AI could never recreate the spirit of a teenage girl with a shitty editing app
cherry valley forever
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@markleessodalite
AI could never recreate the spirit of a teenage girl with a shitty editing app
imo the term "walkable" in "walkable cities" should be understood to mean "wheelchair accessible" as well, not just literally "possible to walk in". the act of walking in a city doesn't automatically make it walkable
What do you mean “chat” is now referring to ChatGPT and not twitch chat? What? What? What the fuck? No?
When I address chat I am speaking to a presumed Greek chorus of real human people shitposting on their lunch break, not a machine that devours lakes to covert electricity into slop.
Shonen protagonists aren’t as bisexual as they were in the 90s. We need to fix this.
Especially since yaoi ships are at an all-time high. The audiences crave for the sheer bisexual energy Yusuke gave off in Yu Yu Hakusho.
it’s so magical and beautiful that there are sprawling interconnected cave systems carved deep into the earth by various geological forces and you don’t have to go in them. there are miles and miles of stone passageways in total darkness that require you to exhale all the air out of your lungs to squeeze through parts of them and you don’t have to be there. some of these squeezes are underwater and require cave divers to take off their oxygen tanks and push them through ahead of them and me i am above ground looking at the sky as we speak. there are untold subterranean wonders no human has ever seen and i will not be the one to discover them #grateful #blessed
file -> phrases that are going to shift something in me forever
your boyfriend, mark lee, lets out a shaky “yo, lets get it!” , voice cracking before gripping your face and slamming his lips on to yours
Your House: n.jm
content: still reeling from your sudden breakup with Jaemin, and against your better judgement, you find yourself entering his apartment when he's not home.
warnings: angst, no happy ending, fem!reader, maybe stalkerish vibes? reader enters Jaemin's home without him knowing so huge invasion of privacy, reader is lowk creepy in this and i do not encourage this behavior!! don't do this
word count: 1.9k
a/n: i literally have a list of wips that i'm trying to get done... and yet... i wrote this in an hour instead. But writing in this style and using the lyrics in this way is actually really fun and i feel like i wanna do it again lol
Currently Listening: Your House- Alanis Morrissette
“I went to your house, walked up the stairs, and opened the door without ringing the bell”
You didn’t miss how his neighbor, the cute old lady who always gave him leftover breads she baked for her children’s visits, watched you in confusion as you approached his door. Even she knew you didn’t belong here anymore. As much as she seemed to like you, always telling Jaemin he finally found a good one, always gushing about how cute you two were when you held hands all the way down the stairs. Even she thought it was strange you were here now. But, much to your surprise, she didn’t try to stop you. She didn’t say “he’s not home right now” or ask “what are you thinking” or “silly girl, what are you doing to yourself? This will only hurt you more. Go home.” Maybe she expected you to have enough sense to stop yourself.
“I shouldn’t be here, without permission, I shouldn’t be here”
But nothing could stop you at this point. You didn’t put much thought into this, or any thought for that matter. You were tired of thinking. Of trying to figure out why things ended the way they did. Why it had to end at all. You didn’t want to think. You had been thinking and overthinking so much the past few months, and yet not thinking at all when you found yourself making your way to Jaemin’s apartment.
The fact you remembered the code to unlock his door, after all these months of never stepping foot anywhere near this building. The familiar click as it shuts behind you. Kicking your shoes off, leaving them neatly beside his shoe shelf, because you remember how it annoyed him when you left them in a pile by the door.
Even the cats look at you strangely. They don’t jump from their resting spots to rub their slender bodies against your legs like they used to. Jaemin liked taking videos of the cats greeting you that way. You wonder how long it took him to delete them.
“I took off my clothes, put on your robe, went through your drawers and I found your cologne”
You slipped out of your oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans, laying them neatly on Jaemin’s bed. The bed where you shared so much of yourself with him. He told you once, out of the blue, he loved when you wore baggy clothes. You looked so cute, and he liked being the only one who had seen what was underneath them. You realize you still have so many of his shirts in your closet. Maybe if you were a little less hurt you would have brought them with you to return them.
But if you were any less hurt, you wouldn’t be here anyway.
You shed your body of your underwear, which now join the rest of your clothing on the bed. You grab Jaemin’s robe off the door of his attached bathroom. Before tying it, you rummage through his dresser drawers to find his bottle of Invictus. You weren’t even sure if he still had it– it wasn’t a scent he usually wore until you mentioned how much you loved it on him. How you could happily drown in the scent of him when he would apply it and then pull you in for a tight hug.
He still has the bottle. Its a little less than half-full, the same way it looked before the break-up. Has he not used it since?
You spray it on the inside of the robe and tie it tightly around you, the woodsy scent overflowing your senses and flooding your mind with memories of laying bare in his bed, head on his chest and legs intertwined as the smell of that cologne lingered on his skin after a day’s wear.
“I shouldn’t stay long, you might be home soon, I shouldn’t stay long”
It won’t take long. You promised yourself. You didn’t need much. You just needed a moment, just to remember, just to have one last feeling of comfort and familiarity. One last feeling of what was ripped from you so abruptly. Maybe you were blind, maybe you just didn’t notice, but apparently he had noticed enough for him to break up with you without warning. Three years of love, down the drain before you could turn the water off. The person you loved for three years, gone from in front of you in the blink of an eye. Apparently he didn't want you here anymore. You won’t stay long. He doesn’t want you here.
