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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much.

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction.

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time.

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.”

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway.

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness.

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit.

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care.

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time.

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way.

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to.

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with.

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast.

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder.

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him.

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway.

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears.

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened.

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen.

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin.

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder.

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen.

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs.

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes.

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t.

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower.

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering.

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks.

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it.

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous.

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet.

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected.

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time.

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally.

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?”

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement.

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him.

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.”

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts.

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him.

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse.

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces.

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating.

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet.

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that.

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing.

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms.

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it.

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again.

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it.

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?”

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.”

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now.

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger.

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now.

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth.

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed.

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree.

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….”

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top.

“That’s it, nice and slow.”

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread.

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again.

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him.

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens.

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t.

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows.

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart.

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again.

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange.

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think.

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass.

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks.

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession.

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips.

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you.

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there.

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected.

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel.

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger.

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little – just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose.

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture.

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously.

“Yes, please, please,”

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often.

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.”

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made.

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life.

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper.

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”

“No.”

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much.

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t.

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks.

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t.

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had.

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more.

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this.

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you.

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it.

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap.

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though.

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic.

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response.

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted.

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek.

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him.

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head. Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side.

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him.

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?”

“You do.”

“So…. I’ll teach you.”

“....Okay.”

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do.

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart.

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this.

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us writing #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #writing

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dpxdc-events · 7 months

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DPXDC WEEK 2023 BULLETIN BOARD

Welcome to DPxDC Week 2023, a fandom event dedicated to the Danny Phantom and DC comics crossover! This year, participants are given 7 days and 21 prompts (7 character prompts, 7 trope/setting prompts, and 7 word prompts) that they can use to explore the crossover through writing, art, or other mediums!

This bulletin board will keep track of important links, announcements, and FAQs that people can reference throughout the event.

↳ EVENT DATE: November 13 - November 19

↳ EVENT TAG: #DPXDC WEEK 2023

↳ AO3 COLLECTION: coming soon

THE EVENT TIMELINE

↳ October 9th - Prompt Suggestions Form Opens

↳ October 21st - Prompt Polls

↳ November 1st - Official Prompts Revealed!

↳ November 13th - DPXDC WEEK BEGINS!

FAQs

Q. Who is allowed to participate?

A. Anyone is allowed to participate! Writers, artists, and creators of all types are welcome to join the event, no sign-ups required.

Q. Do I have to do all of the prompts?

A. Nope! You can do one prompt or all the prompts. You can participate the entire week or only submit something for certain days. The important thing is to have fun!

Q. What kind of works am I allowed to enter for this event?

A. Anything! Fanfiction, art, songs, memes, etc. – the only limit is that it has to be a DP/DC crossover.

Q. Is there a tag?

A. When you submit your entry (on tumblr or ao3), make sure to tag it as #DPXDC WEEK 2023 so that I, and other people, can find it! I’ll be reblogging anything with this tag onto this blog.

Q. Who do I go to for any other questions or concerns?

A. Feel free to send an ask or DM the blog anytime!

#dpxdc #dpxdc week #dpxdc week 2023

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nite-puff · 3 months

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announcement: after hearing some people’s concerns, i’ve decided to get rid of the due date!!! still. i’ve decided i still want to reward those who post their entry before the 21st. so i’ll keep an eye out for that!!

okay… i sat on this idea for a while now… but i guess it’s about time i officially start it..

as some of you know, i’ve been redrawing my first ever ishimondo art every year for the past two years. i like to do it because it marks another year of me being in the dangan fandom while also seeing how my art has changed and improved over time.

i wanted to do something special this year, and the couple times i’ve mentioned this, i had some people respond very positively. so here we go.

i’m hosting a dtiys!!

i’ve just always loved doing things that spark interaction and participation among the ishimondoblr community, and this annual redraw really set that in stone for me. so i thought i’d take it a step further and give you all the opportunity to see how your artistic lenses apply to this artwork.

da rules:

- there are no requirements to participate. this is open to anyone and everyone.

- you can change the original composition if you want, just keep mondo and kiyotaka as the main focus.

- you can always tag me if you post your submission, but i’d also prefer if people used “#nitepuffdtiys2024” to help me find it as well. please at least do one or the other so that i can find your art.

- if you prefer to, you can dm me your entry, but it’s not required by any means.

- one entry per person.

- !!!no time limit!!!

- have fun!!! that’s what this is all about!!

and that’s it!! i’ll put better quality versions of the images above below the cut so you can see and reference them better. i wish you all luck and that you all have a ton of fun with your entries!!

until then, that’s it from me! take care!!

2021

2022

2023

#yea okay here we go #really encouraging people to participate #it’d also be really appreciated if you guys reblogged this to spread the word. that would be great #i’ve always wanted to do one of these. and i thought it’d be a great way to sort of mix up how i do the annual redraw this year #danganronpa #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #mondo owada #kiyotaka ishimaru #ishimondo #mondoblr #doodlepuff #ramblepuff #dtiys #nitepuffdtiys2024

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 9 months

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Okay, this is kind of silly but you’ve said many times that your asks are always open. So, I’ve never really done anything. I know virginity is kind of complicated and hard to define, especially when you’re queer, but like, you get the idea. That’s not the point though. When I do have sex with someone, I want to be good enough for them. I don’t have a lot of expectations, but I know that realistically a lot of people do. Partially from porn and stuff (I’m not saying porn is evil, just so we’re clear). Like I said, I don’t really have a lot of expectations, due to stuff that’s not relevant right now. My point is, I don’t want to disappoint her. I’m not vocal. Whatever specific expectations she has, I’m not going to live up to it. I’m not worried about taking care of her. If there’s one thing I’m good at it’s taking care of people. I’m humble, I’m good at listening to people, I’m good at reading people, etc. But I’m worried that if she wants to return the favour she’ll be disappointed. And I don’t want to let anyone down. Especially because I’m fairly firm about being authentic. I’m not going to make noise if I don’t feel it naturally. I’m not going to change myself or my appearance. I mean, there’s compromise and communication, but that’s different, you know? Wow, this whole thing is a disaster of a ramble. Thank you for listening. Have a nice day.

Darling,

Thank you so much for your vulnerability and reaching out. 💞💞💞 Words cannot express how touched and humbled I am. And yes, my asks are always open. I’m always here if anyone wants to chat.

Firstly, you’re not silly. You reaching out is not silly. You’re topic of choice is not silly. It’s all valid.

You’re correct, virginity is a complicated matter. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with ‘never having done anything’. Whether that ‘anything’ be by yourself or with another(s).

It’s 100% valid and normal to be anxious, worried about the first time you have sex. Can I give you my biggest tip? Don’t listen to societal standards: Your first time having sex is not going to be perfect, and that is 100% okay. Today, entertainment puts so much pressure and so high standards on what sex should be. Like you mentioned, porn has been a part of creating these unrealistic standards.

You are good enough. Just as you are. Anyone who tells you otherwise is wrong. And whoever your lucky partner is, the person you first have sex with, should respect you and know that you are good enough.

The key is to remember 2 things:

Sex is not meant to be serious (unless you purposefully make it thus), it’s supposed to be a fun adventure.

Communication is key. You need to speak up for yourself. And so does your future partner. State your expectations. State your preferences. State your boundaries. Go past just that, actually talk about it. Talk about your concerns with her. Talk about her concerns. Talk it out together.

I’m glad that you are not worried about taking care of her, but please remember that you also need to take care of yourself. And let her take care of you as well.

Authenticity is good. Stay authentic. And yes, you can be authentic and still have compromise and communication.

Thank you for your ramble, dear ♥️ I’ll listen any day. I deeply appreciate you taking the time to tell me all of this. It’s healthy that you’re talking about it. Anyways, If there’s anything else, feel free to send in another ask or dm me <3 Hope you have a lovely day!!

Talk with me ❤️‍🩹

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shebeezee · 6 months

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Welcome to my page! <3

I’m redoing this now that I’ve been on here for a little while. :]

Quick Intro:

Hey, I’m Bee! I’m a 21 year old queer hispanic from the USA. I prefer if a mix of pronouns are used for me but it’s not required.

I have multiple different disorders/ mental illnesses but you’ll mostly only find BPD related vents here so big TW for BPD related stuff. It’s a safe place for anyone who struggles with any type of disabilities, disorders, mental illnesses, etc.

My DMs, Inbox, etc is always open for any comments, questions, concerns, etc. I’m not very active on Tumblr (I don’t spent a lot of time on here) and I don’t have notifications on but I will respond once I see your message. If you’d like to be mutuals, feel free to interact with this post! Feel free to like, reblog, comment or shoot me a message! If I deem that your account is too triggering for whatever reason however, I may not follow back.

Take care of yourself honey! 💛

Tags:

#SheBeeZee - lil rambles or whatever else

#Inbox - inbox stuff

#BPD - bpd related vent/ rants

Longer Intro:

Hello again! I’ll just go into a bit more detail here. :)

I’ve been off the internet for a long while since I did cut off everyone in my life a few years ago. I isolated myself until more recently when I really started struggling and needed a place to vent out some frustrations. I struggle reaching out to people so feel free to reach out yourself, I promise you’re always welcomed here! :]

I only really post BPD related stuff here to try to keep things more of a safe place where there’s not too many sensitive things that can easily trigger people. I do have a side blog that’s not too hard to find but I won’t link it here because I’ll be rambling more on there about other sensitive topics that can be triggering.

I never had a “Tumblr Era” before this so I’ve pretty much been going in blind. I also don’t spend too much time looking at stuff on here either, not cause I don’t want to but just the mental illness brain talking.

I also do have pretty bad paranoia so if there’s ever something I don’t really answer or I seem to avoid mentioning, please don’t take it personally. I don’t mean any harm by it but I just prefer to keep some things private and my privacy is something I value a lot.

As I mentioned previously, I do have a lot of different disorders along with BPD so BPD can look very different on me compared to someone else who has different disorders. I am not a professional and only use this page to vent thoughts related to my experiences or things I’m going through. People without BPD might also relate to some of my vents since I do have other disorders that can affect my mindset so please don’t take anything I say or vent about as professional medical advice. If anyone wants to talk about it privately, I don’t mind that but please don’t take anything I say as 100% one way or the other since BPD can really look much different in people as well as my other disorders that are also factors to take in.

Thank you so much for reading and I appreciate anyone who sticks around! It’s definitely made me smile knowing there’s a lot of people who can relate to things I struggle with. It makes me feel much less alone than I did when I first started this account. It’s made me feel less crazy and less “it’s all in my head” about things. I appreciate each and every one of you. 🫶 Hope I see all my cute lil flowers around often! 🌻 Take care of yourselves, stay hydrated and remember you’ve been doing amazing with the cards you got given. If no one has said it, I’m so proud of you and love you! 🐝

Started: 9/27/23

Carrd: (bc I’m proud of it :>)

#SheBeeZee

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whothefelsewantedtobelynnyx-ao3 · 1 year

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Welcome to my Tumblr!

Hi guys! My name's Lyn, also known as LynNyx or WhothefelsewantedtobeLynNyx. This is the blog where I'll be keeping up with my series, works, and friends from AO3.

Who I am

I’m a budding author and part-time fanfiction writer. My current focus is The Owl House! You may know me from works on AO3 such as:

The Raven House (A TOH Swap AU)

Insomnia

The Red Herring In The Tea Leaves

Ground Zero

And more! (for anyone new, check me out here!)

Why I’m setting up a new Tumblr.

I recognize that a lot of you follow me for content that only comes out every couple months. I want to interact with you guys more than that, and give you more content than that! That’s why I’m creating this blog. On Tumblr, I’ll be able to post more often and post more unique content, including:

Worldbuilding

Art

Answered questions

Updates and timelines

Shorts and mini-fics

Sneak peeks

Other related content, such as incorrect quotes postings or little facts that I’m not able to work into the story

I’ll also be able to interact with my amazing, amazing audience more! I’ll be answering asks, doing Q&As (both in character and out) and just generally chatting with y’all. Every once in awhile, I may open up a poll, prompt, or some other kind of interactive post- like the one where OCs can be featured in The Raven House.

Rules

I have some ground rules and boundaries that I’d like everyone to please respect, for the sake of myself and others.

I do not proship, nor do I allow discussion of proshipping when it pertains to my works. Here’s a link to the post where I discuss my reasoning on my other blog. My main concern when it comes to this rule is my work ‘Shades of Lavender’, but it still stands in regards to my other works.

I will not tolerate hate in my comments. Full stop.

I’m writing this just before the release of For The Future, and I’m sure you all know of the leaks from the episode. I am lucky enough to have the privilege of being able to watch the episode legally and supporting Dana and her team. While I recognize that not everyone has that as an option, I ask that we try and avoid spoilers here, both with regards to the upcoming release and when the final episode comes out (because we’re 0/2 so far on managing not to get leaked, and I don’t love the chances)

I don’t do NSFL stuff, which in my definition includes:

Incest or pseudo-incest/found family incest

Vore

Graphic or detailed rape/non-con

Any form of underage character/adult character shipping

When it comes to 18+ stuff, I do occasionally create and discuss smut works. However, it will be clearly marked and closely monitored. I also do not create 18+ stuff involving underaged or aged up characters (where they’re aged up for the sake of making smut legal).

Be patient with me, please. I’m a full time student with a part time job. This is my hobby and I love it, but I don’t have the luxury of spending as much time as I’d like on it. Sometimes projects will come out late or take ages to update. If that happens, know that I’m doing the best I can to create the best project I can.

Anything else?

Don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask or a DM if you’re more comfortable with that! I’m always happy to chat. To celebrate the start of this new blog, I’ll be running an AMA for the next day or so! Feel free to shoot me any questions about me or my works that you’d like to ask, and I’ll get back to you ASAP!

#the owl house #the owl house fanfiction #lynnyx writes #archive of our own #ao3 #toh ao3 #toh fanworks #toh au #toh #fanfiction #fanfic writer #fanfic #fanworks #author #creator #toh fancontent creator #toh fanart #toh fandom

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randomestfandoms-ocs · 2 years

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So, I’m back

Tentatively, at least. I’m going to give it a try, I guess is what I should say, but I don’t want to do that without acknowledging some of what happened in May. This is going to be a long post, so as a very loose outline I’m going to start with the overall Tumblr shit, the May stuff, and my decision to go awol for almost six months. After that, I’m going to talk a bit about the CK situation, and then at the end I’m going to outline my general plan going forward. (but, this is a very very long post, so I’ll be putting a lot of it under a cut)

First and foremost, I’m sorry. I know that I have hurt a lot of people, I have been inconsiderate, stubborn, and prideful, and although it was never my intention to hurt anyone, it doesn’t undo the harm that I’ve caused to people that I care very much about. There is nothing that I can say that will erase that damage, but I am so incredibly sorry all the same. None of what I’m going to say in the rest of this post undoes the hurt that I’ve caused. I can offer explanations, apologies, and plans for moving forward, but I’m not looking to pretend that nothing happened. All I can say is that I am truly sorry to everyone who I hurt.

I never copied an oc or an edit on purpose. That doesn't mean there were never similarities between my creations/ocs and other people's, whether that be total coincidence or having seen/been inspired by others' work unconsciously, and I am sorry that when people would contact me about issues like this, I would get really defensive. That wasn't right of me, especially to shut down conversation about it when i know creators love their ocs and work so hard on their projects and are so close to them.

It’s not fair for me to dictate how people express their concerns, but I know that much of my pushback and defence came when confronted point blank with "you copied/stole from me", because I did feel attacked. My immediate reaction was always harsh and emotional, that no, I can’t steal an idea when I didn’t know existed, and I didn't go looking for things to copy. That defensiveness has definitely made me shut down conversations where I’d probably have been better off responding “hey, definitely wasn’t deliberate, didn’t know you had something similar, can we talk about this more so I can make changes and make them more different ?". I would feel attacked, and get my back up, that people would say these things to me. I like to think that I responded better to messages like “hey, I’m uncomfortable with how similar these are” or “hey, I started x trend and you should credit me”, and I do have people who I worked this out with like that, but I also understand that some might feel differently, and it wasn't fair of me to base my accountability and courtesy on the criteria of how nicely someone who probably felt defensive and hurt in their own right approached me about it.

I’m not planning to make any further posts on the subject because it’s admittedly a big complicated mess and there’s a lot to say, so I tried to touch on all of the basics here, but for anyone who would like to talk more about anything in this post (or about anything else, really), my DMs are open and I’m happy to talk. I’m not going to pretend that this one post erases everything that has happened, I know that it doesn’t, but I don’t think that I can achieve anything more in messy public posts; I really feel that anything more can only really happen in proper conversations.

I’m not looking to talk shit or unpack a bunch of drama or anything, so I’m going to keep this part very short. On a personal level, in early May I had only just started a new job and was working, on average, 16-18 hours a day. I was waking up between 6 and 7 every morning for the first job, then getting home around 2 from the second, with barely enough time in between to have a meal and get changed. I was tired and snappy and overwhelmed as can be without including anything from Tumblr. I will be the first to admit that I was not in a particularly good place, so when everything started, I got incredibly defensive. Obviously external circumstances don’t justify my behaviour and I hate that I hurt someone that I considered a close friend, but that was where things started.

From there I don’t know everything that happened, I assume that various conversations were going on that I wasn’t a part of, but I received very hurtful messages from a few people I had considered among my best friends. By then I was already regretting how I’d handled the initial situation and was just too hurt and stubborn to admit it, but I didn’t want to hurt anyone else or cause more damage by lashing out again, so I quit Tumblr. I deleted the app from my phone during a shift after getting these messages and when I got home from work I unfollowed every oc blog that I’d been following, signed out, and closed Tumblr on my computer. I know that my decision to unfollow everyone also hurt people, and I’m so so so fucking sorry that I didn’t communicate with anyone before (or, frankly, after) doing so – it boiled down to the fact that I knew that I wouldn’t be able to completely leave Tumblr if the urge to “oh just take a quick look and see what’s going on” was still there. I’m very good at justifying myself and I would have convinced myself that it was always just once or just to check on [all of my friends]. I knew that I needed a clean break and work through things for myself and on my own time first so that I could then approach things calmly and with an open mind, and while I don’t regret taking that hiatus, I absolutely regret being so callous and inconsiderate with how I did it.

