#this is incredibly self indulgent n took way too long

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Tally dynamic. to me.

[bananayuyu]

Come to Mine

Pairing: idol!Yunho x backup dancer!reader

Genre: fluff and smut

Word count: 6.3k

Summary: You didn't plan for it to be this way. You just couldn't help being attracted to each other.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, oral (f receiving), fingering, penetration, safe sex (condom woo), it's very sweet and clumsy

A/n: This was such self indulgence, I hope you enjoy if you read <3 I can't believe the comeback is tonight! I hope everyone is having a good day <33 (sorry for any typos, I didn't feel like editing today)

Read it on ao3

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You couldn't believe your eyes when you received the email.

Congratulations, you've been selected as one of the dancers for Ateez's upcoming comeback. Rehearsals start next Monday, August 2nd. Please look out for our next message, which will contain the full schedule with dates and locations. We look forward to working with you!

You'd worked with several other Kpop groups over the last few years. You'd actually made it as a dancer, much to the surprise of your family. You'd like to say you were surprised too, but in truth you weren't. You had felt it in your bones that this is what you were meant to do and would be doing, ever since you first watched a Girl's Generation MV on your shitty middle school laptop.

Working with Ateez felt like the absolute pinnacle. You were only several years in, but you knew from hearing the chatter, from watching their performances, that backup dancing for them was a true honor, and a challenge. You'd gone to the audition with an open mind, not riding on the fact that you'd be selected. They told you all they wanted twelve girls total, a smaller number than you'd expected. And most of the girls you went with were more experienced, or had major connections within the industry, so it really was a shock to you that you were selected. It made your whole body buzz, your confidence skyrocketing. If they believed you could hang with the best of the best, you'd do everything you could to prove them right.

Sitting on the hardwood floor at the end of your first rehearsal, it all just felt right. The group was working together so well already; most of these girls you'd danced with before, and you realized looking around that if you'd ever had the chance to select a dance team yourself, you would have made almost the same selections they did. Everyone was a dance nerd, a true artist, focused, dedicated. Everyone took good care of themselves, was smart, driven, and so hardworking. You all spoke amongst yourselves after rehearsal, anticipating your first rehearsal with the boys, wondering what they'd really be like in person. You'd all followed them closely for years, and were all big fans. You couldn't not be, given just how talented they were, just how dedicated to their craft, the same way you were. But you all vowed to be as respectful as possible, and keep the giggling and ogling to yourselves when the time came.

It was comeback season for them, their schedules incredibly full. The next album was almost entirely finished already though, and you had no doubt they were already beginning work on songs that would make future albums too. It was still six months until the comeback you'd be performing in, the time feeling indescribably far away. Many of the other girls, like you, still had smaller projects to work on in the meantime. This was the beginning of a long journey, one that would begin slowly. It was high pressure, you could feel it. You needed your absolute best to show here, for the sake of your career.

You'd never have guessed how it would feel finally meeting them all.

Sweaty and exhausted, they all came in after their final music show performance. They'd been up since the early hours of the morning to film, and now it was closer to midday. You'd slept in, spending the morning stretching and readying your body for this important rehearsal. In hindsight you hadn't needed to, the first day with the members being more of a meeting, followed by an attempt to brainstorm what formations would be possible with the twenty of you. Then you each had to introduce yourselves, going down the line of twelve, each repeating your names and where you were from.

After saying your name, after bowing, your eyes caught on Yunho's. And in that moment you knew it was all over.

All you could think was, 'fuck, I don't need this.' Truly, you didn't. There was too much else to focus on. Life had been hectic for so many reasons, but now you were just trying to focus on being present, there for your friends and family, focused on your work. You'd been single for almost two years now, and it had been the best time of your life. The time with your friends had been beautiful, fulfilling, peaceful. The success you'd had with dancing had been all you could have dreamed of. But you knew in that moment that something was about to change, something you doubted you could put any stop to. It felt written in the stars, like it was meant to happen. It had to. You could tell.

He'd noticed you right away. You were the shortest of the girls selected; they'd skewed more towards choosing taller girls, so that the height differences wouldn't be too severe. You weren't tiny, but still he'd noticed right away that you were shorter than everyone else. Your big glasses, your messy wavy hair, your baggy sweat pants. You stood out amongst the rest of the girls, but not because you were flashy. You were almost too relaxed in your appearance. He loved it instantly. And he could tell it affected you when he looked your way, your eyes darting fast to the floor when he pierced you with his gaze.

He watched you intently over the next few rehearsals, seeing immediately how talented you were. You picked up everything with such ease; but you weren't cocky, weren't throwing it in anyone's face. You helped other girls when they needed it, and you spoke up when an instruction wasn't clear, helping the main choreographer realize their mistake. You were quiet, mostly, except when you needed to be loud. You seemed so put together, almost boringly so. Some of the other girls were chaotic, which made the boys or other dancers gossip. But as Yunho listened to it all he realized none of them really mentioned you. From the outside in you seemed unassuming, and he knew people thought the same thing about him. So he knew that just like him, there was something more under the surface. Something juicier, freakier, stranger. Every time he looked you right in the eyes, the few times you'd let him, he could see it written in your pupils. And the way you always looked way, like you'd just had the wind knocked out of you, made him think he was probably right.

It really didn't help that he was such a good dancer, so confident and technically gifted, with a certain quality to his movement that you could not put into words. You became mesmerized from the first moment you saw it in person. You'd been impressed with his dancing abilities for a while, but seeing it in person in front of you, seeing his massive tall body move with a level of control that should not have been possible, had you completely entranced. You couldn't help the giddiness you felt when heading to work, the excited texts sent to your best friend. Your crush was forming fast, threatening to inflate inside of you and make you float away. He was all you could think about when you laid in bed at night, awaiting the next time you'd get to be in his presence, and say the few words you did to each other.

Then one day, it changed.

"Y/n, could I go over the middle section with you?"

His voice came from behind you, as you carefully retied your shoes during a break in rehearsal.

"With me?" you asked, turning around to find him standing behind you.

"Yeah, I've been watching everyone in the mirror and you seem to know that section best. I missed that rehearsal where we first learned it, so I think I'm missing the timing a bit." He reached out a hand to help you up, and you took it automatically, the touch between you sending adrenaline through your heart and making you shiver.

"I think you've been doing it just fine. What part is confusing?" you asked.

"I'm wondering when the arms come up, when we're turning around. Is it on one, or the and of one?"

"It's on the and. Here, do you want to do it slowly together?" You couldn't believe the words were tumbling out of your mouth, so naturally from your years of helping assist dance classes at your high school.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Yunho replied, getting in position beside you. You began counting slowly, you both dancing crudely through the counts, reaching the confusing section with hesitation. "See, one and," you threw your arms up, spinning around and turning your back to the mirror, your hands coming out beside you. "They're not back down until the and of 2."

"Ah, that makes sense. So they're delayed compared to the shifting of our feet there," he said, and you nodded in agreement, watching him step through the moves himself, flawlessly.

"Yeah, that's perfect," you smiled at him.

"Thank you, that was really helpful. I'm worried I'm messing things up cause I missed that rehearsal," he smiled back, arms locked behind his back. It looked like he was nervous, to you, which endeared you even more to him.

"Your dancing looks perfect to me," you said, standing still and awkward, your nervousness also showing.

You both stood staring at each other, and this time you didn't flick your eyes away. It all felt like things were clicking into place, and any feeling you had to resist this little thing was all gone. Not that there really was much to begin with. But you were nervous at first, so unsure of his interest. You couldn't bring yourself to assume that someone like him would want to be friends with someone like you. You had to wait for the confirmation from him.

Easy conversation followed the next few rehearsals. Talking about the choreography was always an easy in, and Yunho took to using it as much as he pleased. He complimented your dance skills more than you thought he should, because you worried the other dancers would find it strange or have something to say about it. But no one said a word to you. You felt this thing happening, the two of you magnets pulled together, but it seemed like no one around you had any clue. It was normal enough for him to want to talk to a dancer about the routine, and so what if in those conversations things turned more personal, more jokey, more flirtatious. He complimented your glasses early on, you remember that, and it stuck with you for weeks. You couldn't get it out of your head, the way his head tilted to the side when he said it. His tone of voice, the look in his eye.

Then there was the rehearsal in the gymnasium. You were all sectioned off, the main focus of the day being how the background sets for the MV would fit around the group of you dancing. The director was there, talking with all of ateez and the head choreographer, as they all stood around on the floor. The rest of you were told to wait in the stands, as they set the exact measurements of the set pieces, needing you all on stand-by at a moments notice. It was times like this you realized just how big the budget they had was; they were paying you all to be here today, even though most of the day you spent just sitting there, your fellow dancer sitting next to you almost falling asleep on your shoulder three separate times.

He saw you as soon as you came in, your hair up in a messy bun, your hoodie swallowing you. Your socks didn't match, your shoe laces partially untied. You pushed your glasses up your nose as you stepped inside, nearly bumping into the girl in front of you. Unassuming. Clumsy. For some reason, everything he wanted.

He craned his neck to watch you sit down, waving when you finally looked in his direction. You waved back, the sleeve of your hoodie pulled over your hand. He stood amongst his members, wishing he could somehow say something to you. Everyone was discussing the slight differences in the placement of something, but he'd stopped listening as soon as he saw you enter, so he really wasn't sure what it was. He reached for his phone, wanting to shoot you off a quick text. But then he remembered, the managers had taken them today so the boys would be focused. Also, he still didn't have your number. He knew he needed to remedy that problem as quickly as he could.

You zoned out for a moment, everyone around you buried deep in their phones as soon as they realized they'd be stuck in the bleachers for a bit. But it didn't take long for your gaze to sweep back down, settling on the person you couldn't keep your mind off of. You were met with a surprise, holding a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing.

Yunho was holding up a piece of paper in your direction, the word HI written in big bold letters. You weren't even sure where he got the paper from, much less the marker, but god did it make your heart constrict. How fucking adorable, how totally and completely cheesy. You were like Taylor Swift and her crush in 'You Belong With Me,' holding out written signs to each other and reading them through the window. Well, you could have been, if you had any paper of your own. You smiled, his action absolutely heartwarming, but you couldn't help feeling terribly disappointed that you couldn't reciprocate the gesture. That was until you remembered the back of your hoodie had the word HELLO written across it, right above the smiling sunflower. You held your hand out to him, beckoning him to wait a moment, as you turned and lifted up the hood to make sure he could see the white letters, that you hoped contrasted enough against the blue fabric that he could see them from so far away.

You turned to find him smiling, his shoulders jumping for a moment like he was laughing. It was just far enough away that you couldn't hear well, so you had no idea if he really was. The moment passed, and your heart was beating remarkably fast, but yet again it seemed like no one around you noticed. You blinked around, looking over your shoulder at your fellow dancers. Right then it hit you, that maybe you shouldn't be so openly doing this, whatever this was. You'd been warned time and time again that being involved with an idol was bad news, that plenty of dancers had done it and payed the price. One of your favorite fellow dancers had dated an idol, and you'd heard her horror story before over drinks one night. You knew people had complicated feelings on the subject.

But you also knew your own feelings weren't so complicated, at least when it came to him. Finally you all were beckoned down to the floor, the sets put in place. You all danced in front of them, the director trying out his camera movements, asking you to repeat certain sections so he could try different angles, see how the composition would look with so many bodies in the shot. You'd said hello to each other when you came down, but quickly you had to get to work, everyone's focus held on your dancing. It wasn't until you all wrapped up for the day that he said anything else.

"Hey, I've been meaning to get your number so we can text if we need to, like today," he said. Your stomach dropped; you couldn't believe the words you were hearing. Was he really asking for your number, here in front of everyone?

"Yeah, that would be great," you smiled, waiting for him to pull out his phone and hand it to you.

"My manager has my phone, do you have yours?" he asked.

"Uh, it's up in stands with the rest of my stuff. I'll have to go grab it," you responded, smiling apologetically.

"Yeah, no worries-"

"Everyone we need to clear out, we're supposed to be gone in five minutes! Let's get going!" the lead choreographer cut him off, calling out to the whole room.

"Yunho, I've got your bag, and the car is out front, we need to leave now," his manager came running up, placing a hand on his shoulder. You didn't know where he was headed, but it was probably another rehearsal, or interview, or photoshoot. One of the thousands of things they all had scheduled every week.

In the chaos you scrambled up the stairs, grabbing your stuff before dashing out the door, not wanting to get in trouble. Yunho waved to you from the car, it pulling away as soon as you exited the building and started your walk to the subway station. It had all happened so fast, and you hoped he didn't think that you'd forgotten. His question stuck in your mind over the next three days, until you had rehearsal again. And that time you walked in with your phone already open, pulled up to a new contact entry. You didn't even greet him that day; you just placed your phone in his hands, and looked up at him with big eyes. He blinked a moment, but it wasn't hard for him to know what you were asking. He put in his number, handing the phone back to you, and you sent off your first text of many.

🌸: hello :)

You waited that night after rehearsal, meeting up with your best friend for dinner. You could just feel it again, you knew he'd say something, if you had just a little patience.

🐶: I hope rehearsal didn't kill you today. They really didn't give you guys any breaks :(

Immediately you squealed, shoving your phone into your friend's face.

"How cute, he's so concerned for you," she laughed, poking your cheek.

"I can't believe he already texted," you sighed, grabbing another bite.

"He obviously likes you," she said, making your mind spin.

"Don't say that, you're getting my hopes up," you replied, shaking your head.

"Why else would he ask for your number?" she asked.

"To talk to me about work stuff, dance stuff, I don't know?" you replied.

"Did he ask for anyone else's number?" she asked.

"I don't know, he could have," you said, raising your shoulders.

"I doubt it," she smiled. "Look at you, you've caught yourself an idol. Better be careful, my girl," she joked, finishing off her drink.

"I wonder if this is a bad idea," you pondered, staring off into space and letting your mind wander.

"Don't overthink it. How often do you come across people you like? If he likes you too, you should go for it. You don't have any reason to hold yourself back from this. I mean, be careful of course. I don't want any death threats coming your way," she chuckled, reaching over the table and grabbing your hand. "Connecting with another person is a special thing, and it sounds like you two really have. Don't under sell that."

You left the restaurant and wandered home, a warm feeling in your chest. Hugging your friend goodbye you thanked her, so grateful to have someone you know you can tell anything to. As soon as you made it home, you pulled out your phone and responded to him.

🌸: It was fine, I just got very sweaty. my hair was a frizzy mess 🐶: you still looked so pretty 🌸: you are very sweet to me 🌸: why is that 🐶: I like you, that's why 🌸: you like me? 🐶: I want to see you outside of work 🌸: I want that too

Your breath caught in your throat. It was everything you could have hoped to hear and more.

🌸: how can we do that tho 🐶: we'll find a way 🌸: you could come to my place. it's very small. I live alone

He could have guessed that was the case. You never mentioned having roommates, or parents, or anyone else you lived with in the brief conversations you'd had.

🐶: can I come this Saturday? 🌸: okay :) 🐶: are you sure? 🌸: be here at 7 🐶: will do

You had two days of filming for a different group's music video, a huge group dance with nearly fifty dancers. You be finishing it up Saturday morning, and hoped that things ran on time. You wanted to have the time to get yourself ready, take a shower, pick out your clothes. Even though you'd just be at home, surely just lounging around. You wanted to wear your favorite sweats, and the black tank top you had that sat perfectly over your figure. You two wouldn't be going on dinner dates out, or to the bar for drinks, or to the cafe or farmer's market or any other place where Yunho could be spotted. He didn't have to explain that to you; you'd worked in this industry long enough to understand. He'd have to do everything he could to avoid being seen entering your building. If this did become a romance, it would be one conducted in the privacy of bedrooms, apartments, hotels. You couldn't walk out on the street holding hands, or even just walk down the street side by side. But then you reminded yourself of the if. You still didn't know what he wanted, exactly. You'd still never been in the same room just the two of you. The nerves gnawed at you as you showered, as you carefully set out the clothes you would wear as you dried your hair. You'd wear no bra with your tank top, you decided, and you'd wear your favorite bikini cut black underwear. You didn't like lacy thongs, you didn't like most women's clothing period. But you wanted to feel sexy when he arrived, wanted it to be clear to him what you were after.

🐶: I'm heading out now, I should be there in 17 minutes, according to google maps 🌸: see you soon :)

Your adrenaline surged, your body sweating despite the cool temperature of your tiny apartment. You scrambled around, cleaning every surface one time over again, making sure your dirty clothes were tucked away in your closet and not strewn about anywhere. You gave yourself a final look in the mirror, your glasses looking comically huge on your face. Your hair was a mess, but it always was. You'd never learned how to properly take care of your waves. The black tank top looked as good as you'd hoped though, so you shrugged. It was good enough.

You'd only sat on your couch for about thirty seconds when the doorbell rang, and you physically jumped. Opening your door you found him in a loose button up shirt, casual baggy pants, a baseball cap covering his nut brown hair, and a mask.

"Hi, come in," you said, your heart beating faster than it did even during your most difficult dance numbers.

"Thank you," he said, stepping inside, his jacket held over his arm. He pulled off his mask, folding it and shoving it in his pocket.

"Would you like some water?" you asked, awkwardly. You didn't know what to say, the two of you standing feet apart in your tiny living room.

"Sure, that'd be great," he said, looking around, taking everything in.

"You can sit on my couch, or on the floor, if you'd like. Sorry there aren't more options, my apartment is tiny," you said as you filled his glass. You decided to fill one for yourself, realizing now that you'd completely forgotten to eat dinner or drink any water this afternoon because of your nerves.

"It's perfect. I really like it," he said, sitting himself down cross legged on the floor, on the small rug that surrounded your coffee table. It was the only table you had here, the one you always ate your meals at. "Is this the rug you always lay on at night?" he asked as you came and set his water in front of him.

"Oh, no, that one's in my room," you smiled, sitting opposite him on your couch, cross legged too.

"I was gonna say, this is pretty small for laying on," he laughed.

"My other one is small too, I guess," you laugh in response.

"Can I see it?" His eyes have a mischievous glint to them as they meet yours.

"Sure," you say, smirking back at him. You're trying to put on a confident front, because you swear you keep seeing his eyes trail down your body hungrily, but as soon as you start walking towards your room your legs are shaky. Yunho reaches out and grabs your shoulder from behind, steadying you for a moment.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, just tired. Filming ran long this morning, we had to go over this one section like fifty times. I'm gonna be so sore tomorrow," you say.

"Do you have a foam roller? It's helps me a lot when my legs are cramping up on me," he says, as you open your bedroom door, revealing the tiny room to him. It only has room for your full bed, your dresser shoved into your closet.

"I should really get one," you say, turning to face him. "There's the rug," you smile, watching intently to see his reaction.

"That's the one you lay on every night?" he asks. You nod your head, chuckling. "That's even smaller than the one out there," he laughs, pointing in the direction of your living room.

"I wonder if you'd even fit," you laugh, looking down at the small strip of floor that isn't taken up by your bed frame.

"Let me try," he says, kicking off his shoes and setting them on your shoe rack outside your door. He crouches down, settling himself on his side, his legs bent up to make it possible for him to fit.

"Wow, so comfortable," he quips, sarcastically.

"It is if you're my size," you pout, looking down at him with your arms crossed.

"You really lay here every night before bed?" he asks.

"It's my favorite spot in the world," you nod.

"You think we could both fit?" he asks, pulling off his hat and tossing it on your bed, holding out an arm to you.

"Maybe..." you trail off, stepping over towards him, carefully setting yourself down in front of him. You're on you side too, your face maybe a foot from his, your back shoved up against your closet door. You stare into each other's eyes, still not having touched, the whole scene potentially still friendly and innocent.

A yawn hits you, a wave of exhaustion washing over your whole body. You really should have remembered to eat a good meal before this.

"Tired?" Yunho asks, you his eyes not leaving yours.

"I guess so. Sorry for yawning," you say.

"Am I boring you?" he jokes.

"No, not at all," you shake your head, smiling back at him. And then you both just stare, a good minute passing, your heart racing and racing in your chest, your body aching for something, anything.

"Can I kiss you now?" he asks, but still doesn't move. So you do instead, pulling yourself closer to him, your legs entangling as your lips finally meet, the first moments of the kiss awkward and stilted in that way it always is with a new person. But soon enough you've found each other's rhythm; you can tell he likes sucking on your bottom lip, and likes it when you open your mouth and let out those breathy moans, allowing him to dive his tongue inside, feeling over the plush softness of your tongue. It's heated so quickly, your arms desperately grabbing at each other, a sexual excitement awakened in you in a way it hadn't been in so many years. You got lost in it; you couldn't have even remembered your own name in that moment, because all you knew was his mouth and his hands, his tongue on your neck, the way your clit felt rubbing hard against his thigh, your climax reaching you so fast you don't even realize it until your hands are cramping up. They do that when you're too stimulated, when your whole nervous system has too much input and can't process it all. He senses a change in you, pulling back to see you holding your hands, trying desperately to calm the spasming muscles.

"What's wrong?" he asks, gently holding your hands in his own.

"It just happens sometimes, when I come," you whisper into the cool air of your bedroom. "My hands lock up like this." You start to giggle, a blush creeping over your face at the look he's giving you.

"You came?"

"Yeah, I know, I'm insanely sensitive," you laugh, still rubbing at your hands.

"Fuck," he groans, shaking his head back and forth, and you laugh again at how affected he is. "Are your hands going to be okay?"

"Yeah, just give them a moment. They'll be fine," you say, putting your face up to his again, your lips connecting and fire shooting through you once again.

Before you know it he's on top of you, kissing you hard, his hands snaking underneath your top to feel over your hard nipples, grabbing hungrily at your body. "Can I taste you?" he whispers through ragged breaths, and you nod into him, whispering yes on his lips. He moves down, pulling at the waistband of your sweatpants, and you lips your hips to help him. When he grabs at your panties he drags them off slowly, shoving them in the pocket of his jeans, moving his mouth down your thighs and licking up to your core. He swipes his tongue up your slit slowly, giving firm pressure to his movement, making you moan and arch your back in response, your knees falling wide and hitting the wall and bed you're caged between. Yunho hums at the taste of you, the heady sweetness better than he could have even imagined, his tongue swiping again and again up your entire slit, taking in as much of you as he can.

"Fuck you taste good," he whispers, before attaching his lips to your clit, sucking gently and making you squirm, your knees jumping up to cage in his head. Then he's adding a finger, and then another, slowly pumping them into you while he keeps sucking on your sensitive bud, ripping another orgasm out of you in seconds. He keeps touching you through your after shocks, making your moans high pitched and sharp as you feel overstimulated, but then as he keeps going you slip back into pleasure, and another orgasm builds faster than the first.

"Fuck, fuck," you scream, your hand in his hair, snaking through and grabbing hard onto it. It makes Yunho moan, the vibrations radiating through your core and sending you over the edge once again, your pussy fluttering around his fingers. This time you push him up, your body wracked from coming so hard and fast.

"You can come multiple times," he states, his lips and chin glistening from your slick. You just nod coyly, breathing hard, trying to regain your sanity as he moves on top of you again, kissing you hard. You moan at the taste of yourself, and at the way he's smothering you so entirely. "You like how you taste?" he asks, smiling into you as you nod your head yes, your lips not able to leave each other for more than a few seconds.

"Can I fuck you?" he asks into your ear, his low voice shuddering through you.

"Please," you whisper, grabbing at his pants to help push them down, laughing as he tries to stand and bumps his head on the door handle to your closet.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, holding his head for a moment, scrambling still to pull of his pants and finally get to what he's wanted all night. "You're making me so desperate that I'm hurting myself," he jokes, slipping a condom over himself with finesse, finally collapsing back onto you, rubbing his hard dick up and down your slit, attaching his lips to yours once again. Slowly he pushes in, testing the waters, watching your face as he stretches you out. He's loving your reaction, the way that just him putting his cock in you is making you so overwhelmed with feelings and pleasure.

"You're so big," you cry into his shoulder, grasping onto him for dear life.

"I know," he chuckles, his face in your hair, taking in the scent of you.

"Shut up," you giggle, hitting his shoulder playfully, holding back a moan from ripping out of you. He's just barely bottomed out, holding tight onto your hips to anchor himself.

"You okay?" he whispers, placing gentle kisses on your forehead temple, keeping himself still until you give him the okay. You nod against him, your face still buried in his shoulder, holding him to you.

"Please move Yunho," you beg, your body needing more from him now, even if the stretch is hurting. He slowly pulls himself out, pushing back in with care, the wet sounds loud and embarrassing. You're so wet it's starting to drip down your leg, and he slides in so easily, even though you're tight against him.

"Does that feel good?" he asks you, setting a slow pace, watching your body intently. You babble and nod against him, and he picks his pace up, hitting something so deep inside of you that it makes you head fly back against the ground again. Thankfully your rug is there on the floor, but it isn't the thickest, and the actions till hurts.

"Ow," you mutter, your eyebrows scrunching up in pain.

"Careful, careful," he coos, grabbing the back of your head in his large palm, slowing his movements. "Why are we on the floor when your bed is right there?"

You chuckle, blinking up at him with blown pupils, your walls still clenching hard around him.

"Let's move up there," he smiles, slowly pulling out of you, standing gingerly and helping you up carefully, too. You pull at his shirt, unbuttoning some of his buttons, making him pull if off over his head. He's completely revealed to you now, and he grabs at your top too, pulling it over your head and throwing it over the side of the bed.

"Your head okay?" he asks, moving on top of you again, cradling it in his hand.

"Yeah, it's okay," you laugh, staring up at him. "How's yours?"

"It's fine," he chuckles, kissing you deeply and grabbing at you, unable to stop himself. "You're driving me crazy," he whispers, and in a moment he's sheathed himself inside of you again, resting your head against your pillows as he starts fucking you hard, his mouth on yours as your tongues swirl around each other's mouths. He's hitting that spot inside you again, over and over sending waves of pleasure through your abdomen. You feel like you're being split open, like your entire body is filled by him, by everything he's meaning to you. The care, the attention, the perfect angle of his hips as they snap against yours, has your mind floating on a cloud of pure joy. God, it's never felt this good, and you don't want it to stop, don't ever want this feeling to end. You know you're stuck now, you're addicted, you've had one taste of him and you'll never want anyone else.

"Yunho," you whine against his lips, as you feel another orgasm building.

"Fuck, don't say my name like that, you're gonna make me come," he groans, lifting his head up to deepen his angle even further, fucking you even harder. "Are you close?" he asks, and you whimper in response, moaning high pitched and holding tight onto his biceps. "You're so fucking perfect," he says, his upper body falling down on top of yours again, as he holds you close. You come, the warmth and safety his body is giving you making you release, every part of your being comforted by the man above you.

"Yes, fuck that feels good," he groans into your ear, feeling the way you're squeezing so hard down onto him, your moans like screams again, stroking his ego in such an addicting way. "I'm never gonna get enough of you," he groans, finally releasing his load, his orgasm washing over him hard as his hips stutter, his face scrunching up in pleasure as he finally comes. He collapses on top of you, holding you close as you both come down from your highs, your breaths hard and fast and totally in sync.

"You're amazing," he mumbles, stroking a hand through your hair.

"No, you're amazing," you giggle, your head floaty and calm in your post orgasmic state. You poke his side, giggling into him when his body jumps.

"Don't you dare do that right now," he grumbles, tickling you back and twice as hard, making you shriek and laugh beneath him.

You stay cuddled up all night, not able to sleep cause you keep kissing, Yunho's large warm body making you feel safe in a way you didn't know you were missing.

"I should have taken these off before I fucked you," he laughs as he pulls off your glasses, placing them gingerly on your side table.

"Eh, it's okay," you laugh, snuggling into him closer. "They're always on, I'm used to it. I keep them on even when I dance most of the time, which is weird."

"I noticed," he said. "They're so fucking cute."

"You really like them?"

"Y/n, you're fucking perfect. Every thing about you."

