rollercoaster

hello hello i’m excited to meet y’all! this is plum (s/h, 21+) dropping in with bae somin, hannam’s “self-made” cinderella story ( if being the illegitimate daughter of a cheating businessman & proceeding to blackmail said dad about her status for everything she wants counts as being self-made, that is ). currently a business student & moonlighting as the bassist of an indie band, somin’s an overachiever who found one cheat code for life & isn’t willing to give it up, even though she’s starting to find it unfulfilling.

here are her links ( file & plots ) & a tldr under the cut! hit the heart if u wanna plot, or just hmu in ims! i also have discord if that’s better for u, feel free to ask for it :) see y’all around ♡

(...)

sound waves like blasting jelly.  "is something wrong?“ a question like a detonator. and it’s not concern coating his words, it’s blame lacing every syllable like poison. the way he asks it is like he has no idea what could possibly be wrong. every other vowel hot with frustration and the growing need to relieve it. friendship on the fringes. deteriorating, decaying. old habits over the edge like monster jaws ready to swallow them back down. unlearning, forgetting. 

the lower his opinion of her gets, the brighter the memory of her becomes. like light at the bottom of the sea. like in order to see her, he shouldn’t be able to see.

what’s that saying about familiarity?

like there’s some kind of diminishing returns on the time spent together. peaked and now its all downhill. some sort of neon red nostalgia for hazy, hurried nothings between strangers than this shattered glass friendship she has to pretend she doesn’t see. this project that’d started out blazing and fizzled off into smoke, spent too long between them.

she doesn’t do razor blades wrapped in diamond dust, anymore. her tongue is a sledgehammer now, no subtlety, no subterfuge. call her an honest friend. “yeah,” somin says. glances at him sideways, blunt point blank. you’re what’s wrong. ‘”took you long enough to notice.” call her an honest fiend.

maybe what they need is something else in between, a buffer for the way they seem to inevitably clash, rubber barriers so they don’t spark and burn each other. but there’s no one around but them, no bar in between, studio fast turning into a landmine field. her hands itch for something to occupy herself with, to curl around a shot glass. a friendship half full—half empty? half familiar.

(...)

he spots it momentarily, a few steps away from where he currently stands and he swiftly picks up the cable from its home on the floor, plugging one end into the device and turning the power bank on as he watches the screen of his phone flash brightly to indicate being charged. once again, the device is propped back up on the nightstand but with endless battery now and he turns to somin, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “you didn’t specify what you want me to fix, so technically i fixed it.”

Keep reading

somin huffs out a laugh when she finds herself against downy pillows, positions switched up. lets him surround her, replacing the usual glass wall defences she keeps up, all warm skin and lean muscle. she knows exactly how pleased sungho is with himself. cat with the cream, the way she’s caught him looking at her so often over the course of their summer getaway.

“smartass,” she laughs, seeing his smirk illuminated by the soft glow from his phone and that technicality he spots. ignores the lightning detection alarm for the amused endearment that runs through her at it. “this what they teach you in law school?” she lifts herself up for a moment to nip at kiss bruised lips. “fine.” you’ve got me there. got her where he wants.

(...)

but there’s a shit-eating grin on his face when he finally comes to terms with the discovery. how the tables have turned.

“if you’re the somin i’ve been emailing, then i’m sure i’m in the right room.” he chuckles and takes off his jacket. he motions for the waiters to bring his regular order. “relax,” he says nonchalantly as he watches the waiter set down his kettle and cup. he then takes his seat across from her. “you hungry?”

she doesn’t disguise the absolute distaste marring her expression, a smile like soured milk curdling over her lips. “you’re matthew?” formalities dropped, propriety out the window. the foreign syllables of his name sit ugly on her tongue, enunciated too sharply. “okay...”

funny how a single detail skews everything off; delicate and tasteful becomes sparse and irritating, temperature of the room rising up to a sudden mugginess, her tea cloyingly perfumed in place of a pleasant sweetness. she sets the porcelain china to the side. arms folded across her chest. his familiarity with the tea room immediately puts her off the entire thing, his order clearly a regular one. so much for getting something good out of this.

