#i will still be releasing every three weeks though to keep the breathing space

[venomous-qwille]

Dear 5+ asks I have had since last saturday which I wont be answering individually cause I don't want to put a target on your back:

Don't send me messages asking about GITM updates without reading my bajillion posts/ANs on the subject.

'not trying to be rude' - well you are being rude, actually, friend. receiving these messages doesnt make me feel good. In fact, it makes me feel very bad. If you spent half the effort it takes to write an ask actually reading the information I have already given people, rather than demanding a personalised answer, then we would all be a lot happier.

Another reminder, a bit louder for people in the back:

My chapters are now 12-15k words each for gitm, because of this I am now following a 3 weekly update schedule. I work full time and write for hours every evening. If that is not good enough for you, you can kindly fuck off.

peace & love, and all that

[parfaitblogs]

i have more than enough ❀ s. reid x reader

in which the holiday season is achingly difficult to get through, when you are spencer reid, who believes he is no longer allowed to enjoy them. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. post prison!reid. word count: 2k a/n: and for my final act? the parfaitblogs special (post prison reid fic to a searows song). merry christmas from australia because it IS the 25th here!!! this is the end of my christmas advent calendar!! i had soo much fun writing these stories thank you to all that requested ♡

❄︎ advent calendar masterlist

He does not deserve a Christmas. 

Perhaps that is the only thing that runs through Spencer Reid's mind the second the Halloween decor filtered out of the stores, reindeer mugs entered them; while candy canes and Santa hats adorned every little item, and Christmas trees lit up every corner of every mall.

No matter what state he traveled to, he couldn't escape the festivities of the holiday season. He's pretty sure he's the only person who wants to. 

You waited for him. He feels immensely guilty for just how much waiting you've had to do all year. Waiting for him to go to trial, waiting for him to get out of prison, waiting for him to let you in again. 

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

You're waiting again. A Christmas tree that blandly sits empty and undecorated in the corner of your shared apartment; a Christmas roast you aren't sure if you'll even cook takes up too much space in your fridge; gingerbread cookies you promised your friends weeks ago remaining unbaked. 

He knew you were upset about it. His Christmas loving girlfriend forced to mute the celebrations of her favourite holiday because he couldn't find it in him to be excited about it. 

He didn't know how to fix it, really. 

You had tried everything to get him back into the Christmas spirit he's had for the past three years you've spent together. Baking with him, picking out the very Christmas tree that leaves the room smelling like a pine forest together, Christmas shopping for the presents he had no will to buy for his family and friends. 

Nothing had worked. 

"Spence?"

Sitting awkwardly at his — now — very minimally decorated desk, his head lifts from the papers in front of him, eyebrows frowning towards each other as his eyes land on you.

"Hi," he murmurs, putting the pen in his hand down in an effort to give you his full attention. He was getting better at that, these days. 

"I finished dinner," you tell him, fingers fidgeting with one another; a recent habit he had noticed you'd developed in the months between his arrest and release. "If you want to come eat."

He doesn't, but then again, he never does. And despite how awful he feels, he feels even more so for what he's putting you through, and the guilt that chews away at him is enough to will him to do small things — like eating — for you. 

"Yeah," he breathes out, and stands up from the desk, following you silently over to the meal sitting at the edge of the kitchen bench you had cooked for the two of you.

Silence overwhelmed you two as you ate, as it usually does. Sitting curled up beside one another on the couch, sharing a blanket and yet still feeling so distant from each other regardless. 

"Did you call your mom?" you ask him, and his fork pauses in the plate. 

Right. It's Christmas. The time for calling family members and sharing love for them during this supposed to be joyous time. 

"Not yet," he shakes his head. "I'll... get to it. Before Christmas is over."

"You have a week," you remind him, though it isn't to be passive aggressive at all. You genuinely wonder if he's forgotten the date of Christmas that has quickly crept up on you both.

"I know."

You stare silently at the coffee table after a short nod to his words, and you wrack your brain for things to say, just to keep him talking.

"Can I give you your gift before Christmas day?" 

He lifts his head, and you feel his eyes transfix on you.

"If you want."

You want him to want it too, but you aren't sure if that's a reasonable wish anymore. 

"I do," you nod, and quickly finish up your food, before you stand, and leave the room altogether. 

He places his plate next to yours on the coffee table — he'd remember to get to cleaning those later — just as you return, a square shaped brown paper gift in your hands, a purple ribbon tied in a bow around it. 

"You got me a square?" he asks you, and your heart warms at the teasing tone in his voice. He's trying. 

"Open it," you press, instinctively shaking his shoulder with both hands pressed up against it. 

"Okay, okay."

He's meticulous in pulling the plain wrapping paper off, and you almost want to open the gift for him. 

"Did you make this?" he asks you as he carefully pulls the square apart in front of your eyes, though he does already know the answer before you have a chance to start nodding your head. 

A Victorian Puzzle Purse situates delicately in his hands. Hands that pull it apart ever so slowly, taking note of every little drawn and painted detail on the paper, opening it up to a letter that he spent two minutes reading through — confirming that he was not only reading it once through. 

"Do you like it?" you ask him, almost hesitantly. 

"Victorian Puzzle Purse's were how lovers would communicate for Valentine's day," he says, instead of answering your question directly, as he neatly folds it back up into the intricate origami square it was originally when he pulled it out. "Sorry," he quickly adds, his eyes landing back on you. "That wasn't an answer. I do. I like it a lot."

"I know it isn't much, but I don't want to overwhelm you with gifts this Christmas. I'm honestly not even expecting anything big. We can just order food in and watch movies or something this year, if you'd prefer. You just have to promise me you'll at least let me put mistletoe up outside our bedroom, because it's kind of become tradition and... sorry."

He's staring at you, half dumbfounded, half in awe, as you realise you were rambling instead of sitting in the moment of him enjoying something seasonal, but you can't even find it within yourself to be frustrated at it. For he is letting a small smile grace his lips, and you're leaning forwards with a smile of your own, and for a second or more, he is not the shattered prison man, and you are not his distanced girlfriend. 

"You can put mistletoe outside our bedroom," he says, and you're breaking into an even wider grin.

"Really?"

"It's tradition."

You light up enough for there to be no need for a decorated Christmas tree in your apartment anymore, and you're threading your fingers through his hand to drag him up off the couch. 

Your gift to him remains on the coffee table as you lead him over to your bedroom door, prompting him to stay still, as you disappear to find the piece of familiar fake greenery. 

"Mistletoe!" you present it to him, and he takes it from you habitually, using the pin you also hand him and pinning it above your heads on the doorframe.

"I think we need to buy a new one," he says, hands dropping back by his side. His eyes are trained on you, but your own head is still tilted back, inspecting the faux plant. 

"I think we need to buy a real one," you answer conclusively, finally dropping your gaze to him. 

"Next year," he confirms. "Tradition complete?"

You shake your head. "The tradition ends with a kiss."

Hesitation follows your words, and you instantly regret them. 

It wasn't that you didn't kiss, or weren't intimate in any way. It's simply that it was on occasion now, and almost always motivated by something more important than a silly mistletoe tradition.

"It's okay," you cover your unwelcome disappointment with a smile. 

He ignores your reassurance. "It does end in a kiss, you're right."

"But we don't have to," you mumble.

"Yes," his hands encase your waist to do nothing more than to pull you closer to him. "We do."

"Not if you don't want to."

"Did I say that?"

You open your lips to respond, but the words die on your tongue. 

"What did I do to make you think I don't want to kiss you, angel?" he's frowning now, and you feel guilt settle in your chest. 

"Nothing, really. We just—um—don't kiss... as much. Anymore. Which is fine, by the way, and I can understand it. You're under no moral obligation to kiss me. Obviously."

His frown deepens. "I think we're experiencing a bout of miscommunication."

"What?"

"I thought you didn't want to kiss me," he explains, and suddenly, you're mirroring the confusion on his face. 

"Why would I not want to kiss you?" you ask him, incredulously. 

His shoulders slump at the question, and you force yourself not to fill the silence that follows.

"Prison," he replies, quietly. "I didn't think you'd really even want me once I got out of prison. You don't initiate anything anymore, either. I just assumed."

"I didn't initiate anything because I was waiting for you to initiate stuff."

"I can see that now."

"I didn't want to rush you," you tell him, as earnestly as possible. "I know prison was a lot, and you still haven't told me everything that happened, but I wanted you to not rush yourself. Or... us, I guess."

He swallows the lump of emotion that lodges in his throat. "I thought you were disappointed in me. Or—well, scared of me."

"No," your heart shatters, and you're sure he can hear it in your voice as your hands instantly cup his cheeks, fingers brushing over his cheekbones. "No, oh my God, Spencer."

"You shouldn't use the lord's name in vain. It's Christmas," he jokes, weakly. The smile you give him is weak, too.

"I was terrified for you. I was so worried about you in prison, and—and what they were doing to you in there. But never of you. Not a single part of me will ever be scared of you, sweet boy."

"I'm scared of me," he whispers, and his voice cracks in a way that has tears welling in your eyes. "I think differently, you know."

"And that automatically means I should be scared of you? Or makes you any less deserving of love?"

His silence is enough of a response. 

"I love you," you settle on telling him. "No matter what baggage you came back to me with. You deserve so much love, and I hate that you have been through so much. So much so that you believe yourself undeserving. You are not. You never will be. I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if I must. Or as long as you will let me."

"Forever," he replies, and you feel his hands close over your own on his face. "I will let you forever."

"Thank God. It'd be kind of embarrassing if I say all this and then you were to break up with me tomorrow," you say, and his cheeks stretch beneath your hands as he huffs a laugh.

"I won't break up with you."

"I wouldn't let you, anyways."

"Oh really?" his hands slide down to your waist once more. 

"Yeah," you confirm with a small nod, your own hands dropping to his neck, interlacing behind it, as you draw his head closer to yours. "You're stuck with me."

"I have not a word of complaint," he replies, and he's close enough that you feel the words tattoo your lips. "I love you."

And then he's kissing you, and there is an overwhelming amount of neglected feelings you had been missing poured into you, from his soul to yours. 

It was a kiss so unlike what you had grown used to in recent months. Fingers dug into your waist as a violent reminder of what you mean to him, and for the first time since May, you believed it. 

When he goes to pull away, you barely give him time to get air before you're chasing his lips again, and he tugs you impossibly closer with a laugh that vibrates against your face. 

You kiss him until your hands go numb behind his neck, and your legs begin to ache, and your waist is sure to have bruised in the shapes of his fingertips. Chest heaving and eyes full of more adoration than you think one human can have for another, you meet his gaze once more.

"Tradition complete."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[vaamppiraa]

Hiii i was wondering if you could do a continuation of cemetery girl? It would be so nice to see her progress in getting her memory back with clark!!

lots of people have requested part two, so here she is <3 hope you lovelies enjoy <3

in which you and clark are married, but after an accident, you lose your memory ੈ✩‧₊˚

angst , mentions of death , recovering memory loss

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

ᥫ᭡ the hospital smelled like antiseptic and artificial hope.

you stared blankly at the beige wall, the pulse monitor’s rhythmic beeping the only sound in the room besides clark’s soft breathing as he sat in the chair beside your bed. he looked like a statue—rigid, unreadable, yet radiating emotion that was almost too much to take in. grief. love. desperation.

you’d been awake for three days. in that time, clark hadn’t left. the nurses whispered about him—how kind he was, how handsome, how his devotion made them ache. but you still couldn’t look at him for more than a few seconds without that cold panic washing over you. he said he was your husband. he showed you pictures—wedding photos of you in a lace gown, your hand in his, both of you smiling like you held the entire universe in your palms. there were videos too, of a dog named krypto who barked whenever you kissed clark on camera, of your honeymoon in Italy, of birthdays and holidays and lazy sunday mornings tangled in sheets and each other.

But none of it sparked a memory. Not even a flicker.

“I feel like I’m watching someone else’s life,” you whispered one morning, your voice barely a breath. clark looked up from the book he’d been reading aloud—your favorite, apparently. he swallowed hard. “it’s okay,” he said, but the edges of his voice frayed. “we’ll take it slow. i’m not going anywhere.”

that was the problem, wasn’t it? he hadn’t left, not once, and part of you was grateful—but another part recoiled from him, instinctively afraid of how much he loved you. it was crushing. and yet, in rare flashes, there was something comforting about the way he looked at you, like you were sacred, like he would’ve fought time itself to keep you alive. you wanted to remember. god, you wanted to. but your brain remained locked tight, a puzzle box that refused to open.

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

“do you mind if I brush your hair?” clark asked one afternoon, sitting beside you with gentle patience. “you always liked it when I did. said I was better at detangling than any stylist.” you hesitated, watching him. he looked tired. not just tired—exhausted in a way that made your chest hurt. his eyes, still bright blue, held the weight of a man who hadn’t allowed himself to fall apart in weeks. you gave a small nod.

his hands were warm and incredibly gentle as he worked through the strands, pausing whenever you flinched. “i remember…” you began slowly, “someone brushing my hair like this. at night. soft. after a bath.”

clark’s hand stilled, his breath catching. “that was me,” he said quietly, almost reverently. “that was us. after dinner. you’d sit between my legs on the couch and close your eyes while I braided it. you’d hum.”

you bit your lip, trying to chase the memory. but it fluttered away like smoke.

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

by the third week, the doctors approved your release. they said the physical healing had gone remarkably well. your brain, though… that would take time. maybe months. maybe never. they were cautiously optimistic, but you could tell even they were unsure.

clark brought you home in silence. not to some random apartment—but to a brownstone he called yours. every picture on the wall had your face. every drawer had your clothes folded with loving care. there was a note on the fridge in your handwriting, months old, reminding clark to pick up almond milk and more vanilla candles.

it was overwhelming. like walking into someone else’s dream.

clark gave you space. he stayed on the couch, even when you offered the bed. “you need familiarity,” he said softly. “and pressure. you always liked weighted blankets. i’ll order a new one for you.”

it was maddening. how he knew all these tiny details about you. how you couldn’t remember any of them.

one night, after a week of living in this space with him, you broke.

“i’m trying,” you sobbed, standing in the middle of what was supposed to be your shared bedroom. “i’m trying to remember! but it’s like I’m living in a museum of someone else’s life. i don’t even know who I am anymore.”

clark didn’t rush to you. he didn’t try to fix it. he just stood there, looking heartbroken but calm. “you don’t have to remember right now,” he said. “you just have to be.”

“i don’t know if I can ever love you the way I did,” you whispered, voice trembling.

he nodded slowly, eyes shining. “then let me earn it again.”

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

he cooked for you. cleaned. took you to your doctor’s appointments. but more than that—he made you laugh. it started small. a sarcastic quip here. a snort at something dumb he did with krypto. a real belly-laugh when he accidentally burned pancakes and pretended it was a “kryptonian delicacy.”

sometimes, he’d just sit with you in silence, playing records—your favorite band, he claimed. and one night, as the vinyl spun and moonlight washed the living room in silver, you found yourself leaning into him. just a little. enough.

his fingers gently curled around yours.

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

it happened on a tuesday.

you were brushing your teeth, looking in the mirror, when it hit you—an image. you in this bathroom, clark behind you, making stupid faces in the mirror to distract you. you giggling with a mouth full of foam. him pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

you dropped the toothbrush.

“clark!” you yelled, heart pounding. “i remembered something.”

he was there in a second, faster than any human should’ve been, and for once, you didn’t question it. you told him everything you saw, every detail. his hands trembled as he cupped your face. “that happened. that was real,” he whispered. “you’re getting it back.”

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

it wasn’t linear. some days you remembered something small—a favorite drink, the sound of clark’s laugh, how you liked sleeping with one leg outside the blanket. other days, you forgot what year it was again, or woke up thinking you were still in college. but clark never wavered.

one night, weeks later, you sat beside him on the couch, watching a movie he said you used to love. you weren’t really watching it. you were watching him.

“how could you still love me like this?” you asked quietly. clark turned, brow furrowed. “what do you mean?”

“i’m not the woman you married.”

“no,” he said softly, taking your hand. “you’re the woman I still love. through memory loss. through fear. through everything. love isn’t just the past. It’s right now. it’s me choosing you again every single day.” your heart ached—but not from sadness. from warmth.

“then let me try,” you whispered. “let me try to choose you too.”

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

you were brushing your hair one night when clark walked by the door. you glanced up in the mirror, met his gaze.

“can you do it for me?” you asked, holding out the brush.

his smile lit up the whole room.

as he sat behind you and began working through your hair, you closed your eyes—and this time, the memory didn’t slip away. you remembered this. his fingers. his voice. the warmth.

you turned to him, heart thudding.

“i remember this.”

clark’s eyes went wide.

“i remember you,” you said.

and then, like gravity didn’t matter, you kissed him. you kissed him like the world was ending and beginning all at once.

you didn’t remember everything.

but you remembered him.

and maybe, that was enough.

[steddie-island]

Do it for him

Written for week one of @softsteddieseptember Prompt: Facing your fears WC: 1,517 | Rating: T | Tags: Hurt/comfort, Steve has a fear of doctors, Eddie Munson lives See ao3 for the full list of tags Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

It should have been easy, something he didn't need Eddie here with him for, but it wasn't.

The room was cold, and despite the layers of clothes and the crinkly paper beneath him, the table was somehow even colder. There were goosebumps over Steve's arms that weren't brought on by the cool air.

It should've been fucking easy, but Steve was fighting the urge to throw up.

"Hey." Eddie's arm came up and wrapped around his shoulders, tugged him closer. "I'm right here."

Steve didn't trust his voice, could only find the energy to give a quick nod. It wasn't that he didn't trust Eddie, or that Eddie didn't make sitting there easier.

Steve hadn't seen a doctor since Starcourt. Since he and Robin had been tied back to back, since he'd been tortured and they'd come thisfuckingclose to being dissected. Even after Vecna, after he'd been chewed up and spat back out by the bats, Steve had insisted on not going to a doctor. Hopper had gotten it. He'd had stitched Steve up, had gotten him a prescription.

Their experiences might've been different, but the scars and the nightmares were similar enough that he didn't push. Steve had seen the effort it'd taken, too, for him to sit there while he sewed Steve back together. Every comment had been bitten back, the only sign that there was something to hide in the way the sheriff released his breath.

Steve had sat by Eddie's side in the hospital, once he'd been given the okay himself, but that was different. He could watch. Could guard.

Could use his bat if anyone so much as looked at Eddie the wrong way. That'd taken some convincing, too, to get the nurses to let him keep it in Eddie's room with him. Steve still wasn't sure what Hopper had said, but after the second or third day they'd mostly stopped paying him and his weapon any mind.

Steve's grip only loosened when Eddie's eyes opened up again.

It was a long road to recovery. It took a week for Eddie to not sleep through most of the day, then another week for him to eat anything more solid than chicken noodle soup. Week three they (albeit reluctantly) declared everything healed enough for him to get out of bed long enough to be wheeled down to Max's room to sit with her for a while.

