#i also now have to think about quitting my bookstore job which i felt i was never going to escape and now i can

[canideadmeow]

never have I ever felt so heartbroken before like I did today and it was my fault only. so a few months ago I got this book called one true loves by taylor jenkins reid, I could find only one copy of this book at the bookstore but it was kind of destroyed...that is to the level where you can clearly tell that this book has either survived a flood or some sort of similar experience but I got it regardless thinking "that's the beauty of second hand books", I even got it for a cheaper price so I was happy regardless. fast forward to today when I finally decided to start reading this book, now one thing you should know about me is that I've only read the seven husbands of evelyn hugo by taylor and when I was reading the summary of one true loves at the bookstore a few months ago, all I could think of was that this author wrote shoev and that book is a queer one; which I feel like added so much to the story for me personally. so all these months i thought that this book is a queer one as well and I was looking forward to it, the summary I read talked about how the protagonist emma married her highschool sweetheart, Jesse and one day he's on an assignment and he has to fly for that but his helicopter goes missing and then there's no news about him. emma quits her job and some time later, she runs into an old friend, sam and well they fell in love and sam is emma's fiancé now and emma feels like her happiness has come back but then she gets to know that jesse is alive and has been trying to contact her for years. now emma is supposed to choose one- jesse, her highschool sweetheart and also her husband or sam- her fiancé who made her fell in love again. now when I read this summary, I thought 'sam' here is a girl. now ik that's my fault for assuming someone's gender and I'm not even the kind of person who bothers to assume anything but the only thing I had in my mind was that evelyn hugo was a bi-lesbian story and also, how in the summary for one true loves, there were no pronouns used for sam so I just assumed that this one's a queer book too. *ik sam is a gender neutral name and i personally feel like all names are so don't get at me for that :')*

so I started reading the book today and the moment I realised that sam is a guy, I was sooooooo saaaaaad T.T

like I'm not straight-phobic if that's even a thing but all these months, i thought of this book as one of the books that have queer representation and I remember thinking that "waaaaa this will be sooo good, i just know 'cause seven husbands was good too and I loved the storyline and the characters so much" but I just felt so sad?? and ended up keeping the book back in my bag, thinking that maybe I'll read it someday but not today :)

[almondcroissantsandink]

so this isn’t art related but I got offered a museum job today!! It’s not full time but it’s to be a project archivist for this esteemed historical collection and I wouldn’t have to work my bookstore job anymore and it’s not a permanent job but it’s like stepping halfway out of the trenches and I feel like I’m currently filled with light???

[swanimagines]

Could I request morpheus finding his wife after imprisonment in the mortal realm maybe she left to keep watch of the dreams that left the dreaming and is living as a mortal (maybe has a job at a bookstore). Morpheus gets slightly possessive and protective (you're my wife you belong in the dreaming where you're safe) and maybe gets a little jealous of a human friend she made. Ends with them goung back to the dreaming. I kinda imagine a grumpy x sunshine vibe. it can be fluffy slightly-angsty or even more of a funnier side up to you either way I'll read it

Also I say wife and fem-terms but I don't mind it being made gender neutral if you prefer

Thank you for your time and effort I look forward to more amazing content ✨️ 💕

Fandom: The Sandman

A/N: I made her as female because the thing in these is that when you use certain pronouns and say that she's his wife etc when requesting, I can't help but mentally adapt it onto the fic = I might accidentally use womanly stuff even if I'm trying to write it gn = I might get hate for it (it has happened before and it was quite a show last time which ended in a big drama and I lost a lot of followers for that and I definitely don't want it to happen again). Saying because I know someone might think I'm avoiding gn the best I can and attack me for it if I don't say anything. (And clarifying that I don't think it's your fault, it's just one of my oddities and I apologize for that, and yeah I have to admit that I prefer writing fem reader because at least then I know I won't make mistakes that would cause drama, but I want my blog to be as inclusive as possible with my abilities so I also write gn)

Word count: 1.4k

When your husband disappeared, the whole Dreaming had gone crazy. People were worried about him first - then frustrated, and then they started to flee. You and Lucienne tried to tell them to stay and questioned if they'd really believe Morpheus would abandon his kingdom and all of its people like that.

"It has happened before," Afsaix grumbled as he packed his bags with everything he owned. "There's no telling when he'll return."

You grabbed the faun's arm and made him look at you. "He will come back! I know it!" Your words came out more desperate than you intended.

Lucienne watched the scene from the door, sighing as yet another resident of The Dreaming was about to leave.

The faun ripped his arm from your grip, closing his bag. "Don't be ridiculous, he's been gone for what, over 30 years? My house is in crumbles, I have nothing here anymore… We need to find somewhere new," he said quietly but firmly. He shook himself as if your hands had given him fleas and left.

"Lucienne, we have to stop this!" you pleaded with the only person who was just as confident of Morpheus returning as you were.

"I'm afraid there's little to do other than wait. Once Lord Morpheus comes back, we can work on restoring all this, but until then, we can only wait." She sighed, rubbing her forehead tiredly.

You nodded in defeat, knowing she's right. Then your eyes widened, only now realising where the dreams are going.

"Lucienne, they're going to The Waking World, which means that someone has to guard them," you told your friend desperately. "I have to go there and guard their doings. They can cause a lot of damage in there."

"I understand your concern, my lady, but are you certain you're ready to take such a large job on you?" Lucienne asked kindly.

You nodded again. "I have to, it's my responsibility while my husband is away. I will make sure everything remains safe." You bit your lip before you briefly hugged her. "And you, keep people who decide to stay safe here."

"I will do my best, my lady."

***

You had settled in a little town and began working at a little bookshop around the corner with a nice woman living upstairs, secretly keeping an eye on dreams and nightmares that had escaped here. Most dreams settled just fine, living a peaceful life. But you sensed they felt like they didn't completely fit in this world, which was true, and you were sure they'd come back once Morpheus would return.

A hand was laid on your shoulder, and you smiled at your friend - Michael, a young man, barely 18, and you had persuaded Mrs. Brooks give him his first job.

"What is it?" you asked gently, and Michael gestured at one of the shelves with an elderly woman.

"She's trying to find a book that she read as a child, she doesn't seem to understand we don't have so old books."

"Oh dear," you sighed as you walked up to her.

The woman stared blankly into space, repeating "I need that storybook," over and over again.

You whipped your hand, a book appearing in your hand. "This one?" You held out the book, and her eyes lit up when she saw the title.

"Oh! Exactly that one, the young man over there said that you don't have it."

"Michael is new, and this is our last edition. Do forgive him."

The woman came to the desk, tightly holding onto the book and gave you a generous amount of money, way too much for it. "Keep the change, you just made an old woman's year." She patted your cheek kindly before leaving with the precious book.

You smiled after her, Michael blinking.

"How do you do that?" he asked.

"Do what? Make people happy?"

"No! The thing that you know exactly what they're looking for without them telling you, and then you just have it in your hands the next moment." He frowned thoughtfully.

You chuckled softly, putting your hand on his shoulder. "I guess I just am good at reading humans. But Michael, would you be a dear and go unload a box of books that arrived this morning? I have to order another box for next week."

"Of course, right away," Michael replied eagerly, going back to work. You went behind the counter and got to work yourself, barely hearing a tingle of the door bell as the door opened. You heard steps and saw someone stopping to stand between the shelves.

"I'll be with you in a moment," you called out. The person didn't answer, but stood still which you found a little weird and finally looked up. Your breath hitched when you met his gaze.

He stood there in his black coat and a small smile playing on his lips, and you couldn't help but feel something stir inside your chest. It was like butterflies were flying around in there, as if you saw him for the first time - and it kind of was, first time in over a century. "Morpheus!" you breathed happily.

"My love." His voice whispered as you circled the counter and ran to him. You crushed against him with all the strength left in your body - his smell filled your nose, the warmth of his coat embracing you. Then he pulled away slightly, searching your eyes.

"Where have you been?" You asked urgently. "I've missed you so much."

"I was imprisoned, my sweet," he told you sadly, cupping your face tenderly. "I was kept away because of people's selfishness and greediness."

You kissed him then, relieved that he's returned safe and sound. Then you heard someone clear their throat and broke away, looking at Michael frowning at the two of you. Morpheus frowned back at him, but you just smiled.

"Michael, can I introduce you to my husband?" You laughed lightly before gesturing the boy closer.

"Oh! So this is your husband, he returned from his trip then? Pleasure to meet you, I'm Michael." he extended his hand to Morpheus, but he didn't shake it, just glared at him and Michael retreated his hand. "Right. Um, do excuse me." He cleared his throat again nervously and walked back to the storage room.

You frowned at Morpheus after Michael had closed the door after him "Why did you do that for? He tried to be nice."

"Humans are not nice. They are full of themselves, thinking they are better than everyone else. People who kept me prisoner showed me how humans truly are." Morpheus sighed heavily, and you rolled your eyes.

"You're jealous." He didn't reply, but his expression confirmed it. "You have no reason to."

"We will go back to The Dreaming now." he muttered, turning towards the door, but stopping as he saw you had no intention to follow him.

"Morpheus, I have to take care of the shop first."

He sighed, lifting his chin up. "No, you are my wife, you belong in The Dreaming with me, where you are safe. You do not belong here among mortals."

"I didn't mean I'm staying here for good," you said with a small laugh. "I just have to arrange things so I won't leave anyone in trouble."

"You worry too much," he murmured, leaning down and kissing your forehead tenderly. His hands stroked your cheeks softly and looked around the little bookshop. "This is... nice looking."

"Well, not as nice as the library at the palace, but it's a cute little shop." you grinned, taking in your surroundings. This building had been your workplace for over a century, it had gone for so long that you pretended to be the great-granddaughter of your first self, but you always knew there would be an end for it. You had told Mrs. Brooks when you started working that you'd quit once your husband returns from overseas from his "business trip" and one of your employment conditions were that you have the right to quit on the spot if you wished. She had been fine with it, she had a bunch of people who were willing to do part-time job there in case they were in need of a new employee - her friends who had already retired, if you had gotten it right.

So you squeezed your husband's hand and made your way upstairs to tell Mrs. Brooks that it had come your time to leave, and after hugging Michael and getting a box of cookies from Mrs. Brooks and her wife, you took off with Morpheus, back to The Dreaming.

Back to home.

---

The Sandman taglist: @jesllianaquilesrolon // send in an ask to be added, and specify which of my fandoms you want to be tagged on! Don’t just say “can you add me to your taglist” as I can’t know what taglists do you mean by that!! ALSO IF YOU WON’T INTERACT BEYOND LIKING, I’LL EVENTUALLY TAKE YOU OFF THE LIST!!

[writing-in-april]

Birthday Spankings

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: A normally shy reader decides to tease Spencer on his birthday thinking she could get away with it. Based on this request

A/N: who am I? Releasing two dom Spencer smut fics in a row 😱 lmao 😂 this is all for MGG’s birthday! Happy birthday to The Gubes 🥳 Actually pretty cool day cause both MGG and Oscar Isaac both actually have the same birthday 🥳 I decided to use this request that I’ve been meaning to write and add it with a bit of a birthday twist!! Thanks for reading and requests are open!!!

Warnings: 18+, Dom!Spencer, Shy reader that acts unexpectedly bratty, Reader wears glasses, Impact play, Degredation, Penetrative sex, Use of the nicknames Doll & Sir

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.6k

“Hey, birthday boy.” There was no need for me to speak quietly as it was still quite early in the morning, but my default voice was still at a soft volume.

Spencer looked up from the crossword puzzle he had been solving like a race with a soft smile directed at me. He definitely did help me come out of my comfort zone a lot, but whenever he looked at me with softness as if he was adoring me I couldn't help but feel a bit of shyness bubbling up.

I was painfully shy around almost everyone in my life, except Spencer. When I had joined as an assistant technical analyst for Garcia I was in stark contrast to her bright and bubbly demeanor. For a long time I didn’t connect with anyone on the team, just did my job as was described to me and only spoke when I needed to.

The event that had gotten me to come out of my shell a little happened to be when I was reading a book that Spencer had loved. He launched into a full rant about the book that I had barely even started immediately when he saw the cover. When he had realized he’d spoiled the book he had apologized profusely. In a rare moment of bravery I told him he could take me to a bookstore and buy me another book as repayment, albeit with my head hanging low speaking so softly that Spencer had to ask me to repeat myself 3 times. Though, it was really just an excuse to get him to talk again, I loved listening to him talk. Ever since then we had been joined at the hip, even beginning to date two years ago. I often helped him become more grounded in the world he often said and it was quite obvious to everyone around me that Spencer helped my confidence bloom.

I will admit he could be a little possessive as of late though not in a bad way, especially after coming back from prison. But, I was still extremely surprised when he came up behind me subtly in the room while I was making the first cup of coffee for the both of us in the morning and I felt a tap on my ass. He must have finished his crossword puzzle.

I yelped quietly in surprise, it didn’t hurt, it had just been unexpected. I turned to face him with a bemused look on my face quirking my eyebrows up shyly in question. My shy befuddled look was in stark contrast to his smirking face making me peek up and smile a little. At least no one had been around, Spencer was brave just not that brave.

I wasn’t sure what made me a little bit more bold today, maybe I thought I’d get some leeway for brattiness because it was his birthday. Honestly, I don’t know why I thought I could get away with it, it was his birthday after all, not mine. I still decided to push up my glasses a little before speaking smoothly with a little more confidence than normal,

“Isn’t it the tradition that the birthday boy is the one that’s supposed to get the spankings?” Spencer’s face was one of shock at first, not used to a snap back from me. Once he recovered from my unexpected remark a dark look that I almost never saw directed at me came over his face letting me know without any words that I was in for it tonight. I wasn’t going to get my normal soft but dominant boyfriend tonight.

Spencer then confirmed my thoughts when he leaned in closer behind me slightly pushing me into the counter and then whispering into my ear, “ I hope you know what you just got yourself into, Doll.”

His presence then left me to go back to his desk, making sure to grab his sweetened coffee I had been making for him along with mine. Making sure he did make sure to spank my ass one last time, this time much harder than the first. Yeah, I was definitely in for it tonight.

I looked around to make sure that no one had been looking towards the break room, luckily no one had been. My cheeks were hot with residual embarrassment and my heart still pumping loudly with adrenaline from getting the courage to say a sassy sentence to Spencer. I tried to mask my embarrassment by bringing up my own coffee to hide my face which also fogged up my glasses a little. I will admit that the rush I felt when I had finally gained the courage to sass back to Spencer made any punishment I was going to get tonight worth it. I even was slightly looking forward to the birthday spankings I was definitely going to be getting.

——

When work came to a close I was soaked through my panties already in anticipation. Spencer had been casting me looks throughout the rest of the day, it had made me so desperate I had wished I had gotten the courage to make a snarky comment later in the day so I wouldn’t have had to wait for some relief. Though, to be honest I was partially anticipating not being able to have any relief at all tonight by the way Spencer had been looking at me. Even when everyone had been singing happy birthday he had been looking at me as if he was deciding how he was going to take me apart later.

When I got the text at the end of the day that he wanted me to come to his apartment I felt myself get increasingly flustered. I knew I should’ve just stayed in my lane as a good girl who did everything for her dom. My flustered state was so noticeable that the rest of my co-workers had even noticed, which was telling considering my normally shy demeanor translated to flustered.

As soon as I shakily opened the door with the spare key Spencer had given to me on our last anniversary I was greeted with the tall imposing figure of him standing at the end of the entryway.

His slow walk over to me caused me to drop my purse over being intimidated, it was a good thing though because I was positive I had never been so soaked before.

Once he reached me he tilted up my chin with one finger and spoke with a calmness as cool as steel, “You’re going to do as I say tonight, I’m going to punish you. If you speak out of turn once I won’t let you cum for a week.”

Your confidence in your bratty behavior from early had all but completely deflated at those words. He had edged me before too and I had done it many times before, never for so long though. I definitely knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Yes, Sir.” I spoke firmly to emphasize that I wasn’t playing around anymore, I was ready to listen like I normally did.

“Just a few simple words and you’re so easy to tame?” You nodded with a whimper and averted your eyes away, embarrassed with how quickly he could bring you back to your usual behavior. He reached forward to push up your glasses that had slipped down your nose a little which also refocused your gaze back on him before he spoke again, “I knew you’d be so easy, you’re always so desperate to please me and- yourself. I knew as soon as I threatened to take it all away you’d come crawling back doll. ”

He enveloped me into a harsh all consuming kiss that there was no escape from, not that I wanted to though. He easily dominanted the kiss while also running his large hands through my hair and tugging harshly to pull me closer. Suddenly he broke the kiss, leaving us both panting and he touched me jaw again. This time he gripped it hard before giving me another command that I was ready and willing to follow,

“I want you to ride me tonight, it is my birthday after all. I want you above me while I look at you fucking yourself on my cock, just desperate to cum while you service me.” I whined at his words, hoping that I’d get to cum. But, I had never really been bratty, the only spankings I had gotten before this was because I asked for it. I whimpered in wonder about whether or not Spencer was going to give me the chance to cum or not. Spencer seemed to understand my nonsensical plea then speaking with a condescending tone, “Oh no, you’re not going to get to cum tonight until I see if you regret your bratty behavior, little doll.”

He hauled me up onto his lap after basically ripping down my panties and skirt to straddle him when he sat down onto the couch, which happened to be the closest surface suitable for what Spencer wanted to do to me right then and right now.

He ran his fingers through my folds collecting my juices, teasingly rubbing my clit for a second of relief before popping his fingers into his mouth to get a taste. “Mmm, you taste wonderful. Want to taste?”

“Y-yes, Sir.” He already knew my answer though considering he had already pulled my hair to tilt my jaw back causing me to stutter while running his hands through my folds again. Once he got his finger sufficiently wet again he shoved his fingers into my mouth with no warning, gagging a little in response. He pumped his fingers in and out of my mouth until he was completely satisfied how I had sucked the juices off of his fingers, until drool had been escaping the corners of your mouth.

Again he rubbed my clit in a teasing manner before speaking, “You’re already so wet you're practically dripping, I could just slide right in.”

It wasn’t too long until he had and he was right he did slide right in, my walls gripping him like a glove.

I was only allowed a moment to adjust before he prompted me to start moving by saying, “I’d like my birthday present now.”

I began to bounce on top of him as I had done many times before. At one point I had tried to take my glasses off to make myself perhaps more comfortable but was met with a light growl telling me that he wanted them to stay on. After a while I had created a rhythm for long enough that I was wondering when my punishment was going to come, I already had a pretty good idea what it was going to be.

A harsh sound cracked through the room suddenly confirming my suspicion, he had spanked me hard. My hips stuttered from shock, then stopping completely reeling from the harsh slap.

“Call them out, Doll.” He sharply spoke after landing the second blow onto my other cheek.

“2-2!”

“I’ll let that one slide but call them out clearly next time.”

My hips were burning as I tried to focus on rotating them properly while he started to lay in on my ass. It also was difficult to focus on making sure I was calling out the spanks with some semblance of clarity.

“12!” “13!” “14!”

Number 14 had been the harshest one yet making me cry out so loud in the back of my mind I was concerned that maybe his neighbors would call the cops. Though the burning pleasure echoing through me wasn’t letting me voice my concern to Spencer, all I cared about was trying to hold off my orgasm that I was already dangerously close too despite being so far off from the finishing number.

When tears started to prickle in my eyes Spencer looked up at me with slight worry, breaking the scene a little. I hadn’t gotten near my breaking point yet so I nodded for him to continue, I only had about 10 more to go.

“24! 25! 26!”

When my hips started to slow down slightly because of the stinging pain from his spanks he gripped my hips hard which I was sure would leave another kind of mark that I’d wear for a while.

He released his hard grip with one hand to continue the count to the magic number, how many years old he was today. I willed myself to continue counting because I knew I’d just get myself signed up for more, maybe even starting back from zero— I didn’t know if I could handle that and successfully hold off my orgasm.

“36!”

“37!”

“38!” The last stinging slap cracked down like a whip to my ass that was no doubt probably would make it hard to sit for the next week, hopefully not more.

I was hoping to get relief from Spencer by letting me have permission to cum but, when he asked the next question I realized he wouldn’t let me off so easy, “Do you think you’ve earned it?”

“No, sir I haven’t but I’d really like to cum please?!” I knew I hadn’t begged enough in his eyes, I knew I hadn’t earned it yet, but I was just so desperate to finish. His cock was running up perfectly against my g spot hurtling me precariously close to the edge.

“Say your sorry.”

“I- I’m sorry, S-sir!” I stuttered out in desperation which was usually not something Spencer would have tolerated, I think he sensed that I wasn’t going to last any longer with the edging and being no longer physically able to control it.

“Ok, Doll you can cum, since you decided to follow my directions so well.” As soon as ‘ok’ had left his lips I stopped holding my orgasm back out of pure exhaustion. It was so devastatingly good, ripping through every nerve in my body, that I barely noticed Spencer finishing as well. I only felt the last few ropes being pumped into me after the majority of my orgasm had passed.

Our panting breaths mingled as I leant over to kiss him while I rocked my hips to drag out the last dregs of our orgasms. The kiss ended up being more messy than I intended but I was just desperate to feel his lips on mine again.

Spencer gripped my lightly jaw once he had caught his breath some and turned my head to the side to press a kiss below my ear before speaking softly, “Such a good girl.”

“Thank you, sir.” I whispered back with another characteristic whine from me that was a little pathetic on my part, I had been ruined by him for sure.

We basked in the presence of each other for a little while, just enjoying being tangled all together. Though after a while the stickiness between my thighs got a little too uncomfortable and Spencer started the main part of aftercare for me. He seemed a little caught up in his thoughts while he started to clean me up so I prompted him with a little boop on the nose to silently ask what’s wrong.

“Did I go too far?” The worry he felt was evident by the tensing in his shoulders where he often seemed to hold his worry.

You quickly interjected as he began to stutter out the beginnings of an apology despite not letting you answer yet, “If you had, I would’ve used my safe word.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief as he resumed my aftercare, making sure I was well taken care of and pampered to perfection. We were sitting in a bubble bath when I finally realized something, I hadn’t said Happy Birthday to him yet.

“Happy Birthday, Spencer.”

I said while I was straddling him and I could already feeling him getting ready for another round, though this one would surely be gentler than the last as to not irritate my ass anymore. Despite my still stinging backside I was glad I stole Spencer’s birthday spankings.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

Dom Spencer (new tag list):

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Mystery Writer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer finds books at a second hand bookstore that are annotated and he falls the person writing the notes. 

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins​ server! This is for the marvellous @definitelynotkatesblog​ <3 I really hope you like it! I had to delete the original post because it didn't show up in the tags. This will be staying up regardless of that now.

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Spencer pressed his lips together at the person behind the till before heading deeper into the rows of second-hand books. Familiar titles, old and new, printed on spines in various states of pristine/decay, they tempted him to select and bring them home with him. The clear sections between biographies and fiction guided him deeper into the forest, deeper into finding his way out. He was hoping to adopt one such book for a day off, when he could revisit it with a fresh eye. It would be like seeing an old friend again, remembering why they were friends in the first place with a hint of that initial read through from years ago, and perhaps he would learn something new in the process.

A dull ache in his chest at the sight of The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. But he had long since recovered from that heartbreak and he would be able to read this story without feeling that again.

Still. It had been several years since he read this book.

His nervous fingers plucked it off the shelf and the pages fell open for him. A flattened gum wrapper parted the pages like the Red Sea. Spencer lifted it out tentatively. Its creases were ironed in from its role as a temporary bookmark, an impression of scribbled black ink flattened after it was made.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the page in search of what this gum wrapper might have been guarding.

“Women are never to be entirely trusted – not the best of them.”

In the margins was scribbled:

Product of the time, but still a prick, rude smartarse role a bit dull

Spencer found himself exhaling in light laughter. That a lack of empathy was considered “dull” by this person, when it was something he dealt with in his job almost every day. The confidence in this commentary too, this brazen critique of a much beloved fictional character was left for someone else to find.

His gaze found Watson’s opinion of Holmes’ casual sexism: “atrocious sentiment”. It was circled twice in the same black biro.

Spencer dug his thumb against the text block and flicked through the book. A waft of that book smell lifted from the paper, accompanied by the bold notes of the previous owner dotted across the text until he finally landed on the reverse of the front cover. Two letters – initials - were scratched onto it.

It was with bridled exhilaration that Spencer approached the till and held up the book with a half-smile. His hands were quick to place it down on the counter so that the shop assistant could type the price into the till. His mood was apparently palpable because they seemed just as happy as Spencer to hand him back the novel in a brown paper bag – the receipt tucked inside.

 --->--->--->--->--->

 “Love is an emotional thing, and whatever emotional is opposed to what is true, cold reason, which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement.”  

What a lonely existence and also a lie. See: entire relationship w/ Dr. Watson!

Spencer smiled at this comment. Now all the other instances of a double underlining made sense. Each one produced itself in his mind as evidence that Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact love. Maybe not marry, but it would have been terribly unconventional for him to wed Doctor John Watson. The unknown author seemed to understand this. They never emphasised if this love was platonic or romantic. But the way in which they proved love existed within this character oft portrayed as emotionless, Spencer simply adored. They were a romantic reader, who still enjoyed reading about the cynic

He grew quite aware of his posture in that moment and he straightened his back. A few clicks of complaint emitted as he stretched, his head twisting from side to side. Screwing his eyes open and shut behind his glasses, he revisited your deduction.

On the dot of the “i” in “lie”, there was a sprinkle of graphite around the indent from where a pencil’s lead had snapped from the effort put into topping off this point. A sprinkle of graphite smudged where the pages pressed together.

Spencer moved on to where a sentence in black biro tried to blend in with the printed words. A memory appeared at the front of his mind: when Rossi was bewildered to learn Spencer and Dr. Alex Blake wrote the newspaper crossword in pen.

The pencil markings were like mini brainstorms, something to revisit and make a solid theory with the black biro. But the planning was never rubbed out.

Little quotes were circled. This mystery critic spent half the book roasting the characters and the other half leaving little exclamation marks and circles around phrases and words when they couldn’t think of something to say. Spencer found it sweet, picturing the thrilling unfolding of events for the reader to revisit.

His heart ached in bittersweet memory as he recalled the contents of Dr Alex Blake’s book The Route of Linguistics. It was necessary pain to create a profile of who this mystery critic was. Yes, he was profiling out of work hours. His evenings were now spent trying to picture the voice behind the notes. The sarcasm, the witty blows to the character’s and author’s ego. He almost wished that he couldn’t read so fast because he finished the book, even with its additional notations, all too quickly. But there was one bonus.

Spencer traced the pad of his fingertip over the exclamation marks describing Mary Morstan. What else might a detractor of the great Sherlock Holmes read?

