#homecoming!!!! /slams hands on table

[lpmurphy]

Begin Again

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Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning to the max, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots, abby’s daddy issues flare up big time (divider credit to: @saradika-graphics)

Warnings: loss of a patient, car accident, death, big time mom guilt, mentions of traumatic childbirth/c-section/NICU, general er gore

Word Count: 13,385

Read on AO3

Chapter Seventeen: Just For A Moment

Beth had fought with Abby on the phone that morning.

It had been stupid. God, it was always stupid. She hadn’t even wanted Abby to spend the night at Kenadie’s in the first place. She’d said as much the night before. PT at ten, a calculus test to study for, a mountain of homework she swore she’d finish and probably would, but still; it was the principle of it. And her first round of college applications were due in three weeks, which Beth had reminded her of multiple times because, somehow, she had become the only one in that house who seemed even remotely alarmed about deadlines. 

But Abby had insisted; they were all going to go shopping for homecoming and finish their senior overalls before next week’s game and like always, Beth folded. Because it was her senior year. Because she was tired of being the bad guy. Because she knew her brilliant, bossy little girl would get it all done anyhow and she promised that she’d be up in the morning and home by the time Beth told her to be when she threatened to check the doorbell camera at 7:15 to make sure she was there. 

She hadn’t been. Beth called four times to wake her up. By the fifth, her tone had turned sharp. By the time Beth was halfway through her drive to work, they were arguing; snapping at each other, short and exasperated, talking over one another until they finally hung up. She couldn’t remember if she told her daughter she loved her before they ended the call. Couldn’t remember what her last words were. She’d tossed her phone in her locker the second she arrived, already irritated, not realizing her watch had died sometime in the night. Not realizing Abby had been trying to call her.

That girl had been driving home from a sleepover too before she died on the table in Trauma One with her blood all over Beth’s hands. She was seventeen. Running late and driving too fast on wet, oil slick roads when she wrapped her car around a fucking telephone pole. Beth had spent the last hour trying to keep her alive, trying to keep her heart beating, trying to fix something that was already too far gone by the time she got there because someone was waiting for her to come home, too.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the fight. The way Abby’s voice had sounded, groggy and annoyed, the beep of the call ending too fast. And the last thing Beth said… was it about calculus? About her alarm? Or was it I love you? She couldn’t remember. 

Beth hadn’t let herself feel it in the trauma bay. Not while she had a job to do; her hands were working and her voice was calm and her mind was running on protocol. But when she stepped out, when she caught her reflection in the glass of the empty exam room and realized how pale she looked, how her hands were still trembling, it hit her like a wave.

That morning could’ve been their last conversation. 

And all Beth could think about—couldn’t stop thinking about—was how annoyed she’d been. How right she’d felt. How easily her baby could’ve died with her voice in her ears, saying something small and stupid and mean because she wanted her to do her fucking homework.

She couldn’t even remember if she said I love you.

And then Abby called her three fucking times because she needed her and she didn’t answer her. 

She nearly lost her fucking mind when she heard her daughter’s name in that trauma bay.

Jack had come in with that grim, tight look he always wore when something was wrong. The second she heard him say “Abby’s car,” her whole body snapped to attention like a rubber band stretched too far. Her ears rang. Her vision tunneled. She swore she couldn’t hear anything past those two words. She felt the sting of bile crawl up her throat and her pulse spike so high it made her dizzy. Her fingers stilled where they’d been suturing, and she turned so sharply she nearly dropped the needle.

“What?” she’d barked. No—she’d shouted. Voice sharp, high, panicked enough that everyone looked up for a moment before they resumed what they were doing. “What happened? What’s wrong? Jack—.”

“Hey. Hey. Look at me.” His hands came up like he was calming a spooked animal, which frankly, she felt like until he leaned in. “She’s fine,” he said quickly, his voice low. “She’s fine, Sparky. I just talked to her. She’s okay. Just a dead battery. That’s all. I’m going to go get her now, alright?”

That name knocked the air from her lungs in a completely different way. Her brain hiccuped, jolted by the softness in his voice. He hadn’t called her that in a long time. No one had. It hit her chest with more force than it should’ve. Like a match flicking to life after years left cold. She didn’t even realize how much she missed it until it fell out of his mouth like it was second nature.

Then his hand touched her back, careful and warm through her scrubs, and she felt her whole body lean into it without thinking.

“I’ve got her,” he murmured. “I promise.”

She nodded, barely managing it, afraid that if she opened her mouth she’d fall apart. She turned back to her patient, to the bleeding and the chaos and the work but Jack’s voice stayed with her. His handprint stayed like a phantom, along with that strange flutter in her chest when he told her “I’ve got her” and every muscle in her body relaxed at once. 

It had been nearly an hour before Robby made her call it. Beth knew. Somewhere deep inside, she’d known fifteen minutes in. But she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t bring herself to say it. Not when the girl was seventeen. Not when she was supposed to be home.

Beth had tried. God, she tried. Chest compressions, meds, lines, suction; everything. Her voice had stayed level, her hands steady, even as her stomach turned and her mind kept circling back to Abby. To the missed calls. To the fight. To what she would’ve done if it had been her daughter’s blood on the floor.

When the time of death left her mouth, it tasted like bile. Beth stood there for a moment after she said it, like her body couldn’t figure out how to move. Her gloves snapped when she tore them off of shaking hands, shoved them into the bin, and walked out without a word. Robby had tried to stop her, tried to say something comforting that never made it over the ringing in her ears before she shook him off. When she finally found the stairwell, she sat down hard on the landing and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth so no one would hear her sob.

She cried until her chest ached. Until she remembered that Abby was probably waiting for her, and she had no idea that her mother had spent the morning trying to save someone else’s baby who never made it home.

It took everything she had to go back in.

But she did. Because there were going to be more someone else’s babies right after that one. Plenty of teenagers who were stupid and reckless and thought that all the bad in the world would never touch them because the people waiting for them at home had protected them from all of it until they couldn’t. Ones that reminded her of Abby and who always wanted the same thing when they were brought to her.

They always wanted their mom. 

Abby had wanted her. And she didn’t answer the phone. And still couldn’t remember if she’d told her that she loved her.

She’d lost patients before. Hell, in this specialty, it was practically just part of the work week. There were nights she could still see their faces behind her eyelids when she blinked too long, voices she wasn’t sure she was imagining when the trauma bay went still. Most days, she could put it in the file, sign the paperwork, and move on to the next case before the blood on her gloves even dried. Not because she didn’t care, but because she had to. Never apathy, always survival. Because if she let herself feel all of it, she wouldn’t survive the month.

But some days, some faces, they slipped through the cracks. They seeped into the spaces of a heart she glued back together after every shift, rebuilt from splinters and spit and whatever stubborn thread kept her showing up for another one. This girl had one of those faces. Beth had felt that girl’s ribs crack under her hands. Had whispered please under her breath while pressing hard and fast on a chest too young to be still. Had looked down at her face and seen Abby. Seen her in the way her lashes clumped together. In the curve of her cheek. In the chipped purple polish on her fingernails. 

This girl found the places in Beth that she hadn't repackaged as cleanly as she told herself she had when she went home the night before. The ones that still ached if you pressed too hard. The ones that opened wide when Jack said “Abby’s car” like her world could really, truly end mid-suture. But she got lucky. Her baby just had a dead battery and was pissed off and wet and alive in her car. Why couldn’t this mother have gotten that lucky? 

Some days, it didn’t matter how long she’d been doing this. Twenty years or two, she still walked into that room and tried to save them. She still stood there afterward and watched a mother scream into her hands and wondered how the hell the world hadn’t stopped spinning. Or, in this case, stood at the hub waiting for parents who had gotten a call from a strange number at work and were racing to a hospital to hear words that never got easier to say.

She’d try to patch the cracks when she got home. The ones that girl had slipped through. The ones she’d held together with adrenaline and procedure and the soft press of Jack’s hand between her shoulder blades. She’d seal them, gently, with the sound of Abby’s voice; sharp and sarcastic and full of opinions about everything with a conviction that Beth hoped she’d never lose for a damn moment. She’d lean against the kitchen counter while her daughter talked a mile a minute, fingers flying with barely-contained outrage over a teacher’s unfair grading policy or the group project she’d inevitably ended up doing herself. Beth would pretend to listen passively, like she hadn’t been aching to hear her voice all day. She’d nod, throw in the occasional “mhm” or “she did what?” while stirring dinner, stealing glances at her girl just to reassure herself she was still there; still fine.

After dinner, after the dishwasher hummed to life and the homework was spread across the dining room table like a crime scene, they’d settle onto the couch under that crocheted blanket Beth’s mother made for Abby three Christmases ago. The one Abby claimed made her itch but always ended up curled under anyway. They’d queue up Gilmore Girls—season four, probably, even though they both agreed the writing started slipping after Chilton. Abby would quote every line. They’d compare themselves to Lorelai and Rory like they always did. They’d pass a pint of ice cream back and forth and pretend the world outside the blanket didn’t exist. And if Abby fell asleep beside her like she used to when she was little, Beth might even let herself cry, just a little. Quietly. Gratefully.

But first, she had to make it through this shift. She had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and do the next right thing. Chart the notes. Deliver the news. Keep her hands from shaking. Ignore the ghost of his hand on her back and the phantom press of his voice in her ear. Ignore the warmth still blooming there where he’d brushed his thumb against her back like he used to across the back of her hand, or how he said “I’m going to go get her” like it was the simplest thing in the world. The way The Girl Before stood beside her in the trauma room and whispered, breathless and beaming after he left, “Did you hear him? Did you hear what he called you?”

How when she finally ripped her locker open and unlocked her phone, that stupid little flutter returned the moment she read ‘i’m ok tho. jack’s here :)’ and the full body exhale that left her like it wasn’t the strangest string of sentences she’d ever fucking read. 

How it made her feel still again. 

No. Stop that.

She couldn’t think about that right now. Couldn’t let her mind drift to the brush of his fingers, the warmth of his breath on her cheek when he leaned in, or the way something had lit up her spine like a live wire the moment he touched her and stayed there, thrumming, as his voice echoed in her head. I’ve got her. I promise.

She just needed to get home. She needed to see Abby.  To wrap both arms around her and not let go.

All of…this—whatever it was—couldn’t matter. 

Then why did it feel like it did?

Nope. Focus, Baker. 

Beth kept her eyes locked on the monitor in front of her. She filed the thought away and shoved it into the same overstuffed drawer she’d been avoiding since the other night beside her car, when he’d looked at her like that. She wasn’t opening that one, either. 

Instead, she pretended the numbers on the lab order required her full concentration. They didn’t. She could have submitted it in half the time, but she wasn’t moving. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard like she was waiting for someone to hit pause on the entire goddamn day. She blinked hard, rubbed under her glasses and pushed them up on top of her head, and ignored the loose strands of hair clinging to the sweat drying on her neck. Her ponytail had given up hours ago, just like the rest of her. 

She should step into the bathroom and fix it, she thought. Take the sixty seconds she’d need to splash water on her face, breathe, maybe look a little less like she’d just walked out of the worst trauma of the week. But she didn’t. She kept entering cultures like the CDC depended on it and gnashed at the inside of her cheek like it would relieve the tension in her jaw. 

She didn’t look up when she caught movement in her periphery, or heard the heavy fall of footsteps of linoleum. Eye contact felt like a dangerous game at the moment, and she preferred not to become known to the nurses as the attending who broke down over every dead teenager. She’d already burned through whatever scrap of composure she had left pretending Robby’s little post-mortem powwow he’d pulled her into when she came back in was anything more than suppressing grief in nicer packaging while she stood there with hands at her sides and picked at a hangnail until it bled. Still, he stood across the counter, hands stuffed into the front pockets of his hoodie he wore every shift like a second skin like he’d wandered over without a plan. 

“You did good work in there,” he said gently.

Beth kept her eyes on the monitor and blinked fast against the sting in her eyes. Bit the inside of her cheek until it stung. Don’t look up, she told herself. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. 

“There was nothing else you could’ve done.”

She bit down on her tongue hard. She knew that. Of course she knew that. But knowing it didn’t do a damn thing for the ache in her chest or the way her jaw kept locking tight around the noise she refused to let out. It wasn’t going to do a damn thing for that little girl’s mother, either. 

“I can talk to the girl’s parents when they get here,” Robby offered. 

Beth’s fingers hesitated above the keyboard. 

Alyja, she wanted to snap. The girl’s name was Alyja. She had purple glitter nail polish, and mismatched socks—one with little oranges, one gray and white striped. I noticed when I was cutting her clothes off. It probably drives—she swallowed hard—drove her mom nuts that she wouldn’t just match her socks when she did her laundry. She was seventeen. She was someone’s baby. Someone was waiting for her. 

Her voice came low, tight. “No. I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

Don’t look up. She sent off the requests and clicked into the next chart. “I’m sure,” she said flatly. 

“Hey, why don’t you take the afternoon?” he asked. “Go home? Be with Abby?”

Beth shook her head immediately. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Beth hummed and logged out of the terminal with a click that felt a little too loud. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a terrible flirt, Robinavich?” She allowed herself a quick glance up, meeting big, soft brown eyes with a tight smile before she stepped out from behind the counter and lied again. “I’m fine. Really. I’ve got a toe to sew back on in Eight.”

She left him at the counter before he could push again. She didn’t want to be coddled. Didn’t want to be sent home early like it was a pat on the head or met with soft, understanding looks from across ER counters like she was made of glass. She just wanted to get through the rest of her shift. To keep her head down and her hands busy and not think about the girl in Trauma One or her mother, wherever she was, not knowing yet.

Beth closed her eyes and drew in a slow, steadying breath, then pulled out her phone, checking for a text from Abby. Still nothing new. Just the same one from nearly an hour ago under the barrage of her snarky texts that hit her like a gut punch: jack’s taking me to get a new battery. all good, promise :)

She read it again. And again. And that stupid flutter returned. Low and persistent like a hummingbird trapped behind her ribs that she just couldn't release.

She didn’t understand why. That was never a name she expected to hear from her daughter, much less in that context. Not like that. Not with trust behind it. Not with a smiley face. Not like it meant something. She didn’t know what to do with that. With the picture it painted; him showing up, sitting behind the wheel, letting her pick the music and rolling his eyes at her jabs before throwing them back like they had spent the last seventeen years perfectly in sync.

She didn’t know what to do with the way something warm settled in her chest every time she thought about it. The same way it had that night at the dinner table, when Abby laughed so hard she snorted and Jack grinned like he’d won something.

Beth hadn’t let herself look too closely at that feeling then. And she didn’t now. And yet, there it was. Jack. Of all people. Pressing his hand against her back and whispering ‘I’ve got her’ before picking her up from a Target parking lot like it was just a line item on his to-do list. Like he meant every word he said.

She’d thought he meant every word he’d said then, too.

Still, something persistent coiled in her chest, the same feeling that had bloomed, uninvited, when she watched him make her daughter laugh across the dinner table and smile like he had won something. She hadn’t immediately tamped it down now the way she had then. That was the part that stuck with her. It lingered—warm and gentle and dangerously pleasant—and damn her, she liked it.

Fuck, what was he doing to her?

She’d been just fine for the last thirty years. Everything had its place. Things had been quiet; maybe not pretty, maybe not easy, but settled. Functional. Clean. Things had been packed up and labeled, shoved into the deepest corners of her chest where she didn’t have to look at them. Then he came back in like the damn mess he’d always been, and now the contents of everything she’d boxed up and buried were suddenly scattered across the floor again like it hadn’t taken her years to get them put away.

Two months. That’s all he’d been back. And already, every time he looked at her like that, like he was seeing every year that passed and still chose to step closer, That Girl stirred. That version of herself she thought she’d grown out of; the stupid, hopeful version of herself she thought she’d buried a lifetime ago sat up and leaned forward, aching for his eyes the way they used to be: soft. Certain. Hers.

That Girl had been with her in the trauma bay. Standing at her shoulder when he said that stupid fucking nickname he gave her when she accidentally started an electrical fire in the chem lab sophomore year like it was still theirs, wide-eyed and soft. She’d followed them to her car after the bar, curled up in her chest and whispered, just let it be like that again. Just for a moment. Just until it stopped feeling like pretending and stopped hurting, just for a minute.

She hated how fast that girl came alive. How easily she slipped in beside her and whispered things Beth had worked so hard not to want anymore. She hated that part of herself that hadn’t packed away those boxes as neatly as she’d always claimed. That hopeless, foolish, stupid part of her that, for one brief second on that sidewalk, had wanted to curl her fingers into his shirt and tell him just to come home, even if it was only for the night. Even if they’d both just be pretending. The part that still remembered every promise he ever made, the ones that echoed in the shape of what had passed between them in that trauma bay when she had to fight the urge to turn into him, to press her face to his neck and whisper thank you. 

The part that still, stupidly, met his eye every time he looked at her that way and wanted it to be something.

God help her, she wanted it to be.

Stupid girl.

Beth’s jaw tightened as the flutter in her chest refused to settle. She thumbed her phone screen off and shoved it deep into the pocket of her vest like it burned.

Enough.

It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. She was tired, wrung out, bleeding at the seams. That was all.

She exhaled hard through her nose and pushed into the exam room, not giving herself another second to think before she introduced herself with a smile she hoped passed for genuine. Not about her chest. Not about how shitty of a mom she felt like. Not about Jack. Not about the girl in Trauma One. Her hands moved on autopilot, reaching for gloves, scanning the chart, noting the toe; clean laceration, clean break, clean fix.

Good. She needed clean. She could do that. One clean injury, one clean solution. Something she could sew back on and walk away from. Not whatever the hell this mess was. This… this feeling that refused to be boxed up no matter how many times she tried. She needed something she could fix. She needed to fix something.

And more than anything, she needed to stop letting the warmth in her chest win.

Beth pulled on gloves with a snap, grabbed the chart, and forced herself to focus on the numbers, the margins, the wound. Let her hands do what her head couldn’t. She wasn’t That Girl. Not anymore. Not now. That girl didn’t belong in this room, didn’t belong in this shift, didn’t belong in her.

So she’d sew the damn toe back on, and she’d do what she always had; she’d do the next right thing and keep moving. One clean line at a time.

DIY home renovations in flip-flops was a… bold choice. Professionally, she wouldn’t recommend putting new tile down in the kitchen with your ‘dogs out’, as Abby would so delicately put it. But judging by the earful the patient’s wife had been delivering for the entire duration of the suture job, she probably didn’t need to hear it from the ER doc too.

Then again, she wouldn’t consider herself the authority on proper home reno footwear. She’d torn out the wall between her dining room and living room last summer in a pair of Ugg slippers on an HGTV whim after an episode of Love It or List It convinced her that it would really open up the space. She still remembered the way the drywall dust clung to them, and how Abby had threatened to film her for one of those “midlife crisis mom” TikToks. But at least she hadn’t left a tile saw on the floor. Just ruined a perfectly good pair of slippers. It did really open up the first floor, though. And the TikTok she and Abby made was pretty cute.

Beth stepped out of the exam room and peeled her gloves off with a tired snap, tossing them in the bin before pulling the curtain closed behind her. She sighed and pushed both hands into her hair, trying to tame whatever had come loose and shoved her glasses back up on top of her head in an attempt to secure it. They slid a little, but she didn’t care enough to fix them.

At the tracking board, she checked her phone on reflex and immediately felt the twist of guilt in her chest. A missed call and voicemail from Abby illuminated her screen, the timestamp stared back at her like a disapproving glare. Figured. She’d been busy stitching up a woman who’d nearly filleted her toe in the name of a “simple kitchen update” while she smiled and nodded while silently judging every Home Depot commercial ever made, all the while proving to her daughter that she was as shitty a mom as she already felt. 

God, she needed to charge her damn watch. Maybe she’d order an extra charger tonight, keep it in the glove box. Fifteen bucks seemed like a small price to pay to avoid this awful sour feeling again. 

She tapped the voicemail and brought the phone to her ear. She startled a little at the first sound; Abby’s laugh. Bright and high and joyful. The most beautiful thing she’d heard all day.

“Oh my god! I’m doing it, Jack. Stop nagging. I’m calling her,” she laughed, some Gracie Abrams song playing under the sound of his own laughter. Beth swallowed the twist in her chest at the noise of those two sounds mingling and listened. “Hi Mom! I guess you’re, like, super busy or something but whatever. Jack wanted me to call and tell you that I’m not dead, so. Here I am. Not dead. Hope work is okay. Love you! There, Mullet. Happy?”

“Oh, absolutely thrilled,” she heard Jack say flatly, a laugh edging his tone. “Ecstatic, really. You know, I think this might actually be the–”

“Oh my god, don’t start–”

She didn’t pull the phone from her ear right away when the voicemail cut out. She stood frozen in front of the tracking board with the hum of the ER around her and the sound of Abby’s voice echoing in her ear. Even though the message had cut out mid-word, it had been just enough–those few seconds–to settle the churning in her stomach before it returned, different and tight, when she considered the second laugh.

When she finally blinked and glanced down, the screen had already gone dark. She tapped it once, illuminating the screensaver image of her and Abby in Kauai that spring that she’d asked a stranger to take. She just needed to be sure, she told her. Maybe it was just a trick of her exhaustion. 

But the proof came in the shape of Abby’s name right about the file of a voicemail she’d never expected. Of two laughs–two–she’d never expected to hear together outside of daydreams when she had been younger and trapped in the delirious exhaustion of new motherhood. Her daughter and…him. 

Beth’s thumb hovered over the play button. She knew she shouldn’t; that it was ridiculous to listen again. She already knew what was there. She should put her phone away. Take the next patient. Consider why it didn’t feel stranger to her that her daughter was spending the morning with a nearly fifty-year-old man, much less one who was her ex-boyfriend. But she listened again anyway to the brief flash of her daughter’s voice, bright and so damn happy, and then his dry reply in the background.

When it ended, she let the phone rest against her chest and stared up at the screen, her arms crossed tight over her chest like it could hold back what threatened to pour out as something in her cracked right down the middle.

She likes him, That Girl whispered, gripping Beth’s arm and bouncing on her toes as she grinned. He likes her. They sounded like something. This could be our something.

Beth didn’t tell her that she was wrong. Didn’t shake her off or throw her back to the tides. But she didn’t admit that she was right, either. It sounded like that life she’d packed away and labeled Do Not Touch before she buried it so deep she thought it had rotted through. It was there. Her daughter. Her Jack. Laughing together like they’d always known how.

She didn’t tell That Girl that she liked it. Instead, she squeezed her hand and hid the small smile she couldn’t keep hiding before she turned her ringer all the way on and typed out a text with fingers that ached from the morning:

Hi boo. So sorry I keep missing you today. Call me when you get this—my ringer is on. If I don’t answer, call Miss Dana. Love you so big.

She stared at it for a second, rereading “Love you so big” twice before hitting send.

She slipped her phone into her pocket and wandered over to the hub, where Dana was scribbling something onto a clipboard with the same focused fury she always had when they were short-staffed. She hadn’t realized that she was still smiling until she caught her reflection in the dim screen of one of the monitors, tugging at her mouth like it had been waiting to slip out all day.

Before she could tame her face, Dana clocked it almost instantly. A small smirk tugged at her lips as she watched Beth over her glasses. “What’s that about?”

“Nothing,” Beth said quickly, still trying to school her face into something neutral, but her friend raised her brows with a disbelieving look.

“Oh yeah?” Dana arched a brow. “You sure it doesn’t have anything to do with a certain handsome nightshifter swooping in to save the day like some ER cowboy?”

Beth exhaled a soft laugh and rolled her eyes, but the heat that crawled up her neck betrayed her. “It was a dead battery. Not exactly a daring rescue.”

“And I suppose you blushing over your phone like a teenager is just a coincidence then?” Beth opened her mouth, then closed it, caught. She tried to mask it with a little shrug, but the gesture only seemed to confirm that wicked way Dana grinned at her. Dana stepped closer and leaned against the counter, her voice dropping. “Just sayin’, Red. If someone who looked at me the way he looks at you went rushing out of here to help out my kid? I’d be feeling a little appreciative, too.”

“You’re terrible,” Beth snorted, chewing her lip to keep from smiling again as heat crawled across her chest. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

Dana’s smile softened. “You don’t have to keep pretending that it’s nothing, Beth,” she said. “He’s good to her.”

Beth didn’t answer. She looked down at her hands, still trembling faintly from adrenaline, from the crash of grief, from whatever the hell Jack stirred up in her chest again, and let out a long breath. “He is, isn’t he?”

“That’s gotta count for something.”

It counts for too much. That’s the problem.

Beth toyed with the cuff of her quarter zip. It wasn’t the top she’d shown up in the morning. A sorority girl with alcohol poisoning had made quick work of that. “Any word from the girl’s parents?” Beth asked.

Dana looked up and gave a small shake of her head, holding out the discharge paperwork for Toeanna Gaines in Exam Eight that Beth had forgotten she printed. “Not yet. They’re on their way, though. Kiara’s keeping an eye out.”

“Thanks, D,” Beth said absently, grabbing the printed discharge papers from the nurse’s outstretched hand.

She straightened up with a wince. Her ponytail officially gave up the ghost; threw in the towel, turned in its letter of resignation and flipped off Gloria on the way out. A rogue section of hair dropped straight into her eyes as if it had been waiting for the opportunity just to piss her off. She blew it away half-heartedly, but it clung stubbornly to the sweat at her temple.

Beth let out an annoyed breath. That was it.

She ripped the hair tie out of her hair with one hand, dragging her fingers through the mess, and marched herself to the nearest bathroom like she had a purpose. She didn’t. Not really. But for the first time since the trauma, she let herself take the sixty seconds she hadn’t let herself have. Just a minute. Just to breathe. Just to stop pretending her chest wasn’t still tight. She leaned back against the door as it shut behind her, the cool of the metal bleeding through the fabric of her top. Her hands went to her hips. Her head tipped back. The overhead light buzzed softly above her, casting everything in that particular, unflattering yellow hospital wash. For once, she didn’t care.

She tried her best not to meet her reflection in the mirror as she hastily threw her hair up. But, as if the universe just needed to jab at her one final time, the elastic snapped and broke in her hand. Beth let her hair fall around her shoulders and exhaled heavily, closing her eyes. 

Fine. 

She sighed and turned towards the door. There had to be a clip in her locker. Probably one of Abby’s; that pink one she snagged on her way out of the door last week or the one with stupid little teeth that never held her hair right, but still. It would do the trick. She’d order her more tonight to replace the ones she’d borrowed. And a charger. One for her car, maybe one for work, too. She was done gambling with dead batteries.

Some days, the Leanne Baker Rule didn’t work as well as it did on others.

Beth had followed it anyway. Stripped out of her scrubs like shedding skin, traded them for the soft familiarity of yoga pants and an old college sweatshirt two sizes too big like worn cotton and elastic waistbands would erase the day. She’d stepped out of sneakers stained in blood she couldn’t get out and didn’t try to anymore. Let her ponytail give up the fight to gravity somewhere around the exit sign in the staff parking lot. 

It was all muscle memory. Going through the motions like doing the right things in the right order might trick her brain into thinking she was okay.

But the weight of it stayed with her, clinging like smoke. That heaviness didn’t care about clean clothes or comfort. It sat with her on the drive home; silent, full of judgment, and impossible to ignore.

She didn’t get out of the car right away. She sat in the driveway, parked in front of the house while the opening chords of Boulevard of Broken Dreams crackled through the speakers. She’d cranked the volume somewhere around the freeway, somewhere between needing to feel something and needing to hear anything but that mother’s scream before she collapsed into Beth’s arms and begged. The music didn’t help; not really. But the silence felt worse.

She stayed like that for a while. Long enough for the song to end and another to start. Long enough to feel the ache creep back into her chest despite the sweatshirt emblazoned with the insignia of the school she’d ruined them for. 

When Robby had offered to send her home early again, she hadn’t argued. She hadn’t even waited for him to finish the sentence. She’d already been halfway to her locker, keys in hand, heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stand another second in that building with the memory of that trauma bay echoing in the tiles. Not with That Girl still whispering she likes him like it meant something. Not with the ghost of Alyja’s blood still on her hands, under her nails, soaked into her skin like it had a right to stay.

No, the Leanne Baker Rule didn’t fix it today. But she followed it anyway, because some days, the motions were just all she could manage.

Beth watched the rain slap against the windshield, her wipers idle now, streaks of water distorting the world just enough to make everything feel a little farther away. The sky was still that dull, heavy grey that made everything look colorless except for the trees. The red and orange leaves clung stubbornly to the branches lining their street, defiantly bright against the gloom. Abby’s car sat just ahead of hers, right where it should be. That dumb “don’t tailgate me I have rabies” sticker was crooked on the back windshield, just below the streak left by the wiper blade. The disco ball hung from the mirror, catching no light, just a dim, scattered reflection in the rain-muted dark.

Beth’s chest ached. She closed her eyes and let the final chords of Brain Stew rattle through the frame of the car, the heavy percussion shaking the silence loose from her ribcage. Then, with a breath she didn’t fully release, she turned the key, let the engine die, and stepped out onto the rain-dappled sidewalk. The cold bit through the soft cotton of her sweatshirt almost immediately, but she didn’t rush.

The red brick house was quiet from the outside. The lights were on inside, muted yellow behind the curtains. She came through the door without thinking, the motion weightless until the gym bag thunked to the hardwood with a heavy slap. She didn’t look down at it when she nudged it aside with her foot. She’d deal with the scrubs later when she had the energy to dump them in the washer and not think about how much of today still clung to them. Tomorrow morning, maybe. Right now, she wanted to shower, order something shitty, and sit with her kid.

The tv was on when she came in, far too loud as usual, but the sound made her pause in the doorway for just a moment, if only because of how wholly expected it was. She tossed her keys into the dish beside Abby’s and started to shrug off her jacket to hang it by the door with her purse when she heard it: nails on hardwood, the jingle of tags, and a low thud that could only mean one thing.

Or so she thought.

Her first instinct was automatic, conditioned by years of routine. She looked down, ready to greet the dog that—

That’s not my dog.

A startled breath caught in her throat as a rather rotund graying German shepherd rolled onto his back at her feet, tail thumping, ears flopped back like a doofus in a dog suit. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, teeth displayed in a goofy grin, panting happily as he presented his round belly like she was someone he’d known all his life.

Beth blinked at him, stunned. “What in the hell…?”

He panted harder, as if to say Well, are you gonna scratch it or what?

She did. 

She stopped halfway through taking off her jacket when she straightened back up, watching Not-Atlas warily until she spotted the unfamiliar Carhartt hanging on the hook beside Abby’s jacket and her own purse, faded brown and damp around the hem, heavy with rain. She let the denim fall back to her shoulders while she looked between it and the dog. Not-Atlas twisted around clumsily and stood, sneezing before he lumbered off to the living room and jumped up on the couch.

The mystery of the dog and jacket didn’t stay unsolved for long. A voice echoed from her kitchen with infuriating casualness over the sound of the tv. 

“So when does she start dating the Kelce kid?”

Beth stilled in the entryway, hands halfway to the collar of her jacket. She hadn’t quite managed to attempt to shrug the wet denim off a second time before the conversation stopped her in her tracks the same as the strange dog in her house. She stepped down the entryway and the couch came into view, the glow of the tv throwing shadows around the room. She swallowed down the noise in her throat when she saw Abby leaned back into the cushions, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up over her head, her school laptop open in her lap and balanced atop the Christmas blanket. Atlas was curled in a tight little knot against her hip, nose tucked to tail. Not-Atlas was splayed dramatically on his back beside her with his paws in the air like a cartoon drawing of a dead bug, tongue lolling, completely unbothered by the fact that this was absolutely not his house.

Beth’s heart tugged once, tight and quiet, then let go. She lingered in the entryway, watching the exchange quietly. 

“Oh my god, Jack. We are years away from that,” Abby said, exasperated and amused all at once. She lifted a hand from her keyboard to pat Not-Atlas’s side. The dog wiggled happily and pushed his head into her side with a contented grunt. “We haven’t even hit the Matty Healy era yet. Pay attention.”

“Right, sorry,” Jack’s voice floated in from the kitchen, easy over the rush of the faucet and the clicking of Abby’s typing. “So, this Scooter Brown—.”

“Scooter Braun,” she groaned, shooting a dry glare toward the kitchen doorway. 

“That’s what I said. Who’s not listening now? Anyway, Skipper Vaughn—.”

Abby sighed, but Beth caught the little smile illuminated in the glow of her laptop screen. “You are so exhausting.”

“I’m just trying to keep up, kid,” Jack called back, unbothered. “You’re like a damn soap opera recap in there. Not sure what any of this has to do with that calc test.”

“I knew you weren’t listening,” Abby said with a sigh, but she didn’t sound mad. If anything, she sounded a little pleased. 

Beth stood in the entryway, watching them. For a second, it didn’t even feel like she’d walked in. It was like she’d been standing there forever, on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she was allowed to step into. She hadn’t seen Abby smile like that in… well, how long had it been? Her stubborn, brilliant little girl didn’t share that smile easily; all teeth and wide enough to push up her cheeks and crinkle her nose. But there it was, shining from her like gold, while Jack moved through her home like he was simply a part of the furniture. Like he’d always known how to be the soft landing for a kid that wasn’t his. For a cruel, brief, beautiful, aching moment, it felt like home.

Beth’s fingers stilled on the jacket as that hummingbird came on quiet and warm, fluttering in her gut like it was trying to escape. Jack glanced at Abby from the kitchen doorway, something softening in his face when she rolled her eyes at him and laughed before returning to her homework, and that flutter turned into a steady beating. The way he teased her, gently, and left room to push back, didn’t bristle to her snark, but rather returned it with his own clever jab that drew out that rare smile. The way he looked at her girl like he saw her. No one had looked at her like that before. Not her teachers, not her coaches, not her friends’ parents, not Ed. Certainly not Russell. But Jack didn’t look at Abby like she was some puzzle to crack or some problem he had to fix. 

He looked at her the same way he had Beth all those years ago.

“I was!” Jack called back defensively.

“You’re not. But okay,” Abby muttered, still typing without looking up. “And for the record? If I have to listen to your boomer road trip playlist every time we get in the truck, you can absolutely suffer through my Swiftie TED Talk.”

He chuckled from the kitchen. “My music’s not that old. Some of it’s from the 2000s.”

“Oh wow. Next you’ll tell me your taste in women is just as current.”

Jack choked on his laugh and stepped into the kitchen doorway with an exaggeratedly offended look, dishrag in hand. “That felt targeted.”

“It was.” Abby grinned, sinking a little deeper into the couch cushions, smug and glowing with the satisfaction of a well-landed jab. “Now shut up and pay attention.”

He rolled his eyes and wiped his hands. “Bossy.”

“Old,” she shot back without missing a beat.

“Watch it,” Jack warned, pointing the dishrag at her like a white flag he wasn’t really waving before stepping back into the kitchen. “I can go pull that alternator right back out, kid. Keep it up. Hey, where does your mom keep the dish soap? This Bath & Body Works crap you have in here sucks.”

Beth watched from the shadows of the entryway, the smile curling at the edge of her mouth as involuntary as the sting in her eyes. She placed a hand on the wall to steady herself as she kicked off her sneakers, still watching Abby smile and toss back another quip that Jack volleyed back.

“It’s under the sink,” she called out, her voice catching in the quiet between their laughter.

Abby’s head snapped up. “Hey, Mom!” she beamed, immediately brightening. One hand reached for Atlas, who stirred just slightly against her hip before resettling with a grumble. 

Beth’s breath left her in a slow exhale. Not-Atlas thumped his tail lazily at the sound of her voice. She stepped further into the room, returning Abby’s smile with one that didn’t feel forced as she crossed the living room to wrap her arms around her from behind the couch.

Jack appeared in the kitchen doorway a second later, dishrag still in hand. He leaned one shoulder against the frame, easy and at home in a way that made something twist in Beth’s chest and made the trauma bay feel far away. A well-worn hoodie replaced the scrub top she’d seen him in that morning, the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, his forearms streaked in grease. His hair was still damp from the rain, flattened a bit, curls sticking in every direction like he’d dragged his hand through it one too many times. 

He met her eyes and offered a soft, crooked smile; quiet and familiar. Beth felt the weight of it settle somewhere low in her belly.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” she breathed. 

“Mom, you’re choking me.”

Beth loosened her grip automatically, but didn’t let go. She pressed a kiss to the top of Abby’s head instead, then pulled back just enough to see her face; cheeks pink, eyes bright, safe. Whole. Breathing. That flutter in her chest ached and swelled all at once.

She looked up and found Jack still leaning in the doorway, watching them with something quiet and unreadable behind his eyes. She met his gaze and gave him a small, tired smile.

“Thanks for going to get her,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

Jack shrugged, brow hitching as he made a dismissive little noise. “No big deal. Happy to help.”

“Seriously.” She meant it. Let it hang there in the quiet between them, heavy with more than just gratitude.

He just nodded, and Beth could almost believe that was enough. She brushed Abby’s hair back gently, eyes still on Jack as she asked, “Why aren’t you home? You didn’t have to stick around.” She winced the second the words were out, biting lightly at the inside of her cheek. “I just mean—”

“He had to play mechanic in the driveway,” Abby cut in, as if she could rescue her from the stumble. “My car was, like, big dead.”

Beth’s eyebrows lifted, eyes flicking to Jack again. “Big dead?”

Jack grinned, a little smug. “Terminal.”

“Anyway,” Abby went on, “we got a new battery after breakfast.”

Beth’s gaze darted back to her daughter. “Breakfast?”

Abby nodded casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Yeah. Jack took me to get something to eat after he got me. Made me listen to his old-man music in the truck.”

Jack groaned and tipped his head back like he was begging the ceiling for patience. “You have no taste.”

“Oh my god, I’m literally talking,” she snapped, not looking up from her screen.

“Oh my god, I literally hear you,” Jack shot back.

“Shut up, Jack.”

Beth couldn’t help it—she laughed. It started small, curled at the corner of her mouth, then bloomed into something fuller, looser, warm in her throat. She looked at Jack again and saw the same smile reflected there. Abby looked up at the sound of it, then ducked her head with a grin of her own, cheeks flushed. For a second, they were just here; in the living room, together, with dogs and dumb jokes and the kind of ease Beth hadn’t felt in months. The tightness in her chest let go. Not all the way, but enough that she finally felt like she could take a full breath. 

“Anyway,” Abby said, lifting her chin with exaggerated dignity, “as I was saying before I was interrupted—” she shot a pointed glare at Jack, “—we got a new battery for my car. Did you know they expire? I thought you had the same battery for, like, ever. But apparently, you’re supposed to get a new one every five years? Jack said mine was the original. Wild, right?”

Damn it. She’d been meaning to replace that. Beth raised an eyebrow, already halfway to a smirk. “Honey, do we keep the same batteries in the remote?”

Abby frowned. “No… oh—wait.” Her eyes widened as the metaphor clicked into place. “They’re like a battery-battery? You didn’t say that.”

Jack dragged a hand down his face. “Why would it be called a battery if it wasn’t a—?” He gave up halfway through, muttering something under his breath that Beth was pretty sure ended in Jesus Christ.

Abby snorted, actually snorted, and then covered her mouth with both hands, wide-eyed. Beth blinked, startled by the sound. It was so sudden, so full and real that her own eyebrows flew up like they’d been pulled on a string. When was the last time she had heard that?

“Oh my god, Jack!” she said between giggles. “Stop interrupting! I’m trying to talk!”

Jack lifted his hands, a smug little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “By all means. Please continue the riveting saga of the world’s most abused Subaru. I’ll keep the commentary to myself.”

Beth didn’t interrupt. She just listened and let herself enjoy it, letting That Girl sit on the arm of the couch and watch in wonder as her Abby laughed. Beth snorted a quiet laugh when Jack rolled his eyes and chuckled, and her smile pulled a little wider despite herself. 

“Alright,” she said, glancing between them, “so you two got a new battery?”

“Well, kinda,” Abby said, already gearing up. “We got one, and Jack showed me how to change it, which was actually kinda cool. But my car still wouldn’t start. He thought it was something wrong with my…” She turned toward Jack, lifting her eyebrows in question. “Alternator, right?”

He nodded once, that proud little half-smile blooming on his face, quick and subtle, but full of something warm that made Beth’s cheeks feel hot.

Abby caught it and grinned back, then turned to her mom with a shrug. “So he said he’d just drive me to my appointment since he, like, crashed out over the idea of me taking an Uber or whatever. And we went to go look for a new alternator after so he could fix my car. And I got to meet Moose, which was the best part. Even though someone never told me he had a dog. Like, rude.”

Beth’s gaze drifted to the dog, still upside down and very much asleep on her couch like he paid rent.

“This is Moose,” Abby added, giving his belly a pat. “He’s literally the stupidest dog I’ve ever met.”

Moose snorted in his sleep, tongue flopping even further out the side of his mouth like he’d taken that as a compliment.

Jack crossed his arms loosely over his chest from the doorway. “He’s not stupid. He’s just… simple. He’s a good boy.”

“He’s a great boy,” Abby said proudly, scratching behind Moose’s ear. “And I love him.”

Beth just shook her head, smiling into Abby’s hood. It was too easy to slip into this; into them, like them was even something they were. And that was maybe the scariest part of all. Beth looked between them, letting her eyes linger just a second too long on Jack. There was something in her expression when she looked at him, a tug at the corner of her mouth that didn’t quite become a smile, but wasn’t nothing either. Familiar. Fond, even. Maybe a little curious.

“Sounds like you two have had a busy morning.”

“Yeah,” Abby said, already halfway through scritching Moose’s ears. “Jack just finished. It’s been kinda fun, though.”

Beth’s gaze lingered on Jack. Her voice softened just slightly. “Sounds like it.”

“He also told me you ran out of gas, like, all the time,” Abby added cheerfully.

