles", or "Amok Time" for example.

#star trek tos #star trek novels #novel review #k/s #spirk #mcspirk

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angelicalchaoticabyss · 5 months ago

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(PokePasta) PokePark 2, The Fun Never Ends.

I was replaying PokePark 2 again for about the…fifth time? What can I say? I just found the game that fun I suppose. And you could call me a pretty lonely guy, I didn’t have friends after all so making Pokemon friends in the game was nice.

It was after saving the Pokemon from Wish Park did I start to see a change. When I talked to the saved Pokemon to play their skill games they would talk about how tired they were, how exhausting it was to come out of Wish Park. The way they acted reflected this as the skill games were easier to complete and I didn’t even need Snivy to catch Cincinno in Cove Town.

I pondered on what was going on with the game but found it interesting enough to keep playing. The rescued Pokemon in the Arbor Area were the same thing, always exhausted. Bisharp even had a cloud above his head signifying I had to speak to him, and he talked about how tired and drained the saved Pokemon looked. Now I was even more curious. The next time I entered Wish Park I didn’t go to the attraction right away after encountering Darkrai and rejecting his offer to join him.

Now I don’t know how I did this exactly, but I managed to glitch Pikachu into the center of Wish Park, and I could strangely access Wish Palace, so I pressed 2 to go.

The Compass star thing glowed brightly as Pikachu was engulfed in light.

The Loading screen was completely black aside from the white “Loading…” in the corner. Then the Wish Palace music began to play. I ran up the stairs to where Darkrai was, and I wondered if I had found a speedrun skip for the game. But instead of Piplup being there it was indeed Darkrai waiting for me. He had a cloud above his head, so I went to talk to him.

“You…You’re here? Did you manage to find a way to see me? How…thoughtful. I have an attraction for you to play.”

I wasn’t given an option to decline, and my curiosity got the better of me. I selected Yes and was sent to another Loading screen with only Pikachu on it, and he was looking…worried, before the instructions came up. I was to hit the Shadow balls back at Darkrai as they came at me and it kind of reminded me of Bastidon’s attraction from the first game. I knocked the attacks back at Darkrai as best I could, getting hit several times when he moved faster and faster but finally the attraction was over with a passing score...only…it wasn’t.

The attraction started up again with another loading screen with Pikachu having a scared look on his face. This continued on, with each loading screen Pikachu began to look more and more exhausted, drained, like he was being syphoned of energy. The attraction truly ended when mid hit Pikachu just collapsed onto the ground, unconscious, and I lost control of the game.

“What the…?”

“Hm…something wrong my friend…? You don’t look too good, here, let me help you…”

“Pikaaa….”

“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you. We’ll be friend’s forever…never again lonely.”

Darkrai ensnared Pikachu in a bundle of energy, I shook my head and turned the Wii off…okay…something…no that’s...that’s horribly wrong. I turned it back on again, but no matter what I did and how long I waited, the Wii wouldn’t recognize the game disc. I was confused and frustrated so I left the console off before going to bed, and in my sleeping state I was afflicted with a nightmare. I was a Pikachu running through darkness, and a voice was begging me to stay over and over, filling my ears.

The nightmares continued without end for weeks, even seeking medical attention didn’t help stop them. I was beyond stressed out and terrified of sleep, this led to me not sleeping for days until I’d eventually pass out from exhaustion. Darkrai began to appear in these dreams, begging me to stay with him and be his friend, but I always ran away. The nightmares wouldn’t stop…until I couldn’t wake up anymore.

My nightmares were now of Wish Park and Wish Palace, occasionally I could hear the sounds of hospital machines and the like, my mother crying…it all hurt so much. But I’m stuck here now, stuck with him. Stuck with my… “best friend” and I knew deep down…not even death would save me.

But why should I be sad? I’m stuck with fun games, endless food, and a best friend who wants everything to do with me. Sure, I’m away from my family but hey…who��needed them…? Who needs anyone when you have Darkrai? When you have Darkrai and Wish Park…

The Fun never ends.

#pokemon #pokepark #pokepark 2 #pokepark 2 wonders beyond #pokepark 2 the fun never ends #pokepasta #creepypasta #pokemon creepypasta #darkrai #pikachu

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clintbartonswife · 1 year ago

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lone spider

Pairings: Peter Parker & irondad!Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Ned Summary: peter parker, student at Midtown and Stark's favourite intern, is captured. Whumptober prompt #3 : solitary confinement / 'make it stop' Whumptober prompt #4 : cattle prod / shock Notes: indirect mentions of self harm, descriptions of torture masterlist || whumptober2023 || part two

The silence was suffocating.

Peter had never properly understood what people meant when they said that. Sound was not a tangible force - it was impossible to touch, so how could it possibly suffocate someone?

Now, stuck in this room for what he could only guess was going on a week, he understood.

The absence of sound will quickly become more overwhelming than any concert or panicked crowd. He absently wondered if it was worse due to his heightened senses, ears desperately straining for any sign of life.

Any day now, he kept telling himself, any day now and Mr Stark will come bursting through that door to save him. These thoughts quickly turned to worry for May.

Tonight, the darker thoughts had started to creep in. Does anyone even know I'm missing?

Peter tried to push them down as soon as they came up, but thoughts like those often found a way to stick. To burrow in to the irrational part of his brain and pollute all other thoughts.

"No" he whispered, voice still raw from the second day in the room. He had screamed until his voice gave up, banging on the walls in a panicked frenzy.

Mind racing, he dug his nails into the soft flesh of his forearms in an attempt to quiet it. To gain control.

"He will come." He let out a shaky breath, focusing on the dull pain radiating from his fingertips. "Mr Stark is coming."

In the quietest moments, when even Peter's thoughts went silent, he was transported back to the first week at midtown. Walking in to that school with shaky hands and a chip on his shoulder. The scholarship kid.

He hadn't known anyone, and was far too nervous to go up and talk to anyone. So he sat alone at lunch, hiding in the bathrooms and under the bleachers. Head down and so deeply ashamed of himself.

May had asked how he was settling in, and Peter got good at lying, something he had never had to do before. He felt guilt at first, but with May mourning the death of Uncle Ben he was set in making her as happy as he possibly could.

As his lying got better, his anxiety got worse. Who knew that repression is bad for your mental health! School had become its own kind of hell, a never-ending supply of blank stares and flash-supplied insults.

Ned joining half-way through the first year was a blessing, one that Peter grabbed on to with both hands, offering the new kid the kindness he was so harshly denied.

Ned - god, Ned.

He had never had a brother, no cousins to speak of either, so Peter had always been pretty good at keeping himself entertained. Comics had become his solace, immersing himself in fantasy worlds where he could hang out with friends - people who just got him.

It was sad, he knows.

Meeting Ned was like a light in the dark, someone to share his extensive comics knowledge with, to build Legos until 3 am in the morning while arguing about the star wars prequels. He finally had a brother.

Did he feel the same about you?

The ugly thoughts were back again, sharp words pressing into his weak points.

Ned Leeds came from a happy family, with his two parents, two little sisters and his lola - a lovely old woman who had embraced Peter with open arms and an open heart, minutes before shoving a heaped plate of lumpia in his hands.

Ned had everything that the selfish part of Peter longed for - a sense of community, more than one person caring if he lived or died. That's not to say that May wasn't great, hell, she was the most important person in Peter's life. He'd take a bullet for her without question.

He knew it was selfish of him to want more, but he couldn't stop. He was greedy. Greedy for connection, for love. Desperate for validation, acceptance...

He cringed as he remembered the first time meeting Mr Stark. The billionaire had been sat on the sofa with May, and Peter had just stared at him like a complete dork. When he finally managed to find his voice, he had stuttered and stumbled over his words before telling him that he 'had homework'.

He groaned aloud. "Stupid."

Who tells their idol that they can't go on a once-in-a-lifetime mission due to homework?

Peter had spent the rest of his time since desperately vying for any scrap of validation, working his ass off whenever he was extended the invite to work in Stark's lab. He was always so scared that everything was going to be ripped away from him in a moments notice.

That had spread into his patrols as Spiderman as well, especially after the whole mess when he was 15. He was constantly working to try and fix the damaged trust and expectations of his mentor, working himself into the ground.

He just wanted -

It was silly really, a stupid thing to want from freaking Iron-Man.

He was brought out of his thoughts as his ears twitched, detecting approaching footsteps. Scrambling backwards into the corner of the small room, he dug his fingers even deeper into the flesh of his arm.

"Is this real?" he breathed, eyes glued to the door.

The footsteps halted, a scuffling noise following.

Breathing picking up, Peter's eyes were glued to the door, still not completely sure if his ears were deceiving him. Mr Stark?

A hissing noise began to fill the room, gas thickening the air. Before Peter could come to terms with what was happening, he had breathed in, mind instantly going woozy. He felt his body crumple in on itself, staying conscious purely due to his powers.

Play dead, kid.

He could almost hear Tony's voice - his body following the order without thinking. Eyes closed, his other senses fought to fill in the gaps of his awareness, though were dampened by the gas.

At once, two masked men stepped in to the room.

"Kid's out like a light. Lets make this quick."

"This doesn't feel right. Are they sure -?"

"Just shut up and do what we were told. I'm not taking my chances."

Peter remained limp as they hoisted him on to a chair, tying ropes around his limbs. As the two left the room, he kept his eyes pressed closed as he subtly tested the strength of the rope.

He could break through it. It would probably take more energy than usual - his head still felt heavy, buzzing like an angry wasps nest - but he could do it.

He paused his movements as new footsteps entered the room, halting just in front of him.

Rustling was followed by methodical metallic clangs, Peter's stomach clenching as he realised the person was laying out instruments on a table.

In a millisecond his thoughts had switched from how to look convincingly knocked out to at what point do I have to give away my secret in order to stay alive?

He was brought out of his thoughts as a searing pain tore through his lower abdomen, eyes flying open with shock.

A woman was stood in front of him, eyes shining with malicious glee as she held a cattleprod against his stomach. Her lips upturned into a sneer as she brought the cattleprod back to her side, head tilting slightly.

"Welcome back."

The smell of singed flesh tickled Peter's nose, fresh tears welling as he battled to regulate his breathing. Panicking would only make the situation worse.

"I'm sure you must be wondering why I've brought you here today," she said, voice cold. "I'm afraid to say that it's all Tony Stark's fault."

"No -"

The word was met with another jab with the cattleprod as she looked down on him disapprovingly.

"He has something of mine, so I took something of his." She hissed, digging the device even deeper into his skin, watching with sick satisfaction as the skin started to sizzle.

Despite himself, Peter cried out.

He went to move, pulling against the restraints with the intent to break through them, panic rising as he failed. The rope burned around his wrists, though the pain was nothing compared to the two fresh burns.

"I dont -" he fought for breath, the vulnerability of his situation finally dawning on him. "Mr Stark - he..."

The woman laughed, fake pity in her voice as she leaned down to his level. "Yes, I suppose it must be confusing for you. You're wondering why your precious Mr Stark hasn't come to save you."

"How - how long -?"

The question escaped him before he could think, internally wincing at the desperation strewn throughout.

"Why, you've been here for almost a week." She shook her head sadly, though couldn't seem to hide her satisfied smile. "I'm starting to think his little intern maybe isn't as important as I was told... why don't we ask him."

She stepped aside, revealing a camera pointed directly at him. He looked at her in horror, finally catching up with what was about to happen to him.

"Say hello to your mentor Peter! We wouldn't want him to miss all the fun now, would we?"

Without even giving him a moment to answer, the cattleprod was once again driven into him, this time snagging in between two of his ribs. His whole body tensed as the electricity sunk into his skin, biting his lip to restrain himself from crying out.