maybe she can get someone else to take his place; feign a conflict—though with him in front of her, it might be not faked. she could probably rope one of the seniors in the organising committee to pull a couple of strings. matthew’d seemed like a great option for a mentor on paper, anyway, all connections and networks. she’s sure someone else’ll jump at the chance to deal with his particular brand of gum on your shoe annoyances. she’s certainly had enough of him, smug smirk always in the inexplicable front row of retro rosy’s gigs, and a sludge of bullshit out his oversized lips. she can’t believe her ‘mentor’s turned out to be the same guy. but it’s not like she ever cared to take down who the nameless, greasy prat was, slinging insults at her music and still turning up to their gigs anyway.

so now she’s got to deal with this, at least a little. a grimace splits across her face, slow blink revealing an eye roll. “sure. relax.” she did get dressed up cute for the meeting. maybe she’ll text sungho later; she’ll deserve something sweet after all of this. it’s on his dime, anyway, so who cares. she’s not flouncing out of the room and letting him think he’s got one over her.

(...)

there are three things you need to know about jeon jaeyun. he’s an aries, an only child, and absolutely spoiled. a man that lives by ‘my way or the highway’ whether it be through force or not, he always made sure it was his way. his snarky attitude has always been hidden for the sake of his image and the public, but in moments like these where he isn’t easily recognized, nothing stops him from being a menace. setting down the container, it blends in perfectly with his other five containers. if one were to describe his cart, he looks exactly the guy math textbooks wrote about when you were learning addition. “why don’t you just get the regular packaged ones over there? what do you need organic strawberries for? just get the regular ones.”

somin’s twenty three. too old to still be playing by playground rules. not too old to fight with a complete stranger over a container of strawberries, but in her defense—they look like really good strawberries. the other is mulish with a childish refrain that makes her roll her eyes, as if she isn’t prone to defaulting to children’s logic when it suits her. “grow up and stop being so greedy.” she doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before the impatient little man snatches her strawberries out of her hands. plastic crinkles loudly when it’s wrenched away, blunt edge of the container lip stinging her index finger as it leaves her grasp. “ow—hey!”

“why do you need six containers of strawberries? what do you need so many for, huh?” a glance over at the nearby gatorade stand, cardboard cutout of some up and coming soccer player. the standee’s got two drinks in each hand and a whole pile by his feet. the resemblance’s uncanny, really. and with the ridiculous amount of protein, the strawberry thief’s probably one of those health nuts, obsessed with sports or whatever. “who do you think you are, jeon jaeyun? you wannabe.”

...wait a minute.

(...)

“that looks great.” the excitement was palpable in her voice, already reeling from a job well done before the party even began. laughing, she shakes her head as she takes a comfortable step away. “professional and hot, now that sounds like a powerful combination. thanks for making me look it.” taking one last glance around the room, aera heaves a sigh over the fact that everything appears to be where they’re supposed to. “yeah, everything looks perfect for now. do you want to get a drink before the mayhem starts? i think i’d like to relax a bit.” playing the role of service provider and guest simultaneously was quite exhausting so it seems.

aera’s response is more confirmation than approval, but it’s nice to hear it anyway. “wasn’t hard with a good model,” she teases. that’s enough brownnosing, though. somin presses the home button on her phone and shakes it a little, “alright, i’m clocking out,” she jokes, slipping her phone back in her pocket. one of the many perks of working for aera—she doesn’t have to worry about the rest of the donkey work, just the glossy, high profile front of their social media accounts. her work here is done!

so she agrees, “oh! of course,” never one to turn down a drink. “the open bar, then? we’ve got some time, we can sample the,” a lilt in her voice, more playful than serious, “fruits of our labour!” well, more the workers than theirs, really, but its aera’s name stamped over the party and somin’s over social media, “a treat for a job well done!” is it too early to congratulate themselves for that? knowing who the guests are, there’s no way their immaculate venue is coming out unscathed—but that’s just the fun of parties.

