#i just want the lecturers to know the details and just How intense she is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marsplastic13 · 5 months ago

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'Complicated' (part 14) - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Idea - Kaz Brekker hires a prostitute to overcome his touch aversion, and be a better man for Inej, but things take an unxepected turn.

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Prostitute!Reader, (had to use y/n because I'm bad at names)

Genre: modern AU, slow burn

word count: 5.8k

notes: let me know what you think!

@millercontracting @coldmermaidhologram @syd649

@luffysprincess @cryptidghostgirl @beekeepingageissome

@hufflepuff-16 @lukepattersin @jay-is-a-pinguin

For the next few days, Kaz and Y/N let themselves get lost in the simple pleasures of their trip. But the looming task of preparing Y/N to lie to the police hung over them like a shadow. Kaz knew it was time to shift gears.

Sitting on the couch, Y/N watched as Kaz paced back and forth, his mind clearly in strategy mode. He looked like a professor preparing to teach a critical lesson, his sharp eyes focused on the details only he could see.

Kaz finally stopped pacing and looked at her, his voice calm but firm. “They won’t accuse you of anything, but they’ll want to talk to you. Your ex was abusive, there’s a record of it. You went to the police and the hospital because of him multiple times. Now that he’s taken his own life, they’ll be interested in whether you had any contact, if he was still stalking you, or if you noticed any signs of what he was going to do.”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably on the couch, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “Okay, what should I say?” she asked, her eyes searching his for guidance.

Kaz stood in front of her, his posture confident, like a teacher about to deliver an important lecture. “Tell the truth until the day of my birthday. After that, stick to the story we discussed.”

Y/N sighed, gathering her thoughts. “So, I was getting ready to go to my…” she hesitated, feeling the weight of the words. Kaz raised his brows, urging her to continue. “...my boyfriend’s birthday party, but when he picked me up, we went to the airport instead of the restaurant.”

Kaz couldn’t help the smirk that played on his lips. “And who’s your boyfriend, miss?” he asked, teasingly.

Y/N rolled her eyes annoyed. “Kaz Brekker,” she replied, clearly unamused by how much he was enjoying this. “How much are you liking this? Why can’t we just say we’re friends?”

Kaz leaned back, his expression serious now. “Because it’s less suspicious. Why would a friend just surprise you with a trip abroad?”

Y/N shot him a look. “I don’t know, why would a friend kill someone for you?”

Kaz’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone more intense. “Remember, no unnecessary details. If they talk to you again, you have to be able to say the same things, no doubts, no hesitation.”

She nodded, mentally going over the details again, trying to make the story her own.

Kaz leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers as he asked, “Why didn’t you come back for the funeral?”

Y/N took a deep breath, knowing this was a tricky one. “Well, as I’ve repeatedly told the police, he was very abusive. So, yeah, I’m shocked by what he did, but it wasn’t my place to be there. We broke up a long time ago.”

Kaz’s eyes scanned her face, reading her every expression. “Hm, we’ll work on that,” he muttered, before sitting down beside her on the couch. Y/N immediately rested her head on his legs, seeking comfort in his presence.

For a moment, the seriousness of their situation hung in the air, but Y/N couldn’t help but ask, her voice tinged with worry, “Are we going to be fine?”

Kaz’s expression softened, a rare smile curving his lips as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Of course. Our story is solid. We just need to stick to it.”

He felt her relax a little against him, but he could still sense her anxiety as his hand moved gently through her hair.

“Do you want to take a bath with me? That bathtub looks insanely big,” Y/n suggested, with a smirk.

Kaz had overcome the majority of his issues, but mixing bodies and water seemed like a recipe for a disaster, even if the idea was really tempting. “I don't think I would be able to do it without having a bad panic attack, maybe another time,” he said gently, his voice betraying a hint of regret.

Y/n nodded, understanding. “Can you keep me company?”

They both went to the bathroom, and Kaz studied her intently as she began to undress. The sight of her bare skin always captivated him, but he was careful not to let his gaze linger too long. “Your side looks better,” he observed, noting the fading bruise on her rib.

“Right?” she said, glancing at herself in the mirror. “It feels better too. Maybe he lost his touch,” she joked harshly.

Kaz watched as she immersed herself into the hot water, swearing silently that he would definitely work on solving his problem with water. The steam rose around her, and she hummed in satisfaction, closing her eyes. “Are you sure you don't want to jump in?” she asked, her voice soft and inviting.

“Trust me, if I could, I wouldn't hesitate,” he replied, the longing clear in his tone.

She smiled, eyes still closed. “Do you want to try holding my hand?”

Kaz considered it for a moment, the thought both tempting and terrifying. “Maybe we'll work on that when we get back,” he decided, his voice firm yet gentle.

“Your call, baby. Can you get my vape?”

Kaz nodded and came back with her vape and a bottle of wine, feeling a surge of satisfaction when he saw her eyes light up. He poured her a glass and brought the vape to her lips, letting her take a deep drag.

“You're spoiling me,” she laughed, the sound like music to his ears.

Kaz made a crooked smile, “Told you I would,” he said before taking a few drags himself, settling on the stool next to her.

“We're not dating,” she said, her tone teasing but with an edge of seriousness.

“I know,” he replied, meeting her gaze.

“We never will,” she continued, testing him.

“Alright,” he agreed, his voice steady.

They locked eyes as he brought the vape back to her lips. The intimacy of the moment hung between them, unspoken but palpable.

“You know, my side is still sore,” Y/n said after a while, her voice low and seductive, “but my mouth...” She licked her lips suggestively, her eyes locked onto his.

Kaz shook his head, feeling a mix of excitement and unease. “The idea feels weird.”

“Why?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, avoiding her gaze. “Do you really like it that much?”

“Seeing grown men squirm and twist under me? Absolutely,” she replied with a smirk, rising from the water and splashing him playfully with her hand.

Kaz chuckled, grabbing a towel and passing it to her. “We should start thinking about going back home.”

“We should,” she whispered, her tone softening as she wrapped the towel around herself.

They settled into bed, the effects of drinking on an empty stomach making them both feel pleasantly lightheaded. Their slow kisses deepened, hands roaming each other’s bodies with a blend of tenderness and urgency.

“Kaz, I want you,” Y/n murmured, her voice breathy with desire.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said against her lips, his concern evident in his tone.

“I don’t care,” she moaned, pulling him closer. “I’ll be fine, I swear.”

“You’re injured,” he reminded her, his hands resting gently on her hips, his concern evident in his eyes.

“I’m sure you’ll be very careful,” she whispered, her fingers threading through his hair as she guided him closer. “Please, I’ll stay on top.”

Kaz hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with the fear of causing her pain. But the look in her eyes, the way she was holding him, reassured him. He kissed her deeply, their breaths mingling as they moved together, slow and careful.

He was hyper-aware of her every reaction, his hands gliding over her body with a delicate touch. Y/n’s soft gasps and moans encouraged him, her fingers digging into his back as she pulled him closer. He could feel her body responding to him, her movements gentle but insistent. Y/n was naked under the towel, while Kaz remained half clothed. The urgency of having him without even giving the time to undress made him feel desired in a way he never thought could be possible.

She slowly slid on him, moving without giving herself time to adjust. He held his breath, every fiber of his being focused on her. Her warmth enveloped him, and he felt a surge of raw, primal satisfaction.

“You really don’t like foreplay,” he commented, trying to mask his awe with a teasing tone.

“You noticed?” she laughed, biting his earlobe lightly, sending a shiver down his spine.

Kaz smirked, but his worry never fully dissipated. “Does it hurt?” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he paused to look into her eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort.

She shook her head, her lips curving into a reassuring smile. “Enough to keep things interesting.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I should’ve expected that,” he murmured, his hands sliding up her sides, feeling the soft curve of her waist beneath his fingers.

Kaz's movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust measured to ensure her comfort. The towel slipped away, leaving her completely exposed beneath him, her skin flushed and glistening in the soft light.

Y/n’s nails raked gently down his back, his hips rising to meet her rhythm. His body responded eagerly, matching her every move. The heat between them built steadily, their breaths mingling in the intimate space they shared. The urgency and rawness of their connection made every moment electric, every sensation magnified.

Kaz felt a mixture of emotions. The desire to protect her clashed with his primal need to be close to her. He marveled at her strength, the way she embraced the pain and turned it into pleasure.

“You're so good, love,” she whispered into his mouth, her words sending a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah?” he responded, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. He wanted to believe her, but doubt lingered.

Kaz knew that she was used to doing pretty heavy stuff. He wasn't sure if she was restraining herself with him because she thought he couldn’t keep up, or if she was giving him time to understand how he liked it. The uncertainty pressed heavily on him, making him question his every move.

“Of course, baby,” she said, cupping his face and kissing him gently. Her touch was both tender and reassuring.

“Are you sure?” he asked between heavy breaths, needing her validation more than he cared to admit.

“You're perfect,” she murmured, her voice filled with genuine affection. Her praise reassured him a bit, but he couldn’t shake the underlying sense of inadequacy. He wanted to be everything she needed, to meet her every expectation.

As their bodies moved together, Kaz focused on her reactions, seeking to please her in every way he could. Her soft gasps and moans guided him, each sound a small victory that bolstered his confidence. He traced the curve of her spine with his fingers, feeling the slight tremor that ran through her at his touch.

Her hips moved in a steady rhythm, her eyes locked onto his. There was something in her gaze that made his heart race, desire and something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both passionate and tender.

“You’re amazing,” she whispered against his mouth, her breath hot and urgent. “Don’t doubt yourself.”

Kaz swallowed hard, her words sinking in. He wanted to believe her, to let go of his insecurities. He deepened the kiss, pouring all his feelings into it. The way she responded, her body arching towards his, made him feel more confident.

“It’s so good,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to his troubled mind.

Her words filled the empty spaces in his heart, giving him a sense of purpose. But a voice in his head kept saying that she was lying, that there was no way she could enjoy that. His mind raced thinking about the screams that her clients made her do, the things he heard her say and ask for while staying outside her room.

She never screamed for him.

“Y/n, wait, I can't—” he said, stopping her hips, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, scanning his face with concern.

“Are you sure that you like having sex with me?” he blurted out, his voice filled with insecurity.

Y/n frowned, clearly taken aback. “What? Of course, Kaz. Why are you asking me that?”

He sighed, feeling the embarrassment burning on his cheeks. “You’re used to all this crazy stuff, and I... I have zero experience.”

“So?” she replied, her tone gentle but firm.

“Are you sure you’re not bored?” he asked, the question hanging heavy in the air.

“Did I sound bored?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, her voice carrying both surprise and hurt.

“Well, no, but—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Kaz, oh my god, I’m not faking it. I never would,” she said, her eyes wide with genuine concern.

Kaz looked into her eyes, searching for any hint of deception, but all he saw was sincerity. He wanted to believe her, but the nagging voice in his head wouldn’t quiet down. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words.

“I’ve heard you with your clients, the things you say, the way you sound,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I can’t help but compare. Rationally, I know, it's stupid, but-” he admitted, feeling the weight of his insecurities.

Y/n’s expression softened as she cupped his face in her hands. “Needing reassurance is not stupid, love. I imagine this could be a bit weird sometimes.”

“It is,” he conceded, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Y/n moved to lay on the bed, gently guiding his head to rest on her stomach. Her fingers combed through his hair soothingly, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

“Kaz, I would never fake it, I really like having sex with you. It's completely different from being with a client,” she said softly.

“Yeah?” he asked, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her navel.

“Of course. I mean, the mechanics are the same, but emotionally speaking, it's completely different.”

“And why is that?” he probed, seeking more reassurance.

Y/n sighed, her hand continuing to stroke his hair. “Because we care about each other.”

“I care a lot about you,” he whispered, his voice heavy with emotion.

“I know, I can see that,” she replied, her voice full of warmth.

“Are you in love with me?” he blurted out, immediately cursing himself for asking such a loaded question.

“Kaz, don’t put me in this situation,” she sighed, closing her eyes as if trying to shut out the weight of the question.

“I want to know, Y/n. You said it to me,” he pressed, his heart pounding.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration.

“Why?” he asked, his curiosity and need for clarity pushing him forward.

“I don’t like my answer,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kaz hummed thoughtfully, his eyes studying her face. He moved his hand to tangle it with hers, and she held him, a small smile playing on her lips without opening her eyes.

***

Packing to go back home was more chaotic than they had expected. Kaz was darting around the house, retrieving his scattered belongings, while Y/n stood amidst a mountain of clothes and souvenirs.

“I can't believe you're so messy,” Y/n commented, watching him with an amused expression.

“I'm not messy,” Kaz retorted, his tone defensive. “I'm just having a hard time remembering where I left my things. Are you done?”

Y/n glanced at the array of items around her, shaking her head. “I think I need another suitcase.”

Kaz paused, surveying the chaos. “Maybe we shouldn't move in together,” he quipped with a smirk.

“Pity, I was accepting the idea,” she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“Are you sure you can't put some things in my luggage?” he asked, trying to help her manage the clutter.

“I already did,” she laughed, leaning in to kiss his jaw.

Kaz sighed, trying to formulate a plan to fit all of her stuff into some suitcase they might have to buy. He had to check again for half of his stuff, all in time to not miss their flight, and oh, she was kissing him. “Y/n, let me think for a second.”

She hummed against his neck, her lips sending shivers down his spine.

“Y/n, come on,” he chuckled, trying to focus despite the distraction.

She laughed at his reaction, stepping back to give him some space. “Alright, alright. I'll finish packing.”

Kaz watched her for a moment, a fond smile on his lips. He couldn’t help but admire her as she deftly folded clothes and organized her things. The way she moved, even in the midst of chaos, had a certain grace to it that captivated him.

He shook his head, snapping back to reality. He needed to find his missing items. With renewed determination, Kaz began methodically searching the apartment, checking under beds, behind curtains, and in drawers.

***

When Kaz's car stopped in his parking spot, he still couldn't believe they had managed to catch their flight on time. As he expected, the police were waiting at the airport, and Y/n had been impressive in dealing with them. His arm never left her waist as she talked about the romantic surprise trip he had planned. The officers left, mentioning they might need to talk to her again, but it seemed more procedural than anything serious.

Y/n turned to him, leaning back in the car seat. “Are you sure you still want me around? We've been together for a week.”

Kaz shrugged as he got out. “What's one more night?”

They stumbled into his apartment in a flurry of suitcases, hands, and kisses. The moment felt electric until a voice cut through the air.

“Kaz.”

He froze, looking up. Nina and Matthias were seated on his couch, Nina glaring daggers at him.

“How many people have your keys?” Y/n asked through clenched teeth.

“I swear I'll change the lock,” he sighed, addressing Nina. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, just checking on you,” Nina replied, getting to her feet and crossing her arms.

“Hi, I'm—” Y/n began.

“Oh, I know who you are,” Nina interrupted coldly. “I had a lovely chat with Inej.”

“Of course you did,” Y/n whispered, her eyes narrowing.

“Nina,” Kaz said, his patience wearing thin.

“Sorry, Kaz, if we waited for you at your birthday party for hours and then my best friend comes back crying, desperate, saying that you broke up with her and fled the country with another girl. You're lucky I didn't come all the way to where you went to kick your ass,” Nina spat, her eyes blazing with anger.

Kaz rolled his eyes, though he knew she had a point. “Nina, what happened is between me and Inej.”

“I feel pretty involved when you hurt my friend,” Nina's voice was sharp, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“We just came back. Can you spare the scolding for another time?” Kaz pleaded, trying to maintain his composure.

“No,” Nina snapped, stepping closer, her gaze never leaving his. “You don't get to just run away from the mess you made.”

“Nina, it’s not that simple,” Kaz began, but she cut him off.

“It is that simple,” she retorted. “You broke her heart, Kaz. Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” Kaz shot back, his frustration mounting. “But I can’t change what happened.”

“Convenient,” Nina scoffed, crossing her arms. “And now you’re just moving on, pretending like nothing happened?”

“I’m not pretending,” Kaz said through gritted teeth. “Inej and I were over long before this trip.”

Nina's eyes narrowed. “That’s not how she sees it.”

Y/n, who had been standing quietly beside Kaz, sighed heavily.

Nina turned her fiery gaze on Y/n. “And you. How could you do this? You knew he was in a relationship.”

“I really didn't do anything,” Y/n let out a nervous laugh, her eyes darting to Kaz for support.

“Anything? He was in a relationship. You should have backed down,” Nina accused, her voice rising.

“Are you blaming me?” Y/n scoffed, her own anger bubbling to the surface. “You think I’m the one responsible for their breakup?”

“Yes, you should’ve had some respect,” Nina snapped. “You knew he was with Inej, but you went ahead anyway.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed, her temper flaring. “It wasn’t like that. You don’t know the whole story.”

Nina took a step closer, her fists clenched. “Enlighten me then. Because from where I stand, you’re the one who swooped in and ruined everything.”

“Nina, leave her out of this,” Kaz's arm slid protectively around Y/n’s waist, and the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Nina and Matthias.

Nina’s eyes widened with disbelief and anger. “You’re defending her? After everything?”

Kaz tightened his grip on Y/n, his gaze steady on Nina. “Yes, I am. Because this isn’t her fault.”

Nina scoffed, crossing her arms. “How can you say that? She knew you were with Inej.”

Kaz sighed, his expression weary but resolute. “You have no idea of how things went.”

“That doesn’t justify what you did,” Nina shot back, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I know it doesn’t,” Kaz admitted, his voice softening. “And I’ll live with that guilt. But Y/n didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t ‘swoop in.’”

Nina’s anger faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. “And what about Inej? How do you think she feels?”

“Inej deserves someone who can love her fully,” Kaz said, his voice heavy with regret. “I couldn’t be that person. And I’m sorry for that. But blaming Y/n won’t fix anything.”

Y/n looked at Kaz with a small smile. He turned to her, his expression tender. “You don’t have to justify yourself to anyone, least of all to Nina.”

“So you want us to believe that this,” Nina gestured between them, “is serious?”

Kaz hesitated, but y/n passed her arm around his waist, leaning more into him, “Yeah, we're thinking about moving in together.”