“Would you forgive me love, if I stay all afternoon?”
… even so, a little part of you demands to be treated better. You deserve more than that. You deserve to stay as long as you want, to stay until you feel some sort of closure that Jaemin denied you.
“I burned your incense, I ran a bath, I noticed a letter that sat on your desk”
After sitting on his bed, staring at nothing, letting your mind wander to far away places, your skin felt dry from the tears seeping into your cheeks and drying like the sparse rainfall in a desert. You rub your eyes, run a hand through your hair, not remembering when you last washed it. Your eyes won’t stop brimming with tears, which you blame on the smell of the cologne. You’ve found it so hard to focus since Jaemin left you. Most of your days have been consumed by episodes of spacing out, thinking about nothing except the sinking feeling in your stomach and the tiredness behind your eyes. The black cloud that hangs over your head, the rain falling from it saturating your mind, leaving you incapable of concerning yourself with anything that requires more than a moment’s thought. Jaemin used to compliment you on how well you multitask, but it seems these days, if you could even focus at all, it would only be on one thing that threatened to end the world if it wasn’t attended to.
And right now, the only earth-shattering thought on your mind was the desperate need to drown out the smell of this cologne, seeped in too many memories.
You make your way to the end table next to the bathroom door, opening the box where he keeps his extensive incense collection. You were never really a fan of incense; they all smelled the same to you, and smelled way too strong. But right now, their usage was more of necessity than desire. Jaemin was always kind enough not to burn them if you were coming over.
You go to his bathtub, the absence of your shampoo and body wash feeling like a punch to the gut. How quickly did he discard them? He always insisted he didn't mind keeping some of your things at his place. “You’re here so much anyway you might as well move in completely,” he’d say. Yet here you stand, in his robe, using his comb to detangle your hair, your own toiletries nowhere in sight.
You watch as the water fills the tub. You liked taking baths at Jaemin’s place. Your cheap apartment’s bathroom wasn’t big enough for a decent sized tub. Compared to that, Jaemin’s apartment always felt luxurious. You continue to blink back tears, refusing to let them fall. Your eyes themselves felt exhausted from months of constant crying. Sometimes secret sobs, other times bone-crushing, breath-stealing, blinding fits of wailing that left your throat hoarse.
You walk around as you wait for the tub to fill, hoping to distract yourself by focusing on the movement of your legs. You wonder if there was any of his neighbor’s bread in the kitchen. She usually made sweet breads. You don’t feel like eating anything sweet. You’re reminded again of the fact you shouldn’t even be here. Shouldn’t be in his robe, wasting his cologne, using his bath. Everything here belongs to him, and he doesn’t belong to you anymore. You have no right to be annoyed that his neighbor didn’t make savory bread.
You make your way back to the tub, noticing a letter that occupies his otherwise tidy desk. A small strip of clear tape at the top attaches it to the surface, as if he wants to be reminded of its contents. You turn off the faucet, steam rising from the scalding water, before curiosity pulls you back to your former lover’s desk.
The letter is signed with a heart at the bottom, no name. It must be obvious who its from. It strikes you that it could very well be from you. You often signed with just a simple heart– writing your name was wasted time when he always knew who it was from. Your heart flutters at the idea of Jaemin keeping a letter from you, the same way it fluttered when you saw he kept a small note from you in his wallet but never told you. Maybe he still has that note in his wallet. Maybe he still has a lot of your things. Maybe he just used your bodywash and shampoo until it ran out, maybe he wanted to smell you. Maybe he just kept your things in a box in the closet so he could pull it out easily whenever he wanted to remember. Maybe he kept this letter from you because maybe the breakup was just a fluke. Maybe he was missing you just as much as you missed him.
You run your fingers over the letter, failing to stop yourself from reading.
“Jaemin, my dear, you know how much I love you, right? Sometimes I feel like I could drown in it. Won’t you meet me after work tonight? I know we just saw each other days ago, but I can’t help myself from missing you.”
You felt sick to your stomach.
It wasn’t your handwriting.
“It wasn’t my writing, I better go, it wasn’t my writing”
You step back from his desk, almost falling onto his bed behind you.
It wasn’t your letter.
You sit on his bed, ball your fists in your lap, swallowing back your spit until your mouth dried out. You bit your lip until the chapped skin bled.
It wasn’t your letter.
As it seems to have done so often lately, your body switches to autopilot. Your wobbly legs carry you to the bathtub, yanking the drain up to let the water escape. You throw his combs back into his mirror cabinet. You tear off his robe, hastily hanging it back on the door, throwing your t-shirt on as you run to his closet.
It wasn’t your letter.
You pull a pair of his sweatpants out of the drawer, pulling them on in place of your own jeans, wadding the jeans up with your forgotten underwear in a sloppy ball of fabric to carry under your arm. You blow out the incense in one swift breath, hoping Jaemin won’t notice that your fallen tears had soaked the ends of some of the sticks. You pass the desk with the letter to get to his dresser.
The letter. It wasn’t your letter.
You grab the bottle of Invictus and tuck it into your wadded clothing.
You pass the cats on your way to the door, their once warm and playful eyes now coldly staring at you as if you were a stranger invading their home. You slip your shoes on and quickly let yourself out, the slamming of the door stealing the attention of the elderly neighbor again. You could have sworn she said your name, softly, concerned, but your vision was blurred, and your mind was focused on getting back to your car.