(...)

     after the final set is when jamie takes a little water break , heads to the bench where her things were scattered before reaching for the hand towel , that’s when her gaze accidentally falls at the entrance , rather on the person standing by at the entrance and eyes widen. it takes a second to register but soon enough there’s a warm smile , one that couldn’t be helped with somin around , and now she’s haphazardly wiping down beads of sweat that continued to trickle down her face before taking a step closer , “ somin-ah.. hey.. ” eyes quickly scan their surroundings , yeah they were at the rooftop of her apartment and not at the bar or anywhere else she’d usually see the younger so….. “ what are you doing here? ” she questions before realisation sets and the bar owner takes a few more strides to be close enough , any confusion exchanged for worry as her wrapped hands place themselves on the side of her arms , “ are you okay? – is everything okay? ”

somin’s a little annoyed. just a little. she’d texted jamie about dropping by at her bar earlier—no reply. not even a couple of hours later, which is a record for the older woman. not that she demands immediate replies, but somin’s gotten a little too used to the easy attention jamie radiates, and the lack of it is strangely discomfiting, now. so she’d turned up at the bar anyway—oh, boss took a day off! and still no jamie. try the boss’ house, maybe? she gets real focused when she’s working out, y’know, she’s got that rooftop gym. she’d packed a couple of snacks to go on the house and made the quick walk over, the sun setting on her original plans, food cooling in the interim.

jamie’s place isn’t too far from the bar, at least; somin’s familiar with the path. there’s still no response when she rings the doorbell, frowning at her unanswered texts. she’s trudged around for an entire day, and jamie’s been missing for just as long. but the older woman carries herself a little too well for her to start worrying, yet. fine. jamie’s done far more for her than just drop a couple of texts and bring food from her own establishment, so maybe she’ll try the older woman’s rooftop before she calls it a day.

well, fourth times the charm? she finds jamie pink-faced and breathing heavy, the last minutes of the sun casting an unfairly golden glow to over the other’s frame, all wiry power and heat. she doesn’t sigh, but it’s a near thing. “hey!” she calls, but the bar owner’s a bit too engrossed in her exercise to hear her. somin pouts, but it melts away almost instantly when jamie turns, her phone dinging the sound of a finished set.

“i’m on your rooftop, so take a guess, ‘mie,” somin teases, tracking the other as she walks closer, closer, and—the last step brings jamie into her personal space, a bubble that’s rarely enforced, but the older woman up this close almost makes her take a step back. a thrill, something sour and not unpleasant. bae somin’s no chicken.

“‘course i am,” she replies, frowns a little. “i texted you about meeting at the bar, but you didn’t reply for like, hours. jiwoo told me to try your place.” she doesn’t usually see the older woman this out of sorts, and she doesn’t think she can just attribute it to the exercise or her concern as the reason that jamie’s brow is furrowed. “are... are you? okay?” it’s the other woman who doesn’t look her usual confident, effortlessly charming self, and somin reaches out in instinctive worry. places a hand on her forehead, just in case. it’s warm, not as clammy as she’d expected, and more familiar than she’d thought it’d be. so she’s not sick. is jamie upset, then?

(...)

normally, mimi would laugh at the other’s entitled behavior, but today she was just too tired to bother putting up with it. rather than reacting to the orders, mimi simply continued to clean her section of the room. “you’re welcome to clean or not clean whatever you want, but i will be reporting that to the teachers. and then you can face whatever disciplinary consequences— whether it be suspension or the revoking of your scholarship— all on your own.” she’d never been one to be above blowing a whistle or two if necessary, nor did mimi care about what would become of bae somin after she did. 

“what’s your issue, jeez,” somin complains, rolls her eyes. it’s the same old, tired tirade from the other girl, who seems to think that both of them being scholarship students means something. it doesn’t. she won’t let it. “aren’t you the one blaming me for this? and you wanna talk about responsibility? please.” cherry gloss lips smack together, a full stop to the end of their conversation. we’re done here, loser, because she can’t be bothered to end it off with anything else.