His silence seemed to annoy the woman even more, her displeased huff followed by an even stronger surge of electricity. The staff twisted, pulling at the burned skin.

"Speak, boy."

If there was one thing that Peter took pride in, it was the Parker stubbornness. When he got something into his head, he was going to follow through until the bitter end, and this lady? This lady had pissed him off. He may have lost the strength needed to break free, but his mental fortitude was still somewhat in tact.

So, he clenched his jaw and focused on his breathing, remembering the yoga class he had been forced to take by Black Widow before she had run off to join Team Cap.

Sharp prod. Deep breath. Electrical surge. Dear god, make it stop. Hold. Burned skin ripping off the hot metal. Release breath to the count of five.

Time held no meaning anymore, Peter's reality reduced to pain, relief and waiting.

Again.

And again.

The waiting was the worst - each pause seemed to drag impossibly longer, his body just beginning to relax before being attacked all over again. Still, he held back as much noise as he possibly could.

Finally, the woman stepped away from him, annoyance clear on her face.

"I guess we'll just have to try again tomorrow, wont we?"

Peter couldn't move, slumped uncomfortably in his chair, eyes following the woman as she walked out of the room, the red light of the camera still blinking.

As soon as the door slammed behind her, Peter dipped his head, doing his best to shield his face from the camera as his tears finally fell.

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober #spiderman whump #spiderman #irondad #ned leeds #introspection #tony stark #whump #peter parker #mcu spiderman #mcu

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fictionplumis · 1 year ago

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Because the first thing I do in any new fandom is reblog a bunch of art and then immediately think about AUs, and I know pretty much none of my followers know about this new guy I'm obsessed with but c'mon. Go on your app store or the fucking Switch store and do yourself a favor and play Sorcery! and romance the assassin. Anyway, how about a mer!AU for your troubles?

You would think the Analander would be the merperson in this one, since he's the magical one of the two, but nah. It's Flanker, with a sleek dark tail, always a shadow near the shore so he's just close enough to pull lone fisherman and swimmers down into the water for a meal. None who see him survive, and he especially distrusts any sorcerers near the shores, since they're often after something like him for their spell ingredients.

So when some Analander is poking around, well...

He's hungry and a spellcaster is usually useless under the water, too busy trying to struggle for the surface, falling further and further away from their precious stars.

Unfortunately for him, this one has a sword and enough sense to grab for it. Flanker almost drowns them, but then a blade is cutting through the water and it becomes an actual fight in the depths.

And it's fun. Flanker hasn't had a challenge like this in a long time. It's thrilling, up until the damn Analander gets in a good swing, and more after that, until Flanker realizes his mistake and ah, well... Seems like this is the end, this spellcaster will get his ingredients after all.

The Analander doesn't finish him off right away. He goes up for air, then swims back down to grab him and pull him, barely able to resist, up onto the shoreline. And then strangely asks if he speaks Analandish or any of the common hill languages, followed by wondering if he'll be already long enough out of the water for his wounds to be tended to.

Now Flanker isn't a really a "people person" for one of his kind. Most live in schools or pods or whatever, they're social creatures, but Flanker doesn't have one of those. He's pretty much out there himself. It's safer, y'know? Too many of his kind, and people wonder why there are so many disappearances along the shoreline. And he's fine with, Flanker thrives on his own.

Or so he tells himself.

But now he has this Analander sorcerer showing up all the time to sit on the rocks with their feet in the water, trying to talk to him. They bring food, and ramble about their studies, and they even go out there at night to practice their spells or to practice their sword forms during the day.

Flanker could ignore him, but he owes this person his life, technically.

At first he merely gives the sorcerer a glimpse that he exists. Just a flash of a dark tail breaching the water at first, or he'll watch the Analander with just his eyes peeking over the surface of the water, listening...

The Analander is friendly. He always seems happy when Flanker gives him the smallest acknowledgement.

He has a nice voice, too... It's not grating to listen to him ramble, even if Flanker is woefully ignorant about sorcery.

It's a slow process. The Analander knows he's succeed when Flanker cautiously approaches one day, only to duck under the water, grab their foot, and drag them into the water. They come up sputtering and get their first taste of a deep, rich laugh before Flanker ducks under the water and darts off and they realize that he has a sense of humor.

They actually start talking after that, Flanker becoming more and more comfortable propping himself out of the water to talk with his strange new friend. He's stolen some dice off some sailors after watching them play a few rounds of Swindlestones, which is a decent way to pass the time between curious questions passed between the two about their respective people.

No idea what the actual conflict would be but let's face it, I dig the whole we have completely different anatomies, let's explore each other in increasing inappropriate ways.

#sorcery game #flanker sorcery #inkle sorcery!#steve jackson's sorcery #analander

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freneticfloetry · 1 year ago

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hi courtney! @reyesstrand here on my main blog ajdnskd but for nice ask day i’d love to know about to build a home…what was the writing process like? any little tidbits you want to share about it? it’s one of my absolute all time favourite fics, so anything you’d want to share would be amazing <3 also!! i saw your ask where you mention you saw hozier and i’m seeing him on tuesday (!!!) so any hozier songs you feel speak to the lone star characters/relationships the most?

Hey Maddie!

First of all, hugs and kisses to you for all your kind words on to build a home (here and in feedback). I’m so glad it struck a chord.

I’m not sure what else to say about it, to be honest! Um… okay, there were four scenes in my original outline that I cut. Well, three scenes cut and two others combined. Very early on there was a scene at the honky tonk the night TK and Carlos met, sort of the tail end and aftermath of their first hookup and Carlos deciding that he needed to see this boy again, even if it meant breaking his rules and bringing him home. I never even started that scene proper — once things got flowing it made much more sense to just refer to that in the scene following, after TK stormed out on the date. Immediately after that one was supposed to be the scene when Carlos finds out Iris is alive, which got the axe for two reasons: one, I really didn’t want to write Michelle, and two — more importantly — I needed Iris to stay a sort of ghost for Carlos until he’s forced to unearth all that later.

Chapter Two pretty much proceeded exactly as planned, with the exception of the post-fire scene at Owen’s — that was just supposed to be Carlos laying in the dark and sort of inside his own head, reflecting on all the things he lost but the one thing he came out with being the only thing he couldn’t bear to lose. But TK sort of stormed the castle. I was chugging along, and all of the sudden, I’d typed that he’d woken up. It was literally like he said “my baby’s hurting, he needs me.” Which was cute, but not the plan. 😂 Still, I was really happy with the conversation that emerged.

Chapter Three, though… well, like mother like son. Not only did TK go rogue again, so did Gwyn, with the whole “future” talk toward the end of their conversation. The post-Cooper scene was originally post-Sadie, but it was too raw and too soon for TK to have processed things in a way that would have let him have that talk with Carlos (who would’ve been too freshly-mired in his own guilt, at that point, instead of adrift and unsure in Cooper’s wake). Switching it was definitely the right call, for me. The We Need to Talk About Iris of it all had huge changes in the moment, because once I started the scene, even though I had a plan, I wrote one line in particular and it unlocked everything else. Going over it with @ambiguouspenny, I thought they were going to have a meltdown. But in a good way! The hospital scene threw me a curveball, in the form of tying up a loose end from the first chapter, so that’s how Dom happened. It derailed the original plan for the first half of that conversation with Gabriel — he was going to tell Carlos that his abuela had always called him such a homebody, that after he came out he couldn’t leave home fast enough, and Carlos was going to confess that he’d sort of detached because he wasn’t sure he’d have a place under their roof after everything, that he had a bag that lived in Iris’ trunk for months, because it was better to be ready than to be blindsided — but I actually like the detour better. There was a scene planned immediately following — the boys coming back to the loft from the hospital after Marjan’s whole ordeal, where TK tries to convince Carlos to take the detective exam — but once I finished the scene before that was the easiest cut ever. It would’ve derailed all the emotional momentum from the scene before. And the wedding and wedding night were supposed to be two separate scenes, but halfway through the hospital scene I randomly got the urge to combine them, and I really love how it turned out.

There are a few lines and snippets that didn’t make the cut, one piece of dialogue in particular that inspired a whole new fic. (Also there was an extended exchange during the move-in scene, with Carlos’ crack about the exercise bike, that kind of went something like this:

TK: “Seriously, how does a guy who looks like you own zero gym equipment?” And then, like a little lightbulb: “Oh my god, you were that kinda gay.”

Carlos: “There’s a gym at the precinct, TK.”

TK: “And I’m sure that’s what you use now.”)

So basically… the writing process was chaos. I guess I had things to say after all! 😂

Second, YAY, A HOZIER SHOW OF YOUR VERY OWN!

Re: Hozier speaking to Lone Star characters and pairings, why yes, don’t mind if I do.

I think there are a bunch of things that fit, actually. Tarlos and Francesca are clearly a match made in heaven, but First Time has hella TK vibes, both Shrike and Sunlight are Carlos as hell (though the former fits TK too), and I, Carrion (Icarian) fits for both Tarlos and Judd/Grace, from TK or Judd or even Grace’s perspective. From Eden is such a Judd-about-Grace song, as is NFWMB, but I think Would That I is his truest theme. Better Love could be Judd or Carlos. Unknown/Nth is my Breakup Era Carlos Anthem, and As It Was fits for TK during that same stretch. I have too many feelings about Movement to even nail down who it belongs to. All Things End feels like it would work well for Owen and Gwyn, and I’ll be damned if Arsonist’s Lullaby isn’t Owen’s buried anger issues to a tee.

I won’t even get started on individual lyrics/verses (but “I get along without you very well some other nights” and “be still my foolish heart, don’t ruin this on me” is the most TK Strand shit ever).

Not that I’ve thought about this at all. 😜

(Oh my god, this was an utterly unhinged answer, I’m so sorry.)

#nice ask day #asked and answered

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ruinmegently · 1 year ago

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These Barren Wilds [snippet o1]

Irah closes his eyes. Plops flat in the dirt and listens to the flies that come buzzing around, attracted to the sweat.

“What are you even looking for out there?” he asks, unsure he wants to know the answer.

Tessa shuffles beside him. He hears the soft thud of a tin plate set on the ground. Her swallow. The way she clicks her teeth together like she always does when she’s thinking faster than her own brain can keep up.

“Something better,” she says, as soft as a tumbleweed dancing in the wind.

Irah cracks his eyes open and peers up at the bright blue sky.

“Better’s out West,” he reminds her.

“Says who?”

“Says the literal uninhabitable desert that tries to eat people who travel too far into it.”

“It gives,” Tess says, and Irah glances over to watch her shake her head. There’s a hunch to her posture that makes a light go off in his head.

“You haven’t seen it yet,” he says.

She scrunches her nose up, turns to look away from him. He sits up at this new burst of information, pointing at her.

“You haven’t. Fucking hell, Tess.”

“What? It’s not like it’s on a timetable!”

“That’s what makes it a fucking death trap! You don’t know exactly where, and you don’t know exactly when, until the ground’s shaking beneath ya, and yeah, the dunes give, but what do you think that fucking looks like?”

His heart’s racing. It’s hot enough to sweat out his soul and burn his skin in less than a minute, and Irah feels he could race laps around the shack and its little chicken coop. River, as if sensing his agitation, starts to whine low in her throat. Even the chickens have stopped in their strides, milling about the brunt of the feed that was tossed on the ground.

He sits upright again and stares hard at the woman beside him. She’s looking out beyond, out East where the desert gets even harsher, where there’s no well water to tap, where the land’s lonely and aching and vindictive. He watches her and he feels alone. Like he’s a star in the cold dark, but she won’t look up and no matter how much he screams, he’s too far away for her to hear him.

