#the way they dealt with the thought process he learned from his dad

[intosnarkness]

just read a fic that might have legit done more metal health work for me than every therapist i've ever seen

flower dictionary for exes (six of crows - jesper/wylan, modern AU, M) by MaudeAlise made a few things extremely clear to me about my own fucking thought processes and self-esteem issues and if the author wants to bill my insurance I will gladly handle the copay.

[the-lazyyy-artist]

i saw you in a dream a two-part Karasu Tabito x Filipina!reader story part two

Synopsis: The dreams of a distant war led you to believe that he could exist now. Maybe he did.

Word Count: 2.3K

Content Warning: Discussions of history (especially with how Japan teaches it), reincarnation au, reoccurring dreams, fluff, a little ooc (sighs again i know), mentions of Karasu's childhood experiences (lmao huhu)

Author's Note: Now, I know that the discussions of Japan's way of teaching their people about the history of WW II are quite different from how the rest of the world tells it and how it's still controversial, I dabbled lightly around this sensitive topic just to give an insight of how the reader and the other characters dealt with it. I just wanna give you a heads-up on that. If you have any insights about it, please let's discuss it together through replies, reblogs, dms, or asks. I want everyone who reads this part to have an open mind and be willing to give out their points in terms of writing and history. Thank you so much for reading the first part.

Read part one here!

@mininji @wannabepoeticischiya @x3nafix ✨

You were 8 years old.

The dream was always blurry like a camera lens that needed some wiping. The voices sounded underwater; only its tone was familiar to you. The song from the record player was oddly clear to you, but you never figured out what the song was. You can feel the grief in it... because, in the dream, you were the woman left behind by... what was his name again?

At a young age, you'd always read the story of the Japanese Occupation in the Philippines in your History Book almost every week, memorizing the events. However, to your knowledge, you know that there's something more than just the important date of when the Bataan Death March started and where the destination was or what McArthur said when he fled the Philippines for safety. 

You asked your teacher to tell you more when the class reached the lesson, being the only one awake and active in such a boring class. She was more than willing to tell you more after classes for a one-on-one session, further increasing your excitement. She warned you as you sat comfortably beside her desk that the deeper event of the colonization wasn't for children, to which you only responded, "I'm a big girl, teacher! I'm sure I can handle it." 

You did not.

Because who even knew that there were abuses against women, forcing them to bring men comfort? Who even knew that the Philippines suffered the most because of the battles between Japan and America? Who knew the country was almost erased from the map because of the war? Who knew that it was a bloody part of the country's history?

You struggled to sleep that night, and the dream didn't help you much.

By age 12, your parents took you to Japan as they worked there. It was better for everyone to be together; they told you to comfort you as you cried and cried not to let you leave your grandparents' house. They promised a complete family if you just go with them this time. The plane ride in a foreign country, the country that did so much damage to your homeland, made you feel nauseous. You didn't want to be with these people, you thought, as you sat in your seat, unable to understand anyone in class. It was a sad sight. You were thankful that your dad was patient enough to teach you basic phrases and Hiragana. "You'll get better when you make friends. That way, you can talk and learn from them," he told you one night after your nightly tutoring session.

Easier said than done. Until someone did approach you.

He was nice, at least. He didn't care much that you were different and quiet. He sat beside you one day and said, "Otoya." You replied with your last name, and he nodded. Then he started to talk. You tried to understand what he said, and he was patient enough to let you process what he said before saying more. He was so chill around you that you brought him home to introduce him to your parents, saying, "Ma, Pa, Otoya," then turning to Otoya, saying, "Otoya, Ma, Pa."

It was a weird sight that your parents talked to him more than you did to him, your parents translating what they just said in your native tongue. Slowly, he became a frequent visitor in your home, being around whenever your father gave you your daily language lessons. When you started to get the hang of the language, you finally had a proper conversation with him without writing your questions and responses on paper. There would be times that Otoya would correct you, and you'd roll your eyes at him at which he'd just shrug.

You told him about the dream, how it's connected to history, and how your country suffered. You and Otoya had a silent argument about what version of history was right, almost causing both of you to almost break off your friendship.

You decided to say sorry and to just drop the history thing. But Otoya was still intrigued by your dream.

"Might be reincarnation," he said as you two were taking a break from studying, lying on the hardwood floor of your living room. His silvery hair shone from the sunlight streaming through the window. You sighed and started to fidget on the hem of your shirt. "That would be weird. Why would I be a reincarnation of a sad lady?" you asked quietly. Otoya turned to look at you, his slanted eyes looking bored yet interested. "Maybe you'd grow into one," he teased, his tone unchanging. He always spoke nonchalantly, but you always picked up the intention of his words through the little quirks of his voice. You grabbed your notebook and slapped his head with it, earning a little "ow" from him. "And you'd grow up into a miserable old man who will never get a girlfriend."

Otoya laughed softly and shook his head. "You're wrong. I'm already on my sixth girlfriend this year," he said, his laughter fizzled into a small smile on his lips. "Eugh, we're in our second year of middle school and you had 6 girlfriends already? Gross." 

"If you aren't so hung up with your dreamscape husband, maybe you'd enjoy dating too," he replied, sitting up. The ends of his silver hair dropped on his forehead, then he fixed the green streak in front. "Are you really gonna grow your hair out?" you asked, ignoring his comment from earlier. Otoya nodded and messed his hair up a little. "I read somewhere that girls are into guys with longer hair. Might wanna try that out."

You let out another gagging noise before you sat back up. "Enough with the dating talk. You disgust me."

You noticed that the dreams were becoming clearer yearly, revealing more events. The conversations were a little audible, the faces of your dreamscape siblings were no longer a blur, and the song... you were finally able to figure out the tune of the song. The moment you woke up one day, you quickly hummed the song through your phone's voice recorder, hoping one day you'd find the title. 

By the time you reach the age of 17, you realize you've been having the dream more frequently than before, sometimes five times every couple of months. By now, you know how deep the man's voice was, comforting and warm despite the situation. He was caring, he was kind. You wondered if Otoya's guess years ago of this being a reincarnation was true because now, you only wanted to find someone like the man in your dreams. How much of a coincidence would it be when you find the same person as him?

Five years have passed, and you have slowly forgotten about the dream. Maybe it was just your busy life that made you forget how you had it for the past year. Now, it's just an afterthought, a memory of how you experienced a love story every time you closed your eyes at night. 

The classroom door opened, revealing Otoya and the security guard following behind him. "Eita! It's class hours, what are you doing here?" You asked, pushing him out of the room. The kids inside the room gasped and giggled, hushed conversations between them. "You're attracting too much attention now," you scolded him silently. Otoya shrugged and replied, "Come with me this weekend." Typical Otoya, not acknowledging the commotion he's causing. Now kids are lurking by the door, looking at the star footballer and wondering what he's doing with their beloved English teacher. You smiled at them and asked them to get inside, your sweet voice filling the hallways. The kids giggled and hid behind the door. "Eita," you said, returning your focus to your childhood friend, "you could've texted me that you're back in town."

"You could've been busy, and this is easier. I've invited some soccer friends to visit and take them around the city. Plus, they don't believe I have a best friend, so come with me," Otoya replied, his voice a little sing-song tune, but when he sounds like that, he's annoyed. You scoffed, reaching out to tug his green-streaked hair gently. "Alright, I'll accompany you and your friends. Just text me the details so I can clear my schedule, but only on the weekend. Okay?" 

As soon as Otoya nodded, you started to push him out of the hallway. "Now you have to leave. The kids might not be able to stop themselves from seeing more of you." Otoya nodded and waved at the kids peeking through the door, watching him leave. The moment you turned to tell the kids to get back inside, they started to bombard you with questions about your relationship with Otoya and how you knew him. You sighed, knowing that the lessons would be put aside for this.

The moment Karasu heard Otoya mention your name in the locker room after their last match, he knew.

The dreams, he knew this is what it meant. He knew that he was going to meet you one day. "Who?" he asked.

"Oh, interested?" Otoya replied, "Too bad 'cause she's in love with someone else."

He must be interesting, Karasu thought, but meeting you might change everything. Maybe. Chigiri chimed in, saying he doesn't believe that Otoya has a best friend when all he talks about are girls and how to pick them up. "How about we visit each other's hometowns while off-season?" Otoya suggested, throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder, and waiting for Karasu and Chigiri to finish up. Chigiri shrugged, saying he was okay with it. Karasu agreed too, saying it would be interesting to look around.

Your name has been on his mind for years, it's crazy. He has never told anyone about his dreams, how he sees himself as a soldier in high ranks, marrying a girl in a country he has studied so much about, learning as much as he could, even the parts he cannot accept at first but kept his mind open for the possibility that it might be true. It was crazy enough that people might start making fun of him for it, so he kept it to himself, kept it in his heart, and swore to find you, even if the possibility of meeting you were low. He believed that in his ordinary life, this dream made it extraordinary.

The dreams started when he was 8. Every night, it’s always so clear. Karasu could see the face of the lady, the way she smiled, the way she cried when he left, the way she looked when he danced with her. The sad lady, he once called her, became his favorite dream. Maybe that's why he rejected Marisa. He was too in love with her. 

It was sad when he dreamt of the lady less and less as he aged. He could remember her name, her face, and her voice. Karasu knew that this might have meant something.

He read about reincarnation in other religions and how it works. He read about it in fairytales and watched it in romance movies his sister loved to watch. Karasu knew he could be reaching, but if he kept dreaming of a certain woman, this might be it.

Now it seemed fate was working overtime as he and Chigiri waited for Otoya to pick them up at the station. It was a lovely day, too. The breeze was gentle and cool, and the sky was as blue as ever. 

He knew this would be the day he’d meet the sad lady.

"Sup," Otoya greeted as he arrived, walking towards the two. "Where's your best friend?" Chigiri asked, looking around, "You said your 'best friend' would be here."

"She will be here. She has some school things to do," Otoya responded.

"Student?" Chigiri asked.

"Nah, teacher."

The day went on as Otoya took Karasu and Chigiri to local spots to avoid a surge of tourists that day. Otoya was good at playing tour guide for the two, taking pictures of each other, noting places with great deals, and buying souvenirs for their families. It was not long before Otoya took Chigiri and Karasu to Sakae District, awaiting your arrival.

And Karasu knew you before you even spoke.

God, you looked exactly like how you did in his dream. The kind eyes, a smile that could take every worry away, and your hair, though longer, was the same. But you weren’t as sad as you were in his dreams. "Is that her?" Karasu asked, his eyes glued on you as you walked towards them. "Yep."

"Hi, guys! I'm sorry I joined you so late! Had to grade the kids' essay papers," you said, your cheerful voice somehow lifting their exhaustion. Otoya threw his arm over your shoulder, pulling you to him. "It's alright. We had fun without you anyway."

"Rude," you scoffed, nudging his rib with your elbow. "Are you gonna introduce me to your soccer friends, Eita?"

"Ah, right. Karasu, Chigiri, Y/n. Y/n, Karasu, Chigiri."

Your mind somehow sparked at the name. Karasu. Where have you heard that name again? 

His eyes met yours, pretty blues that reminded you of something distant. A memory? His smirk reminded you so much of someone you met before. He was familiar yet a stranger, someone you want to know more and get close to. What was this feeling?

You held out your hand for Chigiri, which he was happy to shake, and turned to Karasu who held your hand firmly, and for a split-second...

You were taken back to the conversations in the dream about the war and the soldier telling you he loved you, how he told you he wanted you as his wife, and how his name was...

"Tabito?"

Karasu smiled at you as he stepped closer, meeting your gaze once more.

"So, it really is you, Y/n. I've been waiting to meet you for years."

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.

[honeydots]

Xander & Soleil Father-Daughter Support

tried my hand at what i'd imagine their in-game support would be c: accompanying fanart here!

C-SUPPORT:

Soleil: *Sigh* Xander: … Soleil: … Soleil: *SIGH* Xander: Is it really so much to ask that you focus, Soleil? Soleil: But this is boring! There’s way too much to do. Xander: Perhaps if you would participate in your duties as a princess rather than flirt with the women in town, you’d have more time on your hands. Soleil: Humph. I still don’t get why I had to get locked in here with you. You could’ve at least given me a pretty tutor! Xander: On the contrary, this method has brought me success before. Xander: I dealt with your father’s philandering in precisely this way, and he stopped toying with the feelings of women all together. Soleil: You know why he stopped flirting with girls? You got MARRIED, Papa! Xander: Study. Soleil: Ugh. Fine. Xander: … Soleil: … Soleil: You’re looking sleepy. Xander: I’m not. Xander: You won’t be getting out of this early. I won’t leave until you’re finished. Soleil: Yeah, because you’ll fall asleep and it’ll take me all night… Xander: And what was that? Soleil: Nothing! Just working. Xander: … Soleil: … Xander: … … … Xander: Zzz… Soleil: Oh wow. He’s actually asleep. Soleil: I don’t wanna wake him up. I guess I could leave now! Soleil: Though… I might need a nap, too. My eyes seriously hurt after staring at all this. Soleil: Hmm… Soleil: …Zzz…

B-SUPPORT:

Soleil: Papa! Xander: Hello, you. Soleil: Hi! Listen, I have big, big news! Xander: Oh? And what’s that? Soleil: I’m getting married! Xander: You’re what? Soleil: Yup! Isn’t that something? Xander: I… To who? Soleil: Who? Oh, well. It’s a… Secret. She’s really shy. Xander: …Is that so. Soleil: Uh huh. So, um, anyway. You don’t need to keep tabs on me anymore, because I’m gonna be completely faithful. Just like Dad, heh! Xander: Ah. Of course. Xander: Though, Soleil. You understand, as you’re a princess, that there is a certain procedure which must be undergone when it comes to marriage. Soleil: Huh? Xander: It isn’t something as simple as putting a ring on a finger, it’s a royal affair. Xander: You must introduce her to our family formally, as well as engage her in the courtship process—there’s etiquette to be learned, and we’ll have to make completely certain she doesn’t intend you any harm. Xander: Not just anyone can marry a princess, you know. Soleil: Oh. Soleil: Um. Okay. Yeah, okay. Soleil: I’ll… Introduce you to her. Sometime soon. Xander: Thank you. We’ll be expecting her. Soleil: …Okay. I’ll, uh, go tell her! Bye! Xander: Goodbye. Xander: … Xander: ...That girl.

A-SUPPORT:

Soleil: …Hi, Papa. Xander: Soleil, what’s that expression for? Soleil: I, um. I need to confess something. Soleil: There’s no girl, I’m not getting married. I just didn’t want you to know I was out flirting again. Soleil: It was all a ruse. I’m really sorry I lied, I probably got everyone so excited. Xander: Soleil… Xander: Thank you for telling me. Xander: Though you don’t need to worry, I didn’t tell anyone. I knew from the beginning that you weren’t really engaged. Soleil: Oh, man. Was I that obvious? Soleil: …So I’m in huge trouble now, huh? Xander: It’s true that your actions aren’t exactly becoming of a princess. But I would like to clarify something with you. Xander: I’m not particularly upset that you’re flirting. But I’ll be strict with you if it gets in the way of your duties, as it has been. Xander: It was just the same with your father—he was causing trouble, and I felt I needed to step in to prevent it. Xander: You don’t need to lie to me. If you’d like to to spend your free time with girls, you’re welcome to. But it mustn’t continue to hinder your learnings and responsibilities as a princess of Nohr. Soleil: Oh. Soleil: Wow, I wasn’t expecting that. I really thought you were going to be angry with me. Xander: No. I only want you to understand. Soleil: I think I get it. No, I KNOW I do. Soleil: I admit that I was putting things off for a little too long. Soleil: I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll devote more time to my princess things. Xander: I’m glad to hear it. And thank you for being honest with me. Soleil: I’ll make sure I tell you when I really get married, okay? Xander: Alright. But not too soon. Soleil: Well of course not, Papa! I haven’t met all the women in the world yet!

[feymarche]

gotta get all my LINCOLN thoughts DOWN while im relistening to this godforsaken podcast. here's just some stupid observations that i wrote a whole thesis about for no reason

here's two things we know:

- lincoln was raised to always be honest about his feelings

-- despite this, we consistently see lincoln distracting himself whenever big, hard feelings come up

after the grant sauce scene outside the classroom in episode 7, lincoln doesn't take the time to process anything that his father has said to him. he asks normal if HES doing okay after the conversation with Sparrow, and then immediately changes the subject and tells everyone that they should ditch school and go to Sonics so that he wouldn't have to think about it.

and hey, that's all fair; that was some heavy shit to lay on a teenager, and he'd need a lot of time to process it, but we see Linc consistently choosing not to process it.

later, during the grant arc on earth, linc chooses to drive specifically because it's easier not to think when he's driving. when he leaves a voicemail to Marco telling him that he might never talk to him again, a really hard conversation for linc to have, linc ends the phonecall saying, 'no, this was a bad idea, everything's fine-- prank!'

(and it's not fair to say that linc telling scary that they should look for her stepdad first is also evidence that linc does this when part of it was a structural thing to mimic season 1's anchor order, but it IS consistent with linc avoiding hard emotions)

and all of this isn't even inconsistent with him being raised to always be honest! linc never had to deal with big, hard emotions like this, he's only ever been super sheltered and homeschooled and safe. if linc ever felt lonely or bad, his dads would find a way to accommodate him through some form of enrichment, and if the enrichment didn't help, matts made it clear that lincoln's favorite time of the day is when he can just be alone in his room in the space under his bed where it's calm and peaceful and he doesn't have to think about anything. linc is honest about his feelings up until they become so complicated or painful that he doesn't know how to be honest about them. linc is extremely blunt up until he doesn't know how to think about his feelings without getting hurt

grant talks about how he worries linc's relationship with soccer is an emotional distraction. he worries that linc is using soccer the way grant used violence to shut down his thoughts. and sure, linc genuinely loves soccer, it's a harmless interest to have (especially when you don't have the opportunity to have many other hobbies), but Grant recognizes that linc is using it as an emotional crutch-- or at the very least worries that that's what he's doing.

and thats the one thing that grant cant really explain to linc as a parent! if grant stops him from playing soccer JUST because he's worried, he'd have to explain WHY he's worried, and grant cant really do that. he can't talk about how much he likes killing people around his son if he isnt sauced.

and with the main big, scary emotion that lincoln faced in his backstory being mr. kicks, i'd bet lincoln dealt with that feeling by doing a lot of the same. distracting himself with soccer or zoning out entirely. i'd bet grant watched linc avoid any and all discussion about mr. kicks and instead focus on getting better at soccer. there's no way to prove that, but it's consistent with matt's character choices.

so here linc is, going through puberty, spiraling into apathy and avoidance and being like WHATEVER and WHO CARES to everything. this most recent episode was the biggest change in his character yet; he gave up soccer, said it was a waste of time, and broke that goddamn pick.

he doesn't really NEED soccer anymore now that he's learned that he doesn't need an excuse to be dismissive or avoidant anymore; he can just do it. he can just say whatever now. he can just brush people off. he can be abrasive and distant, just like scary.

and it's sad because man, he did really love soccer, even when he was using it for the wrong reasons. he really did love his family and friends. he had the strongest values and the strongest moral compass and he really, really believed in being a good person. but now he's having to deal with big, scary emotions for the first time, and he has no way to know how to deal with them, even with all the therapy his dads gave him. agughghhghghg lincoln li wilson

[dragonmasterhiccup]

"Because I can, and, uh..." She managed to stop herself from completely speaking out what was on her mind this time, thankfully, of 'Because I like how soft it is.' "...I-It looked a bit...tangled..for a second, but I was wrong...heh..."

As he copied her own words, all she could do was softly smile at him, slightly narrowing her eyes with a faint shake of her head. She didn't know what it was about him that made her smile more than usual, but she was starting to enjoy it. That, and she discovered she liked the sound of his laughter.

Just a little.

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

Freya listened attentively to everything Hiccup said, inspecting the flowers in her braid as best as she could. She had to admit, Ayla did do a pretty decent job for putting them in so quickly. Her movements of fidgeting with her hair began to slow down the more she heard what he dealt with, her eyes settling back on his face while he talked.

She was stunned at the amount of months it took, blinking in surprise at the number. "..Eight months..!?" She muttered, letting out a small quivering breath at the knowledge of how long the process was for his leg to heal. Pursing her lips, she began to become more angry with herself, and that humongous dragon who caused all of this. Why did she treat him with such disdain for the last five years? Before the Red Death conspired, her younger teenage-self would always..ignore Hiccup, pass by him as though he weren't there.

With him being in the forge so much, that was the only way Freya could tell that he was still alive, not being taken by a dragon. Due to her upbringing by her father, she viewed Hiccup as a person not to be, to avoid becoming that at all costs. So what if she didn't actually want to harm a dragon? She was supposed to do it because it's what they were all raised to do. She tried to push him as far away from her as possible, not wanting him to distort her vision of 'being the best viking', mostly to make her dad proud of her.

It wasn't hard to do so. They weren't close. They hardly interacted with one another. The times they did, she was in the forge, learning the basics for her own sake of gaining more knowledge. Freya made it a very clear point to him that she didn't want to hang around him, although it wasn't as harsh as it was after he brought the dragons to Berk.

Thanking him for the flower, she ignored the thoughts that wanted to hold his hand instead, the weird, fluttery feeling coming right back to hit her in her chest as her finger brushed against his. Once it was secured in her grasp, she lightly twirled the flower; it was a yellow one, the petals small and bright. She felt herself beginning to smile at his comment of 'all of Berk's animals' acting strange, "Aren't you the Dragon Master guy here? I assumed you 'had a way with animals', like everyone says..!"

Settling her gaze on the flower, she continued to spin in it in her hands, "In all seriousness, though, you're...very strong for what you went through, y'know. Not everyone has the guts to stand up to an enormous dragon the size of a mountain to save a whole island of people... I'm realizing that now.." She mumbled the last part, her brows lowering at the thought of the pain he went through physically, as well as internally.

Not wanting to fester Hiccup with her concerns, Freya slowly began to playfully smirk at an idea that crossed her mind. "How about this? You accept this flower as another form of my.. apology for how I behaved towards you in the past?" Not waiting for a proper response, she leaned forward and quickly placed the flower behind his ear, close to where his two braids were. She knew something so small like that couldn't make up for what she did, or anyone for the matter, but she hoped it still got the message across that she was truly sorry, and that was one first step to show that.

"Some flowers are supposed to represent peace...so, y'know.." She shrugged, earnestly fighting off the urge to ruffle his hair again, "Truce..?" Not having the strength to fight off the smile that was now visible, she lightly rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet, not understanding why she could get so..childish around him.

Ayla hastily interrupted them with a gleeful squeal, excitedly placing her hands over her mouth in shock, "Oh my goodness! Did you just put that in his hair!?" She squealed once more, jumping in the water as Blaze tilted his head at his rider, wondering what all the commotion was about, "You guys are so in loveee!" She sang the last word, spinning where she stood as she didn't see her flustered older sister stomp over to her with a revengeful, menacing, grin.

Finally turning around to notice her, Ayla shrieked in terror at the sudden appearance of Freya, attempting to run away but utterly failing as the young girl's waist was grabbed, forcing her up with her legs kicking the air. Both of them erupted into fits of laughter as Freya spinned her for a moment, Blaze watching it all as his tail slowly wagged, wanting to join in on the fun. Trying to copy them, the Sand Wraith began to walk in a circle, soon rapidly chasing after his own tail with a grin.

Despite her current situation, Ayla managed to briefly yell out to the Chief's son: "Hiccup! C'mon ! You gotta help me here!" She giggled, grasping in what air she could as Freya tickled her sides.

"Well, yeah. Including getting used to the prosthetic. If I have it on too long even now it can get sore or ache, but I try to make sure I don't overdo it."

Rubbing the back of his neck, he tried to downplay it a bit, seeing how upset she'd gotten from his answer. "Really, it, it could've been worse. Gobber and Gothi said if I had lost my knee too, it would have taken a whole lot longer... Plus, I'm stubborn, I--I didn't like not being able to get around easily..."

It had been rough at first, waiting for the burns to heal, his stump took even longer, given what needed to be done to salvage what they could.

Hiccup was grateful he had been unconscious through it all, it meant he didn't remember...though afterwards he'd get flashes of it in a nightmare.

Toothless had been there for Hiccup to lean on, both physically and emotionally too. There were times he'd forgotten, getting out of bed in a rush, going to step forward with a leg that was no longer there.

Other times, he'd push through despite the prosthetic pinching or just being generally uncomfortable. He'd always regret it the next day, being unable to use it at all due to the ache that it resulted in.

His mind was brought back to the present as their fingers brushed when she took the flower, causing him to feel an impossible to ignore spark.

"Oh, not everyone says that!" He shook his head. "I can only show them that they can trust us. What I can't do is stop them from playing, which...I think that's all they see it as," he shrugged, "Contrary to what the twins say, I'm not some magical wizard. I'm just...me."

At her words, his eyes flicked up to her face, a little surprised.

He had been terrified facing the Red Death...but knowing Toothless had his back helped immensely. His father giving him his approval gave Hiccup the surge of courage he needed.

"...Not everyone has a Night Fury on their side." He spoke quietly, his eyes down. "It was either me, or... everyone. It really was no contest..." It wasn't just because he'd learned so much more about dragons than the others, but... "It was my fault that they found the nest in the first place. I...I was the one who put everyone in danger, and...I had to fix it. I had to try."

His eyes met hers again, and before he could truly process her words, she had tucked the flower into his hair.

A warm smile growing, he nodded. "Truce."

In truth, he'd forgiven her a long time ago. But it looked like she was on the path to forgiving herself...he would help her do that, however he could.

His attention quickly turned to Ayla, hearing her squeal. At first, he was worried she'd been hurt or scared by something, but that quickly dissipated as she teased them. His face turned a bit red, and he quickly looked away, hoping Freya wouldn't notice...

... because he was starting to suspect that he was falling in love with Freya.

He couldn't look away though as he heard the two laugh, a smile forming on his own face as he watched them.

Jogging over to them, he replied, "I'm coming, Ayla!"

Truthfully he wasn't sure how he could help, but he wanted to be part of this happy moment too.

Picking Ayla up out of Freya's arms, he set her down behind him, and heroically instructed her, "Run to one of the dragons! I'll hold her off!" As he turned to face Freya, a wide grin on his face he added, "You'll never get past me!"

[astragreenwoode]

The Spitfire Curse - Chapter Six

Previous: Chapter Five • Next: Chapter Seven • Masterlist • AO3 Version 

Rating: Explicit(18+ ONLY)

Pairings:  Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC, Steve Harrington x Fem!OC, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Non-specified Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Drug Use, Hypersexuality, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Genre: Adventure, Thriller, Horror, Slow-Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Smut, Fluff, Slight Canon-Divergence, Fix-it fic

And a special thanks to my beta-reader @take-everything-you-can! Thank you so much for all your feedback and ideas, love!

Chapter Six: Red Means "I Love You"

Word Count: 12,861

Chapter Warnings: Sexual Assault, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Drugging, Disembodied Voices, Self-Deprecating Talk, Hypersexual Behaviors and Thoughts, Language, Confusion, Hallucinations, General Angst

Chapter Summary: Billy had been Maeven's classmate since Middle School but only got to know her at a party at the end of their sophomore year. As treasured as that night was to them both, the current state of their relationship isn't as pretty.

THERE'S A HUGE SHIFT IN TONE IN THE STORY FROM HERE ON OUT. REMEMBER TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES. IF ANY OF THE WARNINGS CONTAIN TOPICS THAT ARE TRIGGERING FOR YOU, PROCEED WITH CAUTION OR FEEL FREE TO NOT READ PAST THIS SYMBOL: !*!*!

I feel super nervous publishing this, as it's one of the darkest things I've ever written. This fic is my main outlet for processing all my trauma, so I hope others can understand and appreciate that. Remember to be kind to yourself and do what you need for self-care.

*Originally posted on AO3 on December 20th, 2023

May 1983

The love Billy Hargrove felt for Maeven Mayfield bordered on obsessive.

Growing up, he didn’t exactly have the best example of what real love looks like. One could barely even list his parents as an example. He knew how much his dad loved his mom, even if the way he showed it confused him from time to time. He had pieced it together in his mind that his mom left because she couldn’t handle Dad’s beatings anymore. Neil drove her away from them. It wasn’t Billy’s fault, it was Neil’s.

He wasn’t sure if this made it better or worse, but he sometimes pretended that his mother never loved him at all. At least then, he would have a simple answer for why she left him behind. Knowing how much she cared for him meant she left her little boy with a despicable man, but just didn’t care enough to bring him with her. And he suddenly understood why his dad grabbed women and pulled them back to him; to make them stay.

Eventually, Billy learned to grieve and cope the same way his dad did. He had taken enough beatings from his old man in his short life that the anger and pain that grew inside him only went away when he was inflicting it upon others. He passed his father’s abuse through his heart and soul before forcing that pain upon someone else. And even though Neil refused to show it, Billy knew he missed her as much as he did. Over time, his demeanor grew more cocky and his sense of humor dimmed darker. But he never dared to bring up his mother, lest he get another black eye from his dad that he’d be forced to blame on a sports accident once he stepped inside the school.

Like most High School jocks, sports was a way for Billy to channel all his aggression in a way that no one questioned. Each game played is fueled by rage, aggression, and excitement from both players and spectators. It gave him an excuse; a way out of being seen as a bully. He was well aware that he was a bully, of course. If he could be a different person, he would. But these were the cards he was dealt with by whatever bullshit, narcissistic higher power was in charge. He couldn’t just trade them in for something new. Billy knew he was tainted; born broken. There was no cure for what he was.

And then, Maeven walked into his life, with her long, fiery hair and adorable gap-toothed smile. Billy had seen her around before, of course. She made an impression by being one of the most intelligent kids in their grade once she entered middle school. There were even whispers that she would go on to become Valedictorian once they all entered High School together. But she was also that weird girl who collected animal bones and drew patterns on her arms with sparkly gel pens in class. She was a smartass and a showoff, always the first to volunteer to help the teachers; a goody-two-shoes, someone Billy would never hang out with in a million years. Until she suddenly became a badass out of nowhere. 

In June of 1982, before school was let out for the year, rumors spread that Maeven was arrested for beating the ever-loving shit out of her now ex-boyfriend, Jordan Bernard. Billy wasn’t surprised by this. Jordan always talked big in the locker room about how tight he had two girls wrapped around his fingers, and sometimes his cock. Of course, he stayed quiet about the whole thing, not wanting to admit to his teammates that his broken nose was from a 5’4 freshman girl. But he also seemed ashamed that the situation happened at all, and ended up convincing the police and his father to drop all the charges against her. 

Neither he nor Maeven spoke a word about it, leaving Emily Bernard, his sister,  to spill the beans. Not only did the peace-and-love preaching hippie freak punch someone, but she was arrested as a result.

So maybe Maeven wasn’t a complete nerd or loser like Billy initially thought. That didn’t mean he liked her now. She’d get a free pass from him, sure; maybe even a compliment or two if he happened to catch her in a fight. She ended up getting noticed for being the most aggressive player on the girl’s soccer team, but that was really it. He never thought he’d have to care about her until Susan somehow wandered her way into his dad’s heart.

The following October, after starting his Sophomore Year, Billy noticed his dad was acting differently. Normally, he wouldn’t give a shit about Neil or how he was doing as long as he left him alone and kept the beatings to a minimum. But he seemed suspiciously pleasant when he came home from his job as a security guard at a bank in downtown San Diego. Billy could’ve also sworn he saw him smile, something he had to sit down and process for a moment. He still didn’t dare to ask him what had him so damn happy all of a sudden, as he knew he would probably receive a “mind your own damn business, boy” as a result.

Billy’s only real option to get answers without fueling the fire of his father’s rage was to investigate himself. He drove by the bank, dressed in sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a jacket he otherwise wouldn’t be caught dead in. His dad wasn’t by the front doors like he was supposed to be, but instead chatting up an older redhead woman behind the counter. At first, Billy didn’t really care. His dad fucked around with a different woman every other week, so it wasn’t a surprise to see him sweetening up his next meal before he would eventually toss out the leftovers.

But this was different than all the other women. Neil seemed constantly fixed on her, acting too sweet and sappy for this to just be another booty call. A month after catching a glimpse of her, he came home late one Friday night to see another car parked in the driveway next to his dad’s station wagon. Billy had to park on the street that night as he crashed into his bed, trying his best to drown out the cringe-worthy sex noises coming from the other room.

The next morning, he found himself face-to-face with Susan Mayfield making his dad breakfast, as she awkwardly introduced herself to him. Billy paid her no mind except a quick nod before going back to eat the eggs and bacon he begrudgingly took from her. He didn’t have it in him to admit that her cooking was actually delicious.

For three months, Billy avoided his father and his new shtup like the plague. Neil didn’t ask much of his son, just to acknowledge Susan when she hung out there and not mention her outside of their house. Billy was okay with that. In fact, he could care less. Until he spotted her outside of the regular booty calls and secret date nights with his dad, that is. The worst part? It was at school. Three months after their first, awkward meeting in his kitchen, he finally knew why Susan seemed so familiar. He had seen that shade of red hair on a particular strange classmate of his.

It was only then that Billy took a sudden interest in Maeven. He took a moment to wrap his head around the mere idea that Susan the Buzzkill and Maeven the Freak were mother and daughter. But the more he thought about it, the more it made perfect sense. Both Mayfield women shared the same annoyingly bubbly personality and stubbornness. 

He considered telling her about her mom’s little affair; how the seemingly perfect housewife with the perfect family was sneaking with his revolting carpet stain of a father. Before he got the chance, rumors circulated in school that Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield were getting divorced. Maeven was visibly sour for weeks that the entire grade now knew the details and circumstances of her family drama.

It pissed him off a little bit, sure. Billy would’ve liked to play a part in shattering Susan’s life after she had the nerve to crawl into his. It didn’t matter, though. Somehow, she managed to shatter her life and her marriage without any help. And he had to admit, it made Maeven more interesting. He tried all different flavors of girls; smart, dense, pretty, sporty, bad, good, sluts, and virgins. But nothing caught Billy Hargrove’s attention quite like a good girl gone bad. 

She had always stood out among their peers, of course. Maeven was constantly fidgeting in her seat, drawing on whatever surface she could find, and using every chance she got to talk about animals. She was in waaayy too many after-school clubs, always raised her hand first in class, and was way too proud of herself. Maeven was always such a show-off, a try-hard, a good girl. 

All these years, she was just a familiar stranger. Billy noticed her around and heard about her, but now that he’s seen her in a different light, a flattering light, it was like he was properly noticing her for the first time. He hadn’t expected someone so nerdy and dorky to suddenly be so naturally pretty, as well. The night he formally introduced himself to her ended up being one of the best nights of Billy’s life. And she didn’t know it yet, but it would end up being one of Maeven’s, too.

Melody Chandler always threw the best parties. Her parents were never home; sort of rich nomads, always on trips for both business and pleasure. They just never bothered to include their daughter in any of them. Every week, they’d have her aunt come in and check on her, but for the most part, Melody had free reign to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to do it. It was a monthly ritual amongst the Newport Student Body to drown themselves in their drink or drug of choice at Melody’s place. It was the place to be.

In the months following her parents’ separation, Maeven had gained a reputation as quite the fox. Billy wasn’t that surprised that she grew up to be a horny little freak, something he discovered she and her mother had in common. He still remembers when she the hottest topic for weeks in seventh grade after their class trip to the aquarium. That night was still so vivid in his head. He wasn’t sure he could forget about it even if he wanted to. 

The night of the field trip, Maeven went to sleep earlier than their other classmates, tired after a day of running around and telling everyone random facts about the fish and aquatic animals. He remembered that her favorite was the sea otter. When the rest of the grade returned to the auditorium to sleep, everyone was shell-shocked to find her humping the stuffed otter she had gotten that day at the gift shop while in her sleep. She was so mortified she ended up crying herself to sleep in front of the fish tanks with her gang of girlfriends who joined to comfort her. While Billy felt incredibly bad seeing her embarrassed like that, he couldn’t deny that the whole experience left him walking away with something new awakened in him. He still thought about it from time to time; remembering that he had never blushed so hard in his life than he did watching her accidentally humiliating herself. Maybe he liked Maeven for longer than he wanted to admit. He wondered f she still had that otter, and if she still used it the same way she had that night.