After the hospital came months of physical therapy. Steve was right there, making sure Eddie made it to every appointment. Even on the days when Eddie shouted, when Eddie threw his books at the wall to try and push Steve away. Even on the days when Eddie broke down, because it was hard, and it fucking hurt, and the progress was so goddamn slow he was going crazy.

Steve was there when Eddie stopped fighting him, because even though the pain didn't go away he could feel the changes happening to his body, could finally tell that he was getting better.

Somewhere between one appointment and the next, over cheeseburgers and milkshakes and joints shared in the middle of the night when neither of them could sleep, something shifted between the two of them. Neither of them could remember who actually made the first move, but it didn't matter in the long run.

Now Eddie was the one doing the pushing. He was a better pusher, really didn't have to push much when he could just turn those deep, wide eyes on Steve.

"I'm worried about you," he'd whispered in bed one morning, when Steve was in that soft space between sleep and wakefulness. "I know your hearing is getting worse, and you need glasses… I know you didn't get looked at after everything, and I get why, but…" He'd kissed Steve's hair, his temple, his cheek. "I can't lose you. Please, Stevie. For me?"

That was all it had taken for Steve to crumple— something Robin had bitched about later, because she'd been begging Steve to go to the doctor for literal years. Eddie hadn't even had to mention the chronic migraines that put him down for days sometimes.

Once Steve had agreed, Eddie and Robin did the calling around, did the appointment making.

Now there they were, and Steve wanted to be sick. When he'd agreed he hadn't actually expected anything to happen, but of course his soulmates hadn't let him get off that easily. He hated them.

He loved them so much it was a physical sensation deep in his chest sometimes.

"I'm right here," Eddie reminded him. He had time to brush a kiss over Steve's temple before the door was opening and a man in a white coat stepped inside.

It wasn't just one doctor's visit. There were more physicals, there were x-rays and MRIs and visits where they checked his eyes and his ears. Eddie was still right there for every appointment, holding on to him when he could. When he couldn't actually be by Steve's side, he spoke to him from where the doctors said he could stand. That wasn't as good, but it got Steve through without him melting down right then and there.

The meltdowns always happened later, when they were in bed together, when Steve could let the stress of the day go and fall apart in Eddie's arms. Eddie held him, kissed his tears away and whispered how good Steve had done, how proud, and how grateful he was that Steve was taking care of himself, especially since he was doing it for someone else and not for himself.

Sometimes Steve fell asleep with Eddie whispering those sweet things into his hair. Sometimes he calmed down enough for Eddie to let him go, to start kissing down his neck and start sliding down his body, beneath their comforter. "You took care of yourself today, now let me take care of you, too."

Sometimes Steve ended up crying after that, too, but it was for a different reason. It was for how hard Eddie loved him, how softly he was touched, as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

Because Eddie believed he was the most precious thing in the world.

"What do you think?" Steve blinked at Eddie from behind his new glasses. They were simple, round gold frames he'd picked out with Robin.

With his new hearing aid he didn't have to strain to hear Eddie's small intake of breath.

"I didn't know it was possible for you to look better than you already did," Eddie said. He cupped Steve's face between his palms and tipped his head this way and that, getting a look at the glasses from every angle. "You're so fucking beautiful, sunshine."

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie and buried his face against the worn fabric of his shirt. "Thank you," he murmured.

"For liking your glasses?" Eddie shook his head. "You don't have to thank me for that."

"No, not for— for that." Steve lifted his head and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. "For staying with me. For helping me through this. I know it wasn't easy. I wasn't easy, but you stayed with me." His fingers fidgeted nervously with Eddie's shirt. "You didn't have to, but you did."

"Wasn't easy?" Eddie pressed closer, so Steve's back bumped against the counter behind him. "It was the easiest thing in the world for me. I hated seeing you upset, but it meant you weren't letting these things stay unchecked." His thumbs stroked Steve's cheeks, and Steve leaned into the touch. "We have a baseline now, to know if things get worse. You have medicine now, so you won't have to suffer through a migraine the way you did before. That was easy, sunshine."

Steve felt more than saw Eddie's smile as he was pulled against his boyfriend's chest again.

"Even if you would've been as much of a pain in the ass as I was, even if you'd yelled and pushed me away, I would've stayed. Because you stayed, too. You made me take care of myself."

Steve sniffed softly— he wasn't sure when he started crying, but he could feel the tears that weren't trapped behind his glasses soaking into Eddie's shirt. "You fought so hard to stay alive, couldn't let you give up."

"You did, too." Eddie kissed the top of Steve's head. "You've been surviving for so long, making sure everyone else had what they needed. It was time someone returned the favor."

Steve lifted his head, and Eddie brushed over his cheeks again, wiping away fresh tears. "And here I thought that's what you've been doing all this time."

"I had a lot of favors to return," Eddie said. He brushed the tips of their noses together gently.

Steve tried to argue sometimes, when Eddie talked so sweet to him, but as Eddie leaned in to kiss him again, the arguments died in his chest.

Maybe Eddie was right, and it was time to let himself be taken care of after all.

And maybe this time, he would do it for himself.

[veephoenix]

It’s okay if not because I don’t think you’ve written anything like it or similar before but for Into the Abyss of Bad Habits would you maybe consider writing reader who wants to try strapon sex with Noah because she sees how well he takes Oli and wants him to fall apart like that under her? 🫠 Especially since he’s a workaholic and a control freak, to see him just lose all sense of that. There is not a thought in his head. He melts actually melts into the mattress. I just know you would do it justice. Maybe Oli and reader are plotting together as a result of him disappearing into the studio for hours,days, at a time, kind of getting lost in it, ignoring them. Not everyone’s cup of tea though, I know. Feel free to ignore!

Title: Into the Abyss of Bad Habits — Requested scene

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Oliver Sykes x Reader | Words: 2k

Tags and trigger warnings: established polyamorous relationship, sexual content (basically what's written in the request, it's not too descriptive, though), use of handscuffs, three people in love exploring the joys of sex, oliver being sort of a sex instructor 🤭, and fluff ✨

I felt apprehensive at my own idea as I approached the studio on the ground floor of our house, my hand tightly gripping Oliver as he led the way. 

         My heart raced in my chest, skittish at Noah’s reaction to my proposal.  

         He had been consumed by work again in recent days, secluding himself in the studio for hours on end, skipping meals, and feeling perpetually behind schedule, despite evidence to the contrary and his bandmates reminding him that they were good on time for their next releases. Noah’s self-imposed stress often found a way to take control of him, keeping him distant from both Oliver and me. 

         Considering that we hadn’t had much quality time the three of us together since a week, I had had enough time to entertain myself with different scenarios that still hadn’t unfolded in the intimacy of our bedroom. 

         At first, when the idea crossed my mind, I felt somewhat embarrassed and quickly dismissed it. However, it persisted, stubbornly refusing to vacate my thoughts. I missed Noah, and I couldn’t shake the image of Noah unraveling every time Oliver took him, how effortlessly Oliver managed to get him to surrender to him. And in a sudden, unexpected moment, a twinge of jealousy took over me. I knew I could cause that effect on him, too, elicit the same response, to make him come undone when he was with me, whether inside me or in the grasp of my mouth. But now I yearned to get the same level of surrender that Oliver achieved. 

         I was so mortified at my own thoughts and needs that Oliver noticed my distress as soon as he entered the kitchen a few days ago and found me frantically preparing tea in the kitchen.  

         It took him less than five minutes to coax me into telling him what was going through my head, the scenario I’d been picturing the past few days. His reaction? He took my hand, picked the car keys, and drove us to the nearest sex shop, taking advantage of Noah being lost in his music world, which ensured us that he wouldn’t notice our absence.  

         Today, it had been three hours since Noah had disappeared into the studio immediately after breakfast, his absence stretching until late morning. It was Saturday, for God’s sake, and instead of going out for a run and spend some time with Oliver and me in the garden, or in bed, he had decided to remain sequestered in his space, oblivious to the world outside. He hadn’t even finished the bite of the avocado sandwich he’d been devouring for breakfast by the time he stood up, left the plate in the sink, and strode out of the kitchen, leaving me an Oliver gaping at his back as he disappeared down the corridor.  

         I took a deep breath, steeling myself before I knocked on the studio door three hours later.  

         “He’s going to like the idea, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Oliver tried to reassure me.

         “Too late for that,” I replied.

         Oliver squeezed my hand, a hint of laughter escaping him as he didn’t wait for Noah to open the door. With determined strides, Oliver barged into the room, removing Noah’s headphones from his ears. 

         Noah’s immediate protest was cut short by the seriousness in Oliver’s gaze, which conveyed a message of “enough is enough.” Then, with a subtle eyebrow gesture, Oliver directed Noah’s attention towards me, standing a few steps behind him. Noah noticed my tight grip on Oliver’s hand. 

         “What’s wrong?” he inquired, furrowing his brows. 

         “She wants to ask you something,” Oliver said. 

         “Propose, actually,” I corrected, my voice barely above a whisper. 

         “What is it?” He sat in his chair, relaxed yet attentive, hands hanging from the armrests and legs open and inviting. His attention was now fully on me, curiosity piqued. 

         I bit my lip. 

         “I want to fuck you the way Oliver does.”

         After a brief moment of processing, Noah chuckled, his eyes flickering between me and Oliver. 

         “What do you mean?”

         “We’ve picked up a few things,” Oliver explained, “and we’re done waiting for you to come out of this mouse hole. So, get up from that chair, and let’s put some work into that rear, or it’s going to flatten out like a pancake.”

         Noah’s expression shifted to one of disappointment and mild embarrassment. “Your jokes aren’t funny, dude,” he chided.

         “Noah, please?” I interjected, extending my arm toward him, silently conveying what I wanted as I held his gaze. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he swiveled around in the chair, quickly saving his progress on Logic Pro before standing up. His fingers lightly brushed against my chin. 

         “Let’s go upstairs.”

         I could barely contain my excitement, nearly letting out a squeal as we made our way out of the studio.  

         When we made it to the bedroom, Noah and Oliver took of their t-shirts. I wriggled to remove my jeans, keeping my t-shirt and tiny thong on. Oliver then retrieved the strap-on from the bag, and when Noah caught sight of it, his reaction surprised me. 

         Instead of shock or hesitation, he chuckled with amusement, pulling me close to him for a deep, passionate kiss. He pressed his body to mine as I stood on my tiptoes before letting a delicious friction ignite between us that got me wet and him, hard. 

         Unlacing his sweatpants, I pulled them down with his underwear. He climbed onto the bed without needing any direction from Oliver or me. Meanwhile, Oliver assisted me, pulling down my thong and securing the strap-on around my hips.

         “How do you want me, baby?” Noah asked, eyes on me. 

         “Umm,” I glanced uncertainly at Oliver over my shoulder. 

         “Don’t be shy, come on. Tell him what you told me” he encouraged me. 

         “On your back?” I said, moving some hair behind my ear. “I want to see your face.”

         “Missionary? Alright, missionary it is,” Noah agreed. 

         With a contented smile, he settled onto the bed, arranging himself among the pillow on our huge mattress. He relaxed, arms folded behind his head, dick hard. He watched me as Oliver inspected me, his hands still on my hips. 

         “I feel so weird…” I muttered, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. 

         “Can you feel the weight?” Oliver asked. I nodded. “That’s how it feels to be a man.”

         I rolled my eyes. With a playful slap to my ass, he directed me to get on the bed and position myself between Noah’s legs, which were now bent. 

         Noah clicked his tongue, gesturing toward my chest. “T-shirt and bra off, baby. If you’re going to be on top of me, I want those beautiful tits pressed against my chest.”

         Oliver spared me the hassle by removing the last of my clothes. Moments later, he positioned himself at the foot of the bed, still standing, his bare chest pressed against my back as my hand found their place on Noah’s knees. Uncertainty gripped me as I pondered how to begin. It was pretty obvious, yes, but it was still something new to me. I hadn’t tried this with any of my past lovers.  

         “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll guide you through it,” Oliver whispered in my ear, his hands massaging my shoulders. As I glanced down at Noah’s growing erection and then at the smirk on his face, I felt a surge of nerves. I was damn nervous about this whole situation, and he seemed to be thoroughly entertained by the prospect of what I was about to do. 

         Oliver excused himself briefly, returning with a bottle of lube in hand. He applied some to my hand, instructing me to spread it on Noah, emphasizing how good it would feel if I caressed Noah’s perineum in the process, a sensitive area Noah apparently enjoyed. Following Oliver’s guidance, Noah emitted a low moan, his gaze fixed on me intently as I adjusted to this new task. 

         “Good,” Oliver said. “Guide it with your hands and start pushing in. When you feel ready to continue with your hips, use your hands to stimulate his dick. Meanwhile, I’ll tie his hands to the headboard,” he concluded, already moving to carry out his part of the plan.

         “You had this all planned, didn’t you?” Noah began to remark, but his words faltered when I pressed forward with my hips. 

         My fingers encircled Noah’s erection, applying gentle pressure as I began to move and pump him in a steady rhythm. Oliver secured Noah’s wrists to the headboard before leaning in to grab his jaw and press a hungry kiss to his lips.

         “Such a control freak,” he reprimanded him between clenched teeth while still holding his jaw between his fingers. Noah’s eyes had darkened and his cheeks flushed by the time Oliver had returned to stand behind me.  

         “Does it feel good?” I asked Noah, curious and anxious. 

         “It’s—ugh. Kitt—ah! Fuck.” His wrists pulled at the bindings. I bit my lip, power running through my veins as I kept thrusting into him and watched him abide to me. “It feels amazing…”

         I attempted to go faster, but Oliver stilled my hips, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

         “You don’t have rush, love. Find your rhythm, go at your own pace. He’s enjoying it either way. Just look at his face. He’s already melting. You’ve got him right where you wanted him, don’t you?” Oliver’s words were soothing, grounding me in the moment. 

         “Yes,” I replied softly, barely whispering. I had already lost myself to the cadence of my hips against Noah and in the harmony of seeing him slowly surrender blissfully to me. Spread out on the bed, hands bound, lips parted, his moans filling the room, he looked utterly beautiful.

         “Keep going,” Oliver encouraged, his hands squeezing my breasts, and his fingers beginning to tease my nipples. My breath hitched. “Just like that. Good girl. You’re going to make him come in no time.”

         In those minutes, I felt once again mesmerized at the connection I had with both, how marvelously well we worked together, how good we were for each other. My inexplicable connection with both Noah and Oliver was a harmonious blend of desire and intimacy that never failed to envelop us in its warmth. I felt fucking blessed.

         “I want Noah to touch me, too,” I suddenly expressed.

         “Alright,” Oliver replied. He was clearly enjoying the moment, guiding us through it all, witnessing how Noah was about to fall apart with me positioned between his legs. 

         It hadn’t been more than ten minutes of Noah being bound to the bed when Oliver released him. Despite his struggle to contain the pleasure, Noah motioned for me to lean on him. Maneuvering our bodies was a bit challenging given how they were connected and our size difference, but Noah managed to grasp my face in his hands and kiss me deeply. 

         With one hand still nestled between us, fingers wrapped around his thickness, I continued to stroke him, feeling the tension building within the body underneath mine until finally, I had him falling apart, his release coating both our stomachs, my mouth swallowing the wail his orgasm elicited. 

         It was dirty, the way I lay on top of him after, but as soon as the euphoria of seeing Noah succumb to ecstasy, totally melting into the mattress because of me, began to settle down, I returned to my knees. 

         Oliver helped me remove the toy, and quick as a cat I crawled back to Noah’s side while Oliver fetched wipes to clean us both. 

         As we cuddled in bed, Noah’s hand caressing my hair and his lips leaving feather-light kisses on my nose and cheeks, his voice filled the room with messages of reassurance, praise, and gratitude. Oliver joined us on the other side of Noah, still wearing his jeans and his erection evident against the fabric. Nevertheless, he looked just as elated as we did. 

         “That was fucking beautiful,” he said.  

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[bangtaninborderland]

KSJ - I’m home.

It was safe to say that the last two years has been difficult, even though you had gotten to call and message it had almost felt as if you hadn’t seen the man you love for the entirety of the time he was completing his mandatory enlistment.

It had been at least nine months of phone calls and messages, no visits. However, that all ended today.

You had argued that you should go to pick him up with the other members but Namjoon had made a valid point that it would be best to be safe from the media, that’s how you ended up here, sitting on your couch, waiting.

You couldn’t help the anxiety and excitement bubbling up inside you, your foot tapping repetitively against the rug beneath your feet. Time dragged on and and on, you had been clock watching. It hit an hour, and then two, and then three before you heard the key code being punched in from the other side of the door.

As he pushed it open you wasn’t sure what to do, you wanted to run up and wrap your body around him, to kiss every inch of him and forbid him from every going anywhere ever again but you couldn’t.

You were sure the world had stop spinning.

“I’m home.” He mumbles dropping his bags by the door, sliding off his shoes.

“You’re home.” Your voice is nothing but a whisper.

You can feel the tears cascading down your face as he envelopes you into a hug. Crying wasn’t something you liked to do, you hated everything about crying but in this moment is was all you could do, your body collapsed against him as if it knew it could finally relax now he was back.

“Let’s go sit, okay baby?” He questions, placing a kiss to your ear.

You huff, pushing yourself further into him. “No, don’t wanna move.”

“I just got home, don’t be a brat.” He laughed poking your sides earning a yelp from you.

You both shuffled, very slowly, over to the plush couch, some part of your body still being entwined with one another. He sat first, pulling you into his lap.

“I missed you so much.” He mumbled against your head, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You shook your head, still sobbing lightly as you pushed yourself into his chest. You was afraid any moment you was going to wake up and find out this was a dream.

“Sweetheart I’m not going anywhere. Although if you don’t stop pulling my shirt I may need to go to the hospital for strangulation.” He laughs lights pulling your hands up to his face, ultimately making you look at him.

“I don’t ever want to be without you.” You breathe releasing him slightly.

He brushes a hair from your face before kissing you, his lips feeling familiar against your own. You lean in further as his tongue flicks against your mouth.

“I missed that so much.” You rested your forehead against his.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” He grins softly.

“Mhm, I can order if you want to go shower?” You kiss him once again, reluctantly lifting yourself from his lap.

“Getting rid of me already?” He laughs standing up.

“If you want me to hold you hostage I will.” You swat his leg as he passes you.

The light sounds of the shower bring you comfort, you and seokjin didn’t have a huge home, sure it was on the bigger side but it wasn’t a mansion however, it felt that way whenever he wasn’t here. The space seemed to swallow you most days.

When he had talked to you about enlisting you promised him you wouldn’t stop doing anything, he wanted to know you would continue living, continue doing what makes you happy. He didn’t want you to spend the entirety of the time crying at home or simply giving up. You agreed instantly, you’d give him whatever he wanted or needed to keep himself strong during this time. You hadn’t anticipated the house to feel so lonely, you hadn’t thought about the lonely nights you’d spend curled up in a ball in bed despite the fact no one would be joining you. In the first two weeks you’d set up dinner spaces for two people at least 6 times before remembering you would be eating your meals alone. Despite that you didn’t stop living, you wanted to make sure that he didn’t have to worry about anything when he came home so you kept yourself together. So what if at least three times a week you cried for an hour or so, he wouldn’t know.