Nina’s eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to process the information. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. Kaz was taken aback by her quick response, feeling a surge of gratitude toward her. Internally, he thanked her for her quick thinking, knowing that this lie might help diffuse Nina’s anger. He couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly Y/n had stepped into the role of his defender and partner.

Matthias raised an eyebrow, his usually stoic expression showing a hint of surprise. “That’s... a big step.”

“Yes,” Kaz repeated, finding his voice. “It is.”

Nina shook her head, still in shock. “I can’t believe this. You broke up with Inej a week ago Kaz.”

Kaz felt a pang of guilt but steeled himself. “Things change, Nina. What happened with Inej was inevitable. We both knew it.”

Nina's eyes narrowed. “A week ago, Kaz. A week. And now you’re moving in with someone else?”

“That’s none of your business,” Kaz retorted, his tone sharp.

Silence fell in the room, heavy and tense.

“Inej asked me to take her stuff,” Nina said after a long pause, her tone softer but still strained.

Kaz sighed heavily, feeling the weight of Nina's disappointment and his own guilt pressing down on him. “Yeah, I'll show you,” he said quietly, turning to Y/n with a gentle expression. “Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah, go, don't worry,” Y/n replied with a small smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “Unless Nina is scared of leaving her boyfriend alone with me.”

Nina’s eyes narrowed at Y/n’s teasing remark. “Oh, my boyfriend certainly doesn’t go for cheap ones like you.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing on her lips as she looked for her vape in Kaz’s pocket “You’d be surprised. And cheap? Really? You have no idea of how expansive I am.”

Obviously, Nina, who had no idea of what y/n job truly was, wasn’t able to thoroughly understand the joke.

Kaz interjected, hoping to diffuse the tension. “Let’s not make this any more uncomfortable than it already is.”

Y/n shot a look at Kaz, her smirk still in place. “If she can go around insulting me, I can’t see why I shouldn’t defend myself,” she replied candidly, her voice tinged with amusement.

“Please, love, let it go,” Kaz asked, sighing, his tone pleading. Y/n rolled her eyes, but Kaz could see the amusement flickering in her expression despite the tension.

Nina scoffed and turned towards Kaz’s bedroom, her footsteps echoing through the apartment as she headed to retrieve Inej’s belongings. Kaz exchanged a look with Matthias, who gave him a sympathetic nod before following Nina.

When they returned with Inej’s things, it was clear that Nina was far from letting the issue drop. She glared at Kaz, her arms crossed defiantly. “I still don’t understand how you could hook up with her with Inej’s clothes still in your wardrobe.”

Y/n, seemingly unfazed, interjected without lifting her eyes from her phone, “Do you want me to draw you a picture?”

Nina’s jaw tightened, clearly annoyed by Y/n’s nonchalant response. Kaz stepped forward, trying to diffuse the tension. “Nina, you have everything now. Let’s talk about this another time.”

Nina shot a sharp glance at Y/n before turning on her heel and storming towards the door. Matthias followed closely behind her, casting a brief look back at Kaz and Y/n, his nod a silent acknowledgment of their situation.

“Thanks for handling that,” Kaz said sincerely, a note of gratitude in his voice. “And for letting them think we’re in a serious relationship.”

Y/n looked up from her phone, a small, amused smile touching her lips. “Anytime, love,” she replied softly, her tone playful as she settled her head on his lap. “I figured it would be easier than explaining how things really are.”

Kaz chuckled softly, running his fingers gently through her hair. “You’re right. It spares us a lot of unnecessary explanations.”

They sat together in the quiet of the apartment, the tension of the evening slowly dissipating. Kaz appreciated Y/n’s willingness to play along for the sake of defusing the situation, even if it meant leaving Nina and Matthias with the impression that their relationship was more serious than it actually was. He glanced down at Y/n, now scrolling through her phone, then felt his phone buzz with a text from Jesper: ‘Talked to Nina, can I come over?’

Kaz sighed, typing back, 'Sure, Y/n is here. Use your keys.'

When Jesper arrived, Y/n was already asleep, her face buried in Kaz’s stomach while he gently played with her hair. The sight brought a small smile to Jesper’s face as he quietly took a seat across from them.

“How was the trip?” Jesper whispered, careful not to wake Y/n.

“We managed to have fun,” Kaz replied, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“Nina said you’re moving in together,” Jesper said, his voice laced with curiosity.

“It’s not true, we just wanted her to stop scolding us,” Kaz explained, his eyes focused on Y/n’s peaceful face. “I asked her, and she said no.”

“You what?” Jesper’s eyes widened in surprise.

“She didn’t exactly say no. I think I can convince her,” Kaz murmured, a hint of determination in his voice.

“You really want this? Live together?” Jesper asked, his tone skeptical.

“Why not?” Kaz shrugged, his gaze still on Y/n.

“I don’t know, because you broke up with your girlfriend a week ago? After years?” Jesper’s voice held a note of incredulity.

“Okay, so how much should I wait?” Kaz asked sarcastically, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “What’s the right time, Jes? Since everyone seems to know what’s best for me.”

Jesper sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just worried about you, Kaz. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I appreciate that, Jesper,” Kaz said softly. “But I need to figure this out on my own.”

Jesper studied his friend for a moment, seeing the sincerity in Kaz’s eyes. “If she makes you happy, then I’m all for it. Just... take it slow, okay?”

“What’s this fixation about taking things slow that everyone has?” Kaz scoffed, annoyance creeping into his voice. “I tried slow. Look how it ended. Maybe it’s time to be a bit less cautious.”

Jesper looked at him thoughtfully. “She’s changing you.”

Kaz shook his head, a small, incredulous smile playing on his lips. “She doesn’t even want a committed relationship. These are all my ideas. y/n is just bringing them out.”

Jesper raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. “So, all this talk about moving in together, that’s you?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Kaz admitted, his gaze drifting to Y/n. “I want to see where this goes. I’m tired of holding back, of second-guessing everything. With her, it feels different.”

Jesper nodded slowly, absorbing Kaz’s words. “Different how?”

Kaz took a deep breath, his eyes softening as he looked at Y/n’s sleeping form. “She doesn’t judge me. Well, she does judge me, but in a good way? I don’t know how to explain it. She doesn’t expect me to be someone I’m not. And she’s not afraid to call me out on my bullshit. She makes me feel... real.”

Jesper's eyes softened, understanding the weight of Kaz's words. "Real, huh? That’s not something you hear every day. Especially from you."

Kaz chuckled softly, his fingers continuing to play with Y/n’s hair. “I know. It’s strange. With her, I don’t feel like I have to put up a front.”

Jesper smiled, feeling a sense of relief. “That’s good, Kaz. Really good. But you know, you don’t have to rush things. Just because you feel this way doesn’t mean you have to dive headfirst into everything.”

“I get that, Jes. But I’ve spent so long being cautious, being careful. Maybe it’s time to take some risks,” Kaz said, his voice resolute. “With Inej, I was terrified of screwing up. I was always walking on eggshells, afraid she’d leave at any moment. I was so focused on not making mistakes that I lost sight of what I wanted. But with Y/n…,” he chuckled softly, a mix of amusement and frustration in his tone, “we’ve already screwed up everything we could. We fought, we made mistakes, we patched things up, and then we messed up again. And through all of it, we’re still here.”

Jesper leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. “So, it’s like you’ve already been through a lot, and you’re still standing?”

“Exactly,” Kaz agreed, his tone lightening. “There’s a certain freedom in knowing we’ve faced some things and come out the other side. It feels real.”

“I know,” Kaz said softly, his eyes drifting back to Y/n’s sleeping form. “She’s not what I expected, but she’s what I want.”

Suddenly, Y/n stirred and mumbled, “Can you go have this heart-to-heart conversation somewhere else? I was sleeping.”

Kaz grinned, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “We’ll keep it down.”

Y/n sighed, her eyes still closed. “Just... less existential crises and more cuddling, please.”

“I’ll head out,” Jesper said, standing up. “Get some rest, both of you.”

Kaz nodded. “Thanks, Jes. See you tomorrow.”

Getting back to their usual lives proved to be more challenging than either of them anticipated. Y/n had to practically beg Kaz to take her back to her own house. Even then, he only agreed on the condition that she left most of the items she bought during their trip at his place.

“Goodnight,” Jesper replied, making his way to the door and closing it quietly behind him.

***

As they stood outside her building, their farewells took on an intensity that suggested they might not see each other for years. They were pressed against his car, hands and lips exploring with an urgency like they were about to part forever.

“Sorry,” a woman’s voice cut through their heated embrace. Y/n and Kaz looked up to find a middle-aged woman staring at them with a mixture of disdain and curiosity.

“Yeah?” Y/n asked, puzzled as she pulled away slightly, still wrapped in Kaz’s arms.

“Are you one of the girls that live on the third floor?” The woman’s tone was sharp, her eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” Y/n replied, her brow furrowing.

The woman’s expression hardened. “The noise from your apartment is unbearable. Is it true? Do you have sex for money? Are you really prostitutes?”

Y/n’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly regained her composure. “What?” she asked, incredulity lacing her voice.

“You heard me,” the woman said, her finger now pointing accusingly. “Is it true?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “Do you want to book an appointment?”

The woman’s face reddened in shock. “No!”

“Then no, it’s not true,” Y/n said, her tone dripping with amusement and defiance. The woman muttered something under her breath and walked away, shaking her head and casting dark looks back at them.

Y/n sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping. “I guess we’re changing apartments sooner than we thought.”

Kaz, ever quick to seize an opportunity, leaned in closer. “You know…”

Y/n cut him off with a heavy sigh. “I would still need a place to work, Kaz.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Or…”

Y/n crossed her arms defensively. “You know I can’t even begin to consider doing this”—she gestured between them—“if you don’t accept my job.”

Kaz rolled his eyes, but a hint of a smile tugged at his lips despite the tension. “That’s not a no,” he said, his tone light yet thoughtful, clearly enjoying the banter.

Y/n shook her head, a small, amused smile playing on her lips despite the uncomfortable situation. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said, her voice carrying both warning and fondness.

Kaz chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine. His eyes sparkled with a combination of affection and mischief as he leaned closer. “Oh, I’m sure that tormenting you is going to work,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

Y/n arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by his persistence. “And how do you figure that?”

Kaz’s eyes softened, the playful glint in them turning more tender. “I can be very determined, and very annoying.”

Y/n met his gaze, with a smile, “And I can be very patient.” she said before kissing his cheek and entering the building.

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x you #six of crows fanfic #six of crows #kaz brekker fluff #soc #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker angst

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reina-tries-2-write · 3 months ago

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The Space Between Sounds

Chapter 3: Echoes of Frustration

SYNOPSIS: Your first week at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech isn't going how you imagined it would. You are struggling to keep up with your classmates and understand what anyone is trying to teach you. What are you going to do?

WC: 2K

PREV - MASTERLIST - NEXT

You had breakfast by yourself today but ran into Tired Guy in the hallway on your way to the classroom. He gave you a smile and a wave before gesturing for you to walk with him. He didn’t say anything to you the whole time, but his quiet company was nice.

You figured he was just being polite out of pity, like all the other strangers who were nice to you.

Blond Guy caught up with the two of you in the hallway and you all walked into the classroom together.

The girl and panda are already there when you arrive and you see three empty desks between them.

Blond Guy automatically walks over to the one right next to Panda and the two begin chatting. You look over at Tired Guy, not wanting to take the spot he usually sits in, but he smiles and gestures for you to pick. Hesitantly sitting down in the middle desk, you flash him a look that asks if it’s okay that you’re sitting where you are. He replies with a wide smile to reassure you it is, and you relax into the wooden chair.

****************************************************

I ended up sat next to Y/N in the classroom today and flashed her an encouraging smile. She looked extremely nervous, and I couldn’t exactly blame her. The curriculum could be intense sometimes and not being able to hear Gojo’s lecturing was definitely going to be a challenge for her.

I made sure to take extra detailed notes just in case she needed them at any point and decided to spend the next couple of days revising my notes from the past month that she had missed. I didn’t want her to be even more behind than she already was and hoped I could help when and if she needed it.

She looked pretty confused the couple times I peeked over at her during the lecture which only reinforced my assumption that she wasn’t picking up on everything Gojo was saying.

I heard her fingers tapping on the keys of her laptop rapidly as she clearly struggled to keep up and I noticed she had a lot of blank spaces and question marks where I had notes.

I was definitely going to help if she asked.

****************************************************

Gojo comes in a few minutes later and begins to lecture. The classwork is nothing like you expected and is a lot faster paced than you would have liked. You really struggle to keep up with his speaking, particularly because he has a tendency to turn his back to you while continuing to talk.

You almost raised you hand a couple times, having written your question on a stray piece of paper but by the time you were ready to ask, Gojo had clearly moved on from the topic. The pace of the class was fast, and you were barely keeping up.

There were tons of question marks and blank spaces in your notes by the time the lecture ended, and you realized you were only getting about sixty percent of the information after peeking over at Blond Guy’s notebook. He had a lot more written down.

The five of you were dismissed for your lunch break before training. Everyone went off to the cafeteria style area that served meals for anyone who lived on the campus, and you trailed behind, not really knowing how to interact with anyone and feeling particularly meek and left out.

After picking up your tray of delicious smelling food, you found a place to sit in the corner by yourself. The food tasted just as good as it smelled, and you were pleasantly surprised by the quality. You observed the others from afar as you ate, watching their interactions and feeling quite left out due to how much fun they were seemingly having. But you knew you would just slow down the conversation and become a social burden if they invited you anyway.

Y/N sat by herself at lunch today and I decided to leave her be for now. She was clearly overwhelmed by class and a social interaction, which was obviously difficult for her, would only contribute to that.

I felt bad for letting her sit alone but Yuta and Panda came to the same conclusion which helped me feel better about it.

“Do you wanna invite her over?” Panda asks after looking over his shoulder at Y/N.

“I think she just needs some space. Class was a lot for me today so I imagine it was a lot for her.” Yuta answers, empathetic as always.

I nod my head in agreement along with Maki who wasn’t really contributing to any conversation about Y/N. I know it wasn’t anything personal, Maki is just wary around new people.

I looked over Maki’s shoulder quite often as we ate, quietly observing Y/N. She looked really defeated and would clearly zone out a little bit here and there, her utensil frozen in midair or eyes a bit glassy.

I wished more than anything I could just tell her I understood how she felt. But I can’t exactly talk, and she can’t exactly hear. So where did that leave us?

****************************************************

You went back to the dorms to change into some workout clothes because the next thing on the schedule was training which you were particularly nervous about. Despite working with Edo for six years, he never taught you how to spar or wield a weapon. Some of training was student led when Gojo wasn’t teaching and today, the girl was instructing.

You struggled to keep up with her instructions with the bow staff and you ended up fumbling around like an idiot with the wooden pole. You were so bad in fact, that you managed to hit yourself in the back of the head with the damn thing.

Naturally, your loud noise of pain and surprise caught everyone’s attention which was exactly what you needed in that moment— everyone staring at you with the pole on the ground and you rubbing the pained area.

After you hit yourself a couple more times, making a knot on the back of your head, she clearly tried to slow down for you but everyone else knew what they were doing so she couldn’t walk you through it step by step like you actually needed. She called a break, but you knew it was specifically for you to take a breather. You were getting really frustrated and upset with yourself.

Why can’t you do something so simple? I didn’t look that hard and there weren’t very many steps, but you just couldn’t figure it out to save your life.

You put the bow staff aside and tightened the laces on your shoes before stretching a bit in preparation for a run around the track. You were good at running and it gave you time to think and process your emotions.

You pushed yourself as fast as you could keep pace, the vibrations from your feet drumming on the red track drowned out the buzzing and humming of the cursed energy around you, helping you clear your mind. At least here, running around the track, you were finally in control of something. Your body would listen and could do what you asked.

Ugh, why couldn’t Edo have taught you at least a little bit on how to fight? Sure your technique was out of control for a long time but still. Even a couple lessons would have helped you not look like an incompetent idiot. That was totally helping your whole fitting in thing. They don’t know how to communicate with you and clearly aren’t trying. Or are too scared to. Why couldn’t Mari and Kai be here with you? They’d interpret for you— advocate for you. But here you were, alone in your world of almost silence, completely out of your element.

Three laps in, the girl flags you down and you slow your pace as you approach.

“You ready to get back at it?” She asks as you get close enough to read her thin lips.

You simply shake your head and pick up your pace again as you pass her. You really couldn’t bring yourself to pick up the stupid staff right now.

She gave you an odd and almost disapproving look before she continued teaching the others while you ran the track.

Great. She’s mad.

You ended up spending the rest of the allotted training period running, doing countless lap and pushing your body to its limits.

You did your best to repeat Edo’s encouraging words in your head. That your deafness wasn’t a limitation, just something you needed to find adaptations to. That you were stronger than you thought you were. That you were more than capable. That you could do it. But his words just didn’t seem to help as much as when you would see them signed on his rough, calloused hands.

This was going to be a lot harder than you imagined it would. But you were going to do your best.

****************************************************

Y/N’s struggles didn’t end in the classroom and unfortunately it looked like she had next to no experience with any weapon. Maki was teaching today and was surprisingly empathetic toward Y/N, slowing down a lot more than she normally would have and calling a break after Y/N hit herself in the head with the staff.

After an understandable huff of frustration, Y/N tossed the staff aside and began to do laps around the track. I watched her make a full lap as we took our break and she was a lot faster than I expected. She had seemingly set a good pace and was making good time around the track. I was fast but I might struggle to keep up with her.

“What’s all that about?” Maki asks, crossing her arms after gesturing to Y/N on the track.

“She’s frustrated.” Panda answers, a small frown on his face.

“Well sure but she doesn’t have to sulk.” Maki counters, brow raised.

“I think you’re forgetting she can’t hear anything you’re telling her, slow or not.” Yuta pipes up a bit timidly but saying what I would have.

I can’t exactly blame her for taking a break. Staffs are hard and I’ve gotten frustrated even listening to Maki’s instructions.

I wonder what’s going on in her head.