[crowborn666-nsfw]

(So I may be asexual, but if I ever get the nerve and desire to ever have sex, I 100% know I’d be a sobbing, apologetic MESS because I have very little stamina and very little pain tolerance, two things you kinda need to be able to fuck demons)

(Yes, this is INCREDIBLY self indulgent, but hey maybe it’ll bring somebody else comfort too)

Patience

Mammon x Reader

Tags: AFAB! Reader, reader has very little stamina and pain tolerance, crying, fingering, unprotected sex, first time sex, consent is sexy and so are safe words, “gem” as a nickname, aftercare

~~~~~~

It took ages for you to finally get to this point with Mammon. Your low stamina and pain tolerance were some of the first things the second born learned about you as you got closer, so it was honestly near overwhelming how gentle and careful he was towards taking new steps with you.

He didn’t miss how a few mere kisses would leave you breathless, how a simple make out session would leave you beet red, and the sounds you were convinced were embarrassing if he so much as grazed his teeth against your skin.

Attempts to take that bigger step were taken many times before, and yet when you chickened out or got too overwhelmed to continue, Mammon was always so patient with you, murmuring soft words of praise and comfort. He would brush away any tears, no matter what kind, with gentle hands you knew were capable of doing so much worse.

You leaned back against Mammon’s pillows, pulling him with you as you kissed. Mammon wrapped an arm underneath you, his free hand coming to cradle your cheek, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he pulled back to let you breathe for a moment.

Yet you surprised him, chasing him down to continue kissing him, the desire that had been building for the past half hour pouring into the pact mark.

It was a usual experience, you both would communicate feelings through the mark when words would normally fail you.

“You sure? You wanna try again, gem?” He mumbled against your lips, pulling back a bit further this time so you would have to say it verbally.

“Yeah,” you panted slightly, gently tugging on his jacket, “Please? Wanna… n-need to try again, Mams.”

Mammon nodded, shrugging off his jacket at your insistence. “Gimme a safeword and we’re good to go.”

“Stoplight colors?”

“Good for me.” Mammon, after pulling his shirt off and throwing it to who knows where, dipped down to your neck, mouthing at the skin of your neck, finding that spot he knew you went crazy over.

A pleasured sound bubbled out of your throat, head tilting back to give him more room. Your clothes were pulled out of the way and onto the floor, Mammon greedily soaking in the sight of your bare form against his.

You shuddered as Mammon’s fingers slipped between your legs, toes curling as a finger slipped inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit.

You were plenty used to the feeling of his fingers, Mammon adamant about stretching you out every time. Soft noises left you, hands curling into his hair as pleasure swam in your veins.

Your lashes watered as Mammon added another two fingers, guiding you along towards your orgasm. You moaned into his ear as your body trembled, Mammon pressing kisses to your cheeks as you came down from your high.

“You alright?” He breathed into your ear, thumbs rubbing circles into the meat of your thighs.

“Yeah, wanna keep going, Mams.” You murmured back, meeting his gaze with surety. He nodded, moulding his lips to yours as he lined himself up with your entrance.

Mammon was quick to shush and comfort you as his tip pressed past your entrance, making no complaints as your nails practically tore into his back.

There was pleasure there, but an uncomfortable stretch and pain as well, you tried to focus on his voice, on the way his fingers were rubbing your thighs to help you relax.

You were finally getting to the point you both had craved for so long, but the sensations swimming in your nerves were like knives in your blood. With a hitch of breath, your voice shook out of your chest.

“Yellow…”

All movement from Mammon halted, not an ounce of frustration or disappointment in his eyes when you met his gaze with your tearful one. You only saw patience and worry, the emotions leaking into the pact mark if you had any doubt of what you saw.

“‘M sorry, Mams… I’m really trying…”

“No, no, no!” He was quick to hush you before you could cry yourself inconsolable. “No, gem, it’s okay. You’re trying, that’s what matters. I can wait for ya to catch up.”

“O-Okay…” you shuddered as the pain and the stretch began to settle down, your body getting used to this strange, new feeling.

Your body trembled slightly, feeling a bit guilty as you saw Mammon bite his lip. You knew, despite all his patience and reassuring, that he was desperate to finally reach bliss with you.

Your eyes narrowed, eyebrows knitting together as a flurry of feelings and emotions washed over you. You could see the relief on Mammon’s face as he watched and felt your body finally relax.

“Green… b-but slow, please.”

Mammon nodded, pressing a kiss to your lips as he carefully pushed in again. Your body began trembling again before Mammon pressed chest to chest with you, trying to help you ground yourself.

You gasped sharply as Mammon finally made it those last few inches, every muscle in your body suddenly tensing at the overwhelming pain and pleasure. Mammon let out a small hiss in your ear as you clenched down on him, slowly lifting his upper half to look at you.

“Gem?” Mammon called out to you, breaths shaky with the effort not to immediately begin moving, “(Y/n)?”

“‘M here! Y-Yellow, give me a moment—”

“You’re alright, there’s no rush.”

Slowly, you pulled him down to cradle his skull as your body slowly unlocked, your foreheads pressed together as the anticipation grew.

As the pain subsided, your body growing used to him, the pure need for him to move hit you like a fucking truck.

Your voice came out in a low moan. “Green! Oh fuck—green!”

It seemed like Mammon knew it too, your words barely leaving your mouth before his hips pulled back and snapped back to yours, beginning a steady pace.

Your jaw fell open, eyes watering from the intensity of it all. Mammon was there a beat later, thumbs brushing away your tears.

“Doing so, so good, gem. So damn proud of ya. Fuck… fuck, you feel so good!”

You could only moan in response, hands clutching his hair as you locked your legs around your first man, your back arching up into him.

“Mammon!” You could only say his name, feeling heat flood through every vein at the near broken moan in your ear. You felt his horns curl up underneath your fingers, and you instinctively latched onto them. You could feel every part of him, every drag of him against your walls, the way his teeth grazed against your neck and shoulder, biting down as carefully as he could to not break skin.

He shifted, just slightly then, and a near silent cry left you as stars flashed in your vision. Quickly, almost on instinct, you threw every thought you had in that instance at the pact mark. And just like you knew he would, Mammon picked up on it, thrusting into that spot over and over again.

Mammon didn’t need to hear you to know you were teetering on bliss, even if your voice had failed you, the pact mark didn’t. He shifted then, with only slight difficulty due to your near death grip on him, slipping a hand between your legs to toy with your clit.

“Doing so good, gem. You’re close, yeah? I’m right here… ‘m right here, just let go f’me.”

You practically keened, a high pitched cry leaving you as you fell over that cliff of bliss. Mammon picked up his pace then, unable to help himself from getting a bit on the rough side with you as he chased his own climax.

A slew of curses fell from his lips as his hips stuttered to a halt, giving one final snap into you before warmth filled your belly. Ragged breaths escaped your throat, body flushed red as your slowly unclenched your fingers from his hair, unlocking your sore, tense legs from around his waist.

Mammon sat up to look down at you, your arms flopping tiredly to your sides as you gazed up at him. You were covered in a sheen of sweat, looking positively dazed and blissfully fucked.

Even in your haze you could see Mammon wanted more, his eyes glowing with that golden color of greed. Your eyes met his, an unspoken question between you both.

You smiled up at him, but gently shook your head, voice coming out raspy, yet full of satisfaction. “Red, Mams. No more, for right now at least.”

You forced your tired arm up to brush your hand against his cheeks, watching that golden glow slowly fade. “Let me rest a bit, then check in with me, ‘kay?”

He nodded, leaning down to capture your lips. “Sure thing, gem. You did so damn good, y’know?”

You kissed him back with a hum, then turning away as a small wave of embarrassment washed over you. Mammon grinned at you, turning you to face him again so he could press another kiss to your lips.

You felt your eyes slip shut, barely able to return the kiss this time as exhaustion settled in deep. Slight discomfort caused your face to scrunch as Mammon slipped out of you, his voice reaching your ears as he gently brushed your hair out of your face.

“I’ll be right back, alright? Gonna grab something to help clean ya off.”

You managed a tired hum, shuddering as cold air hit your sweaty skin. You listened as his footsteps faded and soon returned, a warm cloth being smoothed over your body.

You both knew you were too tired for a proper bath, so this would have to do.

Besides, the inevitable shower in the morning could possibly lead to a round 2.

[roseyodditea]

A little Comfort - Harumasa x gn!Reader

Summary -> 600 words, established relationship. Very incredibly so self indulgent Warnings -> none

One more crumb of bad news would honestly set you over the edge today. A pebble in your shoe, getting stopped at too many crosswalks on your way home, one single open mouthed cough from a child, any little inconvenience could push you further down whatever spiral you’ve found yourself in. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and if the feeling of the tiny motor wasn’t your last straw, the message that stared at you certainly was. 

{Harumasa <3: “Sorry darling, overexerted myself in a hollow today. Gotta cancel our dinner plans tonight.”}

You walked up the stairs to leave the metro station as tears cloud your vision too much to make out the letters on the screen as you press the call icon, bringing the ringing phone up to your ear. 

“Hey-” The weak voice of your boyfriend tries to greet you but you just snapped.

“What the hell, Haru, you told me you’d be careful! You promised me we’d have tonight to relax! This was the one good thing I had to look forward to today and you took that away from me!” You try not to be angry, you knew it wasn’t his fault, but right now the world was your enemy and you were going to let the rage in your heart burn.

Harumasa was quiet on the line before he sighs. “Come over. I’ll get some food delivered.” You expected an argument, some sort of ‘don’t blame me’, some sort of deflection or minimization.

“I thought you didn’t want me to see you weak…” Your voice was soft, the rage being replaced by confusion more than anything else. 

“Normally I don’t, but I think we need each other right now. Come over. Please?” How could you say no?

**********

You knock on the door, unsure of what was about to greet you. Harumasa was normally so lively, you never thought about what he’d be like when he wasn’t feeling well. The door opens and before you even had a change to check to see if there was a dull look in his eyes, you are pulled into a hug, arms wrap around you like you were the most precious thing in the world, warm, uneven breaths on your shoulder as he slumps over to melt into you. 

“What took so long?” He murmurs with a whiny edge to his voice, pulling you inside and closing the door before hands made quick work of your jacket.

“I was most of the way to my place. I had to turn around to come here.” Your answer came out soft, your earlier energy melting to this sort of numbness that settles across your chest. 

Harumasa pulled away just enough to look at you, his hair a mess, his work shirt unbuttoned all the way, his belt unbuckled but still threaded through the loops on his pants. “You look awful.” He had the audacity to say while burying a finger under your tired eyes.

“I look awful?” you crack a smile for the first time in a few hours. “Shut up and cuddle me.” “So bossy today.” He sighs dramatically before dragging you over to the couch, flopping down and pulling you with him, a slight tint of his usual humor bleeding through his chronic pain. 

It’s hard to feel the weight of the world with his arms around you, shielding you from your surroundings and even yourself. Even if he didn’t feel the greatest, he still held you with a warm, gentle touch. To him, it didn’t matter how bad your day was leading up to this exact moment, it just mattered that you were here and enjoying this moment of stillness in your usual chaotic life. 

A/N -> This was very quickly and sloppily written but ya girl needed a quick pick-me-up and sometimes just posting something close enough to done is what I need

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hi!! I love your writing!! Would it be possible for your thoughts on Ford/stan with a girlfriend who is a therapist or psychiatrist? (I’m studying psychology so this is a totally self indulgent ask!) thank you!! 🫶🏼

A/n: Ok! I'm sorry these took long

Stan/Ford pines x therapist!reader

Ford Pines:

Ford is instantly intrigued by your profession. He’s always been interested in how the human brain works, and having a girlfriend who understands the mind on such a deep level excites his curiosity.

He loves asking you questions about psychology, sometimes treating your discussions like he’s learning from a textbook.

“So, if someone were to experience prolonged exposure to isolation, how do you think that would affect their psyche?”

Ford absolutely loves to hear your insights on everything from mental health to obscure psychological theories, often adding his own knowledge of psychology.

Ford greatly values your calming presence. As someone who has gone through trauma from his interdimensional travels, Ford finds comfort in how you can guide him through his anxieties and ground him during his moments of overthinking. It’s not that he’s asking for therapy, but the way you talk and listen to him brings him a lot of peace.

Sometimes Ford gets lost in his head, overanalyzing everything or diving too deep into his research, and you’re the one who pulls him back. You know just how to approach his worries without invalidating them, and he’s beyond grateful for that.

“You always know exactly what to say to bring me back to reality. How do you do it?”

He’s particularly interested in your take on the psychological impact of interdimensional travel or exposure to anomalous phenomena.

He’ll often turn to you for discussions about the mind’s adaptability and resilience. You’ve become his go-to person for talking about the human condition in the context of the strange.

Ford is also incredibly supportive of your career and education. If you’re studying or need quiet time to work, he’ll make sure you have the perfect environment to focus. He’s always ready to offer encouragement when you’re feeling stressed.

“I know it’s a lot, but if anyone can do this, it’s you. I’ve never seen someone so dedicated to understanding the complexities of the mind.”

Ford loves sharing intellectual moments with you, like reading papers or discussing recent psychological studies. Sometimes, he even helps you with your work by giving you unique perspectives from his travels, and in turn, you help him manage the more stressful parts of his past.

Stan Pines:

Stan doesn’t fully get what a therapist or psychiatrist does at first (he’s used to handling things by “toughing it out”) but he quickly comes to appreciate how insightful you are.

“So, you talk to people about their problems? Gotta hand it to ya, you’ve got a lot of patience. I can barely deal with the customers.”

Stan is amazed at how you can listen to other people’s issues all day and still come home well. He’s constantly in awe of how much you care for others and how you help people through their darkest moments.

“You’ve gotta be some kinda saint to listen to people’s problems all day and not go crazy yourself.”

He loves that you don’t push him to talk, but when he does, you listen attentively. You’ve taught him that it’s okay to share his feelings without making him feel weak. Sometimes he’s caught off guard by how much better he feels after talking to you.

“Huh, I guess it’s not so bad… all this feelings stuff. You really know how to make a guy feel better.”

Stan appreciates your ability to see through his tough-guy act. You can read him like a book, and while it’s a little intimidating, it’s also a relief. You pick up on the small things, like when he’s more stressed than usual or when something’s bothering him.

“How do you always know what’s goin’ on in my head? It’s like you’re a mind reader or somethin’. Say how bout we put that to use in the shack? I'm joking, unless you want to.”

He loves to brag about your career, even if he doesn’t always understand it.

“Yeah, my girl’s a therapist. Helps people sort out their problems. She’s smart as hell. I dunno how she does it, but it’s pretty impressive.”

If you’re ever feeling overwhelmed by your work, Stan is the first to encourage you to take a break. He might not know all the details of your job, but he knows how important it is for you to recharge. He’ll pull you away from your books or laptop and suggest watching a movie or doing something fun together.

“You’ve been workin’ hard all day. Come on, let’s kick back and relax. You deserve it.”

He’s a little protective of you, especially if you’ve had a rough day. If you come home stressed after dealing with a difficult client, Stan will be there to comfort you in his own way, whether that’s making you laugh, cooking a simple meal, or just sitting beside you.

Stan will occasionally ask for advice, though he’ll frame it casually. “So, let’s say someone I know has a lotta stuff from their past they don’t like talkin’ about. What’d you say to help ‘em out?” He trusts you more than he’ll admit and values your wisdom, even if he’s not always ready to face his own feelings head-on.

A/n: you give them therapy they need, the end ^^

[zzeraphilm]

hwyl i chi

transl: goodbye to you Aizawa Shota x GN!Reader (A) words: 588 short breakup one shot - mainly a self indulgent outlet for myself

They had a deeply rooted seed of pure spite that germinated a sprout, that punched through their heart and bloomed a tiny little rose bud waiting to shine. 

Maybe a few days would give it time to fully bloom, then Y/N would have the desire to pluck its stem off from the root and bask in its freshly grown glory. Of course, it doesn’t take a mere day to grow a beautiful rose. But it might as well been. 

‘I don’t think I want a relationship anymore.’ Shota Aizawa had always lacked the sentimental maturity for his age. He could provide support and care for his students, but for those around him in his personal life. They were not privy to that side of the pro-hero. 

To beg and plead was for the guilty, Y/N did not feel a single drop of guilt for the scorn they were shooting towards Aizawa. Despite his constant indifference in facial expressions, not a single shed of remorse even found its way onto his face. He still had the same deadpan expression that his co-workers received, as if Y/N had committed an act of pure deviousness that he had to clean up. 

‘Work’s too much. I can’t put my focus on you.’ The air was thick with anticipation, no other words were exchanged yet the slate had already been cleared. Aizawa and Y/N had not spoken properly in nearly half a year, on occasion they would receive three text messages maximum a week from the pro-hero. Ranging from late response excuses to banal work updates that made no sense to Y/N. Week by week, missed call after missed call, Y/N had forgotten what Aizawa really looked like, old photographs were outdated by a few years now. They couldn't pinpoint where in their time together did they become so disconnected with one another's lives. But Y/N knew the cruelty of the pro-hero scene all too well. It wasn't a throwaway excuse that he could use in passing to bring this story to an end. With an unsteady voice, Y/N took the last few bits of heroism within to respond. 

‘You are incredibly, unfair.’ Each syllable was spoken with a sharp stab aimed towards the Erasure hero. There was no need to use their quirk or any other power to assert their frustrations. This was enough. ‘You have disrespected me, for too long. You want us to be over, so be it then. Bye.’ 

As sharp as their words Y/N spun around before Aizawa could speak. He wanted it to be over on his accords, where there was closure and he would walk away without a guilty conscious, knowing that Y/N and him could mutually agree to end things. 

The other was not the same, closure was far from Y/N’s desired choice. In no world would they allow a person who disrespects them to walk away without a guilty conscious, with the delusion that they were sensible and truthful. In reality, Y/N provided the pro-hero with a better option. Self-analysis, self-reflection and most importantly, a brutal blunt cut. Like snipping the stem off a half bloomed rose, the blunt shears that have seen the beheading of multiple flowers and fruits, adds another to its long list of victims. Another day, another flower to be removed. To be placed somewhere else, where the sunlight can shine a spotlight on its petals, illuminating the beauty of its nature somewhere where someone else could value it.

[pimosworld]

Care to join?

Pairing- Layla el Faouly x f!reader x Steven Grant x Marc Spector x Jake Lockley

This is my submission for @flightlessangelwings pride month celebration. I’m new to writing but this month is very special to me so I put my nerves aside and came up with this self indulgent fic.

Summary-Steven asks you about your feelings for Layla after she shows interest in you. Will this change your relationship?

Dialogue prompt- “Can I kiss you?”

CW-Explicit 18+MDNI, mentions of DID,eventual poly relationship,FF dynamics, talks about sexuality, kissing,cursing,light angst,fluff,thigh riding, smut,threesome MFF,oral sex female receiving, fingering, unprotected piv,piv cream pie

WC-3.8k

A/N- Layla is married to Marc and has been previously in an established relationship with the system. Reader is in an established relationship with Steven.Reader is not described or race coded. I will often write that the system can carry/pick up the reader and I am a plus size person who can not be carried by my partner but I like to believe that since they are superheroes they have superhuman strength.

Not beta read

***

    Wednesday 

  You’re lying under Steven, your legs  wrapped around his waist while you both try to catch your breath. You’re rubbing slow lines up and down his back as his hot breath blows on your neck. 

  “Love...that was… incredible.” He raises on his elbows to peer down at you with his sweat tousled curls on his forehead. You can’t help but fall in love with him every time you look into those deep brown eyes. He’s grown soft inside you but he refuses to move. He drops his head down onto your shoulder and lets out a deep sigh.  

  “Just give me a minute please.” You know he can be needy but the annoyance in his tone is concerning.

  “You know I never rush you.” You say as you continue to trace lines up and down his back.

  “God no! no! I wasn’t talking to you love.” 

  “Oh...” It was still weird knowing Marc was present sometimes. You haven't been intimate with him obviously not wanting to cross a line with Layla. You were with Steven and she was with Marc. You’ve been on a few dates with Jake but his shyness prevented him from fronting too often. 

  “I…well we have been meaning to talk to you about something.” You can sense his more than normal nervous behavior. “It’s about Layla.” You have been dreading this moment for months, the conversation you knew would come when she grew tired of sharing. She married Marc and later became established with Steven and Jake but according to Steven he’s not been with her since you met on your first day at the museum.

  Surprisingly you took to his confession of having D.I.D very well. It took him several more weeks to reveal they are moon knight to which you also took in stride. It was the follow up conversation about the fact that he was technically married that you didn’t take lightly. It took you a week of reflection and a long conversation with Layla to convince you to give him another chance. No one has ever treated you like Steven and you didn’t want to give that up. 

  Steven often stayed at your place to give Layla her space, you knew she missed him but she always respected your relationship. When they were off doing khonshus bidding you would often have a girls night with Layla. Recently you weren’t sure how to grapple with the feelings you’ve been having towards her. You haven’t felt this way about a woman in a long time. There was no need to further complicate your already intricate relationship. 

  “Um…Steven, if I need to talk to Marc I would prefer we get cleaned up and put some clothes on.”

  “Sorry love I didn’t mean to worry you, he’s not here anymore.” You relax a little but can’t help but worry about the impending conversation. He climbs off you and you shudder at the sudden change in temperature, no longer having his body as a barrier to the cool air in your flat. 

  “Let me run us a bath and we can talk while we get cleaned up.” The prospect of a relaxing bubble bath with your boyfriend would normally have you on cloud nine, but you’d rather not have such an uncomfortable conversation in such an intimate setting. 

  “Steven, if you’re going to break up with me I’d rather you do it now,I can just take a shower when you leave.” Your legs are curled underneath you and all you can do is stare at the rumpled sheets desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. 

  “What!” Steven is standing in the doorway of the bathroom wide eyed and horrified at your assumption. 

  I told you not to bring it up after sex, she’s too vulnerable right now.

  “Will you buzz off Marc!” Steven strides towards you and is back on the bed in moments. He bunches you up with the sheets and pulls you into his lap sideways. “ I’m not breaking up with you

Love,  I just have something I need to talk to you about and I am a bit nervous.” You look up at him with tears brimming your eyelids and you can all but see his heartbreak. 

  He cradles your head and kisses you slowly as if it’s your first time. “This is not at all how I wanted this conversation to go.” He stands from the bed with you still in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. He gently sets you down on the toilet as he begins to draw a bath. You can’t help but admire his arms and his broad back as he leans over to test the temperature of the water. He places your favorite lavender bath bomb and chamomile bubble bath in before unraveling you from the sheets and helping you into the bath. You’re enveloped in that warm fuzzy feeling as he finds his place behind you pulling your back into his chest. 

  “I’m just gonna start and I don’t want you to say anything until I let you know I’m done.” You nod your head and you’re thankful you’re not facing him as the tears begin to well again. 

  “Layla has…really enjoyed your company lately when we’re out.” He pauses and tightens his grip around your waist. “She said it helps her not worry about us so much.”

  “I enjoy her company to Steven.” You know he told you not to speak yet but you figured he needed a moment to gather his thoughts. 

  “She’s actually grown quite fond of you and thought that you might feel the same about her.”

  A long silence passes between you and all you can hear are the ragged breaths of Steven and the crackling of the bubbles. You don’t think Stevens even realized that he hasn’t said he’s done speaking and is waiting for you to respond. 

  “Of course if you don’t feel the same then we don’t need to mention it again, I’m sorry I even brought it up. It's just that Marc pressed on about it…and actually he’s quite fond of you too and well that’s besides the point…I don’t even know what I’m saying any…”

  You turn in the bath and stop his rambling with a kiss to his lips as you cradle his face in both hands.

You rise in the water so you can settle yourself in his lap. You lean in to kiss him again and he parts his lips to let your tongue slide in. This slow languid movements leave you both breathless as you pull away for air and can’t help but giggle at his face covered in bubbles.

  “I thought Layla had grown sick of this situation and wanted you to end things with me.” He begins to say something but you place a finger on his lips, prompting him to wait just as you had. 

  “I am still getting to know Marc and Jake but obviously I can’t help but be attracted to someone who looks like my boyfriend.” You know Steven would accept all parts of you but it still made you nervous to open up to him. 

  “Steven…I’ve been with women before you, but I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I’ve grown to like Layla a lot and I wasn’t sure how to come to terms with my feelings.” Steven releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

  “That’s wonderful love…Layla was quite nervous that you wouldn’t feel the same and she didn’t want to pressure you.” Steven is beaming up at you as if you’ve presented him a million dollar grant to research Egyptian mythology. “You know I love and accept you for who you are.” 

  You’re suddenly feeling exposed as the bubbles dissipate and your mind starts wandering. What does this mean? What does she want? He said something about Marc. Would Jake be involved? Would Steven be upset?

  He can see you spiraling before his eyes. “Talk to me love.” He starts rubbing soothing circles on your arms.

  “Where do we go from here?” You don’t even recognize your voice as you look anywhere but his eyes. He grabs your chin with his forefinger and thumb and pulls you into a chaste kiss.

  “Whatever you want to do we will do…no

pressure.We all want you and what’s best for you, as long as you’re safe and happy that’s all we care about.” You wrap your arms around his neck in a tight hug, feeling this most content you have in years. 

  Nice job hermaño, I knew you could do it.

  ***

Friday 

  You’ve never been this nervous before to just have dinner with Layla. This was something you did every week while the boys were out but this time felt different. You’ve torn your room apart looking for the right thing to wear, finally opting for a simple blue babydoll dress with a flowy skirt. You wear your hair in its natural state and put on some light makeup to complete the look. 

  It’s just dinner, relax

  You’re standing in front of the door of their shared flat trying to calm your nerves as you smooth down the front on your skirt. You can already smell the wonderful aroma wafting under the door as you begin to knock. Layla opens the door and pulls you into a hug but you’re apprehensive to hug her back act normal.

  “Hey hon, come on in, I'm just finishing up the pizza.” You enter the flat and set the bottle of red wine you brought on the counter and take in the sight of delicious homemade pizza. 

  “I’m making Marc’s favorite for you, he insisted.” She looks up from placing the toppings to wink at you. Why did he insist? 

  “Oh…everything smells wonderful.” You’re standing nervously at the kitchen island fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I brought some wine,would you like me to pour you a glass?” 

  “I’d love some, you know where the glasses are.” She points absentmindedly to the cabinet behind her while she finishes topping the pizza. You pour two glasses for the both of you and once she places the pizza in the oven all attention is on you. 

  “How has work been? Steven said you’ve had to put in some late night shifts.” You’re staring at her wine stained lips and the curls that frame her face. How does  she always look so effortlessly beautiful? She has an inquisitive look on her face and you realize you haven’t answered her. 

  “Umm…it’s been fine, I’m sure you know how much of a pain Donna can be.” You're focused on the wine in your glass instead of her piercing gaze. 

  “Hey…I can tell you’re nervous and I know Steven talked to you. Nothing has to change. I just wanted you to know how I felt.” It makes her heart swell noticing  you’ve put more effort into your appearance than you normally do for your weekly dinner.

  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous…I care about you a lot and I want to do this right.” She takes your hand in hers and you finally look up and meet her eyes. Neither of you say anything, whatever is happening between you can go unspoken for now. 

  You both finally relax into a comfortable calm as you eat Pizza and finish the bottle of wine. As the night progresses it feels more and more like how things are supposed to be. Conversation flows freely as you both relax on the couch gossiping about work or sharing your thoughts about the boys.

  “I know they look different but Marc and Steven  both get that furrowed brow when they’re focused.” She shifts on the couch to face you mimicking that stern look they get. You burst into a fit of laughter at the accuracy. 

  “Okay but have you seen Jake's serious face?” You squint your eyes and  muster up the best version of Jake that you can manage. She leans in close,her lips just a breath away. 

  “That face is much more adorable than Jake's.” Suddenly you're feeling hot,neither of you pulling away from your close proximity. The tension that’s been building for months is threatening to burst as you wait for her next move. 

  “Can I kiss you?” She’s practically touching your lips when she asks and you wish she would just do it but you know it’s in her nature to wait for you. 

  “Yes please.” In a moment her lips are on yours as her hands caress your neck and trail down your jaw. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, feverish in the way her lips slot against yours. She pulls away and you chase her lips with your eyes closed and lips parted trying to catch your breath. 

  She brushes her thumb along your bottom lip and looks at you as though you hold the world in your eyes. “Your lips are so soft.”

  “Do it again please.” The desperation in your voice is unfamiliar but she doesn’t hesitate to oblige your request as her lips crash into yours, you part your lips to allow her tongue to slide in as you moan into her mouth. She pulls you slightly into her lap as you straddle her thigh. Your lips move in tandem as she grabs your waist. You can feel your panties soaked as she grinds your clit over her jeans. 

  “Sweetheart…you gonna come like this, I’ve barely touched you?” You’re a panting mess as your climax approaches and she doesn’t relent as she trails kisses down your neck,leaving love bites along the way. She moves one hand from your waist and slowly starts trailing your inner thigh. Her fingers dance along the hem of your underwear almost reaching where you need it the most. 

  The floorboard creaks and you both halt your movements. You look up from the couch and see Mr. Knight standing near the window, the moon still illuminating him in his stark white suit. He’s masked and you can’t see the expression on his face but his chest is heaving and you can’t help but notice the growing bulge in the front of his pants. 

  You slide off Layla suddenly embarrassed at the state she had you in. She grabs your hand before you can stand and sends you a reassuring squeeze. 

  “Steven…care to join?” She says in this sweet honey tone. Yet he doesn’t falter, as if he’s frozen to the spot. 

  Steven move your goddamn feet or I’m taking over the body.

  Snapped from his trance Steven begins to walk towards the couch. He takes a seat beside you so that you're situated in between them. He’s yet to reveal his face but his demeanor is definitely your Steven as he begins rubbing soothing circles on your thighs. The combined touch of their hands is all too real and this is territory you’ve never covered before. 

  “Are you okay with this Love?” Steven is always the observer making sure that this is truly what you want. You slowly nod your head. 

  “I need you to use your words honey.” You turn your head to Layla and the pet name she’s used many times before holds more weight in this moment. 

  “Yes this is okay…as long as Steven is…” 

  “Yes I’m great love this is perfectly alright.”He cuts you off before you can finish. You can’t help but giggle at his sudden burst of enthusiasm. 

  “Steven…why don’t you give her a kiss to calm her nerves.” Steven grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently tilts your face to him. He withdraws his mask and you can see his pupils blown wide. He kisses you softly as though it’s just the two of you in the room. Two sets of hands are on you as Layla leans against your back leaving hot kisses along your neck. 

  A soft hand trails up your inner thigh as another cups your breast over your dress. You kiss and bite at Stevens neck as you palm his erection through his pants. He whimpers in your ear as he bucks his hips into your hand. A soft finger pulls your panties to the side and rubs along your slick folds. You drop your head to Stevens shoulder gripping his arms for purchase. She dips two fingers dip into your entrance and you whine into his neck as you begin to rock your hips. 

  “You’re doing so good for us sweetie.” Layla coos in your ear. She withdraws her fingers from you and you whine at the loss. She holds her fingers up to Stevens lips and taps on them lightly, he takes both fingers in his mouth never breaking eye contact as rolls his tongue around coming off with a loud pop.

  “Tastes so good love…why don’t you let her have a taste hmm.” Your brain is short circuiting at the sight. “Yes.” It’s all you can manage with your voice barely above a whisper. 

  “I think the bed would be better for that…don’t you think?” She says as she takes your hand to stand. Your body is no longer in your control, you can’t feel your legs beneath you but you know you’re moving towards the bedroom. Layla at your front and Steven close behind. 

  Steven retracts his suit and begins to undress when you enter the room. Leaving him only in his boxers, you can see the strain of his cock against the fabric where a wet spot has formed. 

  “I think you two are a bit overdressed.” He stands at your back pulling your straps down your shoulders letting your dress fall to the floor revealing your green matching lace set. He moves behind Layla pulling her shirt over her head as you work on the button of her jeans. He slides down her pants and kisses her shoulder when he stands. 

  This is so not fair

  Callate pendejo 

  Steven does his best to block out the sounds of his head mates but doesn’t shut them off completely. He wants them to see this. 

  “Lay down against the pillows Steven.” He lays down on the bed with his legs spread wide and his hands at his side. She directs you to lay against him facing her while she sits between your legs. You're shaking from the anticipation and he begins rubbing soothing lines up and down your arms giving you goosebumps. She grabs the hem of your underwear and gently lifts your hips to slide them down. 

  “Is she always this wet for you?” She smirks at him as she drops her head down between your legs, licking a stripe through your slit. You arch your back at the sensation and Steven moans as you press further into his hard cock. He pulls your knees back to hold your legs open as she dips her tongue into your slick heat. Your whimpers and moans of her name are muffled as Steven swallows them with his mouth on yours. 

  “She does taste good.” She rocks back on her heels and pulls you up into a kiss. You can taste yourself on her lips as she dips her tongue into your mouth. You start to slide your hand beneath the band of her panties but she stops you. 

  “Tonight is about you sweetheart.” She’s definitely in control and you decide not to push. “Take off your boxers.” Steven practically rips them trying to get them off as his cock springs free slapping against his abdomen. You don’t think you’ve ever seen it so big, the angry red tip leaking precum all over his stomach. 

  She coaxes you back to lean against him and grabs the base of his cock causing him to gasp. She drags the tip along your dripping folds and Steven lifts you slightly as he guides you down onto him. 