“What are you thinking about.” His voice was raspy, sultry.

You almost jumped out of your skin at the surprise. “Just happy to have you home.”

“So tell me all the things I missed.” He rounds the table, taking a seat beside you.

You pull yourself into him again, not wanting to have any distance between you. “You didn’t, it was exactly the same except once a week one of the members would come over and eat dinner with me, although I feel like you were probably the reason for that.”

“I worried about you.” He sighed.

“I worried about you too. How was it? Honestly.” You looked up to him, searching his face for any discomfort on the topic.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought but it wouldn’t be something I’d ever want to go through again. I hope I provided the others some courage on it though.” He nudged your face with his nose making you smile.

He always had the ability to make a stressful situation seem good.

“Do you want to shower before dinner?” He rubs his hands up and down your thighs, squeezing them sporadically.

You shake your head vehemently. “No, although you could have let me shower with you.”

“Don’t pout sweetheart, go shower and by the time you’re finished our food will be here.

“Do I have to?” You bat your eyelashes at him.

He laughs lifting you from his lap. “No you don’t, I could make your ass red right now but I’d much rather you be a good girl. Go shower, take your time baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks flush a dark crimson at his tone, his aura shifting. “Fine but you better have the food waiting when I finish because I may die of starvation.”

“Didn’t have daddy to cook for you huh?” He chuckles.

You groan throwing your head back as you walk towards the bathroom. “Don’t call yourself that.”

“What, daddy? Am I not daddy enough?” He laughs even louder to which you slam the bathroom door.

You try not to rush your shower but it’s something you do compellingly, your body moving without any thoughts but “I want to be beside him again.”

By the time you finish and get dressed true to his word the food is set out across the living room table, you rarely ate anywhere but the dining room so you knew this was just as an intimate day for him as it was you.

“You look so good. God I missed waking up to you.” He reaches a hand out to you pulling you next to him, handing you a dinner tray.

You wave your hand at him picking up your cutlery. “Don’t make me cry, if we talk about how we missed one another the tears would start and I would not be able to stop them.”

“Was it hard?” He asks, taking a bite into his steak.

“The first day was surprisingly easy, once the members returned we went to eat, I’ve never had a dinner with them be so silent. Jungkook drove me home that night and he cried for a while, he offered to stay and I’m pretty sure he did that for him more than me but I told him I was fine. I didn’t cry, I don’t think I cried until the third week. I had a shitty day at work and I came home ready to unload it on you over some cheap ramen that I had stocked but I walked in and the loneliness just hit me. I lived in your clothing, I rarely wore anything of my own. I remember the first time we got to face time, I had been waiting all day and the connection was awful but seeing you even for a few minuets made the next month so easy. I wouldn’t have been able to get through it without the other members.” You brushed away a few tears you hadn’t noticed forming, taking a bite from your meal to distract yourself.

“Im never going anywhere without you ever again.” He brushed a hand through your hair before returning to his meal.

The rest of the dinner was filled with random bits of information and events that you had both been unable to witness. It was filled with a soft laughter, tender smiles and suggestive touches. The food itself was awful, the steak was hard and dry, the potatoes were cold and it was overpriced but you didn’t care. The food was the least of your worries.

You took both yours and his plates to the kitchen, rinsing them off with a promise to clean everything later.

When you return the room isn’t how you’d left it, Jin had set up a series of candles across the room, the tv had been lowered, and the said man was waiting across the room on one knee.

“Oh.” Was all you could manage as you shuffled towards him, your hands shaking.

“I waited two years to ask you this, I wanted to do it properly, to set up something big, something deserving of you but I couldn’t wait. You were one of the only thoughts that helped me through the rough days, your voice and the letters you would have Namjoon write me to be discreet were my most cherished memories. You made me a promise before I left and you stuck to it, no matter how hard it was you stuck by me and you kept going. I am so proud of you, I’m so thankful that I get to call you mine. It’s something I would like the honour of doing for the rest of my life, from the moment I met you I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I remember messing up so many recordings because you had occupied my mind for far too long. I have had the pleasure to experience things other people could only dream of but being with you is one of my greatest accomplishments, I hope I can be someone worthy of your love for the rest of my life if you’ll give me that chance. So with that being said, will you marry me?”

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t blink. You were frozen, your heart beating so hard you were sure it could be heard across the country. After a few seconds he shuffled awkwardly, you could see he was worrying so you did all you could. You slammed your body into his wrapping your arms around him as you kissed him desperately. Your soft moans and his grunts the only sound in the room, you laugh as he bites your lip.

“Smell.” He moans out after a few seconds.

You pause pulling back. “What?”

“I smell fire.”

You both turn to the couch only to see the bottom end half alight, the candle set on the table had been knocked over. You scrambled off jin to grab the fire extinguisher as he rushed to help you spray it he caught his leg on the tv swiftly bringing it to the ground with a hard crash.

A series of explicit words weee thrown around with you both screaming and shouting at one another to be careful.

After a ten minuet fuss, a burnt couch and a broken tv you both were sitting in the kitchen, him in-between your legs as you rested against the counter.

“That was some proposal.” You breathe out, massaging his scalp with your nails.

“That didn’t go how I expected, you didn’t exactly answer either.” He mumbled pulling you closer by your waist.

“It’s a million times yes jinnie, I thought my kissing was an indication of that.”

“It was not.” He rolls his eyes dramatically, pulling the box from his sweatpants. “Can I put it on?”

“Please.” You nod, holding out your hand.

He slides the ring onto your finger, it was beautiful. A singular Jem on the middle with the words “a forever gift.” Engraved on the silver band.

You feel the tears pooling in your eyes but you don’t care and by the puffiness of his face neither does he. You hold each other for so long that you lose count of the time. Eventually he picks you up from the counter helping you get into bed.

You wanted to protest and tell him you could stay awake longer but he shushed you instantly so you slumped back onto the bed, secure with his arms around you. So what if the food sucked, the couch set alight and the TV smashed into a thousand pieces. Your fianc�� was finally home, everything else could go to shit and it would be okay because seokjin was back.

[clearexpertarcade]

Ben Secret

 “Urp…well, this isn’t good. Looks like you kind of overdid it,”  ben said as he finished a hole pizza to himself He know to be careful he know he was putting on wight and all the late night beer and pizza was not helping  and did’t want his secret getting out that he was getting fat he wanted people to still think he had a fit body that attracted looks like he used to.

Still thought he was hungry and a boy got to eat so ben open the fringed and took out the leftover of cake he had the week before eating slice by slice ben shorts got tighter with every bite he had have to unbutton them and reached down to unbutton his tight shorts; shorts that he knew were loose on him before the release of pressure made ben let out a heavy sigh “Ughhhh that feels better thank god no one here’.

ben said ‘Sure my belly wasn’t perfectly flat anymore it just a couple pounds. am not getting fat, you just weren’t as skinny as you were before everyone still thinks i had a fit body’ as he suck in  briefly, allowing it to become a faint shadow of its former self. He flexed his stomach and swore he could make out the beefy outlines of his former abs, though they were now covered with a good three inches of belly fat ‘see ur not fat’ he released it suddenly, with an audible “hooof!” his belly spill out.

Out in public ben did he best to hide the spare tire he had been developing wearing an extra-large tank top and sucking in his belly creating a slightly painful, ominous pressure within his stomach after holding in for hours but as always his stomach started rumbling he needed food he saw a pizza parlor across the street and decided that it would do ordering two pizzas.

Ben made a pig out of himself but all that piging out and sucking in ben could feel pressure of his growing stomach The only think he could think about was the pressure in his belly he rush to the the restroom upon reaching the restroom,ben made sure none was with him to not let out the secret belly he was hiding until he knew he was alone once alone ben hands undid the tight belt buckle of his pants, as he looked forward to the release of pressure on his gut he took and deep breath and let his belly out ‘FUCKKKKK’ out of breath “What the fucking fuck?” he breathed, staring in disbelief at the inflated tank he now possessed ben stopped in front of the mirror and took a good look at himself, not believing what he saw. his gut was obvious, forming a sphere ben did not relise how fat he was getting  belly hanging over his very tight pants  ben did not want people to seen in him being this fat.It exposed he for the exjock he is he needed people to still think he had a fit body

The bathroom door suddenly opened, prompting ben to do something he never had to worry about before: he forcefully sucked in his belly just in time to hide his jiggly gut. when ben got Home he stop sucking his stomach in With a soft groan he reached down and undid his belt and popped the button on his jeans. His stomach gurgled appreciatively as it surged forward into the newfound space. His expanded belly pressed tightly against his t-shirt and he pressed his hand to it, belching loudly as he did so He took off his t-shirt and  then slipped his shorts off and stripped down to his tighty whities but could not let people see him like this a fat slob who was stuffing his face in the chair in front of him The chair creaked when he sat, not unreasonably. His abs felt strained and uncomfortable from keeping his stomach sucked in, but he wasn’t ready to start looking the part of glorified fatass just yet. He wanted to live the dream of having a fit body that attracted looks just a little longer before saying goodbye to it forever.

Four months of eating and drinking whatever he wanted, when he wanted Looking down at the gut hanging over his waistband he knew he was a long way from that 32" waist and washboard stomach. From a washboard stomach to… this, ban grabbed a roll, “am I fat.” Four months of letting go it had also been four months since he’d quit working out he took his first good look in four months,. He could still see the jock of four months ago. Barely, His pecs were rounder now and his belly had blossomed into a big round gut that rolled over his shorts. He was sporting a double chin and his whole body had that overfed ex-jock look.Ben shrugged and pulled on his 33” cargo shorts. He tried buttoning them but they wouldn’t close. He had noticed his shorts had been getting tight lately but usually he could button them up by sucking in But now he could just barely wriggle his ass into them now He tried buttoning them but they wouldn’t close ‘Just suck in. Just suck it in’ ben yelled. These fit the last time you wore them. “Damn it,” he grunted, attempting to get the button in his jeans to reach the hole him fall back onto the bed. Sure enough, he managed to get the ends to meet and do up his pants When he got of the bed , the button popped off. “Damnit,” he thought about going on run after that but felt too lazy He sat in the room with the TV on ordered large Dominos pizzas and drink back a couple beers “Don’t freak out. You can lose it,”he told himself “No one gains that much weight that fast. Maybe it’s just my clothes.”

Ben secret started to get hider to hide after he pop his fist button Ben continued to be in denial. ben started to dreaded getting dressed he want to get into his loosest and only pair left that would button Ben tugged on his jeans to stretch them out a bit. He then wrestled into them, working a little harder than usual to yank them over his hips. He inhaled deeply and leaned back, straining a bit to get the top button fastened.sucking it in, he worked at tugging on his jeans. He was really struggling this time, working hard to get them closed. When he relaxed, he felt stuffed into a sausage casing “Damn, I gotta watch the heat in that drier,” he muttered. He then heard the stitching of his clothes to the point they were almost about to rip and pop even when he was sucking in the best he could Okay, that’s it. I gotta get some new pants today ” ben thought as he gave in and popped open the top two buttons of his jeans. With a sigh of relief he’d leave them unbuttoned. He put on an extra large sweatshirt that covered the undone button and his new layer of fat.

Ben strode into the mall and headed right for the jeans store Excellent, he thought. The place was empty except for the guy refolding jeans the last thing he need was for people to see a fat pig that could not even button his jeans. Ben pondered over the selection spanning the entire wall. “Know what size you need?” The clerk’s voice startled Jake. Damn, he thought. He had really wanted to do this errand in peace. “Umm, yeah, I think so. I’m sure these are right down here.” He turn to suck in and button his jeans  he ought to button up his jeans It took a huge amount of inhaling to close not the last one but two buttons.

but before the clerk walk away With a sudden pow, the top button shot off his jeans. Jake was afraid to move. Another strain might bust a seam or send yet another button but the very shock of it caused him to stop sucking his stomach in, and the sudden pressure made his shirt buttons to go flying sailing  right off and fell on the floor in public in fount of a sales person ben secret was exposed too fat for his clothes, his belly hanging out for anyone and everyone to see.

“Looks like you got here just in time,” the salesman said. Ben was relieved that the guy didn’t make a scene of his blow out, and more relieved to move somewhere private Once safely in the fitting room, he had no choice but to strip to his underwear. He had to really tug to get his jeans down past his beefed-up ass He worked his feet to get the busted pants free of his ankles. “Here are some pants for you to try out.” Ben opened the door a crack to take the stack of pants, shifting his fat belly, trying to hide it. “I know you said you wanted to try 38’s, but I think I may have the next size up in back, so I’m going to go check for you. Just in case.” “Um, yeah thanks. The 38’s should be good though man. I think maybe the ones I was wearing were 36’s.” “Uh huh. Well, see what works for you, and I’ll check back.”The first two buttons closed okay, but he had to yank to get them totally closed. “Shit, these are tight too. Must be the wrong cut.”Ben pulled at the waistband and the last button would not close Another rap at the door. “Are those working, or do you want to try the other ones I found?” The clerk handed the jeans over the door to Ben “I’ll wait right here to see if those are working.”Just great, Ben thought. He shed the first pair and worked into the others “Let’s see how those are fitting, big guy.”ben squared his shoulders and came out of the fitting room. The clerk steered him to the three-way mirror sucking in to try and hide he gut the clerk told ben ‘you’ve gotta relax,”ben allowed himself to relax his core, and his belly became a bit larger, wider, and more jiggly.The clerk tugged at the snug waistband  Those too tight too? you have the next size up “We better get you something to wear out of here, buddy.” the clerk walk away Ben stood there, composing himself, trying not to look at his own belly. ben dream of having a fit body that attracted looks and the tricks stop working ben tried of always having suck it in gave it one last shot ben suck it in the best he could but probably only succeeded in a quarter inch or so since he gut got to big to hide now with that embarrassment out of the he was officially pronounced a fat mess and sent on his way, in denial no longer.

Ben now letting his belly be on full display. He saw each friend stared to notice 

“Yo Ben, don’t you think you should go to the gym or run or something?”

"Dude,”stepping back and looking at ben "Ben, you got fat.“

“Dude, you’re getting fat.“

all Ben could say was “Yeah, so?” Ben lifted his shirt. His belly, once barely chubby and always suck in, was now fat and sagging over his pants letting the world see his little secret but to ben surpassed ben best mate Mikey lifted his shirt. showing ben rounded, hanging, belly and He lifted up his belly to show his pants were unbuttoned as well. ben said “I had to do the same thing man Looks like we shared the same secret those pizzas are catchin’ up with us but dammm there to good not to eat.”

[saintlike78]

Little one [L.M.]

A/N: This is an au where both Voldy (mr. no-nose) and Narcissa don’t exist. Lucius is just mean, but not evil, yk

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x fem! reader

Words: 3.4k

Summary: You start your internship at the ministry, working for the infamous Lucius Malfoy. You’re scared after only having heard horrible things about the man, but will your opinion change. (Take a lucky guess)

Warnings: NSFW! 16+, vaginal sex, oral (fem receiving), overstimulation, mention of cum, soft dom! Lucius, slight implication of older man/younger woman, slight sir kink, intern reader. As always lmk if I missed anything.

Fixing and smoothing out your skirt, you took one last look in the mirror before releasing a long nervous sigh and headed out the door. Your internship at the ministry was starting today and you could feel the bubbles of anxiety in your stomach churning, your hands slightly clammy at the thought of who you were interning with - none other than the infamous Lucius Malfoy.

You had almost cried when you received the owl carrying the letter to inform you who you’d be interning with, having only heard horrible things about the man.

You’d heard that he was rude, mean, and had absolutely no patience, especially not with interns such as yourself, his last three interns having quit within the first week of working for him.

——

Your body was trembling slightly, your heart beating out of your chest as you stepped off the elevator and into the long hallway.

The doors were tall and dark, emphasizing that behind them sat important wizards, more important than you would ever be.

You walked past three doors before you were met with one with bold gold lettering spelling out ‘Lucius Malfoy’.

You took a deep breath, lifting your hand slowly before knocking on the door loud enough for it to be heard on the other side.

“Enter,” a dark voice announced from the opposite side of the door.

You took another breath before opening the large door with shaky hands; you almost toppled over from the weight of the door, but you managed to enter the office without embarrassing yourself.

The office was bigger than you could’ve ever imagined, the interior decorated with a black, green, and silver color scheme - the owner had obviously been a Slytherin during their time at Hogwarts.

Your eyes looked all around the room taking in all of the expensive detail such as a black marble fireplace and a reading area the size of a small library, lastly, your attention fell on the grand black wooden desk placed in front of the large window. Your breath hitched when your eyes finally landed on the man seated behind the desk; his long blond hair falling to rest upon his black coat, his figure proud and tall even in his seated form. His icy eyes burned into you, looking you over and raising an eyebrow.

“Are you done looking around, girl?” his unimpressed tone pulled you out of your trance, your heart pounding once more.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy,” you apologized, your fingers fiddling behind your back to keep away the anxiety.

“Hmm, and who might you be?” Even though he was the one asking the question, his slow bored tone made him seem less interested than if he’d kept quiet.

“My name is y/n… I’m an intern… I’m supposed to be taught by you, I got an owl explaining everything… maybe there’s been a mis-“ your rambling was cut off by a raise of Lucius’ hand, your mouth instantly clamping shut.

“I am well aware of the… internship program,” he said with disgust, “well get over here and make yourself useful.”

With a few quick steps, you were standing in front of his desk, looking at him and waiting for instructions.

“What you would you have me do, sir?”

He pointed at the chair beside you, then at a stack of paper on your side of the desk, “I’ll only be explaining how to do this once… I will not be disturbed when I am working, you will keep your mouth shut and do your work, and then maybe you’ll be able to get through the month.”

You nodded quickly and listened to him explain how to do your work; he explained slow and simple as if you were a child, his voice still unimpressed.

“Now, get on with it,” he dismissed you, your head quickly dipping to focus on the paperwork in front of you as he went back to his own work, silence soon filling the large office.

——

You were afraid to make even the tiniest of sounds, but you found that the silence was a comfortable one - Lucius wasn’t as scary in silence.

The silence was interrupted by a loud knock on the door, your head shooting up to look at the door, but Lucius’ focus was still on his work.

“What?” he grumbled, loud enough for the person on the other side to hear.

The door opened slowly, a young nervous-looking man, holding a cup, entered the office.

“Mr. Malfoy, s-sir, I’ve got your c-coffee,” he stuttered, his hands trembling as he reached the desk, giving you a glance and a sympathetic smile, before placing down the coffee.

Lucius didn’t say a word, only stopping his writing to grab the cup and bringing it to his lips as he took a small sip. You found yourself oddly mesmerized as you looked at him; you couldn’t deny that he was awfully attractive, but you quickly shook your head burying that thought deep down.

His naturally displeased face turned into one of disgust, his lips turned down in a scowl.

“Are you that incompetent that you cannot remember a simple order? Once again it is wrong,” his tone was laced with distaste, his right hand grabbing his cane before loudly banging it against the floor causing both you and the young assistant to jump.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t bother coming into work tomorrow or ever again,” he said calmly, but still with his naturally disgusted tone.