And, I won’t deny, I was also feeling extremely hurt and needed to leave for my own wellbeing. I know that I was defensive and dismissive myself, but seeing what I thought was an argument with a friend turn into dozens of posts about everything apparently wrong with me was overwhelming and hurtful and I knew that staying online through that would only make me more defensive and more inclined to lash out. I understand that some people felt that I wasn’t hearing them out privately and felt that this was the best way to communicate and I can’t hold that against them, but I still believe that it was entirely uncalled for that people who I’d never once talked to were jumping on this bandwagon and making statements as if they were involved. I’m not looking to deflect blame for the hurt that I caused, but quite frankly I was not the only person who reacted badly during that time period and I’m not looking to pretend that I wasn’t incredibly hurt by other people’s actions as well.

I definitely wasn’t planning to take almost six months off, but once I started the hiatus, I started to realize two things. First of all, my mental health and presence in my own life was so much better without Tumblr, and second of all, that the particular inciting incident was really just a side effect of a much bigger problem in my overall relationship with Tumblr, and I realized that there was no way that I could return until I’d really figured out the roots of the problem and how to fix it. After all, I can apologize all I want for what happened (and as flippant as this may sound, I really am incredibly sorry), but it would be completely worthless if I didn’t take the time to improve my behaviours and figure out how to avoid repeating toxic patterns. I kind of lucked out in that some shit was going on in my workplace (some shit with a coworker and extensive shit with my manager; I’ve now quit that job and I’m much happier for it) that, while different, stemmed from a lot of the same places in my head, which made it much easier to start identifying those issues. After that, it was really a matter of figuring out practical solutions and making sure that I was in a position to return to Tumblr without falling back into shitty behaviour and hurting other people and, frankly, damaging my own mental health again. That took a lot longer but I’ve started to build a plan for it, which is just a little bit further down!

So, that’s the summary of May and why I disappeared. But, the other thing that happened in May (though admittedly not a factor in the hiatus) was the Codename Kryptonite situation, so I’m going to touch on that next. This is going to be even more rambly because frankly (as will be very clear) my brain was a fucking mess with all of it and I can barely process it let alone explain it, but I’d rather give a very messy disjointed explanation than totally ignore it.

So, the long story short of it is yes, that was me.

Honestly, the CK stuff was something that spiralled far more than I meant for it to until I didn't know what to do. I'd made it with just the intention of working on original stuff separate from my fanfic stuff and related drama. At the time, original work also didn’t get much traction in the oc community, so it was intended to me more of a writerblr situation. Then people were talking to me which I hadn’t really planned for and I got a couple of asks about fandom ocs and was kind of like "okay i guess?" which is where the fandom oc stuff started. I was just trying to engage with people’s creations and generally be positive because I didn’t want to seem like a bitch who posted my own shit but ignored everyone else, but then people started actually talking to me too (outside of the handful of people who knew it was me, so I never had concerns about talking to them) and I started to feel like not responding/trying to be friends would be bitchy and hurt people, so I went along with it and told myself I’d just be nice but didn’t need to be Super Social. Like I wouldn’t ignore people but I wouldn’t go out of my way to start conversations either.

But the longer that went on, the more of a disconnect there was in my brain where like, ik this does sound ridiculous, but it did start to feel almost like being two different people, including interacting with other blogs (in messages, asks, giveaways, and posts) as if they were two entirely different people. Obviously this wasn’t the slightest bit okay and I am so fucking sorry to everyone who I hurt in the process. There is no good justification for it, all that I can say is that I never meant to hurt or betray anyone and I’m so sorry. Rather than make the reasonable judgement that there was clearly a bigger fucking problem and that it should be a sign that I needed to step back from everything, I dug my heels in further and devoted myself even more to working on CK-and-related content. I’m not even sure why, but it felt like the right choice at the time — except the more that I dug that hole, the harder it was to take a step back, even when there was a part of me that knew that I needed to. Looking back it’s really obvious that it was unhealthy and harmful, both to myself and the people around me, but even when it was killing me to try to stay on top of two blogs, I couldn’t figure out how to just like… stop.

I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense and definitely doesn’t make it okay, but my intention was never to hurt or betray anyone and I really truly hate that I did. Taking a full break from tumblr for a while now has definitely helped me realize how much of a toxic cycle it had become (partially externally but a whole lot of it was obviously self made) which is why I took so long figuring out how to go back without falling back into those patterns, which is the last thing that I'd ever want to do.

I hurt a lot of people that I really care about on tumblr, but my relationship with the whole oc creation thing (not the community specifically but the way that I handled creating ocs and pushing myself to create so many edits) was also damaging to myself and a lot of my irl relationships, and I think that a lot of it is stuff that like... in the many, many moments I couldn't see how out of hand things had gotten (not just with the ck/fanhub stuff but also with my main, my mental health, and my online and irl relationships) but now that I have some distance from it it's like, so blatant. I don’t mean any of this in a "i hope that makes sense bc i'm right and blameless" or whatever because like, i know it was fucked up and entirely my fault, but I hope I did a halfway comprehensible job of explaining what I'm still trying to work through/understand. And again, to everyone that I hurt, I’m so sorry. There’s not much more that I can say because obviously there isn’t a good excuse, but I promise that my intention was never to hurt, mislead, or betray anyone.

So… what does this mean now?

Tbh, answering that question is what’s taken me the longest in coming back. Like, okay, figuring out what some problems are is great and all, but it’s not worth much if I can’t figure out a way to fix them. So I tried to look at a few of the main problems that I’ve had, and I have a few things that I’m going to be trying. This is not an exclusive list, and I am definitely open to suggestions (I’ll talk more about that in point 5/6), but this is both an outline for you all to know that I’m not just talking out of my ass saying that I’ll change and then doing the exact same shit, and a guideline to myself of concrete ways to try to improve, both for myself and the rest of this community.

1. Less giveaways. I’m not saying none ever again, but I need to cut back. This isn’t something that’s exclusive to Tumblr by any means (tbh I became aware of it because of an issue with a coworker and then realized I’ve done it my entire life including on Tumblr) but I have a desperate need to feel liked and in order to achieve it, I end up constantly doing things for people to try to convince them to like me, only to then get incredibly burned out and end up resentful of feeling like people only use me to get things. I love to surprise people with gifts, but I need to change how I approach that. I might still do giveaways on occasion (maybe for milestones, tbd) but I’m going to focus more on being supportive to the friends that I do have instead of trying to convince people who don’t care that they should like me. I’m going to try to stick to making surprise gifts when the inspiration strikes and, when the usual giveaway urge strikes, I’m going to try to reach out to those people and ask what they’d like instead of overwhelming myself to the point that I can no longer enjoy what I’m doing.

I don’t mean this to be petty or to “punish” anyone, not in the slightest. But I spent so long hosting giveaways to convince people I’d never interacted with to like me and I put so much energy into making gifts for people who only tolerated me at best and in the process I lost sight of the friends who were actually there for me, and of my own limits (both mentally and in my time and ability to create). I’m not looking to stop making gifts for people, not even close, but I need to learn that friendship isn’t transactional – I can’t, and shouldn’t, put so much time into making gifts as a bribe to get people to like me. It’s not healthy or realistic, and I’d much rather spend my time doing things for people who’s friendship isn’t conditional and who I want to show my appreciation for.

2. Limiting my posting. As some of you know, I spent about two years following an absurdly intense edit schedule that had me posting three or four times a day every day. In retrospect, that was bullshit. I convinced myself that if I just posted more and more, it would get more people interested and engaging with my content, and I was hilariously wrong. I ended up incredibly burned out and stressed trying to keep up with it, by trying to rush through it my edits ended up mediocre and repetitive, and I overwhelmed everyone else with edits to the point that no one (including me) could even really enjoy any of it, not to mention that often by the time I reached an edit in the list, I would have totally lost inspiration for that oc .

My logic started out strong; I had other shit going on and couldn’t always be editing and I’m painfully indecisive at times, so having a schedule meant that I could have edits ready ahead of time when I knew I’d be away from my computer and I wouldn’t lose all of my time trying to decide what to do, but it got out of hand (a recurring theme of this post, so something I’m very very focused on improving). I’ve spent the past few months only editing when I’m really inspired by something, and it’s been so much better. I’m having fun, I’m learning a few new techniques, and I think that my edits are turning out all the better for it. So, that’s what I’m going to try to keep doing. I have a list of edit ideas already, 50 of which are done and drafted, so I will be putting those into a queue (for only once a day now) and continuing to edit only as inspiration strikes.

My hope is that having so many edits already done will limit my anxiety about needing to churn out more content and will allow me to instead continue to have fun and follow my muse. I haven’t decided if new ideas will be jumped to the top of the queue or simply added to the bottom (probably some of both), but ideally this will not only allow me to enjoy my own work again but will also make it easier to spend time enjoying others’ creations without feeling like I’m somehow slacking or wasting time by not constantly pushing myself to make more.

3. Limiting my availability. One of the external factors in my initial decision to leave Tumblr was that I was just too fucking overwhelmed. At the time, I had only just started a new job and was working, on average, 16-18 hours a day. I was waking up between 6 and 7 every morning for the first job, then getting home around 2 from the second, with barely enough time in between to have a meal and get changed. Obviously this doesn’t excuse anything, and I’m not trying to, but it’s a fact. When I’m that overwhelmed and exhausted to begin with, it’s impossible for me to stay rational and reasonable here on Tumblr, and the extent to which everything here was overwhelming me was having a severe impact on my mental health and job performance, which is what led to my deleting Tumblr mid shift in the first place. Obviously, I don’t want that to happen again, so I’m going to work to set boundaries for myself. While my edits will run on queue and I might mindlessly reblog things to my main throughout the day, I’m going to limit how much time I dedicate to Tumblr, and particularly this blog.

I am back to only working one job now (thank god) but it still takes up a lot of time, I have offline hobbies, and some of the best friends I’ve ever had. Prior to my hiatus, I was always on Tumblr. During my breaks (sometimes during shifts, too), while with my family, while with my friends, I felt that people would get mad if I didn’t make myself constantly available and so I did. Going forward, I’m going to greatly reduce that. I’m not going to use Tumblr at all at work (including on my breaks) or when I’m with my friends, and I’m just generally going to spend less time online. This will make me slower to respond to people, which is something that has always caused me anxiety, but I feel that it is imperative for my wellbeing that I do not let Tumblr become all encompassing again.

4. Scrapping ocs. Look, if we’re talking about things that have gotten out of hand, we all know that this is at the top of the list. Obviously I have a lot of ideas, and I don’t regret that, but there are so many that I know I’ll never ever use. Plot bunnies that I just don’t care about, times that I went “oh that would be cool” but had no real ideas, fcs that I wanted to use just for the sake of using them, fandoms I’m no longer into… there are a lot of reasons that they exist, but it only adds to my feeling overwhelmed and burning everyone else out. So, I went through all of my masterlists and made lists of ocs to scrap. Some will just be completely deleted (I won’t rule out the possibility of getting reinspired, but I think it’s unlikely), while others will be put on hiatus.

The ones that I’m getting rid of will be removed from all of my masterlists (maybe one day I’ll look at making a plot bunny book/auction so that they don’t go completely to waste and other people can use them), and the ones being put on hiatus will be deleted from my mobile master lists and marked as Inactive on my desktop masterlists. Those are ones that I feel more likely to eventually want to go back to, hence not deleting them completely, but that I’m unlikely to work on in the near future. I think that it will be good for me to get used to the idea that not every oc needs to be forever, as that has been an ongoing source of difficulty for me for quite some time.

(my mobile masterlists are already updated accordingly and I have the codes ready for my desktop masterlists, I’m just waiting to have javascript enabled — but I also plan to go back through masterlists regularly to see if, with time, there aren’t more ocs that I’m ready to table)

5. Communication. I’m going to be honest here, I know that I’m prone to being stubborn and self righteous and that I lash out when I feel cornered or attacked. It’s a part of who I am and it’s something that I’ve been working on for a long time, but that doesn’t mean that I’m perfect at it. So, basically, this is something that I’m going to keep working on. And that means setting some boundaries. First and foremost, I will not be engaging with any hateful anons. If you have something to say to me, put your name behind it. And with that, I will not be engaging in serious conversations through asks. I just don’t think that the format is good for real conversations – my DMs are open and I’m always happy to share my discord, but that will be it. And I know that not everyone will like this choice. I think asks are great for a lot of things, and they can be a great place for chit chat, but I don’t think that it’s suited to important conversations.

I’m also going to connect this with my being less available – I’m not looking to ignore messages, but I’m not online 24/7, and I will respond when I have time. I might also need to take time to think about things. In these situations, when I am online and see the message, I will acknowledge them. It might be as simple as “hey, I’m not ignoring you but I only have a few minutes, I’ll get back to you when I have time to talk!” or (one I do wish I’d used in the past) “feeling [hurt/angry/surprised/etc], let me take a day/two days to think about this so that I can chat with a clear head”. I know that the second one likely seems like a copout, but like I said, I get mean when I feel defensive, and the best way for me to manage that is to take a step back and actually think about what someone is saying, that way I’m almost guaranteed to be able to think clearly and see their perspective instead of lashing out. I’m hoping to eventually reach a point where I can do that without needing the extra time, but I’m not there yet and I would rather take time than hurt anyone.

6. Accountability. This is kind of a continuation of the last point, but I felt like it was time for a paragraph break. Like I said, I’m not unaware of my flaws, and I know that just because I never meant to hurt people doesn’t mean that I never did. But I want to do better, and that means taking accountability for my actions. So, this is an invitation, I guess? If I have hurt you (or if I do in the future, no matter how hard I’ll try not to), please feel free to reach out to me to talk things through. I know that I already said this, but I’m working on taking a step back and considering my actions before simply lashing out, and I know that there is existing baggage to unpack and work to be done in that regard, and for people who would like to, the offer stands. However, I’m not going to reach out to anyone myself at this point. I know that I’ve hurt people and I know that there are people who, by this point, would prefer to simply have nothing to do with me, and I don’t want to disregard anyone’s boundaries who have moved on and don’t want to unpack old wounds. While there are many people that I miss and would love to fix things with, it’s not just about me and I want to respect everyone’s choice on what’s best for them to move forward. But with all of that, I am not going to discuss things with third parties. Anyone who would like to discuss general hurts or concerns is more than welcome of course, but anything that has happened between myself and any specific person is something that is exclusively between me and them. I know that this will be an unpopular take, but I have limited faith in the third party side of things now. Over the years I have received asks and messages from supposed well-meaning bystanders trying to bring up conflicts that don’t exist.

There have been some that try to cause drama with people who I knew didn’t feel certain ways, bringing up “issues” that had long since been talked out, and many other instances where people were clearly just trying to start fights that I don’t wish to fuel. I also just don’t want to talk about people behind their backs. Over the years (and not just relating to Tumblr) I have gotten caught up in friend groups where a lot of time is spent complaining about other people, only to then look back and realize that I have no idea what someone else’s relationship with them is – I don’t want to let other people’s anger and resentment serve as a fuel to my own pettiness anymore, and I believe that the first step to that is to simply not talk about anyone with other people. There are still people that I want to reach out to individually to apologize and (only if they’re willing) talk things out, but I won’t be doing that immediately. Just because I’ve had the past several months to reflect on how I’d feel and what I’d like to say, and to mentally prepare for a return to tumblr, doesn’t mean that everyone else has too. Which isn't to say that I won't ever reach out to anyone but I'd rather give people a bit of time too. Just because I'm ready (or ready ish) to be back on tumblr doesn't mean that everyone is going to be ready or want to talk to me and I don't want to make anyone feel cornered or pressured to reply if they either want time to think about my post themselves or just want to move on and leave everything in the past, so I’ve made a personal timeline (shared with a friend to maintain some accountability to it) so that I can give people a chance to actually know that I’m back online and to think (if they’d like) about this post rather than reaching out when people might not even know that I’ve returned at the risk of catching people off guard or making them feel uncomfortable and/or cornered.

With this, I’m also offering this list as an outline of how I’m hoping to improve. If anyone has constructive suggestions (I know I’m hardly the only person who’s ever struggled with various aspects of Tumblr and engaging in this community), please feel free to send them over (privately or as asks or on anon, whatever works for you!) and while I can’t guarantee that everything will be right for me, I will absolutely give them consideration. And, too, with this list as a bit of a guide, if you notice that I’m starting to stray from this or fall into old behaviours or fuck up in any way – I’m hoping not to but it would be beyond conceited to pretend that I’m incapable of mistakes – please feel free to let me know! All that I can do is try to be better, but I’m not infallible and the best way to do this is to catch onto toxic patterns before I can spiral, and help in that regard is always appreciated

7. Following. Relating to one of the points that I made in the last paragraph, I’m not going to go back and start following everyone right now. As I mentioned much earlier, I feel that my decision to unfollow everyone and leave Tumblr with no warning was rash and not entirely thought out, but it did happen, and it did hurt people. I don’t want to just act like nothing ever happened and everything is hunky dory, and I’m sure that there are people that I previously followed who would prefer to have nothing to do with me anymore. I respect that and I’m not looking to force anyone into rekindling friendships that they no longer want, but that does mean that to avoid that, I’m going to be careful with following. I don’t know how to phrase it in a way that doesn’t sound petty or selfish but basically like, at least for now (at until I’ve been able to talk to people who want to talk), I’m only going to be following people who are either following me, engaging with my content, or who I’ve talked to. I don’t know how best to gauge this in the long term, but for now that’s kind of the only benchmark I have to know who might be comfortable with my presence, and I’d rather be very slow and careful about this than make anyone uncomfortable who doesn’t want me following

I can’t promise that this is the perfect recipe. I won’t know without trying. But I am going to try. Not only do I want to actually be able to enjoy Tumblr again, but I hate knowing that I hurt people that I really really care about because I was careless and too stubborn to consider that I should change. So, I’m going to do my best to stick with these changes and to let myself be held accountable when I fuck up. And it might not work, I might find that this is all great in theory but returning to Tumblr pulls me back into toxic mindsets and behaviours, in which case I will need to take another step back and reconsider again. But I do promise that if that happens, I will stick to my communication goals and inform people of my decision instead of simply ghosting again.