  “Oh fuck…Steven it’s too much.” He’s not even all the way in and from this angle he’s hitting something devastating inside you. “Shhh love you can take it just relax.” Your cunt flutters around his thick cock causing a guttural moan from him. She straddles you both and you sink to the hilt. She places her hands on Stevens chest as she rides you grinding her hips into yours. Your mind has gone numb as she fucks you into Steven, each roll of her hips catches on your clit and slides you up and down his length. 

  “M’so close.” Steven chokes out from behind you as his grip tightens on your hips and his pelvis bucks slightly. She reaches between your bodies and begins rubbing tight circles on your clit as she leans in close and kisses Steven. He picks up his pace slamming you down on his cock over and over as he arches his back lifting the both of you. 

  “Right. There. Please . Don’t. Stop.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust and you come undone; she grabs your face, pulling you into an awkward three way kiss. Every nerve in your body is alight as she doesn’t let up on your clit, you don’t know if this is the same orgasm or a second that has tears streaming down your face. You clench down on him as he comes with a loud groan shooting hot ropes of cum into your core. 

  “You did so good, sweetheart.” She kisses you deep as you try to control your cries and aftershocks. 

  As you come down from your high you realize you’ve been moved. You’re laying on your side facing Steven as Layla plants small kisses on the small of your back. Steven places a soft kiss to your sweat soaked forehead and rolls out of bed. 

  “I’ll be right back love.” He retreats to the bathroom as you hear the water running. 

  You turn to face Layla and she can see the worry on your face. “What’s wrong hon? Was this too much?” 

  “No it’s not that it’s just…you didn’t get very much attention and I feel bad.”  She grabs your neck and pulls you into a soft kiss. 

  “There’s always next time.”

  Next time 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

Happy pride 🏳️‍🌈

[onlymingyus]

Temporary

pairing; kim mingyu x reader

genre; angst

warnings; depression, comfort

w/c; 520 on the nose

requested; no

a/n; this is completely written from a personal place. i do honestly use writing as a place to vent and get out my own feelings and these past few weeks have been mentally very difficult. i hope you don't mind a little self-indulgence as i work through the things in my head.

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

Fingers strum through your hair without a word being said. Nothing needs to be said because your tears and gentle sobs are enough to fill the space. It felt like your own mind and time were betraying you. Nothing had gone right in such a long time that it was beginning to feel like it may never again.

Mingyu moves in closer to you. His knees press against the back of yours as his left arm slides around your waist to pull you in closer. The man’s heart breaks for you knowing that he can’t change how you feel right now despite everything he wished he could do.

He had asked you to explain to him what was going on, and how it felt, but it was hard to put into words. How could you so easily explain feeling empty and alone even while you were in someone’s arms? How could you tell someone that you were falling apart when they were trying desperately to piece you back together constantly?

You knew this was in your mind. You knew that there would be blue skies and a clear mind at some point, but right now it seemed impossible. Your mind was a battlefield and you were stuck in the middle of a war you didn’t have any weapons to fight.

Nuding his nose against your neck, Mingyu closes his eyes and swallows hard as he holds you to him. The way he holds you is as if you were both made of glass and also like you might slip away if he held you too loosely. He finds a perfect balance and maintains his own emotions because he knows that’s what you need right now.

So many times you had been the rock that he would swim to in his own storm. Now he was going to stay here for as long as it took. Lips brush against your skin and you sob harder causing Mingyu to lace his fingers with yours almost apologetically for causing you to cry. He knew it wasn’t his fault but he still wanted to show you he understood.

“It’s temporary.”

You had said those words to him so many times before when Mingyu would think everything was impossible. When he would get to a point when it was too much, it was all too hard.

“It’s all temporary, baby.”

Mingyu’s lips barely graze your ear as he speaks, his fingers once again moving to pull your hair from your face so he can then wipe some of your tears from your cheeks. He knew more would take their place, but he wasn’t going anywhere. The pain was temporary but he wasn’t. You weren’t temporary.

You can only nod before your shoulders shake almost as if you are in pain at hearing Mingyu’s words. He knew logically you weren’t in pain, still, he can’t help the way his brain tells him to check you, to protect you. Warm fingers move over your cheeks as he whispers soft words of adoration and encouragement all while telling you it’s okay to take your time with the pain.

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed. 

[minghaoslatina]

7:34 pm ✰ HONGJOONG

now playing 🎧 infrunami by steve lacy

word count ⌨️ 626

As you exited the company building, a blast of cold wind sent shivers down your spine. Gentle snowflakes fell from the sky, creating a serene and gorgeous atmosphere. Walking beside you was Hongjoong, your dedicated and hardworking boyfriend, who finally agreed to take a break from his studio. You felt incredibly proud of him but knew he needed some well-deserved rest, too.

"I feel like I'm freezing to death," you say, hugging yourself to keep warm. The sound of snow crunching beneath your shoes fills the air as you make your way to the nearest cafe. Hongjoong came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, making you feel safe and loved. Resting your head against him, you couldn't help but smile as you admired him wearing a beanie in the snow. His long eyelashes caught snowflakes, creating a beautiful sight. The air was crisp, and the scent of snow added to the moment's magic.

"You're the one who wanted to take a walk in this horrible weather," he teased, letting go of your waist and taking your hand in his. You playfully pouted, feeling the chill of the winter air on your cheeks. "Hey! Winter is a beautiful season. It might be freezing, but I'd rather be cold than have a heat stroke," you laugh, the sound blending with the soft patter of snowflakes around you as you swing your intertwined hands back and forth.

"Sorry, beautiful, you're right," Hongjoong grinned, his warm breath visible in the frosty air. He suddenly kissed you on the cheek. Your cheeks turned warm, contrasting with the cold, and you looked away as Hongjoong's laughter mixed with the serene quiet of the winter evening.

You walk behind him momentarily and grab some snow to throw at him, bursting into laughter when it hits his back. Hongjoong gasps and looks at you in disbelief.

"You started it," he said with a mischievous grin before scooping up a handful of snow and launching it at you, starting a playful snowball fight. You squealed and darted away, laughter bubbling out of you as he followed you around a tree. Eventually, breathless and flushed, you signaled for him to stop, doubling over to catch your breath. Hongjoong chuckled, patiently waiting as you straightened up. But before you could make a move, he playfully pelted a snowball at your arm, eliciting another delighted squeal from you. His laughter mixed with yours as he enveloped you in a warm, tight hug. As you locked eyes, a deep sense of connection and love passed between you, evident to anyone around that you were meant for each other. Lost in the moment's warmth, you gazed into Hongjoong's starry eyes and leaned in to kiss him. His lips were soft and tender, eliciting a smile from you even as you kissed him.

You pulled away from Hongjoong's lips and smiled at him once more, admiring your boyfriend. You took a step back momentarily but soon regretted it as you felt the slippery ground beneath you. You almost stumbled, but Hongjoong caught you just in time. You were about to thank him, but both of you ended up falling to the ground. Hongjoong ensured that you landed on top of him to prevent any harm. Both of you burst into laughter before you roll off Hongjoong and land on the snow. You turned to each other, sharing a lovestruck gaze. Before getting up, both of you made snow angels on the ground. Hongjoong was the first to rise and offer you a hand to help you up.

"I really want that coffee," you say, poking his nose and walking towards the cafe. Hongjoong smiles and walks behind you, placing a hand on the small of your back.

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

a/n 💌

this was self indulgent because I miss the winter ❄️

[5iyoomi]

BokuAtsu Hc's

A/N: THESE ARE VERY MUCH SELF INDULGENT I have way too many ideas for them honestly.. these are just a few 🫡

-Both of them are switches in bed and they're also both incredibly insatiable. With Atsumu never not being horny and Koutarou having inhuman stamina they can go a few rounds every night, even after a game. The aftercare usually consists of Koutarou murmuring something about how he's hungry, much to an amused Atsumu who insists they clean up first. They'll bathe together, talking about any and everything while they rub the stress out of each other's shoulders and then get something to eat. After that they'll cuddle together, listening to the sound of the other's breath until they fall asleep

-Jealous Kou, possessive Tsumu. Atsumu knows his boyfriends hot, that he takes up the spotlight and all eyes are constantly on him, so if somebody's flirting with him at some club even with him being right there? Let them, but he'll stop them if it goes too far. Atsumu's the only one that gets to see the pretty reactions that Koutarou gives him when they're behind closed doors. Koutarou, on the other hand, can't help the little pout that crosses his face when his fans give Atsumu googly eyes or somebody wraps a hand around his forearm. Atsumu smooths it out for him when he notices, always having something snarky to say about how Koutarou isn't all that subtle, but he'll still kiss away his worries despite the light-hearted jabs

-"Wanna go on a date?" "Sure" and then it's just the same things they did as friends because both were either frustratingly unaware of their crush on each other or they were in heavy denial for a very long time LMAO. Always sitting next to each other on the bus, Atsumu's head eventually leaning on Koutarou's shoulder when he's tired. Holding hands because it's 'cold' outside (it's not) and brightening when the other entered a room. Neither of them were slick

-Koutarou tries to cook for him sometimes but somehow it always goes wrong. He wants to replicate that onigiri that Osamu makes? The rice is sticking to the bottom of the pot. He reads something online about how breakfast in bed is seen as romantic? His heart shaped pancakes are more like burnt little blobs. Atsumu will still pretend anything he makes is good, though, but he'll (as nicely as he can) suggest letting him make dinner next time

-They celebrate every win with a kiss. It's mostly Koutarou that started it, excitedly flinging himself into Atsumu's arms and pressing shaky kisses to his forehead. The first time it happened the faux blonde tumbled over on the court in surprise, but he's come to expect it now, twirling Koutarou around with a grin and gently cupping his face. If they lose and Koutarou gets sulky, Atsumu's right there to lift him off his feet by talking about the positives even if he himself is upset too. Mentioning the plays that did go through, spikes that Koutarou sent that had the blockers scrambling as they took point after point… it never failed to bring that smile back to his face

-Technically, both of them were the first to confess. It's a night after MSBY had a party to celebrate their win at finals and they've had a few drinks. Not so many that they'd regret it in the morning, but enough that some of their inhibitions were clearly lowered. It comes out when they're on their way home, cool fingers laced together; a grounding mechanism. Koutarou says Atsumu's name and Atsumu says his, light laughter filling the air when they realize there's something heavy between them. Something that's gone unspoken for far too long. "You go first." Atsumu says, but Koutarou shakes his head. "We can just say it at the same time, can't we?" and they both whisper an I love you that the wind almost carries away

[depressedbagpipe]

A Heartrender's Fire: ch. II

Tolya Yul-Bataar x Lantsov!ofc

Words: 5050 Warnings: me not knowing how ships work? i know the volkvolny is supposed to be a whaler but idk, rewatch the episode if you're having doubts. the sea whip scene + a bit of blood, cringe dialogue, lots of filler (it's not me it's the plot) BTW I'M NOT SURE I'VE PROOFREAD THIS AT ALL SO BEWARE A/N: somehow this chapter got incredibly long for a mere filler, anyways, enjoy. again, just in case anybody got lost along the way, this is strictly self-indulgence imagining my oc as part of the show, do with that what you will

Series Masterlist Previous chapter <> Next chapter

II: Rusalye

Irina was aware of the hustle on deck before she was fully conscious. She had been sprawled on one of the side benches, completely asleep as the sun went up and her guard ended. The previous day's affairs had left her exhausted and she hadn’t even been bothered enough to go below deck to her shared cabin. Fully trusting the crew surrounding her, she un-gracelessly flopped down on the wooden bench and closed her eyes for what she thought had been minutes.

Thankfully for her, a huge shadow loomed over her, sheltering her from the unforgiving sun rays that seemed to follow the Volkvolny. Whether that was because of the Sun Summoner, Irina didn’t know. 

“Enjoyed your nap?” Tolya’s voice made her open her eyes.

Her pupils shrank involuntarily, adjusting to the bright sky above her. The giant blocked the sun with his existence, and with the sun rays surrounding his head, he looked heavenly to Irina, who was making a huge effort not to let her eyes droop again and cave in the slumber. 

She smirked. “Greatly.” 

She took Tolya’s hand, who gently pulled her up on her feet. She lost her footing slightly as a particularly big wave made the ship lurch to the side, making her crash into his side. His big arm steadied her, coming around her waist as she braced for the impact. It was moments like these that Irina wished she would’ve crashed into the floor because it would’ve saved her from the embarrassment of having to look into his eyes and thank him for his service. Because no matter how many years the twins had been by her side, a sliver of doubt always clouded her judgment. Did he feel the butterflies too, or was it just sheer loyalty to them as Sturmhond and Ainthe?

Irina discarded those thoughts as she stretched, rubbing her eyes and observing the decks. She took a deep breath. “It’s warm today.”

Tolya nodded. “It is, thanks Saints for that.”

She snorted. “You can’t complain that you’re cold when you’re constantly bare-armed.”

He smirked. “You know sleeves limit my movements,” he said as he too scanned the rest of the crew.

“Right.” She wasn’t looking at him but felt his eyes on her. “That’d explain why Tamar is always fully dressed and just as capable.”

She turned her eyes to him, but her teasing gaze made him chuckle. They both remained at the poop deck, eyeing the crew work around the main level. 

“There she is,” Irina noticed the Sun Summoner suddenly appear on deck, with a wonderstruck look on her face. She eyed the two squallers working the main sails, exchanging words with her friend.

“Did you ever meet her?” Tolya almost whispered in her ear, his eyes never leaving the Sun Summoner.

Irina shook her head, noticing the way his eyes lingered on the other girl. “No. But our parents did, apparently. Kirigan wouldn’t have kept her hidden for that long,” she noted.

“So she wasn’t tested as a kid, then?”

The girl shrugged. “Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. It’s not like I’ve had the chance to really get to know her yet. But he isn’t Grisha.”

“I know.”

“Those two…”

“Definitely.”

The two shared a knowing look, silently deciding to drop their conversation, but also agreeing to pay close attention to the couple as they slowly arrived at their spot. Tolya walked down the poop deck to join his sister, while Sturmhond joined his, coming behind her.

“Be nice,” Irina warned her brother.

Sturmhond feigned innocence, bringing a hand to his chest. “I’m always nice, dear sister.”

“Like hell you are.”

“I just enjoy annoying you.”

Irina didn’t say anything else, for the couple arrived at their deck. Mal was about to touch a lever when Sturmhond stopped him, coming closer to them.

“Ooh, definitely don’t touch that.” Mal rolled his eyes again. “So, Miss Starkov,” he approached Alina. “What say you and I chart the course to your destiny to find the Sea Whip?”

Alina looked at Mal, who stood straighter, with his hands in his pockets. “That’ll be me, I’m the tracker.” Alina stared at him proudly.

Irina stared between the two men, enjoying the bickering. Her brother. with a confident smirk, pulled his golden compass out of his clothes, dangling it in his hand as he showed it to them. 

“My lucky compass. Seen me through thick and thin. Okay then, tracker, which way is north?”

The royal siblings stared at the tracker with mixed emotions. Sturmhond felt oddly confident, and Irina was simply curious. From the way the guests held themselves, they weren’t used to the sea like Sturmhond and Irina were, and even after years of sailing, Irina sometimes couldn’t tell which way was where. Mal adjusted his posture again, raising his eyebrows and looking out in the distance. Alina looked at him like he had hung the sun in the sky.

“Well, I can tell you a few ways, based on the position of the sun and my shadow, based on the direction that we’re sailing in, and based on…” he stopped when he looked at Alina, who was glaring at him. Irina knew another silent conversation had just passed between them, and wondered just how deep the bond between the summoner and the tracker ran. “It’s that way.”

Sturmhond had all eyes on him, who looked down at his compass with a little skepticism. Even Irina peered at the golden needle, confirming Mal’s declaration.

With a nod, Sturmhond dropped the compass and patted Mal on the back, forcing him to walk with him.

“Let me introduce you to our navigators. What did you say your name was again?”

The girls were left by themselves. 

“Don’t mind him. He likes to tease,” Irina told Alina with a smile. 

The Sun Summoner smiled back at her, a little shyly still, but appreciative nonetheless.

“Mal can be a little… hotheaded too. But thank you…” Alina stopped, suddenly remembering she hadn’t caught the second-in-command’s name.

“Ainthe,” Irina finished for her.

Alina smiled. “Nice to meet you, Ainthe.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Irina smirked too.  “How did you sleep?” 

“Surprisingly well. A little on the noisy side, though.”

“I apologize for Tolya’s snoring. It can be quite much sometimes,” both girls laughed. “Let me show you around the place. Last night Sturmhond wasn’t his usual welcoming self.”

“When is he ever welcoming?” Alina laughed but allowed the girl to lead her through the main deck, pointing out the names of several crew members who were working nonstop, pulling on ropes and fixing on the heading. 

“I can’t believe there’s Grisha on the crew…” Alina exclaimed. 

Irina smiled. “This is a haven for anyone who needs it.”

“And he is your brother?”

“Unfortunately.”

They shared another complacent look before Tamar called Alina’s attention.

“Oi, Sun Summoner! Join us.”

Tamar stood up, leaving space for Alina, who eyed wearily the cards game the twins were playing together with some of the Grisha on deck. Tolya laid his heavy arm on Irina’s shoulders after dropping his cards on the small wooden table, Shu words leaving his mouth in satisfaction at winning yet again. The two of them stared at Alina as she sat down, her confidence gone in an instant.

“What does that mean?”

Tolya frowned. “You don’t know it? It means ‘victory’ in Shu.”

Tamar went back to shuffle the cards, while Alina looked down, embarrassed. “Um, I don’t speak Shu.”

Tamar saved her. “Understandable. We know what Ravkans think about mutts like us. And in Shu Han–”

“They prefer to remind us we’ve our Ravkan mother’s blood,” Tolya finished for her.  

Irina scoffed. “Blood is blood. Only fools think otherwise.”

Tamar gave Alina her own set of cards, while she stared at the odd group around her with a shy grin. 

“Is that why you’ve chosen a life at sea? Because it understands that?” Alina asked.

“It’s why we chose Sturmhond,” Tolya answered, taking a seat on a barrel.

Tamar chimed in. “He understands.” Then, she looked at Irina, with a grateful smile. “They both do.”

The girl winked at her friend, inviting herself to sit on Tolya’s leg, fully knowing he could support her weight as she watched them play their card game.

It wasn’t long until Alina noticed Tamar’s amplifier, right behind her left ear. “Is that a shark’s tooth? You’re Grisha?” Tamar met her eyes, with a certain spark in her gaze. “Um, what order?”

She shared a look with her brother. “Uh, Tolya and I don’t really do that, but if we were in Ravka, we’d be Heartrenders,” she explained, while Tolya simply kept eating, sometimes even sharing some of the food with Irina, who remained silent. “But I have this so, it’s a win for me,” Tamar kept looking at her brother with a smirk.

It was still a touchy subject for the giant. “If only I’d been thirty seconds faster…”

“Story of your life, little brother.”

Irina shrugged, patting Tolya on the shoulder. “Younger siblings unite.”

Alina chuckled.

Tolya got her attention. “We’ve been told you’re looking for an amplifier yourself.”

Irina added. “The Sea Whip.”

“Is it true?”

Alina didn’t answer, but merely nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Possessing two amplifiers… it breaks all the rules,” Ngarra, the crew’s most proficient Durast, who had been sitting next to Alina, finally spoke.

“Says the Durast who’ll be fusing the amplifier, if we find it,” Tolya made his sister chuckle.

“So I have a vested interest in your plan. But I don’t want to die in the process,” Ngarra added.

Alina laughed softly, yet with certain doubt in her voice. “Trust me, I don’t want to die either.” She looked at Tamar, eyeing her amplifier for a brief second. “Um, when you fused your amplifier, did it show you its last moments?”

Tamar nodded. “Tolya swimming up as I took its life.”

Irina shuddered slightly at the memory of the big white shark, and how close she had felt to dying when she saw the great creature swimming at a dangerous speed to them. The vessel they had boarded had tipped over in the strong tempest, and both crews were swimming towards the whaler they called home in the rain when one of the Tidemakers saw the big animal not far away from where they all swam. Irina had been unwillingly rushed through the water by Greyven on Sturmhond’s orders, and all that was left to do was see how Tamar threw herself at the beast in front of her brother. It seemed ages ago, yet Irina sometimes still felt the tilting of the vessel, and the cold splash of the True Sea deep in her bones. 

Ngarra asked. “What did the Stag show you?”

Alina sighed. “The last thing it saw was me, reaching for its muzzle. Like it always should have been. Because… I’d always dreamt about it,” her gaze got darker. “But now I’m dreaming about the Sea Whip, and the Firebird, too.”

“You think the three are connected?” Irina asked, re-adjusting her position on Tolya’s leg.

The Sun Summoner struggled for words. “I think… I think they are to be connected… through me. So I can then destroy the Fold,” she shook her head. “But I can’t be sure unless I try. Unless we try.” 

“It’s uncharted territory,” Ngarra argued, but she also felt the promise of adventure.

Tamar shrugged. “What are we, if not experts in uncharted waters?” She dropped her cards on the table again. “Who’s ready to test their mettle?”

–·–

“Stop with the flirting,” Irina told her brother.

“I’m not flirting,” Sturmhond defended himself.

“You so are! I thought you were a lot more intelligent to know she’s already spoken for,” she frowned, talking in quiet voices so the Sun Summoner wouldn’t hear them.

“I’ve called everybody ‘sunshine’ at least once before,” he said, pulling his sleeves up as they made their way to the war room, just below the main deck. “I’m not gonna stop now just because she is a Saint.”

Irina shook her head as she took her place to his right, impatiently waiting for the crew to begin their council. “I know what you’re planning. And I hate it.”

“You’re gonna have to trust me on this one.”

“She’ll hate you when she finds out, too.”

“That’s why you’re not coming.”

“What?”

“I need you on the ship.”

“You need me out there, Sturmhond.”

“Should anything happen to the captain, the second-in-command steps in.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to you. Or me.”

“You’re right. Because you’re staying.”

“You know fire comes in really handy sometimes.”

“We got the Sun Summoner.”

“Ouch.”

“You two are literal children,” Tamar groaned, flanking the Sun Summoner. 

Tolya stood on the other side, in front of the royal siblings and next to his sister. When everybody took their place around the wooden table, Sturmhond began his speech, ignoring his sister’s glare. Whether he liked it or not, she was coming.

“Thanks to navigation from our Summoner’s tracker friend here,” he eyed Mal, who, again, rolled his eyes, “we’ve traversed the Bone Road to the island of Jelka.” 

A sailor threw a small pouch to Tolya, who caught it in his hands. Tamar stared at him questioningly, looking at the brown fabric trying to catch a glimpse. Even Irina stopped paying attention momentarily as she frowned, seeing the giant open the pouch and start nibbling at whatever the sailor had fired at him so he could eat.

“As for the Sea Whip, we have some storybook drawings, no telling what it really looks like.” Sturmhond walked back to the only wall that was covered by a black curtain, and gripped the small rope that opened it. “Rule of thumb for the unknown, come prepared!”

The Volkvolny’s wall of weapons was visible to the newcomers, both of them gasping at the big number of armaments that Sturmhond kept partially hidden.

Mal stepped closer, not wanting to let his amazement show to the sea prince. “Are all pirates this well-armed?”

“Privateer,” Sturmhond complained.

“I don’t know the difference.”

Sturmhond walked to him. “The difference is, I have a license. And a healthy love for innovation: gadgets, marvels, things that go boom...”

“Especially things that go boom,” Irina mentioned, making her brother smirk.

“Anything pique your interest?” 

“Yeah,” Mal swallowed. 

Sturmhond grinned. “Well, take it, for our excursion.” Mal took the harpoon, a special design Sturmhond had taken years to perfect. “Fabulous choice. You have excellent taste in weaponry, Mal. The cable’s Fabrikator-made. Tensile strength of 80,000. Yield, 50.”

“Impossible,” Mal wondered, although he was starting to believe that very few things were impossible for the privateer.

“When people say ‘impossible,’ they usually mean ‘improbable.’”

Mal laughed. “Not me. It’s incredible.”

“I designed it myself. In fact, my inventions are all around you,” he whispered his next words. “You just have to know where to look.”

Sturmhond addressed the crew once again. “So, we’ll go in quietly, on Miss Starkov’s orders, to injure it for your death blow.”

Alina interjected. “I’m not killing it.” 

That made the room silent. 

Irina then intervened, her voice calm yet defiant, just like her brother had taught her. “You have to kill it, to claim its power. That’s how amplifiers work.” She spoke from experience, of course. The wolf’s fang she wore as a necklace and kept hidden with her clothes, unlike her friends, wasn’t completely fused to her body, but still allowed her to amplify her own powers at her will. She had never taken it off, and always thought she never would.

Alina shook her head. “It wasn’t with the Stag. I think I can do it without killing it.”

Sturmhond chuckled. “As… As lovely as that sounds, I’m not sending my crew in to tame a mythical beast with nets and good intentions.”

The Sun Summoner didn’t back down. “This is the job you were hired for, privateer. We capture it. Alive.”

Nobody had time to add anything else before Greyven called Sturmhond’s attention. “Captain! We’ve reached the island.”

Irina smirked, her blood buzzing in her ears as fire burned in her veins. “Let’s go.”

When she passed next to Tolya, he took her hand in his, dropping a couple of the seeds he had been eating into her palm. Without another word, the crew went up to the main deck, staring at the dark island looming in the distance, shadows and black clouds swirling around it, a silent warning to anyone who dared trespass its borders. Anyone who, unlike the crew on the Volkvolny, wasn’t stupid enough to get any closer.

“Well, that’s not foreboding.” 

A distant thunder crackled.

“Could be anywhere in there,” Tolya noted.

“We enter through that one,” Mal decided, pointing at an opening that quite frankly looked even worse than the island itself, making Tamar frown.

“You sure?”

“There’s a frequency. I’ve heard it before. It’s in there.”

The royal siblings shared a worried look, but Sturmhond quickly made the call.

“You heard him. We’re going ashore!”

–·–

The tunnel was dark, wet, and unforgiving. The entrance was the only beacon of light in the narrow passage, but as soon as the crew walked into the lion’s den, the darkness engulfed them, as if it was the only one living there. Just a small party had been chosen to look for the Sea Whip, and much to her brother’s protest, Irina had been the first to volunteer. She now silently walked after her brother, who shone a weak light that had nothing to do with the endless pit of obscurity that lay before them. Greyven, their trusted Tidemaker, walked after them. Tolya and Tamar followed, with the Sun Summoner and Mal at the back, the party finishing with two other sailors.

Sturmhond quickly loaded his gun as soon as he heard the still water move unrhythmically, distant and different from the steps of his crew.

“That could be it.” He didn’t move his eyes from the front but addressed the Tidemaker. “Greyven, tell me. Anything in the water?”

Greyven searched, sending small yet powerful waves around him, his Grisha powers doing the rest for him as he tested the waters, looking for the possible bane of their existence. 

“There are holes in the cave floor.” Everyone instinctively looked down, suddenly weary, not trusting their feet anymore. “So be careful where you step. Otherwise no.”

Mal frowned. “No, you can’t tell, or no, there’s nothing in there?”

“Whichever makes you feel more comfortable,” Tolya cocked his head to the side, continuing his walk.

Tamar followed, twisting her axe once again. “Comfort’s overrated.”

Irina grunted, hating the way the water clung to her feet. “Of course you’d say that.”

They all managed to take two more steps when a deep and chilling noise alerted them. They ducked, their hands and weapons ready, but nothing met them halfway. The gurgling continued, low and menacing, regardless, making the sailors confused. Nobody dared speak as they looked around, both relying on each other for comfort and checking each other’s blind spots, but no light could prevent them from following blindly into danger.

Disaster happened quickly. One of the sailors suddenly disappeared before everyone’s eyes, a somber and horrifying creature yanking him up from his back and pulling him away from the group through one of the dark holes in the ceiling, and the chaos began. Everybody started firing at the creature, following the noise of its cries while they all screamed in fear, the darkness seemingly getting worse.

“Drop the nets! Aim to kill!” Sturmhond called, breaking his promise to the Sun Summoner as soon as he lost a member of his crew.

“No! Don’t!” Alina pleaded, but Sturmhond’s order had already been called, and the situation was too dire for them to show mercy. 

Irina had her revolvers ready, preferring the quickness of the explosion to her own summoning, unconsciously mirroring her brother’s stance as they stood back to back, looking around, trying to catch the next glimpse of the Sea Whip.

“I couldn’t see it. It’s toying with us,” Sturmhond panted, completely wet. His gun was pointed at nothing, but not once he blinked or staggered. “Conserve your ammo, or we’ll be dry by the time we need it.” 

A couple of moments of silence were followed by another loud scream, both siblings yelping when the sailor guarding their backs disappeared as well, his terrified face being the last thing anyone saw as he was dragged underwater. Tamar searched the passage for him, trying to feel his heart, but the look on her face made everybody know that another one of their party was gone for good.

Irina’s heart drummed loud in her ears, and if she had been paying a little more attention despite the situation at hand, she would have noticed Tolya’s left hand, the one who wasn’t grabbing his sword, extended towards her, calming her clock down just a tad, enough to allow the girl to think a little bit clearer.

Another distant noise echoed in the tunnel.

“It can camouflage,” Sturmhond’s voice, though low, reverberated in the cavern.

Mal saw it first. Before the creature growled and threw itself at Alina, he was already pushing the two of them away from its path. The creature dipped and threw Sturmhond down as it ran away from the group, and the prince quickly stood back up, secretly hating the cold that was now seeping into his beloved blue jacket. He looked wildly around him. Nobody knew where the creature would be coming from next, and that fear only grew stronger with every passing second.

“It sounds like it’s everywhere,” Sturmhond noted.

That seemed to call it again. The Sea Whip appeared right in front of Alina, glaring at her for a second before throwing itself at the group. Tolya and Tamar tried slashing the creature, but with sheer strength they were pushed away, unscathed. Irina and Mal weren’t that lucky. The creature slammed the girl into the wall as it went for Mal, knocking her unconscious. While she slowly drowned, the Sea Whip had its mouth on Mal’s crossbow, even sinking its teeth into his flesh as Mal fought it off. Alina didn’t hesitate to put it down, sending a powerful beam of light its way, effectively killing the creature, and leaving it unmoving on the water, with its mouth wide in pain and shock.

Nobody spoke. They panted, staring at the sinking creature before them, a group realization that they had somehow finished their mission, only somewhat differently than what they had originally expected.

Sturmhond walked forward, touching it. “It’s dead.”

Alina sighed, defeated, and they would have remained silent if the sudden light beam that filtered through the entrance of the cavern hadn’t shone on the water to reveal a light stream of blood coming from the side of the wall, where a gap stood where another Grisha should have been.

Sturmhond frowned, suddenly desperate, with his heart almost echoing off the walls. “Ainthe?”

–·–

Irina woke up to a pounding in her head. She groaned, bringing her hand to her head, trying to locate the source of the pain. It wasn’t uncommon for the girl to wake up to headaches, especially after wild nights on kvas, but her body still felt cold, and shivers seemed to haunt her despite her many layers.

“Easy there, you took a big hit,” she recognized her brother’s voice. 

When she finally opened her eyes, she was lying in her bed at the captain’s cabin, with her brother sitting down next to her, and Tolya and Tamar standing by the end of the bed, looking at her expectantly. 

“At least I didn’t have to walk back all the way to the ship,” the girl grinned, feeling the pain slowly fade as she sat up. Her brother helped her, and although the wrinkles in his forehead let her know he was worried, his eyes sparked with humor.

“Tamar did a good job patching you up on Jelka, but don’t worry, the Healer came and did the rest,” Tolya spoke with a soft voice, which anyone who hadn’t known him previously would think it’d belong to someone else. 

“Thank the Saints,” Irina joked, already putting one leg on the floor.

“Hey!” Tamar pretended to glare at the girl, but emotion got the best of the Heartrender, and she quickly threw her arms around the princess, hugging her tightly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Irina closed her eyes, taking in the smell of seawater off her. “Me too.”

“We got the fetters,” Sturmhond reminded them when they pulled away. “We should start.”

“Why the rush?”

Sturmhond stopped, looking back at her with a look she couldn’t quite decipher. The Heartrenders left the room, sensing the captain’s discomfort.

“My sister almost drowned because of a couple of scales from a mythological creature that shouldn’t have existed in the first place. I want them gone as soon as possible.”

Irina stared at him, finally understanding the situation. “Nikolai—“ she began, but he cut her off.

“That’s why I didn’t want you to come,” he spoke. “Every time you’re not in my sight I feel like you won’t ever be there anymore. It’s my responsibility to take care of you, Irina.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never been your responsibility, Nikolai. I made a conscious decision to follow you to the end of the world.”

“Whether you want it or not, you’re part of Ravka too. Should anything happen to me, or Vasily…”

“Don’t.”

“Irina.”

“I don’t care. I came here to live. For freedom. And sometimes we gotta fight for it. And that’s okay.”

Sturmhond sighed in frustration. “You could’ve died, for Saints’ sake! Don’t you realize that? Why are you so calm about this?”

She shrugged. “Because you were there. And Tolya, and Tamar. And a fucking Saint. I always know you will protect me, Nikolai. I’m not scared.”

He stopped, looking at his younger sister with a new profound admiration. “And what if I’m not able to protect you?”

“Then I’ll protect you.”

She sent a spark to one of the candles that had gone off a few minutes before, making Sturmhond stare at the flame dancing in her fingers.

“Sometimes I forget you’re the most powerful of the two of us,” he said rather defeated, but still managed to put a smile on his face.

Irina smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll remind you of it.”

He chuckled lightly, welcoming the heat that warmed his heart at the sight of his sister, alive, well, and joking, even if she had literal fire coming from her fingers.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Lead the way, then.”

–·–

“We hold ourselves bound to this mission. To ensure that our fallen crew did not die in vain. And we honor the ultimate sacrifice that they made in our quest to find the Sea Whip. Let us bow our heads for the crew lost today. Let the sea carry them to a safe harbor, and may the Saints receive them on a brighter shore,” Sturmhond recited, a bit too accustomed to the speech to his liking.

“May the Saints receive them.”

Tolya and Tamar left the Sea Whip’s scales at the small barrel before them, and Irina discreetly sent a spark up, her own memorial to her fallen crew. The full moon was high up in the night sky, allowing the ship to sail peacefully. The candles had been extinct, and only the moonlight provided any sort of light to the moving waters.

“Alina, we’re ready,” Sturmhond called the Sun Summoner.

Irina and Sturmhond walked away from the center of the deck, standing on opposite sides as they looked at Alina, who took Sturmhond’s previous position. The girl was still wearing Irina’s clothes, kindly lent to her to fight the Sea Whip, and Irina couldn’t help but notice how the other summoner managed to wear them better than she did. She felt another pang in her chest at the thought but discarded it altogether. It was show time.

Ngarra took Alina’s hands and carefully embedded the two fetters into her wrist. Quickly, power flowed through her, and in an effortless display, Alina allowed the light to breeze and dance around her. 

Everyone at the Volkvolny and a ten-mile radius could feel the power coming from the summoner. Warmth seeped into their bodies, melting their doubts away and igniting the privilege of hope. Despite the brief jealousy, Irina felt it too. They had a chance to win over Ravka, thanks to the girl who now seemed a bit too lost in her own strength. 

Mal called out to her when the brightness became too much. Irina closed her eyes, turning her face to the other side, the heat in her face suddenly too intense to be deemed pleasant. But Malyen Oretsev didn’t back down and eventually pulled Alina away from her trance with a hug, which she quickly returned before they both seared their fates with a kiss. Irina chuckled slightly and diverted her gaze to give the couple some privacy, even though the entire ship was staring at them. 