Beth rolled her eyes. “It was not all the time.” A short laugh slipped free as she turned to Jack, pointing an accusing finger. “It was twice. Stop lying to her.”

Jack smirked, not even pretending to feel bad. “It was three times.”

“Whatever.”

Beth shook her head, but the smile stayed. At least until Abby tilted her head and asked, “Wait, why are you home so early? Don’t you get off at seven? It’s, like… three.”

Beth’s breath caught just enough to make Jack glance up.

“Oh, um…” She stiffened and gave Abby’s hair a little smoothing pass with her fingers, like the contact might anchor her. “They didn’t need me at work, so they sent me home. Kind of nice, huh?”

Abby nodded slowly, but Beth could tell she wasn’t buying it. Her daughter didn’t push, though. She turned back to Moose, who had begun lazily licking her cheek with impressive commitment.

“Dude,” Abby said, scrunching her face. “Your breath smells like straight ass. Get out of here.”

Moose flopped against her harder, satisfied.

Beth laughed softly but felt it waver at the end. She glanced toward the kitchen and caught Jack watching her. It wasn’t obvious. But it was the kind of attention that made her skin feel too tight, like the seams of her sweatshirt didn’t sit right on her shoulders. He wasn’t grinning now. Just looking at her the way he used to when they were younger, when she’d try to pretend everything was fine and he never let her get away with it; like he could still see the fault lines under her skin before they shifted and shook. She looked away first and bent to grab her gym bag without saying anything more, clutching the straps like she needed the weight in her hands.

“I’m gonna throw these in the wash,” she murmured, already turning toward the hall. “Be right back.”

Beth didn’t let herself breathe until she reached the laundry room. The hallway felt too long, like walking through molasses, her bag thumping against her thigh with every step. Her hand clenched the strap so tightly her knuckles ached. She didn’t glance back, didn’t check to see if Jack was still watching her. She knew he was. She could feel it like a weight at the base of her neck.

She stepped inside the laundry room and shut the door behind her with a soft click. Only then did she exhale, shaky and uneven, like it had been caught in her chest for hours. The silence felt too loud in here, but it was private. Dim, except for the strip of afternoon light bleeding through the half-shut blinds above the washer. She dropped the gym bag on top of the machine with more force than she meant to, the vibration of it jarring through her wrists.

Her fingers trembled as she found the zipper. It stuck once, because why the fuck wouldn’t it, and she tugged it harder. The sound of it opening felt louder than it should’ve, echoing in the close space.

Beth didn’t look at what she pulled out. Just gripped each piece of clothing and shoved it into the washer one at a time like the day itself could be laundered away if she just moved fast enough. The scrubs were still damp with sweat, sleeves sticking together, pants bunched in on themselves like they wanted to be anywhere else. She forced them down into the metal drum. Shirt. Pants. Compression socks. Her badge slid out when she tugged out her compression jacket and hit the tile floor with a light, accusing thud.

She didn’t look up when she heard footsteps in the hallway behind her, too heavy to be Abby, too familiar not to brace for. The door creaked open behind her.

“Hey,” Jack said softly. “You good?”

Beth flinched just slightly, then caught herself. She glanced over her shoulder, lips pulling into a smile that didn’t quite land. “I’m good.”

“Your kid this morning?” he asked, gentler this time.

Beth froze, her hands tightening on the blue jacket still half-folded in her bag. Her jaw locked, her breath stalled.

“Her name was Alyja,” she said quietly, the syllables catching like splinters in her throat. She swiped a quick, rough hand across her cheek and turned toward him, trying to pretend her voice didn’t shake. “Thank you again. For everything today. For Abby. You didn’t have to…”

Her words trailed off. Her voice cracked on Abby’s name.

Jack was already moving. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, stepping forward and catching her wrist before she could turn away. “Stop.”

“I’m okay, I’m just—” Beth started, but her voice faltered when he said her name again, soft but firm. She shook her head, blinking fast, already trying to pull back. “Jack—”

“Beth.” Just her name, soft and firm, and steady in a way that undid her.

She stopped fighting. She stared at him through watery eyes, her mouth pressed in a flat line she couldn’t hold much longer.

“She was two blocks away from home,” she whispered. Jack didn’t speak. His fingers stayed around her wrist, warm and gentle, his thumb brushing against her skin like he could ease the ache beneath it.

“She was seventeen years old, Jack,” Beth choked out. “All I could think of when you came in that room—” Her voice caught. She covered her mouth like she could shove the rest back in. “All I could think of was Abby.”

Jack stepped closer. “You did everything you could.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough anymore,” she said, a hollow sound in her chest. “Not when I had to look at that girl’s mom and—” She broke off, sniffled, shook her head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I know. I shouldn’t. I’ve been doing this for half my life, I shouldn’t be getting this worked up—”

“No. Not that.” His voice was quiet but certain. “You don’t have to apologize, Sparky. Not to me.”

Beth went still again, eyes glassy as she blinked at the floor between them. Jack reached for the front of her jacket, fingers curling in the fabric just enough to pull her forward.

Beth didn’t move at first.

Jack’s hand on her jacket was gentle; like he was offering, not asking. She hovered in the space between them, stiff and brittle, hands braced against his chest like that was as close as she’d let herself get. Her breath caught high in her throat. She could feel the steady rise and fall on his chest beneath her palms, the slow pull of breath like it cost him nothing to be here while everything inside her was screaming.

Please, That Girl breathed. Please. 

He guided her in, slow and sure, one arm slipping low around her waist, the other rising to cradle the back of her head. He tucked her in beneath his chin like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The fan whirred softly above them, the hum of the washer ticking by behind her like a second hand, but none of it seemed real except him. The heat of him. The clean weight of his arms. The way his heartbeat beat slow and patient under her ear, like he wasn’t in a rush to make her okay. She smelled rain on him. Oil. That faint, stubborn soap he never swapped out for anything better; warm and old and familiar and undeniably Jack. Something that made her ache down to the marrow.

Please, That Girl inside her whispered. Please just stay.

Beth’s breath hitched again. Her fingers twitched once, then curled into the front of his sweatshirt like she was grabbing fistfuls of time. Like she could hold it still if she held on tight enough.

And then she folded. Slowly, like a wave collapsing on the shore. She closed her eyes, her forehead tucked into the curve of his collarbone, her knees softening as the last bit of resistance bled out of her. Her breath shuddered against him, and Jack pulled her in closer, his arm strong around her waist.

His hand moved gently over her back, the other threading through her hair, anchoring her in place. Not to keep her from leaving, but to give her somewhere to land. She could feel him breathe her in. She could feel the way his chin dipped, the press of his mouth to her temple, just barely there. A moment she could almost pretend she imagined, and had convinced herself she didn’t want to for such a long time. For the first time in a long time, she let herself be held. 

Jack held her in the quiet, his arms firm and steady, like he was content to stay that way as long as she needed. His chin rested against the top of her head, and for a little while, neither of them said anything. Beth stayed pressed to his chest, listening to the slow thud of his heartbeat under her ear. 

Jack shifted just a little, adjusting his arms, but didn’t let her go as he broke the silence. “I really need to teach Abby how to fix her own car.” Beth let out a small, surprised laugh that caught in her throat. It cracked something open in the silence. “Just as helpless as her mother,” he added, teasing.

“Hey,” she protested weakly, but there was no heat in it.

“I’m serious,” he said, pulling back just enough to glance down at her face, still damp with tears. “You worked in that shop for, what…two years? And never paid attention?”

Beth sniffed, her mouth twitching into a tired grin. “I paid some attention.”

Jack raised a brow. He chuckled, low and warm, and the sound curled around her like a blanket.

“I could’ve learned,” Beth said, a little smile playing on her lips. “But it was more fun watching my cute boyfriend do it.”

He huffed a laugh. “Ah. So you were useless on purpose.”

“I was being supportive.”

He grinned. “Right. By standing in the doorway and flirting while I did all the work.”

“Exactly.”

His thumb brushed her cheek, slow and careful. It stayed there a second longer than it needed to before his fingers moved to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

“You always were a sucker for a guy with dirty hands,” he murmured.

I was always a sucker for you, That Girl murmured. I guess I still am.

The way he looked at her in that moment made her chest ache; like time hadn’t passed at all, like she hadn’t spent years trying to forget how easy this used to be. Her smile faltered, just barely, but she didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

“I was,” she whispered.

Beth let her head fall gently back against his chest. The movement was small, almost shy, but Jack didn’t shift or flinch. He just held her like she belonged there.

She had once. Or at least, she had thought she did.

She closed her eyes and listened.

The steady churn of the washing machine filled the quiet. Jack’s breathing moved slow and deep under her ear, solid and calm. Down the hall, Abby laughed, something bright and real that made Beth’s throat tighten all over again. A few muffled words followed, soft and amused, directed at the dogs no doubt, and the answering thump of a tail against the couch leg made her smile through the ache in her chest.

This was her home. Her little world. And yet, this moment didn’t feel like something she was meant to keep. Logically, she knew she shouldn’t be here. Not with him. Not like this. Not tucked against him in the dim light of her laundry room, his arms steady around her, like no time had passed at all. Like the weight of the years and the heartbreak and the silence hadn’t existed. Like she hadn’t spent the better part of her life learning how to live without him.

She’d trained herself not to wonder. Not to imagine. Not to let her thoughts drift back to what it would’ve been like if he hadn’t left, if she’d been able to make him stay, if they hadn’t both been so young and stupid and scared. She’d buried those fantasies beneath practicality and motherhood and reality. She’d taught herself to live with the choice.

But then he walked into that exam room, and her world shifted. And ever since, she’d been losing ground. And now here she was. Letting herself lean. Letting herself remember. Letting herself feel what it was to be held by someone who knew her. Beth swallowed hard, the guilt and longing braided so tightly together she couldn’t tell one from the other.

She should pull away. She should move. She should say something that created space.

But she didn’t. Not yet.

She just stood there, quietly stealing this moment that didn’t belong to her, and wishing she could stop time long enough to convince herself it did. She knew it was foolish, this aching, impossible tenderness blooming in her chest. But she didn’t move.

Jack’s arms stayed around her like they’d never learned how not to be, like thirty years hadn’t carved out a lifetime between them. And maybe that’s why she stayed for just a moment longer. Maybe that’s why she let her eyes close and let the weight of her head rest where it wanted. Because it was foolish, yes, but it also felt so safe. Dangerous in a way she hadn’t let herself feel in so long.

After things ended with Russell, after everything went to hell and her dad moved her into that shitty apartment by the hospital she never wanted to be in, there were nights when she let herself wonder.

Only in the dark. Only in those fragile, unraveling hours between midnight and morning. When the apartment was too quiet and too cold, and Abby was so small she could barely fill the newborn clothes Becca had bought in bulk. When she could hear her daughter breathing through the monitor beside her bed, soft and steady and perfect, and she’d stare at the crack in the ceiling above her mattress, too exhausted to sleep but too wrung out to cry.

She would lie there and think about names.

Think about that name.

The one she hadn’t said in years. The one she hadn’t let herself touch until it slipped free, unbidden, out of her mouth when the nurse asked what’s her name? and she was too tired, too undone to lie.

Beth hadn’t let herself think of Jack until that moment; until that name left her lips before she even had the chance to stop it. Abby.

And then it was over. The floodgate cracked open. And she let herself wonder again: What if he had come back?

Maybe, in some other life, things would’ve been different. Maybe they would’ve lived near the ocean like they always talked about; some little weather-beaten house with peeling paint that he’d work on every weekend. He’d curse at the porch steps and threaten to tear out the kitchen cabinets every other Saturday, but he’d do it all with sawdust on his sleeves and the sun in his eyes and a smile tucked beneath his stubble. And the house would be theirs. Imperfect and loud and full of dog hair and laughter, but it would be theirs.

Maybe they’d have moved back to Coldwater so Abby could grow up near her grandparents; familiar streets and old neighbors waving from porches. Maybe Beth would’ve taken the job at the clinic, the one her mother used to talk about when they were kids. Maybe they would’ve bought her parents’ house once they retired, let it live a new life full of grass stained feet and bike tracks and home-cooked dinners.

Maybe Jack would’ve kissed her on his way out the door every morning, pressed his lips to her forehead like a promise. Maybe he’d bring her lunch when she forgot it on the counter, roll his eyes and tease her about it later like it didn’t matter at all. Maybe he’d let her sleep in on her days off without her even asking, because he’d know the way exhaustion settled deep in her bones. He’d have seen it. He always did see her.

Maybe in some other universe—some parallel thread where he never left—he’d be lying beside her in that apartment, their hands tangled between them, listening to the soft, steady sounds of their daughter breathing through the monitor on the nightstand. Maybe he’d love them. Stay for them.

Maybe Abby would’ve had a father who never missed a moment. Who would’ve been there for her first breath, his hands shaking as he reached for her. Who would’ve cried when they put her in his arms for the first time, whispering wonderstruck things into her tiny ears. Who wouldn’t have hesitated, not even for a second, when they rushed her away to the NICU.

He would’ve known what to say. Knew the right words when Beth couldn’t find any.

He would’ve pitched a fucking tent in that NICU if they’d let him, stubborn and protective, refusing to leave Abby’s side. He would’ve curled himself around their daughter like he could shield her from everything that was broken in the world. 

And when the bleeding started, when it wouldn’t stop, and Beth woke up in the recovery room—panicked and confused, without her baby or the womb that carried her into this world—he wouldn’t have stared at her like she was a disappointment, like she’d failed at the one thing she was supposed to do. He wouldn’t have turned cold or silent or resentful.

No.

Jack would’ve been there, eyes wet and voice low, kissing her temple and telling her it was okay. That she was okay. He would’ve known exactly what to whisper into her hair when she broke apart. He would’ve crawled into that tiny hospital bed with her and held her together when she was heartbroken and terrified. Would’ve made sure she never had to bear any of it by herself.

This is all I need. She could hear him whisper on those nights. This is all I’ve ever needed. Just you and her. In that dream, they were safe. They were happy. Love was still kind. She would fall asleep wrapped in arms that never felt too far away and wake up to coffee already brewing and laughter down the hall. The sheets wouldn’t feel cold. The silence wouldn’t feel so loud.

They’d be happy. Because they’d have him.

But that wasn’t the life she got.

The life she got was one where the bed cooled far too quickly. Where a baby stirred in the next room, a baby who would grow up flinching at the last name he used as a bargaining chip whenever someone said it aloud in class or across a doctor’s office like it was something to be embarrassed by. Like the weight of it still hung on a ghost of a man who hadn’t earned it.

And Beth still woke up alone.

She used to stare at the sky through the blinds of her apartment and wonder if he was looking up at the same stars. The ones that used to be theirs. She’d whisper to them like they could answer. Like they could tell her what she did wrong. Like they could explain why love stopped being enough.

Maybe in some other life, she wouldn’t have to beg the universe to trade skies. Maybe in that life, Jack would’ve come home. And if he had, the door would have been unlocked. It always was. Even when it shouldn’t have been. Damn her, maybe it still was now.

She told herself she’d stopped wondering a long time ago. Told herself she’d buried that version of him, and the girl she used to be when she loved him, so deep inside her that they couldn’t claw their way back to the surface.

But then he stood in her laundry room. He stood in her life again. With his arms around her and the smell of rain in his clothes and that look on his face like he still saw all the broken parts of her and didn’t flinch. And for the first time in years, she let herself lean into something that felt like home.

And she hated herself for it, because it wasn’t just about her anymore. It was watching him race out of the hospital to pick up a child who wasn’t his, watching him wipe grease off his hands after fixing her car. It was the way he made her daughter laugh, the way he smiled when she rolled her eyes at him and called him annoying, like it didn’t sting a little that she was seventeen and just now learning how to laugh with a man like that.

It was watching Abby light up, watching Jack be there with a fierce, casual certainty that didn’t ask for anything in return. No bargaining. No begging. No ultimatums.

Just there. And there meant that he could be gone again, too.

But Beth let herself wonder again. What if that had been her life? What if Abby had grown up with this?

What if she never had to field the bruises of silence and absence, of birthdays missed and promises broken? What if she’d had someone to fight for her? Someone who would’ve never let go? She wouldn’t don the same armor Beth knew she’d inherited from her, guarding herself with a sharp tongue and a need to prove that she was smart and funny and worth staying for. She’d never be ashamed. She’d never be angry. She’d never be unwanted. She’d have a dad who loved her. Who loved them.

Beth could see it then. See that life, blurry and shining across the room like some cruel mirage. Close enough to touch, but never to keep.

The worst part, the part that made her throat close and her chest go tight, was that for the first time in so long, she wasn’t just mourning what could’ve been for herself. She was mourning it for her daughter.

And now here he was. Warm and real, and so heartbreakingly steady. In her house. In her life. Holding her now like he hadn’t missed all these years. Like the fault lines between then and now didn’t scare him. Like she hadn’t bled alone. Like she hadn’t raised Abby in the wake of a man who’d never even tried to stay for her, either.

Jack let out a breath above her head, the motion barely brushing her hair. One of his thumbs still moved gently along the curve of her spine like he didn’t even know he was doing it. Beth swallowed hard. She didn’t let herself speak. She stood there in the quiet of the laundry room, wrapped in arms she never thought she’d feel again, and let the weight of everything she’d carried for years settle, just for a second, into someone else. She stayed pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear like it was some kind of lullaby she remembered from a lifetime ago.

And maybe it was. She wondered for a moment if it could be again before she swallowed it down.

She didn’t want to wonder. She couldn’t.

Because wondering meant hoping, and hope was a fire she’d already burned herself in once before. It always started slow: a what if, a flicker, a softness. But it spread fast. Lit up everything she had spent years trying to rebuild. And when it burned out, when it always burned out, it left her hollow.

He’d left her once. Things had been like this then, too. Quiet. Close. Familiar in all the ways that made her forget how much it hurt to remember.

She couldn’t live through that again. She couldn’t let herself fall and claw her way back up again only to drown. That Girl in the tides, the one who had sobbed into her pillow at eighteen until she made herself sick, who’d begged the stars to bring him home, she wouldn’t come back from it this time.

But, God.

God, how good would it be if he just stayed.

If he stayed and didn’t flinch at the weight of it all. If he stayed and helped her carry the pieces she’d had to learn to lift alone. If he stayed and made good on every promise they never had the chance to keep. That heartbroken, lovesick little girl inside her would have loved him every day of her life if he had just stayed.

But he didn’t.

And somehow, against every good instinct, every word of warning she whispered to herself in the dark, she had loved him anyway.

Even in the silence. Even in the absence.

And now, with her head tucked beneath his chin, like she was still That Girl, still eighteen and stupid and hopelessly in love, Beth let her stay. She let her lean into him and let him hold her a little tighter. Let that warmth spread through her in a gentle crawl until all she could feel was him.

She let herself wonder if things would be like this if he stayed this time. 

Just for a moment.

Because this felt like something.

[bloodibambiidoll]

White Rabbit

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rafe goes to Barry for help with his “pouge problem” but he gets more help than he bargained for when he meets Barry’s cousin in the most unsuspecting way. He can’t stay away from her, despite Barry’s protests, especially when she’s just as unhinged as he is. Takes place during season 2 episode 4 “Homecoming”. Wk: 6.9k.(oops)

Warnings: Gun violence(reader shoots a guy but doesn’t kill him), cocaine use(both reader and rafe), Barry is not super stoked about R and Rafe being into each other, unprotected sex, oral (m & f), choking, hair pulling, face fucking, Dom!Rafe, Sub!Reader, unhinged reader, spit kink, digration, daddy kink, a lil spanking, biting, Rafe & R are obsessed with each other, R has the nickname “bunny” & is implied to be alternative, her outfit is described but other than that no physical descriptions. Lmk if I missed any please! 18+MNDI!!

A/N: This is my first time ever writing for Rafe, so it might not be the best ever but I fell for this man so hard and I just needed to write him with an unhinged girl. Shout out to my girl @babygorewhore for not only beta reading but hyping me up/brainstorming with me through this entire fic. I might make this into a series of some sort. Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!✨🖤

Rafe slammed his truck door shut as he walked up to Barry’s porch, scoffing when he saw him sitting there with his feet propped up while he read a book.

“Hey, you got my shit?”

“Shit, you’re early.” Barry closes his book and sets it down on the table in front of him, a condescending smirk spreading across his lips.

“Do you have my shit or not, man?” Rafe groans as he plops his large body down onto the rundown cushion of one of the porch chairs.

“Yeah, I got yo shit.” Barry chuckles, pulling the baggy from his pocket and tossing it on the table. “You got my money?”

“Yeah.” Rafe pulls a wad of cash from his pocket and slaps it into his hand before grabbing the baggy so he can make himself line. He snorts it, letting out a deep breath after. “I need a piece too.”

“Hooohoooo!! You need a piece? Country Club Killer now, huh?” Barry laughs, his hand coming down to slap his knee.

“Don’t!!” Rafe slams his hand on the table. “Mess with me right now.”

“Aight, what the hell you need a piece for?”

“John B is fucking back.”

“John B is fucking dead dude.”

“Nah man, I saw him for myself in the Bahamas, and just now Top saw him in town with my sister scoring beer.”

“FUCK!!!!” Barry kicks the table, sending it flying a few feet away. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin me? I’m done playing with these kids bruh.”

Barry kicks himself up from his seat, walking over to a locker on the side of the porch. He enters the combination before he pulls out a gun and starts to load it.

“You wanna be done with those little shits once and for all? You’re gonna need a lot more than just a piece. You gotta start going at this shit like a soldier.” He spins the barrel, clicking it into place before handing the gun to Rafe.

“You do this, you know I’ll take care of you, alright? You won’t be doing this shit for nothing man I’ll -“

“YOU THINK I’M SCARED OF YOU, YOU LITTLE BITCH?” A male voice came booming from behind the house.

“IF YOU AREN’T NOW, YOU FUCKING WILL BE!” Another voice followed, but this one was unmistakably female.

“Dude, what the fuck was that? Is that chick okay? Should you like - I don’t know - deal with that or some shit?” Rafe’s blue eyes scan the other man’s face for signs of distress but it was almost like if he hadn’t mentioned it, he wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Nah bro, that’s my cousin. She’s got it, stop trippin. We doin’ this or not?”

There’s a loud crash and then he hears the girl's voice again.

“I TOLD YOU TO GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!!”

“Dude I’m gonna go check it out, that doesn’t sound good.” Rafe isn’t sure why he really gives a shit if this random chick who he hasn’t even seen is alright or not, maybe he’s just high and paranoid. Either way his curiosity gets the best of him and he starts walking towards the back of Barry’s place.

“She doesn’t need your help pretty boy, trust me.” Barry snorts and shakes his head as he begrudgingly follows him.

When Rafe rounds the corner the sight he sees is far from what he was expecting. The man who he heard yelling was shorter than him but more built, probably middle aged, he wore a white tank top and black board shorts and the look in his eyes told him that he was definitely one of Barry’s customers or less reliable dealers. The girl on the other hand? You were half his size, your hair in two braids with ribbons tied at the ends of them, you were wearing a tiny little baby pink tank top and black spandex shorts that barely covered her ass. You had combat boots on your feet that had little white ruffle socks sticking out of the top of them, but what was most shocking? You were holding a Glock in one of your small hands, and the collar of the man’s tank top was gathered in the other. You were standing on your tiptoes whilst also pulling the man down so he was face level with you, the Glock held to his head.

“I said, get on your fucking knees mother fucker, you got a hearing problem or some shit?” You growl at the man and it sends shivers down Rafe’s spine. You were beautiful. He watches as you shove the Glock into the man’s temple and ram your boot clad heel into his thigh causing him to fall to his knees with a grunt.

“Much better.” You smile as you tap his cheek with the gun before bringing it back to the side of his head. “Now, where the fuck is my fucking money?”

“I told you! I told you I don’t fucking have it right now I just need a little time!” The man’s voice is shaky now, his eyes traveling between you and the gun held to his head.

“Time? This isn’t a fucking loan service! Get me my money by tomorrow, or you’re fucked!” Your eyes are filled with fire and you let out a dry laugh.

“What’re you gonna do? Send Barry after me? Where is he at? He knows I always pay, just let me talk to hi-“ He’s cut off abruptly when you hit him across the cheek with the gun.

“SHUT UP!! You’re not fucking talking to Barry, you’re talking to me. If you don’t get my money you aren’t going to have to deal with him, you’re going to have to deal with me. Which I promise you don’t fucking want.” Rafe watches as you lean down into the guy's face, your eyes boring into his, a sinister smile paints your lips, and he isn’t even ashamed of the fact that he felt his cock stir in his pants at your display of dominance over this man twice your size. “Got it??”

“I don’t know how you expect me to get that amount by tomorrow I-“ The man grunts when you hit him in the face with the gun again, his face whipping to the side.

“I said, got it?” You hold the gun between his eyes, your smile never faltering.

���Yeah - yeah! I got it! I got it! Can I go now!?” The man holds his hands by his head in surrender, seemingly not wanting to argue with you further.

“I fucking mean it asshole, tomorrow, by sunset.” You glare at him momentarily before your smile returns, tapping his cheek with the gun again before turning to walk off.

“You aren’t gonna do shit bitch, you’re nothing without that little gun.”

Rafe’s blue eyes widen as he watches the man’s hand reach out and grab for your Glock. He subconsciously takes a step forward in your defense but soon realizes maybe you really don’t need help. Your body whips around, pulling the gun from the guy's reach and shooting him in the foot all in one motion. He screams out in pain, his hands grabbing onto his foot as he falls to the ground.

“Bring me my fucking money. Tomorrow. Or you’re going to be in a lot more pain than that.” You crouch down and spit in the guy's face before walking over him and into the house, letting the door slam shut behind you. Rafe stands there with his dick half hard and his jaw hanging open as he stares at the closed door you just disappeared behind.

“I told you she fuckin’ had it, and don’t even fuckin’ think about it, country club.” Barry’s voice snaps him out of his trance.

“Wha-? Think about what?”

“I see how you’re fuckin’ lookin at her dude, that’s like my sister in there. You stay your messy ass away from her, aight?”

“We should go check on her…” Rafe ignores Barry’s warning, walking towards the house despite his protests.

You let out an agitated groan as you flop down on the couch and toss your Glock on the cushion next to you. You grab a little clear baggy off the coffee table and sprinkle some of the powder onto the small mirror in front of you, using the random gift card you found in your wallet to push a portion of it into a straight line. You grab the rolled dollar bill sitting on the mirror and bring it up to your nose so fucking ready for this line after dealing with that shit head, but right when you bend over the front door slams open, causing you to jump back. Your foot hits the table and the movement makes a mess of your line. You let out a curse under your breath, your eyes rising to glare at your intruder.

You expect Barry, or maybe that fucking idiot really did want to lose a finger today. But instead of the brown eyes of your cousin, or the bloodshot hazel ones of your unreliable dealer, your eyes lock with piercing blue ones. You have to physically stop yourself from gasping at the sight of the man in front of you. He’s tall, really tall, and built, his chest and arms perfectly filling out the blue button up shirt he wore. His chestnut hair looked silky to the touch, his jaw looked perfect for biting, and his face was just all around beautiful. Especially those eyes, the look in them stern. There was something else there you couldn’t quite decipher, it almost seemed possessive.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice laced with concern.

“Uh - yeah? Aside from the fact that you just scared the shit out of me and made me knock my line all over the table, I’m just peachy.” You scoff, throwing him a playful smirk and roll of your eyes.

“Country Club here seems to think you’re some kinda damsel in distress or some shit.” Barry walks through the door behind him, smacking his bicep with the back of his hand and laughing loudly.

“Damsel in distress, huh? I don’t think I’d mind if a pretty boy like you came to my rescue.” You bite your bottom lip, your eyes roaming his figure.

“Hell fuckin’ nah! Quit that shit out right now, Bunny. I mean it. I told him the same shit, I don’t want this.” He gestures between you and Rafe. “To be a thing. You two are a recipe for fuckin’ disaster. This is Rafe Cameron, the dude I was tellin’ you about.”

“What the fuck did you tell her about me man?” Rafe’s voice comes out almost panicked and you find yourself wanting to comfort him immediately. You jump up from your seat and walk around the table so you can stand in front of him. He’s even taller up close, you have to tilt your head all the way to meet his eyes and you stop yourself from clenching your thighs at the height difference.

“So this is the guy that killed the sheriff, huh? Pretty boy is a cop killer? I find that kind of sexy…” You twirl a strand of your hair between your fingers, your teeth subconsciously finding your bottom lip again as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Barry, what the hell man? You told her that shit?” He addresses the other man but his eyes don’t leave yours, the look in them changed from concern to defense, and maybe a little lust? He was honestly looking at you like he wanted to choke you to death and this time you really couldn’t stop yourself from clenching your thighs where you stood.

“Hey, I’m not going to rat you out or some shit. Barry gave me the low down on everyone on the island when I moved, if I’m going to work for him I need to know the ins and outs, ya know? He trusts me, if you trust him, you can trust me. I’m cool.” You give him a smile that you hope is reassuring, you aren’t sure why but you want him to trust you.

“Alright.” His eyes search your face, almost as if he’s trying to read your thoughts, to see if you really mean it.

“Alright, we good?” You extend your hand towards him and he takes it in his much larger one, shaking it.

“We’re good.” You go to pull your hand away but he tightens his grasp, keeping it held in his. “You didn’t tell me your name though, or should I just call you, what did Barry call you? Bunny?”

“Bunny is preferred, but you can call me my real name too, if you’d like.” You let your thumb run across the back of his hand as you tell him your name, your eyes never leaving his.

“AIGHT! That’s enough of alla that.” Barry pushes past you, plopping down on the couch he grabs the bong on the coffee table and starts to load it.

“Bare, stop acting like you’re in charge of who I flirt with. I'm a grown ass woman, you're being dramatic.” You scoff, sending him a death glare.

“Seriously man, you’re acting like you’re her dad or some shit.” He chuckles when your cousin flips him off. “I’m sorry about your line by the way, I really just came to check in on you after I saw you arguing with that asshole out there. Let me make it up to you.”

Rafe brings his hand up to your shoulder, running his thumb over the blade a few times before letting it graze down your arm as he walks towards the couch. You watch as he sits down next to Barry and picks up your gift card, expertly lining the fine power back into a nice row before patting the cushion next to him. A smile breaks across your lips as you take the empty seat. He doesn’t miss the way your tits bounce when your ass hits the couch and the smell of your sweet perfume makes his cock twitch.

“For you, pretty girl.” He holds the folded dollar bill up to you with a smirk and you happily take it from him.

“Thanks, cutie.” You wink at him. When you lean down Rafe notices your hair is in your way so like it’s the most casual thing in the world he brings his large hand up to your face and sweeps the straw pieces behind your ear. He pushes the rest of it behind your shoulder and his hand stays there while you inhale through your nostril. His touch doesn’t leave you, even when you lean back against the couch, he simply adjusts it so it’s around your shoulder.

“You gonna flirt with my cousin all goddamn night or are we gonna deal with your little pouge problem?”

“Pouge problem? What’s going on?” You raise your eyebrows, your eyes traveling between Barry and Rafe.

“You remember that little fucker John B I was telling you about? His ass is alive and back on the island.” Barry shakes his head and lets out a dry laugh.

“That’s the kid the cops think killed the sheriff, right? Damn. That’s not good for you, Rafe.” You make eye contact and bite your lip nervously. “Those kids know you actually killed her, don’t they?”

“Yeah, and my fucking sister is with them. Her and John B were there, they saw the whole goddamn thing.” Rafe groans, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “I can’t have them opening their fucking mouths. I just can’t.”

“Then you know what you have to do, right? Shut them the fuck up, once and for all.” Your eyes darken and it reminded him of the way they looked outside, when you were holding a gun to your dealer's head.

“Yeah, no shit dude, that’s why I said we were going to deal with it.” Barry scoffs, rolling his eyes at you.

“Okay, I don’t know what the hell is up with you attitude Bare, but fucking ditch it.” You glare at him as you grab the couch pillow next to you and throw it at his face.

“Oh? You wanna fuckin’ go bruh?” Your cousin grins at you, gripping the pillow in his hand and swinging it over Rafe’s body, directly into your face with a cackle.

“Oh you mother fucker!” You let out a laugh, your hands go for the pillow but it’s ripped from your grasp.

“CUT IT THE FUCK OUT!!” Rafe takes the pillow in his large ringed hand and throws it across the room causing you to jump, your smile falling. “Barry, are you gonna help me or not man?”

“Hey.” Your eyes are soft again, you put your hand on his chest and rub soft circles onto his skin through his shirt with the pad of your thumb. “He’s going to help you, and I will too. We were just fucking around, everything’s alright. You’re probably under a lot of stress, huh? Poor thing.”

Rafe isn’t exactly sure how to react. No one has ever taken his anger and looked at it as more than just that, anger, yet here you are knowing him for all of ten minutes and the minute he loses his temper you see it for what it is, stress. Plus you’re kind of coddling him, and he’s never had anyone coddle him before. He almost feels speechless.

“I’m not gonna suck your dick about it like she is but I’m gonna help you man, fuckin’ relax. We doin’ this shit tonight?” Barry cracks his knuckles and kicks his feet up on the coffee table, earning an immediate glare from you. He scoffs, taking his feet off the table with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t know why you care so much if my feet are on the table dude, it’s my fuckin’ table anyways.”

“The drugs I put inside my nose are on this table, I don’t want your dirty ass shoes on it. It's common sense really.” He rolls his eyes and you flip him off, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Yeah man, tonight. I want to give this shit over with. I bet you anything they’re at John B’s. They’re stupid enough to go there.” Rafe’s hand is tapping on his already shaking leg and you can tell he’s anxious, you reach out and grab it, stopping his motions. He doesn’t look at you, but he intertwines your fingers, his hand squeezing yours. You squeeze his back and bring your other hand to his bicep so you can rub soothing circles on it. He lets out a sigh. “Once it’s dark, then they won’t see us coming.”

“Aight, let’s do this shit. Bunny, you in?” Barry raises a brow at you, his eyes lingering on the way you’re touching Rafe. “Also, I thought I said I didn’t want this to be a thing.”

“It could be dangerous, I don’t know if you should come, I wouldn't want anything to happen to you.” Rafe answers before you can, his hand squeezing yours again in what you assume is supposed to be reassurance but it actually just pisses you off.

“Okay.” Your voice is stern, your hands leave him as you stand from the couch and he immediately misses your touch. “I wanna get something straight, right fucking now. I am not some weak little girl who sits at home while all the fun shit goes down. If that’s the kinda girl you’re into, you are not going to find that with me. I’m a ride or die type of bitch. If my man is in trouble, I’m helping him. So if you want this to be a ‘thing’ as Barry is calling it, then I suggest you accept that sooner rather than later.”

“And you, have no fucking say in who I do and don’t engage with sexually or romatically. Me and Rafe clearly have chemistry and I could tell that the moment I locked eyes with him, so you’re just going to have to get the fuck over it. Are we clear? Both of you?” You look between them, your hands on your hips and that fire Rafe is already becoming addicted to in your eyes.

“Whatever, your lil ass has always been fuckin’ impossible to control. If this blows up in your face I’m gonna say I told you so, cuz.” Barry snorts.

“Yeah baby, I got it.” Rafe cuts in, sending a shockwave through your body with the pet name. “I saw you out there with that guy, you might be tougher than Barry.”

This makes you smile, your eyes turning soft as you approach him on the couch. This time you don’t take the seat next to him, you sit across his lap, facing your cousin with a triumphant smile. Rafe's arm circles around your waist and you nestle in closer to him.

“Alright then. Glad we are all on the same page now. So what’s the plan?”

“FUCK!!!!” Rafe was pissed, he threw himself into the driver's seat of his truck, slamming his hands down on the wheel. “FUCKING BULLSHIT!! THEY HAD TO OF JUST BEEN FUCKING BEEN THERE! POUGE FOR LIFE SARAH?! HUH?! I SEE HOW IT FUCKING IS!!”

“Rafe…” You approach the open driver's door, gently resting your hand on top of one of his that was white knuckling the steering wheel. Completely unafraid, despite the fact that he’s still holding the gun Barry gave him in his other hand. “Let’s just calm down for a second, okay? We’re gonna work it out, they aren’t going to fuck with you.”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS? I’M FUCKED! YOU DON’T FUCKING GET IT! YOU DON’T KNOW MY FUCKING DAD! YOU DON’T KNOW MY FAMILY, IF IT COMES BETWEEN ME AND MY GODDAMN SISTER HE’S GONNA FUCKING CHOOSE HER!!!” His hands leave the wheel, weaving through his hair and tugging, the gun pressed up against the side of his face.

“Hey.” You put your hands over his, turning his face towards yours. “I might not know about all that shit, maybe not yet at least, but I know that when I say I’m going to do something I get it done. You aren’t alone in this, I’m going to help you, okay?”

Your voice is sweet, the look in your eyes is gentle and reassuring, and your hands? They’re so soft, and cool against his face, the feeling of them soothes him in a way he’s never felt before. He lets out a sigh, relaxing under your touch.

“We are going to deal with this, but for right now we need to get the fuck out of here. Those gunshots could’ve caught someone’s attention.” You run your thumbs over the top of his hands before grabbing onto the gun, pulling it from his grasp with a smile. You tuck it into your boot and lean up onto your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah, alright.” He nods, his hands smoothing through his hair.

You walk around the front of the truck so you can hop into the passenger seat, Barry already sat in the back anxiously bouncing his leg.

“Okay, let’s take Barry back to the house and then I think you and I should go somewhere together.” You buckle your seatbelt and turn to face him.

“Yeah? Where?” He shoves the keys in the ignition and puts the truck in drive, pulling away from the Châtea and into the night.

“Just trust me, I know a spot.” You kick your feet up on the dash, reaching into your purse for a cigarette and your lighter.

“Every instinct in my body is telling me to tell you to bring your ass home with me, but you’re not gonna listen to me for shit so I’m not gonna waste my breath. Gimme one of those fuckin’ cigarettes though.” Barry leans forward, snatching the entire pack and your lighter from your hands.

“Yeah, you’re better off not arguing with me Bare. Fucking give those back though, dick.” He rolls his eyes, lighting the cigarette he took from your pack before throwing it back to you.

“Yeah whatever, just fuckin’ take me home man.”

“Okay, take a left here and on your right you’re gonna see a little road that goes through these trees.” You point out the window, directing Rafe as he drives.

“Where the hell are you taking me, huh? You taking me out somewhere quiet to sacrifice me?” He chuckles, looking over at you with a smirk.

“Mmm, I bet you’d like that, huh? Preppy rich boys like you always like the fucked up alternative girls from the sticks.” You return his smirk with one of your own.

“Ha! I guess you’re right, I wouldn’t mind if you spilled a little bit of my blood, as long as I could spill yours too…” he reaches the end of the road, driving into a clearing in the trees, a patch of lone beach in front of you.

“Yeah? That’s hot. Stop here.” He obliges, putting the truck into park and taking off his seatbelt. You do the same, turning towards him with your legs tucked underneath you.

“What’re we really doing out here, vampire girl?” His eyes meet yours momentarily before the trail down your body, taking extra time to admire your tits in your top.

“Mmm, well, I know you’re really stressed and I just thought… maybe you could take some of your frustrations out on me?” You lock eyes with him, your tongue running over your bottom lip before you take it between your teeth.

“Yeah? You brought me out here so I would fuck the shit out of you?” He licks his lips, his large hand reaches out to rest on your thigh, squeezing the meat of it between his fingers.

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t want to take me home after that shit you said about your family and Barry would probably either kill us both or have a stroke if you fucked me how I want you to fuck me at my place.” You said it oh so matter of fact, that smirk ever present on your lips.

“And how do you want me to fuck you? Huh, bunny?” His hand runs along the length of your thigh, stopping at the hem of your shorts. He grabs onto it, the tips of his thumb and his pinky just dipping under the fabric.

“I want you to fuck me like you hate me, take your frustrations out on me, Rafe. Use me.” Your voice comes out desperate and it makes him groan.

“I’ve barely even touched you yet and you’re already practically begging for me… you wanna be my little slut, that it?” His thumb runs down the seam of your shorts, stopping at your wet core. “You’re fucking dripping. I can feel it through your panties.”

“It’s all for you, want you, want to be your little slut so bad.”

“Fuck.” The hand not on your thigh reaches for your throat, squeezing it and cutting off your air supply in the most delicious way. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

He uses his grip on your throat to pull your face to his, smashing his lips against your own in a bruising kiss. You moan against his mouth and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips. You bring your hands up to tangle your fingers through his hair at the same time that his hand on your thigh pushes your shorts and panties to the side, burying two fingers in your wet cunt with little resistance. He begins pumping them in and out of you while his grip on your throat never falters. He pulls away from the kiss, his blue eyes almost black with lust as they bore into your own. His thumb finds your clit and your back arches, a loud moan ripping through you.

“Open your fucking mouth.” You oblige, sticking your tongue out and looking up at him through your lashes. He leans over you and lets a string of spit drop onto your waiting tongue. You moan as you happily swallow it. “Good girl. Want you to cum for me.”

His fingers hook just right inside you, rubbing against your g-spot and his thumb circles your clit perfectly. You feel your high approaching fast, you push your tank top down, letting your braless tits fall free. You grab them in your hands, tweaking your nipples, it causes your eyes to roll back and you feel that coil in your stomach about to snap. Rafe’s hand leaves your throat and grips onto your jaw in one swift motion.

“Fucking look at me when I make you cum.” He squeezes your cheeks between his thumb and pointer finger, causing your lips to pout. “I own this pussy now, that means I own your orgasms too, look at me while I take what’s mine.”

You open your eyes, and the minute they meet his your high crashes over you like a tidal wave. A broken moan leaves your throat and your walls clench around his large fingers as they continue to fuck you through your high. He pulls them from your pussy, holding them up to his face to examine them. They’re creamy white and glistening in the moonlight. You grab his wrist and take them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them. He growls in response, shoving them further down your throat. You gag and he licks his lips, the sound going straight to his cock.

