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buckyseternaldoll · 23 days ago

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Five Seconds, Five Years (Part III)

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✮⋆˙ Part I | Part II

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes proposed just days before the world ended — afraid he might never get another chance. Then he vanished in Wakanda. Five years later, he’s at your door — unchanged, while your whole life has moved on. Some love survives time. But what happens when life doesn’t wait?

Disclaimer: Unexpected emotional reunion, long-term separation and time displacement, vulnerable confessions, hesitation and emotional complexity, mention of Steve Rogers’ peaceful death (old age), post-trauma recovery arc, references to mental health improvement (off-grid healing), rebuilding emotional connection, gentle confrontation of past pain, pure comfort and soft domesticity, post-trauma peace arc, references to past emotional pain and healing. **This story stretches between several timelines in MCU (only loosely, not to be strictly following the year gaps)

Word Count: 4,846

You didn’t usually skip class.

Not after everything it took to get here—the money you scraped together, the fight to stay afloat, the way you had finally started taking your life seriously again.

But this morning felt… wrong.

Off.

You woke up to soft light spilling between the blinds, your duvet tangled around your legs. Your chest felt heavy, like something was sitting on it. A pressure you couldn’t name, just pressing.

Your fingers wrapped around the warm mug of coffee. You sat there in the kitchen nook of your Seoul loft, barely sipping.

Not scrolling.

Not thinking.

Just… sensing something.

A pull in your ribs.

A flutter in your gut.

And when you passed the small flower stall outside the station—the one with handwritten notes tucked into every bundle—that’s when it hit you.

A sign, scribbled in smudged black ink (translated to English):

“March 10—Pisces. Heavy-hearted. Brave. Forgiving.”

Your hands went cold.

Your breath caught.

His birthday.

Of course.

Of course your body remembered even if your calendar didn’t.

—

You didn’t go to class.

Instead, you walked.

Wandered.

Through crooked alleys and boulevards of mid-morning traffic, past the crisp scent of roasted chestnuts and motor oil, past students chattering about exams and café music echoing through glass.

You didn’t want silence.

You wanted noise.

People. Traffic. Motion. Something to drown out whatever this feeling was.

—

Sinchon was perfect for that.

Young people everywhere—students hustling through subway exits, tote bags heavy with books and iced americanos in hand. Girls linking arms, stopping to fix each other’s makeup in compact mirrors. Lines forming outside trendy cafés for limited-edition drinks.

And couples.

God—there were so many couples.

Matching outfits, matching sneakers. Holding hands in crosswalks. Taking selfies by store murals or booking time inside photobooths with sparkly filters and pastel props. You watched one couple fuss over a printout from a four-cut booth, giggling and sticking heart stickers on each other’s cheeks.

It was adorable. It was soft.

It was everything you thought you’d be doing by now.

But it wasn’t you.

And maybe that was the worst part.

You weren’t bitter—not exactly. But the loneliness scraped a little sharper on days like this. When love seemed so visible. So effortless. So normal. And you were just here, floating through a city of warm hands and soft smiles, still trying to remember how to breathe without aching.

Music bled from shopfronts—different rhythms overlapping in the air. Delivery riders zipped past on scooters, navigating the maze of alleyways like it was second nature.

It was loud.

It was full.

It was exactly the kind of place where no one paid attention to anyone else.

You wanted to be anonymous.

You wanted to disappear for just a little while.

—

You turned down the main road—the one just past the movie theater and the underground station exit—and crossed toward the bookstore that had the good imported titles in the back.

You waited at the crosswalk.

You were just one of dozens.

And that’s when you saw him.

—

At first, it was nothing.

Just a shape.

Tall. Broad shoulders under a dark jacket. Face angled down. Hair shorter than you remembered, but unmistakably him.

He turned.

Your heart nearly stopped.

He was leaner now.

Older.

More tired.

But that face—

Still the most handsome thing you’d ever seen.

And those eyes.

Cerulean burn.

That impossible, searing shade of blue you used to trace in the dark, whispering his name into the hollow of his throat. The kind of blue that saw through you. The kind of blue you didn’t forget, no matter how many calendars you turned.

And they were locked on you.

Wide.

Disbelieving.

Like he couldn’t quite trust what he was seeing.

Like maybe he thought you were the ghost.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your fingers curled at your sides.

Your mouth parted.

You didn’t even realize you were shaking until a warm gust of wind brushed against your cheek, and the world tilted.

The crosswalk light turned green.

The city surged forward.

People began to walk.

But Bucky?

He ran.

Straight into the street.

Straight through the crowd.

Eyes never leaving yours.

A delivery bike honked and veered, a girl shrieked with laughter nearby, someone cursed in Korean under their breath—and still he kept coming.

Like the world had fallen away.

Like he had waited too long to take one more step.

Like he didn’t believe in anything until he saw you again.

—

You didn’t know how you moved.

One second he was across the street, running.

The next, he was right there.

Close enough to breathe in.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough that you forgot every reason you were supposed to be okay without him.

“Bucky—”

Your voice cracked. Your lungs caught fire. You barely got his name out.

His expression was everything at once—relief, disbelief, joy so raw it looked almost painful.

And then he pulled you into him.

The hug broke you.

Not with sobs. Not with words. Just… with the sheer, overwhelming familiarity of it.

His arms.

Strong as ever.

The same way they used to wrap around you at night when the world felt too loud.

One hand against your spine, the other curling at the back of your head.

His scent.

God—it hadn’t changed.

Still that grounding mix of cedar, worn cotton, and something warm and his that clung to your hoodie like a memory that never really faded.

You buried your face in his chest.

And for a second, you forgot everything.

Forgot the years.

Forgot the pain.

Forgot that you were no longer lovers. No longer engaged.

Just two bodies clinging to the only truth that had ever made sense—this.

—

The hug lingered longer than it should have.

And when he finally pulled back, his hands still rested lightly on your arms.

He looked at you like someone who needed to double-check that you were real.

“Are you—are you travelling here?” he asked, almost shy.

You blinked at him.

Then smiled. A little broken. A little whole.

“No,” you said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I live here now.”

“You—what?”

“I moved here. Started over. Enrolled in a language program. Fourth month in.”

His mouth parted in quiet awe.

“You did it,” he said. “You actually chased that dream.”

“You used to tease me for crying over Korean dramas.”

“I stand by it,” he smirked. “The amount of chicken and beer scenes alone—”

“Don’t you dare slander it,” you laughed, hand half-swatting his shoulder.

“God, I missed this.”

Your smile faltered. Just for a breath. But he caught it.

Before it could sink, you motioned ahead.

“There’s a little café just down the alley. I go there all the time. It’s quiet.”

“Lead the way.”

—

The café was tucked between a bingsu shop and a bookstore.

Inside, it smelled like roasted barley tea, honey, and worn books. The kind of place that felt like a warm hug on a rainy day.

The old man behind the counter—you always called him Halabeoji—lit up when he saw you.

“Ah! You’re skipping class today,” he teased in Korean.

“Only this once,” you grinned back, motioning to Bucky. “I have… a friend visiting.”

Halabeoji gave a little approving nod, then pointed to your usual spot by the window.

“For you, always the best seat.”

—

You both sat down.

Two mugs of warm yujacha arrived, unprompted. Yours had a slice of lemon. His was plain.

Bucky looked around.

“This place feels like you.”

“How so?”

“Quiet. Understated. A little cozy. A little sad.”

You snorted softly. “Thanks?”

“No, I mean it in a good way. It’s peaceful. It feels like it’s survived something.”

He sipped his tea, then glanced at you.

“I didn’t think I’d find you here.”

“I didn’t think anyone was still looking.”

He hesitated.

Then: “Sam sent me. Intel mission.”

“Here? In Korea?”

“Yeah. That’s what surprised me too. We don’t usually get assigned Asia without a team. But Sam insisted I come alone.”

You blinked, suspicion already blooming in your chest.

“Wait. Sam’s been in touch with you?”

Bucky’s smile tilted crooked.

“Yeah. For a while.”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“You blocked everyone, remember?” he said gently. “When you left the country, they respected your space. Sam said they didn’t want to track you unless it was urgent. Privacy and all that.”

You exhaled slowly.

“Still feels like… a weird coincidence.”

“It’s not,” Bucky said, looking down at his tea. “This ‘mission’? No briefing. No real intel. No partner. Just some vague excuse to look into a low-level smuggling ring. It didn’t add up. And Sam kept nudging me. ‘Take it, Buck. Just go.’”

He looked up at you then.

“I think… he wanted this to happen.”

Your heart thudded.

He swirled his tea slowly, like it helped him think.

“I think he wanted me to find you.”

You looked at him.

Carefully.

The mug in your hands had gone warm, forgotten. Your thumb traced the rim once, then twice.

“How about you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Did you want to find me? Or was it just… the mission?”

He stilled.

His shoulders sank slightly, as though the words themselves added weight.

And he didn’t answer.

Not right away.

He took another sip of yujacha.

Let the silence stretch.

Watched the steam drift upward, as if it might form the right answer for him.

You didn’t press.

You just watched him.

The set of his jaw.

The faint crease between his brows.

The scar just beneath his left eye, one you didn’t remember—and one you ached to ask about.

Finally, Bucky set the cup down.

He leaned forward a little.

Not casual.

Not composed.

Just… tired of silence.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said, voice low.

“After I left,” he continued, “after I sent that message… I shut everything off. Burned my last favor for extraction clearance and disappeared.”

“I landed in Kuala Lumpur. Rented a place above a tailor shop with broken stairs and a mosquito problem.”

He huffed a small breath of something that almost passed for a smile.

“It was the kind of place no one would look twice at. Exactly what I needed.”

You didn’t interrupt.

You could already feel the ache growing in your throat.

Because of course he didn’t just vanish. He rebuilt. In pieces.

“There was a group of pakcik (uncles) who sold breakfast near the bus stop. Half their stalls were barely standing. So I started showing up. Fixing legs. Rewiring lights. Buying kopi (coffee) at dawn. They’d laugh at my accent, make fun of my appetite, that I couldn't stand the spice—the heat. But after a while, they called me family.”

“I stayed longer than I thought I would. There was peace in it. Simple, quiet peace.”

“But every night… I’d see you.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“In dreams. On the street. In a song. Everything reminded me of you.”

“I didn’t come back because I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t enough for you. Not like that. Not with everything so broken.”

You couldn’t breathe for a second.

You felt something burn behind your eyes—but you held it together.

Because he wasn’t done.

“After Malaysia, I went back to Romania. Spent a couple months in the mountains. Then tried Dubai—got lost in the crowd, worked off the radar, stayed low.”

“Eventually, I made my way back to the States,” Bucky said, eyes fixed on the rim of his cup. “Didn’t know where I was going. Just knew I couldn’t keep drifting.”

“I stopped by the old spot—the safehouse near Quantico. Figured someone might still show up now and then.”

He paused, huffing a quiet breath.

“That’s where I ran into Torres. Joaquin. You’d like him—fast talker, smart, good heart. He recognized me right away. Told me where to find Sam.”

“I almost didn’t go. Thought maybe it wasn’t my place anymore. But… I needed to see someone who remembered who I used to be. Someone who knew Steve.”

“So I found Sam.”

Bucky’s voice softened, his thumb slowly brushing the condensation from his mug, tracing the arc like it helped him hold onto the moment.

“I already knew Steve was gone before I saw Sam.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t look up—just kept circling the rim of his cup with a kind of quiet reverence, like speaking Steve’s name too quickly might cause it to vanish from the air.

“I saw it in a headline. Some international outlet. It was just a small article. No flashy photos. Just… ‘War Hero Steve Rogers Dies at Age 106.’”

“No ceremony. No fanfare.”

“Just a footnote in history. A paragraph about a man who changed the world.”

He finally looked up, and his eyes were tired. Still and hollow in a way that only grief knows.

“That headline didn’t even mention Peggy. Or the serum. Or that he was the only reason I ever got a second chance.”

You reached across the table without thinking. Your fingers brushed the edge of his sleeve.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t pull away.

But he also didn’t move.

He just let the silence sit for a beat before continuing.

“I think that was the moment I knew I had to stop running. Like something clicked.”

“I couldn’t keep drifting through cities pretending I didn’t still belong somewhere. That I didn’t owe it to him—or to you—to try.”

He took a breath, steadying himself.

“So I flew back. No plan. No contacts. Just showed up at the old safehouse near Thibodaux. Figured if anyone would still be in orbit… it’d be someone like Joaquin.”

“He recognized me right away. Thought I was some kind of mirage.”

“Told me Sam was down in Louisiana with his family. And before I could second-guess it, I was already halfway there.”

You could see it now—Bucky at the edge of a dock, his boots wet with salt and sweat, the sun making him squint against the bayou light. Sam turning, seeing a ghost from a past life standing ten feet away.

“He was still down in Louisiana,” Bucky murmured. “Running things with his sister, fixing up the boat.”

“Looked… tired. A little older. But he still had that fire in his eyes, you know?”

“Like the kind of man who chooses to carry the weight instead of letting it crush him.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump building in your throat. You didn’t realize how much you missed hearing Sam’s name spoken with warmth.

“I didn’t call ahead,” Bucky said. “Just walked up one morning while he was hauling crab traps out of the water.”

“He saw me and dropped the bucket. Took one look and said, ‘Damn, Barnes. Thought you died again.’”

“I told him I was starting to think that too.”

He let out a rough breath—a half-laugh, half-sigh—and shook his head a little.

“He didn’t ask for an explanation. Not right away. Just pointed to the porch and told me to sit.”

“Made me coffee. Gave me toast with way too much jam. Didn’t say a word for almost twenty minutes.”

You smiled. That sounded like Sam.

That sounded like family.

“Eventually, I told him where I’d been. Malaysia. Romania. Dubai. How I didn’t make it back in time to say goodbye to Steve.”

“He just looked at me and said, ‘Steve never doubted you’d find your way back.’”

“And I said maybe Steve was wrong.”

“And Sam called me a goddamn idiot and said, ‘Then prove him right instead.’”

You let your gaze linger on him. He looked smaller at that moment. Not weak—just stripped down. Honest.

Worn in all the places love tends to wear through.