Five or six laps in, after declining Maki’s offer to resume training, I watched her face scrunch up in pain. Emotional or physical, I couldn’t tell. Probably a mix of both. To my surprise, she ran the rest of the allotted training time, which was quite a while. She clearly needed to vent her feelings and I really couldn’t blame her.

I’d be frustrated enough to run laps if I wasn’t able to keep up in class, but she was struggling with training on top of that too. I couldn’t imagine how she was feeling right now.

****************************************************

Unfortunately for you, your struggles didn’t end on the first day and the rest of your week was extremely difficult. You would spend hours in the library in the evenings, trying to catch up on the material you missed, desperate to catch up.

Training was arguably worse and you ended up getting frustrated and having to walk away a lot. You would do laps around the track or go into the gym to run on the treadmill when you were particularly frustrated so no one would see the tears slipping down your face. You were barely keeping up and were exhausted at your efforts to try and stay on top of things.

You knew you couldn’t ask questions since you’d only slow down the lecture or training session for everyone else and you didn’t want to be a burden to everyone.

Outside of class and training, you kept to yourself, mostly busy with trying to keep up, but even in your free time, you didn’t really interact with anyone.

You did finally start to catch onto the classwork to your relief, but you still had to work to catch up.

You were exhausted and discouraged at you experience here so far. But you trudged on, motivated by your memory of Edo and all the time he’d spent preparing you for this.

You were gonna do it for him.

#jjk #toge inumaki #inumaki toge #jjk x y/n #toge x reader #toge x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #deaf!reader #jjk x fem!reader #fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fics #deaf

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azurlily · 2 years ago

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Day 6 of 31 of the yandere month May challenge. This yandere is extremely creepy in the sense that it's sort of non-con, but not at all at the same time. I also think Sevika is naturally a very intense almost yandere, so this isn't like the others. You'll see.

Also a reminder to everyone this is the last month you can request a specific type of reader for free. After this month it becomes commission work. Ask any questions in either DM or on my asks/requests.

Sevika gets pissed when you go out on a mission with Jinx. She teaches you how to obey orders.

Yandere!Sevika SMUT

There are many dumb things that you can do in your lifetime. Stealing from someone important, lying about your job details, and worst of all pissing Sevika.

How did this even happen? Well you and Jimx have been getting more buddy buddy. So...why not go up to Piltover with her?

You told Sevika about your plans, she insisted you stay home. You told her it wasn't a big deal, and that it'd be good for you and Jinx to get along.

"No, and that's final. Your aren't going anywhere princess, so don't even try. Besides, you're in better condition, and our relationship has been doing better. Let's not ruin it."

Sevika and you had been fighting these past couple months. She wouldn't apologize for taking you from your house suddenly. She said it was just because she wanted fo see you. It took about 2 weeks for her to apologize and when she did, it wasn't very conventional. For her at least.

"Yes- flowers. They're yours, I-uh. I apologize."

That's all she told you before forcing you into a hug. Sevika only apologizes once in a blue moon. The apology ended in sex, of course.

Anyway, she gave you a bad vibe when she looked at you like that. Sevika for the life of herself would never hurt you, but she would intimidate. Sevika loving you basically secures you safety.

You fought with her saying that Jinx isn't a child and that neither are you. You both can do what you want. She rolled her eyes and slapped you ass.

"Mhm, you ain't a kid, but you act as stupid as one. Now, no going with her, I'm serious."

You asked her why and she kissed you on your forehead and left. You didn't get an answer and now you were frustrated. So, of course, knowing it'll blow up in your face later.

You and Jinx were almost caught. You got grazed by multiple bullets, and were in a good bit of pain. You were in a lot of pain, and Jinx felt like an ass for taking you with her.

When you two got back Jinx was teln by Silco for a "short" lecture. You laid on the bed Sevika and you share when you come over.(or when she abducts you) She came in about an hour later, she'd thought she was getting a small moment of peace.

"Oh- you're back. Listen about earlier with the whole Jinx thing. I'm not gonna say it, but I'll take you out- HOLY SHIT!"

She stood there for a second, trying to figure out- what the hell happened? It took her a minute and then it hits her. You fucking idiot.

Sevika thinks about how badly you're hurt, obviously there had to be more than one person. This was more than likely a surprise attack, which was cowardly and not something she was all into.

She imagined for a second the blood she's going to have on her hands later. It's going to be a lot, she intends to bathe in it. How dare some Piltover scum hurt you!?

She doesn't say anything and stares at you for a moment. She turn around and leave the room, only to come back with bandages.

Sevika gives you a cold stare and forces you up. She knows it hurts, as it should. She's pissed, and you dealing with the pain is her way of saying fuck you without opening her mouth. She refused to talk while fixing you up, she knows if the did the only words she'll be saying are: who and why?

She watches you wince and whimper, she sees you eyes glaze over in tears and watches as you shake in pain.

"It hurts, dont it? Well good. Now you know why I didn't want you going out with Jinx, she's a damned trouble maker."

Sevika was finally able to say something without straight up yelling. She watches your reactions, sees the fear, anger, embarrassment, and finally you start to cry.

She watches you cry for a good second, she moves you robotic arm up and pats your head. Then she grabs your hair and tilts your head up roughly.

"I try, I really do, but you seem really intent on pissing me off. So, this behavior needs to be punished. I'm giving you the choice on the punishment, it's easier for me. You have two choices, overstimulation or edging."

You groan as her mechanical hand squeezes your hair. Sevika is enjoying this, and evidently so are you. You choose overstimulation, it's better than being denied. At least you get what you want, even if you get too much of it.

Sevika stands up, putting the bandages down and looking at you with a glare. You know the drill, and in situations like these it's best not to brat off. You begin to undress, keeping your underwear and bra on. Sevika likes to take those two peices of clothing off specifically.

You watch her flex her mechanical arm, giving you a disgustingly smug smile.

"Lay back."

You lay back, putting your arms over your eyes. You feel cool metal run up and down your thighs. A second, warm hand unclasps your bra from me front/back. She didn't need to see her to see the smug look. She knows just how to handle you.

"Hands up, I want you to watch."

You do as Sevika commands and move your arms above your hands. She warns if you try to stop her she will tie you up. Her mechanical hand slowly rubs your thighs, she grips it roughly. Deep red marks starting to form. You look at her, tears in your eyes.

"Nuh uh, I don't wanna see them tears. You have brought this upon yourself, so lay back and- safeword. If...you need to."

Sevika pulls your thighs apart, opening them widely. Her warmer hand moved from groping me to rubbing on my thighs. She lowers her head, pressing it against my thigh. She hums quietly, you can feel the vibrations, shaking slightly you look down at her.

Her eyes are a beautiful, silvery grey, you couldn't stop staring. She notices and gives you thighs a tight squeeze, the smirk never once fading.

"My, my, my, you're shaking. I wonder, are you as exited down there too? Well? Are you slut?"

Sevika doesn't hold back on the insults, maybe the praise, but she loves to degrade you. Sevika runs her mechanical finger up and down your panties, the wetness and slicks becoming more apparent.

She growls, oh god. Sevika, no longer being able to take it, practically tears your panties off. She originally intended to come home and take you out, then she'd probably end up fucking your brains out in some alleyway in Piltover. She's been pent up all day thinking about it. Now she can fully relax, and take good action on you.

Sevika moves her head until her face is just hover over your pussy. You groan and whimper when she doesn't start. You didn't agree to be teased, dammit! That's why you chose this option!

"Oh hush. You'll get what you want, princess."

God that nickname turns you on, plus feeling her hot breath against you only makes things worse. You grind you hips up trying, hoping, to get some sort of friction. When Sevika slaps you thigh, hard enough to leave a mark. You know to stop, for not at least.

Finally Sevika herself is tired of waiting too, she presses her tounge into you. The way you squirm, feeling her hot, long tounge tear you open. It does something to her, in a way you will never understand.

She grabs both of your thighs, pulling you so you're hips are right on her face. You wrap your legs around her head, squeezing harshly as she eats you out. Sevika goes from small licks, to sucking on your clit, to pushing her tounge inside you. She does everything she can to hear you scream, and scream you do.

How can you not? This woman is skilled with her tounge in every way, she knows just how to tease you, and just how to make you cum in minutes. That's exactly what she's aiming for now, she wants to see your freshly fucked face, as soon as possible.

Sevika doesn't pull back when you begin rocking your hips, on the contrary. She tries pulling you closer, although you can't really get any closer. As you're stomach begins to tighten and your breathing begins to quicken. You both know what's coming, you, to be more specific.

As you feel piping hot bliss rush over you, you shake and spasm. Sevika doesn't let up though. No, in fact she continues as your orgasm begins to slowly die down. That's when the fun really starts.

Sevika can feel you fighting, slapping, pushing hitting. She said not to use your hands, but she knows you cant help it. You're a dumb slut, and sluts don't know how to think. Especially not you.

You start grabbing and pulling on Sevikas hair, you knew this was the outcome. Didn't stop you from acting like you were innocent. Doesn't matter anyway, the more you push, and pull, and bite. The more fun Sevika is having. You can practically feel her grinning.

You scream and cry, feeling yourself build up once more. Your hips spasming uncontrollably, your entire body was shaking. You knew it was only a matter of time before you came for the second time. After that she'd keep going until you passed out.

You really are stupid, but that's okay. Sevika always cleans up your messes, and after she finishes up with you. She's heading to Piltover to rip some heads off, she might even bring you a souvenir.

#wlw #lesbian #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #sevika #yandere #yandere sevika #yandere sevika x reader #yandere month challenge

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frazzledsoul · 8 months ago

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It's generally left out in the annals of bad behavior/infidelity in the Gilmore Girls canon, but I just want to review the details of Lorelai's "situationship" with Twilight Dad in season 3 when she is in the midst of lecturing Jess and Rory on proper boyfriend/girlfriend etiquette.

Lorelai meets Alex (aka Twilight Dad) on 3.11, which aired on January 21. She and Alex are third wheels when Sookie meets up with an old friend and accidentally sets up a date with him (this takes place during the episode where Rory and Paris fence and have intense sexual tension). I think he asks her out during this episode.

One week later, on 3.12 (airing on February 28) Lorelai and Alex have a coffee date. They discuss the coffee shop he's opening and his two kids who he shares custody with his ex. He suggests a fishing date, and Lorelai ropes Luke into teaching her how to fish. Bear in mind that she has known Luke has crushed on her for the better part of two years.

Anyway, after this incident, Luke decides to give up on Lorelai and asks Nicole out.

The next episode is 3.13, which is the flashback episode. It airs on February 4. This is Luke and Nicole's first date. Nicole definitely does not spend the night.

3.14 airs on February 11. This is Swan Song, where Lorelai is antsy about Rory and Jess possibly fucking, he gets beaked in the eye by the ghost of Shane, they fight, and at the end of the episode Alexis makes a way too realistic moan into Milo's mouth and Rory goes home and tells Lorelai that she's totally going to do Jess at some point.

So Alex and Lorelai have been going out for three weeks, and they decide to go away together with Sookie and Jackson. Sounds kind of serious. It's also mentioned in this episode that in the one week he's been dating Nicole Luke has been on a bunch of overnight trips to New York and seen a bunch of Broadway plays with his girlfriend. I guess we're supposed to assume there's a time jump here because there's no way he did all that within a week.

I'll also point out here that even though Luke mentions he interrupts Rory and Jess every ten minutes so they don't get around to having sex, if he's also making overnight trips to New York they're probably being left alone in the apartment at night quite a bit. Pair that with the offscreen "movie nights" we hear about later and yeah, uh, I think we can figure out what is taking place because no way is that going on in Lorelai's house unless it's also happening while she's out with Alex.

3.15 is February 18, the hockey episode. Jess doesn't call Rory to arrange a date and Lorelai lectures him on his terrible boyfriend behavior. Then he shows up with hickey tickets (and then some!) and I'm guessing Rory's virginity became fairly technical in the car afterwards.

3.16 is the episode where Paris is rejected from Harvard, which airs on February 25. Lorelai is delighted to know that Rory has not actually had sex and that she has "the good kid". She also makes out with Max and then tells Rory all about it and when Rory asks about poor Twilight Dad, Lorelai says "I don't know." I'm thinking you really should not be giving lectures on morality and proper relationship etiquette, hon. Also two weeks ago the relationship was serious enough to include an overnight weekend, but now it doesn't matter? Huh.

So let's skip ahead to Keg. Max, which is three episodes and two months later, which airs on April 25. I'm assuming there actually was a time jump between Luke and Nicole's first date and the swan episode and these episodes actually took place much closer together than they aired, as there's a lot of stuff going on with Luke finding out Jess is skipping school, steals his car to force him to go, and Jess finally being told he isn't graduating that seems like it would take place much closer in time. Anyway, it seems that Lorelai concludes that her relationship with Twilight Dad is over, because "it's become more intermittent". Does she call him and ask them if their relationship is over? I think we all know the answer to that one. Lorelai tries to push herself on Max after he says no and acts like she's the one that's been affronted when he shoves a table between them. I think there was supposed to be a parallel between Lorelai and Jess crossing boundaries in this episode, although I'm not sure why Lorelai did what she did for any reason other than she felt like it.

I really feel someone who behaves in this manner should not be lecturing her teenage daughter or her boyfriend about what a real relationship looks like, nor should she be evaluating who or who isn't "the good kid" based on what she's been doing. It appears Alex was just cheated on and dropped without explanation as the relationship was getting serious. Rory was fully aware of what was happening and further got the message that it is okay to do this sort of thing if an ex boyfriend enters the picture because if he was yours first, it's okay to cheat with him whenever you feel like it. I'm sure that's not something she's going to take to heart or anything.

Anyway, fair well Twilight Dad. I'm sure you'll have more interesting adventures in the PNW from now on.

#alex lesman #gilmore girls #the misadventures of twilight dad #also thoughts on rory and jess's movie nights

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strawbeerossi · 1 year ago

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Salt In Open Wounds

This is for @tobias-hankel’s pre-whumptober collection!

Bad Thing: Torture

Bad Person: Ex-Partner

Content/Warnings: Cursing, unnamed abusive ex. bounces between therapy appointment and past abduction, past trauma, mention of guns and knives, mentions of Tobias Hankel, physical abuse, torture, branding (with a cattle iron), hopelessness, general angst, PTSD, depression, murder, blood, psychological torture, mild gore.

Word Count: 5.5K

Find it on AO3 || Masterlist || Requests

I’m no better than the CM writers for this. Also I got a little carried away with writing this.

“Spencer, I’d like to talk about what you’ve been through, if that’s alright.” The woman across from Spencer spoke up. This was his sixth session since the incident, however it was like he could never fully open up. Traumatic events were capable of taking someone’s voice, in his case it was severe. He’d been digging his nails into his hands just discussing the outer details, not wanting to dive straight into the cesspool of darkness he’d been exposed to. He wanted to avoid it for as long as he could. It wouldn’t be that easy though, he had nothing else to use as a shield. He’d explained all the details surrounding his pain, now he had to talk about it.

“I know it’s going to be very hard.” Marianne, his therapist, spoke. “I just want you to know that we can take this as slow as you’d like. There will be future sessions.” She gently reminded me. The once bright and cheerful doctor had been chipped away over his fifteen year career with the BAU, his year of hell broke him further. “No, no.. I uh, I need to talk about it at some point.” Therapy was mandatory, so it wasn’t like he’d gotten any other choice but to sit there. “I just, I uh, I don’t know how to begin..”

“Why don’t you start with the first night?”

***

Spencer was excited, taking a much needed break from his job at the FBI to go on sabbatical.There was a lecture circuit for Criminal Justice related classes, he was excited to take over the course for Criminology. Marbury University had recommended him for the job due to his exceeding pass rate for his class. He didn’t have the confidence to tell them it was because of the fact he was an attractive older male and he captured attention from young women and men alike.

It was silly, really. As a younger man, he was more used to people looking at him like he was an alien. He was socially awkward, his demeanor being one like a skittish cat. The years passed and he gained confidence, little by little. With that confidence, he began to lose the innocence that he once had. Tobias Hankel chipped away at him, getting him addicted to dilaudid as well as subjecting him to torture. After him, Spencer’s life was never the same.

Prison was the boiling point. Even being there for a few months, it began to eat away at him. He’d watched a friend die who he worked so hard to protect, he’d been subjected to beatings, as well as stabbing himself with a shiv to get himself locked into solitary confinement due to the fact the inmates knew of his status of a federal agent. The day JJ told him he was going home, he was relieved.

Until he had to deal with Cat Adams yet again, the woman using Lindsey Vaughn to abduct his mother, which sent them on a wild goose chase. It ended with Diana safe and sound, yet he never thought that he could experience that much anger and hatred. He’d planned on choking Cat to death in the interrogation room. Thank God for JJ, the one who managed to bring him out of his intense fit of rage.

He was trying to fix his life again, bring back the past version of himself that he yearned to be. A young man in the world who had so much promise, so much dedication. Now he was older, he was aware that he had so much to lose.

It was Friday morning when he left the office after giving Emily his paperwork for sabbatical, requesting a year of leave to pour himself into his passion of teaching the future of the bureau as well as law enforcement as a whole. The drive was gonna be an hour, so he felt like he’d been prepared enough, not being someone who was particularly fond of driving.

The convention center reminded him of the places that he and Penelope would go to for their numerous conventions. Just the memories made him smile, enjoying the parts of his past that he loved to relive in his mind. Eidetic memory was a blessing and a curse, that was the bottom line of it all. Grabbing his suitcases from the trunk of his car, he was heading into the hotel where he’d be staying for the time being. The circuit was only for a few weeks, however he was preparing to go back to Marbury for the rest of his time off.

Spencer had checked into his room, going up the stairs to the second floor to get settled in. “Excuse me,” A familiar voice was causing Spencer’s attention to turn towards the sound. “Wait what are you-” There was no way he could’ve predicted the way he was feeling something heavy hitting the back of his head, his body crashing onto the ground.