“Fuck, wanna feel you gagging around my dick. Get out of the truck and get on your knees, now.” He pulls his fingers from between your lips and takes them into his own mouth. The taste of your spit mixed with the remainder of your arousal sending his eyes to the back of his head. You follow his direction, hastily throwing the truck door open and getting out. You start to walk around the back and he stops you halfway, grabbing you by the hair so he can pull your head back, forcing you to look up at him. “I’m going to fuck this pretty little mouth while you kneel in the sand like the dirty slut you are. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

You nod as best as you can with the grip he has on your head, that sickeningly sweet smirk from when he first saw you earlier that day spread across your lips.

“Yeah, daddy, I want you to use my mouth like a fucking cock sleeve.” His eyes widen and a groan rips through him at the sound of that name leaving your lips.

“Fuck. Take this off.” He grabs the hem of your tank top and you lift your arms so he can pull it over your head. He takes your tits in his hands and squeezes them, the coolness of them sending a shiver down your spine and straight to your core, your nipples hardening under his touch. “Fucking perfect tits. Knees. Now.”

You drop to your knees and eagerly reach for the button on his shorts undoing it and his zipper in one swift motion. His cock is straining against his black boxers and your mouth waters at the sight. You pull his shorts and boxers down and it springs free, thick and hard and leaking just for you. You knew he would be big, but goddamn his cock is huge.

“Mmm daddy, you’re so big, fuck.” You spit on your hand and bring it to his shaft, lightly stroking him. That bead of precum on his head is practically begging you to taste it so you lean forward and lick his slit with the tip of your tongue. You circle his tip before taking it in your mouth and sucking eagerly.

“Yeah, that’s right baby, suck daddy’s cock.” His hands grab onto your braids like makeshift handlebars and he uses his grip to push himself all the way down your throat, causing you to gag around him. He holds your head there for a few seconds before pulling you off with a pop. Your mouth subconsciously chases his taste. “Oh you’re such an eager little whore huh? You like that? You like gagging on my cock?”

You nod and his grip on your hair tightens, pulling your head back so you’re looking up into his eyes.

“Fuckin’ answer me when I’m talking to you.”

“Yes - yes daddy, I fucking love it.”

“That’s what I thought.” He smirks down at you, shoving his cock back into your mouth and immediately thrusting into your throat. You gag and your eyes water, your mascara already starting to run down your cheeks. “God. Fucking look at you, I can see my cock in your throat baby.”

So much drool is dripping out of the sides of your mouth that it’s started to run down your chest and onto your tits. You swipe your fingers through it, wetting them before bringing them to his balls, caressing them in your lubed up hand.

“Oh fuck! Yeah, shiiiiit, play with my fucking balls, that’s so fucking good.” You look up at him and his head is thrown back, his neck on display, you can see all the veins in his biceps and the moans leaving him are feral. Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sight. Your hand travels between your legs and into your little spandex shorts, expertly finding your already slick clit and rubbing quick circles over it. Your moans increase in volume and it causes him to glance down at you, taking notice of your hand in your shorts.

“Hey, what the fuck did I say huh?” He pulls you off of him, bending at the waist so his face is hovering over yours. “I said that’s my fucking pussy, that means I’m the only one who gets to make you cum. Get up.”

He lets go of your hair, grabbing you underneath your arms and pulling you to your feet. He turns towards the truck and rips the bed open, grabbing onto your hips and roughly turning you. He pushes down on your back, and you take the hint, bending at the waist so your top half is against the truck bed. The plastic floor is cool and rough against your nipples and your lower half hangs off the truck, your feet not touching the ground. A harsh smack lands on your ass, causing you to help and jolt forward.

“You’re not so tough now, huh, vampire girl? Your pathetic dealers know you’re just a little slut who likes to get thrown around? Or is that just for me?” He grabs onto your shorts and panties, ripping them down to your ankles where they pool at the top of your boots. “Look at you, you’re so fucking wet.”

He drops to his knees, his tongue licking a stripe from your clit to your asshole and back again. He sucks your sensitive bud into his mouth and his hand comes down on your ass again. You feel like you’re going to cum embarrassingly soon. His fingers run through your slick lips before they’re sliding inside you, immediately hooking into your sweet spot. You cum suddenly and hard, your whole body shaking underneath him.

“Please fuck me now daddy, please, I want your cock so bad” you voice is whiney and you shake your ass from side to side, arching your back so it’s further on display for him.

“Quit begging, I’m gonna give you what you want, don’t be a greedy brat.” He stands, two harsh smacks landing on your ass. He takes his cock in his hand and runs the head through your slit, coating it in your wetness. He pushes into you in one swift motion, and immediately starts fucking you at a brutal pace.

“Yes! Fuck! You’re so big, feels so full.” Your voice is a breathy moan, his cock feels like it’s in your lungs and the door to the truck bed is digging into your hips but god it feels so good. His hands are grabbing your hips so roughly that you think his nails might be drawing blood, and god you hope they are. You want him to mark you as his, anywhere and everywhere.

“Fuuuuck, you’re so fucking tight, gripping my cock so good. This pussy was fucking made for me. Say it.” He leans over you, practically crushing you, but his cock hits even deeper than before and his mouth latches onto your neck and it’s like he read your mind because he starts to roughly suck and bite into your skin. Definitely leaving marks behind. “Say it. Say this pussy was made for me.”

“This pussy was fucking made for you, daddy.” You arch your back, pushing your ass back against him the best you can with your limited movement, wanting to feel every ridge and vein of him as deep inside you as possible.

“Yeah it fucking was.” He leans back, his hand gripping onto your hair again so he can pull your back against his chest. The sting of the truck against your hips at an all time high. He releases your hair so he can grip onto your throat instead, his other hand coming down to rub your clit. The feelings of pain mixed with pleasure sending you closer and closer to another orgasm. “You gonna cum already? I can feel you tightening around my cock baby girl.”

“Yeah - yeah I’m - fuck - I’m gonna cum for you daddy, you just feel sofuckinggood.” You’re a drooling whimpering mess and the coil is seconds away from snapping when he stops his movements and pulls out of you, taking your orgasm with him. “Hey what-“

Before you can protest he grips onto your hips, flipping you over onto your back. He grabs your throat and pulls you into a sitting position, grabbing onto your thigh with his other hand so he can pull you to the edge of the truck.

“I told you, I want you to look at me when you cum. You owe me for that last one.” He slams his cock into you, continuing to fuck you like his life depends on it. His thumb finds your clit again and his mouth latches onto your neck, biting down so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if you had a bruise in the shape of his teeth marks. You’d get it tattooed if he wanted. You already knew at that moment this man had ruined all other men for you. He had you.

“Fuck - fuck daddy, I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum”

“Fucking cum for me, I’ll fill this little pussy up, paint your walls with my cum. Milk my cock, slut.”

His words send you over the edge, cumming harder than you have all night. Your walls convulse around him and your nails rake down his back, leaving red marks in their wake. But that’s not what does him in, it’s the fact that you never break eye contact with him for a second. Obeying him like the good girl you are.

“Fuck! Good fucking girl, best fucking pussy I’ve ever had. Never gonna leave you alone now. Never quitting this pussy.” He cums with a growl, shoving his cock deep inside you. He fucks you through his high, his thrusts never letting up, his face shoved into your neck. When he finally starts to come down he lets his softening cock slip out of you, his lips finding yours and kissing you with fever.

“Never quittting this pussy, huh, pretty boy? That’s a bold statement to make about a girl you just met.” You smirk at him, taking his face in his hands and caressing his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Don’t fucking care, I meant every word. You’re fucking mine now.” He turns his head to the side, placing a kiss on the inside of your palm.

“Does that mean you’re mine too? I don’t do one sided bullshit.”

“Yeah baby, that means I’m yours too. Come on, get your clothes on, let’s get the fuck out of here.” He places a gentle kiss on your lips, grabbing your clothes off the sandy ground and shaking them out before handing them to you.

“You gonna take me home now? Barry is just gonna love all the hickies I know you left on my neck.” You smirk at him, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Nah, I’m bringing you home with me. Gonna fuck you all night long.” He cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb running over your bottom lip.

“What about your family?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Fuck em, you’re my girl now, they’re going to have to get used to it. Get your ass in the truck, I wanna fuck you in my shower.”

You giggle, running around to jump in the truck. You didn’t even see his family that night. But they definitely heard Rafe making good on his promise to fuck you all night long and you couldn’t even find it in yourself to feel bad. Not that night, and not the next morning when he introduced you to his dad and step mom while they had disgusted looks on their faces. You just smiled, happily shaking their hands like you weren’t calling their son daddy until the sun came up.

Tagging moots who might be interested: @chrrymunson @emsgoodthinkin @imyourdaninow 🖤

[moon-and2saturn]

Talk

s.f.k. x f.reader

a/n: this was meant to be a short little one shot but it actually turned out to be pretty long... oops. it’s only lightly proofread and i’m posting this at 2:30 am so i hope it’s good. enjoy :)

word count: 5.3k

summary: You’ve known Sam practically your whole life, and your relationship has always been the same. He’s your best friend, and he’s never given you a reason to think he feels any other way. So why is he acting so different tonight? Your love for him has so far gone unspoken, but all secrets are about to be revealed.

warnings: fluff, angst (some fighting & yelling), swearing, smoking, kissing, shameless nicknames like always; SMUT (MINORS DNI): oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex (practice safe sex, folks!), dirty talk, some begging, slight praise kink if you squint, soft dom!sammy

“imagine being loved by me.

i won’t deny i’ve got in my mind now,

all things i would do.”

You’ve known Sam as long as you can remember. You’ll never forget the first time you met him. It was the first day of the seventh grade, you had just moved to Frankenmuth that summer from Detroit after your parents split up and your mom wanted to move out of the city. You’d only lived there for a month and your house was pretty secluded on a long road, so you didn’t have much ability to make any friends until you started school.

You were riding your bike to school and someone crossed the street right in front of you, forcing you to slam on your brakes to avoid hitting them and knocking them down. You came to a screeching stop and looked up at the scared boy in front of you, who hollered, “Are you trying to kill me? What the hell is wrong with you?” You got off your bike and the two of you walked the rest of the way to school together. And that’s how you met your first friend, Sam Kiszka.

The two of you have been pretty much inseparable ever since. You had a lot of classes together and he let you sit at his table at lunch, introducing you to his best friend, Danny. From that moment forward, the three of you did practically everything together. You guys would go to the movies, listen to records, and sometimes even jam together in the Kiszkas’ garage with his older brothers, Josh and Jake. You always felt that the rest of them were much more musically talented than you, especially Jake, but you enjoyed singing harmony with Josh every once in a while. You were like family.

Once you got older, you noticed your relationship with Sam began to change. Not in a way that was obvious or disruptive, but there was something that developed that would always be on the back of your mind- your feelings for Sam. You first discovered that you had feelings for him at your ninth-grade homecoming dance. You and Sam went together as friends, slightly organized by your mothers, and something in the air changed that night. There was a knock at the door after you had gotten ready and you opened it to see Sam, all dressed up in a suit and tie.

Your gaze softened as you saw him, and you felt a feeling that you’d never experienced before. When he saw you, in your dress and your hair done, you noticed an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite place, like a deer in headlights. And then he entered the threshold, brushing off whatever it was, acting just like your normal Sam. You put it in the back of your mind and moved on with your night.

However, near the end of the night, something happened that you’d never be able to forget. They turned on the last slow dance of the evening and the two of you had avoided every other slow dance prior out of awkwardness. But something pushed you to ask him for this last song, so you did and he agreed. You both walked over to the dance floor and he placed his hands awkwardly on your waist as you put your arms around his neck. You both swayed there for a while to some random slow song from that year that you couldn’t remember now even if you tried, and there was a look in his eyes that would be burned into your memory forever. He looked at you so softly, like you might break. You looked up at him- his cute swoopy hair, his dimples, his dopey smile- and you knew right there and then: you were in love with Sam Kiszka.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Things are a lot different now than they were when you were 15, but your feelings for him are just as strong as ever. He’s never shown any hints of feeling the same way, however, and you’ve never made any effort to tell him. You’re much too afraid of it changing your relationship, especially if he didn’t feel the same way about you. You’re more than happy with what you have with him now, though, even if it’s only platonic. He’s your best friend and you love the time that you get to spend with him, considering it’s quite limited now.

When you guys were in high school, the band that the boys had formed ended up gaining popularity. Even before you, Sam and Danny graduated, they were going out on tour, opening for big bands. You were incredibly impressed and so proud of them, but you definitely missed your best friends. Once you graduated, they were away even more than before. So, when they all wanted to pick up everything and move to Nashville a few years ago, you decided that you would too.

You had delayed going to college for a couple of years because you couldn’t afford it at the time and neither could your mom, so you used this new opportunity to apply to Tennessee State University in the area and you were accepted. You’re in your third year there now and it’s been working out great. You got an apartment not far from where the guys were all living, and that’s how you met your roommate and now close friend, Lucy. She is attending graduate school at Vanderbilt for the same field of study and shares your immense love for music, so you got along almost immediately.

The guys’ band has become relatively famous now. They’ve recently released their third album and have gone on several tours, their current one being a world tour. You haven’t been able to see them as much lately because of it, but you try to catch as many local shows as you can. Despite being away so often, you and Sam are still as close as ever, spending basically every day together when he’s on break from the tour. Every once in a while, you’ll sometimes wonder about the ‘what-ifs,’ but your friendship with Sam is too important to risk by confessing your feelings for him.

Tomorrow is Lucy’s 24th birthday and the band is on a break from tour for a few more weeks, so the two of you are throwing a huge party tonight to celebrate. Your apartment is much too small to host that many people, so Josh offered to host the party as long as you both helped out with supplying the food and decorations. Of course, Josh was more than happy to supply the booze, being someone who would never turn down a party. It’s your last big get-together before the band leaves for the European leg of their tour, so you’re all really looking forward to it.

It's already 3 in the afternoon and you and Lucy have to go over to Josh’s soon to help decorate before all the guests arrive, so you start to get ready. You curl your hair and pull it half-up, then put on some simple makeup with some silver glittery eyeshadow. Lucy wanted to make the theme of the party “Starcatcher” to incorporate the guys’ newest album, so you wanted to throw in a subtle reference to the theme. You go to get dressed, finding the new dress that you had bought just for the party. It’s a short, tight dress adorned with silver glitter, matching your makeup.

It’s not as if you intended to catch anyone’s attention tonight with your outfit, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. You’ve tried dating since you moved to Nashville, but nothing has ever worked out. All of the guys are either shallow musicians who don’t want to ‘put a label on it’ or immature frat guys with no emotional intelligence. Besides, you still find it hard to completely forget about Sam. You know that he’s probably taking plenty of girls home while on tour; as a rockstar, why would he not? It didn’t bother you, it’s not like he knew how you felt anyway.

You grab your things, then slip on your heels and pop your head into Lucy’s bedroom. “Hey Luce, you ready to go?” you ask, stepping inside of her room. She turns around from looking into her vanity mirror to look at you. “Oh my god, Y/N! Look at you! Sam is gonna die over that dress,” she says, teasing you. She knows all about your little crush, of course, you tell her everything. She’s the only one in your friend group who knows since the rest of the guys wouldn’t possibly be able to keep that kind of secret.

“Luce, come on. You know he doesn’t look at me like that,” you answer, rolling your eyes, “Plus, maybe I’ll find another guy to appreciate me tonight. I don’t need it to be Sam, I don’t expect it to be.” She rolls her eyes back at you and turns her attention back to the mirror. “Okay, okay, whatever. I’m just finishing up my eyeliner, we can leave in a minute,” she says. She finishes up her makeup and you both head to the party.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Lucy drives you to Josh’s place and the two of you pull into his driveway, seeing that you’re not the first ones there. You knock on the front door and are greeted by Josh, whose face lights up at the sight of you. “Hello, darling!” he exclaims, pulling you in for a tight hug. He pulls away, smiling, and sees Lucy behind you. “Ah, Lucille, happiest of birthdays to you, my dear,” he says to her, hugging her tight as well. You both enter the house and find Jake in the kitchen, preparing some sort of dip recipe.

“I thought that we’d be the first to arrive,” you say to him, making him turn his attention away from the stove. He sees you both and smiles slightly, saying “Well, it wouldn’t be a party if I didn’t make a queso dip, would it?” You chuckle, walking over to get a whiff of it. “No, it wouldn’t. Smells delicious,” you say, patting him on the back then turning around to place all the snacks that you’ve brought on the kitchen island. You all start to set up, putting out the snacks and alcohol and hanging some decorations on the walls.

Around 6 o’clock, the front door flies open with Sam and Danny waltzing through. You all turn your heads to look at the sudden noise and your eyes find him. He’s wearing a short-sleeved button-up, half unbuttoned, some dark jeans, and sneakers. You watch as he removes his sunglasses and brushes his hands through his hair as he and Danny approach the kitchen, then try to direct your attention back to hanging the star decorations that you’d been attaching to the ceiling.

“Hey, Freckles,” Sam says, walking into the kitchen to greet you. He’s called you that ever since that first day, on your first walk to school. He looked down at you and saw your face, completely covered in freckles, and settled the nickname right then and there. It’s still managed to stick after all these years. "Hi, Y/N! Hi, Lucy, happy birthday," Danny says, walking into the kitchen and sitting down at the table to help blow up some balloons.

“Here, let me help you,” Sam says, reaching his hand up to meet yours and finish hanging the star. “Thanks, Sammy,” you say, stepping down from the step ladder you were using. “No Rose tonight?” you ask, looking up at him. “Nah. Didn’t want her to get too drunk, she was absolutely belligerent last time,” he said, laughing as he jabbed your side with his elbow jokingly. You giggle and say, “Yeah, she’s out of control. You should probably look into that.” He smiles at you silently for a moment, looking down at what you’re wearing. It’s not long enough for you to notice, however, and you move on to helping Josh with the liquor table.

You finish decorating and the guests begin to arrive around 8. Most of them are Lucy’s friends from grad school, as well as some friends from work. You don’t really know a lot of them, so you’ve just stuck with the guys by the bar area of Josh’s dining room for most of the night so far. “Here you go, Frecks” Sam says, handing you another tequila soda that he’s made for you. You thank him and take a sip, then look out at the crowd that’s amassed in Josh’s living room.

It’s been over an hour now since the party started and you still feel slightly awkward since you don’t know any of the people here, but you don’t really want to just be a wallflower all night either. Suddenly, Lucy comes charging toward you. She’s gotten a bit intoxicated, having made some drinks while you all prepared for the party in addition to the ones she’s had since then.

“Babe, c’mere, I want you to meet my friends,” she says, pulling you away. You look at Sam and Danny with a ‘please save me’ face as she drags you into the crowd, hearing them laugh at you as you move further and further away from them. You end up in a small group over on the other side of the room, a few girls your age and a guy that you don’t recognize. “Y/N, these are some of my friends from my classes this semester- Tara, Emma, and Stephen. Everyone, this is my roommate and bestie, Y/N!” You wave shyly and say hello, catching eyes with her friend Stephen.

He’s pretty tall and has dark black hair that’s slicked back with a couple of pieces hanging out in the front. His eyes are dark and mysterious, and you can’t help but admit that he’s rather handsome. You doubt anything could ever come to it, but it might be nice to distract yourself from your one-sided feelings for Sam. Lucy goes back into whatever conversation she was having previously with the girls as Stephen steps closer to you.

“Hey,” you say, looking up at him with a shy smile. “Hey there,” he replies, checking you out quickly before meeting your eyes again. “Do you go to school around here?” he asks. “Oh, yeah, I’m in my undergrad at TSU. I’m a couple years behind but I’m starting to catch up,” you say, sitting down on the couch as he goes to sit next to you, rather close. He makes small talk about what you’re studying, where you’re from, what you want to do after graduation, and more. He’s definitely a nice guy, and he seems interested in you and learning more about you, so you don’t mind sitting and talking to him.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Stephen says, smiling at you and reaching over to brush some of your hair behind your ear. “Thank you, Stephen… you’re not too bad yourself,” you say, blushing slightly as he places his other hand on your thigh. The two of you sit there for some time talking closely, flirting a bit back and forth. You glance over to the dining room for a moment and see Sam, who’s looking at you. He’s leaning up against the wall, arms crossed with his eyes glued to you and Stephen, piercing right through you. He looks almost angry, which you don’t completely understand. Maybe he’s upset that you ditched him since he doesn’t know many people at the party? But he has Danny right next to him, who’s talking away as Sam stares daggers into you.

“Excuse me just one moment, Stephen. I have to go check on something,” you say apologetically, getting up off the couch and heading into the other room. Sam’s eyes lock onto yours as you approach, still not faltering from their angry gaze. “Sam? A word, please?...,” you say, looking over at Danny, “…alone?” Sam looks down at you and uncrosses his arms, “Yeah, whatever.” You grab his wrist and drag him into the kitchen, then out the back door to Josh’s porch.

You drop his wrist and turn around to face him as he reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, sticking one in his mouth and lighting it. He takes a long pull, breathes it out, then scoffs. “What? What is it?” he says in an annoyed tone. “What is it? Sam, what’s wrong with you? I saw you looking at me in there, what the hell is your problem?” you say, throwing your hands up, exasperated. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You just met that guy and he was just all over you. It’s fucking gross,” he says, raising his voice at you slightly and rolling his eyes, taking another puff of his cigarette.

“So what if I just met the guy? Why does that matter? He was really nice, I wanted to talk to him! It’s not like I was gonna be over there all night, I was going to come back over to you guys.” you say defensively, crossing your arms and looking up at him, waiting for an answer. He runs his fingers through his hair frustratedly, “Frecks, he so clearly wanted to sleep with you! He probably doesn’t even actually care about you, he just wants to get laid! He’d never treat you right.” He takes another drag of his cigarette and then sighs.

“Why do you even care, Sam? Am I not allowed to talk to guys? Is that it? Am I supposed to just follow you around like a little lost puppy all night? It’s fucking pathetic!” you yell, your eyes starting to well up. “No, Frecks, God! That’s not what I’m saying! But I can’t just stand around and watch some guy flirt with you right in front of my face! It’s making me fucking crazy!” he says, putting his head in his hands and shaking his head. “Sam. Look at me,” you say, looking up at him, tears starting to fall down your cheeks slowly.

His gaze softens as he looks down at you, then he throws his cigarette on the ground and steps on it to put it out as he steps closer to you. You look up at him, glossy-eyed, waiting for some sort of explanation for why he was acting like this. Sam never gets angry with you, you don’t understand what’s gotten into him. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he gets closer to you and suddenly, he raises his hand to cup your cheek and pulls you in, kissing you. At first, it’s soft, his lips feel warm to the touch as you kiss him back, his thumb caressing your cheek affectionately. Then he deepens it, pulling you into him with his other hand on your waist and smiling against your lips.

It grows to become ravenous and uncontrollable, and you start to struggle to breathe. He turns you both around and backs you into the outer wall of Josh’s house as he teases his tongue into your mouth. You welcome it, moaning into his mouth as you deepen the kiss even more. Both of your hands are on the back of his neck, tangled in his long hair, pulling him closer to you. You suddenly feel very aware of where you are and remember all the people inside, so you pull your mouth off of him, still staying close. “Sam, the party,” you say, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Fuck the party. Let’s go, c’mon,” he says, grabbing your hand and dragging you through the backyard gate, around the house to the driveway, avoiding the crowd inside. You giggle at the situation, feeling like a couple of teenagers, then ask “But what about Danny?” You both stop at his car and he looks down at you. “He’ll just stay at Josh’s tonight,” he says, smirking, “I’ll text him, don’t worry about him, honey…” He holds your waist and pulls you in for another kiss before opening the door for you, letting you into the passenger seat. He rounds the car and gets into the driver’s side, starts the car, and pulls out of the driveway.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The drive to Sam’s place is short but also agonizingly long at the same time. He keeps a steady hold on your inner thigh as he drives, keeping his eyes on the road. Occasionally, he rubs his thumb lightly, sending shivers down your spine. Never in a million years did you think you would be here, with him. It was something you only imagined, but you never thought that Sam would want you like this. It warrants a conversation, but you can worry about that later.

Sam pulls into his driveway, puts the car in park, and then rushes to get out and open your door for you. You get out of the car and his lips are already attacking you, putting his hands on your hips as he backs you up toward his front door. He drops your lips for a moment to unlock the door, opens it, and then drags you in with him, closing it and shutting it behind you. You both kick off your shoes and then he swiftly brings you to his bedroom upstairs.

You’ve been to Sam’s house hundreds of times, but this time felt different. As you enter his room it almost feels like the first time, giving you butterflies as he pulls you into him, taking your lips in his. He lays you down on the bed as he continues to kiss you, making his way across your jaw and then down your neck. You lean upwards into his touch, wanting more. His lips feel electric on your neck, sending shockwaves through your entire body and creating friction between your legs.

He pulls back for a moment and slides his finger under the strap of your dress. “Can I…?” he asks, looking down at you for permission. You nod and you watch him as he slides the straps of your dress down your arms, leaving it bunched above your waist and freeing your uncovered breasts, as you couldn’t wear a bra underneath. “Fuck,” you hear him mutter under his breath before he leans back down, taking one of your nipples into your mouth as he holds the other in his hand, squeezing it, making you whine. He moans against your skin and then leans back to unbutton his shirt, throws it to the side, and then slides your dress the rest of the way off, past your legs.

He kisses his way down your stomach, to your hip, and then your inner thigh. You writhe slightly under his touch, barely able to contain yourself from his teasing. You’re insanely aroused now after all of the kissing and feeling his hands on you, you don’t feel like you can wait anymore. “Sammy, please,” you whine, his eyes looking up at you deviously. “Don’t worry, honey. It’s okay, I’m gonna take care of you,” he answers, his voice sounding so smooth that you feel closer to the edge just from hearing it. He slowly slides your panties down your legs, tossing them onto the floor.

He kisses your inner thigh once again as he spreads your legs a bit more. “Y/N, you are so beautiful… You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about all of the things that I want to do to you…” he says before lowering his mouth onto your aching pussy. Your back arches at the feeling of his mouth on you. His movements are slow and gentle, his tongue circling your clit slowly as his hand rubs your thigh softly. He runs his tongue swiftly through your folds, making you moan quietly before returning to your sensitive bud. You’re already so close from all of the anticipation when you feel his fingers on you before he dips one of them inside of you. He uses steady movements, curling his finger into you as he brings you closer and closer to your release. “Fuck, Sammy, that feels so good,” you whine out to him and he moans against you.

His tongue starts to speed up as he pushes a second finger into you, pumping them in and out of you relentlessly. You clench around them and he removes his mouth from you for a moment and says “Come on, honey. I know you’re close, give it to me. Want it so bad,” then goes back to attacking your clit. His smooth voice combined with his movements inside of you bring you right into a crashing orgasm, arching your back as it washes over you. After you come down from it, he removes his fingers from you and climbs back on top of you.

He slips his hand behind your neck and kisses you passionately, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you taste yourself on it. You moan into his mouth and he pulls away, saying “You taste so sweet, baby. Did you taste it? Isn’t it sweet?” You nod and smile weakly at him, still in a bit of a trance. You lean forward to sit up and kiss him again, reaching your hand down to grasp at his hardened cock through his jeans. You start pulling the zipper down and he leans away from you to get off of the bed and remove them.

Sam gets off of the bed and slips his jeans down his legs, stepping out of them and palming himself lightly over his briefs. He then tucks his fingers underneath the waistline and pulls his underwear down, revealing himself to you for the first time. Your jaw drops at the sight, he is much bigger than you had ever imagined. You’d thought that it might be big considering that he’s tall, but this is much more than you expected. He immediately sees your reaction, chuckling a bit and taking your hands to bring you off the bed to stand up with him.

“Surprised, Frecks?” he says, laughing a bit. “I don’t wanna hurt you, honey. You think you can take it?” he asks, looking down at you with a smirk. You just nod before lowering yourself to your knees and taking him in your hand. Given your small stature, your hand can barely even fit all the way around it. You look up at him as you lean up to lick the tip lightly. You watch as he leans his head back, groaning and mumbles some expletives under his breath. You slip the head into your mouth and work your way as far to the back of your throat as you can go.

You start to move, bobbing your head up and down his shaft as you hold it with one hand and grasp his thigh with the other. He reaches his hand down and places his hand in your hair, holding your head as you continue your movements. You swirl your tongue around him and begin to rub your thighs together to relieve some tension, but he’s had enough. “Uh-uh, nope. If you keep going like this, I’m gonna come right there in your mouth,” he utters, using his hand in your hair to take you off of him and bring your face up to his. “I want you, Sammy. So bad,” you say, looking up at him, begging him with your eyes. “Honey, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he answers, leaning you back down on the bed.

He kisses you slowly, holding your cheek in his right hand as he uses his left to line himself up with you. He pulls away, his face just a few inches from yours. “I’ll be gentle, okay baby? You tell me if it hurts at all, and I’ll stop,” he says softly. He leans his forehead against yours as he slides the tip in, eliciting a soft whine from your mouth. He pulls out slightly and then pushes back in, just a bit more, easing you into it. “Fuck, honey, you’re so tight. Relax for me, okay? I’ve got you.” He does this same thing a few more times, easing in a little further until you’ve adjusted enough for him to push in to the hilt. He lets out a deep groan, lighting your insides on fire as you pull him close to you, kissing his lips harshly.

He kisses you back hard, moving his hand from your cheek to grasp the hair at the back of your neck as he pulls you into him. His other hand is firmly planted on your hip, holding you still underneath him. He begins to pull out slowly, slamming back in once, making you whine into his mouth. He starts a steady pace, pulling out and slamming into you over and over again. Your hands are grasping at his back, surely scratching it up to the point where it will leave a mark. “Harder, Sammy, please,” you whine, feeling him smile against your lips. “Can you handle that, baby?” he says, smirking. You nod ferociously, “Yes, please, please.”

He pulls out of you, causing you to whine at the loss of the feeling of him inside you, then swiftly flips you over onto your stomach. His hand goes under you, pulling you up to your hands and knees, while the other lines himself up with you once again, slipping in with ease. You both moan as he places a hand on the small of your back, pushing you down slightly as the other grips your waist. He sets a faster pace, slamming into you so hard that your head starts to spin. “You like that, honey? That hard enough for you?” he asks, relentlessly pounding into you. You mutter a string of yeses, unable to focus on what comes out of your mouth.

The hand previously on your waist moves down to your clit, moving in tight circles as he continues to fuck into you repeatedly from behind. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Give me another one, all over my cock. I know it feels so good,” he grunts as he brings you to another climax. His pace inside you never slows as he fucks you through your second orgasm, uttering words of encouragement as you come down from it. You can tell he’s close now, his hips faltering a bit. “Mmm, fuck honey. I’m so close, where can I-?” he asks, as you interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. “Inside, Sammy. Please, I need it so bad, wanna feel you,” you whine, causing him to throw his head back and moan at the idea of it.

He pulls out and flips you back over, then quickly slides right back into you. “Wanna look at you when I come, baby. Wanna see your face as I fill you up. Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, unable to hold back anymore. He thrusts inside you a few more times before he reaches his own climax, pulling you in for a long, hard kiss. He whimpers against your lips as he finishes, coating your insides completely. His hands are holding your face affectionately as he pulls away from you, looking at you like you’re his whole world. He pulls himself out of you, still hovering over you, his eyes trained on yours.

“I love you, Y/N,” he says. He rubs his thumb on your cheek, looking down at you. “I love you too, Sammy. So much. I always have,” you say, smiling up at him. He pulls you in for another kiss, smiling against your lips and letting out a sigh. “You’re everything to me, Freckles. Everything.” He kisses your lips again lightly before taking your hand and helping you out of the bed, bringing you to the bathroom to clean up. You both take a shower, wash everything off, and then return to his bed.

You settle into bed, laying your head on top of his chest, breathing him in. His hands play with your hair as you wrap your arms around him, nestling in. “Goodnight, Sammy,” you say, sighing into him as you shut your eyes. “Goodnight, my love,” he answers, placing a kiss on the top of your head before drifting off to sleep, feeling the happiest he’s ever felt.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[tinkrtailrsldrspy]

Gravity Falls Fanfic Ideas That I Will Not Finish But Encourage You To

= Mute!Bill - Version 2

(if you want, please steal these ideas, no credit needed - just send me a link once it's done cause I wanna read!)

“Soos, did you not warn him?!” Wendy hissed as she vaulted over the counter and bolted to the young man’s side. His previously petrified in terror expression had since relaxed into a flat nothingness, eyes glazed over and unseeing. The broom was held slack in his hands, which Wendy was quick to remove and lay to the side. Without hesitation, she gently slapped his cheeks with her hands, trying to get some sort of reaction out of him.

“Ah, geez, I’m sorry dude! I totally forgot!” Soos hurried over to where Wendy was trying to help the man.

“You know how he reacts to them!” Wendy scolded. Unable to get a reaction from him, she growled under her breath. “Look, I’ll take him inside - Melody knows where his meds are, right?”

“Yup,” Soos nodded vigorously. “She’s probably supervising the construction next door, though. Want me to go get her?”

“No, I’ll get her,” Wendy had already taken the young man by the hand and was leading him towards the ‘Employees Only’ door. “You make sure they,” she nodded her head towards the twin brothers who stood silently at the entrance to the gift shop. “Know what’s the deal! And that there’ll be hell to pay if they mess with him!”

With that, the young woman disappeared with her charge, the door slamming shut behind them. Soos turned back to look guiltily at the Pines brothers, giving them an awkward smile. Ford was still taking in everything that had just happened, while Stan was looking confusedly between Soos, Ford, and the door.

“What in the ever loving fuck,” okay, wow, Ford swearing was not a good sign, “Is he doing here?!”

“Wait, do you know him, Sixer?” Stan asked, taken aback by his brother’s venomous tone and fire-filled eyes.

“We all know him, Stanley!” Ford growled. “That was Bill fucking Cipher!”

Ah.

Well.

At least their homecoming wasn’t boring?

-

“You touch him, you deal with the entire town,” Melody made clear, arms folded across her chest. She’d managed to get Ford and Stan corralled around the kitchen table the minute she’d entered the house, stopping them from trying to search the place for Bill’s hiding spot. “He’s been here for months now and he’s perfectly harmless.”

“Harmless?!” Ford burst out, making to stand from his chair. The gaze Melody leveled at him, however, had him aborting that intention quickly. “He’s a narcissistic psychopathic megalomaniac! He tried to destroy the world two years ago! Have you all forgotten that?!”

“Circumstances change,” Melody intoned calmly. “And Bill’s have been turned on their head. I heard about his journal, the one you found, Ford?” The man gave a single, quick nod. “Well, it mentioned the Theraprism.” Another nod, this time from both twins. “It was supposed to help him. It…” she glanced out the kitchen door, her brows tilting up and a teary frown touching her lips. “It didn’t.”

“It just fucked with his head,” Wendy muttered as she entered the kitchen, tossing an orange bottle to Melody. “Ax said they couldn’t get them to admit to anything, but based on Bill’s reactions, it wasn’t pretty. No one remembers the last thing he said, another patient mentioned a few thousand years ago, but it’s just speculation.”

Ford’s eyes narrowed, while Stan leaned back in his seat contemplatively.

“The Axolotl brought him to us,” Melody motioned between her and Soos. “And asked if we would take him in, help him heal. They thought that a familiar environment would help him - and it has!”

“Up to a certain extent,” Wendy clarified [x]

“To an extent,” Melody relented with an eye-roll. “Look, he’s not the same person he was before, his powers are sealed away, and he’s actually been doing a lot of good for the town! You two will not mess his progress up!”

-

Ford stood in front of the closed door to his room. Agitation ran like flames through his blood. How dare the Axolotl stick Bill Cipher back here in Gravity Falls! They’d been perfectly happy, knowing the bastard was locked away in some loony bin for eternity! And now-! Now…

He didn’t mean to open the door so gently, honestly. Nor did he mean to softly and carefully enter the room, making sure he didn’t make too much noise. It was habit!

…probably.

What greeted him was the room he had left last autumn, completely in tact, but for a single addition: a pile of clothes, pillows, and blankets was laid towards the back of the room. It moved up and down in rhythmic motions, like it was breathing.

Ah.

The nest Wendy had mentioned.

Looking closer, Ford realized most of the clothes contained in the pile were his own, with some additions from - most likely - the other residents of the house. The blanket that normally sat on the end of his bed was laid carefully atop the whole pile, like a tent covering. Apparently, Bill had spent weeks putting it together, raiding different parts of the house until he had deemed it complete.

He had slowly acquired articles of clothing from those besides Ford over the months he’d been there - a glittery jacket from Pacifica, a red flannel shirt from Wendy, a stylish pair of black jeans from Gideon, a classic Mystery Shack t-shirt from Soos, a blue blouse from Melody, an over-sized hoodie from Robbie… the most surprising one was a pair of overalls from Fiddleford.

And was that…?

Stepping closer to the nest, Ford realized it was: one of Mabel’s custom sweaters. Only this one had three triangles on it: one blue, one red, and one made with a glittery, golden yarn. How had she even…?

Slowly, the pile began to shift, and from under the sweater peaked out a single shimmering eye. Ford tilted his head as he took in the sight. It was… rather pathetic, really, Bill being reduced down to this. Not a word spoken for months on end, entire millennia if the Theraprism patients were to be believed! He’d honestly not thought it possible for the ‘dorito’ (as Mabel called him) to go more than a minute without talking, even if just to hear the sound of his own voice.

“Bill,” he acknowledged calmly, his voice a whisper in the quieted room. The head slowly lifted a bit further, until he could make out an actual face under the sweater. He’d not been able to take it in before, but now…

The most distinguishing difference between this Bill and the one he had known was the large, jagged scar that began on his right jaw and cut up across his cheek, over his nose, through a now-empty socket, and up into his hairline. His hair was also no longer perfectly quaffed, instead hanging in messy curls around his face - it had been like that even before he’d hidden away in his nest. His singular good eye was dulled, however, in the way all eyes were when a bit out-of-it due to medication.

Xanax, Melody had told him. A very low dosage, as Bill’s body was still adjusting to being… well, human. It was enough to help calm his panic and anxiety attacks, however, and also worked as a sleep aid on the worst of his days. They tried to help him through his attacks without medication, usually, leading him through simple breathing and focusing exercises, but the panic attacks Bill had whenever the Pines were brought up always lead to him needing the medication.

Now, inhibitions soothed away by chemical intervention, Bill smiled blissfully up at Ford, as though the man was the sun itself deigning to allow Bill to bask in his light.

It was unnerving.

Thankfully, the dream demon made no move to get up, instead watching as Ford went through his nightly routine, interrupted only by having to unpack his bags.

-

“Bill!”

The shrill cry came from a pink blur as it streaked through the gift shop to tackle the young man to the ground. Leaning around the counter he had been chatting with Wendy at, Ford realized exactly what the streak had been: Mabel Pines, entirely thrilled and ecstatic to see Bill Cipher.

“Mabel, be careful with him!” Dipper called as he lugged their bags in. The two had grown since their first summer in Gravity Falls - Dipper had begun to fill out his noodle-y frame, and Mabel was finally losing the baby-face she’d been stuck with. Dropping their bags near the two, Dipper hurried over to pull both Mabel and Bill to their feet, grinning brightly at the man.

“Bill doesn’t mind!” Mabel giggled. Indeed, the man was smiling beatifically at the Mystery Twins, eye soft with fondness. It was… a good look on him, if Ford was honest.

“Grunkle Ford!” Dipper grinned as he noticed his great uncle walking calmly towards them. The twins were off once again, this time tackling Ford. The older man was ready for them, though, and laughed as he caught both.

“Good to see you two!” He grinned, making sure to place both safely back on the ground.

“I heard two troublemakers were back!”

“Grunkle Stan!”

The screams had the everyone else in the gift shop slamming their hands over their ears, wincing. It did nothing to dissuade Mabel and Dipper from sprinting over to their, rightfully, favorite Grunkle. Ford chuckled as he watched his niece and nephew slam into his brother, sending the three to the ground in a pile of limbs and laughter.

[shortlikerdj]

Your ask genuinely like made my day so lemme flip it back onto you, I’m really interested in her dynamics and backstories with the canon characters, so how did Quill and her happen? They were both on the ravager ship but then what then yk? Also was infinity war Tony and hers first meeting since she got napped, how did that do down? And who’s her mom?

Lmao sry just anything I can gnaw on cause I LOVE HERRRR, also do you have any art of her?

AWEEEE I'M GLAD I COULD MAKE UR DAY

Tbh, your ask is the first ask I've ever received on here, so thanks for that <3

*slams hands on table*

ALRIGHT, LETS GET DOWN TO BUSINESS. THIS IS GONNA BE A LOT

~•°☆°●~

AARON 👏MARIA👏STARK👏

AKA STARSTRIDER.

Born to PEPPER POTS and TONY STARK. That's right. Pepper is her mom.

In my Stargazing!AU, Pepper and Tony got together sooner than in the MCU. (The rest of the Avengers were like Aunt and Uncles to her) But after Aaron got kidnapped, Pepperony kinda took a break in their relationship because of that, but they did get back together around Spiderman: Homecoming.

I know some times and dates don't really add up, BUT I'M WORKING ON IT-

THE PLOT HOLES ARE JUST POCKETS TO STORE THE HEADCANONS.

~•°☆°●~

INFINITY WAR:

YES, during Infinity War was the first time Tony and Aaron had met since she was kidnapped, so 15 years later to be exact.

The whole "Where is Gamora, Who is Gamora and Why is Gamora?" Thing still happened, don't worry lol. (During that ordeal, Aaron got tied up by Dr. Strange and his "magic rubber bands" as she called them)

After that calmed down and both teams realized they were on the same side, Peter introduced himself, Aaron (Aaron had her helmet down, so Tony didn't recognize her), Drax and Mantis as the Guardians of the Galaxy. The interaction went something like this:

Tony: *dryly* Guardians of the Galaxy? What is that? It sounds like a cheesy garage band or something.