It wasn’t your letter.
“So forgive me love, if I cry all afternoon”
Go Home: n.jm
content: classmate!jaemin has got it in his head that you're meant to be, but you have a different idea. college au, angst, no happy ending
warnings: explicit language, depictions of hookup culture, sexually suggestive (not explicit), jaem might come off a little creepy? and y/n might come off a little mean, lots of drinking/ being drunk, jokes about stalking
word count: 2.2k
Currently Listening: Remembering Sunday - All Time Low
“Someone was looking for you, y/n.”
You downed the final shot that you were gonna let your friends pressure you into drinking tonight, wincing at the lingering burn in your throat. “Who?”
“Uh, that one tall guy with the biceps… Jaemin, I think?”
You roll your eyes so far they could have gotten stuck behind your brain, but that was partly the alcohol giving you extra attitude. Jaemin’s a nice guy. You like him well enough– as a friend. But ever since the last party your friend threw, where you and him had a brief drunken kiss that didn’t go any further, he seems to have gotten the idea that you were destined to be together or something cheesy like that.
Jaemin’s a nice guy, but he’s stubborn as hell.
“Fine, fine– hey!” you tear yourself from your friend as she tries to shove another shot into your hand. “I’m gonna go find him– will you two watch her? She’s crazy.” You command your other friends to take care of the one who could barely balance in her heels.
You make your way through the house, bulldozing your way through drunken men jeering at each other and drunken women laughing too loud, looking for the one guy who would be sober (because, as he says, he doesn’t need to drink anymore. He’s already drunk in love. Ugh). You reach the stairs, aided by the push of some particularly tall guys who don’t seem to have noticed you at all.
You had a feeling that Jaemin would be in the same bedroom as last time. The bedroom he had just happened to be taking a breather in when you stumbled in, decided he was attractive enough to satisfy your hook-up quota for the night, and convinced him to do just that– although he didn’t need much convincing. Unfortunately you were much drunker than you thought and ended up running out of the room mid-kiss to avoid vomiting on his shoes.
You sigh as you reach the top of the stairs, staring at the floor until the dizziness goes away. You look up to see Jaemin, standing in that stuffy bedroom, smiling as if he’d just been given a kitten for Christmas.
“Y/n! I’ve been looking for you!”
“Yeah, I heard… oh God–” you nearly slam your face on the door frame trying to make your way to him, but he’s got an arm under yours before you can cause any grievous bodily injury to yourself, guiding you to sit on the bed.
“Here, drink.” He hands you a bottled water.
“Its open already…”
“Well, yeah, I was drinking it, but you obviously are in desperate times right now.” He removes the cap for you, as if you’re too helpless to do it yourself. Still with his goofy smile. “Here, try to sober up a little. I need you at least slightly coherent while I profess my love for you.”
“God, Jaemin,” you hiccup, “don’t you know when to give up?”
“Not at all. Did you get my message this morning?”
“Uh… yeah? I think so? The one about the movie?” You hang your head, forcing the water that was trying to come back up to stay down.
“Yeah! You like those early 2000’s rom-coms, right? I was thinking we could watch it and then–”
“Jaem, I don’t think you get it.” You hand him the now empty water bottle. “That kiss– *hicc*... that kiss we had, it wasn’t, like, serious. You know that right?”
“I know you think that, sure.”
“It was meant to be a one night stand kinda thing… until I threw up I mean.”
“You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re drunk.”
“Shut up, Jaemin.”
“I’m serious! You’re here telling me I’m not supposed to like you, but you’re looking so cute and acting all cute, how could I not like you?” He smiles at you, even as you hop off the bed with a huff, annoyed that he’s not taking you seriously.
“We’re not gonna be a thing, Jaemin.” You turn on your heels to rejoin the party.
“Be sure to eat something! Don’t drink on an empty stomach, y/nie!”
“Go home, Jaemin.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Do you need a receipt?”
“Ooh, look at you working so hard.” You tease your friend as she playfully slams the register drawer shut and hands you your energy drink. “Who knew you had it in you to do anything besides get blackout drunk.”
“Fuck you.” She laughs, before her eyes fall on something far behind you. Something that makes her smile and lift her eyebrows back at you. “Uh-oh, y/n, looks like your little puppy found you.”
“Huh?” You follow her pointing finger to see Jaemin, walking with way too much pep in his step for someone with a 9am class. “Oh… do you think I have time to escape?”
“Fat chance, he already spotted you.”
You sigh, turning around to meet him halfway.
“Hey y/n! How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Did you sleep well? You got a little wild last night.”
“I wasn’t that drunk, Jaemin.”
“Uh-huh…” his eyes fall to the cold can in your hand. “So, that energy drink isn’t yours, then?”
It would probably have been easier to get rid of Jaemin if you weren’t already friends– or at least some vague friend-ish kind of acquaintances. Your ‘friendship’ didn’t reach any heights beyond saving each other from boredom in class and giving each other notes on missed days, but that was still enough for him to learn that you only drink energy drinks when you’re particularly drained from a night of partying.
“I’m choosing to ignore that.” You rub your temple with your free hand, which makes Jaemin smile, for some reason.
“Let me walk you to class, I don’t think I can trust you to not walk directly into traffic.”
“You’re not gonna hold my hand when we cross the street.”