Again, I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t make up for anything that’s happened and I can never say it again, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t need and deserve to be said. I’m sorry.

(and a sorry to everyone I’ve ignored over the past several months, I’m going to start working on getting back to people asap!)

#okay to reblog #(but not conversing in replies / reblogs)

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novasdrabbles · 14 days

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~GET TO KNOW ME! ^^🤍

NAME~ Leilani

AGE~ 22.

BIRTHDAY~ January 9th~

SEXUALITY~ Bisex/Pansex

SINGLE vs. TAKEN~ Single

NATIONALITY~

Italian, black/white, Puerto Rican-American!

OTHER BLOGS~

My alt account for roleplaying (send me a dm/tag me, 95% chance I’ll respond!), @novasfixations !

FAVORITE (__)~ ✨🤍

HOBBIES?~

I love writing, honestly anything that allows creativity and imagination. I love sunny weather, and my true passions lie in music. I love singing, and I really hope that I can make my own album someday. Music is my getaway, and I really hope I can find someone with similar aspirations. 100% a theatre NERD. I fucking LOVE Hamilton, Cyclone, SIX, Dear Evan Hansen, ALL OF THEM. I also LOVE learning about mythology, especially the Trojan/Greek mythologies!

FAVORITE COLOR(s)?~

I love whites, light/dark blue, and light lavenders. Oh, and Everest greens.

FAVORITE FANDOMS?~

Jesus, the chokehold Vivzie has on me is 😭..I love the concepts of Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel. Some of my other favorite fandoms are Trollhunters, Voltron, ATLA, MLP, I love cartoony shows, they give me nostalgic memories.

FAVORITE TV SHOW?~

Currently I’m hopping between Shameless, Never Have I Ever, and Ginny + Georgia. Dunno, but honestly, my favorite show was probably Voltron. Until season 8. Ifykyk, pain. Literal pain.

FAVORITE MOVIE?~

Top Gun movies will always have such an affect on me. My great grandfather was an aviator, and these movies remind me so much of him. I also love Troy, that was the coolest fucking movie I have EVER watched.

MY FAVORITE ARTISTS/SONGS?~

Girl in Red- Dead Girl in the Pool/Bad Idea

Wallows- Are You Bored Yet?

Panic! At The Disco- Golden Days/LA Devotee/Hallelujah

The Weeknd- Die For You

SZA- Good Days/Low/Snooze

Lovejoy- Taunt/Cause For Concern/One Day

FAVORITE HELLAVERSE CHARACTER(s)?~

Husk. I fucking love Husk. For more than one reason, I could talk about him all day. I really do enjoy his personality, I’ve always been a sucker for the harsh exterior personalities when they truly are just caring, broken souls within.

Stolas. My birdy babe. 😭. I seriously want things to go good for Stolas, Blitzø too. Stolas is such a flawed character, but he’s trying, and that’s what tugs my heartstrings. He tries.

Lucifer. ON THE TOPIC OF DEPRESSED FATHERS. “Take that, depression!” Lucifer is my spirit animal, for fucking real. I love him, so much. I love that he cares for Charlie, and that he wants to help his daughter achieve her dreams.

Millie. I would’ve added Moxxie to this list, but I have mixed feelings on him after Happy Campers. But I do adore Millie, mostly because I relate to her.

FIZZAROLLI. Because who doesn’t like Fizz. I fucking LOVE 2 Minutes Notice, and I love that he was able to fight back against Mammon. I’m happy that oh I’m and Ozzie are so healthy for a couple in Hell, and I’m so happy that our king of Lust has helped nurse Fizz back into health.

Sir Pentious. The man stays winning, seriously. I love him so much, and I totally adore him and Cherri. I’m so sad that their time was cut short, but that single kiss was enough to keep me satisfied canonically. Twitter and Tumblr can do the rest..😭

Thanks for reading if you made it this far, I hope you enjoy my blog! My alt blog, @novasfixations , is always open for dms/asks if anyone ever wants to roleplay.

I will roleplay Huskerdust, Chaggie, MAYBE Charlastor. If you have any suggestions for other ships, just ask and I’ll respond, 100%. Stay hydrated, love you guys!

~Nova <33

#get to know me~!#novasdrabbles #novasfixations

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themelancholyhill · 2 years

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How are you doing? I hope summer has been kind to you so far. It hasn’t been too hot here, which I am very grateful for. I wanted to reply to you sooner than now, but I had to take a few days to focus on myself.

I am an overthinker, it has been the root cause of a lot of my relational issues, and knowing a friend who is online but is actively not replying back to me creates a lot of unnecessary doubt and fear. Due to my past, I don’t value my presence in other people’s lives, I believe I am very replaceable, to the point where when people verbalize their affection and love for me and I either ask “why” because I seriously don’t understand or I shut down. I am in constant anxiety over the quality of my friendships, which in turn, makes me try very hard to keep up with my friendships. I think us being friends in this manner (anon asks) is an unconventional way of building a friendship. I choose to reveal what I want to you when I want. I assume you do the same. And there isn’t this expectation to reply to me/you when we are online. Sometimes I only have the attention span and energy to reblog/like posts and not enough to reply to dms. I also want to read a dm (or a string of dms) and let it simmer a bit before I form a reply. I want my reply to be well-thought-out and succinct, not just a fleeting reaction, but a meaningful response.

I do sometimes wish I could just send you something quick and easy lol. I’m not saying I don’t love us communicating in this way. I think how we write back and forth is basically pen palling in the 21st century. But sometimes something reminds me of you and I just want to send you a quick message with the desire for a quick reaction. Maybe this is how people back then felt. They couldn’t really send their penpals something quick, so when they do write to each other, they end up writing essays about their days since the last time they spoke. Kind of romantic honestly.

Your friendship with Ray and the fact that it is both online and irl definitely has a different dynamic. I believe every relationship one holds with another person has a different dynamic. Everyone is unique in their own way, no one is the same, so it makes sense that every relationship you have is different, with its faults and graces. Distance makes one see things with clarity. I agree with you though, that online friendships are easier in a way. When it breaks, the rupture isn’t as loud. I’ve had past online male friends before and when I talk about them, I never nearly break down. We as a society really REALLY need more representation of how devastating it can be when a friendship breaks, in every way, whether that end is mutually decided upon or not. We need more portrayals of what a healthy friendship looks like between a man and a woman. We need men to be willing to open up to women emotionally even if he is not in a sexual/romantic relationship with them. We need women to verbalize love/affection to the people she platonically loves, without the assumption she wants something more. I’ll be honest, ever since my therapist told me what she told me, I’ve been second-guessing everything I say to M, to the point where I don’t even want to initiate a conversation anymore. I don’t think my therapist knows what the consequences would be of her words. I want to say that your words: “I have no regrets concerning what I did or said to Ray, how can I regret being authentic and showing genuine concern and emotions?” really resonated with me. Regret is an easy thing to claim, being authentic and genuine is infinitely harder and with inherent risk involved. To do something even though there is risk, is to be vulnerable. And being vulnerable is how human connections are made.

Being codependent on anyone within a relationship in any way is toxic (unless you are an actual infant). I was mine before I was anyone else’s, and having friends who I’ve met through my writing hobby is one of the ways I keep connections to myself, the person I am before I became a wife and a mother. I’ve always wanted to write since I was young, and what I write is mostly for myself, unless it is a gift for a friend or something for my partner.

I realize now that to most people, friends (in general) are quite disposable, they do not put in the kind of effort I do into a friendship. I offer something not many people want to have. I have to choose my friends wisely, as a one-sided friendship is taxing and draining with little to no reward. I wish our societies valued platonic love as much as romantic/sexual love. This is why so many people feel lonely, even though they surround themselves with “friends”. I know this sounds stupid coming from a married person, but you don’t need to have a romantic partner to feel “complete”, you don’t need a person (in that way) besides yourself to feel fulfilled in life. I chose to love my partner and build a life with him even though I was/am very content to have my life all to myself. My partner knows this as well.

I want to address the phrase you dreamt of: “Absence is freedom”. It is. But in blocking out pain you also block out love. As I said before, doing things with risk is being vulnerable, and being vulnerable is asking to be loved even though you know there is a risk of being heartbroken.

Here are two quotes I want to share with you:

“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we’ll hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

“Love according to M. Scott Peck is ‘the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth.’ Love is as love does. Love is an act of will - namely, both an intention and an action. Will also implies choice. We do not have to love. We choose to love.” - bell hooks.

I hope you feel loved today.

V✖️

Hey, uhm, I didn’t intend to reply to your ask this soon, but I need to sort out certain things; besides, I miss talking to you.

First of all, the weather is starting to get pretty humid and warm here, but as long as I no longer have to go to university and I’m staying at home, it’s kinda cool with me. To me, the only redeeming quality of summer is the wide variety of fruit. I love winter, but I have to admit that fruit-wise, it’s rather boring hehe.

Taking time to focus on yourself is very important, and I don’t mind your long asks because it keeps me company in a way. It’s like we’re having a long and thoughtful conversation, which is peculiar because when you think of it, I don’t know you, but I also know you. I’m sure that you feel the same way, and as unusual as it sounds, it’s endearing in a way. I believe that being 21st century pen-pals makes the situation rather Romantic, and I’m talking 19th century level Romantic: the time when poets roamed around, looking for the true meaning of love out in nature and art.

I’m also a victim of overthinking and, as insane as this might sound, I feel like Ray sensed how much I was overthinking things and that’s why he decided to walk away. I can’t control how much I think of certain situations, especially when it comes to understanding why my friendship with him came to an end. I know that it’s useless to question certain things and we have to take the L in order to move on, but when so much time and effort had been invested in one person who ended up leaving with no clear explanation (not including the silent actions from them), one can’t help but try to find solace in any semblance of explanation from that person, no matter how tough it might sound (it might be tough to swallow but at least it’d be true.)

When I’m interested in someone in particular, especially friends, I go all my way and show how much I care, by remembering small details (sometimes things I notice in them) or by making them feel special through valuing what they’re interested in without being overtly affirmational. I guess when they can’t take all this display of kindness and genuine concern, they just walk away with no clear explanation (since they don’t have anything to complain about) leaving me speculating what went wrong, coming up with dozens of scenarios based on all the actions I’d made or words I’d said. I’m not denying that after what had happened with Ray (I think I’d already mentioned this), I’m becoming more self-aware as to how I deal with my friends or even people I sometimes talk with. I can’t help but be kind and nice to people, which can be problematic most often (referring to that creep I talked about last time). Kindness exhausts me. I’m not implying my close friends (you included) or my family, but casual friends with whom I can’t help but show genuine benevolence towards them. I can send something to someone I follow (and they follow me) on IG just because it reminds of them and I know this because they posted about it at some point and my brain stored this minute detail. My closest friends compliment me very often, and my response is always the same: an exaggerated reaction which is awkwardness in disguise. I say to myself: are they really talking to me when they say all these good things? It feels weird to be treated the same way you treat others, and it feels, more often than not, out of place.

Coming back to overthinking things, I wrote something about the possible reasons why Ray left. I’ve noticed that everything I listed is positive. I wondered about how many last straws did it take for him to call it quits, how many minute details did it take for our friendship to end. Maybe the way I complimented him every chance I got? or all the small details I still remember to this day: details that I remember seeing from his socials and my brain automatically registered? All of this is pretty positive, but maybe I wasn’t a good listener when he needed that, just because I’m not comfortable asking precise questions for fear of being too nosy! Now to think of it, I sense that he misunderstood my true intention towards him (being platonic friends) and everything got lost in translation. I still miss him very much, and I’m even slowly forgetting how I used to talk to him.

I tend to unintentionally rely on codependency since I had a rather sheltered childhood. To this day, I’m treated as a teen despite being 30. I remember my teenage years distinctly as a black hole. From the age of 19 to 25, all I remember is me being anxious, borderline depressed, most of the time; and I must admit that I felt as if I had a second chance as a young adult again when I was around Ray. I was genuinely surprised when he sent me a dm and we started talking online before when met in person (because of Covid, we didn’t get to see other students in person). I thought that he wasn’t the regular type of guy I usually talk to, but I slowly found myself expecting texts from him and slowly getting used to him being around. I think this one of the reasons why I see him as someone very special. Now, the hypothesis that he’d been faking the whole thing is worth taken into consideration, but I’d rather not think about it because I don’t wanna think of him as this despicable and malicious.

I love the quotes you sent my way, especially the first one which makes me want to read The Little Prince again and pick up on everything I missed the first time I read it. When we have something, we don’t consider losing it, or we lose it ironically when we try our best to keep it. Being genuine is risky, having good intentions is risky, and choosing love is risky. This is random, but I met a guy a month ago at university. He noticed the way I dressed as well as the music I was listening to and we exchanged our IG accounts to talk, and I guess to know each other better. I sent an invite and we started talking. I replied to a text on Sunday and he left me on read. I’m not thinking too much about it since I haven’t established any deep connection with him (I don’t even remember what he looks like), but it’s making me exhausted to see this type of reaction.

I know that my answer is all over the place, but I needed to talk about it because I feel like I’m on the edge of a nervous breakdown. You can send anything you want, even if it’s just a couple of words, or maybe a great quote you find and I’ll give my opinions about it? In any case, feel free to send any ask, be it one word or a nearly 1000 words long.

I leave this text I found online and I think it’ll speak to you on some level!

#asks #V✖

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moonlit-jeno · 3 years

Text

friends (m.)

pairing: lee jeno x fem reader

genre: explicit sexual content | omegaverse | heat sex | unprotected sex | some name calling

words: 3.6k

don’t like don’t read :)

“Your heat’s coming up.” Jeno says, point blank in between bites of his apple. You just nod, taking a break from your notes to side eye him. It’s not odd for him to know intimate details of your life- you do make sure to keep him updated on your cycle just so that he can send you the notes for the days you miss - but it’s not exactly a common subject for the two of you. “Who are you spending it with?”

There are still 13 powerpoint slides for you to grind through, but you figure a small break won’t hurt. Might as well use the conversation topic for something good, aka a reason to slam your laptop shut. You turn to Jeno, giving your best friend your full attention, and take the iced coffee right out of his hand. He doesn’t protest. “No idea. Would call Jaemin but he’s ‘found the one’ or something, so I’ll probably just spend it by myself.”

“By yourself?” Jeno’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as if you’ve just admitted to committing a sin. It’s not like the concept isn’t unheard of, there’s a market full of toys to help you through it. “Isn’t that dangerous?” You shrug and take a sip of the coffee, offering him your smoothie in exchange. He takes a sip and then bites down on your straw. His entire face scrunches and he yanks his face away from the beverage. He pulls the straw up, inspecting the now soggy and dented object with disgust. “Fuck, what is this made out of?”

“Paper.” You huff a laugh out through your nose, taking your smoothie back. “And I mean, it’s not any more dangerous than spending your heat with the wrong person. Plus, my heats get kind of… intense.” If Jaemin sleeping for three days straight and limping after is anything to go by, both parties take the short end of the stick. You’d felt so bad after and apologized to him profusely, but he had just thrown you his signature dazzling grin and told you that drowning in pussy was exactly the way he envisioned himself dying. He definitely didn’t complain about the brownies you’d baked him as a ‘thank you’, though.

“Spend your heat with me.” The bold request has your brain malfunctioning, at a loss for where to even start reacting to his statement. You just stare at him, mouth opening and closing repeatedly while he returns the gaze earnestly. “Look, it makes sense, right? I know you better than anyone, and you already trust me. Plus if they’re as intense as I’ve heard they are, you need someone there.”

You frown, opening your laptop up and staring blankly at the screen just to avoid having to look at Jeno. It does make sense to have him there with you, and it’s not like he’s the worst person to have sex with. Plenty of people around campus have delighted in talking about their nights with Jeno, dreamily telling you how lucky you are to have him and falling deaf to your insistence that the two of you aren’t like that. Plus, you’re not blind and even if you’re not the cute couple everyone thinks you are, you can admit that he’s hot.

“Wait, hang on. What do you mean ‘heard’ about? What shit is Na Jaemin saying?” Jeno’s shoulders shake with his laughter at your sudden concern. “I mean, he didn’t say anything, but that was kind of the problem. He didn’t show up to practice for like a week and when he finally did, he looked like he’d been mauled. Coach had to bench him.”

Your heart drops slightly at hearing that Jaemin’s soccer had been affected. He hadn’t told you that. “Oh.” The guilt must show on your face because Jeno is quickly soothing you, making sure to tell you that they all found Jaemin’s state funny. “Okay, wait. Wouldn’t you have the same problem if you help me?”

“It’s off-season. So, what do you say?” Jeno waits for your response expectantly, eyes soft, curious. “You can say no, y/n. I don’t want to pressure you at all, I’m just letting you know that it’s an option.” “I’ll think about it.” And you do. A concerning amount.

You spend that night tossing and turning, trying and failing to shut your brain off. Worries about ruining your friendship and about hurting Jeno bounce around your brain no matter how much you try to stop thinking about it. What if something bad happens during it? What if you never talk again? And worst of all is your brain telling you that he doesn’t actually want you specifically, he just wants to be with an omega in heat. You’re just convenient.