“That’s when he offered the mission,” Bucky said, voice quieter now. “Told me there was a minor op in Seoul. Something about tech smuggling. Solo op. No backup. Real low risk.”

He looked over at you, and the edge of his mouth pulled into the faintest smile.

“But the way he pitched it? I knew. I knew it wasn’t about the mission.”

His gaze settled on you fully now. No deflection. No mask.

Just Bucky—exposed and aching.

“It was about you.”

—

The sunlight slanted deeper through the café window, bathing your table in amber-gold.

The world outside buzzed with students and bikes and the kind of everyday chaos you used to crave to feel less alone.

But inside this little café, it was still.

Quiet.

Safe.

Bucky leaned forward, the faintest smile curling at the edge of his mouth as he nudged his now-empty mug aside.

“I’ve been filling you in with all my wandering,” he murmured, “and I haven’t heard a damn thing about you.”

You blinked. Then you looked away.

He didn’t press.

“What’ve you been doing all this time, sweetheart?”

The pet name slipped out so naturally, so gently, that it made your chest ache. You didn’t even think he noticed—but of course he did. Bucky always noticed.

You drew in a slow breath.

And then, you began.

“I tried to find you,” you said, voice soft. “For months. I drained my accounts. Traveled across Europe, Asia. I retraced everywhere you might’ve gone. Asked the compound. Asked Wakanda. Sat on fire escapes and left letters and kept talking to ghosts.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t shift much—but you could see it in his eyes. The flinch.

“I lost you. And in the process… I lost someone else too.”

You didn’t say Dean’s name aloud.

Bucky didn’t ask.

“He was kind. Met him in grief therapy. And we… we tried. But I think part of me was still bleeding. I never gave him the whole version of me. And eventually… he walked away.”

You looked down at your hands, fingers curling slightly around the mug’s warm ceramic.

“I don’t blame him.”

Bucky stayed quiet—his knuckles pale, hands loosely interlaced on the table.

“Steve and Sam—they helped a lot. Kept checking in. Reminded me to eat. To sleep. To exist. When I moved here, they didn’t question it. Just… supported it.”

You reached up and tapped the necklace around your neck.

The tiny glint of metal caught in the windowlight.

“I still wear the ring you gave me,” you said quietly. “It’s always been here. Even when I tried to let go.”

Bucky’s breath hitched—almost too subtle to notice.

“Do you…” he began, then stopped, adjusting his position like the question itself hurt. “Do you still have the other one?”

You knew what he meant.

You shook your head once.

“No. I gave it back to him when we said goodbye. Told him… maybe we weren’t meant to keep holding each other.”

You hesitated, then offered a small smile.

“He was a chapter I needed. Not a replacement. Just… someone who helped me breathe again.”

Bucky nodded.

You didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until then.

—

A while later, after the café had dimmed its overhead lights and Halabeoji gave you his usual “go, go before sunset leaves you behind” wave, you and Bucky stepped out into the warm Seoul evening.

The sidewalks glowed peach from the setting sun. The air smelled like roasting chestnuts and fresh laundry.

You didn’t talk much as you walked toward Banpo.

The silence wasn’t heavy.

Just full.

—

When the Han River came into view, you turned to Bucky with a little grin.

“I’ve been coming here a lot,” you said, tilting your chin toward the park benches. “You can’t beat the view during sunset.”

“Guess I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’ve also been riding the KTX,” you continued, tone a little lighter. “Busan, Jeonju, Gyeongju. You’d love Gyeongju, actually—so much history. And I hiked with a group of ahjumma last spring. They brought me kimchi in tupperwares. Called me their baby goat.”

That earned a low, rough laugh from Bucky—the kind that melted something deep in your chest.

He glanced sideways.

“Did you finally try chicken-and-beer?”

“Chimaek's disappointing, actually,” you replied. “Tastes fine. But it’s not really fun without someone to share it with.”

Bucky’s smile lingered longer this time. Quiet. Full of something unreadable.

But the look he gave you was unmistakable:

I wish I had been there.

—

You found your favorite bench—the one tucked under the sycamore tree that had the best angle for catching the full sweep of golden light on the river.

It was miraculously empty.

You sat side by side.

Close, but not quite touching.

Not yet.

—

The sky bled gold and lavender over the Han River, the final edge of the sun slipping beneath the city’s jagged horizon. Lights flickered to life across bridges and distant towers, but the world at your bench stayed quiet, cocooned in soft shadows and late summer warmth.

You leaned back slightly on the bench and exhaled, your eyes following a boat carving a slow arc in the distance.

“Do you think,” you murmured, voice gentle, “we’d still be the same if none of that ever happened? If there was no war. No blip. No lost time?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. So you kept going, like the questions could fill the unease blooming in your stomach.

“Do you think we’d have found a place together? Had a cat? Two coffee mugs and a broken couch and some ridiculous cable bill because I forgot to cancel it?”

That pulled a soft breath from him—a chuckle, but one laced with something tender.

“You’d forget to cancel the cable. I’d pay for it anyway. You’d thank me by stealing all the blankets.”

You laughed quietly.

“What if we’d married before everything fell apart? What if you’d never gone to Wakanda? What if we never made promises we couldn’t keep?”

The breeze ruffled your hair, and you tucked a strand behind your ear—then stilled.

Bucky wasn’t watching the river.

He was watching you.

And he hadn’t looked away once.

You turned your head just slightly—enough to notice how close his hand had shifted.

Fingers curled near yours. Not quite touching. Just… there. A single breath away.

“You’re not looking at the sunset,” you said, quieter now.

“I’ve seen sunsets,” he murmured. “I haven’t seen you.”

The silence grew thick, and suddenly your chest felt too small for the ache curling inside it.

And then—

“I never tried to find someone else,” Bucky said, voice steady, low. “I didn’t want to.”

“I couldn’t.”

Your breath caught, but he pressed on, gaze still locked with yours.

“I told myself I should. That it made sense. That you’d moved on. That someone like me… shouldn’t hold on to something already lost.”

He paused, eyes softer now. Open.

“But my love for you never faded. It never dimmed. It just… waited. Quiet. Burning low. Still alive.”

You looked down. Your fingers shifted unconsciously—toward your necklace, where the promise ring rested against your skin. You fiddled with it gently, just to feel something solid.

“I know it’s been years,” he said. “I know you’ve walked through a hundred different lives since me. And if you tell me that you don’t feel the same anymore… I’ll understand. I won’t ask you for anything.”

His hand inched closer.

The backs of your fingers brushed.

“But if there’s still something left… even a sliver,” he whispered, “I’d stay. I’d build a life here. In Seoul.”

You turned toward him fully now, breath trembling.

“You would?”

He nodded, voice rough with conviction.

“I think I’m ready for peace. For trains and quiet mornings. For markets and cats and walks by the river. I’m ready for a life that isn’t built around running or fighting.”

“I’m ready for a life with you.”

—

You didn’t speak at first.

The sun had nearly disappeared now, its last glow stretching long shadows over the water. Everything smelled like warm stone and river breeze and late-blooming flowers.

You looked at your fingers curled around the ring on yournecklace.

You thought of Kuala Lumpur. Of him fixing street stalls and drinking kopi with strangers. Of his nightmares alone in small rooms.

You thought of Seoul. Of your Korean textbooks. Your scarf flapped in the wind as you ran for the KTX. The nights you sat right here, aching for a ghost.

You thought of Dean’s last words—we’re learning to walk without them beside us.

But Bucky was here now. Beside you. Breathing the same air. Wearing the same scars.

And for once, not asking to be saved—just to begin again.

—

Your hand slipped forward—fingers sliding between his.

He stilled.

Then looked at you like he never wanted to look away again.

“There’s more than a sliver,” you whispered. “There’s still so much of you in me.”

Bucky’s breath shuddered out.

“You sure?”

You nodded once, eyes burning, voice fragile but firm.

“Just don’t disappear again.”

He smiled. Soft. Aching. Real.

“Not unless you’re coming with me.”

He lifted your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You rested your head on his shoulder as the last light dipped below the river, and Seoul hummed to life around you.

And for the first time in years, your heartbeat didn’t feel like mourning.

It felt like home.

— Epilogue:

The morning light spilled gently through the linen curtains, pale gold and peach against the hardwood floor. Outside, the faint sound of a delivery scooter buzzed past. Birds chirped from the gingko trees across the quiet lane.

Inside, everything was still.

Bucky had woken early—as he always did—but for the first time in years, he didn’t feel the urge to reach for a weapon, or check a perimeter, or brace for another goodbye.

Instead, he reached for you.

Curled beside him, blanket tangled around your waist, lips slightly parted as you breathed steady and deep. One hand splayed against the center of his chest—always finding him, even in sleep.

He didn’t move at first.

He just stared.

You made the tiniest snuffling noise in your sleep—the same one you always made when your nose was pressed into the pillow too hard. It never failed to make his heart ache.

“God, you’re cute,” he whispered.

Then, with painstaking gentleness, he leaned in and pressed a feather-soft kiss to your temple. Then one on your cheek. Another near the corner of your mouth.

Your lashes fluttered. But you didn’t wake—not yet.

That was okay.

He could wait.

It had been six months since he called Sam to say he was done.

No more missions. No more deployments.

“I’ve given enough,” Bucky had said. “It’s time I learn how to keep something.”

Sam hadn’t argued.

In fact, he’d laughed.

Then paused.

“You sure Korea’s where you want to plant roots?”

“She’s there,” Bucky replied simply. “And I think that’s all I need.”

The South Korean government—with a quiet push from Wakandan allies and a few whispered favors from old S.H.I.E.L.D. contacts—had arranged for Bucky to live there legally under an assumed but cleared identity. James Buchanan Barnes was officially granted permanent residency under a “global protection and peacekeeping” clause that hadn’t been used in over a decade.

He rented a two-bedroom loft in Mapo-gu, not far from your university—enough space for mismatched furniture, two bookshelves full of your K-pop albums and his war novels, and one ridiculously oversized rice cooker you insisted on keeping.

It felt like home.

No missions.

Just laundry, groceries, slow breakfasts, and love that didn’t ask for anything except presence.

—

Most mornings now, Bucky walked you to class before heading to the local park. Sometimes he joined the ahjummas on their hikes—though they insisted on calling him “Baki-ssi” and feeding him dried persimmons.

One time, they tried setting him up with someone.

“Too late,” he said, holding up his hand where your ring glinted from its new place on his finger. “Mine’s better.”

They squealed. And then gave him more persimmons.

The ahjussi downstairs—Mr. Gu—had made it his mission to teach Bucky the art of drinking makgeolli like a proper local.

“Slow. Steady. Don’t stand up too fast.”

“Kind of like my whole life,” Bucky muttered.

—

You stirred beside him now—eyes still closed, hand twitching slightly against his chest.

“Mm… that better not be sunlight I feel,” you mumbled sleepily.

“Sorry, doll,” he whispered, brushing a thumb down your cheek. “But you were too pretty to let sleep through it.”

Your lips tugged up into a crooked, sleepy smile.

“You always say that.”

“And I always mean it.”

You finally opened your eyes.

Bleary. Beautiful.

Bucky leaned in again, this time kissing your forehead with something reverent—like he was still learning he was allowed to.

“Let’s stay in today,” you murmured.

“Even if the ahjumma text me angry hiking emojis?”

“Even then.”

You turned your face toward him and kissed his jaw—lazy, unhurried, like you had forever.

And you did.

—

Later, he’d make you pancakes—the slightly uneven kind you always claimed tasted better because they were made by him.

You’d curl up together by the window with coffee and soft jazz playing low in the background.

The world would keep spinning. The past would always be there.

But for once, so would the future.

And for James Buchanan Barnes—a man once lost to time, memory, and war—that was more than enough.

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jikookncity · 20 days ago

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Fratboy!Jaemin x Reader

WC: 4.1k, mainly fluff, smut in part 2 (go to the end of this post for info)

Jaemin is paired with one of the smartest girls in class for a semester long project...it changes him.

Jaemin showed up to class like he always did — late and freshly showered in the way that screamed he hadn’t bothered to dry his hair. His hoodie was half-zipped, revealing the edge of a sculpted collarbone and a hint of the gold chain he never took off. Girls and guys turned as he entered, subtle whispers floating in the stale lecture hall air.

He smirked, offered a sleepy wink to a blonde two rows ahead, and slid into the nearest seat with a dramatic yawn. Even Professor Lee didn’t seem that mad anymore — he was used to Jaemin's brand of lazy brilliance.

“All right,” the professor said, scanning his clipboard. “Capstone research pairs. This will be your semester-long project.”

Groans followed. Everyone knew once partners were assigned, they were locked in.

“Na Jaemin and Y/N.”

Jaemin barely looked up. He didn’t recognize the name — until you raised your hand silently from the back, already tucking a pen into your hair and closing your laptop. No dramatic reaction. No gasps. You didn’t look excited, or even remotely interested.

Just... efficient.

His brows lifted a little. Huh. You were cute. Like really cute, actually. Ponytail, bit of makeup, glasses perched on your nose. But it wasn’t your looks that caught him — it was the way you didn’t even look at him when you stood up and walked out of the room.

No one ever ignored him. Not like that.

He caught up to you outside, backpack slung over one shoulder, all charm and heat in his step.

“Hey, partner,” he said smoothly, flashing you the million dollar smile that usually had girls forgetting their majors. “We should celebrate. You just scored the best project buddy in the class.”

You didn’t even glance at him. “Celebrating a group assignment sounds like a waste of time.”

He laughed, undeterred. “Wow. Ice cold. I like it.”

You sighed and turned to him, not amused. “Look, we just need to do the work, right? I have a full course load and I don’t mess around with grades.”

He grinned and leaned in, voice low and teasing. “Oh, so you're the overachiever type. Bet you color-code your planner and schedule bathroom breaks.”

You blinked. “Yes. And?”

Jaemin's grin faltered slightly. For the first time in a while, his flirting wasn't just ignored — it was disarmed with surgical precision.

He tried again.

“Maybe we can... start brainstorming tonight?” he offered, voice dropping into that warm register he used when cornering girls at parties. “Your place or mine?”

You stopped walking.

“Library. Six o’clock. Bring your laptop. And maybe try reading the project brief before then.”