“Well yeah, you need to hold your drink.”
You audibly groan at his absurdity, but he just waits for you to start walking with him, purposefully not stepping away when your shoulders bump together with each step.
“Jaemin.”
“Yeah?”
“You know we’re just friends, right? Like, barely even friends, actually. We just have a class together. That's it.”
“We’ve literally kissed.”
“We’re just classmates who had one drunk kiss. That’s it.”
“For now, yeah.”
“No, for forever.”
He holds the door open for you as you enter the classroom. “So should we do something after your last class today? I can wait for you.”
“No. Go home, Jaemin.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Someone was looking for you, y/n.”
You and your friends audibly groan in unison, earning laughter from the strangers gathered around the snacks alongside you. People you had only ever seen at these parties, didn’t know anything about them beyond the fact that they liked to party. That was the first thing Jaemin learned about you, that you liked to party, and now he had a habit of looking for you at any party.
“You have got to cut that poor boy loose.” Your friend delicately places a chip in her mouth, in stark contrast to the girl beside her shotgunning a beer.
“I’ve tried! I told him a million times to leave me alone.”
“Its been like, what, four weeks of this?”
“Almost six.” You scan over the crowd, trying and failing to spot your not-so-secret admirer. He must be upstairs. Just waiting for you. So faithfully and loyally, and stupidly. “Lowkey might get a restraining order.”
“Hey, hey, forget him for a sec,” your friend grabs your shoulder, turning you around to see a tall, muscular man with dark hair and dark features who was eyeing you up and down. “Check this guy out. Not bad for your quota, right?”
“Unless he also gets the bright idea to stalk me after we hook up.” You can’t help but feel flattered at this guy’s blatant silent flirting, egging you on to go upstairs with him. Who are you to say no? “Alright, I’ll be back later.”
“20 bucks says he lasts 2 minutes.”
“30 and he’s a crier.”
“Shut up!” you laugh at your two friends before throwing back one last shot for good luck and joining the man as he leads you upstairs. You don’t even know his name, and you prefer it that way. On your way to the staircase, you feel a gentle grip on your arm.
“Y/nie, I was looking for you–” Jaemin stops mid sentence, finally registering who was holding onto your other arm. “Oh, uhm… what’s this?”
“This isn’t your boyfriend, is it?” The stranger finally speaks, sounding quite annoyed, as if he has a history of hooking up with taken girls and had been beaten up one too many times as a consequence.
“No, no, he’s nobody.” You purposefully ignore the kicked-puppy look on Jaemin’s face as you warn him sternly under your breath.
“Go home, Jaemin.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A sticky feeling in your mouth accompanied by a pounding in your brain finally woke you up. The sunlight berating your window made you wince, temporarily blinding you so you couldn’t even register that you somehow made it to your own bed amidst last night’s chaos. You pat around your nightstand, then your pillow, then amongst the pile of blankets covering your exhausted body until you find your phone– completely blown up with texts from your friends.
-so, how was he? -pls tell me he cried i have 30 bucks riding on this -girl u got jaemin pissedddd lmao -no way you hooked up with a rando and let jaemin take you home, fucking brutal lol
You groan out loud, the nauseous feeling in your stomach getting worse. No fucking way. There was no way Jaemin brought you back to your dorm after you slept with another guy. After you told him to go home. How did he even know where your room was? You roll over, smushing your dry face into your pillow. Desperately in need of some moisturizer. And some water. And a good teeth brushing. You feel disgusting, and the pounding in your head won’t go away. It just keeps getting worse. And louder somehow?
“SOMEBODY ANSWER THEIR FUCKING DOOR!” You hear someone in another room scream through the walls. It takes your cloudy mind a second to realize they’re yelling at you and the pounding in your brain is actually someone relentlessly knocking on your door.
You drag yourself out of your bed, immediately losing balance and catching yourself on your dresser. By some miracle you can’t explain you make it to the door, opening it to see the last person you want to deal with in your hungover state.
“You’re seriously crossing the line from lovesick crush to stalker territory.”
“Y/n, I was worried. How are you feeling?” Jaemin watches you stumble on your own feet, concern easily read on his face. No flirtiness. No playfulness. None of his usual Jaemin personality is present anymore. It was a weird way to see him. You didn’t like it. Seeing him this worried felt too intimate for you. You shouldn’t be seeing him like this.
“Like shit.” Your hand flies up to your mouth. Your breath smelled like death. How was Jaemin still trying to talk to you like this?
“Let me take care of you. I know how to make this hangover drink–”
“God, Jaemin– can you just…” you run your hand through your hair, the volume of your own voice hurting your ears. “Can you shut the fuck up for once? Please.”
For once, Jaemin doesn’t laugh at you. He doesn’t smirk the way he does when you get crabby, something he, for whatever reason, always found cute. For once, he does exactly what you say. “...okay.”
You sigh, your stomach doing flips, trying to push its contents back up into your throat. “Jaemin, get over it. We are not dating, we will never date, there is nothing going on here.”
“I get it.”
“Clearly you don’t get it! Why else are you still standing here?”
“Because I was just concerned for you. As a friend.” He still isn’t laughing, still isn’t smiling. “It has nothing to do with my crush on you.”