***

“Do you know how they brought you back to where you ended up?” Marianne asked, keeping a calm demeanor even though Spencer had been digging his nails into his palm, eyes squeezed shut from the fear of the vivid memories coming back to haunt him, almost smelling the hotel hallway. “I, uh, no. I can’t remember. I woke up there, I uh, I remembered the pain in my head. It was a headache that felt like it gave me a brain hemorrhage. Obviously it didn’t.” He spoke softly, eyes now opening as his gaze was fixed down at his lap.

“There’s no logical way that she got me out by herself, it makes no sense. I just can’t figure out who was there to help her and I don’t know why anyone would help her.” Unbeknownst to Spencer, his hands were tangling in his tousled curls as he roughly pulled at the roots from frustration. Pain was a way he could kickstart his hell, knowing that the familiarity of his wincing would bring back something. It had to. The sounds of Marianne trying to snap Spencer out of his actions had fallen on deaf ears, tears now streaming down Spencer’s face as he was fully throwing himself back into a world he so desperately wanted to get away from.

***

He placed himself back in the dank basement, the smell of mildew and mold assaulting Spencer’s nose. He could feel the sweat pouring down his face and back, the panic setting in from the coarse and rough rope cutting into the flesh of his wrists, daring to cut his skin from his thrashing.

Due to being abducted before by the likes of Tobias Hankel, he knew to examine his surroundings, that was how he got himself out the first time, how he saved himself and began to slip away into a never ending pit of trauma and despair. The dim light in the room revealed a cement floor, droplets of a crimson substance covering the floor. Blood. There was an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. He shouldn’t have been here, he should’ve been getting ready for his lecture delving into the psychology of serial killers. Instead, he was locked away in a kill room, a place where he could be reduced to nothing but a pile of flesh and bone.

His ears were ringing, the head injury from before causing a migraine that made him want to slam his head onto the cement floor, to put an end to the splitting headache. It was good he was tied up, the idea of ending this suffering so early on and robbing whoever this person was of their chance to kill him was so satisfying. Eidetic memory didn’t serve him any purpose here though, each time he tried to remember the face of the woman in the hallway, he was left with a blurry outline. This was all too reminiscent of when he was arrested in Mexico. Maybe he was drugged again? That would explain how he couldn’t bring himself to remember his captor. The trauma response of the brain would surely be shutting things out, as if it were any help shielding him of the pure hell he was going to face.

His thoughts stopped entirely when he heard the heavy sound of the metal door being pushed open, his head snapping over immediately. With double vision from the concussion, he felt even more hopeless. “W-why am I here?” He asked slowly, blinking his eyes slowly to try and focus them on the face of the person in front of him. The pain of a sharp slap to his face had his head flying to the side, a groan of pain falling from his lips.

“You’re here because this is the place you need to be.” The voice was soft, almost sickeningly sweet. It was also very familiar. The woman from the hallway, the woman who haunted his thoughts from her unknown, blurred face. There was a burn in Spencer’s throat. He felt ill.

Her.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked immediately after, the woman sighing as she brought a hand to gently stroke his cheek. It was a complete 180. “You’re here because we never got to talk about our relationship, honey. You decided that you were better off alone, I’m showing you that you’re safer here with me.” She offered a smile. “You will not leave me this time, Spencer. We can be happy!”

Despite his survival instincts telling him to play along, he couldn’t. “W-we broke up for a reason.” There was a waiver to his voice, fear. “Right. Then I got arrested for domestic abuse. I just think you’re dramatic.” She stated in a simple tone, her hand dropping from his cheek. Obsessive Love Disorder was a dangerous thing, something that if left untreated, would cause nothing but pain.

“I mean, what kind of man lets his girlfriend hit him without fighting back? A weak man. It’s sad. Don’t worry though, we are gonna have a lot of fun!” She mused while moving to brush her hair back from her face. Her nonchalant behavior was chilling, how heartless she could be.

Spencer was young when they’d initially gotten together, that being his first serious relationship. Things started normal, they got along and went on dates. She essentially love bombed him from the beginning, he was just too naive to notice what was going on. It was a year of joy and peace, the two enjoying each other's presence enough to the point where Spencer felt prepared to take the next step. He moved in with her.

That was when the hell started. The psychological torment, the physical abuse, and emotional manipulation was that of a cinder block tied to his ankles, ready to be thrown overboard and left without a trace. The weight of the relationship almost killed him. She would put loaded guns to his head, sadistically laughing and taunting him by acting as if she would really shoot him. There were some nights where he wished that she did. It would be his only shot at peace.

When he left the first time, he got extremely lucky. He got to use the excuse that the BAU needed him after he’d spent so much time planning for his escape. He elicited in JJ’s help, his best friend at work who he’d broken down to on a particularly stressful case. He thought that getting arrested would set her straight, get her checked out by a psychologist or something and calmed down with proper medication.

Naivety. He knew that someone couldn’t be helped unless they wanted it.

That was abundantly clear now that he was in this predicament.

All he could think of was that he’d never go home, nor would he ever be able to see his mom, JJ, Emily, or any of his beloved team again. It brought tears to his eyes, thinking that nobody knew where he was. He was supposed to be in a classroom with promising students that would change the world. What if they didn’t even notice that he was gone? By the time his year's sabbatical was over, it would be far too late. He’d be a rotting corpse buried in a random backyard.

“You’re crying.. Oh, sweetheart..” The sudden movement of her body inching closer caused the man to flinch, eyes widening as he leaned back against the chair he was bound to. “You really don’t trust me?” She had the audacity to sound hurt, as if she didn’t have him tied to a chair. “This is ridiculous, Spencer. You are just as weak as I could remember. I thought being in your forties, you would be stronger.” She sighed while her hand was roughly grabbing his hair to pull it back, the male being forced to meet her gaze.

“We are going to fix that. I’m going to train you into being better.” She spat as a frown spread across her face. Spencer knew his body was tense, his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest. “Since you don’t listen..” She began, a sad sigh falling from her lips. “I need to go through our first lesson.” She stated as she walked away. For a moment, Spencer could feel a blind hope that things would be okay. That her punishment would just be her leaving.

Spencer could only hear the rapid beat of his heart, the blood in his veins running cold. There was no way out. When she came back over, he inspected the object in her hand. The shiny metal of the scissors had his body shuddering in fear, eyes trained on her every movement. He made an effort to try and weasel away from her touch, however the rough hold on his shirt was keeping him in place. Was she going to plunge the tool deep into his chest cavity? She could stab him in the heart with enough force or a lung even. She caught him by surprise.

The blade ran over the shirt covering the male’s lanky torso before she offered a smile. “Relax. I’m not gonna stab you with scissors, that would be too easy.” She giggled, as if the idea was humorous. Instead of stabbing him, she was using the utensil to cut off the sweater from his torso, her idea of taking away his dignity seemed to be undressing him. Of course, she wanted him to be uncomfortable, embarrassed. It was the only way to break him and force him into submission. She would feed off of fear and he felt like he sustained her enough.

Like an eagle stalking its next prey, Spencer kept his eyes on her, watching every movement she made while mentally preparing himself for the worst. When she’d reached on a nearby table and picked up what looked to be a taser, it was enough for Spencer to let his eyes fall shut tightly. She was planning on torturing him by shocking him, that had to be it.

The crackle of electricity coming from the device had her smiling, holding it up to proudly display it. “First rule, you need to learn how to take everything the world will give you. Let’s see if that old man's heart can handle a few shocks, hmm?” It looked like a law enforcement level weapon, one that had stronger shockwaves than the typical ones that could be purchased in a store. Before Spencer could try to plead, he was feeling the watts of electricity surge through his veins, the violence of it causing his body to thrash. With his eyes rolled to the back of his head, he tried thinking of his mom. How happy she’d be when he got home, how excited she’d be to tell him about how her life was going.

His body was convulsing as the taser was pulled away from his neck, the male breathing hard as he was doing his damndest to keep himself together. A deep groan emerged from his throat as he slowly lifted his tired head, glossed over eyes facing the woman who was planning on making him miserable. “I’m.. Really shocked that you went through that without passing out. I mean, I had it pressed there for three minutes. The pain typically would elicit more reaction. At least, that’s what I’ve learned from other friends down here..” She was letting her head tilt to the side, reminiscent of a puppy who had so much curiosity. “Let’s see if you can last longer! This will be great research!”

The lesson went on for an hour, off and on subjecting the male to enough electricity to make his heart burst in his chest. By the grace of God and fighting for his life, he made it. The devil reincarnate was satisfied, feeding off the pure agony displayed in Spencer’s pupils. He could hide fear but he couldn’t hide excruciating pain. The way his eyes were tightly squeezed shut, he was shaking slightly in his spot. There was amusement in her eyes, a grin on her face as she was bringing her hands to his cheeks.

In his weak state, he didn’t flinch.

“So that’s where the scars come from. Oh, Spencer..” Marianne was frowning while looking at the male, the man looking visibly distressed by having to tap into those memories that he so desperately tried to forget. The pain and torture he’d went through was enough to break even the strongest of people.

“That’s where those scars come from, right. She repeatedly used the taser against my neck and chest.” His voice was shaky as he was giving an explanation, the purple scarf draped around his neck slowly being removed to show off the marks the prongs left behind.

“There was more. She burned my skin with the taser but she had something else. She called it a toy, something she had joy in using on me. She claimed.. She claimed it marked me as hers.” He explained, fingers slowly messing with a loose thread on his cardigan.

“Would you like to discuss it or should we hold off until another session?” The woman asked, a sympathetic look etched on her face as she studied Spencer’s mannerisms. “Because I don’t expect to know about it today if you aren’t ready. You’ve opened up a lot today.”

“No, I can, uh, explain it to you. I just.. I’m a little nervous to relive it.”

Anyone would be.

Spencer was sitting in the chair, his back in an unbelievable amount of pain for sitting upright for six days now. The lessons that they had in that basement consisted of a taser being pushed roughly into flesh, Spencer’s body weak and exhausted after what felt like hours of being shocked. His body could only take so much more before he was rendered fully weak, unable to help himself. His eyelids were heavy, so tired yet he couldn’t sleep.

The sleep deprivation had been settling in, sanity slowly beginning to disappear while the male fought the urge to sleep. He had to be awake, aware. However in his delirious state, he was going down the path of madness.

“Gideon, I just wanna get out of here but I’m slowly losing faith.” The genius’ voice slurred, looking over at the man who was standing in front of him. The man who he knew was dead, yet.. Here he was, right in front of him. “You’re going to get out of here, Reid. Just put yourself in her shoes. What is she gaining?”

The words had the male slowly letting his head lull to the side, heavy eyes slowly closing. “She wants to break me psychologically. To make me a slave.” He responded to the ghost of his mentor. “Right. Do not let her break you. Fight. Your team will be here. Garcia has always known where to find people. Between you and I, I’m pretty sure she has a tracker inside everyone on earth.” The words made Spencer laugh tiredly, keeping his eyes shut. “She probably does.. I could see it.” He spoke softly, shifting in his chair.

The lighter ceased as soon as he could hear the heavy door being shoved open, the metal door hitting the wall was enough to make his head shoot up. Jason was gone, yet she was here.

“You’re awake! That’s so good. We have spent so much time together that I’ve been thinking of something special to give you.” She offered a wide smile as she was going to the wall behind him, a furnace being there this whole time that he just couldn’t see. “I got this whenever I had the farm. Do you remember that?” The words made his heart nearly stop as she stepped in front of him while holding the object to show off. A cattle iron. “I figured that I’d show you my most prized toy. Not many people have ever seen it!” She offered a wide smile.

“Since we have been having so much fun together, I want to give you something to definitely remember. You’ll never forget.” She cooed, finger tapping his nose while she hummed in satisfaction. The fear in his eyes thoroughly satisfied her. “Alright. Let’s get this heated up, shall we?” As it was placed in the flame across the room though, the male was quiet while trying to keep himself calm and collected. The tears running down his face didn’t quite get the memo.

“Don’t look so scared. I promise that it’s not that big, it’s just got my name and a nice little heart. It’ll be like a tattoo!” He offered a wide smile while taking the metal out of the fire while approaching the shirtless mail. “W-wait! Let’s talk about this! You don’t need to do this!” The burn would be severe enough to never heal, to haunt him forever.

His body was shaking the minute she spared no mercy, the burning metal being pushed into his skin with force. It was enough to make Spencer scream in pain, the sickening sound of his skin sizzling and the putrid smell of burning flesh and hair filling the small room. His hands were shaking, the rope now cutting deep into the skin to draw blood as he tried to thrash in place to make it stop.

The movements made the chair give way, the man falling back and his head roughly slamming into the cement floor. The pain was enough to make it feel like his brain had fallen from his head, the brain matter decorating the floor and this being his last few minutes. It wasn’t physically possible and he knew that.

His head was bleeding, the blood pooling on the floor behind his head. Thankfully not a cracked skull. She’d pulled him to sit up in the chair once more before she was using her first aid knowledge to stop the bleeding and patch him up.

“You definitely have a concussion.” She scolded, noticing his blown out pupils and his general dizziness.

“She burned you?”

“She branded me.”

The words came out slowly as Spencer’s shaking hands were slowly pulling up the top he had on while showing off the scarred skin that was scabbed over, the man having a horrible habit of picking at it. Even if it was a year old, he felt like it was fresh. He could remember the way his skin bubbled, the way he could feel the indention singe into his chest.The woman’s eyes were wide, seeing the damage done. In addition to the branded flesh, there were numerous puncture-like wounds. She assumed it came from more ‘toys’ that this sick bitch collected.

“Do you feel comfortable talking about after?” Her words were soft, ignoring the clock on the wall signaling their session was over and she could go home for the day. She’d never had Spencer open up like this in this capacity. He explained in such graphic and gory detail that she could understand the dark descent of madness that he felt himself slipping into. The depression of knowing that there was always someone just like her out there. Some other helpless victim being trapped and not being lucky enough to get help like he did.

“Everything was pretty much a repeat after that night, honestly Up until I made her think that she broke me completely.”

It had been nearly a year, Spencer being subjected to being damn near electrocuted on a daily basis, the sharp blade of a steak knife puncturing his skin in non-fatal areas, even the times where she would hold a gun to his head, making him promise that he was hers. That he wasn’t leaving her again.

Spencer felt no pain anymore. His body was numb, even the deep cuts puncturing his flesh feeling like the average bee-sting from him having it done so much. He had no tears left to cry, his emotions disappearing about a month after his captivation. He was brutally beaten, stabbed, scratched, even burned with lighters to a point where he couldn’t feel.

The wounds would heal over then be reopened for more sadistic pleasure of rubbing things like salt, dirt, lemon juice, among other things.

Infection hadn’t killed him yet, so he took it as some sign of faith that he wasn’t meant to die here.

“You know, kid. I’m really worried about you.” Derek was talking to him today, the male looking up at the ceiling while sucking in a breath. “I know. I’m starting to worry about myself too.. What if the team isn't looking for me? They surely expect me to be completely radio silent to work on my life outside of the team.” His throat was sore, surely from the nights where he’d just scream, scream to get every ounce of pain and hurt built up over the year out.

“They are looking. You think Garcia would ever give up on you? Come on, kid.” The scolding made Spencer offer a small smile. “You’re right. I mean, P-Penelope would never give up on me.”

Spencer had faced death about a million times before, however this was different. After a year of conditioning and brutality, he never felt so close to death. It seemed inviting, the thought of just.. Maybe drifting off and ending all the suffering there.

“Kid. I know you are weak but don’t you die on me. On us. What will Hank do without his favorite uncle? Or what about Henry and Michael? Do you really want to make them face losing you? Or your mama, man. Think about her!” Not-Derek was probably the last piece of rationality that Spencer had left.

“Look. It’s self defense if you kill her now. Think about it, you have proof she subjected you to pain and suffering. Why not get her back? You haven’t slept in weeks, man. Weeks.” The sleep came in small doses, mainly because he had no idea what would happen when he was asleep, unconscious to the vile nature of what she did to him. Best to be awake when a knife is shoved so deep in his shoulder, it hits the bone.

“W-what?” Was he telling himself to kill her? No, no. Spencer couldn’t do that! He was a good man, just troubled. However the more he thought about it, the more the festering rage built inside of him. Why should he die here?

That was when the plan was in motion. The next time she came down was a full day later, having water and food along with the knife that she loved to use all too much on the helpless man. “Have you actually gotten sleep?! Spence!” The woman smiled widely while clasping her hands together, eventually grabbing the glass to let him sip from the straw. Spencer was weak, his head slowly bobbing as he looked up at her through his tired eyes. Even with the exhaustion, he knew that he was going to get out of there. Alive or dead, he’d leave that god damn basement. He’d contemplated all his options. If he was weak enough, she’d untie him to accompany him to the bathroom. “Can I uh, go pee?” He asked, voice still hoarse and low.

Seemingly, his plan was working because she was grabbing the knife. “I trust you, Spence, so I’ll let you up.” She mused while offering a smile. “Do you think that you will be good enough to be let up permanently? You’re honestly such a good boy now, I have to grant you some sort of luxury.”

Yeah. Fucking luxury. So much luxury that he would be able to feel her blood seep into his bruised and battered skin, akin to a hand moisturizer. She made him like this. She created the monster inside of him that was bursting from its confinements. Prison hurt him in ways indescribable but this experience completely ripped out any form of compassion or empathy. There was rage, the burning inside of his chest from the overwhelming emotion.

The minute the ropes were cut, Spencer examined his wrists briefly, waiting for her to cut the ropes on his ankles. The rope burn was deep, dried blood from his violent thrashing decorating the tan restraint and leaving deep marks on his flesh.

The freedom to move felt so fucking good. However his legs were dreadfully asleep. He didn’t realize that until he tried to stand to ambush his captor, only falling directly on top of her while letting out a yelp. The blade had gone deep into his side from the fall, however the adrenaline coursing through his veins made it tolerable. Rolling off of her body, he was taking in a deep breath before the blade was being torn from his side by his right hand, rolling on top of the stunned woman.