Then you walked off, earbuds in, completely immune to the charm that made half the campus swoon.

Jaemin stood there for a moment, watching you disappear into the crowd.

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed under his breath.

“Well, shit,” he muttered. “I think I just got friendzoned before I even had a chance.”

---------------------

Jaemin pushed open the heavy doors of the campus library and let out a soft whistle. It was quieter than usual, the late hour chasing off most of the casual studiers. Only a few scattered students hunched over textbooks, and somewhere deep in the back, he spotted you already seated.

No surprise there.

You were tucked into a corner booth like you owned the place, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, laptop open, highlighter capped between your teeth. A tall iced americano sat untouched next to a thick binder of notes — color-coded, of course. Your glasses were slightly crooked.

Jaemin stopped for a second.

You weren’t trying to be cute. You weren’t trying to impress anyone. But fuck, you looked good. Real good. And somehow, that hit harder than any short dress or party invite.

He smoothed his hair and sauntered over with his usual swagger, dropping into the seat across from you.

“Damn, didn’t realize I had to book a reservation,” he teased, gesturing at your neat little command center.

You glanced up, a smile tugging briefly at your lips. “You’re only two minutes late. That’s basically early for you, right?”

Jaemin chuckled, a bit thrown by your dry wit. “You remembered that?”

You shrugged, eyes flicking back to the screen. “It’s hard to forget when you stroll in halfway through class like you just rolled out of bed.”

His grin widened. “Hey, looking like this takes effort.”

Now you looked at him — really looked — and Jaemin swore something tightened in his chest.

You smiled, soft and a little tired. “You’re actually on time. That’s a good start.”

It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t sarcastic.

It was… nice. Encouraging. Genuine.

And somehow, it landed deeper than any compliment he'd ever gotten.

You pushed your laptop around to face him, already halfway through an outline. “So, I was thinking we could split the research. I’ll handle the case studies and theoretical framework. You could cover the methodology section?”

Jaemin blinked. “Wait—you trust me with that?”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

“I mean, most people assume I’m just here to coast on someone else’s GPA.”

You tilted your head. “Well, you showed up. And I’ve seen you in class. You’re not dumb, Jaemin.”

That hit him square in the chest.

He stared at you, the joking smile dropping for just a second. You didn’t say it with judgment — just quiet honesty, like you saw right through the surface and didn’t mind what you found underneath.

Jaemin cleared his throat. “Okay. Methodology. Got it.”

He leaned in, suddenly more serious. “I’ll pull my weight. Promise.”

You gave a small nod, eyes back on the screen. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, the mood shifted. The air between you wasn’t heavy or charged — it was warm, like something slowly unfolding. You weren’t charmed by him. You weren’t impressed by the smile he used on everyone else.

But you saw him. Talked to him like he mattered.

And for the first time in a long, long while… Jaemin wanted to be more than just charming.

He wanted to be good enough for you.

It was nearing midnight, and the library was nearly empty. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and Jaemin had long since stopped pretending he wasn’t into the project. He was focused, typing notes and glancing at you every so often, not because he was bored — but because he liked the way your brow furrowed when you were concentrating, liked the way you softly hummed when you were reading something complicated.

You were the kind of pretty that didn’t try. It just... was.

“You ever take a break?” he asked suddenly, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head, hoodie riding up to reveal a flash of toned skin.

You didn’t even glance. “Not when there’s work to do.”

He grinned. “That sounds exhausting.”

You finally looked at him, eyes soft but firm. “My family’s full of overachievers. Doctors, lawyers, professors. I’m the youngest, so... yeah. I care about grades. A lot.”

Jaemin tilted his head, watching you closely. “That pressure doesn’t get to you?”

You shook your head. “No, it motivates me. They’re not breathing down my neck or anything, but... I want to make them proud. I like being the smart one. My family gave me everything, I want to show them their love and care in me resulted in something great.”

You paused, looking a little embarrassed. “Besides, I actually enjoy the work.”

He smiled, slow and genuine. “That’s kinda hot.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no venom in it. “You flirt like it’s your default setting.”

“Not with everyone.”

That made you look at him again — not with curiosity or interest, but confusion. Because he hadn’t been flirting, not really, not for a while. He’d been listening. Helping. Laughing with you.

And that meant more than any cheesy pickup line.

“Come to my frat party this weekend,” he said, changing the subject.

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because you need to unwind. And because I’ll be there. And you trust me now, right?”

You hesitated.

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. I’ll keep you safe, no weirdos, no pressure, no drunk frat boys grinding on you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re literally a drunk frat boy.”

He grinned. “Exactly. You’ll be protected by the king of them.”

---------------------

The music was already shaking the walls by the time Jaemin met you at the front door of the Sigma Tau house. You were nervous, shifting on your feet in your jeans, white tank top and pink unbuttoned cardigan .

But Jaemin's eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm. “You look good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m literally dressed like a volunteer librarian.”

“Exactly,” he said, leading you inside. “And somehow, still the prettiest girl here.”

His hand lingered on your lower back, just for a second, guiding you through the crowd. You noticed how his touch was gentle — not possessive, not pushy. It made you feel safer than you expected.

Inside, everything smelled like beer and sweat and cologne, but you stuck close to Jaemin’s side. He introduced you to a few of his friends, tossing a casual “This is Y/N, my friend” that made you glance at him in surprise.

Friend. Not “project partner.” Not “cute girl from class.” Just... friend. And yet it sounded like he meant more than that.

For once, Jaemin wasn’t flirting with anyone. Not even a little. His usual teasing was gone, replaced with a protective energy that wrapped around you like a jacket.

And then—trouble.

A guy you didn’t recognize stumbled toward you, already reeking of vodka. “Hey,” he slurred, leaning far too close. “Haven’t seen you before. You’re cute. Wanna dance?”

You stepped back immediately. “No, thank you.”

He ignored it. “Come on, just one dance—”

“She said no.”

Jaemin’s voice cut through the music like a blade. He was at your side in a flash, hand sliding protectively to your waist.

The guy squinted. “What, she your girl or something?”

Jaemin didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the guy, sharp and cool. “She’s my friend. And I don’t like it when my friends are uncomfortable. You understand?”

His frat bros — the ones who’d never seen Jaemin act like this — quieted a little. Even the music seemed to fade. The guy held up his hands and backed off, muttering an apology.

Jaemin turned to you, voice soft now. “You okay?”

You nodded, chest a little tight. “Thanks.”

He didn’t let go of your waist, not right away. Just kept you close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for the first time that night, you looked up at him — really looked — and something in your chest fluttered.

Because he hadn’t been trying to charm you.

He’d just been himself.

And maybe that was even more dangerous.

“Let me walk you home,” Jaemin said, already pulling his hoodie over his head as the cool night air swept through the porch of the frat house.

You hesitated, but he was already holding the door open for you.

“I’m not drunk,” you said.

“I know.”

“I could’ve taken the bus.”

“I know that too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why?”

He shrugged, smile lazy but eyes sincere. “Because I wanted to.”

You didn’t argue after that.

The two of you walked side by side under the streetlamps, your shoulder occasionally brushing his. It was quiet — not awkward, just... calm. And even though you'd been surrounded by music and people all night, this somehow felt more intimate.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you said eventually, breaking the silence. “And for... stepping in earlier.”

Jaemin glanced over at you, jaw tightening just slightly. “Yeah. That guy was an asshole.”

You offered a small smile. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I did,” he said simply.

You paused at the corner near your apartment, turning to face him under the glow of a flickering lamppost. He looked good in the dark — hoodie pushed back, eyes warm, mouth soft.

You opened your arms, tentative. “Hug goodbye?”

Jaemin didn’t hesitate. He stepped in and wrapped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he'd been waiting for it all night.

You felt how careful he was — how tightly he wanted to hold you, but didn’t. How he let you set the rhythm. His hand pressed lightly to your back, and you breathed in the scent of his cologne and fabric softener.

When you pulled away, your voice was quieter. “Goodnight, Jaemin.”

He gave you a lopsided smile, a little dazed. “Night, Y/N.”

You didn’t see the way he watched you until you disappeared into your building.

---------------------

By the following week, something had changed.

You weren’t sure when it happened — but Jaemin started showing up to the library early. Not late. Not casually on time. Early.

And with coffee.

“Americano, no sugar,” he said, placing it beside your laptop like it was nothing.

You blinked. “How’d you know?”

He smiled and tapped his temple. “I remember things.”

That became routine. He’d bring your coffee. Sometimes a muffin. Sometimes a note scribbled on a napkin: “Reminder: You’re killing it. Let’s ace this thing.”

And when you looked over at his screen, he wasn’t just pretending to work — he was actually working. Focused. Quiet. Highlighting things. Organizing sources. Color-coding notes.

You leaned in once and asked, “Did you seriously highlight this entire chapter?”

“Yep,” he said, popping a piece of gum in his mouth. “In your system. Blue for theory, pink for data, yellow for examples, right?”

Your jaw dropped. “You remembered my color code?”

He grinned, winking. “Told you I pay attention.”

Back at the frat house, it didn’t go unnoticed.

Jaemin sat on the couch, hoodie pulled tight over his head, textbooks open on his lap — while the rest of his frat brothers tossed chips at each other and shouted at a FIFA game.

“Bro,” Chenle said, laughing, “you’ve been home studying like every night this week. Who is she?”

Mark leaned in with a mock gasp. “Oh my god. You’re whipped.”

Jaemin didn’t even blink. “And?”

Jeno tossed a Dorito at him. “You’re wearing blue highlighter on your sleeve right now.”

Jaemin looked down. Smirked.

“I like her,” he said simply. “She makes me want to try harder.”

The room fell silent for half a second. Then someone shouted, “You’re in love!” and the teasing exploded all over again.

But Jaemin didn’t flinch. He leaned back against the couch, one arm draped lazily behind his head, eyes still scanning the textbook.

Because yeah.

He was in it.

And for once in his life, he wasn’t looking for a quick win.

He was playing the long game — and for her?

He’d wait as long as it took.

---------------------

The library was mostly empty again — just you, Jaemin, and the faint hum of the heating vents kicking in every now and then.

It was past midnight.

You had your laptop open, one foot tucked under you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. Jaemin sat across from you, elbow on the table, spinning a pen between his fingers while you spoke softly about your outline.

“…so if we lead with the theory, then follow with the data sets from the 2020 case study—what?”

He was staring at you.

Not in a mocking way. Not in a distracted way.

In that way that made your words falter and your chest feel uncomfortably warm.

“You get like this,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Focused. Intense. You kinda zone out when you’re passionate about something. It’s cute.”

You frowned, half-suspicious. “You’re teasing me again.”

“No,” he said, voice even softer now. “I’m not.”

You didn’t say anything.

Jaemin shifted in his seat, expression a little tighter now — like he was debating something in his head.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, and rested his chin in his hand. “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced up warily. “Sure.”

“Would you ever date someone like me?”

The air went still.

You blinked once. Then again. Slowly.

“…what do you mean ‘someone like you’?”

He gave a small, self-conscious smile. “I mean… a frat guy. Who didn’t care much about school until recently. Who flirts too much. Who maybe talks a little too loud and parties a little too hard.”

Your brows lifted.

“Jaemin,” you said gently, “why are you asking that?”

He shrugged, but it was a nervous kind of shrug. “Because I like you. And I don’t know how to say it without scaring you off.”

Your heart thumped painfully hard. You stared at him, brain short-circuiting.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. You weren’t stupid. You just… hadn’t let yourself think about it.

Because Jaemin had been your project partner. Your friend. Your surprisingly thoughtful coffee delivery guy. You didn’t want to ruin anything.

And now here he was, sitting across from you, looking unfairly pretty under cheap library lights, finally saying what he hadn’t for weeks.

“I don’t…” you started, then stopped.

His eyes flicked up. “It’s okay.”

“No, I’m not saying no,” you rushed. “I just… I don’t know, Jaemin. I like hanging out with you. I trust you. I think you're—” You stopped again. “I just need time.”

Something in his face softened — the tension easing from his shoulders as he leaned back in his seat, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“You can have all the time you want,” he said.

And then, teasing again — but gentler this time:

“As long as I still get to bring you coffee and highlight your notes.”

You exhaled a shaky laugh, eyes crinkling. “Deal.”

And even though you didn’t say it, the thought crept in anyway, quiet and dangerous:

Maybe I like him too.

---------------------

Jaemin was in his living room when you found him — hoodie on, hair pushed back, knees pulled up on the couch with a textbook balanced in his lap. Chenle let you into the frat house after you showed up my surprise. Mark and Jeno were yelling at the TV, controllers in hand, but Jaemin looked up the second the door opened.

You looked nervous. His heart skipped.

“Hey,” you said, voice barely audible over the sound of button-mashing chaos.

Jaemin blinked, then stood up quickly. “Hey—yeah. You okay?”

“Can we talk?”

He nodded, gesturing toward the hallway. “Yeah. Come on.”

You followed him into the kitchen, where it was quieter. The fridge hummed. One of the overhead lights flickered. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, waiting for you to speak — not pushy, just watching.

You shifted awkwardly, eyes fixed on the linoleum floor.

“I’ve been thinking about something you said,” you started slowly. “Back at the library.”

He tilted his head. “About the outline?”

You shot him a flat look.

He grinned. “Okay, sorry.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. Then it dropped. “No, seriously. When you asked if I’d ever date someone like you.”

Jaemin’s expression changed. A little more cautious now. A little more still.

You took a breath.

“I didn’t like how you said it. ‘Someone like me,’ like that means something bad. Like you’re just a frat guy who flirts too much and doesn’t care.”

He didn’t say anything.

You stepped closer.

“You’re not just a frat guy, Jaemin. You’ve been… so kind to me. You listen. You show up. You remember things. You study with me. You make me feel safe.”

You swallowed.

“You’re smart. And funny. And—actually a really good friend. I think anyone would be lucky to have you around. And you deserve people who treat you like that.”

His jaw was clenched lightly now, like he was trying not to smile too soon, but it was already blooming behind his eyes.

You exhaled shakily. “So. Yeah. I guess I just wanted to say that.”

Jaemin stared at you for a moment, taking you in. And then, softly:

“I really like you, Y/N.”