“Stop having a crush on me!” You lean against the door frame, half-expecting Jaemin to reach out and prop you up with his muscular arms, but he doesn’t move an inch. “You know, Jaemin, even if I did think you were cute, I wasn’t looking for anything with you. It was one kiss. And you won’t fucking let it go.” You pause, just for a moment, just to gauge his reaction. Nothing. “I don’t want you, Jaemin. You’re way too much for me. I don’t need you to look for me at every party, I don’t need you to walk me to class, I don’t need you to make me your stupid hangover drink! I need you to leave me alone!”
Jaemin is still frozen in front of your door. You’re two seconds away from further chastising when he finally clears his throat, stifling something you can’t identify, but that he obviously doesn’t want you to notice.
“Alright.”
He looks down the left hallway, as if he’s trying to spot something or someone. But even in your half-alive state, you know better. He’s just avoiding your hateful glare.
“I guess I’ll go home now.” You shut the door before he can even start walking away. Before he can look at you one last time. Without telling him goodbye. Wondering if this time he actually will go home.
oh so you want me
I Would Have: h.rj
content: a random conversation with your friend and ex-lover ends with you getting a harsh slap of reality... but in a way, you had it coming.
warnings: former fwb!renjun, angst, hurt/ no comfort, suggestive but not explicit, renjun is lowk funny but seriously there is no happy ending here, reader has fears about growing old, mentions of disability (?) that comes with aging
word count: 1k
a/n: why oh why... everytime I write for Renjun or Jeno it comes out angsty?? i just can't help myself hehe
“There was just… something about it that got to me. I don’t know.” You pull at the loose thread of your blouse sleeve, knowing you should leave it alone until you get home where you can just cut it off, but your mind was heavy somewhere else.
Renjun simply nods, neither of you looking at each other. Staring ahead at the city lights visible from your mutual friend’s balcony. It wasn’t anything unnatural for the pair of you to escape from the heat and volume of the party inside for a few moments of genuine, friend to friend connection. Friends who have known each other for years, been through more than a few experiences together.
You exhale deeply. “It made me sad to see it.”
“Why?” Renjun crosses his arms lazily over his chest, his head resting against the back of his chair as he keeps looking toward the city. “Usually, seeing an elderly couple having lunch together would be heartwarming. Its cute.”
“He had to feed her.”
“So?”
“He had to feed her.”
“He loves her. Its nice.”
“There’s nothing nice about losing your motor skills, Renjun.” You playfully scold him like a kindergarten teacher, making him laugh through his nose. You smile, but it doesn’t hide the concern in your voice as you continue, “I know its sweet, but it still made me sad.”
Renjun pauses. You start counting how many apartments in the next building over have those brightly-colored LED lights visible from their windows.
“Yeah, I guess its sad she can’t feed herself.”
“That’s not even the part that made me sad.”
“At least she has her husband to take care of her.”
“That’s the part that made me sad!” Your hands fly up in exaggeration before plopping back into your lap.
Renjun looks at you, a little confused. Its the same look he’s given you before, many times over. You were always confusing to Renjun. At one point it was fascinating to him, a mystery, something he wanted to figure out, something he wanted to study day in and day out and become an expert on. He questioned your every word, your view on everything.
Most of all, he questioned why you seemed so turned off by the idea of romance, but so incredibly on when it was just the two of you in a dark, cramped closet with nowhere to put your hands except all over each other. He’d wonder why you decided it was him you wanted to spend every night with, so secret and desperate with legs tied up in knots, but the thought of marriage or sharing a future with somebody made you want to throw up. He’d giggle to himself when his friends insisted there was something funny going on between you two, but he never found it funny when he’d wake up in the morning to you already long gone from his bed.
“So… her having help made you sad? You’re kinda twisted.”
“That’s not what I meant!” You playfully slapped his arm. The sharp contact reminded Renjun very briefly of the way you used to touch him, the way he used to touch you, before you decided that you should never touch each other again and whatever funny thing you had going on was over. A decision you gave him no voice in. A touch you haven’t given to each other since.
“Its great that she has that. I’ll never have that…” You pull the thread further out of your sleeve, watching as the seam becomes loose and unraveled.
Renjun finally looks over at you and notices your path of destruction, reaching over and snapping the thread between his fingers to stop any further damage. “Sure you will, some day.”
“Shut up, Renjun,” you snap, “you said so yourself. I’ll never find someone who will stay with me.” You cross your arms in a huff, looking at your former friend- turned lover- turned just friend again, as he simply keeps watching the city.
He couldn’t argue with you. He did say that. And he meant every word of it. You had played your little game with him, keeping him close enough to feel your red hot touch, but far enough to never really reach you. Demanding him in your moments of neediness and boredom, but ignoring him when he longed for something intimate and sweet.
So when you finally drew your game to close, he made sure to tell you that your penchant for a dizzying push and pull would ensure that you stay alone forever, which seemed to be what you wanted anyway.
“Is that what you want?” He asked, no emotion discernable in his expression. “Someone to take care of you?”
“I can take care of myself.” You pull your knees up to your chest, making yourself even smaller on your friend’s flimsy patio chair. The night air doesn’t have any chill to it besides a refreshing summer breeze, yet you feel your body shaking. “But… what if one day I can't anymore? What if I need someone to help me do stuff? What if I can’t feed myself my own soup?”
“Then you’ll find a nursing home or something.”
“Why do other people get life partners and I get a random nurse?”
“That nurse will take care of you.”