Aaron: *dryly* Oh please, as if the Avengers are any better.

Tony: Excuse me? The Avengers have saved the Earth how many times now? Two? Three?

Aaron: Oh yeah? You and the Avengers have done all of that when you can't even bring your own daughter home?! (At this point, she removed her helmet, and Tony recognizes her)

This interaction is then followed by Aaron going off on her dad, unleashing all her feelings of feeling like she had been abandoned by him, and how she had a new family that loved her and weren't too busy to do so, ect.

She doesn't give Tony a chance to explain, merely muttering a "Welcome to the Avengers, kid" to Peter Parker before storming off the ship.

Yeah, shots fired lol.

~•°☆°●~

HER AND QUILL: Ok, so Aaron and Quill met as kids. When the Ravagers went to go capture Peter, they mistakenly picked up Aaron. Totally not taking inspo from the second episode of What If?-

Realizing their mistake, they went and captured Peter as they had planned to. But instead of returning the 10 year old bratty rich kid with a knack for fixing things (Aaron), they saw her potential and kept her.

And while Peter was raised by Yondu, Aaron was raised by Kraglin. (I love Kraglin so much 😭)

Aaron at first resisted the Ravagers, believing that Tony would come to rescue her. But after 5 years, she gave up on him, forming a resentment against him and accepting her new life among the stars. (Tony had been searching for her, but didn't realize she was literally up in space. Then Loki attacked New York, and then Ultron, so he got sidetracked)

Being raised together by Ravagers, Peter and Aaron developed a sibling-like relationship. (Which Peter eventually started to question) They did thieving jobs, side by side, taking on the names of Starlord and Starstrider.

She was with him during the events of GotG 1, so she met the other Guardians just like he did and they went through the same storyline. Peter still did develop a crush on Gamora and such, which made Aaron jealous, then she started to question her feelings towards Quill, but she hid all of this very well. (Side note, Drax believed that Aaron and Peter were a couple from the start lol)

There is a little bit of downtime between the two movies, where some cute fluff happens between Aaron and Peter.

During GotG 2, at the beginning, when Drax told Peter that he was a dancer and Gamora was not, therefore saying that Gamora wasn't for him, Peter realized he needed to stop chasing after Gamora. At this point, he questioned his feelings/relationship towards Aaron.

Then GotG 2 happened, all the fun daddy issues and stuff. When it gets to the point that they are battling Ego, and Ego asks "what greater meaning does life have to offer?" Peter realizes that it is Aaron. He then knows that he is in love with Aaron.

After the battle, Yondu's sacrifice and all of that trauma, Peter eventually has a huge mental breakdown. This is brought on by the loss of Yondu, from learning the fact that Ego killed his mom, and the fact that he had almost lost Aaron during the battle against Ego. Aaron comforts him, and Peter reveals that he's already lost so much, and that he doesn't want to loose her either. She reveals that she doesn't want to loose him either. They eventually kiss, and they're romantic relationship starts from there.

(Sorry if that was a lot. I might just end up writing a fanfic about her lol)

~•°☆°●~

AS FOR ART, IT IS YOUR LUCKY DAY MY FRIEND

I just recently decided to try and find my human art style, starting with Aaron!

And here's a asthetic board too!

[theiloveyousong]

hi hi hi omg ok abt the chanukkah gift writing thing. how abt. barnroe going on a teeny tiny date in miss retro's diner after they've only been publicly dating for a little while. that would be super cool /nf

HI okay ive FINALLY finished this im so sorry i just had NO motivation :[[[ i think its decent though !

Linda slides into the booth of Miss Retro’s with a huff, smooths out her skirt, looks at Becky so crossly she can’t help but grin. “This place is an absolute dump, Barnes. What are we going to order, chlamydia and fries?” She wrinkles her nose. Becky pats her on the hand gently and slides into the other side of the booth. Linda’s picking at her cuticles, nervousness visible past the disaffected sneer. 

Becky flicks her palm gently, and Linda glances up with doe-wide eyes. “Hey, Lin. You don’t have to worry, kay? This is like Hatchetfield’s queer community center. We’re fine.” Linda’s face relaxes a bit, and she falls into the booth, sighing thinly. Becky pulls out a menu from the holder, spreads it across the table. “Now, they don’t offer any STDs, but I would like a milkshake.” Linda grins tentatively. 

The diner’s bustling, teenagers packed into booths too small for their group and old couples having lunch together for the thousandth time. Linda glances around a bit, spots a girl with wavy blond hair and a silvery dress, and her face immediately crumples into a glare. Becky looks at her looking at the girl, and smiles. “Family rivalry? You two look super similar.”

Linda huffs. “Yes, actually. She’s my niece and the absolute worst person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

Becky pouts. “Aww, I thought I was the worst person you had ever met? You used to tell me that all the time, babe.”

Linda’s face flushes. “Yes- Well- Times have changed, and I have now deigned to grace you with my presence. You should be grateful, Becky!” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Anyway, Brooke is-”

Becky bursts out laughing. “Brooke? Really? Didn’t know the nautical theme ran that deep!” 

Linda frowns. “Yes. It’s the boats, we do a lot of boating. She’s the epitome of what’s wrong with teenagers today, always on her phone and no respect for her friends and-” Linda leans in dramatically. “I heard from Spankoffski’s kid that she set fire to the bathroom during homecoming this year.” 

Becky smiles. “So we’re gossiping now? Didn’t take you to become a yente at the ripe old age of thirty-seven.” 

Linda’s ears turn bright red. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up! I will not become an old lady who gossips at synagogue about people’s appearances. Whether someone has gotten another nose job or not is none of their business!”

Becky places her hands over Linda’s. “And this is definitely not from experience, right, Lin?” 

Linda crosses her arms and harrumphs. “You know I’ll say anything you want me to, Barnes.” She sighs, looks at the menu. “Oh, greasy bad food, how I did not miss you. Oh, inevitable breakout, how I do not want you.”

Becky plucks it from her hands. “Nuh-uh! I’m picking for you. Consider it a gift!” Linda scrunches up her face. The teenage waitress saunters over to the table, tugging at her choppy hair and looking extremely bored. Becky frowns. “Where’s Miss Holloway? She’s normally working here on Saturdays…”

The waitress grimaces. “Yeah, well, Holloway’s not here, so you’re gonna hafta take it or leave it, hon. I dunno why either, just got a call to come into work, so. Yeah. Whaddaya want?” Becky pulls out a tiny notebook, scribbles something in it, and shows it to the waitress, who hides her smile with the order pad. 

Linda narrows her eyes. “What is it. What is it? Becky, are you not going to tell me?” Becky smiles, but says nothing. Linda slams her head down on the table.

“Comin’ right up, miss! We’ll get that right quick,” says the waitress, scurrying over to a table with ten teenagers crammed in. She shows them the order and one of them shrieks. Linda sighs.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #383

Brain Curds are barely-edited fiction, poetry, or just about anything else - drafted in a day or less. I didn’t realize how much work The Simpsons writers put into those chalkboard gags.

Part 43 of an experiment in progress. Refer to case logs.

Trevor was depersonalizing again, and who could blame him? His beard was spotty and wiry, his chest itchy with hair that had never been allowed to grow in before (and didn’t truly know how), and his father, for whatever reason, had requested to meet in the park after dinner instead of the bike shop where he worked and slept. Trevor, despite all efforts not to be, was suspicious.

Trevor sat at the table in the center and checked his watch. It was already 8:30, but his father had yet to arrive. A raven, illuminated by a street lamp, dug around in a trash can through a small opening, but struggled to pull something out.

“Trevor!” A feminine voice echoed without a source.

Trevor looked around. Nobody was around who could have said his name. The raven cawed to get his attention and gestured at the garbage can.

“Me?” Trevor asked the bird, pointing at himself.

The raven cawed again.

Trevor got up from the table and walked over. The raven tilted its head in query. He looked through the small hole of the receptacle’s lid to see what all the fuss was about and saw a half-eaten cob of sweet corn.

“You want that, huh?”

The raven cawed with desire.

Trevor rolled up his sleeves and reached in for it. The cob was slimy, but at this point he was already committed to retrieving it. He pulled it out and set it before the raven, then immediately wiped his hand on his shorts.

“I hope it was worth it.” Trevor sighed and sat back down.

The raven pecked at its dinner with glee. Trevor would have felt good about this deed if he could feel anything, but he couldn’t - nothing but the barest memory of his throbbing toe, anyway. He was so tired. So very, very tired. The raven flew off hastily when Trevor’s father plopped onto the bench on the other side of the table.

“Dude,” he said, wiping his brow with a rusty-brown handkerchief, “what a day. Flip is such an asshole.”

“Is that why we’re at the park?” The wind blew and Trevor pulled his jacket closed.

“Yeah, uh… I don’t want him asking you for favors. I was supposed to be off at 7:30, but he kept saying ‘yo, one more thing’.” Dad took his backpack off and dug through it to find his vape, which he took a puff from. “Real piece of work.”

Trevor sighed. “At least you’re here now. I’ve been having kinda a hard time, and I…”

“You think you’re having a hard time?” Dad scoffed. “Dude, I slept next to a pile of broken batteries last night. On a concrete floor.”

“A lot has happened, that’s all. I never told you about Homecoming, did I?”

“Did you try my trick? It worked, right?”

Trevor’s nose twitched. “Do you see Serenity on my arm, Dad? She hasn’t talked to me since I followed your advice.”

“You must have done it wrong, Trevor. You kissed her while she was talking, right?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, dude. You do not want to piss me off right now.”

“Yeah, well you don’t want to piss me off either!” Trevor gritted his teeth. “I have a lot more problems than that! Gordon’s turned into a total asshole ever since he started dating the new girl, who kissed me on her birthday, and…”

“Boo-fucking-hoo, dude. She kissed you on her birthday? You already won.”

“I haven’t won shit! And my foot has been killing me ever since I stubbed my toe!”

“Yeah?” Dad raised his voice. “Well my fucking back went out this morning and I still had to work!”

“I’ve had to work too, in case you didn’t notice…” Trevor slammed the table. “… while you spent all my money!”

“It’s all about money with you! Your grandfather’s doing a great job raising you to be a little banker like him. At least you have a place to live, you ungrateful little shit!”

“No thanks to you!”

“And I don’t have a place to live, thanks to you!” Dad growled. “Why didn’t you talk to Greg when we had a chance?”

Trevor was taken aback. “I told you I talked to him!”

“Well, you fucking didn’t! I asked!”

“You…” Trevor stuttered. “Y-you asked me to get you an extra week, for fuck’s sake. Do you really think I could have convinced him to let you stay indefinitely?”

“Yes! And look at that big word, Mr. Banker. Where’d you learn that?”

“That’s it,” Trevor got up. “I’m done.”

“You never talked to Greg because you never wanted to live together again!”

Trevor shook his head. “The fuck does one thing have to do with another?”

“I’m not hearing you deny it.”

“I was never going to live with you there, Dad! And you said it yourself - it sucked!”

“It wouldn’t have sucked if we were together!”

“I really doubt that.” Trevor put his hands out and slapped them down on his thighs as he walked away.

“Where are you going?”

Trevor groaned and turned around. “It’s a school night! I need to be home by nine and I’ll be late as it is.”

“We’re in the middle of a conversation! Get back here!”

“No. Go back to your concrete.”

“I quit my job so I could see you, you fucking dick!” He got up from the table, put his backpack back on, and hobbled over to me with anger on his face. Oh shit: the adrenaline brought me back into my body.

I was a little dizzy, but managed to let out a word. “What?”

“I always put you first and you treat me like a dirty mutt! What’s the matter with you?”

“I…” My breathing was uneven and shallow. “I didn’t ask you to quit your job! Where are you gonna go now?”

“Why don’t you think about that while you lay in your warm bed, jackass. If you walk away, don’t expect to see me again.”

What does that mean?

Penned 2025.04.04

Please reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed, and leave a reply even if you didn’t! See you again soon!

[softykooky]

the habits of a broken heart.

☾ genre : soulmates au, unrequited love, art student!JK, english student!Y/N, angst, fluff, subtle enemies to lovers

☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

☾ summary : jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak. 

alternatively,

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

☾ word count: 26.3k (my biggest one yet!)

☾ author’s note: this took forever oh my gosh! i really hope you like it! it’s my first time writing such a big single piece, and trying a different style. thank you so much for your support, always! please let me know what you think ♡

The first time he had his heart broken, Jeon Jungkook had been 13 years old. He was fresh out of middle school and so ready to face his freshman year with an impressionable mind and plenty of voice cracks to earn him months worth of teasing. You see, at the age of 13, Jungkook wasn’t something to swoon over. He had yet to grow into his ears and Dr. Park assured him that his braces would be off as soon as she could get them. He was a little lanky and a bit too reticent to be considered social. So when a girl in his grade comes up to him, nervous and stuttering, and asks him to go to the heavily romanticized homecoming dance, Jungkook has already come to the conclusion that she might be his soulmate, even if he was far too young to get his mark yet. 

Her name was Mina, and Jungkook is confronted with this memory every time he visits home and his mother makes the family flip through the photo albums dating back to his high school years. He grimaces every time he sees the picture of them together. Him in a pink button-up to match her offensively ugly ruffled taffeta dress. 

Mina broke up with him three months after that picture was taken, through one of her friends no less and in front of his entire gym class. Jungkook couldn’t remember how long he cried for while he felt the pain from his first heartbreak would never go away, regardless of how much time passes. He held onto his mother and sobbed out the agony and humiliation of Mina not wanting to be his girlfriend anymore, and how he had lost his soulmate before he even knew it was her. His mother assured him that without the mark, there was no way to be sure and that there was hope. But back then, all Jungkook could think of was ways to avoid Mina the next day, especially when they sat next to each other in 3rd period biology.  

At 13 years old, Jungkook thought he would never find love again. 

He is 18 when he stands alongside his parents in a pale examination room and awaits his destiny. He’s leaving for college the next day, yet the only thing that’s making him nervous is the mark that will inevitably appear on his wrist in the next few minutes. The same one he would find on his soulmate’s, and Jungkook wonders if there is the possibility of scaring everyone away when the first thing he’ll ask on a date is: can I please see your wrist? 

To say the least, Jungkook is petrified. Because that mark on his wrist is going to serve as a constant reminder of his missing piece, and Jungkook knows he’ll always feel lacking until he finds them. It’s a crescent moon. Small and black and nestled comfortably on his skin. He knows many times the marks don’t have any correlation with the couples, but Jungkook wonders if you are an astrologist. Or an astronaut. Or just had a weird affinity for the moon. He smiles when they congratulate him and can’t stop himself from thinking that he might be in love with you already. Wherever you are. When he leaves for university, he feels less lonely when there is a crescent moon to accompany him. 

Contrary to the beliefs of his 13-year old self, Jungkook does fall in love again. Hard. This time, it was a girl with brown hair and big eyes and a smile so pretty he could see it from across a crowded room. She was a grade below him; a frazzled college freshman with no clue to where her lecture hall was, and he: a sophomore who had a compulsion of changing his major every other month. When he met her, it had been chemical engineering and three weeks before that was film composition. Her name was Yoojung, 18 years old while he was 19.

 Her soulmate mark is a single star, and even though he knows she is not his soulmate, he can’t help but to think how perfectly their marks complement each other. How they would make a perfect night sky. 

They had met at a frat party, no less, and the combination of cheap booze and bad hiphop music had made her look so incredibly gorgeous under the dim lighting. They had their first kiss in a random person’s living room, highly intoxicated and much too irresponsible and Jungkook had barely even remembered it in the morning until she showed up at his doorstep and invited herself in. Yet it wasn’t too long before he made a perfect space for Yoojung in his life.

 Each day after his physics lecture, he’d go to her dorm and they’d chat over breakfast until she had economics at 10 o’ clock. After she was done, he’d insist that they go get a greasy hamburger at the joint his friends took him to when they got high and, she’d end up dragging them both to the health food restaurant that prided themselves on only using organic. Leave it to Jungkook to find himself a vegan girlfriend. 

Sometimes though, when he looks at Yoojung, his mind drifts to his actual soulmate and a little flower named guilt blooms in his chest. But he is so young and his other half could be anywhere in the world, so Jungkook thinks there is no harm in allowing himself to indulge in a little affection. These days, it wasn’t completely abnormal for soulmates to part ways, and when Yoojung is in his arms, Jungkook likes to think that his soulmate would understand. They would want him to be happy. In the middle of synchronizing their busy student schedules and sneaking in quick kisses through cramming for finals, he had found it unnervingly easy to fall in love with her. 

Deeply and blindly in love. 

Yoojung brought him home to her family on fall breaks and the occasional winter vacation and Jungkook had melded perfectly into their dynamic. The son I never had, her father would tell him over the dinner table while her mother constantly made sure his plate was piled high. Her little sister was visibly in love with him, and would ask Yoojung where he was every time she came home from university, yet avoiding him at all costs when he was there. 

Jungkook’s own family, however, was a different story. To put it delicately, they had liked it more when he came home by himself and left her at school. It had put a strain on their relationship sure, but at the end of the day, Jungkook loved her. A simple love. 

Every day he remembers that their marks do not match. But if this is love and he feels like he is on cloud 9 with every moment they are together, Jungkook begins to doubt if the universe’s will is truly divine and successful. Maybe Yoojung was his soulmate and it did not matter what was on their wrists. 

He loved her intensely, and she did him. She was the first thing on his mind when he woke up and manifested in his dreams when he slept at night. To Jungkook, Yoojung could do no wrong. Like some sort of divine being or angel that the heavens sent just for him, and he found himself thinking maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life beside her. 

But he would come to learn that the higher the climb...the harder the fall. 

Jungkook and Yoojung were together for the better part of 4 years before she cheated on him with a guy that she’d supposedly met a couple weeks ago. When Jungkook screams at her asking why she had been disloyal, Yoojung shows him her wrist. Her single inked star. 

“I found my soulmate, Jungkook. And I love you so much, you know I do. I didn’t know how to tell you so I…”

The rest of her words fade into white noise and all Jungkook can do is look at her and commit every detail to memory as he feels her fade farther away. Her teary and remorseful brown eyes. Her plush lips. The fan of her eyelashes and the mole on the side of her temple. He’ll never get to see her like this again. 

“I was ready to be with you, soulmate or not. I know it’s not fair but I wanted the same from you”, he whispers, falling down on the couch and burying his face in his hands. 

“Soulmates be damned, the universe was wrong. I was so hideously in love with you. How could you not at least tell me when you met him?” Jungkook feels his heart collapsing in on itself with every word of resignation. Of burgeoning acceptance. Yoojung can only mirror his desolate expression and stares down at the star on her skin.

 Jungkook wishes it were a moon. 

“Just go, Yoojung.” 

It would have hurt less if it was only a one night stand with a stranger she did not know the name of. He was in love and spineless enough to move past a one night stand. However, Yoojung had found her soulmate and fallen in love with him. Jungkook had merely acted as a placeholder for the real deal to come along and sweep her off her feet. 

This time he doesn’t cry. Just stares out the window of his living room and wonders what it would be like to disappear altogether. When the door is slammed shut, and he is left to nurse his aching soul, Jungkook apologizes in advance to the person that shares the same mark on their wrist as him. He no longer believes that soulmates exist. 

When Jungkook looks back at his 13 year old self with the innocent construct of what heartbreak feels like, he wants to laugh and maybe slap that stupid boy upside the head. Yoojung had destroyed him. Destroyed the innocent and starry-eyed person that he’s tried so hard to preserve. Destroyed his vulnerability and bright outlook on life and in their place, cultivated walls of rock and steel meant to keep everyone out and him safely tucked inside. In her wake, Yoojung left behind a shell of a man who pushed his emotions so deep he became numb and forgot what it was like to feel. 

So Jungkook does what he always does to push away the hurt. He changes his major; to art history this time. He stacks up bracelets on his wrist to forget the mark of a moon. He scrapes up his rainy day money and treats himself to the most expensive pair of Saint Laurent boots he’s ever worn. He tests the limits of the human liver, and takes advantage of the biceps and jawline he’s acquired since high school to establish a reputation. 

To his friends, Jungkook remained raucous and always down to order infinite rounds of shots until he couldn’t see straight. To those that looked even closer, Jungkook was so completely shattered he didn’t even feel it anymore. 

The second time he had his heart broken, Jungkook was 23. He promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen again. 

◐

“For the last time, Jimin, I’m not going to give you a blowjob so you can pay for my student loans.”

You don’t know how many times you’ve had this conversation with your roommate. Most of the time, it was convenient to have a roommate whose parents were loaded and sent him monthly installments that looked more like small loans than allowances. You knew he just wanted to help. Heck, he probably would be willing to pay them off for you without the promiscuous favor, but you had made it clear to Jimin that you wouldn’t be riding off of his charity. 

“Ugh, Y/N you’re really no fun”, he sighs, falling backwards onto your twin-sized bed and feigning devastation. You reward his melodrama with a giggle, ruffling your hands through his fried hair. Jimin had a knack for changing his hair color as quickly as his mood. 

You look at the bill that’s staring back at you from your computer screen, and it feels like it’s just reached out and punched you in the face. “Hey do you think it’s a common mistake for bank tellers to add a few too many zeroes?” 

“Y/N.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m rationalizing as a self-defense mechanism.” Sometimes it was annoying that your roommate had a degree in psychology. Then again, Jimin was making more money than you and your degree in English. 

You sigh deeply and look up at the ceiling in attempts to quell your tears of frustration. And also because it is a plea to whoever is up there controlling your destiny: please I’m begging you. Melt my debt away. 

You and Jimin sit in comfortable silence and he plays with the hem of your worn comforter while you scroll through the emails you have been ignoring in your inbox. You want to smash your head in at all the deadlines. Times like these, there is one thing that brings you comfort and always has since you turned 18. 

The quaint little crescent moon that sits right atop your radius. 

You had a habit of pressing your thumb against it and feeling your pulse against the mark, stupidly wondering if your soulmate’s heartbeat has synched up with your own. If he was out there somewhere, touching his mark and wondering the same about you. He was taking his sweet time, that’s for sure. Jimin sees your nervous tic and sighs again.

“You’re so hopelessly romantic it makes me want to barf, Y/N.” You scowl at his words and chuck a pillow at his unsuspecting face. 

“I don’t understand you, Jimin. Your soulmate is out there and you’re not the slightest bit curious? You don’t want to do anything extra to find them?” Jimin looks at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s exactly it, though. I know they’re my soulmate and I’ll find them when the time is right. So why worry about it? It’s better not to force anything.” His statement is followed up with a grin and his fingers reach out to pinch your cheeks. This was the dynamic of your friendship. He is easy-going and flows like a careless river. You’ve read one too many books to not vie and daydream for the moment you lock eyes with your soulmate. 

Your mom always said that you’ll know just from a look. It’s like getting hit over the head with a ray of sun, she said. Like suddenly their eyes are the only eyes you ever want to look into again. Since then, you’ve dreamt for the day you find someone with that same moon on their wrist. For now though, you had more immediate concerns more along the lines of crippling debt. 

“What do I do, Jimin? Should I be a stripper?” He laughs and the thought makes you groan. You couldn’t even walk in heels, much less try to dance or look like you didn’t have two left feet. Stripper life just wasn’t for you. 

“Hm...I could call in a few favors for you at the office. Get you an internship or secretary position.” 

“Maybe. Too much nepotism. Your father owns the office you work at”, you remind him, and his eyebrows crease further in thought. God, maybe you do have to be a stripper.

“Wait!” Jimin yelps so suddenly you almost fling the computer off your lap. 

“I think I know someone. He’s been looking for a model for his art portfolio or something, and he said he’s willing to pay.” Jimin reaches for his phone and his thumbs type up a storm while you watch from the sideline. 

“I think he mentioned it’s about a month-long project. You’d just have to be on call whenever a stroke of genius arrives.” 

“That sounds great! I’m an amazing model!” you crow, to which Jimin giggles again.

“The several candids I have in my camera roll tell a different story, Y/N.” Naturally, he receives another pillow to the face. But you follow up with a cheery kiss to his cheek as you rejoice in the new opportunity for cash flow by a celebratory dance, which looks more like a wiggle when you remain seated on your bed. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, you chirped, “I owe you one.”

“Hey...I know how you can repay me.”

 When you look towards him, his eyebrows are raised inquisitively and there’s a devilish smirk on his lips.

Jimin gets a third pillow to his face that day. 

◓

Jungkook’s favorite type of arguments to get into is whether Neo-classicism or post-impressionism had the most impact on European art and architecture. Call him a snob, but he loves to prattle on about Degas and Caillebotte until his opponent tires or concedes out of pure exhaustion. Jungkook regards it as a battle strategy: bore your enemy so that they stop fighting. 

He’s in the middle of a heated debate with his classmate from graduate school when he receives a phone call from Park Jimin. Now, Jungkook has no idea how or when Jimin became an installment in his life, or how he’s roped his way into his inner circle. He just remembers waking up one day with a killer hangover and finding that there was a pink-haired stranger lying on his floor. When he tried to shoo him out, the stranger shoved a wad of money in his shirt pocket, muttering “just five more minutes”, and Jungkook was in no position to deny easy cash. Jungkook now considers Jimin one of his close friends. 

“What’s up, Jiminie?” He laughs into the microphone. 

“I told you not to call me that, you brat. I’m older than you.” 

“I’m taller than you.”

“My dick is bigger.”

“I-okay fine you got me there.” He hears Jimin wheeze over the line as he tries to rein himself in to say what he needs to say. 

“In all seriousness, though. I have a proposition for you.” Jimin lilts in a mischievous tone, which makes Jungkook nervous enough to get up from the café table he had been sitting at with his friend and careen to a quieter corner. 

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so you know how you were telling me about your portfolio for the gallery. The one you have to submit by the end of the season? How you needed a model on call 24/7 in case inspiration struck?” 

Jungkook wants him to spit it out because he has been searching high mountains and low valleys for someone that would be willing to be his muse for a month or two. Constantly at his beck and call so he can finish this damn portfolio and get his name out there in the art world. Maybe start debating post-impressionism with the cream of the crop. 

“I think I’ve found someone to do that for you.” Jungkook exhales in relief at his words.

“She’s my roommate and she’s super low on cash and unemployed with a bachelor’s in English literature, so she’s got time to spare.” Perfect. That way, Jungkook can call her whenever he needs to.

“That’s amazing, Jiminie. Can she meet me at the art building tomorrow at noon? We can start right away.” Jungkook breathes through the phone, a small weight coming off his shoulders now that another thing had been accomplished. One less thing he had to worry about on the journey to his goal. Jimin confirms the plans and they exchange pleasantries before Jungkook hangs up as the man on the other line starts screaming about his burning lunch on the stove. 

Jungkook catches sight of the mark on his wrist when he looks down, and quickly rearranges his bracelets so that it is once again covered to his eyes. Out of sight and out of mind. 

The gallery portfolio had been a thorn in his side. It had been months in the making and if he allows himself to reminisce, Jungkook remembers the nights he and Yoojung stayed up until dawn and talked about his blossoming interest in art. How he wanted a space of his own to display his works. Back then, she listened to him with stars in her eyes and basked in the afterglow of post-coital cuddling, promising that she would help him achieve it. 

His heart sinks at the memory of the imprint of her tresses of hair spilling on his bedspread. He burned those sheets the second she left. 

Jungkook represses his intrusive thoughts about Yoojung and wills her to get out of his head. He forces it down until it feels like he’s just dumped ice water over his heart and vomited out any semblance of emotion. He makes his way back to the cafe table with a sly smile that hides the internal ache he’s promised himself to never let anyone suspect of. 

“So what were you saying about Renoir’s Moulin de la Galette?”

◑

The art building is situated besides a library, with a bakery flanking its left. Two years spent at the university, and you’ve never once stepped foot there. Maybe it was the daunting abstract sculpture on the front lawn or the prejudices you held against annoying art snobs on their high horses, but you often found yourself subconsciously avoiding the space in intimidation. 

“Okay, Y/N, you’re going to do this so you can pay off your loans”, you whisper under your breath, words meant for your ears and no one else’s. “And if he asks you to pose nude, you run the opposite direction.” 

It was easy to get lost in the building. For art students that know how to draw, they really took advantage of abstractionism to make the most confusing map you had ever seen in your life. Luckily, with some direction from the vapid front desk secretary and some intuition, you were able to to find room 62B. You don’t think you’ll be able to forget the number 62B if you tried, Jimin had screamed it to you so many times as you left the apartment. 

The door soundlessly opens with a nudge of your hand and you stick your head inside.

“You know when Jimin told me he found me a model, he didn’t mention her lack of punctuality.” His voice is calm and subdued with no lingering annoyance, even if his words are uncourteous. You whip around to him and the first sight you see of Jeon Jungkook is merely a tuft of brown hair behind a vast canvas. And some expensive looking leather boots that anchor his feet to the ground. 

You clear your throat and approach with an outstretched hand and the shiniest smile you can muster. 

“I’m Y/N. Jimin’s roommate. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Jungkook.”

It is when he steps out from behind the canvas that you finally understand what your mother meant when she said meeting your soulmate feels like getting hit over the head with a ray of sunshine. You can’t describe it any other way, but that’s exactly what it feels like. Like the air becomes so sweet in your lungs it turns to viscous honey. Like suddenly the person standing in front of you is Valentine, encapsulated. 

You know he feels it too, yet you don’t know why he forces himself to remain blasé, and if you hadn’t seen his widened eyes and heard the gasp from his lips you would have never suspected anything at all. Stranger courtesy is abandoned and you forcefully grab his wrist, turning it over to find his mark while pulling up your sleeve to reveal your own. 

A little black crescent moon.

Right on the pulse point.

Just like your’s. 

When you finally muster up the nerve to look into his eyes again, you wonder if it is healthy for the human heart to beat so fast and so thunderously it feels ready to jump out of your chest. Jungkook, however, still wears that same expression on his face. Flat and cold, not even a glimmer in his eyes. He stares at you disinterested and wrenches his wrist from your grasp. 

“Wait, Jungkook...aren’t you….”, you sputter through a desperate smile, “aren’t you happy?” He stays silent and trains his attention on the canvas in front of him, but you can see the conflict that swirls in his iris. 

“I’ve been looking for you for so long! And I’ve finally found you. In the art building no less, just my luck that-”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you expect from me but I’m not looking for anything right now.” 

There were no objectively ugly words. But you think the ones that have just spewed from Jungkook’s lips come pretty close. They stoke a fire in your chest.

“What do you mean? We’re soulmates”, you faltered, sinking deeper into confusion as you stare at the unaffected man in front of you, whose only concern is the conglomerate of paint on his palette. 

Jungkook sighs monotonously. Almost as if he had better things to do than be here.

“It’s only a mark on your wrist. And we just happen to have the same one. Amazing that you still think somehow one single person was made entirely just for you.” His words are bored and he doesn’t even have the decency to look you in the eye when he speaks. You think you might want to punch him if you weren’t so speechless.

“Look”, he sighs as if you were inconveniencing him, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell you that I’m the one you’ve been looking for this whole time. We have the same mark, but...I’m not the guy you want.”

“B-But...I’m your soulmate. We-we’re made for each other.”

Jungkook scoffs harshly, and you want to sink into the ground. “That’s just a silly myth.” 

“So you don’t...believe in soulmates?” The words felt wrong to say when all your life, finding your soulmate felt like the ribbon at the end of the finish line. But here he was now, and you felt so small under his gaze. Like you weren’t meant to be there and standing in the same room with him was a concoction for heartbreak.

“No.”

Jungkook’s syllable pangs in your ear, and you think it might be your least favorite sound. Then you leave. And if it was hard for you to meet your soulmate - the person who you’re destined to be with - who doesn’t believe in you, then walking away from him was a different cross to bear. 

You take the bus home and ignore the glare of strangers when you burst into tears at a red light, and cry the rest of the way back. Your mother hadn’t described this. She prosed on and on about the feeling one gets after finding a soulmate but never mentioned to you how it feels when you find out they want nothing to do with you. What do you do when you realize the person you’ve been chasing for forever has been trying to run away at the same time? 

Jimin holds you together that night on your bedroom floor, while you break apart and scratch at the moon on your wrist until your skin breaks. He listens to the words you sputter; as much as he can decipher when they are drowned out by the painful sound of your sobbing. Jungkook’s beliefs bleed into your consciousness. Perhaps he is right and perhaps there is no such thing as true soulmates, and the marks are obsolete. 

However, when you fall asleep in your friend’s arms from the physical fatigue of violent crying and the sheer mental exhaustion of meeting Jeon Jungkook, your mind comes to a more painful conclusion. 

A more truthful conclusion.

Your soulmate only needed to meet you to decide that he did not want you.

◒

Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates. He thinks they’re a stupid coy to give people false hope. An illusion to feign happiness and to take Yoojung away from someone she genuinely loved. Though in the hours of the night, when he is by himself and the bed feels too big for one body, Jungkook wonders if there is truly a reason why someone has an identical moon on their wrist. But he is still so broken and unhealed from the wounds Yoojung left behind.

 So instead of soulmates, he thinks about what she must be doing. If she’s eating well. If she’s moved in with her own soulmate and if they’re happy together. Jungkook is an involuntary masochist and he pays for it with every pillowcase that becomes stained with his tears. 

He sighs out an expletive after downing a shot of whiskey, relishing in the familiar burn as it slides down his throat. Alcohol doesn’t seem to be working efficiently, though. He’s only barely tipsy after years in college building tolerance, and he can still see your face each time he blinks. Like you are imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Jungkook wonders why Jimin had cancelled on the group tonight. 

There is a little devil called remorse and it stands atop his shoulder, unseen by everyone but him, and Jungkook decides he will get rid of it by calling another round of shots. From his seat in the dirty booth, he can see Min Yoongi and his soulmate practically dry humping on the dance floor. If anyone asks him if he ever gets jealous seeing soulmates happy and in love, he’ll laugh in their face and tell them he pities people like that. People that are so blinded by the system. But loneliness is a stern mistress and it makes him think of you. How lovely the moon looks on your wrist. How your hand felt so warm when it caressed against his skin. 

He tips his head back again. Vodka this time.

“Dude, are you okay?” 

To his right comes Kim Taehyung, designated driver extraordinaire, and he looks at Jungkook with friendly concern laced with amusement. Jungkook nods contentedly. 

“Soulmates are so bullshit, Tae”, he snickers, fingers tracing the rim of the shot glass and smirk on his face to mask the bitterness of both the alcohol and his heart. Taehyung spares a knowing glance, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder with the weight of knowledge of Jungkook’s past. 

The night is young and so is he. He drinks until he can no longer taste the liquor and forgets altogether about what had happened only a couple of hours before. Until the crescent mark on his skin just looks like a shapeless black blob, and it makes him smile. He thinks he likes it better that way. 

Taehyung drops him home and personally tucks him into bed while he is still in jeans and his shirt smells like the bar. His sleep is dreamless that night. When the morning comes and his friends tease him about how he begged Taehyung not to leave, Jungkook will laugh and blame the alcohol for his foggy memory. He won’t tell them that he does remember, and that he was only grasping at any warm body to soothe his aching loneliness.

◐

Usually when he first opens his eyes in the morning, Jungkook is thinking about the next class he has to attend and if he is late (which is usually most of the time). This morning, albeit morbidly hungover, Jungkook thinks of the apple strudels they sell at the bakery next to the art building. Mrs. Kim always gets the pastry to filling ratio just right. But when he opens the door with a jubilant smile on his face and the scent of baked goods already in his nostrils, Jungkook has a feeling apple strudels will have to wait. 

There you are. In all your messy-haired glory, huffing like a caged bull in the doorway of his apartment, fiery gaze directed completely at him and all he can think to say is:

“How do you know where I live?” Jungkook schools his face expressionless in your presence. He hopes this will discourage you, but it only makes you angrier. 

“Park Jimin”, you snarl. 

Of fucking course, it’s always Park Jimin. Jimin who drunkenly sleeps in his bedroom and now Jimin who is leaking his address to any stranger.

“Um”, Jungkook stammers and takes a step back, “what are you doing here? Didn’t I get my point through yesterday?” He can see the statement catching you off guard, and the fury in your eyes dwindles to dejection. Only for a millisecond though, before you are aiming your wrath at him once again. 

You take a deep breath. “What is wrong with you?” 

Jungkook can think of a lot of answers to that query. He opts to interpret it as a rhetorical question and keep his mouth shut. 

“You just...found your soulmate! I’m your soulmate! And you don’t even want to get to know me? At all?”, you scream exasperatedly. Jungkook catches the gaze of a middle aged lady who is not-so-discreetly staring at the two of you, and pulls you inside his apartment by your arm. If you weren’t so frustrated, you would have been flustered at the physical contact. 

“Listen. Soulmates don’t end up together all the time. I’ve told you I’m not really interested in anything right now and it’s not a priority”, he takes a breath through his passionate monologue, “and I’m sorry that that’s not something you expected, but I….don’t want a soulmate.”

Maybe...he just doesn’t want you. 

When he says them out loud to a living breathing person, Jungkook realizes how cruel it sounds. He can see it in the way your eyes have become glossy under his living room lights and the way you shrink into yourself as self-defense against his blows. He rationalizes that he’d rather tell you the truth than lie to you now, only to hurt you later. Really, he’s doing you a kindness. Right?

You turn your back to him to gather your thoughts, and wipe the tears that you refuse to let him see. The salty drops sting the raw skin of your wrist after last night, and you are brutally reminded of the current reality. His brutal honesty makes you want to abandon all hope, but you were a woman with a plan. You came here for a reason, not to just lose your temper in your soulmate’s apartment and tell him what you really thought about him.

“I have a proposition for you”, you asserted calmly, staring Jungkook in the eye as he remains unbothered. 

“Now I reckon something’s happened to you to make you lose all your faith in soulmates, so I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Your eyebrows furrow when you speak focusedly.

“We don’t have to be together. That’s your will. But…”, you hesitate, pushing past the uncertainty and fear of another rejection from Jungkook, “will you let me at least try? You don’t have to promise anything. Can we just start as friends?” 

Naturally, Jungkook wants to shoot down your offer, kick you out of his apartment, and pretend like he never met anyone by the name of Y/N. Call it divine intervention but when he looks at you, pleading for any semblance of connection, he feels a tug at his heart strings. So Jungkook makes another promise to himself. He would let you “try”, whatever that entails. But there was no virtual possibility of letting you any closer than necessary. 

You both stand in contemplative silence before he lets out a resigned sigh. “On one condition”, he responds slowly, but there is already a premature grin growing on your face and you don’t think you could stop it even if you tried.

“You still have to be my model for the art portfolio.”

You agree before he even gets to take another breath. 

“Deal.” 

When you finally make your way out of Jungkook’s apartment, parting ways with an awkward number exchange and a ‘see you later’, there is a simultaneous feeling of hope and desolation. The optimism for Jungkook combines with the insecurity that perhaps you, just as you are, is not nearly enough to make someone fall in love. Especially someone who disregards their soul connection to you. 

You walk back to your apartment with a heavy heart that warms with embers of determination. Jeon Jungkook was an enigma. A Bastille fortress of self-defense mechanisms and destructive tendencies, and you know that there is unresolved pain. Call it a soulmate instinct or something, but you see it in his eyes. You see it in the way his face begs to show emotion but his mind refuses to acknowledge. 

You know Jungkook is not obligated to accept you after the dust settles, much less fall in love with you. Under the peach blossoms of the campus sidewalk, you make a promise anyway.  To yourself and to your soulmate and the silly little mark on the inside of your wrist. Even if he does not love you, you vow to help Jungkook learn to love himself.

◓

When you are harshly woken up at 5:30 in the morning, the last person you expected to be blowing up your phone was Jeon Jungkook. If it weren’t for the pure exhaustion seeping through your bones, you would have been excited about your soulmate calling you. Alas, slumber was your soulmate now. Jungkook would have to step down. 

On the other side of the paper thin wall, Jimin is frustratedly banging from his room, your ringtone reverberating throughout the entire apartment. You pick up his call without even opening your eyes.

“Hello?” 

“Y/N I need you to come to my apartment as soon as you can.” There is no sleepiness in his voice. Just clean and cold like it always is and he has hung up before you get the chance to scold him for waking you up at this unholy hour. You’re about to give him a piece of your mind but you remember he is paying you very handsomely for your efforts, and reluctantly drag yourself out of bed to call an uber. Thank god he doesn’t live too far away otherwise you’ll stick a foot through his canvas for the transportation bill. 

The front of Jungkook’s apartment door is strangely therapeutic, and you find yourself falling asleep standing up after you’ve rung the doorbell. Either time passes too slowly when you are sleep-drunk or Jungkook moves to get the door as quickly as your grandfather does. Whatever the case, you are about to pass out on his doorstep if he doesn’t come soon.

“Y/N, why are you just standing there? The door has been open.” 

“Jungkook. Why are you making me do this so early?”, you yawn, pushing inside the apartment. 

Jungkook takes in your discombobulated appearance, and almost wants to laugh. You were still in your pajamas, and the bun on your head now looked more like a heaping blob that drooped down your temple. It was obvious that you had just rolled out of bed and he almost feels bad for disturbing your sleep, but he does not decide when his strokes of inspiration spontaneously appear. 

The living room is bombarded with Jungkook’s art supplies and stray canvases, and you take note of the clay sculpting table that blends in as furniture next to his kitchen. You plop yourself down on the stool across from Jungkook’s easel, eyes still half closed and impossibly tired.

 In this moment, Jungkook wipes the fact that you are his soulmate from his mind. He needs to do the portfolio. That is all he’s keeping you around for, and the only reason he agreed to your plan was so that you would remain his art model. 