There was darkness in his eyes, an unfathomable amount of rage that made him look no better than the likes of George Foyet. “Lesson one, don’t trust people.” His words were low, his pupils being blown out as he brought the blade down to slam into her chest. The sounds of agonizing screams filling the room brought a twisted smile to his face. “What? You’re too weak to handle it?! It’s okay! We will fix that!” The past year of pain and suffering was being unleashed back onto the woman who came far too close to killing him. The knife plunged deep into her chest cavity a whopping total of sixty times. There was crimson red all over his hands, face and chest along with the pool on the floor. He’d stabbed her lungs first, making her last few moments agonizing as she drowned in her own blood from the inside. The cries and gurgles had Spencer laughing with glee, continuing to mumble the same twisted phrases he’d heard after being shocked, burned, stabbed, and threatened with a firearm.

By the time the team had actually gotten there, he’d continued stabbing the lifeless corpse while muttering and laughing. Emily couldn’t even go near him from the fear he’d turn on her. With Luke and Matt pulling him off of her, the male was spitting up blood, the wound from earlier worsening the more the adrenaline wore off. “We need a medic!” Luke was the one yelling, him and Matt carrying Spencer out.

The final pieces of the story had Marianne in shock. She’d heard bits and pieces but seeing Spencer smile while retelling the end of his journey, it was chilling. This wasn’t the sweet man who had entered the room two hours ago. This was a man who lived in perpetual darkness. A man who let a monster consume him in that basement.

“Is that all? Do I need to tell you more details?” The male asked, sitting up straighter.This part he had no problem discussing, making the woman slowly reach under her desk to hit a button. That was when the doors were opening and one of the nurses were coming in. “Alright Dr. Reid, let’s take you back to your room!” She said in a cheery voice, hand gently grabbing his arm to urge him to stand. He didn’t fight back. “I’ll be seeing you next week, Marianne. Maybe we can talk about Cat there too. Wouldn’t you like to know the last victim?”

“Dr. Reid.” The nurse scolded while leading him out.

“It’s obvious that Mr. Reid is not well, a year full of torture has left him mentally unstable to the point he is lashing out on everyone he sees. We can’t have this behavior continue. I’m sending him to the Western State Psychiatric Hospital indefinitely.” The judge’s decision had the BAU team gasping from their seats, Penelope’s eyes welling up with tears at the thought of the team losing their best agents and closest friends.

Spencer however had no feelings, instead stone faced as he stared at the woman giving her verdict.

They’d lost him a long time ago. So long that he had no desire to look back at his team. If they loved him, they would have found him sooner, they would have fought harder to find him.

He was alone.

He’d always be alone.

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llunapastell-reads · 2 years ago

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ᴄʜ. ᴏɴᴇ || ʀᴇᴅ ʟɪɴᴇ (ʜ.ʜᴊ) ──

"So, what do you have against New Year’s Eve?“ "It makes me reflect on the past, forces me to consider the future... I don’t have very pleasant thoughts about either."

𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 :･ reposting this story to the sb so just roll with the new year's theme ok ...

✧.* 𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗪 𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 & 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗥 𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚

I hate nights like this.

The sky appears cloudless and it’s softening into a dim shade of indigo, much like an evening after an intense thunderstorm has passed through. There is a stillness in the air and the lingering scent of rush hour traffic makes my stomach churn.

The sky was just as clear when I saw her for the last time. That stupid girl, whom I shared an apartment and bed with for almost two years. A home that we both deserted after I discovered the truth.

“Hello? Hyunjin, did you hear a single word I just said?” My best friend’s voice tears me from my brooding recollections.

“I’m sorry Felix, can you repeat that again?”

Much of our conversations are like this these days. I know I should try harder to push the dejected thoughts from my mind and be more present in reality, especially around the person who happily took me in when my relationship came to an abrupt end. But when the evening is veiled in this color, I can’t stop tormenting myself with all the details of the night I left her.

Felix sighs and mirrors my position against the railing of his balcony. He knows where my mind is and by the look in his eyes, I realize he’s decided to spare me the lecture. Felix has the patience of a Saint and I often feel unworthy of his devoted friendship. I have put him through a lot these past few months, and the least I can do is pay attention to what he’s asking me.

“Tonight is Chan and Changbin’s party and I promised them I’d be there a bit early. I was hoping you would come with me to the apartment to set up…” the blonde trails off.

“…And also, they didn’t hear from Kira. Not like we wanted her to come, anyways. What I mean is— she won’t be there tonight.”

I can only bear to smile at him meekly. I hate the sound of her name.

Choi Kira, they all used to fawn after her in the dorms. We had been friendly throughout our time in university, but I never gave her a second thought until the end of our junior year. My younger self would find me pathetic for sulking over someone who I once considered so vapid and boring.

“Of course I will help you. That's my duty as your best friend, isn’t it?” I flash a boxy grin towards my friend, but It doesn't seem he buys my forced smile. He understands how difficult it has become to be in social situations nowadays. People love to pry, they want to gossip about if the pretty picture of my life they painted in their minds resembles the one I am actually living. They will ask about their perfect Kira, and I will attempt to contort the truth into something less humiliating.

I am not sure how I can dilute discovering my girlfriend was cheating on me with our English professor into a more digestible story, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. They will believe whatever bullshit I sell them.

I mull over a list of excuses while we lock up and walk to Chan and Changbin’s shared apartment. Ever since we were freshmen in college, those two made it their mission to ring in the New Year in the most obnoxious way possible: a blowout out celebration with enough booze to poison every citizen in Seoul. Growing up together has cemented our friendship into a brotherhood, which is the only thing motivating me to leave the solace of my studio. And of course, the promise of not having to go clubbing with them for three weeks if I showed my face.

For them, my brothers, who have carried my pitiful existence without any trace of resentment through these last months of winter, I will attempt to resemble my old self. I've never found it difficult before to put on a show of friendliness and amusement, but recently, the mask wears heavy on my features. To be amongst a crowd, amongst my best friends, and still feel like I’m stuck in solitude— barely visible through the fog that is my own fucked up illusion of loneliness. They just can’t see it. They have never been where I am, and I hope that never changes. But that doesn’t stop my friends from reaching for me, doing the best they can to fish me out of it— even with blind hands. And for their endless attempts to liberate me, I am forever grateful.

Felix, Chan and I sling back a shot of whiskey with the promise of a fresh start in the new year. My lips curve up at them and their optimism. My arms hang over their shoulders, wishing the physical contact could transfer some of that imagined hopefulness into my own body.

If only I could will it into existence. If only that could keep the fog from thickening.

— ✧.*

Thank god the mindless babble has paused for a moment as everyone turns their attention to the direction of loud clatter. I relish in the sliver of peace the commotion brings, finally the bogus smile I’ve been forcing can falter. I feel a bit of gratitude towards the woman who has tripped over the carpet and taken a few plates down with her; she’s abetted my escape from another stale conversation with acquaintances I don’t care about.

“Wow, I didn’t expect to see her tonight...” Jeongin whispers next to me while we watch the woman collect herself from the scene she caused. I think I recognize her from Kim Hyemin’s Statistics course, but we never spoke. I only ever took notice of her taste in Literature because she always had her face buried in a book.

“I heard she got dumped by Seungmin’s old roommate at the beginning of the fall semester. No one really knows the details but apparently, it ended really ugly.” My younger friend continued, his concentration moving from the disheveled woman to the cocktail umbrella in his drink.

“How ugly?” I ask without taking my focus away from her.

“Like, took time off of school because she went ‘away...’ isn’t gonna graduate on time, that kind of ugly.”

My heart twitches at his words, her shallow gaze is very familiar to me. The glassiness of her darkened eyes hints that her mind often spends time in a faraway place, maybe because reality is too harsh to engage in. Felix always points out his ability to tell my thoughts are reeling just by the look on my face. I study her appearance and understand what my friend must see in me.

“S’okay bout the dishes, babes— just come ‘ere and meet my brothers!” Changbin lunges his arm around my shoulder with a little too much vigor. I can smell the whiskey and coke on his breath and I can’t help but roll my eyes at his drunken enthusiasm. His glazed stare is fixated on the bleach blonde attached to the stumbling woman’s arm— must be this week’s fuck buddy, telling by the way she returns his fervent gawk. As the two girls approach us, I can’t find the will to shift my attention away from the person the blonde is dragging behind her. Her tousled fringe accentuates the hollowness behind her eyes and it makes my lungs constrict. It feels as if I’m staring into a mirror, I see so much of my own reflection in her exhausted demeanor. That sullen expression is like an open book, one I have come to memorize not by choice but infliction.

The light graze of Jeongin’s fingers on my wrist pulls me from my own reeling. “Earth to Hyunjin— this is Ryu and Y/N, old classmates from university. We were all in the same dormitory, y’know with Seungmin and Jeno…” the younger boy’s words trail off as Y/N pierces him with a quick glare, her petite frame stiffening at the sound of her ex lover’s name.

Changbin cuts the thick atmosphere with a sway and stumble while I attempt to hold his larger body upright. “S’glad you both could make it! It’s almost midnight and I made Chan save us the best seats to watch the fireworks,” he snickers. Jeongin and Ryu escort our tipsy host to the terrace with myself and Y/N lingering behind them.

“Do you drink?” I ask apprehensively. She pauses her stride and examines me before exhaling a deep sigh.

“Tonight I do,”

Glinting fluorescent lights of blue and pink guide us to the abandoned kitchen of the apartment. I make us a stiff drink and watch as she gulps it down with earnestness. “You look like you’re having as much fun as I am being here,” I tease.

A dry chuckle escapes through her full lips. “Am I that easy to read?”

More than you realize. I can’t stop the smile from forming; our masks won’t work in here, this brief bubble of solidarity, of knowing without saying. A pleasant silence hangs in the air for a moment— until our attention is drawn to the boisterous chatter that begins to approach us. We both suck in a sharp breath.

“Back to reality?” She smiles up at me for the first time tonight. I drink in her features and usher us into the real world again.

— ✧.*

“10…. 9…. 8…. 7….”

The entire terrace harmonizes like a choir as we countdown the last seconds of the year in unison. Felix and Chan grip the railing of the building with anticipation in front of me, while Changbin tightens his hold on the small waist pressed against his body. I grimace, shifting myself closer to Jeongin and Y/N to avoid witnessing the sloppy kiss that will take place in moments’ time. The packed space erupts in jubilation then, with ecstatic cheers and applause dulled momentarily by colorful explosions in the sky before us.

I’m not sure what possesses me in that moment, but when I turn to her, my body reacts against my will. Maybe it was the way the vibrant colors of fireworks glistened against the tears streaming down her face; or how her widened eyes bore into mine and didn’t dare look away once the connection was made. My hand intrinsically grasps her smaller digits, and when she doesn’t cringe or pull away, I lead us from the terrace and out the front doors without looking back.

We’re half way down the building steps when her hand tugs at mine sheepishly. “Hy-Hyunjin, please slow down,” Y/N’s feeble voice hardly echoes in the concrete stairway.

The entire time we’ve been moving, I have been suspended in a daze; I cannot make sense of the gnawing in my chest cavity as her tear stained cheeks flashes through my mind. She stands at my eye level from the step above me, slender fingers still laced in my own, a tremble just barely detectable.

I watch her expression turn tearful and my limbs move on their own again— cupping her face with my free hand, I beg “please, no more tears. Not right now.” I don’t hesitate to wipe the wetness from her eye, and she leans into my touch, gently nodding her head in silent agreement.

Our pursuit continues until we reach a familiar establishment a couple blocks away from the apartment: a shabby, 24-hour diner that has been a habitual stop after late night escapades with the guys. A flushed shade of pink has bloomed under Y/N’s skin and I’m unsure if it’s a result of the winter air’s caress, or embarrassment from the smirk I can’t contain while watching her shove bites of pancakes into her mouth.

She takes a noticeable gulp and clears her throat. “What are we… doing here?” She questions from across the booth against the window.

I stare blankly at her. I try my best to keep a neutral tone so she can’t pick up on my own befuddled thoughts around the same question. “It just seemed like you needed to get out of there. And for some reason, I wanted to go with you.”

There was truth to that at least. How insane is it for strangers to share one knowing look and allow that to embolden them to run away, hand in hand? Y/N squints out the frosted window, considering my words. Her eyes flash back to mine and hold my gaze for a long moment before sighing out a ‘thank you’ between parted lips.

“What do you have against New Year’s Eve?” I probe before taking a sip of coffee.

She must find my question amusing because the corners of her mouth creep upwards into a crooked smile. With some hesitation, she answers “I don’t know— I guess, this holiday makes me reflect on the past, forces me to consider the future. I don’t have very pleasant thoughts about either.” Her eyes flutter closed in reflection. “I have had some… tough times, to say the least, this year. I thought by now I would feel different. Feel better.” She scoffs at her own words.

I turn her admission over in my mind before responding. What she has shared resonates deep within me. Leaning my head against the chilled glass, I add “It’s quite funny, the fashion in which we celebrate the new year. The signifying of a ‘new’ chapter— a clean slate. As if the change of the date could really alter our lives when the clock hits midnight. It’s just another day, you will feel the same as you did the night before. For some of us, that’s not much of a reason to celebrate.”

I swallow thickly at how cynical I sound aloud, like a scorned victim who wants everyone to drown along with him. My transparency makes me feel pitiful, yet Y/N does not seem taken aback by the crudeness of my words. There is only silence exchanged between us, but her empathetic expression conveys all I need to know. I exhale my relief.

But I am flustered for a different reason all together now— she pulled that unfiltered confession straight out of me with just a stare; the inkling of her smile and the fluttering of thick, dark lashes was all she needed to disarm me.

“But doesn’t a little piece of you wish to feel differently?” The inward battle she endures is painted all over her features— exhausted by the affliction of the universe, but still so unyielding for her heart to become callous. She’s courageous, a lot tougher than I have ever been; I stomped out that flicker of faith as harshly as I could in the beginning of my grief. What was the point of looking for goodness in the world when I couldn’t have it, when it couldn’t reach me? When everything I tasted didn’t take the bitterness away.

“I want the idea of a new day to fill me with optimism— but my logic won’t quite allow that, like my mind is fighting against my heart,” Hiding the blush behind her hands, she can’t hold back how comical she finds her own embarrassment. “God, is that childish? Why does it feel stupid to still want to hope?”

It pangs again, my heart remembers all too well the feelings she is conjuring in me. I try to defuse this internal intrusion by laughing too, the toothy grin reaching my eyes. “In this world, It’s admirable and maybe even a lil’ foolish— because the mind and heart can hardly ever cooperate.” Y/N raises her glass to my eye level and we cheers to that: to our feeble brains and the forlorn heart, fickle fuckers they are.

The mood shifts unexpectedly afterwards, her light expression softening into something timid— something vulnerable. Nimble fingers fidget with the corner of her napkin as her low tone just barely registers from across the table, “I don’t know how you knew what I needed before I did, but thank you, Hyunjin– this means a lot to me... Do you think we were friends in a past life?”

I can make out a semblance of my own smile reflected in the dark liquid of my coffee mug as I peer down into its blackness. I won’t allow myself to spiral now, I refuse to process how alarming it is for a stranger to move me as deeply as she has, so I deflect, “Maybe, cus I knew you were cool– that's why I brought you to where all the brooding kids like us come to hang out.”

Y/N’s bright laughter rings distinctly amongst the commotion of the restaurant, her eyes creasing into crescent moons while she beams, “We are kindred spirits, you and I.”

And then it’s all too soon that the liquid in our cups turns cold; the night lulls to a hum as it settles around us and we reluctantly prepare to brave the elements outside the solace of the diner.

— ✧.*

My lips are practically frozen when we reach Y/N’s apartment complex. Seoul’s frigid wind stings my face as we push against its force, but I unclasp the top buttons of my coat anyways, fully welcoming the numbness— anything to distract from the shorter frame beside me, the way my fingers itch to seek comfortable warmth in the hand that brushes against my own while we walk. An unintentional gesture that is stirring a foreign kind of frenzy within me, and Y/N seems to sense my discomfort.

“Hyunjin, can I ask you a question?” She doesn’t meet my gaze when she speaks and a piece of me is glad for that. “Do you believe… only time can heal all?”

Her question stifled my thoughts for a minute. The answer doesn’t take too long to come to me, and I hope my candidness doesn’t deepen her hardship. “I think time is a small part of it. It alleviates— as do many other things. Perhaps healing is a combination of time passing, distraction, enduring; just trying your best to fill yourself up with anything at all until you feel full, or whole, again.”

The fluorescent street light illuminates her pensive look, and I trace faded constellations of freckles adorning the rosy cheeks in front of me. Her rigid stance reduces to something more placid under my stare. How small she must feel standing against my taller stature. The corner of her lip remains tucked under her teeth until I force myself to connect with her fixed gaze again.

“What do you do then, to fill yourself up?” Y/N smiles up at me hollowly. She is a person made of contradictions, it seems; what a lovely, twinkling sound her voice makes, it does not match the spiritless words that spill from plush lips.

I run my fingers through my dark hair and move my focus to the black sky above us as I speak, “I compose and listen to music; drink a little too much some days and write poetry. I paint. I sketch— I fuck.” I catch the hitch in her breathing and chuckle at her embarrassment. Her body takes a brave step forward, curious eyes searching for something within my own.

“And does that work? Are you healing?”

I wish I could lie and give the answer Y/N wants to hear. The truth of the matter is, I have seen myself take great strides forward toward happier days— and then one random morning, I might not have the will to even crawl out of bed. More than just my heart was broken by my breakup; my ego, my confidence, my ability to trust have all been marred. She is owed some honesty, so I pick out the most important notes to share from my experience.

“Honestly, I don’t think healing is linear. I have some truly good days, and some bad ones. I will admit there is slow progress— but god am I impatient,” I laugh and pray she can’t hear how I ache, “and god, does the loneliness tear me up sometimes.”

I sense my statement causes her no distress because Y/N simply purses her lips and nods like I had just confirmed her hypothesis. We stand in the cold, with the weight of this burden of truth on our shoulders. I’m taken by surprise when a melodic giggle disturbs the bit of silence.

“Being around you made me feel so light for the first time in what seems like forever,” my pulse quickens and she offers me no opportunity to interject. “Thank you, Hyunjin. It’s been awhile since I’ve hung out with someone and didn’t feel… alone, if that makes sense.” She peers up at me through her lashes, gauging my expression.