“Yeah…” You sigh. “But they won’t care for me.” You wait for a response from your friend, hearing nothing but the frenzy of the house party just beyond the door behind you. You look at Renjun, his jaw noticeably clenched, his eyes focused on some vague obscurity in the distance.
“Junnie?”
He looks at you. “You know I could have done that for you. I would have.”
“... I know.”
You do know. You know that he was head over heels for you. You know that he would have stayed by your side until the end of time. And you know full well that its too late for that now.
Renjun doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t have to, you know what he’s thinking. How dare you refuse to spend an eternity with him, then complain about your eternity being lonely? He simply gets up from his chair, pats out his jeans a bit, and rejoins the party. Leaving you alone– something he said, and you knew, you’d always be.
Empty: p.js
content: you bring your bf!jisung to dinner with your parents, which ends up going horribly wrong (yet exactly how he expected). fem!reader x idol!jisung
warnings: lots of arguing, y/n has lots of family issues (particularly mommy issues), very moody jisung, y/n is kind of lowk not that smart, not a heartwarming moment at any point in this lol
wc: 2.4k
a/n: this kind of fic is pretty out of the realm of what i usually enjoy writing (angst and over 1k words lol) but after watching a particular show for the gazillionth time i was inspired to write this (try and guess what show to get nothing)
You fidget with the hem of your skirt before lacing your fingers together in your lap, forcing a smile as you make awkward eye contact with the sour frown worn by your mother. Her eyes move to the floor as she takes a sip of her wine. You look to your father, who returns an equally forced and awkward smile to you.
“I’m sure he’ll be here any second…” you try to brush off the rigidness of the moment, this setting, the same rigidness you’ve always felt growing up in this rigid house with your rigid parents, but the slight tremble in your voice gives your concern away. Jisung was supposed to meet you at your parents’ house tonight to meet them for the first time– after you begged him for hours on end until he reluctantly agreed.
He had heard plenty of horror stories straight from your own mouth about how cold and unforgiving your parents were. How they never uttered a kind word to you, or placed a comforting hand on you. Rarely looked at you unless they were scolding you for not sitting properly or for talking too much or laughing too loud. Jisung’s jaw was on the floor when you told him that you couldn’t even recognize your father until you were 8 years old because he was always at work or in his home office, and you could only recognize your mother out of fear instinct. You told him how they were ashamed when you couldn’t hack it at your expensive private high school, disappointed when you graduated from a trade school instead of an ivy league university, and how any success you experience that you share with them is met with condescending confusion and passive-aggressive comments about your wasted potential.
So Jisung was more than completely lost when you insisted that he come with you to dinner at your parents’ house. But after you explained that they’re still your parents, and this was important to you, and so on and so on, he promised you he’d be there.
But he didn’t mention that he would be an hour late.
Surely he remembered you warning him about how easy it is to leave a bad impression on your incredibly high-strung parents, right? You told him the exact time he’d be expected there, and even watched as he set a reminder on his phone.
Your father looks out the window, the white blankets of snow seeming a lot warmer than the stiff couch you were sitting on. “He’s probably stuck in this awful weather. I swear, it snows the tiniest bit and suddenly everyone in the area forgets how to drive.”
“A little bit of traffic wouldn’t cause anyone with a working brain to be an hour late.” Your mother sets her wine down, the clink of the glass on the coaster making you wince.
“I’m sure he’s rushing to get here, mom.” You rummage through your purse, looking for your phone. “Maybe I should call–”
“Do not call him, y/n,” your mother scolds you, “if he is driving, you should not distract him with a phone call. It’s dangerous.”
“Sorry.” You place your hands back in your lap. You then remember that he’s taking the subway anyway, so you could call him if you wanted to. But you decide it’s not worth trying to correct your mother.
“Honey, I’m starving.” Your father pours himself another glass of wine.
“We are not eating until y/n’s guest arrives, that’s rude.”
“He’s already an hour late, so I’ve already been hungry for an hour more than necessary.”
“We do not begin eating a meal before the guest arrives, dear.”
“Well I certainly don’t want to wait another hour!”
You ignore your parents bickering and pull out your phone, just to double check if Jisung texted you or tried to call, but it's just the same vague message he sent before.
Practice ran long, frustrating day, might be late
Just as you toss your phone onto the couch, you hear the doorbell. You ignore your father’s muttering and your mother scolding you for rushing to answer (apparently, a lady never rushes).
You open the door to see your boyfriend, although you almost don’t recognize him with the deep eyebags and uncharacteristic frown he’s sporting.
“Ji? What’s wrong, are you okay?”
“I just wanna get this over with.” He walks past you without another word, or even a glance in your direction.
After you get over a few seconds of being stunned by your boyfriend’s behavior, you shut the door and walk with him towards the living room. “Jisung, what’s wrong, honey?” No response. You lace your arm in his, which is usually a surefire way to get a smile from him. But now, nothing.
“Ji.” You pull him against the wall before your parents spot you. “I know you had a bad day, and I’m sorry about that, but just… take a deep breath and refocus, okay baby? Because you definitely can’t meet my parents looking this pouty.”
Jisung sighs, then plasters a lazy, disingenuous smile on his face. “Okay.”
~~~
After uncomfortable introductions and Jisung offering an apathetic apology for his tardiness, you were sat at the dinner table across from your boyfriend, who clearly would rather be anywhere else right now and was too exhausted to hide it.