Melody’s parties eventually became her favorite place to hunt for people to play with. According to most of the jocks, she was a tease; she liked playing with her food and rarely ever took a bite. She enjoyed taking control, pleasing them with her hands and mouth, often leaving them desperate for her to touch them again. If they were really lucky, she’d grind her clothed sex on their laps until they begged her to stop. Only maybe two or three of them could claim that she let them inside her, including Jordan Bernard.

Apparently, she liked messing around with girls, too, but no girl in school was brave enough to admit that. So the rumor remained unconfirmed. That didn’t stop boys from trying to convince her into a threesome with her and their girlfriends. Most of these attempts were followed by a surprise groping of her ass and ended with her throwing them against the lockers and collapsing their urethras when she kicked them where it hurt most. Maeven the science nerd was now bolder, stronger, sluttier, but definitely not as easy as some of the boys she hooked up with claimed.

All this and more were the reasons that Billy now understood why she gained so many nicknames for herself; Iron Maeven, Metal Maeven, Spitfire. That last one was his personal favorite, as it was criminally underused. It was what her Dad called her, something Billy discovered while spying on Susan.

The second to last of Melody Chandler’s monthly parties for their sophomore year ended up being memorable, indeed. After humiliating yet another sleazeball who tried to grab her without her permission, Maeven retired to the poolside lounge chair where she lit up a freshly-rolled joint she got from Madison Gray. You could always tell when it was hers because of how lush and thick they were.

Most people partied inside towards the second half of the night, the wallflowers chilling outside in the quiet of the night by the now calm pool. Melody’s place wasn’t isolated, per se. It was, however, far away enough from town that the stars could be viewed in all their glory. Maeven even caught a glimpse of the Milky Way, naming the constellations the way her dad used to do with her and Max on clear summer nights just like this.

She missed all the tiny beautiful moments that made up the love she shared with her family. Living without it as a constant reminder every day left her feeling hollow. It may not have been the healthiest coping mechanism, but the only things that made her feel whole again were weed and random makeout sessions. Maeven couldn’t just bury herself in her clubs and projects the way she used to. Of course, she still went on regular hiking trips to sketch the flora and fauna of California and find more animal bones, but it just wasn’t doing the trick, anymore.

Occasionally, Maeven would get this feeling whenever she was sad, scared, or worried, that made her feel like gravity no longer applied to her body and that she was being pulled away from the safety of the planet and drifting off into the abyss. It worsened when her parents started fighting, and only grew and grew after their divorce. But the night she finally lit up one of Madison’s legendary blunts, she finally felt safe in her own head, her own body for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

As she inhaled another hit from the blunt, Maeven sunk back into the lounge chair. The warm bliss delightfully fogged up her senses and grounded her to the earth. Everything felt so warm and fluffy, and it still tasted like Heaven despite the grassy, sour flavor of the weed. She giggled to herself.

“Maybe space isn’t so big and scary, after all,” the voice said to her. Maeven silently agreed. It was nice when they found neutral ground even if those times were hard to come by. She furrowed her eyebrows in curiosity and found herself raising her hand.

“What if we could touch it? It’s worth a try.”

Her eyesight blurred the bright constellations and clusters in the sky, almost the same way a blob in a lava lamp would. She wanted to dip her fingers into the Milky Way and use it to paint. But alas, she could only do that once she inquired Madison for some psychedelics. So, Maeven settled for tracing the patterns amongst the stars. Some were the real kind her dad showed to her and Max one night last summer. The others popped into her head with no warning or prompt as her mind wondered if there was more hidden between all the lines that the ancient astronomers already charted.

“Hey there, Iron Maeve-”

Startled by Billy’s sudden appearance, Maeven’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest as she tumbled off the lounge chair.

“AAAH! What the fuck, man?!” she exclaimed, brushing her hair out of her face as she put her half-finished blunt in the ashtray. “You can’t just sneak up on somebody like that!”

“Awww. Are you scared of me, Mayfield?” Billy fake-pouted as he mocked her, leaning down to face her with his hands on his knees. Maeven gracelessly pulled herself back to her feet as she snarled back at him.

“I don’t know. Should I be?”

“. . .maybe,” Billy answered. He honestly had no clue. That all depended on her and how the rest of the night went. Maeven looked him up and down. She wasn’t sure if it was just her or the effects of the weed, but, Goddamnit, was he better looking up close.

“Eh, I think I can handle it.” she shrugged, taking her joint from the ashtray before walking over to the bar by the pool to raid the snacks, thinking the conversation had ended. Billy trailed behind her, observing and sizing her up like a predator as she foraged around the table for leftovers.

“You seem awfully confident for someone getting high at a party alone,” he noticed aloud. By then, Maeven had grabbed the last piece of large, double chocolate cake and ate it shamelessly. Whenever she had the munchies, chocolate was always her go-to snack. As she gulped down another bite, her eyes threateningly narrowed, gently pressing the sharp end of her silver fork right below Billy’s collarbone. Now, he was the one a little bit afraid.

“Do I come over to you while you’re having fun with your keg boys and shame you for the way you choose to party?” she blankly asked, playfully tapping it each time she emphasized her words.

“No?” he laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood while his breath hitched in his throat. God, this girl really was a fucking unreadable freak. But maybe Billy liked that. He wasn’t completely sure, yet.

“Yeah, well, I’d appreciate it if you did the same,” Maeven pulled her fork back, returning to her slice of cake as if what just happened didn’t at all.

Billy relaxed once he no longer felt the metal against his skin, letting the air back into his lungs. Although he knew he could’ve smacked her hand away at any time, he didn’t want to. He enjoyed the thrill in his body he got from her empty threats. It all felt so dangerous, so hot; maybe he had finally met his match.

“Now that that’s established, will you at least let me introduce myself?” Billy asked as if he was doing her a kindness by waiting for her permission.

“Alright, then, Pretty Boy. What’s your name?” Maeven laughed as she shrugged, taking a seat at the pool bar.

“It’s Billy. Billy Hargrove,” he answered, holding out his hand for her to shake as he sat on the bar stool next to hers.

She hesitated before cautiously reaching for his hand as she tilted her head to the side, her brain still foggy and warm from her buzz. A gasp caught in her throat as Billy tugged on her wrist to brush a soft kiss against the back of her hand, followed by his trademark smile and sly wink. His sudden forwardness sent an electric shock through Maeven’s bones and tickled her spine. Again, was this guy actually coming on to her, or was she too under the influence of Madison’s blunt that reality began to blend with her mind? She hadn’t been properly asked out on a date since Jordan broke up with her.

It took a moment for both her body and mind to catch up when Maeven realized she had been too silent and too still for too long. She still had a role to play. If she jumped in too fast and this guy turned out too good to be true, she’d regret it later. Re-masking herself, she playfully wiped the back of her hand on her dress, faking repulsion before she continued.

“Margaret. I mean Maeven. Mayfield,” she stumbled on her words, her hands moving in many different directions as she talked.. “Well, 'Margaret' is my first name, but I go by my middle name because I'm named after my aunt and two Maggies are confusing. So, I go by 'Maeven.' 'Mayfield' is my last name,”

“Yeah. I know who you are, Iron Maeven,” Billy chuckled.

“Oh. . .okay. . .” she awkwardly trailed off at the sound of her other nickname, going back to her slice of cake as her mind wandered. She didn’t hate the name. On the contrary, it was actually quite an improvement after years of being called a nerd or teacher’s pet. However, it originated from her breakup with Jordan. Every time it was used, she couldn’t help but be haunted by the awful memories that day left her with.

Billy noticed Maeven’s face drop when he used it, Maybe she didn’t like being called that? He didn’t understand why. It was good; it was badass. She always seemed to like it when people called her that when she got into a fight or scored a goal in soccer.

“How’d you get a name like ‘Maeven’ anyway?” he commented, just now realizing that he didn’t really know her; he just knew the version of herself she presented to the world. Billy wanted to know Maeven; her secrets, the parts of her no one else knew about. He had to know exactly why just the thought of her was driving him insane.

“‘Makes it sound like you’re some. . .mythical creature, or whatever the fuck. . .” he trailed off, catching her attention with just a few weird words.

The last hit she took was a while ago, but Maeven could’ve sworn the world had suddenly gone crazy. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine a jock like Billy using the term ‘mythical creature.’ But she rolled with it. Her mind could never really stay on topic for too long, anyway.

“My dad picked it, initially. It kinda. . .has multiple meanings for both him and my mom,” she told him, grabbing the blunt that rested on her plate. She felt she was going to need it if she was going to survive a long conversation with a jock that hopefully didn’t end in a fight. . .this time.

“Oh, really? Care to explain?”

Maeven inhaled, tilting her head up to the sky as she breathed out the cannabis through her nose and mouth. As she opened her eyes, the stars in the sky brightened up like a black light poster amidst her cannabis and chocolate-drunk vision. Her hand tilted to the side, offering the blunt to Billy, which he accepted gratefully.

“My dad was raised Celtic Pagan and my mom’s Scottish Catholic. In the bible, in Hebrew, it means ‘one who understands.’ But in Irish Gaelic, it means ‘sage.’ Which, of course, means the plant, but it also means someone who is a spiritual expert or just very smart in general. And. . .” she trailed off, taking a few seconds to get her train of thought back to its main rail. “. . .it comes from the Gaelic word ‘Meave,’ meaning ‘she who rules,’ or ‘intoxicating.’ In Irish Mythology, Mebh is the Goddess of Love and Desire.”

It took her a while until Maeven realized it was completely silent. Did he leave? She turned her head to the side where Billy was, still sitting as his face twisted to a half-confused, half-curious combo. By now, he had taken another hit. Maeven felt her cheeks light up once it dawned on her that this jock probably didn’t want to listen to her ramble, and the voice crept back in behind her.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit. You talked too much. He even had to take another hit to process all your stupid and insane words. That’s it. This is the end of your social life, Maeven. Get ready, because this guy is about to ruin everything once another rumor starts. You should just kill yourself. Right here, right now. You can use the fork! Go on! Do it!”

Once her brain was no longer attacking itself, she broke the silence.

“Sorry. I’m a bit talkative when I get high. I’ll shut up now.” she fake-laughed, turning away to shove the last few bites of cake in her mouth as if it would finally keep her from talking.

Billy laughed, knowing too well that she was talkative even when she wasn’t high. It wasn’t exactly a secret amongst the other kids in their grade that she was the one who participated the most. 

“Holy shit, Mayfield,” he coughed out. “I didn’t ask for a lecture.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway?” Maeven laughed.

“No offense, but that's. . .a lot of information to process in 30 seconds, dollface.” he joked, unsure if it would be a compliment or an insult in her eyes. She just smiled as she rolled her eyes, leaning over to give him a playful shove.

“You signed up for this, Billy. You asked me about my name and I delivered, didn’t I?” Maeven pointed out, swiping back her joint and taking another hit.

“That you did. It’s definitely a lot better than ‘Margaret,’ that’s for sure,” he observed, not bothering to hide the way he was looking her up and down, anymore. It was a good name; it suited her.

“So. . .I was right, then?” he asked.

Maeven rapidly blinked, bringing herself back from zoning out before taking a sip from her bottle of coke.

“About what?”

“About you being a mythical creature,” Billy clarified. “I feel like you just pitched me a fantasy movie or the back cover of that Tocain book or some shit.”

Maeven narrowed her eyes and tilted her head as she almost choked on her soda. She definitely couldn’t recall seeing that name in the Dewey decimal system or any of her English classes.

“What the fuck’s a ‘tocain?’”

“Y’know, that. . .the guy that. . .wrote the books about magic rings and shit. . .”

It took a moment for the gears to turn in Maeven’s head before she finally connected the dots. She couldn’t help but start laughing.

“Oh, my God. . .are you trying to say ‘Tolkien?’”

“Don’t patronize me, Mayfield! I’m not the fucking nerd, here!”

Maeven started laughing harder, holding her head in her hands as she balanced herself with her elbows on the counter.

“Oh, please! If anyone’s a nerd, it’s the guy who doesn’t know how to pronounce the name of one of the most popular writers of our generation!”

Billy would’ve been offended if anyone else had said that to him. But for some reason, it was different with Maeven. Maybe it was because of how endearing and contagious her laugh was.

“I’m not a nerd, you little freak!” he audaciously chuckled as he jokingly shoved her shoulder, not caring who might be listening for once. “Everyone wants to fuck me ‘cause I know nothing about this Tolkein dude you’re so obsessed with!”

“And yet, I’m the one with the slutty reputation?” Maeven pointed at herself, finally getting a chance to catch her breath as she rubbed the tears of laughter from her eyes.

“There’s just no winning with you, is there, Maeven?” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Oh? I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we were playing,” she laughed, letting gravity take over her body as she melted off the chair and onto the ground. Her legs felt like jelly. At this point in her high, Maeven couldn’t find it in herself to care. Billy, however, practically jumped from his bar stool to grab her arm.

“Woah there, hey. You doing okay?” he asked, not noticing until now how fast his heartbeat was racing. The last time he saw a woman fall like that, it was his mother. Neil had gotten her way too drunk, resulting in her slipping out of her chair and leaving her with her head bleeding on the kitchen tile.

But Maeven wasn’t passed out and bleeding. She was fine, just drunk. Or high? At this point, Billy was certain it was both. She may have fallen to her knees on the stone flooring, but she didn’t seem too upset about it. She was giggling, and her skin was warm. She was fine; everything was fine. Billy needed to remind himself of that.

“You wanna go lie down or something?”

Maeven softly nodded, leaning against the pole of the pavilion covering the pool bar. She spread her legs apart to keep herself balanced in her black leather boots, drowsily grabbing onto the pole like she was hugging it, catching her breath.

Billy almost let his intrusive thoughts win but resisted the urge to grab her butt. Even if she looked a bit ridiculous right now, accidentally displaying herself like she was ready to be taken from behind, she was drunk. Billy was just glad he was here with her instead of some other dirtbag guy who would’ve probably taken what he wanted from her while she was drunk.

For what was probably the first time ever, Billy ignored the primal instincts to seek sex from this girl. She deserved better than that. He approached her slowly, putting a hand on her shoulder just to let her know he was there. Before he could lead her back to the lounge chair where he originally found her, Maeven stumbled back to the bar to grab her blunt from the edge of her now-empty plate.

Rolling his eyes at her vivacious nature, Billy made sure she had regained her balance before leading her by her wrist.

“Get that pretty ass back in that chair before you hurt yourself, you little animal,” he impishly asserted, prepared to have her lean on him in support if she needed. Surprisingly, Maeven didn’t waste a second flopping back down into the longue chair as if her body melted.

“No arguments here,” she groaned, unpromptedly stretching her body; she stretched her back by keeping her shoulder on the chair and shamelessly lifting her hips up as far as they could go. She also couldn’t deny the fluttering feeling in her stomach at the word ‘pretty.’

Did she seriously not notice how lewd she was being right now? Maybe the weed gave her the extra courage? Billy couldn’t tell anymore. All he could really do was lay down in the chair next to her, cross his legs, and try to conceal how aroused she was making him.

“Isn’t sage that weird plant that witches use in potions or some shit like that?” he asked, suddenly remembering one of the many meanings of her name. If only he could remember math equations this easily, maybe Neil would finally get off his ass about it.

It was quiet for a moment. Maeven had to silently process Billy’s question as she continued to zone out looking at the night sky.

“What? Oh. No. We burn it. For cleansing rituals and to clear the air,” she clarified.

“Like weed?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side. Maeven rolled her eyes as she scoffed.

“No, dipshit. Not like weed,” she laughed, thinking of the right way to explain this to him without sounding like a total freak. “ More just. . .like, to smell good. Like a candle. You can’t get high off it. . .or maybe you can? I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it,” Maeven wondered aloud. Maybe that was something she and Madison could try experimenting with. Would that even work? Either way, there was only one way to find out.

Billy, meanwhile, didn’t feel like he got a definitive answer.  She already seemed pretty damn magical.“So. . .you are a witch?”

Maeven just shrugged, taking another hit of her blunt.

“That’s what people are saying,” she replied, offering her blunt to Billy, which he willingly accepted. This was her favorite aspect of these parties; playing with her food. But tonight, she didn’t want to stop. Maeven couldn’t remember the last time she had such a casual conversation with someone. Even if she was always on edge and suspicious of the guys she met at parties, Billy was the first one in a while that didn’t seem. . .malicious.

“They’re saying other things, y’know?” he breathed out, recalling the many rumors he heard through the Newport High Grapevine. He turned his head to Maeven, handing her blunt back to her as he eyed her up and down “That you go around seducing guys with your magic touch and mysterious powers.”

There it was. Maybe she had gotten her hopes up about this guy too quickly.

Maeven tilted her head to the side and playfully raised her eyebrows, still refusing to give him a definitive answer.“I can neither confirm nor deny any of these rumors, Billy.”

“They also say that you beat the shit out of Jordan Bernard last year. He still denies it to this day,” he mentioned, remembering the day everyone in the locker room teased Jordan for his black eye.

Maeven’s eyes widened as she fought herself from laughing. She knew that their breakup wasn’t exactly a secret, but to say she ‘beat the shit out of him’ was a little much. However, she was pleasantly surprised that Billy seemed to drop the subject once she refused to answer his questions about her. . .body count.

“Oh, no. That’s definitely true,” she laughed, not seeing the point in being in denying any more questions. “I have the burn to prove it.”

“Burn?” Billy cocked his head to the side in confusion.

Maeven tilted her arm and rolled her short sleeve up her arm to expose her shoulder, leaning in to give Billy a closer look. Even if it was coming close to a year of healing, it was still noticeable. The burn mark was about the size of a baseball, maybe even the size of his fist. It was way pinker than the rest of her skin, but it was recovering fairly well; freckles had even started to come back.

“Asshole thought it was a good idea to throw a log from his fire pit at me,” Maeven explained.

When he was younger, Neil often threatened to put out his cigars on his son’s skin. His mother always ended up taking it in his place.  Billy had lost count of how many times his Dad left lash marks from his belt on his back, but he had yet to experience a burn. He was hoping it would stay that way. But he had never met someone else who also had evidence on their body like that until now.

“Shit,” he laughed in disbelief. “Bet you gave his ass the beating it deserved, right?”

Maeven looked back at Billy, noticing the supposed fascination his eyes held, before looking back at her scar. Billy Hargrove was the first boy she met who wasn’t repulsed by the mark when she let it show. He really was full of surprises. She pulled her sleeve back down before getting comfortable in the longue chair again, turning her attention back to the night sky as she continued the conversation.

“I don’t know about that,” Maeven sighed. “It was really just a. . .’heat-of-the-moment’ rash impulse I didn’t think through. I guess I was just. . .mad at him,” she shrugged, tracing the constellations with her fingers again.

“As you should be,” Billy agreed. He had yet to be cheated on. If he was anything like his father, he would be the first one to cheat. He prayed he wouldn’t end up like him, but the whole concept always lingered in his head.

“We both said and did some things that day we regret. But. . .he does seem really sorry, y’know? That he hurt me like that,” Maeven observed, turning to lay down her head toward Billy. She hadn’t had a real conversation with Jordan since their breakup; she didn’t know what to say to him. Every time she tried, nothing came out. All Jordan had to say was how sorry he was and she was sick of it. The memory haunted her every day when they crossed paths in the hallway at school

“You thinking about forgiving him?” he asked her, more curious than anything. Still, he crossed his fingers and hoped she wouldn’t. She was too good for Jordan Bernard, anyway.

“Kinda? Sorta? I dunno,” Maeven shrugged, moving around in the longue so that she was curled up on her side, now fully facing Billy before taking another hit. “Maybe he just feels guilty? Is that really the same thing as being sorry?”

“I don’t think so. Guilt isn’t the same as remorse,” he replied.

Billy Hargrove witnessed the difference between the two in his own parents. His Dad wasn’t sorry that he cheated; he was sorry that he was caught. If he was really sorry, he wouldn’t have cheated, punched, and driven his mother away in the first place.

“I’d forget about him if I were you. Cheaters are the worst. They don’t deserve to be forgiven. . .they don’t deserve love,” he said suddenly, taking Maeven by surprise. She wondered what happened to make Billy so passionate about this, handing out her blunt once more as her way of saying ‘Chill Out, Dude.’

“If I’m being honest?” she trailed off, her buzz making the stars brighter and more mesmerizing than they were before.“Even if I did forgive him, I wouldn’t wanna get back together with him. Not a chance.”

Billy took that as a good sign for himself. He swiped away her blunt from between her fingers for another hit. Maeven didn’t even flinch, too high and too talkative to notice; in her own little world.

“He’s a bit of a douche, anyway. Even if he has changed, you shouldn’t waste your time on him.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I had a good time with him and he, uhmm. . .he taught me a lot. But he’s just. . .not my person.”

All Maeven wanted was to not feel terrible every time she saw him again. Maybe they could even go back to being friends again. Was that really too much to ask?

“Well. . .you’re a pretty interesting person, Iron Maeven. I’m sure you’ll find someone good enough for you.”

“My aunt Maggie said being interesting is all you really need in life.”

Billy always wondered if she was just so self-centered that she liked to hear the sound of her own voice. But watching how she froze up in embarrassment once she realized she was rambling about her name gave Billy a new perspective. Maeven Mayfield had so much going on in her head. She had no choice but to talk until it was no longer crowded in there.

“She’s not wrong,” he laughed along with her as her high was clearly starting to grow to its peak. Billy had to admit that the way she giggled was downright adorable. Seeing the infamous Iron Maeven zone out from her joint was a sight he never thought he’d see, much less enjoy. In all honesty, all the things he found annoying about her suddenly turned adorable.

There was something about Maeven’s voice that suddenly made him want to keep on listening to her ramble. He suddenly realized that her voice sounded so much better when she was high. Melodic and Beautiful.

“When you do find the right person, make sure to hold them real tight and never let them go. You got that?” He was surprised he held her attention for this long with her being so easily distracted. It felt almost like he had hypnotized her or something. Or maybe she was the one who hypnotized him.

Billy became absolutely obsessed with the way she was looking at him, unsure if it was from the high or something else. He had completely forgotten all about the stars at that moment. Maybe she was some sort of mythical creature after all. He was almost mesmerized by it. He hadn’t ever been this distracted by someone before. “Okay. I promise.”

. . .

By the time the sisters had finished unpacking all of Maeven’s books, the sun was now setting over the western horizon. The girls stretched as they stepped out of her room and made their way to the bathroom to brush their teeth.

“Thanks for helping me unpack Squirt,” Maeven said after spitting out her toothpaste and rinsing her mouth. “We can start yours tomorrow,” she promised, patting Max on her head. As she yawned and rubbed her eyes walking out of the bathroom, her little sister pulled her arm to stop her.

“By the way, here’s your night light,” she said, handing her big sister a bundled-up bath towel. “It was in the trash in the bathroom.”

Maeven took the towel from Max, unwrapping it to find her beloved token from her childhood now shattered to bits. It was in the shape of the sun surrounded by a couple of clouds. Susan and Neil made it together when they first found out they were pregnant with Maeven.

“What?” she asked allowed. It didn’t make any sense. Even if she was sleepwalking, why would she throw it away?

“That’s where I found it,” Max clarified, just as confused as her sister. “Did you sleepwalk again last night?” she asked.

Maeven debated on lying, but that wouldn’t help anything. Max would eventually find out, anyway, if she did.

“Yeah. I blacked out,” she softly admitted, trying to hold back her tears. 

Max said nothing back, only walking forward to wrap her sister in a hug. No words were needed to describe how either of them felt about the situation.

“G’Night, Sis.”

“Goodnight, Max.”

As she watched her little sister turn the corner of the hallway to her room, Maeven’s smile dropped before she walked back into her room and shut the door behind her. She collapsed backward onto her bed with a bounce and stared blankly up at the ceiling as her heartbeat quickened.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, shaky and laced with panic. 

Maeven silently cursed herself for leaving Nutmeg behind so easily. Whenever she felt herself panicking at home, she would immediately come sprinting over from whatever room she was in to crawl into her lap. She’d often stand on her hind legs and lean herself into her person’s chest. The sense of deep pressure she applied usually calmed her down. She was their kitty, both to Maeven and Max. Every night as they went to bed, Nutmeg would curl up on top of the blankets with either of the sisters.

Max was insistent that she was safer with Dad in California. The incident where Billy nearly caused a fire after he burnt a stray cat’s corpse played a big factor in that decision. Maeven didn’t blame her in the least. She would be lying if she said witnessing Billy showing no remorse as he set the decaying dead body aflame didn’t put her on edge. Most importantly, Nutmeg would be safe from her.

“You can’t be trusted with another life, anyway. You should call that woman from the store and tell her you’re too insane to watch her son.”

Maeven abruptly sat up, her legs shaking as her toes curled in a rapid wave of spine-chilling, fear-fueled pain. She pressed the heel of her palms against her ears in an attempt to drown out how loud the world became all of a sudden. Her sharp nails sat atop her head and pulled at the roots of her hair, threatening to dig them into her scalp as they pulsed with a terrifying bloodlust to tear into her flesh; maybe if she could do it, she could finally stop overthinking.

“Please. . .don’t ruin this for me,” she begged the dark voice.

“I don’t need to. You’ll ruin it all by yourself,” it laughed at her.

Maeven slapped her own cheek to silence it, even if just for a minute. As she found her bearings and looked around her room, her eye caught the now-shattered night light atop her desk. She could faintly identify splatters of dried blood; an explanation for her bandaged palm.

“Billy was right. You did throw it away,” the voice said as it returned to her side.

“Yeah. . .I guess I did,” Maeven still hesitated, even if the evidence was right in front of her face. It was so hard to look at it. She thought she was getting better. Billy wasn’t lying. He wouldn’t do that. She really did black out and sleepwalk last night. And that only meant one thing; she was getting bad again.

“Too bad it’s broken. Just like you.”

“No, I’m not,” she shook her head, reaching for her water bottle on her table and gulping down half of the sugary strawberry-flavored water that Billy mixed for her. It had more to do with the act somehow calming her anxiety than it did with being thirsty.

“Yeah. . .you just keep telling yourself that.”

Maeven groaned in annoyance as she flopped down aggressively onto her bed. Underneath the soft glow of the Indiana sun, she curiously examined her own hands the way a newborn would. As she fiddled around, running her fingers over the calluses and scratches and weaving her digits together, she didn’t feel like a person at that moment. She sinks down into her mattress as she starts feeling numb. It was as if nothing else existed outside her room painted in the soft glow of the sun.

Maeven eyed her nails, growing just barely past her fingertips. She liked to file them down to make them pointed and sharp, like an animal’s claws. It was another one of those little things that helped her feel safer. She also made sure never to let them grow too long, lest she end up hurting herself when rubbing out an orgasm. The other downside was when she would clench her fists in frustration or anxiety, they would literally cut into the palms of her hands. Having people ask why she was wearing bandages on her palms was an incredibly awkward conversation.

She liked to imagine what it would be like to use claws. She often pictured herself using her sharp nails to cut into herself; to reach deep inside her body, turn herself inside out, and become something else. Something better. It didn’t matter what she would find in there. All that mattered to Maeven was that she was no longer herself, and life would suddenly be so much easier. She wouldn’t mind being a monster, even; anything to be relieved from the pain she endured from just existing, from being human.

This feeling wasn’t new. It started in childhood and only grew the more she ignored it. And this feeling only grew in the last nine months. She wouldn’t admit this to herself, but it made her feel good. The foreboding need to brutally destroy those who hurt her made the pain disappear, even if only for a moment. At the same time, she was scared; she was terrified of losing her mind even further than she already did, and what exactly that meant for her in the not-so-distant future.

As Maeven’s breath started to quicken, she could feel her body getting warmer; it began as a soft flame below her belly, slowly heating up her body so deliciously. It made her squeeze her thighs together for relief, as she curled up on her side and began rolling her hips. The warmth manifested from her womb and spread like wildfire blissfully throughout her torso and limbs. 

On instinct, as if her body was being controlled, Maeven crawled underneath her covers in a blissful haze. Peaking her head out to feel the chilling breeze from the open window, she grabbed her extra pillow from the other side of the bed and shoved it in between her legs as she squeezed it with her plush thighs. The way the skin of her inner legs stuck and touched together always bothered her, but she couldn’t properly say why.

It was a weird occurrence, as she felt as relaxed and dazed whenever she smoked a joint before bed. But she hadn’t even gotten the chance to do it, yet. Maybe she was just tired. That was it. Between checking out her new school, meeting some of her new classmates, having to check in with the Chief of Police, and being berated by her mom at the store, Maeven had a busy day. Then again, if her body was winding down naturally without the extra assistance of drugs, recreational or otherwise, who was she to complain? 

She closed her eyes and willed her brain to sleep, afraid her busy mind would blink it way if she didn’t. After a few moments of fidgeting as she curled up like an animal underneath the oasis of comfort and warmth of her blankets, Maeven’s mind finally allowed her body to lose all feeling and sink deeper into her mattress without a care in the world; slowly, and then all at once. Everything was warm and quiet for her first few minutes of rest, the dark nothingness cradling her in it’s embrace. More often than she’d like to admit, she found herself never wanting to wake up. It was just something to add to the list of things to tell the school counselor. Said list was locked away in her head, and seemed to get longer and longer each day.

“Go on. Do it. You deserve it,” the voice came up from behind her, now turning sultry and inviting. Maeven felt a familiar pulse of arousal between her legs as her cheeks tinted red.

“Mmm-hmm. . .” she whined, subconsciously burying her face into the sheets as she rolled her body to lay on her stomach with her hips elevated by the extra pillow between her legs. She preferred having Oscar the Otter, her favorite toy to “play” with, as opposed to a pillow. But Oscar was still in a box and Maeven's body was so comfortably numb. The pillow would have to do for the night.

“That’s right. Get into your favorite position, you little nympho,” it continued to encourage her.

The feeling of the blankets on Maeven’s bare, sensitive flesh imitated the feeling of a warm hug from behind her from what she could only describe as a monster. It was something she could never tell if it was really there or not; another frustrating side effect of her damaged psyche. But this was one of the only times she welcomed the voice with open arms. 

It wasn’t scary during the intimate moments she shared with herself in the dark of her room. It became seductive and comforting; something that she never really understood, but always relied on at the end of a long, hard day. And when she was asleep, she found that having orgasms came to her easier.  Her record was having five different orgasms throughout the night wash over her with little to no effort.

“So. . .that guy you and Billy met, today? Steve?” the voice reminded Maeven, who felt its looming, heavy presence press its weight against her back.

“Yes?” she suddenly gasped

“He was pretty cute, right?” it purred in her ear, “Tall. I bet he has soft hands. The guy looks like he takes care of himself.”

Steve reminded Maeven of Jordan Bernard before he turned on her; sassy and confident, while also somehow being awkward and shy depending on the day. She noticed the two boys even shared the same eye color. Her hips began slowly grinding against her pillow.

“He was asking you all kinds of questions. He’s totally into you,” the voice teased her, but Maeven wasn’t so easily persuaded tonight. Nancy was also very pretty. Too pretty not to notice. She didn’t have bags under her eyes or bite her lips to the point of bleeding. A girl like Nancy was perfect for a guy like Steve, unlike Maeven.

“It doesn’t matter. He has a girlfriend. And even if he didn’t, he still wouldn’t fuck me,” she said, verbally fighting off the beast’s words before it spoke again.

“You don’t know that,” it argued, not willing to drop it and determined to get Maeven warmer and wetter. “He probably would if you gave him the chance.”

Maeven would be lying if she said she hadn’t been thinking about Steve roughly taking her against the locker-lined halls of Hawkins High School. The beast on her back constantly reminded her for the rest of the tour.

“Billy would get too jealous,” she ventured a guess. He tended to be possessive, the reason behind all the bites and bruises she accumulated after they started dating.

“Don’t be so sure, Maeven. You two have fucked around with other people before. You like being passed around, don’t you?”

Maeven quivered at the mere idea of being used as a toy, rolling her hips faster against her pillow and adding fuel to the fire soaking beneath the thin cotton of her underwear. There must’ve been something seriously wrong with her to be into having her body used like that, especially after everything she went through. But that didn’t stop her from fantasizing about it.

“Aw. . .fuck. . .” Maeven gasped out as she rolled her hips, the blood rushing down and sending ever-building waves of pleasure to her clit.

“What about that other guy you saw today? The one coming out of detention?”

“The guy who sells drugs behind the school?” Her breathing was heavy now, whining in frustration as she attempted to visualize. It did have a point; that Munson guy, she thinks that’s right, was pretty fucking gorgeous. Anyone who would dare to say otherwise was dead wrong.

“Yeah. That guy’s definitely into some kinky shit. He had a pair of handcuffs for a belt.”

“He’s a metalhead. It’s part of the fashion.”

“Maybe. But did you see that black bandana in his pocket?”

“Either way, I think he’d definitely be into tying you up,” The beast laughed wickedly, seductively, bringing her deeper into her fantasy and sending her body on autopilot as her brain continued to drift. Again, this was something she absolutely shouldn’t get drenched from. She was disgusted with herself that her mind and body ached for the things she should be afraid of. Nevertheless, she leaned into it; she always did.

“Oh, God, fuck. That’s it. . .that’s it,” she whined out, finally able to paint the perfect picture in her head as she continued shamelessly grinding her clit against her pillow.

“I bet if you let him hit you raw, he’d give you free weed.”

. . .

!*!*!

It had been about an hour since Billy had refilled Maeven’s water bottle. And if he planned the timing and the dosage correctly, which he always did, she should be under her covers humping a pillow or a stuffed animal by now. He wouldn’t dare make the same mistake twice. To be fair, he didn’t think he’d still be doing this almost a year after he first thought of it. Now, it had just become a part of his normal routine. 

Of course, it was no secret that Maeven Mayfield was a horny little spazz. Hell, Billy was living evidence of that; they both wore the bruises and love bites to prove it. But if he thought she was spastic without these drugs mixed into her drinks, he was in for the ride of his life. And this wasn’t just for his benefit. It was for Maeven’s, too.

Maeven didn’t always know what was best for her. As much as she loved making precise plans and carefully following lists of steps, she was equally impulsive and stubborn. In the months following what happened to her last New Year’s, it was like she was a completely different person; angry, self-loathing, irrational. And Billy knew he was partially to blame for that. He over-indulged and enabled her during those months. 

It was fun at first. He thought taking her out to parties and encouraging her reckless behavior helped her grieve what she lost that night. He now knew that if he enabled her any further, it would most likely end in her death. Billy was just glad he was able to stop her and that she got the proper professional help she needed before it was too late.

Who knows? Maybe if he had measured the dose correctly that night, none of this would have happened. Billy wouldn’t have had to put her back together again. He wouldn’t have to slip drugs into her water multiple times a week just to keep her calm. She wouldn’t be a shell of her former self. They would still be in California. Maeven would still be on the honor roll and not expelled. She wouldn’t have to repeat her Junior Year. 

Would his dad and her mom still have gotten married? Maybe if those guys hadn’t been so rough with her, Jordan would still be alive. Maeven wouldn’t have to live with the extreme guilt he knew haunted her every day. She wouldn’t be crippled by the pain of her injuries. But none of that mattered now, anyway. At least one silver lining came out of that horrible night; it brought Billy and Maeven together again, and closer than they had ever been.

As he approached her bedroom, he could already hear her hushed gasps for air and needy whines. Silently pushing the door open, Billy palmed himself through his sweatpants in anticipation. Just as he had planned, Maeven was already under her comforter, blissfully unaware of her surroundings as she ground her hips against her extra pillow. He loved it when he was right.

. . .