--->--->--->--->---> 

He had returned to the bookshop in favour of adopting another. Yet he could not find one that satisfied his unknown criteria. It was not until he found himself checking the front pages of the fifth book he had selected, that he realised he was looking for a pair of initials.

Sighing, he placed My Dear Bessie, with its empty front page, back on the shelf. The chances of finding another book containing this mystery critic were so minute. He could probably calculate them if he wanted to dedicate himself to such a disheartening statistic. He’d rather not spend his lunch break doing that, as much as he loved statistics. This once, they did not assure his safety and he remained unsupported by the fact that he could not find any other Arthur Conan Doyle books.

His desperation became most apparent when he thought that perhaps fate should just decide for him. If anything, he would come away with a random book to read through in about ten minutes on a flight back home.

He peeked around the corner of the shelves. The shop assistant at the till was busy writing something down, not paying any mind to the shop’s only customer.

“A random shot had no better odds than just picking books off one by one” is what he told himself as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the end of the shelf, just over the first book’s spine. In an “S” pattern, his arm moved up and down, over the books and shelves and gaps between units. His feet stepped forwards into the space he knew was clear.

Spencer stopped and opened his eyes, his finger shifting just an inch out of the way of his new book’s title.

Circe. Madeline Miller.

He tapped the top and the book fell forwards, where he caught it. Its shining dust jacket was serving its purpose, a few tears along the edges from where it had protected the hardcover. He checked the front page. A map of Aiaia in orange and brown filled it to the corners. On the next page, his heart stuttered at the sight of two initials in the same handwriting and the same biro. There was also a scribble - invisible to start with then a ball of black.

The first page with the story’s text held a scribble just above its opening line:

the power of the name

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.”

He could see that the first was in a blunt pencil, but the addition was a sharpened point carving into the paper. A secondary thought that was provided after completing the novel, they had added it. Spencer lifted it to his face, his eyes crossing to keep the stipple in focus. The scent of the paper and the graphite reached him easily; the note must have been made just before Circe was gifted to him. How lucky he was to find such a treasure.

The shop assistant was cutting out a new sign for “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE!”. By the time Spencer made it to them, the sign was placed upon the pile besides him. The shop assistant smoothed out a crease on the dust jacket, ineffectively but Spencer admitted the gesture. He was glad that someone who loved books as much as him got to work in a place like this.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer’s mind, definitely for worse, echoed the words off the tabloids around his head the split second he made eye contact with the headlines. He paced the shelves to somewhere a little quieter. When he found the chocolate aisle, he pretended to peruse. Ever half a minute or so, his gaze drifted up to the till area where the shop owner was on a phone call and clearly not paying attention to him.

It was not long before Spencer grew bored of looking at KitKats, and he pulled out One Thousand And One Nights. The book’s pages fell again to page 57. This shop’s receipt stood above them, still holding its place from the previous owner. It felt wrong to part the two.

No new people had entered this corner shop for 8 minutes. He’d even given the time at the receipt’s end a fifteen-minute margin either side. Given that this mystery critic took a break from work at the same time on the same day of the week – and that they worked during the day – he should have seen them. Maybe he had, and they were that man in the baggy hoodie who stunk of weed. Probably not. Hopefully not. Not that Spencer was judging him for his… recreational activities. He just wanted the mystery critic to be someone he could realistically spend time with.

Just then, Spencer’s phone trilled annoyingly loud. He received a glare from the shop manager and Spencer sent an awkward apologetic expression his way before answering JJ quickly.

“Spencer, we’ve got a case. We need you here ASAP.”

His response was immediate. “Ok, be there in ten.” Hanging up, Spencer dithered on the spot then grabbed a packet of Cheetos. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes; he had to get something.

“Three dollars,” the manager said before returning to his call. But not before he rolled his eyes at Spencer. Spencer dropped the bills onto the counter and dashed out before he could be offered a receipt.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  An outlier in the usual length of case work had passed by in five long days. Spencer hardly ever regretted the time he put into this job. Every unsub caught was lives saved. But the absence of his mystery commentator had been niggling at the back of his busy mind and he was glad to finally reunite with them on this long flight back.

From his satchel, he recovered the copy of One Thousand And One Nights and began rereading the notes to ground himself in the story. His focus lingered on the page as if he were reading it at the average 250 words per minute. It allowed him to block out the humming of the engine.

Spencer did not take his eyes off the page as he pulled open his desk drawer and popped a piece of overpriced gum into his mouth. Half-hearted reminders bounced in his head, from when he tried smoking and chewing gum to ease his cravings. The fruit flavour was very clearly artificial and it faded within six minutes. Why his mystery critic would pick such a pathetic packet of gum to chew, he didn’t know. But hopefully the fact of its flavour disappearing fast would mean they get through the packet quicker and buy another soon. Even if today, and the days before, spent in that shop did not lean in favour of that hypothesis.

--->--->--->--->--->

The Five People You Meet In Heaven was in the Recently Donated pile. It was near the top, slid towards the edge of the container after being placed wonkily on a copy of some sports autobiography.

Within the pages was more than Spencer could have ever hoped for. Entire paragraphs were circled, quotes underlined. A squashed mini post-it note tabbed the page and a whole paragraph was scrawled on it, about Tala. An arrow pointing to the underside, Spencer lifted the flap and saw more to read, like an interactive pop-up book that he’d gotten Henry for his second birthday. Spencer closed his eyes quick and snapped the book shut. He wanted to save it for when he was sitting comfortably, not while he was rushing back to work in time for JJ to get to her lunch break on time.

The shop assistant had just clipped the lid back onto a green highlighter when Spencer drew up to their counter. With careful fingers, he placed the book upon it. There was a twitch of the assistant’s mouth; their eyes brightened. They looked like they wanted to say something, but something else held them back from making the first move. Spencer recognised it from his school days.

“It’s a good read.” He spoke after they had typed the price into the till.

“I know,” The assistant replied instantly, a relieved smile on their lips, “What part are you on?”

“I’ve already read it, but I wanted to revisit the passage at the diner.”

“Ahh, that’s a good bit. One of my favourites.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch. His gaze dropped to the nametag on the left side of their chest. Y/N, their name’s first initial. It couldn’t be.

“What did you think about the final person, Tala?”

“Oh,” The shop assistant clutched at their heart, “I was an emotional wreck before and it hit me hard just as the rest did. So bittersweet to hear her forgiveness. It took me a few times to finish reading the end, but it was all worth it.”

He couldn’t be this lucky, to get this many books from the same person and to have them standing in front of him. Spencer didn’t believe in luck.

As he reached across for his new book, he turned over the cover, “Was this yours?”

Twisting their head around to read the publication details, the assistant – Y/N - smiled sheepishly at the initials. “Yes, and I’m glad to see it go to a new home.”

Apparently luck believed in him.

“But,” Spencer felt his brows knit automatically as he looked between the book and their previous owner, “You love it. I-I’ve seen your notes.”

A hand clapped over Y/N’s mouth, “Oh God, you must have. I mean, it wasn’t the intention initially, but I thought they might be a little entertaining for anyone who picks it up to leave them in there.”

“Oh, they were! I’d love to read more of your thoughts. Hear, hear them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N checked the door to the shop, still shut, and back to Spencer. They dropped their elbows onto the countertop with their chin in their palms. “What did you wanna know?”

From his bag, Spencer procured his – their – copy of The Sign of Four and flicked through the pages. So many places to choose, but he wanted to open with what had introduced him to Y/N’s analysis.

The pair put their heads together, leaning on the counter. Spencer could smell the chewing gum on their breath. Y/N never cut him off, and he never wanted to cut them off. There were little pauses at the end of each of their turns to speak before the other picked up where they had left off. Their voices leapt from secretive whispers to passionate orations of their favourite passages, rebounding evidence and analysis off each other like a bouncy ball. Spencer finally had a voice to put to the sarcasm, the one his mind had conjured long forgotten in the wake of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

The shop’s door swung open. Spencer leapt to attention as an older woman swept in, past the two of them towards the non-fiction section. Y/N adjusted their name tag, their back straight too. The clock behind the till announced that it was now twenty minutes after the end of Spencer’s lunch break.

Running on the rush of his hobby meeting a potential friend, Spencer asked, “Can I get your number? So we can talk more, maybe swap some more books, when you’re not working?”

His luck was still by his side as Y/N wrote out their number on his receipt, written in their infamous black biro.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Spencer leapt over to the door of his apartment, took a deep breath, and unlocked it. Stood behind where it had been was Y/N and they too were still wearing the uniform from work. Their nametag was still on their polo shirt, the same spot that Spencer wore his FBI tag.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked the second they made a step inside his abode.

“Tea would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”

And while he was in the kitchen, Y/N rushed over to the bookshelves, their eyes wide to take in Spencer’s collection. “Oh wow! You weren’t joking!” Their finger indicated to a hard cover copy of Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy, “That’s one of mine. Well, yours now.”

Plucking it from the shelf, they opened it up. Spencer had written his initials beside theirs.

Spencer stuck his head out in the partition, “Ours. If we’re going to be sharing.” Y/N stood on tiptoes, teeming with delight, their hands cradling the book with all the care Spencer could hope for in a fellow reader. Joint custody of their books and their passion? What a dream.

“I just have to write a little more about the epilogue, and I’ll be with you,” Y/N took their place on his couch. A pencil began scribbling away their thoughts onto the last few pages. Their knees were their desk.

Spencer finished brewing and placed the mug in front of Y/N, who mumbled a quick thank you to him. He joined them in writing his final notes. It slowed him down a considerable amount, but he was glad to take things at a casual pace, especially considering the way that Y/N almost broke their pencil as they scrawled out their thoughts for Spencer to hear later.

“Have you thought about the next one you’d like to try?” Spencer asked tentatively. He wasn’t so sure if Y/N would want to be interrupted.

Luckily for him, Y/N paused their stream of consciousness to look back at his books, “Hmm. So much to choose from.”

Stood up, their book left in Spencer’s care. They took a deep breath, closed their eyes and used their forefinger to draw a zigzag over the spines. Spencer felt that he was almost sick with joy.

Y/N stilled their wandering hand and opened their eyes, already drawing out the selected novel, “This one.”

“And what have you chosen for me next time?”

Y/N handed over The Butterfly Lion from their bag, “Ok, I can’t wait any longer, what do you think?”

They sat back on the couch. Their legs now hung over the arm of the couch, elbows either side and face cupped in their palms. The book rested in their lap. Shifting so that he faced them completely, Spencer returned to the first page and his analysis began.

[chaeiimimi]

01 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞

Summary: you weren’t really sure how it happened, but an average student who wore glasses and spent all her extra time on bookstores and library managed to date your school’s volleyball club setter. On your 3rd year of law school, your ten years anniversary to be exact, he went home from Argentina and it was a week before he was going back, he broke up with you with the reason of he can't handle long-distance relationship anymore despite being at it for two years. You didn’t cry, you stood there as he was sobbing in front of you, you held his face in your palms and offered him a gentle smile, gentle enough to let him know you’ll support him and will always be watching him, together with the child in your stomach right now, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Chapters: prev// next

“is model Sato Himari dating Argentina national male volleyball team player Oikawa Tooru?” you read yet another dating rumor from your past lover

you shook your head and mumbled “he never changed” you said clucking your toungue

it’s been almost two years now since your break-up, your son and his twin brother were already ten months old, they grew up to be healthy and happy babies

Your parents helped you take care of your babies whenever you were attending school and doing your part-time jobs

You also tried to avoid some high school friends since almost all of them knew Oikawa and you didn’t think it was time for him to find out about his sons yet

His career is at its peek, he was getting a lot of endorsements inside and outside of Japan, he was always getting linked to a lot of famous people and influencers

You felt so small compared to him and quite frankly, you didn't know if you wanted that life for your sons, i mean Oikawa had paparazzi following him everywhere he's almost like a celebrity

Well with that looks of him, it wasn't a surprise

Besides, you didn't know if he still loved you, he was surrounded by a lot of rumors from celebrities to actresses to models

And you were just a fresh graduate looking for a job to sustain your kids

With all of that out of the way, you decided that you didn't want Oikawa to meet your kids

"hiii babies" you cooed at your sons when you arrived at your parent's house

They all giggled in unison reaching out their tiny hands to you, they were already in their strollers when you arrived ready to go

"hey ma, pa thank you again for today" you hugged your parents, without them, you probably wouldn't manage to pay for yours and your sons' expenses

"y/n please rest for a little bit, we already told you, me and your dad can afford to take care of yours and your sons' needs" your mother pleaded with you one more time

You looked at her with tired eyes but you were hosting a gentle smile on your lips

"mom, its really fine, you guys are already taking care of my kids I cant let you carry all the burden, besides, I already got the job from the law firm" you smiled at them lifting the takeout food they failed to notice when you entered

"I can begin work after a week"

Thus you and your sons left your parent's house a little later than usual as you ate dinner

"good morning my baby" you greeted Haruto who was always the first one to wake up, you lift him up from his crib as you sat down the rocking chair just in front of their crib feeding him with your breastmilk

"eat up before your brother wakes up" you smiled at him, his small eyes looking at you as he sips milk from your nipples, smiling while doing so

It was moments like this when you felt bad for them, how you wanted them to have a father, but you know it was far for that to happen, their father was at the other side of the world and the chances of you getting back together was next to impossible

You relish the silent peaceful morning

Until it was ruined by the loud ringing of your phone, you reached for it since it was just on top of the table beside your chair

You didn't check the caller

"hello?"

"bessssstiiieee" you moved your phone away from your ear

"Akira, its 7 in the morning here for goodness sake" you scold your bestfriend who is also in Argentina

"ohhh sorry are my godchildren still sleeping?" she asked

"I'm feeding Haruto at the moment, Hayato is still asleep" you said looking down at your son and made a funny face which made him giggle

"anyways bestfriend, i'm going home to attend the high school reunion, are you coming?" she asks

"no-"

"oh no you don't bitch, i'm coming home and WE will attend that party, last year i was alone, Himari was annoying the shit out of me with her stupidly pretty face"

"why did you even ask me in the first place?" you deadpanned

She knew you couldn't say no to her, how could you? When she was there when you were crying your eyes out after the break up, putting up with your intense cravings and rubbing your back during morning sickness heck she even hesitated on going to Argentina to get trained by the photographer she idolizes the most because you were two months away from giving birth

Even in Argentina she was constantly calling her friends if they had jobs available for you, and for that you are forever thankful for her

"But, what if he's there?" you asked, there was a reason why you didn't attend high school reunion last year, you were afraid Oikawa was there

"its not like we're going to bring the boys with us- oh wait I'm about to board my flight I'll call you when I arrive bye love you" and with that she ended the phone abruptly

You sighed and looked at Hayato shuffle awake in his bed

okay so this is my first time writing a fanfic by chapter DADYIGFBWEYB I hope y’all liked it, just tell me through dms or ask box if you want a tag on the next chapter

[queernuck]

The Cleveland Browns made the playoffs. The Islanders made the Eastern Conference Finals.

And that’s enough for me.

So long, so long I have been living like this, pretending that I want to keep on living, that life feels worthwhile, that I don’t want to kill myself. Suicide is for cowards but ive been chickening out for a whole decade, to the point where getting on the subway was itself something that involved convincing myself not to jump in front of it. I remember once while working in the city, I watched and waited as two trains came in and left, trying to get the energy to jump in front of them. I had decided, if I couldn’t do it by the time a second train came and went, I would go to work and save it for another day. I came very close, my legs tense like a linebacker on 4th & Goal, but I didn’t do it. Maybe it would be better if I had, I would have saved not only myself but a lot of other people a lot of pain and suffering. I’ve been dealing with feeling suicidal for a decade, an entire ten years, and made it through. And for what? I lost a retail job at minimum wage, I’ve seen the Giants go from two-time Super Bowl kingslayers to a team that relied on the Eagles for a playoff berth, I got to see Evangelion only for the final Rebuild film to be infinitely delayed, I have a useless non-degree that allows me to eloquently describe how the Democrats and Republicans alike are driving this stolen land to Fascism while sycophants tell me Vote Blue No Matter Who. I’m so tired, I’m not even the person people think me to be, since if I were, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

My paychecks, as hard-earned as they were, never seemed to be mine in any real sense, and it made me so frustrated that something in me broke at the beginning of this year. I made some mistakes, some very stupid ones, and got myself fired. I took money from and distorted the inventory of my store to get what amounted to pocket money, less than two paychecks. I was tempted because I feel so powerless, so much like nothing I could ever say or do matters, and so I decided to lash out against a place that mattered to me, against people I cared about deeply. Chain stores, corporations, all of those things are not really high on my list of things to care about. Barnes & Noble pushed out local booksellers years ago, an irony not lost on me whenever our own competition with Amazon was made apparent. We were reaping what we had sown. But what always interested on top of this irony was how symbolic these things could be to people, how much we figured into so may memories for so many. The Manga Aisle at Barnes & Noble is a staple of 2006 scene culture, a way that kids without the pocket money to afford the newest volume of Bleach it Naruto could keep up before scams became widely available. How the store was a place where people studying for standardized tests could use the test prep guides to try and get ready for the eugenic ritual of the standardized test. And just how much a chain bookstore became a substitute, socially, for the now-absent local bookstore. We bear the guilt for that, but at the same time we were still selling books, giving people a place to get coffee and sit and read and talk, in ways that libraries may not be able to. We certainly can never replace a library, given just what a library does for people. But we did do a lot of good all the same. Before it closed, some of my fondest memories came when I was the exact sort of annoying teenage customer I grew to hate, hanging out at the Columbus Circle Borders. Working at Barnes & Noble was tiring, dehumanizing, difficult, made me feel like I would never measure up to the authors we sold, the people books were written about, that I was a failure. And I am, as my death shows. But it also made me a part of something I was proud of. And that Above & Beyond pin I earned is in my jacket still, a reminder of something.

That something was shown in so many of the coworkers I had, who were incredible in so many ways. I feel awful for what I did, I genuinely do, because of how it may have hurt people who thought so kindly of me, people who deserve so much good. I wish I had the ability to address each of them individually but this decision was hastily made, and i have a feeling it will show in the things I miss in this note. Audra, your help in finding me a way to use the company policies to my advantage as a worker was something that gave me faith even after having seen the despicable firings and cuts the company went through. Linda, I can’t quite square the circle here given my actions, but I want to say your disappointment broke my heart and that while I will not be the one who shows it, your reassurance that everyone makes mistakes was welcome.

To my (former) fellow booksellers at Store 2216, all of my love and my sincerest apologies. You all have so much good in you, your willingness to listen to my ADHD-fueled rants and to discuss so many things with an incredible frankness was always impressive, in addition to part of what I loved about all of you. I want you all to be happy, and the kinship I felt with you was a vital part of what kept me going. It was tough, as you all know. But at times, it almost felt worth it.

The same is true of my CTY friends: it was a weird, magical place that frankly, a lot of us idealized for far too long and which sk many of us eventually outgrew without being able to let go of. And that was tough, that was something we had a great deal of difficulty understanding, that what helped us once was not always going to be helping us, was not always what we needed. But in eventually finding that, we found solace, we realized how life as a whole functions and just what it is that we can take from places like it.

To my other family, my Cleo family, I know I haven’t been terribly active lately, but I can never, ever thank you enough for the belonging you gave me. I have never felt anywhere as welcoming as Cleo. As warm as Cleo (even as we struggled to pay for the oil bill) was. As kind and understanding. As tolerant. As questioning and inquisitive into what that tolerance meant to us. I am thankful, eternally, for what you all did for me. The incredible experiences I had as a Cleo make me proud of what the organization can represent, and one of my dying wishes is that the organization continues to reach out to marginalized communities on Trinity’s campus. There is much work to be done in making sure abusers cannot hide in our family, but I trust you all to do that work. Tucker Carlson is a Trinity grad and we must embody the opposite of what he stands for, no matter how difficult it may be. I could go on about how this means opposing liberals and Liberalism/Neo—Liberalism due to the truth of tolerance resulting in a Popper-esque Paradox of Tolerance that implies Popper is a worthwhile philosopher, but that’s another issue.

To my friends on that Blue Hellsite, tumblr, you made a continual presence worth it, even with all of the bullshit this place brings. It’s the reason I read so much Foucault, Derrida, Deleuze & Guattari, read Žižek against himself, and so on and so on, and the value of that to me can never be overstated. I learned so much from the ways in which I learned to analyze the world, and that in turn became a huge inspiration for why I should try to do what I could to make the world closer to a place of revolution, one where we could perhaps eke out a living for one another. I loved how much I could be an unrepentant nerd and still love hockey on there, and while the

NHL fans on tumblr are incredibly annoying,

I can deal with that compared to the racism of most hockey fans.

Mom, Dad? I just couldn’t live with you any longer. I’m so sorry.

Grandma, I love you.

And the things I leave behind? Donate what can be donated. Hats, please auction, or at least offer to other HatHeads at a reasonable price. I had some nice ones. As for assorted albums, clothing, and other things, sell them and donate to a Harm Reduction organization, or organizations that advocate for PWUD in a radical fashion. WE DESERVE AUTONOMY!

I am a victim of the War on Drugs. Sobriety was always hellish to me, and I could never take it. I want people to be able to live how they want, to see sobriety and being on drugs as equally valuable states, to see the two as no different from one another.

Abolish all gun laws

End the War on Terror

Decriminalize and legalize all drugs, sobriety is what killed me.

I love all of you.

LET’S GO ISLANDERS!

[barnesand]

the scent of old stories [ i ]

Summary: You haven’t found your thing here in Brooklyn, but you hope that you’ve found it within the bookstore that happens to be on your work commute. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader AU: *chants* bookshop au, bookshop au, bookshop au. Warnings: No warnings for now! Author’s note: I’ve been down, and I just wanted to write something that made me happy. I don’t know if this is technically fluff, but it’s the start of something new and Alpine is in it. Word Count: 2,551 Words (I'm a damn monster) chapter two can be found here: x 

You’ve stumbled upon it during your early morning commute; it was a blur in your periphery the first time, your thoughts steadfast on the sweltering heat of your coffee cup, and it wasn’t until you successfully attuned yourself to your new schedule that you stole a proper glance at it. It was wedged between a coffee shop and insurance agency—two stories at least with gold flourishes and filigree painted at the edges of the window. Through that window you saw the aisles and stacks of books, all old and you gave yourself that short perusal to imagine the alluring scent of old stories. It was during that time that you decided you would take your day off to go inside; you had to.

You haven’t mastered the ability to resist a bookstore, especially one with old books in desperate need of a new bookshelf. Luckily, you had a couple of spots that have yet to be filled. And the Second Hand seemed to be the perfect place to lose a couple of hours scouring the stacks looking for some new companions.

Quick to remember the time that it closed, you tried your best to ignore the glee that settled into the pit of your stomach. How long have you lived in Brooklyn? Not long, and truthfully, you haven’t quite found the thing that made you love it. There were small things that you enjoyed, but you still managed to miss your hometown. You missed your favorite hangouts, the secrets about your home that only you knew. You didn’t have those things in Brooklyn, yet. All you knew was your job, and the streets you took to get there. Perhaps, the Second Hand could be your thing? There would be a seat that you always sat in, and an aisle that you visited so often you memorized all the books that were in it. You could be on a first-name basis with the employees and visit so often that you’d memorize their coffee orders.

Yes, you needed a place to cement your adoration for your new home.

Your day off finally came and dressed in your coziest turtleneck and jeans you followed your familiar work commute until you reached the Second Hand. There was something about the sing-song chime of the bell above a door that made you realize you were going to have a good time. And, just as you suspected, the scent of old stories filled your lungs. You weren’t a big fan of bookstores that looked clean and meticulously organized. You preferred a certain level of chaos—and the Second Hand provided that slight chaos. There were certain aisles thinner than most, due to an overflow of old books that have yet to find a place on the shelves. You could hear the soft mewl of a cat most likely prowling through the stacks above on the second store, and the small piles of books seemed to be on every step of the staircase. You made no effort to hide the elated smile that slid across your features. You clutched tightly to your coffee, making your way towards the staircase.

Indeed, that phantom cat you heard before—snow white and thick around the middle—was lurking on the second story. It leaned against the railing, eyes closed, and you could hear them purring from where you stood at the top. You made a note to ask the shop-keep (wherever they may be), if they had a name and if it was the kind of cat that welcomed a stranger petting them.

Despite being clear signs for each section, you instead made the decision to walk up and down each aisle without a single inclination of what you were looking for. Your fingers lingered over the spines, searching for the ones with the deepest lines. You preferred the ones that made you worry—the ones in which you knew you would have to restore the spines to a certain extent. Because, to you, that meant that it was someone’s favorite. It made you curious, made you wonder what about the story made someone read it over and over and over until the spine was only being held together by sheer faith.

The white cat began to follow you around, weaving between your legs when you stood still. You had to stifle a giggle once or twice when you moved and nearly stumbled over the cat—that was your mistake, you should have known the direction in which the cat was going—when they moved one way and you went the other. By the time you reached the top of the staircase again, prepared to make your descent to the stacks below, you’ve culminated several books.

You meandered halfway down the stairs before looking up, expecting the cat to follow. You tried to hide the pout, not wanting the cat to think you enjoyed your time together or anything.

You reached the bottom step, already scrutinizing over the selection you’ve made so far. Honestly, you should’ve come into the bookstore with at least a budget in mind. Knowing that you didn’t set a hard spending limit was your biggest trouble. Your second was that you hadn’t even looked down the aisles on the first floor, which meant that your stack would get heavier.

You stood on the last step, already looking at the spines—maybe you didn’t need another copy of Anna Karenina. You weren’t much of a Western fanatic, but the premise of it intrigued you and that felt like a good enough reason to keep it. No… no, you’d need a second opinion about it. You looked up to find the front counter mostly abandoned. Somewhere in the stacks you’d probably find an employee (or, if anything else, another customer). Moving towards the counter, you aimed to set your stack of books on the edge of it so that you could retrieve them later.

From the opposite end of the room, you heard a commotion through a cracked door. You stilled, waiting for the person to emerge.

And—fuck. You didn’t expect the person that emerged to look so good. Truthfully, you didn’t quite know which part of him you enjoyed looking at the most. Was it how he nearly filled the doorway with this wide shoulders? Was it how crystalline, even from where you stood, his blue eyes were? No—no, it had to be the stubbled that dusted his sharp jaw, and that dark coif of hair that made your fingertips tingle at the very idea of running through fingers through it? It could be the way his teeth caught his bottom lip for just a second, his brows furrowing apologetically at the sound from earlier, before his mouth curled into a smile.

All the above. That was your answer—all of it.

“Hi,” he said.

“Anna Karenina,” you blurted. You didn’t want to think about the shade of red you suddenly turned, or how dry your throat suddenly became. You sputtered; words unintelligible before you slammed your hand on your stack of books. “I, uh—hi!”