“So, Jisung,” your father breaks the ice, “y/n says that you’re a dancer.”
“No, dad, I said he’s an idol.”
Your father just stares at you.
“He’s an idol, he’s not just a dancer.”
He keeps staring at you, now furrowing his brows as if you’re speaking a foreign language.
“So he also sings, and raps, and goes on tours and a whole bunch of other stuff, dad.”
“I do dance, though. So I can be considered a dancer.” Jisung finally contributes, although it feels more like he’s correcting you than chatting with your father.
“That’s nice. I’ve always admired dancers. I, for one, don’t have a rhythmic bone in my body.” Your father laughs at himself.
“Well, it's nice for a hobby.” Your mother’s fork scrapes across her plate, and you see Jisung’s eye twitch at the grating noise. “So what are your career plans?”
Jisung looks over at you, silently pleading for your help. “Uh, what do you mean?”
“You do have a career in mind, don’t you?”
“Mom–”
“Well, my idol career is going pretty great, and I don’t see it ending anytime soon.” Jisung tries to smile, but it bounces off your mother’s tight-lipped grimace.
“Yes, but dancing–” she says the word as if it's a vulgar swear– “isn’t really a career. Surely you have an actual prospect lined up.”
“Mom, we just had this conversation. He does a lot more than dance, it's not just a hobby.”
“Does he make decent money?”
You look at Jisung, noticing how he’s consciously refraining from rolling his eyes. “Yes, he does, and that is a totally inappropriate question, mother.”
“It certainly is an appropriate question, y/n,” your father scolds you, “if this man is intending to be serious with you, then we must make sure he is good enough for you.”
“Good enough?” Jisung echoes your father, not breaking eye contact with you.
“It's no offense to you, Jisung, you understand. She’s our daughter, it's our duty to ensure she has a stable, comfortable life.”
“And that’s worked out well up to this point, hasn’t it?”
Your breath catches in your throat, completely shocked at the sarcasm dripping from Jisung’s voice.
“Well we certainly tried, but she was never exactly receptive.” Your mother’s tone is just as condescending as ever, but you’re too busy staring at your boyfriend in disbelief to notice. “We gave her everything she needed growing up, yet still, she was always getting into trouble. Staying out past curfew, skipping school with those hoodlum friends of hers, bringing home substandard boys…”
“Mom.”
“Clearly that hasn’t changed.”
“Mom! Stop!”
“Substandard. Wow.” Jisung laughs under his breath.
“Oh, excuse me one moment–” your father rushes to answer the phone ringing in his study– “I need to take this call.”
“How could you make a comment like that, mom? You don’t even know Jisung!”
“I know your type, y/n.”
“You know him? You asked him a single question, refused to understand his answer, and you somehow decided that you don’t like him? You know nothing about him!”
“I don’t need to, I know you. You always go for these types, boys who have no manners, don’t know how to have a conversation, and haven’t put a single thought into their future.”
“That is not anything like Jisung!”
“Isn’t it? He shows up an hour late with no warning or explanation, he sits there pouting as if he doesn’t even want to be here, and he lets you do all the talking for him, when he’s not muttering to himself like a moody child.”
“It's been, like, 10 minutes, and you’ve already decided you don’t like him. I think that’s a record, even for you, mom.”
“Honestly, y/n. Don’t you see how this is embarrassing for us? For our daughter to keep making mistake after mistake, constantly making a fool of herself, acting as if she’s had no discipline her entire life?”
You turn to look at Jisung, and that’s when you finally realized he snuck away at some point unnoticed. “Mom, I don’t care. I’m leaving.”
“For once, y/n, you should think about how your decisions make your father and I look!”
You ignore your mother’s ranting as you gather your coat and purse, walking out the front door without a goodbye. You step into the driveway to see Jisung, leaning against the hood of your car, hands in his jacket pockets, snow melting into his hair.
You approach him, rubbing his arm gently, but it elicits no response from him.
“I’m so sorry, Ji. I hate that they treated you that way.”
He looks you in the eye, but doesn’t say a word. His eyes meet the ground again.
“I really… I don’t know. I thought after all these years, after them always trying to decide things for me, and me always going against it, I thought they could finally see something good happen to me and just… be happy for me, you know?”
He still doesn’t say anything. Just nods, so little you almost miss it.
“I really am sorry. I had no idea they would do that to you–”
“Oh come on, y/n, yes you did!” Jisung tears your hand from his arm, moving away to stand tall next to your parents’ tacky topiaries. “I didn’t even want to come to this stupid dinner, but you insisted, and you just let them treat me like I was too dirty to even enter their house or something!”
You stand still, your legs feeling like they’re made of lead. “Why are you yelling at me? It's not like its my fault–”
“It is your fault! God, just think for a second, y/n! You were the one warning me about how horrible your parents are and how they’d never accept me, you can’t act shocked when they behave the exact way you knew they would.” He runs a hand through his hair, now refusing to even look in your direction, or at anything other than the asphalt under his feet. “And I told you that I would probably be tired after practice today anyway, but you still made me come here. And I had a really shitty day, practice ran late because of me being an idiot and not getting the choreography, and then I had to rush in the stupid snow to get here and listen to two people I don’t even like tell me how inadequate I am. As if I didn’t already know that.”