“On those days you feel lonely, I want to do the same for you as you did for me tonight.” Her eyes darted from mine, bashful at her own unexpected tenderness. When she attempts to escape through the double doors of the building, I catch her wrist and pull her back to me, my shallow breath tickling the back of her hair.

She has done more than she will ever know, and more than I’m brave enough to admit.

“Can I say one last thing?” My pitch heightens and I don’t care if she can hear the excitement in my voice, all my senses are buzzing being close to her like this. As she turns to face me, I see I’m not the only one enchanted.

This girl must possess the ability to read my mind because before the idea of kissing her can completely overwhelm me, delicate fingertips graze my jawline and ground me to reality once more. I didn’t have a single clue as to what I wanted to say before she slipped away, but that doesn’t matter in this moment any longer– there is nothing we have to speak into existence as her lips ghost over mine, silently seeking permission to succumb to our inexplicit desire.

Kissing a stranger shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t make all my reason null and void, or engulf me in a soothing reverie that I embrace when I take her lips in mine more fervently. This feeling shouldn’t transcend gratification and fill me with more, but as she cradles my face with a gentle grasp and my arm wraps around her neck to bring our bodies closer, I’m somehow convinced this is right— that it is as it should always be with Y/N.

Her fingers tangle themselves in my hair and I let myself bloom under the intoxicating warmth of her touch. I smirk against her when her lips part, allowing me entrance to deepen the kiss. She tastes like mocha and desperation, the flavors becoming even sweeter while I push her into the brick pillar of the building, failing to restrain the need to have her pressed against me. My movements are more raw than I intend, but I can tell she is quite pleased with my undoing, based on how her thumbs smooth loving circles into my skin.

A delicious tickle makes me hum, imagining the image of her frame caged between my own and the cool facade— how lost in this moment we must appear. Y/N returns my intensity and claws at my collar, as if our forms could possibly meld together with just a little more fervor. Her body arches, chasing my caress down her side and I can’t suppress the groan that slips into her mouth when I feel her shiver against my body. A blistering kind of heat builds in my stomach, listening to the soft, wet sounds our lips make while we struggle for dominance. Who craves who more, It's impossible to say.

I think this moment will be burned into me, I have never felt pleasure so tangible and potent. I’ll remember with clarity how the huffs of white smoke blurred my vision when we reluctantly disconnected, gasping for air, under the harsh gleam of lampposts. Y/N giggles in between quick inhales and tries to cool her reddened cheeks with the palm of her hand. “Did you want to say you needed to come upstairs?”

My chuckle comes out breathy and ragged, “yeah, I feel kinda dizzy— I should maybe lie down for a while.”

The corner of her eyes crinkle when she smiles and my chest swells with adoration. I want to savor the way her smaller hand molds into mine as we hurry through the brick archway together. A sensation I long locked away washes over me then; I can’t pinpoint it exactly, but it feels a lot like resolution— a wishful promise this night is just the beginning.

The idea of tomorrow shines a bit brighter in the back of my mind.

#skz scenarios #hyunjin x y/n #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin angst #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin fanfic #stray kids scenarios #lluna.p.writes #red line ch 1

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slimesam · 2 years ago

Text

The Nun and her Familiar (Gun x Reader)

Chap 2

Summary: Your third-year student is now summoning your own familiar and somehow you have summoned a literary hot-as-hell demon as your familiar. Your familiar, He is a sadistic man that loves to see your struggles when you're fighting monsters, he loves to see you squirm as he goes near you and especially when he mentions your "meat" is his favorite part.

He wonders when will give in to him

A/N: I am back! I am so burned out/too busy and out of ideas lol. as this also just fanfiction is just on a whim that I made! I probably shoud go back to drawing and stack every paragraph on this story. (being 3rd year in 2nd sem kicked my gear into lazy mode and busy catching up)

Warning: Implied NSFW(?)

________________________

Both of them arrive at the grand door beside the door there is a plate that is written ‘Place the Gifts and Letter for Head Priest DG here’ with an arrow that points down and you can see a lot of gifts, flowers, and letters being placed under a metal plate.

Y/n prepares herself to knock on the door, and Gun is at her back staring at Y/N's figure since they have left the summoning room.

'Her physic is definitely different from what I remember from those past centuries those nun/clerics are too fragile. As they are basically so easy to break when they are in a field battle as they mostly serve as buffer and healer.' Gun admires his new master body while comparing her to those weaklings that he has fought with centuries or decades ago.

Knock

“Come in”

Creeeeeek

"Good afternoon Head priest DG" Y/n open the door gently as she doesn't want to disturb him. Entering the room with Gun, and bow to the head priest as a sign of respect. While Gun merely just stood beside her staring intensely at DG like he is pinning point on why does he look familiar.

The pink hair idol looking man name DG smiles as he put down his paper work "Ha, Miss L/N I have been informed by your advisor that you need to resolve the issues of your familiar" ignoring on the demons intense stare

Y/N simply nod at DG and explain the situation

After Y/N explains the details, Head priest DG tapping his pointing fringer rapidly on the table thinking on how he would instruct Y/N problem.

And finally he stopped tapping.

"Miss Y/N, why don't you leave this problem to me I can process the form of this registration without any problem." He smiles

"Also can you leave first as I have to discuss something with your "familiar"" DG said to Y/N as he glares at Gun.

Y/N look at back and forth between them thinking that DG want to lecture a Demon and put a rule during his stay in the PTJ realm.

'Hopefully, they don't fight' Y/N thought as she leave the room.

Making sure the door closes tightly the two talk.

"It's been a while since we have met DG, ha no should I say James Lee the archangel." Gun smirk as he turns the door nob.

Dg smile turns into a shit grin like he gonna troll the crap out of Gun "Gun-ssi, You should already know already that I don’t go with the James Lee anymore, but you should hurry up and catch up with your new master. Wouldn't want her to steal away from some of her classmates right?"

Gun tsked as he remembered that his new master Y/n may probably get mobbed by his new fans due to him being a unique summon.

"Tell me what are you warning me about? "DG""

DG merely huffed at the remarked of Gun and leaned at his chair. "I would like to remind you to be on the watch list of the officials, so don't be reckless as you're gonna drag me into your problem."

"Of course of course, I won't do it out in the open with evidence DG. You must have forgotten that I keep my hands clean and legal." Gun slicked his hair back showing how confident and arrogant in his skills, turned his back from the pink hair priest and turned the doorknob.

"Before I go, I remember why they say that you are a demon dressed in angel from those times "DG "..... did you think that you can fool me on your tapping to cover those sinful sounds when this devil has sensitive hearing." Gun smirks as he goes out and closes the door.

UGK

A choking sound can be heard under the table of Dg.

"My my my Miss Kang don't worry about that, just keep on going, my dear"

Mmm?!?

"Yes yes, it's still safe to keep on going. He is merely teasing as he is also an unstated creature. Ha, surely no one will come here until the evening meeting… Why don't you sit on my knee, my dear." DG petting something? Someone? under his table.

Y/N being a good master she waits for Gun while she's staring outside the window, she still needs to show him around the campus and set some boundaries when she is in class or on fields. She doesn't want anyone to mob her for her unique familiar or just have him scaring the crap out of everyone from his majestic and terror aura.

"-Sensitive hearing"

Hearing the door closed, snaps her thoughts and looked at Gun who is approaching her.

"Ha! Gun! Did head priest DG talk to you about how you will settle?" Y/N rubs her neck nervously as she can feel the intense stare from her familiar.

In the spur of the moment, Gun brought his head beside Y/N's ear and whispered in a deep gritty voice. "My dear mistress, It's nothing to worry about."

Y/N backed away quickly while covering her right ear, blushing like a tomato at the Gun's whisper.

#lookism #lookism gun #lookism gun x reader

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inquisimer · 2 years ago

Note

Happy DADWC-versary! in honor of that, I'm here to hurt you. For Siobhan/Loghain, " sometimes, i just need the world to be beautiful. i know how dark and ugly it can be but i just want to see something good and focus only on it for a few minutes." (from the it's all about the yearning prompts)

thank you kia!! but joke's on you, you came to hurt me and I wrote them being somft :3 some pre-relationship/developing relationship for Siobhan/Loghain tonight

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

“I would prefer to stay in the city,” Siobhan huffed. The warden ignored her, continuing his trajectory up the Wounded Coast and leaving her no choice but to follow.

“You’ve not left the city in weeks.” A low-hanging branch blocked their path forward and Loghain ducked beneath it. He held it back for her to pass, holding her eyes as she did so.

“And what of it? There’s little else holding the city together, these days.”

“You cannot hold the city together if you fall apart yourself.”

Siobhan glowered at him. “That won’t be an issue.”

“Won’t it?” With a thoughtful hum, Loghain dipped from the main path and forded along a trail of recently broken ferns and shrubbery. Siobhan followed, an irksome itch crawling beneath her skin.

“Of course not,” she told his stubborn back. “Kirkwall hasn’t broken me yet and it’s not about to now.”

They slipped past a sharp outcropping of dark stone and Siobhan blinked against the sudden burst of crimson and orange across her face. A shadow fell across her adjusting eyes as Loghain leaned against the stone and faced her with a furrowed brow.

She looked away, if only to hide from the intensity of his gaze. They were on a tiny shelf of rocky sand, tucked away from the casual onlooker by well-grown trees and sea-worn stone. It was not the kind of place you stumbled upon by accident. Out here, Siobhan felt naked, stripped of her city, the brick and buildings she’d woven into armor over the years.

“The city will not break you,” said Loghain, gently handing her the heavy words one by one, “but your love for it will.”

Siobhan tensed, hackles raising fully, but the warden held a hand up against her angry defense.

“Have you loved a city to the point of destruction, my lady?” He raised one sharp eyebrow. “A country? Because I have. And I’ve mellowed enough under my Tainted leash to recognize the signs.”

Siobhan’s jaw snapped shut so fast her teeth clicked together.

She watched his back as he gave it to her, walking to the very edge of the sand and staring out at the setting sun. She expected a lecture, a listing of ways she’d fucked up or misstepped or could have done much better. She’d certainly heard enough of them, and told as many to herself.

Instead, the former teryn held out one gauntleted hand for her to take. He guided her to his side, then dropped her hand to gesture at the horizon.

“It is easy to get caught up in it all. And even when you remember the good in the world, the ugly and the dark is a constant presence.”

He clasped his hands at the small of his back. “Sometimes, you have to force yourself to look at something beautiful, even if you don’t think it’s necessary. Caught up in the details that need to be tended, you can miss the crumbling of the bigger picture.”

Siobhan inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. She stared across the sea and let the half-vanished sun sear itself against her eyes. It blinded her vision and she let that purge her mind; tension she had forgotten she was holding seeped from her back, her neck, her shoulders.

Oh, but she’d forgotten, in her frenzy to glue her fractured city back together, how easily the darkness snaked into her own cracks. She closed her eyes and looked at the glare against her eyelids and let herself enjoy the warmth of the sun against her skin.

When she opened them, Loghain was looking directly at her.

“Sometimes you have to look at something beautiful, no?” she said with a teasing lilt.

His gaze never wavered, just inclined his head without looking away.

“Sometimes,” he agreed.

#my writing #dadwc #oc: siobhan hawke #loghain mac tir #siobhan x loghain #hawke x loghain #i love them your honor #ws: nothing but my aching soul

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solivar · 2 months ago

Text

Ghost Stories On Route 66

Chapter Five

Sweetwater’s Cafe and Dim Sum Palace was what happened when the owner of the hip young southwestern fusion cuisine cafe closest to the UNM main campus met the owner of the hip young Chinese small plates restaurant closest to the UNM main campus and, rather than engage in an increasingly rancorous culinary battle for the spare cash of every student in walking distance, they instead fell wildly in love and shortly thereafter into scrumptious and wholesome partnership. Strategically located catty-corner to the main campus residence halls, the post-merger restaurant became the place for broke ass college students attempting to top-load on calories for the day to turn up as soon as the doors opened, eat from carts pushed around three stories of public-to-semi-private dining space by an army of cheerful abuelitas for two hours straight, and still make a 9:30 lecture with time to spare. The joint Shimada-Tekhartha-Song-Correia household dined there frequently enough that the host waved them through despite the fact that Hanzo still looked like he had just committed a phthalo green and phthalocyanine blue shaded murder even after a thorough scrubbing. Fortunately, their usual table, a booth in the back corner of the semi-private floor, was unoccupied and he rather swiftly found himself tucked firmly between Genji on one side and Zenyatta on the other, with Lucio and Hana standing guard on the outside ends of the U-shaped seat. Hana had, in fact, only parted with her adopted hockey stick with extreme reluctance.

“Is it too early to start drinking?” Hana asked brightly. “Because, between you and me, I have a feeling that today is going to be the sort of thing that demands Mimosas. Lots of Mimosas. And possibly a whole bottle of tequila before it’s all over.”

“Yes,” said Hanzo and Zenyatta, more or less simultaneously and in reasonably identical disapproving tones, to their mutual surprise.

“You two aren’t going to be a single bit of fun about any of this, are you? Okay, fine. ” And when the drinks cart came around, she settled for a spiced hot chocolate and waited patiently for everyone else to adulterate their tea or coffee before demanding, “All right. Spill it. I want to know in excruciating detail why our security deposit probably just went down the toilet.”

Hanzo inhaled the steam rising off his cup of tea, took a fortifying sip, organized his thoughts, and began to speak, pausing only when the food carts stopped next to their table. He told them about the trip itself, the breakdown, the walk through the desert, the ranger and their drive back to the car the next morning, and precisely how everything had gone horribly, hideously wrong from that point forward. He even copped to talking to Zenyatta first, which earned them both a half-startled, half-hurt look from Genji. When he finished, the table was covered in half-empty plates of huevos rancheros, honey-coated sopaipillas, carne adovada burritos, pork xiao long bao, sesame buns, and a crock of hot and sour soup. He helped himself to a little bit of everything while the others digested what he told them.

“So...what you’re saying is…” Hana said in the tone of one musing idly aloud, “...your smoking hot park ranger has one hot vampire dad and one terrifying smog monster dad but, nonetheless, he has two dads , which means he won’t find it completely traumatic if you call him up and ask him if he wants to go get some hot chocolate and pumpkin empanadas once all this is over?”

“Really? That was your takeaway from his story?” Lucio asked.

“It was the takeaway that doesn’t make me want to run screaming back to Korea.” Hana replied, sweetly.

“Okay, there is that.” Lucio turned and leveled a deadly serious look at him, brown eyes intensely earnest. “Han, I love you man, you know that, right? So you know this is coming from a place of love when I say you could not be more obviously thirsty for this dude if you had a holoscreen floating over your head announcing in foot-tall flashing letters I am thirsty for Ranger Jesse McCree. Seriously, ask him out. The worst he can do is say he’s not interested.”

Hanzo buried his face in his soup bowl in an effort to disguise the fact that all the blood was rushing into his head with such violence he could hear it roaring in his ears like a gale-force wind. On one side, he could feel Zenyatta heroically controlling the urge to add his encouragement to the chorus; on the other, he suspected that Genji was restraining something considerably less supportive.

“Show of hands,” Genji asked, his tone positively glacial with the self-control it was taking him not to have a screaming freakout in the middle of breakfast, “Who thinks my brother being stalked by a soul-eating monstrosity from beyond reality as we know it is completely unacceptable and something we should all be working to change right now? ”

Four hands went up; Hanzo abstained, since he felt his opinion on the matter should be fairly self-evident.

“Seriously, though.” Hana reached over and snagged a sopapilla. “I joke because otherwise I’d be rocking back and forth in a corner gibbering right now because, really, that was kinda the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen and my Dad collects vintage Junji Ito manga so I know from creepy.”

“I gotta agree with Hana on that one.” Lucio continued to look intensely earnest. “I get why you tried to keep us out of it and I appreciate that, I do, because this semester is trying to murder me even without the addition of horrible tentacle monsters -- “

“I am not entirely certain those are tentacles,” Hanzo murmured into the surface of his soup.

“-- or suspiciously tentacular not-tentacles, but seriously, man. Your life is like normal repellent right now. Anti-normal. ” Lucio slumped back in his seat. “And your ranger dude thought sending you back to standard reality would help? ”

“The principle is a sound one.” Zenyatta interjected quietly. “The purpose of returning him to us was to encourage his soul to anchor itself in the comforting rituals of the ordinary, of the life he led before it intersected with the unnatural. I suspected the medicine sent to aid that endeavor was dosed slightly too high and therefore overperforming in an unhelpful way -- reducing it, however, may have allowed for something even more dangerous. For that I am profoundly sorry.”

“I asked for your help -- you have nothing to apologize for, Zenyatta.” Hanzo drank the last of his bowl. “Perhaps I should -- “

“Take an academic leave of absence and put a couple thousand miles of ocean between you and whatever that thing is?” Genji suggested helpfully.

“I am not entirely certain that physical distance would actually constitute an encumbrance in this case.” Zenyatta interjected.

“Why not?” His brother replied, with the sort of maddening powers of logic he could marshal when circumstances demanded it. “The ranger suggested it would help if he stayed away from where it happened in the first place -- rationally, even further away would be safest , right?”

“The ranger sent me back here because you are my family,” Hanzo replied quietly. “And because being in your presence would constitute a form of healing. Would you like to contemplate the sort of convalescence I would enjoy if I crawled home and told our parents this story? I would spend the rest of my life contemplating the world through a heavy antipsychotic-colored haze from behind the unrelentingly beige walls and discreetly reinforced windows of a psychiatric institution that I would never be allowed leave again. I’m half amazed you don’t think I’m insane.”

“Admittedly, we kind of have the advantage of knowing you as the less freaky Shimada brother.” Lucio replied soothingly, flicking a glance at Genji as he did so. “No offense, G.”

“None taken.” Then, grudgingly, “I don’t think father would let that happen, but I see your point.”

Hanzo let the breath he’d been holding out in a shaky sigh. “Thank you.”

“In any case, I would suggest that our next course of action should be determining if that...painting...at the house is more than it appears to be -- “ Zenyatta looked up at the squeaks of dismay emanating from Hana.