In her mind’s eye, Maeven was back in Hawkins High School, being carried like a freshly hunted animal. Steve was holding her wrists so tightly in his grasp that they hurt. Munson held her ankles together as they both carried her down the hallway. Maeven twisted and struggled her body in protest with all the strength she could gather from within, but their hold never loosened. Walking backward, Steve opened the lever handle on the door to the Janitor’s closet with his elbow. Once they were all inside, the boys let the door slam shut. They were planning on letting it stay that way for a while.

Steve was now holding Maeven’s wrists together with just one hand, sliding the other down her body to grope at her breasts through her sweater. She liked to imagine that Steve had strong hands like Billy’s, but possibly had softer palms than him. Nothing about Steve Harrington was threatening. He was definitely intimidating in terms of his size and muscle mass, but his eyes held a sense of vulnerability and tenderness. He’d never touch a girl in anger, unlike others. She could tell.

“What do you think she’s hiding underneath all those layers, Harrington?” Munson laughed, tugging at Maeven’s long skirt as he continued holding her ankles together.

“Only one way to find out,” Steve slyly replied, pointing to the set of handcuffs weaved through the metalhead’s belt loops. “Gimme those.”

Munson didn’t need to be told twice, immediately dropping Maeven’s ankles and hastily removing his makeshift belt. Seeing an opportunity to fight back, she started clumsily kicking into the air as she tried to catch her balance. Steve then forced her down on her knees onto the cold floor, sending a sharp pain through her legs. He firmly, yet gently, trapped her in his arms, pinning hers to the sides of her torso and not giving her a chance to struggle.

Once Munson successfully removed the cuffs, he playfully swung them around in a circular motion, signaling Steve to bring Maeven over. Her continuing struggle did nothing to draw the boys off course; they were on a mission and nothing could get in their way. Steve picked her up like she weighed nothing, forcing his arms underneath hers to raise them up high. Once they were able to cuff one wrist, Munson through the other end up, looping it over a large pipe above them before cuffing her other wrist.

The cold metal bit at Maeven’s skin, forcing her up so that the tips of her boots were just barely touching the floor. Her raised arms made her sweater ride up her stomach and left her freckle-kissed hips and navel bare to them; a sneak peek of what they were in for. Maeven grunted as she dangled from the ceiling, unable to regain her footing as her face flushed an even darker shade of red if that was even possible. The best she could do to fight this was clench her thighs together.

“There we go. All bound up the way you belong,” Billy’s sultry voice echoed throughout the closet as he emerged from the shadows, sending a shiver down her spine.

. . .

After over a year of knowing someone up close and personally, you tend to pick up on a few things. You start to notice the little things in their behavior that make them who they are. If you pay close enough attention, you notice the physical changes in their body when their mood changes. Whenever Maeven became anxious, her shoulders would tense up as she crossed her arms to hug herself. She would curl into herself and keep her head held low instead of tall and proud the way she used to; these mannerisms had become more common since she was released from that treatment center, to be fair.

Seeing these little changes in her demeanor throughout the day, Billy knew Maeven could benefit from an orgasm or two after a long hard, day; and he wouldn’t mind taking at least one for himself. She had practically been begging for him all day with the way she moved her body as she walked. And she also should’ve known by now that he couldn’t exactly control himself whenever a girl wore fishnets.

Time and time again, she kept proving him to be correct. The drugs Billy slipped into her water bottle may have. . .enhanced Maeven’s libido, but it simply revealed to him what he already knew she kept hidden inside. These days, she was anxious all the time; shaking like a leaf at the smallest things. He was helping her; that’s what he told himself. Eventually, he believed it without question.

Stepping inside Maeven’s bedroom, he shut the door slowly to not wake up Susan or Neil. Leaning his hand on the surface of her desk, he quickly pulled it back at the sharpness piercing his palm. Looking down, Billy recognized the remnants of what he threw away last night; Maeven’s nightlight. It didn’t stay that way, obviously. Damn Maxine. She was too old to still have something like that, anyway. Besides, she didn’t deserve it after defying him last night; those cuts he gave her weren’t enough. He’d deal with it later. This wasn’t what he came for.

Focusing his attention back to the task at hand, Billy tiptoed to Maeven’s bed, spreading his weight out to make sure it wouldn’t creak too loudly. Eyeing her figure under the covers up and down, he gently tugged the comforter to reveal her bare flesh, hot to the touch from her arousal and constant movement. She squeezed the pillow tightly between her legs as she continued to roll her hips, already soaking down the pillowcase and dripping onto the sheets.

Maeven was still in her lucid state, unaware of what was happening in the world outside her dreams. Billy always wondered what sort of dreams she had when she was on the aphrodisiacs. Then again, it didn’t matter. As long as he could take what he needed from her and she was lubed up and submissive enough, he didn’t care what went on in there. Still, Billy wanted to pick her brain; dissect her beautiful, crazed mind, and discover her deepest secrets like an archeologist unearthing a treasure. And each time he slipped another dosage into her water bottle, he came closer and closer to the whole truth.

Positioning himself behind her and pulling her waist into his lap, Billy picked up the pace and guided Maeven to rub her soaking heat away from her wrinkled pillow and against his clothed cock, tenderly massaging her ass. She let out a hushed gasp at the soft sensation of her pillow being replaced with something harder.

. . .

Back inside her head, Maeven shivered in suspense as the boys tore her long skirt off her waist. She stumbled in place as she squeezed her net-covered legs together. Steve came up behind her, one hand squeezing her ass while the other softly danced its fingers along her thigh, attempting to find her ticklish spot and coax her legs open.

“So, what kind of girl hides her legs all day, but wears fishnets?” he laughed in her ear, delivering a sharp slap to her butt, causing her to shriek and flinch away. But Steve held her in place, continuing his torment on the sensitive flesh below her waist.

Munson walked over, helping Steve try and pry her legs open. Maeven let out weak whimpers of protest, quickly turning into whines of desperation when the metalhead forcefully shoved his hand between her thighs. He laughed at the way she somehow got even more hot and bothered by the way he rubbed his ringed fingers against her heatsource covered by the soaked fabric of her panties.

“I knew I saw these, earlier,” he smirked, snapping the fishnet stocking against her thigh before fishing a pocket knife from behind his back.“She’s just a little freak, isn’t she?”

Maeven eyes widened in fear at the sight of the knife, her blood racing as she tried to wriggle from their grasp. Steve shoved his fingers inside her mouth before any more cries could escape.

“You have no idea, Munson,” Billy practically cackled, walking closer to help the boys keep her legs steady as he pulled at the waistband of her black panties before letting it snap.

“C’mon, let’s get these off her. You don’t need them, anyway. Do you, Maeven?” he asked, grabbing her by her cheeks and forcing her to look straight at him.

Swallowing her pride to keep herself safe, Maeven agreed, shaking her head. From the look at that knife, she had no choice. At least she put up a good fight until the end. It was only when she agreed did Steve take away his fingers, causing her to choke and gasp for air as she prepared herself for what was to come.

Munson’s one hand kept her legs steady as he dragged the cold metal across her skin, the mixture of fear and arousal growing as he brought it closer to her heat. He continued to leave her in anticipation, letting her guess when and where he would cut before carefully slicing the net atop her panties. Her heart was beating so fast she felt like it would burst out of her chest as the evidence of her lust dripped onto the blade. This was so wrong. So why did it feel so hot?

Tired of the teasing, Munson slid the knife beneath the drenched fabric, carefully pressing the metal against her wet lips which made her whine and shiver before cutting through the cloth of the crotch and accidentally knicking her thigh.

“Be a good girl and spread your legs, dollface,” Billy purred in her ear, tearing her stockings from her legs with no effort. “I told them what a cute little cunt you have. You don’t wanna disappoint them, do you? So. . .are you gonna be a good girl for us?”

. . .

“Ahhh, fuck, yeah. . .just like that,” Billy moaned out, grabbing Maeven’s hips tighter as she matched his pace on her own. He bit his lip to keep his volume down as his cock twitched beneath his thin sweatpants, reacting to her needy pussy already soaking through her panties.

Whatever was happening in Maeven’s dream must’ve been hot, because the way she was writhing against Billy made him wonder if he was the one dreaming. It didn’t matter how many times they had fucked beforehand; every new time was better than the last. Her body always left him crawling back and wanting her again and again. 

There were many good things about this girl, but Billy still couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe she really was a witch who lured guys to her bed, and he was just really lucky that she decided he was worth keeping. Even when she called it off, she didn’t mean it. He knew that she didn’t. Did she? His memory was fuzzy. Regardless, Billy got what he wanted, what he craved, needed; Maeven by his side. Maeven Mayfield was much more addictive than any cigarette, drink or drug Billy Hargrove could ever find and he never wanted to sober up.

Tired of teasing both her and himself, he roughly tugged her hips to meet his, always mesmerized how her needy little pussy swallowed his fingers. She now lay flat on her mattress, her back arched as she buried her face in the pillow she was previously writhing against, too powerless to stop his love-drunk-disguised assault.

. . .

Maeven said nothing as Billy held her face tightly in his hand, the adrenaline in her body and the intense anticipation causing her eyes to water. She silently nodded with a look in her eyes that told Billy, “I’ll be Good.”

Steve wasted no time using his now saliva-soaked fingers to test the waters, experimentally massaging the lips of her pussy perfectly framed by soft ginger fuzz. Maeven imagined that he’d take his time warming up a girl, passionate and gentle like he was; taking his time to learn about his partner’s body instead of just diving head-first into the deep end like other guys.

“Nancy’s one lucky girl. . .” Maeven’s inner voice echoing inside her head.

“Holy. . .shit. . .” Steve quietly exclaimed, pleasantly surprised that she did his job for him. She didn’t need any warming up

Munson roughly nudged Harrington to the sidelines like an excited kid cutting the line to get the first pick of the candy bowl on Halloween, aggressively spreading Maeven’s legs. He hooked her left one back to wrap around his hips. She was definitely more flexible than she appeared. Munson snaked his hand around her and cruelly trailed from her navel down to her pelvis, eager to finally discover her nooks and crannies.

“What the fuck? She’s already soaking wet!” he laughed in disbelief.

Maeven shrieked again at the contrast from the cold metal of his rings against her painfully desperate pussy. She could see Munson being a generous lover; something about his abundant amount of energy allowed her to picture him reducing a girl, or maybe another guy, to tears with his aggressive tongue and hands.

“Yeah, that’s the thing about little Maeven, here; she’s always turned on,” Billy growled in her ear, watching eagerly as the bound girl’s whines and moans became more frequent. He could watch her fall apart forever. Munson kept relentlessly thrusting his fingers in and out of Maeven’s aching heat-source as he teased her clit with his other hand. 

“Always waiting for her pussy to be filled like the greedy little whore she is,” Billy finished.

. . .

Maeven could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy when her heart suddenly dropped into her stomach. The mystery presence she usually seeked comfort in had twisted into something sinister that aggressively trapped her body in it’s invisible grip, crushing her underneath it’s weight. It felt so familiar, but also so. . .foreign. 

This wasn’t right.

What was this feeling? Why did Maeven recognize it? What was happening to her body? Why couldn’t she stop herself? Why couldn’t she move anymore?

The heavy breathing and moans against the back of her neck accompanied with the hot weight on top of her was enough to bring her somewhat out of her haze. If it were possible for her heart to drop any deeper, it would’ve, because she knew that musky scent.

“Billy?” she gasped out, her heart immediately starting to race so fast it hurt.

“Shhh, babydoll. ‘Gotta be quiet, remember?” He said it as if it was the most casual situation in the world. What the hell was happening?

“What’re you doing. . .aah!” Maeven choked on a silent scream as Billy wrapped his bicep around her neck to shut her up, cutting off both her voice and her air before he slipped his fingers inside her quivering cunt.

“Just be still and keep your mouth, Maeven. Be a good girl and let me take care of you,” he whispered, biting her earlobe following his last words as he removed his bicep from around her throat and kneeled straight up. Once Maeven briefly celebrated with a long inhale of air, she then involuntarily clenched her pussy around Billy’s thick fingers as he violently massaged her moist walls and prepared her for what would come next. Drawing them from her core, he delivered a sharp slap against her aching pussy before lining himself up.

Why couldn’t she move? Why was she so wet? Had it really come down to this; her own body betraying her?

Her mind became even more fuzzy from the lack of air, the veil between the fantasy inside her head and the world outside it where she was supposed to be sleeping had blended until she couldn’t tell which was which, anymore. And when something so passionately aggressive was shoved deep inside her without warning, Maeven couldn’t even comprehend the difference between unbearable pain and mind-numbing pleasure. She had cried from both before, but the tears falling from her now was something entirely new, and she didn’t like it.

“Fuuuuck, you feel so good. . .” Billy shamelessly moaned out, ramming all of himself into Maeven, from the tip to the base in one thrust. Pressing his chest against her back as her buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent like his life depended on it, Billy’s sharp thrusts continued. He never wanted to let her go. He couldn’t let her leave him like his Mother did. Maeven was the only ray of light he had left.

“Billy, please wait,” she sobbed out, finally regaining control of her limbs as she attempted to fight her way out from under him. “Let’s just-”

“Shh, we’re just having a little fun. That’s all. We’ll go nice and slow, okay?” he promised, his thrusts then turning harder and quicker as he succumbed to how heavenly Maeven felt around him.

“You don’t want me to reopen that cut, do you, dollface?” Billy took his bicep off from around her throat and trailed his fingers down beneath her to pinch her swollen clit. His other hand traced along the bandaged cuts along her arms and chest; his fresh handiwork from the night before. 

The sudden harsh rubs on her clit forced Maeven’s back to arch, giving Billy the perfect opportunity to grab her hair. She stopped breathing and her world stood still as she realized how close he was bringing her to the edge. Maeven panicked. She didn’t want to cum. Not like this, at least. It was fine when it was only her and the vivid scenes she around played with in her head. But she didn’t ask for this. Billy’s pace picked up and Maeven could tell he was close by the way he was growling; desperately hungry for release. 

Images of the night her life was ruined then intruded her mind; the party and the woods, and what they did to her. How betrayed she felt. How much the knife carving into her flesh hurt. The knife in her hands and how monstrous and free it made her feel. Her blood-drenched, naked body shining underneath the glow of the winter moon.

Maeven squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will all these bad feelings away, attempting to ground herself by focusing on how nice the cold autumn wind felt in contrast to how heated her cheeks were. She wanted to go back to that fantasy. She was safe in there, so that’s where she went.

Billy chuckled to himself as Maeven drifted away once again, knowing that by the next morning, she wouldn’t remember a thing.

. . .

Stay Wild and Safe, my dears!

A/N: ♫♫ I'm sorry I was gone, but look, I made you some content!♫♫

♫ Mommy made you your favorite! Open Wide!♫

♫♫ Here comes the content!♫♫

♫It's a beautiful day to stay inside!♫

Also, Happy Birthday to Me!! I turned 23 on the Solstice! Working my full-time retail job has left me burnt out without any time or energy to create, and my huge family is going through some hardships right now. I'm grateful that I was able to get family leave and it's going to last until February! Hopefully, that'll give me time to rest and put my life together while my family and I heal.

It felt really weird but somehow fitting that I finished this chapter on my last day being 22. Despite the Angst and Heartbreak this held, I really hope you enjoyed this one. I ran into a few roadblocks trying to get it just right. It's my longest one yet. A lot of you wanted some lore dumps and I hope I delivered well. As always, please let me know your thoughts and theories; they really help motivate me.

The Spitifre Curse Taglist:

@yaidothat

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

[alexissara]

Trans People Deserve More Then Just Acceptance From Their Parents.

The bar is on the fucking floor for cis people. so many trans people think that having a parent be abusive to them, telling them to be in the closet for X family members sake is "getting lucky" because most the time they are tolerated. The amount of trans people I know who simply accepted actively transphobic abuse or were just forced to live with it because their living situation that had to take years to have their parents become decent is ridiculous. That is where the bar is at so we often say "we're one of the lucky ones" if we're at that level or just slightly better.

We deserve much better than that though. The reality is that many of us have dealt with years of abuse unknown or known with casual and uncasual ways to suppress our gender. From things like passive aggressive remarks to actual physical abuse, it runs the gambit the way parents try to control their children in general. For trans kids this often has a special manifestation in the ways they try to police gender.

I wanna talk about my situation to talk about what I think more parents need to do. On my bad end there is my mom we never had a great relationship but it was one despite my moms flaws I tried to recover. When I came out as trans though I had to go no contact which sucks because I totally lost contract with my much younger sister.

My dad on the other hand was weird about me coming out at first but he accepted it. What happened next is what I think other parents should have to do to hit the bar of being a good parent. Mind you this is an ex military man and a Latino dad. He did research on his own, met other parents of trans kids, he took the time to learn. Then he apologized to me without me prompting it, without me having to bring things up, for the times he insulted me for gender deviance and the times he sat me down about being a real man. He took me to get a Mani Pedi and sat with me and talked with me and actually listened to me.

What my dad did, that should be the bar. He wasn't always the best parent, I loved him always but he at times even got physical, in the way that's excepted by most Latnix households but shit that is none the less traumatizing. Verbally I'd get scared of him some times, he yelled a lot, he had anger issues. The man worked on himself when there was less kids living in his nest though, he got on anger meds, went to therapy, did what he needed to do to become a better man overall. He's not perfect but he is my dad, I love the guy and I actually could forgive him for everything, start healing from all the stuff that he did to me in a major way thanks to him taking the steps to actually make up for shit.

It shouldn't be enough for my mom to call me one day, say "your my daughter and I love you as my daughter", like that isn't enough. It isn't enough to say sorry, it isn't enough to buy me a dress, what I want is the root issues to be fixed and an actual apology process. That is what we all deserve even if our parents were mostly good, we deserve them putting their fucking all into supporting trans people. They could be advocating for trans people to their peers, they should be working on making a better world for their kids. Parents should be able to say they were wrong, that they made mistakes and that they are going to do better.

I think that is the bar for us to have a relationship with our parents, if we can otherwise get away with it I think if they can't reach that bar, they don't deserve you in their lives.

If you like this queer theory stuff from me, giving me cash on Patreon or Ko-fi let's me know, I should probably share more thoughts, but you could also give me money and request I shut up, I'll take that.

[themculibrary]

AO3 Masterlist 6

Links Last Checked: April 13th, 2024

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five

Changing Fate (ao3) - Wix bucky/tony, loki/tony T, 27k

Summary: Tony dies in Siberia under the hands of Captain America, but fate doesn't leave it there. He opens his eyes several years earlier amidst the threat of Loki's invasion and the first assembling of the 'Avengers'. Tony may not understand why he got this second chance, but he's going to do better with it - and he's decided that he's going to share it. With a Winter Soldier who could really use a different hand than he was dealt.

Never let it be said that fate doesn't have a sense of humor.

Debts (ao3) - d_aia tony/t’challa M, 59k

Summary: In which Tony saves T'Chaka, T'Challa is grateful, and they both are all the better for it.

Detonation Imminent (ao3) - KairosImprimatur pepper/tony, clint/natasha T, 61k

Summary: Peter and Rocket decide it's a good idea to snoop around Stark Tower before introducing themselves. Clearly there's no way this could go awry.

Endgame (ao3) - YunaYamiMouto tony/stephen T, 196k

Summary: The rouge Avengers are pardoned under the influence of King T'Challa and it is up to Tony to 'welcome' them back. But as he and his new team are at the private airport, an unexpected fight breaks loose and the fate of the whole universe is changed when a wizard places himself as Tony Stark's protector.

It's a Secret to Everybody (ao3) - Snapdragon_in_the_Snow pepper/tony T, 97k

Summary: “I have kids," Clint said. "I know dad behavior when I see it.” Tony blinked multiple consecutive times, processing the statement. “Excuse me?” “Tony,” Steve said now, “how long have you had a son? And how come we’ve never known about him?” “Yeah,” Clint spoke again, “I thought I was the only one with a secret family. Turns out you’ve had one longer than me!” ------- Peter gets to spend all summer living in Avengers Tower with Tony. When the Rogue Avengers get pardoned and come back to live at the Tower too, they're confused as to who Peter is. However, once they see how Tony acts around Peter, that confusion goes away, as they know for certain who Peter must be - Tony's secret son. Tony and Peter decide to make the most of the situation, and play along. They hope they can keep up the act all summer. But they soon learn that they barely have to act at all.

Keeper (ao3) - HepG2 steve/tony E, 81k

Summary: “Uh, I’m… very new to the whole thing,” Tony swallows visibly. He uncrosses his legs and grabs his cup again. “I looked at pictures. Research. They look graphic.”

Tony Stark is a journalist hanging onto the last of his life lines. He needs new writing materials. Something that sells. Then the whole town is talking about a BDSM play gone wrong, and there it is. His story. Steve chuckles again. Tony notices he hasn’t touched his drink. “No worries. It’s very unlikely for us to take it up to that level.

It takes two to tango.

Kissin’ Dynamite (ao3) - crime_fighting_spiderling G, 27k

Summary: “Maybe I shouldn’t go.” Peter spoke. MJ shoved a permission slip into his hand at his comment.

“You’re going.” She simply stated.

Where Peter and his class go on a field trip to Stark Tower.

Language (ao3) - SailorChibi steve/tony, clint/phil T, 30k

Summary: This is how Tony fixed the team and the damage he’d done, and in the process learned how to start fixing himself. Well, maybe the latter might take a little help from Steve.

Oh, Hey There, Mister Blue (ao3) - iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid T, 75k

Summary: There are certain things one learns to expect when dealing with the Mad Titan. Ending up on an unfamiliar ship surrounded by a bunch of aliens is one thing. Loki can handle that.

Ending up on an unfamiliar ship surrounded by a bunch of aliens who are actually on his side is quite another.

Oh, My King for a Kingdom (ao3) - STARSdidathing loki/tony T, 14k

Summary: The blood and betrayal of an Afghanistan cave formed Iron Man. The blood and betrayal of a Siberian bunker formed something else.

Re-Engineered (ao3) - Opy3332 bucky/tony M, 73k

Summary: “Tony blinks. He blinks and his entire world changes.”

Tony is sent back in time from mid-Infinity War to just after returning from Afghanistan.

How different is Tony Stark, and the MCU, with all that knowledge of the future?

Haunted by the guilt of Rhodey’s injury, the betrayal and pain of Steve, the fear of Wanda, the loss of Jarvis, and the foreknowledge of Thanos, this Tony is one the universe hasn’t contended with before. And he is more than ready to re-claim his title of genius, billionaire, and philanthropist in ways unexpected.

Relativistic Heat Conduction (ao3) - BlossomsintheMist steve/tony E, 69k

Summary: Age of Ultron-based, but not entirely canon compliant. Written for the 2013 Cap-Iron Man Reverse Big Bang. Ultron has attacked, obliterating most of the world's superheroes and resistance in a matter of hours. The remaining heroes band together and share what strength they have to get through it, to survive, and defeat Ultron once and for all. Steve Rogers grieves in the wake of the disaster and the heroes' defeat, and no one knows if he will be able to provide the leadership they need--but Tony Stark isn't about to let him slip away that easily.

Reverse Games (ao3) - MsMoonstar G, 75k

Summary: Thor and Loki have been arguing since they arrived back on Earth and the Avengers are tired of it. Tony Stark comes up with a brilliant plan to make the two Agardian gods get along.

Sharpen Your Teeth (ao3) - STARSdidathing loki/tony M, 369k

Summary: A betrayed Tony Stark leaves the Avengers. He's angry and bitter but he's not about to stop being a hero. The problem is that not everyone is happy with his decision.

Silvertongue (ao3) - Epiphanyx7 jane/thor M, 34k

Summary: [[Post-Avengers. Loki's plan had gone perfectly, now he needs only to see it to it's natural conclusion.]]

No Asgardian cell can hold him. Loki's magic is bound, but his mind is not -- and the Aesir were always fools, to think that Loki's mind was anything other than his most dangerous asset.

The Guardians (ao3) - GremlinSR peter/tony M, 35k

Summary: Tony is pulled out of his funk after the Civil War by actual space aliens when they come to warn him of an impending attack. Now he's building a new team, going on adventures with his new space friends, and generally just moving on.

When Team Cap comes back, they'll find things are different than how they left them.

A salty 'Tony doesn't need the team back' post Civil War fic.

Unwanted Celebrity (ao3) - Kryptaria, zooeyscigar steve/bucky T, 72k

Summary: Fifteen years ago, a skinny kid from Brooklyn went to an arts summer camp, where he met child movie star Jimmy Barnes. Their unlikely friendship faded as the years passed. But now, a threat to Barnes' career brings Steve back into his life, in the most unexpected of ways. Or, the one where Bucky is a smooth celebrity, right up until Steve the snarky photographer shows up, and Bucky's whole world gets blown to pieces.

Walls Come Tumbling Down (ao3) - lambchop33 steve/bucky E, 74k

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a successful contractor with an unsuccessful dating history. His boyfriend of many years cheated on him, and he's determined not to repeat that mistake. Enter Steve Rogers, the gorgeous neighbor he discovers in his new apartment building. Companion piece to The Match Game, told from Bucky's point of view, from the beginning. And in the beginning, the thoughts inside Bucky's head are radically different from those inside Steve's head, save for one thing. Bucky thinks Steve is hot, so he's got that going for him. But at this stage, that's all he's got.

Your Highness (ao3) - the_irish_mayhem jane/thor, clint/natasha E, 6k

Summary: Jane wants something in bed and Thor is more than happy to oblige.

Z to A (ao3) - memoriaeterna wanda/vision, pepper/tony T, 88k

Summary: The moment of disorientation was nothing compared to the next thing he saw. He was standing in the midst of an airport, looking directly at a girl with the familiar red leather coat. The mutual recognition was instant. Leipzig. Or, Peter and Wanda sent back in time to stop the inevitable. Good news: they are not alone. Bad news: who and from when.

[sageandred]

maybe I'm in the minority, but I didn't see this situation as them trying to make Owen look better here, AT ALL.

Enzo was there, while Owen wasn't for TK's childhood, and Owen made up some for happening to be present during such a life-defining (life or death) moment of TK's life. It's clear he loves him; this is a situation of an emotionally absent parent who wasn't there as much as he should've been [that I recognize is due to unhealed trauma and continuing cycles that needed to break], but it's not a situation of an intentionally neglectful parent that means harm or withholds their love. TK, of course sees Enzo in this great light and that perception he's provided is considered broken by some viewers, because now he's portrayed as a "bad guy". But like the dialogue says, TK states,

"I thought he was a good person," and Owen responds to that with,

"He is..."

Owen's disappointed the whole episode in himself. For this moment, he has to grapple with that and for once...he didn't let his ego overtake the convo and he comforted TK...and TK comforted him right back, because of who he is and he can see his dad's slight hurt. Owen's not perfect, but where he lacked to show up for TK as a child...Enzo was there; and when he'd grown as an adult and had a slip and overdosed, Owen showed up, because despite his past mistakes of not being there, he's always gonna be his father who loves him so much.

TK does have rose-colored glasses in regards to Enzo, because he provided so much happiness and love, when he didn't feel it, during his formative years. It's the classic child of divorced parents ideology. Maybe Enzo could provide the care and present-ness, while Owen was going through things that affect his son in the process, but Enzo isn't a perfect guy without is own mistakes when he was probably more careless due to an unawareness to the type of hardships that come with having your own child from birth before Jonah and traumas of 9/11 in the back of your mind. Enzo in certain ways could be the fun guy, the step-father to make him enjoy his time and stepped up to be there for the growing years learning softball, etc (which isn't to be downplayed or be treated as less important), but for all we've seen Gwyn was the nurturer and dealt with some pretty rough stuff through TK's addiction and him fighting back at her attempting to help.

Enzo's not made out to be a "bad guy," and Owen's not made out to be a good one. Enzo's exactly how I'd imagine from the previews with Gwyn in conversation and how TK has talked about him. The episode was looming with something being revealed, and I kind of love that he was arrested; my biggest worry was Enzo would die and Jonah would essentially be dropped on tarlos' doorstep. This is a good scenario to re-start the baby conversation.

Something super interesting to me regarding the whole Enzo thing or our perspective as the audience versus TK’s perspective as Enzo’s stepson

TK probably has rose color glasses regarding Enzo, just like he does Owen, maybe even more so

We’re meeting Enzo for the first time

But Enzo helped raised TK

TK has even said that on multiple occasions that Owen wasn’t super involved when he was a kid and that Enzo played more of a role than Owen in some ways

Based only on what we know, it’s implied that Owen became a lot more involved in TK’s life once he was a firefighter

And even then Gwyn was the one we saw really involved in getting TK clean which happened after he became a firefighter

When we see Owen and TK in season one, it’s after TK has overdosed, he’s so worried his son will die if he takes his eyes off him (after he’s had to face losing TK with Gwyn taking the brunt of that)

But once TK’s not towing that line, he’s way more hands off

In season two, Owen tells TK, that he’s gonna get the surgery TK has been trying so hard to get him to do because “[he’s] going to be a father” like ???

He later tells TK that he’s so obsessed with making a big thing of TK & Carlos’s wedding because after that TK’s not gonna need him anymore - again ???

Because whether they acknowledge it or not, when they’re not at work, when TK isn’t hawing a milestone moment, when TK’s not in crisis, how involved do we actually see Owen?

We don’t really see it, them just being there with each other, as far as I can remember

I know it’s a drama show and so they want to push the drama but then the writers can’t complain when that’s how their dynamic get viewed

But from what we know about Enzo from what TK’s said, not Owen, not Gwyn, but TK

Enzo was there

And Owen wasn’t

But we’ve seen four.six seasons of Owen

Those seasons have made him sympathetic (for some, not all) despite his flaws

And we’re just meeting Enzo

So his parallels with Owen, his attitude, and arrogance, and pretentiousness is a smack in the face for us, the audience

But for TK I imagine all that would pales in comparison to the fact that he was there

We already have seen TK brush off all those poor behaviorisms with Owen, even when he confronts Owen, he usually lets it drop when Owen gets defensive, TK wants a relationship with him over anything else

Why would it be any different for Enzo?

Why wouldn’t he see the best in the man who was there when Owen wasn’t?

[ocean-anchored]

Sometimes I wish there was a recorder in our brains for our thoughts. It’s like I can process my thoughts better when I just sit by myself & let them ramble but when I go to sit down or open this page so I can write, it’s like I can’t process those thoughts anymore & I loose words. It’s bad enough where my mental state is & what I’m going through with meliss. Then to feel like my feelings are disregarded, lower than, insignificant, unwanted etc to my boyfriend has just made me plummet. When we finally talked this afternoon I thought at some points maybe it would get better. But then it got worse. I don’t like being talked to like that. It triggers me to how I used to talk to Travis. I feel so much shame saying that. I feel wrong feeling like I try to put up a boundary on being talked to like that because that was me. That’s who I used to be. I used to talk down to him. Like his feelings weren’t a priority. Like I was superior. Which truly was never an intent, I never sought out harm, I just realized & knew the WAY I talked to him made him feel that way. I was not perfect to say the least, I know that. I know I did damage in that relationship. As much as it was absolute hell & that he absolutely destroyed me, my worth, my trust, everything, I know I wasn’t good either. I was struggling to stay afloat. I own up to that. I got help. I went through therapy for a long time. I did a LOT of healing & forgiving the years after. I felt that I was better, I had a better understanding & self awareness of it. Also that I wouldn’t engage with such toxic friendships or relationships like that again so I wouldn’t fall back into that pattern. The pattern I learned from my dad & how he talked to me. Here I am sitting, feeling triggered beyond anything. Nonetheless that it’s the 13th today. The day I got married 4 years ago. I feel like an absolute worthless failure. So upon my impeccable timing with it being this day of all days, now I’m triggered with how my boyfriend is talking to me, because that’s how I used to talk to my ex husband because that’s how I used to be talked to my entire up bringing. What a toxic world. Such a toxic trigger. The enemy is at work today. Destroying everything. Destroying me. The only thing that’s been bringing me back out of absolute destruction of tears & depression is God. Listening to sermons & teachings. Reading the bible. Reading devotions to challenge my anger & feeling alone. It’s the only thing getting me through the last 4 days. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of feeling like I dealt with something & got past it & now it’s back in my face. It’s unhealthy. It’s scary. It’s sad. It breaks my heart. Being on the side of this again, bringing myself back to being 14, 15, 16, 17 years old being told what a horrible daughter I am. How sick and demented I am. What terrible character I have. How messed up I am. I’m not going to get my life together if this is who I am. I’ll destroy people & myself. To have my sister tell me that my character is bad. That I have massive issues in my character that I need to work on, which don’t get me wrong… I know I have issues. I know and what she “called me out on” was from 7 months ago & I know it’s definitely not an excuse to react & talk to someone like I did richardt and it’s not an excuse that it was out of defence & that not only he manipulated, lied & did damage but meliss was part of that. I never called her out. I never tore her a new one that what she did was absolutely wrong in every way. & it makes me angry that now after 7 months she tells me that I have horrible character with how I talk to people from 7 months ago when she was a huge part of the issue? That makes me mad. So yeah it triggered me. & then Zack today out of frustration telling me that I’m impossible to talk to etc, just literally 100th trigger. Just another blow to my face that set me back. Feeling worthless. Feeling like I’m 16 again & an absolute shit person. Why am I letting how other people tell me who I am dictate for myself. I know I need to spend time with God with how he sees me.

[starshapedkookie]

Grapejuice

→ Why must you make me laugh so much? It's bad enough we get along so well, just say goodnight and go

pairing: jungkook x reader (ft. taehyung x reader)

genre: strangers to lovers (?), art student jungkook, art apprentice reader, angst, smut, fluff, art university au, oc is older than jungkook (only by 1 year), kind of inspired by titanic(?? idk just bear with me lol) *also i went to normal college, no idea how art universities work*

warnings: swearing, feelings of being lost, thoughts of infidelity… infidelity, descriptive smut (oral fem. receiving, fingering, protected sex, multiple orgasms, jk is big y'all!), smoking (cigarettes & 🍃), themes of being lost, sad, nepotism, everyone is lowkey a villain lmao

summary: At 24, your life was lined up to be perfect; talented, nice apartment, amazing boyfriend, and a dream job. Working as an art apprentice for Kim Seokjin was the exact opportunity you needed to kickstart your art career. However, after you’ve hit a creative wall at full speed, you feel more lost than ever. It’s not until one person shows up with no brakes on in your life that not only changes your entire perspective, but takes your breath away in the process.

word count: around 36k (i was in a silly goofy mood💀🤓)

all feedback is very much appreciated! i hope y'all enjoy!

⏤

Jungkook’s hand that’s on the railing begins to tighten around it, his knuckles turning white as frustration pulses through his veins. You notice his tight grip and you place your own hand over his to relax him some. There’s mere inches between you two now, but it’s comforting and it feels like only you two are left in the world—the party raging down below and throughout the house drowning out. While your head is spinning from the two glasses of alcohol that you had sipped on earlier, you know that most of it comes from his intoxicating scent. He’s everywhere at all times and you think this is some sick joke manifesting itself into reality as you feel yourself leaning into him. When he says your name slow and calculated, you know that you’re a puddle in his hands, ready for all the consequences that may come with your decision. You just don’t know exactly how it could have reached this point. 

1 Month Earlier

If there was one thing about being an artist—it’s that it can absolute torture. You hated to admit how right-brained you actually were. You felt as if your mind moved much faster and more chaotic than most people. It wasn’t anything you couldn’t function with—you had dealt with it your whole life, finding different outlets for your energy and itchiness. You couldn’t remember the exact age that you picked up a crayon, but you knew it was younger than most.

A lot of your childhood seems to be a blur, only a few memories sticking out like a bookmark at times. One of the most prominent being at age 5 when you took a few Sharpies and marked all over the dining room wall, drawing what you thought to be a field of flowers. Turns out, it was just a black scribbled mess that ended up with you hiding in your room, terrified of how angry your mother had gotten at you. You had learned your lesson that day that the wall should not be your canvas of choice. 