You looked down, shy all over again.

“I kind of figured that out,” you muttered, smiling into your sleeve.

He stepped closer. Not touching you yet — just near enough to make the air feel thicker.

“If you’d grant me the honor,” he said, voice gentle, “I’d really like to take you on a date. A real one. Just us. No textbooks. No highlighters.”

You laughed — quiet and full, like it had been waiting to escape.

“Okay,” you said. “I’d like that.”

Jaemin’s smile turned brighter, almost boyish in its joy. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t crowd you. He just stood there beaming, like you’d handed him the world.

And for the first time since you'd started this project… maybe you had.

---------------------

Jaemin was already bouncing on his feet when you showed up outside the arcade, hoodie strings swaying and a grin tugging at his lips like he couldn’t contain it.

“You’re seriously taking me to an arcade on our first date?” you teased.

He mock-gasped. “Excuse me, this is a carefully curated experience of childhood nostalgia, light competition, and sugar-fueled bonding.”

You snorted. “So… an arcade.”

“Exactly,” he said, and held the door open for you with a dramatic bow.

Inside, everything buzzed with light and energy — flashing machines, digital sounds, coins clinking, the sweet scent of slushies and popcorn in the air. Jaemin handed you a loaded-up card and shot you a wink. “Hope you’re ready to lose.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Ten minutes later, he was sure of exactly one thing: he was getting destroyed.

You beat him at skee ball. You beat him at basketball. You beat him at air hockey so badly he pretended to dramatically cry in a corner while you laughed so hard your stomach hurt.

“WHO ARE YOU?” he yelled over the sounds of electronic guns and kids screaming. “Have you been lying to me this whole time?! Are you secretly training for the Olympics of Fun?”

You leaned on the air hockey table, breathless with laughter. “I told you I have older brothers. I grew up playing all this. You just didn’t listen.”

He was speechless. For once.

Which was why you grinned and leaned in, brushing his shoulder lightly. “Still think I’m just a study nerd?”

Jaemin laughed, eyes sparkling. “I think you’re dangerous. And I’m obsessed.”

He walked you home again, hands stuffed in his pockets, that cocky grin finally softened into something quiet and glowy.

The city had calmed down for the night. Streetlights buzzed softly overhead, and your arms brushed once, then twice — and then you stopped pretending it was an accident and let them swing together.

When you reached your door, you turned to face him, heart thudding.

Jaemin scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy in a way that melted you.

“So…” he said slowly. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

You blinked, surprised — not that he wanted to, but that he asked.

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

He leaned in slowly. Gently. His hand hovered near your jaw but didn’t touch — just in case. Then his lips pressed to yours, warm and soft and careful, and the moment was still and sweet and—

He pulled back, eyes flicking to yours, checking. Waiting.

You didn’t speak.

You just grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanked him in, and kissed him again — deeper this time. Your mouths moved in sync, all heat and want and finally. His hands found your waist, tentative at first, but then grounding you to him as your back hit the door.

You kissed until you were breathless, until your fingers curled in his hoodie and your mind spun. When you finally broke away, cheeks flushed and lips tingling, you just stared at him for a second.

“…That was fun,” you said softly.

Jaemin laughed, breath hot against your skin. “Yeah. Really fun.”

You pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back gently. “Goodnight, Jaemin.”

He looked dazed. “Night.”

You slipped inside and closed the door, pulse racing.

Jaemin walked into the house with his hoodie crooked, hair mussed, lips still pink and so obviously kissed. He didn’t even try to hide the stupid grin on his face.

Mark looked up from the couch and burst out laughing. “Ohhh shit, someone got lucky!”

“Bro didn’t even try to play it cool,” Jeno added. “You’re glowing. Like a Disney princess.”

Jaemin just flopped onto the couch and covered his face with both hands, still smiling so hard it hurt.

“She kissed me first,” he said dreamily.

Jisung cackled. “He’s gone.”

And yeah, maybe he was.

Because Y/N kissed like she meant it. Like she was finally seeing him for exactly who he was.

And Jaemin?

He was never going to get enough.

------------------

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Sneak peak of part 2:

He turned to face you, hands on your hips again, slower this time. More lingering. He kissed you at the door — soft at first, then deeper, like he couldn’t help himself. Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him close.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your voice was small.

“…You don’t have to leave yet.”

Jaemin just smiled, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“I wanna stay,” he whispered. “But if I stay… I won’t stop.”

You blinked at him, heart pounding.

He kissed your forehead this time, gentle and affectionate.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

#nct imagines #nct x reader #nct dream #jaemin x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin #na jaemin #nct jaemin #jaemin x you #jaemin x y/n

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stuck-writing-sickos · 1 year ago

Text

In Poor Taste [P3]

[Series Link]

(Yandere × F! Reader)

[Warning: explicit language, uncomfortable interaction, pushiness]

[A/N: ok, the pace has been slow, but it's gonna pick up in the next chapter 🙏🙏🙏thank u guys for supporting my story so far. Lmk how we feel about Lukas and Yuki ❤️❤️❤️]

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They were nothing but troubles.

Yuki Sakamoto didn't like the new guy. He would never say that, but he would think it. From across the teacher's lounge he would see the newcomer sitting with his head tilted back, his feet gliding on the floor as he played with the office chair. The carefree manner with which this American carried himself was a sore thorn he couldn't avoid seeing, given that Yuki's tall frame forced his head to peak past the cubicle walls, alligning his vision perfectly with the sight.

Yuki supposed this guy should not be his problem. After all, the foreign department had never been not loud and unkempt, save for the few dilligent teachers who kept to themselves, fading in and out silently like shadows. He managed the Science subsection, and from what he heard, this freckled eyesore would fall into Literature. Into your hand.

So, not his problem.

Still, he couldn't help but feel the irksomeness. Yuki blamed the summer heat. The window directly behind him was catching bright sunlight, and the flimsy blinds could not filter out enough heat. The suffocating AC air wasn't of much help, what with roughly 30 other teachers recycling their breaths between 4 walls. The cicada's maddening screams was adding to Yuki's mood - his blaring headphone could not mask them. His fingers danced across his sleek keyboard, desperate to punch in the last exam's score to the excel sheets. He felt his heavy eyelids drooping and his tense shoulders slouching. Yet, across from him, the newbie was scrolling on his phone, gliding on the chair's wheel as if he was a bored guest.

Yuki wondered if you even assigned this jackass anything, or if you had simply taken on the workload yourself. You had always been like that: quiet and accepting. Surrendering. You let your department get away with too much. At that thought, he couldn't help but chew on his lip a little. A poor boss, that was what you were. You didn't know how to distribute workload, leaving your guys dependent and spoiled. Yuki much preferred his team: quick, straight to the point, and no nonsense.

He felt bad for you. It couldn't be helped, though: you had the expertise that compelled his respect, but your reluctant attitude was wearing you down. Your team sure knew how to take advantage of that.

Lost in his thought and the repetitive manual task, Yuki let himself flinch a little at the bell. He glanced at his americano now so dilluted that the coffee had sunken to the bottom, leaving melted icecubes and murky cold water to float atop. The sweat building around the plastic cup left a puddle on his desk. Yuki wiped it off, his face souring. He didn't even finish his coffee before lunchtime.

Maybe he was in a bad mood because he was hungry and insufficiently caffeinated.

The door slid open. Here you were, walking in silently. You never made loud sounds. Even when you spoke, your voice was soft and quiet. Yuki could never really make out what you were saying if he hadn't paid close attention.

"Mr. Sakamoto?"

That would be him.

Your meek voice barely reached him from over there. Yuki saw you setting your books down in your cubicle. His head perched up as he smiled at you. He had a soft spot for you, despite his opinions on your management skills. In truth, he was worried, and when he couldn't voice his concern for you to the degree he felt, his worries fermented into frustration. Seeing that new slack-off playing on his phone right beside your cubicle could not have helped.

"Yes, I'm ready", he smiled and stood up, knocking on his chair gently. It slid backward a touch too far, and he awkwardly fumbled as he set it back into its place.

By chance, he had become your lunch buddies for the last 2 years. The first year, he didn't care to get to know you all that much. By the second year, Yuki's walls had gone down after your serious attitude proved to be consistent, and it was completely dismantled ever since he discovered your music taste and his was a perfect fit. He liked to talk to you: you were gentle and kind, not overly affectionate or friendly, something he didn't expect from the foreign dept. Plus, you tried to accompany him during lunch as often as possible. "Why", he did ask you one time, and you simply responded with "well, it's no fun eating alone". But you never specified who was "alone", and he didn't feel like pushing it.

As he made his way toward you, Yuki saw the new guy stood up with an expectant look. "Well, where are we going?" - he asked, his head turned toward you. Yuki's nose scrunched at that, but it quickly relaxed so as for you not to notice. Was that something you had planned?

You seemed dumbfounded, too. Your wide eyes darted between both men, lingering on Yuki to scan his reaction.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I don't think I ever introduced Mr.Lukas to you, Mr. Sakamoto", you laughed nervously, your hand gesturing to direct Lukas' attention to him, "Mr. Lukas here is going to be a new member of my team. He will also be working on the summer program with us."

Upon closer look, Yuki found less reasons to like Lukas. This was clearly a fresh grad who only came to Tokyo for the experience. He could see the lack of care in his boyish face - he was not taking much seriously.

Yuki would not say that. But he would think it.

"Pleased to meet you", he said, shaking the outstretched hand that Lukas silently offered. He could feel the weight of the man's stare.

The feeling was mutual, then.

The awkward silence was heavy. Yuki shifted. He was about to just leave you to it on the off-chance that he was interrupting when you suddenly spoke: "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Lukas. I was hoping to discuss some confidential work details with Mr. Sakamoto. Can we have lunch together another time?"

"Oh?" Lukas arched his brows at you, incredulity left bare on his face. Yuki felt himself internally scowling when his empty green eyes turn to his direction, as if to ask for confirmation.

How rude. How very, very rude.

"Apologies, Mr. Lukas", he came to your aids, "there were some issues with her contract regarding the summer program. I would love for you to join us for lunch any other day."

"Does tomorrow work?"

Yuki was stunned. He was used to pushiness from new employees who were clueless about Japanese social cues, but never to this extent. From the 2 years he had spent in Australia, Yuki had gathered that this conversation was an evident rejection. He wondered if this kid was dumb or purposefully grating.

Before he could open his mouth, you interrupted between nervous laughter: "Of course, Mr. Lukas. See you tomorrow!"

"Okay. Bye you guys. Good to meet you Sakayono!"

Yuki was wide-eyed. He saw Lukas' smug eyes challenging him.

"Very well then", he said, bewildered. You followed him, your eyes somewhere as big as his own.

Only until the teacher's cafeteria did Yuki peeped about Lukas.

"How's the new kid?"

Your expression dropped as you settled in to your seat, your neat lunchboxes unwrapped from the handkerchief.

"Well, he's not a kid. He's only 4 years younger than you."

Yuki's mood was getting to him, and he let it slip- "as far as attitudes go, that's a kid to me."

You didn't react. Perhaps you shared his opinion. Lukas opened his own packed meal, lightheaded now. His eyes were still readjusting to natural light after staring at a screen for too long.

"I agree, he's quite young. But I'm hoping he would be a good addition to the team. He did sign a 2-year contract."

Yuki found your feigned optimism both sad and frustrating. Sad because you were trying so hard to be professional when that eyesore wasn't, and frustrating because he was personally disrespected just moments ago.

"Are you for real?"

You painfully laughed.

"I know... I know... but what else can I do beside my best, right? Plus, he is actually smart. All the task I handed him was done like", you snapped your fingers, "that."

"Well, that's ... good. I guess that's why he was sitting like that all morning."

"Yeah, but hey, he got his job done. He is pretty new. I'm sure he will learn about the culture soon enough."

Your eyes scanned his face. It seemed he was too tired to hide his feelings.

"Sakamoto, please don't worry. I will be fine. There are better things to look forward to, right? Like your show tonight!"

Yuki bashfully looked down at his half-eaten meal, his ears going red. He had been performing underground since ever, but hearing it from other people's mouth never failed to render him an embarrassed mess. Likely it was the switch-up: he still found it hard to balance between his daytime self as a serious teacher and the "him" who played electrice guitar to drunken crowds under blinding stage lights. You knew his secret - you, someone from work, someone that happened to stumble upon the flyer his band had posted online last December wherein his face was unfortunately unmasked. Before they took it down, you had managed to take a screenshot and rushed to him. "You?" -your dreadful message read above the attached picture. Yuki still shuddered remembering that moment: his blood was cold as ice.

Sometimes, that's what happens when your music tastes match perfectly.

"It's... nothing special."

"Well, I'll be there this time, for sure."

Before Yuki could thank you for the support, he was once again startled.

"Be where?"

Too engrossed in the conversation, he was caught by complete surprise when Lukas towered over the table. In sync, you and Yuki turned, neck craning to meet eyes with the young trainee.

Lukas stared you down, disregarding completely the other end of the conversation. Once again invisible, Yuki uncomfortably readjusted his glasses.

"Oh, um...We were just talking about-

Lukas leaned closer, his frame closing in on you. Your eyes met Yuki's in a moment of panic before going back to the man who looked as if he was in an interrogation. Yuki now could notice the quality of the obnoxious new guy's clothes - nicely ironed blue button-up with seamless stitching, and a long pair of slacks with a glistening leather belt. Must be alligator skin, Yuki thought to himself, barely hiding disdain toward the wastefulness.

"I'm sorry", Lukas spoke, his voice slow and deeper than usual, "I couldn't quite hear you. You have a very soft voice."

"Oh, sorry. I was just talking about-

"It's an underground punk rock show", Yuki interrupted smilingly, "we were just talking about how nice it would be if we could attend one some day."

Lukas turned to him only partly, his body still pointed at you.

"Oh? Is one happening tonight? I'd love to catch one, too."

"I didn't know you were into rock music."

"Well, I'd love to try out new things. I'm in Japan, for starter."

"Unfortunately we both have plans tonight, so even if there were any, we wouldn't be able to make it."

"Both of you? A plan together?" - Lukas now turned to you again.