“Hi,” he echoed, only that time it was followed by a short laugh.

He moved toward the counter, and you quickly made note of how tight his shirt was around his shoulders—you also noticed the name of the store embroidered on the pocket of it—and you cleared your throat. He settled behind the counter, that smile of his still fastened onto his face. He was so… pretty, it almost started to hurt. He sat on a stool, placing his elbows onto the countertop and leaning in.

You cleared your throat again, remembering why you placed your books on the counter in the first place. “I’m trying to decide if I need another copy of Anna Karenina. You know I, uh, made the poor choice of going shopping while hungry.”

You sighed. You swore you weren’t always a dork—in fact, you’d like to think of yourself as the female Casanova if you put your mind to it. But there was something about the tilt of his head when he looked at you, the way his smile shifted into a smirk. He reached for the books you’d chosen, and you marveled at the size of his hands with a big gulp. He could see it—you just knew he could see how flustered you were.

“I think my first question to ask is how many times have you read your current copy? I mean, if you’ve only read it once, then what are the odds of you reading this one?” He went through the stack one-by-one, eyeing the spine before nodding to himself. You wish you knew what he was thinking. “I’m also inclined to say, you know, all of them.”

“That’s not a good sign for my back account.”

He looked at you, then, and you felt a pang—not in your heart, but in your gut. The kind of pang that caused chill to climb your spine and told that, oh, you want this man to do awful things to you. Which wasn’t something you felt often. He pressed a hand on top of your stack of books once he was finished and you tried not to think about the size of it. His blue eyes stared you down, and you watched as that smirk of his turned impish almost.

“I think I have a discount code here somewhere,” he mused, reaching into a drawer with his other arm.

You noticed it then, sleek black metal with gold embellishments. The sophistication of the design enamored you, and you couldn’t quite peel your eyes away from the way it moved—which was no different than how you couldn’t peel your eyes away from every single part of him. You swallowed, blinking away the haze before returning your attention back to the conversation.

“I would be eternally grateful,” you answered him.

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” he started to make casual conversation while he filtered through some papers. He paused to look at you, and his blue eyes looked just a little brighter when he did. “I’m Bucky.”

“Reader,” you greeted him. “And, yeah, I haven’t been in here until today. I’m new to town, so—”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Where ya from?”

You told Bucky where you’d come from, how you moved to Brooklyn for work shortly after grad school. For a moment, you started to wonder if he was taking his time looking for that discount, but each time he asked you more about your time in Brooklyn so far, and precisely what your job entailed, you didn’t mind him procrastinating.

“I mean,” you continued. “I’ve done the tourist-y stuff. The bridge. Coney Island. I just haven’t found the little local things that make it feel like home to me. It’s why I dropped in.”

You felt like you should keep that bit to yourself—like you were giving him way too much. For all you knew, he could have been making small talk for the sake of getting a sale. He probably didn’t want to know about your anxieties about living in a new city. But when Bucky looked at you, and listened, you thought you could spill everything. And it made that warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach grow hotter. He finally found what he was looking for, and your smile sank for a moment. The conversation would be over—you could, of course, return. But that meant making another dent in your bank account, and you couldn’t risk hemorrhaging funs all for the sake of looking at his crystalline blue eyes.

“This’ll take about twenty percent off your purchase today, but,” he lifted himself from the stool, leaning in. He tilted his head, in a sort of look at me way and you did precisely that. “I will give you Anna Karenina.”

“Ooh,” you enjoyed the sound of that. “But your boss—”

“I am the boss. And I’m giving this to you on one condition.” He drew in a deep breath, releasing it with a smirk. “Next time you come in; I’d like to give you an incredibly detailed list of things to do. I mean—every hole in the wall joint I can think of. And you gotta do ‘em.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Every single one?”

“Every single one.”

“I don’t think I have that kind of time—”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to find time. Because it’ll be a long damn list, Reader.”

He winked at you, and you nearly melted. As he started to ring up your purchase, slipping that new copy of Tolstoy into your bag, you’d reached the deepest shade of red. Again, sometimes you could be a Casanova. You could be flirty back—but you really couldn’t find it in you. All you could muster was the personality of a smitten girl and that was what Bucky would be receiving until you found your other self. He was inviting you to come back—he was practically bribing you to come back. Yes, it was because he was a local and wanted to provide you with the hidden secrets of Brooklyn, but he wanted you to come back so he could say it.

You blinked. “How would you know I did each one on your list? Bucky, I could tell you I did everything. Are you gonna quiz me? Should I take notes?” You raised your eyebrows, leaning against the counter.

You felt the white cat again, their purr vibrating softly against your jean-covered calf. You looked down with a small smile, knowing that the cat couldn’t resist you. When you looked up you found Bucky peering over the counter down at the cat.

“That’s Alpine,” he told you, and you were glad in that moment because you were so close to giving Alpine another name. “And—I guess… I guess I’d have to be there to make sure. For certain ones specifically—I’ll arrange it from solo to co-op missions just in case.”

“I-I, yeah.” You sputtered along, grinning from ear-to-ear almost. “You might.”

You don’t remember much about the transaction—but you quickly shoved your card and the receipt into your purse before you were tempted to look at the price. When Bucky handed the bag of books to you, his pointer finger brushed against your knuckles and your knees nearly buckled. You sighed.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you said, nervously. “For the discount. And for the free book.”

He flashed another smile. “You’re welcome, Reader. Don’t forget the deal.”

“I will not.” Because you were sure he just asked you out—you were certain that he had. You wished he were asking you out. You’d understand if he meant in an utterly innocent way; he wanted you to enjoy Brooklyn the way he did, and you were okay with that. But, God, you wanted it to be because he wanted to ask you out.

The chime of the bell announced your exit, and you took your time strolling past the window. You were so glad that the Second Hand had been in your periphery that day. You were gleeful at the fact that, somehow, you’d found a place to love in Brooklyn.

Bucky and the Second Hand—and Alpine—had become your thing.

[constancelaufeydottir]

Bittersweet - Part 1

Pairings: Bookstore owner! Bucky x bookstore owner f!Reader

Word count: 1k

Summary: The story and mundane life of old grumpy bookstore owner Bucky and his wife, Y/N told from a 3rd person POV.

A/N: This is inspired by a post on instagram I saw and I started this in the middle of the night when my brain wasn’t functioning that well so ….

And also i don’t think I have any remaining brain cells to proofread atm so i’ll come back later. Please do let me know if I made any mistakes.

There was this bookstore I used to work at, Barnes and Books, not to be confused with Barnes and Noble. It was a quaint and cozy little bookshop run by an elderly couple and their dog and cat, Misha and Alpine.

The Barnes’ was extremely friendly and they were like the grandparents I never had since my grandparents passed away before I was born.

The first time I stumbled into the bookshop, I was running away from a bad date. Guy screamed red flags and I got away as fast as I could, opening the door to the first store I saw. It was Barnes and Books.

The old lady who was sitting behind the counter was startled by the sudden chiming of the bells hanging on the knob as I swung opened the door.

She was reading a book as I barged in, her hand caressing the dog lazily lying on the counter.

“Good lord!” She exclaimed as her hand went to her chest, soothing her heaving chest from being startled. She noticed that I was out of breath, perspiration on my forehead as I panted. “Oh sweetie, are you alright?”

I looked up from my current hunched state at the kind old lady.

Time left traces on this old lady’s body. The wrinkles on her face when she smiled, the grey strands of her hair, the slight hunch of her back. But there was this warmth encasing her, as if wherever she goes, she would bring light and warmth with her.

She went from behind the counter to take a good look at me. “Honey!” She yelled behind her, her head slightly turned but eyes still fixated on my flushed face.

“Yes, my dear?” I heard a low and gruff voice not far away. “Can you bring me a glass of water please.”

“Anything for my doll!” The voice sounded a pitch higher, almost cheery.

“Why don’t you come take a seat here, sweetie.” She guided me towards the tall stool beside the counter, gesturing me to take a seat.

An old man emerged from behind of one of the bookshelves, a glass of water in his hand. His face looked grumpy, and I can’t help but noticed that he had a metal arm.

His eyes lightened up when he saw the old lady, his arms went to pull her into a side hug before giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Who is this kid?” The old man raised his eyebrows, eyeing at me as I smiled sheepishly at him.

The old lady took the water from the old man’s grasp and placed it in my hand. I took a gulp of the water while taking in the interior of the bookstore.

It wasn’t unlike any bookstore i’ve went, there were bookshelves everywhere, rows of books sitting on them waiting to be bought and read. In the middle of the bookstore were tables piled up with more books and a few chair here and there for customers to sit on. There was a stairway, hidden behind a large bookshelf, leading up to the second floor. A sweet, floury smell wafting in the air, reminded you of a bakery.

It wasn’t unlike any bookstore i’ve went, yet it felt different from any bookstore i’ve ever been to. Perhaps it was the decoration of it, where there were some framed calligraphy on the walls; or the pots and plants near the large window which you could watch people walking by the streets; or the smell of fresh baked goods permeating the whole space; or the friendly old lady and her grumpy husband.

“I’m Y/N Barnes, this is my husband,” The grouchy old man tightened his grip on his wife, as if he was nervous or simply territorial. “James Barnes.” He gave me a taut smile, clearly not used to smiling at strangers.

“Nonsense!” Y/N slapped her hand on her husband’s chest, “you can called him Bucky. Now don’t let his grumpy exterior scare you away, because deep down inside he is a big cuddly teddy bear.” The old man grumbled and rolled his eyes at his wife’s statement but anyone could tell he wasn’t actually annoyed.

Y/N patted me on my shoulder and went back to the counter and her unfinished book after shooing her husband back to where he was before. The old man gave her a kicked puppy look before leaving.

“Sweetie, take as long as you like here,” She opened a drawer which is stuffed with cookies packaged and sealed nicely. “Eat as much as you want too, Bucky baked too much anyways.” She giggled.

“Thank you,” there was nothing worth crying yet I felt tears brimming in my eyes. She panicked a little when she saw my eyes gleaming, her hands fumbling to grab some tissues for me.

“Sorry, I just had a not so okay day and you’re being so nice to me,” her worried frowned melted into a warm smile and she pulled me into an embrace as I cried.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I nodded and watched as she went over the door and flipped the sign to ‘close’.

“Before you say anything, this is my store, i can do whatever i want.”

I spent the whole day spilling my heart out to an old lady i’ve only met for a few hours.

“Oh honey, i’m sorry to hear that,” she had an apologetic look on her face. I told her about quitting my job because of the misogynistic people and the overall toxic environment.

“So yeah, i’m unemployed now,” I wiped away my tears. “What am I gonna do now? There are still bills and loans to pay.”

Y/N had a frown etched on her face, but it soon faded away as she grabbed my hands. “How about working here then? I could use an assistant!”

“I can? I-“ I shook my head frantically, “I mean if you’re really hiring then…”

“Of course my dear. Bucky’s always nagging me to hire an assistant anyways,” She rolled her eyes, “that old man. He’s always worrying about me and my back.”

And that was how I ended up working for the Barnes’.

[danny-pino-group-therapy]

Lost In A Daydream

Prompted by @tom-hlover: Benedict Cumberbatch X assistant reader, where Reader fell in love with her boss but knows that it couldn't be, so she resorted to writing which luckily she used a pen. Name as her writings became successful and even surprised her that Ben reads her works until he knew it was her and found out about her feelings, and he was feeling the same way too

Pairing: Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Warnings: None that I can think of, all fluffy.

Word count: 1,111

A/N: I'm not taking request, but I was asked very nicely, and I didn't want to let a fan down. I have a horrible time saying no, lol. I hope you like it @tom-hlover. So this is my first fic posted in forever, like in years, so be kind, please. If you like it, comment, like, reblog, please! I love your feedback.

Other notes: (Y/P/N) is Your Pen Name. *Gif Credit goes to @thelostsmiles*

Working as an assistant to Benedict Cumberbatch for the past year had been a fantastic opportunity, one you hadn't quite expected to receive. The job had been presented to you by Benedict's previous assistant when she turned in her resignation letter as she was moving away to be with family in the states.

Over the year assisting your boss, you had developed more than just feelings of friendship towards him. Being so close and constantly around Benedict, you slowly developed romantic thoughts. The feelings that you had were eating away at you slowly, and it was no chance you would spill them to Benedict or that he'd in any way return the same feelings, so you decided to put your college courses in creative writing to use and start by writing fanfictions here and there in your free time. When they began to gain attention, several of your readers suggested you start publishing eBooks and submitting drafts to publish. Never had you thought they'd take off as they did, but you had sold several books online, and one of your first books was due to release today in stores, under a pen name, of course.

"Good morning, (Y/N)." Ben said with a smile as he came into the studio to prepare for another day of filming his newest movie. He would spend a while in the makeup chair, so he always had a book on hand.

"Hello, Benedict. You look very cheerful this morning." You commented at the tall man's bright smile. Ben usually had his face buried in a script, but today you noticed he was carrying a bag from his favourite bookstore.

"Well, one of my favourite authors has just published another book, and it was released today. Just grabbed my copy on the way here." He sat down in the chair and cracked the new hardback book open.

It was then that you noticed the title of the book he had. Your book, to be exact, it was also then that your heart sank to your stomach, and you felt nauseated.

"What if he finds out it's me? What if he figures out it's about him? What if he knows it was me all along and he…."

"(Y/N)? (Y/N)? You with me?" Ben called out, making you snap your head up to look at him.

"With you? Wh-why. What do you mean?" You laughed a bit, trying to brush the whole thing off.

"I asked you if you had read any of (Y/P/N) 's books before, but you seemed very occupied." He laughed, making you gulp and blush a bit, looking down to some notes you had in your hand.

"Oh, ha, no. No." You cursed yourself for being so awkward. "I've heard great things, though, from friends."

"She's my favourite author. I'd love to meet her someday." Ben looked over you, carefully studying your curious behaviour before he got back to reading.

The day passed by with you trying to avoid Benedict unless he needed you beside him for work; otherwise, you stayed at a desk out of the way and tried working only to end up stuck in your thoughts.

Ben had a pretty good idea by the end of the day that you were the author of his favourite books, not only due to the way you had acted when you found out he had bought the book this morning but continued to avoid him all day when able. The actor would be lying if he said he didn't have similar feelings as the male character in the book towards his coworker. He was now determined to find out if the feelings were mutual between himself and (Y/N).

You were reading the same line again and again on a paper that had been given to you for a commercial that Ben was to be in in a few weeks.

Benedict came up behind you and called your name, going unnoticed by you with the first call.

"(Y/N)?" He said again and laid a hand on your shoulder to bring you back from your concentration.

You jumped and turned your head, looking up to the ocean blue eyes of your boss.

"Oh, Christ, you scared me." You placed your hand on your chest, feeling the thumping of your heart under your palm.

"You are jumpy today. Is everything okay? You seem a little off. Like in your own world almost." Benedict stated bashfully, wanting to say how he felt about you.

"Uh yeah, yeah. Just, um. Just a lot on my mind." You nodded and looked off. You just wanted to spill your guts to him and get it off your mind and chest.

"You can tell me anything. I know I'm your boss, but I consider you a friend as well. I need to, no, want to tell you. I only hope I'm not crossing the line or going to cross the line." Ben rubbed the back of his neck and tried to stop himself from continuing to ramble.

"I have feelings for you." Ben said suddenly.

"It was about you." You blurted out at the same time.

"I'm sorry?" You asked, staring dumbfounded at the handsome man you had admired. "Did you say you have feelings for me?"

"Yes. Yes, I do (Y/N). I also think you wrote the books, am I right?" He questioned curiously.

"Y-yeah. It's embarrassing. I'm so sorry if it's inappropriate." You wrung your hands and looked down at them. "I can take another job if it'll impact my position working with you." You continued.

"(Y/N)." Benedict interjected. "(Y/N)". He said again and failed to stop you, so he tipped your chin up and kissed your lips tenderly, only pulling away slightly to see if he crossed the line.

What he found was your eyes closed and your face in peaceful bliss. Smiling, Ben leaned in again and pressed a more passionate kiss, wrapping his arm around you, his large hand flat on the small of your back and one hand holding your face gently.

After breaking from the kiss and opening your eyes, you both had a smile.

"What about a date? Not a fictional one this time, an actual date. Then you can tell me about what else you have yet to publish, and I've yet to discover of yours." The actor chuckled as he looked down at you.

"A date I'm great with that idea, but you'll never see what I've posted on my blog. At least not yet." You died just thinking of what he would think if he saw half of the filth you had posted on your blog even before your employment with him.

[write-orflight]

Galileo: Chapter 5

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev -  Next

Pairings: SpencerXReader, enemies to friends to lovers trope

Rating: M

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: Light smut, 18+

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N is an astronomer with her head constantly in the stars. But when a serial killer is threatening NASA’s top scientists, she is left in the protective custody of a man who’s gravitational pull threatens to pull her back down to earth.

A.N Unedited because i’m sleepy. There’s a fic I read when I first joined the fandom that inspired some of this chapter. i can’t remember the name but if you do, please tell me so I can credit. Comment on this chapter only or message to be on taglist please.

                             Chapter 5: Saturn 

There was a rare occurrence that happens sometimes in Space where a Planet will tilt off its axis and disrupt the order of things in the galaxy forever. Even though it hasn’t happened yet, it doesn't make it not possible. You had always thought about that phenomenon and how you never quite understood how so many scientists just blindly believed in that possibility with no proof. It wasn’t until that dance with Spencer that you believed in it. If you were the galaxy, that dance was the tilt in your axis. 

Nothing could quite be the same again. 

It seemed that Spencer himself was the disruptor. 

Since that day, everything between the two of you was different. It was simpler. It was too easy to have conversations, to laugh at each other's jokes, to spit inane useless facts at each other. But it also became too easy to melt at Spencer’s bright smile, too easy to stare at his hands as he helped you with your math sometimes, too easy to flush whenever he paid you a compliment on your work. 

Too easy to fall in love with him. 

You didn’t want to think about that but you couldn’t help it. At first, you wanted to chalk it up to you not knowing how to differentiate your feelings. Maybe you just thought you were in love with him because he was the first guy to be nice to you since Jonathan but as the days went on you knew that to not be the case. None of this felt like how you were with Jonathan. With Spencer, it just felt easy. Just felt right. 

It was the weekend so you had off work. Before you would always end up going into work anyway and getting some extra logs in but now you liked staying in and hanging out with Spencer. Right now the two of you were walking in the plaza near your home, fresh cups of coffee in hand. Spencer, at first, did not want to be out but after some convincing (which was just you threatening to leave without him, which he did not like) he was all for joining you out. The two of you stopped in a bookstore and you made a beeline for the astrology section. You hear Spencer scoff when you pick up a book to look through it. You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“What?” You say. 

“Astrology, really? Aren’t you a scientist?” 

“Yea, an astronomer. I love Space, so while Astrology isn’t a proven science. It’s fun to think the stars have a say in what kinda person you are.” You shrug. “When’s your birthday?” 

“October 28th.” 

“Of course you’re a Scorpio.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything to me. Astrology isn’t real.” 

“You must be real fun at parties.” You roll your eyes. 

“Well, what’s your sign?” 

“I’m a Cancer. Did you know that water signs are the most compatible? Especially Scorpios and Cancers.” 

Spencer laughs out loud at that. You turn looking him in the eye. “What’s funny?” you say. 

“That itself doesn’t tell you that astrology is bullshit?” He laughs. You narrow your eyes at him. “I mean, us, compatible? It’s funny.” 

You try. You try so very hard not to look hurt by his words, you know Spencer’s a profiler and will see right through it. And he does by the sympathetic look he gives you. 

“You’re right, maybe it is bullshit.” You say, putting the book down instantly. “Let’s go home.” 

You and Spencer don’t talk the whole walk home, in fact you don’t talk when you get there. You’re about to just retreat to your room when you feel a hand circle your wrist. 

“I’m sorry.” He says. 

“You didn’t do anything.” 

“I hurt your feelings.” He says. 

“You didn’t hurt my feelings.” You lied. “I’m just with you all the time. Sometimes I just need a minute alone. Is that okay?” 

He lets go of your wrist. “Of course, I’m sorry.” 

You nod and retreat to your room, blowing a heavy breath as you fell into your bed. Might as well take a nap. You thought as you let sleep take you over. 

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

Long, slender fingers found their way into your hair and yanked roughly. You couldn’t help the soft whimper that came behind it. You felt the lips that were sucking hard bruising marks into your neck smirk slightly. His other hand trailed your body lightly until they met their final destination at your sex. You gasp loudly when the digit rubbed soft circles around your clit. 

“Are you going to be good for me?” He asked, you nodded dumbly before moaning out loud when the first digit found its way inside you. Spencer smirked at you. “Look at you. I’ve barely touched you and you’re this wet for me. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” He asked, you nodded and gasped again as he found that spot inside you. “Hmm, I don’t think you want it enough baby.”   

You’re shaking your head immediately. “No. Ple-please fuck me.” You stutter. “I’ll be good, I swear.” 

The smirk he gives you is almost devilish. “Alright, baby. I’ll take care of you.” He says as you feel member pressing up against your sex--

You wake up to the smell of something burning and Spencer shouting expletives from what you assumed was the kitchen. You groaned, frustratedly. Since that day your mom came to visit, you dreamed of Spencer almost constantly. Today was no different. You couldn’t escape him in your waking hours and now it seemed you couldn’t even escape him sleeping. 

You hop out of bed and run to the kitchen. The sight before is Spencer frantically waving the billowing smoke that was coming from your oven. You run to open your window and turn the oven fan on. You both look at the pan that had something that couldn’t even be described as food anymore by the degree of which it was burned. Spencer looked at you guiltily. 

“You seemed upset so I thought I’d make you dinner but I was reading and I lost track of time. I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You smile at him. “Thank you for thinking of me but I wanted chinese tonight anyway, sound good?”  You say, he nods gratefully. 

Later the two of you are sitting at your kitchen table, eating chinese out of the takeaway containers. You were talking about nothing and everything until the topic came to College. You talked about how freshman year you did the whole partying thing before quickly finding out it wasn’t your scene and keeping to yourself for the rest of your college career. Spencer told you he never went to any parties in college. 

“You never went to any parties?!” You asked, shocked.

“Well, I was 12. No one was really scrambling to invite me to frat parties.” 

“So you didn’t do any traditional college games? No beer pong? No ‘Never Have I Ever’?” You ask, Spencer shakes his head. That’s when you get a fantastic idea. You get up and look in the cabinet above your stove which is where you kept your liquor and pulled out a bottle of Jameson. Spencer sees this and immediately shakes his head. 

“No.” 

“Aww, come on. Let’s play Never Have I Ever.” You smile. “If you’ve done the thing you drink.” 

“I don’t want to play a remedial drinking game.” 

You think for a second. “How about this? You’re a profiler, right? And I like to think I’m a little observant so how about this. We’ll take turns making assumptions about the other if the person is right, the other drinks and if they’re wrong, you drink.” 

“I don’t know… it probably isn’t wise for me to be drinking. I’m supposed to be watching you.” 

“It’s not like we go anywhere that’s not here anyway.” You say. “Plus, if you're good at your job, you’ll hardly have to drink.” You throw a pouty face on for good measure. Spencer rolls his eyes. 

“Fine.” He says standing up and snatching the bottle from you, walking to the living room. You giggle at him before grabbing two glasses to follow him out. “Just so you know, it’s wrong to peer pressure people.” He says. 

“Well, what’s a college drinking game without peer pressure.” You laugh. 

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

“Who’s starting?” You say as you watch Spencer pour your glass. The two of you are settled on opposite ends of your small couch, facing each other, your knees just almost touching. 

“You can.” Spencer says. “I want to see if you're actually observant.” 

“Okay.” You say, sitting up slightly at the challenge. “You’re an only child.” You say. Spencer raises his eyebrows at you, shocked you actually got something right, but drinks anyway. 

Spencer looks at you for a second. “You have an older sibling you are not close to.” 

You drank. “Yea I’ve got an adoptive older brother. There’s nothing wrong, it’s just he was already much older when I was born and we have nothing in common, other than our parents.” You look at Spencer for a second. “I wanna say divorced parents, but only raised by one.” 

“You’re a lot more observant than I thought.” Spencer says as he drinks. “Dad left when I was 10.” He says offhandedly. 

The game goes like this for a while, both of you confirming your beliefs of each other. You find out about Spencer’s mother's illness, Spencer learning you smoke when you’re stressed. Spencer was winning though, not that you had a problem with that as you wanted to drink, hence why you suggested the game. You were giving him a little bit of a run for his money. It was now your turn and the alcohol in your system must’ve turned off your filter because you say. 

“You’re a virgin.” 

You pause for a second waiting for him to drink when you realize he’s waiting on you to. You widen your eyes in shock but take your drink anyway. “I thought Maeve died before you got to meet her fully.” 

Spencer nods. “She did.” He says, “The two don’t correlate.” He says, like it's obvious. 

You hadn’t been expecting that. “You just didn’t strike as the hit it and quit it type.” 

“And I’m not, but sometimes things are just temporary.” He says looking at you, deeply in your eyes. “You were upset today, in the shop because I said we weren’t compatible.”  

You solemnly take a drink. “Why?” He asks. 

“Hey, that’s not a part of the game.” You say. 

“Please?” He adds. 

You sigh. “I don’t know… I guess, it seemed like the idea of being with me repulsed you. And that was upsetting.” 

Spencer looks at you with the most intense look in his eye. You had never seen that look before and you were glad you hadn’t because it was so heated that it was melting you where you sat. “The idea of being with you…” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips and back to your eyes. “Doesn’t repulse me. Trust me.” 

You knew you weren’t the best at social cues sometimes but that seemed like a pretty big one. You move closer to him, so that your faces were close but someone would still have to make that final move. You realize it’s your turn, so you think, Fuck it...  

“You want to kiss me right now.” You say, looking Spencer in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow swig from his glass, eyes never leaving yours. He sits his glass down on the table next to him before saying. 

“You want me to kiss you.” 

You sip your drink, looking him right back in the eyes. You sit your glass down next to his and Spencer's hand catches your wrist on its way back. Before you can even get a good look at him, his lips are crashing on to yours. You groan in surprise before melting into it, your hands immediately going for his hair. His massive hands almost engulf your face as he tries to pull you impossibly close to him. He groans as he licks into your mouth, both of you tasting like the Jameson you had just drunk but there was also something under it that was just pure Spencer. You push him back until you are fully seated in his lap. His hands go immediately to your waist. Feeling risky, you experimentally grind your hips, causing Spencer to groan and grip you tighter. His hands slide up your shirt slightly, you moan at that. 

“Fuck-” Spencer says as you suck bruises down his neck. “Fuck, w-we’ve gotta stop.” 

You pull back. “Why?” you ask. 