Crayons turned to colored pencils turned to watercolor turned to oils turned to whatever you could grab and extend your talent further. You hadn’t taken the original school route—your dad putting you in a special junior school for artists, all the way up until you graduated high school. Naturally, this lead you to going to university to major in the fine arts. As you sit here in your studio now, you’re unsure if that was the smartest decision. 

The funny thing about artists is that you’re sure they are the type of people who crave and desperately need the most validation of any profession. You valued positive reinforcement to the point it could be crippling. You’re sure that it stems from some type of child-like validation you never received from really either of your parents. They were always hard on you but your dad was the more lenient one of the two; your mom too selfish in her own abilities to look your way. 

You glance up to the clock hanging on the wall. It’s nearing 3 in the afternoon which means you only have one class left for today. You were by no means a professor, however as part of your apprenticeship—it was required by your senior, Kim Seokjin, to assist some of his lectures. Like you, Kim Seokjin was a tortured soul with such talent that it was hard to comprehend as an onlooker. You were nearing 25, Seokjin was over 30 and he had built much more of a name for himself than you probably ever would. Despite the hundreds of artists just in the area surrounding the neighborhood and university, he was one of the best. He taught only the uppermost level classes at the university, handpicking the students himself to teach. You were lucky enough to have kissed his ass enough as an undergrad for him to accept you into his apprenticeship program. It didn’t pay much—starving artists was an absolutely true trope—but it paid the bills and at least you weren’t in a crippling, life-draining office job. 

You give one last glance to the large canvas in front of you before throwing in your colorfully stained apron over an easel in the corner. 

You check off the mental note to bring Seokjin the rest of the paint he wanted for today’s last class. You hurry into his own smaller studio/office that’s right near yours and pick up the tray of paints he’s set out. Afraid that you’ll be late for class—which was Seokjin’s biggest pet peeve, you hurry out of his office and back down to the main classroom. As you turn down the main corridor, you don’t even recognize what’s happened when you crash into a body, slipping backwards and letting go of the tray of paints, halfway falling backwards with a yelp until something—someone—manages to catch your fall just in time. 

Your eyes are completely ignoring whatever stranger is holding you in a such a strong embrace that it’s taking your breath away and looking over at the colors which now paint the hallway. 

“Fuck,” is the first thought that crosses your mind and when you finally look up at who’s got you—the second thing to cross your mind? Shit—who is this?

“Are you okay? Fuck I’m so sorry, I-I have to run these papers to advising before my class,” the stranger rambles on, his grip still tight around your body. He’s got you pressed against his chest, one of his hands around your waist tightly, the other holding your other arm out awkwardly, giving away that’s what he originally caught you with. 

Your mouth slightly gapes open, confused and getting angrier at the second. Seokjin was going to murder you. That or just take the paints out of your next paycheck—which you honestly would rather take the former. With all of your might, you push yourself away from the man who you crashed into, feeling his grip on your arm even after he’s let go. 

“I’m fine,” you spit out, running a hand through your hair in frustration. You bend down and start to pick up the paint that indeed survived the fall, placing them back on the tray one by one. To your surprise, the stranger bends down too, helping you place everything back into the tray neatly. 

“I’m sure there are some towels—“

“The janitors will get it, it’s fine,” you interrupt the boy who keeps a mild expression on his features. It’s true though, spilled paint is nothing out of the ordinary for the cleanup crew. It was a school of arts after all. 

You leave without saying another word to the stranger. You march towards the classroom, ready to hear it in front of Seokjin and all of his students. The thought mortified you, but it happened to his apprentices more often than you would think. Seokjin’s tactics are scary and intimidating but they are like that on purpose. He wants his students to be the best and he wants his apprentices to be even better. And your work as of recent and now this incident? You were surely not that. 

Seokjin doesn’t acknowledge when you let him know about the spilled paints, giving you a dismissing—clearly annoyed—glance before he begins his last abstract painting class. The classroom space is large and bright filled with 11 students exactly. Six working spaces down each side of the rectangle, a lone working space in the back corner of the room. You remembered taking this class vividly, finding the abstract work natural to you and your paint brushes. While you enjoyed abstract, your speciality lied in realism—whether it be through pencils or oils or paints. 

In many ways your role in the classroom acted similarly as a graduate student would at a normal university. You were there to provide help to the other students when needed, but the basis of your apprenticeship under Soekjin was to gain experience and build up your portfolio. Lecturing in art school is obviously quite different than regular university. Instead of an hour and a half of note taking, it was a simple debrief at the beginning of classes and then the remainder time was for working. 

During Seokjin’s brief monologue, the back door of the classroom opens in a rush, the same stranger from earlier entering in, demanding attention away from the teacher. 

“Sorry I’m late—I had to drop off some papers in the administrative office,” the stranger explains as he walks up towards Seokjin. They shake hands quickly, Seokjin introducing him to the class. 

“Everyone, this is Jeon Jungkook—he’s just transferred in from another department, please welcome him in kindly.” 

Jeon Jungkook. A few of the student’s eyes light up as he gives a small wave to everyone. You’re leaning against the wall a few feet behind Jungkook and Seokjin but suddenly Jungkook must have noticed your small movement of crossing your arms over your chest. He nearly does a double take as you make brief eye contact. He’s handsome, you can tell that much as you hadn’t paid much attention when he bumped into you earlier. Jungkook is giving you another apologetic look until you’re the first one to look away, gazing back over the entire class. 

Once class presumes, Jungkook takes the empty workstation towards the back of the classroom, beside of Kim Jisoo and across from Kim Yugyeom. 

“Y/N?” Seokjin says from where he stands, motioning you to come to him. You push yourself off the wall, sauntering over to your boss. 

“Yes?” 

“Meet me in my office after this class is over. I don’t really need you in here today so just continue working on what you need to,” he says only giving you a short glance. Your stomach drops. 99% of the time, if Seokjin wanted to meet in his office, it never really meant good news. Noticing some of his students who are sitting up front are listening, you only give him a short smile with a nod. The last thing you needed was his students talking about how shitty his chosen apprentice truly was. 

You push yourself off the wall, your feet carrying you quickly out of the classroom. Little to your knowledge, the stranger from earlier only had his eyes on you as you disappeared from the classroom. 

⏤

It’s only less than a couple hours later you find yourself standing in front of Seokjin’s office. You are gripping your tote bag tightly against your side, the rattling of your materials the only thing your mind can solely focus on. Sending a quick prayer up to whoever, you knock gently on the door and a hear a subtle noise for you to come in. 

You force a small smile on your face as you enter the office, making eye contact with Seokjin immediately. He makes you so intensely nervous that it can be hard to stomach being around him—but the validation and credibility he gives your portfolio—it will be worth it in the end. 

“Hi,” you say as he motions you to take a seat at his desk. He’s sat across from you, finishing typing away at his computer before he gives you any attention. His office is quite the opposite of what you would expect an artist’s office to be. It was all monochromatic and cream with touches of mahogany brown in the furniture and cabinets. There was barely any art on the walls, just a few small canvases that you recognized as his own pieces. You have to hold in a laugh at his narcissism. 

“Thanks for coming by, I don’t want to keep you too late,” he says emotionless. 

“No worries,” you shake your head, “Is everything okay?” 

He hesitates before he responds, leaning back into his giant office chair that looks divinely comfortable.

“I actually wanted to present you with that question Y/N,” he speaks slowly, as if he’s studying you and your reaction.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, “Me?” 

When he doesn’t say anything, you continue yourself. 

“I-I don’t think I understand,” you stutter anxiously, feeling yourself getting hot in the tiny office. This is it—this is where you die. Over spilled fucking paint. 

“Y/N,” he pauses to lean forward on his forearms, “You were one of my most exemplary students in undergrad which is why out of all the candidates, I choose you to be one of my apprentices. I just can’t help but feel you’ve been… well, lacking in the work you’re putting out..” 

His words are slow and calculated, as if he has rehearsed them many times over before spelling it out for you. Your shoulders begin to slump and you now wish you were being reprimanded over spilled fucking paint. You don’t even know what to say, so you don’t. Seokjin takes your silence with respect, continuing for you. 

“I just want you to be your best artistic self. I know what a slump feels like and if you need any help—“

“No,” you interject quickly, “It’s just—“ you pause, wanting to think about what you’re saying before you speak, “It’s just I’ve just been a little uninspired lately, but no I definitely don’t need help.” 

The last thing you needed was for Seokjin to think you couldn’t handle your own. The world of professional art was ruthless. You figured this out by your early teens when your mother had a gallery that was quote “a crashing bore of monotone, desperately wanting to be something it’s not.” After that, she locked herself in her bedroom for 3 days. You needed to prove to yourself you could handle piece after piece by yourself. If you couldn’t prove it to you, who on the outside would believe you could?

Seokjin narrows his eyes at you and you’re sure he definitely doesn’t believe you. “The final exhibit is coming up, I just don’t want you to lose sight of it.”

Knowing today’s date, the final exhibit is coming faster than you would like. Nearly 2 months away, but Seokjin is right. Art takes time, patience, and inspiration. Three things that you’re running out of.

“I appreciate the concern,” you say as genuine as you can, gritting through your annoyed smile, “But I promise you, I’m fine. I’m sure you know how it is to be in a funk.” 

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. If he wasn’t such an intimidating asshole, you would find him attractive. He seems to be content with your answer as he begins to nod slowly. 

“Alright,” he responds, “If you eventually need help though, you have an abundance of students who would be willing to work with you. Great art doesn’t have to be born out of loneliness.” 

You nearly snicker. The funny thing about artists is that we are so narcissistic, we can’t even see what we’re saying is just a crock of horse shit. You decide to leave the conversation at that, bidding Seokjin a simple goodbye and a wishful weekend. You pick your bag up off the ground, fishing your phone out of it quickly, leaving Seokjin’s office in a rush. You had dinner plans and you weren’t sure how much time you now had to get ready. 

You’re scrolling through your messages to recall the exact time you were supposed to be there when suddenly you’re bumping—no crashing—into someone—again! You’ve let out a yelp and a curse word you shouldn’t repeat when you hear your poor phone collide with the floor. Luckily you managed to catch yourself against the wall as your heart beats with fight or flight adrenaline. 

“Shit,” someone mutters and when you finally regain your orientation, you instantly recognize the voice. You realize it’s Jeon Jungkook—that new student who bumped into you earlier. He’s sitting on the ground as if he’s just been hit by a bus. It makes you narrow your eyes—you’re not that dense you knocked this man to the ground. How dramatic can he be? 

“Can we stop meeting like this?” You say as you reach down for your phone. You hope and pray there aren’t any cracks. When you turn it over, you let out a relieved sigh when the screen is unharmed. 

“That was totally your fault that time,” Jungkook pushes himself off the ground, fluffing up his dark hair some. Once he stands fully in front of you, you are now getting an essence of how big he is. He’s average height at most, but from your stature, you’re having to still look up at him. 

“How was that my fault?” You press, taking a step away from him to give you space. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t walk around with your head in that thing?” He motions to your phone with his eyebrows. His eyes are wide and doe like, his lips a little thin with a piercing on the right side, and a nose on the bigger side. You’ve always liked big noses. You normally wouldn't describe men this way, but he’s genuinely pretty. If he wasn’t standing right here, you’d blush a little.

“Maybe you shouldn’t sprint around this place like you’re being chased by a serial killer,” you argue back, your phone now buzzing in your hand. 

This Jungkook guy laughs a bit, a soft smile growing on his face, “I’m Jungkook,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“And I’m running late,” you point to your continually buzzing phone. You can tell it’s not the answer he wants, but you walk away before he can get that answer. You don’t dare look over your shoulder as you walk away to answer the phone. You can feel his eyes still on you and his scent fulfilling your nose. It smells clean, musky, and like amber. It smells dangerous. 

⏤

Carbone was easily one of the best spots in the city. The Italian cuisine was to-die for and with the way your stomach was growling—the thought of their vodka sauce penne was literally making you horny. In record time, you managed to rush home and throw yourself together a little more decently. Your hair was pretty greasy so you ended up throwing it up into a clip hoping that no one would notice. You’re playing with your so-called slut strands aimlessly as you stand outside of the restaurant waiting on your company. It isn’t much longer until you hear your named being called a little ways away. You look up from your phone, a smile beginning to grow on your face.

“Hey babe,” your smile only grows as your boyfriend approaches you. He himself begins to smile as he fully approaches you, engulfing you into a large bear hug. 

“I missed you,” he breathes heavily into your neck before he pulls away, “You look nice,” he holds both of your hands and looks down your frame. You glance down at your simple tank and loose-navy trousers. The navy somewhat clashes with his black suit, but it didn’t bother you none. 

“Thank you, missed you too,” you respond, “Shall we?” 

He nods once, giving you a look of longing before pulling you inside behind him. 

“Reservations for Kim Taehyung,” he smiles charmingly to the hostess. She seems awestricken by him as she fumbles around with the menus behind the podium. Once she realizes—or chooses to notice—you standing close with Taehyung, hand in his, her gaze immediately drops to her feet as she walks the two of you to the table. It’s a smaller two-seated table outside on their exquisite patio, twinkle lights tastefully lighting up around you and a small candle lit between you two. It’s still not quite spring so they have some outdoor space heaters which is nice on your exposed arms. The slight chill doesn’t bother you though. Your only focus is on Taehyung. 

Kim Taehyung. How could you even describe Kim Taehyung? 

As the two of you sit here now, him 27, you 24, you can’t believe how long it’s already been. You were naive and 20 when you first crossed paths with Taehyung. A mutual friend introduced the two of you at another friend’s birthday at the time. It was at some swanky bar in the fanciest part of the city and to your broke, aspiring starving artist kind; it seemed magical. 

There was an immediate attraction to each other that both of you seemed to recognize. His strong features and sexy smirk had you pulled in the moment he opened his mouth. His looks were one thing, but once you got to know him for him, you were sure you had found your soulmate. He was charming, funny, smart, and a hell of a lot different than you. But you liked that. You had been around the mismatched artist-type your entire life—you craved something different. And he gave you that every time, even now 4 years later. 

“How was your day?” You’re the one to ask first as the waitress ends up pouring out glasses of Chardonnay for the both of you. Taehyung always orders a bottle, citing glasses were the cheap way out. 

He takes a sip before he speaks, “Pretty good. I think we’re finally getting close to a deal on my biggest client which will leave me a lot less stressful once that sorts itself out.” 

Taehyung works in finance—specifically in private equity. When the two of you first met, he was a first-year hustling investment banker who worked long hours with high compensation for a 23 year old. Now, he works a little less hours with even higher compensation. One way that you two are similar is that you both like chaos—chaos that just manifests itself into different ways. Chaos for you comes in forms of paint, sketches, and a messy workspace. Chaos for Taehyung is working long, demanding hours, numbers, and making 50 year olds seem less experienced than him.

“You made it out of the office before seven tonight, that’s always a good thing,” you take a sip of your wine, hiding the scrunch on your face as best as you can. This Chardonnay was particularly dry and not quite what you thought you needed. A martini sounds real good about now. 

“How was your Friday babe?” He asks with genuine curiosity. If there was one flaw about you is that whenever Taehyung would go off the deep end in explaining his private equity and venture capital deals, you somewhat zoned out. Him on the other hand, always seemed intrigued about your endeavors as a struggling artists. Perhaps you should work on your listening skills now that you think about it. 

You’re about to answer until the waitress comes back to take your orders. You settle on the vodka penne, Taehyung gets cacio-e-pepe, and you two get a Caesar to split. Before you realize it, you’re adding in a martini to the bill. Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you as the waitress leaves. 

“Bad day?” He asks. 

You have to laugh, leaning back into your seat some. “It was fine, it’s just,” you pause somewhat frustrated now that you’ve had a couple hours to marinate Seokjin’s words.

“Seokjin has just been hard on me lately and it’s kind of exhausting,” you breathe out heavily. 

“Isn’t he always an asshole?” He raises a brow, leaning back in his seat to match your stance. His eyes don’t leave you as you command his full attention. 

You half-laugh again, “It’s like he thinks I can just shit out new pieces every week. It’s not like every morning I wake up with a new idea that's riveting enough to turn into something.” 

“I’m sure you’ve produced good things recently—you’re too hard on yourself Y/N,” he says, you assume trying to comfort or validate you in someway. It doesn’t work. 

“What you think is good, isn’t what I, or Seokjin, or art critics may think is good,” you say stubbornly. 

“Babe you really shouldn’t care about what those people think,” he says just as your martini arrives. You take quite a big gulp, a chill running down your spine. But it’s good, and needed. 

“That’s easy for you to say.” 

You don’t expect Taehyung to understand your perception of what you’ve always thought you career would be. Taehyung’s career was set for him the moment he walked across the graduation stage. There need be no inspiration or motivation for the work he does. He shows up, gets tasks and deals to negotiate, plugs and chugs numbers, and does it all over again. There’s no downtime in his field. 

When it comes to art—there’s too much downtime. Too much time to overthink and drown into your thoughts. It’s easy to become miserable and wallow in self-pity as an artist. You don’t know why or where this rut came from, but you hoped that something would inspire you fast. Seokjin was right—you really didn’t have much time to begin putting together your exhibition pieces. 

“I deal with people all the time who hate me and my colleagues—that doesn’t mean I don’t show up for the meetings. You’re going to deal with people who don’t like you but you still gotta get your shit done either way,” he shrugs and it’s like he caught what he said just in time before you could snap back at him—“Baby you know that’s not what I mean,” he suddenly leans forward and grabs one of your hands on the table. 

You try to get past his last comment—as if he was implying you weren’t doing your job—relaxing as soon as his warm touch gets to you. 

Perhaps one of the bigger flaws in your relationship with Taehyung is that sometimes he just doesn't get it. He can get very wrapped up into his world, unable to find a place of empathy for you and your craft. Sometimes, it feels like you're standing in a crowded room screaming yet no one turns around to see where the ruckus is coming from.

“I know,” you answer simply and luckily, your dinner arrives cutting the conversation at that. 

As you two eat together, catching up on other mindless topics, and enjoying each other’s company, it makes your heart yearn for so much more with him. You’ve only had one serious boyfriend before Taehyung in high school which probably doesn’t even count at this point and only dating a couple guys casually before you ended up meeting the man across the table. He was edging 30, you nearing 25. You glance down at your ring finger, wanting nothing more than truly make that next step in your relationship. You two had talked about it many times and you were sure he wanted to marry you—you just didn’t know what he was waiting on. 

Thankfully, you’re feeling a little less anxious now that you’ve ate a good meal and had some alcohol—not enough to where you’re drunk—but enough to feel a little buzz. After Taehyung’s paid (you’ve run your time trying to pay—also given Taehyung’s salary versus yours, it was sort of a given who would pay at fancy restaurants). 

The two of you are walking around the semi-hustling streets, hand in hand as you’re making way back to his apartment. Friday’s were routine the two of you. Given his hectic schedule, the weekends are where you two found solace. There was the occasional mid-week lunch if he was on your side of the city where the university was, but Friday’s had been particular your days for years now. You loved your little routine together. 

Taehyung has managed to pull you towards the city’s main river to a popular tourist watch site. On the weekends, there were the occasional events and water shows. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights, but there are a couple street vendors set up around the area. From the corner of your eye, you spot a vendor selling cotton candy and before Taehyung can stop you, you’re pulling him to the sweet treat. You settle on sharing a stick of the pink and cottony sugar as you take a sit down on the side of the river, trying to keep some distance from others. 

You sit on the step below Taehyung, settling between his legs as you eat the candy in a comfortable silence. He offers you the last little piece but you shake your head, leaning back into his chest more. He glad eats it and then wraps his arms around your front, instantly warming you from the outside in. 

“You chilly babe?” He asks and you shrug a little. You were a little chilly now, but he was keeping you warm enough. Given how he just knows you though, he ends up shrugging off his perfectly tailored suit jacket and draping it over your front. You give him a small kiss beneath his chin as a thank you. 

“This is nice,” you say lowly, the sound of the running river and carb-loaded tummy making you a little sleepy. 

“Mhm,” he agrees, settling his chin on top of your head, “You know I’ve been thinking recently..” 

Thought he can’t see your face from this angle, your eyes slightly widen and your heart rate picks up significantly. Unsure of what to say, you make a noise that resembles a “hm?” Could it be? 

“I know that both of our leases are ending soon,” he pauses, leaning back some. You take it to turn your body some to face him, a soft expression crossing your features. “I was thinking we should move in together.” 

While your heart semi-strains painfully given it’s not what you thought he was going to say. But hey—he wants to live together! That’s the second biggest step before getting engaged, right? 

“You want to live together?” You repeat his statement to make sure you heard it clearly. 

He gives you a small smirk, “Isn’t that what I just said?” He giggles, “I’d just figured we already stay at each others places on the weekends… and if we lived together we would definitely see each other more often.” 

He’s right. You think about waking up and going to bed with Taehyung everyday. You think about making coffee for each other and eating dinner together every night. You think about lazy morning-before-work sex and heavy, steamy sex in a shared bathroom. It seems perfect. You’re nodding before you even say yes.

“Yes, yes, of course!” You say enthusiastically, throwing your arms around him awkwardly. He laughs in content, holding you close as you both continue to watch the river. While it’s not what you were expecting, perhaps it was the final stepping stone until the relationship was to be taken further. 

⏤

“I feel like tangerine is the superior shade of orange, right?” 

You laugh a little as you take a step back from the canvas, looking over your shoulder to meet Sana’s gaze. She’s got a serious expression crossing her brows as she inspects your canvas and the orange color you’ve just slapped onto it. 

“I prefer marmalade,” you respond sarcastically with a half-smile, justifying your color choice on the canvas. She tilts her head slightly, sitting back in the barstool type chair she’s in. She was much more the charming artist type than you. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons you two got along so well—you couldn’t be anything more than polar opposites. You were laid back and didn’t think about your work too much, whereas your best friend from undergrad went through every detail imaginable before her brush hit a canvas. 

“I actually don’t give a shit about the orange,” she then says with a short laugh, “Y/N, what are you doing?” 

You furrow your eyebrows, setting down your palette on the work table beside you. “What do you mean?” 

She looks around your studio, the sun shining brightly thanks to the large windows on the back wall. You can tell she’s quickly inspecting every piece that you have finished up against the far wall opposite of you two. It’s only 3 pieces, but you can tell she’s about to rip them apart. 

“It’s just,” she pauses to meet your gaze again, "I feel like there's no emotion in these pieces, it's all just the same in different fonts...” 

You have a sudden open pit in your stomach, getting flashbacks from being in Seokjin’s office last week. You knew that she meant well—but like you said, she was the much more serious art type. She could read art better than anyone else you knew and to hear those words from her? It stung. 

“Because there isn't," you chuckle, "I’m just in a funk,” you say, not even attempting to try to argue with her. For the past couple months, every stroke of your brushes have felt like a chore. Every sketch of a pencil felt like someone had a gun to your head, threatening you to draw or otherwise the trigger would be pulled. 

“Isn’t your exhibition soon?,” she asks it like a warning but you’ve already heard that siren. “Is everything good with you?” 

“I’m fine,” you say straight-lipped, “Just uninspired.” 

She raises an eyebrow at you, “Taehyung not dicking you down right?” 

You roll your eyes, a small laugh emitting from you, “Trust me, that’s not the problem.”

Taehyung was great in bed—a gentle lover with rough hands. It would probably surprise people to know that you were the more dominant one in the bedroom. 

She looks as if she doesn’t believe you, but she lets it slide knowing your sex life is none of her business. 

“And he still hasn’t put a ring on it?” She glances down at your hands, which you shyly shove into the pockets of your jeans. 

“You'd be the first to know Sana," you tell her pointedly, "Also what's the rush?” you say, a half lie on your part. Maybe no rush on his part, but you were feening for that commitment from Taehyung. “He actually wants us to find a place together.” You make sure to add, given it makes your heart feel a little better. 

“Hm,” she pauses and you give her an odd look.

"What's that for?" you ask her, crossing your arms over your chest.

She shakes her head, "I just want you to be happy Y/N... I'm sure moving in together will be exciting," you can tell there's something else she's not saying. You can probably guess as to what she wants to say but you push it from your mind. God forbid she’s been the one on the other end of your drunken-crying nights, saying how much you wanted to spend more time with him and marry him. “Are you excited?”

You nod before you speak, “Of course,” you say, “I’ll just be happy to spend more time with him.” 

“I can’t believe he’s still in his soulless finance grind after all these years,” she exhales heavily with a shake of her head. You honestly couldn’t believe it either—but he loved his work. Sometimes you’d argue more than he loved anything else—including you. 

“Whatever makes him happy, makes me happy,” is what you leave it at. You didn’t want to have the same conversation with her again. 

“Well,” she pauses, “I gotta run, but enjoy your lunch,” she motions to the bag of food she so graciously brought you on her own lunch break. Given she works at an art studio in the city as an art preserver, her hours are much more flexible than yours. 

“Thank you,” you give her a quick hug, inhaling her sweet, floral scent. She’s always had that sort of nostalgic smell to her. One of those smells that you can’t pinpoint where you’ve smelt it before, but it makes you smile. Perhaps it just reminds me of sleepless nights in the dorm you two shared freshman year, watching endless drama's and Magic Mike nights.

“Are you gonna come to dinner with everyone tomorrow?” 

“I’ll try to make it,” you answer, “Depends how long I’m stuck here,” you speak with your arms in reference to your working studio. 

“You better be there,” she warns, “You haven’t seen Jimin and everyone in forever.” 

“I’ll try,” you repeat with a genuine smile, “Thanks for lunch again.” 

She gives you a kiss on the cheek, “Of course. Text me if you need anything,” 

You watch her frame as she walks out of your studio, your shoulders sinking in relief. You loved Sana, you really did, but the last thing you need is another person down your throat about your art. You were in a stupid, uninspired, funk but it will eventually go away. Even if you have to claw your way to finishing pieces for the exhibit—they will get done. You weren’t the type to just give up and throw in the towel. 

You haven’t even realized you’ve completely zoned out until you hear footsteps coming into your studio. When you fixate on who is hesitantly standing toward the door, a confused expression crosses your face. 

“Jungkook?” 

“I’m late?” He jokes, retorting your smart ass comment from the other day. You can’t help but laugh some as he approaches you. He’s curiously looking around your working space with wide doe eyes. “The lighting is great in here,” he comments. 

“I held Seokijn at gunpoint for this room,” you attempt to make a joke. He giggles so you’re satisfied. You’ve only been in class with him once since his first day last week. From what you’ve distantly observed about this Jungkook guy, it’s that he’s quiet and reserved, but quite talented. Seokjin must be feeling very sorry for you given he hasn’t needed you in class the past few days. That, or he’s just pissed that you haven’t done shit and it’s him telling you to get the hint.

“Everything good?” You ask him to break the silence, trying to be a “teacherly” as you could. Perhaps he had a question that Seokjin wasn’t available to answer. Or needed to know where certain pigments were. Or just needed a second opinion on a piece he’s started. Jungkook has made his way over to you, leaning at the table where Sana was just sat. 

“Seokjin needs you to work the afternoon class by yourself,” he explains and you’re a little confused. 

“Okay…?” You trail off, looking at him curiously. He’s dressed in a large short sleeve shirt, baggy jeans, and a slick pair of Nike’s. As he crosses his arms over his chest, you take quick notice of an array of tattoos covering his right forearm. It makes something deep within you stir. 

“Is he busy? Did he send you to tell me or something?” You ask. 

He’s staring at you intently with purpose. You’re suddenly insecure under his gaze, knowing you cannot possibly look put together with your hair thrown up and smudged glasses. 

“I volunteered,” he shrugged, his eyes looking over to the current painting you’re working on. It’s not too large of a canvas, so it sits on your large easel with ease. His words make you stir again. “This is a nice color,” he compliments. 

You laugh out of your nose, “It’s shit.” 

You can feel his eyes on your profile as you look at the painting. The orange you’ve laid down is only the base color and you don’t even know what you’re going to turn it into.

“Do you specialize in realism?” He asks you, again with a burning curiosity in his tone. This is the most you’ve heard him speak since he’s showed up. His voice is soft and smooth like honey, unlike Taehyung’s where—

“Yes,” you cut your thoughts off. 

“Me too,” he responds as your gaze meets his. You give him a small smile in unity. You’ve nearly forgotten lunch that Sana has brought you until a grumble goes through your stomach. You cross your arms over your stomach, feeling embarrassed under his gaze. 

“See you this afternoon?” He says, getting the signal for him to let you have your lunch break. 

“Will do,” you nod, “Thanks for letting me know.” 

He pushes off the table, “Of course.” 

His gaze breaks from yours as he walks away from you and your workspace. Just as he is about to walk out, you stop him. 

“It’s Y/N by the way,” you call out formally. He stops in his tracks, halfway turning to you again with a subtle smirk on his face. 

“I know.” And like that, he’s left. Something even deeper inside you not only stirs, but intensely electrifies you. You’re devouring your salad before you can let any other thoughts consume your brain. 

⏤

“Cheers!” Jimin is smiling eagerly as you all hold your shot glasses up in the center of the table. You all down, up, down the shots of soju before you quickly tip them back. It burns going down your throat, but it felt too good. Sana was right—it had been way too long since you’ve been able to catch up with everyone. Sana sits to your left, Jimin across from you, Hoseok to your right, Jennie beside Jimin, and Namjoon at the head of the table. 

“Never gets easier,” Hoseok makes a face as he quickly takes a sip of his soda for a chaser. You tease him by bumping his side, going back to eating the meat in front of you. Jimin was at the helm of cooking the meats and as always, did a fabulous job. 

The Korean BBQ place wasn’t too far from your studio apartment and the university. It was yummy, cheap, and some of your friend’s favorite. It was a no brainer for all of you to meet up here after a long day. Thankfully you were able to finish your work early today, but only because once again, nothing of substance was spawning on your canvas. 

“Namjoon,” Sana says, “When are you leaving for New York?” 

“Next week,” he says as he sips on his light colored beer. 

“Oh! Taehyung’s going this weekend,” you add into the conversation.

“Work trip?” He asks you, nodding in confirmation. It wasn’t anything new—Taehyung made bi-monthly trips to Wall Street. “If he’s staying long enough we’ll have to get a beer together,” he says. 

“I’ll ask him for you,” you smile, though it fades away quickly. You felt that twang in your chest when you thought about Taehyung leaving for work trips. Not because you didn’t trust him—you just missed him. Then again, he’s building a life of security for the two of you, so you couldn’t blame him too much. 

“How’s the apprenticeship going Y/N?” Jennie asks you as the others talk amongst themselves. 

“It’s going,” you try to sound light-hearted and that it’s actually not killing you. “I’m done after this semester,” you add. 

She nods—Jennie worked in social media for a fashion company. She was creative for sure—but not to the level of you and Sana. The three of you had known each other the longest, the other three boys tagging along as the college years went by. 

“Are you going to free-lance after?” She asks. As much as you know she doesn’t mean harm—any question about the future makes you anxious. You had no idea what you were planning on doing after your apprenticeship was up. You were just hoping working under Kim Seokjin would stick out enough on your resume that something would fall into your lap. With your parents consistently down your throat, something had to fall into your lap. Hell, you would even pull the nepotism card if you had to.

“We’ll see,” you shrug as you continue to eat your food. You were feeling a little bit of a buzz at this point and you knew that you should probably slow down on the drinks. 

The six of you all continue talking amongst yourselves aimlessly. You find yourself zoning in and out as you continue to think about Seokjin, your art, Taehyung, moving in together—your brain was cloudy and you felt stuffy. Something’s gotta give soon or you were sure you were going to explode. You didn’t understand—you have a good life, a good boyfriend, a talent not many people possess, fun friends—you didn’t know what was wrong with you. 

You end up excusing yourself, the alcohol inside you making you need some some fresh air. You try to ignore everyone’s concerned glances coming your way as you stand. You take your phone and head towards the front door. As you push the door open, the chilly spring air feels divine on your skin.

Deciding to get out of sight of your friends given the large glass windows, you make your way to the side of the restaurant, where an alley separates it from another small business. Luckily the area was safe, with no alley being too dimly lit to make you uncomfortable. 

As you round the corner, the smell of cigarettes fill your nostrils and you’re stopping dead in your tracks. Leaned up against the side of the restaurant, scrolling through a phone, and a cigarette hanging from their lips—is Jeon Jungkook. 

“Jungkook?” His name slips from your lips before you can stop it. He quickly responds by looking up from his device, looking somewhat startled. He looks panicked as he quickly removes the cigarette from his mouth, about to let it drop to the ground before he drops it. 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” you shake your head as you slowly step towards him, “My mom smokes when she paints.” 

He raises his eyebrows at you slowly putting the cigarette back between his lips, “Is she an artist too?” 

He’s wearing slim-fitted jeans and a multiple colored pullover, with a prominent shade of orange through the middle. It reminds you of the conversation you had with Sana yesterday. His hair is tousled a little, but still fairly straight and dark. He plays with his lip ring until you answer him.

“Both my parents are,” you respond, settling against the building opposite of him. He’s already got a few inches on you, but with his fancy tennis shoes, it gives him even more height. 

“That’s gotta be rough,” he laughs while blowing out smoke away from your direction. 

You laugh with him, settling for a short nod, “What about your parents?” 

He hesitates before taking another drag, “My dad is in banking, my mom stays at home.” While he’s answered your question, he doesn’t seem enthusiastic about it. You wonder what type of banking his father is into, so you ask him. 

“Investment and private banking,” is what he says. Your boyfriend’s face flashes into your head, but for whatever reason, you don’t mention him to Jungkook. He’s practically your student—he doesn’t have to know every detail about your life. 

“Does he enjoy it?”

He quickly shakes his head, “He’s been miserable for as long as I can remember, my mom even more so,” he says it like it’s a joke, but it makes something in your chest squeezes tightly, your mouth dries up, and your hands go clammy. Though he doesn’t voice it, he senses a demeanor change so he offers you a drag from his cigarette. 

You don’t hesitate to say yes as he passes you the little nicotine stick. Your fingers brush against his when he passes it off to you. Again, you have to ignore whatever is stirring deep within you. As you inhale the smoke, your head buzzes even further, settling your worries the tiniest bit. There’s no way that would become you and Taehyung. No way. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask. 

“Meeting some friends for drinks,” he explains, “But everyone’s late, as usual,” he laughs. 

“I hate when people are late,” you mutter, taking another drag of the cigarette. Jungkook agrees with you, asking what you’re doing here. “I’m with a few friends, we haven’t all been able to see each other much recently.” 

You reach out to give him back his cigarette but he shakes his head, “It’s yours,” his eyes have a glimmer in them that’s innocent but provocative all at the same time. 

“Thanks,” you say and nearly rolling your eyes at how much you probably look like your mother right now. You wouldn’t really take that as a compliment. 

“You did well teaching yesterday,” he completely does a 180 on the subject, but the praise makes you smile at him. Positive reinforcement—works every time. 

You thank him again, “I was actually pretty nervous.” 

“I don’t think any of us would have thought that,” he pauses, examining your face closely, “Have you thought about teaching when you’re done under Seokjin?” 

You shake your head, “Not really,” the cigarette is down to the butt so you throw it out, stepping on it with your white tennis shoe. 

“Maybe you should,” he says it with a genuine tone it almost makes you think it’s something you should consider. 

“I feel like this is you trying to take my job,” you raise your eyebrow at him and he only smirks through his laugh. Under the dim lighting, it really does excentuate how attractive he is. 

“Is it that obvious?” He cocks his head to the side quickly, glancing down your front in the process. You know absolutely nothing about this man except his dad is an investment banker and he’s Seokjin’s student. Despite that, you feel too comfortable with him and you know you shouldn’t. Goddamn; you were sure you were losing it at this point. 

You’re about to say something else before your phone vibrates continuously in your back pocket. You pull it out of your trousers, cursing under your breath when you see Sana’s name pull up on the screen. 

“Hey! Are you still here?” You can tell she’s still inside the restaurant given the commotion in the back. She also sounds even more drunk than when you left her. As much as you love your friends, you knew that going back inside was not what you needed. Jungkook watches you intensely, but you can’t keep his gaze continuously. 