"Not together...", you patiently responded, your eyes downcasted, "I'm having dinner with a friend, and Mr. Sakamoto here has something else going on."

Now blatantly ignoring Yuki, Lukas chuckled.

"I didn't know you were into punk rock. You didn't tell me that over drinks last Friday."

Yuki knew too well it wasn't out of the ordinary for a senior colleague to fratenize with a junior early into a job, but the attitude on Lukas and the didrespectful way he framed it left a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

He now found the persistent smile on Lukas' face very, very, very shitty.

"It wasn't something worth mentioning", you shook your head.

"Well, then I definitely will catch a show soon!"

Yuki felt like a crazy person watching this chucklefuck flirt. He was close to be embarrassed on his behalf - just juvenile and completely out of bound.

"Mr. Lukas", he cut in, "if you don't mind, we would love to catch up with you any other time. As we said, we were hoping to discuss some confidential materials."

"I thought you guys were talking punk rock?"

"It was just a passing thought."

Lukas looked to you who nodded in agreement.

"Oh, my bad, my bad. I'm still new to all the- you know! Well don't mind me, then."

Yuki waited for the guy to disappear completely behind the cafeteria door for his expression to sour. He could not hide it any longer.

"Good kid", he snarkily commented. You slumped in your seat, your eyes squeezed shut tight.

"Should we just get him the hell out of this school before he actually causes you trouble?" Yuki pressed.

Your face fell at that. You looked down, your fingers tapping on the table softly. Your chest heaved.

"I'm sorry... I overstepped."

"No", you waved your hand, trying to play it off, as if your voice didn't crack, "it's okay. I'm fine. You didn't-

If it was Lukas' plan for lunch to be unbearably awkward, he got what he wanted.

"Hey, don't you worry. Wanna see something that will make you feel better?"

Make him feel better? You were the one that needed that care. Yuki opened his mouth to protest, but you were quicker to flash your phone screen toward him.

The QR code to his show.

"See? I won't backtrack this time, for sure! I felt bad to get sick right before your last show."

Yuki's chest still felt heavy, but the way you reacted just then told him to drop it.

"Don't beat yourself up about that. You couldn't help getting sick."

You sheepishly grinned.

"I know... but I was sad to miss it. Well, this time there is no way I would!"

Yuki laughed.

"Thank you... we're no good, but I'm glad you'll be there."

"I already listened to your album, you know."

"I know."

When lunch was over, Yuki still felt a nagging anxiousness. He couldn't blame the hunger now. Clearly, something else bothered him. He wanted to say it was the lack of caffeine or carbonhydrate in his meal, but he knew that it was neither. It was the creep that cornered you, and likely will so many more times in the next two years.

His suspicion was in some way validated almost immediately. Right as he returned to the teacher lounge, his eyes met Lukas' monitor which displayed a punk rock clothing website. Lukas himself was nowhere in sight and neither were you - it was most likely that you had taken him to observe some lessons.

Upon this discovery, Yuki couldn't help the part of himself that found Lukas pathetic and desperate. So he chuckled. But another part reminded him that despite the ridiculousness, it was best for him to keep an eye out for this clown from now. Even though this person may be off-putting to the point of comedy, there was something strange about him.

Yuki thought it, but he didn't want to say it yet.

#yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere reader insert

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myjjongie · 2 days ago

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THREE .ᐟ ── my little tsundere

SYNOPSIS: another casual grueling day at your job lands you to reunite with jake sim—your hallway crush who moved away in high school. not wanting to hope for more from the chance encounter, you end up being paired with jake for a semester-long project. knowing deep down things will never happen, your only goal is to be friends with jake. while on the other hand, you haven't left jake's mind since he moved away.

word count; 611

“hi welcome in!” you chimed hearing the opening of the cafe door.

too busy dealing with something at the register, you didn’t look up to correctly greet the customer. you could faintly hear low mumbling from the customer—sounding as if they didn’t know what to get. finishing up the minor task at hand, you raised your head to truly greet the customer.

yet not the usual “did you need some help” or anything of the sort came out. in truth you were shocked. the person standing at the counter was familiar, like you had seen his face somewhere before.

then it hit you, you know this face. you’ve come to find yourself staring at him in the hallways, across the cafeteria hall, and even in your classroom.

it was jake sim.

but what was he doing here? you haven’t seen or heard of him since your second year of high school. before you could even think, you were already speaking.

“jake?!” your voice came off surprised.

“yeah?” he let out that soft laugh you always adored hearing.

“what are you doing here? haven’t seen you since high school.” you could feel yourself stiffen from awkwardness. unsure of how to go about the convo.

“i just moved back from australia for the new term.”

“oh! so you went to australia! that’s so cool!” as you kept speaking you felt your voice get higher.

jake let out a small laugh, finding your reaction cute as well as amusing. yet too you, you felt like you wanted to die right then and there.

“so what did you wanna get?” letting out a awkward laugh, trembling hands finding its way to the register screen.

“i was trying to see what drink is sweetest. but honestly i might just get my friend whatever, he didn’t specify. you know?”

you awkwardly laughed once more. “no yeah! totally get that! if anything i recommend the strawberry and banana float!” at this point you felt like you were saying whatever. hoping it would end the interaction sooner than later.

“yeah that sounds pretty good. i’ll get that then! and can you add on three iced americanos?” once jake confirmed his order he pulled out his card to pay.

“of course! okay so your total is twenty seventy-five.” retrieving his card to help finish off the payment.

“wait the americanos were four bucks?” jake was surprised by the insane price difference.

“yeah. one of the reasons i like working here. the coffee is so much more affordable.” you let off a quiet laugh turning around to get started on his drinks.

once facing the espresso bar did you truly want to just smack your head against it. through out the whole conversation you felt like one big idiot. did jake even remember you? you never gave him your name, and you sure as hell weren’t going to give it to him now.

you soon finished the four drinks in the span of 3 minutes when it would’ve taken you twice as long, or if not even more. in truth you really wanted jake out of the cafe, feeling far too embarrassed to try and keep up the casual conversation.

“okay here you go!” forcing out a customer service smile.

“wow that was really quick!” jake felt truly impressed by your quick work.

“haha. yeah. well see you around.” you faintly smiled toward jake, hoping he’d let this be it—allowing you to wallow in embarrassment.

“thank you again! i’ll see you around!” jake beamed a smile you oddly seemed to miss.

as jake turned away to leave, you immediately ducked behind the espresso bar. mentally cursing at yourself in the process.

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evie's note: okay some people know. but this shit actually happened to me. like obviously it’s changed A LOT. but a guy i did like in HS pulled up to my job at random. like shout out to him cause we wouldn’t have this smau tbh

out of my league taglist ... ( if interested leave a reply ! )

perm tag: @ikeulove @leehsngs @ijustwannareadstuff20 @enhanextdoor @zaycie @dylanobr1ens @miraeluv @ancnymcnzjy @lvvrikss @treasureteez @delirioastral @izzyy-stuff

@rairaiblog @izzyy-stuff @thing89 @cinnamqnki @viagumi @zyvlxqht @wonzzziezzzz @manuosorioh @hizhu @soobundle1009 @right-person-wrong-time @vvenusoncasual @letwiiparkjay @jayhoonvroom @djikeu @aineest4r @wenomakiluvr @jaysguitarstring @heejamas @haechology @kukkurookkoo @ilovhoonie @trsrworld @ilovewonyo @luhvletters @wonuziex @p1hbrook @qtke @remgeolli @hunnyuwu @starniras @lovenha7 @stayar1 @miszes @ilovejakealot @hoonieyun @jakeznii @ikeuheartz @jakesbabymomma @starfallia @kiribirien

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carriemia · 4 months ago

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Guys the Americano I made this guy just floated off to the side and disappeared and now we're stuck here staring at eachother what the fuck help this is so awkward what happened to the Americano I'm scared

#what the hell what #the ⠀café #~☕︎~#gcgc #good coffee great coffee

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fbfh · 11 months ago

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Curiosity is a Wonderful thing ch. 10

wc: 1.8k

genre: slow burn, little angst, childhood best friends to lovers

pairing: slow burn bff!ben x fem daughter of alice!reader, previously audrey x ben, mal x ben???? yikes!

warnings: political lore and descendants world building from yours truly lol, I think that's it??? minor angst???

summary: determined to figure out what's going on with ben, you remember that many paws make light work.

song recs: dirty paws - of monsters and men, hartebeest - yaelokre, a world of my own - kathryn beaumont

a/n: HI HELLO DADDIES HELLO MY DADDIES HI HELLO also I started watching it's always sunny and every goddamn thing out of charlie's mouth is a vocal stim. I can't go more than two seconds without going HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY. LOOK AT ME GIVE ME EYES. COOL YOUR JETS. NOW GET OUTTA HERE. I love him.

ALSO!!!!!!!! happy 23rd b-day to meself!!!! does a little jester dance while I simultaneously give a thumbs down from the king chair, opening a trapped door and throwing my jester self into a deep dark pit full of lions and poorly made iced americanos.

tags @yesv01@magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @dustyinkpages @inejsknifes @tulipmagnoliaisme @ev3ningrain @yokolesbianism lmk if I missed you and I'll add you to the tag list yell at me in the notes /j (also my dearest yokolesbianism!!!!! thank you so fuckin much for the feedback!!!!!! based on your tags I assumed you'd wanna be tagged?? just shoot me an ask or message if this is not the case lol <333)

You haven’t given much thought to anything besides your research since it began, but if you had, you suppose you would notice you’ve been holed up in the library for every hour it’s been open for a few days, at least. Each waking moment has been spent pouring through text after text, desperately seeking anything that could prove useful in answering the question of Ben’s behavior.

The first few books proved to be utterly useless for anything besides sharpening your researching skills. You slam the most recent book closed and lean back in your chair, letting out a sigh of frustration. As much as you hate to admit it - even to yourself - you must begrudgingly admit that you need help.

You let out another sigh, and stand up. A good long sigh seems to be your only weapon against the inconsolable frustration burbling within you turmoilously. You stretch your aching legs and arms, hoping your blood hasn’t stopped circulating entirely, and throw the window open. You take in a big, deep breath of spring air.

The scent of gardenia and hibiscus floats along the breeze and into your chest, and you glance down at the flowering culprits below the window.

Your mind wanders and races in a blurry stumble. There must be some way for you to get information, to get some extra hands on this without getting anyone else directly involved. You never expected to find yourself facing such a fragile, treacherous situation, much less having to navigate it yourself. Without Ben.

You rub at your aching head, trying to make heads or snails of all this. Your mind reels in a blurry stupor at the dangerous situation your country has found itself in without even realizing this to be the case. You take another big, deep breath.

“Alright.” You tell yourself with a note of finality, like perhaps if you say it enough things will be just that. Alright.

There are two heads to this chimera of a situation you’ve found yourself in. Firstly, you have to figure out how to monitor Ben. His words, his actions, if he suddenly decides to shave his head and run about nude. Whatever it is, you must be the first to know. Perhaps if you find a way to stay on top of whatever his next erratic decisions will be, you can find a way to smooth things over, to fix things before they have a chance to snowball wildly out of control.

The other thing you must consider - arguably, of more importance - is why? Why is he acting like this? As much as you resist confronting the feeling, you can’t shake the sense that this is some sort of political sabotage. It wouldn’t be the first time Ben was caught in the crossfires of political unrest. There was a very tense 8 days when you were both nearly too young to remember where Ben had been kidnapped by a group of radicalist former henchmen. They were convinced that Chernabog was sending them secret messages, and were responsible for the next villain uprising.

This, of course, was untrue and Ben was returned unscathed. The henchmen were understandably sent to the Isle, and Chernabog’s whereabouts are still unknown. There’s some debate over the nature of his crimes, if he’s truly evil or just appears to be scary. You and your mother know right where you stand on the issue - while he appears terrifying, and has incredible amounts of power, you have yet to find any evidence that he wants to cause harm.

You understand why Overlandians are so quick to fear what they don’t know, but one cannot control their size nor the strength of their power, so your mother has urged the Auradon government to let sleeping gods lie. Besides, Chernabog hasn’t been around for half a century, and won’t be seen for another half century at least, so it’s really the least of anyone’s worries right now.

You snap from your train of thought, returning to the matter afoot. You must keep tabs on Ben, and find some explanation for why he could be acting like this. You already have so many bites that are far too big, and you have no clue how you’ll chew your way through this by yourself. You’re about to go back when you see a bluebird sitting on the tree branch outside the window. She preens her feathers, enjoying the warm sunlight dappling through the lush green leaves that partially hide her from view. You lean out of the window, your sleeves rippling in the breeze.

“Excuse me!” You call out. She chirps inquisitively as you get her attention.

“I do hate to bother you, but I’m stuck in quite a muddling lurch. It’s all quite convoluted you see, and as much as I hate to admit it, I fear I’ve reached a point where I simply don’t have enough hands to handle it all.”

She quirks her head at you, hopping a little closer and lending an ear as you begin to explain the whole kerfuffle. You try to be as concise and clear as you can, but you take after your mother quite well. You get a little sidetracked here or worked up there, and find yourself rambling a great good deal more than you would have liked to.

By the time you’re just about through with your explanation, you’ve had to pull out a lacy embroidered handkerchief, then soon after, another one for the bluebird. She’s grown quite invested in your woes, and it feels so good to be able to weep wetly over this with someone who shares your feelings. You try in vain to dry your eyes, and she holds her hankie tightly with her feathers, blowing her beak with a loud noise.

“So you see, this whole thing is quite unusual. I just don’t know what to do, or how to fix things.” You look at her compassionate face, nodding and chirping in sympathy.

“Do you think…” You begin, “Do you perhaps have any friends that could keep ears and eyes open for anything odd, or relating to all this? If you could possibly keep an ear to the ground - or sky - and let me know if there’s anything unusual, I would be most grateful.”

She nods, tweeting in agreement before you can even finish your proposal. She fluffs her feathers and wrings out your hankie, sprinkling salty tears onto the walkway below and hangs it up on a branch to dry out. She salutes you, and you wave at her as she flies off to spread the word.