Spencer swallows, pushing you off his lap. “There’s this thing called transference. You only want me right now because I’m protecting you. You don’t like me.” He says. “We don’t like each other.” 

You realized what Spencer was trying to say. You were both drunk and there, he didn’t really want you. It was being stuck together for so long that was making him attracted to you. You were foolish to think a guy would actually want you. 

“You don’t like me.” You say. “And I read this situation wrong again. God, I’m an idiot!”  

“I didn’t say that, Y/N-” 

“No, you’re right. You only kissed me because I’m what you’ve been stuck with for weeks. You don’t like me. I can’t blame you no guy ever does.” 

“No, Y/N, I just didn’t want to take advan--” 

“I need to smoke. I’m going out.” You say, grabbing. “Alone.” 

“Y/N, that’s not safe and you know it. Let me go with you.” 

“I think we both need to be away from each other. I’ll only be out front. Please.” You plead to him. 

  Spencer doesn’t say anything so you take that as your cue to go. You pull your pack and lighter out the kitchen draw and stomp out the door. As soon as you get in front of the building, you light the first cigarette as stray tears fall down your face. You were such an idiot to think someone like Spencer would want you. Sure you were both smart but you were arrogant and spiteful. Spencer was the sweetest person ever when you got to know him. It was stupid to think there was a world the two of you would work. 

You frustratedly put your cigarette out and stand to head back inside to probably embarrass yourself some more when you feel it. 

The hard slam to the back of your head knocking you out cold. 

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

Taglist: @lokislilslut​ @spencerreidslove​ @evelyncade @ceeellewrites​ @diesinspanishbcimhispanic​ @eevee0722​ @fiftyshadesof-reid​ @cielo1984​ @differentkettleoffishalltogether​ @criminalmindzjunkie​ @bbygirlq2020​ @quillanpie​ @themanwiththreephds​ @itshatertatertotblog​ @bihoeofmanyfandoms​ @baby-i-am-fireproof​ @graciehams​ @no-honey-no​ @capricornmashmallow​ @itsarayofsunshine​ @big-galaxy-chaos​

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 30, Post 1 by @blimeypeople

Hi! This is my first time writing a fiction story in English (I'm not a native english speaker) and it's unbetaed :(  If you have time to spot something wrong or if this story doesn't make any sense, just let me know, pretty please?

Thanks for hosting this fest. You're all so awesome!

---

Title: Don’t run, please.

Author: blimey,people

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Prompt: Parenthood

Rating: G

Hermione Granger-Weasley really thought her life was perfect, that she had achieved everything she wanted and made her heart happy: she had a husband who loved her, a job she enjoyed, saw her friends and family whenever she could (well Sunday lunches at The Burrow were an unwritten rule but she enjoyed them a lot), but then what was she doing running through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic? Hiding from her husband, that's what she was doing. She turned on the corner of one of the corridors, she was no longer running, but she was walking hurriedly heading in the direction of the main library of the Ministry, so big and wide that not only was it difficult to locate the books you needed, but also the people that were inside. The best hiding place, Hermione thought and quickened her pace when she saw him: Ron, standing in front of the large wooden doors, staring at his shoes in his scarlet Auror team uniform, which was somewhat wrinkled. Probably coming back from training, Hermione barely had time to think when she turned around running to the opposite side. They were quite far apart, so it wouldn’t be that easy for him to reach her but he was faster.

  "Hermione!" She heard him scream, but she couldn't stop, she was scared, she was afraid of having a conversation with him. She accelerated her escape as she felt his footsteps getting closer.

  "Hermione! Don't run, please! " She had heard that voice a few times. Her memories took her to a particular occasion, when she was also hiding, but from evil forces who wanted to end their lives and the life of their best friend. She couldn’t resist his voice, she had resisted it countless times while he asked her for forgiveness inside the horrendous tent. It hurt her soul, it hurt her not being able to hug him telling him how much she loved him, but her pride won. Only months later, she was able to achieve what her heart and mind most wanted: to reveal her feelings and be reciprocated. Now her heart and mind told her this was far more important, that this could perhaps destroy the relationship that with so much love, time and dedication they had built, this could possibly end one of their most cherished dreams, burst the bubble of joy and emotion that had appeared inside them almost three months ago. This could take away their most precious gift: their future child.

  So she stopped, took a deep breath, and waited for him to catch up with her. It didn't take many seconds when she felt his long fingers capture her left wrist leading her towards a deserted office.

  I should’ve flooed home, Hermione thought as she walked alongside Ron. He would have found me there in an instant though, I should’ve gone to..., she tried to complete the thought, when she was struck by doubt. Her choices were limited in terms of places where she could just go to think without being seen, without being interrupted, no questions being asked by anyone. Her childhood room in her parents' house might have been a great option, but now recently her parents had semi-retired from their jobs (occasionally they went to the office in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, at times they took turns and one of them stayed home while the other went to work), thus Hermione didn't know for sure when the house was thoroughly empty. Besides if they found her in her old room on a Friday lunch, at the time in which she should still be at the Ministry plus they were aware that, due to her almost obsession with completing every unfinished task at the end of the week, Fridays were her most complicated days at work, it would potentially lead them to ask her thousands of questions and if she chose to answer truthfully, as she had done since she met them again in Australia two months after the war, tired of hiding things from them. This time, though, she was certain they wouldn’t be as understanding as they were back then. Now the situation wasn't just about her, it involved someone more important and vulnerable, someone they hadn't met yet but they already loved.

  Her parents, Jean and Hugo, were over the moon since the day they learned about the arrival of their first grandson or granddaughter. The imminent growth of their little family filled them with infinite joy. On countless moments, mainly when Hermione and Ron would give them the news about the birth of a new child in the ever growing Weasley family, the faces of Jean and Hugo gave away what they wanted: they were dying to ask her when she and Ron would finally decide to have one of their own. Therefore they were ecstatic. The decision to adapt a room on the first floor as a playroom for their future grandson or granddaughter came easily. Well, we don’t need a library anymore, do we, Hugo?, said her mom. It took them a week to disappear the shelves loaded with books that were once part of the room. Toys, kids books, little stuffed animals, big stuffed animals, a white cot and the largest most colorful collection of clothes Hermione had ever seen overflowed the rather large space. Apparently, her mother considered it was better to have more variety than later needing a neon green footie embroidered with dinosaurs and not having it on hand. Her father, more serene and restrained, but just as enthusiastic, had bought a beautiful memoir book for the baby, where he himself would be in charge of writing down every detail of his or her first year of life. However, Hermione was sure something was wrong with her for she hadn't been able to share the same level of enthusiasm of her parents or her husband hence she just smiled everytime they mentioned the baby. Therefore, she was certain Jean and Hugo would probably agree with Ron on this issue. So now he was being proven right, they would help him convince her to "do the right thing for the baby." Except she honestly couldn’t discern what was right anymore so the confusion and fear consumed her. She loved her job, enjoyed the responsibilities that came with it, rejoiced in every new challenge she encountered no matter the outcome, she was sure of it. Her newly discovered feelings for the little human being growing inside of her were what confused and scared her at the same time.

  Ron guided her to an old and solitary chair within the rather desolated office gently helping her to sit on it. Rather than sitting beside Hermione, he stood in front of her and crouched down. He took one of her hands, placed it on top of her knee, gently stroking it.

  “Hermione, the evidence is overwhelming. If they were able to send an object specifically charmed to harm you into your office, it is because they aren’t our most common enemies. It means they are doing their homework figuring out your routines. They’ve been following you for at least a few weeks. They knew that only us usually go there so you would open the package without a second thought,” Ron couldn't control the tone of sadness, anger and despair as he spoke.

  Minutes before lunch, Hermione received a small package wrapped in a black paper with little stars, the wrapping of Hermione's new favorite bookstore in Muggle London. She frequently went there alone and sometimes Ron accompanied her. She ran to get it, unwrapping it in an instant. She didn’t even have time to see the title of the literary work, when the book came to life and suspended in the air began to hit her repeatedly, increasingly hard on the chest, arms, legs. Her wand was on the handbag she regularly took to lunch. The book kept hitting her, in one moment heading for her belly. Hermione started to scream, moving as far as she could from the object. In seconds, the auror who was stationed outside her office managed to undo the spell. It wasn’t the first threat, that's why the auror guarded her office. Whoever was behind it, had tried to harm her on previous occasions but they had never been so close to actually hurting her. The spell was very powerful, the package was able to pass the rigorous inspection of the experienced auror. A mother who genuinely loved her child would already be home, protecting him or her by being away from danger, the thought stunned her. She began to run through the corridors of the Ministry even when she heard the auror screaming for her to stop. She didn’t want to see anyone, especially Ron, who a week ago had almost begged her to stay home for a few days while they determined who was threatening her.

  “Harry and I are very close to identifying who is doing this, Hermione. We just need you to get away from danger a bit… ” Ron started, looking her straight in the eyes.

  “I don't want to quit my job, Ron, not after working so hard for many years. I'm nearly there with the house-elf protection law… "

  “I know about all the work you've done, Hermione. I would never ask you to do it, if it weren't for… "

  "The baby," Hermione completed looking down, "I understand Ron, but I honestly don't think it's necessary ..."

  "Not putting our child at risk is more than necessary, Hermione, it will only be a few months," Ron interrupted quickly.

  "Ron, I can't. So many magical creatures trust in me..."

  "They will continue to trust in you when you return," said Ron.

  "We said having a child wouldn't alter our lives, that I would continue working, you know I don’t want to be a stay at home mum." Hermione felt Ron's hand tighten on top of hers.

  "It's not that. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if the situation wasn't like this," argued Ron, "Tough I must say you were the one saying having a child wouldn't alter our lives. I think you were trying to convince yourself. For my part, I believe that many things are going to change, things we won’t be able to control."

  "Ron…"

  "I reckon you're getting scared ..." Ron continued coming closer and reaching her shoulders to hug her.

  "I'm not…" Hermione tried to interrupt and wriggle out of the hug. But he knew her better than anyone. Hermione was sure he had noticed her doubts, insecurities and fears even before her.

  "I am scared too, I'm not just talking about the threats, because I can assure you that we are going to find out who is behind everything and he’s going to pay for putting you through this," his voice was harsh and he had struggled not to shout during the last sentence. "I’m positive you're scared for him or her too," his voice had taken a delicate, sweet tone, the tone he used when they fought and he wanted her to understand he was right without making her feel too bad.

  "You are doubting yourself, asking that brilliant mind of yours a ton of questions, not finding answers. You’re wondering if you’re going to do a good job or if you will love him or her enough. The fact is, Hermione, the love you will feel towards our child will never be enough, it will be infinite", he raised one of his hands caressing her cheek, “It's not about doing a good or bad job, love. It's about doing the best we can in our own way, making mistakes and learning together, because you do realize we're in this together, right?” Ron delicately squeezed her cheek, Hermione looked up, her beautiful blue eyes pierced through her with the deepest love, he lowered his hand placing it on her still small belly, “He or she deserves the world, I assure you we will give it to him or her when the time comes. What we can do now is protect our little one, we are not going to let anything happen to him or her. Okay, we should definitely find out if it’s a boy or a girl, I'm getting tired of this”, he grinned.

  In that instant, Hermione felt within her how the little life Ron and she had created began to move and the most profound love, love she only felt for the man in front of her, completely invaded her. Ron gave no sign of feeling it, but it wasn't necessary. She placed her hand on top of Ron's, looked him straight in the eye, and nodded. He smiled at her, hugging her tightly.

  At this precise moment in her life, despite her insecurities about her ability to love and protect her unborn child, the certainty of knowing Ron never made vain promises began to fill her with strength and hope. If he firmly believed everything would be fine, it would be. If he was by her side on this adventure, there was no doubt the next few years would be different, challenging, but wonderfully incredible.

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 2 (Nessian AU)

A/N: DO inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: Abuse and Swearing

1957 words | Part 1 | Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassian was waiting. And waiting. And waiting. He waited for the day he would forget the woman’s face. He waited for the day he could close his eyes without seeing her blue-grey eyes blazing in anger. He waited for the day he wouldn’t burn his bacon because he was thinking about her.

He had mused, how the face of a stranger was branded into his mind vividly. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered if they’ve known each other before or have seen each other somewhere, anywhere before the day in the mall—even if on photographs or at an event or at another shopping mall. Still, he desperately wanted to forget about her. He wanted to forget that she ever existed. He wanted to forget their encounter in the mall that day. He wanted to forget everything about her, even though deep down, he knew what he wanted was far from forgetting her.

But he couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t afford to think about her at all times. He was getting distracted at work. His part-time job as a martial-arts instructor and as a sommelier was in a precarious position if it went on like this. He nearly tore one of his student’s muscles in his centre and got at least 5 orders wrong at the restaurant he was working at.

On a Saturday noon, Cassian decided the best way to clear his head was to dive into a war book or reread Secrets Of The Sommeliers for probably the millionth time.

* * *

Nesta flinched at the sudden ping of the oven timer. Again. She’d been thinking about him again. This was the fourth time in the whole week when she burned her cheese sandwich and she was getting so tired of this. She urgently needed a way to stop thinking about him. To stop seeing his insufferable grin whenever she closed her eyes. To stop thinking about him at almost all times.

It struck her as odd, the fact they didn’t even know each other’s names but she kept seeing his face as if they’ve known each other before. She gasped. What if they had known each other before? What if they were probably neighbours from Nesta’s old house or classmates or maybe they went to the same college. Nesta shook her head.

But why should she care? No, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care what his name is or if he even has a name. She doesn’t care if she’s had the misfortune of seeing him before or if that was the first she’s seeing him. Or so she kept telling herself. She couldn’t afford to have him occupy her thoughts. She had better things to do. But all these excuses weren't enough to stop her from still thinking about him.

Nesta looked at her clock. It was a Saturday, almost noon. Maybe reading a spicy book or two will help.

* * *

Cassian loved the House of Wind library and bookstore. They had a variety of books in almost any genre. He'll admit though, that some of the librarians here are better left alone. He was lucky he came here often and therefore knew a handful of the merrier librarians. He made a beeline for his favourite section, books related to wine, best books for sommeliers.

On his way to the shelves he had committed to memory, he realised that there was a big poster about their annual Free Premium Membership Fest where 20 fortunate, early birds would get their membership card updated to premium with a number of privileges. Cassian's whole being was elevated. He missed the last fest they held and had been waiting for the next fest. He wondered how he could forget such an important thing. Oh. Right. Of course. A certain lady was occupying his thoughts. He sighed. He forgot about that too.

He was quite disappointed when he reached the counter. The fest started yesterday and the computer stated that there was only one person left till 20. What truly disappointed him was that Clotho wasn't at the counter as she usually was. Maybe she'll be in the—

“If you're done staring at the computer maybe you could deign to move so it can really serve its purpose of being a public property?” Cass froze. He'd know that voice anywhere. This was the voice taunting him at all times. “And if you have coffee in your hands, I'd suggest you turn slowly.”

He smirked. So she knew who she was talking to.

“Well, looks like the damage would be lesser this time since your clothes aren't white,” he observed.

“I figured black would hide stains caused by ogling, clumsy people better than white,” she said. “Now, if you could move, I want to register for the Membership Fest.”

“Register? What do you mean by ‘I want to register for the Membership Fest’?”

“A register, you know,” she teased, “Something like a form where you fill your details if you want to join something?” She smirked at his glare.

“Well,” he said, “if there is a register let me fill it first.”

“Because your ego is bigger?”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” he dead-panned. “I came here first.”

“Here as in the counter or the library? Because I’m pretty sure I stepped into this library first.”

Cassian quickly checked the database where the information of all members appeared. He turned back to her with a self-satisfied smirk. “The database shows otherwise, sweetheart.”

She scowled. “I don’t believe you. You might’ve tampered with the information.”

He moved slightly to the side to give her a better view. Her scowled deepened.

She rounded on him. “You,” seethed. “You did—”

“Hello,” a new, shy voice said.

“Hey, Gwyn,” they both said in symphony.

A look of surprise crossed over her features before it faded away. When the woman turned to Gwyn, she wore a huge smile. “Oh, look, she smiles,” he muttered, earning him a glare.

“Is the fest still on?” Cassian asked.

Gwyneth Berdara, one of the joyful librarians here, said, “Unfortunately, not. We just got our 20th member.”

Cassian’s face fell. He noticed the same of the woman too. Gwyn, always the optimistic one, said cheerfully, “Maybe we could reserve one for the both of you next year?”

They both murmured their assent before Gwyn offered her farewell and went back to the staffroom.

The woman turned back to him. “This is all your fault,” she hissed and stalked out of the library, leaving Cassian more confused than ever.

* * *

Nesta went to the library to find solace or at least a semblance of it. Seeing the man there, however, left Nesta more rattled than she would care to admit. Rattled, and angry. Angry at the universe for giving them these unfortunate encounters. Angry at him for following her wherever she went. Angry at herself for feeling such futile emotions. Angry at her body for reacting to him.

She was also upset that she didn’t get a free premium member cr

Nesta was so occupied with her thoughts and emotions that she didn’t realise she was taking the wrong route. She wasn’t familiar with this part of Velaris. She also didn’t realise she was being followed. It was distinct, the sound of hushed breathing, of the soft thuds of footfalls. The footsteps sounded heavier which most probably meant it was a man. She couldn’t really be sure, though. This was a person who was not experienced in stalking but was trying hard enough.

Nesta knew she shouldn’t panic but couldn’t help the bout of fear that crashed through her. Nesta tried to stay calm. She tried to make sure she didn't quicken her pace. She tried, cauldron, she really did. But her fear was slowly overpowering her senses. She felt the urge to run away from her stalker.

But that wouldn’t be wise. Running away from her stalker isn’t a good choice. It wasn’t smart. Who’s to know he wasn’t armed? What if he was faster than her? What if her stalker was faster than her? He might be stronger too. He could over power her and cage her in. She didn’t even know what his motive was.

Then, Nesta made a ridiculously huge, dumb mistake. She turned to an abandoned alley. At least it looked abandoned. She let out a frustrated breath. Running away was at least better than getting stuck in an alley. So much for ‘that wouldn't be wise’. She looked around, trying to get a sense of where she was or if there were any means of escape, however meager it might be.

Suddenly, she was slammed to the alley wall. The rough cold stone was unforgiving and unyielding under her cheek. Her windpipe was closed off and she was struggling to get some air in. She fought to get free but her captor —a man, as she guessed— was too strong. Somehow, his hands felt familiar to her. As if she were long acquainted with this person’s touch.

“What do you want?” she gasped out.

He chuckled, the sound grating through her very bones.

“My little Nesta,” he whispered, his hot breath ghosting the shell of her ear. “Ever the stubborn one.”

That voice. It was one that she couldn’t forget as hard as she tried. Tomas Mandray, her ex-boyfriend, was someone not easily forgotten.

“Tomas,” she said. She couldn’t bring herself to be nice. Not now, not after how he treated her. “What the fuck do you want? Let me go.”

“I see you haven’t changed at all.”

“I can say the same of you.”

“Mhm. You broke up with me and then you called the police. Got me stuck behind bars for two fucking months.”

“Good riddance,” she muttered.

He slammed her head against the wall. Hard. Blinding pain shot through her. He yanked her hair so hard she was afraid chunks of it came out. Her head only throbbed harder.

“Manners were never your cup of tea,” he hissed.

“You were not that kind either. You were an empowering, possessive bastard and I don’t regret watching you grovel to the police for freedom for one fucking moment and I won’t ever.”

He growled and slammed her head against the wall again. She cried out and was pretty sure she heard something crack. She felt the metallic tang of blood on her lips, streaming from her nose freely.

“Oh, you will. You’ll regret everything. Every. Single. Thing. For your whole god-damned life. I’ll make sure of it, bitch,” he promised.

He tightened his grip on her hair that sent another wave of agony through her. She caught the glint of something in the fading sunlight. A knife. Of course he had a knife.

He had a knife while she was a mess, kneeling on an alley, completely at the mercy of one of the people who hated her the most. Pathetic. So, so, pathetic. She hated herself for whimpering. She hated herself for being this weak. She hated that she had gotten panicked enough that she turned to an alley, where no one would know.

Here, in this unknown alley, with the person she hated the most, Nesta Archeron was going to die. She was going to die a death as unknown as the place she was in. Maybe even without her sisters knowing. Shit. Her sisters. If only she showed all her love to sweet Elain and brave Feyre, if only she even went to meet her brother-in-laws, Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian, maybe things would’ve been different. She closed her eyes, fighting the emotion in her throat. I’m sorry Elain, Feyre, Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian, I’m so, so sorry, was the last thing in her head before she felt acute pain and succumbed to the dragging talons of oblivion.

taglist:

@im-someone-i-guess @shadowsinger07 @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele

[hongism]

midnight rides - jjk ➻ 18+

➻ pairing: jungkook x female reader ➻ genre: angst, fluff, smut, s2l, barista!jungkook, bookstore worker!reader, soulmate au ➻ rating: M for Mature ➻ word count: 25.1k ➻ summary: you fall asleep on a stranger’s shoulder while riding the night train home. as it turns out, he’s not much of a stranger after all. ➻ pre-story a/n: honestly guys i have never felt more physically exhausted after writing a story in my liFE. i worked on this fic every day for the past week and a half or so and in the past few days i have been writing between 2k and 5k every night and i am so happy to be done. but also like,,,,i feel so very proud of this story and how it turned out so i hope you all feel the same :3 ➻ warnings: semi public sex, fingering, handjobs, cum eating, cum swallowing, creampie, cumplay, choking, biting, marking, hair pulling, nipple piercings, tattoos idek, thigh riding, oral: m and f receiving, size kink, dom jungkook, sub reader, sir kink, a bit of scratching, explicit sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up binches), breast play, nipple play, such sweet sickening aftercare, the gentlest, brief discussions of past trauma - car accident, death

☽     ☾

You’ve always despised trains. Since you were young, they always bothered you for one reason or another. When you were little it was because they were “too loud”, and seeing as one always passed your childhood home at obscene hours in the night, it makes perfect sense looking back. Then as you got older, you had to commute to school somehow and the train was your only option because the distance was so great between your house and the school. Once you entered university, you just festered a disdain for trains, and nothing was going to change that.

So as you sit curled against the window on the train, you can only think about how much you hate the thing. It’s still loud, loud as ever really, and you know that you are going to be stuck on the damn vehicle for a long while. You want nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. It’s late; you got off work at a ridiculous hour (honestly, 1 am? Is that even allowed for a day job?) and now you have to commute back home on the damn train.

To make matters even better, you can’t even curl up on the booth because someone is sitting next to you less than a foot away. You barely have space to breathe without bumping your elbow into his side. You aren’t sure why someone else is on the train at this hour. Honestly, it’s one in the morning, where is he going?

Regardless, you know you’ll be on this ride for at least another two hours because you were stupid enough to take a job this far from your apartment. Precious hours of sleep lost because of a damn train. The only good thing about this whole situation is that at least it’s a Friday night so you can sleep in some before having to go back to work yet again.

With a small sigh, you pull away from the window, the glass fogged up by your warm breaths. You glance around the train car, finding other bodies occupying the seats around you. So it’s not just this one guy next to me… I guess that makes me feel a bit better. It’s still a mystery as to why so many people are on the train this late at night. You make this trip regularly, and yet there are never so many people with you. Perhaps six or seven at most, but never a nearly packed car like this.

Against better judgment, you dare to look at the man next to you – although upon second glance, he seems more like a boy. As you move, a ringing resounds in your ears, something akin to Christmas bells, and you scoff at the idea of some kid carrying bells with them. He can’t be much older than you, if older at all. His eyes are squeezed shut, skin wrinkled around his eyes from the pressure, and his head lolls forward every once in a while. He is asleep by the looks of it, albeit in a very uncomfortable position. He – like you – must be returning home late from his job, a brown apron still tied around his torso. The overwhelming scent of coffee beans and espresso lingers in the air around him as well.

It’s a strange and small relief, knowing that you aren’t the only one working drastic hours and traveling a long way to get home. The train jerks; the boy’s head falls forward further, and his body slumps in your direction. You have to bring up a hand to defend yourself from the sudden weight of his body. His skin is warm to the touch, another welcome relief in the cold train car. Between the heat of his skin and the warmth of the scent emanating from his clothes, everything about him seems warm and comfortable.

You blink furiously before pushing him off you again. Sleep deprivation is truly getting to your head. Still, his skin felt like the warm blanket you have back at home, and you want nothing more to curl up against that warmth and bury yourself in it.

You steady his body against the seat then turn away, resisting the urge to brush the loose strands of hair away from his closed eyes. You nearly slap yourself to push that temptation away. The gentle waves of his dark brown hair look soft to the touch, a shine to the strands even in the dim train lights. It’s belated but you finally notice the ink decorating the skin of his arms, which give him a much older vibe than you initially thought. You only take a moment to scan the markings along his arms though before moving your gaze elsewhere. The noise coming from the train drowns out his breathing but you can see the way his chest rises and falls with each passing second. He must be exhausted beyond belief to be sleeping so hard on a train like this. Then again, you can’t blame him because you feel minutes away from sleep yourself.

The train rumbles on without cease, unbothered by your thoughts and musings. The boy sleeps on the same as before, completely unaware of his near tumble to the floor of the train car. And you, well, you let your head fall back against the cushioned booth and stare at the back of the seat in front of you. The lull of the train’s hum and rumble works like a spell. Exhaustion hits with the force of a rhinoceros, sleep washing over you, and you let yourself fall asleep without any further inhibitions.

You awake with a jolt, fingers tapping at your arm incessantly. The rumble of the train has died down to a faint hum, nothing more than a delicate purr. The previously dim lights of the train car have become bright and fluorescent again, harsh on your eyes as they flutter open and take in your surroundings. The first thing your senses pick up is the scent of espresso, then something brown in front of your vision, and the train car seems to tilt in your vision. A foreign weight rests on your head, weighing you down and pressing you further against the wall of brown in the edge of your vision.

A finger continues to prod at your arm, one poke every few seconds, and you slowly come to the realization of where you are and exactly what is going on. Before you stands a young woman, her head tilted like yours.

“Hun, you and your boyfriend ought to wake up before you miss the next stop,” she says, tone quiet. You peer at her, confusion etched onto your features, but she just continues to smile back at you before turning and walking away from your booth. My… boyfriend? I don’t have one?

Then it hits you. The scent of espresso, the brown clothing, the warmth emanating from your side: you’ve fallen asleep on your booth companion.

“I’m so sorry!” You blurt as you sit up, pushing away from the man next to you. The action brings him out of his sleep in a startle and his limbs flail as he jerks awake. It takes a few terse moments for him to gather his bearings and realize what’s going on, but once he seems to remember where he is, he turns to you with wide, doe-like eyes. He blinks back at you in shock. His lips part, either to say something or just stare without speaking. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you!”