she’s got no idea what has ito misaki acting the way she does. maybe its jealousy. inferiority complexes, y’know? she wouldn’t be surprised; she carries herself better. ( she does not. ) somin shoves some of the dust around on the floor, as if that’ll do anything for the storage room. they just have to clock in the hours till the end of detention, anyway. there’s no use in being a goody two shoes about detention as meaningless as this, though she’s certainly seen misaki act that way. the other girl’s threats don’t quite hit the mark—what teenager actually gives a shit about school? suspension’s just another badge of honour in hannam high, one that says even the school can’t kick me out. but—

all on your own. that shouldn’t bug her as much as it does. stupid teenage hormones. stupid dad. she picks up a greyed, gunky cloth and flings it behind her in retaliation, in misaki’s direction. cloth fibres disintegrate into the air. maybe she can blame it on that for the way her nose sours, prickling at the back of her eyes. god damn it, this is so not cool. “shut up,” somin snaps. if the words sound more shaky than sharp, she’ll just make them louder. “who says i’m on my own, huh?”

writing: @chrmimi (detention), @chrinsu (blackmail), @aerachr (event party), @jamiechr (rooftop), @matthewchr (cake), @chrjaeyun (strawberries), @chrhyun (studio), @chrngmin (faking good), @sunghochr (event storm)

waiting: @chrkitae (event wkw), @sunanchr (event boat), @gweneirachr (event drinking), @chrdaeun (band), @chrjaehyun (event lunch)

plotting: idk pls hmu ♡

record scratch. freeze frame. somin’s looking at the ugliest man to ever grace her vision, foul enough to ruin her appetite.

she’d been sitting in meticulously selected couture and red bottomed heels, legs crossed as she waits for the alumni she’d been connected to. networking, all that. snu’s good for it. all things considered, she could have been assigned a far worse ‘mentor’ than the faceless alum she’s been exchanging emails with, and the guy certainly seems well-connected. so she makes an effort, dresses up in something other than her favoured cotton tops and jeans. a good impression, and maybe she can finagle something good out of the guy. she’s hoping this’ll be a useful meeting.

at the very least, she can be assured that the tea they’re having will be top quality. though she’s not sure what her snu alum ordered in advance, but the tea room he’d suggested is tasteful and delicate, not too obsequiously opulent in a vain attempt at appeal. it’s a good start—she can think of at least one asshole who’d be into that, irritating rich folk who think they’re too good for anything else. but that’s not the point today. she’s a little early, five minutes before their meeting time. and the staff are efficient, offering her a sweet floral infusion while she waits. somin sips at her tea, sits pretty, and waits like an unsuspecting sitting duck.

then someone enters the private room. and that’s where they’re at now. the disc spins, her grimace is evident.

(...)

a single roll unveils itself when he flips his cigarette case open, fingers twiddling around the edges to search for more, however chance reminds him to not be selfish and provides him with just enough. “ consider my debt paid. ” holds up the hand that was resting against his skin, barely as cold as it was before, and drops the cigarette onto her palm. “ let me light that for you, ” he offers. a sharp flick ignites a flame from his lighter, barely comparable to the bonfire behind them, but still as radiant nonetheless. he’s careful in the way he navigates through the darkness, a makeshift flashlight that leads him to painted lips, curving up just slightly along the edges. beautiful, he thinks to himself, watching the flames sketch around a glimpse of a smile as he waits for a cigarette to press against them.

warmth isn’t a foreign feeling to her. but something about the gentleness of his hand, the stranger’s strange and unselfish gesture of offering himself up as a heating pack blooms a tenderness deeper than just where chilled fingers rest on his forearm. she shifts, sits a little closer. close enough to hear something rustle open, before a cigarette drops into her palm. hums in acknowledgment, a small thanks, thumb lingering against warmth before bringing the roll up to her lips.

“the night?” she repeats, a huff of breath curling between them. “don’t worry, i’m not staying that long.” she doesn’t mean to be this comfortable with a stranger whose face she doesn’t know. somin knocks against his shoulder with two of her knuckles, adds, “i’ll leave you to your brooding when i’m done with this, huh?”

she leans forward with the cigarette between her teeth, feels the faint heat from the flame of the lighter over her lips. takes a slow drag, smoke and oxygen, luxurious and sweet. nicotine swirls warm in her chest. is she meant to say something? they’re both here seeking solitude. but somin sits back and finds her shoulder pressed against his, and the way it encroaches doesn’t bother her.

how long has she been here, he’d asked. “we’ve all been on this island too damn long,” she quips, spins a misinterpretation for her answer. it sounds a little too pathetic to admit she’s been sitting in the dark long enough to have all her heat leached out, even if he’s clearly aware. somin shrugs, and knows he can feel the movement. “just wanted to escape from,” a flick of her lit cigarette, ash falling onto sand, “all of this, for a bit.”