“Thank you!” You call after her. She chirps back at you, and you watch her land a few trees over, discussing the topic with some other birds in the branches. You grip the windowsill resolutely. This is good. This was a good plan. Animal communication takes a great deal of work on both ends, so as long as no particularly gossipy stoats or chickadees get a hold of this, you’ll be alright.

Besides, animals generally tend to prefer gossiping with other animals rather than humans. Overlandians never seem to understand the gravitas of the social politics of the forest. Despite the word traveling fast, you can’t shake the feeling you need more. More eyes, more ears, more furry feet and paws and claws spreading the word. You straighten up abruptly, returning to your table. You scribble a hasty note on a piece of paper, and prop it up against your stacks and stacks of useless - in this instance, anyway - books.

gone for tea, be back in three

You’re known for ducking in and out for tea now and again, and you’re sure this will come as no surprise to the librarians. You rush down the steps and out of the library, into the grassy courtyard. It feels like forever since you’ve been outside, and you miss leisurely strolls and reading in the dappled sunlight. But regrettably, now is simply not the time for leisure. You walk around for a few minutes, searching and looking until you see a cat lying on a garden wall, bathing in the sun.

“I beg your pardon,” you start, and the cat opens one sleepy eye. You take a breath and begin explaining the situation all over again. You’re pleased to find a little bit of the sting is gone this time. Just a little. Soon you have his full attention, and his tail flicks in sympathetic irritation for you, for having gone through all this.

“So if you could spread the word to some friends, keep me informed on anything you think might prove useful” You ask hopefully.

He pretends to consider for a moment, then agrees, hopping down from the wall and arching his back in a big stretch. He scurries off to spread the word as you make your way into the gardens for similar reasons. You traipse through the hedge maze, feeling a momentary solace in becoming lost so quickly. Soon you find just what you’re looking for, and after a similar conversation with a mother rabbit, you allow yourself to return to the library.

You return to your research with more gumption than you had had before. You feel a sense of reassurance - a much needed one, at that - that all these kind animals and their friends and relations had agreed to help you and your cause. Soon after, nearly every cat and rabbit are doing reconnaissance for you. Dozens of bluebirds follow students and linger by windows in hopes of overhearing something useful. With all these ears to the ground and sky, you lose yourself in your fruitless research once again.

When the words begin to look jumbled and meaningless (and not in the good way) you know you absolutely must call it a day. You close your books and place them neatly in the return cart, scratching out titles from your list of Potentially Helpful Books in your journal. More and more pages have become dedicated to this heart aching mystery, though you have few clues, and fewer leads. You ruminate on this as you begin to head for your dorm, nearly tripping over a speckled rabbit.

He thumps his foot loudly to get your attention, and you startle. “Oh, hello,” you say apologetically, crouching down to speak with him. You listen intently to what he tells you, your stomach dropping in the early evening light.

Ben and Mal are on a date at the enchanted lake as you speak.

#curiosity is a wonderful thing #descendants #descendants x reader #ben florian #ben florian x reader #daughter of alice!reader #daughter of alice #descendants fanfiction #also hbd self!!!!!#love your 22 for 12 more days self ;*#xoxo gossip girl

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solarwonux · 7 months ago

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Business Proposal || knj (11/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, fluff, flirting,

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 4.3k

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

A/n: lol hello hi, being an an adult and a social adult is hard. I've had this written since June, but never got the time to edit it. Until now, I hope you enjoy it.xx

Thanks to those who have stuck around it means a lot!

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Present:

“I don’t get it?” Casey Han, the newly hired intern in the Writing and Rhetoric Department voices as she leans back in your office lounge chairs. Every Tuesday she comes into your office at four so you can help her review her Master Thesis on Language and Dialects in Different Regions.

She also uses this as an opportunity to fill you in on the rumors floating around the office, pry you for juicy deets about yours and Namjoons relationship, or thirst over your best friend slash soon to be brother-in-law aka Jeon Jungkook.

It used to bother you at first, but over the last two months you have grown fond of the graduate student. She has a great sense of humor, knows all the juicy gossip, and mainly buys you an iced americano every Wednesday and Friday morning.

“What don’t you get Cas?” You stand up from your desk chair, walk to the other lounge chair and sit down. By now, all thesis editing, review, or proof-reading has ended. You get off work in five minutes and you have to wait for Namjoon to finish grading his final papers. A task you finished three days ago.

“Your fiance is the hottest guy in this building and you’re always holed up in your office. If I was in your shoes I’d never keep my hands off him.” She shrugs, leaning her elbow against the arm rest and resting her chin over the palm of her hands.

You laugh, shaking your head. If things were different and you didn’t know Casey the way you did, you’d surely be suspecting her of hinting at something else. But you have nothing to worry about with Casey. Her eyes are reserved for Jungkook or Leonardo “Dilf” DiCaprio. Her words not yours.

“I mean we’re together all the time. I think keeping our space at work is just our way of staying professional and it gives us something to talk about at the end of the day.” You shrug, chucking off your heels and crossing your legs underneath you.

“You’re stronger than me.” She smiles, shaking her head. “But it's cute. One can only dream of having a relationship like yours.”

“Believe me it took a while to get here.” You brush her off. It did. After coming clean to each other, things didn’t automatically become all sunshine and rainbows. There were constant petty arguments about who takes the trash out? Who does the dishes? You vaguely remember getting annoyed with Namjoon because he couldn’t use a knife if his life depended on it. But the two of you decided that if you wanted your relationship to work, couples therapy was the best option.

So, every Monday at five the two of you see Dr. Heras. It’s helped with talking to each other, and getting to know each other's triggers and how to handle them. The two of you have household assigned chores to each other, but if the other forgets the other has to step up. Nightly recaps are a must, which makes bedtime exciting for the two of you. It’s the main reason the two of you don’t meet up throughout the day until it's time to go home. Things still aren’t perfect but they’re getting better day by day.

Casey claps her hands together, bringing you out of your bubble. Her face is bright like she just remembered something and it excites you. “When is your dress fitting?”

The brief excitement escapes you when you remember how much you’re not looking forward to it. Not because you don’t want to see your mother and Namjoon’s mother. It’s because you don’t like any of the dresses on the online catalog of Hyugas Bridal.

“Saturday.” You say, bringing your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on top of them. You’ve tried everything to convince yourself to be as excited as possible. It is your wedding dress fitting after all. A moment every little girl dreams about. A moment you have always dreamed about, but you can’t shake that there’s something holding you back from feeling exciting.

No, you know exactly why you’re not looking forward to it. The reason starts with Jung and ends with Hoseok.

He’s been in the back of your mind for the past week. Since the day the mothers have made a groupchat to decide the dress fitting date. At first you thought it was because it would be the first time they would be meeting. Then you shifted your blame when you caught a glimpse of the online catalog. Then one night while Namjoon was out with the boys, you remembered the faint promise from all those years ago, and things started making sense.

No, you haven’t spoken to the well renowned designer in years. After a year communication between the two of you ran dry. You never resented him for it. You were going through things and he was building his brand from the bottom up. Your problems were only going to make him worry and that was the last thing you wanted. But he’s been living in your head rent free. You keep going back and forth.

Should I text him?

Should I just settle?

Should I text him?

It’s a constant battle. One you haven’t decided on a winner. It’s putting such a damper on a day where you’re supposed to share fond memories with your mother and soon to be mother-in-law. Yet, you just can’t shake the feeling that you know what you want already.

You're stubborn like that.

“Why don’t you sound excited?” Casey lowers her voice. Her brows furrow in concern.

As much as you love Casey and now consider her a close friend. This is something you don’t want to simply get into. So you lie, “I’m just nervous, our mothers are meeting for the first time. And both of them have strong personalities.” You sigh.

Casey laughs, “I will keep you in my prayers for the rest of the week.”

You smile, your attention getting caught on Namjoon’s ringtone. You don’t even need to check your phone to know that he’s texted you that he’s done and to meet him downstairs. So, without a minute of hesitation you slip your feet into your heels again and stand up. “Thank you, I think I will need it a lot on Saturday.”

“Please, please, please send me pictures.” Casey clasps her hands in front of her, pouting and widening her eyes. You smile fondly. Casey has been your first female friend in years. A true girl's girl. A lovely breath of fresh air from all the testosterone you’ve been constantly surrounded by since childhood.

“Of course, you’re the only one who will get pics anyway.” You round your desk and shut off your desktop, and pick up your work bag slinging it over your shoulder.

“You mean I’ve knocked down the guys and made it up your list.” She stands up, smoothing down her pleated gray skirt.

“You will always be at the top of the list Cas.” You smile, getting your phone and unlocking it to Namjoon’s short text: Done, down in 5 mins.

Followed by another one that says: Dinner?

You smile and type a quick: poke bowl plssssss.

You lock your phone and stuff it into the pocket of your gray dress pants. Casey scoffs as she opens the door to your office. “You two are gross and cute.”

You follow her out of your office, “What do you mean?” You lock your office door and lock your arms with hers.

“You get this huge smile on your face and then your eyes get all twinkly. It’s a little gross.” She bumps her hip with yours before giggling. “It’s so cute though.”

“I think you’re making shit up.” You whisper, and she stops walking the minute she reaches the front reception desk. “I’ll buy you coffee tomorrow by the way.” You wink, as she takes her seat in front of her desktop. She still has two more hours left of her shift, and the last two hours are always the slowest.

“You don’t have to but it's greatly appreciated.” She moves her mouse to wake up her monitor, and slumps in her seat sighing. “I’ll work on my revisions and email you the appointments for next week.”

“Thanks Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You rush out when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You don’t bother to check it nor stay for her to reply the second the elevator dings on your floor.

“Love ya,” Casey shouts after you, and you send her finger hearts as the elevator door closes.

“Jin wants to go out for drinks tomorrow.” Namjoon says as he enters the bathroom, leaning against the doorway. His eyes find yours through the mirror as you begin to apply your night cream.

You hum, placing the container against the counter. “You should go, the semester is almost over and you’ve been working hard.” You say, spreading the cream down your neck, cleaning your hands on a clean towel and proceeding to pick up the tube of your eye cream.

“I know but he’s inviting Tae and these days wherever Tae goes so does Jimin.” He pushes himself off the wall and walks towards you. “Things are still a little awkward between Jimin and I.” He finishes, facing you and leaning against the bathroom counter crossing his arms in front of him.

You smile, screwing the cap of your eye cream tube and placing it down. “I think you’re thinking about it too much. Jimin doesn’t hold grudges, plus we’ve talked things through already.” You pat your under eyes with your ring fingers and then turn to face him. “If it bothers you, you should talk to him too, but don’t feel pressured to do so because of me.”

He nods, uncrossing his arms and grabs your hands, reeling you in. “I definitely want to apologize to him and settle things between us before the wedding, but I don’t feel ready.”

“Then do it when you are ready Joon.” You reassure, lacing your fingers with his. “But I think you should still go, it’s been months since all of you got together to hang out.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to interject but you stop him with a roll of your eyes. “Working out together doesn’t count.”

He sighs, shaking his head, letting go of one of your hands and snaking his arm around your waist, scooting his leg between yours. “Sometimes it’s scary how you know what I’m thinking.” He whispers, placing his forehead against yours. “But I will go, I do miss them a little.” He confesses, and gives you a quick kiss on your lips before hugging you completely. “Can you tell me what’s been bothering you all week now?”

The only downside of couples therapy and learning more about each other is that neither of you can hide anything anymore. He is well aware that you’ve been up in your head more than usual.

You pull away, placing your hands on his cheeks. “Sometimes it's scary how you know that I’m thinking too much.”

He plays with the tie of your bathrobe, chuckling at your response. “Your thoughts are too loud, and you didn’t sleep last night.” He shrugs. “I was waiting for you to wake me up to talk but all you did was sigh and turn a thousand times.”

You pout, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you up too.”

He shakes his head, “Don’t be. I would’ve interjected but I also know you wouldn’t have told me until your conscience was clearer.”

You nod. “I’m nervous about Saturday.”

Namjoon stops playing with the tie and hugs you again. “Don’t be, your mom is great and so is mine and I know they’ll get along fine. We might be making a mistake by introducing them to each other. I have a feeling they will be inseparable after Saturday.”

“It’s not that Joon.” You sigh, he tilts his head to the side. “I know they’ll get along, it's just that–” You stop biting your lip, trying to sort your words out as quickly as possible in your head.

As far you know, Hoseok and Namjoon haven’t spoken to each other in years. Jungkook knows why but he won’t tell you. He only says that they lost communication. But it's odd. Hoseok’s career has expanded to the point that he’s getting interviewed by Jimmy Fallon. He’s been invited to all the fashion weeks, and now has his own magazine. Your dream is to one day own one of his purses. You saw the ad for one a couple weeks ago on Instagram. You showed it to Namjoon and he had no reaction.

Which was weird because you thought Namjoon would be proud of his once best friend. He even grumbled a little when he found your box that kept all the magazine clippings from his previous interviews. It was your way of showing your support from a distance. So, whatever happened between them isn’t a normal falling out with no hard feelings.

From what you can tell there are hard feelings you just don’t know why. Nor do you want to pry, but the promise Hoseok made you all those years ago keeps echoing in your brain.

Maybe this is why you’ve been running yourself up the wall. You want to reach out but you don’t know how Namjoon would react if you told him you were. After all, Hoseok was a huge part of your life. A relationship Namjoon witnessed from start to finish.

“What is it?” He says with concern.

“I don’t want my wedding dress to come from Hyugas Bridal.” You whisper.

Namjoon nods, “That’s okay there’s so many other wedding dress shops, you can go to a new one.” He offers.

You shake your head, “I don’t want any of those dresses from any of those shops.”

Namjoon’s hands fall down to his side. “I see.” He pauses before, pushing past you and out the bathroom. His demeanor has changed so quickly you begin to suspect that he knows exactly what’s going on.

You follow him. “Joon what are you doing?” You enter your bedroom. It’s empty and you begin to wonder where exactly your fiance went until you see him walk out of the closet with a slip of line paper in his hand.

“Here,” He extends his hand. “Text him this is his new number.” He gently shoves the paper further in your direction.

“What is this? Text who?” You take the folded slip of paper and watch as he walks to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

“Hoseok, that’s who you want to design your wedding dress right?” He clasps his hands together. “He promised so it’s only right.” He adds, clenching his jaw.