“I uh,” you pause trying to think on your feet, “I actually wasn’t feeling too well so I ended up leaving.. would you kill me if I just sent you a Venmo for my food?” 

“Oh! Are you okay?! Of course I don’t care! Did you get a ride home?” 

You answer all of her questions in order quickly, wanting to get off the phone before she actually realized you were still there, just standing outside in the alley with your “student.”

“Text me when you make it home!” Is the last thing she says. 

After you hang up, Jungkook is still looking at you curiously. 

“Ditching you friends?” 

“My social meter has about run out… I need to head home anyways,” you trail off, leaning back against the wall behind you. 

“Do you live around here?” He mirrors your actions, leaning back and watching you. His gaze follows you like the Mona Lisa. You settle with the fact you don’t mind. His eyes look like they hold stars and you’ve always liked stargazing. 

“Yeah, not too far from here,” you say. 

“I’ll walk you home then.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, protesting heavily, “No, no it’s all good I promise! Your friends are waiting for you.” 

He’s suddenly giving you a smile where one side of his lips tug upwards before he’s biting his lip ring again. You don’t know why but you like that too. 

“Lucky for you, my social meter has run out too.” 

⏤

You know that having Jungkook walk you home would probably look extremely bad to someone if they knew the situation. Jeon Jungkook, senior art student for Kim Seokjin, and you, apprentice for Kim Seokjin, walking you home alone on a Thursday evening. It wasn’t that you thought he was attractive that it would look bad—that could be kept secret—more so just the power dynamic may look bad. The two of you have been talking aimlessly about random things, nothing too deep, until he says—

“How’d you get into art?” He asks as he walks beside you, about 6 inches separating you two. “I know you said your parents were artists, but why’d you follow the same path?” 

It’s a question you’ve pondered yourself many times as of recent. You wonder if Jeon Jungkook can read your mind. 

“I guess it’s just that,” you half-laugh, “It’s just something I naturally picked up so young and as I got older I just wanted to learn more mediums, create more, perfect the craft…” you trail off, still unsure if you’ve answered his question. He looks at you as you walk, but you’re looking forward so you don’t notice. 

“What did you start with?” You know exactly what he means. 

“Well like most kids I started with crayons and watercolor,” you pause and he nods in agreement, “Everything really changed for me though when I started doing realism through pencil and charcoal work when I was like twelve, which eventually moved on to painting.” 

He hums like he finds this information fascinating. Even if he doesn’t, it makes you feel like you’re being heard. It’s hard for non-art friends to understand the process of moving from one thing to the next, your brain constantly trying to find something new to work with. 

“Funny, you and I must have been on parallel paths,” he says it like its a joke and you end up smiling. 

“Where are you from?” You turn your head up to ask him. You find his eyes already looking at you. 

“Busan, just by the sea.” 

“And that’s where our paths are different,” you’re nudging his arm with your elbow before you realize it and you immediately regret it, pulling away quickly. It’s a habit you have when you’re talking to someone you’re comfortable with, specifically Taehyung. 

"Did you move here just for school then?" you ask him curiously.

He shakes his head, "No my family and I moved here when I was quite young, due to my dad's job," he explains.

"What do your parents think about you being an artist?"

The older you got, the less of a choice you felt like you had in terms of your career and path with your parents consistently down your throat. You'd love to know what it was like to actually choose this path of constant praise and validation.

"My mom is very easy going... she doesn't have much of an opinion about it," he pauses, moving closer to you slightly to dodge a pothole, "It's definitely not what my father would have chosen for me, but since my older brother went to school for business, I think it's lessened the blow for me," he laughs.

You decide right here that you think Jungkook's smile is probably the most beautiful you've ever seen. You don't even realize how long you've been staring at him in silence until his eyes meet yours again.

You clear your throat, “You really didn’t have to walk me home.” 

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his pullover, “It’s no big deal, I don’t live too far from here either.” 

“Do you live alone?” You don’t know why you’re asking such personal questions. 

“Yeah, just got my own place actually..” He says it with a faint smile. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” not for long. But again, you don’t mention it. 

“I’ll have to come see it one day,” you’re positive he’s not even sure what he’s said. Given how he said it so nonchalantly and natural though, tells you differently. You’re stunned to speak for a moment, until you finally find your voice that comes through like a weakened child. 

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate given my relationship to you,” you try to make your answer seem cool and collected. You think it comes across this way and you hope he thinks it came across that way. 

“Aren’t we friends?” He muses, something hidden behind his tone. 

“Are we?” You retort. What do you mean, is his next question. “We’ve just met as of last week and I don’t know much about you…” 

Again, he looks at you cheekily as you turn left down the street that leads to your apartment complex. 

“That can be easily changed.” 

At this point, you’re sure he’s flirting with you. Flirting with his goddamn teaching apprentice assistant. You have to shoot it down—fast. You don’t like how the idea of another man flirting with you makes you feel—mainly because it’s not a negative feeling. 

“I’m just up here,” you motion toward the large complex you live in. It’s a nice, private community that luckily you can afford on your apprenticeship salary. Your parents will help you from time to time which is something you can’t complain about, but for the most part, it’s just you and your gray tabby—Sushi. 

“Thanks for walking me home again,” is what you say as he leads you up to the main entrance. 

“No problem,” he responds as he stops walking as you continue forward up the short set of stairs. You turn around, looking down at him two steps up from him. The wind is blowing some, his hair looking soft and touchable. Tuggable, even. 

“Sorry if I took you from your friends,” you don’t know why but you can’t find it in yourself to walk away from him just yet. You’re unsure the last time a stranger was this nice to you. Despite your first two crashing meetings, Jeon Jungkook seems like a genuine soul. 

“Back at you,” he nods before his chest rises slowly, his gaze not leaving yours, “I enjoyed this more.” 

A faint smile spreads across your lips, unable to hide it. You don’t even want to hide it. He’s been so nice to you that it makes you feel giddy on the inside. It’s reminiscent of when you had your first date with Taehyung. The single thought of him, drains all emotion from your face when you realize what you’ve just thought. 

You need to leave. 

“I’ll see you around,” you finally murk up the courage to dissolve this evening, “Thank you again, Jungkook.” 

He holds your gaze, a glimmer in his eyes as they reflect in the street light. Definitely looks like stars.

 “Anytime.” 

⏤

Unlike most Fridays, this one had your mood shifted in the dumps. Straying from your normal routine, Taehyung’s flight for New York was leaving this evening. You hadn’t even seen him since last weekend, but you tried your well not to dwell too much. This was just another part of your routine together. He would be back before you knew it. 

You are currently sat with a few of the students outside on a coffee break of your own, them on lunch break. There was a large section of the rooftop that was flat with tables and extravagant plants along the sides of the roof. It was probably the most peaceful and serene part of this entire side of the university.

You’re sat with Jisoo, Lisa, Yugyeom, and Jungkook around a circular table. The weather is getting so nice and the sun’s vitamin D feels too good against your skin. You’re sat sideways in the chair, your legs hanging off one side of armrests, an iced coffee balancing in your lap. Despite you being older than all the students here, a one year difference truly isn’t anything. Sometimes you still felt like you were in university when hanging out with all of them. 

“How’s your exhibition pieces going Y/N?” Yugyeom is the one who asks the question. You’ve taken notice him and Jungkook have become good buddies in a short amount of time. You can feel the latter’s eyes on you, but you intentionally ignore him. 

“Awful,” you don’t even attempt to sugar coat it. You know that they’ve probably heard Seokjin’s scoldings recently. 

“Really? But your winter exhibition pieces were so good,” Lisa pipes in. Your stomach sinks and you wish you could curl into yourself even more. 

“I thought so too,” Jungkook’s voice suddenly appears and you turn your gaze to him. He’s sat to your left, but Jisoo is in between you two. 

“How’d you see them?” You don’t mean it to come off harsh, but given he’s transferred here in the middle of the semester, there’s no way he could have seen them. 

“I was in Park Kihyun’s department before I switched to Seokjin’s,” he says, leaning back into his chair as he sips on what looks to be banana milk. Today he’s wearing an all black ensemble of a black t-shirt and baggy black sweatpants. 

You make a noise of understanding. That makes much more sense. Park Kihyun was another highly respected artist and professor at the university. Probably even more than Kim Seokjin. He was head of the honors department of the university which is a cult of its own. You were talented as hell, but not even Kihyun would consider you for the honors program, let alone an apprenticeship. He was by far the hardest professor you ever, ever had which is why you only took one class from him. You learned your lesson fast. Though it’s quite impressive to hear Jungkook was in his department. You wonder why he switched, but you probably already know too much about Jungkook, so you leave it. 

“I’m sure everything will work out Y/N,” Lisa gives you a reassuring smile from across the table. 

“It’s just a funk, I’ll break out of it,” you shrug your shoulders. At this point, you’re hoping if you say it out loud enough, that the funk will indeed be broken. 

More talk occurs between everyone, though Jungkook doesn’t say much. When he does speak, he contributes a funny joke here and there. He’s deliberate with what he says and you understand that. One of your better traits is that you don’t act out of pure emotion. You want what you say to matter and no get lost in translation. Perhaps another parallel between you and Jungkook. 

“Y/N!” Someone bellows from behind you, “You’ve got a visitor!” 

Your eyebrows furrow as you swing your legs down, to turn around to see who is your so-called visitor. You put a hand up above your brows, to close out the sun. When your vision focuses, your heart swells at the sight. It also lurches with anxiety. 

“Taehyung?” You ask him as he’s approaching you with a bag of food from what looks to be your favorite sushi restaurant down the street, “You didn’t tell me you were coming.” 

You stand to meet him once he approaches the table. You can feel everyone’s eyes burning holes in you. Everyone here knows you have a boyfriend, having seen Taehyung many times. All except one. 

“I wanted to surprise you before I left,” he sets your food down on the table before waving to everyone, “Hey guys.” 

Everyone doesn’t miss a beat in greeting Taehyung before he turns back to you, pulling you in for a hug. He places a kiss on your temple gently just as you meet Jungkook’s eyes from your stance. He watches you curiously before they flick to Taehyung, his tongue playing with his lip ring. 

“My coworkers and I decided to get lunch on this side of town and I wanted to bring you some,” he says while looking down at you. Of course he’s dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit and shined shoes, his hair a little slicked back today. You would love nothing more than to hop onto a plane with him to NYC, but unfortunately investment bankers don’t get plus ones on business trips. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you’re speaking in a lower register, hoping that your lunch group’s own conversations drown out yours. 

“I wanted to,” he smiles, one hand squeezing your waist in reassurance, “Listen um, my trip may be a little longer than I expected,” his voice is low and deep, hesitant even. 

Your heart feels like it clenches in your chest and you’re sure whatever color was in your face is gone. So this is why he wanted to come see you. 

“How much longer?” You whisper, trying to keep your composure. You’re sure you can feel a certain someone’s eyes on you, but you can’t look at anyone but Taehyung. 

“Maybe two weeks, max,” he says quickly and trying to remove any doubts from you. You look down at your feet for a split second before you glance back up. 

“That’s okay,” you grimace, knowing you can’t control it so why is there reason to be upset? “Namjoon’s gonna be there… you guys should meet up.” 

He nods with a small smile, his eyes searching yours deeply. He knows you and he knows that you’re not happy right now, but Taehyung had no choice. Work calls and work calls hard and fast. You both knew that. He gives you another temple kiss, this one a little longing. 

“I love you,” he says, giving you a hug. You don’t even care to be embarrassed of PDA in front of the others. This was your boyfriend of years—you could hug him in public if you wanted. 

“I love you too,” you pause, “Have a safe flight.” 

Taehyung speaks to the rest of the gang for a couple moments. He’s only asking how everyone is since he recognizes everyone, even if he can’t remember everyone’s names exactly. 

“I don’t think we’ve met?” Taehyung questions the dark haired boy a couple feet from him. 

“I’m Jungkook,” he says, his voice slightly cold, “I just transferred into this department.” 

You watch the interaction carefully, your palms sweaty and your heart rate up. You can’t pinpoint why you feel nervous like this in front of Jungkook. More specifically, in front of Jungkook with Taehyung right here. You were sure if Taehyung knew Jungkook walked you home last night he would have been thankful, but another part of you thinks it would have made him pissed, given you weren’t with him at the restaurant to begin with. 

“Nice to meet you,” Taehyung smiles before glancing at his watch, “Alright, I gotta run babe. I’ll text you when I get to the airport.” 

You tell him okay before he pecks you on the lips, leaving swiftly after. Jungkook looks away, a hand of his finding its way to the back of his head to scratch it awkwardly. You seem to be stuck in place, unable to sit back down until Lisa grabs your attention. As much as you appreciated the sushi, the last thing you felt like doing was eating. 

As you sit down, Lisa asks if everything’s okay. You don’t miss a beat when you say yes, shrugging off your apparent sadness. Your eyes meet Jungkook’s briefly and you can tell he doesn’t see through your bullshit. You can’t tell if it makes you uncomfortable or if you’re grateful for it.

⏤

Your phone dings, prompting you to set down your pencil. You open the a text from Taehyung, smiling down at your phone. When you expand the photo, it’s a picture of Namjoon with Taehyung holding a beer out in front of him. It’s clearly from last night, given it is early morning in New York now, but still charms you. Namjoon worked as a writer for an art magazine—hence why he traveled the most of all of your friends. From Paris to NYC to Amsterdam—Namjoon has been there, done that. 

You respond with a simple Miss you❤️

It’s been a few days since he left now and thankfully, he’s been pretty responsive and active on his phone. In the past, some of his work trips have been so busy there were days in which the two of you wouldn’t talk at all. 

You stretch your legs out on the small sofa you have in your workspace. You grab your sketch book from your lap, tending back to what you were drawing. You liked doing pencil work in between the major pieces that would actually be submitted for galleries and exhibitions. 

“You’re still here?” 

A voice startles you, jumping slightly in your position. You crane your neck to the door where you find Jungkook has made his way into your space. Given you had the door open and Jungkook has become a good acquaintance to you, you don’t mind—but a knock would have been nice. 

You glance down at your watch. It’s almost 8 PM, the light outside barely poking through the darkness now. You honestly hadn’t even noticed. You stayed cooped up in your work space pretty much all day. 

“And you’re still here?” You retort, watching as Jungkook saunters over towards you. He looks tired, his bag looking a hundred pounds on his shoulder. You scrunch up your legs to give him a signal he can sit if he wants. You notice he has on black converse, matching the ones on your feet. You’ve always liked when guys wear converse, though you know Taehyung wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them. 

He lets out a deep sigh as he plops down on the small couch. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a yawn. You have to fight your own as you watch him. 

“Long day?” You ask him. 

He nods slowly, “I was nearly finished with the piece I’ve been working on but I wasn’t paying attention and ended up streaking my canvas.” he explains.

"Aren't those just happy little accidents?" you quirk an eyebrow and he lets out a deep laugh.

“Seokjin made me start over, so no," when his eyes meet yours, you catch your breath.

You scrunch your nose up, “Sounds like Seokjin,” you give him half a laugh. 

“Why are you still here?” 

You look around the now dimly lit room, with a shrug. You picked up a paint brush for 10 minutes four hours ago. You had no idea why you were still here. 

“Lost track of time,” you shut your sketch book, stretching your arms slightly. “Is anyone else here?”

Jungkook shakes his head, “Not that I’ve seen,” he pauses, “This feels like the start to a horror movie.” 

You laugh with a sputtering of your lips. Jungkook made a good point. A late Wednesday evening, two people alone in a huge university hall, pretty much all lights killed, and quiet enough to hear a pin drop. It was the perfect storm. 

“As long as we’re both virgins, we should be safe right?” You raise an eyebrow at him, a joking tone to your voice. Luckily, he understands your reference as he laughs with a side smirk. 

“Totally,” he licks his lips which you watch shamelessly, but quickly looking away not wanting him to see you stare. “Need a walking buddy home?” Is his next question. 

As much as you should refuse, given the time and proximity of your and Jungkook’s apartment from the school, it only makes sense. It’s not long after you’ve gathered your things that you and Jungkook are locking up your studio, headed towards the direction of your apartment. 

The entire walk is peaceful and comfortable. You walk with your hands shoved into your sweatpants pockets, Jungkook mirroring you, keeping a good distance between you two. You talk about random things, with each conversation flowing easier than others. You feel as if Jungkook is quickly moving from student acquaintance to actual friend. You were friends with most of the people in the classes you assisted, but you had never interacted with them as much as you had Jungkook. He just always seemed to be there—though you didn’t mind his company at all. 

You’re currently laughing at something he’s said about a childhood story about him and his brother. You now know the reason for the faint scar on the left side of cheek. You would have never taken Jungkook as a competitive person, but getting to know him a little more day by day, he most definitely is. 

The two of you have almost made it to your apartment complex when sudden, heavy raindrops begin to fall from the sky. 

“Shit,” you mutter as you two have taken brief cover under a business awning. 

“C’mon,” Jungkook encourages with a short laugh, grabbing your forearm to pull you behind him. It’s hard to keep up with his quick steps, but you manage. 

While you two ended up at your complex entrance faster than you would have at your previous pace—you both are still soaked. The rain has also chilled the air, sending a shiver down your spine. Jungkook is muttering something about how Busan has always had much better weather when you get a full look at him. His hair is wet and flat to his head, but he’s pushing his fringe back to expose his forehead. His white t-shirt sticks to his chest, his silver chain grabbing the light. You gulp, a familiar stir in your tummy. 

“Do you want to come up and dry your things? Or a least grab an Uber or something to get to your place?” You’re mouth is offering the words before you can think about them. Fuck—that was stupid. 

As Jungkook looks down at your frame, he’s contemplating your offer, but then says—“No, no it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” 

You counter, “No please, I definitely have sweatshirts big enough for you.” 

He looks back out at the rain that has only seemingly got worse. He lets out an exhale before nodding, thanking you in the process. 

Once you cross the threshold of your apartment, you instantly feel warmer but also more claustrophobic. This had to have been a horrible mistake. Your apartment was your safe haven—with very few people ever getting the chance to see your space. Taehyung and Sana were the only regulars in your home. You’re hyper aware glancing around the kitchen room and living room area, thanking yourself for cleaning up last night. Jungkook has already witnessed how much of a mess your art is, the last thing you need is for him to think your home is a mess too. 

You excuse yourself to retrieve a sweatshirt for him and a new t-shirt for you to throw on. After you change, you nearly stop in your tracks when Jungkook is pulling the wet t-shirt off his frame. His back is to you, but god—it’s a hot back. His frame isn’t that big, but he’s got defined muscles well, everywhere. 

You approach him slowly, alerting him that you have a sweatshirt for him. The two of you trade items of clothing, gaze holding anywhere but him. Luckily for him, you pretty much only bought sweatshirts double your size, so the Nirvana sweatshirt fit over his frame nicely. 

“Your place is nice,” he comments as you throw his t-shirt into your dryer. 

“Thanks,” you give him a smile when you walk back into your kitchen. He’s sat at one of your barstools, watching your frame intently as you rummage through a cabinet above your microwave. Your eyes widen at the sight, stomach grumbling the process. You hadn’t ate in hours and you were sure you could eat a horse at this point. 

“Do you want one?” You look over your shoulder as you stand on your tip-toes to pull down an instant ramen cup. 

“Was my hunger that obvious?” He laughs and you roll your eyes, grabbing him a cup too. You whip up both of your instant ramens in less than 5 minutes, handing him a pair of chopsticks when you’re finished. 

As you’re about to rip open the flavor packet and squeeze it in like your normally would, Jungkook’s method has you stopping in your tracks. He’s got the flavor packet carefully tucked between his teeth, a chopstick on either side of the packet pushing out every drop of the sauce you could possibly get. 

“That’s fucking genius,” you marvel at him, mouth still slightly agape. “Did you come up with that?” 

He laughs, his nose scrunching up in the process, “Probably not, but I’ll pretend I did just for that reaction.” 

You ask him to help you, knowing that you will now be using this ramen hack till the day you die. He carefully tears a small rip the packet for you, telling you to take the corner between your teeth. You follow suit with the chopsticks and you’re simply amazed again as you watch the flavoring all dump into the noodles—none of it wasted. 

He laughs at you as you continue to rave about the genius of this ramen hack, questioning whether or not Namjoon knows about it given he’s the smartest person you know—even though he has no idea who Namjoon is. Then suddenly, Jungkook jumps slightly in the barstool, looking down at his legs. 

“You okay?” You ask with concern as you put your chopsticks down. 

At Jungkook’s feet is a little grey tabby cat—a little chubby, but cute as hell—staring up at him as it rubs its head against his ankle. 

“I see you have a cat,” he comments, looking down at it with an endearing expression. 

“Oh! Yeah,” you pause, taking a couple steps around the kitchen island to see him, “His name is Sushi…” you trail off, not believing the sight in front of you, “And he seems to like you?” 

“Hi Sushi,” he says with a mouthful of noodles before he swallows. It's cute. “Does he not like people?” 

“He usually just doesn’t like men,” you watch in awe as Sushi then lays down right at Jungkook’s feet, continuing to stare up at him. “He’s just gotten to where he can stand Taehyung, and I’ve had him for two years.” 

You don’t know why you tense up when you mention your boyfriend. Maybe it’s because you know Jungkook probably shouldn’t be in your apartment. Maybe it’s where Jungkook’s presence makes you feel nervous, yet a little too comfortable. He doesn’t know you as a friend who’s been in a serious relationship her entire 20’s. He knows you as the friend who happens to be his teacher’s apprentice. 

Jungkook though, uses this as a window of opportunity. 

“How long have you two been together?” He chooses his words carefully, not wanting to come off too strong or curious—though he absolutely was. After your boyfriend had come visit you last week, he had an array of questions.

You take a deep breath in and out, leaning against the counter, “Almost five years.” 

“Damn,” is what he says after a moment of silence, “That’s half a decade.” 

You laugh at his comment, “Sounds longer when you put it like that.” 

He finishes his ramen, “Thanks again,” he says as you take his chopsticks and stick them in the dishwasher. You then turn your back to throw away the cup. “How’d you meet him?” 

You pause momentarily as you open the cabinet where your trash can resides, clearing your throat, “Through mutual friends.”

You turn around and Jungkook nods knowingly, taking another glance around your apartment. Your apartment is decorated simply, but he can read the flares of a scatter brained artist easily. You have olive green cabinets, a cream sectional sofa with mismatched colored pillows, a funky shaped coffee table that’s a pink marble, and a corner of your living room that’s a bit of a clutter with art supplies. It makes him smile inwardly, as he has a similar clutter up in his own living room. 

You watch him as he studies your apartment carefully. Deep down, you hope that he likes it. After all, it wouldn’t be much longer that this space wouldn’t be yours anymore. As his eyes come back to the kitchen, something in particular catches his eye. You can pick up on it, giving the widening of his pupils and straightening of his posture. 

“You got tickets Yayoi Kusama’s exhibit?” His says almost stunned. You follow his eyes over to the small bulletin board you have hung up in your kitchen. You stick important reminders and other tasks for you on it, but what Jungkook is looking at are two tickets tacked the board. 

“Yeah, Taehyung got them for my birthday.” 

Your heart sinks as the words leave your mouth. You couldn’t’ even imaged what Taehyung paid for the tickets, but he knew once he realized the exhibit was coming to the city, he had to get them for you. The two of you were going to go together, making an entire planned Saturday around the exhibit. Now, those plans were shot out the window given he was going to be in New York until next week. 

“Shit, I can’t imagine what he paid for them,” he seems to be speaking his thoughts, which coincidentally match your own. “You’ll have to take pictures, I’ve always wanted to see it.” 

As your shoulders fall, eyes looking down at your ring finger again—an awful habit you need to break. 

“I’m not going anymore.” 

“Wait, why not?” His voice is rushed and confused. It’s just then when your dryer dings, signaling his shirt is now done. You give him a small smile as you leave to retrieve it, hurrying back the kitchen. 

“Taehyung’s still on a business trip, he won’t be back until next week,” you explain as you fold his shirt with crisp, clean lines. You slide the fabric over to him, his hand brushing yours as he grabs it hesitantly. 

“You should still go,” he says, leaning on his elbows. His gaze his heavy, but he’s mesmerizing so you can’t look away. 

You start to shake your head, “It’s alright,” you say with a half laugh, trying to make it seem as if it doesn’t bother you. 

Jungkook perhaps regrets his next words and how fast he says them but—“I’ll go with you.” 

Your mouth slightly parts, unsure of what to say. If you acted on emotions all the time, you would have jumped to say yes, of course! But as your boyfriend’s face flashes across your eyelids every time you blink, you hesitate to answer. 

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have,” he laughs, breaking the awkward tension in the room, but as you glance at the tickets again—you know you can’t say no to him. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” you smile at him softly; the kind of smile that girls give Jungkook that drives him crazy. “You really don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Jungkook is good a reading people—which scares you. Jungkook can sense every change in people’s breath, demeanor, and language. You’re sure he could read how you fell sad thinking about not going to the exhibit, but you also didn’t want him to tag along out of pity for you. 

“If you want to go, I want to,” he pauses, leaning towards you from across where you stand. “If you don’t, then I don’t,” it’s almost a challenge coming from his lips. He chews on his lips ring as he waits for your answer. 

After a few moments of debating internally, “I’ll let you know,” is what you leave it at. Jungkook seems satisfied with your answer, not pressuring you any further to give in to his proposition. Jungkook goes in an Uber soon after since the rain has not given up. Sushi meows as he leaves, even allowing Jungkook to hold him for some quick cuddles. Once he’s gone, the only traces of him left are his faded scent in your sweatshirt and his number in your phone. 

⏤

It’s now Saturday, you and Jungkook standing in line for Kusama’s exhibit. He met you here about thirty minutes ago and luckily both of you didn’t arrive any later. The line was moving fast, but the amount of people that’s accumulated behind you goes on for what seems like a mile. 

It was quite warm today, opting to wear a white, polka dotted midi-dress and a pair of high top converse. Your hair was down and a bit messy, curls from the other day having fallen slightly. A compliment was the first thing that left Jungkook’s mouth when he saw you. You absolutely hate the bubbly feeling his gaze and words leave in your stomach. It’s reminiscent of how Taehyung left you when you first met. You know you should ignore it, but it’s so hard when he’s standing there looking like that—seemingly always saying the right things. 

Today, he’s dressed casually in a pair of baggy jeans that you’ve seen him wear before, a yellow t-shirt, and a black bucket hat. You can’t help but glance down at his tattooed arm every once in a while. You think about how you’d love to hear the stories behind them all. You also think about how is pain tolerance must be insanely high, given his shirtless escapade at your place, you noticed how the tattoos traveled all the way up to his right shoulder 

After both of your tickets are scanned and a map of the exhibit is given to him, he opens it, his eyes scanning over the paper quickly. 

“Where should we go first?” He asks as he lean over to peak at what’s to see. Unlike most art galleries which are quiet, this one has softer music accompanying each room, making it less awkward to talk if need be. 

“This one,” you point to the biggest, most famous room that you’ve heard all about. It’s a dark room, with intricate lights throughout. You hoped that pictures you’ve seen of it we’re only doing it half-justice. 

He laughs a deep rumble from his chest, “Shouldn’t we do that one last?” He looks down at you with a small smirk on his face. 

You furrow your eyebrows, “No, it’s the most famous one, don’t you want to see it?” 

His smirk spreads to a smile, “I know that,” he pauses, “Let’s do that one last so we have something to look forward to, and maybe there won’t be as many people in there by the time we get to it.” 

Okay, you think, fair point. 

The two of you settle on starting at the All the Eternal l Love I Have for the Pumpkins. As soon as you walk into the room, you are completely in awe at the magnificent work. Despite it being mid spring, the “pumpkins” on display along with fall-oriented music in the background, makes you desperately wish for the cooler weather of October. Jungkook is fascinated too as his eyes only get bigger as he takes in each and every detail. 

The two of you make your way around the exhibit slowly, having to wait for some of the rooms to open since the gallery is quite crowded. The next room you go into is called Dots Obsession—Love Transformed into Dots. It’s got a pink hue to it, large white balls with black dots on them. 

“I think you stole her idea,” Jungkook comments as you take pictures, his eyes scanning down your dress. You flip him off, which he responds with a laugh. 

Phalli’s Field is the next room. Unlike the previous rooms, this one is bright with what looks like a field of while, red-dot phallic shaped objects. Jungkook ends up taking a mirror selfie of you two in this room and you make a mental note to ask him to send it to you later. 

The next one is called Love Forever, another dark room with a changing light color pattern that’s abstract in nature. This one makes you think of Taehyung and rightfully so. You know that he would have enjoyed this, given that he likes art that’s stimulating and not “boring”—his words, not yours. You snap a picture of this one for him, hoping that he’ll like it and the name. 

The second to last one is called Aftermath of Obliteration of Eternity. 

“Jesus,” you say after you read the name of it, “Realist much?” 

Jungkook laughs as he follows you into the room. It’s dark again, with twinkling yellow colored lights filling the space. It reminds you of a fire. The yellow flickers to a slight orange shade every millisecond, giving off a summery feel. It makes you think of your childhood, when your parents would take you to the beach and roast marshmallows over an open fire. The thought makes you a little sad, knowing that those times would never come back. That was before you knew about loss of innocence and the high standards of your parents that would come. 

Finally after a couple hours of diving into each room, along with reading each story behind the pieces, you reach the room that you’ve been itching to get to all day. You’re welcomed into the room and an immediate gasp leaves your lips. 

“Wow,” you whisper as you take a big glance around. 

“Holy shit,” Jungkook says behind you just as the door is closed. You realize that it’s just the two of you here in. He definitely made the right call about waiting. 

The Souls of Million Of Light Years Away is simply breathtaking. It’s dark again, but this time with what looks like actually a million lights twinkling in all different forms of colors and shapes. Each light bounces off the mirrors and you imagine this is what being in space is like. A dark void with a million galaxies around you. It’s oddly peaceful even though you can barely see your hands in front of you or Jungkook behind you. You don’t notice, but Jungkook quickly snaps a photo of you in the light, your silhouette showing up with the millions of lights behind you. He’s smiling at his phone when you turn around, and you ask him what’s up. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, “This is just amazing.” 

You hum in agreement, not wanting to leave the room. As you find Jungkook’s eyes, another tiny gasp leaves your lips. If you weren’t confident enough before, you’re sure that his eyes are made of stars now. The light bounces off his brown, doe eyes, blending into the gallery seamlessly. He licks his lips before he asks if you’re ready to go. Hesitantly, you slowly nod, your feet heavy as you leave the room and follow him out. 

When you make it back outside, it’s still light outside which makes both of your eyes sensitive since you’ve just spent a little over two hours in the dark. Since the exhibit was on the opposite side of the city, both of you opt to take the subway back towards your respectable apartments. Both of you are sat together at the back of the car, looking through your pictures again, marveling at the exhibit. 

“Thanks for coming with me,” you say with a smile. You’re sitting at the window seat, your body turned to Jungkook. He’s slightly turned towards you too, one of his legs curled under his body. 

“I kind of invited myself,” he chuckles, leaning onto his hand that’s support his head. 

“And I accepted your invitation,” you retort, “Taehyung would have loved it,” you add, a little bit of sadness to your tone. 

Jungkook watches you intently as you break away your gaze, to stare at the rumbling floor of the subway car. He’s chewing on his lip ring again, a habit he can’t break ever since he got it pierced months ago. He doesn’t know anything about your relationship with this Taehyung guy, but he senses that something is off. Anytime you’ve spoken about him, your eyes drift off and your attitude shifts. He can’t help but be more curious. 

“What does Taehyung do?” 

“He works in finance,” you say, “Private equity.” 

Jungkook nods slowly as he receives this information, knowing exactly what you’re saying. His own parents relationship flashes in his mind and it suddenly clicks for him. Long hours in the office, holding out for the weekends—which even then aren’t guaranteed, high stress levels. That type of financial work is no joke—it takes a toll not only on the person doing it, but everyone around them. His heart suddenly feels for you and for a brief moment he feels as if he is talking to his mother. 

He suddenly wonders why a person like you, would be with a guy like that. You have so much light and fireworks within you, he doesn’t know why you would subject yourself to a relationship that’s seemingly all black and white. People like his father and Taehyung see the world in black and white. You and Jungkook see the world in vibrant color.

“I’m assuming he stays quite busy then,” Jungkook’s words are calm; understanding even. 

You give him a tight lipped smile before you nod, “I’m sure you know.” 

His eyes study your face closely, “As long as he makes time though, it’s all that matters,” he pauses briefly, “That’s just always been the issue with my parents.” 

He doesn’t know why he’s saying what he’s saying. Internally maybe he sympathizes with you? Wants to make you feel less alone? Whatever it is, he doesn’t like how your demeanor completely changes when your boyfriend is mentioned. It’s like you’re the flame of a candle and when Taehyung is mentioned, you’re blown out. 

Though Jungkook’s words are sweet and genuine, you can't help but still feel bitterness towards Taehyung right now. 

“Clearly makes time,” you chuckle sarcastically with an eye roll, before you realize what you’re actually saying. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be ranting to you about my boyfriend,” quickly covering your tracks with another laugh, this one lighthearted. 

“Isn’t that what friends do?” He nudges your leg with his own, covering any of his own transgressions towards your boyfriend smoothly, “Listen to other friends rant about their boyfriends?” 

You smile at him before looking up at the subway to car to see how much longer you have until your stop. You’ve still got 10 minutes. 

“Are you telling me there’s a boyfriend I haven’t heard you rant about?” You raise a brow at him attempting to make a joke with him. 

He chuckles, “I don’t discriminate,” he says pointedly, “But no, no one to complain about at the moment.” 

“That’s a little surprising to me,” you tell him honestly. He makes a humming noise in question, “I mean you’re funny, talented, attractive—“ you stop yourself, your heart twisting embarrassingly at your words. 

A playful smile crosses his lips, “Don’t inflate my ego too much Y/N.” 

You immediately shove him playfully telling him to shut up underneath your breath, “You know what I mean though.” 

His eyes look away from you as he looks to the front of the subway car. An exhale leaves his lips, shrugging his shoulders, “I dated a girl for a couple years but we broke up last semester,” he explains. 

You’re friends with Jungkook, so you don’t mind asking your question. “What happened?” 

He purses his lips in contemplation, his lip ring catches the reflection of the moving train, “I think I was more serious about the relationship than she was,” he clears his throat and you shuffle a little awkwardly in your seat, “I think we just wanted different things at the end of the day. It’s hard to make something like that work long term, you know?” 

His words send your heart rate skyrocketing and you can’t help but ask yourself if that’s the situation you and Taehyung are in. Though you and Taehyung have voiced a life together—actions speak louder than words. You look up again. Five minutes. 

You nod in response, unable to form any words. 

“It’s fine though,” he says, “Everything happens for a reason.” 

“Yeah, including meeting a guy who knocked me on my ass the first two times I met him,” you say jokingly, though you mean every word. You’re sure Jungkook was placed in your life for a reason; like a blossoming star in the galaxy burning bright to light up a universe. 

“You actually knocked me on my ass one of those times.” 

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “That was all dramatics Jeon Jungkook, I can see right through you.” 

He smirks with playful eyes, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“I don’t know… is it?” Subconsciously, you bite your lip under his gaze. It drives Jungkook nuts. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you with soft eyes, “You tell me.” 

His gaze his heavy and there’s palpable tension between you two as the train comes to a slow. Thank god. 

 “This is my stop,” you announce. 

“I can walk with you if you want?” He offers, not wanting to leave you alone if you really don’t want to be alone. 

You shake your head softly since it’s still light outside, “I’m alright, thank you though.” 

He nods, not pushing you any farther. After the train stills fully, he stands up to let you through. Your chest brushes against his as you shimmy between him and the seats behind you. Unable to look away from him as you maneuver, you feel the tension increase with no space between you two. God, why does he have to look at you that way?

“Let me know when you get home,” he says as you get by him. You nod, waving him a final goodbye, a familiar heaviness in the bottom of your stomach. 