That thought actually makes you cry and you wrap your blankets even tighter around yourself, sobbing weakly into your pillows. In an effort to distract your wandering mind you grab for your phone, opening instagram to find an influx of dm’s from Jeno. It calms you a bit, the messages ranging from cute dogs to absolutely cursed memes, and you smile softly at the reminder that he’s your best friend, and that he definitely cares about you. Biting your lip, you hesitate for only a few moments before typing out a “you can help”, hitting send before you can second guess it. You lock your phone and set it face down on the dresser, thankfully finding sleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

It’s hot when you wake up, clothes clinging to your skin uncomfortably. Peeling your shirt off only gives you relief for a moment but then the sticky heat is back full force. You whimper in misery, trying to snuggle back into your bed for at least some comfort, but you find that the corner of your fitted sheet has come up, the rest of your blankets on the floor. There’s only one pillow near you and it’s soaked in sweat. You panic slightly, frantically yanking your sheets back onto the bed and trying to fluff them up as much as possible, only calming down once the bedding has been fixed to your liking. Only once you’ve settled down in the plushness of your blankets do you have a moment of clarity.

“Oh shit.” You shoot up and search for your phone, dropping it once before finally managing to open the correct app. There’s a few messages from Jeno that you don’t bother looking at, going straight for the ‘call’ button. He picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” He sounds groggy, like he’s just woken up, and a flash of heat runs through you at the low tone. “Why are you calling me at 5 a.m?”

You manage to stop fantasizing about your best friend long enough to choke out the word “Heat.” It comes out pathetic and whiny and you pause to clear your throat, trying to keep a clear head as well. “I’m sorry, my heat came early and I wanted to call you but you can go back to bed, I didn’t realize-”

“Fuck, okay, I’ll be over in 10.” Jeno cuts off your rambling with a swear, some rustling in the background accompanying his words.

“Thank you.” You whisper, setting the phone down and curling up in bed, trying not to focus on how agonizingly slow the time is passing.

Jeno’s looking down at his shoes when you open the door, kicking idly at the door mat and fidgeting with the bag in his hands, though his head snaps up when he notices you. The smile on his face falters when he inhales, turns a little strained as he gets a taste of your heat, and you honestly give him props for the amount of restraint he has. It’s definitely more than you have, at least, because you’re on him the second he’s inside. He ends up sandwiched between you and the door, bag dangling precariously in one hand while he envelopes you in his strong arms. You don’t (can’t) do anything besides bury your face in his chest and whimper, knowing exactly what you want but being too needy and fuzzy to remedy it.

“Jeno, it hurts.” You whimper and lift your face to nose along the skin just above the collar of his shirt, finding that while the skin to skin contact helps, it doesn’t fully relieve the heat scorching through you, the dull ache screaming for Jeno to take you already. “Please…” He holds you closer to his chest, encasing you fully in his scent, and picks you up bridal style. “I’ve got you baby, don’t worry.”

Being around Jeno does help to ease your stress, but it also serves to make you needier. The warm scent that you’ve grown to associate with the man is stronger than you’ve ever smelled it and it’s making you lose your mind more and more by the second. You’re worried that you’re drooling by the time he sets you down on your bed. He pauses to drop the bag he’s holding on the floor, and then he’s on top of you, strong arms caging you in.

The first kiss is soft, chaste. It would be cute if you weren’t so fucking needy, but you are and it’s just not enough. Unsatisfied, you thread your fingers through his hair and tug, nipping at his bottom lip and tilting your head to the side to get a deeper angle. A groan rumbles in his chest and he returns the kiss with more intensity, trying to take control again. You don’t let him, even if every instinct in your body is screaming at you to just submit.

Jeno shifts on top of you, scooting so that he can fully lay down between your legs. You wrap your limbs around him on instinct, pulling him as close as you possibly can and- oh. The close proximity means that you feel everything when he grinds down, and the feeling of having him so close to where you need him has any semblance of control that you had draining out of your body. You gasp pitifully, annoyance clawing at you from the amount of fabric blocking you from what you want.

“Please,” You almost sob, tugging at his shirt while trying to grind your lower half against his, the pressure of his cock against your center making your eyes roll. Jeno pulls back to yank his shirt off and then he’s back, hands sliding down your body to your panties, tugging the fabric down as far as he can before he growls in frustration and just rips the fabric in half.

“Shit, you’re so wet.” Jeno moans in awe, breaking the kiss yet again to marvel at your pussy. “Bet I could just slip right in.” He drags his fingers through the slick on your upper thighs, eyes glued between your legs. You’re just about to complain when he finally presses his fingers into you. The initial relief has you moaning sweetly, though it quickly turns to impatient pleas for his cock. You clench around his fingers, reaching a hand down to palm over where he strains against his sweats.

“I need you to fuck me.” You beg, looking at him with what you hope is a convincing expression. “Please Jen, I need you.” “You have me.” He promises you, flicking his wrist faster, curling his fingers just right. “I’m right here baby.” It’s sweet, and under normal circumstances it would be enough, but right now it’s not what you need and the frustration has you on the brink of tears.

You buck your hips and try to arch up as if it’ll magically make him slip in, but Jeno remains as patient and controlled as ever. It’s too hot and every part of your body is screaming for him to fuck you, for him to claim you, and his refusal is killing you. “Alpha please, I need you.”

He absolutely snarls, pinning down your wriggling body with one hand around your throat. The other hand stays between your legs where it continues to strike pleasure into every single nerve ending you have, adding to the fire already coursing through your veins. “What you need is to take what your Alpha’s giving you. You’re not in charge here, okay?” With his face pressed so close to yours you have no choice but to make direct eye contact, staring straight into the most intense gaze you’ve ever seen. His pupils are blown out so wide that his eyes are almost black. Unable to tear your eyes away and as if in a trance, you find yourself nodding. The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Good girl. Now listen to your Alpha and cum.”

It happens almost instantaneously, as if his words were directly connected to a trigger, your body exploding just as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your entire body locks up, mind going blank as the immense pleasure takes hold of you, leaving you clawing at his back and screaming silently into the air.

The orgasm only serves to thicken the haze in your mind, clouding any thoughts that aren’t related to the Alpha above you and his cock. It takes a moment for your eyes to finally come back into focus enough to make out your surroundings, and you’re greeted by the sight of Jeno with his fingers in his mouth, sucking your essence off of his digits. You’re burning so hot, so much hotter than you think you’ve been before, and it’s hard for you to function. All you can think about is his cock.

“Please,” You beg, swatting at him weakly. “Alpha please, I need you so bad.”

There’s no way that Jeno isn’t being affected by the pheromones clouding the air, but he manages to appear unbothered, his actions rough but nowhere near as desperate as yours. He just laughs lightly at your begging. “Aww, baby needs me?” The rhetorical question is punctuated by a slap, his hand coming down on your pussy hard enough to draw a yelp from you, thighs closing on his hand in a conflicting attempt to relieve the pressure from the hit and keep his hand on your cunt. He laughs meanly and pulls his hand away, drawing back slightly to spit onto your already soaking pussy, rubbing the spit into your skin while he talks. “This pussy belongs to me, yeah? You’re mine now.” Jeno leans down, mouth at your neck so that he can bite at the skin. “That means that I can do whatever I want with you.” You can’t speak, can’t even begin to think about what you should say in this situation. He presses a kiss to your jaw before pulling back and uses his free hand to turn your head so that you make eye contact with him. “Tell Alpha what you need.” “Need Alpha in me.” You beg, plead, flipping yourself over onto your hands and knees and arching your back, presenting yourself to him. “Need your knot, need you to fill me up, breed me, Alpha please-” Your sentence is cut off by his cock slamming into you, the filthy sound being drowned out by his groan. You gasp in relief, breathy thank you’s leaving you with each powerful thrust he delivers. His cock stretches you out so well, makes you go dizzy with the relief of finally having him in you. Your elbows give out nearly instantly, your chest hitting the mattress, and Jeno takes instant advantage of the new position to pull your hips even higher into the air.

It’s so good- almost too good- and it leaves you drooling and clawing at the sheets. All you can focus on is how well he’s fucking you, how he’s going to fill you up so well, breed you like he was meant to.

You scream when he pulls out, alarm bells going off as your body instantly protests. It only lasts a second though, Jeno’s hands never leaving your body as he flips you onto your back.

“Couldn’t see you,” Jeno pants out, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth and pushing back in, returning back to the brutal rhythm he had before. It has your eyes rolling in your head at how fucking good he feels. “My pretty baby, taking everything I give her.”

He’s got you so fucked out that you don’t even realize your tongue is hanging out of your mouth until he pinches it between his thumb and index finger, pulling it out even more. “You love my cock, hmm? You love everything I give you.” The pad of his thumb rubs over your tongue, the sensation making your toes curl and tears slide down your cheeks. “Such a fucking needy omega, isn’t that right?” He tugs on your tongue, your head following his actions as he leads you into nodding.

Jeno laughs and lets go of your tongue, dropping his face down to kiss at your neck. He sucks mark after mark into your skin, licking over each one to soothe it after, until he finally gets to your most sensitive, vulnerable spot. Even just the feeling of him close to your mating mark has your entire body aching for it, your neck craning to the side and pushing into his touch. The leverage you get from your legs wrapped around his waist has him pushing even deeper into you and you can feel his knot at your entrance, not quite fully swollen but definitely getting there. It has you absolutely keening, the thought of being so totally owned making you desperate.The sweet drag of his cock along your walls paired with the absolute filth he’s spewing has your body locking up with no warning, your orgasm ripping through you. You arch off the bed, the action only pushing you further onto his cock.

“God y/n, fuck!” Jeno curses, slamming his hips into you with even more force, his knot popping into your entrance and forcing the neediest sound you’ve ever made to leave your lips. You desperately wrap your limbs around him, trying to get him even closer, digging your heels into his ass to push him further inside. He grinds his hips against you one, two, three more times before he shudders, teeth clamping down right on your sweet spot as he comes. Jeno seems to come forever, filling you up with delicious warmth, making your body purr in satisfaction. He finally comes down, having the clarity of mind to tip the two of you onto your sides so that he doesn’t crush you when he collapses. He still tugs you close, arm thrown around your body possessively, his chin resting atop of your head.

“Told you it was intense.” You laugh out, trying to break the silence in the room. The heat’s subsided for now, but you’re still barely in your mind, and you have no idea how long the break will last.

He huffs out a laugh, chest shaking against you. “I understand Jaemin now.” His hand pets over your back, sliding up to the back of your neck and scratching lightly at the skin there. “You alright?” “Mhmm, yeah. Perfect.” His fingertips press lightly against the mating mark, sending sparks shooting down your spine, and it has your head spinning. You try to adjust yourself against him in an effort to keep your cool, but moving has his cock shifting inside of you and you sleepily grind against him, not thinking. Jeno hisses and tightens his grip on you to keep you still, but the way he grabs your leg has him shifting inside of you and pressing against all the right places. Heat floods through you and your grinding turns more urgent.

“Ohgod,” You moan, finding enough strength to push Jeno flat on his back. Your body has a mind of its own and you find yourself bouncing desperately on his cock. His knot has you locked into place and you’re barely able to move, but you can still swirl and grind your hips against him, feel the delicious friction of his knot against your entrance. “Alpha, it feels so good.”

“Fuck, look at you. So fucking knotdrunk, hmm? Can’t get enough.” Jeno shakes his head, laughs in a way that’s meant to mock you but it comes out strained. His hands are heavy on your ass, squeezing and slapping to feel the way it jiggles, to feel the way you clench around him with every hit. You throw your head back and let him do as he pleases, losing yourself entirely in how full you feel, in how good his knot feels in you. He buries his face into your chest, moving one hand from your ass to play with your tits, his mouth wasting no time in marking the delicate skin up.

“Shit baby, gonna make me cum again.” His lips seal over your mating mark again in a sloppy kiss and that’s exactly the final push that you need, your eyes rolling back and your tongue lolling out as your cunt spasms around him, orgasm ripping through you almost painfully. Jeno groans as well, hand flying to your back to pull you as close as possible, and his knot pulses inside of you as you swear you feel more cum shoot out.

He shudders against you, tight grip finally relaxing, though he still keeps you anchored to his chest. You follow suit, collapsing against him. A tired moan leaves you and you let yourself relax, lips absentmindedly mouthing at his skin. His hand pets your back soothingly, touch heavy and sluggish, and the last thing you feel before you fall asleep is his lips on your forehead.

#jeno smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #00 line smut #kpop smut #lee jeno smut

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nagito-kissmaeda · 3 years

Text

Mr. Komaeda’s Lesson

THE FILTH ARRIVES

Summary: You should really proofread your assignments before submitting them... AKA: Professor Komaeda fucks you over his desk (literally my dream) Word count: 4258 Contains: she/her pronouns, explict sexual content, unsafe sex, professor/student relationships, gentle dom nagito (he’s very gentle i swear) Read on AO3 ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

The soothing smell of camomile lemon tea wafts around the small office. The blinds are half open, casting the orange light of the setting sun across the smooth leaves of a peace lily that resides in a pot hanging in front of the heating unit. The warm air rocks it gently back and forth. The atmosphere in the room is light and pleasant, but it does nothing to ease your nerves.

“Do you want some?” Professor Komaeda asks as he pours himself a cup of the aforementioned camomile lemon tea. He has a little teapot sitting on his desk, it’s very cute.

You clear your throat, fidgeting in your seat, “No thank you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, let’s get started then, shall we?”

You’ve been dreading this meeting for weeks now. Your professor had been very insistent that this wouldn’t be a discussion about the quality of your work, but more about what he could do to help you maintain focus in lectures. There was also a brief mention about your most recent assignment, he said that he wasn’t concerned, but did want to run through a few things with you.

He was very polite about it, which makes the true nature of your distraction only more reprehensible.

“So, first I want to start with a simple question. How are you doing?”

“Uh, fine?”

He nods and takes a sip of his tea, “No problems outside of our classes? You don’t need to answer if you aren’t comfortable.”

“No i- uh. I’m fine outside of classes too.” You fidget again, twisting your hands in your lap, “I’ve been...tired? But that’s my fault, I stay up too late.”

He hums thoughtfully and rests his chin on the palm of his hand, “Could that be having an affect on your focus? I can see that you have been distracted in our most recent lectures and just want to make sure it isn’t a fault of myself or my material.” He laughs a little to himself, “I know I can be a little boring sometimes.”

Professor Komaeda is not boring. He’s probably the most engaging lecturer you’ve ever had, passionate about his subject matter and very enthusiastic about class participation. He also wears really tight trousers and has long dexterous fingers that you can't help imagining inside of your-

“I mean, being tired could be the problem?” A bold faced lie.

“Well in that case there isn’t much more I can suggest than a good night's rest.” He gives you a long look that makes you squirm in your seat, “I only graduated a few years ago myself, I understand the urge to make the most of your day, but you can’t keep burning the candle at both ends.” He takes another sip of his tea, a drop misses his mouth and rolls down his chin. He catches it with his thumb, which he then brings up to his lips and sucks. You swallow deeply, tearing your eyes from where his lips are meeting his skin. Your knee starts bouncing. Nerves.

“Would it help if you sat a little closer to the front of the lecture hall?”

It wouldn’t. Especially not on warm days when he loosens his tie and undoes the first three buttons on his shirt. You spent a whole lecture transfixed on the dip of his collarbones once. Not great for your note taking, “maybe I’ll give that a go next week” you say. Another lie.

“Okay, try that out and let me know if it helps.” He gently sets down his teacup and starts working his white hair up into a bun. His fingers are so delicate as he combs through the strands, pulling his hair up and away from his pale throat, exposing the length of it to your hungry eyes-

A noise escapes from your mouth. Almost a whine, but not quite. Professor Komaeda doesn't say anything, but his intense eyes meet yours for just a moment. You clench your thighs together.

“Are you ready to talk about your assignment now?” He asks, picking the teacup again. It’s decorated with sunflowers, almost criminally cute, “No reason to be nervous. I want to make it clear that this matter hasn't had any affect on your grade, just some advice for next time.”

You nod shakily. Despite all of his reassurances, you are still very nervous. Partially because you wanted a good grade, partially because you had worked on that essay day and night with the intention of impressing him. So stupid.

He gives you a pleasant smile and rifles through his desk for a moment, pulling out what you quickly recognise as a printed copy of your essay, “Take a look, i want to see if you can figure it out first.”

“Um...okay…” You skip past the title page and into the meat of the essay, reading through all of your points and making sure there weren't any obvious spelling mistakes. There wasn't anything that you could see, “Sorry...um...what page is it on?”

His teacup clinks when he sets it down again, leaning forward on his elbows and resting his chin on his hands. You can feel your heart fluttering in your chest, your palms are getting sweaty, “It’s on the title page actually. I’m surprised you didn't notice it.”

You shoot him a quizzical look and flip back to the first page. Your stomach plummets.

Titles have never been your thing, summing up an entire essay in just a few words isn’t easy, so you usually use a placeholder right up until you submit it. You remember changing it, you remember triple checking it was changed before you emailed it through. But something must have gone wrong because in big bold capital letters, the title of you assignment reads:

ESSAY SO GOOD PROFESSOR KOMAEDA WILL FUCK ME OVER HIS DESK

Your hands are shaking, the edges of the paper crinkling under your tight grip. You are going to fail...you are going to be expelled...you are going to-

“Ah. I see you’ve realised your mistake, hm?”

Your head shoots up, forgetting for a moment that he is still sitting across from you.

“Professor...I-I’m...obviously I’m…” you can’t get out a goddamn sentence, your mouth has all dried up, “I don’t even...I can’t…”

You are taken aback, when Professor Komaeda giggles. It’s a light little sound, he covers his mouth with a hand, “You are very bold, aren’t you?”

“I….”

“No need to worry, I’m not reporting this to the dean or anything like that. I see no reason to expel you over a silly little mistake like this one.”

“You...You dont want me to drop you class?”

He laughs again, you shrink under the intensity of his green eyes, “I’m not going to make you, no. If the situation isn’t going to make it even harder for you to focus during lectures, you can still come to class. I won't stop you, it is your choice.”