The dark-haired man jumps into action at your words, immediately shaking his head. “No, no, no! It’s totally okay! I don’t mind – I mean, I know you didn’t mean to. Don’t worry about it, I swear it’s okay.” Despite just waking up, his voice is clear and melodic. The tone carries through the air like a song and reaches your ears with an unforeseen gentleness that fills you with warmth. He raises his hands above his shoulders. “I kinda – well I, I sorta did the same to you so we’re even.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat even though he told you that it’s quite alright. “A complete stranger falling asleep on you, how awkward is that?”

“Honestly, I’ve had worse things happen to me. A pretty girl falling asleep on my shoulder is the least awkward thing to happen to me.” You blanch at his words, as does he, and it seems that the words did not come out as he thought they would. “Not pretty! I mean, no! Wait, hold on. I’m – you are pretty. Yea, you really are pretty. Super pretty. Wow. Uh, I just – I di–didn’t mean to – you know what, I’m just gonna stop talking now before I embarrass myself further.” The red hue of a blush climbs his neck quickly, touching his ears in an instant, and his eyes dart away from yours.

You open your mouth to respond even though you have no clue what to say to his rambling. Thank goodness you don’t have to say anything because the man jumps up from the booth and stares at the digital banner above the open doors of the train car.

“Oh fuck, I missed my stop,” he blurts, one hand darting to comb through his hair. You glance over at the banner as well.

“Shit, this is my stop!” You yelp and rush to grab your bag from under the seat, not wasting any time in collecting your things. The man watches you in shock before kicking into gear himself. He reaches under the booth too and snatches up his own bag before following you out the doors of the train just before they slide shut on you. You both pant as you hop off the train. It slides away without care, oblivious to your struggles. A huff escapes your lips as you watch the vehicle speed out of sight.

“Ah, uh, would you happen to know how far this station is from Station 37?” The man beside you asks, a hesitant hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. Red tinges his ears again; either that or it’s the lingering remains of his earlier blush.

“Station 37?” You echo. “This – this is Station 45?”

“Oh god. So, uh, quite a ways then.” He chuckles but the sound comes out more forced than anything else. Something in your heart twinges in sympathy for the man as he peers along the tracks.

“I could – well, you could…” You trail off before the idea leaves your lips. Possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had, and no doubt one that your mother would lecture you over for days (if not weeks). So, you do a quick turn and alter your plan a bit before sharing it with the man beside you. “There’s a hotel near my apartment? You could stay there for the night then go home in the morning.”

“Oh?” He purses his lips, mulling over the words. Then, he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth a moment later. “Ah, no, I don’t really have any money on me at the moment. I don’t get paid until the end of next week so money is a bit tight for me right now. Thanks for the offer though. I can just wait here for the next train to come.”

“Then I can wait with you,” you announce as you step around him to sit down on a bench near the tracks. Tucking your bag between your feet, you glance up at him with wide eyes and a slight smile. “I would feel bad to just… I don’t know, leave you here to wait alone?”

“Well then, I would feel bad keeping you here so late. Besides, I should be perfectly fine waiting alone. People don’t really approach me because… you know.” He has a point there, and you’re inclined to agree with him but it does nothing to quell the nagging sensation in your gut that grows with each passing moment. When you refuse to move from your spot on the bench, he seems to get the hint that you aren’t going anywhere. He joins you on the wood, pushing his bag between his legs like you did with yours.

“Uh, I didn’t catch your name,” you state, a nervous grin playing at your lips. The embarrassment of falling asleep on his shoulder is still fresh, and silence would cause that embarrassment to soar further so making conversation is the only option.

“Hm?” He glances over at you. You open your mouth to repeat yourself, but he continues speaking a moment later. “Jeon Jungkook.”

The name stops you in your tracks. Figuratively, of course, seeing as you’re sitting down.

“Jeon Jungkook?” You repeat like a parrot, smile falling as you blink at him. Not at all how I pictured him to be. What? How is this even – how can you be the Jeon Jungkook?

“That tone doesn’t sound good.” He forces out a laugh. “But, ah, let me catch your name first?”

“Y/N L/N,” you state through the disbelief. “We go to the same university, except you’ve probably not heard of me before.”

“No, no. Your name sounds somewhat familiar. I think we might’ve taken some classes together in the past? I don’t know exactly but something tells me you know me from something other than class?”

“I’ve only heard of you bec–”

“Taekwondo?”

“Taekwondo,” you confirm with a weak smile. “You are uh…”

“I’m uh? Well, that’s a new one.” Jungkook’s smile stretches across his face, cheeks scrunching up with the motion.

“I me–meant that you’re not what I imagined you to be?”

Jungkook tilts his head to the side at the words, the inquiry in his eyes. “What did you expect then?”

“I expected you to be – I don’t know, uh, bigger?”

“Bigger?” Jungkook reiterates, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. It takes a moment for the unintentional innuendo to sink in, and as you realize the double entendre, it’s your turn to have a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“More athletic! Looking. Athletic looking. Not that you don’t look athletic now! J-Just – you know, you look lean…er than most taekwondo people?” The more you ramble, the more you embarrass yourself, that’s for certain. Jungkook nods along with your words, staring at the floor rather than at you. You’re grateful for that much because if he were looking directly at you, it would make things ten times more difficult.

“I think that’s meant as a compliment?” He muses more to himself than to you. You glance over at him, eyes raking over his face for any sign of emotion, and find a smile playing at his lips. “So thank you.”

“Yes, definitely a compliment.” You release a breathy laugh. “I, uh, I heard that you quit taekwondo though.”

“Yea, recently. Well, it’s been a while now, but it still feels recent.” Jungkook leans forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees. His eyes continue to glare at the ground. Perhaps you shouldn’t push the subject but your curiosity is getting the better of you so you prod further.

“Why did you quit? You were always the top performer and the best one on the team.”

“Well, things change. People change. It was time for a change of pace. That’s when I picked up my job and started having these shitty hours.” Something about Jungkook’s answer leaves the subject unfinished, an odd lingering sensation to his words as though he isn’t telling the whole story. You should be satisfied with the amount of information you got from him, and besides, it’s really none of your business at the end of the day. should be Satisfied.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I just assumed it was one of those lifelong passions,” you mutter. You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your shirt, tugging at the fabric absentmindedly as you continue to speak. “I understand what it’s like having shitty hours though. I’m in the same predicament.”

“Oh? Where do you work?”

“Uh, kinda near campus. There’s a small bookstore a little ways away, and I always go there in my free time so I decided to apply for a job when I saw they were hiring.”

“Wait – Omelas Bookshop?” Jungkook sits up straight again and points at you with his index finger.

“A-Actually yea, Omelas Bookshop. How – How did you know?”

“I go there all the time,” Jungkook admits through a smile. He laughs again, this time less breathy and fragmented, a full-bodied laugh that resounds through the empty air around you. “Whenever I have free time at least. I work at the coffee shop just across the street.”

“Wait, really?” It’s your turn to echo the shocked expression and tone.

“Yes, yes. Wow, what are the chances?”

“Ha, really…” Your voice trails off and grows quiet.

“Hey, uh, this may be a left-field question but… do you believe in fate?”

“Wh-What?” You stammer, jerking your head back in Jungkook’s direction. He’s looking at you again, doe eyes wide and waiting for an answer, and for a moment you find yourself utterly stumped by the question. “Fate?” You repeat to yourself. “I-I… no. I don’t really believe in fate or destiny or anything like that.”

“Oh?” Jungkook’s lips fall into a rounded shape before being quickly replaced by a weaker smile. “I do. Fate, destiny, soulmates – all of it. Some things are just too strange to be called coincidence.”

“I disagree with that,” you mutter. A twinge of bitterness sneaks into your tone that you didn’t intend to let through, and Jungkook immediately picks up on it.

“That’s sounds… rather personal but I won’t push you to explain it.” Jungkook hums before turning to look down the train tracks. “Uh, do you think another train will be coming soon? I don’t want you to keep waiting on me.” You blink down the tracks as he does, looking for any hint of an oncoming train, but nothing is there. Your eyes move to the back of Jungkook’s head. If I don’t offer something, he’s gonna be out here alone for another two or three hours…

Time for the bad idea, then, you decide.

“I-I, my apartment – well, I have a pullout bed in my couch. I never use it because I don’t have anyone come over but… I could give you a spare set of sheets and some pillows?”

Jungkook’s head whips back in your direction, and you immediately turn away to avoid eye contact. You can practically feel the heat of his stare on your face, and it only encourages a tidal wave of embarrassment. It feels like a dumb suggestion all of a sudden. It’s too late to take back the words now though because they are hanging in the air between you two, waiting for a response from him.

“I-I wouldn’t – I don’t want to intrude. That’s – it’s your apartment. I don’t wanna get in your way or anything,” he refutes through a string of stammers.

“I think we both know that another train won’t come around for at least two hours. My apartment is only a five-minute walk from here. That’s basically two extra hours of sleep.” Your logic remains sound. Jungkook can’t refuse the offer at this rate, and he seems to be considering it.

“But… I don’t… I would feel bad. Or that I owe you something?” He tries again to refuse the offer. A yawn passes through his lips as soon as he finishes speaking, and he blinks down at the ground with a growing expression of defeat. “I-I will bring you coffee sometime. Or buy you a meal?”

“No, no. You won’t owe me anything, I swear. It’s a favor! I don’t need anything in return.” You stand up, pulling your bag up as you go, and smile down at Jungkook. “I promise it’s okay. I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t. Besides, I feel a bit more at ease knowing that we go to the same school and vaguely knowing who you are.”

Jungkook hesitates one last time before standing up with you and grabbing his own bag. He slings it around his shoulder then extends a hand to you. You stare at the outstretched appendage. A moment passes in silence, then you blink up to his face and back down at his hand.

“Your backpack?” He says once he reads the confusion on your face. “At least let me carry it for you.”

“No that is really unnecessary. I don’t wa–that’s just really awkward isn’t it?”

Jungkook ignores your huffs and puffs, snatching your bag from your hands and throwing it over his shoulder along with his own. You sigh at the defeat, unable to say anything further to defend yourself.

“Okay, fine.” You motion for him to follow you as you round the bench and head away from the train tracks. He lingers a moment, then you hear the scuffing of boots along concrete and his form pops up in the edge of your vision.

“Are you sure this is alright? I don’t want to intrude or anything. Is your roommate going to be okay with this?”

“I don’t have a roommate. I live alone because my awful work schedule has driven all my other roommates off.” A laugh follows your words even though there’s no humor in them. More or less, it’s a sympathy laugh for yourself. If Jungkook notices, he opts not to comment on it, which you’re grateful for. “But yes, I’m sure this is okay! It’s no trouble at all really.”

“O-Oh, okay. I just don’t wanna get in your way.”

“You won’t! I promise! It’s not like I ever use my couch much anyways since I’m always out for work or school.” You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant and chill about the whole situation. In all honesty, your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, your throat feels like it might collapse on itself at any second, and you might pass out if you stop talking. You are absolutely crumbling on the inside and it is taking everything in your power to conceal that.

“That makes me feel loads better then…” Jungkook murmurs, voice fading as he turns his head away from you. “I’ve never been to this part of the city before. It looks so different from where I live even though it’s not too far from here.”

“The city seems a lot bigger once you go to new places, huh? I used to think everything looked like this but once I started working at the bookstore I noticed that everything was much larger than I made it out to be.”

“The world just gets bigger and bigger as you get older,” Jungkook says. You hum in response. “How long have you lived here?”

“Since I started college, but I lost lots of roommates along the way.”

“What year are you at university? Sorry, I don’t mean to be making this an interrogation or anything like that, I’m just curious.”

“I don’t mind! I’m a senior this year.”

“Oh really? I am too!” Jungkook nudges you with his elbow, another bright smile stretching his lips. You laugh along with him and turn to look at him. In hindsight, it’s a mistake to do that because as you move, the moonlight gleams down on him. You freeze in your tracks. The pale moonlight cascades over his features, feathering through the loose strands of hair around his forehead, following the gentle slope of his nose, accentuating the rounds of his cheeks as he grins, glistening over a set of straight teeth. Your brain almost malfunctions and breaks down as you look over him. He’s just so… pretty for lack of a better word, but you can’t really pinpoint what the right word would be for his looks. He continues to smile, eyes hiding behind lids squeezed shut as he scrunches his nose up. It hides your dumbfounded expression from him for the time being.

Still, you shake your head and slap your own cheek in attempts to force yourself out of the stupor you’ve fallen in.

“Still think it’s a coincidence?” He asks after a moment, one eye cracked open to look at you. A huff leaves your lips. You spin on your heel, and instead of answering, continue to walk along the sidewalk. Jungkook chases after you, a light and airy laugh carrying through the air as he does. “Fate is funny, you know. I think that’s why I believe in it. Crazy things can happen every day with no explanation, and yet fate comes in and takes all the credit. How about that?”

“Coincidence deserves more credit,” you counter. The smile on Jungkook’s lips falters, he looks over at you then back up to the clear night sky.

“Maybe it does, but not from me.”

“Here we are,” you mutter as you come upon your apartment building. Jerking at thumb at the door, you motion for Jungkook to follow you inside. A gust of warm air hits both of you as soon as you step through the doors, a welcome kindness compared to the cold spring air outside. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you make your way up the winding staircase, all the way up to the fifth floor, then you veer off and make a left at the top. After a quick fumble with your keys (which you nearly drop on the top of Jungkook’s chunky black boots), you manage to unlock the door to your apartment and bare the interior to the man beside you.

“Ladies first,” he says and motions inside for you. You roll your eyes ever so slightly, leaving him with a little huff of laughter to show that you aren’t being wholly serious, then step inside.

It’s not much to fuss about – a basic apartment with scant and ordinary decorations strewn about – but it’s home nonetheless. A cozy sensation of warmth seeps into your bones as you take in your surroundings, not one due to the actual temperature in the room, but rather one due to being home at long last.

“You can put your bag wherever I don’t mind. I normally just put mine on one of the bar stools or on the counter.”

Jungkook is too busy examining your apartment to hear what you have to say, his wide eyes dancing from wall to ceiling to floor back to the wall again.

“This is a nice place. Much nicer than mine at least.”

“Well, I’m sure part of that is due to the price of this place. It is meant for roommates after all, but I just can’t find a better place anywhere else. Maybe I’m too attached to it after four years though. I would offer the secondary bedroom but… my last roommate kinda stole the bed? So there’s nothing in there right now except for an empty dresser.”

“Stole the bed?” Jungkook snaps to attention at that. “How does a person steal an entire bed?”

“You’re asking the wrong person!” You raise your hands in defense. “I’m not the one who stole it after all. I just woke up one morning and the whole bed was gone. Along with him and all his belongings aside from a dresser full of clothes. So how about that? I got free men’s clothes and he got an entire bed.” Jungkook laughs as you recall the story, moving around you to set both his bag and yours on one of the bar stools.

“What if I told you…” Jungkook trails off. He slowly turns towards you, and there’s a sneaky and mischievous gleam in his eyes that you don’t trust one bit. He attempts to hold back a bout of laughter as he finishes his train of thought. “…that my current roommate brought his own bed when he moved in even though there was already one in the room.”

“Then I would call you a liar, Jeon Jungkook!” You exclaim when he can’t hold his laughter back any longer.

“Would you call it fate then?” He inquires through the laughter, and you respond with a roll of your eyes.

“I would still call you a rotten liar!” You persist as you walk towards your bedroom to retrieve some sheets for Jungkook.

“Do you need help?” He calls after you.

“No, it’s okay! I’ve got it.” You wave him away with your hand. “If you want a change of clothes, you could try scrounging around in my roommate’s old dresser. They should be clean but you never know with men honestly. No offense!”

“None taken, none taken. You’re right about that.”

You duck into your room after hearing Jungkook’s words, not waiting for any further comments, and instead focus on grabbing a fresh set of sheets from your closet. When you stumble back into your small living room, Jungkook is nowhere in sight so he must’ve gone into your roommate’s old room after all. You dump the bundle of sheets onto an armchair before turning to the couch. Frankly, you’ve never tried pulling the bed out; the only reason you know it exists is because you saw your roommate use it on multiple occasions. Peeling back the cushions, you sigh at the sight before you.

“Uh, Jungkook?” You call out.

“Yeah?” His voice is faint and distant to a degree, but it grows louder as he steps back into the living room. When you glance up at him, your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as he is in the middle of tugging a far too formfitting t-shirt over his head. Silver glimmers across his chest, small beads perked on either side of each nipple, and you nearly choke at the sight of them.

He wouldn’t… Jeon Jungkook? Of all people? Well then again, he does have a lot of tattoos… but do they even allow that in taekwondo? Maybe they are newer? He… no, no, no. I must be hallucinating. I mean – no, don’t even think about it, Y/N. Just – just ignore it.

You whip your head away to avoid seeing him half-naked and any more indication of those little beads around his pecs.

“What’s up?”

“D-Do you, uh, do you happen to–to know how to pull out?” Your brain malfunctions and stops the sentence there. It’s Jungkook’s turn to nearly lose his shit, and you struggle to fix the mistake without stammering. “P-Pull out the be-bed! Pull the couch out, pull a bed – you know? Pull the bed out!”

“A-Ah, yeah! Yep, bed. Yes, pull out the bed. From the couch. The pull out bed in the couch. Got it.” Jungkook coughs between words. Your attempts to recover the situation have obviously failed and the heat of embarrassment overwhelms your whole body. Jungkook doesn’t say anything further about your slip up; instead, he walks around the couch and grabs the handles of the mattress. “Wait – don’t you need to move this back a little?” He tilts his head in the direction of the coffee table, long hair flopping across his forehead, and you blink at him dumbly for a moment.

“Oh! Oh yea, of course!” You scoot the table out of the way with your legs, making room for the bed to extend completely. “We can move the couch back too if needed.”

“No, no, this should work just fine,” Jungkook says. A grunt follows his words, one that sends an unwelcome heat to your core, and you try not to watch the way his biceps strain against the sleeves of the white shirt as he pulls the bed out from the couch. He extends it with ease after the first tug. You bite down hard on your tongue all the while, eyes failing to leave his toned arms and the curve of his neck as he moves. “See? Easy.”

You nod in response, unable to form proper words, and move to pick up the sheets you brought out instead. “Uh, I-I–”

“Let’s do it together, yea? I’m honestly really bad at putting fitted sheets on.” Jungkook laughs and scratches the back of his neck. You toss the loose sheet his way, starting to tug the fitted one over the thin and dingy mattress. The action gives you a moment to breathe and regain your sanity because, in all honesty, you do not want to come across as a creeper to a man you just met, but you’ve probably already done that multiple times in the brief time you’ve been chatting with him.

Once the sheets are all secured around the mattress, Jungkook plops down on the cushion with a light laugh.

“That was the hard part,” he says. The smile on his face lightens the atmosphere around the two of you, a mellifluous sound that penetrates your heart like a knife. You can’t keep from grinning back at him, an action that you keep repeating over and over with him. You pass a pillow his way.

“Do you need any blankets or more pillows? I’m sure I can scrounge some more together.”

“No, this is fine! I tend to sleep late because I kinda sweat a lot in my sleep. Sorry in advance about the sheets.”

“Ah, it’s fine! I’ll just throw them in the wash anyway, so don’t worry about it!” You turn away from the couch, hesitate a second, then glance back at the man on your couch. “Sl-Sleep well. If you need anything, I’ll, uh, I’ll be in the next room.”

“Of course. Thank you again, Y/N. Really. Thank you so much.”

“No need to thank me. I’m happy to help.” You leave him with a smile, retreating to your bedroom before you have the chance to embarrass yourself more than you already have. As you are making your way back to your room, Jungkook’s voice stops you as he asks one last question.

“Do you still think it was all a coincidence, Y/N?”

Your steps falter and you nearly run into the wall but you still catch the question. You leave him with no answer, mulling over the question to yourself. It lingers at the forefront of your mind as you step into your room and shut the door behind you with a quiet click.

Coincidence is a funny thing, but then again Jungkook said the same about fate. He must have noticed the same things you did – all the little coincidences – and yet he calls it fate.

What kind of coincidence? Just happening to sit next to a random stranger on the bus at one in the morning, falling asleep on his shoulder, having to get off on the same stop, then finding out that you go to the same university, are in the same year at said university, have the same major, and work across the street from each other? How on earth is that mere coincidence? Then bringing him to your apartment where you just happened to have a dresser full of clothes that magically happen to fit him like a glove? Just happening to have a pull-out couch where he can sleep, along with a spare set of sheets for it? How many times can you call something a coincidence before it becomes fate?

You pull yourself into bed with heavy limbs and dragging movements. It’s hard to wrap your mind around the situation, especially given that it’s quite late in the night, but also because none of it really makes sense to you.

Too many coincidences. Is that a possibility? And fate?

You scoff to yourself when your head hits the pillow. Fate is a joke, at least it has always been that way in your eyes. Perhaps Jungkook is right: fate is funny, but only in that it’s treated your life like a joke from start to finish. Never done you any favors or given you blessings. Everything good that has happened to you has been a result of hard work and struggle, fighting through the obstacles that “fate” has thrown your way for years and years.

Or maybe your bitterness towards fate is all due to some past trauma. Your mother used to love talking about fate, believing in it, crediting everything that happened in both her life and yours to fate. It was always a blessing and a guiding light to her. She thought it was her friend, her protector, the light at the end of the tunnel. Of course, when the actual light at the end of the tunnel came for her it was fate that caused the eighteen-wheeler to crash into her car head on, landing her in the hospital on her deathbed. And even when you were at her side then, she credited it all to fate for guiding her to the place where she was and how her life progressed over time. She was fucking content with the end fate had given her, and yet in your eyes, it was unfair. It wasn’t just. It didn’t feel right or kind or like anything good. It was a cruel slap in the face to a woman who gave her all to a “fate” that could only be wretched and evil.

Yea maybe that is why you cannot handle calling this fate. It’s too good to be fate because fate only knows how to be cruel. You’re certain of that fact.

☽     ☾

Lips crash against yours. You hum against them, letting the warmth overwhelm you and fill all your senses. They breach your skin and attack with a gentle ferocity that is foreign to you. Deft fingers trail down your sides. You barely have time to moan before they hook around the hem of your nightshirt and tug it up. Up, up, up until it goes over your head and gets tossed to the side. You bare your chest to the man before you, looking up to find his face.

Rather than a face, darkness greets you. That’s when you realize that you’re living this reality in a dream and a dream only. You don’t have much time to think about the fact that this isn’t real because the man presses his warm lips against the juncture of your neck, nipping and sucking with soft licks. A moan passes your lips as he brushes over a sensitive spot. It feels real, and that’s all that matters to you.

“Hmm…” You hum out. Bringing your hands down against his chest, you tug relentlessly at the white shirt clinging to his skin damp with sweat. He must get the hint because he leans away from your neck to tear the material off as he did to your shirt moments ago. The skin across his chest is soft, pure, so bare of marks compared to his arms that you want nothing more than to lean forward and decorate every visible inch of skin with your lips and teeth.

Large hands come down against yours and trap your wrists against the mattress beneath you. A gasp passes through your lips next. Fingers latch around your wrists, effectively pinning you down, and the man above you brings one hand down to trace the column of your neck with his index finger. You whine at the action, more so at the fact that he’s only using one hand to pin you and how big he is above you like this. His knee wedges between yours and pushes your legs open with little effort. The show of strength draws another whine from your lips, your back curves off of the bed, and he pushes you back down with the flat of his hand.

That same hand trails a path down your bare abdomen, trailing over your dripping core, and drags two fingers through the wetness of your folds. The featherlight touch has you whimpering, writhing, struggling to buck up against his hand and deepen the touch. He teases at your wetness, fingertips barely pushing in, but a moment later thick fingers slip into you and begin to scissor you open. The pleasurable sensation has you curling off the bed as his fingers crook inside you.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, voice somehow managing to be both gruff and gentle at the same time. You want to lay back and lose yourself in the pleasure but something about his voice rings familiar in your ears and you cannot let it go.

Jungkook.

Your eyes widen as you look up at the man.

I’m having a fucking sex dream about Jeon Jungkook!?

The mere shock of the situation jerks you out of slumber, you wake up with a start, and light invades your vision. Sweat pools at your skin and brings dampness to your sheats. The space between your legs is soaked as well, proof of your less than proper dream. The wet dream you just had about Jeon Jungkook. A man you barely know. And the man who is sleeping in your living room. Fantastic. Wonderful. Incredible. Absolutely fucking amazing.

You let your hands fall to the bed, clenching around the slightly wet bedsheets. Embarrassment burns your body more than anything else at the moment, and it takes you several deep breaths to recover from the lingering memory of the dream you just woke up from. Once your senses recover some, you manage to let go of the sheets and pull yourself from the bed, albeit on quaking legs. The air in the room feels cold against your dampened skin. Aside from the warm temperature, a bright scent rises to your nose and overwhelms you. It’s one that invaded your senses so strongly last night as you slept on the train, a scent that emanated from Jungkook’s body the whole time you were with him, and yet it remains foreign in your apartment.

You never make coffee; rather, you just roll out of bed and grab some coffee on your way to university. So the overwhelming scent is too much for you to handle this early in the morning, and the thought of your wet dream about him only heightening the discomfort that bubbles in your gut. With a small shake of your head, you move for the bathroom to take a quick shower and wash away the dream lingering at the forefront of your mind.

The urge to let your fingers trail down your naked body and toy at the heat between your legs is oh so tempting. You want nothing more than to release the sexual frustration pent up inside you. How easy it would be to just get off real quick in the shower and head out like nothing is wrong. And to be honest, the mental image of the delicate tattoos and piercings through his nipples are quite the encouragement as well. Of course, your mind would decide to have a sex dream at the most inopportune moment. As Jungkook would put it: it’s all fate. No. This is merely bad luck. Fate has nothing to do with it.

You manage to push the temptation aside, by the luck of a miracle for certain, and continue to shower in peace. When you step out, you’re quick to towel down and change into a fresh set of clothes. You take longer than usual to select something to wear mostly due to the fact that you are really trying to avoid going out and being in Jungkook’s presence. Both the shame of your dream and the embarrassment of potentially looking at him that way while he’s staring right at you are both ample possibilities. Unfortunately, you seem to be on a bad run of luck.

A knock resounds at your door, a series of three raps against the wood, then a hesitant voice calls out to you through the barrier.

“Y/N? I, uh, I made some coffee if you want some.” You purse your lips. Ah, so that was coffee after all. You make your way over to the door, cracking it open and sticking your head through to greet Jungkook with a strained smile.

“Yea, I’ll be out in just a moment.” He nods at your words and steps away from the door. You take several deep breaths, repeating a mental pep talk as you breathe. Come on, Y/N, this is your apartment. Not Jungkook’s. Just breathe. It’s fine. It’s all good. Everything is chill and normal and fine. You didn’t just have a sex dream about him. Act like that didn’t happen. Stop thinking with what’s between your legs and start thinking with your head.