It takes about seven minutes to reach your complex from the subway station and as you’re walking into the main lobby, your phone pings. 

[Jeon Jungkook 5:23 PM] image.png

The image takes a moment to load, but a smile spreads across your face when you open it. The mirror selfie is cute as hell and it almost looks couple-ly. Jungkook is standing behind you, his arm thrown around your shoulder as you lean into him. You’re soft smiling into the camera, a peace sign in your left hand. You save the image to your camera roll immediately. 

[You 5:25 PM] Thank you :) I just got home btw! 

He sends a thumbs up, before another picture is sent through. This one loads faster since you’ve just walked into your apartment and his words leave you feeling like something is clogging your windpipe. 

It’s a picture that you had no idea he took of you—though you can’t really see any details of yourself, it’s stunning picture. Your silhouette in the dark with the surrounding lights is simply beautiful. 

[Jungkook 5:27 PM] I think you’re beautiful enough to fit into that exhibit 

[You 5:27 PM] You too

Yeah, you’re fucked.

⏤

For anyone else it was just another Monday, but for you—there had been a new page turned. You have no idea what conspired in your brain from Saturday to now, nevertheless something changed. Well, there had been a couple changes since then, however you’re trying to not focus on that. 

You woke up early this Monday with an itchiness to your body. You ended up going to a spin class at 6 AM, before hurrying to shower and getting to the university by 7:30. Before you could rethink your decision, you were throwing out every piece of artwork that you had finished in the last two months. A part of you was already regretting trashing the canvases as you hauled them overhead into the large dumpster bins. The major part of you felt relief and a sense of newness—for the first time in months, you felt inspired. 

The only way you knew you could take advantage of this newfound creative impulse, was to rid yourself of anything holding you back. That meant getting rid of the shit pieces you thought you would submit for the exhibition. 

You manically texted Sana a picture of your now empty studio and she responded immediately. 

[Sana 8:17 AM] what the actual fuck did you just do

[Sana 8:17 AM] Y/N it’s literally 8 AM are you okay 

You can’t help but laugh at her words as you sit in the floor of your workspace, typing a response quickly. 

[You 8:18 AM] A new me has awakened… that or I’m just very sleep deprived and acting out

[Sana 8:20 AM] i think it could be the latter

[Sana 8:20 AM] where has this new me come from? 

You purse your lips, trying to block out the scene from your brain. 

[You 8:21 AM] My therapist lol 

You know that’s not it, at least not all the way. Sure talking to her was always a highlight of your week when you did, finding a new perspective on your childhood and need for outside validation—but that was another story for a different day. A new wave of emotions—confusing, chest-tightening emotions have crawled through your veins in the last two days. Even if you know it’s so wrong—you’re holding onto them for the sake of the exhibit and your own sanity. 

It’s not long after when you pick out a new, clean fresh canvas for you to work on. You set it up on one of your larger easels, facing it towards the sunlight as best as you can. You decide to take a page from Sana’s book by creating a rough sketch of what you want to eventually put on the canvas. The ideas in your head are so particular, and so—heart wrenching—you wanted to ensure you translated it well. 

It takes about an hour to sketch the rough outline for the painting. You knew that painting this first piece would probably take a few days if you were consistent with it, wanting to add as much detail as possible. Realism was your speciality, but it never gets any easier. The slightest mistake can make a face, or hands, go from looking like a photograph to a cartoon character. You didn’t know what you wanted to call the piece yet, though you had a few ideas rummaging through your brain. 

Seokjin is calling you in for his 11 AM sketch class which you help with regularly. As you leave the serenity of your workspace, sudden anxiety fills your body. Your hands are clammy, your throat feels as if it’s constricting on itself, and your tummy is doing flips. Seeing him is the last thing you need, but you know his schedule very well at this point. 

A week ago, you wouldn’t have cared. Now, you feel as if an invisible line as been crossed.

As you step into the classroom, your mouth goes dry. Jungkook is sat in the middle of the classroom beside Lisa, both of them looking a little tired and chatting randomly. 

Seokjin looks at you with a small smile, “You were here early this morning,” he comments. 

You give him a smile back, hoping he doesn’t murder you after you say your next words, “I threw out my pieces.” 

His face drops, all color leaving it, “You did what?” He looks stunned as you grimace at him with an apologetic look on your face. He glances down at his watch which says it’s now exactly 11 before he says under his breath, “We’ll talk about this later.” 

It sounds threatening, but you know if you explain yourself well enough—he’ll let it slide. After all, he clearly wasn’t a fan of what you presented to him recently. You’ll prove to him that you’re new stuff will be ready for the exhibition, and more importantly—present a much better side of your art. 

“I hope everyone had a good weekend,” Seokjin greets everyone, with a few tired responses back. “Just a reminder for all of you participating in the exhibition, your pieces will be due at the end of this month, so make sure you’re staying on top of your deadlines.” 

You zone out of Seokjin’s housekeeping information for the class, letting your eyes wander around the classroom. Sketching was one of his larger classes, with students in other departments also taking the class as an elective. It was personally one of your favorite classes in undergrad. You were happy to help this class, given you felt you could actually help the students if they needed it. 

A breath hitches in the back of your throat when your gaze meets Jungkook’s from the front of the classroom. He’s staring at you with purpose, though his gaze soft and curious. You hadn’t spoken to him since your last text after the art exhibition. That wasn’t the plan, but given your mind wandering to places it shouldn’t have, you felt if you did talk to him—he would see right through you. 

You quickly break his eyes, unable to hold it without feeling too hot. 

A fucking sex dream. 

A fucking sex dream about Jeon Jungkook. 

A fucking sex dream about Jeon Jungkook who happens to be your subordinate. 

A fucking sex dream about Jeon Jungkook who happens to be your subordinate in which you woke up in a panic, then having to use your vibrator to release the tension in your tummy. 

A fucking sex dream about Jeon Jungkook who happens to be your subordinate in which you woke up in a panic, then having to use your vibrator to release the tension in your tummy—all while you have a boyfriend who’s away on a work trip. 

You’re unsure if you have ever had a dream so realistic and so blissful—even with Taehyung. Every time you closed your eyes since Saturday, all you could see was Jungkook’s face buried in between your thighs, your back arching off whatever surface you resided. 

You force yourself to stop thinking about it—you’re in the classroom for fucksakes. The last thing you need is for people to notice you squeezing your thighs together under the desk you’re sat.

“Y/N, are you good with that?” 

“Hm?” You mumble, realizing you’ve daydreamed through whatever Seokjin just explained. 

He looks annoyed as he lets out a deep breath, “Being the hand model today?” 

Your eyes widen, your mouth parting as you look down at your hands. Thankfully you got a manicure last week, though the almond acrylics have already grown out some. Even though Seokjin was posing everything as a question, you knew you had no choice. Especially if you didn’t want him on your ass about throwing out your paintings, you really had no choice. 

You nod slowly, Seokjin soon setting up the projector and camera for you to place your hands under. 

“Take as long as you need, turn in your sketches here,” Seokjin taps the corner of the large desk you’re sat at. 

You’re given free rein on how you position your hands, so you settle on something feminine and simple. You lay your left hand over your right delicately, your right palm flat against the wood. You feel a little insecure with your hands being projected as 10x the size above your head, but you relax knowing it’s just what you artists do. If you were in the students position, you would have much rather sketched your hands than the one time Seokjin made you all sketch someone’s feet one time in undergrad. 

The classroom stays pretty much silent, pencils and erasers against paper the only sound radiating. Time goes by slowly as they all continue to sketch, your eyes having not really left anything in close proximity to you. 

That changes when you hear a throat clearing, a tone you could pick out in a crowd. 

“Do you care to move your left hand a little forward, Y/N?” 

Jungkook’s voice is smooth through the silence. Instinctively, your eyes meet his again. You give him a nod as you reposition your hands slightly. It takes him a moment to get back to drawing, his gaze heavy on your eyes. You have to break away, your thighs itching for more relief. You look down at your hands, wondering how they would look around his cock. You imagine he’s thick, veiny—stop it, you idiot!

Whatever was going on in your head, it needed to be stopped and fast. You just didn’t know if you actually wanted it to. 

⏤

Taehyung comes back Friday morning, giving you a call as soon as he lands. You’re finishing up the piece you started on Monday when your phone rings. 

“Hi baby,” Taehyung greets you and you can hear a smile in his tone. It makes you smile in return. “Happy Friday,” he says knowingly.

“Happy Friday to you,” you respond, taking solace on your small couch for a small break. “You just land?” 

“About an hour ago, just got into my ride, heading to the office,” he explains. 

“You just got back from a two week trip and they’re making you go in office?” You ask him with confusion lacing your tone. You had no idea how he kept up with the demands of his job—if anything, the older you two get, you feel sorry for him. You knew he loved his job, but goddamn—it has to be too much sometimes? 

“Only working a half day today,” he pauses, “When do you finish today?” He asks eagerly. 

“Hmm,” you look at your watch, a nice gold piece of jewelry Taehyung actually got you a couple years ago for Christmas, “I’ll probably leave around three today.” 

“I’ll come to your place then,” he says, a particularly suggestive tone to his voice. You find yourself smiling as you relax into the couch some, letting out a deep sigh. “Roses and a bottle of champagne included,” he adds. 

“No need for all that,” you bite your lip in anticipation, “Unless we’re celebrating something?” 

“Lots to celebrate baby,” he says, “You and I have a fancy date tomorrow.” 

“Do we?” You press, chewing on some skin around your thumb nail but quickly stop, not wanting to ruin your cuticles. You then bring your left hand up, staring at your ring finger. 

“Oh yes,” he says hurriedly, “Listen I’m about to go into the office, but I’ll give you more details when I come over okay? Love you.” 

“I love you too,” you say before he’s ending the call. While your heart swells at the thought of “celebrating,” something, you can’t help but be a little skeptical. The rush in Taehyung’s tone shows there’s something he’s nervous about, but you take it as a good thing. Nervous about proposing? You could only hope. 

The rest of the afternoon you finish up your painting, a relieved sigh coming from your lips as you sign the bottom right corner with your initials. It’s just how you imagined it—the bubbles leaving the girl’s mouth and nose as she screams under the water, her hands clawing for the surface, but the weight of a cinderblock tied to her ankle sinking her down in an abyss of dark water. 

You settle on calling it Drowning for the Sake of Drowning. 

⏤

As you’re gathering up your belongings to get ready to leave, you exhale in relief. You’ve kept the door to your workspace closed all week unlike usual, indicating for no one to bother you. Sana brought you lunch a couple days ago but aside from that, little to no interaction has occurred with anyone. 

You’ve managed to fully avoid Jungkook this entire week after the sketching class on Monday—which is exactly what you’ve needed. The boy with the lip piercing has taken up too much space in your brain recently. You like having Jungkook as a friend, but that’s all he can ever be and until your brain can separate that and whatever feelings you’ve garnered for him over the last few weeks, avoiding him like the plague is your only solution. 

Of course, nothing in your life ever goes to plan which is why you nearly knock yourself over when you run right into him as you leave your office. 

“Shit, you okay? We really have to stop doing this,” He asks you with a slight laugh. It takes you a moment to nod in response as you stare up at him with parted lips. Any progress you’ve made of pushing him out of your mind, crumbling entirely. He’s in your brain again, his face in your thighs, hands gripping your hips—

“You’re leaving already?” He asks as he observes your tote bag held tight to you, the door to your space closed. 

You clear your throat while simultaneously clearing your head, “Y-yeah, I finished my piece early,” you pause, debating if you should say your next sentence, but you know morally you should, “Taehyung came back today.”

Jungkook stiffens, scratching the back of his head, “Can we talk?” His voice is timid, but stern in what he wants. 

If you hadn’t thought about your answer, you probably would have gladly invited him back into your workspace and god knows what would have happened. 

“I can’t right now,” you say, “I’m meeting Taehyung around three,” you explain, your feet picking yourself up to brush past him. It’s close to 2:45, which means you don’t have much time to get home. 

Jungkook startles you when he grabs your forearm to stop you, “Y/N, wait,” his voice is rushed and desperate as he turns his body to face you, you pressed flush against his chest. You jerk out of his grip, taking steps backwards. 

“Jungkook,” you say warningly, “I can’t do this right now,” your voice is weak and unconvincing as you turn around, rushing away from him. 

Jungkook decides on letting you go giving a frustrated tug on his hair as he watches your frame disappear down the hallway. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, kicking the closest wall to him, ignoring any pain that shoots up from his foot. 

⏤

You’re standing in front of your large mirror, examining your dress to ensure it’s smooth in all the right places. It’s a silk midi-dress that’s a light sage green color complimenting your skin tone beautifully. There’s small, tasteful cutouts on the side that leads it to an open back. 

“Wow baby,” Taehyung gives you a pretty smile as he enters your bedroom, “You look great.” 

You’re in the process of lacing up your heels around your ankle, throwing him a small smile. 

“Thank you, you look handsome.” 

He’s wearing another one of his immaculately tailored suits, though he’s ditched a tie and vest, opting for a more casual look—well casual for him being that it’s a work-sponsored party. 

Turns out, the big fancy date Taehyung referred to yesterday was an invite only company party at Taehyung’s boss’s, boss’s, boss’s estate. While it wasn’t a typical Saturday night for you two, with a chance to dress up with free food and booze, it was something you couldn’t say no to. (Even if you wanted to say no—you really had no choice—you were there to support Taehyung.)

“Will you help me with this?” You ask him as you hold up a necklace. He obliges, stepping towards you, he gently grabs the necklace ensuring any stray hair pieces were out of the way as he encircles to clasp it around your neck. Once he’s finished, he wraps two strong arms around your front, pulling you flesh against his front. 

“You smell good,” he inhales your scent as he nuzzles into your neck, pressing his hips into your backside. 

“Taehyung,” you laugh, fighting away from his grip, “Our ride is almost here,” you turn around giving him a pointed look. He pouts with a groan, but you give him a quick peck to wipe the sour look off his face. 

The estate is about thirty minutes outside the city and being in such a fancy car with a driver, you already feel slightly uncomfortable. One of the reasons you were attracted to Taehyung was because of how different he was from you and your upbringing. You felt as if you desperately craved something different from what your parents had. You liked the idea of simplicity—black and white. No chaotic artsy types. However, as the car continues its drive to the fanciest suburb of the city, you can’t help but feel the differences swallowing you whole. 

Taehyung’s busy on his phone seeming to be answering emails—yes, at 8 PM on a Saturday night. Your foot is tapping nervously against the floor, an uneasy feeling settling again in your tummy. Ever since Taehyung showed up at your apartment yesterday—a man of his words—with roses and champagne, something deep within you felt off. Flashes of another set of brown eyes strike across your lids each time you close them. 

You obviously hadn’t had sex since Taehyung had been gone, almost a three week dry spell, and it was just… okay. You found it hard to relax the minute Taehyung initiated it, your muscles tense as he undressed you slowly wanting to make love to you after one glass of champagne. Maybe it’s where Taehyung is still keeping secret on whatever you two are supposed to be celebrating or it’s Jeon Jungkook himself—your body physically wouldn’t let you come in Taehyung’s presence. Two rounds of sex ended with you having to use your vibrator to finally get off and the third round this morning, you ending up faking an orgasm—something you haven’t done in years. 

The driver is in queue for drop off service, letting you and Taehyung out as soon as he could. You eyes are marveling at the sheer size of the home. It almost makes you sick when you think about people having this much money. There’s not one, not two—but three fountains just at the front of the house. Two are positioned beside the large entrance and the third is in the middle of the circled driveway. 

From what you can tell, there are a good amount of people inside already, the large windows indicating that. 

“Whose house this again?” You say in awe as Taehyung grabs your hand. 

“The President of our company,” he says, keeping his voice low as other people are walking in around you. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself when you cross the threshold, immediately greeted with flutes of champagne. 

Taehyung smiles down at you as he takes a sip, “Get used to it baby,” he comments with a light-hearted tone, but you know he’s being serious. You don’t like it. 

The inside of the home is just as lavish as it looks from the outside. It’s modern, with clean lines and sharp contrasts of whites, creams, browns, and blacks. The large foyer is an open concept, the house opening up in multiple ways. There’s two staircases that lead to the upstairs, corridors that lead elsewhere to the left and right, and if you continue straight, that’s where the main party seems to be. The living room is large and open, warm ambient lighting filling the space. There’s a 70’s inspired conversational pit with a large plush couch that’s the center of the room. It’s absolutely stunning. 

You two haven’t been in the house for two minutes until his coworkers and others are coming up to greet Taehyung. He introduces you with a big smile, holding you by the waist as he does so. You sense you’re one of the younger ones of the groups you go around to, sometimes forgetting that Taehyung has almost four years on you. His words come naturally to him and you try your best to converse with people and their plus ones—but you find it hard, unable to find any common ground with anyone. 

Taehyung is talking to one of his closet coworkers that you’ve met many times—Jaebum—before the latter’s eyes widen. 

“Shit Tae, there he is,” he speaks lowly, his head directing what he’s referring to. 

“Who?” You ask curiously, looking around to find someone special but everyone seems to look the same. Clean cut, nice suits, hot women and men as their dates, a few children even running around freely. 

“The President,” Taehyung explains, “Shit and he’s coming over here with Minwoo,” he sounds nervous, Jaebum visibly shifting his weight in his shoes. Minwoo was Taehyung’s boss—luckily you remember that from previous work tangents. 

As Minwoo and the president approaches the small group of you three, you suddenly feel a little insecure when Taehyung takes a step away from you. A large smile spreads across his face as they approach and your feet hurt a little more now that he’s not letting you lean on him. Is he ashamed of you? Why did he step away? 

“Kim Taehyung, Lim Jaebum, the two greatest assets to my team,” Minwoo smiles widely as he enters your circle. 

“Minwoo, how are you?” Taehyung reaches out to give him a handshake, then bowing to the President. 

“Can’t complain about anything,” Minwoo has a great smile, “Who is this beautiful lady?” His eyes have gravitated to you. 

“This is Y/N,” Taehyung introduces you with a nervousness to his tone, “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Nice to meet both of you,” you smile with a small bow of respect. 

“These are the two I’ve heard so much about, eh?” The President speaks with a cadence that sounds familiar but you can’t place your tongue on it. 

“Like I said, the very best in the Seoul office,” he smiles, “Have either of you met President Jeon?”

It’s as if your entire world shuts down instantaneously. It can’t be—there’s no way. 

“I can’t say we’ve ever had the pleasure sir,” Jaebum nudges Taehyung and suddenly you have never felt more uncomfortable, more out of place, than ever. 

They all speak briefly before suddenly, President Jeon’s attention is set on you. As you study his face, you feel your nightmare coming true. Finance, the eye shape, the nose—

“So what do you do Miss Y/N? Are you involved in business too?” He asks with a smile, though you’re unsure if it’s just a facade. 

You’re nervous to answer, but you finally muster to shake your head, “No sir,” you start, “I’m an artist, I’m under apprenticeship with someone right now.”

His eyes suddenly light up, “Really? Which artist do you work with?” He sounds fascinated and you hate where you think this may be going. 

“Kim Seokjin, I’m not sure if you know of him,” suddenly in need of a glass of something stronger than champagne. 

“Do I know Kim Seokjin?” He nearly laughs, “If you walk the halls of the house I’m sure you’ll recognize some of his pieces on the walls,” he says boastfully, your nightmare coming true, “One of my sons actually goes to university where he teaches, you may know him… Jeon Jungkook?” 

For whatever reason, the mention of this name catches Taehyung’s attention who is caught up in conversation with Minwoo and Jaebum. He’s listening to the original conversation in one ear, the other trained in on yours with the President.

“I don’t think I do actually,” you lie smoothly trying to hide the shakiness in your voice. 

“Ah, that’s a shame, though he can be a pain in the ass sometimes so that might be a good thing,” he jokes with a laugh before turning his attention back to Taehyung and Jaebum. 

When you look back up at Taehyung, he’s staring at you with an intense glare, his jaw slightly clenched. You furrow your eyebrows, asking him a silent, “what’s wrong?” He ignores it, his face relaxing back to normal when he looks at his superiors. 

“Well, I truly hope that after the move you two only continue to move up in the company as quickly as you already have,” Minwoo says a you zone back into their conversation. Wait, what? 

“Ah yes,” President Jeon says, “The office in Chicago is nearly finished and to be able to fill it with analysts of your caliber, it will only continue to grow this great company.” 

Chicago?! Your face falls, your eyebrows furrowing as you look over at Taehyung. His body is tense, but he’s refusing to look at you. You suddenly feel dizzy and sick to your stomach, your hands clammy as if you’re going to throw up. Before Taehyung can stop you while his attention is elsewhere, you excuse yourself, attempting to find the nearest bathroom. 

The house is gigantic and it doesn’t take long to find a one as you’re sure there are probably 20 on the entire property. You balance yourself on the sink, turning on the cold water water quickly. You grab a towel to wet it, carefully applying it to your chest to cool off. 

Taehyung’s being moved? Is Taehyung choosing to move? When was he going to tell you this?! Is this the sole reason he asked to move in together?! But meaning in Chicago, not here?! 

You needed a fucking drink. You throw the towel in a waste basket, exiting the bathroom quickly. You hold onto the wall as you walk down the hallway, looking for the nearest open bar. You manage to find one set up just outside, which overlooks a large entertainment area and pool. If you squint, in the distance you can see the lights of the city. God—you wanted to go home. 

You settle for a glass of a dark red wine, sniffing it before you take a large sip. It instantly relaxes you, the alcohol moving past your tongue easily. If anything—it tastes like grape juice. 

Wanting to avoid Taehyung at all costs, you mosey around the party, finding a staircase outside that leads back into the house. You slowly take the stairs, your mind racing a million miles per hour. You’re sure Taehyung has tried to call you at this point, but your phone is buried deep in your shoulder bag on purpose. You don’t think you can face him at all right now. After this glass of wine, you’ve decided you’re going to call an Uber and get the hell out of here. 

As you reach the top of the stairs, you stop dead in your tracks. Right in front of you stands Jeon Jungkook. He’s bent at the waist, leaning over the railing with a wine glass in hand. His gaze was looking out into nothing but since he’s heard heels coming up stairs to his right, his head turns to find you. 

He nearly drops his wine glass—which would have definitely injured someone below—or at least severely stained a shirt or two. 

“Y/N?” He asks, standing up tall. Goddamnit, you think. He’s dress immaculately in a thickly-striped suit with a white button up that’s slightly undone at the top. His hair is slightly parted back off his forehead and you feel yourself spiraling. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks after you’re unable to speak. After meeting Jungkook’s father, you’re definitely not surprised to see him here—but if anything, you feel as if you could break down in tears at any moment. 

You realize that you’ve seemingly walked up to a balcony that enters into a large bedroom. You wonder if it’s Jungkook’s bedroom, or just a random guest balcony he’s found solace in. 

“I—“ you cut yourself off, trying to keep your composure, “I’m with Taehyung,” you manage to croak out. You can see the puzzle pieces clicking together for Jungkook in his head despite the darkness surrounding you two. However, it’s not that he cares about—

“Y/N… are you okay?” He asks with genuine concern, stepping towards you slightly. 

He notices the way your wine glass subtly shakes in your hand, your breathing uneven, your lips tucked away as you begin to shake your head no. He makes no time in rushing over to you steadying yourself against him. 

“What happened?” He asks as his brows lace with confusion as he settles you some against the railing, feeling a worry creep into him like he’s never felt before. 

You’re more even with Jungkook’s height in your heels now, your eyes bearing deep into his. His presence is calming you down and you feel safe right here. You open your mouth to speak, though nothing comes out. He’s patient and gentle with you, waiting for whenever you’re ready. 

You take another sip of your wine before speaking, “I think Taehyung’s been lying to me.” 

Jungkook’s face falls, “What do you mean?” He asks in a rush. 

“It’s not important,” is what you settle on. You don’t know if you’re in the mood to explain anything to Jungkook—let alone if you want to explain anything.

His face goes straight, letting out a deep breath, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he pauses, stepping away from you some to lean against the rail whilst facing you. “But I’m here if you want to talk… I want you to be okay.” 

His words feel like a warm hug wrapping around your heart. You lean back on your elbows, staring up at the stars. Deep breathes, you tell yourself. When you look back to him, his gaze hasn’t left you at all. 

“How can I be okay in a world like this?” Your voice breaks off as you bat tears away in your eyes. “All of this,” you motion with your hands, referencing all the luxury and extravagance, wine dangerously swishing around, “Wasn’t supposed to be the plan… why does my partner of almost five years feel the need to not tell me about him moving six-thousand miles away for his fucking job,” your voice now bitter and angry as you break his eye contact. 

Shit, Jungkook thinks. He bites his lip ring, contemplating his words and emotions. He hates to compare you to his mother—you’re much more of a strong-headed person than her—but it’s so reminiscent of his childhood and listening to her on the phone with her girlfriends and the arguments with his father. 

“It’s only ever about work with him,” you continue, a fire burning deep within you, “Why should I have to be the one to drop everything in my life to cater to him? Have the past five years of my life been a fucking waste?” again, you have to be conscious of your center of gravity as you feel tears wanting to brim over. 

“Don’t say that,” he quickly interjects, his tone soft and calm. 

“Well it sure fucking feels like it Jungkook,” you spit back at him, though he remains calm and collected. “He won’t even fucking marry me yet he’ll drop everything for this job and all the fucking fake extravagance of it all.” 

When you mention marriage, Jungkook is slightly taken aback. Obviously he’s picked up that your relationship has been long and serious, but there’s been no indication of thoughts of marriage. Hell, Jungkook didn’t even hear you mention Taehyung until weeks after you first met. 

Your voice trembles as you speak, unable to fight your emotions anymore, "I want friendship in my love for Taehyung but I don't want just a friend," you sip on the wine slowly as Jungkook watches you closely.

"I want to be cared for, and protected, and indulged⎯⎯" you pause again, trying to make sense of your words, "I want to be chosen everyday... is that too much of me to ask?"

Jungkook shifts in his position to fully face you. He shakes his head, one of his hands brushing a piece of hair behind your ear gently.

"It's never too much to ask," he says, his words careful yet understanding. He's felt these emotions all too well himself. He chose his ex-girlfriend everyday, yet she seemingly never chose him. It's an excruciating pain when you love someone more than they love you.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this,” you mutter, downing the rest of your wine glass to avoid a spill. 

“Y/N, you know I care about you,” he says with a careful tone. You meet his gaze again, which now is a little more harsh as if something is stirring inside him, “Can I be honest with you?” He raises a brow. 

“Always,” you whisper, slightly afraid of what he’s about to say. Mirroring you, he downs the rest of his wine too for some confidence.

“I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong and out of place. I mean this is where I fucking grew up,” he lifts a hand, a laugh emitting from him, “I think you’re one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. Y/N, you posses a talent that people can only dream of. You’re smart, and kind, and funny, and so fucking beautiful,” he pauses as he clenches his jaw, “You walk into a room and all I see is you. You radiate a spark that I can’t even begin to describe how special you are and if—“ 

He cuts himself off, afraid he may take it too far, but when you’re still fully attentive, he says it anyways. 

“And if you marry someone like him, I’m afraid that spark will go away,” he pauses, “I know it will go away… because it happened to my mother,” his voice is barely a whisper as he finishes, him being the one to break eye contact with you. “So no, it's not too much to ask. You deserve someone who chooses you, puts you above everything—“ he cuts himself off before he can continue on, sighing deeply as he glances away from you. 

You’re simply speechless as his words sink into your bones. Your breath is shaky and you can tell Jungkook thinks he’s overstepped his boundaries. You don’t think he has, but his words do feel like someone has cauterized your insides. It hurts to hear a harsh truth, but as his words sink in, you can’t help but wonder if he’s right. 

“Sorry I just—“

“It’s okay,” you speak softly when you interrupt him, “I want you to know that… I think you’re special too, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook’s hand that’s on the railing begins to tighten around it, his knuckles turning white as frustration pulses through his veins. You notice his tight grip and you place your own hand over his to relax him some. There’s mere inches between you two now, but it’s comforting and it feels like only you two are left in the world—the party raging down below and throughout the house drowning out. While your head is spinning from the two glasses of alcohol that you had sipped on earlier, you know that most of it comes from his intoxicating scent. He’s everywhere at all times and you think this is some sick joke manifesting itself into reality as you feel yourself leaning into him. When he says your name slow and calculated, you know that you’re a puddle in his hands, ready for all the consequences that may come with your decision. You just don’t know exactly how it could have reached this point. 

“Y/N,” he says again as he’s now got you trapped between his body and the railing, your nose is brushing against his and you’ve never experienced a want so badly in your life, “We shouldn’t do this.” 

Your breathing is rugged and nervous as you look into his eyes. 

“I know,” you whisper back, your throat feeling like it could close up any second. 

You have no idea who leans in first, but when your lips touch his—it’s a spark that might as well be made of lightening. It’s terrifying the way it took only three seconds to melt into him and get a groove. He feels like he’s been dipped in honey and you’re eating him sweet and slowly. He inhales deeply through his nose as he deepens the kiss by opening your mouth with his tongue, his lip ring slightly cold against your skin. He tastes like red wine, furthering intoxicating you against the railing. Your hands slide up his chest, tangling into his hair as you pull him flush against you.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, looking you in the eyes again for another silent question of consent. You nod quickly, missing the feeling of him on you. This time, he kisses you a bit rougher as one hand digs into your waist, the other halfway choking you. God—this is so wrong, so morally wrong—but every bone in your body is screaming yes. 

You don’t think you’ve experienced anything of this magnitude in years. You feel him growing hard in front of you, which only further escalates your feelings towards him. When you drag your hand down and over his growing bulge, he breaks away quickly. 

“Shit Y/N,” he breathes away grabbing your hand away from his most sensitive area, “We need to stop.” 

You shake your head, never wanting this moment to end. He continues to kiss you feverishly, unable to get enough of you.

“I wanna make you feel good,” you breathe out heavily as his forehead rests against yours. 

“I know baby, I do too,” his use of the word baby sends a jolt down your spine, “But we can’t.” 

His voice is strained and it’s painful for him to stop whatever was about to happen. He wants nothing more than to bury his mouth in between your legs and then stuff you full of his cock thereafter—but it has to stop. Not only is your boyfriend at this party, probably looking through hell and high water to find you—but Jungkook’s father is your boyfriend’s boss. This can’t happen. 

A small whine from rejection leaves your throat, but you know he’s right. Not only did you just cheat on your boyfriend of nearly five years—said boyfriend was still at the party you were his date at.

Fuck. 

“Are you going to go home with him?” He asks suddenly. You honestly hadn’t thought about it since being away from Taehyung. You were still angry and frustrated with him, unsure if you even wanted to see him again tonight. 

You push Jungkook away from you a little bit to shrug off your shoulder bag to retrieve your phone. To your surprise, you only have two texts and one call from Taehyung, which honestly make your heart drop. You were expecting more, but you assume that work calls and he was too busy to try and actually find you. 

[Taehyung 9:02 PM] Are you okay?? Where did you go? 

[Taehyung 9:37 PM] We should talk when we go home. Call me when you see this. 

Jungkook watches you bite your lip nervously, feeling a bits of shame fall over your body. You meet his eye contact before saying that you should go. 

“I’ll walk you out,” he offers, which you don’t refuse. You’re not sure you could find your way out of here. There’s an awkward silence between you and Jungkook as he floats through the halls of his childhood home easily. You end up recognizing two of Seokjin’s pieces on the walls and you have to roll your eyes—there’s no escaping him in your world.

You still can’t believe Jungkook grew up to be who is he when he was raised like this. Beautiful, creative, and free—all from this stuffy background when he could have easily turned out to be a nepotistic douchebag. It makes your feelings towards him only grow even deeper. 

At this point, there's no trying to fight it. You've fallen for Jungkook, your kiss with him the final seal of the deal.

The two of you have reached the foyer where you first entered and you instantly spot Taehyung up near the front door talking to another one of his colleagues. You feel like you could throw up and you almost change your mind—wanting to turn around and hide with Jungkook somewhere in this mansion. But, both of you have created a mess at this point and you’re going to have to clean it up. 

Taehyung’s eyes have traveled all over—looking worried—until they land on you. He looks relieved but as soon as he spots who you are walking with, he visibly tenses up. 

“You should go,” you turn to Jungkook, stopping in your tracks briefly. He looks down at you with an expression you can’t read, giving you one nod before he’s turning on his heel away from you. 

You don’t waste anytime looking at him not wanting Taehyung to be suspicious of anything, continuing your march to him. 

“Hey—where have you been?” Taehyung’s voice is calm, a sweet smile spreading across his face when you reach him. He doesn’t bother introducing you to the other guy and his date, ending the conversation and practically dragging you outside by the hand in a tight, rough squeeze and pull. 

“Taehyung you’re hurting me,” you manage to get out, Taehyung immediately dropping your hand. 

“Shit,” he runs a stressed hand through his hair, “I’m sorry babe,” he grabs it kissing it gently as the driver pulls up the car, “I’ve just been worried about you—“

“Only two texts and one call worried?” You retort, an offended look crossing his face. “Or are you too worried about your impression at this fucking party to worry about me? Too worried about your move to Chicago to worry about me?” Your words are fiery hot, not caring if anyone around hears you. 

His eyes narrow at you, a visible gulp in his throat. 

“We’ll talk about this at home,” his own voice is seething and you’re unsure if you’ve ever heard him this angry. As the car pulls up, his eyes flicker back over to the front entrance of the house. You promptly follow them, your heart stopping when you realize Jungkook is leaning against a column at the front of his house, lighting a cigarette in the process. 

As you get into the car, the last thing you see is Jungkook’s eyes in the dark and the glow of his cigarette. Taehyung gets in after you and you know for sure that you’ve made a wrong decision. 

⏤

“How could you hide this from me?!” You’re voice is shaky as you watch as Taehyung stands in the kitchen of his apartment, leaning on his palms, unable to keep eye contact with you. You two hadn’t spoken once in the car on the way back to his place, but as soon as you crossed the threshold—you’d been at his throat. Rightfully so.

“Y/N I was going tell to you—“ he pauses as he looks up at you, but you interject before he can say anything else. 

“When Taehyung?!” You’re fighting tears at this point, “When you got on the fucking plane to leave me here alone?!” 

He makes his way over to you and the only thing you can do is step away from him—you could barely look at him right now, let alone want him to touch you. He opens his mouth to say something back, but closes it quickly, trying to think more about his words.

“I didn’t know how to Y/N,” is what he settles for, “I swear I was going to tell you soon—I-I wanted to let you know and for us to get excited and start looking at places to live!”

You feel a tear fall from your left eye and you know that you’re done for, your jaw shaking as you try to take deep breaths in and out. You begin to shake your head, unable to form sentences. 

“Y-you should have t-talked to me about it first Taehyung, do you not understand that?” More tears fall down your cheeks and you brush them away roughly. He opens his mouth again but you stop him—“No Taehyung! Just shut up for two seconds!” Your outburst startles him, letting you continue, “We’ve been together for almost five years—five years Taehyung, you’ve continuously put your career over everything. Your family, friends, me—“

“I’m doing this for us Y/N!” He interrupts you which only makes you even more pissed off. 

“What if I don’t want it Taehyung?!” You push back, “All I’ve ever wanted was just… you. I don’t need the fancy parties, tailored suits—all the money and status, it’s all bullshit! All I needed was you and now you’re leaving your life here, expecting me to just drop everything I’ve worked for, just for you! Do you not realize how fucking selfish that is Taehyung?!” 

You can tell he’s about to cry now—a rare sight. His jaw clenches as he looks away from you, hands on his hips in frustration. When he doesn’t say anything, you take a step towards him, putting a finger to his chest. 

“You’ll go halfway across the globe, that committed to your job and you won’t even fucking commit to me—after five years—you don’t want to fully commit to me, and that’s what’s fucking killing me right now Tae…” your voice trails off, a full on sob escaping your lips now. 

“Baby you know that’s not true,” he rushes out, grabbing your wrist in desperation, “I love you so much, so fucking much. There’s never been anyone so perfect for me,” he chokes out. 