In the silence of his makeshift art studio, Jungkook paints whatever comes to his mind, referencing your figure on the stool for the curves he can never get right without a model and need for a human presence to translate onto his canvas. You become more lucid as time goes by and the sun starts to rise from outside his window, sitting up straighter and paying more attention to his concentrated face as Jungkook pours himself into his creation. 

Looking at him in this light, you realize that he is beautiful. And not just because he’s your soulmate. Jungkook’s hair is scruffy and stubbled, undereyes sporting impressive dark circles. But the way he caresses the paintbrush and the way his body moves to the beat of the painting is poetic. He glances at you sporadically, eyes darting to and fro to capture as much as he can before the creativity burns out. He is beautiful and it makes your heart ache to know that he does not want you. In spite of the bond the universe has created. 

You wonder if in his focused hazed, he notices the new glaze across your eyes and the silent sound of your soul calling out for his. You wipe away the first dripping tear as quickly as it came. You know Jungkook sees, but does not bat an eye and you can’t tell if you’d rather prefer him to acknowledge it. 

It’s 8:00am when he puts the paintbrush down, takes a step back, and surveys his work. His eyes trail over each organic line and areas where he decided to use burnishing instead of cross hatching. It’s far from perfect, but it’s enough. 

“Okay. You’re free to go”, he announces, plucking the painting off the easel and resting it against the wall, hidden from your eyes. 

“W-What? That’s it?”, you sigh disappointedly, “you’re not even going to let me see it?” Jungkook shrugs. His detachedness makes you want to rip your hair out and sob into your pillow at the same time. You don’t understand how a person could be so unfazed. 

“S’not ready for debut. Thanks for showing up, though.” He doesn’t spare you another glance. Just goes back to cleaning his brushes and dumping out the glasses of murky paint water. You ignore the twinge of hurt in your chest and slide off the stool. 

“Okay, fine. Now it’s my turn. Would you like to go have some breakfast?”, you smile expectantly to Jungkook, who stares at you with an indifferent gaze. His first instinct is to make up a half-assed excuse to get out of this, eager to detach himself from you as much as possible and avoid any more interaction. However, he was insanely hungry, and the glimmer in your eye just looks so hopeful even Jungkook couldn’t bear to shoot you down.

He sighs with resignation. A little breakfast couldn’t hurt, and he wasn’t going with you necessarily. You were just...going to the same cafe in the same direction as him and likely sitting at the same table. Yeah, that’s it. 

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.” 

“Wait...actually?”

You blinked in shock at his lack of resistance. 

“Yes. Now come on. I know a place with really great apple strudels.”

You weren’t aware that by ‘breakfast’, Jungkook actually meant sitting in complete silence and wolfing down food like your life depends on it. You want to be grossed out when he inhales 3 apple strudels in less than 10 minutes, crumbs flaking on his shirt without a care in the world. Yet you just feel endeared. The sight makes you smile. And maybe if Jungkook did not detest you, you would have leaned over and kissed the cinnamon sugar right off his lips. 

“So….”, you sip on a sweet coffee, “Jimin told me you’re going for a masters in art history?” 

Jungkook nods halfway through a bite of his pastry. “Yup.” 

“Is it something you’re really passionate about?” you inquire, desperately wanting the conversation to delve into something that wasn’t so surface level.

“Uh huh.”

“What are some other things you’re interested in besides art?”

“Totally.” 

Jungkook is completely clueless. He only spares glances to the windows and occasional looks to his oh so precious breakfast treats. You want to slap him and be angry, but you only sigh. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to your soulmate, yet it felt like trying to pull teeth when he was so completely disinterested in you. You wonder if this is worth it.

You look up at him from your steaming cappuccino cup and use your wildcard. 

“In my opinion, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus did little for the Italian Renaissance movement.” 

Your statement almost has Jungkook falling backwards in his chair and choking on a piece of fruit filling, eyes growing as wide as saucers when he finally processes what you just said. A flaming insult to the entire art historian community. 

“What do you know about Botticelli?”, he sneers, and you internally celebrate for this is the most emotion Jungkook has shown since meeting you. 

“I know that his work supposedly epitomizes the spirit of the Renaissance”, you swirl the coffee in your cup nonchalantly, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “But if you ask me, Bellini’s San Giobbe Altarpiece did much more to encapsulate the values of 15th century Italy.” 

Jungkook’s speechless expression is one that you want to take a snapshot of and frame it to your wall. It is glorious, and arguably more artful to you than Botticelli himself. So what, you had conveniently forgot to mention to him about the class you took junior year of college, with a professor that made you engrave the fundamentals of Italian painting in your brain. It’s so much more gratifying to see him stunned silent. 

Across the table from you, Jungkook feels a warm smile itching to display itself. Before it can appear, he disguises it as a cold smirk. He feels something akin to a butterfly at the pit of his stomach, but blames it on indigestion and the inhuman pace at which he devoured his breakfast. Yeah that must be it. There was no way he was feeling butterflies. 

He cracks his knuckles, raises his cup to gulp down a lukewarm green tea, and rests his elbows on the table separating the both of you.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me your thoughts on the influences of neo-classicism in the 18th century?” 

◑

“No, Y/N, turn to your left a little”, Jungkook frustratedly sighs behind the camera lens.

“Your left or my left?”

He pauses. “....left.” 

To any outside eye, you and Jungkook look like two buffoons trying to take pictures on what might possibly be the windiest day of the season, under the peach blossom trees. Jungkook had called you earlier that day and stressed about how he needed mixed media in his beloved portfolio, and photographs were the next topic of interest. Though you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just set out a fruit bowl on his windowsill and call it still life photography.

Jungkook stares down at his camera, dissatisfaction clear on his face. You almost want to apologize for your abhorrent modeling skills but hey, he was the one that chose you. 

“Hmm...try staring at that boat in the distance”, he dictates, standing beside you and aiming the lens at your side profile. You do as he asks, but don’t hear the shutter of the camera. Jungkook sighs again and leans forward, so close you could feel his warm breath hitting your skin. You hope he doesn’t notice the beet blush on your cheeks.

Jungkook’s hands meet your chin when he uses it to slightly tilt your face downwards. He positions you in the way that he wants you to pose and you finally understand why photography is considered an art. Because it’s almost as if Jungkook is molding you like clay, to get the silhouette he wants to capture with his camera lens. The day is brisk, but his skin on your’s lights you on fire. 

“Okay, that’s…..that’s perfect”, Jungkook breathes, hurriedly picking up the camera that had been hanging onto his neck by the strap and angling it. At the moment his index finger presses down on the button, there is a gust of wind that surrounds the both of you.

The breeze loosens a strand of your hair and it falls into your eyes. You let your eyes drift close for a second, smiling into the cold air that tingles on your skin. Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he thanks the skies for the howling wind so you wouldn’t be able to hear his thumping heartbeat. But surely it’s only because it’s cold. And absolutely nothing else. Jungkook coughs inconspicuously to snap himself out of his trance, sighing in relief when he realizes your eyes are still closed and that you hadn’t noticed his internal struggle. 

He drags you to a bridge next and makes you lay on the cold wood to which you vehemently object before you remember that he’s paying you and that you want him to fall in love with you, not dislike you more than he already does. After the bridge, Jungkook makes you kneel beside the park pond and dip your hand in the icy water and you find yourself wanting to do the same thing to his precious camera. 

Before the two of you have realized, the sun sets into the horizon and tinges the sky in a combination of purples and pinks that Jungkook himself has a hard time replicating on canvas. He aims his lens at the clouds and takes a picture that he knows won’t make it into his gallery. He just felt the need to have something to remember this day by. For no reason in particular…

A buzzing coming from your coat pocket alerts you both of the time that has passed and how the sky has considerably darkened since you began the session. When you fish your phone out, Jimin’s contact photo is staring back at you while the marimba ringtone continues playing. You put the phone on speaker.

“Hey Jiminie”, you smile and Jungkook catches a glance of it. And the discomfort in his chest is definitely, 100%, not jealousy. Not at all.

“I told you not to call me that! What is with you younger people and your disrespect for the elderly?” The corner of Jungkook’s lips twitch into a subtle smile at the similarity of your’s and his conversations with Jimin. 

“Okay, okay, grandpa. What’s up?”

“Can you come home ASAP? I may or may not have broken the stove trying to make soup.” 

The redundancy of his confession makes you sigh, as Park Jimin desecrating your shared kitchen space was not a rare occurrence by any means. 

“I’ll be right there”, you chided through the line, “please do not cook anything else before I arrive.” 

“Thanks Y/N-ie, you’re the best!” Jimin’s voice is far too cheery and you make a mental note to nag him a little extra when you get home. The phone call is ended promptly and you turn around to Jungkook, eyes widening in surprise when he has already packed up all his photography gear. The sky had turned dark and the streetlights had been turned on to illuminate the park. If you had craned your neck upwards, you would have noticed the stars that awoke again to shine down upon the city. But you didn’t. You only saw the stars that were twinkling in Jungkook’s eyes. 

“Uh”, he stammers, “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.” 

“Oh! Uh...Thanks.” Though he was still cold and indifferent, your heart jumped in elation. Perhaps this could be considered baby steps. 

The trip home is quiet, only the sounds of your tandem footsteps on pavement and the rustle of a breeze through tree leaves fill the space of silence. But the quiet is not uncomfortable. Just a bit awkward as you two try to figure out how to be around one another. Jungkook’s hands are shoved in his pockets and your fingers itch to intertwine themselves around his own. To press your soulmate marks together and feel them calling out to each other. But you and Jungkook are anything but normal soulmates. For you are already head over heels in love with him and he is adamant on not sparing you a crumb of affection. 

To your disdain, the apartment was closer than you thought and the short walk with Jungkook ended before it really even began. You could practically hear Jimin’s impatience emanating from the third story of the building. 

“So I’ll see you later?”, you smile meekly. Jungkook readjusts the strap of his camera bag before nodding. He is walking away before you turn around to enter the apartment building and even though it was something small and mundane, you wished he would have waited to see you get in safely. You make your way inside, more downcast than you had been before.

You don’t see when Jungkook turns around. You don’t feel the reassurance that washes over him when the door shuts safely behind you. 

That night, Jungkook is reminded far too much of Yoojung. When he goes to make his usual chamomile, he finds her mug at the very back of the tea cabinet. She must have forgotten it when she packed up her stuff. When he spoons in the sugar, he remembers how Yoojung drinks her tea with honey instead. And when he feels himself start to fall apart, he remembers how Yoojung is not there to keep him together. 

Jungkook pushes away his pain, abandons the lukewarm mug of tea, and opts for an early bedtime to sleep away the ache. The camera sitting on his nightstand, though, beckons him to look over the photos you both had taken that afternoon. 

In the moment, he had been dissatisfied with the pictures, always thinking there must be a better angle or a better position you could shift into. However when he looks down at his camera now, in the quiet and solemnity of his bedroom, Jungkook can’t help but to think they are absolutely perfect. 

He doesn’t know whether to credit his own artistic skill or you; for breathing life into his photographs. It’s the lines of your hands, the slope of your nose, and the stray strands of your hair that makes his pictures more human. 

The ones he ends up picking though, are not perfectly  staged and not the ones where he made you change the position of your stance for 10 minutes. No, the best pictures were the ones he took without you noticing. When you had just been enjoying the cool breeze or admiring the beauty of peach blossom season. When you point out a cool looking bird and when you stared annoyedly past the cameras lens (at him no doubt). 

Yoojung is gone from his mind for just a tiny fleeting moment. For little reason at all, Jungkook finds himself smiling. And there is only the company of the moon to see it. 

◒

 It is ten o’ clock in the morning and Jungkook comes to a realization that in the couple weeks since he has met you, he has sighed more times than he has in the past 23 years of life. Jungkook sighs when you text him first thing in the morning about the dream you had the night before and describe it in painfully vivid details. He leaves them unanswered. Sometimes he wished you would just email him the google document instead. He sighs when you fidget in your seat when he’s trying to paint and keep focus, but you are only interested in asking him the snacks he has in his fridge or when he’s going to finish. He sighs when you and Jimin collectively trash his art studio by spamming his $1,000 camera with ugly face pictures and sword fighting with his sable paint brushes. Jungkook often has a hard time believing that both of you are in graduate school. 

Today, he sighs when you bombard into room 62B of the art building; what is supposed to be Jungkook’s completely zen and peaceful creative space. You are tiptoeing around him as you always do, scared that you’ll do something to set him off and your soulmate will disown you for good. He glances at you once, eyes quickly darting back to the sculpture he is molding on the clay table and saying nothing. 

“There’s a new cafe that just opened right across from the apple strudel place”, you gulp tensely. “I was gonna go check out the competition.” Your words seem deaf to Jungkook’s ear and he only furrows his eyebrows, fingers fussing over the mass of clay. There was just something he couldn’t get right. He didn’t know what it was. 

Jungkook pushes away the sculpture frustratedly, wipes his hands on his apron, and finally looks at you. Maybe he did need a break and come back to it with fresh eyes. That’s all it was, though. A break. He wasn’t going because you asked him to. 

“They better have blonde roast otherwise you’ll be compensating me for my time.” Jungkook is as ruthless and blunt as ever and you decide to look past it as you always do. Him agreeing to go with you was a mini success. 

“Welcome in! You’ve stopped by at the perfect time. The strawberry scones have just been taken out of the oven!” The cafe employee is far too enthusiastic for receiving minimum wage and greeting grumpy people off the streets who just want to be caffeinated. His name tag reads Jung Hoseok. 

“Oh, strawberry is my favorite”, you whisper, the statement only meant for your ears but Jungkook picks up on it anyway. He declines to tell you that strawberry is his favorite as well. Hoseok’s eyes light up when you and Jungkook approach the entrance, like he finally succeeded at luring a customer. 

The cafe isn’t anything special. A bit more modern compared to the one across the street and you think you prefer the latter because this new one doesn’t have the owner’s handsome son standing at the cash register. He may not be your soulmate, but even you had to admit Kim Seokjin was a beautiful man if there ever was one. However, this cafe is warm and has ceiling length windows that let in an obscene amount of sunlight. Jungkook makes a mental note to try some pictures here in the future. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in his pocket and you are already leaving him behind in the dust, walking straight to the counter and peering up at the menu deep in thought. You turn around to see that he is immersed in mysterious conversation, and take it upon yourself to order him a drink. 

“I’ll have a matcha latte. And uh…”, you decide, trailing off as you wonder what kind of drink Jungkook would enjoy. “And an iced vanilla mocha latte, extra whipped cream, extra chocolate syrup. Do you guys have rainbow sprinkles?” 

A little sugar never hurt anyone. Especially someone so often bitter like your one and only soulmate. 

When Jungkook hangs up and makes his way to the corner table where you are situated, the sight of the concoction on the table is enough to give him an instant cavity. You hide your smile behind the mug of matcha. He grumbles and sits down swiftly, sticking the straw past his lips in defiance and you can only watch expectantly. 

“Well…do you like it?” 

This is when Jungkook realizes you didn’t order this to spite him. You just had completely zero idea what he liked and disliked and chose the first thing you thought was best. As cold as he is, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he drinks coffee, he likes it black. No cream, no sugar, and the darkest roast with the most caffeine to push him through those nights spent in front of a canvas or over a clay table. 

Jungkook fights to keep steady from the ambush of sugar and wills himself to swallow it down. There is sticky chocolate syrup on his hands and it feels cosmically more uncomfortable than paint. But Jungkook manages to look up at you and nod, to which you reward with a smile. 

“I knew you would like it”, you say smugly, giving yourself a mental pat on the back. “You look like you have a giant sweet tooth.” There is a mellow giggle that follows your statement. Jungkook feels a flutter at the bottom of his stomach, and convinces himself it’s only because it sounds so much like Yoojung. He catches sight of the moon on your wrist, and pushes the feeling away even farther. 

The two of you spend the rest of the midday there, tucked away in a corner of a cafe and losing track of time as you always do. Jungkook finds himself forgetting about the mountains of work he has to do to finish his art gallery portfolio, and the unfinished sculpture back at the studio that’s just not right. 

Today, he allows himself to enjoy your presence and get to know you more. Your favorite color is yellow. You had a dog named Benny when you were a child. You detest beer with a passion, but enjoy a nightly glass of pinot grigio. Jungkook barely notices when the entire cup of coffee has disappeared. Every last rainbow sprinkle.

On second thought, he feels that maybe there was something sweeter than his unexpectedly delicious iced vanilla mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Maybe that something was sitting right across from him, rambling about the fundamentals of English literature with unexplained vigor. 

Jungkook’s soul feels lighter when he goes to bed that night. And when he finally succumbs to Morpheus, his last lucid thought is of you; sun beams coming from the large cafe windows that comb through your hair. He looks at you through his mind’s eye and all he can see is the potential heartbreak you have the power to put him through. The fan of your eyelashes. The curve of your smile. The plush of your lips. All he can see is Yoojung as she crushes his soul in her bare hands. 

Yet in the midst of his internal conflict, Jungkook’s subconscious allows him to fall in love with you a little bit. Perhaps not love just yet, but affection. Like a toe dip in uncharted waters or sticking his finger in a bowl of creamy cake batter just for a taste. The walls he has built are still there, strong as ever, but perhaps a couple bricks look a bit askew. He doesn’t know, but his soul calls out to your’s through the fortress.

◐

“Y/N I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“Oh hush, just close your eyes and point where your heart tells you to.”

In the lobby of a train station, facing a map and an ETA board is where you and Jungkook will be embarking on your next “date but not really because you don’t believe in soulmates so let’s just hang out”. It had taken a good two hours of nagging and whining on your part to convince him to abandon his portfolio for just a little bit to go an outing. Now standing here, with you excitedly bouncing next to him and a mystery destination, Jungkook feels something akin to utter regret. 

“What if I choose somewhere that’s a thousand miles away? Or just in the middle of nowhere?”, Jungkook groans, still putting up an unbothered and cold front. 

“Well then we will go somewhere that’s a thousand miles away or in the middle of nowhere”, you quipped back at him. Jungkook had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one. 

He reluctantly places a hand over his eyes, sighing with resignation before pointing to a random spot on the map. There is a giggle that sounds to his left and Jungkook finds himself wanting to hear more. 

“Wonderful choice”, you smiled, “couldn’t have picked it better myself.” 

Jungkook peeked his eyes open one at a time, scared of seeing what his intuition has chosen for your guys’ spontaneous destination. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that his fingers landed on a town on the outskirts of the city, 20 minutes away from the university. He silently thanks the universe for not sabotaging his wallet and time. 

“We’re never doing this again, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks as you are in front of him, skipping happily to the front desk to buy two train tickets. 

“Wasn’t it fun, though? The thrill?”, you chuckle at his demeanor, to which he only shakes his head vehemently. You note the newest thing you’ve just learned about Jungkook: he has an aversion to uncertainty and spontaneity. 

The train ride was as brief as it was uneventful. You spent the time rambling to Jungkook about all the quips and quirks about yourself and he only listened. Though he kept quiet, his face was free of any annoyance or indication that you were speaking too much. Jungkook only stared at you and unknowing to you, he soaked in every bit of information like a sponge. If anyone asked, he could tell them what foods you were allergic to, what colors wash you out, and what vegetables you hated the most. 

“Wow you didn’t have to pick somewhere so far away, Jungkook.” You muse as the two of you step out of the train car. So far away in fact, that if you were to crane your head up enough, you would be able to see the university from a distance. 

“Hey, you were the one who made me choose”, Jungkook spares a rare smile, “Would you rather we have shelled out our wallets to go on an 18-hour train ride?”

“Okay, fair point.”

The city was as abundant as it was big, and the both of you walked aimlessly from avenue to avenue, stopping occasionally whenever you see a dog you just can’t help but to pet or whenever Jungkook complained about his sore feet. As cold and indifferent as Jungkook made himself out to be, you’ve quickly come to realize that he’s actually a big baby. He still hasn’t let you in or even lowered his walls by a tiny centimeter, but you like to think that even agreeing to go anywhere with you could be considered significant progress.

Jungkook doesn’t notice the pounding of his heart whenever his hands graze against your’s, walking side by side so close he can feel the heat emanating through your coat. He doesn’t notice the peace he feels, just the synchronicity of his feet as he places them on the pavement. 

The fraught wind that blows straight at Jungkook’s face prompts him to look up from where his eyes were cast on the ground. He almost staggers at how strong it is, but finds himself weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

Of course.

Of all the days, of all the times, of all the people in this entire city.

Of course she had to be the one that was currently staring at him from across the intersection. 

The red light seems to go on forever. Either that or time has just spontaneously frozen, Jungkook can’t tell. But his eyes are fixed on hers and his feet bolster him to the concrete when all he wants to do is sprint the other way and forget he ever saw this ghost from the past. 

Yoojung looks as beautiful as the day she left him. 

She’s gained some weight and her cheeks have filled out, but it looks healthy on her now (Jungkook always chided her for forgetting to eat). She stares at him with a combination of shock and guilt and something he wants to overthink into affection but he won’t give himself that satisfaction anymore. She dyed her hair. Light brown looks good on her. 

She looks...happy. As happy as anyone can look when they’re rushing through thick crowds of a city, traffic horns blaring like a dilapidated symphony. 

In the heat of it all, it’s impossible for you not to notice Jungkook’s sudden change in demeanor or the way he has suddenly stopped breathing. When you follow his gaze, there is a girl on the other side of the street that shares the same starstruck expression and even from the outside looking in, you can feel the weight of something painful in his eyes. In her stature. 

When the lights turn green, the throngs of city dwellers migrate across and you stay beside Jungkook when he doesn’t move a muscle. Not even a finger twitch. But she does. And he can only fight to keep the ache away when Yoojung gets closer with every millisecond. Until she is standing right in front of him and he can smell her familiar vanilla perfume. 

“Jungkook”, she speaks, apprehension in her voice. “It’s been a while...how are you?” 

Yoojung only spares you a side glance while keeping attention on Jungkook and you only grow more curious as to who this strange woman is. 

He wants to speak so badly but his tongue remains frozen. He turns to you with flabbergast in his eyes and shakes his head to snap out of the daze of confusion. Of seeing the love of his life again. Or who he thought was the love of his life. 

“Could you give us a minute, Y/N?” 

You didn’t know why but the words that came from his lips made you feel disappointed. Perhaps you were just stupid for thinking he would introduce you. Tell her that you’re his soulmate and scream it at the top of his lungs with sheer pride. But your imagination has hurt you countless times and you had a feeling this one wouldn’t be the last. You manage a curt nod and push away the twinge in your heart. There was a boundary between you and Jungkook and today was not the day to cross it and introduce yourself as his soulmate to any random stranger. 

Once you are out of vicinity and have found solace in a bookstore 10 feet away, Jungkook allows himself to breathe in Yoojung’s presence. 

“I didn’t know if you were still in the city”, he falters, voice coming out quieter than he would have liked it to. But what was he supposed to sound like confronting the supposed love of his life. 

“I never left, Jungkook...my entire life is here.” She sighs, smiling lightly with eyes seeping with guilt. 

He scoffs. “I don’t know Yoojung, you seem to leave behind important things pretty easily.” Jungkook feels himself getting angrier and resentful by the second, and though he knows it is unfair of him, Yoojung’s mere presence brings back all the wounds he never truly healed from. 

Granted, on a concrete sidewalk next to a traffic light pole was not the best place to have a heart to heart about failed relationships. But when has the universe ever given Jungkook the best things in life. He is devastatingly cynical for someone who dedicates his career to art. 

Yoojung wears a frown on her face, but there is no vindictiveness there. Just an overwhelming sense of remorse that Jungkook communicates as pity. 

“I don’t know how else to say that I’m sorry”, she sighs, eyes falling to the ground. Jungkook wishes it would just open up and swallow him whole. 

“Then don’t say anything.” He turns to walk away.

“Wait! Jungkook can we...can’t we catch up or something? For a couple minutes?” Yoojung is visibly desperate, and her hands are outstretched as if wanting to touch him but keeping herself from overstepping the line. 

Jungkook glances through the window of the bookstore, and you are situated on a chair, already nose deep in a hefty book. He wants to smile and tease you for being such a nerd, but the weight of Yoojung’s presence makes him reinforce those walls of indifference tenfold. 

He exhales frustration and inhales temptation, looking back into Yoojung’s familiar eyes and nodding. Jungkook walks to a nearby bench and sits down with no words exchanged, looking forward coldly even when he feels her warmth next to him. A couple months ago, Jungkook would have set all his canvases on fire to feel her beside him again. Now, he’s not so sure.

“So…”, she starts, “who’s that cute girl you were with?” 

“No one.” He shoots out a little too soon with no hesitation. Yoojung gulps.

“You know Jungkook, it’s okay to find someone. I-I know I hurt you, but I’m glad if you’ve found someone who doesn’t.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything so she continues.

“I’m really happy for-”

“I never really forgave you Yoojung.” He stares blankly at the passersby and tries to ignore the ache in his bones. The one that’s been there the day she left and took a piece of his heart with her. 

“And I don’t want to blame you for my decisions but I want you to know that I push away a lot of people because of you. People that don’t deserve it.” From the corner of his eye, he can see her nod solemnly to his words and fidget with her hands in her lap. Part of him feels guilty for unloading on Yoojung. Part of him feels like maybe he deserves to. 

“What you did was really shitty. Astronomically fucking shitty. And I’ve spent the past eternity hating you and maybe I still do, but…”, Jungkook takes a deep breath, “I want to forgive you now. If not fully, then partially. I hope you can understand that.” He finally tilts his head to look at her and though the smile on her face is as beautiful as he remembers it to be, Jungkook no longer feels the longing. No longer feels the sting that he usually does when his thoughts take him back to the years they spent together. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to call it closure, not yet anyway. Sitting here on the bench, he still wants to scream and yell and tell Yoojung of all the nights he’s spent alone since she left. He still wants to drag her back and wonder if she could love him again like she used to. 

But he doesn’t. He listens when she tells him about her new job and her new apartment right by the lakeside. They share snippets of their separate lives. Just deep enough to rekindle something warm but shallow enough to not invite anything else in. 

When he walks away from the bench and into the bookstore, Jungkook stills feels the walls that he has built around himself. He is still scared of opening up and being vulnerable but the anger held for Yoojung for so long is no longer a raging fire. More so a wickering flame. 

When he spots you, though, he remembers why he built those walls in the first place. He remembers how easy it used to be for him to climb a high peak and fall to his demise. Your eyes widen when you catch sight of him, lips curling into a wide smile and clear excitement in your expression. The book in your hands is tossed aside and tunnel vision reserved for him and him only. Something blooms in his chest and he can’t remember the last time someone’s been so elated to just simply see him...aside from his dog. Jungkook reminds himself to act uncaring. If he pretends long enough, he’ll start to believe it himself. 

◓

The train ride home feels longer than the one there. The minutes drag by and perhaps it is because of your drooping eyes or the way Jungkook is looking at you with a different tenderness than he has been before. His stare is not harsh. It’s soft and sweet, but subtle enough for you to wonder if you are just imagining it. The night has always been unforgiving and cold even in the spring, but perhaps all that’s needed to breathe some warmth, is a 15 minute train ride and a wrist with a crescent moon.

Yet every time you become more smitten with Jungkook, there is a harsh reminder that follows you everywhere like a designated storm cloud. 

Jungkook does not love you. And you are trying and you will continue to try but his eyes tell you something he is too courteous to say. You see it now as he sits across from you and admires the skyline from the window. It makes you wonder if it is soulmates he doesn’t believe in, or if it is just you that he can’t bring himself to accept. With every cold glance and wall that he puts up, you start to convince yourself that it is the latter.

“We’re here, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks quietly, interrupting your drifting thoughts. He turns around and leaves the train car with hands tucked in his coat pocket. Did you expect him to escort you out and hold your hand? Of course not. But you were tired of Jungkook being so indifferent to your existence. 

You follow him glumly out the doors that slide close after you step through. Then it zips off again and you wonder where it would have taken you if you just stayed in your seat. If Jungkook would have even noticed that you hadn’t followed him when he left. 

You sigh into the night air and wish it was winter so that your breath could be visible as a white cloud. Maybe then Jungkook would notice that you were a living being beside him. 

“Who was that girl that we met back there?”, you murmur hesitantly. Jungkook nearly chokes on air. 

“No one”, he responds curtly, effectively cutting off the conversation then and there. It makes your heart sink. She must be important and all you want to do is know every single detail about their relationship, but the look in his eyes warn you to not pry. 

You don’t think you can forget the way Jungkook looked at her from across the street. Like he had been lost this whole time and she was the North star. You saw the way his eyes twinkled in the midday sun and sparkled even more when she came closer. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to have that effect on him. 

“Hey, next time you should pick a place you and I both do not live in”, you giggle, nudging his shoulder with your own. It makes him smile and even though your heart feels heavy in your chest, Jungkook looks so beautiful when he smiles. 

The two pair of feet subconsciously carry you both to the front door of your apartment building and the scene is too familiar from the last time. You expect him to turn around and whisper a hushed goodnight under his breath, and you’ll have to watch the back of his head disappear down the street. But he doesn’t. Just stands across from you quietly and waits for you to say something. So you do. 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry if I brought up something you didn’t want to remember. I don’t really know your story but it seems you two have a lot of history.” You want to tell him how hard it is for you to be his soulmate when he is so clearly vying for the warmth of someone else. Someone who didn’t have a crescent moon on her wrist. 

“I know you’ll tell me whenever you’re ready, and if that’s never then I’ll keep waiting until forever. But I’m here if you want to talk or unload and I already know I can help because…” you fidget with your hands and look around nervously. 

“Well, because I’m your soulmate.” 

When you say it loud and explicitly, Jungkook thought the statement would have made him recoil. But it doesn’t. It just seeps through his consciousness and feels warm when he thinks about the weight of those words. You are his soulmate, regardless of if he believes in such a thing or not. You carry the same mark as he does on your wrist and somehow, by some intangible factor, the universe had decided that you were created for him and he for you. 

And when he looks at you. Really looks at you. When Jungkook processes your sincere words and how you manage to deal with his insurmountable boundaries even when you barely know him…

Jungkook has never wanted to kiss you more. 

So he does. 

Your lips taste like mint chewing gum and the ghost of words you wish to tell him but can’t. He feels you stiffen until you completely melt in his hold, and Jungkook cradles your face with both his hands, pulling you closer to him until there is no barrier between you but the clothes on your back and the emotional distance. You feel so far away even when you’re this near. Was it a trick of your imagination when you felt the moon on your wrist tingling? 

It doesn’t last as long as you would’ve liked it to. Jungkook yanks his hands from you like your skin scalded him and takes several steps back. His chest rises up and down violently when his breath comes out ragged, posture stiffening as the gravity of what just happened finally absorbs. You’re there, he knows you’re there and standing in front of him. So why is it he can only see Yoojung. Yoojung and the star on her wrist and apologies on her lips. Yoojung and the tears in her eyes when she walks away. 

You can only stare confusedly when his body goes rigid, and a sudden coldness envelops you both. 

And in the haze of post-embrace, like any two normal lovers, you catch something in his eyes that sets a heavy feeling in your stomach. Before you can confirm if it’s just a trick of the light, Jungkook is already running in the opposite direction and you can only see a shadow of sullen love that follows him. He is gone and you are standing alone, wondering how moonlight could feel so cold even on a spring night. 

You don’t get any sleep that night. Every time you close your eyes, there is only the sight of Jungkook’s disgust and regret to lull you to dreams. 

20 minutes away from your apartment, there is a boy who doesn’t sleep either. He won’t text or call to tell you that he can’t shake off the feeling of your skin on his and your breath fanning his cheek. He won’t admit to himself that tonight, when he looked at you, he felt the possibility of falling in love. He won’t tell you that the moon on his skin longs to be traced by your hands. No, he just shares those secrets with his pillow as its linen soaks up his tears. 

In the midst of it all, there is one verdict that becomes clear to him.

Jungkook wishes he had never told Jimin he needed a muse.

◑

The next three weeks is dedicated to trying to get in touch with your soulmate. Through the whirlwinds of utter confusion and desperation, you try texting, calling, emailing, even showing up at his art studio and apartment to no avail. It seemed he had a talent for avoiding soulmates. 

It hurt, to say the least. That he left you high and dry after giving you the most intense

kiss of your life and doesn’t even have the decency to let you know he’s alive. The feeling of his lips still burns on your skin and you wonder if you are a complete fool for being so smitten with a person who, quite possibly, hasn’t spared you a single thought after that night. You just want - no you just need some clarity. 

Jungkook makes you wait another week before replying. 

It is an impossibly sunny day when you wake up. Your neck is stiff from sleeping like a contortionist and your heart aches even more than your muscles with every passing morning with radio silence from your soulmate. You want to call him and tell him you’re sorry. That you’ll forget anything ever happened. It hurts to even think about it, but for Jungkook, you would go through a little more pain so he would let you into his life. 

Outside the hall, Jimin is singing along to a familiar melody of a song you don’t know the name of and judging by the aroma that wafts through the cracks of your door, he has successfully made a pot of coffee. He has been an anchor throughout this whole thing, and sometimes you make a secret wish to the stars that Jimin had been the one with a crescent moon on his wrist instead. Perhaps that way, you wouldn’t have to go through the agony of chasing love that is constantly sprinting away from you. 

Your phone lays on the bedside table and buzzes innocently to start the morning. When you reach over and scroll through notifications routinely, there is a name there that makes your heart pang. Makes you want to throw up and celebrate at the same time. A text from Jungkook. Your fingers shake as you open it. 

I no longer need a model for the portfolio. Thank you for your involvement. Compensation will be provided promptly. 

The day you met him, you already knew that Jungkook was cold. He never dawdled around a painful truth or toed the line between bluntness and sparing feelings. Jungkook spoke his mind, collateral damage be damned. But this is a different type of cold. This one feels more like dry ice on warm skin. Like the numbing chill of a fading hope. Like winter’s first snowfall when autumn had promised you it would forever stay. 

Phone in your hand and tears threatening to drip down your cheeks, you wish you would have waited a bit more before opening his text. Perhaps that way you could have spent the rest of your morning basking in the spring sun, drinking Jimin’s inevitably bad coffee, having hope that Jeon Jungkook would grow to care for you. Perhaps if you hadn’t opened it so soon, your soulmate would still seem in reach. 

Jimin’s mug nearly drops out of his hand when the door of your bedroom is slammed open. He flings it to the side when he notices your red-rimmed eyes and the shaking hands that clutch onto a cellphone. You scream and sob at the universe, at anyone, asking why it was you that had to experience the chaos of longing. Jimin was there to hold you, as he always is, and helplessly listen to the sound of your heart breaking once again by the hands of Jungkook.

◒

Room 62B of the art building is a place you hope to never have to visit again. Though it’s walls contain memories of you and Jungkook, and the evenings navigating his gallery portfolio along with your convoluted relationship, the wallpaper bleeds with a longing ache. A yearning pain. And if those walls could talk, you don’t think you would want them to say anything at all. They would only murmur what you are slowly accepting to be true.

Jungkook, your soulmate, wants nothing to do with you. 

When you hesitantly rap on the door with a fisted hand, the sound of him rustling from inside makes you want to run the opposite direction. It opens before you get the chance to change your mind and the sight of him nearly takes your breath away. He is beautiful as he always is, hair ruffled and mussed from undoubtedly running his hands through it compulsively. His lips are pink from biting on them and the dark circles under his eyes tells you of the dreams he has deprived himself of. 

Jungkook is painfully gorgeous and painfully not yours. 

“Y/N...I sent you a text earlier.” His voice is saccharine but the words taste so bitter. 

“I know. I read it”, you murmur, shrinking in on yourself. 

“I....Can we talk, Jungkook?” 

His eyes dart around nervously at your question, chewing on his bottom lip and tapping the toe of his shoe as if he was impatient and you were bothering him. And you have known that simply being around Jungkook hurts but the light at the end of the tunnel only continues dwindling. 

You understand why he is acting so restless when your gaze drifts past him and into the room. There is a girl perched on a stool, across from a canvas and easel that you know awfully well. You don’t recognize her but it’s only in your nature to begin comparing every aspect of yourself to this stranger. She sits on her hands and swings her legs back and forth, head in the clouds and eyes trailing the ceiling. She isn’t aware of the weight of her presence in the studio, nor the turmoil she has brought to you, who is standing just outside the door. 

The oxygen in the hallway thins and the breath you’ve been waiting to release since knocking catches in your throat. Coming here, you prepared yourself for a long and inevitably heart-wrenching talk with your soulmate. But you hadn’t prepared for the possibility that he had replaced you overnight. 

The only thought that blares through your mind is that this is your fault. For letting yourself think you were worth more to Jeon Jungkook than any other stranger. You can no longer find it in yourself to be angry at him. Just yourself. 

“You…”, you gulp down a whimper, “you replaced me.” 

Jungkook follows your vacant stare past him and sighs, realizing you had most likely deducted what this scene looked like. You would be right. Between the weeks of trying to understand what you were to him and the impending due date of the portfolio, Jungkook was sure the best way to move past this confusion was to just speed full steam ahead. That meant finding another muse. You were no longer an option.

You only stare down at the floor, but Jungkook begins speaking anyway. 

“Y/N, I…I’m sorry.” You scoff at his words, feigning anger when inside, you truly didn’t know if you could piece yourself back together this time. 

“Look, Y/N. It’s not you. It’s just that…”, he breathes deep, not knowing why it was so hard to say. “I’ve stopped believing soulmates were truly a thing a long time ago. I’m sorry.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve heard these words but it doesn’t mean they hurt any less.

“I didn’t want to initiate anything, Y/N, but you did and I let you and that was my fault to let anything start. I shouldn’t have when I knew nothing would come of it.”

It was a fault to him. It never should have happened. 

“So you just thought you would kiss me and decide that I meant nothing to you afterwards?”

“It was a mistake.” It was painful to think it but when you hear Jungkook say it, you experience a new kind of ache. A humorless chuckle bubbles past your throat.

 “I really thought you would grow to love me. Now I know it’s not your fault that I’m a complete fool. To fall head over heels for my soulmate who wishes he had never even met me. Much less share a mark.” 

You can see Jungkook’s eyes widen at your confession, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It was the truth. He deserved to hear it. 

“You shouldn’t. You can’t.” He reaches up to pull at his hair frustratedly.

“Can’t what, Jungkook? Love you? You think I want to be in love with someone who wishes I didn’t exist?” You hate your voice for breaking, but its impossibly painful when he does nothing to deny your statement. 

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? What can I say to make this better?”

Try: I love you too.

“I don’t need you to say anything you don’t mean, Jungkook.” 

“Then shouldn’t you leave?”

Jeon Jungkook is cruel even when he doesn’t mean to be. There is oblivion in his gaze, and his question is one of genuine curiosity. But it still stabs you exactly where your heart is most tender. Yes, I should have left. 

“I guess I thought you were worth the pain, Jungkook. When you pushed me away and wanted nothing to do with me, I thought you were worth hurting for just to try a little more. Worth the uncertainty of being around you but never getting to actually be with you”, you numbly mutter, uncaring about the rivulets of tears down your face. Not like it wasn’t something he’s never seen before. There is more to come on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook stays quiet to let you speak. There is conflict in his vision, but you don’t want to give yourself the false hope that he cares for you. 

Look where that has gotten you before. 

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

Saying the words are revelation for you as much as it is for him. All this time, you’ve been running away from the truth in the pursuit of your soulmate. You hadn’t realized that the chase led you astray. 

“And I know that loving me is not easy. I’m…”, you force the words out so he can at least hear your turmoil by his hands. “I’m never really good enough for anyone. Why did I expect that I would be good enough for you?” 

Jungkook’s expression crumples into a frown. “Y/N, no, that’s not what I mean-”

“You don’t have to tell me what you mean, Jungkook. I meet you and the first thing you say is that you don’t believe in such a thing. I try to get close to you and all you know to do is push me away. And I try so hard to be enough but how can I when Yoojung still has your heart? So you don’t have to say it. I know what you mean.” You’ve stopped crying but the ache relents, and you can only look desperately at the boy who’s slipping from your grasp with every passing second. 

“I’m sorry.” The message is redundant.

“I can’t…” Rip off the bandaid. 

“I just can’t love you.”

The words make their way past his lips before he can stop them, and they shoot through your core ruthlessly. A sharpened dagger to soft flesh. It manifests itself in a physical pain that reverberates across your chest, and when the last strength left in you is used to stare at Jungkook through a pained and teary gaze, you are deaf to everything but those four words.

I can’t love you.

I can’t love you. 

I can’t love you. 

You’re not sure what he is sorry for at this point. If Jungkook is apologizing for not loving you, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry for entertaining the possibility, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry that you are the one with a crescent moon on your wrist, well...you don’t blame him either. All your life you cherished it like some kind of gift from the universe. Now, nursing your crumbling soul in front of Jungkook, you wish it had never appeared in the first place. 

You shake your head, tucking your lip in between your teeth to stop the sob in your chest from escaping. Through the crack of the door Jungkook hadn’t shut fully, the girl was still there, patiently sitting where you were supposed to and making herself scarce after inevitably hearing you bare your heart to a boy who had no interest in it. 

Humiliation goes hand in hand with heartbreak, and the embarrassment that comes with confessing your love and insecurity urges your feet to run home. But even you cannot deprive yourself of looking at him one more time. 

His wavy head of hair. The scar on his cheekbone that makes him look even more beautiful, if that were possible. The gloss in his dark brown eyes, and the way he looks at you through stone cold walls. You commit it to memory, however painful, before you walk out of his life. 

“Be happy, Jungkook.” 

You truly mean it. 

◐

 The sound of your footsteps getting farther away from him is a sound Jungkook thinks he’ll remember for a long time. It almost prompts him to run after you, cradle you to his chest, and profess how sorry he is again and again until you can truly feel the sincerity. But he doesn’t. Only remains behind the self-procured walls and watches when your figure disappears down the hallway. 