“They tell you the only life you deserve is the one you got,” she says, so distant. “And the only life worth living’s out West, but no one’s ever good enough to go there, Irah. Don’t you get it?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It just takes money. The right connections.” You have to be patient, he wants to say. You have to work the system. You have to mill your soul down on a grindstone. You have to kill. You have to kill and kill and kill, because that’s where the money’s at. And if you’re good at it—really fucking good at it—then you can get out. You can leave this dusty grave behind and buy a big fucking house in Wave with a big fucking pool and take your dog and leave—

Leave.

Everyone

—else

Behind.

Tessa growls out a rough sound so deep from within her, Irah’s surprised her innards don’t spill on the ground. She flaps her hands up high into the air.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. You never try to fucking understand.”

“Well excuse me for not speaking goddamn crazy.” His own hands fly up, too. They have too much in common. He hates her and he doesn’t want her to die. “I don’t know what your plan is, but you’re gonna be a smear in the dirt and nothing but a shitty memory if you keep going out there like this.”

She shoves him and he falls to the side, catching himself hard on his elbow. She stands. Kicks the plate, scraps of food and all, so hard it pings off the chicken wire fence and clatters into the side of the coop, disturbing the hens who squawk with the sound.

“Why do you fucking care?”

“I don’t,” Irah says, glaring.

“That’s right. So stay the fuck out of my business.”

She leaves him there, stomping all the way back to her shack. The door slams shut with a rattle. She’s gonna die. Irah lies there in the dirt and lets the dust pile on top of him until the heavy sun starts to set and the extreme heat lessens in anticipation of an even more extreme cold. He thinks about all the ways she could die. The sand opening up and sucking her in at the same moment it spits some useless thing out. Getting lost and wild with heat madness until she falls limp in an unforgiving desert and the vultures pick her meat off before she fully slips away. A roving Scrapper gang offing her because she’s encroaching on the territorial lines handed down by word and not by fucking map. Would they tie her up like he does with his victims? Would they even care that it’s her dry blood they’d pick out from beneath their nails?

He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t.

They all die in the end.

He buries her in his heart before making the long walk back home.

taglist; @digital-chance @dyrewrites @makemeravenous

#ruinwriting #these barren wilds #tbw snippet #nano 2023 #writeblr #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2023

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eugene114 · 10 months ago

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Lincoln

John Gould Fletcher

1886 – 1950 I

Like a gaunt, scraggly pine Which lifts its head above the mournful sandhills; And patiently, through dull years of bitter silence, Untended and uncared for, starts to grow.

Ungainly, labouring, huge, The wind of the north has twisted and gnarled its branches; Yet in the heat of midsummer days, when thunderclouds ring the horizon, A nation of men shall rest beneath its shade.

And it shall protect them all, Hold everyone safe there, watching aloof in silence; Until at last one mad stray bolt from the zenith Shall strike it in an instant down to earth.

There was a darkness in this man; an immense and hollow darkness, Of which we may not speak, nor share with him, nor enter; A darkness through which strong roots stretched downwards into the earth Towards old things:

Towards the herdman-kings who walked the earth and spoke with God, Towards the wanderers who sought for they knew not what, and found their goal at last; Towards the men who waited, only waited patiently when all seemed lost, Many bitter winters of defeat;

Down to the granite of patience These roots swept, knotted fibrous roots, prying, piercing, seeking, And drew from the living rock and the living waters about it The red sap to carry upwards to the sun.

Not proud, but humble, Only to serve and pass on, to endure to the end through service; For the ax is laid at the roots of the trees, and all that bring not forth good fruit Shall be cut down on the day to come and cast into the fire. III

There is a silence abroad in the land to-day, And in the hearts of men, a deep and anxious silence; And, because we are still at last, those bronze lips slowly open, Those hollow and weary eyes take on a gleam of light.

Slowly a patient, firm-syllabled voice cuts through the endless silence Like labouring oxen that drag a plow through the chaos of rude clay-fields: “I went forward as the light goes forward in early spring, But there were also many things which I left behind.

“Tombs that were quiet; One, of a mother, whose brief light went out in the darkness, One, of a loved one, the snow on whose grave is long falling, One, only of a child, but it was mine.

“Have you forgot your graves? Go, question them in anguish, Listen long to their unstirred lips. From your hostages to silence, Learn there is no life without death, no dawn without sun-setting, No victory but to him who has given all.”

The clamour of cannon dies down, the furnace-mouth of the battle is silent. The midwinter sun dips and descends, the earth takes on afresh its bright colours. But he whom we mocked and obeyed not, he whom we scorned and mistrusted, He has descended, like a god, to his rest.

Over the uproar of cities, Over the million intricate threads of life wavering and crossing, In the midst of problems we know not, tangling, perplexing, ensnaring, Rises one white tomb alone.

Beam over it, stars, Wrap it round, stripes—stripes red for the pain that he bore for you— Enfold it forever, O flag, rent, soiled, but repaired through your anguish; Long as you keep him there safe, the nations shall bow to your law.

Strew over him flowers: Blue forget-me-nots from the north, and the bright pink arbutus From the east, and from the west rich orange blossom, And from the heart of the land take the passion-flower;

Rayed, violet, dim, With the nails that pierced, the cross that he bore and the circlet, And beside it there lay also one lonely snow-white magnolia, Bitter for remembrance of the healing which has passed.

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jeonqkooks · 2 years ago

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supernova | jjk (02)

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards

"When the stars align, I'll meet you then."

Another Life - Surf Mesa ft. FLETCHER, Josh Golden

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: PG

genre/warnings: idol au, exes to lovers, fluff if you squint??, angst !! with a happy ending thank fuck, not very edited bc this is me we're talking about!!

word count: 5.3k

note: ahhh so the supernova people can speak lmao this is my only fic where the characters have only had approximately 2 lines of dialogue 🥴 anyway i can't believe supernova has ended up here!! from what was supposed to be an angsty as hell oneshot, she's blossomed into - well, whatever this is bc i don't wanna spoil anything :')

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

When the bakery owner – Jiwon is her name, as you’ve come to learn – informed you that she would be closing the place in a month, you could not help but sink.

One month. It feels like a countdown to your ending all over again.

You didn’t tell her that the reason you stayed loyal to the humble pastry shop wasn’t because of their impeccable treats, though they were certainly a huge plus.

You didn’t tell her that this place had become a safe haven for you, somewhere you could always seek refuge in whenever the world became a little too much to handle and all you needed was to reminisce on happier days.

When the smell of cherries on danishes oddly meant apricots and the universe. When stars weren’t just luminous spheroids made of hydrogen and helium but were housed in a pair of dark brown orbs, twinkling even in the presence of the sun. When home was not an apartment with four walls, scattered with crooked picture frames but a person with a bunny smile and a permanent tiger lily on his arm. When love was everything you needed and that was enough to conquer anything at all.

“It’s not easy closing this chapter of my life, but hopefully I’ll be moving onto bigger and better things!” she had told you with a bright smile on her face, eyes crinkling with sheer excitement for happier days in the future, oblivious to the way your poorly bandaged heart started to bleed again.

Your friends, family, and even this middle aged woman who is practically a stranger to you, have carried on with their lives. They’ve all moved onto new chapters, perhaps even onto new books altogether but you’re still here, rooted to the spot on the same page even after all this time. A novel that no one wants to read anymore, tucked away in a corner of a dusty old shelf, hidden from the light of day. Sealed away to be forgotten…

What a terribly lonely place it is.

You tried to mimic that cheery smile and offered her your kindest sentiments – wishing her good luck with her future endeavors, hoping that she will succeed in whatever chooses to do next – but it’s sad that you know you didn’t mean them, not really.

You couldn’t even if you wanted to. All rational thoughts were out the window the second that Jiwon announced the imminent closure of your most treasured place.

The tapestry gets pulled apart at the seams. Another puzzle piece that will inevitably chip away until the perfect picture of you and him will revert back to the blank canvas it once was.

What will you move onto?

You didn’t talk to Jungkook for months after your worlds shattered, not until the boys achieved yet another milestone that you had to text him congratulations. There were, of course, many things to be considered before you finally had the courage to send that one simple line.

Thank you, he had replied then, we all miss you.

You were thankful that he opted for a neutral “we”.

Even after that first message, the texts only came every time a birthday or a major holiday rolled around, or whenever something happened in either of your lives that was monumental enough to revisit the perpetually fresh wound of your break to share your excitement for the other’s successes. Mostly Jungkook’s, and mostly because half of his life was on the news anyway. You, on the other hand, never took the initiative to share anything significant in your own life, not unless he asked.

There’s this thing he always did that you think might have been deliberate, but you couldn’t really be sure; maybe you’d have to ask him in another life.

It’s silly to mull over messaging etiquette like you were a teenage detective and your crush’s texting pattern was the single greatest casefile you would ever solve, but he never leaves you on read. He never lets you be the one to send a message last. Even after you both have bidded your goodnights and there is no more small talk to be had. Even when the last thing you sent is a mere lol in response to a stupid comment he made after goodbye, he would still tack on at least a smiley face afterward.

Jungkook could easily chalk it up to his hectic schedule and leave your messages to hang in the dead space of your phone, but he doesn’t though, and you never know how to feel about that.

Sometimes, you’re curious if he’s found someone else yet – a new love to take your place and be everything that you couldn’t be for him – and feel your heart twisting in your chest at the possibility that maybe he has. You’re in no position to care about this; you forfeited the right when you asked him to let you go, but nonetheless the human mind is a funny paradox, and the heart is full of nostalgia.

On nights where you’re brave enough to welcome that familiar ache with open arms, you entertain this possibility. It always starts with a woman, faceless but undoubtedly beautiful beyond words. You want her to be kind, you want her to be gentle, you want her to hold his hand while he’s sleeping and kiss his cheek when he wakes up. You want him to be loved and to be happy regardless of who it’s with, and regardless of how much you wish it could be with you instead.

No matter how much the mere thought of it kills you, you hope she fills his heart with so much joy that he forgets the pain of your departure. You’ve always known that eventually, he’ll have to forget all about you.

Jungkook is the sun to your foolish dying Icarus. You were truly in over your head to think that you could ever fit into his world.

Somewhere down the line, you hope there will only be happiness, and smiles so big that they make his cheeks hurt. It’s the kind of happiness that you had with him, where every moment felt like being on cloud nine and where his name was synonymous with every single wonderful thing that you could ever imagine.

It still does – and it forever will, no matter how hard you try to burn him from your daily routine and fail miserably every single day – but even then, it’s colored with shades of melancholy, every letter tinted blue.

Jungkook means the same thing as love, happiness, complete and utter euphoria, your safest haven. Holding hands with a loved one. Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on a crisp autumn morning. The magical first snowfall of the season. Feeling the sun shining on your face.

And Jungkook means the same thing as sadness, regret, your greatest heartache, your sweetest downfall… The sudden pang of grief that hits you right in the center of your chest when you pass by a familiar street or hear a bittersweet tune.

It’s hard to comprehend that a person can single-handedly rewrite your entire vocabulary, but he has managed to change you in ways beyond this too.

It took you a while to familiarize yourself with what life was like before Jungkook. You forced yourself to do things that you usually wouldn’t, just so the discomfort of doing things you hated could overshadow the discomfort of missing him.

Black coffee at 9AM had to taste more bitter than not receiving a good morning text, one that’s littered with smiley faces and kisses.

Morning runs and the burning sensation in your limbs had to ache more than coming home to an empty apartment and crawling into an empty bed, knowing that he’s somewhere out there in the same city, only a drive away from you.

Over time, you got used to it.

Over time, you got used to the absence of him.

In this new life of yours, nothing looks and feels the same as it once was. Colors have all desaturated, though not by much but it’s still enough to throw you just enough off balance. Some days, everything is completely black and white.

Black and white, save for the golden key around your neck. The key to the box of memories he gave you that you still have, tucked away in a soft corner at home.