Now, you’re confused. Actually, you’re beyond confusion at this point. You’re also concerned because Namjoon looks like he’s about to burst. “H-How do you know?”

Namjoon chuckles dryly, “He told me before he left.” He throws his hands up in the air. “Actually he told me a bunch of things but half of those things aren’t important. What’s important is that you want to wear one of his wedding dress designs so text him.”

You take a seat next to him. “Why does this bother you Joon?” You say softly, placing your hands on top of his, trying your best to smooth down the grip.

“Because it was supposed to be your wedding dress for your wedding with him.” He whispers, unclasping his hands and settling them on top of his pajama pants.

“Namjoon, we were never going to get married.” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“But you could’ve. He’s been back in town since January. Jin has tried everything to get us to meet again but I keep turning down his invites. If we hadn’t tried to solve our issues I have no doubt he would have contacted you again.”

You smile, bringing his hands to your lap. “Namjoon, things between Hobi and I are long over. I won’t lie to you and tell you I don’t love him anymore because I do just not in the same way I loved him back then and not the same way I love you now. I don’t want to marry him, I don’t think I ever wanted to marry him in the first place. He will always love his career more than anything in this world and that’s okay. I never will hold that against him because although it hurt when we broke up and I did make bad decisions trying to fill the void I felt when he left. I grew up. We both grew up Namjoon.” You finish, bringing his hands up to your lips and kissing his palms gently.

Namjoon sighs, “He will likely join us tomorrow and what if you run into him one day and fall for his charms again.” He pouts.

“Are you jealous?” You tilt your head in amusement. He lets go of your hands and rolls his eyes.

“So what if I am. Is that a problem? He’s a much better man than me in every sense of the word.” He stands up and walks to his side of the bed before peeling back your duvet.

You turn your body in his direction, biting your bottom lip to stifle your laugh. You’ve recently learned that Namjoon loves to sulk like a child and he has no problem expressing when something petty is bothering him.

“It’s not, I think it’s cute.” You sit up on your knees, before he scoffs and lays down, his back turned to you. You move closer to him and wrap your arm around his torso before leaning your body over his so you’re face to face with him. “You’re more than enough Joon.” You kiss his temple gently.

Namjoon rolls onto his back. “Are you sure?” He snakes his arms around your waist tugging you closer. You straddle his lap, and lean down resting your forehead against his. “I wouldn’t be working this hard to make our relationship work and better if I didn’t think you were enough.”

He throws his head back in defeat. His heart is beating so fast he’s thankful you can’t feel or hear it. His jealousy simmers in dying embers. Despite some unresolved differences between him and his oldest friend, he knows Hoseok isn’t one to try to break marriage apart.

“I love you,” Namjoon says after a while. His voice is soft and full of tenderness.

I love you.”

The last time you felt this nervous was the day you had to read your master thesis out loud in class to a group of judgmental writing students. The sales assistant has been watching you pace for the past five minutes since she led you to the back of the shop.

You admit it was a long shot, texting your ex boyfriend and world renowned fashion designer after Namjoon went to sleep. Sure, what you received was a very polite and formal message. To which you concluded that it was probably his personal assistant that messaged you.

So, did Hoseok know you were the one meeting with him about commissioning a wedding dress. Or did he figure it was just a normal customer. Still, the whole process was fairly quick. You figured he had a packed schedule considering he had just returned to his hometown after being away for years. You couldn’t help but wonder how things were going to go today, which was why you were running the clock, driving the sales assistant absolutely insane.

Finally, you get tired of wearing a hole in the ground and take a seat on the white sofa, just as the sales assistant whispers into her earpiece. “Mr.Jung will be here in two minutes.” She voices out, adjusting her blouse before moving to the door.

“Thank you.” You say crossing your legs and placing your bag next to you. Quickly you decide that’s too comfortable so you uncross them and place your bag on your lap again. Fidgeting with your hands, while the door slowly opens, revealing the one and only Jung Hoseok.

You almost feel like suffocating. Your breath hitches as he strolls in wearing a black suit. His hair is slicked back, and some dark sunglasses on the tip of his nose. He oozes a wave of confidence that you have never seen before, and you begin to wonder if he even remembers you and the promise he made to you all those years ago.

After five months of being away the two of you lost contact. Three years later he unfollowed you on instagram. Well technically he unfollowed everyone on instagram and only followed one person. A beautiful model whose name was Hailey. For years, they were speculated to be dating, but nothing has ever been confirmed or denied. So, who knows. But now he was here, silent, powerful, and looking better than ever.

And you feel foolish.

“So he finally came to his senses.” Hoseok clicks his tongue and removes his sunglasses, revealing his beautiful warm eyes.

You don’t know what comes over you. Just an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and before you know it you’re hugging him tight and crying into his very expensive suit. He chuckles, running a soothing hand down your back. He smells fresh, like a cool breeze on the beach. He feels different, but similar and all the love you once held for him comes rushing back in powerful strokes of color.

For a moment you feel twenty-one again.

Finally, you pull away and look at him, taking in all the features you once knew by memory. He has a few wrinkles on the side of his eyes. But he looks sharper in all the right places and you realize that just like Namjoon he has aged like fine wine.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffle, smoothing out the lapels of his suit. “I don’t know what came over me.” You chuckle awkwardly, looking around, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

He chuckles, placing his hands on top of your shoulders. “I see you’re still as emotional as ever.” He notes, running his hands down your shoulders before taking your hand in his. He leads you towards the couch and sits you down before taking the seat next to you.

“Now, tell me how have you been?” He tilts his head, intertwining your fingers with his. If you didn’t know better, you’d mistaken this for a romantic gesture. But you know better as much as you love Hoseok. The love you feel for him is different from the love you feel for Namjoon. It’s just nostalgia with Hoseok, it’s unforgettable memories that you’ve buried. It’s young love that hasn’t known experiences. It’s the chase but never settling. And you’re ready to settle down.

“I’ve been great. The fall semester starts next week so I’ve been running around like crazy, in and out of meetings. You know the usual boring work life.” You wave off, wiping your eyes with the handkerchief he's handed you. “How have you been, you look amazing.” You blurt out, widening your eyes.

He chuckles, “I’ve been better, fashion week is in a month and we are still deciding on garments for the models to wear.”

“Wow, fashion week.” You say in disbelief, shaking your head, to keep the tears at bay. “You really made it Hobi. I’m so proud of you.” You whisper the last part and hug him once more, letting go of your tears.

It was so embarrassing but you couldn’t help it. You’ll send him money for the dry cleaners later.

“It wasn’t easy but knowing I’ll one day have this moment with you kept me going.” He whispers, kissing the top of your head, and pulling away. “You look amazing too, I’d love to have you as my professor.” He winks, making you laugh.

“I’d love to have you as my personal designer.” You retaliate, making him laugh. He lets go of your hands and stands up, posing dramatically. “That’s why I’m here. Now, come on, I have a few design ideas I want to run by you first.” He extends his hands for you and pulls you up quickly. “These are just prototypes but I think they all suit you one way or another.” He says, nodding towards the sales assistant who leaves through the bright pink curtains.

“Wait, wait, wait Hobi. How do you already have prototypes?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes jokingly. “Joon and I have been in contact here and there. So, I’ve been designing these since then. And don’t worry he hasn’t seen any of them.”

You’re floored, your annoyance zeroing in on your conniving and jealous fiance. Why the hell did he make you meeting Hoseok such a big deal if he had been plotting this against your back? But instead of focusing on that, you feel the butterflies in your stomach begin to erupt when the sales assistant comes in with three garment bags.

“Are you ready?” Hoseok says, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his dress pants.

Your heart begins to thunder against your chest when each garment bag is hung in front of you. You look at Hoseok who has the biggest smile on his face and you realize what a full circle moment this is for the two of you. You gave up your relationship for dreams either of you didn’t know you’d ever achieve. Yet, here you are. Him a self made fashion designer making a pit stop on his busy schedule to do this for you. And you, you are working your dream job and getting ready to marry the love of your adult life.

You smile nodding enthusiastically. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

A/n: it's short, but I will try to be more consistent with my uploads. Check out all my other stories too!

#bts namjoon #bts #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fic #bts x you #bts fanfic #namjoon #Namjoon imagines #Namjoon fanfiction #Namjoon fanfic #Namjoon x reader

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marta-bee · 10 days ago

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youtube

One more from the Youtube-land. It feels cliched, but tonight, also profoundly true.

Brincamos muros o flotamos en balsas La peleamos como Sandino en Nicaragua Somos como las plantas que crecen sin agua Sin pasaporte americano Porque La mitad de gringolandia Es terreno mexicano Hay que ser bien hijo e puta Nosotros Les Sembramos el árbol y ellos se comen la fruta Somos los que cruzaron Aquí vinimos a buscar el oro que nos robaron

(Very roughly:

We jump over the walls or float on rafts, We fight like the Sindinistas in Nicaragua, We are like the plants that grow without water, Without an American passport, Because half of American land is Mexican land. You have to be a true SOB. We plant the tree for them and they eat the fruit. We are the ones who crossed, We came here to search for the gold that was stolen from us.

Though it loses something in translation.)

#hamilton #us politics #immigration #Youtube

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elskanellis · 1 year ago

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Coffee

Matthew Dickman

The only precious thing I own, this little espresso cup. And in it a dark roast all the way from Honduras, Guatemala, Ethiopia where coffee was born in the 9th century getting goat herders high, spinning like dervishes, the white blooms cresting out of the evergreen plant, Ethiopia where I almost lived for a moment but then the rebels surrounded the Capital so I stayed home. I stayed home and drank coffee and listened to the radio and heard how they were getting along. I would walk down Everett Street, near the hospital where my older brother was bound to his white bed like a human mast, where he was getting his mind right and learning not to hurt himself. I would walk by and be afraid and smell the beans being roasted inside the garage of an old warehouse. It smelled like burnt toast! It was everywhere in the trees. I couldn't bear to see him. I sometimes never knew him. Sometimes he would call. He wanted us to sit across from each other, some coffee between us, sober. Coffee can taste like grapefruit or caramel, like tobacco, strawberry, cinnamon, the oils being pushed out of the grounds and floating to the top of a French Press, the expensive kind I get in the mail, the mailman with a pound of Sumatra under his arm, ringing my doorbell, waking me up from a night when all I had was tea and watched a movie about the Queen of England when Spain was hot for all her castles and all their ships, carved out of fine Spanish trees, went up in flames while back home Spaniards were growing potatoes and coffee was making its careful way along a giant whip from Africa to Europe where cafes would become famous and people would eventually sit with their cappuccinos, the baristas talking about the new war, a cup of sugar on the table, a curled piece of lemon rind. A beret on someone's head, a scarf around their neck. A bomb in a suitcase left beneath a small table. Right now I'm sitting near a hospital where psychotropics are being carried down the hall in a pink cup, where someone is lying there and he doesn't know who he is. I'm listening to the couple next to me talk about their cars. I have no idea how I got here. The world stops at the window while I take my little spoon and slowly swirl the cream around the lip of the cup. Once, I had a brother who used to sit and drink his coffee black, smoke his cigarettes and be quiet for a moment before his brain turned its Armadas against him, wanting to burn down his cities and villages, before grief became his capital with its one loyal flag and his face, perhaps only his beautiful left eye, shimmed on the surface of his Americano like a dark star.

#it's national poetry month!!!#matthew dickman #american poetry #us poetry #21c poetry #coffee #the threads in this one lads

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winter-dayz · 2 years ago

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It's only a dream...

Pairing: Kim Jisoo x Reader College AU; Nightmare on Elm Street AU Genre: Horror Words: 2197 Warnings: implied major character death; implied murder; nightmares; strong language; violence

Masterlist | Fictober Masterpost

Taglist: @soobin-chois

“You think you can run from me?” Her voice echoed through the halls. “So cute~”

You huffed, darting through another open door into another empty room. You could do this. You could escape. Right?

“You can’t~” She giggled. Your footsteps echoed loudly, but hers were somehow totally silent. Her voice constantly floated through the mist, finding you around every corner and seeming to drift into your ear as if she was whispering right to you. “You can keep running, Y/N. But I will always find you~ I will always win.” She hissed, and you felt her nails scratch down your back.

“Stop!” You screamed, jolting upwards in your bed. You felt the sweat drip down your spine, your blankets so warm they felt suffocating.

“Y/N, you okay?” Your roommate called from the kitchen.

You breathed slowly, calming your racing heart. “I um… Yeah, I think so…” You finally called back after a few minutes.

A knock on your door made you jump once more, but you settled when you saw it was just Jisoo checking on you. She looked you over in concern, her eyebrows furrowed and lips pouted. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you have another nightmare?”

Jisoo and you had met about six months ago. Your previous roommate, Lisa, had moved in with her girlfriend, and unfortunately, you could no longer afford the rent. After weeks of searching, you finally saw a flyer on campus advertising a room for rent on Elm Street. It wasn’t too far from where you had been living, and the rent was ridiculously cheap. So you went to meet the flyer’s owner.

Of course you were hesitant to live with a complete stranger, but after meeting Jisoo, you were pleasantly surprised. She seemed responsible and caring, immediately greeting you with a, ‘It’s so nice to meet you! Have you eaten?’ And as you lived together, you learned that, like you, Jisoo loved video games and snacks—particularly a good burger, ice cream, and iced americanos. The only quirk you really noticed was how much the girl slept. Truth be told, there were days you didn’t think she even left her bed. But regardless, she was an amazing roommate and became a fast friend.

“I’m okay, Soo…” You sighed, standing slowly. You felt a bit dizzy; you always did after those nightmares. And your back stung where your sleep shirt brushed against it. There would be scratches; you were sure of it… There always were when those horrible nails caught you. “And yeah… Another one…”

She pouted at you, “Aw… Do you want to talk about it, precious?”

“Not this time, I just really need to get a shower and to class…” You gathered your bathroom items, but noticed Jisoo still hovered in your door. “Did you need something, Soo?”

“Hm?” She had been staring at you blankly, but at your question, her eyes widened, “Oh, no… I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out this evening? But maybe if you’ve been having such bad nightmares, you should get some extra rest… Head to bed early, precious. I’m worried about you.”