Cold. Unbothered. Indifferent. That’s what he had always told himself when it came to you. But the hallway feels so lonely and the ghost of your presence feels even lonelier, and Jungkook wonders if he had been wrong. 

He walks back into the studio, permanent frown on his face and shoulders hunched over in stress. The paintbrush feels like a stranger rather than an extension of his arm, as it always does, but Jungkook begins painting anyway. Looking at the girl in front of him, he is reminded of the look on your face when you realized he had replaced you completely in the span of three weeks, without even giving you a notice. Her presence in his art studio suddenly feels entirely suffocating. 

“Mina, Get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out of my studio. I don’t need you as a model, anymore. Thanks.” His voice cut through the tension of the room, like a hot knife to butter. He recognizes it as the voice he always forces himself to use around you, and grows even more aggravated. 

The girl scoffs annoyedly, snatching her handbag from the floor and rushing out of the room. Obviously she had thought something more was to come from Jungkook’s art arrangement. He made sure to let her know that was not the case. 

There is a gnawing in his chest. Deep and subtle, but it becomes more prominent as the window view from his studio turns from blue to black. He ponders about spending the night in here, instead of going home to his bedroom where he is forced to consult with the agony of solitude. On top of everything today, Jungkook doesn’t think he can handle that. 

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the pain in your face when he tells you that he can’t love you and he hears the shaking in your voice when you tell him the things that weighed on your soul. He thought the word “wither” was only reserved for flowers. Jungkook didn’t realize a person could wither until he saw it right in front of him. 

In truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could love you or not. And to Jungkook, that was already a feat in itself. He’s spent so many months convincing himself that his emotional fortress was impregnable. So many nights over whiskey bottles telling himself that love was only for fools and pretenders. To be uncertain about love, now, well...that’s something he is not yet ready to admit to himself. Much less admit to you. But letting you any closer was a fatal game. 

Being uncertain about love means being uncertain about getting hurt. Jungkook has a feeling he wouldn’t make it out in one piece if his heart fell into wrong hands. 

He does end up returning to his apartment that night. But the walk feels far too long and the air feels far too frigid, or perhaps is it because he can’t hear the tread of your footsteps beside him? 

Whatever the reason, tonight feels more lonely.

The stars tell him it’s because he does not like the person he’s alone with. 

Back in room 62B, there is an abandoned painting on a rickety easel. He hadn’t even had the will to wash out his paintbrush, and he’s sure he’ll pay for it the next day. Looking at the piece now, his professor would tell him that there’s too many colors. Too much contrast and nearly not enough depth in his strokes. But what was he to do when he had kicked out his new model and couldn’t get the image of your visible heartbreak out of his brain? 

A familiar wrist with a quaint crescent moon sits on the canvas, and he sure as hell didn’t use Mina as the inspiration. Jungkook reminds himself to throw out the painting tomorrow morning. 

◓

The grease on Jimin’s skillet pan is always so hard to clean. The dish soap never truly cuts through the oil, and no matter how much you rinse it over with scalding water, it still feels soiled. On a normal day, it wouldn’t frustrate you so much. Today, a month-and-a-half after your soulmate made it clear to you that you had no place in his life, you want to throw the pan out the window and cry on the kitchen floor until it collapses with the weight of your tears. 

You settle for throwing down the sponge and making Jimin wash his own dishes.

The phone-that you usually now tend to ignore-buzzes on the counter, and you groan at your complete lack of desire to answer it. But the screen lights up with your roommate’s name and you hit the green button. 

“Y/N! How are you feeling, lovebug?” Jimin’s cheerful tone on speakerphone makes you want to cry. You can only imagine how terrible it is for him to be your roommate when all you know how to do now is mope and cry about a boy who probably hasn’t thought about you since. But he’s been holding you through all your breakdowns, and even sets up the air mattress on the floor of your bedroom when some nights are a little bit harder than most. 

“I’ve had better days”, you glare at the pan in the sink. “What’s up?’

“So I have a friend…”

“Jimin, no.” 

He sighs over the phone understandingly, but still not satisfied. “I know it’s only been a month Y/N, but it doesn’t have to be anything. He’s not looking for anything serious either. But maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off things.” 

It’s been a month. Four weeks. Roughly 31 days, and you still remember every word he said to you in the hallway of the art building. Every pause and quiver of his breath, and the way he looked so completely indifferent to your pain. Was one month enough for you to let go even after finding out Jungkook never planned to hold on in the first place?

“Look, you don’t have to decide now. I’m sorry for pushing you if you’re not ready.” His mumbling is apologetic and it makes you realize that Jimin genuinely means well. Maybe you weren’t ready to move on from Jungkook yet. Maybe you never will be. He was your damn soulmate, after all. But maybe a distraction couldn’t hurt.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it.” 

You can practically feel him smiling like an idiot over the phone. “Really?!” You sigh into the speaker and Jimin knows better to continue talking before you change your mind.

“His name is Namjoon, he works with me at the office. Super cute. Super hot. Super smart. Checks all your boxes!”, he rambles on about the nitty gritty details and though a part you is proud that you’re making the decision to move on with life, you can’t help but to realize that no one will ever be able to “check all your boxes”.

Not if they’re not Jungkook. 

“He sounds great, Jimin.” Anyone can tell your happiness is disingenuous, even through the phone. Jimin tells you that he had already planned a date (without your knowledge), and sends you on your way with a quick goodbye when his taxi arrives. The silence of the apartment after the conversation leaves you feeling even more weighted, but hopeful for the possibility of a distraction. You had a feeling you won’t be able to forget the likes of Jeon Jungkook if you tried. But, if only for a night, you were to forget the pain of loving him, you’ll take that chance. 

◑

“What do you mean they all ‘feel the same’?” Jungkook is exasperated. He had drafted a complete version of his portfolio, working through the nights by the sweat of his brow. Now his professor was telling him that all his pieces felt the same and Jungkook thinks he might commit arson to the art studio.

Professor Sejin sighs contemplatively, taking off his glasses and throwing them on the table, all too familiar with Jungkook’s periodic art tantrums. 

“I mean that your pieces lack any variegation. The portfolio is well done and coherent, but the completed package is one-noted. It’s consistent. But too much so.”

Professor Sejin’s words make him fall back into the chair dejectedly, shoulders slumped and disappointment in his eyes at the critique of his art. Though it is hard to hear, Jungkook always welcomes productive criticism. The older man sympathizes with his downcast eyes and the visible stress on his back. 

“Look, Jungkook”, he affirms sincerely, “you just need to find some dynamic. Something to make people know that you can do more than one tone of art.” It’s obvious that the professor has a soft spot for the boy in front of him, who looks like his entire world is collapsing. The portfolio folder is handed back to him and Jungkook has the urge to burn it and not hear the word “gallery” again in the next decade. 

“I have faith in you. You’ll figure out what it is that you’re missing.” The smile on the man’s face is congenial. Genuine. And even though he has an ambitious amount of work to do, Jungkook finds the will to nod, haul himself off the office chair, and begin the trek back to his studio. 

The pinnacle of spring is approaching and the sun shines brighter with each morning. Not that he would know or care. He’s spent the last month locking himself inside, dedicating every fluid ounce of energy towards completing his project. It’s been surprisingly easier, and Jungkook finds himself finishing paintings, sketches, and sculptures with ease. Like untapped inspiration had revealed itself to him suddenly. Yet it still wasn’t enough...at least not according to Professor Sejin. 

Headphones drown out the cacophony of hustlers and bustlers with the laughter of children as accompaniment. He doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the music of the city. Not anymore. It gives him too much space to think, and Jungkook has a feeling that’s not good for anyone and definitely not good for him. 

The sight of a familiar bakery with particularly delicious apple strudels is enough to stop him in his rush, feet winding down until he is standing outside, staring at the door and wondering if he could go in without being reminded of you. Well, it might be too late for that anyhow, but further signs of protest are halted when he hears his growling stomach. 

Jungkook had morbidly underestimated your presence in the memory of his favorite cafe. You are everywhere. He sees your smiling face when he looks up at the chalkboard menu, soul vying for you to be next to him and excitedly choosing a new fru-fru drink that would undoubtedly have excessive sugar. He hears your giggles ruminating through the cafe while the other patrons only hear the music over loudspeaker. He practically feels you near, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s better this way. No one gets hurt this way. 

Jungkook plops himself at a corner table and buries his face in his hands, fingertips soothing over his pulsing eyebags and wrinkles he’s gotten from sleep deprivation. He desperately needs an espresso shot. Or five. 

“Hey…”, a voice makes him snap his head up. Jungkook recognizes the stranger as the owner’s son, who always stands guard at the cash register. The tag on his lapel reads Kim Seokjin, and Jungkook has a distant memory of you gushing over how nice Seokjin’s hair was. He had acted unbothered back then, but Jungkook would die before telling a soul that he was annoyed and jealous when you thought the cashier was cute. 

“Jungkook, right?”. He has a kind smile and a natural air of invitation. Jungkook nods. 

“I’ve seen you around a lot. Where’s that girl you always come here with?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business”, he nearly hisses, antsy at the mere mention of you. He instantly regrets it though. Seokjin looks like he’s been cornered with a blunt weapon, and it makes Jungkook sigh at his own asshole-ishness. 

“I’m sorry”, he mumbles, “just not a good day. At all.” 

There is a pause and hesitation before the boy speaks. “Do you...wanna talk about it?” Seokjin’s question is met with silence. 

There is a predictability about Jeon Jungkook. He doesn’t open himself up to anyone. He pretends that he doesn’t have problems so well, people start to become convinced. He avoids new connections like it’s the plague. But there is something so idiosyncratic about Kim Seokjin that makes him want to talk. Makes him want to trust a complete stranger. 

So Jungkook nods, depositing his black backpack besides him and lets himself breathe deep. 

“Her name is Y/N….”

In the lukewarm air of the café, Jungkook tells Seokjin about you. About the tiny crescent moon on your wrist that identically matches his - even unwraps his cloth to show it - and how he pushed you away hard enough to put an ocean’s worth of distance between the two of you. He tells Seokjin about Yoojung and the stars on her skin that have been plaguing him since the day she left. He tells him about that damn portfolio that refuses to be finished; one that he apparently has to start over because Professor goddamn Sejin says it's too boring. He allows himself to unload, and wow is it easier to breathe when you talk about your feelings. Jungkook reminds himself to do that more often. 

The “conversation” seems to stretch for hours (if a conversation can be considered one person unleashing all their hidden baggage on the other while they sit in silence). Jin listens intently through the entire ordeal, offering occasional nods and encouragement for him to continue. When Jungkook finally finishes with a deep breath, falling back on the chair looking completely worn out, Jin fixes him with a hot tea before speaking.

“The portfolio is important to you, Jungkook. If it’s important to you, you’ll find a way. Something tells me that you’re not one to give up so easily”, he quips with a playful lilt in his voice. Jin’s genuine faith in him makes Jungkook believe in himself.

“And as for Yoojung, well, I can’t speak on your pain. You are the only one that narrates your experiences but as much as she seems like a villain in your story, perhaps she has opened a door.” Jungkook thinks his voice sounds far too wise to be coming from a guy in his 20’s.

“Would you have known how to nurse a broken heart had it not been for her? I’m sorry she did that to you, Jungkook, but..Yoojung is your past. And I see so much in your future.” 

Jungkook only stares into the abyss of his tea cup. The reflection that stares back is someone he desperately wants to learn to love. When he looks up again, there is a sad glimmer in Seokjin’s gaze. Something so despondent that he feels second-hand pain. 

Jin pulls up the sleeve of his knit sweater. On his wrist sits a faded marigold, so blanched it almost blends in with his skin and makes him wonder if it will just disappear one day. Jungkook feels his blood run cold.

“It’s been two years since she died”, he stares solemnly at his skin, “I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her.” 

Jungkook’s thought about his soulmate mark disappearing before. Even hoped and prayed for it the days after Yoojung left. But now, when he sees it up close on Seokjin’s wrist, Jungkook doesn’t want to wish that loneliness upon anyone. 

“She was so damn...persistent”, Jin laughs, fondness dripping in every word. “Like your Y/N in that way, I suppose. She had a goal and was hell-bent on achieving it. She was so kind and strong and much more of a badass than I could ever be. I loved that about her.” There is sorrow in his voice when he uses the past tense, and Jungkook feels even worse for pouring his heart out about his very alive soulmate. 

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know? Ironic that even the best doctors couldn’t have saved her in the end.” His sentence trails off and he loses focus gazing out the window, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand with a faraway look in his eyes. 

“I don’t mean to ramble about my dead soulmate for no reason, Jungkook. And I’m in no position to tell you what you should or should not do regarding Y/N. But if I could restart this life with my soulmate, there wouldn’t be one second I would waste not at her side.” Jin’s tone is not accusatory or convicting. Just honest.

“It’s normal to be scared and apprehensive. Hell, I would be more concerned if you weren’t going into it with a shit ton of skepticism. I was terrified. Yet out of the billions of people that could’ve had my mark on their wrist, just knowing that she was that one was enough for me to love her.”

The cup of tea has long gone cold. Jungkook only manages to stare at the mahogany table, thoughts too heavy to voice aloud, so Jin continues. 

“I think I would give anything to know that such a person still exists for me. Someone out there that was chosen by an unknown, cosmic force for an unexplainable reason just for me. To see a mark that matches my own. Well…”, Jin breathes deeply, tears welling in his eyes but not falling, “I think that must be the most wonderful thing in the entire world.”

◒

Seokjin’s words stick with him long after he has departed from the café. Long after the tea has settled in his stomach along with the weight of what a soulmate means to this stranger whose life story he has learned in the course of an evening. 

Even so, Jungkook’s not sure what he should feel. The fear of vulnerability still feels like a designated thundercloud above his head, and the thought of letting you past his walls makes Jungkook want to run the other way.

At the same time, the trepidation doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. It’s still there, and he can’t pinpoint exactly what happened but when he sees your smiling face behind his eyelids, Jungkook doesn’t feel scared. When he focuses on what you look like under sunlight, or your eyes staring at him through a camera lens, there is no fear of the broken heart you could leave him with. Just something warm. Something that feels an awful lot like...love?

 But what does Jungkook know about such things? 

He shrugs it off his shoulders, and readies himself for a night of inevitably restless sleep. He blames it on the impending due date of his beloved portfolio, but really, it is you. You and your insistence on trying every single coffee shop in the city. You and your convoluted idea of a date; letting your partner choose the location with their eyes closed. You and…

Just everything about you. 

He falls asleep well into 4am. The thin strap of cloth sits on his bedside table. Even if it is only for the night sky to see, Jungkook lets his soulmate mark breathe. 

◐

It’s been so long since you’ve dressed up or cleaned up to go out anywhere, the reflection that stares back feels like a stranger. You’ve opted for a bold red lip, meticulously applying your makeup so that even the wing of your eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. Jimin forced you to curl your hair too, of course. The girl in the mirror looks beautiful. You know that she is beautiful.

So why is it that you can only see the face that is not enough for Jeon Jungkook? A person that he is unable to love. No, not even foundation can cover the face of longing.

“Y/N”, Jimin sing-songs, “hurry! You don’t wanna be late do you?” No, you don’t want to be late. You want to not go. Maybe retreat to your bedroom and cry the night away again. But you won’t tell him that when he is so clearly ecstatic that you’re spending a night out for the first time in months. 

The restaurant looks like it is entirely out of your budget. Well, you reckon any restaurant is out of your budget with all the debt that looms overhead and your painfully apparent unemployment. Waiting for Namjoon is less than exhilarating, and you spend the time fiddling with your bracelet that conveniently covers the crescent moon. These days, you can’t bear to look at it anymore. Your eyes are glued to the little mark, before a voice sounds from across the table.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was insane. You must be Y/N, nice to meet you.” You weren’t sure what you expected Kim Namjoon to look like but were pleasantly surprised. Namjoon looks like he takes care of himself, neat and clean and sporting a very shiny watch that looks like 4 months’ worth of rent. 

“And you must be Namjoon. Likewise.” 

When he pulls out the chair to sit down, you can’t help but to notice the cloud on his wrist. It was smaller than yours but you had no doubt it felt just as heavy. If Namjoon felt your gaze on his skin, he did nothing to show it. 

“Hey, I know I just got here but…”, he sighs and takes a look around the room, “do you wanna get out of here? Find the cheapest and greasiest food we can?” His request makes you smile, and you grab the purse that rested on the table. 

“Namjoon, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet.” 

You and Namjoon manage to find a diner that wasn’t far from the fancy restaurant, and you thank the skies that you didn’t have to pay $50 for a salad tonight. Just some pocket change for quite possibly the best and oiliest hamburger you’ve ever had. 

By conversation that happens through mouthfuls of food and faces smeared with milkshake residue, you come to learn that Namjoon is an unsurprisingly nice guy. He studies poetry, but is working as a secretary at an office, hence his connection to Jimin. He loves to garden and talks about his bonsai plants to you like they’re his kids, even pulling up pictures on his phone and gazing down at them fondly. It makes you smile. He plays the piano, and likes to take long bike rides when the weather permits. 

It’s nice to have someone reciprocate your effort. It’s something you haven’t experienced in a long time, all credit to one Jeon Jungkook. Namjoon is warm in all the corners where Jungkook is cold. 

In a word, he is pretty damn perfect. And if he had a crescent moon on his wrist, you probably wouldn’t bat an eye or have a lick of doubt in the universe. He encompasses everything you want, so alike you in so many aspects it makes you wary. If Namjoon had your matching soulmate mark, you would already be in love with him. 

But he doesn’t. And that thought alone keeps you from feeling anything but platonicity. He is not Jungkook. You don’t think anyone can make you feel the way Jungkook does. You want to curse the stars for making this so. 

It’s well into the night, and you both remain planted in the diner booth, chatting and chuckling over a plate of french fries. It’s when you drift off while he’s talking about his latest attempt at focaccia that Namjoon sighs and sits back in the seat. 

“What?”, you confusedly ask after he suddenly stops speaking.

He smiles. Stays silent for a couple seconds. Then speaks. 

“So what did your soulmate do to you?”

His question catches you off guard and you can only stare at him, frown on your face and words lost on your tongue. 

“You’ve been staring into space every 5 minutes this whole night, and fidgeting with your bracelet so much I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off”, he explains, tenderness and sympathy in his tone. 

“Every time I speak, you have this sad look in your eyes and I have a feeling you’re imagining someone else’s face, Y/N. I’ve enjoyed talking to you...a lot. But I can tell you want to be somewhere else so”, Namjoon places his elbows on the table and gazes at you endearingly, “tell me about your soulmate.” 

You stare at Namjoon through shocked eyes, glistening with the onset of tears that you manage to keep from escaping. Gosh, you were pathetic. Already wanting to cry at the mere mention of him. Or maybe the fact that someone could see through your facade. You take a deep breath. 

“His name is Jeon Jungkook.” Your voice quivers, and Namjoon continues listening intently. You are reluctant to continue because you know that once this conversation begins, there is a chance you might have to confront yourself again with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t want love. You internally apologize to Namjoon in advance, for you might cry on this first date. 

“I…I’m completely head over heels in love with him  but after everything, I’m not sure I have the slightest clue what love is. Because what sane person can fall in love with a person who has made it clear that that love wouldn’t be reciprocated from the get go?”

You fiddle with the plastic straw in your milkshake, searching for the courage to go on and tell him about every thought that you have denied yourself the satisfaction of verbalizing. 

“He loves apple strudels, you know. Eats them every time like they’re the last apple strudels he’ll ever have and he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching”, you chuckle, gaze drifting off to space. There is a fondness in your eyes as you speak, and Namjoon does not miss it. 

“He’s as punctual as the day is long. One time I was late to a photoshoot and he almost made me cry lecturing me about the importance of being on time. But now I’m never late.” 

The memory makes you, as well as Namjoon, smile. 

“He paints like his life depends on it, and he’ll get oil paint on his face without noticing and sometimes I just want to reach out and wipe it off. But I think he’d murder me on the spot.”

“How come?”, Namjoon offers his first words in the midst of your monologue. You’re not sure what to say next. 

“Well...I think Jeon Jungkook might be the coldest person I’ve ever met”, you dejectedly sigh. Reality tastes bitter even with remnants of whipped cream on your lips. 

“Every time I was around him, it felt like I was willingly breaking my own heart just for the chance to know that he was next to me. That in this entire world of billions of people, the one with the same moon on their wrist was next to me. And...I guess I didn’t really need him to love me yet”, your gaze locks onto Namjoon and you find he is already staring at you with utmost curiosity and subtle pity. 

“Jungkook alone was enough. I just wish he could have felt the same about me.” 

Perhaps the reason why the truth is so painful to speak is because people have a tendency to run from it. Then when it catches up to you, it’s a harsh trip and fall to the rocky ground. There is no cushion when you land. 

Namjoon doesn’t offer advice. Doesn’t dish his own experiences to relate to your own or even make any comments from his perspective. He just sits and listens in silence, but it doesn’t feel like he is disregarding you. No, his eyes tell you that he soaks in every word. You hope you’ll get the chance to do the same for him...if he ever decides to share his story with you. 

The two of you leave the diner with a prospective to be friends, and no plans of a future second date. You had a strong feeling that spending the entire evening talking about your unrequited soulmate love had something to do with that. Nevertheless, though Namjoon didn’t work out as a distraction, you were glad to have met him. It made you realize something.

Even if Jimin thought you were ready to move on. Even if you thought you were ready to forget. It might be a lifetime before you finally let go of that boy.

◓

The morning reeks of rain and dew, humidity nearly clawing its way through his window and turning his apartment into a swamp. When he wakes up, it is not to his blaring alarm clock, but the uncomfortable sensation of a sweaty shirt sticking to his back. Jungkook groans, already tired of this day. It seems hopeless from the beginning. 

As much as he wanted to stay home and crank up the air conditioner so much that his landlord would come running, Professor Sejin’s voice reverberates through his eardrums.

You art is too one-noted, Jungkook.

Be better, Jungkook.

You’re talentless and will never succeed, Jungkook. 

Of course, these are not Professor Sejin’s verbatim, more so Jungkook’s own mind that twists his teacher’s constructive criticism into something else. He is a master at feeding his insecurity.

Jungkook chugs down a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and his stomach growls for something with a little more sugar and maybe a dash of rainbow colored sprinkles. He guesses he has you to thank for that. The art studio is always a daily destination, and this day is no different. Jungkook has a plan to dedicate himself to fixing his portfolio and maybe finish that clay piece he never got around to. 

The studio is too cold for his liking; Jungkook can’t remember how many times he has begged the superintendent to lower the AC. The cold he can deal with. The loneliness, however, is a different story. Jungkook is always alone. Alone when he’s in his apartment. Alone when he’s in class. Alone when he’s in the art room. These days, aloneness feels more haunting when he knows he had the option to escape it, but chose to stay. A part of him is ready to admit that it’s because of you. 

Jungkook hums a random melody that had been stuck in his head since the morning, fingers gliding over the slick sculpting clay. The days are easier now. He doesn’t think about you so much when the sun is out and there is the bustling of the busy city to distract him. The nights, however, are just as difficult as they have been. Jungkook’s last drifting thought is of you, and your face torturously carries over to each dream. Like his entire being misses you but he refuses to accept it. 

He takes a deep sigh in relief once the sculpture feels finished. Professor Sejin wanted something more dynamic, so there: his very own realist clay piece drawing inspiration from Praxiteles’ sculpture of Aphrodite. He sits back in pride, admiring his own handiwork and giving himself a mental pat on the back. It looks great. Perfect even. It looks….

It looks like you. 

Jungkook pales at the realization as the clay face stares back at him. No, this was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, inspired by the ancient Greek artist that sculpted her. Then why does she have your nose? Those eyes are definitely your’s and even those cheeks are identical. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that in the rhythm of his art, he got lost and accidentally sculpted your face instead. 

He walks away from the clay table and hurriedly yanks off the soiled apron around his waist, confusion swimming in every cell of his body. How had he just...made a sculpture of you? With no knowledge that he was doing it?

Jungkook leans with his back against the sink, staring down at the floor with furrowed brows and a thundering heart. With a sudden epiphany, Jungkook leaps from his position and pulls out all the canvases, printed photographs, graphite drawings, and clay pieces he’s made for the past few months. Everything he can grab in the small studio space. 

It is then that he comes to the daunting realization:

Holy shit.

Professor Sejin was right.

 Everything feels the same. His whole portfolio has one note and no dynamic or diversity because...well, because all of his pieces are of you. Not you, necessarily, but your breath has come alive on his art in some way, shape, or form. 

The multimedia painting he made two weeks ago using polystyrene sheets was supposed to mimic sunlight through a stained glass window, but Jungkook hadn’t even noticed he'd drawn the window of the café you dragged him to on its opening day. And the colors of the glass is just the twinkle of your eyes when they stare back into his. 

The photoset he spent hours taking around the city, after taking a 15 minute train ride, were just repeats of all the places you two went to that one day. The book store. The park. The streetlight where Yoojung stopped him. He hadn’t even realized he only saved the photos associated with a subconscious memory of you. 

Jungkook can’t explain it, but he feels you in every single picture. Every piece of art that his hands have manifested since you walked into his life, stupid smile on your face and that little moon on your wrist. He feels it...and call it artist’s intuition or something but perhaps that’s why Professor Sejin could feel it too. 

Even though he stopped making you his muse months ago, you are still the root of inspiration for whatever he’s produced since. And if that’s not enough to finally tell him what he needs to hear. Finally make him realize that he’s fallen in love with you without even knowing it, the universe doesn’t know what will. 

The minutes it has been since he realized your place in his life melts like slow dripping honey, feeling like an eternity when it is mere moments. Jungkook regains his focus in the haze. He knows what you mean to him now, but there was something he had to fo first. 

He swipes all his paintbrushes and palette knives to the side, sweat on his brow as he furiously rearranges his portfolio. He takes out the pictures of Mina - no one would miss them anyway - and trashes all the photos he took before he met you. He only uses the art he’s created post-Y/N and tucks them in the manila folder so rapidly, there’s paper cuts on his fingers. But he doesn’t feel them. Jungkook has only one objective. 

He snaps a picture of the new clay sculpture he’s just finished. The photo goes into the portfolio with the name ‘Aphrodite’, but Jungkook knows better about whose face that truly belongs to. Not that anyone would bat an eye. He thinks you are as beautiful as the goddess herself. 

The trip to Professor Sejin’s office is short, unsurprising though, since Jungkook sprints the whole way there. When he arrives, and the professor can only stare as he’s bent over and huffing violently trying to catch his breath, Jungkook reminds himself to spend less time at the studio and more time on the cardio. 

He throws the portfolio onto the man’s desk unceremoniously, nearly collapsing on the chair across from him and not ready to speak yet. Professor Sejin confusedly rifles through the folder quickly, too quickly, and sighs, ready to offer Jungkook yet the same critique again. 

He opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off. 

“Before you say anything…”, he gulps, finally ready to admit the truth to himself. 

“I want you to know that I’ve met my soulmate, a-and there’s a reason why you feel that my portfolio is all the same. There’s a reason why you feel it’s all one-noted or that there’s no progression.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and you are there behind his lids. 

“It’s because she sowed the seeds for all of them. Everything. Those paintings and photos and sculptures are just symptoms of what I’ve been feeling this whole time after meeting her. She’s practically the artist, not me.” Professor Sejin stays silent at his monologue, gaze unreadable but eyes sharp and trained solely on Jungkook. 

“Maybe...Maybe art doesn’t need to be super variegated all the time. Maybe it’s supposed to be a cohesive unit and the pieces should string to each other. Maybe paintings should have a relationship to photos and them, to sculptures. Maybe you’re just...wrong.” 

He is exasperated and passion flows out of him through every pore. Jungkook looks expectantly at his professor, who has the open folder in his hand and still in the process of taking in his words. When the adrenaline starts to fade, he realizes that he just dissed his venerable teacher. 

“With all due respect…”, he coughs, “sir.” 

Professor Sejin lets Jungkook spend the next couple minutes in complete torturous silence so that he can finish reviewing his portfolio. The tension is cut with the sound of the man’s hands slapping together as he closes the folder. Jungkook prepares himself for a stern lecture.

However, when he looks up, there is a smile on the man’s face. There’s no malice there, or even disdain. He pulls off his glasses, sets them on the table, and sits back in the office chair, arms folded over his chest. Jungkook can feel his heart threatening to pound past his rib cage. 

“Jungkook…”, Professor Sejin declares, “I think you’ve got a contender for the gallery spot.” 

◑

If someone had asked you what Jeon Jungkook meant to you, you would look them in the eye and tell them that he meant nothing. Because it’s easier to pretend that someone does not mean anything to you after they pretend that you do not exist. That the universe had not given you both matching marks and deemed that your souls were meant for each other. Jeon Jungkook is a stranger to you. One that you wanted so badly to love. But you’ve come to learn that no matter how hard you try; you can’t love someone who doesn’t want to love at all.

So the days trickle by as they usually do. Painstakingly slow and viscous with memories of a boy named Jeon Jungkook and the way he has hurt you enough to last a little bit over forever. 

“I understand why you don’t want to go, Y/N. But aren’t you the least bit curious? Especially after that fancy invitation in the mail?” Jimin’s query is innocent. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your blood boil. 

“I don’t know...the thought of going to my soulmate’s grand art gallery when the last time we spoke, he told me he can’t love me, just doesn’t seem appealing Jimin”, you snark, burying your face into the bowl of cereal you are now spooning far too aggressively. 

“But...it’s been months. And he wouldn’t have sent you an invitation if he didn’t want you to come.” 

This conversation has happened too frequently since that red envelope arrived at your apartment. You cried your eyes out when you opened it, both out of pride for Jungkook and the fact that no matter what you did, the universe found a way to keep you from moving on. 

A sigh heaves through your chest, and the cereal is abandoned by your loss of appetite. “I’m not going to show up there and have him tell me again all of the reasons he can’t be with me. I barely survived it last time.” 

“But what if, Y/N?”

There is a glimmer in Jimin’s eye and he radiates so much hopefulness for you, you can’t help but to feel it too. 

“Isn’t the what if already enough? You used to tell me that Jungkook was worth anything. Isn’t he worth the risk this time too?”

You don’t have anything else to say after that because as much as you hate to admit, perhaps Jimin is right. Jungkook is worth going through anything for, even if he wants to stay as far away as possible. Call it a fluke in the postal system that the invitation to his gallery landed on your doorstep, but can you allow yourself to read between the lines and dare say that he sent it himself? Can you put yourself through such a perilous thing like optimism?

Jungkook has left you battered and broken for the past months. But you would give your heart to him to break all over again if he asked. 

◒

To say that you did not fit in with those dawdling around the art gallery was a gross understatement. You didn’t just not fit in. Your entire presence and aura defied every expectation, and suddenly, watching the upper echelon of the city mingle with champagne and gaze critically at Jungkook’s art, makes every breath feel like an insecurity. 

The boy in question was nowhere in sight, and you now regret not dragging Jimin with you. The invitation had specifically prohibited plus one’s, and though Jimin whined to no end about his hurt feelings and emptily promised never to talk to Jungkook again, you managed to keep him home. Now, you wish you were back at the apartment with him.

The pieces were, in short, completely breathtaking (to no surprise, of course, this was Jungkook you were talking about). Though you knew he always held doubt in himself, in the short time he allowed you to be in his life, you had never once thought he was anything less than spectacular. Yet you could not allow yourself to completely enjoy them. Each brushstroke and paint color you remember from his palettes, or the filters on the photos that you helped him with, was agonizing to look at. 

You are standing in front of a canvas titled “Windowlight” when a man comes up beside you. He nurses a flute of bubbly champagne and makes no move to gain eye contact. Unknown to you, Professor Sejin knows exactly who you are. He’s seen your face in his student’s portfolio one too many times. 

“Artful use of mixed media, isn’t it?”, he mutters.

“I suppose so.” 

“He’s quite the prodigy. Have you met him yet? I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere.” The man takes a sip from his glass, smirk on his lips hidden from your eyes that still blankly stare ahead.

“Yes. He’s a...friend.” We share a soulmate mark. He hates my guts. 

He hums a sound of affirmation and you ignore the weird feeling it leaves in your stomach; one that tells you this stranger sees right through you. 

“Ah, how rude of me. Professor Sejin. Arts director and senior advisor.” He spares you a brief glance, but you make no move to shake his hand or pretend to be courteous. You don’t have the energy for it tonight. Just being in this building, surrounded by everything Jungkook has touched, makes you want to collapse into yourself. 

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He speaks nonchalantly, and you almost miss the fact that you never told him your name. Your brows crease in confusion and you are ready to turn and interrogate the stranger, but he is already walking away, gliding smoothly across the gallery. Before he gets too far, though, Sejin cranes his neck and makes eye contact. 

“Oh, and be sure to visit the one called ‘Moon’. It’s upstairs, next to the Aphrodite sculpture on the second level exhibit”, he entreats, a suspicious lilt in his voice.

“Something tells me you’ll appreciate its…sincerity.”

Honestly, you’re not sure what you expected when you came to Jungkook’s art gallery tonight. But to be approached by a stranger who already knows your name, who dubiously instructs you to seek out a mystery art piece, was not on the list of expectations. Still...Professor Sejin’s words made you curious. 

Through the night, your eyes subconsciously seek out that familiar head of fluffy brown hair and a tall gait that always seems to stick out, even in a large crowd. It was as if Jungkook versed himself in complete camouflage, so much so that you began to doubt that he was even in the building.  

The traipse through the gallery is done in silence and solitude, and you tune out the sounds of popping champagne and raucous laughter coming from the second floor, as the patrons undoubtedly banter over which piece to auction off. You hope he keeps them. You’ve never seen someone appreciate art the way that Jungkook does. 

You catch sight of a few pieces that you recognize, ones that you remember him showing you when he had finished. You always excitedly told him every single one was a masterpiece, and Jungkook only rolled his eyes and made minimal effort at hiding the blush on his cheeks. Your steps falter when you come across a set of photographs in black and white, set in consecutive frames next to each other and it feels so warm despite the lack of color. Jungkook just had that special talent when it came to photography. 

It’s the bookstore. In the city during the impromptu train ride you had coerced him to take. Your heart catches in your throat as you recognize all the other ones immediately because well...you’ve been to all those spots. A familiar pressure builds in the back of your eyes, and you swallow down a whimper of pain. 

The urge to leave becomes too strong. But not strong enough to quell the slow burn of curiosity from Professor Sejin. There is a chance that you might not run into Jungkook at all tonight with the vast space and people bumbling through the corridors. It hurts to think that you might never see him again at all, but you’ll allow yourself another indulgence. Something is calling you. 

Moon. He titled it Moon? You grip onto your wrist reflexively and run your thumb over the mark, like you did when you were younger and still had hope for soulmates. The pulsepoint there beats under your finger and lets you know how alive you are. Compels you to give into your curiosity, even if it might decimate your already crumbling heart. The stairs that lead up to the second floor are short, but the trek feels like it knocks the wind out of you, or perhaps that was just the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side.

You were right to be scared. Because right in the smack dab center of the circular room is where you see it, and your gasp is one that can be heard from each wall and corner. 

A painting of you. A portrait from the waist up, with oil paint and so much detail, Jungkook has even managed to line the shallow wrinkles by your eyes when you smile. You have never considered yourself beautiful in any sense but the way he has captured you on canvas starts to make you believe that you truly are. You feel Jungkook in each streak of the brushstroke where he hadn’t spread the color evenly. It is as if the painting is alive, and though you are staring at yourself, it doesn’t feel like the way it does in the mirror. Doesn’t feel like a reflection. 

No, this feels like looking through Jungkook’s eyes. It is what he sees in you, rather than what you see in yourself. And what he sees is beautiful. Through the haze of shock and confusion as to why he chose this as the centerpiece, you don’t notice the warm presence that lurks behind you. The one that has watched your every move since you walked into this building. 

“Yeah, that’s my favorite one too.” 

You whip your head around so quick it nearly gives you whiplash, but the sight of him is the nail in the coffin. Jungkook is cleaned up in a black suit, and an unfamiliar smile on his lips he rarely lets you see. A genuine one that he’s tried to hide so many times but now that it’s clear and up close, you resent him for keeping it from you. 

Jungkook is just as gorgeous as the day you lost him. 

But looking at him hurts. You don’t know why you’re even here, and why he sent the invitation, or why he was standing in front of you now and there is not a sliver of antipathy in his eyes. You don’t know why your face is plastered in the center of the gallery. Most of all, you don’t know why you are still weak in the knees for Jeon Jungkook. 

“Although, I have to say, it was a close race between this one and the pictures I made you take at the lake, when you nearly dunked me in the river because it was so cold”, he breathily laughs but you aren’t able to get through the shock just yet. If Jungkook notices your starstruck state, he doesn’t let it affect him. 

“And I definitely have to give some credit to the one I painted after you told me about your dream”, Jungkook prattles on, “where you were a mermaid who planted peaches under the sea, remember? That’s an honorable mention.” 

These memories make you want to smile but in this moment, the best you can do is try to hold yourself together when your eyes begin to warm with tears. Jungkook stays silent when you do. He notices you haven’t said a word and your gaze refuses to meet his. 

“Why are you doing this, Jungkook?”, you curse yourself when your voice cracks. “Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” Jungkook’s smile drops off his face, and for once, you can see your own pain reflected in his eyes. 

He takes a deep breath, hands hanging limply at his side that itch to wrap themselves around yours. To feel your skin. Feel your mark. 

“I…”, he hesitates in his words, “I remember that day every night when I go to sleep, Y/N. Every time I shut my eyes, I just see your face when I told you I can’t love you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such aching before. Not even when she left me.” Jungkook’s voice is tinted with desperation but it just makes your walls rise higher. 

He’s lying to you. Your tongue wants to protest, but he continues. 

“I see you in everything”, Jungkook breathes out, like he is also admitting it to himself. 

“The paintbrushes I can never put down to the black coffee I force myself to drink nowadays because the ones I actually like, the ones with too much whipped cream and vanilla syrup, just reminds me of you.” His brows are knitted, and his feet vie to step closer to your quivering form. But you look like a caged animal about to bolt at any moment. 

“And when I’m reminded of you, I am reminded of…”, he gulps down the fear, “I’m reminded of how I am utterly in love with someone who deserves so much more than what I have put them through.”

The blood that runs through your veins drops to subzero temperatures, and you swear in the split millisecond that you have absorbed what he’s just said, your heart ceases its beating. The world stops turning, and the waves still for a brief moment. You can’t find any words just yet, but Jungkook can see straight through you and your stupefied expression. 

“Y-you’re lying to me, Jungkook. Stop lying.” 

“I’m not lying, please…” Jungkook knows he’s losing you by the second, but he’s promised you he would persist. He just wants you to listen. Wants you to feel how sorry he is, and how his soul screams to be next to your’s. 

“I can’t explain how it happened. Like it was an epiphany. Like someone has been screaming at me and I had been ignoring them, and that someone was my own heart.” Jungkook doesn’t stumble over his words once. He does not stutter because it is the plain white truth. 

“Stop, Jungkook.”

“It’s been knocking on the door of my chest and when I finally let it in, it just yells and shouts ‘oh my god, you’re in love’ and then I realized oh my god, i’m in love. In between painting you and convincing myself that soulmates meant nothing to me, I’ve completely and unquestionably fallen in love with you, Y/N.” 

Jungkook can’t decipher the look on your face. Something between the lines of disbelief and heartbreak, and it makes him want to split at the seams at the pain he’s put you through. How he’s convinced you you’re impossible to love. He vows to make it right again.

“Jungkook-”

“And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not hard to love. Hell, I was dead set on never loving again and you managed to make me so smitten, I can’t paint or draw a damn thing without including some aspect of you in it.” Jungkook steps back and gestures to all the canvases and photos that hang on the wall. 

“Take a look around, Y/N. It’s all you. Every piece.” Once he says it, you finally notice Every piece of art in this room can be traced to you, or a memory you two share. It’s so clear, you don’t know how you missed it before. You feel yourself in the art Jungkook has poured his soul into. Instead of making you feel elated, these words that you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear just ignites the sting. 

“Just stop. Please.” It is only a weak whisper through your lips, and he ignores it. 

“If you can’t forgive me, I get it Y/N. I can’t forgive myself either. But can you just know that you are enough. You are more than what I deserve. And I know you told me to be happy, but there is no way I can possibly do that without you.” 

When your gaze falls to the floor, you notice that his wrist is clean of any bracelets or watches. Come to think of it, this is one of the first times you are seeing it clear and in the flesh. Jungkook doesn’t tell you, but nowadays, he doesn’t allow anything to impede on the sight of the crescent moon.

When your guard is down and you are distracted, he finds the perfect time to finally reach forward and take your hand in his. His touch is gentle when it wraps around your wrist, tugging off the ribbon that circled it, and revealing the matching mark. Your pulse jumps under his fingers, and skips a beat when he runs a thumb over the moon. You are already melting with such simple contact, and you almost allow yourself to succumb. Almost.

It’s as if suddenly his skin was scalding, and you snatch your wrist from his grasp at lightning speed. The tears that have strayed down your face are wiped away as quickly as they came. The surprise on his face is missed by your eyes because before he can comprehend what is happening, you are bolting down the staircase and out the glass doors of the gallery. No, you cannot forgive him yet. What would you do if he hurt you again? You don’t think you would survive. 

You ignore the pain of seeing his art pieces as you run, now that you know you are the muse behind them all. The only noise is the sound of blood rushing in your ears, and you are oblivious to the racket of Jungkook’s shoes clapping against marble flooring as he chases after you, expertly dodging the other patrons and butlers holding trays of champagne. 

And Jungkook? Well, he is oblivious to the complete turmoil that runs through your every nerve. He only sees your back, and not the way you bite your lip painfully to keep the sobs from escaping. Not the way your pain is exhibited clear as day in the crease of your eyebrow and the wrinkle of your nose. 