The mental encouragement helps some, and when you step into the hall, your heart isn’t racing at a hundred miles per hour. You greet Jungkook in the kitchen with another smile, this one much less strained and awkward. He’s standing behind the counter, elbows propped on the granite top, and nurses a steaming mug of what’s presumably coffee. Upon seeing you enter, he stands upright and mimics your smile. His gaze drops a moment later, however, and he glances away from you with a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks.

“I didn’t know, uh, how you liked your coffee. But I got a mug out for you!” He motions behind him at the coffee pot, which you’re surprised is still functional seeing as you seldom use it. “Sorry for rifling through your cabinets and stuff… I wanted to make breakfast for you as a way to thank you for letting me stay over. You don’t have much in the way of food though.”

“I’m shocked you even found coffee honestly.” You chuckle as you move to pour a cup of coffee for yourself.

“The shocking thing is the fact that you have coffee rather than food.”

“I-I never have time,” you protest. The smell rising from the pot entices you. It smells far different than whenever you’ve made it in the past but then again it’s Jungkook’s job to make coffee so he must know what he’s doing at least to some extent.

“Time to what? Eat?” His voice is a bit incredulous, and the accusation brings a pout to your lips.

“I work so late that I only ever eat dinner between shifts. I eat snacks throughout the day after getting breakfast at campus because I don’t have time to wake up even earlier than I do to make food for myself. I know it’s not a solid and valid excuse, but it’s the truth.” You shrug, digging through your cabinets for sweetener of some sort to no avail, then move for the fridge to get some milk. You’re too nervous to check the expiration date on the carton, although Jungkook saves you the trouble.

“It expired two and a half weeks ago.”

“Oh. Oh. Well, how about that?” You joke with a lilt to your tone. The look Jungkook sends your way is nothing short of pity. You settle for a cup of coffee without milk or sweetener. You half expect it to be more bitter than your outlook on life and yet when the hot liquid passes your lips, the taste is sweeter than expected.

“Special barista’s touch,” Jungkook comments when he sees your expression of shock. “But also… you need groceries.”

“I’m fine! Honest to god! I rarely eat at home anyways so any money I spend on groceries would be a waste.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. You think he’s going to send another pity filled glance your way, but he doesn’t. He instead downs the rest of his coffee in three gulps.

“I really shouldn’t stay longer than I’m welcome. I stripped the bed and put the sheets in your washer, but I wasn’t sure where you kept the detergent so I didn’t run it. I also put the couch back together and put it in place.”

“Wh-What?” You stutter, quick to glance around the living room. Sure enough, everything is put back in its original home, all evidence of Jungkook’s stay gone. “Oh wow, you didn’t have to do that! I would’ve taken care of everything. Uh, there’s – there’s no rush to leave! I don’t mind. I mean, unless you need to go! In which case, yes absolutely go ahead.”

“I-I would love to stay. Really. Love it. Uh, but I-I have work in a few hours. I should, you know, get back and get ready and stuff.”

“Yes! Yea, absolutely. One hundred percent.”

“Exactly!”

“Yes, work. I mean, going to work. I have to go to work too. Later.”

“Wow, what a coincidence! I mean, fate. It’s fate, right?”

“Sure? No, coincidence. All a coincidence.”

“Obviously.”

“Definitely.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Uh, the weather is really great outside.”

“Really? I didn’t notice. I was too focused on you – I mean, talking to you. I was busy talking to you.”

“Yes! Talking. Like old pals.”

“Because we are totally old pals.”

“Oh my god, this is awkward.”

“Ah thank goodness I’m not the only one feeling it.” Jungkook exhales a shaky laugh before setting his now empty mug in the sink. He moves to clean it but you stop him.

“Leave it! I’ll clean it after I finish my cup. Okay? Don’t do anything else!”

“Sure, yea, wouldn’t dream of it!” He steps away from the sink, hands raised in defense. Rounding the counter, he lifts his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Thank you again. Seriously, I cannot stress it enough. Thank you so much for letting me stay over.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Again. I was happy to help.”

“Before I go–” Jungkook cuts himself off, thinking twice about the words about to leave his mouth. “You know what, nevermind. It’s not important.” He turns to the door and quickly twists the locks, then again, he hesitates and looks back at you. “Actually could I get your phone number?”

“My what?” You reiterate, face blank.

“Y-Your number?”

“Oh shit. That. Duh. What else would you be talking about? Yes, yea, sure.”

“So we can talk again. Like old pals would.”

“Wow, that’s is exactly what I was thinking. We’re just on the same wavelength or something.”

“Oh, like it’s fate?”

“Nope! Nice try though.” You reach for your phone tucked away in the waistband of your pants and toss it to Jungkook. “How about you put your number in and I’ll text you? Does that work?”

“Of course.” Jungkook taps away at your phone, inputting his number and tossing the device back to you in a matter of seconds. “I guess I’ll talk to you later? Have – have a good day.”

“You too! I mean yes, talk to you later. Good luck at work!”

“Thanks, you as well!”

You wave at Jungkook’s retreating form as he steps out the door. A moment later, it snaps shut and leaves you in an empty and silent apartment. You go to lock the door again, twisting the locks before turning back to the empty living room with a strange sense of loneliness. You should be used to this loneliness after living alone for so long and yet you forgot what you were missing out on when talking to Jungkook after waking up.

Waking up to someone. You haven’t had that in months. Talking to someone first thing in the morning. Drinking coffee with someone. Just being at home with someone.

You never thought you would miss the sensation, especially after your last roommate proved to be such a hassle, and yet Jungkook has left a rather large hole in your defenses and heart.

Of course, it’s only after you return to the sink and begin to wash dishes that you look down at your shirt.

You forgot to put on a bra after your shower.

And chose to wear the most sheer white tank top in existence.

Fucking brilliant.

☽     ☾

Despite exchanging phone numbers with Jungkook, the two of you don’t really talk all that often. You dropped a text a few hours after he left your apartment (ample amount of time so that you weren’t seeming too excited or as though you didn’t care), and he responded within ten minutes. After that though, you two seemingly forgot about each other. You went on with your life as though Jungkook never came into it. His little spiel about fate seems quite humorous looking back because you can’t imagine why something like “fate” would put him in your life only for him to leave so quickly after. Nonetheless, you don’t forget about his existence entirely.

Jeon Jungkook still exists to you, albeit solely in dreams and thoughts. You get the occasional wet dream about said man from time to time despite your personal vehemence before sleeping about how you do not want to have another dream about him. Your brain can’t seem to get the hint to stop though so they come as regularly as one would think: once a week.

In hindsight, it seems kind of odd and creepy to be dreaming so much about a man you met for less than 24 hours. You blame the fact that you haven’t been dicked down in a good eight or nine months. So you opt to do the only logical thing a person could do: hookups via dating apps. In all honesty, it is the most unsatisfying string of hookups in existence but it serves its purpose and drives the nagging sex dreams about Jungkook out of the picture. And once the dreams finally cease, you cease your relentless sex escapade.

That freedom must come to an end, as fate – or coincidence rather – would have it. Which brings you to now, a late Friday night at the bookstore where you are sorting through books mindlessly. Your store has always had a late-night policy since the location is so close to the university campus. Students apparently love coming in after eight o’clock, at least according to your boss. You rarely see a single customer after the clock strikes nine but you get paid to mill about the rows and read books to your heart’s content so the job isn’t as bad as it could be. It’s nearing midnight, however, almost time to close the store so you are spending your time making sure everything is in order. Your boss left an hour ago, leaving you with the keys and the task of closing the bookstore on your own.

Humming is your only company, a gentle and soft sound you sing to yourself as you work. The action occupies your mind so much that you don’t notice the ding of the door or the heavy steps of someone stepping inside. A shadow moves in your peripheral vision. You nearly jump out of your own skin, a loud shriek escaping your parted lips, and the newcomer flinches at the sound.

You pull away from the shelf to get a better look at him – and it is in fact a “him”, wearing all black from head to toe. Black combat boots bigger than your face, cargo pants tucked into the tops of the boots, a shirt that clings to the owner’s chest with too much gusto, and a thick leather jacket that shrouds his chest from your view. Dangling from the man’s hand is a helmet – a motorcycle helmet to be specific – and you finally drag your gaze up to his face.

“Jungkook?” A sound akin to disbelief passes after you utter the name. He blinks back at you with wide, doe-like eyes.

“Uh… hi?”

Well fuck. Your luck has officially run out. Right when you thought you had escaped his grasp for good, here he comes, waltzing in like he owns the place with a fucking motorcycle helmet as though tattoos and goddamn nipple piercings weren’t enough.

“I-I, what?” You struggle to form a coherent thought. The sheer effect his appearance has over you is embarrassing, and his outfit isn’t doing you any favors either.

“I’m really sorry for coming in so late, Y/N. I meant to come sooner but I had to get gas along the way and that took longer than expected.”

“No, no. That’s – it’s fine. I’m not – you’re ho–fine.”

“I wanted to drop by and grab a book or two, if that’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice trails off as he grows shy, free hand reaching up to scratch at his highly decorated ears. You didn’t even notice the jewelry hanging from each lobe in your shock, but you should’ve expected him to be pierced in places other than his nipples. Oh my god, Y/N, can you stop thinking about his nipples?

“That’s perfectly fine! What we’re here for after all. Can I, uh, can I help you find anything?” You offer as you step away from the shelf at your side.

“I’m looking for a Lovecraft collection actually. I haven’t been able to find one recently but maybe… maybe you know where I can find one?” Jungkook places his helmet beside the register, rubbing his hands together while glancing around the shop.

“We have quite a few actually! Only one or two out here in the front though. More in the back, but I can show you the ones we have on the shelves out here first?”

“Absolutely, yea, that sounds perfect.” He moves closer to you, and the second he’s in your general vicinity, the scent of coffee strikes your nose. Warmth emanates from his body despite the cold night air outside, and you already feel yourself losing the last shreds of sanity you’re clinging to. You step away, moving for the shelves at your side instead.

“Okay, so Lovecraft… That should be in the mystery/thriller section.” Your fingers trail along the books as you walk. Eyes scan each label and name before reaching the section in question. “What sort of collection are you looking for?”

“I’ve been looking for a complete collection, but most bookstores either don’t carry them or have limited collections.” Jungkook steps closer to your form. The scent increases tenfold, and you nearly choke on the overwhelming smell.

“Yea, yea, uh…” You shake your head, trying to clear your mind of the scent but it doesn’t leave. “Do you – do you smell that?”

“What? Smell what?” Jungkook’s eyes widen, bright irises gleaming down at you in wonder. “It just smells like books in here.”

“No, I… I smell coffee?”

“Coffee?” Jungkook purses his lips and glances around the shop. “I don’t smell anything except books.”

“That’s strange,” you mutter. “Well, anyway, here is – this is our Lovecraft collection on display. I believe we have more in the backroom but I don’t know what specifically.” Jungkook brings a long finger to trail over the books, moving from H to L in search of Lovecraft. He pauses over a book and pulls it out. You can’t keep your eyes from following the deft movements of his fingers, those very fingers invading many of your dreams in recent months.

“You know…” He starts as he cracks the book open. “They say that when you meet your soulmate, you smell the thing they like the most.”

“They also say that you hear silver bells.”

“And? Have you heard any silver bells?”

“Are you insinuating that we’re soulmates, Jungkook?” You ask, tone incredulous as you blink up at the taller man. He chuckles at your question.

“What’s your favorite thing, Y/N?”

“Chai tea,” you utter through gritted teeth. Jungkook hums at the comment but doesn’t say anything more than that. Your heart rate has picked up, a frantic beat that drums against your ribcage and fills your ears with the sound of blood rushing through your veins.

“Could I see the books in the back? These are more partial collections,” Jungkook says as he pushes the books back into their designated places on the shelf. You nod, making a quick motion for him to follow you. You go to the backroom often and frankly it’s nothing special – it’s just another room lined with bookshelves and dusty books – so when you flip the lightswitch and unveil the interior, you aren’t expecting Jungkook to exhale a gasp of surprise. “Wow.”

“What?” You inquire, glancing over the expression on his gentle features.

“There’s so many books back here. I didn’t know you had so many.”

“Ah, yea, the owner wanted to expand the shop but didn’t have the funds so he turned this room into a book room instead. It’s open to the public but most people choose to focus on the main portion of the store instead. Give me a second to figure out where Lovecraft is; we don’t organize these shelves the same way as the ones in the front.” You mill between the shelves, quickly scanning each one with darting eyes, and Jungkook trails after you without a word. “I, uh, I didn’t know you rode a motorcycle.” You attempt to make conversation in the hopes that it will both quell your racing heart and alleviate some of the awkward tension lingering between you.

“Oh? Yea, I kinda picked it up after quitting Taekwondo.”

“Is that when you started getting tattoos as well?” You ask. Jungkook coughs, the question obviously catching him off-guard. “S-Sorry if that was intrusive!”

“No, it’s okay! I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. But yes. I started getting tattoos around then. I guess it was a little rebellion but…”

“But?”

“Ah, nothing. It’s not important.” You come to a sudden halt in front of a shelf, and Jungkook must not see you stop because his body crashes into yours and nearly topples you over. You reach out to grab the shelf, bracing yourself on the wood. Jungkook slams his hands down on either side of your head, his hips brush your ass, and you have to bite down violently on your tongue to keep a whine from slipping out.

Silence lingers in the air. Neither of you moves. Heat radiates from Jungkook’s body, along with that damn coffee scent, and your heart has begun to beat at the speed of light. You’re sure that if one more incident occurs to raise it further, you will go into some form of cardiac arrest. That familiar itch between your legs rises. Jungkook’s hands leave the shelf. The heat disappears as he moves back and you exhale a shaky breath.

“I-I, uh, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you mutter, continuing to face the shelf rather than him. If you turn around now, he might see how blown your pupils are, clear evidence of the effect he just had over you. “He-Here’s the rest of our Lovecraft collection.” You point to the books beside your head with shaky fingers. Before you have the chance to move out of his way, Jungkook opts to reach past your head and pull one of the books off the shelf. You press your thighs together with so much force that it hurts.

“This is the exact one I’ve been looking for!” He exclaims, tone bright and loud against your ears. You twist around to face him and look at the book in his hands. It’s an old one; spine greyed from constant use and pages yellowed from age. Nonetheless, Jungkook smiles down at it with a childlike wonder in his eyes. You cannot help but to laugh and smile along with him.

“How about that? Coincidence much?”

“No…” Jungkook trails off as his fingers trace the faded title on the book. “It’s fate.” You begin to sigh, ready to deny his ever insistent claims about fate, but his eyes flitter up to meet yours. Your words catch in your throat. The gleam in his darkened eyes is so intense that your chest clenches (along with your thighs – again).

“Jungko–” You don’t manage to get the name out. Instead, your breathing is cut short by a sudden pressure against your lips, and it takes you several moments to realize exactly what is happening. Jungkook is kissing you. Kissing you. Now you actually do whine, a faint sound that reverberates against his soft lips. The book in his hands falls to the ground with a soft thud as he presses against you harder. The lines of the shelf dig against your back, but you cannot bring yourself to care much as Jungkook’s arms snake around your body and press you tighter against him. You drop your hands to his shoulders, bracing yourself on his form as he pushes you further against the bookshelf. His lips never cease their movement or pressure, a continued force that engulfs your core in heat.

It only takes a moment for his warm tongue to prod at your lips, soft yet domineering in its movements, and you quickly give way to the touch. You gasp into his mouth as his tongue moves over yours, the cool feel of metal greeting you. It takes a moment for realization to sink in but when it does, you just about melt against Jungkook. In one swift movement, his hands slip from your hips to your ass and lift you up. Your legs move around his waist by instinct, a pleased hum leaving his lips as you do.

His tongue retracts from your mouth, and he pulls away so you both can catch your breath. The tension lingers between you, silence carrying it, and you can't keep your eyes from trailing over his lips as he breathes.

"A-A tong... tongue piercing?" You huff out.

"Shush," he mutters, lips coming closer to yours again. You nearly meet him halfway but he hesitates. "What's your favorite thing, Y/N?"

"Wh-What?" You stammer, shocked by the sudden question. Lust clouds your thoughts, and you can barely think straight beyond wanting Jungkook to pin you down and fuck you senseless.

"What's your favorite thing?" He repeats. His fingers draw small circles against the skin of your back, hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt.

"Coffee. Fresh coffee." You murmur back. His head dips to your exposed neck, lips pressing against the skin there.

"And what's mine?"

"Huh?" Again, the question throws you off-guard, and you aren't sure exactly what he's asking you or why. "Your what?"

"What's my favorite thing?" His breath is hot against your neck. Your lashes flutter from the contact then his tongue slips out to drag against your skin. You still don't understand the question even after he repeats it, and it takes you a while to understand what he's trying to get at. You take in your surroundings, glancing over the shelves as though they'll help you figure out what he wants to hear.

"Lo-Lovecraft?" You stutter. Jungkook's teeth sink into your neck, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to leave a mark for certain. "Books. It's books."

Jungkook pulls back to look you in the eye. His pupils are blown, nearly completely black from the lust. A smirk plays at his lips.

"Oh..." You trail off. Your hands sit loosely on his shoulders as the information sinks in.

“They say that when you meet your soulmate, you smell the thing they like the most.”

“They also say that you hear silver bells.”

"Y/N... I think you might be my soulmate," Jungkook whispers. His forehead falls against yours, and a breathy laugh leaves him. You don't know how to respond in all honesty. You've never believed in these sorts of things before, and considering the effect it had over your mother, you never wanted to put your trust into it all too much. So, rather than responding, you grip Jungkook by the nape of his neck and pull him closer to you. Your lips clash in a mess of skin and teeth. He nearly bites the tip of your tongue off when you collide, but it quickly melts into the same lust-filled passion from before.

"You talk too much," you murmur against his lips, earning you a laugh from him in response. He reconnects your lips without any further comments. His force takes you by surprise and knocks the breath from your lungs. Another light moan leaves you, and Jungkook eats it right up, filling all your senses with his presence.

Your fingers tug at the material clinging to his muscled body and push the leather jacket off his shoulders. He helps you along, discarding the layer on the floor with the book from before. Your shirt is next to go, his hands frantic at the hem. You part with a gasp as he pushes it over your head, only to meet again with the same level of fervor as before. His body is hard under you, wandering hands tracing unknown patterns along the black shirt still stuck to him. They linger on his nipples. Brushing over those little metal beads you spotted before, you lose your sense of reason and yank at the material in a desperate attempt to tear it off.

Jungkook chuckles against your mouth. He leans back and pulls the shirt off ever so slowly. Your eyes trail over his body under the yellow light, taking in every inch of bare skin before you before landing on those elusive little piercings. With hesitant fingers, you reach out and brush a light touch over them. Jungkook’s muscles instinctively clench under the touch. The pads of your fingers travel over to his arms next and trace the patterns of his tattoos all the way down to his wrists. Each tattoo is delicate and unique, so much ink along each arm that you can hardly see an inch of bare skin beyond the tattoos.

It’s fascinating, intricate and elegant yet harsh on the eye.

“Something on your mind?” He asks as your gaze fails to move.

“They’re beautiful,” you mutter as you bring your touch up his arms again. Goosebumps rise in your wake.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Huh? Why is that?”

“Because you’re going to see a lot more of them in the future.”

Lips part in shock at his bold words, the shy boy you met on the train gone and replaced by a lust-filled man who knows exactly what he wants. His lips come down against the column of your neck, massaging the skin under his tongue, while his hands work around your back and toy with the clasp of your bra. You can only throw your head back and bask in the pleasure washing over you.

Cold hits your breasts at the same time as your bra hits the floor. Nipples perked and waiting for attention, your chest is now bared to Jungkook. He leans back to take the sight before him in, and a low whistle leaves his lips as he rakes his eyes over you.

“Gorgeous. So so gorgeous,” he mutters more to himself than to you. The pads of his thumbs stretch out to tease at your perked nipples. You moan at the touch, his fingers squeezing and tugging. “How the fuck did I get so lucky? Lucky enough to have the most perfect person on the planet as my soulmate? Unbelievable.” You have no chance to respond because he dips his head towards your chest and takes one nipple between his lips, hand still working at the other one.

He pushes his thigh between yours, settling the muscle flush against your crotch, and you gasp at the doubled sensation of pleasure. With gentle pushes, he flexes his leg against your crotch, and you instinctively buck your hips up to meet his small thrusts.

Whines and moans fall from your lips like a chorus as Jungkook’s tongue worships your breast. The little bead sitting in the middle of his tongue rubs against your skin just right, bringing waves of pleasure down on you. You bring down your hands against his back, clinging to him and pulling him as close as possible. Your nails dig into his skin as he rocks against you, the obvious tent in his pants pressing up against your leg. All the while, you continue to bounce along his thigh. The sensation sends sparks throughout your entire body, clit twitching with each flex of Jungkook’s thigh. That combined with the attention he’s giving to your breasts makes your whole body feel like jelly.

“Ju-Jungkook, I-I–” You fail to complete the sentence, moans interrupting your train of thought. He doesn’t stop to listen to what you have to say; instead, his hips buck against yours. The pressure builds against your clit. Electric shocks of pleasure shoot through you. One of your hands trails down his back, leaving a path of red behind no doubt, and snakes around to cup his groin. A breathy moan reverberates against your skin, his hips jerking forward from the contact.

You struggle with his belt, trying to undo it and throw it aside as quickly as possible, but once it’s loose, you discard of it with ease. You have to pull your other hand from his back in order to pop the button and tug the zipper down. He sighs in relief as you tug the tight material away from his strained cock. You glance past his head of long hair to peep at his crotch, eyes nearly bulging out of your head when you see the sheer size of his bulge.

“Ju-ungkook, the-there’s no way – you aren’t gonna f-fit,” you stammer through the pleasure and moans. Jungkook pulls back as your words register, eyes meeting yours. You must be showing more concern than imagined because his brows immediately furrow at the sight of your expression.

“Hey, hey,” he says. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, and you lean into the touch. “We don’t have to go all the way right now. We can take it slow until you’re comfortable.”

“Bu-But I… I want you,” you whisper, fingers coming to rest on his chest.

“And you can have me.” The words only serve to send another surge of heat to your core. “When you’re ready and comfortable.”

“O-Okay,” you mutter in response, eyes trailing the curve of his Adam’s Apple as he swallows. “I wa-wanna suck your cock.”

He groans at the words, hips instinctively bucking against you again. You release your grip on his waist and let your legs find the floor. It’s a good thing that you don’t have to stand long, because your legs nearly give out under you. You stay standing long enough to push Jungkook against the opposite bookcase, then drop to your knees before him. Face first with his bulge now, you’re more than glad that he told you to take it easy, because it’s even more daunting up close like this. Lust still stirs in your gut but now it’s coupled with anxiety. With shaking fingers, you dug the band of his underwear down, freeing his thick member. Jungkook hisses as the cold air hits him, but the hiss turns into a choked moan when you fold your fingers around his cock. He’s so thick that you can’t quite wrap your whole hand around him, nor does one hand come close to covering his whole length. Out of all the partners you’ve had the pleasure (or not so much) of being with, he is by far the biggest. It’s a bit daunting as you drop your lips to the head of his cock, but you quickly recover and push the sensation aside in favor of pleasuring him.

The tip of your tongue teases the slit of his cock, bringing the leaking precum into your mouth, and you slowly take him in inch by inch. You drag your tongue along each vein and curve of his member. The slow movements of your mouth draw a low whine from his lips. It encourages you to move faster, and you build up a slow speed, bobbing your head up and down on his cock. His breath quickens as your pace does. You pull off to unleash a string of spit at the base of his cock, letting you pump him without so much friction, and then take him back into your mouth with hesitation.

His hips buck against you, but you can tell that he’s trying to hold back from slamming into your mouth too hard. Part of you wants him to fuck your mouth with reckless abandon, just to feel him lose control and have his way with you, but his restraint is too strong at the moment. Your eyelids flutter as you gaze up at Jungkook, his thick cock stretching your lips in a way that has him groaning above you. His fingers find your hair and bunch it together in his grip. Slowly, still with the same amount of restraint, he helps you bob up and down on his dick as far as you can take it. He pulls back every time the tip of his member touches the back of your throat, but as his pace increases, your throat suffers constant abuse. He pulls out, allowing you to catch your breath and gasp for air. You don’t let him stop for long though and take him back between your lips after a few deep breaths of fresh air.

The grip on your hair falters as you swirl your tongue around his hard member, and his hand moves to the bookshelf, clinging to the wood as a string of curses leaves his lips. His voice is raspy and low. It sends pulses of heat straight to your core, and if you could, you would bring your own hand down between your legs and finger your drenched folds as you suck him off. Instead, you have to keep one hand braced on the dip of his hip and the other on the part of his cock your lips can’t reach.

His hips stutter in their half-hearted thrusts. His climax is coming soon, and as soon as you realize that, you work harder to lavish his cock with your tongue. You’re in the midst of pulling away from his member when his orgasm hits all of the sudden. Hot semen splatters across your chin and neck, a bit falls into your unsuspecting mouth, and drips from your chin onto your breasts. Jungkook releases a broken moan as he cums, head falling backward to watch the ceiling. The second he recovers from the orgasm, he tilts his head down and takes in your appearance. His half-hard member twitches in your grasp.

You do nothing except smirk up at him, fingers dragging across your chest to collect the cum decorating your skin. You smear some of it into your skin but scoop up more of it to push onto your tongue. Jungkook groans at the sight of you toying with his cum. He brings a hand down to cup your chin and lets his index finger run through the white strings across your face before fucking the cum into your mouth with two fingers. You lap at his fingers as though your life depends on it, the bitterness of his cum hot against your tongue. Jungkook doesn’t stop until all evidence of his cum is gone from your body.

“Move back,” he growls out. You scamper back, pushing yourself with the palms of your hands and dragging your ass against the cool wood floor. He lowers himself to the ground as well but keeps a moderate distance from you. Once you’re where he wants you, he stops you by placing both hands on your knees. It locks you in place and you blink at him in wonder. He doesn’t explain what on earth he’s doing, but you figure it out soon enough as he continues to move closer to your abdomen. Deft fingers loop around the band of your underwear and your shorts. Your core coils in anticipation, this very image beneath you the thing that has haunted your dreams for months.

Jungkook’s touch remains delicate as he tugs the articles of clothing off you in one fell swoop, tossing both to the side without care. You can feel your heart racing against the confines of your chest, his hot breath dances over your now exposed core, and he pushes your knees further apart to have better access. Two fingers ghost over the folds of your pussy, thick strands of arousal coming off as he moves across you. The touch is barely there but it still causes your whole body to spasm. Jungkook braces you against the floor with his left hand, pressing against your abdomen so that you sit still under him. Again, his fingers tease your sopping lips.