His touch is comforting, but it feels strange. You feel like you don’t know the person standing in front of you. 

You’re shaking your head slowly, “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” you pause, looking at him through watery eyes, “And this is one of those times.” 

“Y/N, baby please don’t cry,” he leans down, his forehead touching yours, “We can work through this, we’ll build a good life together I promise… I just have to make this move for me, our life will be so good…” 

Selfish, selfish, selfish. 

Your heart feels like it’s being ripped to shreds in your chest. It’s like you’re drowning, unable to come up for air. Your eyes close firmly as you lean into him. 

“Taehyung I love you so much,” you whisper, “But I’m not leaving my life here,” you pause, opening your eyes again, “I can’t do it.” 

Your words feel like gunshots to your own chest, choking on your mild sobs. Taehyung is shaking his head in denial, his own emotions becoming too overwhelming. 

“No, no, no baby please,” he’s begging you, pleading with you, “Don’t say that to me please,” his deep voice is so shaky you can barely understand him, “You’re breaking my heart right now.” 

“So are you,” you can’t talk louder even if you wanted to. You felt your entire body being broken in half, as if a piece of you is being ripped out from under you, “I should go,” you wiped your face as you try to pull yourself away from him. 

He pulls you back, “No, Y/N, please don’t do this right now.” 

You fight against him, pushing yourself off of him, “I need to go home Tae.” 

He doesn’t fight you anymore, watching as you gather your purse and phone off his kitchen counter. He whispers your name again as you open his front door to leave. You turn over your shoulder, tears still streaming down your cheeks. 

“I love you,” his voice is weak and tired. 

You nod, “I love you too.” 

You find yourself sitting on the steps outside of Taehyung’s apartment building, knees to your chest as you continue to sob to yourself. Taehyung lived in one of the nicest parts of the city in one of the nicest apartment complexes, so you weren’t wary of anyone sketchy finding you on the steps. The only thing you could think about was getting out of this dress and heels—a hot shower to cry in—and curling into a warm blanket for sleep, ignoring everything that just happened. 

Was this a breakup? 

Should you go back upstairs? 

Would you really not move with Taehyung?

So many questions are spinning in your head that you need to be distracted from. You pull out your phone, calling the one person you'd want to see right now. 

⏤

You walk into the threshold of Jungkook’s apartment a little after midnight. Lucky for you, he answered on the second ring, on the way back from leaving his parents home. He’s been worried sick the entire drive back to his apartment. You’ve barely spoken a word, tears and choked sobs emitting from your lips. He made the effort to hold your hand the entire drive, which you gladly accepted. He sets down your heels at the door with his own shoes, following in behind you. 

Thankfully, you’ve calmed down significantly on the drive over. You take in your environment, inhaling the familiar scent on Jungkook. His apartment is a studio and its spotless, abate a corner filled with art supplies in his living room. The entire right side of his apartment is exposed brick, his bed situated closer to the large floor to ceiling window, a large couch a few feet over, partitioned by a desk and plant. His apartment is much more modern than yours, grey and cream being the prominent color he’s chosen to utilize. 

“Thank you,” you turn around to meet his eyes which have the same concerned look in them since he’s picked you up. 

He nods, not wanting to press any hard questions to you just yet, “Do you want some water? Anything else?” 

You nod, “Sure, water is good.” 

He quickly grabs you a glass, filling it with his Brita in the fridge, handing it over to you as fast as can. It feels good as you drink it, your throat raw from all the crying and voice raising. 

“Do you want me to take you home in a bit?” He asks hesitantly as he shrugs off his jacket. 

“I—I was hoping I could stay…” you trail off, “I’ll take the couch,” you add quickly, “I just don’t really want to be alone right now.”

He gives you a soft smile, a small dimple forming on his cheek, “Of course, I’ll take the couch, don’t worry about it.” 

Jungkook makes you feel right at home, offering you a shower and clothes. You happily take them both, turning on his shower as hot as it can go. His bathroom impresses you even more with how clean it is and you finally feel like you’re able to relax after this hellish evening. You don’t wash your hair, only scrubbing your body and makeup off, but it’s still a good shower. Jungkook’s products smell good and you like the idea of smelling like him. 

Once you’re out, you quickly change into the large long sleeve t-shirt he’s giving you. The sleeves go way past your hands and it hits you around mid-thigh. It’s soft and comfy, reminding you of many nightgowns you have back at your place. He even has some body lotion in the cabinet and you run some over your legs just so you don’t wake up ashy. 

You hang up your towel on the rack before heading back out into the studio space. You find Jungkook sitting on his couch, manspread slightly with his phone in one hand, a glass of wine in another. He must have just opened a bottle, given the cork and bottle are on the coffee table.

He notices you when you get close, sitting down beside him with a heavy sigh. Your mind and body are exhausted. His couch is comfy and you could fall asleep right now with him by your side. He offers you a sip of his wine, which you gladly take. 

“Red or white?” You ask him curiously. 

He purses his lips in contemplation before answering red, “It reminds me of grape juice,” he adds. 

You give him a small smile, the universe continuing to give parallels of your and Jungkook’s lives. 

After a few moments of silence and finishing the glass of wine together, Jungkook finally asks, “What happened Y/N?” 

Your breath is shaky and you quickly ask him to pour another glass of wine for you two. 

“I think Taehyung and I may have broken up,” you don’t believe the words as you say them yourself. Your eyes are fixated on the floor, your leg bouncing up and down to keep your composure. 

“You think?” He questions further, confusion lacing his tone. 

“H-he,” you pause, holding in any further tears, “He’s really moving,” you confirm from the conversation earlier, “He’s moving six-thousand miles away from here and just thought I would be okay with it,” you regain your consciousness, looking to your right into Jungkook’s eyes, “I don’t have to be okay with that, do I?” 

Jungkook rests his head against the back of his couch as his eyes soften for you, “No, you don’t,” he shakes his head. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry I called you, I shouldn’t—“

“Hey,” his hand finds the side of your face and you lean into his touch, “You’re my friend, you could call me anytime and I’d answer.” 

You don’t know who put Jungkook into your life or why, but the timing was immaculate. He was put in your life when you seemingly needed a breath of fresh air and a new ray from the sun. You’re thankful for it. 

“I’m sorry about earlier too,” you say, referring to the kiss you two shared on the small balcony. 

Suddenly a playful smirk spreads on his face, “I’m not,” he says biting his lip ring. You can’t help but let out a laugh, him matching you as you both down the second glass of wine. Jungkook opens up an arm for you and you cuddle up next to him, leaning into his body and scent. You’ve done a complete 180 in the last hour, all thanks to the man to your right. 

The two of you continue to talk about random things, him trying his best to make you feel better through lighthearted jokes and other things. Neither one of you mention Taehyung again which you’re grateful for. It’s not long until you find your eyes drifting to sleep, unable to keep them open any longer, you fall asleep curled into Jungkook, his head leaning on yours, wishing that he could stitch up every single wound in your heart.

⏤

You wake up the next morning pretty early, your head slightly hurting. Did you really drink that much last night? You’re warm and comfortable, the bed under you molding to your frame perfectly. When your vision finally focuses, a panicked thump of your heart occurs. Wait—you lean up on your elbows sightly looking around the apartment. Everything from last night comes rushing back into your head and you look over to your left to find Jungkook sleeping peacefully on his tummy, his face halfway buried in his pillow. 

The sight makes you smile as you maneuver underneath the covers to reach over and grab a sip of water from his small nightstand. You wonder why Jungkook is in bed with you, but then as you go through every scene in your head, you briefly remember Jungkook carrying you over to his bed, eyes barely open. You then remember telling him to stay with you, that he was warm and you were cold. Of course, he couldn’t say no. 

“Mm,” a noise comes from Jungkook garnering your attention. When you look over at him, he’s got one eye open looking at you, a small smile playing on his face, “Come back to bed,” he mutters. 

And it’s exactly what you do. You finish the small amount of water left before you situate yourself back into his sheets. Jungkook moves onto his side, opening his arms for your frame. You press your back to his chest as he pulls you close, spooning you from behind comfortably. His scent was everywhere, he was everywhere, and before you know it, you’re falling back to sleep together. 

It’s a couple hours later when you wake up again, feeling much more rested and your head not pounding anymore. Jungkook’s arm is still around your front resting just below your belly button as he holds you close. The shirt that you wear has bunched up around your hips, your bare legs touching his covered in sweatpants. 

You consider yourself to be very hyper-aware of your surroundings. You always have been—taking in every detail of every moment carefully and calculated. Sometimes you use it to your advantage, sometimes you don’t. This is one of those times where you’re feeling every detail, a breath hitching in your throat.

Jungkook is half-hard behind you. Whether it’s that, or how dangerously close his hand is to your pelvic bone, there’s a jolt of lighting that pulses through your veins. You bite your lip in contemplation weighing through options in your head. 

Taehyung and you may have broken up—a grey area still there and growing. Despite how you’re possessing guilt about last night, you’re not sure if the relationship can be salvaged—whether the kiss with Jungkook happened or not. You love him, have loved him for so long—but he’s leaving and you’re not going with him.

You definitely know you need to speak with him again, sooner rather than later. If you do nothing, you still have to speak with him. 

Jungkook has been a ray of light in your life the past month. Ever since the friendly date at the art gallery, there’s been a tension between you two that was briefly explored last night with a simple kiss. You’ve been very self-aware of your feelings for Jungkook. You know he makes you feel inspired, seen, heard—but still, if you do nothing, you still have to talk to Taehyung. 

If you do something, you’ll still have to talk to Taehyung. 

But right here, right now, it’s something that you push to the back of your mind, deciding on the latter. 

Feeling a little nervous, you push your hips back into Jungkook, though slightly moving in his grip to not make it too obvious. He doesn’t budge, so you try again. This time, Jungkook stirs behind you slightly, cortisol levels increasing with anxiousness. 

You wait a few moments before you carefully press back against him for a third time, a heavy intake of breath right near your ear. You slightly freeze when you think he may awake now, but a bundle of excitement runs through your nerves. 

When you push your ass backwards again, you feel him push himself forward—yup, most definitely awake. Jungkook’s hand that’s resting just below your belly button suddenly trails down the side of your thigh to rest just above your knee, his fingers facing inwards, gently rubbing at your exposed skin. 

“Jungkook,” you breathe out heavily, desire coating his name as you say it. You look back over your shoulder to find him with his eyes still closed, but he’s biting down on his lip harshly. 

“Mhm,” he mumbles, his hand now making its way back up to the inside of your thigh as you press your ass into him fully. Before he reaches where you feel yourself pooling for him, his eyes open giving you an intense stare. 

He’s asking for consent, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows heavily. Instinctively, you open your legs slightly before saying, “Touch me, please.” 

He hesitates before he sits up a little behind you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder gently. Finally, his hand meets your center, your nipples hardening as you let out a sigh. Two of his fingers rub in circles delicately over the fabric of your panties, blood already rushing down to your clit as he does so. 

You spread your legs a little more, your left hand supporting the back of your thigh as he continues to work against you. Your panties are a flimsy thong, barely covering your lips anyways but the moment he finally moves the fabric out of the way, a shutter leaves your lips. 

“Fuck,” he says, his fingers feeling at the wetness, “You’re soaked baby,” experimentally, he dips one finger in quickly and back out to run your slick over your swelling clit. 

“Mhmm,” you mumble, “Fuck I need you Jungkook,” you say honestly, your breath slightly unhinged. He moves himself a little, to get a better look over his shoulder. 

“Move the sheets baby,” he says with a groan from the back of his throat. You do as you're told, both of you now fully able to see when he sinks his fingers into your dripping cunt. 

“Oh—“ you breathe out heavily as he slowly begins to move in and out of you. 

He rubs your g-spot inside of you a few times before he begins to curl his fingers inside you. Jungkook continues to only grow harder as he fingers you—your hot slick inside making him too excited. A familiar yet naughty sound of your slick against his fingers begin to fill the room. It’s visceral and hot, leaving your body wanting more. 

With your free hand, you grab one of your breasts, stimulating your nipple through the material of his shirt. 

“Shit,” he says, “Let’s take this off,” he says and you quickly oblige as he pulls out his fingers to let your rid yourself of the fabric. Your tits bounce free and Jungkook swears he could come right then and there. 

His fingers descend back into your cunt, this time a faster pace as he rolls you on your back some. His mouth latches over your left nipple, a content exhale coming through his nose. A hand twists into his hair as your moans continue to get louder once he begins a steady pace against your clit with his thumb. Your breathing is picking up rapidly, your back arching off the mattress as he works his way to making you come. 

“Jungkook—fuck I’m gonna come,” you tell him through bated breath as his mouth works against your breast, your neck and earlobe, and finally meets your mouth hungrily. 

“Come on baby,” he says into your mouth and as if on cue, your orgasm is tipped off the cliff, your face contorting as it shudders through your body. 

“Ah, ah!” Your body twitches against his as he works you through your orgasm, telling you just how good you’re doing and how pretty you look. When you finally feel like your body has given everything it’s got, you lean up to crash your lips onto Jungkook’s, whose body is still behind of you as he leans over to kiss you. 

With your thighs now closed, you two have no space between each other, his cock straining against his sweatpants to be free. You reach behind you, pushing his pants down, unable to wait any longer. 

“Wait, wait,” he breathes heavily, his hand grabbing yours before you can fully push his sweatpants down, “Are you sure?” 

A strained whine leaves your lips as you nod quickly, “I need you so bad Jungkook,” you say which is all he needs to finish taking off his pants, underwear-less, his beautiful cock springing out against his tummy. He’s bigger and thicker than you could have imagined, veiny and a pink tip the color of his lips just waiting to be sucked into you. 

“I have condoms in the nightstand,” he says. You quickly reach over since it’s on your side, digging one out quickly. You tear the packet open with your teeth before you hand it over to him. With the little space you’re giving him, he’s rolling down the condom, a sharp intake of breath as he touches himself. 

You’re about to roll onto your back before he stops you, “Stay on your side baby,” he instructs as he presses himself against your back again. His left hand lifts up your leg, your cunt now fully exposed to the colder air, a shiver sent down your entire body. He rubs his tip against your slit, an explicative falling from his mouth when he finally begins to push inside you. 

He so big—the stretch slightly burning as he works into you. There definitely could have been more foreplay involved, but the desire for this man was too strong to wait anymore. You don’t even realize that you’re holding your breath until he’s pushed at the hilt, his pelvis against your backside fully. 

“It’s okay baby, I got you,” he manages to say as he relished in your slick warmth, “God I’ve dreamed out this so much,” he says as he pulls out slowly before even slower pushing back in. 

“Me too,” you breathe out truthfully as you hold his head close to your own; shit it burns, “Is it living up to your expectation?” 

He licks his lips with a slight chuckle, relishing in a heavy moan you’ve just let escape. 

“Turns out my imagination isn’t as good as I thought,” it’s the last thing he says before he picks up his pace inside you. 

He hooks his arm under your leg to open you up even further, looking down the front of your body to watch himself go in and out of your pussy. He fills you up to the point where it’s dizzying. You’re still sensitive from your orgasm earlier, your mouth slack as he pumps himself with a good stroke. 

“Fuck,” he groans heavily, “You’re so perfect baby,” his breath is hot over your neck, unable to form words yourself—whiney moans emitting from your lips. 

You crane your head to look back at him, your noses brushing together before you reach up to meet your lips together. It’s a messy kiss—wet and hot as you breathe into each other’s mouths, his tongue working against yours. With your free hand, you bring it to stimulate yourself from the outside against your clit, a shudder going through your breath. 

“That’s it baby, touch yourself for me,” he watches as you circle your clit, your pussy squeezing around him tightly. You already feel another orgasm approaching you, but Jungkook suddenly pulls completely out of you, leaving you breathless. 

“Jungkook?” You ask as he turns you flat on your back, his lips trailing down to your pussy, his tongue meeting your center. 

“Didn’t want to come yet,” he explains as he begins to eat you out as if its his last meal. His lip ring is cold against your sensitive skin. He open mouth licks, kisses, and sucks all on you and your clit. Your hips arches off the mattress, explicative falling out of your mouth. You taste sweet and Jungkook’s sure its the best he’s ever had. 

As Jungkook focuses on your clit, sucking in with harsh lips you tell him you’re going to come again. Your mouth falls open when you feel yourself reach the peak of your climax again, quickly falling as you moan shamelessly loud. You’re seeing white behind your eyelids as you grip onto the pillow at your head, biting on your lip to quiet yourself. It’s no use given it’s one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. He continues to let your ride out your orgasm and it’s becoming too much. The over stimulation bringing on a familiar uncomfortable sensation as you tell him to quit. He obliges but is then lining himself up with your entrance again, entering in you flush all at once. 

This time, Jungkook’s pace is fast and rough as one of his hands grip where your hip meets your torso, the other around your neck as he fights to not kiss you. As much as he loves your lips, he loves the noises coming out of them and wants you to be as loud as you can be. 

“Jungkook I can’t,” everything is sensitive, a pleasurable pain pulsing through you as he slams against you relentlessly. 

“Yes you can baby, come on,” he’s whining too as this point, “Fuck I’m gonna cum,” he says it like a warning, but you want nothing more for him to do just that. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” whispered chants leave your lips, Jungkook’s own moans mixing with yours loudly before he releases the pressure off your neck, lips crashing down on your own. Someway, somehow, you come a third time as his pelvic bone grinds into you, a muffled scream into his mouth as you do so. 

This is what sends Jungkook over the edge, his hips slamming into yours harshly as he comes into the condom, a strangled groan emitting from the back of his throat. 

“Fffuck Y/N,” he stills inside of you, both of your hearts racing and sweaty in the sheets. He collapses on top of you, your arms wrapping around him protectively as he places intimate kisses along your collarbone and chest. 

Your whole body is aflame and as he looks up to you, his eyes full of stars. You brush his fringe from his face slowly as the two of you kiss gently in the haze of the morning. You’re sure that Jeon Jungkook is a disguised angel fallen from heaven. 

⏤

“Sit still,” Jungkook laughs as he looks up from his sketch book briefly, a lazy smile playing at his lips. 

You laugh while biting your lip, “I am still!” You fight back as you rest your head in your hand, looking right at him longingly. He sets down his pencil for a moment, inhaling a small amount from the joint you two were currently sharing. You hadn’t smoked in a long time, but when Jungkook offered after having sex, you couldn’t refuse. 

Both of you are a little high not just on the flower, but each other too. You don’t know what time it is or how long both of you have been laying around at his apartment since you’ve been awake. On his bed, he’s sitting criss-crossed apple sauce across from you as you lay on your side as his model. He begged to sketch you for nearly 20 minutes before you finally agreed. 

You take another hit from the joint, “How’s it going?” You muse and he smirks slightly, chewing on his thumb nail as he continues to draw. 

“Do you ever shut up?” He says and you flip him off deservedly so. 

It’s only another 10 minutes until Jungkook proclaims he’s finished—at least for now. He says he’d add more details later when his brain was a little more clear. Though when he hands the sketch pad over to you, your eyes widen. 

“Oh wow,” you marvel, “More details?” You ask in disbelief. Though the sketch was tad a messy, not perfect, it still looked exactly like you. Almost frighteningly so. You were wearing his shirt again, your hair fallen and messy after the sexcapades earlier. Even the details of your hands are immaculate despite how minuscule they are in the drawing. 

“You like it?” He asks, his eyes a little wide, tone seeking validation. You give him a hazy-eyed smile, giving him a nod of approval. 

“I’ll sketch you one day, to return the favor,” you say with a peaked brow as you hand him back the sketch book. 

“A favor eh?” He bite his lip ring, “I had to beg you for this.” 

“Exactly—I always repay for charity work,” you laugh when he rolls his eyes, moving over to your frame. 

He lays on his side mirroring you as he props his head up on one of his hands. He inhales the joint once more with his tattooed hand, offering it to you once more. You shake your head, already feeling a good enough high to enjoy yourself and not go into full panic mode. 

“You have so many tattoos,” you comment as your eyes trail from his hand, up his forearm into his elbow, bicep, and finally, the top of his shoulder. 

“Mhm,” he mumbles, clearing the ashtray from his bed, setting it on the floor for now.

“Which one was your first?” You ask him; your curiosity cute to him. 

“Hmm,” he thinks about it as he brings out his arm a little to look over each one, “I think this one,” he says, referencing to the Chinese characters on the back of his elbow, “Or maybe the ones on my hand, I don’t really remember,” he laughs, his memory falling short in this moment. 

“Do they all mean something to you?” 

He nods immediately, his eyes finding yours again. You ask him which one is his favorite. 

“Probably this one,” he points to the orange tiger lily on the inside of his forearm, “It’s one of the ones I drew myself.” It’s detailed immaculately, with words blended in behind it, “It’s my birth flower,” he explains. You think he told you once his birthday was in September. Him being a Virgo makes sense to you. 

“What does it say behind it?” You ask as your free hand grabs his arm to bring closer to your eyes so you can see the details better. 

“Please love me,” he answers after a moment of watching you slowly turn his arm to marvel at all the ink. His words make you freeze though, your heart strings tugging towards him. 

You smile at him shyly, “Is Jeon Jungkook a romantic?” 

He smiles back at you fondly, “Only when I want to be.” 

“Mhm, sure,” you mumble, your hand finding his. His is much larger than yours, covering yours protectively. 

“You don’t have any tattoos?” He asks. He’s just seen you naked but his attention was exactly looking at certain places on your skin for ink. 

You shake your head, “I’ve always been too scared,” you tell him honestly with a laugh. 

He laughs clearly amused, “It’s not as bad as you think it is.” 

You roll your eyes, “Says the person with an arm covered in them. I’d trust someone who has like one or two… they’re more likely to be truthful about the pain.” 

“Well if you ever want one, I’ll go with you just so I can say I told you so,” he suddenly moves closer to your frame. He throws an arm over your waist, pulling you to him. 

“Never gonna happen,” there’s a lame attempt to tuck some of his hair behind his ear. It doesn’t stay, still too short. 

“I like you in my clothes,” he comments, brushing his nose against yours. He slowly closes the gap between you two. His lips are still so soft and each time he kisses you—it feels like the first. 

“It’s comfy,” you say once you break away from him, your nails scratching the back of his head gently. He relishes in it like a puppy, a relax smiled on his face. 

“You look better out of them though,” is his next comment which garners a giggle deep within you. One thing leads to the next and you’re having sex again. This time you’re on top of him, on your tummy, legs over his shoulders—and he makes you come each and every time. You’ve had many blissful moments in your life, but this has to be up with one of your most. 

⏤

Reality hits you when Jungkook drops you off at home that evening. Whatever bliss you experienced this morning and afternoon, it all feels like a dream that didn’t happen. You make sure to feed Sushi his wet food as soon you get home, as well as clean his litter box for him. Your phone is what makes you the most anxious. You’ve got missed texts and calls from a few people. Taehyung obviously, Sana, Seokjin, and even your father. 

[Taehyung Yesterday 11:13 PM] Please let me know when you get home. I love you. 

[Taehyung 12:09 PM] Did you get home okay?

[Taehyung 7:21 AM] Y/N please call me, you’re worrying me. 

[Taehyung 10:32 AM] Please text me when you see this. I haven’t slept all night. I love you so much. 

4 Missed Calls

Your throat constricts, feeling guilty that you didn’t even have the minds to look at your phone after Jungkook picked you up. You feel sick to your stomach as you continue through your messages. 

[Sana 8:23 AM] hey is everything okay?? taehyung texted me this morning and asked if I’ve heard from you

[Sana 8:26 AM] did you two get into a fight? are you home?

[Sana 1:15 PM] hello… are you alive????????

6 Missed Calls

You opt to deal with the others later, giving Sana a call back immediately. Also, just unsure of how to deal with Taehyung right now. She answers on the first ring. 

“What the actual FUCK have you been up to?!” She’s screaming and you have to hold the phone away from you as she continues, “You have me worried fucking sick! Why haven’t you answered me or Taehyung! Are you out of your fucking mind!?”

“Sana please, I’m fine,” you say after she’s cooled off some, “I need you to come over as soon as you can.” 

She hesitates, “Is everything okay?” She sounds worried, all malice gone in her tone. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper over the phone. Now that you’re going to have to face whatever mess has been created, your heart thumps and your chest is tight. She agrees, dropping whatever she’s doing hanging up just as fast. 

You decide to text Taehyung, knowing you’ve worked him up sick. 

[You 4:23 PM] I’m fine. Slept a lot last night and today, ringer was off. 

[You 4:24 PM] love you too 

You add the second text without hesitation, despite a bubbling substance of guilt in your tummy. You know your relationship with Taehyung can’t continue. Whatever hurt he’s caused you and what you’ve done with Jungkook—it’s all down the drain. And it’s this reality that makes you break down, sliding to the floor in choked sobs. 

Sana finds you this way, nearly hyperventilating as she hurries over to you. 

“Y/N!” She exclaims, “Oh my god, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she kneels beside you, her arms throwing themselves around you tightly. You lean into her touch, trying to make sentences but nothing comes out. Just incoherent jumble as you choke out tear after tear. 

Sana is literally the best of friends you could ever ask for. As you lay curled up on your couch, she’s fixed you a cup of hot tea and a bowl of ramen for you two with the works—pork belly, an egg, and green onions. 

As she serves up your food, she’s got the most worried look on her face and you can’t blame her. You probably look horrifying—horrifying with an after sex glow. 

“Babe,” she says after you begin to eat your food, “What’s going on? You’re scaring the shit out of me.” 

You slurp a noodle, “Sana,” you groan, “I think I fucked up, but also Taehyung fucked up, fucked up, and I think we broke up but th—“

“Whoa whoa,” she stops you, “Broke up? W-what do you mean?” She’s utterly stunned as you relay this information. 

So it’s when you tell her. Tell her everything your life has succumbed to in the last month. From meeting Jungkook—no inspiration—Taehyung putting work before you—the date with Jungkook—the fucking sex dream—to the real reason Taehyung asked to move in with you—the kiss with Jungkook, feelings for him—Jungkook’s dad being Taehyung’s main boss—everything up until after the party. 

“How long has he known about the move?” Sana is angry as you tell her all this information. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “We kind of blew up at each other last night and then I just left…” 

“Shit,” she mutters, “Well that’s really fucking shitty of him to do that to you Y/N. You’ve been together too long for him not to give you a heads up about that.” 

You nod as you set down your bowl of food on the coffee table, “I know and like I said I think we broke up but I’m not exactly sure and now—“ you cut yourself off, your stomach churning at the thought. She looks at your curiously as if she knows what you’re about to say will make her disappointed in you. 

“What did you do?” She says slowly to brace herself. 

“I wasn’t answering my phone last night because I wasn’t here.” 

You can’t even look at her as you continue. 

“I was with Jungkook.” 

Sana doesn’t say anything as she lets your words process, all the puzzle pieces coming together in her head slowly but surely. She doesn’t look angry or confused, but her face is emotionless which is honestly scarier to you. 

“You had sex with him, didn’t you?” She already knows, but she wants to hear you confirm it yourself. You nod slowly, adding in not just once—but three separate times. She runs a hand over her temple, her brain clearly working overtime. 

There’s a heavy moment of silence that falls between the two of you. You don’t regret hooking up with Jungkook at all—if anything, him and his company has been the light of your life the past few weeks. You just can’t help but feel whatever grey area that Taehyung created, you separated it into black and white without him. Was that fair to him? 

“So you had sex with Jungkook, kind of broken up with Taehyung after a fight, but not for sure… and you haven’t talked to Taehyung since last night?” 

“Yeah…” you sigh heavily, putting your head in your hands. 

“God Y/N,” she mumbles, her hand running up and down your back, “Well you for sure have to talk to Taehyung sooner than later… you have to tell him—“

“Sana—“

“Y/N you’ve dated and loved this man for five years—he deserves to know, even if you two truly were broken up,” she’s harsh with her words, but you know she’s right. “So what do you truly feel for Jungkook?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. Truthfully, you hadn’t put any thought into it since you’ve been home. 

“You clearly have developed feelings for him over the last few weeks, faster than even Taehyung,” she pauses, “Do you want something out of him? Or do you think he was just there to comfort you when you needed it?” 

You look up from your hands, looking at her in your peripheral, “Fuck Sana, I don’t know,” you feel tears threatening to spill over again, “I think being with Taehyung for so long, I never thought there would be another person I could actually develop feelings for, but he’s kind and gentle, he listens to me, makes me feel heard, and he’s so much like me but that also fucking terrifies me.”

“Why is that scary?” 

You lean back into your couch, meeting her gaze, “I always thought I wanted someone so different from me, different than my parents relationship—and I found that and I love him so much,” your voice is strained, “But I’m not sure if different is what I actually needed.” 

She puts a hand on your knee for comfort, “Can I be as honest as I can with you?” She’s a little unsure of your reaction, but as soon as you nod she gives you a reassuring squeeze, “I know that you love Taehyung and I know that it’s been hard with his job… I don’t think you should have slept with Jungkook so soon but…” she pauses, “I’m not going to try to make excuses for you but, I get it,” her words aren’t expected and your shoulders relax.

“I think someone like Jungkook was going to come into your life eventually, it just happened to be when you were with someone else… I think you’ve always been scared to be like your parents, but you’re not trapped in a box, you have free will and you’re allowed to do as you please. I don’t think you needed different either, I think you’ve always just wanted someone to give you the same amount of love you give them,” her words are so true that you feel your chest constricting again.

“I’m not going to sit here and say you crossed a boundary because I don’t know if you did, only you know that yourself… but Taehyung deserves the respect from you to let him know and you deserve someone who works in the relationship equally. I feel like this may have been unfair to Taehyung but he's also been unfair to you, for a long time now,” she adds in a breath, “I don’t think you and Taehyung can be together anymore, but I also don’t know if you should be with Jungkook right now either.” 

Sana’s words cut through you like a freshly sharpened knife. She’s your best friend for a reason. She’s supposed to support and love you, but she’s also supposed to hold you accountable. You don’t even say anything else as you crawl over to her, both of you embracing in a tight hug. 

“I love you,” you mumble to her, honestly coating every word. 

“I love you more,” she responds. And you know she does. 

⏤

It’s been almost two weeks since your shitshow of last weekend. You’ve barely interacted with anyone aside from Sana and an occasional text from your parents, asking about your final exhibition dates. You told Seokjin that you needed to work from home this week, citing a change in scenery would be stimulating. Obviously, he didn’t know it really was a ploy to keep you away from Jungkook. 

You hadn’t spoken to him since sleeping with him. He reached out to you once over text, though you ignored it, needing your head clear of your demons before you faced him. As time has passed, you still don’t regret hooking up with him. The only thing you feel is shame; afraid that your advances came off in bad taste, only using him as a distraction. Luckily as you’ve come to learn, Jungkook is extremely good at reading people and when you didn’t respond to him—he never texted again. You obviously wanted space and he was going to respect that. 

What you couldn’t keep running away from was Taehyung. It’s why you’re meeting him now at a park that’s not too far from your apartment. It’s middle of the day on a Thursday, which is surprising that Taehyung agreed to meet now when you reached out. You assumed that he would have been at work but it's when he shows up in casual jeans and a t-shirt, that he must not be. 

You’re sitting on a park bench, dressed casually in a sweatshirt and sweat-shorts anxiously waiting for him to show face. When he comes around to sit down, he startles you slightly, but his presence brings a comfortable warmth. 

“H-hi,” you say nervously, turning your frame to him. He didn’t look good—his eyes baggy and dry, lips a little chapped, and his hair a little messy. 

“Hey,” is what he chooses, his own tone sounded a little off. There’s an awkward space between you two on the bench. 

“How have you been?” You ask, your eyes kind of darting any and everywhere, unable to hold his gaze for too long. 

His lip trembles as he sighs heavily, “Not the best,” he says honestly. You nod slowly, agreeing with him. 

Somedays you’re fine. You go through your day and normal routine of spin classes and painting, cuddling Sushi, and going to bed early. Other days have been horrible—up late unable to sleep due to stress and crying, no productivity in sight. While you and Taehyung have texted over these last couple weeks checking in on each other, being in front of him right now feels like there’s a spotlight on you and you’re scared to fuck up. You haven’t been ready to talk until now, but now you’re here and going mute. 

“Listen Y/N—“

“Tae—“

You speak at the same time to which you both smile at each other. 

“You go first,” you offer, still feeling like you may chicken out of what you actually need to say to him. 

He nods once, biting on his lip nervously, “Y/N I’ve been thinking the last couple weeks and um,” he pauses taking in a deep breath, “I realize I fucked up so bad. I thought about what you said and you’re right, I should have never assumed that you would have been okay with moving and never talking about it with you first…” 

As his voice slightly weakens as he continues to talk, it only breaks your heart even more. You have to tell yourself not to cry. 

“I’ve been pretty shitty to you at times and I always thought if I could give you nice things, take you out to nice dinners.. that it would somehow make up for the time we’ve lost over the years, but now I see that’s not what you needed at all.” 

You now have tears streaming down your cheeks—god, if only he recognized this sooner, maybe this wouldn’t have fallen apart the way it did. 

“I just love you so much and I get it if you don’t want to be with me anymore,” you watch a tear fall from his cheek, “But I just want you to know that I never intended on hiding anything from you and I’m sorry that I did. It was never my intention to hurt you and put you in a hard position, I just—fuck,” he stops, tugging on the roots of his hair. “I’m fucking sorry for everything Y/N, I just can’t move on and make this move if you hate me for the rest of your life.” 

Your face falls and you chest feels like it’s cracked open. You quickly close the space between you two, placing a hand gently on his face so he would look you in the eyes. 

“Taehyung I could never, ever hate you,” you tell him truthfully, “I have loved you for so long and I don’t think I’ll stop anytime soon…” 

He nods in your hands, relishing in your gently grip. He doesn’t say anything else, so you take it as your time. 

“I did and still do feel hurt about you keeping this from me,” you pause, dropping your hands, “I know that this had to have been a hard decision but the fact you left me out of it isn’t okay and I’m glad you recognize that… and you’re right, I never cared about the jewelry and the dinners and the flowers and wine, all I ever wanted was just you and me, against the world,” he chokes out a deep sob at your words, breaking your heart all over again. 

“I just, I truly can’t leave behind what I’ve worked for and the goals I want to accomplish here,” you shake your head, “It’s just not fair to me, but that doesn’t mean I will ever hate you or stop loving you.” 

He nods slowly as he takes in all of your information, his breath shakes as he breathes out. 

“Taehyung,” you brace yourself, “There’s something else I need to tell you.” 

He looks at you with a panicked expression as he mutters a hm? 

“I lied to you too about something,” your cadence is slow as you look down, picking at a loose piece of skin on your thumb, “I didn’t go home when I left your place after our fight.”

His eyebrows deeply furrow and you can see his brain working in overtime. Taehyung’s a smart man and it doesn’t take him long to piece together what you’re saying. 

“You went to his place, didn’t you? Jungkook? Seokjin’s student?” His jaw slightly clenches as he says it. You nod to confirm, feeling uncomfortable with how he's framed his words. “Jesus fucking Christ Y/N,” he suddenly stands up from the bench, another stressed pull of his hair, “We get into one fight and you run off to fuck someone who is basically your student?” 

“What?” You fight back, “No—no,” you rush out, though your heart sinks given you’re lying at this very second while trying to tell the truth. “Taehyung no, he’s just a friend I swear.” 

He turns back to you, eyes narrowing at you, “Can you look me in the eyes and tell me nothing happened with your fucking friend then? Is that why you lied to his father about knowing who he was?” 

You stare at him with your lips slightly parted, your heart thumping deep within your chest, “We kissed,” you whisper, wincing at your words internally.

“Is that it?” He asks with a tone that’s a mix of anger and desperation. 

There’s a lump in your throat and you realize that you truly are a coward and can’t tell him with words, so you do what a coward would do and shake your head. An entire new wave of shame enters your body now that you’re sat in front of Taehyung. His face falls, the line officially crossed. There’s no going back in this relationship. His jaw is unsteady as he fights whatever emotions are brewing inside him. 