He is being remarkably cavalier about all of this, it’s almost unsettling, but you don't want to drop his class so you can't help being grateful, “Thank you so much, I...I promise i won't do this again.”

Professor Komaeda hums aloud, eyes half lidded as he looks at you from across the desk, “Won’t do what again?” he asks, though honestly its more of a purr, “Won’t think about me fucking you, or wont make the mistake of writing it down?”

Hearing the word fuck drop from that perfect mouth of his sends you into overdrive. Your thighs are clamped so tight together that your legs are shaking, you can feel yourself breathing hard, “I...uh...I....” you swallow, “I won't do...either?”

“There's no need to lie to me.” He breathes, standing up from his chair and rounding the desk. You can feel yourself quivering in his shadow, he towers over you. Your breath catches in your throat when one of his hands makes contact with your chin, slowly lifting your head up until you meet his eyes. His expression is positively hungry, “I want to make something very clear. This is your chance to leave, if you do we will never speak of this again. If you don’t, well…”

All you can do is stare at him, mouth going dry with realisation.

“Your essay was very good, by the way.” He leans down until his nose is almost pressed against yours, you can smell the tea on his breath. You can feel the warmth of his skin, you can count his eyelashes, “Good enough that i’ll fuck you over my desk if you still want me to.”

In a moment of hungry lucidity, you grab him by the tie and tug his lips down to yours. Colliding in a positively ferocious kiss. You feel him laugh against your mouth before he slips his tongue in between your lips and traces your upper row of teeth, his tongue is wet and warm, your thighs are rubbing together as you grow desperate for any sort of friction. Professor Komaeda must be in a similar state, because he grabs you by the waist and tugs you up to your feet. Pressed firmly against him like this, you can feel the evidence of his arousal through his slacks, a moan escapes you when you feel his hips buck.

He laughs again, pulling away from your mouth to press a hot kiss to the side of your throat. You feel his long fingers toying with the hemline of your skirt, slowly slipping up underneath it, “These pretty little things…” he whispers, tugging on the top of your thigh high stocking and releasing it with a snap, “do you wear them for me?”

There’s no point lying anymore. You can’t stop shaking, “I...yes…”

You feel him moan against your skin, sinking his teeth into the join between your neck and shoulder, “Did you really think I wouldn’t take notice? Of the way you undress me with your eyes in class, of these tiny little skirts you started wearing?” He grabs a handful of your ass and you squeal, “you’re so gorgeous. You could have anyone in that class if you wanted, but here you are with me-“ he grinds up against you, cock warm and hard through his slacks, “-I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve this.”

His voice is so soft and gentle, even while he’s palming your ass and grinding his hips against yours, he still talks like he’s giving a lecture on historical literature. It’s hot, how easily he is able to maintain his composure while you are little more than a quivering mess beneath him, but still...you want to see him come undone.

You hear more than feel your knees colliding with the wooden floorboards. Professor Komaeda is unable to give little more than a surprised look before you have his slacks and boxers shoved halfway down his thighs and his cock in your mouth. He lets out a shocked little moan, burying his long fingers into your hair as his hips stutter forward. Now that was the reaction you wanted.

“Oh...ohhhh-“ he whines, slowly moving himself in and out of your mouth as you tease his head with your tongue, “ahh...your mouth feels so good, angel.”

You were not expecting him to call you angel. It’s like a bolt of lightning to your cunt, your hands jump up the dig deep into the meat of his thighs as you moan downright salaciously around his cock.

“I can feel you moaning.” He whispers, “I can’t believe how much you’re enjoying this” you look up at him through your lashes and see his cheeks are red, his perfect lips are swollen from his biting them incessantly. You moan again just from the sight of him, he hisses and his hips cant forward deeper into your mouth, “wow. You...You really like doing this don’t you? Wrapping your perfect soft lips around my filthy cock?”

Filthy? That makes your eyebrows jump. You could always tell that your professor had some sort of inferiority complex, but you didn't realise it was...this intense.

“S’pretty.” You managed to slur around him, “Tastes good.”

He laughs again, it explodes from his mouth and shakes his shoulders. Unbridled, almost wild. He grins down at you, “I’m sure it doesn’t taste as good at you.” He purrs, tucking your hair behind your ear, “get up on the desk.”

Well, you weren’t going to say no to that. You give his cock one last long lick before standing back up from the floor, just before you hoist yourself up on the table, Professor Komaeda grabs you by the wrist, “Panties off, please.”

You feel yourself turn crimson, but dutifully shimmy out of your panties and let them drop to the floor. He smiles at you, hands curling around your waist as he leans into your ear, “that’s my girl.” He whispers, and lifts you up onto his desk. His hands are cold on the bare skin of your thighs peeking out from the top of your stockings, your stomach twists and curls as he slowly edges your legs open, and drops to his knees between them.

“Oh my god…” you squeak, he’s staring up at you with a look that is downright sinful and he doesn’t break eye contact, even when one of those perfect fingers slips inside you, “agh!”

He chuckles warmly, gently thrusting his finger in and out of you, “you’re so wet, angel...I can’t imagine why someone like me is making you so aroused, but I’m not complaining.”

His finger curls inside of you, and your hips jolt, “Mmph! Pro-Professor I-“

He smiles saccharinely as a second finger pushes its way inside you, “Nagito.” He corrects, pressing a hot kiss to the inside of your thigh, “We’re well beyond the need for formality. Don’t you think?” You cover your mouth to muffle a squeal as he adds a third finger. Your knees are wobbling and you can barely breathe, he’s just sitting between your legs and grinning at you, “Now let’s see if you taste as good as i imagine, hm?”

He pulls your clit in between his lips and sucks. You have to bite down on your hand to keep yourself from screaming, “F-Fuck...Nagito...I--hng!”

“It is after hours, you know.” He whispers, you can feel his breath on your cunt and you shiver, “There’s no reason for you to restrain yourself.” He licks your clit again and moans, “Haa...It may be selfish of me, but i want to hear you. If you’ll let me.”

“Oh god-” You hiss out when his tongue starts circling around you, “-keep doing that, and you’ll hear me alright.”

Nagito giggles and peers up at you, “Then I suppose I'll get back to work.” He hoists your thighs over his shoulders, and starts eating you out in earnest. You lean back on your elbows, and watch his soft white hair bob between your thighs as his tongue works it’s magic, he alternates between running the flat of his tongue up the length of you and focussing directly on your clit. Your toes are curling, mouth wide open with a constant stream of moans and whimpers that you have no hope of stopping. It feels so good, you had dreamt about this alone at night in your bed and even in those fantasies it hadn't felt this good.

His fingers slip out of you, but before you even have a chance to complain, they are replaced with his tongue. You moan so loudly that it rumbles through your chest, your hips rise up to meet his mouth and his hands curl around the soft flesh of your thighs, tugging you even closer. He groans. The wet muscle is slowly thrusting in and out of you when he presses down firm on your clit with his thumb, “I--mmph...Nagito m’gonna cum…” your hips are grinding relentlessly up against his face and you can feel your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat.

“Cum for me, angel.” He whispers, thumb rubbing your clit in brutal circles, “I want to feel you squeezing around my tongue.”

You throw your head back in a howl as his tongue slips back inside, the desk rattling with the force of your quivering hips. You can hear the slick sounds his mouth is making against your cunt, the way he is panting and moaning just from the taste of you. The tightness in your stomach grows unbearable, then he curls his tongue upward, and it snaps. You see whiteness behind your eyes, thighs shaking with the intensity of it. You can feel the vibration of Nagito’s moan inside of you and his fingers dig tight into the meat of your thighs. He’s enjoying your orgasm almost as much as you are.

When he finally pulls away from you, the lower half of his face is glistening with your wetness. He gives you a pleased smile, eyes half lidded as he brings his wet fingers up to his mouth and licks them clean, “I knew you would taste good.” He whispers, wiping the mouth with the back of his hand, “Think you can cum again, angel?”

Just watching him suck on his fingers is enough to get you going again, “Yeah, I definitely can.”

He laughs and stands up from the floor. His cock is flushed red and dripping, you suddenly realise he hadn't touched it that whole time, he must be painfully hard at this point. You lick your lips, you can't help it. He follows your line of sight and smiles, “Be a good girl and bend over the desk for me, please.”

You slide down off the desk, ready to follow his orders but quickly stop yourself, “Oh. One second.”

“Hm?”

You grab the teapot from the desk and quickly rest it on the windowsill, “Sorry. That was a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Ah, yes. You’re right.” His hand slips up to your cheek, thumb resting on your lips. He smiles when you pull it into your mouth and suck, “I’ll have to thank you for saving my carpet. Unless you see any other hazards, i would still like to fuck you.”

That word again. It sounds doubly filthy when he says it, the way his lips mold around it is downright sinful. A shaky moan drops from your mouth as you turn around and do as he asks, your breasts are squished up against the sturdy wood, and the desk is a little too tall for you, your feet are dangling just above the floor. You’re shaking with anticpation, and it grows even worse when you feel the warmth of Nagito’s palm caressing your ass, “For my own peace of mind…” he whispers, his other hand running a finger up the length of your sex, “When do you graduate?”

You laugh, “It’s a little late for that, isn't it, Professor?” you feel his hand still on your ass and you clear your throat, “Uh, this is my last semester. A few months.”

He sighs pleasantly, “Ah, that’s good. This has been very fun, though i'm not sure we should do it again.” You feel the head of his cock kiss your entrance and hiss through your teeth, “At least...not for a few months.” You can hear the smirk on his face.

“I’ve waited this long.” You say, grinding backwards into his cock, “I can wait again.”

He leans down until his mouth is right beside your ear, “Good girl.” He whispers, and finally thrusts inside of you. It feels so good, he fills you so well. Your cheek is pressed firmly against the hard wood of the desk and a pathetic little mewl escapes your mouth at the feeling. You cunt already dripping from your last orgasm, you take him so easily, so smoothly. It feels like he is meant to be inside you.

You feel a hand on your lower back, pushing you further down onto the desk and Nagito hisses through his teeth. Pumping slowly and deeply inside of you, like he is savoring it, “You’re doing so well, angel. I--fuck...You’re so warm.” his breathing is laboured, the rhythmic sound of his hips hitting your ass is echoing around the room, “I still can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you. I must be the luckiest man alive.”

“Please...more!” you whine, trying to force him deeper inside of you with the movement of your hips.

Nagito lets out a strangled moan and starts pounding faster, one of his hands slipping down between your legs to circle your clit, you cry out at the extra stimulation, toes curling inside of your shoes. The desk is shaking with the force of his thrusts now, there's a cute little statuette of a frog that falls down to the carpet with a clatter, but he doesn't stop.

“You feel so good, darling...I--I don't think i can-” a groan rips through him and you can feel his thrusts growing sloppier, “-you’re so good for...so perfect...I can't hold--ah ahh” he swallows, “Please, angel, i want to feel you cum again.”

You’re close, mouth raw from panting and moaning, legs going numb from behind suspended in the air. Then, the finger on your clit presses down firm and his cock grinds up against your g-spot. That is all you need, you come unraveling under him, the walls of your cunt clenching impossibly tight around him.

“Ah, yes!” He cries, grabbing your hips and pounding you desperately, relishing in the feeling of your hot, tight cunt. Milking him dry, “Good, girl. So good for me.” Then, he cums, you feel his cock throb deep inside of you as his hips stutter and slow.

It is only now that you are hit with the realisation. You just fucked Professor Komaeda. Holy hell.

All you can do is lay there while he slowly pulls himself out of you. Wincing a little at the wierd feeling of emptyness. You manage to roll yourself over, laying flat on your back with your legs still dangling from the desk. Nagito laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek, “Are you alright?”

You laugh weakly, “We’re going to get in so much trouble.”

“Not if no one finds out.” He tucks some of your hair behinf your ear, “Don’t worry about it, I’m very lucky with this sort of thing.”

“I just dont want you to get in trouble.”

He giggles, “That’s very kind of you, but this was as much my choice as it was yours.” he runs his fingers down your cheek and gives you a gentle kiss on your lips, “I meant what i said, about meeting up again.”

You manage to pull yourself up until you are sitting upright, you give him a sleepy smile, “Yeah, me too. I like you a lot.”

“How very sweet of you to say, angel.” He presses his forehead to yours and tangles your fingers together, “Let’s get you cleaned up now, hm? Can’t have you walking home like that”

To be honest, you aren’t sure you can walk at all.

____________________________

A few months later, you are sitting in the local cafe and applying for some jobs on your laptop. You did well on your final assessments and graduated with flying colours. It’s only a few more days before you need to officially move out of the dorms, and finding a new apartment (along with a job to pay for it) has not been easy so far.

You huff and push your hair back from your face. Your phone pings, and you ignore it. It’s been pinging for the past few minutes and you are not in the mood to check it. The job you are currently applying for made you retype all of the information in your resume even though you just uploaded it, and you are not happy.

The phone pings again and you groan, grabbing it and flipping it over. It looks like it’s just the group chat, as loud as always. As you go to close the message notifications though, you see one from about ten minutes ago that isn't from your group chat. Your heart is racing.

Hello!

I still have your number from when you asked for an assignment extension at the beginning of last semester. I hope you don't mind me using it. It’s been a few months, I'd like to see you again, if you wouldn't mind.

-Nagito

Oh shit. Your heart is beating a rapid tattoo in your chest. You had been so caught up in the job hunt and apartment hunt that you had all but forgotten about...this. You swallow and manage to force your shaky hands to type.

Oh hey!

It’s nice to hear from you. I’m free this weekend if you want to meet up, I still live in the dorms though, so it’ll have to be your place.

It's only about a minute before you get a reply.

Lol! I was thinking we could start with coffee, but I'm not going to lie and say i wasn’t hoping it would end up in my bedroom.

This weekend works for me. I can pick you up around 11?

You smile at your phone, cheeks turning crimson.

Sounds good. I’ll see you then.

You quickly update his contact details in your phone from Professor Komaeda, to Nagito <3.

#komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #komaeda nagito #nagito komaeda #danganronpa #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa fanfiction #sdr2 #super danganronpa goodbye despair #FILTH

258 notes · View notes

kekoma · 3 years

Text

— semi as your boyfriend.

can’t imagine not crushing on this man. hope you enjoy.

many many thoughts with this man.

so many that it hurts in good way.

first of all, semi MOST LIKELY named one of his guitars after you.

and i’m not talking about some ordinary guitar that he may occasionally play or anything— nah, i’m talking about the most expensive one that’s gorgeous.

takes the utter most care of that guitar since he plays it often and no one is allowed to touch it.

def learns the songs you like and covers them because this man has bomb ass vocals. i said what i said and won’t take it back.

or he just plays the melody, asking that you sing instead (if you’re up to it)

when semi isn’t covering/playing songs for you then he’s writing them about you.

you’re his sole inspiration for most of the songs he ends up creating and you’re also the first one to hear it before anyone else too.

also something to point out— he creates most of those songs during the night when you’re around.

semi knows most late nights can pull out the strangest topics but it can also open you and him up at the same time when it comes to emotions.

so he’ll be staring at you from his computer chair with his guitar resting on his lap, listening precisely to every word that slip pass your lips as you laid on his bed; rambling about your emotions and how you’re thankful that the universe has put you two in the same timeline.

suddenly he starts strumming a soft tune that makes you feel like you’re floating and turning those words you said not too long ago into something lyrical, something that you two will understand but those that hear it would need to decipher (because there’s no way he’s making it easy for outsiders to understand)

AND if you know a few things about music, can sing well from taking lessons/taking a chorus class in school and/or play an instrument then semi is going AWOOGA 😍

def can see him wanting to collab with you or asking if you could be his hidden vocals/use your voice in general (meaning he would ask you to record a fake voicemail or say his name a certain way so he can put it in the song)

although if you aren’t comfortable with that concept then he understands and won’t push you to do anything.

whew let me move on because i could literally go on and on about this man being musically talented.

anyways, semi def creates a bunch of playlist for you.

each one having a description for why it was made and the feeling he wants to give off with it.

something i feel like he may also do is send over songs he currently listens to and says you should listen to it too so you both feel more connected.

BUT really stepping aside from music.

he’s extremely caring and respectful towards you.

truly studies you, making mental notes about everything and makes sure he avoids cause any discomfort.

when it comes to caring— semi semi here might go out his way to show you through his actions if he feels his words and physical touches may not be enough.

i’ll say he’s a bit clingy— dude loves being around you no matter what.

for sure invites you to his volleyball practices and games.

you’re his lucky charm and he enjoys the thought of knowing you’re supportive of him when it comes to volleyball.

also he’s supportive of anything you do as well, even shows up to your events too (but if it clashes with a volleyball then he won’t be able to go obviously but he makes it up by ordering food in and asking you to tell him all the details about what happened)

now i briefly brought pda earlier and its about that time to talk about it... does eita like it?

yeah he does but it’s not very common in public.

the best you’ll get from him is holding hands, small pecks on the lips/cheeks and ONCE in a blue moon will he wrap his arms around you from behind.

there’s no real reason for why he’s like that but hopefully you’re understanding.

now in private; he does a bit more pda. kisses become a bit more frequent, won’t pass up the chance to hold you in his arms through cuddling or whatever.

side fact: semi definitely likes when you’re in between his legs, your back pressed against his chest and the guitar would be settled on your legs— basically teaching you how to play (if you ever asked him to)

“where do i place my fingers next?”

“right here... you’ll bring your pinky up a bit but keep these two fingers on the the second fret.” he’ll carefully move one of your fingers just to put them in the correct place.

“then you’ll strum. i’ll let you try it without my help this time.”

literally would smile when you do it, finding himself falling deeper in love with you than before.

semi adores that you’re willing to learn something he’s very passionate about it and appreciates you for even taking the time for it when you could do other things.

vvv soft and we stan that here.

moving on— lets talk about nicknames really quick.

drumroll please 🥁🥁🥁

top nicknames: my melody/melody, love, angel and occasionally he’ll toss in lotus along with bambi.

had to keep it cute and interesting <3 semi isn’t going for the basics.

something to mention, we’ve all seen the way he dresses in casual clothes... now you can either a) hype him up about his clothes to the point he’s no longer concerned about how tendou says he looks uncool or b) help the boy out with his style just a bit. all up to you cutie.

heh now let me discuss dates right because whew~ dates with this cutie? hits deliciously.

of course most of the dates are music related so tickets to a concert is on there, going to certain places (such as a park with others and a little picnic set up) to see free performances from new/upcoming artists and etc.