You release a high-pitched whine, twisting under him in attempts to get more contact out of the man, but he leans back instead. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth.

“Behave now, princess,” he mutters lowly. The timbre of his voice compels you to obey, and you go slack under his touch. “Good girl.” He rewards you with another touch, fingers pushing past the wetness of your folds and toying at your entrance. He starts slow; with one finger he pushes into your heat. Immediately you tighten around him, clenching your walls as he pushes all the way in. He wiggles the finger inside you a bit before deciding to slip another one into your heat. He nearly growls as you eagerly take the next finger, scissoring you open with as much restraint as he can manage.

“A-Ah, J-Jungkook, more. More,” you stammer out through the shallow thrusts of his fingers. “More, please. I ne-eed more. More.” Jungkook hums, cocking his head to the side as he smirks down at you.

“I don’t know if you deserve it,” he says, a teasing lilt to his tone that has you whining under him yet again.

“Pl-Please, please more. I need more, sir.” The title slips out before you can stop yourself, pleasure too heavy on your mind, and you can’t think beyond the fog of lust over you. Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up upon hearing the title, pupils growing in size even more if possible. He actually does growl this time; a low and animalistic sound coming from his chest. In one swift movement, he drags you closer to him, pins your body to the floor with his hand, and plunges another finger into your needy cunt.

“Fu-uck, you’re so pretty like this,” he growls as you whine at the sensation of his fingers plunging into you. He curls them inside you, brushing your sweet spot and causing you to bend off the floor. “So fucking needy.” You can’t say anything in response; the pleasure has taken over you so much that you’ve resorted to strictly gasps of air between moans. Jungkook continues fucking you open with three fingers, scissoring and stretching you in the best way possible. He brushes against your g spot with each thrust, and you can feel your high already quickly approaching.

You bring a hand down to Jungkook’s shoulder, digging your nails into the skin there in attempts to anchor yourself to reality. Your climax approaches like a wave, but right before it crashes over you, Jungkook retracts his fingers. You whine at the loss of warmth. He smirks up at you, eyes on yours as he slowly lowers his mouth to your dripping cunt. With the smallest kitten lick, he drags the flat of his tongue across your folds, picking up the threads of arousal as he moves. The ghosting sensation nearly sends you spiraling. You buck your hips up against his face; at least, you attempt to but his hand still pins you to the floor.

“You have to say please, princess,” he purrs, purposely letting the heat of his breath brush over your clit.

“Pl-Please. Please let me cum. Please, please, Jungkook. I need it,” you beg, embarrassment and shame gone.

“Please what?” He demands before blowing against your clit.

“Please, sir!” You spit out, trying to fight against his strength to no avail.

“There we go,” Jungkook chuckles with a pleased smile stretched across his lips. “Good girl.” He dips back towards your cunt, pushing your lips apart with two fingers, and presses his tongue into your heated core. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream of pleasure, the sensation of his tongue along with that dangerous piercing in the middle of it sending you so far into pleasure that you can’t move anymore. Jungkook carries you to your orgasm like that, dragging his tongue up your pussy to nip at your clit only two times before the crashing wave of an orgasm hits.

You barely register how his hands slip up to grasp at yours, letting your fingers interlock and cling to each other as you move through your orgasm. He pulls you under his body at the same time. Soft kisses brush your temple along with gentle coos and soft praises against the shell of your ear.

You both remain in that position for who knows how long, it feels like hours but you know that can’t be right. Nonetheless, by the time you recover from the brutal orgasm, you feel as though you’ve run an entire marathon. Chest heaving, you feel around for Jungkook’s head, slipping your fingers through his ombre locks and combing through the strands matted by sweat. It’s the softest and sweetest moment you’ve had after sex – even if the two of you didn’t go all the way. It’s both ironic and strange in your mind.

You’re lying naked on the floor of a bookstore under a tattooed and pierced barista who rides a motorcycle, but also who used to compete in Taekwondo on a national level. Never in a million years would you have ever said that was a possibility. Add that to the growing list of coincidences surrounding you and Jungkook.

Sitting next to a random stranger on the bus at one in the morning, falling asleep on his shoulder, having to get off at the same stop, finding out that you go to the same university, being in the same year as well as having the same major, working across the street from each other, bringing him to your apartment where you just happen to have a dresser full of clothes that fit him like a glove, having a pull-out couch where he can sleep along with a spare set of sheets for it, him always smelling like your favorite thing, you always smelling like his favorite thing, running into each other by some magic coincidence after months of not communicating, having the exact book he was looking for.

How many times can you call something a coincidence before it becomes fate?

You move your hands down Jungkook’s face, cupping his jaw and lifting his head so that you can look him directly in the eye.

“Jeon Jungkook…” You mutter, voice strained by your exhaustion. “I think this might be fate.”

☽     ☾

“Two,” you say after a sip of coffee. The liquid is hot on your tongue, coating your taste buds in the most pleasant way, and the man across from you scoffs at your comment.

“Two? Two out of ten? Are you out of your mind?” He asks incredulously. It’s almost adorable seeing Jungkook get so worked up over your comment, but you push that thought down in favor of sipping at the coffee again. In all honesty, it’s quite delicious; maybe the best coffee you’ve ever had, but you can’t tell him that. It would go to his head.

“Coffee is my favorite thing. I have to be harsh in my judging. Otherwise, it seems like I settle for all coffees, good or bad.”

“So two?”

“Hm… maybe three and a half?” You tease, the smile on your lips stretching against the ceramic mug in your hands.

“This is a personal offense,” Jungkook mutters, turning away from you. “I blame your shitty instant coffee packets. That’s the only reason it’s not good. If we were at the cafe, I would make you the best possible coffee in the universe.”

“That’s quite the promise, Jeon Jungkook.” You sigh against the mug, and a cloud of steam billows up from the liquid. It’s still early in the morning; the bright sunlight not quite peeking in through the curtains over your living room window. After your little “excursion” with Jungkook, you closed the bookstore and decided to head home on the train, but he told you that he couldn’t in good conscience let you go alone. Thus, he offered to take you on his motorcycle; however, you were quick to shoot that offer down thanks to the fear of riding the damn thing.

“Maybe some other time?” You had said, to which Jungkook shrugged and told you that he would go back on the train with you regardless after putting his bike in a safe place. Thus, yet again, the two of you rode the train to Station 45 and got off together, only to end up in front of your apartment door with hands ghosting by each other.

Even as you stumbled into your apartment in a fit of giggles, Jungkook’s lips merely ghosted past yours before he crashed on the couch without even bothering to pull the bed out. You opted not to push him to join you in the bedroom, too tired and nervous to pose the question.

Neither of you has mentioned what transpired in the bookstore the night before, and a large part of you is quite nervous to do so. Regardless, Jungkook doesn’t seem to harbor any awkwardness about the whole thing, which is reassuring to some degree.

Something in you wants more. You aren’t sure what more you want – you’ve gotten more than you deserve from Jungkook – but you can’t help but to feel greedy when it comes to him.

“What’s on your mind?” Jungkook asks after seeing your blank expression. You purse your lips, debating whether to answer the question truthfully or not, but end up shaking your head in denial instead.

“Nothing much. It’s funny, you know.”

“What is?”

“It’s Saturday morning. We must have a knack for meeting each other on Fridays. Is that one of your fate things?”

“Did you not say you thought it was fate?”

“I take it back,” you huff over your coffee, sending a wisp of steam in his direction. The emotion that flashes across Jungkook’s eyes almost resembles hurt. For a moment, the stable ground underneath you quakes and trembles.

“Ah, yea… I forgot you aren’t one for that sort of thing,” Jungkook mutters. His thumb runs along the edge of his own mug. Silence hangs in the air between the two of you.

It only took you four words to ruin not only the calm ambiance between you but also Jungkook’s pleasant mood. He glares down at his coffee, eyes glaring such an intense daggers that it frightens you.

“I was joking…” You mutter in attempts to patch the situation.

“Except you weren’t,” Jungkook says in response, chin jerking up so that he can direct that deadly glare at you now. Your breath catches in your throat. “I’m sorry. That came out harsher than I meant for it to.”

“It’s okay,” you mutter. “I deserved it.” Jungkook doesn’t deny your words, which only serves to make you feel worse about the whole situation. Rather, he redirects the conversation to something new.

“Why are you so damn adamant? Even when there are ten thousand pieces of evidence showing that it is real you still deny it. Why?”

You drag your tongue over the front of your teeth, neglecting to answer the question at first. Jungkook waits, however, in silence for a response from you, and you slowly realize that you can’t back your way out of this.

“I-I… I just don’t believe in it, okay?”

“That’s bullshit. You wouldn’t admit to it being fate if you didn’t think for a sliver of a second that it was real.”

“Well, I take it back. It’s not real, and I don’t believe in it. Fate is–” You stop yourself from spewing the words, knowing that what you might say will hurt both you and Jungkook. He doesn’t let you off that easy though and continues to prod for the information regardless.

“Fate is what? I’m trying to understand where you’re coming from, Y/N. I truly – honestly and truly – believe that you are my soulmate. I believe in fate, I don’t believe this is a coincidence, and I know that you must be my soulmate. I know you think it’s stupid and it’s all a joke to you but… I’ve heard the silver bells, I know my favorite thing in the universe is books, and I know that you smell like books every single time I’m around you.”

“Except you can’t possibly know that!” You counter. You push the mug in your hands down, letting it slam against the marble with a clatter, and hot coffee splashes over the edge. “You can’t know that! You don’t know what you heard. For fuck’s sake, it could’ve been some random ass kid with a bell on his backpack. You don’t know that I always smell like books because you’ve only been around me what? Two? Three? Maybe four times? That is not enough for you to go around claiming that I am your soulmate!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so fucking insistent about it being a lie, you would realize how ridiculous you sound!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Me?” You hiss through gritted teeth. “I am the one who sounds ridiculous? Well, I’m fucking sorry that I don’t feed into pathetic children’s stories that are nothing more than stupid little lies parents can tell their kids so they’ll sleep at night! Fate isn’t real, soulmates aren’t real, and you are the one who sounds absolutely fucking ridiculous because you are insisting that silver bells and the smell of books is what determines your one and only for the future!”

Jungkook is stunned into silence at your rant. You hardly realize that tears are streaming down your cheeks until you stop speaking. Jungkook sets his own mug down and leans across the counter, but you slap his hand away with a choked sob.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you spit before drawing your arms tight around your chest. “If you are so damn desperate to why I know that fate is a farce, then I’ll tell you. My mother sacrificed everything in her life for fate. Her first husband, her job, her home – everything. She gave up everything to move halfway across the world and be at the job fate had supposedly chosen for her. Divorced her first husband to do so, leaving me without a father for years until she met her supposed soulmate six years later. She married him in less than four months, then proceeded to be miserable and unhappy throughout the entire marriage because her supposed soulmate was a piece of shit. And after she got another divorce, she was fired from her dream job that fate had handed to her. She fucking put everything on the line for fate, and what did it give her in return? Two ruined marriages, getting fired, and then to wrap up the whole miserable package she was hit head on by an eighteen-wheeler on the highway. Even on her damn deathbed, she still looked me in the eye and said she was fucking happy with everything fate had given her. So tell me how the hell I’m supposed to put all my faith in fate when all it’s done is give the people I love a shitty hand?”

Jungkook’s lips snap together, jaw clenching so hard that you can see the strain along his face. His gaze falls away from yours and lands on something on the counter. You can’t find it in you to care about what he’s looking at; instead, you rub at your tears in desperate attempts to hide them. Jungkook doesn’t speak as you try to pull yourself together. He stands stunned into silence for a good five minutes before shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Without a word, he takes his still full mug of coffee and pours it down the drain, not even bothering to wash it out before stepping away from the sink. The way he avoids your stare, ducks away from you so as to miss looking at you entirely, hurts more than you wish.

He picks up his jacket from the couch, slinging it around his shoulders, and moves for the door. For a split second, you think he’s going to stop, look back at you, maybe say something in response. At least something. Anything.

He doesn’t. Instead, he twists the handle and steps out into the hallway. The door falls shut behind him, a sharp snap that feels like a knife in your chest. You can do nothing more than stare at the spot where he just stood and grind your teeth together to keep from breaking down in tears again.

How long did it take for things to fall apart this time? If fate exists, then she truly is a cruel mistress, and you don’t want her to be your mistress any longer.

☽     ☾

Since that awful morning you shared with Jungkook, you haven’t seen him or spoken to him. No late-night train rides, visits to the bookstore, not a single word from him via the phone – it’s as though he never existed in your life. Perhaps it’s better that way, but things still feel unfinished in your mind. There was no closure; hell, Jungkook didn’t even utter a word to you after you tried explaining your view of things. Although you should have been a bit more gentle and understanding of his views as well…

Nonetheless, life goes on as though Jeon Jungkook never stepped foot in it. At least, on the outside it does, but on the inside, you are struggling to push any thought of him aside. Your less than proper dreams have returned – of course – but they don’t leave you high and dry anymore. Rather, the end in a cloud of fire with Jungkook accusing you of everything under the sun until you wake up with a start.

That should’ve been the first sign that something was wrong. However, you neglected to pay any attention to the frequency of your nightmares until they started impeding on your sleep schedules and subsequently your work and school performances. Apparently, falling asleep at the cash register isn’t quite “work appropriate”. Thus you started taking melatonin as a supplement for the countless nights spent lying awake in bed and staring up at the dark ceiling without any thoughts in particular.

It only served one purpose: drawing out your nightmares even longer.

Frankly, there is no winning in this situation, so here you are three months later standing in the bookstore and thinking about the last time Jungkook was here.

“Oh boy, I can sense the anger radiating from all the way over here.”

You level the speaker with a stony glare, but he laughs in response, the ding of the door chiming along with his all too cheery laugh.

“What was it this time? Get stood up right before the good part?”

“Oh take a stick and shove it up your ass, Seokjin,” you counter, shoving the book in your hands back onto the shelf so hard that the case shakes.

“Hm, I’d be down for that, not gonna lie. But anyways I smell baggage, and about 170 pounds of it.”

“Excuse me?” You ask. You finally turn to face your coworker, and he just smiles back at you, full lips stretched wide.

“Did you most recent boy toy ditch you?”

“You’re insufferable, Kim Seokjin.”

“And you are quite attractive when you’re angry at me. It reminds me of the good old days.” Seokjin sighs at empty air, blissfully staring up at the ceiling.

“What? The whole three times you made me orgasm?” You bite under your breath, but Seokjin hears your words anyway.

“Oh, don’t undermine yourself, Y/N. As I recall, you were screaming my name in pleasure a lot more than that.”

“Maybe in your dreams.”

“Oh, to dream of the devilish vixen that is Y/N L/N. Mm, I wonder if the sex dreams would be as kinky and hot as your daydreams about your mystery man.”

“Are you just going to pester me left and right? Or is there a purpose for your annoying chatting?”

“There is, there is. Indeed, a method to the madness. And sadly no, I do not want to fuck you again. It’s nothing against you but I find myself rather stable and happy at the moment. The extra baggage that you’re dragging with you would not do well for me.”

“Oh, is that so? Kim Seokjin? Satisfied with life? A miracle truly.”

“You know, your mystery man visits incessantly. If he didn’t buy so many books, I would think he’s obsessed with you,” Seokjin comments, tone light and airy. He says the words as though it’s the most normal thing in the world. You stare at him, eyes wide, but he just continues scanning books at the register without a care.

“He what?”

“Hm? Did I say something?”

“You fucker,” you hiss, spit nearly flinging from your lips as you speak. Seokjin cackles.

“I fucked you, yes. But anyway, he must have terrible luck because he always comes on the days when you aren’t here.”

“No… luck has nothing to do with it.”

A sigh leaves Seokjin’s lips, and he sets a pile of books to the side. For a moment, he just stares at you with wide and perceptive eyes without saying anything. You nearly look away but it feels too much like defeat so you maintain the stare.

“Y/N.”

“Seokjin.” You mimic the serious tone of his voice in attempts to mock him. Rather than reacting as he normally would, he stays still, dark eyes unblinking.

“What did you do this time?”

“This time? Wow, you have so little faith in me–”

“I have faith that you fuck things up.” The words shut you right up, and the tension in your shoulders drops. “Something happened between the two of you, didn’t it?”

“What happened was that I had something fucking perfect right in front of me and I still managed to fuck it up. If fate really does exist, I fucking hate its plans for me.”

“If you truly didn’t believe in fate, you wouldn’t say that.”

“I don’t need fate to help me know what’s right and wrong in my life.”

“Obviously you do because fate put your biker boy in your life.”

“And very swiftly took him right out of it.”

“Had you not fucked it up, then that wouldn’t have happened,” Seokjin chimes in again, side-eyeing you with pursed lips. He leans away from you, almost expecting the book you hurl his way, but it makes contact with the wall rather than his head. “Excuse me, ma’am! You are at an off the wall eight right now, I’m gonna need you to calm down to an icy seven please and thank you!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know what path fate wants me to take? This isn’t some fucking fairy tale!”

“Listen, Y/N.” Seokjin plants his hands on the counter, shoulders shifting as he glances around the bookstore before bringing his gaze back to you. “Do you remember that poem?”

“That poem?” You reiterate. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than “that poem”, Seokjin.” A sigh escapes you, and you’re just about ready to go smack Seokjin upside the head when he continues.

“Just hush for a second, please. God, I swear you never let a man finish.” You yank another book off the shelf and poise to chuck it at his head again. He’s too close to the window for you to throw it this time though, so you regrettably have to put the book back on the shelf.

“Kim Seokj–”

“The poem about getting back up after you’ve fallen and can’t get up or something like that? Or maybe it was about not quitting? I can’t quite remember…”

“What on earth is the point you’re trying to make with this?”

“It’s – listen, Y/N. Sometimes we have to take several steps back in order to move forward in the right direction. Sometimes we see the road most taken and decide that that’s the one we have to take, even though we’re supposed to take the road not taken instead. Sometimes – even when we really don’t want to – we have to leave the past behind. You don’t ask a flower to grow when it’s surrounded by weeds, do you? Even if those weeds have been there for as long as the flower can remember. In order for a flower to grow, you have to take away the weeds. I’m not telling you that you have to burn the weeds to the ground. But… Y/N, I know you. I know how much your heart has been hurt in the past. But I also know that your heart – a flower of its own – is surrounded by weeds. If you take them away, set them aside, lock them up, just get rid of them for now, you can grow. You are holding yourself back so much so that every time you try to take a step forward, you just get shot further back.”

“I hate you,” you mutter. No matter which way you look at it, Seokjin is right. He has a knack for saying things like that, always has, but this time it hits a bit different. You don’t know how to express your gratitude, but the smile he sends your way shows that he already knows how you feel.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He hums as he returns to his pile of books, prepping another stack for scanning. “Oh! Before I forget, little lover boy left something with me. He asked me to give it to you, so…” Seokjin trails off as he extends a thin book in your direction. You move towards him slowly, wary of the item he’s holding, and he laughs at your suspicious movements. “Quit being so weird, Y/N! It’s a book!”

You retrieve the book from his grasp, thumbing over the cover. 101 Famous Poems… Why did he want to give me this of all things?

“You’re staring at it as though it kicked a puppy. Damn, Y/N, you’re more savage than I remember.”

You scoff at Seokjin’s comment and turn away, heading back towards one of the tables in the back. You lower yourself on one of the chairs even as Seokjin protests and claims that it isn’t time for your break yet. The second you put the spine of the book on the table, it falls open to a dog eared page. You blink down at the paper, mind almost completely blank for a moment, and when you jerk back to reality, you still aren’t sure if you can believe your eyes.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost… Kim Seokjin I swear…

“Hey!” You call out to your coworker. He glances over at you over the stack of books. “Did you look at this before giving it to me?”

“Look at what?” Seokjin inquires. Even from a distance, you can spot a slight smile playing at his lips. You begin to call him out and complain, but he continues speaking before you have the chance. “He seems like a decent kid actually. Good taste in poetry, and he seems to have the same message for you that I did. What’s it the poem says? Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by. What comes after that bit?”

“And that has made all the difference,” you murmur more to yourself than to Seokjin. Your eyes trail over the pale pages of the book again, drinking in every word as though it’s a personal message from Jungkook himself.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

It’s a subtle message, one hidden under layers of nuances and mysteries, but you wouldn’t expect anything less from a man who loves Lovecraft with such a burning passion. The corners of your lips quirk up as you think of the thrill in his eyes upon finding the collection.

“Seokjin,” you say all the sudden, standing up from the chair and looking over at the man in question.

“Yes? Did you have another coincidental revelation?” He inquires, seemingly unbothered by your sudden movements.

“No.”

His eyebrows shoot upwards, lips quirk into a strange frown, and he taps away at the register as you move for the door of the bookshop. You snatch your jacket off the coat rack, slinging it over your shoulders in haste and pushing the small book of poems between your coat and shirt.

“I’m taking the road not taken.”

“Ew, you’re so cheesy. It’s gross. Little lover boy better make sure that grossness stops or else we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Do you ever shut up, Kim Seokjin?”

“Only when you’re going down on me!” He calls after you as you step out the front door. You nearly spin on your heel to knock him upside the head but a customer steps past you to go inside. Instead, you grumble under your breath, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket when the cool autumn airs hits your skin. For a moment, you refuse to move.

The building across the street looms before you, daunting even in its unassuming appearance, but it’s not what is on the outside that is terrifying you. Rather, the person inside who will hopefully be there. If he isn’t there then maybe you’re saving yourself the trouble. However, something tells you that fate will have something to say about that.

With quick steps, you move across the crosswalk along with a crowd of students. The closer you get to the cafe, the more terror builds up inside of you, and you nearly decide to turn around and leave well enough alone. Still, something tugs you towards the cafe, something you can’t ignore, and you pull the handle of the glass door.

Warm air greets you along with the overwhelming scent of coffee. Bells ding above you, and you glance up at the top of the door. Three silver bells hang from red thread just beside the corner of the door, jingling on and on as the door swings back shut.

Silver bells and red thread… how cheesy. You exhale a deep sigh, cheeks puffing out with the motion, then move for the cash register. There is no need to look around for Jungkook, his clear voice rings loud in your ears. He’s standing behind the register, taking the order of a customer in front of you. Laughing, smiling, making jokes – it’s all so different from the last time you saw him, and oddly it causes the pit of anxiety in your gut to sink further.

The girl in front of you laughs along to some joking quip Jungkook makes, hands folding behind her back in an obvious attempt to push her chest in Jungkook’s direction. It shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t make you feel any sort of way. You shouldn’t be bothered in the slightest, and yet here you are feeling jealous.

She steps aside a moment later, which is good for your unnecessary jealousy but not good for the anxiety in your stomach. You step closer to the counter with hesitant steps. Jungkook’s eyes are still stuck on the register, tapping away at the screen with a small smirk playing at his lips. Meanwhile, you can’t peel your eyes off him. A black turtleneck clings to his body like a second skin, dark brown apron tied over it so tight that it strains against his chest. Earrings dangle from his ears in multiple places; he’s definitely gotten more piercings since you last saw him and it happens to suit him quite well.

“How can I help you today?” He asks with a typical clear voice. He doesn’t look up at you quite yet, eyes still set on the register. A sad smile plays at your lips.

“I, uh, someone once told me that they could make me the best coffee in the universe here?” You trail the words off into a question, tone hesitant because the second the first word leaves your lips, Jungkook’s chin snaps up. He looks you in the eye, doe eyes wide from either shock, disbelief or both.

“Y/N…” His tone becomes quiet, so faint that you almost have to lean in to hear him. “I thought I smelled books.” He laughs to himself, but it sounds as though he is mocking himself for the words.

“And I thought I heard silver bells when walking in so…”

“You haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

You purse your lips at the question before tugging the book he left for you out from under your jacket.

“Actually,” you start as you set the book down on the counter. “I changed paths.”

Jungkook’s eyes follow the book, watching it slide across the counter and closer to him. His lips part. “Y-You–”

“Something about taking the road not taken. A bit cheesy, but still… meaningful.”

Jungkook’s lip quivers as he struggles to find the words to respond to you properly. There isn’t much to say, and if the right words are there, you certainly don’t know what they are. Anxiety bubbles away in your gut, no thanks to Jungkook’s minimal and unreadable expressions.

“Best coffee in the universe coming right up,” he says after a tense moment of silence. Now it’s your turn to fail to respond, eyebrows shooting up as he speaks. “And don’t worry. It’ll be on the house.”

You smile, and Jungkook mirrors the expression before looking down at the register and tapping away at the screen.

“Does the coffee come with a side order of fate?” You ask, bringing a teasing lilt to your tone. Jungkook releases a huff of laughter.

“That depends on whether the buyer believes in it.”

“She was told in a variety of creative ways that clinging to the past won’t let her grow.”

“Is that so?” Jungkook inquires. Despite the levelness of his voice, you can see the smallest hint of dampness in the corners of his eyes.

“Very poetic, actually. You can’t ask a flower to grow when it’s surrounded by weeds.”

“Beautiful.” Jungkook stops his work at the register, glancing up at you. “There’s always a possibility that… maybe the flower doesn’t quite want to let go of the weeds though.”

“Well, I think this flower really wants to give fate a proper chance. Herself. Not because of what happened in the past or what happened to people around her. Fate gave her a good thing. She wants to pursue it this time.”

“What an interesting turn of events,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. A small laugh escapes right after. “A very pleasant and happy turn of events though.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, struggling to find the words, and Jungkook just keeps smiling at you like nothing else in the world exists. Behind you, someone clears their throat, and you jolt into action. Stepping away from the counter, you duck over to a booth in the corner of the cafe, eyes trailing over Jungkook all the while. He exchanges the same longing stare as you move, only turning back to the customer in front of him when she begins speaking.

You aren’t sure what any of this means. Yes, you admitted to believing in fate, maybe even soulmates, but there are still so many uncertainties swirling in the waters around you. For a moment, you wonder if this is how your mother felt. You’re quick to squash that thought though.

Jungkook disposes of his customer rather quickly, turning to a coworker and exchanging places with him. Once he has his hands on one of the coffee pots, he turns to you, eyes dancing with a playfulness you can see from all the way across the room.

He dances along to a mesmerizing song as he works, an inaudible one that you can only see in the way he moves from counter to counter, machine to machine, a smile playing at his lips all the while. As you watch him dance from place to place, you silently wonder how you could ever believe it wasn’t fate that brought you here. That allowed you to meet Jeon Jungkook.

He moves with delicate grace, so at home in his surroundings that you nearly cry from the sight of watching him so happy. Never in your life have you felt so at peace. You thought that the bookstore would always be your happy place, the home away from home, an irreplaceable lover, and yet in less than five minutes, Jungkook has wedged his way into your heart. He plays at your heartstrings as though they’re an instrument, dancing along to his created melody without even knowing it. How could you ever think that this wasn’t where you were meant to be?