All of your what if’s, your could’ve been’s, your maybe’s… they all lead back to him. There’s no other solution to this equation; it’s just him.

Jungkook has altered the very foundation of your life, wedged in between every crevice of your being, left pieces of himself in every facet of your world. Even when he’s gone, his presence still lingers, sometimes like a ghost, sometimes like the remnants of a tattoo you can never fully get rid of.

Oftentimes, in instances where you don’t have the luxury of being distracted by work, by the hustle and bustle of the city, by just about anything at all, you ruminate on that decision. The one decision that broke two hearts. The one decision that’s still killing you inside.

You aren’t someone who tends to dwell on their past actions, because what’s done is done. No amount of regret or overanalyzing can change what has happened. Life is sometimes cruel like that, and the only thing to do is accept it and move on, learn from your mistakes and try to do better next time.

But Jungkook isn’t a mistake. He isn’t a lesson that you needed to learn because neither of you did anything wrong. It wasn’t wrong to love him, and it wasn’t wrong to leave him either.

Perhaps, the only thing you’re guilty of is getting the timing wrong.

You wonder if you should message him now, to tell him that where your love first bloomed will soon be gone. You wonder if he still remembers this place, if it still holds the same meaning to him as it does to you.

It’s terrible if it doesn’t, and it’s terrible if it does.

Before you know it, the end is here.

As you enter the bakery for the last time, your nostrils are instantly filled with the pleasant smell of freshly baked goods. Jiwon smiles warmly at you from behind the counter when you give her a small wave. The other patrons here move on with their day as usual, paying no attention to you, like they don’t even care that this is the final moment all of you would be spending here.

You grab a pair of tongs and a small tray as you browse through the selection of pastries, looking for your favorite cherry danishes to pair with the hot chocolate that you’ll order at the counter. You pick up a cinnamon roll and a few macarons too, to take home with you afterward.

You hope, in vain, that Jiwon sees it in the way you’re just a beat slower than normal, drawing things out as much as you can, as if it would somehow make her change her mind and keep this place open. Let you live in this bubble for just a while longer.

It’s the finality of leaving. It’s the finality of being left.

Somewhere behind you, the doorbell chimes, announcing a new customer. You don’t notice the person’s sigh of relief as they escape the cold into the nicely heated shelter of the shop, nor the way they take a couple steps and then stop for a minute before their feet continue to carry them to where you are. You don’t care about any of it, until…

A soft voice revives your heart.

“I hear apricot danishes are much better.”

As cliché as it sounds, you freeze. You almost drop everything in your hands, having been rendered immobile while life goes on around you. Chatter continues like nothing has changed. To the people in this bakery, nothing really has changed. They’re sipping on their lattes and catching up with friends over shared blueberry muffins and banana breads, exchanging mundane tidbits in their daily lives and smiling, laughing, drunk on the cozy atmosphere in this wonderful little haven.

“Oh,” you breathe, paralyzed by the many paradoxical emotions running through you at once. Shock, joy, resentment, relief, sorrow… Even though all of it only comes out in the form of a starstruck Hi, but you have a feeling that he understands.

Your voice is small, timid, like a deer caught in headlights, as if he isn’t someone you once knew better than the back of your hand.

His chocolate eyes lock on yours, and he graces you with a warm smile. You’ve missed the simple quirk of his lips. “Hi,” he parrots.

The bell chimes again, and a couple of strangers filter in. You move along to not hold up the line.

“How– what are you– what are you doing here?” you stutter, heart in your throat just at the sight of him. You try and fail at not thinking about the universe bringing him back to you. Because it’s not. This isn’t a cosmic realignment. You two just happen to be in the same place at the same time, and if you were alone right now, you would probably cry.

“I heard they were closing,” Jungkook answers easily. When you look confused, a silent question dancing on the tip of your tongue – How on earth would you know that? – that you don’t know if you should voice, he supplies, “I saw the announcement a couple weeks ago. I still stop by whenever I have time. ”

He puts a hand on your back as if on instinct, when a woman almost bumps into you on her way out. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing upright.

You clear your throat and inhale. “Oh, you do? I’m here almost every other day. Funny how we never ran into each other.”

“Yeah. Funny, isn’t it?” he agrees, smiling at you fondly. It’s a little bittersweet too. “We must have kept missing each other.”

Your mind goes to a dangerous place before you could stop it. Your stupid brain digs into the hidden layers of meaning that might not even be there at all.

We kept missing each other.

I kept missing you.

You don’t trust yourself to say anything, so you gloss over his words, only returning his smile albeit tightly, and continue to move on. Jungkook grabs a tray like you did some 15 minutes ago, and picks a similar danish, foregoing the apricot ones that you tricked him into getting a long time ago, just so you would be able to get your favorites. The cherry danishes that you both have on your individual trays are the last ones. How symbolically cruel.

He hides half his face in the thick wool scarf he’s wearing as you step closer to the counter. When you ask him if the danish is the only thing he’s getting, he nods; and when you tell that you’ll buy him a drink to go with it, he refuses and says he’ll get both of yours, because lord knows he has the money. But you never once gave in, never let him buy you things that you are more than capable of paying for yourself. You don’t this time either, so he relents.

In the end, you pay for the pastries and two hot chocolates, one with extra marshmallows. Once you have your goods, you wonder if he would bid you goodbye and leave, go back to his busy life that demands him to be on the go 25/8.

If you head outside right now, you two would probably part ways. But you came here today with the intention of burning every little detail of the bakery into your brain for one last time. Having Jungkook here isn’t going to derail your plan. You could pretend that things are fine for now, but then what? You’ve already lost him; you won’t let this place slip through your fingers so easily too.

You head to a spot in the corner where barely anyone can see you but you can observe everything, and to your surprise, he wordlessly follows you. If you were a little braver, you would throw him a cheeky I didn’t invite you to join, even though that’s all you want.

You both take a seat at the small table and talk about your lives and everything that happened in each other’s absence. Like you’re just old friends, catching up after forever apart. You keep waiting for the ball to drop, to see if he would mention a new lover and inevitably ask if there’s anyone special in your life too, but he never does.

It’s been years since you last saw him, and a while since he stepped a little further away from the spotlight that he once called home. Jungkook is still so caring – the occasional texts have already told you as much, and you wonder if it’s because he’s talking to you or if it’s just in his nature to be kind to everyone around him.

The cherries taste sweeter today, and the hot chocolate too. But the aftertaste is painful, knowing that your unexpected and limited time is running out.

At one point, you just sit in silence, watching the people leave. You notice that every time a customer exits, Jiwon’s gaze would linger on the door. You feel like you should’ve brought her something today, like a small houseplant or a bouquet of flowers, as a thank you or a goodbye present. After all, this place has been there for you a lot these past few years.

You try to take in as much as you can. How the wooden table feels under your hands. How the bell sounds when it chimes. How the printed logo on the takeaway cup feels when you brush your fingers over it. Their incredible recipes that always make you feel like you’re taking a bite of heaven. All the photos on the wall of Jiwon and her staff throughout the decade that this bakery has been on this street corner. You can still pinpoint the exact spot you stood at when you first saw Jungkook.

You want this to last a little longer, but you don’t know if you should ask. You want to be selfish just this once and drown yourself in his presence, because this might very well be the last time.

When the danishes are gone and the beverages are nearly finished, he asks if you have a minute to spare, to walk around and enjoy the last bits of sun for the day.

“Okay,” you say and watch his face light up. A smile graces his lips again and you suppress the shiver that tries to run up your spine. You can still read him so easily. He wants this as much as you do, and it’s absolutely devastating. Just two people who love each other and a casket full of things unsaid.

Once you’ve collected your things and gone outside, leaving behind your second home for good, Jungkook tips his head somewhere to the right with a question in his eyes, and you know what it means instantly.

You head down a small, hidden street filled with quaint houses that you both used to love. You haven’t been down this road in forever; it feels surreal that the first time you revisit it in ages is with him, and on today of all days. Cosmic realignment.

No. Stop that.

The two of you walk alone down the narrow street, save for the few times that a student in uniform walks by, eyes glued to their phone as they head home after school, or an older woman hurrying past with her bags full of groceries. He lets his arm brush against yours as you stroll and marvel at the way the colors of the sky reflect in the old windows, shifting from blue, to purple, to pink all in a matter of minutes. Ribbons of clouds unravel in the same way you do.

Eventually, you end up at a small park by the riverfront when cement turns into grass. There’s more people here; people walking their dogs, parents and children enjoying hot snacks on nearby benches, couples with their hands in each other’s coat pockets, trying to stay warm. You’re envious of the last ones that most.

Jungkook must have seen you watching them, because his knuckles touch yours tentatively and a long forgotten habit kicks in. When you instinctively pull back and mutter a quick Sorry, it hurts two hearts at once.

Back then, every time that he let you go when there was someone else around, someone who wasn’t privy to knowing about you, you would apologize even though it wasn’t your fault that you were a secret. He would always lightly scold you, telling you that you had nothing to be sorry about, but he could never remedy this. It wasn’t possible back then, and Jungkook never found a way to not make you feel like a problem to be dealt with when all you wanted was to hold his hand.

No one is even looking now, but you guess it’s just muscle memory, even after all this time.

You clutch the paper bag holding the pastries, feeling awkward that you just jerked back like he had burnt you. Eyeing an empty bench, you ask if he wants to sit down. As you cross the short distance over there, you realize that it isn’t big enough for you to comfortably put some space between your bodies. The regret is almost immediate.

You sit down next to him with your thighs touching. He’s close enough that you can spot a fallen eyelash on his cheek, but your hands remain in your lap, busying themselves with smoothing over your bag of treats, fighting the urge to brush your fingers against his face.

You focus on the river in front of you and how the water paints a shimmering picture of the setting sun. On the other side of the bank, cars faintly honk at one another as traffic piles on, a cacophony of noises seemingly so far away from your little bubble right here. You feel Jungkook’s eyes on the side of your face, but you don’t dare look at him.

All the times that you have spent, caged in the solitude of your bedroom, wanting to call him and knowing that he would be there for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked. He would be there, and he would hold you until the sun rises, until you stop shaking and crying, until everything feels like it’s going to be okay again even though you both know it isn’t.

Because missing him comes in waves. And why more often than not, you want nights to last longer and days shorter, you want the sun to sink under the horizon faster so darkness can embrace the sky. Because when the stars come out, it feels like being wrapped in his warm embrace again, feels like staring into those twinkling eyes again, feels like he’s right there with you as if you don’t carry him in your heart everywhere you go. You started dreading summers and relished in harsh, long winters – it’s ironic how the cold can make you feel such warmth.

Jungkook is right next to you, and you still miss him.

Some say watching the sun rise over the Grand Canal in Venice is the most beautiful sight one can ever hope to witness. Others say the most wonderful experience is to take in a sunset from Piazzale Michelangelo, Florence, with a glass of wine in hand.

Jungkook has done it all – Rome, Paris, London, all the most marvelous cities to have ever existed. He’s been all over the world and witnessed the endless beauty that it has to offer, but you’re still the most breathtaking thing he’s seen by far.

Here, holding a bag of baked goods and leaning against a backdrop of cotton candy clouds. The wandering sun casts a golden glow upon your profile, though he would think that you look ethereal regardless.

It’s a sight that he’s too familiar with. He’s seen it many times in his dreams, but the last time he got to have you like this was years ago.

“Do you ever…” Jungkook starts and then stops for a bit, like he’s deciding if he should go through with the question. “Do you ever wonder… what could’ve been… with us?”

All the damn time.

“Do you?” you ask instead, eyes still on the water, how it ripples when the wind blows. The cold nips at your skin, making you shiver.