The fire in her veins was calling out to her, wishing to unfold just like Alina had done with hers, but Irina kept it contained. She knew she would eventually burn something down the longer she spent without utilizing her capabilities, but she still remained hidden, especially now in front of a Saint. After the day's events, after Tamar’s intervention, Greyven’s usefulness, the Healer’s help, Ngarra’s fusion, and Alina’s display, Irina felt like an Inferni suddenly didn’t make any sense on a ship. Instinctively, she looked back, searching for Tolya’s gaze, but for the first time, he wasn’t looking at her. Tolya was looking at the Saint with the same spark in his eyes Irina had convinced herself at some point was only reserved for her. And the sudden lack of attention she wore like a failure.

Sturmhond cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention once Alina and Mal were done.

“Well, then. Where to now, Summoner?”

Irina swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to look back at the couple.

Alina nodded as she only looked at Mal. “East Ravka. Then, the Fold.”

Next chapter

[mara-and-its-the-same]

JJ's got a little family and they're just having a day on the town. CWs:Mean old ladies, protective dad jj, mom reader, preschooler daughter, taking a pregnancy test, implied smut, I think he calls her momma once or twice, no grammar, I avoided y/n but I don't know if I did it well; let me know if I missed anything Wc:3.9k

Well this was an incredibly self indulgent fic because the scenario was brewing in my lil noggin for at least two months and then I was like well it's doing no good in there and the only reason I even watched obx was for this man, and this man alone. And so here you go. I haven't read this since I wrote it I just wanted to post something before I start posting my long fic.

 "Babe, are you even listening?" JJ finally caught his wife's attention from the ring on her left hand. 

"Yes, but look." She held her hand up to let the diamond catch the light, sending rainbows flying across the ceiling of the car as she shifted it back and forth. "It's so shiny."

"I know, love." He took her hand and kissed her fingers. "That's why I picked it, but enough of that we have things to do! A list to check off! You ready Tiny?" He called to the back seat.

"Mhm, all ready," his 4 year old daughter, Iris, giggled from the back seat. 

"Let's go then. I'll get her, you get a cart, ok?" 

"Sounds good to me," JJ answered, then left on his assigned mission with a salute.

Iris laughed with her mom, "Daddy's so silly."

"Yes he is baby, you have no idea." She finally got all the clips undone just as JJ was bringing the cart over, so all she had to do was lift her up and into the cart.

"Weeeee," Iris cheered as she landed in the seat. "Again, again."

"We can do it again when we get back, we gotta get the stuff first, silly." JJ made a face at her while the three of them walked into the store.

He went through all the pockets in his shorts until he found the list. "Divide and conquer?" he suggested

"Absolutely not, I'm not leaving you two alone together and I'm definitely not letting you off on your own. Let's go." She led them down the produce aisle and took the list from JJ. "You got a pen?"

JJ handed her one and she crossed the first item off the list putting a bag of grapes in the cart. Iris made grabby hands towards it and she gave in, setting the bag in her lap.

***

Halfway down the list and a third of the way through the store JJ and Iris started tossing grapes in each other's mouths. 

"You want one, baby?" He asked, offering her a grape while she scanned the shelves for the right brand of flour.

"No, I'm ok." She looked around like she was trying to remember something. "Ummm, I'm gonna go grab something. I forgot it when we were over there 'cause it's not on the list. I'll be right back. Don't eat them all!" She pecked JJ on the cheek before disappearing down the aisle.  

 Iris crossed her arms on the handle bar and laid her forehead on it, "I'm booored."

"Me too but we gotta stay here till your mama gets back, ok kid?" He copied her posture and tilted his head so he could look at her better. She had his hair and eyes but besides that she looked exactly like her mother. 

"Fine," she groaned and he offered his fist out for her. 

"Ready?" he asked and she nodded.

"Rock, paper, scissors," they both said at the same time. JJ put up scissors and she put up rocks. "Awww you got me, again?"

"Yeah." They played for a few more rounds until JJ saw his wife coming back down the aisle with her hands behind her back. She was walking quickly with her hair swishing behind her. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at what she could be rushing from. He worried something had happened in the 5 minutes she was away. 

She threw the small boxes in the cart behind the other bags and nodded her head behind her at an old lady giving them dirty looks. "Don't say anything, just keep walking ok?" she whispered to him while trying to act natural. She wasn't quiet enough because Iris still heard and asked what was wrong. "Nothing baby, don't worry about it." She stroked her daughter's golden hair back from her face and kissed her forehead, taking control of the cart. JJ put a comforting hand on her back as they passed the old lady still giving them the stink eye.

She said something under her breath. "Excuse me?" JJ said defensively. 

"I just think irresponsible children like you can't make responsible parents."

"And what makes you say that?" He put his hands on his hips and stared the old woman down.

"JJ please." She rubbed her thumb over Iris's hand.

"No, I'd like to know, what makes you think my wife and I are irresponsible parents?"

She squared up to him, "You're far too young, too young to be married. You don't know what real life is yet how can you raise a child?"

"And you know all this after what? Following my wife for however many aisles?!" Iris took the phone with her favorite game offered to her, her mother knowing JJ wouldn't let up once he started.

"From the way she looked at the ! I knew she was unfit just after one look!" JJ looked back at his wife with a look of surprised confusion. She only replied with a shrug and nodded from Iris to the end of the aisle. He nodded yes back and she took the cart back up the aisle, not wanting to involve her daughter in this argument. She stopped a quarter of the way up when the man that was with the old woman before walked down to where she and JJ were arguing. "Just look at that outfit what kind of mother would walk around like that?!" The 'unfit' mother in question looked at her outfit, cutoff shorts of a reasonable length and one of JJ's faded old shirts cut into a crop top, and cocked an eyebrow. Not her most fashionable look but she just thought she was going to the grocery store with her family, not being ambushed by an impromptu episode of What Not to Wear. "Then I come here and find her already with a child. And you? So disrespectful!"

The man walked past their cart and nodded to Iris and her mother, before stopping in front of the woman and JJ. He was taller than JJ and much bigger. Despite his overbearing stature he put a hand on the woman's arm and sternly said, "Let's go, leave this nice family alone."

"No! I was just doing my shopping when I saw this- this hussy walk past." JJ's nostrils flared once and he dug his nails into his palms. The other man put a hand on her shoulder and stopped her right there.

"What is wrong with you? What have these people ever done to you to speak to her that way?"

She sputtered for an answer and JJ just shook his head and said, "It doesn't matter. Never speak to any one like that again, especially my wife." He turned back to his family and he took his wife's hand. "Let's go momma."

She blushed hard, "What did I say about calling me that when we're out?" she said with a glare.

"Nothing? I always call you that when Tiny's around." He shrugged, not knowing what she was referring to.

"Not that, you know how I feel when you call me your wife."

He finally understood her message. "Oh, but you are my wife, I just want everyone to know it." He kissed her jaw before turning to the freezers filled with ice cream. He noticed she went right for the ice cream she ate nonstop just under five years ago. "Hm, haven't had that one in a while." She shrugged with a nod. "You needa tell me something?"

She looked at him and he half expected her to look like a deer in headlights but she just calmly smiled. "When we get home."

"She's getting tired, why don't you take her to the car and I'll finish here?" She handed the empty bag of grapes to the cashier and quickly explained they ate them all but she's not going to leave without paying. There was still a bit in the cart, including the second bag of grapes.

"Are you sure? We can stay and help."

"Jay, she's falling asleep. I'll be fine, you go ahead."

"I don't know, that cart looks pretty heavy." He put his hands in his pockets and rocked up on his feet. Her only answer was to raise her eyebrows. 

"You're a mess," She kissed Iris's head, "You're gonna go to the car with daddy, baby ok?"

Iris nodded a little and when JJ picked her up she whispered the tiredest little "weeee" she could muster.

She and the cashier both smiled at the little girl half way asleep in her father's arms.

He put her down in her car seat then went to the trunk to look for a blanket when he heard a painfully nasal voice behind him. He tried his best to ignore it and give Iris her blanket even though a part of him was just itching to ask her who she thinks she is that she can speak to his wife that way. He brushed Iris's hair out of her face and made sure her blanket was tucked in. He shut the door and walked just ahead of the car to see if his wife made it out of the store yet. 

2 seconds later she stepped out with the cart full of brown paper bags. He watched her look both ways, and the way her hair moved with her long strides and the soft breeze. He was too focused on her to notice the old woman make her way over and intercept the cart on his way over to her. 

"My son finally left so I can say whatever I want now! You aren't fit to be a mother at your age! Look at what you're feeding your poor daughter! You children don't understand how to properly raise children. Letting her pick out everything she wants, shoving the phone in her face as soon as it gets too hard. I bet you're some of those "gentle parents" too, aren't you?" The young woman just looked bored out of her mind, which looking back probably only encouraged the old woman. 

JJ was worried he'd have to intervene but he didn't want to leave their daughter alone in the car, so he stood at the car but out far enough so he could watch. He knew how she gets with confrontation like this, especially with getting yelled at and strangers. But she held her own.

"Is that all, I'd really like to just get home with my family if you don't mind." She kept eye contact and spoke calmly. "I honestly don't know what you think gives you the right to yell at me and my husband, especially right in front of our daughter, when you've only see us do what? Make her a respectful, happy kid? Buy some lube? Swear? Fuckin' Christ lady leave me and my family alone." The old woman was obviously shell shocked so she just pushed the cart right past and started loading the trunk with JJ's help.

He noticed her shaky hands and unsteady breathing. "Hey, hey, hey, I got this, ok? You go wait with her inside ok?" He quickly wiped underneath her eyes and she nodded her head. 

Once he finished and got into the drivers seat, she'd had a chance to calm down. "I'm so proud of you," when she finally looked at him he swiped the sparkles lining her water line away. "I love you, so much. Tiny loves you way more than I can even describe. You did so good baby, so good." He stroked the side of her head as he spoke and kissed her head, "You ready to go?"

She swallowed the shrinking lump in her throat, "Yeah," she breathed out with a nod.

***

They laughed the whole ride home but were careful not to wake Iris. JJ did whatever he could to brighten the mood and he wasn't sure if she was laughing at his dumb jokes to stroke his ego or fake-it-till-you-make-it, or she actually thought he was funny. Any way, it worked for him. 

"Should I wake her up?" JJ asked.

"No, I'll just bring her in."

"No you will not!"

"What? Why?" She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Because, I have a sneaking suspicion at what your little..." he wiggled his finger in the air. "surprise is, and so, I will be taking care of everything you will let me take care of." He said with a pointed finger wagging at her.

"You're ridiculous," she laughed while getting the smallest two bags and walking up to unlock the door so JJ could bring Iris in.

"But I'm right!"

"Shhhhhh," she giggled while setting the bags on the counter. "Maybe, maybe not. We shall see, very soon."

"How soon?"

"How soon can you take care of all the groceries?"

"So fuckin' soon." He kissed the side of her head before speed walking Iris into her room and tucking her in. He made sure all the curtains were all the way shut before he ran down the hall and out to the car, taking as many bags as he could carry at a time. She thought he was like the Flash with how fast he put everything away. When he put the last bottle in the door of the refrigerator and rushed to stand right in front of her.

"Is it soon yet?" He was excited as a little puppy and she nodded while her lips were still on her water bottle. He pulled it away and put it on the counter.

"What the fuck Jay?!" She stared at him wide eyed and he just looked right at her before walking down the hall.

"Chop chop!"

"You're the worst," she mumbled under her breath while grabbing the three rectangular boxes off the counter.

***

She set the timer on her phone and they both sat with their backs against the bathtub. She lazily slung her head to face him, he did the same.

"I'm not even sure, I just think maybe."

He grabbed her hand and rested them on the small, soft rug. "Whatever it says, I'll be happy. It doesn't have to happen right now, there's loooads of time. No matter what it says, I won't be dissapointed, ok?" He kissed the back of her hand still connected to his and she nodded.

They sat like that for a few more minutes until the timer went off. "Ready?" he asked when he set her phone back down.

"Mhm, I'll flip one, you flip the other and we both flip the last?"

"Mhm." They counted down together "3,2,1" clack.

Two lines.

Two lines.

Pregnant. 

They both stared at each other for a few moments before he lifted her in a tight hug. She kicked her feet behind herself before wrapping her legs around his waist. They stayed like that for a few more minutes, just being near each other, feeling each other, breathing each other in.

"I want ice cream," she said through a wet whisper into his neck.

"Allow me, m'darlin'." He carried her into the kitchen while she giggled the whole way. He sat her on the counter top while he got the ice cream out for her.

"You're not gonna let me do anythin, are you?"

"No, I will not. For the next 9-odd months you won't have to lift a finger."

"But what if I want to?"

"As long as it's less than Tiny."

Her face dropped as she stuck the spoon back in the ice cream. "I can't hold my baby?" She pouted.

"She's gonna have to be promoted from baby." He laughed.

"But she's my baby."

"You'll have a new baby."

"Why can't they both be my babies?" She laid down on the counter, holding the ice cream on her stomach, savoring the final few weeks of not having a mound in the way.

"Hmm, I don't see why not."

"Yayyy." She smiled around the spoon.

"When can we tell her?" He sat with his chin laying on his arms next to her head.

"I think after the first scan and all that, so she can have a picture."

"Yay," he cheered and held his tongue out so she would give him some ice cream.

He gagged and ran to the sink to spit it out the second the spoon touched his tongue. She just shrugged and licked it off herself.

"I forgot how disgusting that is. How can you eat that?"

"I can't, unless I'm pregnant." She sat up on her elbows and set the ice cream down next to her. "You remember I tried it after Tiny was born and we had some left over and I almost threw up. Fuckin' revolting. I don't even know."

***

2 weeks later

"Hey Tiny! Where you at?" JJ yelled through the Chateau.

"Daddy!" Iris yelled back, running into the kitchen to meet her parents. Sarah and John B watched her but they spent most of the time outside since most of the interior was being renovated before the wedding. 

Sarah walked inside and made her way over to the other young woman, "Sooo? How was it? Any fun and exciting news?"

"It went very very well, but unfortunately I am sworn to secrecy at the moment. At the request of JJ, he wants to wait until we're all together to avoid any favoritism."

""Cause you don't want it to go like last time?"

"Exactly, what a disaster that was." She slapped a hand over her mouth at what she just admitted and pushed Sarah into the other room. She shut the door and held Sarah by her shoulders. "You cannot tell anyone. JJ will have a fit," she whisper yelled.

"You have my word," Sarah crossed her heart and they pinky promised. "If I can have yours that I get exclusive godmother rights." 

"I can't promise anything yet but I will see what I can do."

"How's the forecast look though?"

"I will say, pretty good, but you didn't hear it from me. And you cannot tell John B. JJ has to or we'll have to keep having more until he finally gets the chance. And I personally would like to keep it at a solid 2 because I don't think I could handle being outnumbered by more mini JJs."

***

When they finally got home they sat Iris down at the kitchen table and they sat across from her.

"We have some news for you, Tiny," JJ started.

"A surprise?" She stood on her chair.

"Yes baby, a surprise. But you have to sit down to get it." Her mom said, soft at first but the second in her sweet mom voice. Gentle but laced with authority, like hidden vegetables. 

JJ pulled out the row of ultrasound pictures and slid them across the table to her.

"What is it?"

"What do you think it is?" She asked while JJ just watched his daughter try to piece everything together.

"A bean...in a dark room. A bean x-ray?"

"That's actually pretty close, but it's not quite an x-ray. It's an ultrasound, and that's what the doctor used to look in my belly."

"Why?"

"To look at that."

"What's that then?" She pointed to the little blob in the center.

They both looked at JJ so he could answer. He was caught a little off guard but composed himself quickly. "Uh it's a baby, or well it will be soon, eventually."

"You're having a baby?" She looked at her mother who was beaming back at her.

"Yeah."

"Where?" Not a very specific question but she's known her daughter long enough to know what she means so she pointed to her lower abdomen.

"Here, and this is where you used to be."

"Can I touch?" She nodded and Iris came over and stood between her legs. She lifted her mother's shirt and put her hand on her stomach.

"A little lower baby," She moved her hand down to the right spot. "Right there." She looked from her daughter back to JJ who was almost crying. She took his hand while their daughter spoke to the baby. 

"Hi baby," she used the same tone her mother used with her. "I'm Iris, you're inside momma right now, that's why it's so dark. You're a little bean." She giggled but her head whipped around at the sound of JJ's sniffle. "Bye baby, I have to go talk to daddy now." She kissed the spot where her hand was and climbed up JJ's chair to hug him properly.

She was only 4 but she knew better than to ask why he was crying, her mom explained it once. Sometimes people just cry, there doesn't have to be a reason, but sometimes they feel so much it just overflows. She explained it with a glass of water after Iris had a bad day and had to get picked up early. She sat her on the counter and got a glass from the cabinet,  "Sometimes when we feel a lot of things, or a lot of one thing it's just too much and we cry to let it out." The water started spilling over the sides. "Then we feel better." She dumped out the extra and handed her the glass while whipping the glossy streaks off her blotchy face.

She was proud of her daughter and rubbed her back before clearing the table. When she finished she stood behind JJ and kissed the top of his head. "Let's go lay down baby."

"I'm not tired," he laughed while making fun of Iris a little. 

"Then we'll watch a movie," She rubbed his shoulder and they all went into their room, the bed was big enough and Iris was small enough so they all fit comfortably. They turned on Iris's favorite movie and snuggled together with Iris laying on him and his wife's head on his chest, cuddled into his side. He had an arm around each of them and Iris dozed off quickly. He smiled down at both of them, so blissfully content at the life he built for himself he never even thought possible.

"My two best girls," he whispered and leaned down to kiss both of their heads.  

"You're forgetting one." A voice groggily whispered into his chest. 

"I thought you were sleeping and we don't know that yet."

"I was. And yes we do, it's definitely a girl. I feel it."

"You do?"

"You don't?" she asked cockily and he sat with it for a moment.

"I do," he whispered back and she giggled before burying herself deeper into him and the blankets.

"Goodnight, I love you, and our family, so much." She kissed him goodnight before adjusting the blankets over all three (four) of them. 

"I love you, and Tiny, and Teeny Tiny, so much."

[ai-luni]

Virago Pt 2

David "Hesh" Walker x Fem!Reader

Part 1

A/N: I did planned to take this further and try to fix it but an angsty end just felt right. My heart's broken, I hope yours is too. There likely won't be a third part but I like vig (she's basically a self insert so um...) and might write her again.

Again thanks to @aukuro for finding his photo for me

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: Angst, canon typical violence, sexual assault reference, panic attacks

June 28th -  Tragedy

You could have sworn you heard gunshots, your unconscious hazy and unstable state made anything you saw or felt or heard feel like a dream. You heard Hesh’s voice, he called out to you, he calmed you down and you wanted to smile. 

You thought of this all over. You thought of his voice. Had you been awake, the thought would have all felt incredibly indulgent but when your subconscious prevailed, your core desires never hid. They always led your mind back to a little house with that silly little boy and his silly little dog. 

Some days it was a cabin in the woods, just you and him alone while Riley chased rabbits. Other times it was a house next to the coast. Playing volleyball with the boy, shirtless and tanned while Riley ran away from the waves. There wasn’t much beach left for unauthorised personnel’s this day and age but your subconscious never wanted to play politics. 

The moment you truly opened your eyes, it took you a few seconds to realise you were awake. Uncontrollable brain fog; you couldn’t figure out what time it was, you couldn’t figure out where you were. All you knew was that you wanted to go back to sleep, live in that dream a little longer. 

Your knees felt like fucking shit. Your head felt like fucking shit. 

Oh dear Lord what happened. 

What was in your lungs, were you drowning?

Why are they so sticky, why couldn’t you breathe.

Fuck.

What happened, fUCK WHAT HAPPENED. 

“Hold her down.” A gruff voice you didn’t recognise spat at you and a little bit on you. A pair of arms reacted, wrapping around you and holding you tighter to the wooden chair frame against your back. You were so in your head, so in your body, you hadn’t realised your thoughts manifested into panic and your heart was beating dangerously fast. 

“After all that and she’s still going.” The voice behind you added. He spoke directly next to your ear, too loud you instinctively flinched away from him, The sound like a patrol banging on someone's door, prying their way in. 

You opened your eyes, first meeting Hesh. His eyes painted with concern and defeat and rage and… You weren’t sure. He probably wasn’t sure.

Then you met Merrick’s line of sight, his eyes only told you that he was sorry. Your heart shattered, everyone accepting the situation for what it was. The ghosts had failed their mission. 

Keegan wasn’t back yet. Elias was yet to be seen.. 

You looked to Logan. His face was pale, blood covered his clothes, eyes bloodshot and puffy red. You gave him a concerned look he failed to meet. That’s when alarm bells rung in your head. Something happened while you were out. Of all of you, Logan’s spirit was the hardest to break and this boy right now looked the epitome of defeated. 

“She wouldn’t last this long if I got my hands on her, if you know what I mean.” Some of the surrounding soldiers chucked which turned into hollers. You were tied and held back like your soul depended on it but Hesh and Merrick, it was their final straw. 

“You’re fucking disgusting, I’m going to kill you!” Hesh launched out of his chair, directly towards the sergeant quicker than anyone else could even think about stopping him. Merrick took the chance of surprise, following suit soon after.

Like it was coordinated, a window shattered, the commanding officer in the centre of the room fell to the ground half a second later. There was no time to question it.

“Logan now!” He sprung out of his chair, knocking out the sergeant behind you. It took you a moment to find your balance. Logan’s arms were held out for a second to spare, making sure you did stay on your feet.

“Got you Vig.” You’d smile later, realising he used Keegan’s nickname. But not now.

Everything burnt. Adrenaline burns hotter.

You stole the gun from the body behind you, ready to keep moving. You hadn’t noticed the way you stumbled as you walked, Hesh did. He was by your side in a heartbeat.

“Virago,” He held your shoulders like fine china, his voice soft and low, a sound that would get you into bed any other day. “You okay?” 

“I think so.” You groaned as you tried taking a step. Perhaps you were worse off than you thought. In reality, you almost saw death’s door. Your face was purple, legs almost numb, something between your legs and in your gut stung like the worst pain you’d ever felt and your chest crunched at every step you took.

“You okay, Merrick?” Hesh asked over his shoulder, Logan helping him to his feet. 

“Yeah. Ribs broken, but I can move.” He didn’t sound well, but he was more put together than you were. Maybe you had come out of this most worse for wear. “You stick with Virago, we gotta keep moving!” 

June 28th -  Start of Mission

Logan led the way, Merrick a close second, double clearing a room. Hesh had an arm around your waist, you felt like dead weight, clutching your gun like it was gonna make a difference. 

 “Keegan, we’re up and moving. Get here as soon as you can.” Hesh spoke into his com. The static of it was even enough to set off another siren in your head. 

“Check. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“We need to make it to the west side of the building, It’s our best chance of getting out of here.” You spoke, Hesh depositing you against a counter to open the next set of doors. From where you stood, you weren’t sure you’d helped all too much, maybe hitting one soldier. Performance at this very moment wasn’t your main concern however. 

Then finally you made it to the kitchen. The long room was clear, keegan meeting you halfway, eye focused on the exit. 

You held your hand out to catch yourself on the wall, there was a small office off to the side you entered, giving a quick once over and nodding back to Hesh. 

 “Vig doesn’t look too good, is she gonna make it standing?” You could barely hear Keegan's voice as he spoke to Hesh.

“They did a number on her but she’s still got some in her. She sticks with me.” He replied. 

“It’s clear. Bring Merrick in here, he’s gonna need a minute.” The moment it left your mouth, Merrick’s torso gave out and he fell onto a rack of plates and cutlery. Hesh was by his side in moments, basically dragging him into the office room. The racket of it all sounded 10 times worse with the stakes at hand.

“Shit, we gotta hide. Logan, in here. Quick.” Keegan was the last to enter the room, stationed and ready next to the archway. They heard us in the kitchen and were making their way in. 

You sat on the back wall, finally taking the moment to catch your breath. 

“Turn your radio down.” 

A chorus of shh’s echoed in the space. 

Your heart hasn't slowed down since you woke up. 

All your focus was on the window. Heavy footsteps and a radio spouting portuguese steadily approaching. 

The next series of events happened within the blink of the eye. Keegan jumped on the soldier the moment he entered. Body to the ground with his legs flailing about, searching the carpet for anything. Not a sound to be heard but his struggling grunts, Keegan's arm playing the part of a suffocator and muffler. 

Then show time really began. 

It was a shit show. One room after the other in a maze of hallways and foyers. Elias seemed long gone, Riley only crossing your mind upon Hesh’s inquiries. You stuck close to his shoulder, he almost had you anchored over his right shoulder, your feet sometimes not so much as grazing the ground as he moved you along quicker. 

It took a two story drop for all of your injuries to really let themselves be known. Even after Hesh breaking your fall. 

Something in your left knee wasn’t sitting right, blood had soaked a patch of fabric off the back of your shirt, a warm liquid trickled down the side of your neck and all you could hear was the ocean again. 

A dog bark, a seagull squawk. Instead of fading black, your vision desperately wanted to fade a gorgeous baby blue. Sweat built behind your knees, sand sticking to it for dear life. His voice calling out to you once more. 

He called you by your name, and it was bliss. It wasn’t a question of give up and give in, but inevitability.

“Virago?” He took you by the shoulders, now in front of you. Hesh’s panicked look subsided as you responded to his call, waking up. “Thought we lost you for a second.” 

“If we can make it to the strip, I can find us a ride out of here.” Keegan reassured, not much of a plan but enough of a goal. A guttural moan left your lips as you tried to take a step, you were over Hesh’s shoulder completely in seconds.  

“Take it slow, we’re gonna be outnumbered.” With that, Merrick led the way. 

You fell into a routine,  Hesh stationing you behind a fallen structure piece to cover him as he covers Merrick and Keegan making further ground. 

Logan had Riley on his own shoulder as you preoccupied Hesh’s. The poor dog ran out at the wrong time but he’ll be okay. 

Gunshots and yelling. It felt like years.

“Right side!” 

“Cover me!”

“Watch out!”

“I got him!”

A total overwhelming, overstimulating combination of every sense. The sand and the hot sun. Your jaw crushed at every recoil, the sweat on your palms building your gun almost slipping out of your hands.

The smell was foul. 

It was too much, you told yourself you couldn’t do it anymore.

It was exactly that that made you run to the evac helicopter. And that that saw you collapse the moment you were safe.  

The baby blue sky had already swallowed you whole by the time the helicopter left the ground. This time it wasn’t just Hesh’s voice. Merrick’s voice as course as the sand you saw further and further in the distance. Keegan’s the tall grass that tickled your feet and Logan’s the seafoam that met the shore ocean to the shore. And it all drowned out. Only four steps in the waves took you under, cold and refreshing, a tingle on your skin. 

You woke up maybe 15 minutes later, still in the air. You were in Merrick’s arm, himself just as out cold as you were. Hesh sat across from you, next to his brother, Riley over his lap. The three of them looked sorely unwell. But it was all over now. You hoped it was all over now. 

-

Once you were out, HQ sent you to a US naval carrier just off the east coast. And that first night, you held Hesh. 

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t cry. He barely slept. He just rested his head on your chest and let you hold him. In the early morning, he got up and left.

People heard what was going on and just pretended not to notice the two of you staying together at night. It was the least they could do. He watched his father die in action, his brother get shot in action, his dog get shot in action, his girl could barely walk and was now undergoing sexual assault kit. 

Merrick took you and waited five hours for you to finally re-emerge from the medical ward. You did not see Hesh until later that night. He found you and on that second night, you both cried. 

The second day, you stuck by Hesh’s side and he stuck by yours. Slowly but surely you found life returning to him. As your own and his brother's wound healed, he was starting to understand that he hadn’t lost it all. 

Riley was walking, you were walking by yourself, Logan was walking by himself. And although you almost saw him smile, he still continued to blame himself.

It was that day however, you had your first mission debrief. He did not visit you the third night. His eyes became a cold shell again, he had one thing and one thing only on his mind. And you know you wouldn’t be able to join him on the mission to stop him from going too far.

“You’ll be leading this one, Hesh.” Merrick informed, something returned to Hesh’s eyes like a challenge. 

The fourth night was the beginning of the end. He wasn’t a cold empty shell, whatever he felt evolved into something worse. Rage over rage built in layers. Every time he looked at you. The deep purple bruise under your eye and busted lip. When he touched you anywhere and saw you flinch or felt a lump. When he heard your manual breathing with every step you struggled to take. 

When he saw the healing bruises on Logan’s shoulder, heard the wheezy cough he’d let out when he tried to drink or laugh. Or when he held his father’s balaclava in his hands. The image of his father’s body on the ground next to his brothers in a pool of blood. 

He only heard one voice, it was the laughing of a killer and his men. 

Unconditional rage turned David’s pupils a colour so unnatural. It hardly recognised him. 

You wanted to beg Merrick but you weren’t sure what for. Hesh had to do it, the mission had to come first. You had no idea how to express to Merrick that this was going to become more than a mission to him. 

Keegan was already gone who knows where and you were alone. Even in Hesh’s arms. There was no one to hear out your screams. 

“Those fucking federation scum are gonna get it for what they did to you. As for Rorke.”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. 

You were scared. 

He was more than ready.

-

The eighth night, you couldn’t sit right. Everything felt wrong. The night before, you had a dream so terrifying, you woke up in a cold sweat and paced the room until five. You couldn’t bring yourself to visit anyone. Every passing day waiting for this thing to happen felt like another failed day to stop it. You knew you couldn’t but by god if you didn’t feel guilty for not trying. 

Something bad was going to happen. Something so earth shatteringly bad, nothing was going to be the same and you weren’t ready for it. It was so consuming and tiring and you were so exhausted. Your muscles were under constant stress and fizzled by the day, it felt like you’d had a cold for 4 months. Your skin pale and bruises refused to heal like they should. It was wrong.

You were almost on your knees to Merrick, you had to be out there with the Walker boys. He denied. David denied. Even Logan denied. 

That eighth night, you almost felt like you could throw up at any given moment. It was actually that eighth afternoon when Hesh visited you. Merrick sent him to check up on you. He’d never seen you so unravelled, even after so many years of being a ghost by your side. 

Hesh calmed you down, himself oddly relaxed for the chaos that had unfolded just days ago and was bound to unfold any second. He coaxed you into your berth, hands firm on your shoulders and he coached you to breathe: in and out. 

In and out. 

His gaze was then the softest you’ve seen them since he found out this was his mission. Was it more or less settling, you were unsure. You just wanted a break, you wanted to forget even for a moment. 

You kissed him to forgot, he kissed you like he loved you. Everything he wanted to get back for you, he put into that kiss. He made everything so hard to forget. Everything had to come out. It was your last chance and if he slipped through your fingers, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. 

“You can’t do it. Please don’t go.” It was a sob, barely audible on his lips. A stain now appeared on his left shoulder as you laid everything you had out to him. 

“The mission comes first, It has to be done.” It felt like he was lying through his teeth.

“Then stick you’ll the mission!” 

“Rorke is my mission!” 

“When they tell you to come back David, you come back!”

“Rorke has to die! That motherfucker took everything!”

“Then don’t let him take you from me!” 

“He won’t be taking anything from anyone when I get him!”

You wailed into his shoulder. The screaming match (certain the entire boat could hear) ended with you on your knees, holding the boy by his shirt. He had whittled you down to nothing, a pure catch 22. Your pleas fuel the one action that caused the pain in the first place.

“You have to trust me.” He cooed, your name sounding like the most gentle word on earth when he said it. 

“I trust you with my life. I don’t trust you with yours.” You were defeated and the anticipation was unbearable. If he couldn’t make you forget, then you’d have to show him all your love while you still could. 

Every piece of skin, every nerve in his body. You would feel guilty - deep down you knew the call was coming tomorrow - but you didn’t give a shit, he wouldn’t give a shit. If this was all you could get, you had to make it count. You couldn’t make it stop, you might as well give him something more to fight for.

July 5th - All or Nothing

You got two hours of what you could barely count as sleep. The both of you back into preparation for the day waiting for the call. And it came early. 

The carrier was being evacuated, you made your escort quickly alongside Merrick. The last image you kept of Hesh for the next couple hours was his hunched form over a gun, clearing the deck and you might have as well prayed in that moment. 

Merrick brought you with him to the mission control room, you were still unwell but your input is always valued. 

In truth, you knew he only kept you on the bench because you’d throw a fit if he didn’t.

You were sitting in the back of a dark, hot room. Filled with coloured screens. People everywhere and Merrick in the middle of it all. He stood for the most part, hunched over his own screen. You listened intently to his every word. 

“Latest intel has confirmed Rorke is at the facility but you have to get that missile launched first.” Your breath was caught in your throat. It was almost pathetic how worked up you were over this boy. 

You knew to him, this mission was nothing. An A to B when his real goal was R. You knew this could change everything, put you in a large lead against the federation but that switch failed to push itself completely over. The image of that boy’s concentrated eyebrows, two finger’s applying the navy face paint in the mirror. His lips, his hands. The love you once saw in him blown out pupils. 

It was excruciating. You were restless. You couldn’t see anything, you could barely hear anything. You have no idea how Elias did this so many times before, you’d lose your mind. 

There was chatter and movement. You knew everyone in this room was skilled at their job - hell, they save your life every single time you go out there - but movement right now made you want to shit yourself. 

It had barely even been 15 minutes until you heard a “we have a successful launch.”

You felt your first breath, taking in enough air to prepare for another hibernation. Now was the true test of Hesh’s self control, true motives and how smoothly it was going to go was unprecedented. 

“Negative Hesh.” Your ears perked up, Merrick in the centre of the room had an eye on you. “Return to rally point, we’ll track him down together.” 

You were on your feet now, the closest person to you had their headphones ripped off. The poor lady was too focused on the screen in front of her to really care. 

“Sorry Merrick. Your mission is complete, ours isn’t.” It was his voice. The feeling of sickness returned quicker than it left. Everything played out exactly as you knew it would. Just as you were anticipating and you could do nothing about it. 