“ Could it be? Honestly?” She asked, eyes approximately twice their normal size. “Because, as it is, I’m not entirely sure I wanna sleep there with it still up as it is and if there’s, y’know, a chance it and its I-can’t-believe-those-aren’t-tentacles might come oozing off the walls I’m completely sacking out in your car for the foreseeable future, Zen, just warning you in advance.”

“Yes.” Simple and unadorned and, not for the first time that day, Hanzo felt as though he were trying to breathe around a red-hot spiky ball of panic.

“So. We call the ranger.” Genji said, firmly. “As far as I’m concerned, a whole lot of this is his damned fault in the first place and he can be doing more to help fix it.” Hanzo opened his mouth to object and found himself collecting a ferocious iridescent green glare for his troubles. “And, no, I don’t want to hear about how it isn’t because your judgment on this topic is completely impaired by your desire to climb him like a fire tower.”

“That is the worst analogy in the entire history of time.” Hanzo replied tersely. “And I am not -- “

“And Hana has a point, too, about staying at the condo not being the best idea until this gets figured out -- which, ideally, should happen today. ” Genji continued doggedly on. “And you’re not going to be sleeping across from that no matter what.”

“Agreed.” There were days when it simply didn’t pay to fight, and this was clearly one of them. Hanzo fished the card containing the ranger’s contact information out of his pocket. “I’ll -- “

Genji snagged it in a single smooth motion. “I’ll call him. You’re supposed to be seeking normal , right? Go to class. Keep your studio slot. Hang out in well-lit areas preferably surrounded by hundreds of people. We’ll meet up at the Student Union at...five? How’s five for everybody?”

A general murmur of assent ran around the table and Hanzo nodded, reluctantly, in agreement.

Genji grinned. “Don’t look so worried, aniki. I’ll only chew on him a little bit.”

Zenyatta dropped them off at the entrance to the main campus and, until Lucio and Hana peeled off in their respective morning lecture hall directions, Hanzo felt rather distinctly like he was walking surrounded by the world’s smallest, strangest Secret Service detail. Hana was clearly still itching for the security of a hockey stick and, rather than stopping to talk to the two dozen people who tried to flag her down as they crossed the quad, she waved and continued on, her gaze darting about as though she expected something unwholesomely flexible and sanity-blighting to lurch out from behind one of the pieces of exterior display sculpture scattered along their route. Given recent events, he decided he really couldn’t blame her for her excess of caution. Lucio was altogether more mellow but he was also carrying a messenger bag stuffed with enough notebooks and musical equipment components it could probably be used as an improvised melee weapon of some efficacy against even Things From Beyond With or Without Tentacles.

And Genji was, well, Genji and walked a considerable distance out of the way from his own first class to escort Hanzo directly to the doors of Kaplan Memorial Hall, in which lay the fine arts lecture halls and reservable studio spaces. Under normal circumstances, Hanzo arose at godforsaken o’clock in order to take advantage of the fact that there wasn’t an underclassman alive dedicated enough to their major to voluntarily choose a studio block available before the sun was even properly up, no matter how long they could have it. Genji could generally be counted among those ranks, as demonstrated by his reliance on sunglasses when confronted with the early morning light glinting off the glass-and-adobe exteriors of half the buildings on campus, which he normally only encountered under significantly different conditions.

“Hana’s not done asking questions, you know. She’s got that look in her eye.” Genji remarked, pseudo-casual, and Hanzo’s already well-knotted stomach abruptly contorted itself still further into a digestive fractal of perfect dread. “She let it ride just now because she’s actually got class in fifteen minutes but between you and me? She’s going to rake Zen over the coals once she’s got the time. And when your ranger gets here? I wouldn’t want to be him.”

“He’s not my ranger.” Hanzo replied, deeply regretting both the huevos rancheros and the hot and sour soup.

“Semantics.” Genji gave him a sidelong look. “Hanzo -- “

“You want to tell them.” Hanzo finished the thought for him and paused for a moment in the shadow of one of the big pieces on loan from the Museum of Native American Arts and Culture, planting his back against its base and sinking down onto his haunches.

“Zen already knows.” Evenly. “He saw her in me before we even spoke for the first time. I think that we have to tell them. Admittedly, I wish we could do it under more voluntary circumstances but...I think we owe them the truth. Both of us.”

Hanzo closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment on making certain his breakfast stayed where he’d put it. “You’re right,” He finally said, fighting to keep the misery out of his voice and, apparently, succeeding.

“Wow, I am?” Genji actually took his sunglasses off and blinked down at him in genuine surprise.

“Yes.” Hanzo tilted his head back and let the cool of the granite statue base soak into his skull. “I think the ranger might suspect something, too. And right now it’s only a matter of time before everyone else finds out and then managing how much the fallout sucks. We might as well pull the trigger ourselves.”

Genji hunkered down next to him, hesitated fractionally, then brushed the hair back from his eyes. “It doesn’t have to suck, you know. Our friends are smart, caring people who actually like us, which gives them a couple legs up on the rest of the clan on their worst day.”

Hanzo nodded wordlessly and found he didn’t have it in him to crush the hope in his brother’s eyes. “You’re right about that, too.”

“Clearly a lesser sign of the Apocalypse.” Genji pushed back to his feet and offered him a hand up, which he accepted. “Are you okay?”

No. “I’ll be fine,” Hanzo lied with great sincerity. “I probably should have picked either the Tex-Mex or the dim sum, but not both. Bad decision making on my part.”

“Well, at least you’re grown up enough to admit it.” Genji held onto his arm for the rest of the walk. “Where are you going when you’re done in the studio?”

“The library. I’ve got some research yet to do.” The depths of the Kaplan building yawned before him like the heretofore unsuspected entrance to the Underworld.

Genji made a point of obviously texting that information to the rest of the household. “...We also might wanna kinda call the police again. I let the officer in charge know that you weren’t missing-missing and she left me a voicemail saying they’d like to talk to you to confirm that fact. I just found it this morning.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes heavenward. “Number?”

Genji sent it over and offered him a crooked smile. “Be careful, aniki .”

“I promise I won’t drink my paint water.”

“Or fall asleep.”

Hanzo shuddered. “Not yet anyway. Go to class, Genji.”

The fine arts studios were located on Kaplan Hall’s upper floors, the best to take advantage of its relatively exposed position on the south-westernmost edge of campus and the significantly longer exposure to natural light thus afforded. Hanzo made his way quietly through the corridors where at least two early morning art history seminars were already in progress, avoiding the elevators that sounded like the mournful dying song of some beautifully tragic deep sea creature no matter how freshly maintenanced they might be, and took the stairs to his second floor studio slot. Fortunately for the continuing unsettled state of both his stomach and his sanity, his thesis advisor was likely hip-deep in holoslides in front of one of those seminars right now and if he locked the door and turned on the external sound suppression she would correctly interpret that as Do Not Disturb Art Is Trying To Happen and accost him at their scheduled meeting. Unfortunately, at the moment, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less than Try To Make Art Happen thanks very much to the present state of his bedroom and most assuredly not while locked inside a soundproofed chamber whose emergency access keys were some of the most frequently misplaced items in the entire college. He did not want to contemplate the wreckage of human folly while standing on the brink of exposing his own venality, the stupidity and arrogance that Genji had forgiven him, whose consequences he could never undo. He was not ready yet to give up the warm comfort of the others’ kind regard, could feel a part of him trying to crawl away under some internal rock and die at the thought of Zenyatta’s quiet all-encompassing compassion turning to disgust. Or the ranger. He had to plant his back against the corridor wall and clench his jaw against a stomach-churning rush of nausea as his entirely too vivid imagination painted that reaction shot against the insides of his skull. Which, admittedly, might have made for a strikingly personal and heartfelt contrast piece to the sterility of industrial-scale desolation but at the moment it primarily made him want to curl up in the crawlspace under the back stairwell and cry until he drowned in his own phlegm.

He did not, in the end, lock himself in the studio/potential supernatural deathtrap or cry his face off under the stairs. Instead, he peered over the lower edge of the nearest exterior window to make certain Genji wasn’t lurking in the courtyard, taped a note to the studio door that it was unoccupied and free to use, and fled to the library for the sanctuary to be found in research and the stringently enforced lack of interaction with other human beings.

Hanzo took possession of a carrel close to the windows in one of the second floor study rooms, slotted his tablet into the physical network interface, and connected, pulling up the local news sites he had bookmarked the night before. Cora Hernandez had not been miraculously found in the one night since he became aware of both her existence and her disappearance. In fact, all the most current news suggested that the state police and the rangers were preparing to shift from “search and rescue” to “search and recovery,” now that the temperatures were dropping consistently into the thirties by night. Even a reward for useful information offer well north of a hundred thousand dollars had yielded no new clues to her whereabouts. Her parents looked as though they had aged a decade in a few weeks, her mother pale and distraught, and he could only imagine her agony. In the back of his mind, a soft, small voice wondered idly how much effort his own parents would have assigned to the task of finding him, or his body, and how long they would have bothered. The lord and lady of the Shimada-gumi were, in the end, fairly brutal in their pragmatism and wasting more than they had to on a bad investment was never their way. Genji would never stop and he ruthlessly crushed that thought before it could go any further and closed the news tab, refusing to indulge in the thought of what would happen if his brother encountered the thing that attacked him unaware of its nature and there he was imagining it in vivid, horrifying detail and this was definitely one of those days when it didn’t pay to be a Fine Art Masters candidate. It took a long moment of heavy peace-stress breathing and thinking fixedly of nothing but a horde of kittens and puppies gamboling together in a field of wildflowers to distract himself from the increasingly Memlingesque products of his mind’s eye.

The small furry creatures and oxygen supersaturation eventually had the desired effect and his hands were at least reasonably steady as he activated the carrel’s interface surfaces and requested access to several of the library’s more specialized databases. UNM owned a cultural anthropology department unrivaled in the west, even by the University of California system, and if there was anywhere he could go to cure his ignorance on a number of topics, it was definitely here, in its repository for thousands of books and even more scholarly articles and original sources. He brought up the anthropological database’s internal search engine, set his fingers on the holokeys, and hesitated.

If he stopped here, the voice of sweet reason murmured in the back of his mind, it ended here. Genji would call the ranger, and he would come to sort out what was wrong at the house. He would finish the rest of his medicine and his soul would never go wandering away from his body again and in a half a year he would graduate and move to some corner of the world where the ghosts and demons of the desert would never cross his path again. And that would be the best, for himself and everyone else, except the next unlucky soul to fall under that thing’s eye, who might not have rescue as close or as capable.

If he did not stop here, that same voice murmured with a significantly sharper edge to its tone, if he insisted upon continuing to look , then he was asking the nameless thing that saw him, that saw him and stalked him and attacked him, to continue doing so. It might even, perhaps, be an invitation to more of such things. He was, that voice hissed, risking taking a door, already cracked, and throwing it all the way open and inviting whatever waited in the dark beyond inside. And for what? He was nothing and had even less to offer and he punched in his first search queries to the sound of sweet reason’s howling despair, watched the results scroll up his screen with a certain cold satisfaction curling in his gut. There was, to put it mildly, a lot. He set is phone to give him a twenty minute warning on the five o’clock hour and dove in head first.

The phone pulsed out its incoming text vibration ten minutes before the alarm was set to go off. Hanzo separated himself from what he was reading with almost physical difficulty and felt about for it blindly, blinking after-images out of his eyes as the difference in illumination made itself felt. The study room he’d chosen was on the eastern side of the library, the sky an arch if rich blue twilight under the high overcast on the other side of the windows; in another hour it would be as truly dark outside as it was in the study, his desk a lone island of light. Something about that, once he realized how alone he was just now, sent an icy sharp finger sliding the length of his spine.

Where are you? The text was, predictably, from Genji.

Library, finishing up for now. Hanzo replied, as he did, in fact, finish downloading the last of the assortment of books and articles he’d requested. You?

On my way to the Student Union. Want me to meet you? It had, even in text, a certain air of desperately-attempting-to-be-casual that Hanzo could not help but find heartwarming.

Certainly. I’ll be in the front vestibule.

He slotted his tablet back in its case, gathered up his pile of handwritten notes, tucked them all into his bag and headed downstairs -- where all the people he’d expected to find engaging in frantic last-minute-before-midterms research/study binges clustered together around the reference desks, sitting eight to a table in a state of cross-disciplinary detente almost unheard of in modern academia, business majors sitting shoulder to shoulder with paint-thinner-scented artsy types, future employees of Los Alamos National Laboratory sharing their research space with the poli-sci wonks who would eventually make their professional lives miserable. The atmosphere was palpably tense, conversation low and not restricted to scholastic topics, and came to a complete halt as campus security -- armed campus security, Hanzo couldn’t help but notice -- cruised through the ground floor on patrol. He stepped into the vestibule and, as he waited, he couldn’t help but notice, amid the flyers advertising the annual all-college Halloween party at the Student Union and underclassmen desperately searching for non-flaky roommates for the rest of the academic year, a substantial number of Have You Seen This Person holo-leaflets. Cora Hernandez and her incredible reward, of course, but also at least eight others, some recent, within the last month or two, some from last year but still on display. He knew, pragmatically, that at least a few of them weren’t actually missing -- most missing people were, like him, not so much missing as temporarily misplaced -- and yet he couldn’t quite fight down the shiver as he contemplated them, their pictures almost all high school graduation photographs, and quietly hoped most of them had run away to Tisch School of the Arts or with a perfectly wonderful significant other their parents inexplicably disapproved of and not any of the other possible options.

Something hit the glass of the vestibule windows a few inches from his head and it was only the gift of parental disappointment inspired self-control that prevented him from screaming and diving for cover. Also: the iridescent flash of Genji’s eyes in the light of the security lamps. Neither, however, prevented him from plastering himself against the back vestibule wall and suffering a minor coronary event because, in his most recent experience, glowing yellow-green eyes were not necessarily a source of comfort. “Earth to Space Station Shimada, come in Hanzo.”

“You are the worst brother on the face of the Earth.” Hanzo informed him, testily, as he peeled himself away from the wall under the astonished gazes of approximately three dozen of their peers, four librarians, and a security guard.

“I’ve been texting you to come out for the last four minutes.” Genji replied in a tone of sickeningly sweet sweetness as he held the library door open. “And I don’t mind telling you at this point that I think your situational awareness could use some improvement and it’s no wonder you almost got eaten by an extradimensional tentacle monster.”

“The more I think about it, the more I’m sure there aren’t any actual tentacles.” Hanzo muttered. “And you’re right about the situational awareness thing. I was totally ignoring my phone.”

“ Wow. You actually just admitted that I was right about something twice in one day. The world is completely going to end, you should ask your ranger out sooner rather than later.” Genji flashed him a shit-eating grin that Hanzo had to physically resist the urge to hit with his bookbag.

“He’s not my ranger.” Hanzo replied and it was seriously starting to sound like he was trying to convince himself of that which was, all things taken together, just completely and utterly sad. “And I thought you were harboring an intense preconceived dislike of him for reasons beyond my comprehension?”

“Four days, Hanzo. Anyway, I don’t like him but I have talked to him and he apologized sincerely for not contacting anybody and I filled him in on the situation as it currently stands.” Genji continued breezily on and Hanzo came to a complete halt in the middle of the sidewalk, to the annoyance of the pedestrians immediately behind him.

“ What did you tell him? ” He could not quite keep the panic out of his voice but he did, at least, not give himself away in English.

Genji stopped, glanced back over his shoulder, and turned all the way around. “Only what you gave up at breakfast this morning.” Hanzo could feel his face doing things in response to that, things he could not particularly control, and while he was trying, Genji came back. “Really, aniki , just the facts, I promise. Telling him how utterly and transparently into him you are would actually constitute a form of mental cruelty not sibling hijinks.”

Hanzo took a shaky breath and let the arm his brother tucked across his shoulders and the length of his brother’s stride set the pace. “Thank you.”

Genji flicked a look out of the corner of his eyes. “You’re welcome. You know it’s not actually wrong to desire human contact, right? I mean, I’m completely willing to let this guy grow on me. Or another guy. Or another girl. Or basically any combination of other humans plus you so long as you’re happy, okay?”

“Can we not have this conversation just now, please?” The Student Union came into view and he caught a glimpse of Hana’s bubble-gum pink light up headphones in the middle of a cluster of underclassmen in the quad courtyard outside. “What did he say?”

“Let’s wait on that until we’re all together.” Genji’s hand closed around his own and pulled him to a halt. “I promise I’ll try to like him.”

“You don’t have to like him. I don’t have to like him. It’s actually probably better for all of us if we kept any liking to a bare and professional minimum because anything else will lead to tears and heartache and I honestly cannot deal with this right now, Genji. ” He tugged, gently, and his brother followed this time. “Maybe if we’d met any other way -- “ Genji snorted audibly. “Or maybe not but in any case -- “

“In any case what?” Hana asked, as she separated herself from her small army of hangers-on and tucked herself in on Hanzo’s other side. “Lucio and Zen are upstairs getting a table in the dining hall, by the way. What kept you two?”

“Unnecessary relationship drama.” Hanzo replied succinctly.

“ Very necessary relationship drama.” Genji responded, because the day had not yet dawned on the circumstances that would lead his brother to not contradict him just because.

“You spent the last eight hours talking yourself out of telling Ranger McDreamy that you like the way his jeans fit, didn’t you?” Hana asked, tone mournful, and it was only her firm grip on one arm and Genji’s on the other that kept him from fleeing into the night. “Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. If you weren’t the only person in this household who’s never had a screaming vodka-fueled breakup phone call at three in the morning, I’d be considering an intervention right now.”

“No, that is not how I spent the last eight hours.” Hanzo sighed, too weary even for indignation. “And I roll to disbelieve that Zenyatta has ever had a screaming vodka-fueled anything.”

“You have a point -- Zen is way too...Zen...to raise his voice except when -- “

“ Stop. Stop right there. ”

Hana giggled evilly, Genji laughed outright, and Hanzo cast a pleading glance heavenward and a prayer for forgiveness in the direction of a thousand generations of all their cringing ancestors.