With another bang to the floor, he raised his voice, almost to a yell, “now… get out!”

The young man bowed, almost comically, before practically running out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

Lucius let out a displeased ‘humph’ before letting his focus go back to the work in front of him, his finger tapping gently on the wooden desk.

Your eyes were still trained on his face, not sure what to think, but knowing to not cross him.

“I’d advise you to get back to work and quit your staring, girl… unless you want to also not come back tomorrow,” Lucius said without even looking up at you.

You were slightly embarrassed to have been caught staring, but quickly went back to your work as to not agitate him further, mumbling an almost silent, “I’m sorry, sir.”

As your focus went back to your work, you missed the small smirk that played at Lucius’ lips.

——

A week had passed and already you felt much more comfortable in the presence of the tall intimidating man, the silence that filled the office every day comforting to you as you did your work.

Throughout the week you had dared to ask him for help a couple of times; the first time he had helped you with a displeased frown, but each time he helped he seemed less hostile and more willing. One of the times there had been a problem you were too inexperienced to fix by yourself and Lucius had made you move your chair to the opposite side of his desk to sit beside him, to look over you and help. You were surprised that when you went to move your chair back he stopped you with a raised hand, “you might need more help with this problem and I do not want to listen to the scraping of the chair again.”

You were even more surprised when you had moved the chair back, only to find it beside his chair the next morning, a small space cleared out for you on his desk, giving you enough room to work beside him.

——

More days passed and you found yourself in quiet conversation with the man, small fleeting smiles shared, much to your surprise and pleasure.

He was much more pleasant the more you conversed, the more time you spent with him in that office.

One day, you left the office with him to deliver some of your paperwork and grab some more for you, you having worked faster than anticipated and finished the prescribed paperwork before your deadline.

Stepping off of the full elevator you had to maneuver yourself between numerous amount of people, the ministry bustling with hard-working wizards.

Lucius had placed a large hand, the one not holding his cane, on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. You looked up at him in surprise, but his gaze was set forward, his icy composure never leaving him outside of the office, yet you felt the warmth from his hand and warmth on your cheeks from the blush.

You made your way through the ministry, successfully dropping off and gathering new paperwork.

On your way back to the office you ran into a pair of Lucius’ more respectable colleagues - respectable in the sense that it was the colleagues he respected enough to converse with.

You stood silently beside Lucius as he spoke with the two men about Merlin knows what, that was until one of the men acknowledged you.

“So is this a new one?”

Your head snapped up, confusion written on your face, having no idea what he meant. Lucius placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a subtle squeeze only noticeable to you.

“Yes, but this one has at least lasted longer than a week,- not as incompetent as the last ones,” he grumbled and you understood that they were talking about the previous interns, feeling a little dumb for the quick feeling of jealousy that had passed through you.

You nodded slowly and smiled at the men before yourself and Lucius trudged the rest of the way back to his office.

You entered the office with Lucius close behind you, closing the door softly.

You made your way over to his desk to set down the paper, placing them gently down with your back to Lucius, not hearing as his steps came closer to you.

“What was that back there?” Lucius questioned, his tone as gentle as it could be.

You were about to answer, but your breath caught in your throat when you turned around and you were staring directly into the chest of Lucius Malfoy, your neck craning to look at his face.

“I-I… what do you mean?” You stuttered, trying to compose yourself and not focus on the closeness of his being.

“Don’t play dumb now, little one,” he smirked, “I know jealousy when I see it.”

He pressed you against his desk, cupping your cheek with one hand before leaning down to be level with your face.

“Why were you jealous, my girl?” he whispered, the smirk still evident on his much too smug face.

You shivered at the nickname, “I-I wasn’t,” your face was red, your voice was low almost a whisper.

“Hmm, don’t lie to me,” Lucius spoke, his tone reminding you of his superiority as he rested his cane against the desk and used his now free hand to squeeze your hip.

“I’m sorry,” you said as you broke your eye contact, feeling slightly embarrassed, cheeks burning under his intense gaze.

“Look at me, little one, no need to feel embarrassed,” he stroked your cheek softly.

You hesitated a moment before meeting his gaze once more, his eyes soft as he looked down upon you.

You swallowed down your nerves, your mind not fully being able to comprehend that this was happening, but you tried to ground yourself slightly by reaching your hands up to rest upon his shoulders.

“Lucius, please,” you whimpered, earning yourself another smug smirk from the man in front of you, but your whine was the only confirmation he needed before he leaned down to connect your lips.

The kiss was anything but slow, your mouths working hungrily against one another as your bodies melded together. Your arms were holding him close around his neck, your hands grabbing onto the black fabric of his jacket. His hands were placed firmly on your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh; he used the grip on you to lift you onto the desk, your legs instantly spreading for him to get in between.

Your whine broke the kiss, your hips bucking involuntarily into his for friction. He chuckled, both of you breathless, his grip on your hip tightening to keep you in place.

“So desperate, little one,” he taunted, lightly grinding his hips into yours, a gasping moan ripped from your throat.

He picked at the hem of your skirt, “you’ve been driving me mad with all these small skirts of yours,” he said as he slowly started hiking your skirt up enough for your soaked panties to be visible for him.

“Is this okay,” he asked, pecking your lips a couple of times, waiting for your consent to continue with what he had planned.

“Yes, more than okay, Lucius,” you nodded quickly, leaning in to reconnect your lips in another heated kiss.

Your hands ran through his hair, feeling the silky blond strands between your fingers as he snuck his tongue into your mouth to work against yours.

Lucius broke the kiss, too soon in your opinion, which you made clear with a whine.

“Patience, my sweet girl,” he said with a grin; you tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear as you stared into his eyes, waiting for him to continue.

Slowly he got down on his knees before you, hiking your skirt up with a lift of your hips, your heart was beating fast with anticipation.

He placed a thumb right on the center of your panties before releasing a pleased hum, “look at that, all wet for me.”

You let out a small whimper, “Lucius, please.”

“What do you want? Use your words, little one,” he smirked.

Your cheeks burned, “please, want you to… taste me.”

His smile was wide as he dragged your panties down your legs, “good girl, such good manners,” he praised.

Lucius wasted no time, leaning in to place a kiss on your aching clit, pulling the nub between his teeth gently sucking before using his tongue to put pressure on it.

Your breath caught in your throat at the actions and multiple moans could be heard throughout the large office, your hands gripping his hair while also keeping him in place. His arms reached under your thighs, holding you to his face, his hands squeezing at the smooth flesh.

“Oh, my gods, Lucius,” you moaned, head tipping back as his tongue went in circles around your clit occasionally stopping to put pressure on it or to softly kiss the nub.

Shutters ran up your spine as you grew closer to the familiar feeling of an orgasm, your eyes fluttering slightly at the effort of keeping them open. Your right hand had moved from his hair to grab onto the top of his hand on your thigh; his hand loosened its grip on you, letting you place your hand under his, holding onto it for comfort.

“Lucius, I’m gonna cum,” you announced through moans, but it only made Lucius pull away from your drenched, pulsing cunt, prompting a disapproving whine to leave your mouth.

“Remember to use your manners, little one, that’s not how we ask for the things we want,” he scolded lightly, leaning into kitten lick at your clit to keep you right on edge.

“I’m sorry… please, may I cum, sir?”

Lucius smirked and hummed in content, “go ahead love,” he gave his approval before he dove back in, suckling at your clit till you were shaking in pleasure.

The pressure snapped, a loud moan torn from your throat as you came all over Lucius’ tongue, which he used to lick up everything you produced for him. Your hand gripped his tighter as he worked you through your orgasm, your vision blurred and your cunt pulsing around the air.

He gave one last kiss to your clit, making you jolt before he unhooked his arms from under your thighs and stood up to tower over you once more. He used his thumb to wipe away the wetness on his chin before guiding it to your mouth prompting it to open for him, suckling your release off his finger.

“Are you ready to take my cock in that sweet little cunt of yours, my sweet?” he asked to which you nodded furiously, with his thumb still in your mouth.

“Ah ah, words, darling,” he said with a stern look, “tell me what you want.”

He removed his thumb from your mouth to let you answer him, “fuck me, please.”

He chuckled at your bluntness but chose to let it slide as he reached down to free his painfully hard cock from his trousers.

With it freed, he lifted you with his hands hooked under your arms; you immediately wrapped your legs around his hips and clung to him as he moved you over to a wall of the office. He placed you against it, wrapping an arm behind your back holding you to him, his other hand placed behind your head.

He maneuvered your body down, his cock sliding into you with ease, both of you releasing simultaneous breaths of satisfaction.

He waited a moment for you to permit him to move, but your impatient nature shone through when you started moving your hips, trying to bounce the best you could in the position you were in. Lucius chuckled but understood and started moving, bucking into you, taking over for you.

You moaned, the overstimulation running through you at every thrust of his hips to yours. The feeling of his cock sliding into you slowly to savor the moment, his arm keeping you close to him and his hand holding onto the back of your head to keep you from banging against the wall, it was all heaven.

“You’re taking me so well, little one,” Lucius grunted, his thrusts picking up speed, to bring you both closer to your release.

Your fingers gripped onto his jacket tightly as your whimpers and moans picked up the frequency, “L-Lucius.”

You fell forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you felt yourself grow closer after each thrust of his hips, his hand followed your head, holding onto you tightly.

The tip of his cock deliciously prodded at your g-spot, his pubic bone dragging over your clit creating mind-numbing friction and you clenched around him.

He understood and picked up his speed, leading you right to the edge.

“Lucius, please may I cum?” You pleaded between moans, wishing desperately to be tipped over the edge he had left you on.

“Go on, cum for me, my sweet girl.”

With his permission you were over the edge in seconds, your body shaking and twitching in his strong grasp; your cunt pulsed around him as he thrust you through your release, but the sounds of your moans and the feeling of your warm walls milking him prompted his release.

He gave a couple of hard thrusts before he stilled and released a long deep moan, filling you with his warm seed. You moaned at the feeling, unburying your head to be face to face with him once more, leaning in to connect your lips in a slow kiss as he worked you both through your orgasms.

After he was done filling you up, he walked you over to the desk again, pulling out and setting you down slowly on shaky legs, yet he kept his arms around you to make sure you didn’t collapse. He grabbed the cane resting against the desk to collect his wand and clean you and himself up before he tucked himself away and bent down to grab your panties that were thrown on the floor.

He helped you put them on, tapping each of your feet to get them through and up your legs; Lucius kissed your thigh before rising to his full height again to smile softly at you.

“I still have work to do,” he stated, but he regret his tone after seeing your face drop ever so slightly in your bleary headspace.

“Oh, of course… do you want me to leave?” you avoided his eyes as you asked the question, afraid that he would say yes.

Lucius let out a light chuckle and shook his head, “of course not, you’ll stay here, darling girl.”

He hooked his hands under your arms once more, lifting you up, making you wrap your limbs around him once again. He walked around the desk towards his chair, sitting down on it with you, he turned you sideways on his lap so you could watch him work if you wanted to, but also giving you the freedom to just rest on him.

You watched his face, memorizing his features, thinking back to how nervous he made you, how scary he seems to everyone else and how lucky you were to have been granted access to a whole other side of him, only for you.

Tags: @teenwolfbitches28, @emma67, @sprucewoodlover, @i-love-scott-mccall, @pottahishotasf, @mjoubertt-1, @methblinds, @maraudersbijj, @samaraaaaa,

[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. 

☾

[dreamingofaizawa]

Potent

Alpha! Hanta Sero x Fem! Omega! Reader

***18+ Fic***

If you are under the age of 18 please vacate the premises.

Warnings: A/B/O, smut, knotting, marking, breeding kink (sorta? idk it comes with the A/B/O territory), a hint of pregnancy kink, a bit of blood

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author's Note: Ohhhhkaayyy so this has been sitting in my google doc for AGES. I think I started this in...October of last year? It's been sitting there for months and I've lacked the motivation to finish and post it but then I sent in an anon ask to @reinawritesbnha and, being the absolute queen she is, she became the little push I needed to do it. I DID IT FOR REINA!!

Also, this is some of my earliest writing and I only skimmed and edited a little bit of it so if there's a little bit of weird pacing or a strange cutoff where the writing styles clash it's because I haven't touched this piece in months.

Anywho, enjoy~

*

*

*

It had to happen when you were surrounded by alphas.

Your suppressants flaked out, again, and your scent wafted through the air on the street. Normally It’d be fine for an omega to let their scent float freely around them. But your scent is particularly...potent, even when you weren’t in heat. Not only that, but you weren’t mated yet, your scent glands still bare, and you still didn’t have a pack. To make matters worse, you’re quirkless.

You hadn’t realised what was happening until your path was blocked by an especially large male alpha. You turned around, and there were two more behind you. Fuck. This isn’t good. You took in your surroundings and searched for an exit, but you couldn’t find a way out. There's no way you’d be able to outrun the three very large male alphas.

Probably the worst part is that more alphas are turning their head toward you, taking notice of your lavender honey and rain scent that slowly began turning to a sour swamp. You dared to hope that change would ward off the three cornering you, but they’d already got a whiff of you. Several distressed chirps sounded from your chest, voicing your discomfort, and you glared pointedly at the three alphas as they edged closer to you.

You hate when this happened. Why’d you have to be cursed like this? Your growls only grew, baring your little omega fangs. There’s no way in hell you’d let some stranger scent you, let alone one of these creeps. They wouldn’t take the damn hint and just crept closer to you, calling out to the ‘pretty little omega’ to ‘come have some fun’.

You’re scared now, the involuntary chirps in your chest coming more frequently. None of the other alphas or betas on the street were big enough to face the three, making you a sitting duck and a ragdoll if they wanted you to be. Your claws are small, nowhere near ideal for this situation, but you’d use them if you needed to. With a final low defiant growl you dropped your bag against the wall behind you and readied yourself for a fight.

Suddenly a large body dropped in front of you, his back to you. His scent alone hit you like a freight train, orange zest, mint, tree bark and something earthy. It had your head spinning, nearly sending you into an early heat. He growled, low and powerful, the sound rattling in your chest and making you sink further into the wall behind you. The other three alpha’s scents together were still overpowered by the new alpha before you, and they vanished faster than they appeared.

He turned around and stepped away from you, giving you space to breathe. He kneeled down enough so he was eye level with you, his hands reaching out clearly in an attempt to comfort you, but kept from touching you.

“Are you okay?” The question barely registered, still delirious from his scent, and you’re having a hard time recovering. Large hands grip your shoulders and shake you lightly, your mind beginning to clear with the soothing pheromones he’s releasing.

“Omega.” The command snapped you to attention, your gaze fixated on his own dark irises.

“Are you okay, omega?” You blink, swallow down the lump in your throat, take a deep breath.

“Yeah...I’m okay. Thank you, alpha.” But you’re not quite okay. You need to get home. Fast. The alpha seemed to catch on, probably by your scent that still hadn’t returned to normal. He stands and slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders and wrapping you in his scent. It’s a comforting gesture.

“Let’s get you home.” With a nod you set off, the man walking next to you with a strong, warm hand on the middle of your back.

“What’s your name?” You introduce yourself, and he does the same. His name is Sero Hanta, and now that you’re calm again, you take in just how handsome he is.

Raven hair is pulled back into a small bun, showing off his undercut and strong, sharp jawline. Onyx eyes shine with kindness and playful mischief, and a beaming grin reveals pearly white teeth. He’s incredibly toned, his muscles calmly rippling under the t-shirt that stretched over his chest. You vaguely noticed the strange shape of his elbows, but disregarded it as his quirk. The omega in you is howling, begging for this alpha, his scent invading your senses. But you suppress it quickly, reminding yourself you’d only just met this man.

As you reach your apartment you exchange phone numbers, and he tells you to keep the jacket and use it when you go out to ward off any unwanted attention. You thank him again for helping you earlier, and he waves to you as he walks down the hall and enters the elevator, the doors closing in front of his handsome smiling face.

Despite meeting him only ten minutes earlier your instincts trust the alpha, and you hold the jacket close to your face, breathing in his scent. It’s wonderful, and your inner omega is in love. You find yourself wondering when you’d see him again.

The next few days are riddled with work and calls to your doctor about the strength of your suppressants. You work from home as a secretary for a small company. It’s a miracle you’d found it, too. Nobody wants an omega, let alone a potent one. It’s an alpha’s world, you guess. When this job opening popped up you were ecstatic, so you took it and have been working from home with decent pay for the last five years.

The calls to your doctor were not going as smoothly as your job, though. You leave a message every four hours until she finally calls you back. She was concerned since the suppressants she’d prescribed are the strongest out there, and if your scent was overpowering them they were either defective or your scent glands were overproducing. It wasn’t an immediate threat to your health, it only meant you’d be drawing more attention than you wanted to. Still, it’s annoying and makes life so much harder than it needs to be.

After she prescribed twice the amount, she said she’d look over your tests from the latest visit before she hung up the phone. You groaned once the call ended. You seriously needed a break from your second gender. Taking the prescribed double dose of suppressants, you got ready to go out to the corner cafe to read and drink coffee. Hopefully the new amount will keep steady. You really don’t want to deal with any more aggressive alphas this week. For good measure you pull on Sero’s jacket, allowing his scent to cover you, then grab your keys, phone, wallet and a book and begin the walk.

When you arrive at the cafe you order a hot mocha, curl into the small corner booth and crack open the book. You got lost in the ink and your mind floated along the adventure, putting yourself in the shoes of the main character and leading the mission to take down the corrupt queen who’d framed you for killing the prince of a neighboring kingdom. You were ripped from the fantasy world when a bright, enthusiastic blonde came up and tapped you on the shoulder, making you jump. His smile was as bright as his hair.

“Sorry to scare you cutie, but I couldn’t help but notice that jacket of yours smells an awful lot like my friend Sero!” You smile softly at the blonde.

“Well if we’re talking about the same Sero Hanta, then your nose would be correct. This is his jacket.” His eyes widen as he nods.

“Oh my gosh you must be the omega he keeps talk-” The blonde’s words became muffled by a large hand. A hand that belonged to the very man you were talking about. Sero smiles apologetically down at you as he shoves the blonde back to where you assume they’re sitting.

“Sorry about Kami, he’s… extroverted.” You smile back at him, mostly because you’re happy to see him again.

“It’s no problem at all. He recognized your scent on me.” He looked down and only then realized you’re wearing his jacket, and he beams at you. Then he takes a glance at the booth you’re sitting all alone at, his smile falling just a bit.

“Do you wanna come sit with us?” You take a moment to think about the offer, then agree with a nod. Your omega couldn’t pass up more time with him.

As you approach the booth you notice there are more people with Sero than you anticipated. There were four other people sitting there. Sero introduced all of them from left to right. Bakugo Katsuki, Kirishima Eijiro, Ashido Mina, and the happy blonde from earlier is Kaminari Denki. You introduce yourself and when Sero slid into the booth, you followed after him.

These five are a tight pack, and you learn they all met in high school. Bakugo’s brash personality made you wary at first, but it didn’t take long to realize he’s just like that with everyone. He makes a bit of a snippy remark, which you easily counter, and he smirks while the rest smile or snicker. It would seem they like you.