“Jisung–”
“I think I’m gonna stay at my parents’ house tonight.”
You cross your arms, trying to swallow back the sobs that were forming in your throat. “You’re not coming home?”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t really wanna face you right now. I don’t wanna face the guys either after I ruined their days too. I just need to be alone I think.” He finally looks at you, his jaw tight, eyes glossy. “Can I leave now?”
You nod, which shakes a few tears loose from your eyes, but Jisung turns around too fast to notice.
“Ji, let me give you a ride, its freezing.”
“Its fine. I survived taking the subway here, I can do it again.” He calls back to you, without even turning to look at you. You just stare at his back as he walks off, his steps looking heavy on the icy sidewalk.
You hear the front door open behind you. “He’s leaving?” Your mother’s voice has never sounded so ugly to your ears. “He throws a fit and leaves. How fitting you would find a boy so similar to yourself.”
Before you can retort, she hands you your phone, which you didn’t realize you had left on the couch in your rush out the door. “You better get going, the snow is going to get worse. I’ll tell your father goodbye for you.”
Your phone feels like a brick loosely held in your hand, now freezing from the gentle attacks of snow flurries. Your mother shuts the door while you watch Jisung’s shadow walk further and further out of reach. You climb into your car, adjusting the hem of your skirt as you sit in the driver's seat, noticing just how empty it feels without Jisung in the passenger seat. How empty your home is going to feel when you enter without him. How empty your bed will feel when you try to sleep without him. How empty the home you grew up in always was, no matter how many people were in there. How the night you met Jisung at your friend’s house party, and you talked in the empty backyard alone for hours and hours, was the first time in your life you didn’t really feel empty anymore.
Your mouth feels dry. You grab the water bottle in your cup holder, but it's empty. As you drive the long way home, you contemplate if you should make a stop to buy some water or just wait until you get there, when you spot Jisung walking down into the subway. His posture exhausted, his expression completely empty.
Anything For You: l.mk
Anything For You: Mark Lee drabble
Content: Mark Lee is completely devoted to you. He would do literally anything for you. Warnings: A very brief mention of gods but not actual religion if that makes sense
a/n: my drabbles don't do as well as my text imagines but i find them more fun to write >:) also i worked a longer week than usual this week and i am exhausted!!!!!!!!! so this work is actually an older piece that i wrote for someone else that i just adapted for Mark
Mark realized now that he definitely should have written down his idea as soon as he had it, because now, of course, he doesn't remember. He always thinks of little things, little inspirations and prophecies, and he’s learned that if he doesn't write them down immediately, they’ll inevitably escape his mind just as quickly. And he’s only had so many more thoughts, inspirations and prophecies since you’ve come into his life. He doesn't remember what the thought was, but he knows it was beautiful. Maybe it was a message he wanted to send to you in prose, or maybe a single line to write an entire story from, to create a narrative that could only attempt to be as captivating as you.
He doesn't know what wrongs he’s righted, which gods he’s pleased, what universal forces he’s satisfied to result in you entering his life, but he knows that he is so grateful for you. He doesn't know how he’s managed to move along before your confluence, but he knows that to live without you now would be a miserable experience; to just know that you’re near is enough to keep him sane. He didn’t realize how little he cared for anything. He just floated, drifted, traveled in a haze that clouded his eyes from the beauty that the world holds. Now everything catches his eye, every piece of art makes him feel something, every bird sings a song he wants to hear. And his newfound love for everything that has existed right before him since the beginning of time is entirely on your shoulders (of course, don’t forget, there is perhaps nothing he loves more in the world than you).
Mark feels like his life didn’t truly begin until he met you. He believes that in 50 different lives, 500 different worlds, in 5,000 different dimensions, the only thing that makes the truest sense is you and him being together 5 million times.
So he’s determined to figure things out for you two. He’s determined to get to work. He’ll save up all his money and not spend a penny on anything that’s not for you. He’ll make sure you get to live in the world how you want to. You’ll have a life together, with a nice house and a few kids, and maybe a few pets too. You’ll have friends that you see whenever you want, places to go whenever you want, and you’ll have time to do whatever you want, and do whatever you want together.
And truly, if you’re as devoted to him as he is to you, he could build an entire country of palaces for the two of you on a foundation formed purely from love. If you love him, he will do it all for you.
Mark would do anything for you.
I Want to Hold Your Hand: z.cl
genre: fluff
content: Chenle just wants to hold your hand, that's it :')
A/N: this is just a short little drabble because I'm gonna be busy as heck this week, but next week I should be able to crank out some more in depth stuff
Chenle wants to hold your hand.
For some reason, Chenle really hates hands. He doesn't know if it's because he thinks they’re just ugly, or if they seem filthy because they touch everything. Have you ever seen someone with nails so jagged and dirty that it makes you feel a little sick? Or when they’re far too long and inconvenient and you wonder how they get anything done? Hands that are soft and manicured from never seeing a day’s work, hands that are rough and calloused from doing the work that no one else wants to do. He doesn't like to think about hands. Maybe this is why he uses sanitizer so much it could be considered a religious practice.
Chenle hates hands, but he wants to hold your hands. He wants to hold them, gently, but firmly, and kiss their soft skin. He wants to read the stories hidden in the creases of your palm. He hates hands, but he could gaze at yours all day, and think they’re beautiful simply because they’re attached to you.
Chenle just wants to hold your hand.