“Goddammit boy!” Merrick threw the headset onto the table in front of him, the people within his vicinity ducking out of the way. The look of defeat in his eye, no match for your own.

You told him so. You tried to tell him so. And he didn’t listen. He didn’t want to find you, if there was anything on this earth he would be afraid of, it’s the look he knew was waiting for him. 

You couldn’t take it. The room was suddenly so stuffy. Too loud.n

You stormed out. Merrick was close on your trail. Your back was to him, wasn’t gonna stop you from giving him a mouthful.

“Those stupid fucking boys!” And hell broke loose. “Of course he wasn’t going to listen!”

“Virago.” Merrick held a calm and steady voice, sure he was angry - maybe even more than you because it slipped through his fingers, it was always right in front of his eyes - but it felt less like a loss of everything to him the way it did for you. 

This boy had you wrapped around his little finger, he couldn’t take his finger off the trigger. 

Merrick took slow, calculated steps. Approaching a wild animal moments before disaster. 

“Don’t you dare! Of course he doesn’t listen! He never listens and he’s gonna get himself and Logan killed! I knew it was going to happen, I just knew it and I still couldn’t stop it.” Your hand was holding the wall, every word coming out more of a heave than a yell. Merrick’s efforts of calming you down really only made it worse. “Don’t you dare! I begged you! I was on my stupid fucking knees!”

“Sergeant.” Your hot headedness was never going to outdo his own, spontaneous outbursts. “I am your superior!” 

That was all it took to make your engine stall. The ball of energy trapped and swallowed once again and you were humbled back to a professional stance. 

Sweat leaked from your pores, tears crawling out of your eyes, spit settled on your chin. In any attempt to hold back any emotion, it was too strong. And if not anger, distress was the next best option. You must have looked like an idiot but it happens to the best of us. Merrick had no words to speak, his own body processing a loss of his own. 

“I’ve just never had something that good before.” It was all you could think of. After a beat of silence, it was the only thought brought to the forefront of your mind when you questioned your overattachment over the past day. And with a sheepish expression, Merrick showed you his attention. His own eyes filled with a sorrow like the reality of Elias’s death and now the possibility of his son's death only just hit him. 

“You got me, kid.” It was the most genuine thing you’d ever heard from him. The sight of a tear on his cheek was sobering. A plug pulled out of the drain, the adrenaline escaping your body taking all your colour with it. And you laughed. 

“You’re an old fart.” He seemed to go through the same process, soon his own pale face smiled in the bittersweet moment. 

“You’re probably right.” You shook your head.

“Nah. You still got it. You’re the greatest leader I'll ever have.” And the closest thing you have to a father figure you wanted to scream. But the grin that was fighting it way onto his face was enough satisfaction for you. 

If it was just the two of you out on the field, you knew at that moment it would be enough. You could do it by his side, he could do it by yours. It would be enough.

“If they’re not dead by now, go find him.” 

-

You took Merrick’s place. It only took a couple seconds to orient yourself with the information in front of you but with perfect timing, you heard his voice once more. You left out a sigh of relief. 

“Merrick, we’re on the train. We’re going after Rorke.” There was clear gunfire in the distant background, only a few minutes until the air attack. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen quickly and it had to happen now. There was little time to blink, a much needed gear shift was finally made in your mind to focus. The switch was pushed all the way. 

“Solid copy.” 

“Vig?” That was Logan.

“I can prepare an evac as best I can, recon’s on standby but the place is going down.” You heard Hesh let out a breath. Maybe you were just letting yourself hear things. “Be careful.”

Like a send off to a deathwish. The radio silence was an overwhelming sound. You turned to Merrick once more, watching your command. 

A proud smile and eyes that spoke a truth of wisdom. “There’s no turning back now, might as well guide them back home.” 

With that, you stationed yourself off to the side. Watching as Merrick took over the room again, this was a much bigger assignment than just getting these boys home but things felt so much better now that you were finally off the bench. You listened closely to the progression of things. Merrick trusted you’d guide the boys if any problems were to arise. 

“Virago, do you copy?” Hesh called.

“Copy, Hesh.” 

“We’re moving in on Rorke. If you hear the word “checkmate”, you will fire on our position. Confirm.” 

“Say again, repeat your last.” 

“You heard me, Vig. On “checkmate”, hit the train”

At this point, there was no point fighting. Merrick’s grounding stare gave you a nod. You had to trust him. 

Hesh was stubborn like that. Somehow his mission was now yours. You found it hard to deny him of what he wanted, what he planned. You couldn’t deny the rage he was feeling that filled the void of his father and you couldn’t deny the insufferable lack of motive he’d have for anything else if he didn’t get this out of his system. 

There was no fighting him. Not for something like this. Even if it was going to kill you on the inside. He has always been driven by his heart, over his brain and especially over his dick. And you knew for as long as it took, revenge for you and his dad was always going to be the only posted note on his to-do list in there. 

“Checkmate.” In under two minutes. 

“Checkmate confirmed.” The train was taken down. Then fully submerged. So was your heart and the lump in your throat. So quickly, you couldn’t even think about it. An awful, hideous part of your brain, the mind you held pre Rorke’s return, started to think this could be the start of the end of it. That this could all be worth it. 

So long as you remembered how David made you feel, it would never truly feel worth it. 

Every limb had gone numb and you sat in your chair spaced out. The chaos around you drowned out.

You saw it again, like it was through a looking glass. The beach. The sand and the waves. You couldn’t hear it. As much as you forced yourself to - ‘Bark Riley! Goddammit bark!’ - it always felt too artificial. And what once was a gorgeous baby blue, returned to black. And the dream was gone. 

So deep in your state of mourning, it took multiple radio calls to try to put life back in you. 

“Virago, Come in.” 

“Vig? Merrick?” 

You were so out of it and stunned, so certain for at least 15 minutes you’d heard the last of him. Merrick scrambled to your side. Connection was weak but enough. He grabbed your comm. 

“Hesh? Hesh, is that you?” 

“Yeah, I'm with Logan. We’re okay.” He sounded scuffed but he sounded alive, that’s all you could ask for. 

“And Rorke?” Merrick asked, your sigh faintly picked up by the device that brought a smile to Hesh’s face.

“Dead. He’s dead.”

“Copy that.'' The smile on Merricks face was undeniable as he proudly patted your shoulder, “the federations in full retreat. The rest of the payload’s inbound to finish the job.” 

“Sit tight, recon’s coming for you!” Finally gaining your bearings, you snatched the device to reassure them. You only wished you could be there to pick them up. 

- 

Yourself and Merrick ran to meet them upon arrival. Their return not at all being what you expected. 

“No! We have to go back! That motherfuckers taken him who knows where!” The helicopter door was opened to Hesh kicking and throwing a riot. Logan was not there.

If the Walkers were good for one thing, it was disappearing on you. 

A soldier exited the aircraft, meeting your side. 

“He’s been like this when we picked him up, not in good shape.” 

“What about Logan?” Merrick asked.

“There was only him when we got there.” 

There it was, you thought It all felt a little too good to be true. 

It was a struggle but the two of you managed to get the last Walker brother inside, explaining the event. 

Rorke was still alive, he dragged Logan away. It took two hours just to get that out as you patched his face and examined him. He wouldn’t let anyone else in the room. Hesh was in bad shape, you suspected he had a bad concussion. 

After another two hours, you finally convinced him to get in someone who could properly look after him. You were quick to find Merrick at that time, he was waiting for information. He actually looked nervous.

In that hallway. As people ran around you, Merrick stood in front of you. It all felt a little useless. Everything you fought for for at least the past five years, this back and forth. It was always going to be just that. Just a back and forth. Only took maybe two weeks, but it was enough to pile nihilistic thought upon nihilistic thought in your mind. 

“Rorke’s alive.” You failed to meet Merrick’s eyes, the tone in your voice spoke volumes. “He took Logan. Dragged him who knows where.”

“Sonofa-!” He threw something against a wall. Suddenly you felt like a child again, getting in trouble, standing at the front of the class with your hands behind your back. Life repeats itself like that.

“Just when you think you’ve done enough to change, everything repeats itself.” You weren’t going to cry. You didn’t even feel sad. You’ve taken lose after lose before but this was different, the collateral damage was too personal. It just made you wonder. 

“Are you still with us Y/n?” You could only nod. He kept an eye on the door Hesh was behind, he was contemplating. Like it was a game of chess, he anticipated every outcome as far as his mind would let him. He was a good leader like that.

“Go, find keegan. He should be back in 2100.” You nodding making your way to the control room. It was significantly quieter. Maybe only two people were at their stations, the rest were gone. 

“Keegan, how to copy?”

“Keegan, can you hear me? What’s your status?” 

“Copy. Mission was successful, on our way now.” There it was. 

“Copy that. Loki was a success.” The moment success left your lips was enough to set off a tear. Everything in your gut wanted to fight it, you had to. You had to stay professional. 

“Good to hear, Vig.”

“Get some rest, things will get hot when you get back. Logan’s gone MIA. We'll be on his trail soon.” Keegan only let out a dissatisfied grunt. He wasn’t the type to show his emotion, but you knew this would be difficult for him to deal with, especially after Ajax. 

“Copy.”

October 10th - unadulterated hope

That night Logan disappeared, seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours. Then to days and weeks and before you could get an ounce of proper sleep, it had been three months. Three months and with the four of you, scuffed, exhausted, dehydrated and just on the edge of radio connection in the amazon forest. 

You knew any day now you’d have to give up. You had already been advised to drop this rescue search for a month now, it was only a matter of time until it was no longer a suggestion but an order. 

You weren’t even sure how far lost Logan would be by now. You knew Rorke wanted him on his team, you know what the federation did to Rorke was probably what they’d have to do for him. It took Rorke 10 years, if you found Logan within the first year, there was no doubt you could save him. 

Hesh trembled in your arms most nights. You were all he had. 

You were his distraction. He tried to be yours but the boy couldn’t help getting so overcome by his emotions most of the time. When things get tough, you turn to Merrick instead. He grounded you and you grounded him. 

Most nights you and Hesh found yourselves talking about the beach, talking about finding Riley and Logan and laying in the hot sun together. 

He would explain San Diego to you, it was everything you could ever dream about. He told you about the stories his father would tell him. 

You drifted to sleep with the vision of a blue, not quite that gorgeous baby blue you remembered but it was blue enough to get you through it. You forgot how Riley’s bark sounded, Hesh’s warm arms were substitute enough. 

[crumbledcastle28]

Din Djarin: Let Me Help You

!! 🚨 SMUT 🚨!!

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din walks home with you from a mission, and he can tell that something is off…

Warnings: SEX POLLEN TROPE! Din is very nervous about you, he also carries a dead body, absolutely no foreplay, fingering, feelingssss, softness, dirty talk. Please practice safe sex and consent!

A/N: yet again, we have another self-indulgent fic. I should not be allowed on this app.

You should’ve known something was wrong when you started sweating profusely.

The autumn air was too cold for you to be feeling this way. The only things you were carrying were the Child and a backpack full of food and water. It’s not like you were hiking up steep mountains either, you were walking up tiny hills at most.

Din had asked you to accompany on this mission just a few hours earlier. The planet you were on was far from safe and Din wanted to keep an eye on you. Or at least, that’s what he said to you.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Din wanted you there not only to make sure you were safe, but also because he was incredibly nervous for this mission, and having you there calmed his nerves. You always said the exact right things at the exact moment he needed them. Just seeing you and hearing you breathe next to him tended to give him some perspective.

You of course agreed to his offer. You felt the exact same as he did. Seeing his shiny armor and hearing his deep voice every once in a while made you feel safe, protected even. Like you were wrapped in comfort, and there was no being living or dead that could penetrate through it to get to you.

And so, the three of you headed off, using Din’s tracking fob as your GPS. The journey was not long on foot, not even a mile, and the weather was perfect. It was chilly enough that even when you did get a bit sweaty from the walk, you were cooled almost immediately.

Everything was going really well, actually. You and Din made pleasant conversation as you made your way to the bounty’s hideout. He even chuckled at a few of your comments, which really made your heart flutter. The Child was calm in your arms, falling asleep a little under halfway through the walk.

You were…content.

Once you finally made it to the bounty was when things got interesting. Din’s tracking fob started going wild, making him immediately push you and the kid behind a tree to keep you safe.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” he whispered to you. “I will be right back.”

“I know,” you said with a smile. He nodded, then took off to finish his mission.

You took a deep breath, pushing the kid’s nose into your chest to keep him safe. You leaned your head back against the tree, breathing deeply again, just how Din taught you, when an unexpected tingly feeling brushed against your nose.

You hadn’t realized before, but a small plant was growing out of the tree right where you leaned your head back. A small bud had grown long enough to expand out of the trunk, and it had placed itself right underneath your nose. When you breathed deeply that second time, you inhaled the full scent, causing you to lean your head forward again and itch your nose like crazy.

You tried to keep quiet, knowing you had to keep yourself and the kid safe, but a sneeze was building and your head started feeling light and airy.

Your eyebrows started to furrow and the sneeze was about to release, and once it did, the pollen from the plant only started to puff up in the air more. You tried to wave it away, keeping the Child pressed to your chest so he didn’t get any of the pollen in his face, and you sneezed once again.

“Dank farrik,” you whispered, blinking the pollen away from your eyes and wiping your nose with your sleeve. You scooted your butt away from the plant as much as you could, finally able to breathe clearly again, but your head still felt clogged.

You just brushed it off as a weird pollen allergy, and continued to remain as quiet as possible.

It was less than a minute later when Din finally returned, startling you slightly when he stuck his helmet around the tree.

“Hey,” he said, and you clutched your chest and exhaled in relief when you realized it was him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and you laughed a bit.

“It’s ok,” you responded. “Did you get him?”

“Yep. Got him. Just gotta get him back to the ship and put in carbonate,” he said, and you nodded.

“Alright,” you said and began to stand up. Din stuck out his arm to help you off your feet, and you mumbled a “thank you” as you brought the Child up with you.

Once you were fully standing, Din caught a glimpse of your red eyes and nose, and he lifted your chin with his knuckles to get a better look.

You were slightly caught off guard, gasping slightly at the touch, before relaxing into it. He gently tilted your head to the side to get a better look.

“What’s this?” he asked, and you scoffed.

“Pollen,” you said with a laugh. Din breathed out, then dropped his hand and nodded.

“Keep an eye on that,” he said, then walked back to the quarry.

Din had touched you before, but it was mostly small touches on the back, maybe a tap on the shoulder…

….but never your face. His gentle touch and smooth leather gloves sent goosebumps from your neck all the way down your back. Your cheeks heated up so fast you were worried the blood flow to your head would make you more lightheaded than you already were. You could see your reflection in his helmet, proving just how close he was examining your inflamed skin. You hadn’t been touched in any way similar to that in a very long time, and you almost fell over when he finally pulled his hand away from you.

Why did that make you so dizzy? He was just looking out for you and making sure your face wasn’t swelling up. He was a kind man, and he probably wanted to make sure he didn’t have to stop and get med supplies.

Still, it made you feel weird. Weird in a way that you only reserved for your bed late at night when the desire for Din became too much….

You shook your head to recollect yourself, hoisted the child in your arms to a more comfortable position, and followed Din into the forest back to the ship.

As you walked behind him, you watched his shoulders turn as he took each step, taking in their broadness and how his waist sinched ever so slightly as your eyes fell down his torso. You imagined his muscles moving under the armor and how strong they had to be from carrying all that beskar. Everything from his arms to his abs to his back to his thighs. His thighs has to be massive, not just from the beskar, but from the physical activity that came with his job. He had to be constantly alert and prepared for a fight, and his legs took the blunt of that stance. Not that you noticed…

As your eyes followed his back up to his shoulders, you allowed them to go further up to his helmet. You didn’t know what it was, but something was blocking your brain from stopping itself from going way too far. You knew you weren’t supposed to imagine what his face would look like, hell it probably broke his creed or something, but you just….let yourself.

You let yourself imagine how his hair would feel, probably soft and curly. He would excuse himself into the fresher to cut his hair pretty often, so you assumed it was thick enough to grow pretty fast. You imagined him with facial hair as well, matching his deep voice and tall body. You even started picturing his eyes, whether they be a dark brown or light blue. They had to have held massive amounts of emotion in them, since he couldn’t afford to show his emotions through his body language.

You wondered what his eyes would look like staring into your own. How deeply they would lock into yours as he pushed your hair from your face, pressing his lips to yours shortly after. The scruff on his face would hurt just right, and his large hands would hold your body close.

Even farther than that, what would his eyes show as he asked you to show yourself to him? To strip for him and show him every crook and debt in your skin. They would surely grow at the sight of you, especially as the feeling of his dick sinking inside of your—

“Do you need a break?” you heard in front of you, and it happened so quickly you almost walked right into Din’s chest.

Fuck were you breathing that loud?

“N-no. No I’m fine,” you said gently, but Din just looked at you for a moment. You couldn’t even look at him without thinking about how much he towered over you. His body completely encompassed yours in a shadow from the sinking sun, and it pained you to attempt to make eye contact with the amount that he was affecting you. Your heart was pounding and the underwear you had on were definitely not doing their job.

“Alright,” Din breathed. “Just let me know. We are almost there.”

You nodded and proceeded to keep your head down, watching your feet as they moved one foot in front of the other.

All you had to do was get back to the Crest, and you were home free.

~~*~~

You were not home free.

It was only getting worse.

The rest of the trip back was short, but it felt like hours with the way you were feeling. Every sense of you was opening more and more to what Din was doing and how fucking hot it was. Everything he did was a magnet to you. You had thought he was attractive this entire time, but he was just so damn distracting.

Once you finally did make it back to the comfort of the Crest, you shut yourself in the fresher and tried to take a shower. The hot water against your skin did calm you down a bit, but as soon as you left, everything returned in full force.

Every inch of you was throbbing for him. Literally pulsating and begging for relief. Your brain would not shut up with thoughts of him doing the dirtiest things your subconscious could possibly think of.

You slid down the door in your towel, trying to steady your breathing and give yourself some relief, but it was no use. Nothing was working.

What the hell is happening to me?

“Y/N? Y/N please tell me you’re alright,” you heard from outside the door.

Even his voice was making you moan. Your breath was erotic.

“I-I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know what’s happening Din.”

Your voice was almost a cry at this point from how frustrated you were, and Din’s heart was pounding and shattering cohesively.

“Ok, just try to breathe. I’m gonna open the door alright?”

“Okay,” you breathed out, and slid yourself away from the door. The cool tile pressed against your cheek made goosebumps appear over your sweaty skin, and you knew you had to have some sort of fever.

The door creaked open and Din’s tall frame slowly rounded the corner.

“Oh god…” he croaked out at the sight of you on the bathroom floor. You were wrapped in your towel with your hair still dripping wet, and he could see that the swelling in your eyes was even more prominent than it was before.

You squeezed your nails into your palms when you heard his voice so close to you. You had been hearing it in your head for hours now, but nothing beat the tremor in person.

You were so fucking screwed.

“Let me help you…” he said and knelt down to pick you up.

“No, no Din, you can’t,” you whined. “You can’t. Fuck you can’t.”

“Listen to me Y/N,” he whispered calmly. “I know what’s happening. Please let me help you. You can’t stay like this…”

“I don’t even know what’s happening,” you cried.

“I know,” he replied, and you sensed a flicker of emotion in his voice. “I just want to make you feel better. Please let me help you.”

You breathed for a moment, trying to get your brain to actually think, but you were in too much agony at this point that all you could do was nod. You closed your eyes, refusing to look at Din as to prevent yourself from becoming any more aroused, even though you didn’t even think that was possible.

His arms wrapped around you and delicately lifted you, and the faint moan you let out should have embarrassed you, but like before, your brain was so clouded with agony and arousal you didn’t even care. The flames around your body were only ignited by the fuel they had been yearning for for hours.

“It’s alright Y/N,” he mumbled. “It’s alright.”

He brought you out of the bathroom and into his bed.

His bed.

Now his scent mixed with fresh linen was completely surrounding you, and it felt as if you were suffocating on your own desperation.

“Just lay down for a second ok? Just for one second,” he said in a hurried tone. Your eyes were closed and your body was squirming around, but the one sound you could actually process over your own breathing was the sound of metal hitting the floor.

Was Din…taking off his armor?

“What are you doing?” you moaned out, but Din offered no reply.

What finally caused you to open your eyes was the feeling of the bed sinking down below you, and a body hovering over yours.

Din’s body.

“Open your eyes for me Y/N,” he whispered over you. You opened your eyes and licked your dry lips, staring into his dark visor.

“I’m going to shut the lights out ok? I don’t know if this will work but I know what’s happening to you. That “pollen” you ran into isn’t….normal,” he said. “I don’t really think I need to explain right now, but I have to try something, I have to.”

“I can’t see you like this anymore…” he said, and brushed his fingertips against your cheek. You leaned into his touch and your vulva clutched around nothing.

“Just breathe,” he said, and he lifted himself away from you to shut the lights off.

His body pressed over yours again and you felt his breath fan over your neck. You were already squirming for more.

“Patience cyarika,” he mumbled. “Please just tell me if it gets too much, ok?”

You nodded frantically and brought your arms around his bare shoulders, squeezing them tightly to show him you understood. His soft skin and small flecks of scar tissue made your insides roar.

“Ok,” you said, and Din pecked your jawline with his lips. Your entire body shuddered, and whines were already leaving your lips, desperation coated in every one of them.

He continued kissing around your neck area before moving up to your cheeks. The only sound on the whole ship was the creaking of the old metal and your breaths mixed with Din’s. Fuck you could get off on this alone.

You moved your hands all over his body as he did this, feeling his back all the way to his hair covered chest. You hadn’t touched his face yet, nervous that would be going too far, but when his lips finally touched yours, all of that went out the window.

You were right, he does have scruff, and it did hurt so good. You pulled him impossibly closer to you and collided your tongues, causing him to groan above you. Your hands automatically went to his hair, massaging his curls and scalp.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against you. “I’m so fucking hard already.”

You nodded and groaned in agreement, and he started to move his head lower and lower to your stomach area.

“How do you want me cyarika,” he asked. “Do you want my cock? Or do you want my tongue and fingers first?”

“Tongue first,” you moaned out. “I’ve wanted it for months now.”

He breathed against your stomach, squeezing your hips as those words escaped you.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he moaned, and then began to spread your legs open.

He kissed all over your thighs, from the outside to the innermost parts, torturing you. He was so close to where you needed him.

He licked your slit and the sound you released was inhuman. You were lucky if you could even last a minute.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled into you and continued his kisses inside of you. Your knuckles were turning white on the sheets and sweat dripped down your boobs.

“So good Din,” you mumbled. “Wanted you for so long.”

He gripped your leg a little firmer at that comment, and only intensified his worship of your sex.

“Everything you do affects me Din,” you breathed out. “I can’t even fuck can’t look at you half the time.”

He moaned your name and pulled your hands into his hair. Your legs were twitching like crazy.

He removed his mouth from you, causing you to whine like a child, before he silenced you with his fingers inside of you instead. He immediately curled them just right, and your orgasm was right on the edge…

“Come on Y/N,” Din whispered. “I want you all over my hand.”

And that’s what did it. You cried out so loudly at the feeling that Din pressed his lips to yours to silence you. His tongue kept yours at bay and you wrapped your legs around his waist to keep control of your own.

He kept kissing you for a while, feeling every inch of you. Your body was on fire and his calloused hands on your skin was enough to make you want to erupt again.

“More Din,” you asked, and he kissed your cheek in response. He reached over you into his nightstand and grabbed a condom, unwrapping it with his shaky hands.

“How long have you had those?” you asked him in a teasing tone. He chuckled quietly.

“Since I began to stare at you everyday.”

He took your hand in his and helped you slide the condom on his dick, and the faint brush of your fingertips made him buck into your hand.

You attempted to pump him a bit, but he grabbed your hand set it back down on the bed.

“You tonight,” he said, and positioned himself above you.

His breaths were becoming shakier as he hovered over you, trying to get his body situated, and you scraped your fingers down his back to calm him. You didn’t even know if he had done anything like this before, and you hoped to god it wasn’t the last time you would feel his body so close to yours.

“Ready?” he asked you, and you nodded.

“Ready.”

And then heaven entered you. Molten hot heaven, hitting you deeply with every thrust. Nothing had ever felt so crafted for you, and your second orgasm came way sooner than expected.

You clenched around Din, moaning up a storm in his ears, and he somehow managed to contain himself. He kept moving and moving throughout your release, and stars started to light up your eyes.

You just kept moaning each other’s names over and over, begging each other to keep going. It wasn’t long until Din’s head collapsed into your shoulder and his thrusts began to get less and less coordinated.

“I can’t—can’t hold on anymore,” he mumbled into you. You scratched your nails up his back and into his hair, and the noise he made against you sent you into your third and final orgasm. Din released cohesively, and the entire thing felt fake.

This couldn’t be happening to you right now. There was no way you had the Mandalorian a moaning mess above you, panting in your ear and chanting your name over and over. It had to have been a dream.

When Din pulled out was when you finally felt your body become yours once again. The pollen feeling had completely dissipated, and Din’s gentle kiss to your forehead showed he knew that too.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, then disappeared out of the room. Barely 20 seconds later, he returned with a bathroom towel and a glass of water. Both of your bodies were still pretty shaky, so he gently handed you the water and waited for you to take a sip.

“Better?” he panted.

“Yes,” you responded, and took another sip of water.

“Good,” he said, and laid back down next to you. You finished off the water and set it on the nightstand to your left. You took a deep breath and tried to relax your nerves. For some reason, your brain decided to absorb the fact that Din was naked beside you now, and the butterflies you would always get around him returned.

You swallowed down your fears, and did your best to speak like normal.

“Thank you Din,” you said faintly. “For everything.”

Yet again, the room went silent. You didn’t expect him to respond with anything, hell he could even be asleep by now, so you just shut your eyes in discomfort and went to leave the bed.

Din’s hand overtop of yours stopped you, and you turned back to look at his silhouette laying next to you. He took hold of your hand and pulled you towards him, and used his other hand to frame your face with his palm. He kept pulling you closer and closer, until you finally thought “fuck it” and kissed him.

He kissed you back with just as much passion, turning his head to massage your tongue with his once again. The position of your bodies was a bit awkward, but this feeling was so addicting that it didn’t even matter to you.

Your senses were finally yours again, and you let yourself really soak in the fact that Din was kissing you. He pulled you back into his bed to kiss you again.

He pulled away and breathed against your mouth for a second or two. He then pulled you completely on top of him and you giggled, tucking your head into his neck. His chest vibrated as well, and your heart warmed at the feeling.

“Please never leave my bed,” he mumbled into your hair. You grinned and kissed his pulse point firmly.

“Trust me Din, I wouldn’t even dream of it.”

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @burned-dorito @tiredbuthappy

[straighttohellbuddy]

bodyache {Corpse Husband}

@bingusmode my beloved requested: hey u … u asked for soft prompt? i wanna… i wanna give u a dialogue prompt ive been working on that i made for myself…. “do you think stars have feelings?” “i’d like to think they do. i think stars fall so in love they like to run into each other and create supernovas.” and then later in the story, with no added context, to see if MC remembers- “hey… i think i might be pulling a star” :’) it’s from a dream i had w corpse and maybe… maybe u can take it and do something good with it too :’)

Summary: You are the best part of a bad past - and then you come back.

A/N: 5202 words.

Warnings: light crime?? like trespassing, also mentions of Corpse getting in a fight. also also mentions/implications of disordered eating.

Citrus Scale: 🧡 ORANGE 🧡

Corpse claims he doesn't have friends outside of the internet. When you hear this, you call him dramatic and roll your eyes.

"I don't have friends, I have you, and we're not friends, you just keep showing up at my house," his tone is deadpan as he elaborates, looking up from where you'd placed your phone in front of him. On the screen is his interview in the latest Anthony Padilla video, where he'd explained that it's not like he has to hide his identity since he doesn't have anyone to hide it from.

He's sitting at the kitchen island of his shoebox kitchen, while you level an unimpressed look at him.

"You're the one who keeps letting me in," you tell him pointedly, hands on your hips as you look around the kitchen, before ducking down and opening one of his cupboards.

"I'm being polite," he fires back, snarkily, and you glance up at him, eyebrow raised, a little disbelieving.

"Where'd you put your big soup pot, Mister Nobody-Loves-Me?" You ask instead, and he huffs, dropping his head to the counter in exasperation.

"I don't want fucking soup."

"Well I brought ingredients for soup," your tone is lofty as you make your way through the cupboards.

"I didn't ask you to," he reminds, but you, pot in hand and triumphant, stand up straight again, now grinning from ear to ear.

"If you can look me in the eye and tell me you've eaten in the past forty-eight hours, I'll leave."

A long, incredibly telling silence follows; for you it's a victory, as is Corpse's defeated sigh.

"What kind of soup?"

So no, Corpse doesn't have friends outside the internet, but he does have you, and has for the longest time.

You're somehow the best of a bad situation, the silver lining of the shitty, dark cloud of his past choices and poor judgement. Meeting you when he did, back when he was nobody and giving time to people who would sooner offer a knife than a helping hand, it feels like divine intervention.

He took hits and spat blood with the best of them, learned to flip knives and hide weaknesses, like how his body was actively self destructing at every given moment, but you were on the sidelines, watching him like he was a fucking zoo animal at first, fascinated. These people weren't fascinated by anything that didn't come rolled in thin paper or a dime bag, too caught up in themselves and the anger and the violence they indulged in that you, quiet, observant you, were unnerving.

"Take a fucking picture," he'd hissed when he'd spotted you at one of the usual haunts, perched on a milkcrate like some punk gargoyle all decked out in black. You were watching him - fucking again - after someone had tried to start shit, and he'd ended up with a black eye and split lip. Not an unusual occurrence for a Saturday, but the way you're looking at him, your hands shoved deep in the pockets of your jackets, eyes alight with something unreadable while your expression was strangely neutral, it make the hair stand on the back of his neck.

"Do you want some aspirin?" You call. In the rose-gold chill of the night, it feels like some strange scene from a movie; Corpse scowls.

"The fuck?"

"Do you want," you say slower this time, pulling your hand out of your pocket, holding something thin and shiny between your middle and pointer fingers, "some aspirin?" Oh; you're holding a packet of fucking aspirin like it's a Yu-Gi-Oh card and you're Seto goddamn Kaiba.

"I'm fine," he tells you stubbornly, forcing the words between his teeth. He's been through worse, he doesn't need your charity. Putting the medication back in your pocket, he watches through narrowed eyes as you take a deep breath, giving him an evaluative look over. People around here paying close attention does not usually mean good things.

Still, you wear that strangely neutral mask, intrigued fascination in your eyes, before you look away, sharply to your left, and Corpse is given the clear and distinct impression that you're done with the interaction, and with him for the time being.

The general consensus among his so-called friends is that you and your deeply strange aura were always on the peripheries of all the goings-on around here. Everywhere he went, he seemed to catch a glimpse of you; you didn't seem to pay much attention to him after that first and only interaction, but you were always around.

No-one knows where you come from, no-one knows where you go where the sun comes up, but people don't tend to mess with you, though it seems to be more tradition than for any reason anyone can remember.

You wear denim jackets that are too big for you, sleeves swallowing your hands and hiding the brass knuckles it took him a long time to actually notice.

On a night where he happens to be milling in your general vicinity, he's surprised when you offer a bottle of water. He doesn't take it, obviously, he has no way of knowing what's in it.

"It's just water," you tell him flatly, taking a sip yourself.

"I don't care, I don't want it," he tells you seriously, deeply confused by the whole situation.

"Okay," you say with a shrug, taking a larger gulp of water this time, one hand still in your pocket as you slouch against the brick wall beside him. After a few moments of silence, however, you speak up, "you lips wouldn't split so bad and would probably heal faster if you were better hydrated."

"Why are you looking at my lips?" He fires off, as it's the only part of that sentence he can properly comprehend.

"Because you keep getting punched in the face," you glance at him with the faintest hint of amusement curling at the edge of your lips. His whole expression scrunches up, but you're not exactly wrong. You offer the water bottle again; he takes it, sculling the entire thing defiantly.

"You're weird; you know you're weird, right?" He hands back the empty water bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and managing not to wince where he does, in fact, have a recent split.

"Of course I know," you answer easily, smile growing a little wider as you look out to the rest of the dingy parking lot, and your fellow undesirable youths gathered there, "I'm like this on purpose."

"Why?"

"Why not?" You shrugged, before taking a deep breath, slumping further against the wall, tipping your head back to look up at the sky, "it passes the time."

Corpse has the people he hangs out with, the friends he knows in the back of his mind would turn on him at a moment's notice, and you don't really have anyone since you seem to prefer to watch everyone, but more and more it seems the two of you end up spend your nights roaming the city together when there's nothing better to do.

"If you're not careful," one of the first things you'd ever told him when the two of you go on your first solo expedition of the city in the early hours of the morning, is that, "those people will eat you alive." And at the time, he knew what you meant, wasn't blind to the kind of people he was hanging out with, but he was still wary of you and the games you seemed to play.