(...)

the trailing off is intentional, as if he is trying to keep her on the hook, alert. his body shifts once more under hers, the hands that once found themselves wrapped around her delicate waist, motionless, now slowly tracing up and down her spine with his index fingers in a soothing manner. his lips are back in motion, kisses starting gentle as they trace her jawline in soft kisses, only pressing harder as they reach the nape of her neck. “…i could just stay here and we could continue on what we were doing.” he’s careful not to leave too much of a mark, just enough that the tender spot is flushed red but not enough to bruise. after all, the girl does still need to go out and have more fun the days following; he supposes that’s the least he can do. there is a soft pop as he leaves the sweet spot, moving once more so he is looking down at her features now, placing one more brief kiss on her lips before a smirk graces his. “your choice though.” 

with some semblance of light around them, the prickly edge of somin’s mood softens, finds the mischief in sungho’s eyes more endearing than annoying. at least, she knows it means a better time than thunderstorms in the dark. pinpricks of lightning zip down where his lips press against her nape to their legs tangled together, warm under the duvet. she savours it, sticky heat of summer and heady attraction, parts her lips with a pleased sigh against his. “tempting offer,” she admits; the electricity’ll be fixed eventually, she decides, goes straight for immediate gratification.

hands slip under the hem, occupy themselves with the warm skin beneath while she’s otherwise distracted. soft lips on hers, trailing down, down, down. eyes slip shut as she presses herself flush against him, thin cotton between them. her breaths are shaky soft when she blinks her eyes open and finds him face to face, cocky and still annoyingly, wonderfully delicious. it’s an easy choice to make, really. she doesn’t say anything, just shifts to find better purchase on his lap before she connects their lips again, hands wandering where they want.

then—a trifecta of bad omens, lightning and thunder shake the room in quick succession before something in their ceiling goes off with an audible pop. the phone falls over where it’d been propped up, and they’re thrown back into abrupt darkness again. somin freezes, head turning up with a sharp movement, a little ungainly in a moment caught off guard and unbalances right into his chest. she brushes it off in vain. “what else’s breaking down,” she mutters, mood souring. her tone takes a sharp edge, though pride keeps it from going too whiny. moves a little closer to sungho, hiding herself in his arms for a moment. it’s not all too convincing that she’d just missed something warm around her at this point.

(...)

it’s more than hyun has done. maybe he’s the machine, the dead and unbreathing flesh thing, the warm and unfeeling thing.

“same riff here from the first verse, right?” he says, writing something down in a scratched up notebook page as if they agreed on this thing long ago. long ago, hours ago, days ago, remember? sure you do. it’s okay if you don’t. on the large computer screen, blue and pink and yellow and red. a half-finished track of something  good, something that will take over radios. talent compressed in the small room like gas, like methane. all the oxygen pushed out. the stove left open.

they’re missing a spark. the verse fizzes in vain, like it’s straining for the ghost of an ember. it shouldn’t be this difficult. it wasn’t, for a long time. has been, for what feels like an even longer one. it probably hasn’t. but the fuse’s been tripped, lights shut down. so they’ve been spinning dissatisfied circles in the dark, these past few meet ups. in the studio and out of it, too. words fall out, fall short between them. their friendship falls down like a music studio made of playing cards.

somin crosses her arms in front of her chest. there’s a chill creeping up, fractals on the screen forming. colours stacked up next to and over each other, loops and samples they’ve been working on for way too long, no space in between. somin and hyun sit on opposite sides across the control. the annoyance in her face is going to stick like a tongue on a frozen pole soon.

“yeah, whatever.” her tone sharp, unpleasant minor key. “wait, same riff?” she didn’t agree to that. “i wanted to try something else.” the wood of her bass is cold across her lap—she’s barely gotten to play it in the hour they’ve been here. doesn’t know what she’s doing here in the studio when all she does is play one riff across the entire song. hyun puts all of himself into the composition, matter into music, occupies all the space he can. pushes her to the edge of melodies they’d written together, looped baseline buried below everything else.