You can’t tell what their second genders are, and you mentally kick yourself for even wondering in the first place. Their genders are none of your concern, but you can’t blame yourself when you’re constantly alert because of your own stupid second gender. As it turns out, you don’t need to wait very long to find out.

This time you smell your own scent as it permeates the air around you. You swear under your breath at the stupid suppressants that obviously can’t so their job, and the others snap their gazes to you. You sigh.

“Yeah, that scent is me. My suppressants flaked again. Sorry about that.” They all nodded, seemingly understanding. Sero must have told them about the other day. Of course, it would soon repeat. It didn’t take long for an alpha to take notice of your scent. The man -- why is it always the largest males??? -- strides up to the booth with a cocksure grin and leans down to inhale your scent. You duck away from him, into Sero, and let out an albeit small warning growl that was drowned in Sero and Kirishima’s. He ignored them all the same.

“Hey there little omega, you smell real nice. You wanna come hang with me instead? We can have some fun together with my buddies, what do you say?” The others stayed quiet. They’re going to let you defend yourself before they do anything in case they end up escalating the situation. You turn your head and lift your shoulder, hiding your scent gland.

“I’m not interested, thank you. Please leave me alone.” You hoped to whatever deity watched over you that the man would leave. Before anyone could react the alpha grabbed your wrist in a vice grip, yanking you roughly from your seat. You chirp, your scent turning sour and the entire pack abruptly stands, baring their fangs at the man. It barely registered in your head that Kirishima and Bakugo are alphas, Mina is a beta, and Kaminari is an omega, their fangs giving them away.

The man tightens his grip on your wrist and you cry out, your bones creaking under the pressure. With no other options you did the one thing that would get him to let go, and sank your fangs into his wrist. You jump back into Sero, who wraps an arm around you protectively.

“You bit me, you bitch!” He raises an arm, clearly about to try and hit you, but a large hand grabs his wrist. Surprisingly enough it’s Bakugo, and his growl is laced into his words.

“Leave now, or you lose a hand.” Sero speaks up from above you.

“You might wanna listen, amigo. That’s Dynamight.” The alpha rips his arm from Bakugo’s hold and looks down at you, and you growl at him as he scoffs and walks away, apparently not ready to fight the #2 pro hero over an omega.

You all sit back down and you pull up the sleeve of the jacket to inspect the already forming bruise on your wrist. Your nose wrinkles with a half-angry half-pained snarl. Tenderly, Sero takes your wrist and lightly squeezes the sides of your forearm, against your bones, and your lack of reaction tells him nothing’s broken. Still, he growls at the offending bruise.

“I’m gonna kill him.” You shake your head and put a hand over his.

“It’s not worth it Sero. He’s probably long gone.” You turn to the rest of the pack.

“Thank you for protecting me.” Kirishima is the first to speak.

“Of course! That dude was a jerk. I just hope he doesn’t go around doing that to other omegas.” Bakugo, surprisingly, spoke next.

“Obviously we’d protect you. You’re a potent omega and quirkless, so you attract unwanted attention without even knowing or wanting to. Besides, if you’re gonna be Sero’s omega there’s no way in hell we’d let some extra handle you like that.” The implications make your face burn, and Kirishima smacks the blonde’s arm with a ‘Don’t just say that kind of thing, Katsuki.’

After an hour or two of talking, and shockingly no other aggressive alphas, they all walk you home to your apartment. Sero wanted to check on your wrist again, so you invited them all in, but they all had something else to do, so you were left alone with Sero. The fact that the one alpha you desperately wanted to be around is alone with you in your apartment is both great and terrible. Thankfully, you have self-control and his own suppressants are working perfectly fine.

He inspected the darkening bruise on your wrist, his large hands gripping your arm tenderly and turning it gently as he prods at the skin. It doesn’t hurt too bad, so you assure him you’ll be perfectly fine. Eventually he leaves with a hug and you sigh once the door is closed, relieved that you were able to keep your omega at bay and your hands to yourself.

A couple days later you get a text from him and the two of you text often, asking how each other’s day went, if anything interesting had happened. You didn’t leave your apartment unless you needed to, since your suppressants clearly weren’t working, so you made sure to cut grocery trips short and keep away from any alphas that seemed a bit aggressive. Sero invited you to hang out with the pack at their house, and you obliged.

They lived in a huge house all together. Most of the rooms were sealed so no scents or sounds could go in or out for ruts and heats, and there were several spare rooms that were empty and waiting for more pack members. It was a fun hangout, filled with video games and good conversation, and even better food which Bakugo cooked. Sero had an arm around you whenever he was close, and you definitely didn’t mind. Your suppressants flaked in the middle, again, and Sero insisted he walk you home. With him walking you home there weren’t any alphas trying to get you this time. You ended up going over to hang out with them a lot when you weren’t working, and eventually Sero began to court you.

Obviously, you accepted, and after a few months of dating and scenting, your overactive scent glands seemed to mellow out, Sero’s scent mixing with it. Your suppressants are lasting much longer now, which is a good sign. Now that you’re Sero’s omega, he often helped you with your heats and you’d help him with his ruts, and he was strong-willed enough that he hadn’t marked or knotted you in the middle of things.

About a year and a half into the relationship you realize you really love him. Sure you had arguments, but everything was settled through calmed discussions over coffee or tea, and you came to understand each other well enough that arguments became few and far between.

You’re happy with Sero, so when your heat came around early and he was there to help, you were going to let him know just how much you loved him.

You texted him once you felt it starting. He was there within half an hour, and you pounced on him once the font door closed, smothering him in hot, wet kisses, eager to feel him inside you. He carries you to the bedroom, and you two are quick in shedding all of your clothes. He lays you on your back with a hand on your throat as he growls into your ear, making a hot shudder roll down your spine.

“Are you ready for me omega?” You whine and nod, your slick already dripping down your folds. You want him so bad it hurts.

“Please alpha, I need your cock.” He growls again, satisfied with your answer, and he presses into you, bottoming out with one firm thrust. You chant his name like a mantra as he set a bruising pace, rutting into you recklessly, wet skin slapping on skin the only other sound beside your whimpers and his growls. His teeth nip at your shoulder, sharp fangs testing your skin and claws digging into the fat of your hips. His cock is so deep, hot swollen tip kissing your cervix with every full-bodied thrust and sending you into a euphoric haze. Your own claws are sinking into his back, leaving little trails of red and blood beading down the lines. It drives him wild every time.

“That’s right, little omega. Mark me up, I’m all yours. Fuck you’re so pretty underneath me like this.” His hands grip behind your knees and press them into your chest, folding you nearly in half as he plows into you further. The angle knocks the breath from your lungs and your eyes roll back. You can feel his knot beginning to swell, feel how his thrusts are getting more controlled and his grip on your thighs tighten from the sheer concentration it’s taking for him not to breed you. You have other plans. Between wheezed breaths you squeak out.

“H-hantaaa~” He slows to a near snail’s pace, grinding his slowly growing cock into your sweet spot, a smirk stretching across his face as you splutter from the sudden change. He’s enjoying making you squirm.

“What is it, sweetness? Tell your alpha what you need.” You pant, chest heaving as much as the position will allow.

“Want your mark, want your knot~ Wanna be bred Hanta! I want your pups!” He stills completely, claws digging into the fat of your thighs with enough force to have drops of blood falling to the sheets beneath you. You’d never said anything like that in the heat of the moment. He can’t have heard you correctly...right?

“Princesa, do you know what you just said?” The seriousness in his tone has you sobering, but even before you knew exactly what you were saying. You nod frantically, wiggling your hips to get him to move again.

“Yes! I know alpha! Please, give me your knot~” His growl makes your bones shake, and with no warning he drops your legs around his waist and leans down so his face is buried in your neck.

“Fuck, I’m gonna trust you with this baby girl. I’ll give you exactly what you want.” His fangs sink into your scent gland just as he picks up his brutal pace, and the euphoria makes you cum hard, your whole body locking up and mouth falling open in a silent scream. He plows into you as you regain your breath, and you bite down on his own scent gland as hard as you can, tearing into his skin with every intention of leaving a pretty scar for the world to see.

His knot swells more, and he’s pushing it into you with every ounce of power he can generate with that gorgeous body of his. With one final snap of his hips he locks his body to yours and cums hard, ropes of hot seed filling you to the brim. He collapses on top of you and laps at the wound on your neck and you do the same. After a few minutes he leans back and cups your face in his hand, gazing down at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

“Are you alright?” You nod, nuzzling into his palm.

“I’m sorry. I was gonna talk to you about it, but my heat came early.” He kisses your forehead gently, brushing the strands of hair from your face.

“It’s okay, pretty thing. I trust you know what you’re getting yourself into.” You giggle and wrap your arms around him.

“Of course I do. I love you, Hanta.”

“I love you too.” You lay there, tangled in each other’s arms until his knot goes down. You whine at the loss when his cock slips out of you, clawing at him to come back because you’re still in heat. His hand gently wraps around your neck, a low chuckle on his lips.

“Relax, we’re far from done.” His already hard erection rubs up and down your glistening folds, barely stimulating your clit, teasing you until tears prick your eyes and you’re beggin him to fuck you again.

“When I’m done you won’t be able to walk for days. I’m gonna breed you so well, You’re gonna look so pretty all big and round with my pups.” He groans at the image he’d conjured in his head and you squeal as he slams his hips into you.

You’re in for a wonderfully long night.

[oro-e-diamanti]

The one where Damiano leaves for tour

Description | Damiano is leaving but before he does, he is sure to give you one last taste of himself.

Content | Smut - filthy, filthy smut

Pairing | Damiano x fem!Reader

Word Count | 2123

Taglist | @mywritingonlyfans @ethaneskin @ginny-lily @tabi-toast @mnskin @ohtorchio

***

You were awoken by a harsh slap to your bare butt. Your first instinct was to sit up but you soon realised that wasn't going to happen - you were lying on your front with your hands tied behind your back. Looking to your right you immediately found the culprit.

Damiano was standing next to the bed, completely naked, staring down at you with a dangerous smirk on his face. How on earth had the bastard managed to do that to you while you were asleep? You didn't even consider yourself a heavy sleeper, so this was rather impressive. Then again, you didn't really feel like complaining. There was something dangerous, something exciting about Damiano deciding to be the dominant one for once.

"Good morning, bellezza. Hope you're well-rested."

"Don't you have a bus to catch?" You challenged. You knew he had gained the upper hand long ago - in fact, he had done so the very moment he had decided to eliminate the use of your arms - but neither of you minded the little game.

"Oh, I do. Which is why you have very little time to make sure I remember you and your sweet body while I tour all over Europe for the next two weeks."

"And how exactly do you expect me to do that?"

Damiano didn't answer as he stared down at you. Instead, he slowly let his hand travel down his body, purposely putting on a show the way he sometimes did on stage, before grasping his cock and giving himself a few strokes. You tried wriggling in your restraints to no avail. It bothered you that he was standing next to you in all his naked glory while you were still clad in the shirt you slept in and a pair of skimpy panties. You were dying to touch him, run your hands over his skin, kiss where he needed you most, but he had other plans.

In slow, calculated moves, he started walking around the bed, vanishing from your field of vision. You desperately tried to turn around to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, but the silk rope around your wrists had you moving clumsily and without proper direction. As much as you wanted to hate it, you couldn't deny the excitement that came with it. The restraint, the fact that you didn't know what was coming. So naturally, it caught you off guard when another slap landed on your bum. Your gasp was quickly replaced by a quiet moan as both of his hands started squeezing the soft flesh of your buttocks, massaging them roughly. You could feel him push your panties upward to expose more of your skin, but it only ended up giving you delicious friction between your thighs as the fabric slid up your pussy. It was beyond you how he had gotten you so turned on so quickly.

"Don't you dare be quiet," he suddenly said from behind you. You could feel the mattress dip as he moved onto the bed, straddling your legs, his bare skin touching yours. "I want to hear every moan load and clear, understood?"

You barely whimpered out a yes when you felt his cock hard and heavy, resting on your butt. Your fingers were dying to reach for him, touch him, feel the weight of him in your palm, stroke him the way you knew he liked, but you had no choice. You were at his mercy, awaiting whatever he was planning to do with you.

Damiano's fingers trailed between your legs, softly rubbing your slit over your underwear and you were certain that a wet patch was forming rapidly. You craved more, a more intimate touch, more skin, a deeper feeling, but before you could even consider voicing your thoughts, he backed off. He started leaning over you, careful not to put too much of his weight on you, until his mouth was next to your ear.

"Enjoy it while you can because I'm not letting you come any time soon."

His low voice sent shivers down your spine, just as his movements did when his cock started rubbing on your behind. A whimper escaped your lips, the anticipation becoming too much. He got onto his knees, roughly pulling you up by your waist until your butt was sticking up in the air. Your attempts to hold yourself up were futile and your face was pressed into the mattress below you. This new position left you with even less of a chance to control your own body, leaving him to decide all your movements as your face was roughly rubbing against the sheets. You couldn't deny it - this was hot.

Damiano kicked your knees apart to make some space for himself as he slid his cock in between your legs and up against your pussy, before he started moving. Every thrusting motion seemed to be accompanied by a light slap to your flesh and you found yourself jerking forward every time his cock brushed against your clit through the fabric of your underwear. You couldn't contain your moans even if you had tried.

Suddenly his hand grasped your hair in a tight ponytail, yanking you upwards, his other hand quick to support your upper body as it left the mattress until you were seated on his lap. He was relentlessly thrusting up at you, your legs situated on either side of his. You were quickly turning into a sweaty mess, heat erupting from every pore of your body, especially knowing that Damiano was not going to let your release any time soon. His mouth was too close to your ear and his groans were sending you on another high, getting you closer and more worked up but never quite enough.

His hand wound himself around your front, lightly grasping at your throat, applying just enough pressure to take away your breath for a second at a time. You loved the feel of his fingers on you.

"I think I should leave you with a few souvenirs before I go just so you don't forget who you belong to."

His mouth was now attached to your neck, sucking and biting and unquestionably leaving an array of marks on you. You desperately wanted to bury your hands in his hair, pull on it, push him towards you, but your wrists were still bound, trapping your arms between the both of you. Usually, you'd tell him off, mad that he would mark you in places so hard to hide, but you wouldn't see him for two weeks. For once, he was allowed to do as he pleased. Your fingers started gingerly touching his belly, the only thing you could reach, but it wasn't enough.

His lips and teeth were still working their magic when his hands grasped onto your breasts. He easily found your nipples through the fabric of your shirt, giving little pinches before soothing them over with the palm of his hand. You were positively losing your mind, hot flashes running through you with every move he made. Every pinch had you gasping and shaking in his arms. He was touching you too much and not enough all at the same time. If only he would finally get you naked.

Your wishes were not heard - or simply ignored. Damiano noticed you getting increasingly restless though and in one sweeping motion, he had pushed you off his lap and let go of your completely. A coldness enveloped your sweaty skin immediately, leaving you in shivers.

"Turn around so I can see your face."

It felt clumsy, staying on your knees and shuffling around, but Damiano didn't seem to mind. Upon finally seeing his face again, you realised just how into this he was and judging from your situation, you couldn't blame him. His face already looked positively fucked out. Eyes dark and hooded, lips puffed from the treatment he had been giving your neck, hair all over the place. He had never looked more gorgeous to you and it filled you with a sense of pride knowing that only you could put him into this state. Your eyes wandered down his body, taking in every single one of his features and tattoos, before landing on his cock. He was impossibly hard.

Damiano came closer to you, your head now at cock-level, and it was painfully obvious where he wanted you. You didn't hesitate. Looking up at him through your lashes you willingly opened your mouth, an obvious sign of consent in anticipation of his next move. He didn't hesitate either, guiding his hard flesh between your lips. His groan sounded like music to your ears.

You eagerly sucked him, giving him everything you had, letting go and letting your tongue run up and down his shaft before swallowing him again. Damiano's hand wandered into your hair once more, carefully pushing you further onto him. Your eyes met his for a moment, telling him everything he needed to know, telling him you were willing to get him there. You ceased your movements, opening wide and let him take over. His hand was guiding your head as he thrust into your mouth, pushing his cock in deeper than before, making you deepthroat him. Tears were forming in the corners of your eyes from the intrusion and the strain and yet you had never felt sexier in your life. His other hand quickly caught a single drop that escaped, softly stroking your cheek as he continued to move into you. You pushed your thighs together as tightly as possible, chasing some sort of friction, clenching around nothing, but it just wasn't enough.

You knew he was close, aware of all the little signs you had grown to love so much in the time you had been with him. The way his movements became more irregular, the specific kind of high-pitched moans escaping his mouth, the way his eyes fluttered closed even when he tried to keep them open. You prepared yourself for his orgasm, willing to ride him through it, but he had other plans.

You were already embracing his impeding high, but he wrecked himself away from your mouth, roughly grabbing your shirt and pushing it upwards over your breasts. You arched towards him as he stroked himself two, three more times before finishing on you.

"Fuck," he groaned, eyes closed as relief and euphoria seeped through his veins. You felt like dying. Seeing him finish, and on your breasts nonetheless, had gotten you so wet, you were convinced your panties were completely soaked through at this point. As he opened his eyes again, he smirked down at you. You were aching all over, both from the position you were in and the fact that you still hadn't gotten any release.

In a quick move, Damiano grabbed your legs, shifting you from kneeling to sitting on the edge of the bed. As he knelt down between your legs, you were ready to transcend to heaven - or into a mindblowing orgasm, whichever came first. He placed hot, wet kisses along the inside of your calves, your thighs, getting closer to where you needed him most, spreading your legs, finally reaching your pussy.

His sneer didn't promise anything good. He slowly dragged your panties down your legs, fingers grazing your skin and leaving trails of goosebumps. You could see the massive wet patch as he held the fabric in his hands.

Then he stood up. Threw your underwear into his bag. And started dressing.

"Damiano, what the fuck?!"

This was unbelievable. Would he seriously go and leave now? Surely not, right? You were literally sitting on your bed, hands still tied, your wetness now probably dripping down onto the sheets, your breasts still covered in his fluids, and he was calmly putting on his clothes.

"Right, I gotta go," he said, nonchalantly, as if this was completely normal and not borderline insane. He moved around you to untie your hands, put a quick kiss to your mouth, and you briefly considered slapping him.

"No, no way you're doing this to me," you protested, trying to get up but failing, your legs still shaky. "You are not going to turn me on like this, use me, come on me and then leave?!"

"Well, I'm very sorry, bellezza." He didn't sound sorry at all. "But the bus is waiting and I've got a tour to go on."

Damiano walked away from you, just briefly stopping in the doorway to turn back towards you one more time.

"Oh, and remember the rules. No touching yourself while I'm away unless you're on the phone to me. I'll call you tonight. Maybe. And thanks for the souvenir."

You had never hated your boyfriend more.

[glowingbadger]

So many thanks to my lovely followers who helped me come up with this concept! Arranged marriage has been the vibe with some of y'all lately and I am here for it.