“Every single day,” he answers earnestly, like you had expected him to. “You’re not someone I can forget about that easily.”

Some kid throws a pebble into the river. Your heart, like the pebble, sinks to the bottom. The sun sets eventually, to give the sky to the moon.

You don’t know what to say to him next, so you just hum softly. One of your hands rubs absentmindedly between your collarbones, where the key rests under your sweater. You trace the outline of it over the fabric, hoping to soothe the ache you feel.

Jungkook continues, saying something that you wish he hadn’t.

“I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes well up and your chest feels impossibly tight. It’s getting dark now, but the moon is starting to peek through. There’s not a lot of stars tonight, though you can never really see them in the city anyway. You want to tell him to stop, to tell him that neither of you can take this anymore because wasn’t it enough the first time around? It doesn’t matter if you still love each other. It doesn’t matter that you’re both a little older and wiser, and have thicker skin now to weather heavier storms, because the world hasn’t changed. It’s still rooting for your demise at every turn.

But… all that comes out of your mouth is this, cracking foolishly at every syllable: “I’ve missed you too.” I’m missing you right now.

Jungkook nods slowly, mostly to himself. It’s so cold now without the sun, and especially when you’re sitting right by the waterfront. The wind is so cruel, picking up speed when it knows you just want to reach out for his warmth. You want to go home.

“What if we give it another try?”

A tear escapes. You lick your dry lips. “You know we can’t,” you tell him.

“Why not?” he asks, a sense of urgency in his voice now. “I love you. I’m still in love with you, and I know you feel the same way. Don’t even lie to me.”

You frown, not even bothering to wipe the moisture from your face. “Because love is not enough! I don’t fit into your life. It’s never going to work. We’ll just end up here again.”

You feel his shoulders sag against yours, and when he speaks next, his voice is considerably more quiet, deflated, “You are my life. I haven’t been myself ever since you left.”

“Don’t… don’t say that,” you whisper. “You have your dreams. I’ll always get in the way of that.”

Jungkook twists the rings on his fingers, a nervous tick. The conversation pauses, and you think now is probably a good time to just get up and leave. You’ll get nowhere arguing with him about this. It’s been a long day.

You will your legs to stand, already thinking if you should walk a safe distance away from him and call an Uber there, but he tugs at your coat, standing up too.

“I don’t care,” he says.

“What?”

“Nothing is fucking worth it if there’s no you. Why do my dreams matter if you aren’t there? I regret letting you go all the time. I regret always putting my dreams before you.” Jungkook stops to chuckle bitterly before stepping closer. His eyes, filled with all the resolution in the world, pin you to the spot. “I was too stupid to think that I could have it all. But I would leave everything behind if you’re willing to give this another go.”

You’re only aware that you’re crying because he reaches up to wipe the tears away.

“You don’t mean that,” you say.

“Yes, I do. I’ll let everything go if you say yes.”

You utter the same words as you did back then. “You’ll resent me one day.”

“No,” Jungkook says, water pooling in his own eyes as he tells you, “I won’t. Because I’m with you. I’m still with you.”

He takes one of your hands, timidly at first, lacing your fingers together, and your eyes widen slightly, blinking at his face in surprise. You’re looking at him, really looking at him, maybe for the first time today.

And… he’s here.

He’s still the same Jungkook you knew.

His eyes are still the stars. His smile is still the sun.

There’s no love lost here, only found.

He looks so sure of himself, like he believes so ardently in you and him that it makes you want to believe too. That things will work out this time around, that you will never have to lose each other ever again.

Stop, is what you would tell him if this were a phone call, or a text message, where you don’t have to feel his skin on yours or look into his eyes, so full of conviction, or be able to clearly hear every cadence of his voice as he promises you a future where you don’t have to hurt.

It’s what you would say if you were capable of thinking with your head right now.

But in the end, all you have is a heart that loves him.

“Okay,” you say, and Jungkook actually does cry. You wipe at each other’s faces with freezing hands, not caring that people might think you’re a couple of weirdos, crying in the middle of a park in the cold. You notice that the wind has calmed, like it’s stopping to watch how the story unfolds.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You’ve never seen him like this before, with the weight of the world no longer on his shoulders.

You think back to the start of your relationship, when a silent question arose in a bout of insecurity. It’s a question that would cross anybody’s mind when they’re merely mortal, a speck of dust compared to the entire Milky Way.

You could have anyone. Anyone at all. Why is it still me?

You didn’t have the courage to voice it aloud, but he understood. It’s funny how he always understands the thoughts in your head that you never have the strength to speak into the universe. Jungkook took your hand then too, just like how he’s doing it right now. He turned your head to look at him, into those starry eyes that he made sure you knew shone just for you.

He utters the same sentiment that he did way back when. The last time you heard it, the statement – however true it might have been – was merely a bandaid over gaping wounds. It had appeased you in the moment and managed to calm your raging sea of anxiety and heartache for a split second, but you saw how that turned out to be. You both know that ending all too well.

This time, for some holy reason, his words feel just right as they nestle within your ribcage and settle next to your heart. The meaning behind his simple declaration holds you together and patches up the parts of you that were shattered long ago – infinitely small pieces of your heart and soul – into a mosaic worthy of being loved and adored by him.

Jungkook is the sun, yes, and Jungkook is the moon. He brings light and love into your life just by existing. He breathes, and your world is better for it, endlessly so.

Jungkook is, and always will be, your entire universe.

Cosmic realignment.

I want you, is what he tells you. I’ve always wanted only you.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenarios #bts imagines #btshoneyhive #btswritingcafe #bangtanbathhouse #btscarnivalnet #clubzerooclock #52hertz #fic: supernova

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therenlover · 4 years ago

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One Last Night In Madripoor (An 18+ Helmut Zemo/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?

Tags: Smut, SoftDom!Zemo, Hook Up, Semi-Public Sex, Drinking, Safe Sex, Explicit Consent, First Meeting, Wall Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 4200~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

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Madripoor was a place like nothing you had ever seen.

It wasn’t that the sights were anything special. You could find seedy criminal underbellies lined with neon where the streets ran red with blood anywhere if you looked hard enough. Even the ocean view didn’t do much to set it apart from any other place visually. No, Madripoor’s scenery and architecture weren’t what kept your eyes wide with wonder whenever you found yourself wandering through the winding back-alleys without a purpose. It was the people that kept you around.

Thieves, pirates, and miscreants had been taking shelter at the docks since before anyone there could remember. It was a city borne of the underbelly of society, the people nobody sees, but you saw them. You saw them every day when you stood in the main market waiting for an easy bounty. There were faces everywhere; big and small, tall and short, scarred and flawless. No two people in the streets of Madripoor were ever exactly alike. If you needed to remember someone, their unique face was right there waiting in your mind.

After living on the island for almost 6 months, most people were already cataloged neatly in your mind as friend or foe. This man, though, he was new. He was different.

The night was still young. There was some trouble at the Princess Bar that ended with Selby dead and a few murderers loose in the streets with a price on their heads, but you steered clear. Going after the killers meant going up against hundreds if not thousands of trained bounty hunters and assassins and no amount of money was worth dying over now, not while you were so close to freedom. Instead of chasing your doom, you decided to head to your room, get dressed up, and head out to wherever the music was loudest in search of a place to forget about your problems for the night. The thudding sounds of poorly DJ-ed club remixes led you to Leonardo’s Place. That’s where you found him.

You were two drinks in and sticking close to the wall when he stumbled into your line of sight. What initially caught your eye was his dancing. He couldn’t move for shit. What kept your attention, though, was his face.

There was transience to him, like at any moment someone could bump into him and he would disappear without a trace at their touch. Despite that he was gaudy. Everything about his clothing screamed wealth and fine taste from the thread count of his obnoxious purple turtleneck to the shine on his boots. He was strange, a walking contradiction, and one who had never had the pleasure of gracing your presence or screwing you over in the past. In the simplest of terms, he intrigued you. With nothing left to lose you downed the last of your cocktail and made your way to the gap in the crowd where the stranger had staked his claim. It was game time.

“You come here alone?” You asked. Your voice was barely a whisper above the heavy thrumming of the music.

He gave you a long look up and down before answering as if he were trying to size you up. Something about having his gaze linger on your body made your heartbeat soar. “I’m not looking for company,” His accented tone was gruff but left a sliver of room for reconsideration. You took the chance. What could go wrong?

With as much tact and grace as you could muster you let yourself slip a little closer to him. “What, do I look too expensive for you?” you teased, before backing off with a grin, “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not here for that. My job is a little more… dangerous.” As you danced, the hem of your dress rode up your thigh just enough to reveal the knife holster in your garter belt. It pleased you greatly to see this handsome stranger do a double-take; that meant he was looking at your upper thigh in the first place. “I just liked what I saw in you… do you like what you see in me?”

Somehow, your little joke had endeared him to you, however minutely. Instead of brushing you off the man paused his jerky dancing for a moment to really take you in. Then, he caved. “Would you like a drink?” He asked.

You smirked. “Who would I be if I turned down a free drink from a handsome stranger,”

He met you in the middle as he offered you his hand. “I never promised it would be free,”

So, the two of you found yourselves at the bar, bodies leaned into each other and away from the rest of the sweltering crowd as the bartender slid you your order. The stranger was drinking a brandy straight while you opted for a sidecar. It was enough alcohol that you were starting to feel pretty buzzed, but you still felt in full control of yourself. You took a long sip before speaking. “So, what should I call you?”

It took him a moment to respond but once he did, he seemed sure of himself. “You can call me Helmut, but Baron is fine as well,”

You cocked up an eyebrow. “Is that a nickname?”

“More of a title,”

He took a drink as you gawked. “Like royalty?”

“Not like. I am,”

Your cheeks flushed. The rational part of your mind was so stunned by the ease with which Helmut lied that it seemed to short circuit completely, leaving you very puzzled and more than a little intrigued. “Well, pardon me, Mr. Baron. What’s royalty like you doing in a place like this?”

“There are plenty of reasons a man like me would have business here. A woman as beautiful as you, though… not so much,” he waved his hand in loose gestures as he spoke, “Why risk your life and beauty for this? A life living in the underground where you cannot so much as dream of seeing the stars?”

You finished your drink in one large swig. It burned down your throat but you relished in the pain. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be born in a place where we can see the stars. Funny enough, though, I’m just about to get out,”

“Is that right?”

“I finally saved up enough money from small jobs to buy my way out from under the Power Broker’s thumb,” Something about the way Helmut smiled at you made you feel safe. It was like you could tell him your worst, darkest secrets and not feel an ounce of fear or guilt. “I’m nothing special here, a small-time bounty hunter, and I kept it that way for a reason. I’m not valuable and I don’t know much. If I just pay my dues and keep the money coming until I can get their claws out of my back, I should be free to leave with a freighter tomorrow morning,”

Helmut was quick to respond. “Ah, travel by freighter. It’s terribly dangerous to be a stowaway, you know? Impossible to predict quite what the seas will be like,”

“Well, that’s just a risk I’ll have to take to get out of here and stop… what was it that you said I was doing? Risking my life and beauty?”

The two of you chuckled as Helmut took one last drink to empty his glass. Then, the conversation stilled. Around you people were alive, gyrating to the music as their pulses thumped to the beat, but it was like they weren’t even there. Instead, your whole being was focused on the strange man in front of you who had stolen away your sensibilities with his cool tone and thick accent. He made you feel alive. No, more than alive. Every color was brighter, every sound was sharper, every sip of your drink was crisper. He was a once-in-a-lifetime man, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime night. Oh, to hell with it!