In a display eerily similar to that of the library, no one was sitting alone or, for that matter, even walking alone, and thus the three of them entering the dining hall basically arm-in-arm-in arm attracted no particular attention whatsoever. Lucio spotted them as they came in the door and waved them over to the table he and Zenyatta had claimed next to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the courtyard.

“Dr. Saddind-Maas asked me to give you her best, Hanzo,” Zenyatta said by way of greeting, “And she hopes that you’re feeling better after your terrible ordeal in the desert and also eight other things equally urgent and I frankly suggest you check your email at some point if only to reassure her of your continued existence.”

“I thought I did that already.” Hanzo self-defensively dropped into the chair between Zen and Lucio, fished his tablet out, and found twenty-three brand-new URGENT tagged emails, all of them from his redoubtable, incisively clever, tragically absent-minded thesis advisor who had, in fact, only processed the implications of his absence from the lecture hall after he’d drawn it to her attention. “...And this is another thing I can’t deal with right now.”

“What’s the first thing?” Lucio asked, handing him a paper plate loaded down with the greasiest imaginable dining hall pizza.

“His total failure of nerve when it comes to strategizing an effective pass at Ranger McDoMe.” Hana replied from around a mouthful of french fries.

“ Dude.” Lucio gazed pityingly at him over the top of his glasses. “That’s something we can all help with, you know.”

Hanzo closed his eyes, took the longest, deepest breath in the history of cleansing inhalations and heroically refrained from expelling it in a scream. “Thank you, I will take that under advisement. Genji, you had something you wanted to say once we were all together again?”

“That I do.” Genji grinned the world’s most malicious little brother grin. “I called the Ranger and gave him the scoop on what happened at the house. He agrees that, given the circumstances, it’s surpassingly strange and probably dangerous and that absolutely none of us should go back there by ourselves until he’s had a chance to examine it personally. He has politely requested that we meet him and a couple of his colleagues there around sevenish, to which I agreed, and he also suggests that we not sleep there tonight no matter what, because he’s a little doubtful that this situation is going to get resolved in a manner not destructive of our regular schedules. Because why would it?”

“I knew we all should have packed an overnight bag this morning.” Hana groused into her pizza.

“If the ranger doesn’t want us to go back into the house, we will think of something.” Zenyatta soothed soothingly and Hanzo, at least, found his spine bending somewhat involuntarily under the power of it. “I spoke to a colleague of mine about our situation, and she is willing to allow us the use of her family’s vacation cabin for at least the next several days, if necessary.”

“Vacation cabin? Where’s it at?” Lucio asked.

“Just inside Santa Fe National Forest. I told my colleague that our landlord was seized by the sudden desire to repaint the entire condo and that we would need to vacate for at least a few days until the work was done.” A wry smile. “She seemed to find that entirely believable and only asks that we make certain the any dishes we use are washed and put away before we leave.”

“That’d be really helpful if we could do that. I’d just need to sign out some recording equipment from the lab before we go…” Lucio pulled out his phone and sent out a message. “We’ve got most of what Cora was working on before...whatever happened happened but we’re still short a couple hours of ambient sound design and if I could get some good recordings while we’re out in the country -- “

“Is that what she was doing on the project? Sound design?” Hana asked and accepted the tablet when Lucio handed it to her.

“Yeah, and she was pretty awesome at it, too.” Wistfully, and a quick glance around the room. “I heard a rumor this morning that the security footage review came back and an order came down from Administration a few hours later bumping up the security patrol presence on campus.”

“Yeah,” Hana agreed. “Along with a politely worded request that students stay together after dark and locking down the campus residences at sundown.”

“Why?” Hanzo asked, mystified.

Lucio’s voice sank to a level just above the background chatter. “Rumor also has it that the security monitoring network caught something going down on campus that got missed on cursory review, or overlooked because her car was found.”

“Have any of the rest of you seen those MIB greyfaces hanging around? They’re not campus rentacops or regular Santa Fe PD.” Hana leaned in as well. “They had a tech crew with them putting up some kind of receiver mast on the roof of game design main. Knocked us offline for, like, two whole hours.”

“They’re not cops. I’ve talked to a couple of them -- they’re a private contractor doing some research for the labs up at Los Alamos. Just a second, I’ve got a card -- “ Genji dug out his wallet, and laid a rectangle of intimidatingly black laminate, etched in blood red and lined in metallic silver: Technological Advancement and Logistical Operations Network, along with a contact number. “Something about anomalous electromagnetic readings, I think?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Hanzo muttered and immediately drew the collective attention of the table.

“Why?” Genji asked warily, sliding the card back into his pocket.

“It might be nothing.” Hanzo replied and pulled out his own tablet, thumbing it open. “Or it might not. Or it might be related to something I heard recently and -- “

“ Hanzo. ”

“Okay, fine. This gets pretty involved, try not to fall asleep.” He pulled up a handful of holoscreens. “Have any of you ever heard of the Red Zone? In relation to here, the southwestern United States?” Three blank looks and one carefully guarded neutral one met that question -- Zenyatta was not a man with whom he would wish to play poker. He selected the map screen and flicked it open to the range of easy legibility. “The term dates from the time of the Omnic Crisis -- this,” He tapped the thick red line neatly bisecting the screen, “is US Hyperlane 40. During the Crisis, everything south of it in New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas was designated the Red Zone, the potential route for the Omnic forces from the Nezahualcóyotl Omnium and the Brownsville Omnium to take north toward Los Alamos National Laboratory and Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado.” The blank looks became slightly less blank as the contents freshman year survey of American history seminars came flooding back. “Largest civilian evacuation in history, massive military buildup along the Hard Red Line, clash of human versus machine forces, I see this is ringing a bell. It’s why Albuquerque is still a pile of rubble belonging to the US military and why large chunks of extreme southern Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas, and the Mexican provinces closest to the US border, are only sparsely populated even now. The government actually paid people not to move back after the Crisis was over and the only ones who stayed, or came back, were the ones with the strongest ties to the area. Like the Mescalero Apache, just to pick an example, and the people who resettled Alamogordo.”

“What does this have to do with -- “ Hana began and Hanzo pulled up another screen: missing persons statistics in convenient graphical form.

“Even allowing for the massive post-Crisis population dispersal, this entire region , the area that was once in or around the Red Zone, has a missing persons rate anywhere between six to ten times the national average.” He touched the map and lit the places with the highest statistical concentrations. “Maybe higher, because most of the communities further south of here don’t get a lot of official support and that’s probably skewing results. If an entire small freehold or farming co-op goes missing and the authorities aren’t there to notice or report it, does it still make a statistical blip? Probably not and nobody but the nearest neighbors will actually care. And another thing? This has been going on for years. Decades, at least, possibly centuries. Since well before the Crisis though in statistically smaller numbers.”

“You just outed yourself as, like, four different kinds of nerd right now, I hope you realize that.” Genji remarked dryly. “So what does this have to do with the electromagnetic wackiness?”

“The electromagnetic wackiness, and the disappearances, have been known things around here since before colonization.” Hanzo replied, flatly. “Since before recorded history as Europeans consider it. Every indigenous culture that set up long-term housekeeping in this region recognized that the fabric of reality here was...weird and liminal in a not particularly friendly way. Even the Conquistadores who came here looking for the Seven Cities of Gold realized it and they kept written records. In modern times, it bled into UFO-related conspiracy theoretics -- strange lights in the sky, unexplainable sounds from beneath the Earth, campers vanishing without a trace and never being seen again. These aren’t new phenomena, they’re very old ones being interpreted differently, through a more scientific lens. The electromagnetic disturbances may be the precursor event to disappearance outbreaks -- organized disturbances have, apparently, been spiking upward in the area for at least the last ten weeks, if not longer. Los Alamos National Laboratory is monitoring it now.”

“Aliens.” Genji said, tone planed completely empty of expression.

“The word naayéé is Navajo. It literally means ‘alien monster.’ Things from beyond this world, that are unnatural to it , which are hostile to humanity and view us as their prey.” He opened a third screen and pulled up the mythological compilation files, rolling his sleeves back to the elbow to keep them out of the way as he flipped pages. “The Navajo in particular recognized and named dozens of different kinds, they had a whole complex taxonomy of types and individual creatures -- “ He flipped a page and Hana squeaked in audible distress. “Some of the worst they considered gods -- hungry, predatory, alien monster gods that drove humanity nearly to extinction in prehistory. Like Déélgééd the Horned Monster -- “ He flipped a page and Lucio half rose out of his seat. “Or Tsé Nináhálééh the Monster Eagle -- “ He flipped another and Zenyatta audibly caught his breath. “Or Bináá’yee Aghání the Monsters That Kill With Their Eyes -- “

“ Hanzo .” Genji’s tone was strangled, his grip was tight, and he pinned Hanzo’s arm to the table out of the view of the rest of the room.

Staring up from the middle of his left forearm, surrounded by the painfully twisted, hideously distorted lines of the tattoo he’d worn since his fifteenth birthday, was a single greenish-yellow eye. It twitched, visibly, beneath the surface of the skin, lines of ink contorting horribly around it and Hanzo’s head went dangerously light as it fixed on his face, tried to meet his gaze, serpentine pupil contracting to a single hair-fine slit as it did so.

Zenyatta’s hands, cool against the skin of his cheeks, bodily turned his head away; warm hazel eyes caught and held his own. “ Do not look. ” Then, slightly louder, “ None of you. Genji?”

“Calling.” His brother’s voice was tight, low and fierce. “Hello, Ranger McCree? We have a...somewhat larger problem.” A pause. “ This kind of problem.”

Over the line, from a vast and rapidly darkening distance, he heard Ranger Jesse McCree very distinctly say, “ Fuck. ”

#gsor66 #repost #written before the cowboy's name change #oh look it's spooky season

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spaceyflowerswriting · 2 years ago

Note

ADRIEN MY BELOVED <3 Feel free to ignore this

‘Sfw’ teasing James or James teasing us idk

With this plot ykykwimehjehdi

what a tease (james lee x reader)

details: fluffy oneshot with some spice, gender neutral reader written in 2nd pov, general canon au but this takes place back in james's earlier middle schooler red-hair days, you and james are best friends but he has a crush on you

warning: mildly spicy. light teasing and touching ^_^

summary: your best friend annoys you during class.

a/n: HII <3 dw i love ur requests !! 💖 also "sfw" nah i see you 😭😭 i offer you this in these trying times 🙏

"Psst."

14th time. That was the 14th time he tried to get your attention. And now he was repeatedly poking your back. Annoyance bubbled up in you and you waited for the teacher to look away before turning back to hiss at him, "What?"

He grinned and waved a hand. "I'm bored."

"I know."

"Then chat with me or something."

"Am I... what's the word?" Your voice dripped with sarcasm. "Your special court jester or something? Am I just here to entertain you?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

Okay, you kind of walked into that one. You just said, "At least pay me or something," before turning around. Next thing you knew, you felt something poking your shoulder, but it definitely wasn't a finger. You turned back to look and see James practically shoving his wallet in your face.

"Don't give me that look, you said you wanted money."

If it weren't for being in class and causing collateral damage, you would be swinging him into the next room.

While he kept his grin, you kept your annoyed expression on and faced forward again.

Then, a blessing came. For a moment, you finally found peace.

For a moment.

You paused your writing as soon as you felt James's finger poke your back again--except this time it didn't move away. It was like he was keeping you in suspense so naturally, you tensed up, wondering what he was about to do. Immediately you regretted that though because the simple swipe of his finger on your back made you flinch from surprise.

The teacher gave you a confused look. With warm cheeks, you plastered on a smile and tried to wave her off, mouthing, "Sorry!" Her eyes still held concern but she continued class. Unfortunately, she was still facing the students so you didn't want to risk turning back to yell at James.

He took the chance to mess with you more, and you shivered again when he slid his finger up. You swore you could hear him snickering.

"This bastard..."

You struggled to sit still from how weirdly ticklish the feeling was, to the point you had to grab onto the side of your desk for support. Internally swearing up a storm, you slowly began to realize he was writing something on your back. You tried to concentrate to see if you could figure it out but focusing on the tracing of his finger only made the ticklish feeling more intense.

"Any questions?" The teacher looked around the classroom to see students shaking their heads and then finally she turned around.

Relief washed over you and you jerked your head back to glare at your currently very annoying friend.

He was still pointing a finger at you. And he still had that stupid grin.

"Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

You shook a fist at him. "When we're out of here, I'm gonna knock you out."

James moved his hand back to rest his chin on his palm, propping up his head. "Oh yeah? Try me."

"Just you wait." That was your warning before you told yourself that would be the last time you'd turn back and faced forward once again.

"Hey, aren't you curious about what I wrote?"

You ignored him. He made a low whistle. Whether it was in disappointment or not didn't really matter to you. Nonetheless, he continued to bother you but because you didn't give him any more attention, he became slightly less annoying.

When the teacher finished her lecture and announced it was independent work time, you took in a deep breath and looked back at James.

His grin was finally wiped off, instead replaced with his usual stoic look. He was doodling on a corner of his notebook.

"James."

He looked up at you and the tiniest smirk made its way onto his lips. "What?"

"Sit here." You pointed at the empty seat next to you. "I don't trust you sitting behind me anymore."

He merely shrugged before standing up and doing as you asked. "You want me to poke your shoulder instead or something?"

"Go ahead. You won't get away with annoying me if you don't have me to hide behind."

"Ahh, so that's how it is. Okay." He leaned back on his chair, arms crossed behind his head. His eyes glanced around at the other students, either working diligently or chatting with friends. "You know we're still sitting in the back of the classroom, right? A quiet little corner, all on our own?"

You squinted your eyes at him, not appreciating how amused he sounded. "Yeah?"

He chuckled. "Alright. Keep that in mind."

Whatever that meant, you weren't really sure, but for whatever reason it made your heartbeat speed up a little, and not in a way you'd like to admit. You just bit the inside of your cheek in frustration and tried to ignore it by going back to your schoolwork. You didn't have to think too much about it though because James was quick to bother you again. Not that that was a good thing, either.

"Very funny," you said nonchalantly as he poked your shoulder. You didn't make any reaction to him sliding his finger in little motions. "That won't work anymore, you know."

"Aw, really? How about..." He scooted a little closer to you with his chair. You paid him no mind. "Here?"

His hand being placed on your thigh nearly made you yelp. "James!" You were hissing again, looking at him with very warm cheeks.

Tilting his head, he smirked and slid his hand up to your knee before only having his index finger be present as it tapped on your knee. Despite the mischievous look on his face, it was somehow unreadable.

You gulped, nervousness running through your veins. With the current situation, that might as well have been what your heart was quickly pumping out instead of blood.

"Wanna make a deal?" Aggressive silence from you did little to deter him from whatever evil plan he had in mind. "I'll stop bothering you if you win."

What a lovely deal. If only it wasn't coming from him.

"Pinkie promise." He lifted his hand from your knee to hold up said finger. His smirk was anything but sincere.

Should you trust him? Absolutely not, but at this point your feelings were getting the best of you so you irrationally agreed. After locking pinkies with him and pulling apart, you tried to convince yourself James was an asshole, but at least he never broke a promise. Right?

"Okay. Here's the deal." His hand dropped back down to your thigh and you felt a jump in your heart beat. Despite your nerves, you couldn't get yourself to move away. Did you even want to...? "I'm going to write what I wrote on your back again, and if you guess correctly, I'll stop bothering you. Sound good?"

"...Fine," you replied through gritted teeth.

He hummed happily at your agreement and did the same movement as he did before with his hand. You were doing your best to ignore the warmth rushing throughout you as he did so. Still, you could feel yourself shaking a little again but it wasn't from a funny ticklish feeling, oh no, it was from a place deep inside your mind where you'd rather eat a prickly cactus before admitting it to James of all people.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach when the tracing along your thigh began. You murmured the letters under your breath, "I... L... O... V..." Your voice shook alongside your slightly shivering body and as he was beginning to write the next letter, you stopped your letter listing to say, "Hey, you're moving awfully close to--"

He did not stop, however. His finger only inched closer inwards with every letter.

With the temperature of your face rivaling the sun and your heart dangerously close to exploding, you yelled out, "JAMES!"

Your friend's movements finally stopped, and so did the class as nearly every head turned to look at the both of you.

Panic settled in you as the class went silent. You glanced over at James to see he had already removed his hand from your thigh and had that stupidly perfect stoic face back on, compared to your embarrassed, frustrated expression.

"Do you... need a moment?" Your teacher looked concerned again and this time you put on the shittiest fake smile ever.

"No. Sorry." You bowed your head.

"Is James bothering you?" She spoke as if it was a mandatory thing to ask and didn't believe it one bit; of course, who would ever think the respectable #1 student of the entire school would be such a pest?

"No," you repeated. "I'm sorry, again."

"It's okay."

Slowly, everyone in the class went back to their own business. Meanwhile you were screaming internally and James was... ugh, smirking.

You huffed and scooted away from him as far as you could. You also subconsciously pressed your legs together, as if that would protect you from James's wandering hand. The fact you could still feel the little warmth of his finger tracing your thigh just filled you with shame.

No way were you going to feel like that about your best friend.

Class continued as usual and you were trying to calm yourself down. Still, you couldn't stop thinking about James and after the stunt he pulled, his presence next to you was overbearing even with the small distance.

You snapped out of fistfighting your thoughts when you noticed James pass you a note while he was looking down, like he was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. You frowned but eyed the paper anyways.

"Promise I'll stop teasing you now, I just wanted to do that one last thing. Did you guess what I wrote, by the way?"

You grumbled as you grabbed the paper and scribbled back a response.

"No. All I got was you saying you love something."

James managed to look like he was busy at work even as you handed the note back after writing his reply.

"So close! I wrote 'I love you.'" He drew a winky face at the end and seeing it just made you crumple up the paper. When you tossed the mini paperball at his head, he laughed quietly and turned to give you... a genuinely innocent smile?

Your stomach churned and you looked away before his natural charms got to you.

"I'm sick of this guy." You weren't.

#lookism x reader #james lee x reader #james lee #dg lookism #requests #plopifuee #i have no context about the images so i just interpreted it as best as i could 💪#sorry if the spice is cringe. i usually write fluff for a reason LMAO 😭

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softykooky · 4 years ago

Text

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.

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.

☾

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