“that last set was actually good, don’t you think so melody?”

“yeah~ i liked the emotions the singer had in her voice. it really connected with me but what do you think?”

“same thing as you. however, did you notice how they had a shift in the cords that created the perfect harmonic? and it wasn’t completely soft too.”

“now that i think about it, my ears didn’t catch on the first time but yeah. oh look! the next act is going up~!”

but when he isn’t dragging you out for that then he mainly takes you out for a drive/walk around the city, cafes, those karaoke places that also serves food, shopping and stay-at-home dates which he tries his best to make them fun (there’s probably more but im just naming a few here)

dates are normally chilled with him and always fun so we loving it.

bonus: semi FOR SURE has you as his lockscreen. no doubt about it.

he loves waking up to your picture in the morning or even checking the time because he gets to see how adorable his love is.

also on his sns (instagram mainly)— he has a highlight called ‘me and my melody 🎶🤍’ which is filled with a bunch of pictures of you two together.

the pictures are so cute that they end up on Pinterest and everyone starts spamming your dms with “so 👀 does your boyfriend have any siblings?”, “can you drop a tutorial on how to get a fine boyfriend like yours?”, “ayo 😳 think i can have him on the weekends and you get him for the weekdays?” and much more crazier things we won’t mention here.

another bonus: probably sings you to sleep if you’re having trouble sleeping. don’t try fighting me on this because i won’t allow it.

ANYWAYS, to conclude this before i have complete semi brainrot— dating this man is a 10/10 and it’s worth it.

we love semi eita over here <333

538 notes · View notes

doiefy · 3 years

Text

blue // na jaemin

“The winter has passed and the spring has come We have withered and our hearts are bruised from longing”

- blue, bigbang

In which one ceases to age until they find their soulmate, with whom they then grow old. In which everyone has moved on without you.

genre: soulmate!au, fluff, angst, slow burn

pairings: jaemin x female reader (written with a female character in mind, but it can easily be gender neutral!), features relationships with other dream members, briefly mentions haechan x jeno

word count: 11.6 k

warnings: language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mentions of war, mentions of death, discussions of Korea under Japanese occupation, some of the historical references may be inaccurate.

taglist (DM, comment or Ask to be added): @simplicitysbabe Big thank you to @neojaems for beta reading this for me !! <333

spotify playlist

Your test comes back blue.

When you rip open the envelope containing your results, you find the little coloured square hidden between pages and pages of lab protocols, testing procedures and other nonsense you know no one actually has the time to read. Then there are the stupid pamphlets, the ones with overtly bright and bubbly messages reassuring people that they’ll find their “special someone” soon, slogans most likely written by people who found their soulmates before they even turned twenty. You scoff, shoving the useless papers back into the envelope and recalling the first time you tested back in 1945, right after the war. The receptionist wrote your results down on a piece of paper and nonchalantly told you to have your emotional breakdown outside.

Now you stare at the blue marking on your paper blankly. It simply means you haven’t aged biologically in ten years, but when you haven’t aged in decades, it means nothing. While the world progresses, you remain frozen in the same body, playing a cruel game with fate. And as with any game that one cannot win, you’ve slowly become bored with it, allowing it to take its course while you sit idle nearby. You feel only disappointed, and not even perplexed or surprised in the slightest. Something about meeting Jaemin just seemed too good to be true; after a lifetime of misfortune and failure, something about the bad news feels… expected. Inevitable. As if unconsciously, you knew he wasn’t the one.

Na Jaemin is not your soulmate. And you spend the walk home contemplating how you’ll tell him this.

When you unlock the door to your shared apartment, you know he’s already home, and earlier than usual: his shoes are placed meticulously on the rack by the door and his jacket is hung up next to the messenger bag he takes to work. The living room smells faintly of the pine and vanilla candle you bought last month, and you smell traces of shampoo and bodywash from the bathroom.

“I’m home!” you call out as you kick your shoes off and put them neatly next to Jaemin’s. There’s a muffled response of your name before the door to your room opens. Then his arms are around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he mumbles a tired greeting.

“Bad day?” You ask softly, pushing all your other thoughts to the back of your head. He looks exhausted. His hair is tucked messily under the hood of his navy sweater, still damp from the shower he took earlier. His eyes lack the usual brightness you often find yourself so immersed in, replaced with the fatigue and weariness he almost never brings home.

“I hate this company,” he sighs as you run your fingers through his hair. You feel him relax in your arms a bit. “My boss is a dick, everyone in my department hates each other and the coffee tastes like actual ass. Maybe I should just quit while I still can.”

You frown. “Jaem, you’ve been with them for literally a month. You can’t possibly be thinking about quitting already.”

“A month! A month in and I’m already having mental breakdowns under my desk at lunch. Imagine what will become of me if I spend a year there,” he scowls, but his expression softens when you kiss him reassuringly on the cheek. “Alright, alright, fine, maybe not quit, maybe I’ll just take a long, long, vacation and then retire… Move to the countryside with you…” He trails off dreamily and for a moment, you lose yourself in the fantasy he’s painted for you. The mental image of a quaint house by the ocean is quickly shattered when you remember the test results hidden in your bag. The sunflowers you envisioned surrounding the cottage are blown away in the wind, their bright yellow petals swallowed by the blueness of the sky.

“Oh, you wish,” you laugh, quickly pressing your lips to his in hopes that he won’t see your expression, that he won’t see the sadness and regret you’re fighting to suppress. “Maybe, baby, maybe one day we can do that.”

“Maybe,” he laughs, his face lighting up with the energy and liveliness that has been missing. “But enough about me. How was your day, love?”

“Mm. The same old,” you say, pulling out of his arms so you can finally take your jacket off. You crash into the couch where you fold up your scarf and toss it aside. “Stressful.”

He stares at you for a hard moment, visibly concerned as if he can tell there’s something troubling on your mind. “Is something the matter?” He asks carefully, sitting down next to you. He holds you at arm’s length so he can look at you properly. “Is this about the test?”

“What? Oh, no, not the test. I doubt the results will come in until sometime next week.” The lie slips out easier than it should, and you feel guilt slowly start to twist your insides. Just a white lie, you tell yourself. It can’t hurt anyone but yourself. He’s been through enough today. He’s tired. Not tonight. It can wait. “I’m just tired,” you shrug. “I need some dinner and a nap, then I’ll be all good again. Do we still have anything in the fridge or should we order takeout?”

“I already ordered chicken from Yong’s. I had a feeling that today would be a bad day for the both of us,” Jaemin grins. His smile is smug at first, then endearing when he sees your shock.

You practically pounce on him in excitement, and the two of you go crashing into the couch cushions until you have him pinned beneath you. “Oh my god, I fucking love you, you know that?”

Jaemin groans, curling into himself as he gives you a wounded look. “And that’s how you show your love? By trying to break my bones?”

“Besides the point,” you huff. “You aren’t going to say it back?”

“Yes, of course. I love you too.”

Unsatisfied with his answer, you lower your face so your lips are hovering just inches above his. He looks up at you starry-eyed, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks; you can’t help but notice the way his gaze travels briefly to your lips.

Then you realize how dangerous this is. You know that he’s not the one. You know that you’ll eventually part ways with him when he finds out, no matter how reluctant you’ll feel. Every moment you spend with him like this will come back to haunt you when he’s gone. It will become another reminder of what you’re about to lose, yet here you are, falling deeper into his embrace, intoxicated by his scent and lost in the depth of his eyes. You are only tying more strings between the two of you, strings that will need to be stretched and snapped. You are only making it more painful for the both of you.

But for tonight, you don’t care.

“Say it like you mean it,” you whisper.

He holds your face gently, and those sparks you felt upon your first meeting with him are still there, igniting each time he looks at you, blazing into an open flame when he tells you, “I love you.”

You kiss him with more urgency this time, your lips meeting his in a clash of teeth and tongue. He puts his hands around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer to him. For just a moment, you’re focused on only him and his presence. For just a moment, you forget about everything; the sheet of test results is just another piece of paper in your bag, the blue mark just another colour. Because tonight, he is all that matters to you.

You met Na Jaemin almost three years ago.

Though the details have faded with time, you remember your first conversation well. It began at a friend’s art show beneath the golden glow of the studio lights, the two of you surrounded by brilliant splashes of colour and bold strokes of texture. Renjun had insisted on introducing you to Jaemin before you even arrived at the gallery, and you couldn’t have possibly refused. Your friendship with Renjun goes way back to the 40s, and you often think he knows you better than you know yourself. “I think he could be good for you,” he told you quietly just before leaving to speak with his other guests.

At first, Jaemin seemed timeless. It was as if he didn’t belong to any particular time period, as if he had lived to see several generations rise and fall, but had never risen or fallen with any of them. Dressed elegantly in a fitted turtleneck and a wool coat, he appeared youthful and contemporary; yet the way he spoke hinted at a certain maturity, at wisdom and sagacity. There was something charming about him too, something about the way he recounted events of the past and drew you in with only his words.

Next to a breathtaking oil painting of the sea, you discovered your commonalities. He was almost two decades younger, but like you, had spent his entire life searching for a partner without much success. You were delighted to learn that he had also worked in teaching—though he mentioned changing careers frequently whenever things became too mundane. He was effortlessly intriguing, and every word he spoke was lively and animated. He infused your conversations with colours, painted everything in bright yellows and aquamarines that matched the swirling paint strokes of the artworks around you, left you wanting to know more without even trying.

You left the gallery that night with his number in your coat pocket. Needless to say, Renjun was thrilled.

Weeks passed before you saw him again. Your busy schedules always managed to get in the way of your plans, but the two of you still kept in touch, chatting late into the night and well into the early hours. As the months went by, you dared to hope that maybe he was the one.

You immediately scolded yourself for being naive. With all your past partners, you had been hopeful in the same way, only to be let down in the end. Your test when you were with Donghyuck came back blue, as did the one with Mark. Both have since moved on, found their soulmates and written their happy endings. Even if you still stay in touch and meet up for an occasional coffee, you know that you are only a distant memory to them in some way or another.

The prospect of the same thing happening with Jaemin had never occurred to you—you’d been so caught up in getting to know him, so blinded that you’d completely forgotten. And then you saw him differently. As if he were a flame that could be snuffed out in an instant, a feather that could be sent flying with the slightest breeze, the slightest breath. You mulled over it for weeks and always did so silently, until it finally came up in conversation.

Almost a year had passed since you’d met him. With the summer coming to an end, the two of you had driven down to the Han River where you sat in the open trunk of his car, sharing a can of cheap beer from the convenience store. There were no words, only the faint melody of an old pop song buzzing from your phone and his hand around yours.

“Move in with me,” he said at last, glancing at you expectantly, trying to gauge your reaction. It wasn’t completely out of the blue—you’d been searching for a new apartment for weeks—but it still took you by surprise. “Too fast?” He asked when he registered your shock.

“No, not at all,” you shook your head and squeezed his hand. “Don’t get me wrong Jaem, I’d love to. It’s just, I don’t know about any of this. About us. If we’re actually…”

He hummed a quiet response, his brows furrowing slightly in contemplation. “Soulmates,” he said with a melancholic sigh. “You don’t want to go any further before we know for certain. I understand.”

You nodded. “It always hurts, you know? You think you’ve finally found them only to realize you’ve been completely wrong the whole time.”

“I know,” he said, and his empathy flooded you with warmth and reassurance. “You always think you’ll be prepared for the next time. You always think it will hurt less as time goes by. But it doesn’t.”

“Exactly.”

You tipped the last of the beer into your mouth; it tasted faintly sweet on your tongue before dissolving into a pleasant bitterness that hit the back of your throat. When you were finished, Jaemin took the empty can and fiddled with the tab, bending it back and forth until it snapped off.

“I want it to be you,” he told you after a few minutes of silence. “I want it to be us.”

“And if we aren’t?”

He kissed you, hard enough for you to see stars. It wasn’t desperate or longing, but it seemed to convey a hundred different thoughts all at once, a hundred different emotions for you to decipher. When he finally pulled away, his voice was thoughtful and he was seemingly lost in a pleasant daydream. “Oh, love, the universe has already cursed us to search eternally. We may as well spend eternity together.”

“Seriously, Jaemin, what if we aren’t?”

The tremor of your voice snapped him out of it. The glimmer of hope disappeared from his pupils and the dream slipped from his hands.

“We’ve been alive for so long,” you continued, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t think I can go on like this. What if we aren’t meant to be? What will we do?”

You didn’t regret your time with Donghyuck or Mark or Jungwoo or any of the people you were lucky enough to have met, but you’d watched all of them from afar, watched them grow while you stayed frozen in time. Each new generation that came along was only a reminder of your loneliness. You felt a certain emptiness each time you invited new people into your life, one that deepened when they eventually left you behind. Or worse, when they gave you their pity. You couldn’t stand it when people told you that it was unfair or that you deserved better, all while they lived comfortably with their soulmates. You weren’t jealous, nor could you ever be angry at them for something beyond their control. Your anger was directed at the invisible forces that toyed with the world, the mischievous hands spinning the universe in some strange direction that left only you disoriented.

His expression took on a faint sadness and when he spoke again, his voice was calm, barely a whisper. “Then so be it. If you need to move on, it would be selfish of me to stop you from doing so.” He stared out at the waters wistfully, at the yachts sailing downstream. “And besides, you’re right. Maybe it’s time we settle down… even if it’s not with each other.”

Your birthday came a few months after that night, but you held off on testing. The bus you took home from work passed by one of the labs, but you never got off at the stop, always watched the doors open and close from your seat. The test isn’t that accurate anyways, you told yourself; it could produce only an approximate biological age, so maybe the longer you waited, the better.

But in the end, it was simply an excuse to escape reality, to avoid your confrontation with fate itself.

You moved in with him just before the end of the year.

New Year’s Eve wasn’t a big deal for you (you’d lived through too many for it to be exciting), but you spent the last minutes of the year with him, surrounded by cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked. Jaemin had still made some sort of effort at festivities despite your indifference: pale pink and gold candles lit around the living room, golden champagne in delicate glasses set on the table.

You were almost asleep when the clock struck twelve, wrapped up in one of his oversized sweaters and a white throw blanket. The celebratory music blaring from the TV was muffled in your ears, a pleasant symphony that lulled you deeper into sleep until Jaemin awoke you with a kiss.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Jaem,” you mumbled, a smile ghosting your lips as you focused on the comfort you felt in his arms; on the new year, on your new home, new hope.

You know something’s wrong.

Jaemin doesn’t come out to greet you, even after you announce your arrival. He’s home—his shoes and coat are put away neatly like any other day—yet it’s deathly silent, terribly still. No music playing in the living room, no voice down the hallway. Only the occasional chirp from your broken smoke detector, which you’ve been meaning to fix for weeks. As you bend down to unlace your boots, you can’t help but worry.

You find him in your shared bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the comforter. The sun has almost set and the shadows stretch across the room, blanketing him in darkness and masking his expression with ambiguity. He doesn’t move when you turn on the lamp on the bedside table. He doesn’t move when you sit next to him.

There’s a familiar sheet of paper in his hands.

“Jaem, I…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It isn’t accusatory or hostile; his voice is laced with nothing but sadness, yet you feel so much guilt, guilt that closes around your throat and squeezes the air out of your lungs, leaving you breathless. You kept it from him for days, and now this is the way he must find out about it. From a piece of paper you were careless enough to leave where he might find it. From a piece of paper detailing the DNA extracted from a sample of your blood. You should have told him.

“I didn’t know how to,” you let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you serious?” There it is, the cold edge that begins creeping into his voice as he stares down at you. He flicks a finger in the direction of the date printed at the top of the paper. “It’s been a week, Y/N. You kept this from me for a week. Why?”

“I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, okay?” It comes out sharper than you intended; you immediately begin to drown in guilt as soon as you see Jaemin’s expression fall. You didn’t mean to lash out, and now you make up for it by taking his hands in yours. They're ice cold. “Look, the day I found out, you were already tired from work. I didn’t want to bring it up and make everything worse—”

“So you lied. Said the results hadn’t come in yet,” he says flatly and you rush to defend yourself, only to realize that he’s right.

“I’m sorry.”

The rest of your words don’t come. With a tired exhale, you bury your head in your hands, too overwhelmed to say anything else. You can only hope that he’ll understand, that he’ll empathize and that he’ll forgive you, even if you don’t exactly believe you deserve any of it right now. You hold back the tears. Only when he pulls you into his arms do they fall. He takes your hands, gently pulling them away from your face so he can wipe your tears despite your protests. There’s no coldness in his expression now, only concern.

“I needed time to process everything,” you continue, but you choke on the words. “I couldn’t even accept it myself, I couldn’t—”

“I know, love,” he says quietly as his thumb brushes against your cheek. “I know. It’s alright.”

Your silent sniffles turn into unrestrained sobs as he pulls you into his embrace, your pent-up emotions finally released in the form of silvery streams on your cheeks. You aren’t sure how much time passes. The sun meets the horizon in a hazy line of faint pink and orange. The sky darkens. Outside, the city lights up in a multitude of hues, the amber light from the street below seeping into your room. The minutes go by, but Jaemin never lets go of you until your tears have run dry.

“Better?” He asks, albeit his voice is shaky, his gaze trembling when he looks up at you. You nod.

“We’ll figure this out,” his eyes seem to say. You can tell he’s just as terrified as you are, just as unsure and as lost. Though for now, you simply hold each other. You say nothing about the paper that lays discarded on the floor or what it entails, even if you both feel the need to address it, to face its implications. In this moment of brokenness, neither of you have the strength to do so.