"Just worry about yourself," he'd rolled his eyes. Your smile grew wider as you turned, walking backwards a few steps ahead of him, uncharacteristically smug.

"I'm unpalatable." You grin. Something about his understanding of you clicks, in that moment, perhaps in a way you didn't even intend; the eccentricities that practically drip from your every word, your every move, are a defence mechanism.

However, as time goes on, he realises that understanding may not be completely accurate. What about you changes in the time you spend together? Nothing than he can put his finger on, but your mannerisms and strange behaviour becomes more and more like part of his background noise, turning from vaguely unsettling to endearing. The way you watch makes him feel seen for the first time in a long time.

"Do you think stars have feelings?" There's something soft in your voice that he hears more and more when it's just the two of you together. It is a little jarring to hear it now, considering you were both loitering beneath a bridge; you're smiling up at the sky, and he's decimating an empty shoebox he'd found with a pocket knife.

By now he's used to you saying whatever happens to be on your mind, even if it made no sense, though sometimes you still managed to catch him by surprise.

There's a long moment where he thinks over what you've actually said, and a few moments longer as he gazes at you with confusion. It's as if you can feel his eyes on you, as you look over your shoulder with an amused little smile; he's never seen your smile reach your eyes like this when you're around other people.

"It's okay, there's no-one else around to tear your apart for having opinions on hypothetical star feelings."

Sometimes, occasionally, for a few sparing moments once in a blue moon, he remembers you're more than just the front you put up, the jumble of eccentricities you use to distract from how observant and thoughtful you are about the people around you. Him especially. It still feels like a trap.

"I'd like to think they do," when you realise you're probably not going to get an answer from him, you rock back on your heels for the moment, balancing there as you look up at the sky once more, "I think stars fall so in love they run into each other and create supernovas." It's... endearing. Corpse presses his lips together, but can't bring himself to speak; he watches you, silhouetted by stars.

You're disarmingly honest, neon amongst the grime of his life where honesty feels like a trap, like something to be used against him. It might be killing him; this life, these people, killing him faster than the shit that's been killing him since the beginning. He has to get out.

"I'm not coming back here," he's trying to hype himself up, the two of you sitting on the roof of a building you definitely shouldn't be on. The air is still, is icy in winter, and the two of you are sitting side by side, pressed together to conserve heat, legs dangling off the side of the building.

"Here here?" You asked, your cheek on his shoulder as you look out to the lights of the city twinkling below.

"To any of this bullshit; to the people, the fucking assholes, the shady ass shit I know - I know - I should know better than be a part of," he's seething, scowling, fidgeting.

"Like trespassing on rooves?" You ask quietly, tone mild, if faintly amused, kicking the side of the building with your heels, though he steamrolls ahead.

"I'm gonna get serious about my music," voice soft but determined, your head rises and falls with the deep breath he takes. You tuck your arm in his, tuck yourself further against him in the cold.

"It's good music," you agree sincerely without hesitation. The night sky is changing, though it's barely noticeable, the faintest tinge of lavender on the horizon.

"I'm not coming back here," he says again, softer this time; he rests his cheek against your head.

"You shouldn't," you tell him, "you're better than this." It's not self deprecating, nor is it said with any sort of rose-coloured tinge to your tone; you present it as fact. He's better than this.

He wants to ask where you'll go when he's gone, but it feels selfish, implying that you don't have a life outside of him. He still doesn't know where you're from. He still doesn't know where you go when the sun comes up. He's afraid of the answer you'll give, but he's more afraid of saying the words out loud. If he asks where you'll be without him, he knows you'll hear the truth; where will I be without you?

And honesty like this still feels like a trap.

"Do you still think supernovas are just stars overwhelmed with, like, their love for each other?" He asks instead, looking up at the sky where the stars themselves were slowly disappearing in preparation for the sunrise. For a long moment, you're quiet, surprised he remembered that at all, confused why he would bring it up now.

"I think supernovas are stars exploding," your voice is so quiet, if he wasn't so close he doubts he would have been able to hear you, "I'm whimsical, not stupid, but..." you hummed thoughtfully, "I think sometimes I feel like a supernova." But you don't seem to be able to bring yourself to explain... but you don't have to. He can't quite articulate it, but he understands all too well how it feels to be something of a supernova.

So he leaves without saying any real goodbyes, just stops showing up, and blocks numbers of people he'd been in fights with despite deluding himself into believing they're friends, and he looks at your name in his contacts when he sees the sky turning lilac on nights where he knows he's been up too late.

He leaves behind years, but knows he's better for it.

He makes music - it's good music - and doesn't look back - he shouldn't, he's better than that - and works on the shit he's really passionate about instead of wasting his life on the people who cared more about the hypothetical spoils of his sustained ambition than what he actually would create. And you.

He left behind your blunt sincerity and charming aloofness, the first and only person who's made him feel anything other than insignificant.

Days turn into weeks turn into months, and your absence makes itself known every single day. There's a faint, resentful voice in the back of his head of the person he used to be, the person who'd turned down your first offer of aspirin because he'd rather soldier through the pain than trust anyone to actually have good intentions. It spoke more to the poor company he used to keep, but the voice in his head said he'd gone soft for missing you.

He hadn't blocked you, but he also hadn't heard from you, and something about that makes his chest ache, like you didn't even miss him enough to reach out. The thought turns jagged, however, because he knows all too well that he hasn't reached out to you, despite how quiet his background noise has gotten since he'd left.

There's too many stars now; it seems like the night sky's gotten wider in your absence. It's overwhelming. He closes the blinds.

Until it's Tuesday afternoon at the end of spring, and his world has just started to change online, but in person the biggest difference is that he's moved apartments. So now he's squinting at the ingredients on the back of a packet of chips since this convenience store has weird flavours that he's hesitant to try. A hand shoots out beside him, reaching past to grab a packet for themselves, and when he mutters a distracted apology, shifting out of their way, he realises after a few moments that whoever it was beside him hasn't moved.

"Can I help-" he frowns, unsure of what this person's problem is, except he realises almost immediately what their problem is; they're you.

Wearing oversized pyjamas in the middle of the convenience store, looking like you'd just woken up from a deep sleep and had shuffled down here in a haze. Which... okay relatable; Corpse's own attire was most definitely the first things he'd picked up off his floor after trying and failing to get to sleep after several hours of attempts.

Reaching out, as if in a trance, you gently prod him with a look of bewilderment on your face.

"Not a dream," he tells you reflexively; catching your train of thought was like old habit, even if just for a moment. Blinking quickly, like waking, like coming back to reality, finally your gaze meets his.

And then you yawn.

Which is the exact moment Corpse realises that he's never actually seen you during the day time, despite having known you for literal years. He's seen you at sunrise and sunset, but for all intents and purposes, you, like him, were practically nocturnal in the rough few years you'd been hanging out together.

His sleep was marginally better now. Marginally.

This single moment is suspended in time, light pouring in the windows of the store behind you like some cinematographer is getting his rocks off to this reunion with the way you're almost silhouetted in gold. But he can still see your face, still see your smile, still see the way everything about you turns fond as you process this moment. It's like no time has passed, just being close to you, everything about you is so familiar.

"Have you refused to stay hydrated out of spite in my absence?" Is the first thing you say, and reflexively, Corpse's face scrunches up, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

"That's how you say hello? You poke me and stare at my lips?" He asks, though the exasperation he feels towards you is familiar and strangely comfortable; your grin widens.

"I simply made an educated guess -" another yawn cuts your words off, and you give a little stretch, before trying to shake out a bit of your obvious exhaustion. Maybe you were actually nocturnal all this time.

The two of you end up on the roof of his building, if only for old-time's sake, though he finds it strangely funny that this is the first time either of you has had permission to be on the roof you found yourself on. In the shade of the stairwell where the two of you sit, backs to the wall and sharing your haul of junk food, it feels like something out of a memory. Except in the day, in your pyjamas, something about you seems far gentler than he ever remembers you being.

Months disappear in minutes and your friendship picks up right where it left off.

It gets cooler as the sun sets, but he doesn't want this day, this night, this moment to end, so he gets blankets, and you order dinner for the two of you. Corpse... isn't quite sure when the last time was that he had a proper meal, and despite the lighthearted way you joke about it, you seem to share the same problem. So together you eat, and laugh, and when you look at the stars with the light in your eyes and a smile on your lips, a sight he'd thought he'd never see again, it almost overwhelms him, like he could find the right words for this moment they'd practically explode out of him. But he can't find the right words, could never find the right words, listening, instead to you babble about what you've been up to.

It's as if he's trying to memorise this moment, watching you with fond familiarity, leaning his head back against the brick wall behind him as he watches you through half-closed eyes. The universe is correcting itself for your absence from his life with this night, and then going back the other way when he wakes, still on the roof, not sure when he'd passed out the night before. His whole body feels like it's revolting against him for sleeping on the fucking roof, without even a damn pillow. Unfortunately, it's not the worst sleep he's gotten lately.

The sky is lilac and golden where he's grimacing at it, sun barely having risen, but when he shifts, tries to get himself into a more comfortable position, he sees you, a few feet away, curled up on your side with your hands pillowed beneath your head, asleep. He shouldn't be surprised, and yet he still is, touched by the fact that you'd stayed. Proof that you cared after all this time.

Time passes, time together. Now he has you back, he's not letting you go. You were always the best part of the shit he used to put himself through, the only thing he'd really consider going back for, the only thing he knew was worth bringing with him.

Practically neighbours now, he's surprised when you invite him over to your place for dinner.

He learns where you're from.

He learns where you go when the sun comes up.

Sometimes, he joins you there.

Your apartment is about the same size as his, hobbies and crafts and posters and bric-a-brac cluttering the space, filling it with the things you love; grinning at him as he flops on the sofa, you tell him he fits right in.

He doesn't realise things are getting better, getting brighter, until he looks back at where he'd come from. He'd climbed from the tar pit, but he'd been working himself into exhaustion with his newfound freedom. At least now, when you bang on his door with a grocery bag and a USB with the latest blockbuster pirated and ready to watch, it means he's eating, and focusing on something other than whatever's been slowly driving him mad. And you always seem to know exactly when he needs a break. You still watch; you still see him when he can barely see himself at times.

But he learns quickly that somehow your sleep schedule is worse than his.

And you're only eating well because you're making sure he does too.

And you live close by, sure, but each day it feels like it grows a little further apart. You've come to keep each other in check, to do your best to take care of each other when you can, but sometimes Corpse thinks he might sleep easier knowing you've managed to get some sleep too. His own exhaustion gets to be almost unbearable sometimes, he hates to think what you've putting yourself through.

But strangely enough, the two of you appear to be on the same wavelength.

"Is it weird that I sleep better on your sofa?" You asked, snuggling beneath the blankets he'd haphazardly thrown over you; he can tell you're beaming, even if he can only see your eyes. It's almost six in the morning, the sun was rising, the two of you had been marathoning horror movies and you had given up on the idea of going home before attempting some rest.

"The fact that you sleep at all is one of science's greatest mysteries," he smirked, but as he passed on the way to his own bedroom, he pets your cheek fondly. To see you sleeping serenely when he stumbles out of his room around midday for a glass of water, it fills him with an indescribable warmth.

It happens over time.

Your toothbrush on the sink, more of your shoes pile by the door, then you're bringing different cutlery and utensils from your own kitchen as you keep making the two of you food, or Corpse will be cooking and realise too late that he never had a lemon zester to begin with. What kind of parallel universe is this where he seriously requires a lemon zester? That's the thought that baffles him in the five minutes it takes you to run and grab your own.

"I'm not letting you take the sofa! I'm the guest -" you argued brightly, right as he frowned at you, then down at the basket of laundry in his hands.

"You stopped being a guest when you started throwing your laundry in with mine," he tells you without room for argument, "the sofa is bad for your back, let me -"

"My back is fine!"

"Yeah, now," he rolled his eyes, "take the bed; if it means that much to you, we can, I don't fucking know, switch every week or so," he offers, tone implying that he thinks you're being ridiculous. Which, you consider as you lay flat on your back in his double bed, staring up at the ceiling, you might have been.

"It's a double bed," you call out into the darkness of four-fifty-eight in the morning.

"I'm aware," Corpse's tired, half muffled response comes a beat later.

"Do you..." you pause for a moment, finally conceding defeat on the earlier matter, and also just now realising how absolutely stubborn you were being by refusing all his earlier offers for a far more comfortable sleeping arrangement, "we could just share."

It becomes domestic, if erratic, and every day there's fewer and fewer reasons that you can find to be still paying rent on your own place that you're never at. The pair of you live a simple and cheap life, which, considering some days Corpse feels more like his namesake than others, and he's still got his medical bills to keep in mind, it's probably for the best.

The things that had filled your home slowly come to populate his apartment, just as you'd fit yourself seamlessly into his new life.

"I can't believe I ever thought you were intimidating," Corpse is grinning with your head in his lap, poking fun at your various collectables scattered about. The afternoon is warm, plates from lunch sit, practically licked clean, on the coffee table.

"Hey, my personal life and my weird, street-rat life were separate for a reason," you'd stuck your nose in the air as best you could, fighting back a smile of your own, "I was intimidating."

"You were unsettling -"

"You thought I was unsettling because you didn't know why I was actually intimidating!" You wriggled around for a moment, half bracing yourself against the arm of the sofa to properly look him in the eyes.

"Oh I fully believe you thought you were intimidating," there's something about his voice, about this moment, you'd felt it before, more and more recently, like it was building.

"I kept pulling out knives when people tried to fight me," you tell him as seriously as you could muster, feeling yourself grow warm as he held your gaze.

"A lot of those assholes had knives," his voice is soft, though you couldn't help the sharp grin that found it's way onto your face.

"Yeah, but they're all talk... mostly."

"And you? Ready to cut a bitch at a moment's notice?" He huffed faint, a disbelieving laugh, to which your eyebrows rose.

"You knew me back then, I was unsettling; could you say with absolutely certainty that I wouldn't cut a bitch at a moment's notice?" And though you make a very good point, he leans in, closing the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours.

Something about the way you taste - like something sweet and familiar, like the food you'd made together - the way you feel - he's held you gentle, held you close, woken up with an arm around you to see you smiling all sleepy and content with the contact, but never like this, though he's wanted to hold you like this for longer than he can put into words - or maybe it's gentle, pleased noise you make as he deepens the kiss; every sensation in this moment is going to be burned into his brain. He pulls you into his lap properly; all roads were leading here, he realises thinking back. Nothing else would have made sense. You wrap your arms around his neck, the reality of it all feels like its about to overwhelm him.

When you pull back, eyes wide, drinking in his expression and trying to process the moment, he watches your whole face light up. He holds you tighter, it's all he can do in this moment, pressing his face, his grin, against your collar.

"How do you do that?" He's a little breathless, "how do you do that with your face, I don't -"

"Do what?" You sound confused, and he pulls back, if only to gaze at you; he doesn't realise how utterly lovestruck he looks in this moment. You can't help but hold his jaw gently, thumb brushing his cheek.

There's no hesitation when he speaks now; honesty hasn't felt like a trap for a long time, but it's still a struggle to find the right words -

"Your face just says everything; you can say everything without even saying anything, and I just feel like- I feel like that supernova. I never know what to say when I wanna say something, I just feel like I'm going to explode."

"A supernova?" Voice barely more than a whisper, you're awed and fond, even as his face scrunches up with embarrassment as he realises what he's said.

"You make me feel like a supernova," he murmurs despite himself, doubling down as he leans in to trail kisses up the column of your throat.

There is consistency and care in the love you share. It's cooking together, and playfully bickering about the right amount of time to cook pasta, but getting distracted, getting wrapped up in each other until the water boils over loudly. It's consistently inconsistent sleep schedules and dragging the other to bed if they've been awake for objectively too long. It's pride and support and hyping each other up, and you may not know a lot about the online world that has begun to deify Corpse, but others opinions wouldn't sway your own, you just feel lucky that his music is consistently fire.

It's the way Corpse likes having the blinds open at night because he likes the way the sight of the stars makes you smile.

It's the way you hear him, loud and adamant where he's in the middle of a drunk-stream with some of his friends -

"I wasn't lying- hey, I wasn't lying, okay when I said I didn't have people IRL, I have you guys, okay, but you're online, you're all online, you already know who I am so it doesn't matter if you know who I am," he's rambling, and you pause the show you're watching, half tempted to poke fun at him as you had when you'd heard him echo this sentiment before, but as you crack the door to his office open, leaning against the doorframe, he turns to you, undeterred, beaming but still obviously addressing the rest of his stream.

"I don't have friends offline, but I have them, and they're not..." his tone is going soft, going somewhat sappy and sentimental, and your heart feels like it's about to burst with love at the look of tipsy adoration he's regarding you with, "they're not my friend. They've never been my friend, they're better; they're... constant." After all this time, you're still here, and you know there's no place you'd rather be. "They're my constant."

[softykooky]

the habits of a broken heart.

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

☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

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

alternatively,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deeply and blindly in love. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Jungkook wishes it were a moon. 

“Just go, Yoojung.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

◐

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey...I know how you can repay me.”

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

Jimin gets a third pillow to his face that day. 

◓

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

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

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

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

“I’m taller than you.”

“My dick is bigger.”

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

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

“Shoot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◑

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can call me Jungkook.”

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

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

A little black crescent moon.

Right on the pulse point.

Just like your’s. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

A more truthful conclusion.

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

◒

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

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

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

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

He tips his head back again. Vodka this time.

“Dude, are you okay?” 

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

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

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

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

◐

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

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

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

“Park Jimin”, you snarl. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe...he just doesn’t want you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You agree before he even gets to take another breath. 

“Deal.” 

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

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

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

◓

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

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

“Hello?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.” 

“Wait...actually?”

You blinked in shock at his lack of resistance. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

“Totally.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◑

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

“Your left or my left?”

He pauses. “....left.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, okay, grandpa. What’s up?”

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

The redundancy of his confession makes you sigh, as Park Jimin desecrating your shared kitchen space was not a rare occurrence by any means. 

“I’ll be right there”, you chided through the line, “please do not cook anything else before I arrive.” 

“Thanks Y/N-ie, you’re the best!” Jimin’s voice is far too cheery and you make a mental note to nag him a little extra when you get home. The phone call is ended promptly and you turn around to Jungkook, eyes widening in surprise when he has already packed up all his photography gear. The sky had turned dark and the streetlights had been turned on to illuminate the park. If you had craned your neck upwards, you would have noticed the stars that awoke again to shine down upon the city. But you didn’t. You only saw the stars that were twinkling in Jungkook’s eyes. 

“Uh”, he stammers, “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.” 

“Oh! Uh...Thanks.” Though he was still cold and indifferent, your heart jumped in elation. Perhaps this could be considered baby steps. 

The trip home is quiet, only the sounds of your tandem footsteps on pavement and the rustle of a breeze through tree leaves fill the space of silence. But the quiet is not uncomfortable. Just a bit awkward as you two try to figure out how to be around one another. Jungkook’s hands are shoved in his pockets and your fingers itch to intertwine themselves around his own. To press your soulmate marks together and feel them calling out to each other. But you and Jungkook are anything but normal soulmates. For you are already head over heels in love with him and he is adamant on not sparing you a crumb of affection. 

To your disdain, the apartment was closer than you thought and the short walk with Jungkook ended before it really even began. You could practically hear Jimin’s impatience emanating from the third story of the building. 

“So I’ll see you later?”, you smile meekly. Jungkook readjusts the strap of his camera bag before nodding. He is walking away before you turn around to enter the apartment building and even though it was something small and mundane, you wished he would have waited to see you get in safely. You make your way inside, more downcast than you had been before.

You don’t see when Jungkook turns around. You don’t feel the reassurance that washes over him when the door shuts safely behind you. 

That night, Jungkook is reminded far too much of Yoojung. When he goes to make his usual chamomile, he finds her mug at the very back of the tea cabinet. She must have forgotten it when she packed up her stuff. When he spoons in the sugar, he remembers how Yoojung drinks her tea with honey instead. And when he feels himself start to fall apart, he remembers how Yoojung is not there to keep him together. 

Jungkook pushes away his pain, abandons the lukewarm mug of tea, and opts for an early bedtime to sleep away the ache. The camera sitting on his nightstand, though, beckons him to look over the photos you both had taken that afternoon. 

In the moment, he had been dissatisfied with the pictures, always thinking there must be a better angle or a better position you could shift into. However when he looks down at his camera now, in the quiet and solemnity of his bedroom, Jungkook can’t help but to think they are absolutely perfect. 

He doesn’t know whether to credit his own artistic skill or you; for breathing life into his photographs. It’s the lines of your hands, the slope of your nose, and the stray strands of your hair that makes his pictures more human. 

The ones he ends up picking though, are not perfectly  staged and not the ones where he made you change the position of your stance for 10 minutes. No, the best pictures were the ones he took without you noticing. When you had just been enjoying the cool breeze or admiring the beauty of peach blossom season. When you point out a cool looking bird and when you stared annoyedly past the cameras lens (at him no doubt). 

Yoojung is gone from his mind for just a tiny fleeting moment. For little reason at all, Jungkook finds himself smiling. And there is only the company of the moon to see it. 

◒

 It is ten o’ clock in the morning and Jungkook comes to a realization that in the couple weeks since he has met you, he has sighed more times than he has in the past 23 years of life. Jungkook sighs when you text him first thing in the morning about the dream you had the night before and describe it in painfully vivid details. He leaves them unanswered. Sometimes he wished you would just email him the google document instead. He sighs when you fidget in your seat when he’s trying to paint and keep focus, but you are only interested in asking him the snacks he has in his fridge or when he’s going to finish. He sighs when you and Jimin collectively trash his art studio by spamming his $1,000 camera with ugly face pictures and sword fighting with his sable paint brushes. Jungkook often has a hard time believing that both of you are in graduate school. 

Today, he sighs when you bombard into room 62B of the art building; what is supposed to be Jungkook’s completely zen and peaceful creative space. You are tiptoeing around him as you always do, scared that you’ll do something to set him off and your soulmate will disown you for good. He glances at you once, eyes quickly darting back to the sculpture he is molding on the clay table and saying nothing. 

“There’s a new cafe that just opened right across from the apple strudel place”, you gulp tensely. “I was gonna go check out the competition.” Your words seem deaf to Jungkook’s ear and he only furrows his eyebrows, fingers fussing over the mass of clay. There was just something he couldn’t get right. He didn’t know what it was. 

Jungkook pushes away the sculpture frustratedly, wipes his hands on his apron, and finally looks at you. Maybe he did need a break and come back to it with fresh eyes. That’s all it was, though. A break. He wasn’t going because you asked him to. 

“They better have blonde roast otherwise you’ll be compensating me for my time.” Jungkook is as ruthless and blunt as ever and you decide to look past it as you always do. Him agreeing to go with you was a mini success. 

“Welcome in! You’ve stopped by at the perfect time. The strawberry scones have just been taken out of the oven!” The cafe employee is far too enthusiastic for receiving minimum wage and greeting grumpy people off the streets who just want to be caffeinated. His name tag reads Jung Hoseok. 

“Oh, strawberry is my favorite”, you whisper, the statement only meant for your ears but Jungkook picks up on it anyway. He declines to tell you that strawberry is his favorite as well. Hoseok’s eyes light up when you and Jungkook approach the entrance, like he finally succeeded at luring a customer. 

The cafe isn’t anything special. A bit more modern compared to the one across the street and you think you prefer the latter because this new one doesn’t have the owner’s handsome son standing at the cash register. He may not be your soulmate, but even you had to admit Kim Seokjin was a beautiful man if there ever was one. However, this cafe is warm and has ceiling length windows that let in an obscene amount of sunlight. Jungkook makes a mental note to try some pictures here in the future. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in his pocket and you are already leaving him behind in the dust, walking straight to the counter and peering up at the menu deep in thought. You turn around to see that he is immersed in mysterious conversation, and take it upon yourself to order him a drink. 

“I’ll have a matcha latte. And uh…”, you decide, trailing off as you wonder what kind of drink Jungkook would enjoy. “And an iced vanilla mocha latte, extra whipped cream, extra chocolate syrup. Do you guys have rainbow sprinkles?” 

A little sugar never hurt anyone. Especially someone so often bitter like your one and only soulmate. 

When Jungkook hangs up and makes his way to the corner table where you are situated, the sight of the concoction on the table is enough to give him an instant cavity. You hide your smile behind the mug of matcha. He grumbles and sits down swiftly, sticking the straw past his lips in defiance and you can only watch expectantly. 

“Well…do you like it?” 

This is when Jungkook realizes you didn’t order this to spite him. You just had completely zero idea what he liked and disliked and chose the first thing you thought was best. As cold as he is, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he drinks coffee, he likes it black. No cream, no sugar, and the darkest roast with the most caffeine to push him through those nights spent in front of a canvas or over a clay table. 

Jungkook fights to keep steady from the ambush of sugar and wills himself to swallow it down. There is sticky chocolate syrup on his hands and it feels cosmically more uncomfortable than paint. But Jungkook manages to look up at you and nod, to which you reward with a smile. 

“I knew you would like it”, you say smugly, giving yourself a mental pat on the back. “You look like you have a giant sweet tooth.” There is a mellow giggle that follows your statement. Jungkook feels a flutter at the bottom of his stomach, and convinces himself it’s only because it sounds so much like Yoojung. He catches sight of the moon on your wrist, and pushes the feeling away even farther. 

The two of you spend the rest of the midday there, tucked away in a corner of a cafe and losing track of time as you always do. Jungkook finds himself forgetting about the mountains of work he has to do to finish his art gallery portfolio, and the unfinished sculpture back at the studio that’s just not right. 

Today, he allows himself to enjoy your presence and get to know you more. Your favorite color is yellow. You had a dog named Benny when you were a child. You detest beer with a passion, but enjoy a nightly glass of pinot grigio. Jungkook barely notices when the entire cup of coffee has disappeared. Every last rainbow sprinkle.

On second thought, he feels that maybe there was something sweeter than his unexpectedly delicious iced vanilla mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Maybe that something was sitting right across from him, rambling about the fundamentals of English literature with unexplained vigor. 

Jungkook’s soul feels lighter when he goes to bed that night. And when he finally succumbs to Morpheus, his last lucid thought is of you; sun beams coming from the large cafe windows that comb through your hair. He looks at you through his mind’s eye and all he can see is the potential heartbreak you have the power to put him through. The fan of your eyelashes. The curve of your smile. The plush of your lips. All he can see is Yoojung as she crushes his soul in her bare hands. 

Yet in the midst of his internal conflict, Jungkook’s subconscious allows him to fall in love with you a little bit. Perhaps not love just yet, but affection. Like a toe dip in uncharted waters or sticking his finger in a bowl of creamy cake batter just for a taste. The walls he has built are still there, strong as ever, but perhaps a couple bricks look a bit askew. He doesn’t know, but his soul calls out to your’s through the fortress.

◐

“Y/N I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“Oh hush, just close your eyes and point where your heart tells you to.”

In the lobby of a train station, facing a map and an ETA board is where you and Jungkook will be embarking on your next “date but not really because you don’t believe in soulmates so let’s just hang out”. It had taken a good two hours of nagging and whining on your part to convince him to abandon his portfolio for just a little bit to go an outing. Now standing here, with you excitedly bouncing next to him and a mystery destination, Jungkook feels something akin to utter regret. 

“What if I choose somewhere that’s a thousand miles away? Or just in the middle of nowhere?”, Jungkook groans, still putting up an unbothered and cold front. 

“Well then we will go somewhere that’s a thousand miles away or in the middle of nowhere”, you quipped back at him. Jungkook had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one. 

He reluctantly places a hand over his eyes, sighing with resignation before pointing to a random spot on the map. There is a giggle that sounds to his left and Jungkook finds himself wanting to hear more. 

“Wonderful choice”, you smiled, “couldn’t have picked it better myself.” 

Jungkook peeked his eyes open one at a time, scared of seeing what his intuition has chosen for your guys’ spontaneous destination. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that his fingers landed on a town on the outskirts of the city, 20 minutes away from the university. He silently thanks the universe for not sabotaging his wallet and time. 

“We’re never doing this again, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks as you are in front of him, skipping happily to the front desk to buy two train tickets. 

“Wasn’t it fun, though? The thrill?”, you chuckle at his demeanor, to which he only shakes his head vehemently. You note the newest thing you’ve just learned about Jungkook: he has an aversion to uncertainty and spontaneity. 

The train ride was as brief as it was uneventful. You spent the time rambling to Jungkook about all the quips and quirks about yourself and he only listened. Though he kept quiet, his face was free of any annoyance or indication that you were speaking too much. Jungkook only stared at you and unknowing to you, he soaked in every bit of information like a sponge. If anyone asked, he could tell them what foods you were allergic to, what colors wash you out, and what vegetables you hated the most. 

“Wow you didn’t have to pick somewhere so far away, Jungkook.” You muse as the two of you step out of the train car. So far away in fact, that if you were to crane your head up enough, you would be able to see the university from a distance. 

“Hey, you were the one who made me choose”, Jungkook spares a rare smile, “Would you rather we have shelled out our wallets to go on an 18-hour train ride?”

“Okay, fair point.”

The city was as abundant as it was big, and the both of you walked aimlessly from avenue to avenue, stopping occasionally whenever you see a dog you just can’t help but to pet or whenever Jungkook complained about his sore feet. As cold and indifferent as Jungkook made himself out to be, you’ve quickly come to realize that he’s actually a big baby. He still hasn’t let you in or even lowered his walls by a tiny centimeter, but you like to think that even agreeing to go anywhere with you could be considered significant progress.

Jungkook doesn’t notice the pounding of his heart whenever his hands graze against your’s, walking side by side so close he can feel the heat emanating through your coat. He doesn’t notice the peace he feels, just the synchronicity of his feet as he places them on the pavement. 

The fraught wind that blows straight at Jungkook’s face prompts him to look up from where his eyes were cast on the ground. He almost staggers at how strong it is, but finds himself weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

Of course.

Of all the days, of all the times, of all the people in this entire city.

Of course she had to be the one that was currently staring at him from across the intersection. 

The red light seems to go on forever. Either that or time has just spontaneously frozen, Jungkook can’t tell. But his eyes are fixed on hers and his feet bolster him to the concrete when all he wants to do is sprint the other way and forget he ever saw this ghost from the past. 

Yoojung looks as beautiful as the day she left him. 

She’s gained some weight and her cheeks have filled out, but it looks healthy on her now (Jungkook always chided her for forgetting to eat). She stares at him with a combination of shock and guilt and something he wants to overthink into affection but he won’t give himself that satisfaction anymore. She dyed her hair. Light brown looks good on her. 

She looks...happy. As happy as anyone can look when they’re rushing through thick crowds of a city, traffic horns blaring like a dilapidated symphony. 