Dimitri x Reader arranged marriage

AFAB reader ('wife', but no pronouns)

NSFW 18+

You lie in bed beside your husband- your Lord Husband, you should say -and there seems to be no cure for the anxious restlessness that's made a home in your heart. It had been like that since the moment you'd learned you had been betrothed to the infamous Boar King. A man of legendary strength and rumored temper. A one-eyed titan who had struck down countless foes with untold brutality. Yes, he and his allies had unified the continent. But great deeds can certainly be done at the hands of monsters.

He'd hardly touched you. Hardly looked at you, at first. You believed he must be disgusted by you, by this whole arrangement. But the need for an heir would be of even greater importance in the wake of the recent war, and so the most suitable arrangement (which turned out to be you) had been hastily made the moment the treatise had been signed. And so you'd come to live with the Boar King, and even to share his bed- though not yet in the fullest sense. It had taken a week for him to meet your gaze directly. When that bright blue star leveled on you, you expected to feel aggression, the rage that common folk told tall tales of in taverns. Instead, you felt hesitation. Sadness. Remorse. And a whole host of other things you didn't have names for yet.

By week three, he had tentatively taken your hand to help you off of horseback. That was the first time he ever touched you. You remember that he held you like fine parchment a little too close to a flame. After that, things had come a little more easily. You shared meals, and even a few polite words and the occasional briefest physical contact. He asked about your comfort in the castle. He assured you that anything you should need could be called for. Now, lying next to him in your bed- the bed you would share for the rest of your life -there's a geometrically perfect space between you two. A gap, seemingly exactly calculated to ensure that your bodies were unlikely to meet in the night.

"Ngh..." He groans, his body twitches and tenses. You've learned that the King suffers from nightmares, though of course you haven't let on that you've noticed. Tonight seems to be worse than the others.

"No..." he growls through grinding teeth, "Stay away... go... no-!" his fists grip the sheets so tightly you worry for the fabric. Then, you're not sure what madness prompts it, but you move closer to him. Just a little at first. Inching towards him as though approaching a frightened animal.

"My Lord..." you whisper, and your fingers just briefly graze his arm. He's warm, his body is firm and strong. You'd never allowed yourself to really look at him in his nightclothes before, but the relaxed collar of his shirt reveals defined collarbones and fair skin, but also a cross-hatched web of old scars. Some part of you had known all along, but for the first time, you truly, fully realize that he's actually strikingly handsome.

You lean over him a bit further. His head turns toward you, but he's still in the throes of his nightmares. Panting breaths cause his chest to rapidly rise and fall beneath you, and you can't help but feel the ache of sympathy in your heart. Gently, carefully, you bring a hand to his face. You can feel how tightly his jaw is clenched.

"Your Highness," you speak louder this time. His eye bolts open. His hand seizes you by the wrist hard- too hard. It hurts, and you flinch, but keep your voice down. For a moment, you fear the inevitable retribution that will surely follow. But then, he exhales, and he releases your hand.

"I- I'm sorry- I didn't realize-" he stutters out, and in this moment, he looks softer and sweeter than you've ever seen.

"You were, uhm... having a nightmare, My Lord."

He nods at you, then sighs deeply. You're at a loss for what to do. Shouldn't the King's wife comfort him in such a situation? Would he even accept any comfort you might offer?

That shock blue eye meets you, and you can tell he wants to say something. All he manages is,

"Why do you call me that?"

"I... I'm sorry?"

"'My Lord', 'Your Highness.'" it's too dark to tell for certain, but you almost think that you see a pink flush across his face.

"You're my King." you say meekly.

"I am your husband." he replies, and his eye narrows. It's not quite scolding, but there's definitely frustration there. Truly, it's impossible to tell exactly what he means by saying it, but you can't help the warmth building inside of you. He raises a hand to your cheek, and you're not afraid, though your heart races much the same. His hands are large and calloused, the hands of a man who has created miracles and atrocities, and now it's gingerly brushing your hair from your face. You move closer to him on instinct, and you notice with some relief that he doesn't shy away- not this time. Then, you open your mouth to speak, and nothing comes out at first. You sigh, and try again,

"My- My Lord Husband, you should sleep. I didn't intend to bother you, only to make sure that you were-"

He sighs once more, and his eye closes.

"Sleep will not come, I already know. Not on a night like this."

You certainly don't know what to say to that. Anything you can think of would be meaningless platitudes and hollow assurances. You don't know the man well enough to know his demons, but you're certain there are plenty. The two of you are quiet for a time, and though his breathing has steadied, he shows no signs of regaining sleep any time soon.

And so you do the only thing you can think of to do for him.

You lean forward and press your lips to his. He breathes in sharply, and you feel his frame tense beneath you- but he doesn't pull away. Your hands cradle his face as you place gentle and tentative kisses to his lips, which are far softer than you'd dared to imagine. And as you carefully move atop him to straddle his hips, you feel his hand tightly grip your thigh.

"What are you-?!"

"I thought that I would... perform my wifely duties to you, My Lord Husband. If you'll have me." you add, a slight tremor sneaking into your voice.

His pupil is wide and this time, you're certain that you can see a charming crimson flush across his cheeks. He speaks your name almost incredulously, though his hand hasn't left your body.

"You- you are under no obligation-" he stammers, and when you try to assure him, he presses on, "you're a prisoner to this marriage, don't you understand? I have no right to ask anything of you- much less that you give your body over to me!"

He seems to have completely forgotten that the entire point of this union was to produce an heir.

"I certainly wouldn't force myself on His Highness if I'm not pleasing to you..."

"That is absolutely not what I mean to imply," he says, almost laughing as he scoffs away the very idea, "I desire you as much as any sane person would, of course, but to think that you would be made to do such a thing merely to placate me-"

"I want this." you say, surprising even yourself with the strength of your words. You sound even more confident than you feel. But every word the King says to you peels away at the wall of anger and fear that you both had been content to keep between you until now, and you feel strongly about your decision. Still, he pauses a moment longer, as if waiting for you to back away from your claim. And when you don't, he draws you down to him and kisses you deeply. You can already feel his manhood rising between your thighs, but soon enough it's just one more piece of information amidst a whirlwind of sensations.

His strong arms wrap around you and his kiss travels down your neck to your chest. He fumbles awkwardly with the front of your nightshirt, so you remove it for him and he wordlessly returns to sucking gentle love-bites to your skin. Shy and curious moans and sighs surround you both in the dark of your bedchambers as you eagerly explore each other. His hands are rough, but he's trying so dearly to be delicate with you. You're more direct, your fingers tangled in golden hair and your body flush to his, creating an intoxicating friction between you.

Your lower body shifts more firmly against him, grinding his now quite stiff member between your thighs. He growls against your skin, and you feel his fingers drag down your back.

"I... ought to do more for you..."

Ostensibly, he means in terms of intimacy, but you have a strange feeling that he intends this to be a more general statement. You rest your forehead to his and murmur,

"I want you, My King."

"Dimitri." he says as his hands trail down to help remove your underclothes, "Just Dimitri, I beg of you."

And soon enough, he's pressed hot at your slick entrance, and you cling to him as he begins to push inside. He's thick- it hurts just a little, and you think for a moment that he was probably right that you both should have done more to prepare. But now he's filling you inch by inch, stretching you out around his cock, and your mind is numb to every thought except one- this is my husband, my lover.

"Dimitri..." You moan into the evening air around you as he bottoms out deep within you and the tinge of pain begins to fade into pleasure. He gives no reply other than the potent throbbing of his cock, rubbing against your inner walls as you both begin to move. You're surprised by how easy it is to fall into a natural rhythm with him. Your hips sink down onto him as he thrusts up towards you, and each pass sends a jolt up your spine. Dimitri buries his face in the crook of your neck, panting softly, holding onto your hips as you squeeze tightly around him.

Your nails dig along his muscled shoulders as you feel your climax winding tight at your core. He doesn't seem to mind- you're not sure if he even notices. His pace picks up. Briefly, his hands ease their hold on you, as though offering a means of escape. You have no need for such a thing. With a whimpering moan, you press yourself as far down onto his cock as you can until his tip hits your core, then sway forward, grinding his length into you until, with a gasp of his name, your body slacks into his arms.

He whispers your name in turn with something like awe in his voice. With his cock now coated in your climax, Dimitri loosens his restraint, and begins fucking into you in earnest. While your thighs tremble and you can hardly keep yourself supported above him, you manage to meet his gaze and smile warmly, then press a tender kiss to his parted lips. He grits his teeth, and he holds you to him with such strength that you no longer even need to support yourself. Then, he swells, twitches, and his pleasure is spilling out deep inside of you, filling you and warming you through.

You moan happily as you feel his release, then relax your body to lay comfortably against his sturdy frame. He's panting harshly still, but neither of you rush to separate from one another. Once he's just barely composed himself, he lifts your chin and kisses you with a sweetness that you never thought you'd find in a man, let alone the Boar King himself.

Though, once you've eased his spent manhood from you and laid your head against his chest, you hear his heart beating, still just a bit too fast and fluttery. You think for a moment that, yes, your husband is the legendary, ruthless Boar King. Your husband is also Dimitri, a man who looks at you with sincerity that makes your heart ache. A man you don't know well- not yet -but who you find yourself opening to more and more each day.

"I... don't wish to keep you awake terribly long..." he says, with a stilted nervousness to his voice, "but, if you're not overly tired, I- I'd like to... talk for a little while."

You smile a warm, but private smile, then say,

"I'd like that very much, Dimitri."

[thewayshedreamed]

Hello my lovely! Congrats on 800!! 💋 I have, of course, a smutty Elriel prompt for you. 😉 However, I can’t seem to choose between the two. So, how about you surprise me?

5. Just let me finish this/this level and I swear I’ll go down on you until you finish at least three times.

Or

18. If I have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for the next week.

👅🥵

Hi, my dear Tay! As requested, here is some shameless Elriel smut for you!

I went with this prompt (I got the other one for Nessian, too, so I wanted to give this one its own)—

5. Just let me finish this/this level and I swear I’ll go down on you until you finish at least three times.

I also combined this with a smut prompt from @achelois-daughter [thank you so much for sending it in!]— “I’ll think about this when I’m jerking off later.”

This is another one that refused to be contained to a word limit. You and @perseusannabeth broke me, but I'm not even mad about it. 

NSFW. At all.

[too many] words.

----

As much as Elain loved watching her boyfriend play pool against his brother, it was causing her some issues. For one, they were in public, so she was trying to keep from ogling him as shamelessly as usual. The game itself created some challenges considering he was often bent over the table, the muscles of his back rippling beneath his charcoal tee as he squared up his shot. The sight was enough to tempt her to slip her body between him and the table, to let him bend her over it, too.

"I know that look," a dark voice rasped. Elain blinked, realizing she had long since drifted into her vivid daydream.

Azriel stood in front of her, holding the pool stick in a loose grip to keep it from falling over. He tapped it mindlessly a couple of times on the bar floor and used his free hand to slide up one of Elain's thighs. She spread them to give him space, hoping his firm ministrations over her skin wouldn't send her toppling backward off the bar stool. She didn't bother with coy.

"We should go."

Azriel leaned in to nip her ear, his rough chuckle sending gooseflesh down to her toes. Her hands settled on his waist, but she couldn't promise they wouldn't wander the longer he stood there.

"The others will know why we're leaving if we go mid-game."

"That's fine," she challenged, leaning her head toward his affections. "Let's go. Please."

He pulled back with a glint in his eye that told her he was pleased with her manners. She wasn't above begging if that's what he wanted, but he wasn't that easily deterred. Azriel could be such a tease.

"Just let me finish this, and I swear I'll go down on you until you finish," he rasped. "At least three times." Dark promise was laced into his every word.

An embarrassing sound left her throat before he gave her a gentle squeeze and resumed the game. With each passing turn, Elain was dangerously close to walking over and shoving each pool ball into a pocket by hand. Finally, Cassian won, and they were shoving through the bar hand-in-hand toward Azriel's car.

His eyes were impossibly dark once they were inside. He gripped her by the back of the neck to pull her into a rough kiss, muttered a low curse, and turned toward the steering wheel to start driving.

Elain was almost squirming in her seat. The tension between her thighs was enough to snap, and with each passing minute, she had to resist the urge to run her hand below her waistband to take care of the ache herself.

As if reading her mind, Azriel gripped her thigh to bend her knee and prop it against the center console. His fingers trailed down the inside of her thigh, and without taking his eyes off the turn he made, he slid his hand beneath the hem of her skirt. His clever fingers dragged over the thin cloth of her underwear, and she bit her lip when they dipped beneath to stroke her.

"Fuck," he muttered, his dark gaze sliding to her and back to the road. "How long have you been this soaked, El?"

Her head hit the rest, her eyes rolling at the divine pressure he applied. She moaned into the quiet car, fighting the urge to ride Azriel's hand.

"I—" Her breath hitched at his increased pressure. She swallowed to compose herself. "I tried to tell you we should go."

"Baby," he chided. "You didn't tell me you were aching like this."

Her teeth pinched her bottom lip, her eyelids suddenly too heavy to keep open. Elain gave herself over to his soft ministrations while trying not to scandalize anyone driving alongside them. Traffic moved quickly, so her odds of being caught were low. Her luck had never been the best in that department though.

Azriel pulled his hand away slightly, but before she could let out a whimper of protest, his finger hooked the elastic of her underwear. He let it go with a soft pop as he rasped, “Get rid of these for me.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Shoving them down her legs, she pulled them from around her ankles and placed them in his outstretched hand without question. Azriel tucked them into the pocket of his jeans to save her any unintentional scandals the next time someone rode in his car. There was no chance she would remember to grab them upon their arrival at the apartment.

Azriel's hand returned to where she wanted him— no, needed him— the most. He parted her with his fingers, trailing down to tease her opening before pushing two fingers inside her. His eyes never left the road, not even when Elain looped her arm through his and dug her nails into the cotton covering his bicep. The muscles worked beneath her hand in time with his fingers, and something about the added sensation beneath her palm had her leaning her head against his shoulder as he worked her.

Elain's breath hitched when his palm tucked tightly against that sensitive bundle of nerves he'd teased before, and she turned her face to muffle her cries against his arm. Her restraint snapped, her hips rolling shamelessly of their own accord. She was already so close, and they hadn't yet managed the 15-minute drive. Azriel curled his fingers tighter, and the intensity of her pleasure had her free arm jutting out to grip the dash.

His breath was warm against her ear when he nipped the delicate skin, his voice gravelly when he asked, "Who are you holding back for, El? I want to hear those sweet little sounds you make."

With another thrust of her hips, her release taunted a blazing bath down her spine. Every muscle grew tired under the tension, and she gave herself over to it, leaning back in her seat and gripping the headrest with her hand. The other still pressed crescent moons into his skin, her whimper filling the car and her back tightly arched. Gods, she hoped no one was in the neighboring lane, but at least Azriel had the good sense to keep her skirt draped over his hand to avoid exposing her. Not that her blissed out expression left any room for imagination.

"Az," she cried. "Fuck. Please. I—" Did she remember how to construct a complete sentence? Did she care?

The heel of his palm ground harder against her, and she shattered. A string of incoherent sounds left her as she came, only interrupted by Azriel's deep groan at the way she pulsed around his fingers. Her hips rolled until the waves settled, her body trembling when he slowly slid his fingers from her. He brought his fingers to his mouth to clean them before adjusting his hardness roughly in his jeans, moaning shamelessly into the quiet. The sound made Elain's blood heat, and she reached for his lap, eager to bring him even a fraction of the pleasure he'd given her.

To her disappointment, Azriel stopped her and laced their fingers together. They pulled into the parking lot, and he whipped into a parking spot with a palm pressed against the steering wheel. The ignition had barely died when his mouth was on hers once more.

"I need to get you inside," he growled, sliding his tongue alongside hers.

Elain grew impatient and reached for him. Much to her irritation, he stopped her again.

"That wasn't the deal. I'm looking forward to having you come on my tongue." He winked and opened the door. The light of the car cast a glow over them and showed the mischief dancing in his bright hazel eyes. "That one didn't count toward your three, by the way." Elain wasn't sure she could manage three more, but she didn't dare discourage him.

With that, he stood and shut the door behind him. His legs carried him over to her door in only a few long strides before he was pulling her out of her seat and leading her to the door hand-in-hand. His urgency was the only thing that kept her wobbly legs beneath her while he fiddled with his keys and gained entry to the apartment. One quick pivot, and he had her against the wall inside, the planes of his body pressing deliciously into hers.

His kiss was sure, demanding. Elain could hardly keep up with how ravenous he was in seeking her pleasure, especially as his strong hands gripped her hips and guided her toward the table in the entry way. Without a word, Elain slid on top, sending various objects careening to the floor.

Azriel was on his knees before she could blink, his tongue parting her in a long, fluid stroke. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the table with one hand, and the other slid into his hair to allow her some tether to reality. He groaned at the feel of her nails scraping at his scalp, only spurring his eagerness.

Her thighs were perched over his broad shoulders, and his long, skilled fingers pressed into each of her thighs as he worked. He alternated between long sweeps of his tongue and flicks over her sensitive bud, and it only took a few passes to have her throwing her head back as she came again. He tapped her thigh with a finger, but he didn't say a word while he worked her down from her high. She guessed he had plans to move them; further evidenced by his standing, his powerful hands gripping her waist and hauling her body against his on the way to the couch.

He deposited her roughly beneath him, his hands firm and impatient over the curves of her body, her petite breasts. Elain whimpered at the loss of his weight when he eased onto his knees, tearing roughly at her clothes to bare her entirely.

"Fuck," he growled.

She could feel the heat of his gaze over every inch of her body. She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, knowing the lean lines of her body tortured him and tested his self-control. His knowing gaze met hers while he draped her leg over the back of the couch and shifted back to lay on his stomach. To accommodate his height, he straddled the couch; one leg bent behind him and the other knee supporting his weight against the floor. Elain draped her other leg over his shoulder before he got the chance, filling his expression with sheer determination as he gripped her thighs and pulled her roughly against his face.

His grip loosened on the thigh draped over the couch, and his knuckles dragged delicately along the back in a teasing path. Elain keened at the contrast of his delicate fingers and the strong hold of his other hand, sending her in search of anything to hold onto as he teased her. While she appreciated the delay to give her body time to recover from two earth-tilting orgasms, impatience crept over her skin like a faint breeze. How Azriel managed to kindle both in her simultaneously, she would never understand. She would never complain, either.

Like a man starved, Azriel dragged his tongue in slow torment up her center and back down to her opening. The broad pad of his thumb pressed against her clit, earning a choked cry from deep in her throat. That pressure continued in slow, concentric circles while his tongue worshipped her in time. Elain dissolved into incoherent cries, chopped words and curses, and futile attempts to roll her hips. Azriel's other hand never let up its hold, and it was enough to keep her lower body resolutely in place.

All it took to send her over the proverbial edge was the slide of his tongue against her opening, the way he curved it just inside to press against the textured skin of her inner walls. Elain bowed under the force of her release, crying out to the gods as if it was enough to worship them through the echoes against the walls.