You eventually collect yourselves. You make dinner and force yourselves to eat before passing a meaningless hour in front of the TV. You clean up, wash up. Sleep early in preparation for tomorrow. Jaemin never leaves your side.

“Where do we go from here?” You whisper into the darkness of your bedroom.

“Tomorrow, love,” you hear him say just before slipping into unconsciousness, into restless sleep.

According to Lee Donghyuck, the chances of meeting your soulmate are 1 in 10 000. Or at least, scientifically. Theoretically. Donghyuck was a man of logic and reason, and had your lives not revolved around soulmates like the earth revolved around the sun, perhaps he wouldn’t have believed in fate at all.

“Remove fate from the equation,” Donghyuck mumbled to himself thoughtfully, jotting a few numbers down on a paper napkin. “And let’s assume your soulmate is around your age.”

“Can’t you rule that one out too?” You pointed out, but he was too busy, already lost in his thoughts.

“If your soulmate is determined at birth and instantly recognizable at first sight… And they’re actually alive somewhere in the world…”

You watched the quick movements of his blue pen with intrigue. He spun the pen restlessly, allowing its barrel to cross over and under and between his fingers, at times so quickly that it became nothing but a blur of colour. Finally, he scribbled a final verdict and inked two definitive circles around it. “If fate hadn’t been so kind, the chances would have been one in ten thousand. One lifetime out of ten thousand.”

“That slim? Ten thousand lifetimes, that’s nearly impossible,” you said, skeptical but amused at his train of thought nonetheless. You took the napkin from him and looked over his calculations, though some of the numbers were too big for you to check without a calculator. You trusted that Donghyuck had done them correctly though. “You know, if you told that to someone who’d spent a century searching for their soulmate, they’d probably beat you up. You’re lucky I like you.”

He giggled. “We’re lucky it’s only hypothetical.” He took the napkin from you and crumpled it, smudging the neon blue ink on the tips on his fingers.

With Donghyuck, things were simpler. He was young, young enough to not be in a hurry, young enough to speak his thoughts so freely. He never pitied you or worried about offending you, and he never treated you as if you were out of place among the new generations. He offered you perspective. You knew that you weren’t meant for each other, but you were still content to spend your time with each other. To wait together.

“So… I might have found a new place.”

You don’t miss the surprise on Jaemin’s face when you tell him over dinner. His eyes widen a bit in curiosity, his brows arching upwards and his mouth falling slightly agape. He sets his fork down against his plate, folding his hands together the way he does when he’s deep in thought.

“Already?” He inquires. Maybe you imagine a hint of disappointment in his voice, a slight dip in his tone. He looks at you with a sort of sadness, as if trying to imagine what it would be like with you gone, to come home to an empty apartment every night. “Seriously, Y/N, you’re welcome to stay if you need to. We said we would take the changes slowly.” His words aren’t just out of consideration for you.

More than a month has gone by silently, and within that time, the frigid cold of winter has finally given way to spring. Nothing has really changed when you think about it, as if your test results are meaningless. And you suppose that they have become just that, a meaningless scrap of paper at the bottom of the recycling bin in the kitchen. Jaemin still holds you the same way, though his touches are just a little bit more fleeting. Your conversations still extend late into the night, though they feel just slightly melancholic. You hang onto his every word even while telling yourself not to, that maybe there is no point in doing so when everything is already coming to an end.

“I don’t know if I’ll take it… at least not for sure. And even if I do, I won’t be moving in until April. I just thought I’d tell you ahead of time,” you tell him, reaching across the table to take his hand. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I think I need some time alone. So I can adjust to all of this.”

“No, I understand. It’s just a little jarring, you know? Don’t know what it’ll be like without you here.”

“It’s literally only a block away,” you giggle, and he smiles. “I’ll still be here.”

After the coolness of February comes grey skies and a drizzly March, heavy rainfall washing the white snow to grey slush. Eventually, the clouds part across the sky for the sun, allowing the brilliant blue of the sky to peek through. April comes sooner than expected, producing blooms of yellow and white in the flowery courtyards of your new apartment complex, bursts of bright colours along the cobblestone paths.

You stand surrounded by boxes in the middle of your new studio apartment, watching the people pass by on the streets below. The windows are cracked open for air and you can hear the bustle outside, the yells of the street vendors, an occasional shriek of a child’s laughter. The new bedframe and mattress you ordered stand leaning against the wall in the corner, waiting to be assembled. Jaemin stumbles through the door with another box and sets it down before dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“That’s the last one,” he says. He collapses on the couch that the previous owner left behind, out of breath. You sit down next to him, allowing him to rest his head on your lap. He finally looks around, then at you. “Everything you hoped for?”

You nod happily. “I’ll miss having you around though,” you chuckle, playing with the soft strands of his hair, freshly dyed—after losing a drunken bet to Renjun a week ago, he reluctantly let the latter bleach and tone his hair bright silver. But you think it suits him; it accentuates the darkness of his eyes and paleness of his skin, gives him a cold and chic edge offset by the gentleness of his smile.

“I’ll still be here,” he repeats your words from two months ago. “And you’ll be much closer to work, right? No more crazy subway routes and early mornings. At the cost of me being your personal alarm clock, of course.” He grins, and you smack him with a red throw pillow.

“I won’t miss that,” you roll your eyes teasingly.

“Whatever you say, love.” He lifts his head off your lap to press a kiss against your cheek.

You spend the rest of the afternoon with him, unpacking boxes, hanging up clothes, building the bedframe and fitting the mattress with clean sheets so that at least you’ll have somewhere to sleep tonight. When the sun sets, everything is lit in an ethereal glow, and you stare out the floor-length windows, admiring the sky. Jaemin joins you after a moment, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you rock back and forth to the steady rhythm of the music playing from his phone.

When he leaves in the evening, he gives you a final hug, jokingly telling you not to miss him too much. When he’s gone, you find yourself staring out the window once more, at the blocky silhouette of Jaemin’s building a few blocks away. He pointed it out earlier, thrilled that you could see so far from this high up.

You quickly learn that on cloudy days, it is nothing but a smudge of grey in the distance.

While Donghyuck always tried to ease your worries with reason and strokes of pen ink on his skin, Mark took you on long drives around the city, hoping that the wind blowing through your hair would clear your mind.

On late nights when you couldn’t sleep, you often found yourself in the passenger seat of his 1975 Hyundai Pony, listening to static-laced 80s rock music while he drove you around the streets of Seoul. He would always roll the windows down in the summer and watch the contentment on your face, one hand around yours while the other guided the wheel.

Mark Lee was even older than you—and with all the wars and tragedies he’d lived through, he understood what it felt like to be kept awake by the nightmares. To be kept awake by thoughts of loved ones being blown to bits, to be haunted with memories of the past. With how long he’d been searching for the right person, he knew the urgency you felt and the longing to finally settle down with a soulmate. He understood.

The stories he told you were woven between puffs of cigarette smoke and gentle kisses on your forehead. He told you about Canada and the mountains that surrounded Vancouver, where he’d spent some time in the 40s. He told you about his family, about his brother’s grandchildren who looked older than he did. It was strange, he’d admitted with a small laugh and sadness in his smile.

The two of you often pointed out buildings along the side of the road, reminiscing what stood in their place before the bulldozers and big trucks rolled in. Just down the street from his apartment, the old drive-in cinema was being replaced by an upscale theatre. Next to it, a park was being cleared for a new shopping centre. Even the studio he’d rented out last summer had been demolished so a new entertainment agency could build its empire. Once in a while, he would drive by and stare ruefully at the construction site—the classical compositions he’d once recorded there were being replaced by a new type of music, with catchy beats and pretty pop stars dressed in shiny outfits.

His music had been drowned out by a new industry, and likewise, many of the things you remembered from your childhood have been lost to time. Talking about the past with him helped you remember. It was a sort of reassurance even as you moved on.

Mark eased a bit of your pain, staying out with you until the early hours of morning to make sure that you were alright. The next morning, he would almost always call to ask if you’d slept okay, unless there was an issue with the old landline phone in his office. All concept of time disappeared when you were with him, along with your memories and the demons haunting your dreams. But eventually, he would drop you off at home and bid you goodnight, leaving you to watch him drive away. Eventually, the night came to an end.

He couldn’t stay with you the whole night, nor could he stay with you forever.

Your evenings are often interrupted by Jaemin’s messages asking you to come over. Sometimes he says that he misses you, or he wants to see you for dinner. Other times, he kisses you breathless against the closed door as soon as you’ve stepped inside, always with an unmatched fervour and urgency as if you might slip right through his grasp and disappear.

Tonight, however, it’s neither.

It’s half past midnight when your phone is set off in a series of quick vibrations. Wrapped in nothing but a towel with your hair still dripping, you type in a reply, hesitate, press send. You get changed, slipping into a pair of jeans and an oversized T-shirt before grabbing your keys.

Jaemin is uncharacteristically quiet when he opens the door for you, his gaze downcast so you can’t see his expression. He’s deteriorating; you can see it in the way he turns his back to you after locking the door, the way he walks inside with a halfhearted invitation for you to follow.

“What’s wrong?” You ask when you’ve sat down across from him.

“I think I found them,” he mumbles and you notice how he averts your gaze. “My soulmate, I mean. I think I found her.”

“Wait, then why with the long face? Jaem, that’s great—”

He cuts you off with a sharp bark of emotionless laughter. His expression turns bitter when he pulls his sleeve up to reveal a mark along his wrist: two linear streaks of dark purple that twist together like the centre petals of a rose. He stares at it, almost with contempt. Apart from the standardized DNA tests, markings are the only other way to identify soulmates, though they almost never show. No one has any proper explanation for them and you have no explanation for why Jaemin has one now.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s great. She’s smart. She’s funny. We have the same mark so I know it’s her,” he says shakily. “But god, I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this.”

You feel dread. It hits you all at once, because the way Jaemin speaks is so distant and unnerving, as if he’s lost himself in a trance and forgotten all about you. You’ve seen this dazed look before, only twice, when he was truly distressed and truly lost. This isn’t like him.

He found her. He should be happy. You should be happy for him. He should be happy.

“What is it?”

“I think I’m broken. Something’s wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, and you try to keep the urgency out of your voice for his sake. He doesn’t say anything. “Jaemin?”

“I don’t feel anything when I’m with her. Nothing.”

You don’t register his words. They don’t make any sense to you. They are barely coherent. No, you think. That can’t be possible.

“Maybe we rejected each other in a past life and then both offed ourselves. Or maybe this is just the universe’s way of saying ‘fuck you.’ Maybe—”

“Stop that,” you tell him firmly. “Whatever this is, there has to be an explanation for it. Marks don’t just appear out of nowhere, right?” You pause to take a shaky breath, suddenly realizing that your words aren’t meant to comfort only him. “We can look into it. We can figure out what’s going on. This is the 21st Century, remember?”

“But what am I even supposed to tell her?” He demands, his tone exasperated and his brows furrowed together. “‘I know you’ve been looking for me for your whole life, but I can’t see you as anything more than a friend, sucks for you’? What do I do, spend the rest of my life drowning in guilt and self-pity because I couldn’t love her the way she wanted me to? Because I could only pretend?”

You have no answers for him. Perhaps he hasn’t felt anything for her because he hasn’t let go of you. Perhaps it really was a mistake, a freak accident in the cosmos that put the wrong marks on the wrong people, designating a pair that was never meant to be. Your thoughts run wild, but you can’t put anything into words for him. Even if you could, you don’t think you would have the strength to say anything aloud.

Instead, you hold him in your arms, wiping away the tears of frustration that have formed at the corners of his eyes, running your fingers through his hair. You can only hope that his soulmate will do the same for him some day, perhaps in some future where the cruel forces watching over you cease their endless games. Genuinely, you hope.

The tone goes off a third time. You glance at the clock across the room: 11 AM. He has to be up by now, you think to yourself as your fingers continue drumming a repetitive rhythm onto the kitchen counter.

“Hello?”

Just before the automated voice can tell you to leave a voicemail, he picks up. Donghyuck’s voice is groggy, as if he’s just woken up—or maybe he’s just about to go to bed. With his disaster of a sleep schedule, you can never be sure.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Oh hey, you, I know you.” You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. “How are you, Y/N? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“I’m alright, the usual, I guess. How about you? How’s Jeno?”

“Jeno adopted another cat because he’s fucking insane, so now we have three little furballs running around the house. But yeah, it’s going great! So great,” he drawls with a familiar bite of sarcasm. You smile to yourself. “If he brings home another one because ‘Oh Hyuck, look it’s so cute, can we keep it?’ I will literally choke him in his sleep. Anyways, what’s going on? You never call me.”

“You never pick up,” you huff, earning a small laugh from him. “Okay, I wanted to ask you something. What do you know about soulmate marks?”

Thoughtful silence. “Not much. I mean, I’ve got my theories, but nothing has really been proven. Why, did you get one?”

“No, not me. Jaemin.”

“Oh, Y/N… then that means…”

“It’s alright, don’t concern yourself with me, Donghyuck. I’m more worried about him, honestly.”

“Hm?”

“He found his soulmate recently, but it’s not exactly… it’s not going as expected, let's just say that. He said he feels almost nothing when he’s with her, and to make things worse, apparently now it’s mutual. God, Donghyuck, they’re so awkward with each other, it physically hurts me.”

Donghyuck is silent again, and you hear the faint clicking of his keyboard. You can almost see his contemplative gaze and the soft blue glow of his computer screen lighting his face. “Did they know each other at all before the marks appeared?”

“Yeah, they were coworkers.”

He hums. “Okay… that could be why. Marks have a tendency to appear if soulmates have been around each other for extended periods of time without realizing it. It’s like nature’s way of telling them that the person they’re looking for is right in front of them. As for why they haven’t felt anything for each other? I dunno… reincarnation can really fuck with people. Any previous sentiments for your soulmate stick with you as you pass on, even if you’re both reborn completely different people.”

I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this. Jaemin’s words echo in your head.

“Obviously, there’s still opportunity to fix things,” Donghyuck adds quickly before you can get too lost in your thoughts. “It just takes time. Honestly, I wouldn’t be too concerned”

“I know, I know,” you groan. “I’m just upset that after everything he’s gone through, this is the shit he has to deal with.”

“Yeah. I can’t even imagine.” He pauses. “You know, a lot of people would just run off if they were in the same situation. He’s lucky to have you.”

You give a breathless laugh and shrug. “I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

“You never give yourself enough credit,” Donghyuck says, a hint of melancholy to his voice. There’s a sudden noise in the distance that cuts him off, and he curses beneath his breath. “Shit, the new cat’s not trained yet and I think she’s doing something stupid in the kitchen. Jeno will kill me if anything happens to her.”

You suppress a giggle. “Go ahead. We can catch up some other time.”

“Of course. See you, Y/N.”

The line clicks.

If Donghyuck taught you to be hopeful and Mark taught you to be strong, Jungwoo taught you to be brave.

Kim Jungwoo was your first love, and in many ways, you consider him to be irreplaceable. Perhaps it had simply been the result of young naivety back then, but you thought he was unlike any other person you’d ever met. In hindsight, he was different. A bright light dancing his way into your life when you were only a child in the 30s, a free-spirited boy who went where he pleased despite living under such an oppressive regime.

The Kims lived only a few doors down. You frequently saw the boys in their front yard kicking a beat-up soccer ball back and forth between them. Jungwoo was the middle child, and he sat right in front of you in class, his back always perfectly straight against his wooden chair so as to avoid the teachers’ chastisement. He was a quiet boy, and he never said a word unless it was to answer a question. But even then, his voice was small—not exactly shy or scared, just quiet. He quickly learned to raise his voice when the teacher hit him on the back of the hand with a ruler and demanded he speak up, when the wood scraped apart the skin of his knuckles.

At the time, when Japanese was all too foreign on your tongue and you struggled to understand anything taught in class, you thought he was a genius. He always had the right answers when he was called upon and there wasn’t a trace of an accent in either of his languages. Not that you heard him speak Korean much; you didn’t dare speak it unless you were hidden in your own homes, where your parents could discuss the uprisings without having to worry about the police roaming freely outside. Though, they still spoke in hushed voices as if anyone could hear them, as if terrified for what could happen if someone did hear.

The first time you spoke to Jungwoo properly was in middle school. After a humiliating incident at school that left you in tears, he ran to catch up with you on the way home and spoke to you in timid Korean, offering to help. You were still teary-eyed and beyond upset, but you let him guide you through your homework. He rambled to you about the Japanese grammar you couldn’t understand and explained the mistakes you’d made for your teacher to lash out at you the way she had. It didn’t stop you from making the same mistakes the next day, but at least he was patient, unlike the adults at school.

“You’re not stupid,” he told you one afternoon on the way home. Again, you were in tears.

“But the teachers think I am,” you grunted. “And I feel stupid. I can’t understand a word they say. I never have the right answers. Everything I say is wrong. If that’s not stupidity, I don’t know what it is.”

“Y/N, all we do at school is memorize meaningless facts that don’t really matter,” he replied with a shrug. “Just because you can’t shove all that information into your head doesn’t mean that you’re stupid. Look at Doyoung. He was failing school but he’s still one of the smartest people I know. He just… learns differently.”

“So? That doesn’t make me smart either. They still think—”

Jungwoo scoffed. “Who cares what they think? I think you’re wonderful, and they’re the real freaks. Miss Ito, especially.” He wrinkled his nose. “She smells funny.”

“Hey, be nice, Jungwoo,” you chided, but you were laughing. He was effortlessly funny and it was such a pleasant contrast to the way he acted at school. He was always so disciplined and perfect when the adults were watching, but he seemed to let loose around you. It made you feel… special, in a way. Validated, accepted. Something you never felt at school.

You walked home with him almost everyday from then on. You became inseparable, even when your school shut down and sent all the students to gender-segregated schools, even when your parents worried that you were spending too much of your time with him instead of studying. Even when war arrived.