In the heat of it all, it’s impossible for you not to notice Jungkook’s sudden change in demeanor or the way he has suddenly stopped breathing. When you follow his gaze, there is a girl on the other side of the street that shares the same starstruck expression and even from the outside looking in, you can feel the weight of something painful in his eyes. In her stature. 

When the lights turn green, the throngs of city dwellers migrate across and you stay beside Jungkook when he doesn’t move a muscle. Not even a finger twitch. But she does. And he can only fight to keep the ache away when Yoojung gets closer with every millisecond. Until she is standing right in front of him and he can smell her familiar vanilla perfume. 

“Jungkook”, she speaks, apprehension in her voice. “It’s been a while...how are you?” 

Yoojung only spares you a side glance while keeping attention on Jungkook and you only grow more curious as to who this strange woman is. 

He wants to speak so badly but his tongue remains frozen. He turns to you with flabbergast in his eyes and shakes his head to snap out of the daze of confusion. Of seeing the love of his life again. Or who he thought was the love of his life. 

“Could you give us a minute, Y/N?” 

You didn’t know why but the words that came from his lips made you feel disappointed. Perhaps you were just stupid for thinking he would introduce you. Tell her that you’re his soulmate and scream it at the top of his lungs with sheer pride. But your imagination has hurt you countless times and you had a feeling this one wouldn’t be the last. You manage a curt nod and push away the twinge in your heart. There was a boundary between you and Jungkook and today was not the day to cross it and introduce yourself as his soulmate to any random stranger. 

Once you are out of vicinity and have found solace in a bookstore 10 feet away, Jungkook allows himself to breathe in Yoojung’s presence. 

“I didn’t know if you were still in the city”, he falters, voice coming out quieter than he would have liked it to. But what was he supposed to sound like confronting the supposed love of his life. 

“I never left, Jungkook...my entire life is here.” She sighs, smiling lightly with eyes seeping with guilt. 

He scoffs. “I don’t know Yoojung, you seem to leave behind important things pretty easily.” Jungkook feels himself getting angrier and resentful by the second, and though he knows it is unfair of him, Yoojung’s mere presence brings back all the wounds he never truly healed from. 

Granted, on a concrete sidewalk next to a traffic light pole was not the best place to have a heart to heart about failed relationships. But when has the universe ever given Jungkook the best things in life. He is devastatingly cynical for someone who dedicates his career to art. 

Yoojung wears a frown on her face, but there is no vindictiveness there. Just an overwhelming sense of remorse that Jungkook communicates as pity. 

“I don’t know how else to say that I’m sorry”, she sighs, eyes falling to the ground. Jungkook wishes it would just open up and swallow him whole. 

“Then don’t say anything.” He turns to walk away.

“Wait! Jungkook can we...can’t we catch up or something? For a couple minutes?” Yoojung is visibly desperate, and her hands are outstretched as if wanting to touch him but keeping herself from overstepping the line. 

Jungkook glances through the window of the bookstore, and you are situated on a chair, already nose deep in a hefty book. He wants to smile and tease you for being such a nerd, but the weight of Yoojung’s presence makes him reinforce those walls of indifference tenfold. 

He exhales frustration and inhales temptation, looking back into Yoojung’s familiar eyes and nodding. Jungkook walks to a nearby bench and sits down with no words exchanged, looking forward coldly even when he feels her warmth next to him. A couple months ago, Jungkook would have set all his canvases on fire to feel her beside him again. Now, he’s not so sure.

“So…”, she starts, “who’s that cute girl you were with?” 

“No one.” He shoots out a little too soon with no hesitation. Yoojung gulps.

“You know Jungkook, it’s okay to find someone. I-I know I hurt you, but I’m glad if you’ve found someone who doesn’t.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything so she continues.

“I’m really happy for-”

“I never really forgave you Yoojung.” He stares blankly at the passersby and tries to ignore the ache in his bones. The one that’s been there the day she left and took a piece of his heart with her. 

“And I don’t want to blame you for my decisions but I want you to know that I push away a lot of people because of you. People that don’t deserve it.” From the corner of his eye, he can see her nod solemnly to his words and fidget with her hands in her lap. Part of him feels guilty for unloading on Yoojung. Part of him feels like maybe he deserves to. 

“What you did was really shitty. Astronomically fucking shitty. And I’ve spent the past eternity hating you and maybe I still do, but…”, Jungkook takes a deep breath, “I want to forgive you now. If not fully, then partially. I hope you can understand that.” He finally tilts his head to look at her and though the smile on her face is as beautiful as he remembers it to be, Jungkook no longer feels the longing. No longer feels the sting that he usually does when his thoughts take him back to the years they spent together. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to call it closure, not yet anyway. Sitting here on the bench, he still wants to scream and yell and tell Yoojung of all the nights he’s spent alone since she left. He still wants to drag her back and wonder if she could love him again like she used to. 

But he doesn’t. He listens when she tells him about her new job and her new apartment right by the lakeside. They share snippets of their separate lives. Just deep enough to rekindle something warm but shallow enough to not invite anything else in. 

When he walks away from the bench and into the bookstore, Jungkook stills feels the walls that he has built around himself. He is still scared of opening up and being vulnerable but the anger held for Yoojung for so long is no longer a raging fire. More so a wickering flame. 

When he spots you, though, he remembers why he built those walls in the first place. He remembers how easy it used to be for him to climb a high peak and fall to his demise. Your eyes widen when you catch sight of him, lips curling into a wide smile and clear excitement in your expression. The book in your hands is tossed aside and tunnel vision reserved for him and him only. Something blooms in his chest and he can’t remember the last time someone’s been so elated to just simply see him...aside from his dog. Jungkook reminds himself to act uncaring. If he pretends long enough, he’ll start to believe it himself. 

◓

The train ride home feels longer than the one there. The minutes drag by and perhaps it is because of your drooping eyes or the way Jungkook is looking at you with a different tenderness than he has been before. His stare is not harsh. It’s soft and sweet, but subtle enough for you to wonder if you are just imagining it. The night has always been unforgiving and cold even in the spring, but perhaps all that’s needed to breathe some warmth, is a 15 minute train ride and a wrist with a crescent moon.

Yet every time you become more smitten with Jungkook, there is a harsh reminder that follows you everywhere like a designated storm cloud. 

Jungkook does not love you. And you are trying and you will continue to try but his eyes tell you something he is too courteous to say. You see it now as he sits across from you and admires the skyline from the window. It makes you wonder if it is soulmates he doesn’t believe in, or if it is just you that he can’t bring himself to accept. With every cold glance and wall that he puts up, you start to convince yourself that it is the latter.

“We’re here, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks quietly, interrupting your drifting thoughts. He turns around and leaves the train car with hands tucked in his coat pocket. Did you expect him to escort you out and hold your hand? Of course not. But you were tired of Jungkook being so indifferent to your existence. 

You follow him glumly out the doors that slide close after you step through. Then it zips off again and you wonder where it would have taken you if you just stayed in your seat. If Jungkook would have even noticed that you hadn’t followed him when he left. 

You sigh into the night air and wish it was winter so that your breath could be visible as a white cloud. Maybe then Jungkook would notice that you were a living being beside him. 

“Who was that girl that we met back there?”, you murmur hesitantly. Jungkook nearly chokes on air. 

“No one”, he responds curtly, effectively cutting off the conversation then and there. It makes your heart sink. She must be important and all you want to do is know every single detail about their relationship, but the look in his eyes warn you to not pry. 

You don’t think you can forget the way Jungkook looked at her from across the street. Like he had been lost this whole time and she was the North star. You saw the way his eyes twinkled in the midday sun and sparkled even more when she came closer. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to have that effect on him. 

“Hey, next time you should pick a place you and I both do not live in”, you giggle, nudging his shoulder with your own. It makes him smile and even though your heart feels heavy in your chest, Jungkook looks so beautiful when he smiles. 

The two pair of feet subconsciously carry you both to the front door of your apartment building and the scene is too familiar from the last time. You expect him to turn around and whisper a hushed goodnight under his breath, and you’ll have to watch the back of his head disappear down the street. But he doesn’t. Just stands across from you quietly and waits for you to say something. So you do. 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry if I brought up something you didn’t want to remember. I don’t really know your story but it seems you two have a lot of history.” You want to tell him how hard it is for you to be his soulmate when he is so clearly vying for the warmth of someone else. Someone who didn’t have a crescent moon on her wrist. 

“I know you’ll tell me whenever you’re ready, and if that’s never then I’ll keep waiting until forever. But I’m here if you want to talk or unload and I already know I can help because…” you fidget with your hands and look around nervously. 

“Well, because I’m your soulmate.” 

When you say it loud and explicitly, Jungkook thought the statement would have made him recoil. But it doesn’t. It just seeps through his consciousness and feels warm when he thinks about the weight of those words. You are his soulmate, regardless of if he believes in such a thing or not. You carry the same mark as he does on your wrist and somehow, by some intangible factor, the universe had decided that you were created for him and he for you. 

And when he looks at you. Really looks at you. When Jungkook processes your sincere words and how you manage to deal with his insurmountable boundaries even when you barely know him…

Jungkook has never wanted to kiss you more. 

So he does. 

Your lips taste like mint chewing gum and the ghost of words you wish to tell him but can’t. He feels you stiffen until you completely melt in his hold, and Jungkook cradles your face with both his hands, pulling you closer to him until there is no barrier between you but the clothes on your back and the emotional distance. You feel so far away even when you’re this near. Was it a trick of your imagination when you felt the moon on your wrist tingling? 

It doesn’t last as long as you would’ve liked it to. Jungkook yanks his hands from you like your skin scalded him and takes several steps back. His chest rises up and down violently when his breath comes out ragged, posture stiffening as the gravity of what just happened finally absorbs. You’re there, he knows you’re there and standing in front of him. So why is it he can only see Yoojung. Yoojung and the star on her wrist and apologies on her lips. Yoojung and the tears in her eyes when she walks away. 

You can only stare confusedly when his body goes rigid, and a sudden coldness envelops you both. 

And in the haze of post-embrace, like any two normal lovers, you catch something in his eyes that sets a heavy feeling in your stomach. Before you can confirm if it’s just a trick of the light, Jungkook is already running in the opposite direction and you can only see a shadow of sullen love that follows him. He is gone and you are standing alone, wondering how moonlight could feel so cold even on a spring night. 

You don’t get any sleep that night. Every time you close your eyes, there is only the sight of Jungkook’s disgust and regret to lull you to dreams. 

20 minutes away from your apartment, there is a boy who doesn’t sleep either. He won’t text or call to tell you that he can’t shake off the feeling of your skin on his and your breath fanning his cheek. He won’t admit to himself that tonight, when he looked at you, he felt the possibility of falling in love. He won’t tell you that the moon on his skin longs to be traced by your hands. No, he just shares those secrets with his pillow as its linen soaks up his tears. 

In the midst of it all, there is one verdict that becomes clear to him.

Jungkook wishes he had never told Jimin he needed a muse.

◑

The next three weeks is dedicated to trying to get in touch with your soulmate. Through the whirlwinds of utter confusion and desperation, you try texting, calling, emailing, even showing up at his art studio and apartment to no avail. It seemed he had a talent for avoiding soulmates. 

It hurt, to say the least. That he left you high and dry after giving you the most intense

kiss of your life and doesn’t even have the decency to let you know he’s alive. The feeling of his lips still burns on your skin and you wonder if you are a complete fool for being so smitten with a person who, quite possibly, hasn’t spared you a single thought after that night. You just want - no you just need some clarity. 

Jungkook makes you wait another week before replying. 

It is an impossibly sunny day when you wake up. Your neck is stiff from sleeping like a contortionist and your heart aches even more than your muscles with every passing morning with radio silence from your soulmate. You want to call him and tell him you’re sorry. That you’ll forget anything ever happened. It hurts to even think about it, but for Jungkook, you would go through a little more pain so he would let you into his life. 

Outside the hall, Jimin is singing along to a familiar melody of a song you don’t know the name of and judging by the aroma that wafts through the cracks of your door, he has successfully made a pot of coffee. He has been an anchor throughout this whole thing, and sometimes you make a secret wish to the stars that Jimin had been the one with a crescent moon on his wrist instead. Perhaps that way, you wouldn’t have to go through the agony of chasing love that is constantly sprinting away from you. 

Your phone lays on the bedside table and buzzes innocently to start the morning. When you reach over and scroll through notifications routinely, there is a name there that makes your heart pang. Makes you want to throw up and celebrate at the same time. A text from Jungkook. Your fingers shake as you open it. 

I no longer need a model for the portfolio. Thank you for your involvement. Compensation will be provided promptly. 

The day you met him, you already knew that Jungkook was cold. He never dawdled around a painful truth or toed the line between bluntness and sparing feelings. Jungkook spoke his mind, collateral damage be damned. But this is a different type of cold. This one feels more like dry ice on warm skin. Like the numbing chill of a fading hope. Like winter’s first snowfall when autumn had promised you it would forever stay. 

Phone in your hand and tears threatening to drip down your cheeks, you wish you would have waited a bit more before opening his text. Perhaps that way you could have spent the rest of your morning basking in the spring sun, drinking Jimin’s inevitably bad coffee, having hope that Jeon Jungkook would grow to care for you. Perhaps if you hadn’t opened it so soon, your soulmate would still seem in reach. 

Jimin’s mug nearly drops out of his hand when the door of your bedroom is slammed open. He flings it to the side when he notices your red-rimmed eyes and the shaking hands that clutch onto a cellphone. You scream and sob at the universe, at anyone, asking why it was you that had to experience the chaos of longing. Jimin was there to hold you, as he always is, and helplessly listen to the sound of your heart breaking once again by the hands of Jungkook.

◒

Room 62B of the art building is a place you hope to never have to visit again. Though it’s walls contain memories of you and Jungkook, and the evenings navigating his gallery portfolio along with your convoluted relationship, the wallpaper bleeds with a longing ache. A yearning pain. And if those walls could talk, you don’t think you would want them to say anything at all. They would only murmur what you are slowly accepting to be true.

Jungkook, your soulmate, wants nothing to do with you. 

When you hesitantly rap on the door with a fisted hand, the sound of him rustling from inside makes you want to run the opposite direction. It opens before you get the chance to change your mind and the sight of him nearly takes your breath away. He is beautiful as he always is, hair ruffled and mussed from undoubtedly running his hands through it compulsively. His lips are pink from biting on them and the dark circles under his eyes tells you of the dreams he has deprived himself of. 

Jungkook is painfully gorgeous and painfully not yours. 

“Y/N...I sent you a text earlier.” His voice is saccharine but the words taste so bitter. 

“I know. I read it”, you murmur, shrinking in on yourself. 

“I....Can we talk, Jungkook?” 

His eyes dart around nervously at your question, chewing on his bottom lip and tapping the toe of his shoe as if he was impatient and you were bothering him. And you have known that simply being around Jungkook hurts but the light at the end of the tunnel only continues dwindling. 

You understand why he is acting so restless when your gaze drifts past him and into the room. There is a girl perched on a stool, across from a canvas and easel that you know awfully well. You don’t recognize her but it’s only in your nature to begin comparing every aspect of yourself to this stranger. She sits on her hands and swings her legs back and forth, head in the clouds and eyes trailing the ceiling. She isn’t aware of the weight of her presence in the studio, nor the turmoil she has brought to you, who is standing just outside the door. 

The oxygen in the hallway thins and the breath you’ve been waiting to release since knocking catches in your throat. Coming here, you prepared yourself for a long and inevitably heart-wrenching talk with your soulmate. But you hadn’t prepared for the possibility that he had replaced you overnight. 

The only thought that blares through your mind is that this is your fault. For letting yourself think you were worth more to Jeon Jungkook than any other stranger. You can no longer find it in yourself to be angry at him. Just yourself. 

“You…”, you gulp down a whimper, “you replaced me.” 

Jungkook follows your vacant stare past him and sighs, realizing you had most likely deducted what this scene looked like. You would be right. Between the weeks of trying to understand what you were to him and the impending due date of the portfolio, Jungkook was sure the best way to move past this confusion was to just speed full steam ahead. That meant finding another muse. You were no longer an option.

You only stare down at the floor, but Jungkook begins speaking anyway. 

“Y/N, I…I’m sorry.” You scoff at his words, feigning anger when inside, you truly didn’t know if you could piece yourself back together this time. 

“Look, Y/N. It’s not you. It’s just that…”, he breathes deep, not knowing why it was so hard to say. “I’ve stopped believing soulmates were truly a thing a long time ago. I’m sorry.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve heard these words but it doesn’t mean they hurt any less.

“I didn’t want to initiate anything, Y/N, but you did and I let you and that was my fault to let anything start. I shouldn’t have when I knew nothing would come of it.”

It was a fault to him. It never should have happened. 

“So you just thought you would kiss me and decide that I meant nothing to you afterwards?”

“It was a mistake.” It was painful to think it but when you hear Jungkook say it, you experience a new kind of ache. A humorless chuckle bubbles past your throat.

 “I really thought you would grow to love me. Now I know it’s not your fault that I’m a complete fool. To fall head over heels for my soulmate who wishes he had never even met me. Much less share a mark.” 

You can see Jungkook’s eyes widen at your confession, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It was the truth. He deserved to hear it. 

“You shouldn’t. You can’t.” He reaches up to pull at his hair frustratedly.

“Can’t what, Jungkook? Love you? You think I want to be in love with someone who wishes I didn’t exist?” You hate your voice for breaking, but its impossibly painful when he does nothing to deny your statement. 

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? What can I say to make this better?”

Try: I love you too.

“I don’t need you to say anything you don’t mean, Jungkook.” 

“Then shouldn’t you leave?”

Jeon Jungkook is cruel even when he doesn’t mean to be. There is oblivion in his gaze, and his question is one of genuine curiosity. But it still stabs you exactly where your heart is most tender. Yes, I should have left. 

“I guess I thought you were worth the pain, Jungkook. When you pushed me away and wanted nothing to do with me, I thought you were worth hurting for just to try a little more. Worth the uncertainty of being around you but never getting to actually be with you”, you numbly mutter, uncaring about the rivulets of tears down your face. Not like it wasn’t something he’s never seen before. There is more to come on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook stays quiet to let you speak. There is conflict in his vision, but you don’t want to give yourself the false hope that he cares for you. 

Look where that has gotten you before. 

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

Saying the words are revelation for you as much as it is for him. All this time, you’ve been running away from the truth in the pursuit of your soulmate. You hadn’t realized that the chase led you astray. 

“And I know that loving me is not easy. I’m…”, you force the words out so he can at least hear your turmoil by his hands. “I’m never really good enough for anyone. Why did I expect that I would be good enough for you?” 

Jungkook’s expression crumples into a frown. “Y/N, no, that’s not what I mean-”

“You don’t have to tell me what you mean, Jungkook. I meet you and the first thing you say is that you don’t believe in such a thing. I try to get close to you and all you know to do is push me away. And I try so hard to be enough but how can I when Yoojung still has your heart? So you don’t have to say it. I know what you mean.” You’ve stopped crying but the ache relents, and you can only look desperately at the boy who’s slipping from your grasp with every passing second. 

“I’m sorry.” The message is redundant.

“I can’t…” Rip off the bandaid. 

“I just can’t love you.”

The words make their way past his lips before he can stop them, and they shoot through your core ruthlessly. A sharpened dagger to soft flesh. It manifests itself in a physical pain that reverberates across your chest, and when the last strength left in you is used to stare at Jungkook through a pained and teary gaze, you are deaf to everything but those four words.

I can’t love you.

I can’t love you. 

I can’t love you. 

You’re not sure what he is sorry for at this point. If Jungkook is apologizing for not loving you, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry for entertaining the possibility, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry that you are the one with a crescent moon on your wrist, well...you don’t blame him either. All your life you cherished it like some kind of gift from the universe. Now, nursing your crumbling soul in front of Jungkook, you wish it had never appeared in the first place. 

You shake your head, tucking your lip in between your teeth to stop the sob in your chest from escaping. Through the crack of the door Jungkook hadn’t shut fully, the girl was still there, patiently sitting where you were supposed to and making herself scarce after inevitably hearing you bare your heart to a boy who had no interest in it. 

Humiliation goes hand in hand with heartbreak, and the embarrassment that comes with confessing your love and insecurity urges your feet to run home. But even you cannot deprive yourself of looking at him one more time. 

His wavy head of hair. The scar on his cheekbone that makes him look even more beautiful, if that were possible. The gloss in his dark brown eyes, and the way he looks at you through stone cold walls. You commit it to memory, however painful, before you walk out of his life. 

“Be happy, Jungkook.” 

You truly mean it. 

◐

 The sound of your footsteps getting farther away from him is a sound Jungkook thinks he’ll remember for a long time. It almost prompts him to run after you, cradle you to his chest, and profess how sorry he is again and again until you can truly feel the sincerity. But he doesn’t. Only remains behind the self-procured walls and watches when your figure disappears down the hallway. 

Cold. Unbothered. Indifferent. That’s what he had always told himself when it came to you. But the hallway feels so lonely and the ghost of your presence feels even lonelier, and Jungkook wonders if he had been wrong. 

He walks back into the studio, permanent frown on his face and shoulders hunched over in stress. The paintbrush feels like a stranger rather than an extension of his arm, as it always does, but Jungkook begins painting anyway. Looking at the girl in front of him, he is reminded of the look on your face when you realized he had replaced you completely in the span of three weeks, without even giving you a notice. Her presence in his art studio suddenly feels entirely suffocating. 

“Mina, Get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out of my studio. I don’t need you as a model, anymore. Thanks.” His voice cut through the tension of the room, like a hot knife to butter. He recognizes it as the voice he always forces himself to use around you, and grows even more aggravated. 

The girl scoffs annoyedly, snatching her handbag from the floor and rushing out of the room. Obviously she had thought something more was to come from Jungkook’s art arrangement. He made sure to let her know that was not the case. 

There is a gnawing in his chest. Deep and subtle, but it becomes more prominent as the window view from his studio turns from blue to black. He ponders about spending the night in here, instead of going home to his bedroom where he is forced to consult with the agony of solitude. On top of everything today, Jungkook doesn’t think he can handle that. 

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the pain in your face when he tells you that he can’t love you and he hears the shaking in your voice when you tell him the things that weighed on your soul. He thought the word “wither” was only reserved for flowers. Jungkook didn’t realize a person could wither until he saw it right in front of him. 

In truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could love you or not. And to Jungkook, that was already a feat in itself. He’s spent so many months convincing himself that his emotional fortress was impregnable. So many nights over whiskey bottles telling himself that love was only for fools and pretenders. To be uncertain about love, now, well...that’s something he is not yet ready to admit to himself. Much less admit to you. But letting you any closer was a fatal game. 

Being uncertain about love means being uncertain about getting hurt. Jungkook has a feeling he wouldn’t make it out in one piece if his heart fell into wrong hands. 

He does end up returning to his apartment that night. But the walk feels far too long and the air feels far too frigid, or perhaps is it because he can’t hear the tread of your footsteps beside him? 

Whatever the reason, tonight feels more lonely.

The stars tell him it’s because he does not like the person he’s alone with. 

Back in room 62B, there is an abandoned painting on a rickety easel. He hadn’t even had the will to wash out his paintbrush, and he’s sure he’ll pay for it the next day. Looking at the piece now, his professor would tell him that there’s too many colors. Too much contrast and nearly not enough depth in his strokes. But what was he to do when he had kicked out his new model and couldn’t get the image of your visible heartbreak out of his brain? 

A familiar wrist with a quaint crescent moon sits on the canvas, and he sure as hell didn’t use Mina as the inspiration. Jungkook reminds himself to throw out the painting tomorrow morning. 

◓

The grease on Jimin’s skillet pan is always so hard to clean. The dish soap never truly cuts through the oil, and no matter how much you rinse it over with scalding water, it still feels soiled. On a normal day, it wouldn’t frustrate you so much. Today, a month-and-a-half after your soulmate made it clear to you that you had no place in his life, you want to throw the pan out the window and cry on the kitchen floor until it collapses with the weight of your tears. 

You settle for throwing down the sponge and making Jimin wash his own dishes.

The phone-that you usually now tend to ignore-buzzes on the counter, and you groan at your complete lack of desire to answer it. But the screen lights up with your roommate’s name and you hit the green button. 

“Y/N! How are you feeling, lovebug?” Jimin’s cheerful tone on speakerphone makes you want to cry. You can only imagine how terrible it is for him to be your roommate when all you know how to do now is mope and cry about a boy who probably hasn’t thought about you since. But he’s been holding you through all your breakdowns, and even sets up the air mattress on the floor of your bedroom when some nights are a little bit harder than most. 

“I’ve had better days”, you glare at the pan in the sink. “What’s up?’

“So I have a friend…”

“Jimin, no.” 

He sighs over the phone understandingly, but still not satisfied. “I know it’s only been a month Y/N, but it doesn’t have to be anything. He’s not looking for anything serious either. But maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off things.” 

It’s been a month. Four weeks. Roughly 31 days, and you still remember every word he said to you in the hallway of the art building. Every pause and quiver of his breath, and the way he looked so completely indifferent to your pain. Was one month enough for you to let go even after finding out Jungkook never planned to hold on in the first place?

“Look, you don’t have to decide now. I’m sorry for pushing you if you’re not ready.” His mumbling is apologetic and it makes you realize that Jimin genuinely means well. Maybe you weren’t ready to move on from Jungkook yet. Maybe you never will be. He was your damn soulmate, after all. But maybe a distraction couldn’t hurt.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it.” 

You can practically feel him smiling like an idiot over the phone. “Really?!” You sigh into the speaker and Jimin knows better to continue talking before you change your mind.

“His name is Namjoon, he works with me at the office. Super cute. Super hot. Super smart. Checks all your boxes!”, he rambles on about the nitty gritty details and though a part you is proud that you’re making the decision to move on with life, you can’t help but to realize that no one will ever be able to “check all your boxes”.

Not if they’re not Jungkook. 

“He sounds great, Jimin.” Anyone can tell your happiness is disingenuous, even through the phone. Jimin tells you that he had already planned a date (without your knowledge), and sends you on your way with a quick goodbye when his taxi arrives. The silence of the apartment after the conversation leaves you feeling even more weighted, but hopeful for the possibility of a distraction. You had a feeling you won’t be able to forget the likes of Jeon Jungkook if you tried. But, if only for a night, you were to forget the pain of loving him, you’ll take that chance. 

◑

“What do you mean they all ‘feel the same’?” Jungkook is exasperated. He had drafted a complete version of his portfolio, working through the nights by the sweat of his brow. Now his professor was telling him that all his pieces felt the same and Jungkook thinks he might commit arson to the art studio.

Professor Sejin sighs contemplatively, taking off his glasses and throwing them on the table, all too familiar with Jungkook’s periodic art tantrums. 

“I mean that your pieces lack any variegation. The portfolio is well done and coherent, but the completed package is one-noted. It’s consistent. But too much so.”

Professor Sejin’s words make him fall back into the chair dejectedly, shoulders slumped and disappointment in his eyes at the critique of his art. Though it is hard to hear, Jungkook always welcomes productive criticism. The older man sympathizes with his downcast eyes and the visible stress on his back. 

“Look, Jungkook”, he affirms sincerely, “you just need to find some dynamic. Something to make people know that you can do more than one tone of art.” It’s obvious that the professor has a soft spot for the boy in front of him, who looks like his entire world is collapsing. The portfolio folder is handed back to him and Jungkook has the urge to burn it and not hear the word “gallery” again in the next decade. 

“I have faith in you. You’ll figure out what it is that you’re missing.” The smile on the man’s face is congenial. Genuine. And even though he has an ambitious amount of work to do, Jungkook finds the will to nod, haul himself off the office chair, and begin the trek back to his studio. 

The pinnacle of spring is approaching and the sun shines brighter with each morning. Not that he would know or care. He’s spent the last month locking himself inside, dedicating every fluid ounce of energy towards completing his project. It’s been surprisingly easier, and Jungkook finds himself finishing paintings, sketches, and sculptures with ease. Like untapped inspiration had revealed itself to him suddenly. Yet it still wasn’t enough...at least not according to Professor Sejin. 

Headphones drown out the cacophony of hustlers and bustlers with the laughter of children as accompaniment. He doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the music of the city. Not anymore. It gives him too much space to think, and Jungkook has a feeling that’s not good for anyone and definitely not good for him. 

The sight of a familiar bakery with particularly delicious apple strudels is enough to stop him in his rush, feet winding down until he is standing outside, staring at the door and wondering if he could go in without being reminded of you. Well, it might be too late for that anyhow, but further signs of protest are halted when he hears his growling stomach. 

Jungkook had morbidly underestimated your presence in the memory of his favorite cafe. You are everywhere. He sees your smiling face when he looks up at the chalkboard menu, soul vying for you to be next to him and excitedly choosing a new fru-fru drink that would undoubtedly have excessive sugar. He hears your giggles ruminating through the cafe while the other patrons only hear the music over loudspeaker. He practically feels you near, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s better this way. No one gets hurt this way. 

Jungkook plops himself at a corner table and buries his face in his hands, fingertips soothing over his pulsing eyebags and wrinkles he’s gotten from sleep deprivation. He desperately needs an espresso shot. Or five. 

“Hey…”, a voice makes him snap his head up. Jungkook recognizes the stranger as the owner’s son, who always stands guard at the cash register. The tag on his lapel reads Kim Seokjin, and Jungkook has a distant memory of you gushing over how nice Seokjin’s hair was. He had acted unbothered back then, but Jungkook would die before telling a soul that he was annoyed and jealous when you thought the cashier was cute. 

“Jungkook, right?”. He has a kind smile and a natural air of invitation. Jungkook nods. 

“I’ve seen you around a lot. Where’s that girl you always come here with?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business”, he nearly hisses, antsy at the mere mention of you. He instantly regrets it though. Seokjin looks like he’s been cornered with a blunt weapon, and it makes Jungkook sigh at his own asshole-ishness. 

“I’m sorry”, he mumbles, “just not a good day. At all.” 

There is a pause and hesitation before the boy speaks. “Do you...wanna talk about it?” Seokjin’s question is met with silence. 

There is a predictability about Jeon Jungkook. He doesn’t open himself up to anyone. He pretends that he doesn’t have problems so well, people start to become convinced. He avoids new connections like it’s the plague. But there is something so idiosyncratic about Kim Seokjin that makes him want to talk. Makes him want to trust a complete stranger. 

So Jungkook nods, depositing his black backpack besides him and lets himself breathe deep. 

“Her name is Y/N….”

In the lukewarm air of the café, Jungkook tells Seokjin about you. About the tiny crescent moon on your wrist that identically matches his - even unwraps his cloth to show it - and how he pushed you away hard enough to put an ocean’s worth of distance between the two of you. He tells Seokjin about Yoojung and the stars on her skin that have been plaguing him since the day she left. He tells him about that damn portfolio that refuses to be finished; one that he apparently has to start over because Professor goddamn Sejin says it's too boring. He allows himself to unload, and wow is it easier to breathe when you talk about your feelings. Jungkook reminds himself to do that more often. 

The “conversation” seems to stretch for hours (if a conversation can be considered one person unleashing all their hidden baggage on the other while they sit in silence). Jin listens intently through the entire ordeal, offering occasional nods and encouragement for him to continue. When Jungkook finally finishes with a deep breath, falling back on the chair looking completely worn out, Jin fixes him with a hot tea before speaking.

“The portfolio is important to you, Jungkook. If it’s important to you, you’ll find a way. Something tells me that you’re not one to give up so easily”, he quips with a playful lilt in his voice. Jin’s genuine faith in him makes Jungkook believe in himself.

“And as for Yoojung, well, I can’t speak on your pain. You are the only one that narrates your experiences but as much as she seems like a villain in your story, perhaps she has opened a door.” Jungkook thinks his voice sounds far too wise to be coming from a guy in his 20’s.

“Would you have known how to nurse a broken heart had it not been for her? I’m sorry she did that to you, Jungkook, but..Yoojung is your past. And I see so much in your future.” 

Jungkook only stares into the abyss of his tea cup. The reflection that stares back is someone he desperately wants to learn to love. When he looks up again, there is a sad glimmer in Seokjin’s gaze. Something so despondent that he feels second-hand pain. 

Jin pulls up the sleeve of his knit sweater. On his wrist sits a faded marigold, so blanched it almost blends in with his skin and makes him wonder if it will just disappear one day. Jungkook feels his blood run cold.

“It’s been two years since she died”, he stares solemnly at his skin, “I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her.” 

Jungkook’s thought about his soulmate mark disappearing before. Even hoped and prayed for it the days after Yoojung left. But now, when he sees it up close on Seokjin’s wrist, Jungkook doesn’t want to wish that loneliness upon anyone. 

“She was so damn...persistent”, Jin laughs, fondness dripping in every word. “Like your Y/N in that way, I suppose. She had a goal and was hell-bent on achieving it. She was so kind and strong and much more of a badass than I could ever be. I loved that about her.” There is sorrow in his voice when he uses the past tense, and Jungkook feels even worse for pouring his heart out about his very alive soulmate. 

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know? Ironic that even the best doctors couldn’t have saved her in the end.” His sentence trails off and he loses focus gazing out the window, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand with a faraway look in his eyes. 