“I like you, Baron,” you purred, pressing yourself close to him. His breath hitched the moment you touched him. He acted as if it had been a very long time since he was last touched like that. “And I think you like me too. In fact, I think you like me enough that we should take this conversation somewhere a little more private. What do you say?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gloved hand made its way around your wrist, and in a moment’s time, he was pulling you across the crowded dance floor towards a small, secluded hallway. You assumed that meant yes.

The instant you made it to the shelter of the shadows Helmut was on you like a man starved. One of his hands was quick to explore the skin just above the hem of your dress as the other pressed against the wall, caging you in and holding you as a more than willing hostage to his affections. He didn’t kiss your face, and you weren’t complaining about that, but he did put his mouth to good use sucking a dark bruise into your collarbone. His ministrations only stopped when a high, keening sound escaped your lips.

“You like that, don’t you, meine kleine schlampe?” he growled through gritted teeth. Something about his tone turned your already weak legs to jelly. The second you went limp in his grip, though, he pulled back. Straightening himself out, he offered you a steadying arm. You took it without hesitation. “I’m terribly sorry to be so rude. I assure you that I am not usually the type of man to hook up with someone on a whim, I’ve simply been… indisposed for many years and haven’t had many opportunities for pleasure, especially not with a woman as beautiful as you,”

His compliment was enough to have you blushing like a schoolgirl. You had killed more people than you could reasonably count, and probably fucked even more, but something about the way Helmut looked and sounded and acted made you feel almost innocent to his advances. He was a drug and you needed to get your fix before he disappeared forever.

“Does that mean you think I’m special?” You asked, all doe eyes with an innocent smile. Helmut ate it right up.

“Yes, schatzi. Very special,”

You hitched a leg up, letting your heel dig into his expensive dress pants and drag him closer to you once again. “First your little slut and now your little treasure? Which one is it, Helmut?”

“And so smart,”

“Move, Baron!”

At your insistence, Helmut was on you once again, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down your neck as he fiddled with his gloves, yanking them off and shoving them in his back pocket before he continued. “So demanding,” he chided, and yet he continued to lavish you with affection, his hand climbing higher and higher up your thigh. Your back was pressed flush to the wall now, and you were painfully aware of just how warm Helmut was. He smelled like a rich man’s cologne and yet his skin tasted of cheap soap when you leaned in to give him a bruise of his own.

“You love it,” you replied. He let out a husky laugh.

“I suppose I do,” he chuckled, and then his fingers brushed over your core. Your knees buckled. Helmut kept you upright with his body as he continued to taunt you through your underwear, but he seemed more confident now, almost cocky. “My needy schatzi, have you no patience?”

Your response was breathless; a confession.

“Not with you,”

Something about your words lit a fire in Helmut’s eyes. In an instant he had your leg hiked up while he ground his hardened length against your clothed wetness. Your mind went blank. He felt big. A mindless whimper fell from your lips.

“How do you want me?” Helmut asked. As he spoke he ran a light finger down your elevated thigh. You offered up another whimper. “I’ll need you to use your words and tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you,” His tone had you wet enough that you worried you were dripping.

With a gulp, you managed to fumble out the words. “I’ll blow you first if you promise to fuck me,”

That had him grinning like a wolf. “Perhaps you are my little schlampe, so eager to get down on your knees for me…” And you were. Even on shaky legs, you found yourself happily falling to your knees as the Baron fumbled with his fly. It was only then that you found yourself gazing down the hall towards the cacophony of lights and sounds and people maybe 20 feet away from your hiding place in the shadows. As if he could sense your discomfort, Helmut paused. “Are you alright?”

You nodded quickly. “I just forgot we were out in the open for a second,”

“Do you want to stop? If the location is the problem, I would gladly pause so we can find a new hideaway,” he stopped short, looking down and meeting your heavily lidded gaze, “or perhaps the idea of putting on a show excites you?” Your heart jumped out of your chest. Helmut noticed. “Well, if my little schlampe is so keen on putting on a show, she should get a move on,”

That was your cue to get to work. In a swift motion, you finished unzipping his fly and shifted his boxers, letting his lovely cock spring free. It was a pleasant penis and far as they went, average in length but thick with a leaking purple tip at half-mast. Just looking at it made you clamp your legs together.

Slowly, you gave a tentative lick up the underside of his length. He felt heavy on your tongue in the best of ways. Helmut jerked upward, a man possessed. You couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

“Less talking, more working little schlam-” you cut Helmut off quickly by taking most of his length into his mouth. That seemed to shut him up. His wolf-like grin had dissolved into a slack-jawed mess the second you started to suck him off. Oh, this was going to be fun.

For the most part, the Baron let you set the pace, bobbing your head and taking as much of his length as you comfortably could, but after a short while his hands were buried in your hair as he fought the urge to buck into your throat, hard. With a particularly rough snap of his hips, Helmut pulled away.

“You are an angel from heaven, schatzi,” he groaned, pulling himself slowly from your mouth as you got your first good deep breath in a while, “but a deal is a deal, and it wouldn’t be quite fair if I got to have all the fun, now would it?” Your breath hitched in your throat. Finally time for the main event.

Helmut was surprisingly gentle with you as he offered you a hand and helped you back up, only pausing to wipe a line of dribble off your chin with his thumb. With anyone else, it would have felt wholly humiliating but with Helmut… well, it did things to you you would rather not admit. You quirked up an eyebrow, though, when he got on his knees in turn, mirroring your past position. “What are you doing, Baron?”

“I simply assumed my sweet schatzi would enjoy a reward for taking my cock so well,” his words had you biting your lip as your cheeks flushed, “now be a good girl and take what I give you. I want to hear those pretty noises you made earlier,” With that, his face disappeared under your skirt. He pulled down your panties and… snickered?

“What now?” you groaned, squirming as his hot breath hit your exposed nub.

“You’re sopping wet,” he replied. Out of habit, you moved to shut your legs but found Helmut’s large hand was holding them open. “I do enjoy being sandwiched between your thighs, but you shouldn’t hide yourself from me. Take your pleasure. You’ve earned it,” That was when he began his assault on your folds.

You had been with plenty of partners over the years, all with varying proficiencies when it came to giving pleasure, but no one had ever made you feel quite as good as Helmut did while you gripped his hair and rode his face with reckless abandon. He always hit just the right spot, alternating between sucking on your sensitive clit and running his rough tongue in sloppy circles against it. In no time flat your pleasure was building toward’s its peak as your knees trembled.

“Helmut,” you squeaked, “Helmut I’m gonna cuuuUUOH!”

You were suddenly thrown over the edge of pleasure as the Baron worked you open with his fingers, pressing that spot inside of you just right. It was a revelation. Nothing would ever compare to him and you hadn’t even fucked yet. Once you had regained some semblance of stability he emerged from his place between your thighs, face slick with your juices, wearing the expression of a cat that got the cream.

“You make such lovely sounds for me, schatzi,” Helmut groaned, rising from his place at your feet and reaching into his pocket. While he fumbled for a condom you took the time to actually remove your panties, lifting one shaky leg at a time before balling them up and tossing them on the ground. You could grab them later. Or not! In all honesty, your ruined undies were the last thing on your mind as your watched Helmut roll the condom onto his proud cock, pumping himself a few times. “Now, are you sure you want this?”

You had never felt more sober in your whole life despite the drinks you’d downed earlier.

“God, yes,”

“Wonderful,”

He caged you into his body once again, lining himself up on your slick folds, and then with a pronounced bite against your collarbone, he was entering you. It wasn’t painful or uncomfortable, you just felt full, like a missing piece of your body had been completed. For the first few thrusts, you were too blissed out to really take note of anything around you, but once you tuned back into the world of the living you realized Helmut was talking. Well, babbling was more like it. He seemed to simply be speaking his stream of consciousness into your ear as he pistoned in and out of you like a madman. There was a jilted rhythm to it, but the abnormality kept you on your toes.

“I won’t be letting you go any time soon, schatzi, and definitely not on some dank freighter like a rat from the gutters. No, you will travel with me. Once I help my friends and slip away from the front lines I can take you anywhere your little heart desires. Paris, Vienna, Australia… Mein Gott, what a sweet cunt,”

Any sane woman, after hearing his sex-drunken musings, would have run. They would have heard the wild ramblings of a madman and left after their little fling was done to never see him again. It was only rational. He didn’t even know your real name. Sane women didn’t run away with strangers claiming to be barons they hooked up with in a seedy club selling stolen Van Goghs in a hub of the criminal underworld.

The only thing was, though, that you weren’t a sane woman.

You were a killer, a child left in the streets to live or die who had scraped themselves together and dragged themselves towards life. So what if the idea of some rich mysterious benefactor with a good dick coming in to save the day sounded fantastic? It was fantastic. Like your own personal version of Pretty Woman. Even if he wasn’t as rich as he claimed to be, being poor and getting dicked down by him was better than being poor and alone.

For just a moment, and with no regrets, you let yourself get lost in the fantasy and just let go.

It was as if Helmut could sense a difference.

“Are you close, little schlampe?” He gasped, letting his thrusts take on a faster staccato rhythm.

You could do little more than moan and nod as he pounded you into the wall. That seemed to be enough for him to get the message, though.

“What a good girl,” he purred. His mouth was so close to your ear, his hot breath tickling the sensitive flesh with each heaving breath he took. As he chased his own climax, he brought a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight, wet circles around your clit. It was already sensitive, your body was only barely recovering from your first orgasm, and yet something about the overstimulation was thrilling, like racing towards an impossible dream. With a shout, you came for the second time, melting into Baron Helmut’s arms as he quickly followed.

The two of you stayed there, slumped against the cool wall and still connected by your dripping sexes, for a few moments, breathing heavy. Surprisingly, you were the first to speak.

“Wow,” you breathed, letting a soft laugh escape your lips.

Helmut returned the sentiment. “You were wonderful,” In a strange moment of intimacy, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, but then he pulled out, tying off the full condom and tossing it to the ground as he tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his fly.

“Are you just gonna leave that there?” you made a gesture towards his litter.

“They have janitors,”

A burbling laugh escaped from your lips. “That they do,”

Back in the main room of the party, the crowd had only grown larger as the night progressed. Nobody had seen you, nor had they noticed your cries as they danced and drank and made merry under the neon lights. You were, for all intents and purposes, invisible at Helmut’s side. Within and without. There was something exhilarating about knowing he was the only one that truly saw you in a room packed with hundreds. It was like something out of a twisted fairytale.

“So…” you broached the subject gently while you pulled down your dress to protect your modesty, “Did you mean what you said back there about Paris and Vienna, or…”

“Oh, you heard that?”

You snickered. “It was pretty hard not to with you breathing in my ear,”

“I apologize,” he leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, “but yes, I meant what I said. I-”

Suddenly, from down the hall, a booming voice interrupted your moment.

“There you are!”

“Goddamnit, Zemo, I thought we told you to stay low not hire an escort,”

There, at the mouth of the hallway, stood two massive men. They were obviously displeased, and though their faces were obscured by the lights you could tell you weren’t the one they were after.

They called him Zemo… where had you heard that name before?

Helmut stepped away from the wall with a shrug. “At least I didn’t cause a scene by forgetting to put my phone on silent,”

The larger of the two men stayed where he was, while the other walked to meet the Baron in the middle.

“I swear to God, man, you’ve gotten ten times more insufferable since I learned you were rich.

The Baron shrugged. “It comes with the territory,”

“But you don’t have to be such a jackass about it,”

You felt it was a good time to chime in.