The air outside is so cold it bites at your nostrils, but makes it easier to breathe. The wind calms the thundering heart in your chest.

He must be lying. There was no way he had a change of heart now, not when he was so rooted in his belief before. There is no virtual possibility, on any plane of existence, on any dimension where Jeon Jungkook has fallen in love with you. 

Right?

The hand that circles around your wrist tightly to keep you from getting any farther tells you that you are wrong. He did come after you. Jungkook’s strength forces you to stop running, but you can’t find the courage to turn around and face him just yet. But you don’t make an effort to pull away, and he takes it as progress.

“You can run if you want, Y/N. You can walk away from me and from us, but don’t doubt that I’ll always be chasing after you. For as long as it takes.” He is panting and speaking through heavy breaths, but you hear him. Loud and clear. 

“I won’t let you leave again. Not like last time.”

There is no malice. No coldness, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his words feel like warm honey instead of monotone ice. He is utterly distraught when you turn around slowly, hesitant like you’re afraid he will break your heart right then and there. 

His heart shatters at the wetness at your waterline, and the way you look up at him; completely vulnerable and scared. 

“Do you promise?” 

There is a lot of weight in your three-word question. It’s not as innocent as meets the eye, and Jungkook knows it. He feels it. When you ask him if he promises, it is an invitation back to you. You are offering him your heart, which he has already broken and bruised, and trusting him to be careful with it this time around. Jungkook already knows he loves you. And if you let him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure this promise remains unbroken. 

“I promise.” 

It’s a commitment. One he used to be terrified of making, but it seems so easy when it’s for you. 

And when you fly forward to wrap your arms around him, Jungkook feels like home. Like the stars twinkle a little brighter and the earth stops spinning for a mere second, just for the two of you. You feel him squeeze you closer, just as tightly, and Jungkook wants to kick himself for depriving you both of a simple thing called love. 

You are here, souls and now bodies intertwined, and Jungkook lets the pain of past hurt fall away. Pain is so miniscule when you are by his side. When you pull back, Jungkook frowns at your red-rimmed eyes, and the tears that still persist. He wipes it away oh so softly, as if you were delicate clay and he, a sculptor. 

“Please don’t cry anymore, princess, it breaks my heart. I’m so sorry.” It is the softest, most sugary tone you’ve ever heard out of him. But hearing affection from his lips makes you feel that perhaps all of this sorrow, this longing, has been worth it. He has been worth it. He always has. 

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook’s words are almost as beautiful as he is. 

His lips are familiar when you lean forward and kiss him. Yet they are different. This time, the hands on your waist hold you a bit more carefully, even closer if that were possible. You can feel his thudding heart as it beats against your own, learning to match rhythms with each other, and Jungkook cradles your face in his hand like you are the only artwork he has truly been proud of. 

And it’s true. All the canvases and paints and camera film seem wasted now. Nothing he ever makes will be quite as alluring as the art he holds in his arms in this moment. 

“I love you too, you goddamn idiot.”

You meant it all those months ago, and you mean it now. If Jeon Jungkook was the sun, you would gladly change your name to Icarus. If Jeon Jungkook was the moon, then you are the tides that he pushes and pulls. If Jeon Jungkook belonged to you, well...you don’t have to imagine that anymore. He is your’s, as you are his. 

Old habits die hard, but they are not immortal. They wax and wane, and remind you that in the cosmic vastness of things, you are only human. Humans whose hearts beat in tandem and souls made to complete the other. Humans with identical crescent moons, lost but now found.

Old habits die hard. But you have learned to fix those of a broken heart. 

☾

[tqmies]

✩‌hyunjin hwang x‌ ‌fem!reader‌ ‌| vp!hyunjin + university au | enemies to lovers |  ‌+ 2.3k words ✩‌

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ Running for student council president was supposed to be a joke! You had never even intended to win! Unfortunately, that’s not how the former president, Hwang Hyunjin, saw it.

WARNINGS ⇾‌ hyunjins kinda rude, underage drinking, cursing, one (1) sexual innuendo, a little argument

NOTES ⇾‌ this has been sitting in my drafts forever! let me know if you guys would like another part cause i really like this concept :)

You were quite, if not one hundred percent, sure that Hwang Hyunjin permanently had a stick up his ass. With his perfectly ironed uniform matching his perfectly styled hair and his perfectly shined shoes. Yes, you could not stand people like him, and he wasn’t particularly fond of you either. 

So what put you in the position where you had to see him everyday? 

To put it plainly, everything could be traced back to being Han Jisung’s fault.

“What do you mean by that? I’d do a amazing job!” You pout, slightly offended at what your friend insinuated. “You’re as dumb as a bag of bricks.” He deadpans, “Maybe even dumber! Plus Hyunjin would rip you apart.” 

You pull back to smack him on his arm, going back to viewing the poster. The poster was informing you of the upcoming student council elections. Normally you wouldn’t have given this a second thought, but you had jokingly suggested you should run and your friend said you had no chance. You were ever so adamant to prove Han Jisung wrong, and show that you could indeed, be a amazing vice president. 

Oh how it had distastefully backfired. 

You see, so many people were excited that you were running, that during elections, you had been chosen as the new student council president. Unexpectedly snatching the spot of the only and only Hwang Hyunjin.

You remember the look on Yang Jeongin, the treasurers, face as he handed the results of the ballots to the ex president himself. Showing that you had taken his place, and he had be demoted one.

To say he was pissed was a understatement, 

You could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears.

You hadn't purposefully intended this, honestly you just wanted to run for vice to see if you even had a shot. You didn’t even want to accept the spot at first,  being the actual president seemed to be a lot of work, and you weren’t even sure you were cut out for that. 

But somehow, with a lot of convincing from your friends (and especially your junior officer Yuna), you accepted. 

So that’s how, what was a stupid joke, turned into you picking the theme for this years homecoming. 

“So i’m thinking blue,” You say, wanting to stray away from your boring school colors, “Or maybe like a light purple! That would be pretty!” You smile at your secretary Yeji. 

“Purple? Blue? what is this, a child's birthday party?” A voice speaks from behind you.

You turn around to face Hyunjin, staring at some papers in his hands concerning organizing the fundraiser. He, of course, only had a small say in it, as every decision came through you. Nevertheless, you didn’t want to deal with it so you dumped it all on his lap and basically said “Go crazy”. 

You roll your eyes, “Okay Hwang, what color do you suggest?”

“Black,” he spoke, “Simple and gets the point across.” 

The room is engulfed in silence as you mentally cringe at his suggestion.

“What the fuck” Your head officer, Ryujin, splutters. “God Hyunjin, What is this? A funeral?” She leans back in her chair. 

You were inclined to agree, c’mon, black? Just sounds like he was a bit too lazy to pick a color.

“Okay then, just continue to remind me why I beat you out.” You speak, voice faltering at the end. 

Your eyes widen as he slams his hands down on the table and heads out of the room. Eyes ablaze and a pissed expression donning his face. Looks like a guy couldn’t take a joke. 

It reminds you a bit of the first interaction you two had. You were the new transfer student at the school. Everyone was a bit captivated by you, eager to be your friend and get to know you. Even the teachers seemed to glow particularly around you. 

Hyunjin hated this, he thought you were obnoxious and kind of loud, no wonder you got along so well with Han Jisung, the class clown.

So he made it a point to avoid you, quite literally never speaking to you and just consistently reminding you how much better than you he was, feeling he had something to prove.

You on the other hand, just thought he was a stuck up little prude.

So one day during class, you had made a particularly funny comment, that everyone laughed at, but had ultimately disturbed class. Hyunjin, balled fists and all, lost his composure and publicly called you out for such disruption. 

No one had really ever seen him this upset before, but before you knew it, the whole school knew just how much of a disdain the boy held for you.

Unfortunately for him though, it didn’t tarnish the liking they held of you. 

You had dealt with people who didn’t like you before, but you weren’t even sure what you did to said boy. He hadn’t liked you before this situation, so it wasn’t just the matter of the council. 

Forgetting about it, you turn your attention back to the task at hand. You were delving into food options when Yeji mentioned something that peaked your interest.

“You know if anything, I think he’s still upset you replaced his vice president, those two were super close.” She stated, making you raise a brow. 

Thinking back, you couldn’t even remember the old vice president. You were never one for student affairs before, so you can’t even picture what this mystery person looked like.

“Well what happened? Why didn’t they run for another spot in the council?” You asked.

“i mean, most of us are the best at our jobs, so no ones touching us. Not to mention that there aren’t very many other roles of involvement besides just being a plain member.” Yeji elaborates.

“I see,” you furrow your browns. “that’s rough.”

“Not really, she was just super upset she didn’t have a position of power anymore so she rage quit.” 

“Yeah it’s no wonder her and Hyunjin were so close.” Your historian, Seungmin, comments, walking into the room.

Your mind deters from the said subject as you notice the photos he held in his hand, you grab at them, excited to see how they turned out. You had been waiting on these since the day you took them.

“Ah ah,” The boys says as he swats your hands away from said pictures.

“Let me see!” You pout, questioning why he was hiding them, you all had taken photos of you guys to hang up in the front of the school. It’s not like it was a secret or anything.

“You’re not interested in these, trust me, you’re not even in them.” He explains, “These photos were taken pre-election,”

You quirk a brow at the statement, why would they take pictures ahead of time?

“Cause Hyunjin’s bitch-ass suggested we took them early. He was so sure he’d still be president when these came out.” Ryujin laughs, poking another jab at the boy as she answers your mental question.

“So you guys were ok with excluding new freshmen from the photos?” You inquire, thinking about how mortified Yuna would’ve been seeing herself missing from the council photos.

“Well it was the vp’s idea.” Seungmin chirps in again, tossing the photos in the recycle bin.

“Old vp,” Ryujin replies, “Geez I hate to say this, but I prefer Hyunjin as our vice as to her.”

“Why? Cause he can’t suck up to the president to get what he wants?” 

“Suck up? You mean suck di-”

“Hey, woah woah, we don’t know that for sure!” Jeongin, who was listening silently, interrupts.

Mouth agape, Ryujin recoils, “Yes we do! Remember that time she dropped to her knees so Hyunjin would do her stupid bake sale idea!” 

Before you could you even comment, the door to the room slams open, revealing your best friend. He strides to your desk, despite Seungmin’s plead that only student council members were allowed here, he plots himself in the chair next to you. 

“Are you almost done with your boring little stuff?” He groans, noticing the colored paper you had spread on your desk. “What are these even for? You making a craft?” He ask’s, picking up one and looking it.

“Fuck you,” You laugh, “Is that all you think i do in here?” 

“Besides fight with Hyunjin?” He contemplates, looking to the floor, “Yes.”

Snatching the paper away, you ask, “What are you even doing in here? I thought you were gonna go with Chan and Changbin to that party.”

“Party?” Ryujin quirks, leaning forward in her chair.

“Nuh uh dude,” Jisung responds, “Last time you came, Changbin said you vomited all over his shoes-”

“Yah Han! I don’t particularly wish to hear Ryujin’s too-much-soju nightmare.”

“You drank soju?” Yeji shreiked. “Without me?”

“Yeji! Anytime I mention drinking you bring up how illegal it is”

“It is illegal for our age! But i never claimed to be a law abiding citizen-”

“So,” Jisung says, turning to you amid the drama. “Wanna come?”

You stay silent as you consider the offer, you knew you couldn’t. You knew you were supposed to stay after school today to finalize some pep rally plans with Hyunjin. But did you really wanna sit here all night arguing over when the mascot should arrive? Hyunjin would probably just whine until you gave in.

“Hyunjin would beat my ass.” You reply, looking back down at your desk. “I told him we could go over the pep rally plans”

“So? You that scared of him?” Jisung teases, now hes really hit a nerve. “Plus, you’ve been working hard all this week! Don’t you think you deserve a minute to yourself? Don’t let your fear of Hyunjin stop you!” 

You’re not dumb, you know what hes trying to do. 

If there’s one thing Han’s good at, its pushing your buttons. 

He smirks as you respond, “Me? Scared of little Hyunjinnie?” 

“So i’ll see you there?” He raises a brow, awaiting your response.

“Me too!” Ryujin jumps up, to which Jisung rolls his eyes.

And with all thoughts of anything else in the back of your mind, you nod.

-

You lazily cling onto Jisungs arm as you approach the shared apartment of his two friends. You had met Changbin and Chan before, on multiple occasions,  and you adored the pair. 

Though with your new found club, you had been to busy to see them in months.

“Finally found some time for us Mrs. President? ” Chan asks, grinning, as he approaches you. He takes notice of your outfit, still in school uniform, as you had no time to change. “You hadn't left school yet?”

“No, we stayed behind for some organizing stuff.” You speak, as Changbin emerges out of the crowd, setting his eyes on you.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” He laughs, the smell of alcohol evident off him. He points a finger at you before pulling you into a hug as Chan asks him what he means.

“Hyunjin,” He says, casual as ever, “He said he wouldn't be here cause you guys had a meeting.”

“Ooh.” Chans’ eyebrow rises in a perfect arch, a matching grin curling his mouth. “Hyunjins gonna be mad..” He teases.

You scoff. “Don’t say things like that,”

“Like what ?”

“Like Hyunjin’s the boss of me.” You roll your eyes.

“If anything,” Jisung starts, “Shes the boss of him” 

“Look I came here to get away from Hyunjin, so can we stop talking about him?” You ask, making it past the boys to find the drink table.

You needed something to get you through this night, cause you were in for a chewing out in the morning.

-

The chewing out came sooner than you thought.

As a very red, and very angry Hyunjin, stood before you.

Placing a hand on your hip, you turn to look at the boy as you wait for him to say something.

You raise your eyebrows, as if saying get on with it, but yet he doesn’t seem to get the hint as he says nothing.

“Whats’ got your panties in a twist?” You scoff, yelling over the loud music as you bring your cup to your mouth.

You gasp as the cup is knocked out of your hands, “Are you fucking insane?” 

Hyunjin just grabs your wrists and drags you out of the room as you plead, well more like yell, at him to let you go.

“Me? I’m insane?” He whispers under his breath, disbelief written on his face. “I can’t believe I thought you’d actually take this shit seriously.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you lean against the counter of the kitchen he brought you too, far enough away from the crowded area that you heard every comment he made.

“What are you talking about?”

“I really trusted that you’d take this seriously, but I see to you its a big fat fucking joke.” He says, taking a swing of something in his own cup.

You were fuming, how dare he come here and question your dedication to the council? Sure he was right, but only a little bit. Anyways, who did he think he was to come in here and tell you that?

“Will you calm the hell down?” You speak, “It’s fucking uni student council, this isn't the american supreme court”

“You just don’t know how to actually put effort into anything, you think you can just ride around on your high horse and not have to work for anything.” He says, looking you in the eyes.

Like hell you were going to let him talk to you like that.

“Hyunjin, you’re pathetic.”

And with that statement, you leave, Hyunjin stunned that you had the audacity to say that to him.

And the fact that he found it so hot.

[warrior-of-waistbands]

Fic: Somewhere in here there's room for a library pun

In which Melvin's study session is interrupted by a certain someone with a bad haircut

(aka: remember this post? I salvaged and tweaked the rest of the fic because I decided I liked it after all. Melvin x Harold fluff set when they're a little older / Melvin is a disaster and I love him.)

//

Melvin slammed his locker door shut. On the wall next to it hung a colorful poster advertising that year's Homecoming dance (the theme: "Party Like It's 1989"), and when Melvin laid his eyes on it he scowled. Turning away now, he made his way down the sophomore wing hallway, moving briskly, barely stopping to sidestep all the other students getting in his way.

Right now it was lunchtime, and while everyone else was heading towards the cafeteria, Melvin was making his way to the library, intent on getting a head start on his biology midterms and maybe on his finals, too, if he could find the right textbooks. As he stepped into the air conditioned building, he took a look around, noting the emptiness, the quiet. He took a deep breath, taking in the wonderful scent of aging paper and ink. It was the perfect atmosphere for studying.

Not that he really needed to study for a simple biology quiz. Still, it paid to be prepared.

He made his way to the library's expansive reference section and got to work picking out heavy encyclopedia after hefty dictionary, carting his haul to one of the tables and settling down to read and take notes. From outside he could make out the faint sounds of teenagers laughing and talking, enjoying their forty-minute break from schoolwork.

Couldn't be him.

It was halfway through his study session, as he was busy copying down an interesting fact about mitochondria and what they powered, that he heard the library door open again; someone else was coming in and plunking their stuff down on a table not that far from his. Curious, Melvin discreetly turned his gaze towards the newcomer.

Harold Hutchins sat in the library with him, backpack thrown carelessly atop the table, a notebook open in front of him and a handful of colored pens scattered over it. He bent over said notebook, seemingly scribbling something in it.

Oh, great. Now what is he doing here? Melvin thought.

As Melvin sat there, staring, Harold raised his head, spotted Melvin, and smiled, raising his hand to wave—

Immediately, Melvin felt himself blush. He ducked his head back down, trying to force his eyes to focus on the open textbook in front of him. Shoot shoot shoot he saw me he saw—

"Hey, Melvin."

A startled sort of half shriek, half gasp left Melvin, and he immediately clamped his hand over his mouth in embarrassment. Timidly, he shot a glance at Harold, now standing before his table with his backpack slung over his shoulder and his pens and notebook in hand, smiling amiably.

"Hel—....good afternoon to you too, Harold," Melvin replied, clearing his throat, straightening his posture, desperately trying to play it cool while fighting to regain his composure. To keep from making further eye contact with Harold he busied himself with organizing his annotated index cards, shuffling them into piles once and again.

"How come you aren't out at lunch?" Harold asked. Melvin almost replied with, Shouldn't I be asking you the same question?, but he stopped himself at the last moment, choosing instead to say, "I'm getting ready for my biology test next week. One can never be too prepared." A new thought occured to him then, seeing Harold out of the corner of his eye. "Say....is George not with you today?"

"He's—he's here, but he's not here with me. Right now. Our English teacher wanted to talk to him today so...." Harold shrugged. "I told him I'd be down here. Hey, mind if I sit here?"

"Uh—" But Harold was already pulling out the other chair, plopping his backpack down on the floor under it. Crossing his arms on the table, he smiled again and turned to look at Melvin, not unkindly.

"Hey, are you going to Homecoming?"

Melvin frowned. "No, I don't think I will. School dances are a terrible waste of time."

"Shame." Harold held his gaze on Melvin for a moment, before suddenly turning back down to face the notebook he'd laid down on the table. Closed. Even so, Melvin could still see the odd look on his face.

Something about that look made something knot in Melvin's chest.

"I....assume you and George are going, though? Don't you two usually go to these kinds of things together?"

"Yeah, we are. It's just...." Harold ran a hand through his hair. "Just—I was also kinda thinking that....I'd maybe like to go with someone else, too. Someone who's....maybe a little more than a friend?" He threw another glance at Melvin and then back to the notebook. "Except....I don't really know how I'm supposed to approach this other person."

Melvin was blushing again, suddenly feeling very out of his depth. "Well, I—I guess the best way would be to just—just talk to them? Be direct?" He worried a pencil in his hands, unconsciously. A brief question flashed in his mind:

Who?

"I guess. Yeah." Harold was frowning now. Both boys sat in silence for a few minutes, contemplative. Somewhere amidst the bookshelves a clock ticked away, counting down the minutes until the end of lunch.

Eventually Melvin cleared his throat shyly and said, "I think....I think if it were me in your situation, I'd probably chicken out."

At that Harold laughed, earning him a stern look from the librarian, and said, "You? Chicken out? Since when?"

"I—feelings are hard!" Melvin turned his head away from Harold to hide the flush in his cheeks from him. "Unfortunately, not everything is as simple and fun as splitting atoms!"

"No, no, I get what you mean. This boy, he's rocking my entire world right now and I don't even know how to ask him if I can borrow a pencil." Harold chuckled. Looked back at Melvin, thoughtful. "Although....more I think about it, maybe the party scene isn't really his thing after all."

"....Well." Melvin didn't know what to respond. Again, the boys fell silent, eyes locked, both deep in thought.

Ask me to go to Homecoming with you, Melvin suddenly thought. A horrifying thought. He turned sharply away from Harold. Scared. Where the hell had that come from??

Harold was about to say something in response when the library door clattered open and a voice called out, "Harold! Tell me you're still in here!"

"Back here!" Harold called back, overtop the librarian's angry shushing sounds. Now George sauntered over to the table, slamming his hands down on the surface enthusiastically. "What's up, gents and germs?" he said, glancing back and forth between Harold and Melvin.

"Melvin here was just giving me helpful life advice," Harold answered playfully. Melvin threw him a sneer.

"Oh really? What, is he telling you the best places to stash your thermo-nuclear reactor?" George and Harold both giggled at that one. Melvin rolled his eyes.

"I see George has returned from his meeting, so I think I'll be leaving you two to it," Melvin said, making to stand up and grab his things. Fully intending to leave the two alone. But:

"Nah, it's okay. We were just leaving." Harold said, standing and stashing his notebook into his backpack. Slapping a hand down on George's shoulder, he added, "Come on, it's five minutes 'til lunch is over, we can still grab some potato wedges."

"Alright." George slapped Harold's shoulder in return and turned to Melvin. "See ya, Einstein," he said. Started turning towards the door.

Harold lingered for the briefest of seconds. He turned to Melvin, waved another shy wave with another shy smile. "Bye, Melv," he said. Grinned.

Another tight feeling in Melvin's chest. "Y-yeah....see ya," he answered. And much to his horror, his own hand got up and waved back.

Harold chuckled softly and smiled wider. A strange soft look in his eyes. Looking right at Melvin and his stupid waving hand. Smiling.

He turned. And George and Harold walked out of the library together, talking and laughing.

Melvin was alone in the library once again. This time, the quiet didn't seem nearly as welcoming.

He brought his waving hand to his chest and held it there, feeling the thump-thump of his heart behind his ribs. Somehow, it always seemed to beat faster when Harold was around....

Melvin bit his lip.

Who was he talking about?

Outside, out in the courtyard, Melvin heard the lunch bell ring.

[liptonsbabe]

Remember me [F.O]

Finnick Odair x female! reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Summary: Something’s different at the Capitol. All victors must return to their respective districts within the week. Snow’s orders. Nobody can oppose and Finnick has a bad feeling about that

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: none

English not my mother language so pls tell me if something’s wrong

Chapter 2: Homecoming

The morning feels different, as if something has changed right off the bat; the air feels less heavy and I feel less exhausted.

The sun's rays stream through the window and I shiver as I feel Finnick's strong arms pulling me tight against him; he’s bothered by the sun too. I smile and place my hands over his.

“Finnick, close the curtains”

“What? Why me?”

“You're closer to the window than me”

“And your point is...?”

I try to get up and Finnick stops me. He laughs over my shoulder without letting me make another move.

“Leave them like that. Don't get up”

“I want to go back to sleep," I tell him, "We didn't get enough rest last night”

Finnick's face scrunches up, but then returns to normal, wearing a bright smile. He pulls me to him and hugs me

“But it was a good night, wasn't it? At least it was for me. I got the best news in the world”

“Sure, it was”

I try to smile, but worry don't let me. I feel a weight off since last night, but the situation makes my hair stand on end. what would happen when Snow found out i’m pregnant? He hates me to death and he would do everything to make me suffer

It all starts years ago, in my games. It was an important year, the games were organized as a special event for President Snow's birthday, everything had to go perfectly. I was chosen in the reaping along with Derek, my District partner.

Arriving at the Capitol people always have a favorite and Derek was theirs. With hundreds of sponsors raining down on his shoulders and hundreds more female fans who would surely help him. Finnick was one of the few people -along with Maggs, Annie, Johanna and Haymitch- who helped me survive in that place.

Sometimes Gamemakers can be too stupid. On the last nights of the games, Derek had died, unleashing the anger and discontent of most of the country, leaving me with all the pressure of at least being the last to die.

I reached a cliff, a boy from District twelve was following my steps to the top. I was cornered. In an instant of carelessness, the sword I was carrying fell into the cliff and seconds later, it came back to me.

It was a force field, and I used it to my advantage.

That annoyed them very much cause, according to them, with my indiscipline I ruined President Snow’s birthday

Up to this point Snow hasn't deigned to make me pay for that, but I don't deny the fact that he wants to do it later, like now he wants to get revenge on that girl from district twelve who did her little berry trick with her partner. And when Finnick and I started a relationship, he was the first to congratulate us on such a good decision.

Snow is still pissed at me, I can tell by the scandalous looks he sends me every year in the mentor room where we watch our boys fight for their lives. I sense it when he tries to approach me when Finnick walks away, but comes back immediately after when he sees the intentions Snow has for me. And it's not like he can take it out on anyone in my family. I have no one left but Finnick

Finnick's fingers rest on my shoulder and he gently caresses it, trying to make my sudden cloud of unease dissipate.

“We're going to be fine”

“I haven't said otherwise. I just know it won't be what you'd call easy. Snow hates me”

“I know a lot of things about him that he won't want the whole country to know," he says, sitting down on the bed with me following his movements.

“That business of secrets again," I say rolling my eyes, "I hate to think of the way you got them.

“That was before I met with you” He swears with a little smile. I tap him on the shoulder

“You better”

Later in the day Johanna arrives at our house laden with some packages wrapped in newspaper. I help her place them on the table and Finnick goes to the kitchen to get something to drink. We sit together in the living room and Johanna starts questioning me.

“I guess you've told him the news already, haven't you?” I nod and she takes my hands “So, how did he take it?”

“He took it well. Surprisingly well. I told him yesterday in a... not so good situation” Johanna raises an eyebrow waiting for me to continue “He got upset when I went to the bathroom during the night”

My friend from district seven laughs out loud, infecting me with her effusiveness. She denies as she laughs and looks at me unable to contain herself.

“I think Finnick has become more stupid than he already was”

“What?”

He comes up to us and puts the tray of drinks on the coffee table. Johanna takes the drink and takes a sip.

“Nothing, nothing," says Johanna, "We were talking about how shity is to live in here, right?”

“Johanna..." Finnick mumbles back, knowing they could hear us. She shrugs her shoulders

“What? your depressed faces tells me so. I don't blame you, though. I'd rather go back to those damn games than live here”

“Be careful what you ask for," Finnick says, sitting down next to me.

“As if that's even damn possible”

Johanna slams her drink and leaves the empty glass on the table, she licks her red lips and turns back to us.

“I just stopped by to see how you were doing and to give you some news”

“What news?”

“Oh, I guess you're going to love this”

“What is it” Asks Finnick desperately. Johanna smiles

“Well, I think that Snow's cold is already getting old. He's even more stupid than usual” Finnick tenses at her words and I take his hand to calm him down “Anyway, the thing is that this morning he has given the order for all the mentors that are in this hell to return to their District”

Finnick and I jump up excited and stunned by the news. He looks at me and I return the gesture by squeezing his hands.

“What are you talking about, Johanna?”

“About that thing you heard, love bird” She stands up and stands in front of us “The old man has given us permission to return to our home. Can you believe it?”

The small sense of relief I feel dissipates as soon as his words make sense. I am overwhelmed by such a sudden surprise and by the fact that after some time we’ll return home.

“I guess you guys have a lot to talk about. I'm leaving, Blight is waiting for me” She rolls his eyes and walks towards the door. Before leaving he turns to us with a raised eyebrow “Your train leaves tomorrow at eight o'clock. Good luck”

The echoing of the door floods the room, but we are both too immersed in uncertainty to let it pass. Finnick turns me toward him and grabs me by the arms.

“We can go back. We'll go back," he says, excitement overflowing from his pores. I nod and without knowing why, I'm worried about going back to the district.

.

Maggs smiles at me as he sees me enter the train with Finnick. I take a seat next to him and he immediately takes my hands.

“Hi Maggs” I stroke her face and she smiles even more. She puts a hand on my belly and then looks at Finnick out of the corner of her eye ”Yes, Maggs, I told him already”

My former mentor pats my stomach and that's when Annie Cresta appears. Her eyes are downcast and her long hair looks disheveled and brittle. Maggs looks at her with sorrow and I invite her to sit with us.

“How are you, Annie?” She doesn't answer and her gaze is lost in the train. For a minute she looks at me and then she starts crying.

“I want to go home. I don't want to go back. I don't want to”

“You won't. Calm down”

Annie leans against my shoulder and I hug her so she can calm down. After a few minutes she falls asleep on me and I hold her until we reach the shore.

Finnick helps me wake her up and get her off the train with Maggs in front of us. As the hatches open the saltiness of the water floods my nostrils. The fishermen are doing their work and the women are making nets for their husbands to lure the fish to the shore.

I take another breath  and the smell of our district food fills my heart and drives away the worry that has settled in me since yesterday.

I’m back

I’m at home

[fangirl-writes]

Pop Culture

Benny Weir x Reader

Request:  hey i hope ur doing well! would u be able to do a benny x fem!reader where she’s really popular and has a crush on him and isn’t shy about it. benny likes her a lot too but he’s scared that she’ll just end up leaving him for another popular kid. so she makes multiple public declarations as well as takes him on a string of extravagant dates to show him how much she truly likes him.

Warning(s): none. A lot of star wars references. Like. A LOT.

Notes: I am doing fine thank you! Sorry for taking so long with this one. This was cute. I got a little side tracked from the main request and just went all in with the star wars theme, I’m so sorry.

Y/N L/N was one of the most popular girls in school. That was undoubtable. She was a cheerleader, head of the prom committee, former homecoming queen, and her parents were one of the richest people in town.

But the fact that she had the biggest crush on Benny Weir, resident star wars lover, science wiz, and all around huge geek? Unbelievable.

Extremely unbelievable in Benny’s opinion, even if she had grown up in the house across the street from him.

And Y/N wasn’t shy about her crush on him. In fact, she was very unsubtle about it.

She left him hoards of candy in his locker, hung a bouquet of roses for valentine’s day, and stood on a cafeteria table to wish him the grandest of happy birthdays. 

“Benny!” She cooed as she walked down the hallway with some of her other friends, who were currently rolling their eyes so far into the back of their heads that the nerd squad thought they might get stuck.

“Oh, no,” Benny said, a blush spreading across his cheeks as she approached him, Ethan, and Rory, leaving her posse behind.

“Benny, I rented out the entire movie theater for a star wars marathon this weekend, if you’re free?” She asked.

Benny could barely concentrate on what she said because of how close she was. He could smell her sugary perfume and see the school fluorescents shining in her pretty (e/c) eyes.

He stumbled over his words for a minute before spitting out, “Can’t! Already got plans with Ethan, can’t back out, been planning it for months, years, a whole decade. Can’t miss it.”

“We have?”

Benny elbowed Ethan in the ribs.

“Oh. Right, those plans. Yeah.”

You frowned, looking disappointed. “Oh. Okay.”

Your smile returned for a minute. “Can we reschedule then? Is tonight good for you?”

“Ah, well, you know what-”

The screech of the school bell interrupted him and he looked relieved.

“Well, look at that, saved by the bell! Sorry, Y/N, gotta get to class.” He took off down the hallway. It was the fastest Ethan had ever seen Benny run.

You turned to Ethan, looking more devastated than ever. “He hates me, doesn’t he?”

“Who? Benny?” he replied. “No. No, he doesn’t hate you.”

“Then why does he keep giving me excuses? The old Benny would straight up turn me down...” You said, crossing your arms and staring at the floor.

Ethan put a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, Benny absolutely doesn’t hate you. He’s just...nervous, I guess.”

“Nervous?” You echoed. “About what?”

“Well, you’re really popular and he’s...well, he’s Benny. He’s just afraid that you’re gonna leave him for someone like David Stachowski.”

You pulled a face. “Hairy Dave? No thanks. He’s dog.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Ethan muttered.

“And you guys know I’m the same Y/N, right? Just because I run with a more popular crowd doesn’t mean I stopped liking nerdy things and stopped thinking about my nerdy friends.”

Ethan laughed. “It’s just a big change from how it used to be. You don’t have braces and a star wars backpack anymore.”

You returned the laugh, remembering how you used to be. “Well, I’ll just have to prove it to him. Will you help me?”

Ethan’s face contorted. “Ah, I don’t know...”

“Come on! Help me, Ethan Skywalker! You’re my only hope!”

Ethan sighed. You got him.

“Fine.”

“Yes!” You wrapped him in a hug. “Now let’s get to class!”

***

“Is everything ready?” You asked Ethan over the phone.

“Yeah, good on your end?” He replied.

“Yep. Movie theater is set. All up to you now.”

“On it.” He said before hanging up and shoving the phone in his pocket. He took a deep breath before bursting into Benny’s house and running up the stairs frantically.

“Benny!” Ethan shouted slamming his bedroom door open.

Benny let out a high pitched scream, falling from his desk chair onto the floor.

“They’ve got Y/N!”

“What?!” Benny bolted upright. “Who’s got Y/N?”

“A couple vampires out for revenge. They must have seen us talking at school the other day. They’ve got her trapped at the movie theater-”

“What are we waiting for?” Benny said, bolting out the door passed Ethan. “Let’s go! Grandma I’m taking the car!”

Ethan waved to Benny’s grandmother as he ran passed her, following Benny out the door.

He hoped this worked.

***

Benny parked the car and was about to run into the theater, guns blazing, but Ethan caught his elbow.

“Wait, wait, we can’t just burst in there! Look!” He said, pointing to the sign that read ‘Star Wars Original Trilogy Marathon - Tonight Only!’ People stood in a line out of the theater, dressed to impress in various Star Wars get ups.

Benny cursed. “Of course, the one time we need to get in there quickly they’re having a special screening.”

“We can use the side door,” Ethan said. “And here” - he handed Benny a storm trooper helmet - “we’ve gotta blend in or they’ll see us coming.”

Benny groaned. “They could be sucking her dry right now!”

“They want us, not her. And Y/N is not helpless. And I’ve got Erica and Sarah already in there scoping the place.”

“You called them before me!”

“They’re vampires!”

Benny just grumbled and put the helmet on, crossing his arms.

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Put on the costume and let’s go.”

***

Ethan and Benny snuck through the side door, dressed fully in storm trooper get up.

“This sucks, E. I can’t see a thing in this helmet.”

“What do you want from me, B?” Ethan retorted.

He suddenly let out a gasp and turned to Ethan. “Oh my god, E. This is a New Hope. I’m Han, you’re Luke, and Y/N is Leia. Yes! This is like my perfect dream.”

Ethan groaned. “I wish I could argue with you.”

“Ethan, Benny!”

The two turned to see Sarah and Erica running their way.

“What’re you guys doing here?” Ethan asked.

“What?” Benny turned to Ethan. “You called them, right?”

“Uh-”

“There’s a bunch of vampires here. Some of Jesse’s old friends that want revenge for his death.” Sarah explained.

“They’ve got the whole place on lockdown. They’re planning on locking all the star wars nerds in here and feasting.” Erica said.

“Oh my god, this is exactly like Star Wars!” Benny gushed.

“Yeah, okay, Han Solo, chill.” Ethan said. “But that does give me an idea. Where are they hiding?”

***

Erica scowled as Ethan and Benny led them up the stairs like prisoners. “I never agreed to being Chewbacca.”

“Shh. No choice.” Ethan retorted before pushing open the door to the control room.

There were three vampires sitting in there, they were staring out the small window, watching the movie before turning to the now open door.

“Who are you? And what have you here?” One of them sneered.

“We’re with you. Had to dress up to blend in. Caught these two trying to pull the fire alarm. Thought you might want to deal with them.”

Erica hissed at them and the leader, grabbed her by the chin. “Such a pretty face. Shame we’ll have to kill you.”

Erica kneed him in the crotch, making him groan.

“Look out! They’re loose!” Benny quoted, letting go of Sarah’s arms so that she could assist in beating the crap out of the three of them.

It was a good thing that Star Wars was a rather loud movie or the crowd might have been alarmed by all of the noise.

“All right, you scum,” Benny said, grabbing one that was barely conscious. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Benny-”

“Tell me!”

“Benny!”

“What?” Benny yelled at Ethan.

“They don’t have her. This was supposed to be a surprise for you. We were gonna find her in one of the empty rooms in the theater and then she was gonna take you to an empty theater and you two were gonna watch the marathon together. But now she’s alone in a room with a bunch of vampires around.”

“What?” Benny shouted. “For the love of- You go and get her, we’ll hold them here.”

“You mean we” - Erica gestured between her and Sarah - “will hold them.”

“Yeah, whatever, just go her!”

Benny pulled off the helmet and sighed.

“She really likes you, you know.” Sarah said.

“Come on,” Benny said with a bitter laugh. “Maybe right now, but once she gets me she’ll be off to the next guy in a week. That’s how they all are.”

“Not Y/N.” Erica replied. “She doesn’t get around. Never has. Her last boyfriend was a dick so if she’s pursuing you, she must really like you.”

Benny sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’m just scared. We kinda run in two different circles now, you know?”

“And you can’t overlap? According to what? The rules of high school? The world isn’t so black and white, Benny.” Sarah encouraged.

****

Ethan rushed down the hallway, looking on the door numbers for 2187 (a number you had modified for the surprise).

“Yes!” Ethan said, reaching the door. He quickly pulled it open to find you laying there on a table, decked out in an impressive Princess Leia costume. It looked like you’d fallen asleep.

“Y/N!” He called and you sat up.

“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” You said cheekily. “Where’s Benny?”

Ethan rolled his eyes, pulling off his helmet. “No time!”

“Come on, say the line!”

“What? No, you don’t understand-”

“Ethan! Say the line!” You whined.

He sighed. “I’m Ethan Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you.”

You grinned broadly. “Thank you.”

“But seriously, I’m rescuing you. There are vampires here, and we need to get back to Benny, Sarah, and Erica.

“What?” You shouted, processing the information.

“Sarah and Erica are vampires. Good ones. But there are evil ones here that are planning on sucking the souls out of everyone in the theater and we’ve got to get them and you out of here.”

“What? Where’s Benny?”

“Come on!” Ethan encouraged and, just like the movie, you ran out first despite not knowing where you were going.

***

You met back up with Benny, Sarah, and Erica in the hallway, as they were backed against the wall with more vampires on the way.

“Where are they all coming from?” Sarah said, spraying a holy water gun and knocking one down.

“I don’t know but I know for sure we can’t get out that way.” Benny said.

“Looks like you cut off our only escape route. All the doors are that way!” You replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry, perhaps you'd like it back in your cell, Princess Leia!” Benny bit back at you sarcastically.

“Ethan, are the sprinklers still lined with holy water?”

“I don’t know. I never did anything to take it out.”

“Let’s give it a try!” Erica said, pulling out her lighter and holding it up to the sprinkler above her head, covering herself with her leather jacket and Sarah holding up an umbrella she had been using as a weapon.

The water almost immediately started spraying out, setting off the fire alarm and soaking the vampires attacking you, burning and hissing all the way down.

“What is your problem?” You hissed at Benny.

“Well, we wouldn’t be cornered if you hadn’t lured me here! And by using Ethan! I feel betrayed!”

“Oh, I’m sorry for trying to prove to you that I like you!”

“Ha! If you really liked me you wouldn’t have become so popular! Leaving your real friends to rot in geek town!”

“That wasn’t my fault! I did what I liked! You guys are the ones who thought I needed to change just because I did similar activities to the other rich kids!”

“Guys!” Ethan interrupted. “Not the time! We need a way out. Now.”

“Oh for the love of-” You rolled your eyes and opened up the trash cute. “Everybody in!”

“Ew. Do we have to go full star wars?” Sarah asked.

“Would you rather chance the holy water river?” You replied, pointing to the floor that was slowly filling up with more water.

“Good point. Let’s go!”

Sarah entered first, followed by Erica, then Ethan, then you, then Benny.

You all were spit out into the dumpster that was full of candy wrappers, old popcorn, and soda cups.

Erica toppled into Sarah and Ethan rammed into her. You managed to avoid their collision only to have Benny slam into you from behind.

You all groaned at the impact and rolled around for a minute, picking popcorn and sticky candy out of your hair and clothes.

“Oh, I’m gonna need a shower.” Ethan groaned.

“After this I think you all deserve a spa.” You said. “I’ll buy.”

“You better.”

“Well, that was not how I foresaw this night going,” You said, standing up with the others and pulling a candy wrapper out of your hair.

Benny stood up, picking garbage off his clothes, and let out a chuckle. “What? Did you think that I was gonna give in just because of your big gesture?”

You turned on him with fiery eyes. “Would you just get it through your thick skull? I like you, okay? I’m not gonna break up with you in a week, I’m not gonna cheat on you, I’m not gonna try to convert you to a jock. Benny I’ve liked you since third grade! I just got enough confidence to tell you and you keep avoiding me every chance you get! If you don’t like me would you just tell me? It would save me a lot of time and money!”

“Not that that would be a problem for you, rich girl!”

“Well, I’m sorry my parents are wealthy! I’m sorry you live with your grandmother and not in a mansion! We’re different but quit painting me as the villain in your pathetic hero story!”

You both were fuming at each other. Erica, Sarah, and Ethan were standing with wide eyes watching this go down.

“Well, maybe if you had just stuck with your real friends we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

“I did! You guys are the ones who treated me like I’d been converted to a cult!”

“Not much different!”

“What is your problem with popular people? You have some sort of nerd code that says you can’t get along with them? Weren’t you the one who was friends with David Stachowski?”

“That’s a different story! He chose us!”

“So did I!”

“No. You didn’t choose us, you chose to have sleepovers with the cheerleaders and go to country club parties and be homecoming queen!”

“I can have more than one group of friends, you know? But do you know who I had hoped would be there for me when I needed it? You guys. Ethan was. You’re the one who keeps running away from me!”

“Well, I’m sorry I think I’m not good enough for you!”

“You’ve always been good enough for me!”

“Well, then I guess I’m saying yes!”