“I need to go,” he says looking around the empty park. He loves you, he really does—but right now he can’t look at you. Your fight may have unofficially ended things between you two, but the fact you ran to Jungkook for comfort is what breaks his heart. What did Jungkook have, that Taehyung didn’t?

“Taehyung,” you stand up trying to stop him from walking away, “Please can we—“

“No Y/N,” he says, springing away from your grip that you had on his shirt, “We can’t.” 

It’s the last thing he says as he walks away. It’s feels almost a little too poetic. Not only is he leaving this city, but he’s leaving you here in it. Alone and heartbroken. Almost like how it was going to end up the entire time. 

⏤

It’s another week until you make it back into the studio in person. You’ve camped away in your apartment with Sushi for long enough—Sana, Seokjin, and others worried about you and your absence. You’ve had a lot of time to reflect as you been alone. You’ve been able to gather your thoughts and understand your rights versus wrongs. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to Taehyung since the other week ago in the park. You’ve attempted to call him a couple times to see if any peace can be amended, but to no avail. It’s been a weird transition for you—going from having everything in your life in order to everything blowing up in front of you so fast. Of course you’re sad, angry, frustrated, annoyed, and more. Your emotions were all over the place the last couple weeks. You had yet to feel closure with Taehyung which was killing you on the inside. You just hoped that he would eventually come around before he moved. You had no idea when he was leaving—but you needed to see him one last time before he goes. 

You’ve also been reflecting on the common denominator of the blow up of your life in the last two months. Jeon Jungkook. 

Jungkook came into your life full speed unafraid to crash into the brick wall in front of him. You know that you let your feelings for him get out of control but you also knew that wasn’t exactly something you could control. Consistently, he was just always there when you seemingly needed company. He says the right things, understands you, hears and listens to you. You’ve never had a connection with someone like that so quickly. However, he’s disappeared from your life almost as fast as he came in it. He checked in on your one more time after the first time, only this time you ended up responding, telling him that you were okay and just working from home. You weren’t fine, but the latter was true. 

Which is why you’re shocked when you come in on Tuesday morning to find him sitting on the floor outside your studio. You look around and listen in carefully—Seokjin isn’t even here yet and you came in early on purpose. It’s been your routine to avoid people—mainly Jungkook himself. You come in around 7 AM and leave by 3 PM, sneaking out before anyone would notice you were here. 

“J-Jungkook?” You ask, unable to believe that he’s here at this time. 

He looks up from his phone looking a little startled. He stands quickly, brushing his hands off on his sweatpants. 

“What are you doing here so early?” You ask, keeping a distance between you two. You feel a little insecure in your paint-stained denim shorts and white t-shirt that you actually slept in last night. 

He opens his mouth quickly, “I just,” he pauses closing his eyes for a moment, “I just wanted to see to you. I missed you," he admits a little shyly.

Your hands go clammy, heart quickening, but you’re nodding, silently agreeing with him. He steps aside to let you unlock your studio space, the sun already bright shining in. He follows in behind you, closing the door for privacy. You set down your bag on the small couch, watching him intently as he looks around. If there’s been one positive about your absence, it’s been how much work you’ve got done. 

You’ve finished approximately seven paintings in three weeks, an eight almost finished, which means you’ll finish just in time for the final exhibition next weekend. As much as you love apprenticeship life, you were more than ready for something new. 

“What do you think?” You approach Jungkook from behind as he stares at the finished paintings along the wall you’ve been hanging up to dry completely. 

“They’re exquisite,” he says with his mouth slightly agape, “A little sad,” he adds.

He’s staring at Drowning for the Sake of Drowning and Forward—a black and white charcoal piece of a female figure, hunched over with her face away, clearly distressed about something. You named in Forward in hopes that you can soon move past the stage of hiding and crying away alone. You don’t even realize Jungkook’s looking at you as you stare at the piece a little too long. 

“I’ve been worried about you.” 

You look at him when he breaks the silence, his eyes indeed looking confused, anxious, a little sad. 

“I know,” you say weakly. He turns around to face you, opening his mouth to speak but you cut him off in a rush—“I’m so sorry Jungkook.” 

He looks taken aback, his brows furrowing in confusion, “F-for what?” 

You’re confused as to why he’s confused, “I..” You pause licking your lips since they’re dry from you picking at them nervously, “For one I’m sorry for not being responsive. I'm sorry for dragging you into my mess. I came to you when I needed comfort but I feel like it came across that I was taking advantage of you in those moments—I don’t want you think that I was just trying to sleep with to make me feel better—“

“Is that what you think?” He cuts you off, stepping towards you. 

You don’t move, your feet frozen in place, “Well.. yeah?” You pause, “I don’t know I just didn’t know how to talk to you after what happened and with Taehyung I just—“

“Hey, hey,” he steps forward again, his hands grabbing the side of your face. God, his presence and touch were so comforting, “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” his voice is low and steady, “I’ve been so worried that something happened to you and I wanted to help but I knew that you wanted space. And for fucksakes, don’t ever say sorry for something like that Y/N,” he breathes out heavily and you almost feel tears spring in the corner of your eyes. You grab onto his wrists to steady yourself. 

“Jungkook I just feel like my whole life has been a shitshow the past couple months and I don’t know how to fix it,” your voice falls off, unsteady and unconfident. 

He shakes his head slightly, “Y/N you don’t have to ‘fix’ anything,” he says, “Life isn’t linear, we all have shitty times and we all have good times,” he pauses, “What’s important is how you deal with those things… shutting yourself off isn’t a way to deal with it,” his words almost have a humorous tone and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself. He looks at you confused again before asking what?

“You just always know what to say. It's annoying.” 

He laughs to himself, his hands moving away from your face to pull you into a hug. You return it happily, forgetting how nice his body feels against yours. 

“Thank you,” you mumble to him. 

“Anything for you, Y/N.” 

⏤

Your heels clank against the hardwood, feeling like it sounds similar to bricks being thrown into a dumpster as you feel extra sensitive to noises today. You’ve just entered the art exhibition that resides in a large gallery building downtown closer to the city. All the art has been transported over the last few days from all different departments. From Seokjin’s, to Park Kihyun’s, sculptors to oil-based paintings, to everything in between. 

You had yet to find where they displayed your artwork, going through the gallery slowly by yourself taking in everyone’s work one at a time. Again, your steps are heavy, anxiety rushing through your veins. This was always one of the worst parts of being an artists—displaying your pieces for everyone to critique and pick apart. Unlike the student’s art that was being displayed, you weren’t getting a grade but you still felt tremendous pressure for people to like your work. Art was all about getting people to like what you put out, which was much easier said than done. 

You run into your usual lunch crew; Lisa, Jisoo, and Yugyeom—sans Jungkook. You wondered where he was. 

“Y/N,” Lisa gives you a quick hug, “When did you get here?” 

“Like, ten minutes ago,” you tell her. 

“Have you seen your pieces?” She says quickly, almost too quickly. 

“No, why?” You respond in panic, “Did something happen to them?” 

Jisoo then laughs, “Nothing happened… they’re amazing. There was some man who was asking around for you, seemed to be important.” 

Your shoulders relax at the word of nothing bad happening to your pieces, but more anxiety creeping into your skin about the latter information. You let them know you’ll go check everything out soon, still wishing to look around before you found your own. You had looked at them enough the last few weeks—you needed a change of scenery. 

You walk into a smaller room where a particular name catches your eye. Jungkook’s artwork is in display with Yugyeom's. You wonder if they asked for that on purpose, a smile growing on your face as you stare at his work. 

Jungkook’s art works similar to yours—clean lines, realistic, the only difference is he utilizes a lot more color than you ever would. It matches him well though—he’s vibrant and commands attention in any room he walks into. One piece in particular catches your eye—Grapejuice Blues. 

It’s white sheets—similar to the ones on his bed—and a large, dark rouge staining them as a wine glass lays in the background. It’s almost painfully simple but it could easily be mistaken for a photograph. The familiar stir in your tummy occurs and you have to fight a smile. 

When you leave the alcove where Jungkook’s works reside, you decide to make it your mission to find your work. It doesn’t take you much longer, though you stop dead in your tracks when you do. Is this who Jisoo was talking about? 

You’d recognize his frame and head of hair through a crowd of hundreds. But there isn’t a crowd of hundreds and it’s definitely him—his tailored pants and dress shirt gives it away. He’s also holding what looks like a bundle of flowers. Your heart swells as you approach him. 

“Taehyung?” You ask. He turns around immediately, his warm eyes meeting yours, “What are you doing here?” 

He smiles slightly, looking down awkwardly at the flowers in his arms. He hands them over to you, “It’s been in my Google calendar for months, I didn’t want to miss it.” 

You heart thumps, but you’re a little confused, “Aren’t you mad at me?” 

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. You gladly return it, not caring if the flowers between you are squished a little. 

“Thank you for coming,” you tell him genuinely. It feels good to see him. 

“Of course,” his voice is deep as you pull away from him, “I was hoping I could run into you so I could give you this,” out of his pant pocket, he pulls out a folded up piece of paper. Your brows furrow as he holds it out for you to grab. 

“What’s this?” You ask him, taking it hesitantly. You start to unfold it before he stops you. 

“Don’t read it here—that’s my only request,” he laughs, his boxy smile peaking through a little bit. “Listen I have to run into the office this evening so I gotta go, but I’m glad I could see your work. It’s beautiful.” 

“Wait Taehyung,” you speak quickly, “I’m confused—when are you moving? We should talk…” 

He gives you a straight smile and you can tell he’s holding himself together for public. You are too. 

“Everything’s in there. We can talk soon,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your cheek delicately, “I’ll love you forever.” 

He gets lost in the crowd as he walks away from you and whatever type of note he’s written you feels a thousand pounds in your hand. Your feet are about to pick you up to leave, giving it feels like you're heart was a glass castle and it was completely shattered. You suddenly felt all too claustrophobic surrounded by the art and people. 

You turn on your heel but this time you nearly run smack dab into someone. It’s a man who is dressed nicely but also has a touch of that specific art touch to him. 

“Are you Miss Y/N?” He says as you take a step back from him. You’re staring up at this random man, unable to find your voice. 

“Uh,” you pause, “Y-yeah, w-who are you?” Your throat is dry. You need to get out of here. 

“I’m Min Yoongi,” he speaks confidently, “I’m an art curator at a contemporary gallery in Gangnam, I was hoping to get your information to set up an interview. I was recommended to take a look at your work, but obviously I needed to see before I jumped to any type of deal. But I think your pieces are superb and I think I have some clients who would be interested in your work.” 

Your eyes widen, your breath taken away from you. And there it is again—life not being fucking linear. Two seconds again you felt on the verge of a panic attack, paper heavy in your hand and now you’ve forgotten about any of that as you speak to this Min Yoongi. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook was observing the interaction from a distance, out of sight from either one of you. You look angelic in the white dress on your frame; it’s short, fitted in all the right places with an off the shoulder bodice. While Jungkook necessarily didn’t fit into the mold of his family, he was lucky to be apart of the Jeon family name. His father had connections everywhere. Jungkook wanted to help you as much as he could since he knew that if any apprentice here deserved an art career, it was you. 

Jungkook is currently staring at the final piece you had finished last week, a small smile growing on his face as he takes it in. It’s an odd, more abstract piece from you. The use of color was what really struck Jungkook as different for you. It’s a human heart shaped out of orange tiger lilies. Given his dress shirt was rolled up on his forearms, he looks down at his own tiger lily tattoo and he swears his heart leaps from his chest. He couldn’t put a label on what the relationship with you was, but he knew that you were special to him. 

When he glances back to where you stood with Min Yoongi, you’re gone. His eyebrows furrow, taking once last glance at your pieces before his feet carry him to find you. 

You’ve found solace outside, the warm air comforting on your exposed arms and legs. The flowers he gave you are beside you on the ledge you jumped up on to sit. Your hands shake as you read through Taehyung’s letter; fighting tears, smiling, and laughing through it all. 

It takes Jungkook about 10 minutes to find you and when he does, he can tell you’re upset. He hesitates going up to you, but you look like you needed a hug. You don’t even notice Jungkook approach you as you’re sat with your head in your hands, the letter read and laying on the other side of you. You’re not crying—thank god—but you’re feeling an overwhelming amount of emotions running through your veins right now. 

You're excited about the prospect of working for a gallery, wondering who exactly recommended Min Yoongi to come to the exhibit and look at your pieces. You're sad at the fact yours and Taehyung's relationship has come to its finality. It's weird having such contrasting emotions going through you, each one fighting for your attention.

When you see a pair of black dress shoes appear in your vision, you slowly look up to find Jungkook looking at you longingly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. He takes your breath away in his black dress shirt and checkered cigarette pants. 

“Hey,” he says simply. You don’t even think as you pull him by his arm into a bear hug as he settles between your legs. He laughs as you do so, hugging you back tightly, resting his head on your exposed shoulder, “You okay?” 

You shake your head, “Yes,” you say but then, “No—yes, I don’t know,” you groan into him, inhaling his scent. Your hands meet behind him around his waist as you squeeze him tightly. 

Taehyung’s not mad at you. 

Taehyung loves you. And he always will. 

He says he hasn’t reached a place of full forgiveness yet. 

But he knows that you have a right to be mad at him. 

He’s moving at the end of summer. 

He wants you to reach out with anything you need. 

He acknowledges that you two have grown into differences over the last five years. 

But he will always love you and he’s grateful for you. 

You know you’ll always love him too. 

You pull away from Jungkook slightly, thankful for his presence right now. He’s the best drug you've ever tried—warm and comforting—addicting and easy to get lost into. 

“Your work is beautiful Jungkook,” you tell him honestly, trying to get your mind off of the things bothering you. Today was a happy day. 

“Not as beautiful as you,” he responds slyly with a nose scrunch and you pinch his butt, “Quit it,” he laughs, pulling you off the ledge you’re sat on. 

“What are you doing?” You whine as he pulls you to him, his hands resting on your waist. 

“We're gonna dance,” he says simply as he pulls you flush against him. 

“Why?” You laugh as he begins to sway, your hands finding their way around his neck. 

“To make you feel better.”

“How do you know I don’t feel good?” You fight back. 

“Because I know you,” he pauses, “And I know what you look like when you’re happy and when you’re sad.” 

You feel your face get hot, a small smile growing on your face, “Well then what else do you know about me?” 

“Hmm,” he muses, “I know what you sound like when you like something,” he raises an eyebrow at you as you two continue to sway with no music or anything. You roll your eyes, a laugh emitting from you. “There it is,” he pinches your side as you swat away his hand with another laugh. He loves your laugh. 

“Stop it,” you tell him, stepping away from him some, your hands interlaced with his in between your bodies. 

“Feel better?” 

You shrug, “A little,” you say, studying his face. His expression doesn’t seem satisfied so you say as he scrunches his nose, “Yes, I do. God you’re so impossible.” 

He chuckles back at you, kissing your knuckles sweetly, “What are friends for?” 

“You’re really running this ‘friend’ thing into the ground aren’t you?” 

He freezes for a moment, chewing on his lip ring, “Only until you’re ready.” 

You mirror him as he readjusts your hands in his, “Ready for what?” 

He studies your face intently, a small smile growing across his features, "You know."

You think you know exactly what he means. You tell him you do and he smiles in content, placing a kiss on your forehead through his smile. If there's one thing you're for sure about, it's that Jeon Jungkook is indeed, very special to you too. 

[extasiswings]

I've been managing my expectations but I have to say I'm really excited for 6B. Most of the characters are facing serious tension. Subtext and themes have been consistent (couches and chairs, donor vs. dad). And now, because of Eddie's loud-and-clear evasion of the donor topic, we know that things between him and Buck have to come to a head. It's looking good! The fandom negativity is wildly out of proportion IMO.

I completely agree. The thing is, I am an impatient bitch and I definitely get frustrated when I feel like things aren't moving fast enough or going exactly how I want, but I also recognize that is a personal problem about me and doesn't necessarily translate to a valid criticism of the show. I do have some minor gripes with some of the pacing choices this season (mainly re: the sperm donor arc), but even with that I can understand why they might have done certain things the way they have.

With that arc in particular, it's a process that in itself takes time--weeks to do all the screenings and whatnot to get to the point of donation, weeks to do fertilization and implantation, still more weeks to find out if the process has taken and there's a viable pregnancy in process, so that's months of time right there without even getting to the actual 9-months of pregnancy. So in that sense, the on-again-off-again nature of how the storyline is playing out isn't that strange, it's just that audiences have gotten used to (especially in the era of bingewatching), focusing on one arc at a time/expecting that as soon as something is introduced it will be consistently emphasized until resolved. Could they have written it differently and had Buck not go through with it for one reason or another and proceeded from there? Sure. But that would have been a totally different story (and not necessarily better, we have no way of saying that one way or another, but different)--they are explicitly using this arc as part of Buck's journey of self-discovery, and a major piece of that is the level of regret and pain he's going to experience because he jumped into doing this selfless thing without thinking about the consequences (even though he was warned), an impulsive character trait that ties back to his root trauma of Daniel (which he hasn't dealt with). They've basically said outright that's what they're doing, and also that part of the reason to do a self-discovery arc for Buck is that because he doesn't know himself/what he wants generally, he can't see who he wants to be in a relationship with which...hello???

And as you said, the themes have been consistent. The season opened very explicitly with the idea of not knowing what you want/not being able to see what you already have/not allowing yourself to want certain things because you don't think they're attainable (and/or because you're afraid to want them). It's all one big play on fantasy vs. reality and what that looks like for different people/in different situations. And we've watched those themes play out character-by-character.

Maddie and Chim got back together and have been rebuilding their life together, learning what it looks like to be a family again, and their 6A arc on that front closed with them finding their dream house.

Athena and Bobby have dealt with it on a lesser scale, with the Florida trip and investigation. The idea of putting people on pedestals, and therefore not being able to see them for who they are, not being able to recognize reality. And we're going to get into it more with Bobby it seems like due to this whole situation with his sponsor.

Hen was struggling with med school vs. being a firefighter and paramedic. She thought she wanted to be a doctor in part because she didn't think it was possible to progress further in her career with the LAFD until she was actually given the chance to be interim captain. And when she was put in a position where she finally had to choose, she chose the LAFD because she could have it all and because her family was her real dream. Now, she's heading into a related arc with Denny that ties directly into Buck's (and Eddie's). Denny's the one now looking outside of what he already has, thinking he needs something more (a dad) while Buck is going to be struggling with being overly invested in the sperm donor situation because he didn't get it through his head that being a donor does NOT make him a dad and Eddie/Christopher/the will of it all is very loud.

I don't need to repeat all of the ways Buck's arc fits this theme, but he is the most explicit about actively not being able to see what's right in front of him/what he already has (that he has a partner in Eddie, that he's a father to Christopher, that they're a family, etc etc etc).

Eddie's arc is still in-progress. But his arc has also focused on these ideas of not talking about or acknowledging certain things (including things you want) because they're scary and/or because you think they're unattainable (especially if they're supposedly unattainable because of "difference" in some capacity--for Hen at the LAFD it was her race/gender/sexuality, for Christopher it was his disability, for Eddie...I mean come on, there's one answer here...). We've seen him do the things that he thinks are "expected" of him, try to fit the fantasy mold of a heteronormative nuclear family, and fail fantastically (fantasy not living up to reality). And we've seen him on his own journey of self-discovery, becoming his own person separate from Christopher, while the question of what following his heart really means remains open (and is going to be a focus of 6B as they return explicitly to him and Romance).

Idk, I've been enjoying this season a lot and I'm excited about 6B and I've been surprised by the amount of negativity as well. In S5, it felt like everyone was complaining that it was too dark, and when this season started people were happy that it was a return to more lightness. But now, that seems to have shifted as well and I see that being turned into a criticism that the writers aren't taking certain things seriously enough or giving them the weight they're due. I don't feel like the pacing is any worse than other seasons, I don't think the arcs are any more frustrating (like...I cannot emphasize enough how much I hate the lawsuit arc and street fighting arc and Maddie's stalker era, I really can't, and as important as the tsunami arc is overall for the show I felt like it was largely disconnected from the specific arcs of the season for most characters, but I don't claim that S3 is badly written just because I personally dislike certain dramatic choices that were made), and I don't think the introduction of new arcs or set-ups for continuations of established arcs in this episode was any different from any other midseason finale.

As with any kind of longform storytelling though, everything looks different in hindsight once you get the whole picture. I've made my peace with the fact that the writers have a plan that I can't see all of yet, but I trust them to create something that will answer the questions we have and deal with the things that we have complaints about if we just give them time/watch the rest of the season. We have 9 more episodes, there's a lot of exciting potential, and frankly, when I look back over the full seasons after seeing how all the arcs have played out, the writers have never truly let me down. I don't expect that to be any different this season. We just need to be patient and let them tell the story.

...this got really long, but anyway...tldr; they've been very consistent with subtext (and text) and themes and I don't think there's any real reason not to expect that to continue and I'm looking forward to 6B!

[vanilla-bean-buttercream]

Alright so this is long and that's why it took me forever to write it but I swear I have so much love for the writing of Lilo that I cannot express it in a few paragraphs. Like legit. Someone knew how to write a child character or experienced this first hand because mother of all things holy Lilo is peak child character.

So first off, this movie wanted to write a weird girl character and do it right. And ho boy did it ever. Lilo has a love for Elvis Presley and even uses his image to help Stitch become a "model citizen" throughout the middle chunk of the movie. She creates voodoo dolls to punish her "friends". She has a fascination with spooky stuff and the macabre. She has no problem being herself. And she doesn't diminish herself to impress the people around her. She sees a talking "dog" that was supposed to be dead that morning and is like "Yep. He's good. I can tell. Can I have two dollars to buy him?"

Lilo is weird and cooky the way modern Disney princesses wish they were. She doesn't apologize for being too much. She doesn't stumble through being awkward. She embraces it and doubles down. We love her for that.

But also, I want to talk about Lilo and her trying to process a very traumatic event as a child, which is the meat of this essay.

From the first sequence, we see her swimming in the ocean (with a fish eating a sandwich) and then running to her hula class. When she arrives, wet and late, her hula teacher asks her what's going on. So she goes on this lengthy essay about how she was late because she had to go to the store and buy peanut butter because all they had was stinking tuna. And then she tells him why she had to (right before the iconic beating of her school bully) which was...

"Pudge the fish controls the weather."

You know why Lilo would care about a fish that controls the weather I'll tell you why. Because Lilo's parents were killed in a car accident while driving in a heavy storm.

If Lilo appeases Pudge the fish, then the fish will not take anyone else in her life away from her in bad weather. Judging by the other people's reactions, this is specifically a Lilo belief, and it's her way of taking control and responsibility for her parents' death in a sad sort of way. The reason her parents died is because Pudge the fish was hangry, and if no one is going to feed this fish she might as well roll up her sleeves and do it herself so that she and no one else have to suffer as she did.

Lilo is canonically six years old. Or at least under seven, because the ending credits show her celebrating her 7th birthday. Having dealt with children around that age that have lost a parent, they are just beginning to understand the concept of death and its consequences, and it is not uncommon for kids to think it's their fault. I had a kid who thought the reason his dad died was because he didn't pick up his toys. There was another that thought his dad died is because he went to school. And some even think if they fix their mistake that their parent will come back.

Hence why Lilo feels she can prevent or even bring her parents back if she tries to fix the problem herself.

She's probably been called crazy for this before, which is why she lashes out so easily at Mertle. No one believes her. No one is taking her side. No one is helping her cope with their death any other way from what I can see in the movie, just giving her pity or criticizing her behavior.

All except her sister, Nani (at least, to a point which I will get into later).

And that brings me to another one of Lilo's iconic lines...

"Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind."

But Lilo was left behind. She is left behind by her parents, unintentionally of course, but there is a strong feeling of grief that comes from this, and it's not one easily dealt with in adults, yet alone a child learning to navigate her emotions.

Lilo knows abandonment, and in return, doesn't want others to feel abandoned.

Throughout the movie, Lilo is visited by the social worker Cobra Bubbles (which I would love to write an essay on later), and judging by their first interaction, it is not the first social worker she's been in contact with. A social worker is just an empty threat to her. It's someone meant to get her to behave, but it never happens, so she has no reason to fear them. They come and go, but she stays.

Which is why she doesn't behave any way but herself when Mr Bubbles comes, much to Nani's chagrin.

And when Nani catches her after she comes out from behind the pizza box (or the dryer for all us 2000s kids who know the truth), she uses a threat that Lilo has known to become empty but still hurts her.

"Do you not understand? Do you want to be taken away?"

She does understand, more than Nani gives her credit for in her moment of anger, because she sees her sister acting out, not a sister that just got her belief system stomped on and nearly lost the ability to do one of her passions, hula dancing. But because she's literally six years old, she doesn't know how to voice that frustration. So, she lashes out, asking her sister to buy a rabbit instead and calling her sister "stinky" which is something kids her age do when they're angry.

She also throws in a jab at herself, telling her sister that a rabbit would be smarter than her too, thinking that she's dumb. And because she feels everyone else has been criticizing her for her beliefs and actions, she's feeding into it.

Which, for someone who lashes out in rage then regrets her choices and apologizes, is on brand.

Lilo is frustrated. She feels like no one understands her. So, she creates a doll. Scrump. Now, while I think it's a possibility that she made Scrump to handle the "no doll situation" that arose when she tried to play with Mertle and the Mertlettes, it's specifically what she says about Scrump that really hurt.

"I made her, but her head is too big. So I pretended a bug laid eggs in her ears, and she's upset because she only has a few days to..."

Live.

Lilo has a doll that figuratively is going to die.

It's common in child psychology to learn about children and help them process emotions through play. Whether a child psychologist used a doll to help her process her emotions or Lilo did it herself (I would not be surprised if she did it herself the girl has a voodoo book), Scrump is something she's using to process her emotions.

And as she is rejected by the brats she calls friends, she throws Scrump in a bit of rage. But five seconds later, she comes back, clutching Scrump to her chest and apologizing in her own special way for her anger.

Because Scrump is Ohana, and Ohana means nobody gets left behind.

In fact, she also apologizes to Nani after the situation with Mr Bubbles (and her sister to her in turn) when her emotions clear. And not only that, there is a ton of healthy communication between her and her sister. Lilo trusts Nani with her feelings. Nani doesn't call her coping mechanisms crazy. In fact, Nani is about to scold Lilo for hurting Mertle without knowing the facts, until Lilo tells her...

"People treat me different."

Lilo recognizes she's othered. She feels like no one knows what she's going through, and that they aren't willing to understand her. She's not only physically abandoned. She's emotionally abandoned. Nani is the only person she has left on her side.

And when Mr Bubbles tells Nani "It's clear to me that you need her a lot more than she needs you" and confirms that, yes, Nani was telling the truth and they will take me away from the last thing I have left, it finally sinks in that she's about to lose everything and runs off. Can't take me if I refuse to go, am I right?

And it's this passion to keep her family together that ultimately saves Stitch, because he finds his place and stops the Grand Councilwoman from taking him away (also a $2 legal adoption paper does but that's nuance lmao).

Lilo is traumatized. Lilo is trying to find her way though that trauma. Lilo does not fully grasp the gravity of her situation nor how to react appropriately to it, which comes off as aggressive and whiny. Lilo is also six years old. Lilo doesn't want to hurt others and apologizes when she realizes that her actions hurt others. Lilo is extremely emotionally intelligent for a child.

We do not slander Lilo in this house.

You know I have a lot of feelings about Lilo and one day I will gush about them

[khneltea]

Day 4 - Number

X + Y = ...

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

There came a time in life when people are assigned partners or a group to work with. Rarely does it matter if you get along with the person or not, but what matters is the end result, no matter how it was reached within legal and ethical parameters.

If Marinette Dupain-Cheng could strangle the person who put her with Damian Wayne, then she would. Damian Wayne was, on all accounts, an entitled, arrogant bastard who had the brains and brawn to back it up, much to her chagrin. He was intelligent beyond his years, an Adonis with symmetrical features (that may or may not have influenced her new designs and sketches), and somehow had the maturity of an old wise sage and a thirteen-year-old brat all at the same time. He berated her on the little mistakes she made and poked at the contributions she made to the project in question.

It wasn't like she was a saint either. After the initial bumpy meeting, she would blow her fuse earlier than she did with her friends, and snark made its debut into her attitude. Funny enough, it only came out when she dealt with him.

They were too opposite of each other to get along, yet too similar to each other to let bygones be bygones. Both of them were bull-headed, independent, creative diverse people who work against people two or three years older than them. But where she was bubbly, he was prickly. Where he called it realism, she called it pessimism. Her idealism was his half-witted optimism. Stubborn to a fault, they both were unwilling to see the other's side. She hated him, and he hated her.

Jon was her — their, if they were being technical — only saving light in this whole fiasco. He stepped in before the arguments got too big, slinging an arm over Damian's shoulder, or asking Marinette about her latest fashion project. His smile was their saving grace, and she wondered, on more than one occasion, how he managed to put up with the asshole that was Damian Wayne.

Which brought her to her impromptu lunch with Jon in the campus cafeteria. It was not a date, thank you very much. Or at least, that's what she was telling herself and the little Adrien devil sitting on her shoulder. Jon was there to accompany Damian, and Damian was there to attempt to finish their project together.

At that moment, Damian was out buying his vegan lunch while Marinette and Jon had already found a table and were chowing down on their homemade lunches. She had almost rolled her eyes when he made a snide comment about her squished pastries, biting back a remark about how spoiled he was, buying subpar lunch at a cafeteria that jacked the prices way too high.

"Jon," she whined, slamming her head on the table. "Why, why are you friends with the démon himself?"

Jon gave her a smile, gulping down a bite of his sandwich. "Our dads are friends, and we've been friends since I was twelve. We get along."

"But why? You are like me, so how can you put up with him, but I can't?" She wanted to point at him with her chopsticks, but she could already imagine the earful she'd get from her Maman. She shuddered at the thought. Maman always knew, always.

"Why? We're two different people, so I guess opposites attract." He took another bite of his sandwich, eyeing the crowd.

She stared him down. "Let me put it this way. We," she gestured to the two of them, "we are like terms. X, if you will. Now, he is Y, which is the perpendicular to X, and by all means, should not get along. How is it that you intersect with him while Damian is like a parallel line to me?"

"Because..." He trailed off, trying to process what she said and refute it at the same time, gave up and shrugged. "I don't know. Something about getting put in near-death situations where you can only rely on the other person just does it. You learn to get along."

Marinette blinked at his unflinching smile. Dazzling, yes, and she never would have thought he talked about being in near-death situations if she hadn't heard it herself. They stared each other down. She wanted to know what he meant. He started sweating under her gaze, sandwich laid forgotten in his hands.

He looked away first. Ha.

"I think I can hear Damian calling me. I'm just going to—" He muttered and cut through the crowd like a blade in water. Not even ten seconds later, he emerged from the crowd again, dragging along a grumbling Damian behind him.

Her face twisted, pastries forgotten on the side. "How the hell did you hear Damian calling out to you?"

"Please, I could hear the both of you from a mile away." The green-eyed boy scoffed. "Maybe you should get your hearing tested."

She narrowed her eyes. "If you were listening, you would have noticed I was talking about hearing you, not—"

"Ok then." Jon interrupted, seeing the signs of a brewing argument. "How about we just chill for a bit, maybe not kill each other until the rest of the day?"

They glared at each other from the corner of their eyes and gave a solemn nod. Jon was trying to make an effort to get his friends to like each other, and they both agreed to compromise for Jon. It didn't make it any less irritating to sit with each other though.

Jon grinned. "Great! Now, I think we were in the middle of discussing our favourite heroes the last time we sat together."

Damian and Marinette groaned. If there was one other thing they agreed on, it was their mutual dislike of whatever topics Jon brought up. Specifically if it had to do with heroes.

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

Marinette stretched her hands up, rolling her neck. "I think that's it. The hell project is finished."

"Yes it is." Damian cricked his neck with his hand, groaning.

Jon looked at them with puppy eyes. "Come on, it couldn't have been that bad."

"Jon, I don't know where the hell you've been for the past two hours, but this was absolute hell." She glared at the innocent boy, who answered with a blank stare.

"Save it, DC." Damian huffed, not looking up at her. Jon's face lit up at the nickname. In his eyes, it was a step forward to friendship between the stubborn geniuses. "Kent isn't going to suddenly become more aware just because you've pointed it out. You have to wait for him to come to the conclusion himself."

Jon looked like he sucked a lemon. "Hey, rude much!"

"Everything I've said was true, and you know it." Damian rolled his eyes. If she got along with the boy, she would have laughed. As it was, she settled for a minute smile. "And if we're talking about rude, then I would appreciate it if you would not insist on using my phone to talk to Dupain-Cheng between classes."

"What?" Jon's face lit up Peach pink, and she felt hers do the same. "I mean, you're the one with her phone number for the project—"

"—and it's not as if you hadn't memorised her phone number already." Damian gave her a terse nod. She stared at him. What was he doing?

Before the two stunned people could move, he stood up. "Now, if you will excuse me. I have better things to do with my time than to watch this paltry game of chicken."

They watched as he strode off, and the room was quiet. They couldn't make eye contact with each other, and their eyes were glued to the table.

Come on, Mari, she thought, new country, new university, new you.

She took a deep breath, glanced up then back down again. Nope. Couldn't do it that time. Maybe once more.

This time, she met shy blue eyes and a blinding smile.

"So..." He trailed off, phone in his hand.

Her heart fluttered, and she channeled as much Lady Noire energy as she could. "Can I have your number?"

He nodded and gave her that wonderful heartthrob smile she loved so much. She almost melted on the spot. Oh Kwami, she was doomed from the beginning.

hello and welcome back to hlmhlmn! they've exchanged phone numbers now, marriage is next— kidding. but anyways. thank you again @maribat-calendar-events for the lovely prompts and i hope you stick around <3

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[gurugirl]

My father is the absolute least mature person on earth. He literally stormed out of the house the day before thanksgiving because I had the audacity to try to make something for him to eat while I thought he was gone and so it would be ready when he got home and he came home early and I wasn’t done yet. He stormed out and sat in his car for three hours because he couldn’t make something for the next day ahead of time. 🙄. My sibling and I have always struggled with his depression and his emotional instability, but they recently read a book called “adult children of emotionally immature parents ; how to heal from distant,rejecting, or self- involved parents” and they’ve really gotten a lot out of it. They’re going to pass it to me when they’re done, but I don’t know if you were looking for an answer to that post so you don’t have to post or reply if you don’t want to, but yeah. My dad is hard to deal with too. I’m sorry you have to deal with whatever is making it hard for you.

Thank you for sharing anon. It’s important to be able to vent sometimes. You know what’s it’s like then to have a parent you continually try for to only have it backfire because it (whatever ‘it’ is) wasn’t to their expectations. He probably has been raised similarly if he still acts this way. It’s deeply ingrained and hard to escape from (here I am still finding excuses for adults who should know better). I’m sorry you dealt with that, though. I haven’t seen my dad since August and that was awful and suffocating.

My dad is emotionally immature, expects perfection at all times but would never want to be held to that standard himself (will become defensive if called out) gets bent out of shape when things don’t go his way and deflects/redirects blame from himself (classic narcissist but undiagnosed therefore I cannot state if that’s true). He’s always been a bit overbearing with me but acts as if he’s easy going and fun to everyone who meets him so it’s a process to reveal his true intentions to those who don’t know him that well, in effect making me look like I’m crazy or careless or the one with the problem.

I’ve moved far away from him and have little contact with him at this point. It’s just that the holidays always bring up some kind of deep guilt I learned as a child (we should always love and respect our parents 🙄). Anyway, I’m fine. Actually happy and thriving but still waiting for an apology from him for all the things he’s put me through and still tries to slip in from time to time (despite the physical and emotional distance I’ve put between us).

Here’s to us, anon. We can be okay without a toxic dad (or mom) and find our own way in life.

Xoxo