You nodded in agreement, and Jisoo gave you one last pouty smile before heading to her own room.

🎃

The day passed quickly with your classes keeping you adequately distracted from the creepy visions that were floating in the back of your mind. However, before you knew it, night had fallen again, and you laid in your bed more exhausted than that morning.

You tried to keep your eyes open for as long as possible, hoping that it would somehow ward away the nightmares, but eventually you succumbed to the darkness.

And once again you found yourself in a smoky hallway with unending doors. Something was different though. This hall wasn’t neverending with more and more halls attached to empty rooms. It wasn’t a messy maze meant for you to be chased through. It was a single path.

The doors—all still open—were nothing but a black abyss when you peeked through them, as if in a video game that hadn’t finished rendering an area. You meandered slowly, as quietly as you could, down the singular hallway. One door stood at the end, closed, with light beaming through.

The door looked so familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen it. Breathing out steadily and building your nerve, you slowly turned the handle. It surprised you that it was unlocked, but it terrified you when you saw what was inside.

The room was yours. You stared down at yourself, asleep in bed. You had passed out with the light on, that’s why there was light beaming through…

How was this possible? How were you awake but asleep? Could you wake yourself up from here? What was going on?

You took a gentle step toward your bed, barely brushing a finger over your cheek before long nails swiped down your back. You cried out in pain, watching your sleeping doppelganger whimper as well, and whirled around to find the culprit.

Cackling.

The laughter echoed and bounced down the hall, beckoning you to follow. To finally solve the mystery of your tormentor. To finally end your nightmare.

You ran.

Not away from it like you normally would. No, you ran towards the demon. It was time to face whatever was haunting you. This was a dream. A nightmare. It couldn’t actually hurt you… right?

Your steps faltered at the thought. You reached back and felt the wetness of your shirt where you had bled into it from the demon’s cut marks.

“C’mon Y/N… Don’t you want to chase me?” The voice floated from one of the open doors, no longer a black abyss behind it. “Don’t you want to solve your little mystery?”

You glared down the hall before making up your mind. You sprinted back towards your room, reaching your bed and shaking yourself awake. When you grabbed your own shoulders, you could feel the raised skin on the other you. “No! Stop that!” The voice screamed getting closer. It reminded you of someone, but you didn’t have time to dwell. You lifted your hand and struck across your own cheek, the slap reverberating and hurting the “awake” you as well. But it did the trick. “I won’t let you win!”

As you jolted awake, the pain hit you like a train. It took all you could to not scream or cry out. Instead, you scrambled out of bed and locked your bedroom door.

You couldn’t stay here.

“I won’t let you win!”

The last words you heard before you woke up bounced around your mind.

You had heard those words more than once during late night gaming sessions.

Your roommate was your nightmare.

Which wouldn’t normally freak you out so much except for the fact that you had really never had nightmares, or even dreams, before you moved here. Except for the fact that your hand and your cheek were stinging from that slap. Except for the fact that the gashes on your back and the tears in your shirt were definitely made by your nightmare’s nails.

With a heavy breath, and silent tears streaming, you threw together a duffel bag. You hadn’t heard Jisoo stirring about the kitchen yet and knew now was your chance to escape.

Moving in here had always seemed too perfect. Now you suspected why. You needed to get out.

Even if you were crazy. Making it all up in your head. You didn’t think you could face Jisoo in this mindset. Her voice, her laugh, her perfect manicure. It would trigger you.

“Just a few days…” You whispered as you slipped out of your room and darted for the front door. You hesitated, turning to look down the hallway towards her room, but shook your head and left.

You were probably being irrational. There’s no way she was somehow controlling your dreams, and even if she was, why would she have any reason to? But, you needed to feel safe right now, and unfortunately, you just didn’t in that apartment. Jisoo would understand…

🎃

You weren’t being irrational.

After your spontaneous trip to your parents’ house an hour away, the nightmares stopped. The strange cuts and injuries stopped. The fear stopped.

Jisoo had promptly messaged you that morning asking your whereabouts, and you had lied about a family emergency. She had left you on read.

Now, you were sure you weren’t crazy, and you were also sure you needed to move.

You had researched what had been happening to you. At first, you simply found a lot of articles and blogs to decipher dream meanings, but then that led to studies on sleep paralysis, which led you to old folklore about “dream demons.”

Mares—also called maere, mara, mahr, mahrts, and marts—in old Germanic, Anglo-Saxon, and Norse folklore were evil spirits that would sneak into people’s rooms at night and give them bad dreams to drain their vitality while they slept and feed on their victims’ fear. They were known for their psychological and physical abuse of humans, going so far as to injure them in their dreams, which would manifest in real life. Some even would commit murder, killing the victim in their nightmare, which killed them in the waking world as well.

Spiraling down the rabbit hole of your research, you found a blog thread of someone claiming that their aunt was the victim of a dream demon in the ‘80s. Some child-murderer named Freddy had made a pact with the demonic entities. They bestowed their power to him in exchange for his help to cross over into reality.

Of course the thread was bashed by other commenters saying that the man they were referencing was killed in a fire in the late ‘60s, and they were just trying to tell scary stories.

The story, though, sounded familiar enough to you that you believed them. Right down to the location’s name… Elm Street.

Fuck. You definitely weren’t crazy. Even though you kind of wish you were.

You really needed to move. You needed to get out of that place. You needed to get away from “Jisoo,” or whatever her name really was.

But you didn’t want to go back. You couldn’t. You were afraid if you stepped foot in that apartment again, she’d never let you leave.

No, instead, you would send some movers or something to pack up your things. It seemed reasonable. You would call them first thing in the morning.

You just needed to get some sleep.

You needed to rest.

And in the morning, this would all be over.

You’d be away from that demon.

“I thought I told you that you can’t get away from me, Y/N.” Jisoo walked towards you menacingly.

You tried to back away, but the hallway seemed to continue stretching on and on. More open doors, more empty rooms, all leading back to the same long misty hallway. She continued to stalk towards you, hands raising up, her nails looked longer than you’d ever seen, and sharp enough that they were cutting into the plaster. She was going to kill you. She was going to shred you to bits. You were fucked.

As if reading your thoughts, her lips curled into a horrifying smile. “That’s right, precious. Be afraid. Your distress tastes delicious~”

You wanted to scream; you wanted to run. But suddenly, you found that the hallway had shortened to a small box, the doors had all disappeared, and Jisoo stood in front of you. Her normally well-manicured nails stretched into long, knife-like claws.

“I told you I always win here, Y/N. Your nightmares are my creations. My realm. I control what happens here. I feed off your fear. But if you think you can just run away, you are so, so wrong.” Jisoo was furious, and she had you cornered.

You had thought you could escape her in the waking world, but her connection to you was too strong. You had lost before you even knew you were a part of her game.

She stepped closer to you, and you pressed your back against the cold, solid cement. There was nowhere to go. You really were fucked this time around. All you could do was try to calm your erratic heart and not feed into the fear any further. But that was easier said than done when you felt her grasping your wrists. Her grip was stronger than you thought possible, and you were sure you could feel your bones on the brink of fracture.

One of her hands trailed up your arm, almost as if caressing you, but the pointed ends of her nails left clean slices in their wake. Your blood gently spilled in small rivulets, dripping down your arm in a mirror to the tears streaming your cheeks.

“It’s only a dream…” You cried helplessly as her hand wrapped around your neck, her razor nails beginning to press into your artery. “A nightmare!” Jisoo closed in, whispering right in your ear as she had done so many times before to terrorize you and feed on your fear. “Come to Jisoo, precious.”

#blackpink #kim jisoo #reader #kim jisoo x reader #blackpink x reader #horror #college au #nightmare on elm street au #oneshot #fictober

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teenagefeeling · 11 months ago

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i've seen a few polls like this floating around this website and you all know me, i simply must make my own

#honestly? banger job spotify algorithm this skyrocketed me right tf back to high school #some of these i even listened to in middle school #also honorable mention to that's what i like by bruno mars which didn't fit in the poll #but i do have fond (if vague) memories of hearing when it came out #bri babbles

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leam1983 · 1 year ago

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Oblivion

So. Tomorrow, we're flying back home.

Seven days. A week spent with a small legion at my beck and call, bending to Walt's every whim, acceeding to Sarah's every request. One massive kitchen divided between four dining rooms, serving up everything from Americano-Mexican tentpoles to recomposed would-be Taino dishes, with a buffet where passable is the order of the day. Mornings were bland Continental breakfast affairs, but the evenings shone brightly, capstoned with the best cigars I've had in the last three years and the best damn Cappuccino in a decade.

Seven days realizing that an army is re-making my bed, giving me clean sheets every morning and fresh towels on the dot, showing extreme deference for my walker-using ass. A little cohort of maids paid Cheap Labor wages to smile, respond to everything with Es mi placer, señor, and pushed into treating USD tips in the single digits like they're Godly gifts.

You can bet that Walt was so appalled by this he starting leaving twenties. "These poor girls - cleaning up people's shit and vomit after the douchebags three doors down the hall spend the evening getting plastered on Mojitos - and not an ounce of gratitude!"

People started asking questions. Our passable Spanish led to us forming basic bonds with the staff, and turned our little bungalow in the Adults Only section into the talk of the resort. People with less manners started asking for drinks delivery and had to handle polite rebuffs, where we got the sense that the Room Service people were starting to network with the Pool Bar guys to figure out our schedule of preferred drinks.

Eventually, what had to happen happened. My feet were so swollen I couldn't put on my closed-toes shoes for the evening, as the dress code requests, but the staff didn't bat an eyelash when i wheeled in, looking like someone's favourite Math teacher, with socks and sandals. A Karen whose husband had completely overlooked the dress code was shocked.

"Why does he get to head inside dressed like this, and my husband can't?"

Yamilet, 23, born and raised in Santo Domingo and using the thankless job of the French Cuisine-oriented dining room's maître d' to pay her way through nursing school when she's not in church, gave her a Crest commercial-worthy smile.

Is un especial guest. Disculpe - see his legs. Mira?

For once in my life, I was happy to be singled out as disabled.

What really emerged from this is how gratitude really is crucial, when you're travelling. Everyone I heard who spouted variations on "having paid for the right to do whatever they wanted" received piss-poor service. Everyone who lowered their voice in a corridor, who showed basic deference and treated the staff like human beings received distinctly improved treatment. It wasn't just us - we noticed several other cultural groups in the resort, and I was actually thankful to draw a clear line between the nice Americans - and the douchebags.

In open spaces like the buffet, it's kind of impossible not to eavesdrop. If you're on vacation and you're still griping about your Democrat neighbours when you're halfway across the hemisphere from your point of origin, you're coloring your entire stay. The Trumptards who demanded service came in pissed off, stayed ornery and left irate. Anyone else, from anywhere else in the world, who politely asked, language barriers be damned, got what they asked for.

The Semester-Enders were hard to miss, too. Sixteen kids in total, barely in their twenties, who'd clearly pooled cash to rent swim-up suites together, and who turned the All-Ages section of the pool into a nightmare. There wasn't an inch of it that wasn't their private Football Toss area, and no resort-provided pool float that they just didn't claim for themselves.

It allowed for a sense of liminality to settle in. On one end of the more or less football-field-length of pool, you had pure chaos. On the other, placid waters, where the Adults Only club and our bungalow was located. I recovered the float I'd bought for myself, one of the Spring Breakers giving me a florid-faced and pleading look.

"Come on, bro!"

I gestured towards the back. "You've got seven other floats, over there, plus an inflatable mattress. I bought this one and brought it here. As it's my possession, I'd like to use it."

He chuckled meanly. "Nobody cares, man."

Christopher, 27, from Bàvàro, gave the guy a level look while climbing down from his lifeguard chair. "Everything okay, señores?"

"Me? Oh, everything's swell, Chris. It's the gentleman over there that's operating under weird delusions."

Chris nodded, his facial language obvious. Another one of those, huh? I nodded.

He smiled. No te preocupas, amigo.

The kid's response stuck with me. Nobody cares. Is this why some people work so much, hustle their way to a therapist and then book a week off to someplace where there's palapas, Afro-Cuban covers of Celine Dion classics and drinks that would make a medicated diabetes sufferer scream in abject terror? You put your ass to the grindstone and your only hope of recovery is to find a place, however theoretical, where nobody gives a shit?

Walt, Sarah and I brainstormed. We planned ahead. We rested aplenty, sure, and napped even more than we do back home - but this place energized us. We were free to create, and spent a week being the best versions of ourselves that we could possibly be.

For other people? It's apparently Adult Daycare. You get up at nine past the breakfast buffet's closure, complain that you can't get any service, throw yourself on yesterday evening's pizza, knock back cocktails starting at 11 AM and end up throwing up in the kiddie pool by 5 PM. You throw a fit because the pool boys had the gall to lift your limp ass out of the wading area before you could drown yourself while passed-out in a puddle-sized expanse of water. Because you're in your twenties, your brush with death is all but forgotten by 8 PM, and you head to the lobby's bar to knock back tequila shots with your fellow jabronis. The wee hours see you treating the public hallways like your personal hangout space, exchanging football huddle cries with equally-inebriated kids with no sense of their own mortality.

To all this should be added the resort's sense of liminality. If you forget your optimal route to your room, you'll end up in an entirely different resort. Pools look the same, everything's connected, and everyone feels transitory, obviously. It's the ersatz of a place. It's as impersonal as a hotel, except the staff are all stuck under a pall of fake-ass exoticism they can't shed. The equator line being so close means days are blisteringly hot and painfully short. By 7 PM, the sun's all but gone - and we're in May.

Nobody stays. Nobody leaves an impression. I've regaled Yamilet and Christopher with tales of La Banquise and of Schwartz' smoked meat or the bagel bakeries on St-Viateur - but I'll forget their faces just as they'll forget mine. We spent a week treating one another like culturally Latin brethren - Québécois deference having always meshed well with Cuban and Dominican confidence - but we won't remember one another in short order.

Single-serving friends, as Pahlaniuk once said.

I might as well head to the gift shop, swallow my pride and see if there's a tee-shirt on offer that reads I went to the Carribbean, and all I got for it was a lousy sunburn.

#thoughts #life post #vacationblr

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