Elain relaxed the tension in the muscles of her back, noting the light sheen of sweat erupting over her body. Azriel applied grounding pressure to her clit while she panted, the fingers of his other hand tapping her thigh. Her eyes snapped open to see his eyes on her, and she tried to communicate with her eyes that there was no way she could manage another change in location. That was until she realized the motion of his fingers differed slightly from before, a gentle double tap against her skin compared to a single tap when she came atop the entryway table. The mischief in his eyes confirmed her suspicion and sent a spark of incredulity down her spine.

The cocky bastard was counting*.*

Elain wanted to be annoyed at his presumption, but who was she kidding? Azriel played her body with the skill of a musical prodigy. He knew exactly what he did to her and how often. The signals of her pleasure were imprinted within the steel trap of his mind, and all she could muster was gratitude for it.

She offered a sleepy, sated smile, running her stiff fingers through his dark hair. The kisses he pressed to her inner thighs were gentle, even though she noticed how his hips ground against the couch cushion. She cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb over his elegant cheekbone.

"You're too good to me," she rasped, her breath hitching when his mouth pressed against her center.

Azriel grunted his approval. "I'm not done with you yet, baby."

Elain drew her bottom lip between her teeth and dropped her head against the couch. "Let me take care of you, too," she pleaded, "before you fuck me boneless."

His dark chuckle made her skin erupt in gooseflesh, and she knew before he said a word that he would refuse her.

"I'm a man of my word." Why did she bother arguing with him? "The last thing I want you to worry about is me, alright?" Another kiss to her core, a flick of his tongue over her clit. "I'll think about this, about you, when I'm jerking off later."

With that, he released his grip on her thigh in favor of pinning her open for him with his other hand. His attention returned to her core, sending her resolve, her common sense, any principle out the window with her pride. She reached over her head to grip the cushion along its seam against the arm of the couch, fighting and failing to keep her hips still in the process.

Azriel wasn't deterred by her undulations. His lips shifted their attention to her sensitive— too sensitive— bud, massaging it with the lightest suction to avoid overstimulating her. His finger slipped into her without resistance, and he halted his advance to pull back and insert a second finger alongside it.

The pressure was divine, the stretch around his fingers— perfect. Elain moaned shamelessly, uncaring that her hips were frantic or that she was covered in that fine layer of sweat from her scalp to the tips of her curled toes. He had reduced her to a rolling, begging mess. The edge of release burned through her tired muscles, screamed against the building tension. How much pleasure could she afford before her body gave up entirely?

Az moaned at her growing wetness, growled at the withering mess she was. Despite the guttural reaction he had to her arousal, his lips remained gentle while he crooked his talented fingers at the perfect angle. Elain's thighs trembled under the force of her climax. Her voice was little more than a sob when she called out his name among other, barely coherent, words of praise. He eased her down from the pleasure and braced her with a hand against her lower abdomen to ease his fingers out of her.

With her eyes screwed shut, chest rising and falling in desperation, she didn't see Azriel shift onto the couch close to her. With tender fingers, he eased her iron grip from the edge of the cushions so that he could lift her into his lap. He didn't bother to tap a rhythm against her skin that time. There was no denying how hard she'd come.

Exhaustion lived in every nook of her body, leaving her limp against him the second her head hit his shoulder. She could feel his hardness against her backside, but he held her as if it didn't exist at all, petting her hair away from her face. His lips were soft against her forehead, her temple, her cheek before he stood and carried her to the bedroom, laying her atop the cool sheets.

"Sleep, baby," he murmured.

Elain barely heard the order before she followed it, tumbling into deep, contented oblivion.

----

[piecksz]

another one. | (m)

pairings: connie springer x fem!reader x jean kirstein

warnings: nsfw, dub con, drunk sex, creampie, double penetration, public sex, possessive dominance, loss of virginity, anal sex, vaginal sex, fingering, slight humiliation, explicit language

words: 2.3k

summary: connie and jean take you out to a club as a change of scenery for you, but your careless fun quickly turns into a drunk hookup with your two best friends.

a/n: bear with me bc writing a threesome is hard as fuck but this has been sitting half-finished in my drafts for like two weeks and i needed it OUT!!

Jean’s back against the club’s door had the three of you stumbling out into the crisp air of fast approaching nightfall. The cold moved in only to meet your skin, made warm by the heat of your blood, the reaction to endless liquor you’d slugged until the bitter liquid began tasting like water.

You could feel the air moving through your lungs, squeaky and worrisome, as your jocund thoughts turned into dizzy confusion while Connie and Jean pressed you against the flat concrete of the wall. It only took one glance at Connie’s face, part desire, part mischief, to fully comprehend the situation you’d found yourself in.

Your soft cry was inundated with perverted laughter as Connie’s quick fingers hooked around the hem of your fitted dress, hoisting the fabric until it cinched around the bend of your hips. The frigid air was unforgiving as it lapped at the inside of your thighs, petting the exposed skin where Jean and Connie’s hands hadn’t touched.

“Come on, Y/N. Spread wide for us,” Connie soothed, mischievous hazel eyes polished with tangible lust, and once his silken lips attached to the hot stretch of your neck, you relinquished what little resistance you had and allowed your best friends to feel every curve and recess along your body.

Connie grinned lazily, grazing the tips of his fingers over the lace material that hugged the delicate skin between your legs. You parted them only slightly in response, the proximity of either men on your side hardly allowing you enough mobility. Connie’s movement was deliberate as he slid lithe fingers into your underwear, his touch skimming over your folds before dipping a finger between your slit to rub gently at your aching clit.

“God she’s so wet.” His voice was breathy as his trace traveled lower until his fingertip teased the outline of your cunt’s orifice.

“Yeah? You’re wet for us? What have you been thinking about, huh?” Jean questioned, his honeyed voice beckoning just below a whisper.

His mouth was warm against the taut side of your throat, drawing the tender skin between his teeth and sucking harshly, as though it was his intent to paint you with deep marks that would serve as a reminder that he’d been there. His hands moved swiftly in your periphery, sliding over the metal of his belt and unfastening it before impatiently tugging his cock out from the top of his black briefs.

Jean was already hard when he took himself in his palm, his swollen tip glossed with the glassy sheen of precum. He began working against his rigid length, slowly at first while he kneaded away the discomfort, and then his pace picked up until he was fucking the curve of his hand, lips sucking mildly at the bruised spots on your neck.

Your mind had been swimming since you three were on the dance floor, and you were moving wantonly with Connie and Jean as their tipsy hands roamed over your body, feeling you through the figure-hugging material of your dress.

You hadn’t been able to process what was happening fast enough, all you had been able to understand was that it felt nice, and your fog had caused you to forget what had happened in between.

Now your thoughts were inchoate as your brain tried to interpret what it could from your foggy vision, but seeing your friends bare and confident in their indecency didn’t help your disarray at all.

Your eyes drifted down to Jean’s hand, watching with parted lips while he flicked his wrist against his throbbing erection, and not that you’d previously given much thought to it, but he was bigger than you’d expected.

His skin was stretched tight over the expanse of his cock, thick and ribbed with veins, as he jerked himself off and moved in unrelenting strokes. Suddenly, your cheeks were aglow with embarrassment by your own drunk internal monologue.

Has he been hiding that in his pants the whole time?

“You’ve done a good job playing innocent, Y/N,” Jean teased, resting a sweaty palm at the base of your neck.

His grip was loose, but his partial strength was still enough to keep you constrained to the wall. His caress followed his stare and descended to your chest, palming over your breast before his fingers hooked around the fabric of your dress and your bra, pulling both down together to free a hardened nipple.

Your gasp bloomed as a pathetic whine that only intensified once Jean compromised his height, bending down to sweep his wet tongue over the stiff bead of your breast.

“You haven’t lost your virginity yet, have you?” Connie questioned, two fingers now perforating your tight hole.

You swallowed a desperate cry, your body writhing with the dual sensation of Connie’s fingers and Jean’s tongue. “No, not yet.”

Connie hummed. “Well, who better to lose it to than your best friends?”

Jean released your nipple from between his teeth to nod in concert. “Yeah, we’ll take care of you. Just relax.”

Your hands eased your tentative grasp on their forearms and traveled upwards so you could wrap your arms around their shoulders.

In one gentle pull you drew them in closer, sticky skin touching and sultry sighs marrying together, then you three locked eyes only for a moment, just long enough to reinforce the trust you held in them, and you nodded in submission.

“That’s it, good girl,” Connie praised, sliding his fingers into you once again, curling his digits against your tense walls. He flattened the heel of his palm against your clit, stimulating the swell of your cunt with the rhythmic twisting of his wrist.

Your skin began to tingle with a frenzy of static at the reception of your first orgasm, and the pit of your stomach gave host to the overwhelming buzz of ecstasy. Your breathing grew shallow and you shut your eyes with so much intensity that white dots flickered against the darkness of your lids.

“Please—” You begged to neither of them in particular, but your embrace on both of your friends tightened, and then your orgasm came as a technicolor blaze against your closed eyes.

Connie and Jean’s shifted to provide more support around your waist as your body went lax in their arms, and your unrestrained cry echoed slightly in the unguarded space of the alleyway.

“Fuck, you’re messy,” Connie remarked and withdrew his hand from between your thighs, an impish smile rippling across his languid expression, then he showed Jean the way your essence stretched into thin strings between his fingers whenever he spread them.

The two exchanged an unspoken counsel as though they both stumbled across the idea of how exciting it would be to watch you taste yourself off of Connie’s fingers, but then they waived their suggestion, figuring you weren’t yet ready to do something so obscene.

“Please, I need you guys so bad right now,” you pleaded once your rapture subsided, unaware of the vulgar fantasies that were brewing in your friends’ heads.

Jean’s hands toured over your partially bare chest to your sweaty thighs where Connie’s touch still lingered. “You want us to fuck you? How bad?”

“Badly, Jean. Please.” You looked at him from behind eyelashes damp with tears, and his eyebrows drew upwards in sympathy at the sight of you so tortured and desperate.

Connie quickly began unfastening the buttons of his pants, even with a slick grip. “You think you can take both of us at the same time?”

“Yes, please, just fuck me.” You exhaled heavily, quivering fingers trying to move the fabric of your underwear to the side, and once Jean detected your struggle, he dipped a careful hand between your legs to do it for you.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he responded to your plea, then he bent down to wrap a long arm around the back of your knee.

He brought your leg up to his side, allocating your remaining weight onto your other foot, and your insobriety had you teetering for balance before Jean’s other arm enclosed around your waist and Connie’s palms rested on your backside to hold you up.

Jean’s cock entered you first, slowly stretching out your undefiled hole until your hips met his pelvis. He didn’t move while he gauged your expression, eyes wound tightly in discomfort and lips tightened to keep yourself from complaining about the soreness while you tried to adjust to the foreign experience.

“You okay?” Jean asked through a heavy grunt, and he sighed in relief when you nodded and began undulating your hips back and forth gently against the stiffness of his length.

“I’m okay,” you murmured through a subtle grimace.

“Are you sure?” Connie added over your shoulder, sensing the way your muscles tensed. “Loosen up, it’ll hurt more if you tighten up like that.”

Your ears began to smolder with heat at your lack of experience. Jean and Connie now unexpectedly treating you as if you were fragile made you lean forward until your head rested shyly against Jean’s shoulder. “I said I’m fine,” you stressed.

Connie nodded, taking your words for what they were, and his hands reassuringly stroked the skin of your ass before he sunk himself into you from behind, eliciting a quiet whimper from your trembling lips.

The duo gave you a few generous seconds for you to attune yourself to their size, and then they began to move, rocking their hips upward into you with even-paced movement until your body was oscillating with the force of each thrust.

Your lightheaded whimpers provoked Jean and Connie, and each fraught cry resulted in the quickening of their tempo.

“Look at you taking our cocks so well,” Connie praised, his heavy breath fanning over the curve of your neck. “You haven’t been whoring around without telling us, have you Y/N?”

You shook your head, inhaling deeply as you dragged the thick sex-soiled air into your overworking lungs.

“I hope not,” Jean said in response through gruff moans. “You’re our girl right?” He looked down to spectate as his cock disappeared into your cunt and receded, glazed in a gossamer layer of your arousal, over and over again. “Tell us no one got to touch you before we did.”

Your confession came as a quiet moan which made Connie dig his hot fingertips into the pert curve of your ass.

“Say it, Y/N.”

“No one’s—No one’s touched me before.” Tears brimmed your eyes, and you felt your clench low, both holes pursing around the thick girths of your friends’ cocks. “I’m yours.”

“Again,” Connie urged as he pressed chaste kisses to the curve of your ear and teased the bone of your jawline with his tongue.

“I’m yours. I promise, I’m all yours.” Your voice hit a higher register as the throaty cry left your mouth, and desire perfumed the little space between all three bodies that continued rising to a place of release.

Jean drove his cock into you, his own eyes closed as he threw his head back and savored the overwhelming sensation, penetrating deeper each time until the slick sound of slippery skin became audible.

“Such a good girl,” he coaxed, his voice deep and rich as his throat bobbed with each word. “That’s right, your pretty holes are all ours.”

“You’re lucky. Getting fucked by two cocks for your first time,” Connie hissed through gritted teeth. “You should be thanking us, don’t you think?”

You swallow thickly. “Th—Thank you.”

“For what?” Jean slurred, amber eyes holding your lethargic gaze.

“Thank you, for fucking me. It feels so fucking good.”

You held them closer around their shoulders, your leg hugging Jean’s waist while the three of you coalesced and both of them verged on their consummation.

You grew motionless between both bodies, not from unease, but from the satisfaction of being pampered by your two best friends.

Jean’s hips grew still first as pleasure flowed through his cock in a series of twitches, and then his wave peaked. He pushed up into you one last time and released, his hot cum painting your walls in sticky white as he held back a deep groan you knew he wanted to liberate.

Connie’s orgasm was a lot less contrived, failing to hamper the pitchy moans that cracked through his throat as his balls tightened. He dug his fingers into your ass as his cock jerked with each spurt, filling you up and unlading every last drop of cum until he grew soft in your used hole.

When the two withdrew from your entrances, you caught a glimpse of the way their cocks glistened with their own milky essence in the dim orange light of the alleyway.

Jean freed your leg from the hook he had around your knee, and once you returned both feet to the ground you stumbled slightly before stabilizing yourself with the hand Connie reached out to steady you with.

“How are we gonna get home?” you muttered, now realizing that none of you were coherent enough to find your way back home on the subway like you’d done in order to get to the club.

You adjusted your underwear and reshaped your dress, pouting at the damp and unpleasant feeling between your legs, and you kept your thighs together in fear that your cum-filled holes would begin to leak.

Although the night was still young, you could tell that your friends were spent just the same.

Connie squinted at the bright light of his phone in the darkness of the back-street as he tucked himself back into his pants and attempted to button them back up with one hand.

“Nearest Uber is like, seven minutes,” he informed you two, his quick tapping against the screen meaning he was likely requesting the ride without either you or Jean confirming.

You hummed, making sure you looked presentable before beginning to shuffle towards the street while your friends followed your lead in silence, and you hoped that once you were back at your dorm and sober, the night’s events would be forgotten in the midst of your drunken stupor.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Veritaserum Prompt Fic (Part 11)

Azkaban wasn't great.

It was pretty fucking awful, if Draco was being honest. He kept himself as far back from the bars of the cell as he could, the closer he got, the worse it was when a dementor drifted past.

Maybe the Department of Mysteries was a better alternative to Azkaban. At least when he was trapped there he had the refuge of sleep. Here, even his dreams were tortured; the dementors' presence warped the images of Harry and the cottage, destroying the memories over and over in increasingly horrifying ways.

On the other hand, there was a small slit of a window that let in sunlight. He curled himself into a ball as close to the sunlight as he could and tried to think of his time on the beach, of the sun and the sand, of Harry's warm smile and his hair slipping through his fingers. As long as he focused really hard on it, as long as he didn't fall asleep, he could hold onto a few pieces of beauty at a time.

Draco wasn't sure how long he'd been there when a silver fox patronus came racing through, so bright that the dementors were chased off and Draco could breathe again.

The fox moved through the bars and placed itself between Draco and the door and he couldn't help but where it had come from. The only person he could imagine sending a patronus to him was Harry but everyone knew that Harry Potter's patronus was a stag.

And yet, "I'm getting you out," Harry's voice said through the patronus and Draco's heart stuttered.

He waited for the fox to vanish but the light didn't waver, Harry was still protecting him it seemed, keeping the dementors at bay.

(Read more below the cut)

Nothing changed for six days.

The warden came by multiple times to try to banish the patronus but the fox remained stubbornly at Draco's side. It all felt a bit surreal but Draco certainly wasn't going to complain.

After six days, the reporters started coming. "Mr. Malfoy, I work for the Daily Prophet," the first witch who arrived informed him, "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"I haven't got much else on at the moment," he attempted. "But I'm surprised they let you in."

"Then you underestimate how much influence Harry Potter really has."

"Harry wanted you to come here?" he asked, heart beating a little faster.

She straightened her shoulders and took out her notebook and quill, "Mr. Potter is saying that everything printed about you after your return to Azkaban is a lie. What do you say?"

"I don't know," he replied, "What's been said? I haven't gotten any papers in here, as you might expect."

The witch leaned closer to the bars, as though she was telling him some sort of secret, "He said that you didn't slip him a love potion, you didn't have him under any sort of spell, there was nothing nefarious at play."

"That's correct." But he couldn't imagine that she would believe him, even if he had been using a spell or a potion he would have said the same thing.

Her brow furrowed, "He said you were living on a secluded island before you turned yourself in and that you're in love."

"Yes," he affirmed softly.

"Then why did you leave?"

He sighed, "Because if anyone deserved to live in the wizarding world, it's the person who saved it."

She nodded, "Do you have any idea what's happening in the wizarding world right now?"

"No," he replied flatly, "They don't really let us out to see the world."

"So you're saying that this wasn't all part of some elaborate plan?"

"Sorry, what's going on?" he asked, feeling off kilter and a bit frustrated. "What plan?"

The woman stared at him for a long moment, "Harry Potter seems to be trying to bring the Ministry to its knees," she said. "He started by talking about you, then by telling the story of his godfather's wrongful conviction, and continued to tell story after story about people who've been falsely accused and convicted."

Draco felt like his eyebrows must be reaching his hairline by this point. "No," he shook his head, "No, I had no idea."

"What about the reports on ministry officials?" she asked, ignoring his response and pressing on to the next question. "Your father had a variety of connections, surely you gave him at least some of information about the officials he's blowing in."

He shook his head again, "No, I had nothing to do with that." He chuckled humorlessly, "I was raised to keep secrets until the opportune moment and to use them to apply pressure to get what I wanted."

She hummed, "It seems to me that Mr. Potter is doing exactly that."

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

The reporters continued coming. He had multiple visits a day over the next three days and every reporter asked similar questions.

Draco tried to understand what was happening in the wizarding world from the interviews he did, but it was hard to believe that there could be protests and rallies at the Ministry demanding his freedom.

He'd gone to sleep the third night, Harry's fox curled up on the bottom of the flimsy pad, watching the door, only to be awoken by his cell door banging open.