“Thank you so much for that, Helmut, but I think I should give you guys some privacy,” you said, straightening out your dress and walking deeper into the hallway. There had to be an exit somewhere…

“Wait!” When you turned, you found Helmut rushing to meet you. The men in the background looked shocked and almost smug. “Save your money. Meet me out at the airstrip tomorrow afternoon if you feel like seeing me again. If not, know that the Power Broker doesn’t let go of assets cheap, and you just slept with a man with a million dollar bounty, so buying your freedom isn’t an option. If you want to go without me, you’ll have to hitch a ride on a cargo ship but not as a stowaway. Working for your keep is the best way to stay under the radar. Nobody can touch you once you’r-”

You cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips. “I’ll see you at your private jet, Baron,”

He smirked. “So you will,” With as much gusto as a man could muster, he returned to his companions but not before offering one last goodbye. “Farewell, schatzi, until tomorrow,”

As you leaned up against the wall once more, you watched them go with a twinkle in your eye.

“Who was that?”

“None of your business, James,”

“Guys, what the hell did I just step on?”

“I believe that was my used rubber,”

“ZEMO!”

-------

a/n: I hope you enjoyed the filth! I haven’t written for Zemo before, even though I’ve loved him for years, but he’s definitely going into my main rotation now. If you have any ideas, send them my way! I’d love to fill the void, because there just aren’t very many Zemo x reader fics out there. If you enjoyed this, maybe reblog or leave a comment! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again!

Please do not post my works to any other sites, thanks! <3

#oh my god this is filth #Would you believe I wrote my first smut like a week ago?#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #marvel #falcon and winter solider series #fatws #bucky barnes #sam wilson #smut #marvel fanfiction

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nctsworld · 4 years ago

Text

two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap!

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone off to one side.

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.”

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly.

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

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fulcrumredeemed · 1 month ago

Text

Ahsoka didn't have any mental issues, that she knew of, and she was certainly not dreaming like Wade thought that he was. She did have a lot of anti-mutant trauma, and a starship size load of childhood trauma but now's not the time to go into that. Ahsoka also had this neat little World Between Worlds, that was all hers, or so she thought. Ahsoka had been under the assumption that this place was something created by one of her mutations.

Normally she came to, this angel's take on an astronomically celestial rendition of the Usher's Stairs print but live action, in order to get away. Translucent Roads, glowing a light aqua-blue glow, floating in the middle of space, surrounded by stars, galaxies, nebulas and magellanic clouds, full of intricate circles surrounded by an even more impressive outer display. She assumed that they were all portals to other places, because she had tried one or two, they had lead to other places that we had not began at, if they were not her door. Now Ahsoka, did, notice that the further the door was from her door that there seemed to be a time discrepancy but she usually chocked that up that the World Between Worlds didn't seem to operate time in the same way as Earth did anyway. Time seemed to be almost at a standstill there. Almost. Was that a voice? Coming to a place in order to be a lone only to hear a voice is disconcerting enough as is but to have it in a place that no one should have access to, while seeming to be in the middle of fucking outer space is insane and motherfucking terrifying. No that was definitely a voice echoing in the World Between Worlds. Ahsoka turned her head to look around, then not seeing anything that way, looked using her body. There was someone there. Ahsoka began, cautiously, walking toward the figure to get a better look at this other figure. As she got closer Ahsoka could see just someone in, what appeared to be, a very red spandex suit? Or maybe it was a red full body suit for kink related things? OH! Wait!!! He might be a super hero kind. Like Spider-Man, or the Wolverine. Then she heard him speak. What Ahsoka heard confused the hell out of her. Sex fantasy? Alien? Wait does she look like an alien? Ahsoka started looking herself over to check if she looked weird. Well weird-er, thanks to her three tendrils where her hair should be and two horns protruding from the top of her head, angled backwards, seemingly going to her tendrils. A smirk came across Ahsoka's face. This was her World Between Worlds after all. If he gets offended by her making jokes then he can just leave. "I mean, I may not have tentacles, but I have these?" Gently taking one of her tendrils in-between her pointer finger and thumb, Ahsoka lifted one of her tendrils to show Wade, as she continued to approach the red suited, masked, whatever it was. "I think people usually call them tendrils, though. Sorry." A chuckle in her voice, no one called them tendrils, no one called them anything. Ahsoka was one of a kind, as was her biology, so..... "BUT I do have wash-board abs." Lifting her shirt up enough to reveal her abs, that were indeed ones that someone could use to wash clothes on. On account of her living with monks and training nearly everyday until she left the temple, followed by Ahsoka continuing to do her katas and training, out of habit mostly but it did make sure that she stayed fit and healthy as well. Just in case she needed to fight a would be attacker or attackers. Like anyone working for Strucker. Wait was this guy on Strucker's payroll? Assassin! That was someone else that could wear a suit like that. "Waaaait...a...second." Narrowing her gradient sky-blue to dark blue eyes, in her realization of the potential danger. Man she must not be on her game today. Normally Strucker's trackers and assassins would be one of the first things that Ahsoka thinks about. "How'd you get in here? And why are you here?" Her tone becoming cautious, showing Ahsoka's suspicion of the very strange visitor.

@ontheticktick

@fulcrumredeemed

Normally, Wade was a FAIRLY LUCID DREAMER.

It had never done him any favors, unfortunately, thanks to his SCHIZOPHRENIA. Being able to shift and control the narrative of one's dreams when they were a relatively WELL-ADJUSTED INDIVIDUAL could be useful even as a form of therapy. When the imbalances within his brain left him prone to things like PSYCHOSIS AND HALLUCINATIONS...it didn't matter how much perceived control he might have had over what was happening when he went to sleep. If things went REAL FAR SOUTH, the dreams would bleed into reality via the fucking HALLUCINATIONS that Wade dealt with on a near daily basis.

He was sure that the FOREVER TUMORS pressing in on his BRAIN didn't help, either.

Whatever the case though, it never felt like Wade had his hands on the wheel of his dreams. It was more like he'd dropped a METRIC SHIT-TON OF ACID, chasing it with some cheap vodka before his hands were tied behind his back and he was sat in the driver's seat USELESSLY. Forced to watch while the car that was his consciousness SPUN OUT.

That was always...SOOOOO FUN. Note: SARCASM.

This time around though, everything had felt disconcertingly real. He had felt senses that were BEYOND HIS SENSES, and that was on top of his USUAL SENSES that normally didn't make any real appearance in his sleeping mind. When he had landed on the ground of...WHEREVER THE FUCKS-VILLE...the impact of his back upon the surface was enough to knock the air out of his lungs for a couple seconds.

He slowly sat up with a groan, having not even registered anyone else that might be there. Wade was just then taking in the seemingly endless surroundings.

"What...in the fucking SPACE MOUNTAIN is this shit?" He rolled over before getting to his knees and finally standing. Looking down at himself, he huffed slightly. "Well, least I'm not naked." He looked up to where a ceiling might be if one existed.

"Hey, if this is an alien abduction dream, you KNOW how I like to be probed, so I've got HIGH EXPECTATIONS!" With a frustrated sigh, the Merc placed his hands upon his hips and moved to turn on his heel casually, only to catch sight of ANOTHER PERSON. He tilted his head slightly, his masked eyes narrowing.

"You're not my usual brand of alien sex fantasy," he admitted, "for one thing, you don't have tentacles...do you at least have ABS I CAN WASH CLOTHES ON?"

#wade wilson #ahsoka tano #cancer mention tw #tumor mention tw #threads #thread replies #replies

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years ago

Text

Draw your swords, pt. 5

Summary: A very special dinner brings a very special moment for the Darkling and his wife.

Warnings: angst, sexual innuendoes, swearing, bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four

=================================

She felt caught in the riptide, finding it hard to stay upright. As the daughter of a general, Y/N had seen so many evils, so much hurt, yet she never buckled under pressure.

Staring at the empty spot beside her, she laid there while battling shadows in her head. So filled with rage, she wondered who she’s becoming as a part of her longed to feel his touch. Perhaps he was right, she’s a foolish girl who is trying to win a game where the rules are nonexistent.

Having stayed awake most of the previous night, she didn’t expect trouble sleeping. With a heavy sigh, she abandoned the bed they shared – it felt too intimate to remain there now. They’ve only ever kissed and it was never planned nor did it happen in the very bed she felt is so incredibly vast, so lonely and cold when he didn’t stay there with her.

Pacing the room as she saw his shadow do the night before, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if he had trouble sleeping alone too. It was less than a full week since they married and she already cursed the smallest part of her that seemed to care for him.

Men are easy to love. A woman’s heart was made to care and love those near her. Mistaking love and trust is what a woman should never do. Love and trust are separate entities, one is given, the other must be earned.

Remembering her mother’s words eased her self-loathing. If she dared to love the Darkling, it wasn’t entirely under her control. Trusting him was different. She wasn’t as naïve as to allow the echoes of her heart dictate what her mind long acknowledged – he isn’t trustworthy.

And as the stars rise in the sky, she paced the room tirelessly. Arguing with herself, she paid no mind to the night sky she loved so much. If she had, Y/N might have realized a man with dark skies for eyes had trouble looking away from her shadow.

Exhausted, Y/N rose with the dawn. She had barely scraped up a few hours of decent sleep, tormented by his words even in dreams.

“Enter”, she yawned as Genya readily walked inside. The maids rushed to the bed, willing to change the bed sheets they couldn’t last time as Y/N had sent them away.

“Stop!” She exclaims as they reach Kirigan’s side of the bed, a slightly panicked look on her face relaying uncontrollable desires she had no chance of understanding.

Frowning, Genya licked her lips. While Y/N wasn’t sure what caused her outburst, she believed to know the root. “Leave us. You will be asked to change the sheets when Y/N desires it.”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N turned away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be”, Genya mussed. “We have a dinner to prepare you for.”

“Yes, of course.” Y/N managed a smile, briefly looking to Genya. “I’ll be alone which gives me a perfect chance to find new allies.”

Blinking fast, Genya’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure who could ally with us in the Palace. Everyone’s charmed by our General. If you’d just work with him, they would all be with you too.”

“He works for the emperor.” Y/N reminded her.

Running her hands through her hair, Y/N didn’t know if she could ever trust him enough to tell him the truth. Her plans, her fight, it’s her life’s work. She came into that palace with intention of burning it down. The emperor must die and anyone else who’d fuel the flames of war must perish along with him. The war had claimed her mother’s life, of thousands of humans and Grisha alike, Y/N aimed to end it. And to end it, she had to destroy those who started it, those who refused to implement equality between species, as Kirigan called them. Humans and Grisha must be seen equally worthy, they must ally or they will be exterminated like vermin by surrounding enemies.

She grieved for her mother every day, even now as a decade had passed. Grief is really just love one cannot give to the other. It’s all the unspent love, gathering in the corners of her eyes, the lump in her throat and inside the hollowed heart that’s trying to beat in her chest. If her sorrow was but snow that could melt with coming spring, she’d shake it off her shoulder and be done with it. It doesn’t just disappear or heal with time, she could not just let it go and forgive. Y/N survived the loss of her mother by making a vow, one she was closer to fulfilling.

“Should I prepare your usual kefta?” Genya asked, holding the blue one over her forearm.

Shaking her head, Y/N turned to her with a smile. If she wants to succeeded, she must use all weapons at hand. Being the General’s wife is one of the weapons at her disposal.

“I was thinking about a different color for tonight.”

“How different are we talking?”

Smirking, Y/N’s eyes flickered to Kirigan’s kefta. “Black.”

“No one wears black but Kirigan”, Genya reminds her.

“Until he married. I believe I’m allowed to wear his color.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Genya sighed heavily. “Alright. As long as you allow me to make a few modifications.”

Anticipating the dinner, Y/N felt like a goddess in the kefta Genya had crafted for her. It fit her perfectly, adjusted just above the waist as it properly accentuated her curves. The closed collar wrapped around her neck, fallen stars creating a golden woven blaze as a necklace, while moondust adorned the long, skin tight lacey sleeves. The bottom acted as a floor length dress with a long slit revealing skin up to middle of her thigh.