The Second World War plunged your lives into darkness; Jungwoo quickly became the only light to guide you. He was there for you while your parents were away, while they laboured in the factories making helmets and guns and bullets so that they could at least put food on the table. He was there when the light at the end of the tunnel went dim, though he was miles away from home.

Jungwoo had never struck you as a fighter or rebel, even if he had the physique of a soldier. He had the drive and the courage and the steel to fight, but you only saw gentleness in his monthly letters to you. The last letter you received from him still sits in a drawer somewhere, the last words he wrote sealed in a plastic envelope so that they won’t fade away.

You took the test a few months after the war ended, only because he had pleaded with you to do so. Even if I don’t make it home, he wrote to you in the same curving script he’d used to teach you years ago. Promise me.

When the receptionist gave you a piece of paper with an X marked next to your name—there were no colour indicators back then, only X’s and hollow circles—a part of you felt relief that you couldn’t quite explain. Another part of you was disgusted, convinced that you were being selfish and apathetic. You thought that maybe you had no regard for him; that you only cared for yourself and a stranger you were still searching for. He’d risked his life to join the rebel army, fought on the frontlines with the Allies, and you repaid him with nothing.

It would take you years to come to the conclusion that your reaction was only natural. It would take you years to heal and start seeing other people. In due time, you would stop frequenting the church in your hometown and your fingers would cease to brush against the memorial stone in the yard, upon which his name was carved. Just one name among many.

Jaemin’s hands are all over you: in your hair, around your throat, pushing you against the wall as he kisses you. His fingers tangle into your hair and he pulls on the strands, forcing your head back a bit so he can continue trailing his lips over your neck and collarbones.

“We can’t be doing this,” you tell him when you manage to pull away. His arms come around your waist anyways and he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and you glance behind him to see empty soju bottles on the kitchen counter.

“I’m not with Jieun,” he snarls. “Besides, like I said. I think we’re fucked. We aren’t meant to be.”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss, taken aback by his sudden coldness. “This isn’t fair to her.”

“It’s mutual, remember? I bet she’s out there doing the exact same thing with some other guy. She doesn’t need me.”

“Jaem—”

“We’re fucked. She told me she doesn’t need me, and I told her the same.”

You’re horrified. “You did what?”

“Hilarious, isn’t it? We had our first fight, and we aren’t even together yet.” He scoffs, pushing a hand through his hair in irritation. “Some type of soulmate.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this. He’s out of his mind. He’s lost it. “Fuck, Jaem, how much did you drink?”

“Not enough to feel better, clearly,” he snaps.

“Alcohol and whatever this is between the two of us isn’t going to make you feel any better. This isn’t going to fix your problems.”

“Then what do you want me to do?!” His words are sharp, his expression hard when he glares at you. “You tell me to move on and to give her a chance and to stop doing whatever—” he motions frantically. You’ve never seen him so wild, so out of control, and you’ve almost never seen him lash out at anyone like this. “—whatever the fuck this is, but do you even know how it feels? Do you even care?”

A sharp intake of breath, and then the world is crashing down around you.

The feelings you fought to suppress re-emerge, rising up to crush you and force you into relapse. Doubt. Regret. Guilt. The little voice in the back of your head is a raging monster now, and it shouts at you, screaming at you in a blind rage. Telling you that you’re heartless and self-absorbed and indifferent, everything you believed you were when Jungwoo died. Reinstating what you know isn’t true. You know he doesn’t mean it. You know that it’s just alcohol fueling the words spewing from his lips and nothing more, but they still bring back unpleasant memories, a sense of dread you can’t shake.

He realizes, albeit a bit too late. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

If you knew how much it hurts me to watch you do this to yourself. If you knew how much it hurts me knowing that there’s only so much I can do for you. “Don’t. I get it.”

For a few seconds, the room is silent, save the ticking of the clock behind you. It reminds you briefly of a memory that you can’t quite grasp, like a flash of deja vu before you spiral back down to the present reality where you stand in cold, frigid silence. The broken smoke detector chirps.

“I should go,” you say at last. You go to grab your keys from where you left them on the counter but he quickly stops you, his hand coming around yours. You look up at him in irritation, pulling away sharply.

“It’s late,” he says shakily, almost pleading. “You shouldn’t walk home at this hour. Not alone.”

“I’ll call a cab,” you shrug before slipping into your sweater and pulling on your shoes. You bid him goodnight and leave him dumbfounded in the living room.

You return home to a sleepless light and endless thoughts in a cold bedroom. A broken record replays his words in your head again and again, until you see Jungwoo’s face floating above you in the darkness. His features are faint, like wisps of smoke that loosely form sad eyes and lips pulled downwards in a frown. And then he’s the one asking, “Do you even care?”

You have no answer for the annoying voice in your head. You stare at the lines of light drifting across the expanse of the ceiling, wide awake as the sky brightens outside.

“How long will you be gone?”

It was the 3rd of August 1995. You knew because the next day would mark 50 years since Jungwoo’s death. The next day, you would be going back to your hometown and laying flowers on the altar in the Kim family home, revisiting the memorial you’d left behind when you moved to Seoul.

You shrugged as Mark passed you his lighter. The old zippo produced a small spark between your fingers, and then the sting of smoke was filling your mouth and nose. You didn’t smoke regularly—you’d stopped years ago—but you sure as hell felt like you needed one tonight.

“I dunno,” you said, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “A couple more days after the ceremony? If I stay any longer, Doyoung might get upset.“

“Upset?”

“He doesn’t like seeing me. Said I bring back bad memories. I think I remind him of Jungwoo too much.”

Mark grimaced. “Well it’s scary, seeing a childhood friend who hasn’t aged in fifty something years… Must he like seeing a ghost.” He paused, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear so that he could see your face. “My nephews feel the same way about me.”

“You remind them of something?” You asked.

“Their father, I guess,” he explained. “My brother… wasn’t the most understanding of them when they were younger. Whenever they see me, all they can think of is their childhood and his abusiveness.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

He took a moment of contemplative silence “No, not really. I mean, maybe it did at first. But it’s not like I go out of my way to avoid them just because of the memories they associate with me. That would be unfair for me.”

“It would be,” you agreed.

“So then why avoid Doyoung? What he thinks of you is beyond your control. If you remind him of painful memories, that isn’t exactly your fault.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel like staying out of his way might help him heal. Maybe it’ll help him move on from everything he’s trying to forget.”

“Oh, Y/N.” Mark took your hand with a breathless laugh. His smile was both sad and endearing, as if he were in awe of you—what for, you weren’t too sure until he murmured, “You’re too kind sometimes.” He paused to exhale, smoke escaping his lips and bleeding into the atmosphere, dispersing into the starry sky. He stared into the sky for a few moments, silent.

“But it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves.”

“What the hell happened to him?”

Jaemin looks like a mess. His hair is disheveled and swept messily all over the place. His skin is unhealthily pale, unusually warm to the touch beneath your fingertips. You can tell he’s had a little too much to drink; he sits on the couch in a daze, his eyes fixated on an invisible point in front of him as if searching for something that is no longer there. He yelps in pain when you wipe at the cut on his lip.

“We bumped into a couple guys at the bar. One of them took a swing at him,” Renjun explains as he passes you the bottle of disinfectant. You carefully apply a drop to a cotton swab. “And it didn’t help that he was also drunk. Thank god Lucas was there to break up the fight.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Jaemin groans in protest. “Just tipsy.”

“Tipsy? You couldn’t even tell me Y/N’s number.”

“I don’t remember anyone’s number.”

“Well, you couldn’t tell me your own name either. Got any excuse for that one, smartass?”

You ignore their bickering and continue cleaning the cut on Jaemin’s cheek, holding him firmly by the shoulder so he doesn’t move. The cotton quickly turns light pink between your fingers. You briefly examine the red marks along his jaw where he’d been hit, frowning. Jaemin has never been one to get into fights and especially not while under the influence, but the bruises on his cheek and his knuckles suggest otherwise. Hell, he rarely even gets drunk, but it’s becoming more and more frequent, to the point where Renjun makes sure to watch over him whenever they go out together. He’s derailing, you think to yourself as you brush his hair into some sort of order.

“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” You put his arm around your shoulder and help him up to his feet, nearly staggering beneath his weight. Renjun rushes over to help you move him into the bedroom.

“You should probably go home. It’s getting late,” you tell him when Jaemin has been settled in bed. You glance at the clock hanging in the kitchen as you clean up the first aid kit on the table: almost 2 AM. “I’ll stay with him… make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I really tried to keep him away from the alcohol tonight. I swear I turned away for only a second to deal with Yangyang and he— Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Renjun apologizes again, shaking his head. “This whole soulmate ordeal is really getting to him. I’m worried, Y/N.”

“You know how he is. He always figures it out one way or another” you reassure him. “I’ll talk to him again though. Maybe he’ll actually… listen this time.”

“Well, call me if anything happens. I probably won’t be asleep anyways.”

“I will. Thanks, Jun,” you nod appreciatively.

By the time Renjun has gone home and you’ve finished cleaning up, Jaemin is already asleep. He stirs when you switch off the lamp and reaches out for you in the darkness, fingers intertwining with yours. “Stay,” he mumbles, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say as you admire the way the moonlight filters in through the windows and draws pale lines across his cheeks. Despite the cuts marking his skin, he looks so much softer now, innocent, in a way. Again, you’re reminded of the Jaemin you met at the art gallery. He was none of this. None of this pent-up frustration released in empty beer bottles, none of these crimson bruises marking his otherwise smooth skin.

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” you murmur. There’s no reply at first, and you wonder if he heard you at all.

“I’m sorry,” you finally hear his voice: small, feeble in the darkness. His words become more urgent as he keeps speaking, spilling from his lips uncontrollably. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I wasn’t thinking. You know I could never mean it.”

You hush him, wrapping him in the security of your arms. A single tear brushes against the back of your hand, then another. “It’s alright,” you assure him as you rub soothing circles against his back. “You were going through a lot. I understand, okay? It’s okay.”

He shakes his head frantically, his tears falling in steady streams now. You let out a low hiss when you see them stain pink with the blood from the wound on his cheek. “Still, that shouldn’t be an excuse. I’ve managed to fuck up everything since all of this started. I hurt Jieun, I hurt Renjun, I hurt you. I can’t even go to work and look at Jieun without feeling like such an idiot and getting mad at myself for being such a child. Without feeling like maybe I deserve this.”

Your heart drops, then shatters into a million pieces at the bottom of a dark abyss.

“Look at me,” you plead as you take his face in your hands. “Look at me, Jaem, please.” He finally lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in the stillness. All you can see is brokenness, defeat and regret, a look you knew well. It’s an expression that once followed you around for years, appearing in every mirror and reflection you passed by. An innate, intimate part of you that you despised so much until you came to accept it. “Listen to me, Na Jaemin. You are one of the strongest, bravest and kindest people I’ve ever met, and nothing will ever change the way I see you. You don’t deserve any of this bullshit. You don’t deserve this.”

“If you knew what I told her, Y/N,” he lets out a shaky breath. “If you knew what we told each other when we found out neither of us had any feelings for each other… maybe you would think differently of me.”

“If that’s truly what you believe, fix what you broke,” you say firmly. “Apologize to her. Make things right between the two of you, unless you want to go through this all over again in another life. Things will only get worse if you don’t address them now.”

“And if I can’t?”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, Jaem.” Trembling, you press your lips to his temple. “Whether or not you end up with her, whether or not you think you deserve this, I love you. And that will never fucking change.”

He leans forwards, his forehead touching yours, his nose brushing against yours and his lips just inches from meeting yours. But he never comes any closer, and you feel no urge to close the distance either. Perhaps it’s a sign that both of you are already starting to let go, to drift apart; this moment is nothing romantic or lustful, nothing more than comforting each other in your brokenness. Nothing more than trying to help each other numb the pain.

“I love you.” His voice trembles, but his words are steady, deep-rooted in sureness.

“Then promise me you’ll try, Jaem. You’ll try to set things right, for both our sake.”

“For you, love,” he murmurs, so quietly that you can barely hear him. His voice is lost to the faint rumbling of the air conditioning unit somewhere outside and the distant noises of traffic. “For you, I would do anything.”

You wonder if he’ll remember any of this in the morning. You wonder if he’ll take your words to heart, or if they’ll simply be enveloped in dreams fueled by drunkenness, reduced by sleep to nothing but a blur.

...it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves

You’ve done everything you can for him, you decide. Even if you continue to walk by his side, the rest is up to him.

One Saturday morning, Jaemin shows up at your door dressed in black jeans and a button-down shirt, his hair swept up neatly. There’s a kind of brightness to him; it’s not necessarily hope or excitement, but certainly a change from what you’ve seen the last couple of weeks. He’s meeting Jieun for lunch, he tells you nervously. He wants to see you before he goes. You tell him you’re proud of him. That genuinely, you admire him.

The next time you see him, it’s at a floral shop. He’s in the middle of picking out flowers, and he flushes when he sees you. A single rose seemed too cliche, he tells you sheepishly, and asks your opinion. He thinks she’ll prefer something a bit more unique but equally tasteful, equally elegant. You recommend orchids or gerberas. They last longer than roses, but they convey the same message. When he’s gone, you buy a small vase of irises for your apartment; your living room needs a bit of colour.

Weeks later, you find a small package in the mail: a parting gift, you realize when you tear open the padded envelope. It’s nothing too special, nothing fancy or expensive—just a piece of blue glass wrapped in silver accents, attached to a delicate chain that you loop around your neck. When you hold the pendant up to the sun, its blue tint shatters into infinite colours, tossing specks of luminous yellow and orange all over your bedroom. More than just a singular colour, it reflects the other hues around you. And for just a brief moment, you think you see your own reflection.

You watched Jaemin move on just as you’d watched Mark and Donghyuck: from afar, with reserve but at the same time, excitement. Close enough for him to know that you were still there for him, but allowing some sort of distance that grew as the days melded into weeks and then months.

For the most part, he seemed to be alright. His texts were always cheerful, covered in happy emoticons—he used them when he was too giddy with excitement to type actual words. “We figured things out,” was all he said one night, and it was all you needed to hear to know that they’d be okay.

You started to notice the fondness he’d developed for her; it was subtle at first, just a hint of affection in his voice when he told you about her over the phone. Though slowly, it developed into something more. It was just as Donghyuck said: time had forged a relationship out of nothing, out of empty words and empty emotions, growing a garden from a barren piece of wasteland.

The first time you spoke to Kim Jieun, it was over the phone during one of your calls with Jaemin. She’d chimed in on your conversation at some point to say hi, and the way she spoke almost reminded you of Donghyuck: bright, cheery, a little sarcastic in a playful manner. You quickly learned that she was easy-going though brutally honest at times, well-mannered yet well-humoured. Most importantly, she wasn’t judgemental, and she didn’t treat you any differently from Jaemin’s other friends just because you’d been with him previously.

Of course, there was still a sense of yearning, a bittersweetness whenever you saw the two of them together. Your fingers always danced fleetingly along the screen of your phone before pressing like on the photos he posted to his social media. You saw him less and less, only occasionally running into him at the bakery you used to frequent together or at a friend gathering. For the most part, you let the past stay in the past. He seemed happy. And honestly, you were happy for him.

“I told you he’d be fine,” Donghyuck murmured to you at one of Jeno’s rampant parties, once most of the guests had trickled out for the night. The two of you sat on the balcony, watching everyone stumble around in their drunken stupor: Jeno was passed out on the couch with two cats sitting perched on his chest. Renjun was trying to braid flowers into Jaemin’s hair, which he’d recently bleached yet another shade lighter to match Jieun’s platinum locks. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Chenle and Jisung exchange a few bills and bicker over a bet—Chenle was still in denial that Jisung had won, apparently.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second, Hyuck.”

“But you were worried,” he grinned smugly.

“Why wouldn’t I be worried?” You sighed and knocked back the rest of your wine before motioning for him to pass you the bottle. You swiftly poured yourself another glass. “If I couldn’t have my happy ending, at least I wanted him to have his. As… cliche as that sounds.”

Donghyuck raised a brow at you. “What’s to say that you won’t get yours too? They can’t keep you waiting forever. The longest it ever took for someone to find their soulmate was 241 years.”

“Goddamn, are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Better, of course! Okay, what I’m trying to say is that it’s rare for anyone to wait longer than two centuries. If everyone lived for up to three hundred years, we’d have a lot of dictators and other crazies running the world. The universe would spontaneously combust.”

“I know I’m barely even halfway there, but come back to me when I set a new world record,” you rolled your eyes, to which he responded with a small chuckle.

“So what now?” He glanced at Jaemin, who sat across the room with his eyes half-closed, an empty red solo cup in his hands. Jieun had her head on his shoulder, rambling drunkenly about something to Renjun. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought she’d been a part of the group all along; she fit in so seamlessly, and it warmed your heart to see her getting along with everyone.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Nothing for now, I guess. Just waiting.”

“Whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll be worth it,” he hummed in reply.

“You think so?”

“People say that the longer you wait, the better. It’s all in your head, of course, but they have a point.”

You sighed, lifting your head to gaze at the stars hanging overhead. “I suppose they do. Maybe someday I get to find out.”

He patted you on the shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll figure it out. You always have.”

Donghyuck left a little later to get a drunk Jeno to bed, and then you had only the quietness of night to keep you company. Your mind drifted and you contemplated his words, repeating them silently to the wind. The night sky replied with nothing but a gentle breeze against your skin.

You could be patient, you thought as you watched the others inside. You fished the pendant out from beneath your shirt and stared at the reflection in the glass. It was as if you were grasping a piece of the night sky between your fingers: the stars and a crescent moon captured in a single, translucent oval. In the dark, the pendant appeared deep indigo, not too different in hue from the four coloured markings you’d acquired over the years.

But the sun would rise in due time, you thought to yourself mirthfully. Beneath the brightness of morning, you’d hold a different colour in your hands. You tucked the necklace back into the fabric of your shirt. You could wait.

read the epilogue, yellow

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