"Up Malfoy," the human guard who worked overnights said.

He startled, sitting up and curving inward to protect himself. "What?"

"Get up," the man barked.

The patronus placed itself between Draco and the other man and Draco's heart started to beat to rapidly.

"Now," he said, grabbing Draco's arm and dragging him out of bed.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked as the man shoved him down the hall and out toward the main entrance.

"Your time is up," the man said, thrusting a dirty shoe into Draco's hands.

Before he could ask anything else, he was being ripped through time and space, and all he could imagine was ending up somewhere even worse. They were probably going to kill him and-

His feet hit the groan and he barely had time to register sand under his feet before arms were wrapped around him, pulling him in and holding him close. The sound of waves crashing to the shore, the scent of the salt water in the air mixed with the comforting scent of Harry's body. He sagged forward, a sob escaping his throat.

"Draco," Harry murmured, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him all over, covering his cheeks, his nose, his lips, his chin, even his eyelids. "Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?" he asked.

He shook his head but couldn't get any words out.

"Come on," Harry whispered, rubbing his hands along Draco's arms, "you're shaking. Let's go inside."

Harry led him by the hand up the beach and into the little cottage, the fire was lit in the hearth and there were two cups of tea sitting on the coffee table, a plate of ginger biscuits in between.

"Do you want to get changed?" Harry asked.

"I-" Draco started before breaking off, "Sorry. What's happening? Harry, how am I here? The guard just gave me this stupid shoe and I don't-"

"The Ministry signed your release paperwork," Harry said. "They wouldn't let me come to get you, they aren't very pleased with me at the moment," he added. "I'm sort of banned from any official Ministry buildings now," he said, sounding oddly pleased.

"What happened?"

Harry looked at him longingly, "Later?" he begged. "Can I just-" he broke off stepping closer and crowding him against the wall, kissing him and crushing their bodies together. Holding him like he didn't care that Draco was smelly and hadn't been allowed to shower since arriving at Azkaban.

"Harry," he groaned, tilting his head back as Harry pressed kisses along his jaw and neck.

"Hmm?"

His fingers tugged Harry's hair until he tipped his head up far enough that he could kiss him again for a long moment. "Am I allowed to stay here?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry breathed, nodding his head, their noses brushing against each other's. "You can go anywhere, do anything," he added. "We're free."

Draco shuddered as the words washed over him, the relief cool and bright. "Okay," he said. "First things first. I need a shower," he said.

Harry groaned, "Why does that have to be the first thing?"

He laughed, "I'm filthy."

"I don't care," he muttered petulantly.

"Come with me," Draco invited.

Harry pulled back far enough to wiggle his eyebrows, "I'll do my best."

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

Later, after they'd showered off all of the dirt and grime, erasing all physical evidence of the week and a half they'd spent apart. After Harry had taken Draco apart; kissing him and touching him, healing all of the darkness that the prison had left seeped in his bones. After they'd eaten dinner curled up on the sofa together and drunk the tea he'd made and ate far too many biscuits. After they'd stumbled together through the house and crawled into bed. After Harry had laid him bare once more and kissed every inch of him, as though Draco was something treasured, something precious. Draco began to cry again.

"Hey," Harry whispered, moving back to the top of the bed where he kissed away Draco's tears, "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

He grabbed his shoulders and pulled his body down on top of him, allowing the familiar, welcome weight of his body to ground him. "I love you," he whispered through all of the emotions swamping him.

"I love you, too," Harry murmured, stroking his hair back and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "So much."

"Why?" Draco asked.

"Why do I love you?" he asked, sounding surprised by the questions.

Shaking his head he replied, "Why did the Ministry let me go? Why would they do that?"

Harry sighed and nuzzled into Draco's neck, "Because I know their secrets."

"What?"

He shrugged, "I did some digging when I had access to the Department of Mysteries information," he said in between kisses pressed to his neck, "so I just started exposing corruption that I'd found. People wanted to listen to what I had to say so I told them. Then people started protesting and here we are."

"So you blackmailed the Ministry into releasing me?"

Harry hummed, "Not really. I just helped the Ministry to see the error of their ways and be held accountable for the ways they've failed the people they were supposed to protect and serve."

"I can't believe you."

"Hmm?" Harry hummed, brushing his nose over Draco's collarbone.

"I can't believe you did that," he said. "How dare you have the audacity to love me that much?"

"Me?" Harry gasped, jerking up onto his elbows and looking at Draco like he was actually offended by Draco's words. "How dare I? What about you?" he exclaimed. "Draco you loved me so much that you were willing to go to prison for the rest of your life!"

"But you deserve to be loved that much," he protested.

"So do you!" Harry sat up, straddling his hips and glaring down at him. "I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you," he added. "If you'll let me."

He cupped Harry's cheek in his palm, "I'll let you. I haven't got another brave bone in my body."

"Good," Harry said. "Because I'm sick to death of people and their invasive questions. And if I never have to talk to a member of the press again it will be too soon. And I'm tired of having to protect myself from the ministry and playing their games," he grumbled.

He buried his face in Draco's neck again and Draco let his fingers stroke through Harry's still damp curls, heedless of the way it would make them frizzy.

"I hate everyone who isn't you," Harry mumbled.

"Well not everyone, I hope," Draco replied as he rubbed a lock of hair between his fingers, "I went through a lot of trouble to make it possible for you to be with your friends and family whenever you want," he teased.

Harry huffed a laugh, "It's ridiculous that you're making a joke about this right now. I have never been more terrified in my life."

"Oh come on," Draco said, "You literally died."

"I had a panic attack," Harry said, "When I thought I'd never see you again. I walked straight to my death without a backward glance." He pressed impossibly closer, "When I tell you I've never been more terrified in my life, I mean it."

"Harry," he murmured, awestruck.

The other man yawned and snuggled in. "But it's fine now," he said. "You're here and I'm here, and the Ministry is burning."

"Do we need to go back?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head, "Hermione's taking care of it. She has better legal avenues and it's honestly more her thing than mine anyway."

"We can stay here for a while, then?"

"In bed?" Harry asked sleepily.

He chuckled, "On the island," he clarified.

Harry nodded, "as long as you want. Everything's on fire in Wizarding London anyway, it's a complete shit show. They wouldn't give us a moment's peace."

"I'd like a little peace," Draco replied.

He felt Harry's smile against his shoulder, "A little peace," he echoed. "A little happiness."

"More than a little, if we're lucky."

Harry nodded, "We're due for a bit of luck, aren't we?"

He pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead, "I don't need luck when I've got you."

And no matter what life threw at them, they knew how to weather the storm; clinging to one another and the life they built on their love.

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

fin. I'm having a hard time letting go of this one but I can't look at it for another moment. <3 Thanks for joining me for the adventure of writing this one.

(Part 10)

[ameliajessicawilliamspond]

There he was.

Hung on a wall like a damn display.

Luke Skywalker, the ultimate prize.

.

.

Luke had gone out on a mission alone which always worried Din. Sometimes he would run a little late but he always came back in one piece, most of the time without a scratch on him. The more time Din spent around the Jedi, the more real this power, this Force, of the Jedi became.

He wondered how strong Grogu would become...

This mission was supposed to be two days. Maximum. Luke had laughed and said he'd be home by dinner.

That was two weeks ago.

Which was concerning on its own. But then, the wanted posters on Luke began to dissapate. Han hoped it was because they decided to stop trying, but Din knew better. The only reason a bounty would be taken down is if...if the bounty was fulfilled.

Din followed Luke's trail and realized, unfortunately, he was right. The Jedi was taken to Kessal.

"Did they kill him?" Din asked his informant, voice even, being careful not to portray the fear coursing through him.

"No." The woman said, and Din's heart flipped. "Not yet." She continued. Din leaned forward. "The bounty hunter brought the jedi to Moris Asz, a Crime Boss amongst spice traders. He was to deliver the jedi to Mos Gideon. Word is he decided the jedi was too valuable to waste on Gideon's "experiments", too big a prize to dispose of. Word around here is he has the jedi strung up somewhere on display. A testamony to his power."

Din had a hard time believing that. He had seen Luke hurt in ways thst would keep even the strongest being down and still win an entire battle. There was no way some gangster had him somewhere -alive and awake- without already having been destroyed.

Still, the image that invaded his mind terrified him. Luke Skywalker, strung up somewhere like a morose art piece, bleeding, dying, scared---

No. No, he wouldn't dwell on it. He couldn't. Din shoved the invasive thought from his mind.

The informant sent him Moris Asz's location, a palace in the middle of Kessel surrounded by spice mining camps.

Not a problem for a Mandalorian.

Din spotted a grouping of droids. Reprogrammed battle droids from the Clone War, turned into bodyguards.

Din shot his whistling bird, taking down two at once. He hopped the fence, shoving his way past two more, taking one out with his blaster, the other with his fist.

He turned down a hall. Two humanoids, three droids. The droids fired and the Mandalorian ducked behind a wall, thumping his arm against it. The gaurds called to the droids to stop firing and ran forward, hoping to find an injured intruder. Din leapt up, grabbing one bodyguard by the neck and turning him around, using him as human shield. The other gaurd hesitated, swearing under his breath. Din used the hesitation to shove the meat shield at the other gaurd, knocking them both into the wall.

Turning his attention to the droids, Din pulled out the Beskaar staff, knocking the blasters from their slow metal hands, then piercing through their circuitry.

Behind him, Din heard shuffling. Din stood stock still as the shuffling became a full run. The gaurds behind him had woken up. Din settled into his stance, still facing away from them.

Closer.

Closer.

Now.

Din swung, managing to brain one, and in one quick motion, pierce the other's heart. They both fell, dead.

Spinning on his heels, he saw the door they had been outside of. Two giant, carved wooden doors that seemed to lead to some grand hall.

That would be a good display room, Din thiught grimly.

Din shoved the doors open and sure enough, there he was, Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, hanging on the back wall, two lights pointing to illumate him, frozen in Carbonite.

Luke indeed looked like a morose painting. His head was raised, mouth slightly ajar. His left hand outstretched, as if he was about to use his power, -or ask whoever was doing this to stop- his eyes, though grey and flat thanks to the carbonite, were blown wide open.

"Kriff." Din swore. Luke would most definitely be dealing with carbonite induced blindness and would be coughing up carbonite for at least a week thanks to whoever did this to him without preparing him correctly.

Din stepped forward, testing for any trip wires. Tentatively, he reached out to touch the carbonite, just to see if there was any trap. But his hand touched Luke's outstretched fingers and...

oh...

He was so still, so cold, like a statue. The little control Din had over himself, his determination to make sure he saw this as just another mission to spare his sanity shattered like glass.

"Oh, Luke..." Din slid his hand fully into Luke's unmoving one. His other hand touched Luke's face, tracing his jaw as he studied the unmoving jedi. This close Din could see it; the terror Luke was frozen in. "What did they do to you?"

He pulled himself from his thoughts, knowing time was certainly of the essence now that he had wasted valuable time. Din dashed around to the side of the box and typed in the release code. Luke began to glow red as the Carbonite melted away. Din looked around again, waiting for the sound of approaching gaurds. Why hadn't anyone else shown up yet?

Luke fell from the device like a pile of bricks. Din rushed forward, catching him just in time, but the jedi shoved him away. Confused, the Mandalorian tried to grab him again but Luke pitched forward, shoving him again before vomiting up grey and Din recognized it as the Carbonite that had entered his mouth coming back up with a vengeance.

Luke trembled above the pile of grey bile below him. He pushed himself back on his knees, his arms wrapping around himself as he desperately tried to look around the room with no success. "I can't see...Why...why can't I see?" Luke begged the air.

Din reached out tentatively. "Luke--"

Luke shot himself backwards at the touch with a rasped "no" and Din pulled his hand away like he had been burned. "Who are you?" Luke asked through chattering teeth. "What happened to me?" He asked.

"You were frozen in Carbonite." Din answered honestly.

Luke's demeanor shattered. Whatever he had left of that jedi mask crumbled before the Mandalorian's eyes. "No, no no no no, I'm not...I can't be...He...He won. He got me. It's over I-I'm gunna be forced to Turn or He's going to kill me. I can't turn to the Dark Side! Please no--no, Vader please-!" Luke panicked, curling into himself.

Din didn't know how to respond, he had no idea what Luke was talking about, trapped in some memory from his past. Brain fog and jumbled memories, another side effect of Carbonite Sickness. He knew he had to calm the jedi down fast before someone heard them. "Luke, Luke listen to me. The war is over, Vader is gone. I'm Din Djarin, I'm here to rescue you."

Luke's head shot up, turning to his general direction. "Din..." He whispered, trying to make sense of his jumbled mind. "Why can't I feel you?" He asked, and Din's heart skipped.

The Beskar made him a nearly blank space in the Force. Luke couldn't sense him. Din removed his glove, grabbing Luke's hand, causing the jedi to gasp, his trembling grip tightening around Din's hand like a lifeline.

"I'm so cold..." He whimpered, curling further into himself. Din was reminded of the story Luke had told him about his time on Hoth and how much he hated the cold. With one hand he pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around the jedi. Luke pulled the matierial tight around him.

"Come on." Din said, as gently as he could. They couldn't wait here any longer, it had been too long since someone had come to find them and that was concerning. Surely someone should have come for them by now...

Din pulled Luke to his feet, never letting go of his hand. "Can you walk?" Luke shuffled from one foot to the other, testing it himself before stiffly nodding. Din squeezed his hand. "Good. Come on."

They got down two halls without a soul in sight. Din was beginning to hope that the universe had finally given him a break.

He should have known better.

Because standing there at the end of the third hallway with a smirk, surrounded by two bounty hunters and a half dozen battle droids, was Moris Asz, arms folded, Luke's lightsaber hanging off his hip. Din yanked Luke behind his back, his free hand hovering over the Dark Saber.

"Oh, little Jedi, that's not where you're supposed to be." the gangster mocked. Luke pushed in closer against Din's back.

"This bounty has already been fulfilled." the Twi'lek bounty hunter mocked.

"He's coming with me." Din responed blankly.

"No, he's really not." Moris Asz said.

The jedi let out a yelp and Din felt Luke's hand ripped from his own. Din spun, Dark Saber ignited. Luke was being held, one hand curled tightly in his golden hair, the other arm wrapped around his throat, by another bounty hunter, the cloak a discarded heap on the ground beneath his feet. Din cursed himself for not hearing the Rodian approach.

"Well well, the Mand'alor himself come to rescue his precious little jedi. My my, how the mighty Mandalorians have fallen." The gangster mocked. Din spun, saber aimed at the gangster's throat, but he simply waved him off. "Don't bother with the pagentries, Mand'alor. Every gun in this room is trained on his little blond head. You so much as flinch, and he's gone. You wouldn't want that, would you, your Majesty?"

Din turned back to Luke, who was struggling against the arms holding him. Din had no idea what to do, how he would save the jedi.

Luke's sightless eyes found Din's helmet and something in them flashed.

Oh.

Oh....

Din shut the Dark Saber off and put his hands in the air.

"Good boy. " the Human bounty hunter next to Moris mocked.

"Kick that over here." the gangster said and Din obliged, kicking the Dark Saber over to him. Moris Asz picked it up to examine it before turning his attention back to Din. "Kneel."

Din hesitated, and the Rodian's grip tightened in Luke's hair, pulling an involuntary whine from the shivering jedi and Din dropped to his knees.

Luke is handed off to the Human bounty hunter and forced to kneel next to Moris Asz as well.

"You are going back on my wall, little jedi. You're too pretty a decoration. Although," he said as he grabbed Luke by the jaw and forced his head up, tilting the jedi's face from one side to the other. "You look real pretty like this too." Luke's eyes wandered, failing to find the man's eyes. Moris Asz released Luke's jaw, the jedi's head falling to his chest, exhausted. "This is the mighty jedi everyone was so scared of?" He waved his hand in front of Luke's face with no response. "Blind as a bat. Pathetic."

Din laughed.

Every head turned to him.

Din looked up, waving his hand in a dismissive way. "Sorry, sorry, continue."

Everyone in the room looked around at each other.

Moris Asz crossed his arms, seemingly growing bigger with rage. "What's so funny?" He demanded.

"Sorry, it's just...you really don't know who you captured, do you?" Din asked.

The gangster looked around the room, bouncing on his heels. No one seemed to know what the Mandalorian was talking about. "What do you mean?" Moris Asz asked.

Din shrugged. "It's just that...sorry, you really don't know?"

The gangster huffed in frustration.

"Spit it out!" The Rodian demanded.

"Jedi don't need their eyes to see."

The room barely had time to process what the Mandalorian had meant before Luke's hand was shooting forward, pulling the lightsaber off the gangster's belt with the Force. Without so much as standing or turning around, Luke ignited the blade into the human bounty hunter behind him who was reaching for his blaster. Luke rose, the bounty hunter still choking around the intrusion in his chest. Luke turned, pulling the saber from his chest and he slumped over. Luke turned to face the rest of the room. He tilted his head slightly.

"SHOOT HIM!" Moris Asz screamed.

Every blaster went off at once and not one came even close to touching the Jedi or the Mandalorian. Four bounced off his blade dead center of four of the droids circuit boards. He reached out and crushed another droid with the Force, throwing the discarded machine into another droid, crushing it as well. He sprang from his spot, attacking the Rodian bounty hunter that had moved his blaster from Luke to Din, cutting off the hand holding the weapon first, before stabbing him in the chest. The Twi'lek bounty hunter next to him dropped his weapon, hands in the air. Luke lowered the lightsaber and lifted his hand towards the man. With a little wave, he muttered "sleep." The Twi'lek crumpled to the floor.

Luke made his way back to stand before his captor, holding the lightsaber towards the now trembling gangster on the floor.

"Now- now, listen, I-I-I didn't mean you no harm. Cone on now, you've won, little jedi, you've won. Why don't you just leave? See, I-I've admitted defeat. I may not know much about jedi but I know they don't seek revenge. Now, you can't kill me. Why don't you just walk away?" Luke stayed stock still, unseeing eyes boring a hole into the gangster's head, unreadable. "Come on now, I thought jedi don't hold no grudges?"

A blaster bullet went straight through the gangster's head. Moris Asz fell to the ground, dead.

Din reholstered his blaster. "Yeah, well I do."

Din moved past Luke and yanked the Dark Saber off the dead man's body, placing it back where it belonged. Then he went back and grabbed the discarded cloak. He approached Luke, Din's hand hovering over the one that still held the ignited lightsaber. He pressed gently on the grip with a soft "hey." Luke took a deep breath and shut the laser sword off.

"You will never cease to amaze me." Din said, wrapping the cloak around his shoulders again before fixing the back of Luke's hair that was tangled from where the Rodian had grabbed him. "Are you alright?" Din asked, his hand finding the Jedi's again, anchoring him.

Luke looked up at him, something distant in that blinded stare. "I'm so tired." Luke mumbled, leaning forward into Din's chestplate.

Din wrapped his free arm around Luke's back. "Then let's go home."

[ TAGGED: @rookshaisbi @lukespieceofjunkponcho ]