“To what?”

“Everything. All of it. Every date you’ve asked me on, every invitation to a dance, every declaration of love. Yes. I love you. Yes.”

Tears were in your eyes now and you threw yourself into his arms, burying your face into his neck.

Benny hugged you back, as tightly as he could without hurting you.

“You smell like garbage,” you whispered.

He laughed. “So do you.”

Suddenly there was clapping from behind you.

You turned to see Erica slow-clapping. “Well, as much fun and as that rom-com moment was. Can we get out of the dumpster now?”

And you did.

It was safe to say your Leia dress was probably ruined, but you would probably keep it anyway.

Benny held your hand all the way to the car.

You hoped this was the start of something wonderful.

[biinkspacee]

One: Out of the Ordinary

summary: melanie meyers bothers eddie munson at lunch.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!oc

warnings: thoughts of harming others?, none really

word count: 1k

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main masterlist

Hawkins Indiana was not prepared for anything out of the ordinary. The town wasn’t forgiving and the people in it were even crueler. You found your cookie cutter and you didn’t stray outside its edges.

Melanie Meyers was very familiar with her cookie cutter. She didn’t get to choose it, her cutter was assigned to her from birth, but she definitely knew her role and how to fit into it. It all seemed fine. Life was simple, school was easy, her friends were nice.

But the cookie cutter was boring. Melanie wanted nothing more than to just take a sharp knife to the dough that was her life and make whatever the hell she wanted out of it.

So she did.

On the surface, Melanie Meyers looked and acted like your stereotypical girl next door. She was soft-spoken and kind and did exactly what was asked of her. But behind closed doors, Melanie couldn’t have been any different.

However, that didn’t mean Melanie was itching to spill her private life to her friends. Robin and Chrissy, despite being a year younger than her, were too kind for their own good so naturally, they knew quite a bit about the secret life of Melanie Meyers and in return, Melanie knew about theirs. The rest of them though were just nosey future socialites with too much time on their hands.

The three girls had each other's backs, Melanie being the glue that held the other two together. They were inexplicably connected although Melanie was almost sure that what happened two summers ago when curious minds got the better of them was what bonded them. Chrissy had decided that it just wasn’t for her, but that didn’t stop her encouragement of the other two from finding themselves. And vice versa, when Chrissy fell in love with Jason last spring, the two supported her.

However, the appeal of slamming Debra and her annoyingly perky sister Sheila’s heads into the wall was increasing. The day wasn’t even halfway over and between the two of them, she’d already been asked three times what she did over the weekend.

Maybe they knew she was lying when she said she just spent time with her older brother, Daniel. It wasn’t a complete lie really. Melanie had gone over Friday after school and spent the afternoon hanging out with him and his band before entertaining her niece and nephew so him and her sister-in-law could have some alone time.

She had not however spent the entire weekend at his house like she had told Debra and Sheila. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, but one more question about what her nephew’s favorite tv show was or if her niece was eating solid foods yet and Melanie might hurt them. If she wanted her business aired around Hawkins, she’d simply rent out a billboard.

Unfortunately, Chrissy and Robin weren’t at lunch yet so Melanie didn’t have a buffer between them.

Chrissy was busy with Jason. After the magnificent loss the football team took on homecoming night a few weeks ago, the basketball team was actually trying to be cordial for once and boost everyone’s morale. Melanie wasn’t sure what that entailed exactly, but if she had to wager a guess it probably had something to do with a kegger. And Robin was always late to lunch, too busy staring at Tammy Thompson from her locker to make it with everyone else.

Melanie needed space. She could apologize to Robin for bailing later.

She was quick to pick up her tray, some bullshit excuse about PMS leaving her lips before she turned to find somewhere else to sit, somewhere they wouldn’t follow her. That knocked out most of the tables in the cafeteria, the unfortunate reality of befriending social butterflies, but when her eyes caught on a head of messy brown hair Melanie had her most dangerous idea to date.

Sitting down for lunch with Eddie Munson in front of the entire school was risky. People could talk or worse the drama king that was Eddie would make a big deal about it. While entertaining to watch him bag on the entire football team, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be on the receiving end of his insults. But he wasn’t so bad in middle school or in the couple of classes she shared with him, so fuck it.

Eddie Munson was positive he was hallucinating when he saw Melanie Meyers sit down in front of him. The resident good girl and his polar opposite doesn’t just decide one day to pick up a conversation with him. He was quick to look around the cafeteria for Ms. Kelly, assuming she had put her up to this, or maybe just for anyone else to look at him and confirm that he wasn’t crazy.

Her eyes were a challenge, waiting to see if he’d say anything as she tossed her bag into the seat next to her. A smile perked up her lips as she popped the tab on her coke can and began talking.

“So how about that weather.”

The look on Eddie’s face was comical, somewhere between disbelief and utter confusion. Melanie couldn’t remember a time when she had seen him without a smirk. After a long sip of her drink with Eddie’s expression unchanged and eyes darting around panicked, she snapped her fingers at him.

“Hello, earth to dingus.”

He sobered up quickly, she’d give him that. His eyes finally settled on hers.

“What are you doing?”

Melanie shrugged her shoulders, bringing her pizza slice to her mouth.

“Eating, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“Yeah, no, I get that, but why are you eating here?”

She swallowed her food, the pizza tasting surprisingly better than it looked. Eddie still looked concerned but she wasn’t sure if it was for her or himself.

“Because if I get one more annoying comment from the Collins sisters I’m going to stab them with my fork.”

The panic was back and Melanie was definitely sure it was for her this time.

“Why are you telling me this?”

She just hummed and smiled back at him.

“Because it doesn’t matter who you tell, they’d never believe you. Melanie Meyers doesn’t have violent urges, that would be lunacy.”

Eddie was definitely hallucinating or dreaming or something. First, Melanie Meyers would never sit across from him at lunch. It’s too messy, the town sweetheart doesn’t interact with the town screw up. Second, Melanie Meyers would definitely never admit to wanting to hurt someone. Eddie wasn’t even sure she had it in her to kill a spider.

The rest of lunch when by quiet, Eddie mostly contemplating which of his life choices had led him to this moment while Melanie simply ate her food and finished her calculus homework before sixth period.

The bell rang for the end of lunch and before Eddie could do anything, Melanie was already standing up, smile still plastered to her face.

“This was fun. We should do it again sometime. See you in English.”

And with that Melanie Meyers walked away from Eddie Munson.

CHAPTER TWO ->

[johnkrrasinski]

dwindling, mercurial high

full masterlist

Pairings: Andy Barber x female!reader 

Word count: 2,733

Warning: SMUT!!! infidelity/cheating, age gap, unprotected sex, dirty talk, angst, lots of angst. (MUST BE 18+) 

Summary: based on the song ‘illicit affairs’ by taylor swift. things changed between you and andy, the man you’d been crushing on for the longest time, after you returned home from college. what was born from a single glance & stolen stares turned into a secret addiction, something neither of you could get sober from. 

a/n: the idea piqued my imagination after watching taylor’s folklore long pond studio session and i wondered what it’d be like to be the third person instead of the cheated one, thus this angsty fic was born. reblog & feedback are always appreciated. 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

You closed your eyes as your back hit the wall repeatedly, you held onto him as tight as possible as you moaned in his ear. The bristle of his beard tickled your neck as he nipped your sensitive spot, causing your head to spin. The coil in your abdomen tightened, so did your legs around his waist, and you clenched around him, pushing him to thrust harder into you, chasing your orgasms. Your wailings grew louder and you cried out his name like prayer as his pace become sloppier.

Time became hazy as you plummeted into bliss while he continued to impale you, prolonging your release as well. You wanted the moment to last as long as possible as you presented your body as a vessel for him to obtain pleasure, the kind that he couldn’t get at home from his lovely wife. You didn’t mind that it took him longer to reach his peak, the comforting feeling of him being inside you was like cozying up to your favourite knit sweater and a cup of hot chocolate whilst it was raining outside.

But rains don’t last forever, and the sun was always around the corner, lurking to appear and scorch the planet once more, waking everyone up out of their comfortable place. And that’s what it was like being with Andy.

He groaned as he released deep inside you, resting his face on your shoulder while trying to catch his breath. He kissed you on the lips, claiming your mouth as you ran your fingers through his hair until he needed air. But you didn’t, because he was the air that you needed. Then he set you on your feet gently and he began putting on his clothes. “It’s stopped coming down, I should head back now, Laurie’s going to come home soon and I told her that I’d be working from home today. It’d be suspicious if I left the house without telling her.”

You nodded, “…okay.” But it wasn’t okay, how much longer were you going to have these clandestine meetings? How could you tell him that you wanted him to stay and hold you close just for once?

He slipped his feet into his shoes and untied the lace. You leaned on your hands against your study desk and watched his flushed state longingly as if you were trying to speak with your gaze and you wanted him to get the message because words would hurt both of you. He put on his coat and swung the hood over his head then stood before you, “are you okay, kid?”

No, how could you even ask me that? “Yeah.” He always asked the same question after every time you both made love but never once did you tell him the truth and he believed you. He kissed you on the forehead and there he goes, leaving you with your tears and fury once more without a single weight in his heart.

How did you end up here? It began last summer after you came back home from college. You were going to work in your father’s law firm once you finished law school and obtained your degree. Your father was a lawyer and had a good friendship with the Barbers since you were little. You even watched Jacob being born when Laurie went into labour. Besides living across from each other and worked in the same field, you were like a big sister to Jacob too. He was always a shy, introverted kid who didn’t make friends easily so Andy truly cherished your companion for his son.

You were always happy being a big sister figure to Jacob, you were both the only children so it was easy to bond over that. But what you’d never admit out loud, was also the fact that yous secretly had a crush on Jacob’s dad. What’s not to swoon over? Andy was extremely good looking, a good father and a loving husband. He was a top lawyer, courteous, soft-spoken and always treated you kindly whenever you came over.

It affected your dating life in high school because, despite all the boys asking you out, you never said yes to them. Because there was only one man that you wanted and you couldn’t have him. Even in college, you tried to forget him and seek for someone else, but even college boys couldn’t live up to Andy.

Three years went by and you finally returned home and were ready to start your career as a lawyer. Law and crimes always fascinated you because you believed that justice wasn’t as simple as black or white, or the good guy versus the bad guy so it came naturally for you to follow your father’s footsteps.

Your father invited the Barbers over for dinner to celebrate your homecoming. Laurie asked you about the college life and teased if you might’ve had dated a few boys and you nervously refuted the question by telling her that you were too busy with studying. Andy sat across you and you tried so hard not to make eye contact with him but you couldn’t fight the urge and you swore you saw him glance at you once or twice and he’d quickly look away once you caught him.

One afternoon, a couple of days after the dinner, when your father was at the court, and your mother was at her boutique, you decided to come over to the Barbers’ house. Jacob texted you earlier about his Physics homework and asked for your help on doing it. You were going to start working at the firm on Monday so you had plenty of spare time at home, doing whatever you wished for. You were bored, you had been reading books and watching Netflix all day so you decided to spend time helping Jacob with his homework.

You knocked on the door and texted him, “I’m outside.” You were a little early than the agreed time so Andy opened the door instead of the person you expected.

“Mr. Barber, hi! Is Jacob home yet?” You tried your best to keep your composure.

“No, he said he was staying for Math. He didn’t tell you?”

“Uh, he must’ve forgotten. He asked me earlier to help him with his homework and I thought I could come by early to hang out, but it’s fine, I’ll just come back later. Thanks, Mr. Barber.”

“You could come inside and wait for Jacob here if you want?” He offered.

“Um, are you sure, Mr. Barber? I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“No, please, Laurie hasn’t come home yet, and I’d appreciate the company. And just call me Andy.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. I’ve got no one to talk to at home yet, anyway. Except for my cat who only comes to me when she’s hungry.”

He chuckled at the joke as he closed the door behind you. “You want anything to drink?”

“Coffee would be nice, thank you Mr. Barber.”

He gave you a look at the nickname. “Sorry, I meant, Andy.”

“You’ve really grown since the last time I saw you, ____. You’ve even gotten good-looking.” He nonchalantly said whilst he was making your coffee. “Milk?”

“Huh?” your heart was beating fast at his flattering words. “Do you want some milk in your coffee?”

“Yes, please.” You gulped, mentally screaming at yourself to keep it together. “Are you saying that I was an ugly duckling, Andy?”

He chuckled, “no, what I meant was, your appearance definitely changed and I like it.” He served the coffee on the dining table where he laid a bunch of papers and a laptop and you tried to maintain your distance despite every cell in your body was begging for you to sit closer to him.

You hoped he couldn’t hear the way your breath hitched so you drank your coffee with shaky hands. He asked you about college or shared some advice in becoming a young lawyer. He also caught you up with stories that you missed while you were away. How he found out Jacob was bullied by this kid in his school and how he and Laurie had been arguing a lot lately.

“I’m sorry about that, Andy. But you two will work it out, what marriage doesn’t have its disputes, right? If you both had made it this far, I’m sure you can make it for many more years.”

“Thanks, ____. Be sure to keep that in mind if a guy starts a quarrel with you, okay?” He sipped his own coffee.

“I’ll have to find a guy first, I guess.”

“Are you not seeing anyone?” He gave you a quizzical look.

“No, just haven’t found the time, I guess.”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re an intelligent and attractive young woman. You should go out and explore.”

“And what if I couldn’t find one that I want, Andy?” You stirred your coffee, unable to look him in the eye.

“What do you want, ____?” He inched his face closer to you, making it hard to breathe. His ocean blue eyes bored into yours, with the kind of look that you never saw before. In this proximity, you could see how his pupils had dilated, filling the rim with darkness lust. And you didn’t question his intentions or what he was thinking but at that moment, you had never wanted him more. And you needed him. You needed him to grant your heart’s greatest desire. Him.

“You,” you voice was barely a whisper. “I want… You.”

“Say it, say it louder.”

“I want you, Andy. I’ve wanted you forever.”

Then as if the time had frozen, he slammed his lips onto yours, nearly causing your chair to fall back if only he didn’t catch you. Andy grabbed your face and kissed you with a burning passion. You shut your eyes, reeling from the swirling emotions in your stomach. It wasn’t butterflies but the whole damn zoo. Andy licked your bottom lip and you parted your mouth for him, allowing his tongue to enter and tangle itself with yours.

You whimpered and you felt Andy smirked at the way your body reacted to him. Andy then stood up and lifted you onto the table, and he slightly pulled your hair back, exposing your neck to him. He began trailing kisses there and his right hand roamed around your body until it reached the hem of your off-the-shoulder top and it travelled to your breast and he toyed with it, pinching the nipple and fondle with the globe.

“Andy…” taking your whimpers as a green light, he moved his hand down to the zipper of your jeans, fumbled with the buttons and he pulled them down just enough for his hand to caress your womanhood. Blood rushed to your cheeks when he felt your arousal. He shoved the G-string aside, allowing his fingers to stroke you.

“If I knew how much you wanted me, I would’ve made a move sooner, baby.”

The coalescence of his voice, his plump lips and his hands touching you all over nearly made you forgot where you were until the act was interrupted by Jacob’s voice from the door, “Dad, I’m home!” Andy quickly stopped his assault on you and let you go. You stood on shaky legs as you tried to smooth over your rumpled top and zip up your jeans.

Luckily, when Jacob found you both in the kitchen, he didn’t suspect anything and you followed him to his room, walking away from Andy as if nothing even happened. And that was the beginning of your doomed affair.

His infidelity carried on for months and none of you had found the strength to break it off. You knew it was wrong in so many ways. You always considered The Barbers as your second family despite your latent feelings for Andy. You’d be letting down so many people if they found out about this affair. Each time you both ran off to find escapism in a secluded place, you were consumed by guilt. Every time you told yourself that you can always stop, that he can always stop, you were choked with words. The desire has rooted itself way too deep and none of you could go back now.

It started in your room and once he’d grown weary of the atmosphere, he’d take you to a motel a little outside of town where nobody really knew who you were and it has now taken you to an empty parking lot. Andy laid on the reclined shotgun seat with his clothes off and his pants around his ankles. You leaned your hand on the window as his cock stretched you open from under.

He loved the way your breasts jiggled with each thrust. You had your shirt lifted just enough to display your breasts for him while your shorts and underwear were thrown off to the backseat. His cock was hitting your G-spot repeatedly, creating tantalizing friction. You writhed above him, screaming his name as loud as you possibly could with your mind disarrayed from his thrusts. He had both of his hands gripping your hips solidly, controlling your move as you rode him.

“After all the time I’ve fucked you, you’re still so tight,” He groaned. He moved one of his hands to breast, pinching the nipple and you mewled from the pleasurable sting. He slid his hand up to your throat, cutting off your airway, suffocating you. Your whimpers your muted but it didn’t stop you from moving up and down on him. His other hand slid under your body, he toyed with your wetness and rubbed your clit, causing you to clench around him. “You gonna cum all over my fat cock, baby?”

His filthy words never failed to arouse you. If anyone had told fifteen years old you that the man you had such admired and respect, though from afar, had a foul mouth during sex, you would’ve told them to piss off because they had no idea what the hell were they talking about, but now you had an explicit, front-row seat view of it, you couldn’t look at him any other way.

The way his cock rutted into you and the way his digits worked you over and over again, while his massive hand made you struggle for air, sent your body into overdrive and you cried out his name as if it was your salvation. Your brain was clouded with ecstasy as he continued to ram into you, chasing his own release.

You lost the power to straddle him and collapsed on top of him. Andy’s hands travelled back into your hips, locking you in place as you were pliable with your prolonged orgasm. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, baby.”

Then Andy emptied his seed into you, filling you up with his load, and he groaned out loud in your ear. You both tried to abate your breathing while he was still sheathed inside you. The closeness felt intimate and comforting and somehow it felt like you were committing treachery. Your limbs were intertwined and you didn’t wanna untangle yourself from him because you knew if you did, he’d drive you home and take the less travelled by road and that would be it.

There was no post-sex cuddling or aftercare. There was no murmuring soft words under a duvet and exchanging tender kisses while basking in the afterglow with him. Because that’s all this was, an illicit affair. All there was after a steamy rendezvous were quick showers to wash off traces of each other as if you didn’t even exist and a spontaneously fabricated tale so the other person wouldn’t know where the other one had truly been.

You wanted to throw things at him and scream, don’t you fucking call me kid or baby, I’m neither of those things. You wanted to hate him for the godforsaken mess he’d turned you into, but you couldn’t. Because he had shown you colours you couldn’t see with anyone else and you couldn’t erase the secret language he taught you from your mind despite the idiotic fool that he made you.

And no matter how many times you witnessed him kissing his wife like a loving spouse would and how long he made you wait for a call, you knew damn well that you’d do it all over again for him in a heartbeat.

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: Sy vs The Kitten 1/1

Title: Sy vs the Kitten (tm) - Round One

Pairing: There is an established coupledom between Sy and The Wife (that’s You! 💕💕) and it is mentioned, but the main showdown is between the Beard and the Claws. Captain Syverson x You

Rating: Fluff fluff fluffity fluff. You want it, I got it for you. 💖💖

Summary: A kitten, a frosty morning, and a gruff green beret with a heart of gold.

Word count: 1975

@angreav​ and @angelicwolf98​  as promised :)

also @thelastsock​ and @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​  I JUST saw your exchange regarding a feral reader/Sy. This isn’t it, but it’s close ;)

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

In Mid-November, it was expected to be cold in the mountains of northern Montana, but, when he awoke to a murky Friday morning, it wasn't just cold, it was down right freezing. With his eyes closed, he lay in warmth and security of his bed thinking how easy it would be to merely turn over and go back to sleep.

But, there was work to be done and with a sigh he sat up, pushed aside the heavy quilts and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Scrubbing both hands through his closely cropped hair and feeling his sleep warmed skin prickling in the chill, Sy stayed there a moment longer and mentally ticked over his to-do list.

Behind him, hidden under the mound of quilts, his wife groaned, clenched into a tight ball and he received an ear full of muffled complaining telling him to either get back into bed and put that furnace he called a body to good use or get up, but damn him for letting out the heat!

Chuckling, he nearly lay down again, desperate to do the former, but as he had to start his day, he reluctantly chose the latter. He got up, spread the rest of the bed clothes about his wife's already buried form and then fondly whacked her bum with an open hand, earning an incomprehensible string of words that may or may not have been  a promise of bodily harm.

Specifically /his/ body coming to harm.

Amused by her idle threat, he left her to sleep and quietly went into the adjoining bathroom.

Sy showered and dressed and followed by his rescue dog, Aika,  who met him on the stairway landing, he descended to the lower level where the scent of coffee greeted him.  The previous night, his ever thoughtful wife had programmed the coffee maker to ensure that hot coffee was waiting for him when he got up and even as he poured a cup for himself, he longed to go upstairs, get into bed and pull her back into his arms.

He grumbled to himself,  as the want of his sweet-smelling wife rose like a aching knot in his throat.  He was halfway between putting the cup back onto the counter when the big shaggy Alsatian bumped expectantly against his legs, distracting him.

'Right, right, Aika. I remember,' he laughed and he gave her, her morning snack.

No use wasting more time, he thought.

A stiff dark brown canvas jacket hung from a hook by the back door. Shrugging into it and pulling on a matching hand knitted beanie (one of many homecoming presents from his wife)  he opened the door and stepped out into the cold, crisp morning.

Cradling the steaming cup of coffee, Sy stood on the wide back porch surveying the stretch of land and the forest beyond. He  loved spending his downtime at the family ranch as it was so far and away from his normal chaotic hell. The air was clean and fresh and the only gunshot he heard was the occasional crack of a distant hunting rifle as someone took down their dinner. He found clarity and serenity at the ranch and the quality time he spent with his wife there was sufficient to keep him sated and strong enough to face going back into service.

His thoughts drifted to the woman in his bed again and a contented smile curved his lips. He was definitely going to finish up his chores quickly and spend the rest of the day worshipping her luscious body. That would certainly warm her up.

Sy really had only one job that morning before breakfast and it was  to ensure that the corn silos were all buttoned up and that the paperwork on their contents was properly filled out. That meant getting into the truck and driving the half mile of dirt road to the edge of the ranch where the trio of silver silos stood.

He put his now empty coffee mug on the the narrow table sat between two rocking chairs by the back door and whistling softly to the dog, he trotted down the stairs and walked towards his truck.

Aika, who had been curled on a soft handmade dog bed at his feet, busily smelling whatever Alsatians could smell between porch deck boards, snorted and pushed up and to her feet. She yawned, squeaked and shook her lanky body, but remained standing on the top step looking down at him.

Sy looked back at her and she regarded him placidly. He knew that Aika loved being in the mountains and was becoming very accustomed to the luxurious life he had been able to provide for her. But sometimes she just wanted to laze around and be spoiled.

'Aika,' he said gently, patting his thigh. 'C'mon, girl. We'll get this over with, ok? Then breakfast.'

The word 'breakfast' perked her up and her long tail shot into the air behind her. She wagged it furiously but instead of following Sy down the stairs, she turned and went to sniff around the back door. She pawed it a little and barked to be let in, for breakfast was only served inside.

'Aika!' he laughed. 'Come on now, girl. C'mon.'

She whipped into a circle and looked longingly at the door before sighing and bouncing down the stairs.

Sy fished his truck keys out of his jacket pocket and walked up the gravel path to where he'd parked the truck. Aika followed and then alerted by something,  stopped suddenly, and frantically sniffed the air. She hunched to snuffle at the front grill of the truck before dropping flat to wedge herself beneath the chassis.

'Aika!' Sy snapped going  to see what had captivated the dog so much. 

He crouched, reaching for her collar to try to drag her out from beneath the truck. 'What's goin' on with you.'

Aika didn't give up.

She continued to bark and bark until he relented and popped the hood. He used a small Maglite to quickly scan the top of engine for the thing that had whipped his dog into a frenzy. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary and about to slam shut the hood again, a small noise caused him to pause.

Aika heard it too and barked once, inquisitively. Sy glanced down at the dog who tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

Sy stepped up on the chrome front bumper, ducked under the raised hood and leaned in for a closer look. He wove the torch's beam in and around the engine parts and he huffed out a noise of surprise when the stark white circle of light fell upon a small grey furry lump.

Said furry lump promptly lifted big watery eyes, squinted in the bright light and meowed.

This barely audible sound sent Aika into another frenzy of barking and she attempted to clamber up onto the bumper and into the engine.

'Stop it! Sit!' Sy chided her glancing back at the house and hoping the noise hadn't disturbed his sleeping wife. With a huff Aika obediently plopped her rump onto the gravel and waited.

'Damn,' he muttered, thinking that if Aika hasn't alerted him to their stowaway, he would have had a mess on his hands later.

Sy reached into the engine and tried to curve his big hand about the tiny kitten body but his heroics were immediately rewarded with the violent wrath of teeth and claws. With a startled yelp of pain, he snatched his hand back and involuntarily jerked up and banged the back of his head against the underside of the hood.

He bit down hard on another swear and rubbed the back of his throbbing head. Sy glanced down at Aika who whined with apparent sympathy. But, it was probably more amusement than sympathy.

'Yeah, thanks,' he grumbled in response. 'Aw right.'

Clearing his throat, Sy trained the light on the kitten again who now glared up at him with as much kitteny menace as it could muster.

He tried again to fish the fuzzball from its hiding place but unable to get a good grip, he drew back again.

Need two hands, he thought.

He slid the tail end of the Maglight into his mouth and using one hand, he corralled the kitten into his other and managed to squish it gently into a hissing ball between his lightly cupped hands. Sy held the kitten against his side, stored the torch in his back pocket and then rearranged the kitten to get a better hold on it.  Nose up in the air, Aika tore circles around him, wanting to get closer to the dew wet and shivering kitten.

'Now, where's yer mama?' Sy asked the sad, big-eyed face.

The kitten meowed pitifully, made an attempt to escape but decided instead to nestle into the heat of the man's comforting hands. And, with a sigh, he tucked the ball of fur and claws into the breast pocket of his over-shirt to help keep the kitten warm with his body.

'Anybody else?' Sy asked Aika and nodded to the truck.

The dog stared up at him, much too interested in the pocket hitch hiker to answer.  Sy stepped back up onto the bumper and not only finished his investigation of the engine from the top, but also from the bottom.

Nothing. All clear of sheltering fur balls.

'Right,' he said to both animals now in his protection. 'Let's go.'

He helped Aika jump up into the tall cab and slamming the door, he walked around the truck to the driver's side and climbed in. Rescuing kittens aside, there were still chores to be done.

**

There was a woman in the kitchen when he returned with the kitten and Aika in tow.

She looked up from from her coffee and circular needles and when he finished hanging up his jacket and stuffing the beanie into the jacket's pocket, she put aside her unfinished work.

'I promised you a beating,' she teased with a bright sunny smile.

Sy looked at her a moment, hand protectively cupped about the lump in his plaid shirt's breast pocket.

'What?'

He'd forgotten about her sleepy threats.

'For this morning.'

He thought a moment and then laughed a dirty little confident laugh.

'Oh,' he replied and supressed a grin.

He approached her and leaned in to kiss her forehead. When she lifted her face, he kissed her lips.  'Whenever you want to throw down,' he said, grabbing her chin between his fingers to keep her head up. 'I'm ready.'

She smiled with interest before she was distracted.

'What's that?' she asked, tapping the back of his hand still cupped against his shirt.

Sy drew back, gently extracted the sleepy kitten and presented it to her.

'It was hiding in the engine of my truck,' he explained and smiled a little when she reached both hands out to accept the kitten with a soft coo.

Sy poured another cup of coffee and leaned against the counter to watch his wife walk around the kitchen to find appropriate materials to clean and swaddle the kitten. She opened a can of tuna and they both watched the animal eat its fill.  

Once the kitten had fallen asleep in its new warm cocoon, she handed the bundle to Sy. Kissing his bearded cheek, she smiled.

'Once you save a life...' she said and left him alone in the kitchen with his new fluffy responsibility.

Aika sat before him and watched the exchange intently. Sy leaned down and presented the bundle to the dog who sniffed it excitedly and then immediately began licking the tiny head.

'Aw right, aw right. Take it easy.'

Sy straightened and continued to drink his coffee as he studied the little pointy face.

'I'm responsible for you now. I'll take care of ya, don't worry.'

-end :)

[skywalkerstyles]

Kissing Lessons pt7

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Warnings: domestic violence, abuse, angst, fluff and more angst

I’m still in disbelief when I wake up the next morning. I look at my arm, it’s bruised, you can see the impression of his fingers. I put long sleeves on. When I look in the mirror I can see the bruises on my chin. I put concealer over that. No need to have anyone else worry.

Except Katsuki.

He saw the bruises. Does he know? I’m a terrible liar and I’m nervous to face him, but when Mei knocks on the door telling me breakfast is ready I take a deep breath and head out to face the music.

He doesn’t look at me, speak to me or acknowledge me in any way during breakfast. I try to act normally, but the tension radiating off of him is palpable.

“What crawled up your ass this morning?” Mei asks him, Katsuki shoots her a glare and says nothing. Nobody comments again after that.

I’m washing the dishes when he comes up beside me. He says nothing, just begins rinsing and drying them as I wash them. “What are you doing Y/N?” He asks me after his mother leaves the room.

“What?” I ask, unable to look him in the eye.

“You lied to me.” his voice is filled with hurt, I scrub the dish in my hand hard, trying to remain passive. “You said Ash wasn’t at that party...So what? You don’t trust me now?”

“I do.” he rolls his eyes, turning to face me, he places his hand on my wrist, and takes the plate from me, dropping it back into the soapy water.

“Then tell me the truth...Did Ash do this to you?” Before I can protest he rolls up my sleeve, his eyes widen in horror as he takes in the purple and blue markings around my elbow. I pull my arm away, rolling my sleeve back down.

“You already know the answer.”

“Yeah cuz you’re a terrible liar.” he lifts my chin gently, looking me in the eye. “Are you gonna see him again?” I pause, trying to think of what to say, but I take too long. He sighs, dropping his hand from my face. “Y/N….I know you don’t want me to tell you what to do-”

“Then don’t.” I turn around, flicking my hands as I march from the kitchen. I’m irritated. I just need to talk to Ash. Get his side of the story and everything will be okay.

“If you don’t slow down and think about this you’ll end up just like your mother!” That stops me immediately. His face is red, eyes troubled. He lowers his voice. “I don’t….fuck,...I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Fuck you.” I say. That hits him and I instantly regret the words. He looks heartbroken, unsure of what to say now. “Ash cares about me. He won’t do it again.” Katsuki snorts crudely and rolls his eyes again.

“That’s what they all say.”

Monday rolls around all to quickly. I’m nervous about what’s going to happen when I see Ash. I don’t know what happened after the party, if he even remembers what he did. My elbow still hurts but the bruises on my chin are fading. I see him as soon as I step inside the building. He’s standing by my locker, a box of candy in his hands. I try to smile but my face feels tight.

“Hey,” he holds out the chocolate to me.

“Hey.” I take the chocolate and open my locker. He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans against the lockers.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry….about the other night. I didn’t mean it….I really didn’t. I just….”

“It’s okay.” I pull out my history book, placing the chocolates carefully in the text book’s spot.

“No it’s not,” he shakes his head and lightly places his hands on my hips, I still at the contact. “I would never hurt you...I’m so sorry.” he kisses me, it’s mild and delicate, and not at all like the monster I met on saturday night. I decide to give him another shot. He pulls away and wraps his arm around me as we walk down the hall, kissing my hair as we go.

“Thank you for the chocolates,” I say as we get to my classroom. He releases me with a smile, kissing my hand. I love how affectionate he’s being.

“Meet me at my car after school. I’ll drive you home.” I give him a slight wave before entering the classroom.

The day passes quickly. I feel much better after talking with Ash, I knew I was overthinking things. Katsuki is waiting beside my locker. I look at him confused. I had already let Mei know I didn’t need a ride. Besides, Things have been awkward since the argument in the kitchen. I don’t really know what he wants at this point from me. I feel like he’s hot and cold.

“Ready to go home?” he asks.

“Ash’s bringing me.” Katsuki narrows his eyes.

“Absolutely not.” I scoff.

“You’re not my father.”

“Y/N.” he grabs my wrist as I turn away from him and pulls me close, his eyes are serious. “Y/N….He bruised you.” he whispers the last part. I pull my hand away, taking a couple steps back.

“Katsuki stop. We talked okay. It’s done. Let it go.” he opens his mouth to speak and I raise my hand. “Enough Katsuki. I’ll be home in a bit.” I leave him standing there at my locker, I don’t look back.

Ash’s car is parked at the far end of the parking lot. I hurry over to it, seeing that it’s running and he’s waiting for me. I open the passenger door quickly and got in, shutting it quickly behind me. He doesn’t say anything.

I turn to look at him, ready to apologize for making him wait on me. But I don’t even get the chance. He turns, an expression on his face that I have never seen before-distorted in anger- and backhands me across the face. The force sends my head slamming into the passenger window. He grabs the front of my shirt, bawling it in his fist and yanking me towards him.

“Where the fuck were you?” he snarls, his eyes are wild and I’m scared. I can taste blood in my mouth. He reminds me of my father.

“Katsuki-” I gasp. “He was-” he slaps me again, keeping his hold on me tightly.

“I am so sick of that dude I fucking swear,” he scream in my face. I am terrified. I stammer, trying to explain, he shoves me back, releasing me and putting the car in drive. He speeds off before I can even get my seatbelt on.

He rants, the whole way to my house. I cower against the door, hand pressed to my cheek. It stings.

“....And I don’t wanna see you talking to him again okay? I’m over it.” he slams on the breaks outside of my house. I jerk forward and slam back into the seat. My head is throbbing and I can feel tears burning against my eyes. He grabs my chin, very much in the same way he did Saturday night, forcing me to look at him. “If you just do what I say things will be easier for you.” he slams his lips against mine hard, I scream internally from the pain.

I quietly enter the house, listening for any hint of sound or movement. It doesn’t seem like anyone is home yet. I shut myself in the bathroom and flick on the light.

My cheek is pink, it may not bruise but my lip is swollen, blood trickling down my chin. The concealer I put on my chin has rubbed off, the bruise looks a bit darker. I lean forward in disbelief, touching my face and wincing as I do so.

“My god.” I mumble to myself. “My God….”

The cycle continues all week. Everytime I do something Ash doesn’t like, as soon as we are alone he hits me. He keeps telling me that things will be easier if I listen to him. I try to. I really do. But nothing I do seems to be good enough, satisfying enough for him. He brings me presents, apologizes, promises not to do it again, and then as soon as I do something.

The morning of homecoming, I wake up feeling anxious. I have a panic attack in the shower. I don’t tell anyone. I don’t really want to go at this point, even as I roll over and look at Mei sleeping away blissfully. I know I would have a good time if it were going to be just us….But it’s not.

I get out of bed and pad to the kitchen. Katsuki’s there, sitting at the kitchen table reading a book and eating cereal, he glances at me as I walk by but says nothing. I’ve caught him watching me quite a bit lately. It perks my curiosity, but I never ask him about it. I get my own bowl and pour my own cereal before sitting down beside him.

“So….”He says, trying to start conversation. “You excited for tonight?” I shrug my shoulders. I appreciate the effort, but I’m still angry with him for what he said about me being like my mother.

“Not really…”

“You wanna stay home?” I shake my head.

“Mei would kill me.” he smirks, nodding his head in agreement.

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” we the rest of our respective meals in silence. The awkward tension relaxing a bit.

By ten, Mei and I are huddled on the couch in the living room watching YouTube updo and makeup tutorials. Matsuki makes us lunch and we eat while we decide on our hairstyles. Everything moves quickly from there. Mei is blasting music so loudly it shakes the floorboards in her room. It’s a good thing their father is working today. We would have gotten into so much trouble.

Around four, we’re scrambling to finish, I try to put on my dress on in the bathroom, but Mei calls for help at the hair station, I open the door to sneak across the hall at the exact time Katsuki comes out of his bedroom too, and he gets an eyeful of me in a strapless black bra and matching underwear.

“Oh my god,” he says, and claps a hand over his eyes. “Will you put on some fucking clothes?” His cheeks flush bright red.

“You know not to come out when we are getting ready. What if I had been your sister.” he makes a disgusted noise.

“I need to go to the bathroom!”

I put my hands on my hips and wait until he lowers his hand, when he sees I’m still standing there he groans covering his eyes again, “Go away.”

“Why?” I smirk teasingly, taking a step toward him.”See something you like?” I feel bold, I know I’m crossing some line, but teasing him is too much fun to pass up.

He opens his eyes and stares me down, as if to say, Is that how you want to play this? And when I keep my stance, he accepts the challenge, his eyes wander all the way down my body and back up, resting for a moment on the fading bruise on my arm before finding it’s place on my face again. I suddenly feel very small, rooted to the spot as he steps closer to me.

He swipes my hair back from my face and whispers in my ear, “Thanks for the show.” I can feel him grinning against my cheek, like the little shit he is. It feels almost normal, like how we used to be. Before the kissing lesson. Before Ash. He steps around me, giving me one last look over before winking and going into the bathroom.

The boys will pick us up around seven. No one wanted to go to dinner first so we waited until it got close enough to just go to the dance. My dress is lavender colored, it looks like a ballgown. Mei wore it in a beauty pageant she was in a few years ago. It’s amazing it fits me, but I love it either way. I grab my wristlet off the bed in Mei’s room and head down the hallway, Katsuki sitting on the couch when I pass by the living room. He calls out to me.

“Hey.” I do a small spin, grinning at him. “What do you think?” he studies me, my hair and makeup, my dress. It feels like he’s staring at me forever before I finally get a response.

“You look….You look-”

“Hey!” I jump, turning to see Matsuki behind me. She’s grinning at me, it’s infectious. “Lookin’ good sister!” she pulls me into a quick hug. “Mei said the guys are here, they’re waiting for you.” I nod, throwing Katsuki a quick smile before hurrying to the front door.

I sit beside Ash in the back of Kai’s SUV. His hand squeezes my thigh hard. He’s angry I wasn’t waiting for him at the door with Mei. Katsuki had told him I was talking to Katsuki. He leaned over and whispered to me viciously, “When we get to this dance….” He doesn’t finish and I know what’s going to happen. It makes my blood boil. Katsuki’s words about my mother ring in my ears. He was right.

When we get to the dance I jump out of the car, slamming the door. Mei and Kai walk around the front of the car while Ash meets me behind it. He stands in front of me, towering over me. “I told you not to talk to that fucking guy. Why don’t you ever listen?” He pushes his forehead against mine. Hard. Fear rises like the tide,but I shove it down. I will not let him conquer me. I shove him away. He stumbles, caught off guard.

"I don't think I wanna do this anymore." I say to Ash. He looks surprised, taken aback. But I won't be my mother. I will be better than her.

"It's that guy isnt it? That Katsuki guy, Mei’s brother."

"No-"

"I've seen the way he looks at you. But you are mine. You belong to me." I grit my teeth, I have to be brave.

"I'm done Ash....I don't want to see you again."

"You want me to ask for forgiveness again? You're an ungrateful bitch you know that." He raises his hand and I close my eyes, waiting for the slap. Instead I hear the undeniable shriek of my best friend and the pound of heels against pavement.

"You don't touch her!" I look just in time to see Mei swing her purse at Ash, hitting him square in the face. He raises his arms to cover his face as she continues to hit him with it, screaming at him. “What the fuck is your problem?! Were you seriously bout to hit her?” Kai stands off to the side, clearly not willing to step into Mei’s path of rage.

“I wasn’t!” Ash shouted. “I wasn’t gonna-” she punches him, blood spurts from his fingers as he covers his nose with his hand. “Mother fucker!” he shouts angrily, stepping towards Mei.

“Hey man,” Kai does step in now, moving forward slightly. “I think you’d better go.” Ash glares at me for a moment, before turning around and walking towards the end of the parking lot. I’m shaking, my nerves on fire, I stood up. I actually stood up for myself.

Mei embraces me, wrapping her arms around me tightly. “Y/N. Are you okay?” she asks, pulling back to look at me. I nod and pull her in again, unwilling to let her go. I am so grateful to have her in my life. But I’m not much in the mood to dance and party now.

One of the teachers lets me use the office phone to call home. Katsuki agrees to pick me up and Mei sits outside waiting with me, sending Kai off to hang out with his friends. I tell Mei everything. She’s shocked and a little hurt that I kept it from her.

“You’ve been through so much shit Y/N,” she says in amazement. “I don’t know how you handle it.”

“I don’t really have a choice.” she smiles sadly, laying her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t tell me.” I rest my cheek on the top of her head.

“It’s not your fault Mei....Thank you”

“I would have killed him if I could have.” Katsuki pulls up a few minutes later. Mei hugs me once more before walking back into the auditorium. I watch her, to make sure she gets inside. The car is warm, no radio on as I climb in. Katsuki glances at me as we begin the ten minute drive home.

“That was quick.” he says finally. My forehead rests against the window, I watch the houses go by.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?’ He asks. I sigh.

“Ash was mad that I was talking to you when he came to pick me up. We got into a fight. He tried to hit me but Mei stopped him.” I explain how Mei hit Ash with her purse and finally socked him a good one. Katsuki smiles, proud of his sister. I feel a little better as we pull up in front of our house. He parks the car but neither of us gets out.

“I’m sorry Y/N….” I look at him, his eyes are distant, far off, he’s staring at the street in front of him. “But I’m glad you finally realize you deserve better.” He smiles, it’s small and beautiful. The adrenaline is still pumping through my veins. I lean over, placing my hand on his cheek, I tilt his face towards mine. His eyes hold a question, a curiosity. I answer it by pressing my mouth to his and kissing him as passionately as I can.

He’s breathless and wide eyed when I pull away. It’s a beautiful, satisfying expression.

“Yeah,” I trace his bottom lip with my fingers. He never takes his eyes off me. “I deserve someone like you.”