Entering the room with her head held high and Genya on her hand, Y/N felt even more confident about the eclipsed sun stitched across her heart. It was bound to attract attention if the rest of her makeshift kefta inspired dress didn’t.

The moment she took a step inside, everybody’s head turned. The chatter died down, replaced by astonished gasps of pure awestruck admiration.

“I believe you’ve created a masterpiece”, Y/N whispers to Genya whose smile widens.

“You are what makes it so spectacular”, Genya winks.

“Don’t be modest. We both know it’s not in your nature.”

Giggling, Genya nods, “You’re right. I’m brilliant and this”, she steps aside to give her a once over again, “You are proof.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N felt her cheeks darken. Her plan was to draw attention so any potential ally she speaks to would be more inclined to accept her request, but she didn’t expect for everyone to stop and stare.

Tugging her by the arm, Genya pulled her closer. “You’ll never guess who is here”, she spoke in a hushed tone, looking to the left as the rest of the guests began speaking again and the music played softly in the background.

Following her line of view, Y/N’s heart came to a near stop as her eyes locked on his.

“Wasn’t he supposed to leave last night?” Genya whispers, but Y/N could hardly speak.

Breath caught in her throat, Y/N stared back at Kirigan who seemed to be just as breathless. She looked like a dream, a golden bird that carried all the happiness of the world on its wings.

“He didn’t”, Y/N looked away, knitting her eyebrows. “Why didn’t he”, she tried to finish her initial thought, but she couldn’t. If she spoke of the sudden ache that settled after the initial shock of his presence dispersed, she’d hate herself more. She’s weak if her feelings are hurt by a single night spent alone in a bed. She was certain now. She is foolish.

“You won’t be able to network tonight”, Genya’s frown made Y/N chuckle.

“You’ve been frowning so often since we met.”

Shrugging, Genya leaned in discreetly. “I can afford a few worry lines. I’ll just erase them later.”

Playfully rolling her eyes, Y/N smiled brightly. She would not allow Kirigan to dampen her mood. He can stay on his side of the room and she won’t spare him a single glance.

“I’ll test the waters”, Genya promised, “If I find anyone that we can work with, we can test their loyalty later.”

Glancing over Y/N’s shoulder, Genya’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

Frowning lightly, Y/N glanced at what has her so perplexed only to huff in frustration.

“Black suits you”, the Darkling compliments her. Holding out a hand for her to take, he glances at his open palm before raising his brow. He’s challenging her.

Looking around, she realizes everyone’s waiting for her reaction. As he told her once before, they may not be a love match, but their arrangement must seem successful to the unsuspecting eye.

“Dance with me and pretend they don’t exist”, his voice softened and she couldn’t believe this is the same man who so cruelly baited her, branding her as foolish earlier. How can he act as if nothing happened when she was still reeling from it? Not that he’d know, she always put care in every move she made around him.

She placed her hand on the palm of his, holding her breath as she chained her gaze to the abyss in his. There’s no going back, she thinks, nearly shuddering as he places his free hand on her hip.

“I thought you were gone by now”, she mussed. Choosing to take control of the conversation, she kept her neck straight as it secured a proper distance between their faces.

“We had a slight delay”, he said, “I’ll be gone tonight.”

Humming, she swallowed thickly. Avoiding looking at others, she remained in a staring match with her husband.

“How did you sleep?” The Darkling smirked, watching her eyes narrow at him.

“Quite well. Did you enjoy sharing your bed with someone else?” While her voice seemed cold and unattached, her words were anything but.

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy there?” Pursing his lips, he nearly laughed as she stepped on his foot. “I’ll take that as yes.”

“I’m merely concerned how it would look if word of you sleeping elsewhere got out. I prefer my pride and honor untouched and if you choose to find a lover, I should assume you’ll be discreet.”

Licking his lips, the great general didn’t laugh at her or sneer. There was no angry squinting or vile words. For once, he had a serious expression on his face that had nothing to do with the army or their arguments.

“I’m not the kind who would seek a lover while married. Even if the marriage is a mere arrangement.”

Scoffing, she clenched her jaw as he pulled her waist closer to him.

“How many lovers have you taken?”

He raised a brow, “That’s a horrible question.”

“Because you lost count?” She narrows her eyes, the lips he found himself so fascinated with formed a thin, red line.

He doesn’t respond, so she tried again, “Why have you not married before?”

Now he looked amused, “That’s even worse!”

Shrugging, she smirks, “Well, ask me a question then! If all mine are so awful, let me hear yours.”

“Do you think I’m a very good liar or a very unlovable being?” Slowly pulling her body flush against his, Darkling looked deep into her eyes. “I’ve never loved anyone and I’ve manipulated everyone who has fallen in love with me. So?” Inhaling sharply, he watched a disarray of emotions cross her face as he asked again, “Liar or unlovable?”

“A liar. Because you are lying, not just to me but yourself.” Her breathing is shallow, strained even. “You have a heart, General, but you’re cowering like a scared little boy instead of just facing the facts.”

“And what are those?” His voice is darker as are his intentions.

If they were alone, she was certain he’d be kissing her lips now. For some reason, it seemed he enjoyed their arguments. He liked it when she fought him almost like he didn’t know any other form of affection.

“That you care. You care and you hate yourself for it.” Stopping their dance, she managed a faint smile. “But don’t worry, I’m not spending my time waiting for you to accept it.”

Brushing his fingers across the left side of her face, he cocked his head ever so slightly, “Is it possible you’ve got this all wrong? From where I stand, you’re the one who cares – perhaps a bit too much? Let me remind you, this marriage is a sham. You are my wife, but I do not love you, I do not care for you and if you were killed right in this very spot, I would avenge you but solely for the arrangement to remain unsullied.”

Nodding, more to herself than him, she took a step back from him. For the first time ever, she drew back. “For once, we’re on the same page of the same book.”

The music stops. Looking to the man clinking his glass, Y/N’s lips part. She didn’t even realize it, but too often she entirely forgoes breathing in Kirigan’s presence.

Taking a deep breath, she nearly laughs. Kirigan…General…The Darkling. She even called him husband, yet she never even heard his first name. How odd is it to marry a man whose first name is a mystery to you, she thought.

“If you’ll excuse me”, she nods curtly without sparing him a glance.

Her seat at the dinner table was beside Genya, while Kirigan was placed all the way on the other side of the room. She smirked, satisfied she’ll have some peace during her meal. She never quite liked the table formation in a wide U form before, but she blessed the ones who created it on this evening.

Studying him from afar, she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for him. It wasn’t some cosmic connection that she hoped she’d share with her husband, rather wishful thinking. Longing for him is out of the question. He may be the most handsome man she had ever seen, but it’s not at all something she’d thank the saints for. If he were less appealing, she’d at least be free of torment his looks bring. The devil is real and he’s not a goat like man as humans believed. There are no horns, no tails – he’s beautiful, a fallen angel, but an angel nonetheless.

“You’re staring at him again”, Genya speaks in a hushed tone, her smile audible.

“I’m not”, Y/N replies, “I simply looked over in a direction and he happened to be seated there.”

“Then why was that look on your face?” Genya raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Y/N asks, incredulous. “What look?”

“You have a certain way of looking at him”, she informs. Letting out an tired huff, Genya explains, “You look at him and it’s like you’re staring at the night sky littered with stars.”

“So?”

Genya looks down before whispering, “You love night skies littered with stars.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N stared at her food for the rest of the evening. One bite after another and her plate was quickly emptied. Her stomach felt like it would burst, but she didn’t care. Most people claim they can’t eat under stress, but she was the opposite – her appetite only grew.

“He’s standing up”, Genya informed her and despite wishing she remained impassive, Y/N’s eyes shot up to where he was sitting.

With a lump at the back of her throat, she watched him as he headed to the door. A part of her hoped he’d be decent enough to bid his farewell, to acknowledge her at least. That part of her needed to be destroyed, she decided. It’s the part of her that would ruin her mission and for what? If she truly wanted to, she could have him on his back and under her. If she wanted him, he’d be hers – at least his body would. The principle she held onto was more important and so, she swallowed thickly and looked to her empty plate in order to stop her weakness from showing.

As she looked away, the Darkling looked back at her from across the room. He felt a strange tightness in his heart and once he saw she didn’t follow him with her gaze, his heart dropped. Furrowing his eyebrows, he kept his gaze on her for a while longer – her beauty was unmatched by anything he had ever seen. White looked good on her, every color did – but black fabric hugging her curves could bring a dead man back to life.

With a heavy heart and frown etched on his face, the Darkling turned his back and left the room, the Palace, the strangest, most beautiful creature he ever laid eyes on.

He carried her in his thoughts ever since. It aggravates him how quickly she’s gotten under his skin. Most of the month before their marriage was finalized was spent in petty comments about their armies or their distaste for one another. She was insufferable, maddening and entirely different from what he expected.

And yet, even then, the Darkling hoped she’d lose her patience and either leave or tell him she loves him. If she left, he’d be free of her and the shackles of an undesirable marriage, but if she told him she loves him, perhaps he’d believe her. If he knew there was ever a possibility of her loving him, he’d dare assume he might be deserving of love – because she may have dubbed him a liar, but he believes himself to be unlovable too. He never saw the point in allowing himself to feel a thing for her when it would be futile, wasted emotions on a woman sworn to hate him.

Once he was done chasing a rumor of a stag up north, the Darkling had to accept it too was a futile. Going after a legendary animal wasted so much of his time that he couldn’t even believe how foolish he’s become too. The stag must not be real after all.

Approaching Little Palace, he felt almost eager to run up to their shared chambers and see her. Even if she’d likely have a few choice words for him, he hoped he could make her blood boil just to hear her speak. He’d never admit it, but he missed someone he could converse with without dying of boredom.

“General”, Genya rushed to Kirigan who nearly growled at the distraction. However, Genya seemed distraught, panicked enough to draw his attention.

“Yes?”

Swallowing thickly, she wiped a stray tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s Y/N.”

His heart stops at the sound of her shaky voice, his jaw clenching before speaking. “What happened? Is she alright?”

“She went for a ride this morning and she hasn’t been seen since.”

Darkling’s gaze hardens as he grips Genya’s arms and shakes her lightly. “What do you mean?!”

“We sent riders after lunch, because I was worried she missed two meals already”, gasping for air, Genya’s tears made tracks, “The snow covered her tracks.”

She left me, he thought. She deemed me unlovable, unworthy. She left.

“They managed to find her mare”, Genya continues through tears, “It was decapitated and left in the woods.”

“Woods?” He frowns, wondering why she’d stray from the meadow and then he realized. He’s the one she rode into the woods with. She must have thought the woods were safe. They were at the time, only because he was with her and he’d never let any harm come to her.

“There were signs of struggle, but the snow is making it hard for us to track them.”

Releasing a visibly shaken Genya, he grunts. Biting his lower lip, he paced before her as his hand ran through his hair. She never saw him so worried, so mad before. He looked like a man walking a fine line – a line between madness and sanity.

“Call everyone”, he orders, “We must find her.”

Exhaling in relief, Genya smiled as Ivan emerged, having heard everything.

“Why would we do that?”

A pause ensues as the Darkling takes a step toward Ivan. “I haven’t made a promise in so long”, he spoke but in truth, it’s been hundreds of years since he made anyone a promise. “I promised her I’d protect her.” His voice was ragged, but controlled. “So I’m making a new promise right here, if they harm a single hair on her head, I will end them all. I will do it with a smile on face and I will bathe in their blood!”

They took her from him and he had every intention of ripping the world apart with his bare hands and for once, the thought of how far he’d go for that insolent woman didn’t frighten him. He barely knows her, he certainly doesn’t love her, but Saints help those who touched his wife.

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Part 6

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #shadow and bone

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