“I don’t mean to ramble about my dead soulmate for no reason, Jungkook. And I’m in no position to tell you what you should or should not do regarding Y/N. But if I could restart this life with my soulmate, there wouldn’t be one second I would waste not at her side.” Jin’s tone is not accusatory or convicting. Just honest.

“It’s normal to be scared and apprehensive. Hell, I would be more concerned if you weren’t going into it with a shit ton of skepticism. I was terrified. Yet out of the billions of people that could’ve had my mark on their wrist, just knowing that she was that one was enough for me to love her.”

The cup of tea has long gone cold. Jungkook only manages to stare at the mahogany table, thoughts too heavy to voice aloud, so Jin continues. 

“I think I would give anything to know that such a person still exists for me. Someone out there that was chosen by an unknown, cosmic force for an unexplainable reason just for me. To see a mark that matches my own. Well…”, Jin breathes deeply, tears welling in his eyes but not falling, “I think that must be the most wonderful thing in the entire world.”

◒

Seokjin’s words stick with him long after he has departed from the café. Long after the tea has settled in his stomach along with the weight of what a soulmate means to this stranger whose life story he has learned in the course of an evening. 

Even so, Jungkook’s not sure what he should feel. The fear of vulnerability still feels like a designated thundercloud above his head, and the thought of letting you past his walls makes Jungkook want to run the other way.

At the same time, the trepidation doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. It’s still there, and he can’t pinpoint exactly what happened but when he sees your smiling face behind his eyelids, Jungkook doesn’t feel scared. When he focuses on what you look like under sunlight, or your eyes staring at him through a camera lens, there is no fear of the broken heart you could leave him with. Just something warm. Something that feels an awful lot like...love?

 But what does Jungkook know about such things? 

He shrugs it off his shoulders, and readies himself for a night of inevitably restless sleep. He blames it on the impending due date of his beloved portfolio, but really, it is you. You and your insistence on trying every single coffee shop in the city. You and your convoluted idea of a date; letting your partner choose the location with their eyes closed. You and…

Just everything about you. 

He falls asleep well into 4am. The thin strap of cloth sits on his bedside table. Even if it is only for the night sky to see, Jungkook lets his soulmate mark breathe. 

◐

It’s been so long since you’ve dressed up or cleaned up to go out anywhere, the reflection that stares back feels like a stranger. You’ve opted for a bold red lip, meticulously applying your makeup so that even the wing of your eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. Jimin forced you to curl your hair too, of course. The girl in the mirror looks beautiful. You know that she is beautiful.

So why is it that you can only see the face that is not enough for Jeon Jungkook? A person that he is unable to love. No, not even foundation can cover the face of longing.

“Y/N”, Jimin sing-songs, “hurry! You don’t wanna be late do you?” No, you don’t want to be late. You want to not go. Maybe retreat to your bedroom and cry the night away again. But you won’t tell him that when he is so clearly ecstatic that you’re spending a night out for the first time in months. 

The restaurant looks like it is entirely out of your budget. Well, you reckon any restaurant is out of your budget with all the debt that looms overhead and your painfully apparent unemployment. Waiting for Namjoon is less than exhilarating, and you spend the time fiddling with your bracelet that conveniently covers the crescent moon. These days, you can’t bear to look at it anymore. Your eyes are glued to the little mark, before a voice sounds from across the table.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was insane. You must be Y/N, nice to meet you.” You weren’t sure what you expected Kim Namjoon to look like but were pleasantly surprised. Namjoon looks like he takes care of himself, neat and clean and sporting a very shiny watch that looks like 4 months’ worth of rent. 

“And you must be Namjoon. Likewise.” 

When he pulls out the chair to sit down, you can’t help but to notice the cloud on his wrist. It was smaller than yours but you had no doubt it felt just as heavy. If Namjoon felt your gaze on his skin, he did nothing to show it. 

“Hey, I know I just got here but…”, he sighs and takes a look around the room, “do you wanna get out of here? Find the cheapest and greasiest food we can?” His request makes you smile, and you grab the purse that rested on the table. 

“Namjoon, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet.” 

You and Namjoon manage to find a diner that wasn’t far from the fancy restaurant, and you thank the skies that you didn’t have to pay $50 for a salad tonight. Just some pocket change for quite possibly the best and oiliest hamburger you’ve ever had. 

By conversation that happens through mouthfuls of food and faces smeared with milkshake residue, you come to learn that Namjoon is an unsurprisingly nice guy. He studies poetry, but is working as a secretary at an office, hence his connection to Jimin. He loves to garden and talks about his bonsai plants to you like they’re his kids, even pulling up pictures on his phone and gazing down at them fondly. It makes you smile. He plays the piano, and likes to take long bike rides when the weather permits. 

It’s nice to have someone reciprocate your effort. It’s something you haven’t experienced in a long time, all credit to one Jeon Jungkook. Namjoon is warm in all the corners where Jungkook is cold. 

In a word, he is pretty damn perfect. And if he had a crescent moon on his wrist, you probably wouldn’t bat an eye or have a lick of doubt in the universe. He encompasses everything you want, so alike you in so many aspects it makes you wary. If Namjoon had your matching soulmate mark, you would already be in love with him. 

But he doesn’t. And that thought alone keeps you from feeling anything but platonicity. He is not Jungkook. You don’t think anyone can make you feel the way Jungkook does. You want to curse the stars for making this so. 

It’s well into the night, and you both remain planted in the diner booth, chatting and chuckling over a plate of french fries. It’s when you drift off while he’s talking about his latest attempt at focaccia that Namjoon sighs and sits back in the seat. 

“What?”, you confusedly ask after he suddenly stops speaking.

He smiles. Stays silent for a couple seconds. Then speaks. 

“So what did your soulmate do to you?”

His question catches you off guard and you can only stare at him, frown on your face and words lost on your tongue. 

“You’ve been staring into space every 5 minutes this whole night, and fidgeting with your bracelet so much I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off”, he explains, tenderness and sympathy in his tone. 

“Every time I speak, you have this sad look in your eyes and I have a feeling you’re imagining someone else’s face, Y/N. I’ve enjoyed talking to you...a lot. But I can tell you want to be somewhere else so”, Namjoon places his elbows on the table and gazes at you endearingly, “tell me about your soulmate.” 

You stare at Namjoon through shocked eyes, glistening with the onset of tears that you manage to keep from escaping. Gosh, you were pathetic. Already wanting to cry at the mere mention of him. Or maybe the fact that someone could see through your facade. You take a deep breath. 

“His name is Jeon Jungkook.” Your voice quivers, and Namjoon continues listening intently. You are reluctant to continue because you know that once this conversation begins, there is a chance you might have to confront yourself again with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t want love. You internally apologize to Namjoon in advance, for you might cry on this first date. 

“I…I’m completely head over heels in love with him  but after everything, I’m not sure I have the slightest clue what love is. Because what sane person can fall in love with a person who has made it clear that that love wouldn’t be reciprocated from the get go?”

You fiddle with the plastic straw in your milkshake, searching for the courage to go on and tell him about every thought that you have denied yourself the satisfaction of verbalizing. 

“He loves apple strudels, you know. Eats them every time like they’re the last apple strudels he’ll ever have and he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching”, you chuckle, gaze drifting off to space. There is a fondness in your eyes as you speak, and Namjoon does not miss it. 

“He’s as punctual as the day is long. One time I was late to a photoshoot and he almost made me cry lecturing me about the importance of being on time. But now I’m never late.” 

The memory makes you, as well as Namjoon, smile. 

“He paints like his life depends on it, and he’ll get oil paint on his face without noticing and sometimes I just want to reach out and wipe it off. But I think he’d murder me on the spot.”

“How come?”, Namjoon offers his first words in the midst of your monologue. You’re not sure what to say next. 

“Well...I think Jeon Jungkook might be the coldest person I’ve ever met”, you dejectedly sigh. Reality tastes bitter even with remnants of whipped cream on your lips. 

“Every time I was around him, it felt like I was willingly breaking my own heart just for the chance to know that he was next to me. That in this entire world of billions of people, the one with the same moon on their wrist was next to me. And...I guess I didn’t really need him to love me yet”, your gaze locks onto Namjoon and you find he is already staring at you with utmost curiosity and subtle pity. 

“Jungkook alone was enough. I just wish he could have felt the same about me.” 

Perhaps the reason why the truth is so painful to speak is because people have a tendency to run from it. Then when it catches up to you, it’s a harsh trip and fall to the rocky ground. There is no cushion when you land. 

Namjoon doesn’t offer advice. Doesn’t dish his own experiences to relate to your own or even make any comments from his perspective. He just sits and listens in silence, but it doesn’t feel like he is disregarding you. No, his eyes tell you that he soaks in every word. You hope you’ll get the chance to do the same for him...if he ever decides to share his story with you. 

The two of you leave the diner with a prospective to be friends, and no plans of a future second date. You had a strong feeling that spending the entire evening talking about your unrequited soulmate love had something to do with that. Nevertheless, though Namjoon didn’t work out as a distraction, you were glad to have met him. It made you realize something.

Even if Jimin thought you were ready to move on. Even if you thought you were ready to forget. It might be a lifetime before you finally let go of that boy.

◓

The morning reeks of rain and dew, humidity nearly clawing its way through his window and turning his apartment into a swamp. When he wakes up, it is not to his blaring alarm clock, but the uncomfortable sensation of a sweaty shirt sticking to his back. Jungkook groans, already tired of this day. It seems hopeless from the beginning. 

As much as he wanted to stay home and crank up the air conditioner so much that his landlord would come running, Professor Sejin’s voice reverberates through his eardrums.

You art is too one-noted, Jungkook.

Be better, Jungkook.

You’re talentless and will never succeed, Jungkook. 

Of course, these are not Professor Sejin’s verbatim, more so Jungkook’s own mind that twists his teacher’s constructive criticism into something else. He is a master at feeding his insecurity.

Jungkook chugs down a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and his stomach growls for something with a little more sugar and maybe a dash of rainbow colored sprinkles. He guesses he has you to thank for that. The art studio is always a daily destination, and this day is no different. Jungkook has a plan to dedicate himself to fixing his portfolio and maybe finish that clay piece he never got around to. 

The studio is too cold for his liking; Jungkook can’t remember how many times he has begged the superintendent to lower the AC. The cold he can deal with. The loneliness, however, is a different story. Jungkook is always alone. Alone when he’s in his apartment. Alone when he’s in class. Alone when he’s in the art room. These days, aloneness feels more haunting when he knows he had the option to escape it, but chose to stay. A part of him is ready to admit that it’s because of you. 

Jungkook hums a random melody that had been stuck in his head since the morning, fingers gliding over the slick sculpting clay. The days are easier now. He doesn’t think about you so much when the sun is out and there is the bustling of the busy city to distract him. The nights, however, are just as difficult as they have been. Jungkook’s last drifting thought is of you, and your face torturously carries over to each dream. Like his entire being misses you but he refuses to accept it. 

He takes a deep sigh in relief once the sculpture feels finished. Professor Sejin wanted something more dynamic, so there: his very own realist clay piece drawing inspiration from Praxiteles’ sculpture of Aphrodite. He sits back in pride, admiring his own handiwork and giving himself a mental pat on the back. It looks great. Perfect even. It looks….

It looks like you. 

Jungkook pales at the realization as the clay face stares back at him. No, this was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, inspired by the ancient Greek artist that sculpted her. Then why does she have your nose? Those eyes are definitely your’s and even those cheeks are identical. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that in the rhythm of his art, he got lost and accidentally sculpted your face instead. 

He walks away from the clay table and hurriedly yanks off the soiled apron around his waist, confusion swimming in every cell of his body. How had he just...made a sculpture of you? With no knowledge that he was doing it?

Jungkook leans with his back against the sink, staring down at the floor with furrowed brows and a thundering heart. With a sudden epiphany, Jungkook leaps from his position and pulls out all the canvases, printed photographs, graphite drawings, and clay pieces he’s made for the past few months. Everything he can grab in the small studio space. 

It is then that he comes to the daunting realization:

Holy shit.

Professor Sejin was right.

 Everything feels the same. His whole portfolio has one note and no dynamic or diversity because...well, because all of his pieces are of you. Not you, necessarily, but your breath has come alive on his art in some way, shape, or form. 

The multimedia painting he made two weeks ago using polystyrene sheets was supposed to mimic sunlight through a stained glass window, but Jungkook hadn’t even noticed he'd drawn the window of the café you dragged him to on its opening day. And the colors of the glass is just the twinkle of your eyes when they stare back into his. 

The photoset he spent hours taking around the city, after taking a 15 minute train ride, were just repeats of all the places you two went to that one day. The book store. The park. The streetlight where Yoojung stopped him. He hadn’t even realized he only saved the photos associated with a subconscious memory of you. 

Jungkook can’t explain it, but he feels you in every single picture. Every piece of art that his hands have manifested since you walked into his life, stupid smile on your face and that little moon on your wrist. He feels it...and call it artist’s intuition or something but perhaps that’s why Professor Sejin could feel it too. 

Even though he stopped making you his muse months ago, you are still the root of inspiration for whatever he’s produced since. And if that’s not enough to finally tell him what he needs to hear. Finally make him realize that he’s fallen in love with you without even knowing it, the universe doesn’t know what will. 

The minutes it has been since he realized your place in his life melts like slow dripping honey, feeling like an eternity when it is mere moments. Jungkook regains his focus in the haze. He knows what you mean to him now, but there was something he had to fo first. 

He swipes all his paintbrushes and palette knives to the side, sweat on his brow as he furiously rearranges his portfolio. He takes out the pictures of Mina - no one would miss them anyway - and trashes all the photos he took before he met you. He only uses the art he’s created post-Y/N and tucks them in the manila folder so rapidly, there’s paper cuts on his fingers. But he doesn’t feel them. Jungkook has only one objective. 

He snaps a picture of the new clay sculpture he’s just finished. The photo goes into the portfolio with the name ‘Aphrodite’, but Jungkook knows better about whose face that truly belongs to. Not that anyone would bat an eye. He thinks you are as beautiful as the goddess herself. 

The trip to Professor Sejin’s office is short, unsurprising though, since Jungkook sprints the whole way there. When he arrives, and the professor can only stare as he’s bent over and huffing violently trying to catch his breath, Jungkook reminds himself to spend less time at the studio and more time on the cardio.��

He throws the portfolio onto the man’s desk unceremoniously, nearly collapsing on the chair across from him and not ready to speak yet. Professor Sejin confusedly rifles through the folder quickly, too quickly, and sighs, ready to offer Jungkook yet the same critique again. 

He opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off. 

“Before you say anything…”, he gulps, finally ready to admit the truth to himself. 

“I want you to know that I’ve met my soulmate, a-and there’s a reason why you feel that my portfolio is all the same. There’s a reason why you feel it’s all one-noted or that there’s no progression.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and you are there behind his lids. 

“It’s because she sowed the seeds for all of them. Everything. Those paintings and photos and sculptures are just symptoms of what I’ve been feeling this whole time after meeting her. She’s practically the artist, not me.” Professor Sejin stays silent at his monologue, gaze unreadable but eyes sharp and trained solely on Jungkook. 

“Maybe...Maybe art doesn’t need to be super variegated all the time. Maybe it’s supposed to be a cohesive unit and the pieces should string to each other. Maybe paintings should have a relationship to photos and them, to sculptures. Maybe you’re just...wrong.” 

He is exasperated and passion flows out of him through every pore. Jungkook looks expectantly at his professor, who has the open folder in his hand and still in the process of taking in his words. When the adrenaline starts to fade, he realizes that he just dissed his venerable teacher. 

“With all due respect…”, he coughs, “sir.” 

Professor Sejin lets Jungkook spend the next couple minutes in complete torturous silence so that he can finish reviewing his portfolio. The tension is cut with the sound of the man’s hands slapping together as he closes the folder. Jungkook prepares himself for a stern lecture.

However, when he looks up, there is a smile on the man’s face. There’s no malice there, or even disdain. He pulls off his glasses, sets them on the table, and sits back in the office chair, arms folded over his chest. Jungkook can feel his heart threatening to pound past his rib cage. 

“Jungkook…”, Professor Sejin declares, “I think you’ve got a contender for the gallery spot.” 

◑

If someone had asked you what Jeon Jungkook meant to you, you would look them in the eye and tell them that he meant nothing. Because it’s easier to pretend that someone does not mean anything to you after they pretend that you do not exist. That the universe had not given you both matching marks and deemed that your souls were meant for each other. Jeon Jungkook is a stranger to you. One that you wanted so badly to love. But you’ve come to learn that no matter how hard you try; you can’t love someone who doesn’t want to love at all.

So the days trickle by as they usually do. Painstakingly slow and viscous with memories of a boy named Jeon Jungkook and the way he has hurt you enough to last a little bit over forever. 

“I understand why you don’t want to go, Y/N. But aren’t you the least bit curious? Especially after that fancy invitation in the mail?” Jimin’s query is innocent. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your blood boil. 

“I don’t know...the thought of going to my soulmate’s grand art gallery when the last time we spoke, he told me he can’t love me, just doesn’t seem appealing Jimin”, you snark, burying your face into the bowl of cereal you are now spooning far too aggressively. 

“But...it’s been months. And he wouldn’t have sent you an invitation if he didn’t want you to come.” 

This conversation has happened too frequently since that red envelope arrived at your apartment. You cried your eyes out when you opened it, both out of pride for Jungkook and the fact that no matter what you did, the universe found a way to keep you from moving on. 

A sigh heaves through your chest, and the cereal is abandoned by your loss of appetite. “I’m not going to show up there and have him tell me again all of the reasons he can’t be with me. I barely survived it last time.” 

“But what if, Y/N?”

There is a glimmer in Jimin’s eye and he radiates so much hopefulness for you, you can’t help but to feel it too. 

“Isn’t the what if already enough? You used to tell me that Jungkook was worth anything. Isn’t he worth the risk this time too?”

You don’t have anything else to say after that because as much as you hate to admit, perhaps Jimin is right. Jungkook is worth going through anything for, even if he wants to stay as far away as possible. Call it a fluke in the postal system that the invitation to his gallery landed on your doorstep, but can you allow yourself to read between the lines and dare say that he sent it himself? Can you put yourself through such a perilous thing like optimism?

Jungkook has left you battered and broken for the past months. But you would give your heart to him to break all over again if he asked. 

◒

To say that you did not fit in with those dawdling around the art gallery was a gross understatement. You didn’t just not fit in. Your entire presence and aura defied every expectation, and suddenly, watching the upper echelon of the city mingle with champagne and gaze critically at Jungkook’s art, makes every breath feel like an insecurity. 

The boy in question was nowhere in sight, and you now regret not dragging Jimin with you. The invitation had specifically prohibited plus one’s, and though Jimin whined to no end about his hurt feelings and emptily promised never to talk to Jungkook again, you managed to keep him home. Now, you wish you were back at the apartment with him.

The pieces were, in short, completely breathtaking (to no surprise, of course, this was Jungkook you were talking about). Though you knew he always held doubt in himself, in the short time he allowed you to be in his life, you had never once thought he was anything less than spectacular. Yet you could not allow yourself to completely enjoy them. Each brushstroke and paint color you remember from his palettes, or the filters on the photos that you helped him with, was agonizing to look at. 

You are standing in front of a canvas titled “Windowlight” when a man comes up beside you. He nurses a flute of bubbly champagne and makes no move to gain eye contact. Unknown to you, Professor Sejin knows exactly who you are. He’s seen your face in his student’s portfolio one too many times. 

“Artful use of mixed media, isn’t it?”, he mutters.

“I suppose so.” 

“He’s quite the prodigy. Have you met him yet? I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere.” The man takes a sip from his glass, smirk on his lips hidden from your eyes that still blankly stare ahead.

“Yes. He’s a...friend.” We share a soulmate mark. He hates my guts. 

He hums a sound of affirmation and you ignore the weird feeling it leaves in your stomach; one that tells you this stranger sees right through you. 

“Ah, how rude of me. Professor Sejin. Arts director and senior advisor.” He spares you a brief glance, but you make no move to shake his hand or pretend to be courteous. You don’t have the energy for it tonight. Just being in this building, surrounded by everything Jungkook has touched, makes you want to collapse into yourself. 

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He speaks nonchalantly, and you almost miss the fact that you never told him your name. Your brows crease in confusion and you are ready to turn and interrogate the stranger, but he is already walking away, gliding smoothly across the gallery. Before he gets too far, though, Sejin cranes his neck and makes eye contact. 

“Oh, and be sure to visit the one called ‘Moon’. It’s upstairs, next to the Aphrodite sculpture on the second level exhibit”, he entreats, a suspicious lilt in his voice.

“Something tells me you’ll appreciate its…sincerity.”

Honestly, you’re not sure what you expected when you came to Jungkook’s art gallery tonight. But to be approached by a stranger who already knows your name, who dubiously instructs you to seek out a mystery art piece, was not on the list of expectations. Still...Professor Sejin’s words made you curious. 

Through the night, your eyes subconsciously seek out that familiar head of fluffy brown hair and a tall gait that always seems to stick out, even in a large crowd. It was as if Jungkook versed himself in complete camouflage, so much so that you began to doubt that he was even in the building.  

The traipse through the gallery is done in silence and solitude, and you tune out the sounds of popping champagne and raucous laughter coming from the second floor, as the patrons undoubtedly banter over which piece to auction off. You hope he keeps them. You’ve never seen someone appreciate art the way that Jungkook does. 

You catch sight of a few pieces that you recognize, ones that you remember him showing you when he had finished. You always excitedly told him every single one was a masterpiece, and Jungkook only rolled his eyes and made minimal effort at hiding the blush on his cheeks. Your steps falter when you come across a set of photographs in black and white, set in consecutive frames next to each other and it feels so warm despite the lack of color. Jungkook just had that special talent when it came to photography. 

It’s the bookstore. In the city during the impromptu train ride you had coerced him to take. Your heart catches in your throat as you recognize all the other ones immediately because well...you’ve been to all those spots. A familiar pressure builds in the back of your eyes, and you swallow down a whimper of pain. 

The urge to leave becomes too strong. But not strong enough to quell the slow burn of curiosity from Professor Sejin. There is a chance that you might not run into Jungkook at all tonight with the vast space and people bumbling through the corridors. It hurts to think that you might never see him again at all, but you’ll allow yourself another indulgence. Something is calling you. 

Moon. He titled it Moon? You grip onto your wrist reflexively and run your thumb over the mark, like you did when you were younger and still had hope for soulmates. The pulsepoint there beats under your finger and lets you know how alive you are. Compels you to give into your curiosity, even if it might decimate your already crumbling heart. The stairs that lead up to the second floor are short, but the trek feels like it knocks the wind out of you, or perhaps that was just the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side.

You were right to be scared. Because right in the smack dab center of the circular room is where you see it, and your gasp is one that can be heard from each wall and corner. 

A painting of you. A portrait from the waist up, with oil paint and so much detail, Jungkook has even managed to line the shallow wrinkles by your eyes when you smile. You have never considered yourself beautiful in any sense but the way he has captured you on canvas starts to make you believe that you truly are. You feel Jungkook in each streak of the brushstroke where he hadn’t spread the color evenly. It is as if the painting is alive, and though you are staring at yourself, it doesn’t feel like the way it does in the mirror. Doesn’t feel like a reflection. 

No, this feels like looking through Jungkook’s eyes. It is what he sees in you, rather than what you see in yourself. And what he sees is beautiful. Through the haze of shock and confusion as to why he chose this as the centerpiece, you don’t notice the warm presence that lurks behind you. The one that has watched your every move since you walked into this building. 

“Yeah, that’s my favorite one too.” 

You whip your head around so quick it nearly gives you whiplash, but the sight of him is the nail in the coffin. Jungkook is cleaned up in a black suit, and an unfamiliar smile on his lips he rarely lets you see. A genuine one that he’s tried to hide so many times but now that it’s clear and up close, you resent him for keeping it from you. 

Jungkook is just as gorgeous as the day you lost him. 

But looking at him hurts. You don’t know why you’re even here, and why he sent the invitation, or why he was standing in front of you now and there is not a sliver of antipathy in his eyes. You don’t know why your face is plastered in the center of the gallery. Most of all, you don’t know why you are still weak in the knees for Jeon Jungkook. 

“Although, I have to say, it was a close race between this one and the pictures I made you take at the lake, when you nearly dunked me in the river because it was so cold”, he breathily laughs but you aren’t able to get through the shock just yet. If Jungkook notices your starstruck state, he doesn’t let it affect him. 

“And I definitely have to give some credit to the one I painted after you told me about your dream”, Jungkook prattles on, “where you were a mermaid who planted peaches under the sea, remember? That’s an honorable mention.” 

These memories make you want to smile but in this moment, the best you can do is try to hold yourself together when your eyes begin to warm with tears. Jungkook stays silent when you do. He notices you haven’t said a word and your gaze refuses to meet his. 

“Why are you doing this, Jungkook?”, you curse yourself when your voice cracks. “Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” Jungkook’s smile drops off his face, and for once, you can see your own pain reflected in his eyes. 

He takes a deep breath, hands hanging limply at his side that itch to wrap themselves around yours. To feel your skin. Feel your mark. 

“I…”, he hesitates in his words, “I remember that day every night when I go to sleep, Y/N. Every time I shut my eyes, I just see your face when I told you I can’t love you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such aching before. Not even when she left me.” Jungkook’s voice is tinted with desperation but it just makes your walls rise higher. 

He’s lying to you. Your tongue wants to protest, but he continues. 

“I see you in everything”, Jungkook breathes out, like he is also admitting it to himself. 

“The paintbrushes I can never put down to the black coffee I force myself to drink nowadays because the ones I actually like, the ones with too much whipped cream and vanilla syrup, just reminds me of you.” His brows are knitted, and his feet vie to step closer to your quivering form. But you look like a caged animal about to bolt at any moment. 

“And when I’m reminded of you, I am reminded of…”, he gulps down the fear, “I’m reminded of how I am utterly in love with someone who deserves so much more than what I have put them through.”

The blood that runs through your veins drops to subzero temperatures, and you swear in the split millisecond that you have absorbed what he’s just said, your heart ceases its beating. The world stops turning, and the waves still for a brief moment. You can’t find any words just yet, but Jungkook can see straight through you and your stupefied expression. 

“Y-you’re lying to me, Jungkook. Stop lying.” 

“I’m not lying, please…” Jungkook knows he’s losing you by the second, but he’s promised you he would persist. He just wants you to listen. Wants you to feel how sorry he is, and how his soul screams to be next to your’s. 

“I can’t explain how it happened. Like it was an epiphany. Like someone has been screaming at me and I had been ignoring them, and that someone was my own heart.” Jungkook doesn’t stumble over his words once. He does not stutter because it is the plain white truth. 

“Stop, Jungkook.”

“It’s been knocking on the door of my chest and when I finally let it in, it just yells and shouts ‘oh my god, you’re in love’ and then I realized oh my god, i’m in love. In between painting you and convincing myself that soulmates meant nothing to me, I’ve completely and unquestionably fallen in love with you, Y/N.” 

Jungkook can’t decipher the look on your face. Something between the lines of disbelief and heartbreak, and it makes him want to split at the seams at the pain he’s put you through. How he’s convinced you you’re impossible to love. He vows to make it right again.

“Jungkook-”

“And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not hard to love. Hell, I was dead set on never loving again and you managed to make me so smitten, I can’t paint or draw a damn thing without including some aspect of you in it.” Jungkook steps back and gestures to all the canvases and photos that hang on the wall. 

“Take a look around, Y/N. It’s all you. Every piece.” Once he says it, you finally notice Every piece of art in this room can be traced to you, or a memory you two share. It’s so clear, you don’t know how you missed it before. You feel yourself in the art Jungkook has poured his soul into. Instead of making you feel elated, these words that you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear just ignites the sting. 

“Just stop. Please.” It is only a weak whisper through your lips, and he ignores it. 

“If you can’t forgive me, I get it Y/N. I can’t forgive myself either. But can you just know that you are enough. You are more than what I deserve. And I know you told me to be happy, but there is no way I can possibly do that without you.” 

When your gaze falls to the floor, you notice that his wrist is clean of any bracelets or watches. Come to think of it, this is one of the first times you are seeing it clear and in the flesh. Jungkook doesn’t tell you, but nowadays, he doesn’t allow anything to impede on the sight of the crescent moon.

When your guard is down and you are distracted, he finds the perfect time to finally reach forward and take your hand in his. His touch is gentle when it wraps around your wrist, tugging off the ribbon that circled it, and revealing the matching mark. Your pulse jumps under his fingers, and skips a beat when he runs a thumb over the moon. You are already melting with such simple contact, and you almost allow yourself to succumb. Almost.

It’s as if suddenly his skin was scalding, and you snatch your wrist from his grasp at lightning speed. The tears that have strayed down your face are wiped away as quickly as they came. The surprise on his face is missed by your eyes because before he can comprehend what is happening, you are bolting down the staircase and out the glass doors of the gallery. No, you cannot forgive him yet. What would you do if he hurt you again? You don’t think you would survive. 

You ignore the pain of seeing his art pieces as you run, now that you know you are the muse behind them all. The only noise is the sound of blood rushing in your ears, and you are oblivious to the racket of Jungkook’s shoes clapping against marble flooring as he chases after you, expertly dodging the other patrons and butlers holding trays of champagne. 

And Jungkook? Well, he is oblivious to the complete turmoil that runs through your every nerve. He only sees your back, and not the way you bite your lip painfully to keep the sobs from escaping. Not the way your pain is exhibited clear as day in the crease of your eyebrow and the wrinkle of your nose. 

The air outside is so cold it bites at your nostrils, but makes it easier to breathe. The wind calms the thundering heart in your chest.

He must be lying. There was no way he had a change of heart now, not when he was so rooted in his belief before. There is no virtual possibility, on any plane of existence, on any dimension where Jeon Jungkook has fallen in love with you. 

Right?

The hand that circles around your wrist tightly to keep you from getting any farther tells you that you are wrong. He did come after you. Jungkook’s strength forces you to stop running, but you can’t find the courage to turn around and face him just yet. But you don’t make an effort to pull away, and he takes it as progress.

“You can run if you want, Y/N. You can walk away from me and from us, but don’t doubt that I’ll always be chasing after you. For as long as it takes.” He is panting and speaking through heavy breaths, but you hear him. Loud and clear. 

“I won’t let you leave again. Not like last time.”

There is no malice. No coldness, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his words feel like warm honey instead of monotone ice. He is utterly distraught when you turn around slowly, hesitant like you’re afraid he will break your heart right then and there. 

His heart shatters at the wetness at your waterline, and the way you look up at him; completely vulnerable and scared. 

“Do you promise?” 

There is a lot of weight in your three-word question. It’s not as innocent as meets the eye, and Jungkook knows it. He feels it. When you ask him if he promises, it is an invitation back to you. You are offering him your heart, which he has already broken and bruised, and trusting him to be careful with it this time around. Jungkook already knows he loves you. And if you let him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure this promise remains unbroken. 

“I promise.” 

It’s a commitment. One he used to be terrified of making, but it seems so easy when it’s for you. 

And when you fly forward to wrap your arms around him, Jungkook feels like home. Like the stars twinkle a little brighter and the earth stops spinning for a mere second, just for the two of you. You feel him squeeze you closer, just as tightly, and Jungkook wants to kick himself for depriving you both of a simple thing called love. 

You are here, souls and now bodies intertwined, and Jungkook lets the pain of past hurt fall away. Pain is so miniscule when you are by his side. When you pull back, Jungkook frowns at your red-rimmed eyes, and the tears that still persist. He wipes it away oh so softly, as if you were delicate clay and he, a sculptor. 

“Please don’t cry anymore, princess, it breaks my heart. I’m so sorry.” It is the softest, most sugary tone you’ve ever heard out of him. But hearing affection from his lips makes you feel that perhaps all of this sorrow, this longing, has been worth it. He has been worth it. He always has. 

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook’s words are almost as beautiful as he is. 

His lips are familiar when you lean forward and kiss him. Yet they are different. This time, the hands on your waist hold you a bit more carefully, even closer if that were possible. You can feel his thudding heart as it beats against your own, learning to match rhythms with each other, and Jungkook cradles your face in his hand like you are the only artwork he has truly been proud of. 

And it’s true. All the canvases and paints and camera film seem wasted now. Nothing he ever makes will be quite as alluring as the art he holds in his arms in this moment. 

“I love you too, you goddamn idiot.”

You meant it all those months ago, and you mean it now. If Jeon Jungkook was the sun, you would gladly change your name to Icarus. If Jeon Jungkook was the moon, then you are the tides that he pushes and pulls. If Jeon Jungkook belonged to you, well...you don’t have to imagine that anymore. He is your’s, as you are his. 

Old habits die hard, but they are not immortal. They wax and wane, and remind you that in the cosmic vastness of things, you are only human. Humans whose hearts beat in tandem and souls made to complete the other. Humans with identical crescent moons, lost but now found.

Old habits die hard. But you have learned to fix those of a broken heart. 

☾