“Fate…” you mutter to yourself. With shaking and hasty fingers, you whip your phone out and pull open a new browser. It’s a quick search, a hastily typed “what are soulmates”. You aren’t sure why you searched that specifically or what came over you; maybe you just needed some sort of confirmation that this is what you’re feeling. Maybe you need just an explanation to tell you what is going on with your heart and head. Yet, deep down you know that this is not something the internet can answer. No matter how many times you ask or how many people you ask – you will never find an answer that satisfies you. So the first result that glares up at you from the browser doesn’t help one bit.

A soulmate is someone who gets you and understands you on a deeper level. Connected in mind and heart, respect for each other, unconditional love no matter what. Complete and total understanding. Comfort knowing that you can always be honest and be yourself around someone. Someone who understands your thoughts and emotions. Someone who sticks by your side through thick and thin. A soulmate is someone you never knew you needed, yet once they come into your life, you know you can’t live without them.

You pull your gaze away from the screen, heart beating so fast against the confines of your ribcage that you feel close to a heart attack. Jungkook doesn’t stand behind the counter anymore when you look over there. In a flash of black and brown, someone comes up on your right and sets a pristine white mug on the table before you.

“You were so focused on your phone that I thought I was going to scare you,” he jests, nodding down at your device. You hastily flip it over in attempts to hide the search. Jungkook turns to leave the table but stops himself just before walking away. “I, uh, I hope the coffee is good. And after I’m done with my shift – you know, maybe, well, we could–”

“Yea, yes,” you interrupt, knowing what he’s intending to ask before he says it. “Yes, Jungkook. I would love to.”

“Yea, cool. Great. Yes. Amazing, uh, my shifts ends – it ends in about 40 minutes.” He motions behind him, jerking his thumb in the direction of the counter.

“Oh, great! Wonderful, yea. That’s perfect.”

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

Jungkook backs away from your table, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he goes.

“I’m fine!” He proclaims while steadying himself.

“Totally!” You laugh. Jungkook’s cheeks flush dark red, and he scratches the back of his neck.

“Jeon! Get back behind the counter! We don’t pay you to flirt with customers!” Someone calls out from behind the counter. Jungkook’s blush deepens if possible, and he rushes to get back to his station without any further interruptions. You can’t keep from laughing as you watch the man go, so boyish in his actions and movements despite having such an intimidating appearance between the tattoos and piercings.

You lift the mug of coffee he left for you, daring to peek over to the counter again. Jungkook has his stare on you yet again. Once you lock gazes, he ducks away in embarrassment. You laugh against the ceramic, stirring up a cloud of steam, then take a hesitant sip of the dark liquid.

It tastes like nothing you’ve ever tasted before. You have had a great variety of coffees in your lifetime – it’s your favorite thing for a reason, so you are somewhat obliged to drink it religiously – but never have you had a coffee like the one Jungkook made for you. Sweet and bitter at the same time, perfectly balanced with each sip you take. The liquid is completely smooth, just as water is, and yet the coffee tastes nothing like water in the slightest. It is by far the best coffee you’ve ever had, and you’ve only had two sips.

With a small smile on your lips, you pull your phone back up and swipe away to open your messages with Jungkook. The two of you haven’t texted in months so you have to scroll down a bit to find him, but once you do, you send a simple message that you know he’ll appreciate.

Ten out of ten.

You watch for a reaction from Jungkook, and it comes a moment later when he digs through his apron to pull out his phone and check the screen. Bright eyes trail over the screen then over to you. A blinding smile comes next, nose scrunched up as his cheeks round. You return the smile with one of your own then return to sipping at the coffee.

A strange sense of peace lingers in the air. Instinct tells you to be wary of it, fear what might go wrong, and prepare for the worst. Part of you wants to be defensive and assume that things will fall apart in seconds as they did last time, as they did with your mother time and time again. But a larger part of you cannot be bothered to care about those things at all. You want to sit still and bask in the moment, the scent of coffee around you and warmth in your bones.

“Perfect,” you mumble against the rim of the mug. “You’re absolutely perfect, Jeon Jungkook.” Without another word, you return to the browser on your phone, closing out of the tab without bothering to look at the results any longer.

Instead, you busy yourself by staring out the window on your left, watching the cars and pedestrians rumble by without a care in the world. You don’t know how long you sit there, but it must be long enough for Jungkook to finish his shift because sometime later, the man slides into the booth across from you. His brown apron is gone, leaving him only in the dastardly black turtleneck that hugs his body far too much. Now that the apron is gone, you can see the hint of the piercings underneath the fabric. If he notices your lingering stare, he chooses not to comment on it; rather, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

“So,” he starts as he brings his elbows to rest on the table. “What do you, uh, what do you feeling like doing?”

“Um… I don’t know.” You purse your lips, blinking back at him. Your nails drum against the side of your mug, the coffee inside completely gone now. He glances down at it as you make the sound and smiles at the sight of an empty cup.

“I told you I made the best coffee in the universe.”

“Oh, hush. I’ve had better.”

“That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?”

Jungkook leans across the table all the sudden, lips coming dangerously close to yours, and you hardly have time to lean away. He grips your chin between two fingers. Eyes dart over your stunned expression. You see the glint of metal as his tongue pokes out again. Hot breath ghosts over your lips, and you begin to lean in to close the gap, but Jungkook pulls away. He leans back as though nothing happened, the only evidence of his games being the coy smirk stretching across his lips.

“That’s how I know.” He folds his arms over his chest as you let out an indignant huff. “I wanna show you something though.”

“What’s the catch?” You ask, seeing the hesitance in his eyes.

“Well, there is no catch… not necessarily, at least. It depends on what you call a catch.”

“You’re quite the catch, Jeon Jungkook,” you tease. Jungkook coughs on his own saliva before choking out a laugh.

“Not that kind of catch. I need you to ride my motorcycle.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Y/N, what even–”

“I’m joking!”

“What kind of euphemism would that even be?”

“The kinky kind, I don’t know.”

“Oh my god, you’re a mess.”

“I’m a mess? I’m sorry, have you looked in the mirror recently?”

“It’s called looking rugged. The ladies love it.”

“Oh, and what ladies are you trying to impress out here?”

“Well I’m only after one, and I think all I have to do to impress her is flex my chest a bit. She seems a bit fascinated by what’s under my shirt.”

It’s your turn to choke, and you look down at the table as a fit of coughs falls over you. Jungkook all but cackles at your reaction, slapping the table and making the mug quiver under his touch.

“Please,” he says once he recovers from the bout of laughter. “I’ll give you my helmet to make sure you stay safe.”

“Ugh, it seems I have no choice, Mr. Jeon.”

“Oh, Mr. Jeon now? I think I prefer ‘sir’.”

“Shut the fuck up! Oh my–”

“I’m teasing and you know it!”

“You sound like my damn coworker,” you mumble, arms coming to rest over your chest.

“Oh? Seokjin, was it? I think I met him. He had a lot to say about you.” Your expression melts into a frown.

“Please tell me he didn’t mention anything unsavory.”

“Are there unsavory things to mention? Do I sense a secret past, Y/N? Maybe I’ll have to stop by again and ask for more details.”

“No! Nope, not needed. Did I say unsavory? I meant, uh, unsatisfactory. As in… work-related. Unsatisfactory things about my–my work performance.”

“Your work performance. Ah, I see, I see.”

“Haha, yep. You know me. Always worried about my work performance.”

“Oh, of course, you are. Such a diligent worker never wants to be left with unsatisfactory reviews.” Jungkook chuckles, sliding out of the booth to get back to his feet. The gleam in his eyes tells you that you two are not talking about the same thing, and Seokjin most definitely shared more details than necessary when talking with Jungkook.

“Remind me to beat Seokjin up next time I see him,” you groan as you pull yourself to your feet as well. Jungkook merely smiles down at you but doesn’t say anything else. Hesitant fingers reach for yours, bridging the small gap, and he links his fingers through yours. The tips of his ears burn red with embarrassment, or perhaps it’s nerves, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest as he takes hold of your hand.

“S-Sorry,” he says upon seeing your gaze on your linked hands. He starts to pull away but you stop him by squeezing his hand tighter.

“No, no. It’s okay. I… I’m comfortable with this.” You squeeze his hand a little tighter. The reassurance spurs Jungkook on, and he tugs you towards the door. Cold air hits you in a large gust, but Jungkook keeps moving forward without a care in the world. You let him pull you along until you round the corner, a parking lot coming into view. A motorcycle sits parked next to the curb along with a helmet strapped in place near the handlebars. Without Jungkook telling you, you know who it belongs to, and he confirms it when he brings you closer to it.

“Okay, so it can be a bit scary for first time riders,” he explains, letting go of your hand. He releases the helmet’s straps and holds it in front of him. “All you have to do is sit still and hold on tight. I think you’ll be able to manage both those, right?”

“Yea, yea. Easy. I can do that.” Jungkook smiles at your response and places the helmet atop your head. It slides on with ease, a bit big for you, but seeing as its Jungkook’s helmet, that much makes sense. He locks it in place with the straps then pops the visor open.

“You look cute in my helmet.”

“Shut up,” you mumble.

“It’s the truth though. You look so small and adorable.”

“Hm, do I smell a size kink?”

“Ouch, right through the heart. I can’t deny that though.” You weren’t expecting that answer from him. He turns away too quickly for you to comment on it or even choke out your embarrassment. “Alright, I’m going to get on first. You can climb on as soon as I pop the brake and steady the bike, okay?”

You nod a few times, watching him move carefully. You honestly weren’t that scared of riding the damn thing until now, because watching it wobble under Jungkook’s weight is a bit unsettling for certain, especially seeing as you are about to add to that weight.

“Okay, you can go ahead and get on now.” He motions to the space behind him. You stay rooted to the spot for a moment, unsure of how to approach the motorcycle or even get on. Jungkook notices your hesitation in an instant. He props the brake again and climbs off, moving over to you with a light smile. In one swift movement that has you squealing, he lifts you and places you directly on the back of the bike. He climbs on after making sure that you are securely seated, settling back into the main seat in front of you.

The engine roars to life. The sound causes you to jerk forward, arms folding around Jungkook’s chest in a heartbeat, and you squeeze yourself against him. His chest reverberates as he chuckles. The vibrations send surges of relief through you. You press your head against his muscled back which proves difficult thanks to the helmet shrouding your head, eyes fall shut, and you do your best to focus on the feeling of his warmth rather than the lurching sensation that happens next.

“You’re going to want to hold tighter than that,” Jungkook calls back at you. You do as asked without thinking twice, gripping his body so tight that you fear he may not be able to breathe properly. He seems satisfied with your hold though, and the motorcycle slowly moves. You dare to crack an eye open as the motion speeds up. Even through the haze of the visor, you can see all the cars, people, and buildings whizzing by. Strangely enough, the faster the motorcycle moves, the more secure you feel. Cold air breezes through your hair although Jungkook blocks a majority of the wind. It’s a strangely freeing and relaxing feeling. You would never want to be the driver yourself – that seems like much more stress and anxiety than you could handle – but just riding and enjoying the feeling of the air and world whipping past you is more than enough.

The drive, however, is over before you know it. Within minutes (or what seems like minutes, rather), Jungkook pulls the motorcycle into a new parking lot, swerving into an empty space with ease. He climbs off first, popping the brake before reaching around to help you stand up. Your legs feel a bit like jelly, and they nearly give out upon touching solid ground again. Jungkook holds you up the entire time, helping you undo the clasps of the helmet, and once he slides it off your head, he secures it to the bike as it was before.

You finally take a moment to drink in your new surroundings. A large building looms before you along with a myriad of other buildings all around it. It reminds you a bit of your own apartment complex, and you’re assuming that’s just what this building is too. Which begs the question: why did Jungkook bring you to supposedly his apartment?

A warm hand slips into yours again, and you instinctively grip it tighter, letting Jungkook tug you towards the entrance without any explanation.

The warmth of the inside air is welcome and brings goosebumps across your skin within seconds. There’s barely any time to think about the atrocious interior decorating of the main lobby before Jungkook is pulling you along to a rickety elevator. You vaguely remember him making a comment at some point about how your apartment seemed a lot nicer than his, but honestly, your own building is in the same state as his.

The doors of the elevator ding as they close behind you. Once the two of you are safely inside the confines of the elevator, you dare to turn to Jungkook.

“What is it you wanted to show me?” You ask. Jungkook grips your hand a bit tighter. A smile overtakes his face, top row of teeth glistening as he does.

“You’ll see. My roommate recently moved out so I had to make use of the empty room somehow.”

The elevator dings, signaling your arrival on a new floor, and Jungkook eagerly steps out before the doors are even fully open. You have to jog a bit to keep in pace with him. His much longer legs are taking too many wide strides for you to keep up with, but he comes to a sudden halt moments later. You crash into his back, hand still linked with his, and crush your arms together awkwardly. Jungkook moves with too much enthusiasm to care. He unlocks the door in front of him, pushes it open, and tugs you inside with increased fervor.

“Ta-da!” He announces with a bright voice as he pulls you into a dark room. Releasing your hand, he flips the light switch and allows brightness to illuminate the room. Your jaw falls open at the sight before you.

The walls are lined with old wooden shelves, books back to back on every shelf. There are so many shelves that you can’t even see the wall, and so many books that you can hardly see the back of the shelves.

“Oh my god…” You utter through the shock. It’s like Jungkook’s own little bookstore, a vast collection of books of all sizes and shapes and ages. Some are old with cracking spines and yellowed pages, others newer with paperbacks and dog eared pages. Yet, Jungkook doesn’t seem to want to just show you the room. He tugs on your sleeve, bringing your gaze back to him, and motions to a shelf with his head. You trail after him, unable to keep your stare from wandering to the other shelves in the room.

“This–” he points to a shelf lined with old books “–is where I keep my Lovecraft collection.” You whip your head over to him. “And this…” He lifts a finger to one book in particular. Its spine is familiar, words faded and hard to read from the wear of the years, yet you still know exactly what it is.

“It’s the collection you got from the bookstore.”

“Out of all these books, this one is by far my favorite,” Jungkook says under his breath as his finger trails along the faded words of the spine.

“Why?”

“Easy…” He trails off, pulling his hand away from the shelf. Next thing you know, he’s leaning closer to you. His hands find your hips and guide your steps until your back hits a shelf. “It gave me you.” He pushes his face closer to yours, and you meet him halfway, lips crashing together in a mess of skin and teeth.

It’s a moment of self-gratification for certain; the feel of Jungkook’s lips against yours is like fine wine, and you don’t want to stop drinking. However, it is also more than just self-gratification and lust, because Jungkook kisses you with such passion and fervor that all your thoughts leave your head. He slots his lips against yours in a way that feels like home, something comfortable and warm and perfect in so many ways. It feels different than the first time you kissed him in the bookstore. That was a heat of the moment lust but this seems more romantic in a way. You have never been one for cheesy nuances or being a hopeless romantic, yet the way Jungkook is kissing you is dispelling all your previous uncertainties with the simple action.

You fold your arms around his neck and pull him in closer and closer until his chest crashes against yours. The two of you move with haste, gripping and tugging at each as though your lives depend on it even though you have all the time in the world. His hands slide across your hips to cup the curve of your ass. He hoists you up with a small grunt, lips parting as he lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist to secure yourself.

“W-Wait,” Jungkook huffs against your lips, pulling back to look you in the eye. “I wanna… I wanna get it right.”

“You will,” you reassure. With a gentle touch, you trail your fingers along his jaw and trace the line of his lips, moist from saliva. Jungkook shivers under you then leans into the gentle tracings of his features.

“Bedroom,” he mutters after a moment of reveling in your touch. “I want you in the bedroom.”

“Perfect,” you whisper against his lips. “I want you to take me in the bedroom.” Jungkook groans at your words and pulls you away from the shelf. You prepare to hit the ground, but Jungkook keeps you flush against him, walking out of the room as though you weigh nothing. You don’t have any more time to think about that though because his soft lips find yours again and pull you out of your thoughts.

Your first roadblock hits when Jungkook reaches his bedroom door. He fumbles for the handle, struggling to get to it with you so securely in his hold, but after a string of muttered curses, he manages to push it open. Within seconds, you find yourself flat against a mattress, Jungkook’s warm lips still hovering over yours. You detach from each other only to scramble further back on the bed, and Jungkook leans away to peel the turtleneck clinging to his body off his skin.

You drink in the sight before you, Jungkook’s bare skin heaven to your eyes. Even in the dim lighting of the room, his skin seems to glisten, a honey-toned glow across his chest, and the small glint of his piercings entices you to reach out and brush your fingers across them. Jungkook twitches under the touch, leaning in to capture your lips with his yet again. His own fingers tug at the hem of your t-shirt, and you let him pull it up over your head, exposing the plain black bra underneath. It’s a sight Jungkook has seen before but he looks just as enamored as he was the first time he saw you like this.

He moves slower this time, gentle and hesitant in the way he reaches around you to spring the clasp loose, and his fingers barely brush your skin as he slips the straps off and tosses the bra aside. Rather than driving straight in, Jungkook stays up for a minute and fumbles with the button of his black jeans. He tugs them down, bulge already evident through his underwear, and tosses them to the side along with your bra. You add your pants to the fray as well, tugging them down as best you can, and when they get stuck around your ankles, Jungkook helps you kick them off.

He finally dips back down to join your lips again, chest warm against yours. Your groins brush as he scoots closer to you, and you wrap your legs around his waist again. Fingers find his ombre locks and sink into them, tugging and pulling as he pushes his tongue between your lips. Fire burns in your gut. You’ve waited months to have this opportunity again but it feels so different this time, so much more special and meaningful, and perhaps for once you honestly and truly believe that the man in your arms is your soulmate.

Jungkook tugs the band of your underwear down, wasting no time in getting to business, and frankly, you are quite thankful for it. Your folds are already dripping with threads of arousal. Jungkook releases a low groan as he brushes through the dampness between your legs. One finger slips into your heat, and it draws a high-pitched whine from your throat. Your hips buck against his hand in attempts to increases the friction, but Jungkook uses his other hand to hold you in place.

“C-Can I–would you be alright with me ch-choking you?” Jungkook stammers out, chest heaving. All of the sudden, he seems shy again, the same nervous boy you met on the train. Rather than answering with words, you take hold of his wrist and tug his hand up to the column of your throat with a small nod of your head. His grip remains hesitant as you let your hand fall away from his, but as you grind your hips against his finger again, he gains confidence. With a light squeeze to your throat, he pushes a second finger into your tight heat. The lethargic speed he’s moving at only causes your pleasure to spiral further out of control, desperate for him to pick up the pace and fuck you into next week.

“P-Please go faster, Jungkook. Please hurry up. I need you. I need your cock,” you plea as you bat your eyelashes, hoping to have some sort of effect on him. However, rather than giving in to your desires, he squeezes your throat a bit more, just enough pressure to push your pleasure over the edge, and his fingers crook inside you. A choked moan leaves your lips, and Jungkook eats it up, lips slotting over yours as he slowly fucks his fingers into you.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more patient than that if you want my cock,” he hisses against your lips. Leaning back, he redirects his attention back to your throbbing core and pulls his hand away from your throat to deliver a light slap to your swollen clit. You thrash under the contact, another whine rushing from your mouth. “Last I remember, you were worried about my cock not fitting in your tight little cunt.” The words are foul, but they sound even more foul coming from Jungkook’s lips. As he sees the pleasure radiating off of you in waves, his confidence grows, and you can clearly see – and feel it – in the way he scissors you open at a new angle.

The pads of his fingers brush against your sweet spot with each thrust, just the right length to be teasing it when he crooks his fingers, and you shake under him. You can taste the orgasm mounting, you want it, need it, but Jungkook keeps dashing past that spot as you get more desperate. Another light slap comes down against your clit, and you nearly cum right then.

“Ju-Jungkook, ple–please. Please, oh god, let me cum. May I please cum?” You beg, writhing under Jungkook’s teasing touch. His eyes refuse to leave your sopping pussy though, so you persist and try to bring his attention back to you. “Sir. Sir. Please, sir.” His eyes snap up to meet yours the moment you use the title, pupils widening, and his dick twitches against your thigh.

“Go ahead and cum then, baby girl,” he says with a growing smirk.

A third finger squeezes into your heat, brushing against your tight walls, and you subconsciously clench around him. Jungkook groans as you do, fucking his fingers into you a bit faster now. Your orgasm rushes forward, spurred on by one final slap to your clit, and with a cry of pleasure, you cum around his fingers. Jungkook uses his free hand to take hold of one of your hands, squeezing your fingers between his as he guides you through the orgasm.

“Good girl, good girl,” he mutters against the inside of your thigh. He presses a series of kisses against the skin there before nipping at it and replacing the soft pecks with small bites and marks. You come down from your high relatively quickly, although it’s probably only because of the promise of him fucking you for real soon. Jungkook pulls back, eyes raking over your sweat-drenched form, and he climbs off the bed to pull his own underwear down. You start to sit up, reaching out for his throbbing cock, but he stops you by climb back on top of you.

“B-But I wanna ma-make you cum first,” you mutter as he cages you in with his arms.

“And you will,” he reassures, small smirk toying at the corner of his lips. “Because I guarantee that the second I see my cock inside you, I will be ready to cum right then and there.”

“Then hurry up and fuck me,” you whine. Jungkook chuckles at your impatience and presses a chaste kiss against your temple where beads of sweat are starting to form. His left hand takes hold of your right, fingers slipping between yours and interlocking there, while his right one slowly guides his member towards your drenched folds. He moves slow for you, pushing just the tip in at first and letting you shift on the bed to get more comfortable. Then when you give him another nod of approval, he pushes deeper and deeper until he’s buried to the hilt in you. His cock twitches inside you, the stretch an unimaginable pain that you’ve never experienced before, so much more than any other time you’ve had sex in the past.

The two of you stay like that for a few minutes, deep breaths causing your chest to heave as you grow accustomed to the stretch of his cock, but as more time passes, you grow needy for him to move.

“Can… can you please fuck me now?” You ask, lips right next to Jungkook’s ear, and his hips jolt upon hearing the words. Your words are permission enough for him. He sits back a bit, fingers close around your hips, and he pulls out to give an experimental thrust back into you. A loud moan leaves your lips as he moves. He takes it as encouragement to keep going, building up a steady pace with his thrusts. His cock seems to hit deeper with each thrust, filling you up in the best way possible. You reach around to grip him by the hair and tug him closer to your face. Your teeth clash before your lips do, tongues intertwine in a fight for dominance, and he groans with each pull you give to his long locks. There’s no time for talking, not that either of you could try to speak in the first place because all you can manage are grunts and moans for the time being.

Jungkook slides a hand down your stomach, hesitating over your abdomen for a moment before slipping between your legs to tease at your clit. The added stimulation draws louder noises out of you and spurs your orgasm to approach faster. His thrusts are beginning to stutter a bit, so you know he much be close as well.

“…want you to cum with me,” he grunts against your jaw. That decorated tongue of his teases a path down to the juncture of your throat, sucking dark marks against your skin. His fingers work faster, hips speed up, and your orgasm crashes over you as he gives one last thrust. Warmth fills you, and you rake your nails across his back as your orgasm continues.

You don’t know how long you lay there, spent and exhausted from the sex, but warm and comfortable, still filled with his softening cock and cum. Sometime later, Jungkook pushes himself up, and your chests nearly stick together because of the layer of sweat covering your bodies. He slowly pulls his cock out of you. The sudden coldness is unwelcome, but Jungkook peppers your thighs with kisses, murmuring soft praises against your skin as he does, and that causes your heart to swell with a foreign emotion.

“I’ll get a warm towel for you then run some water for a shower, okay?” Jungkook says as he climbs off the bed. You nod in approval, still too spent to try to move. That strange warmth in your chest doesn’t leave, even after Jungkook heads into what must be his bathroom. You bring a shaky hand to hover over your chest as though it’ll give some explanation as to what you’re feeling.

“Jungkook?” You call out. He reappears in the room a moment later, a fresh set of pants on, and rushes to the bedside.

“Are you alright?” He asks, worry coating his tone.

“Y-Yea, I just… I just had a question.”

“Oh okay, ask away.”

“Wha–What are soulmates?” You ask without looking at him. Tears prick the corner of your eyes and you can’t figure out why until Jungkook gives his answer.

“Soulmates are… people who find each other in every life, no matter the obstacle.”

“Ah,” you exhale. “That’s all I wanted to ask.” He nods down at you, eyes still full of concern even as he steps away. You take the time to sit up straight, pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed to wrap around your naked body, and climb off the bed on shaky legs.

A soulmate is someone you never knew you needed, yet once they come into your life, you know you can’t live without them.

Perhaps it is a day full of revelations because as you watch the man work in the next room, drinking in all that’s happened in such a short period of time, you think you finally understand what soulmates are. And, maybe after all, you understand what fate is meant to be. Despite her moments of cruelty, you somehow found Jungkook. That’s enough for you.

“Jungkook…” He turns to where you stand in the doorframe of the bathroom, eyes wide in question. “What are we?”

His expression softens upon hearing the question.

“Soulmates,” he answers, matching your quiet tone. “Y/N L/N, we’re soulmates.”

☽     ☾

a/n: oKAy hi hello you made it to the end!!! wow!! i’m sorry this is so long deadass it was supposed to just be a drabble and now look where we are this is awko and longo well anyways please give me feedback and let me know what you think!! please don’t just like and reblog without saying anything, please send in feedback on the story, my writing, anything, i live for feedback and it helps me become a better writer!

rather than sending me a ko-fi, i ask that you consider donating to the BLM movement!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[runwithwolvcs]

You Know I'm No Good - nine

prove them right

Warnings: none

I have a happy personality with a heavy soul, it's very tiring.

Waking up the next day, Tallulah was more than confused. She remembered Paul driving her home, but not getting home. She must’ve fallen asleep, but that wouldn’t explain how she got into her house, let alone her bed. There was a throw blanket draped over that she quickly tossed to the side. She was still in her jean shorts and tshirt from the night before, which were the last of her clean clothes from her duffle bag, she groaned out loud, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her stuff from Seattle still hadn’t arrived. She left her room, and knocked on the door next to hers, Lennas answered, clearly getting ready for work and raised one eyebrow at her half-sister, “Yes?”

“Can I borrow a hoodie, please.” She asked quietly, she's never had to ask to share clothes with anybody before, and only hoped this would go in her favour. Lenna sighed, and opened the door further, nodding her head in the direction of her closet.

Tallulah made quick work of the many hoodies Lenna owned, selecting an oversized red hoodie that had their school name on it. “Thanks, Lenna.”

“No problem. But, I get to borrow that brown flannel you own”

“Deal.” Tallulah agreed, throwing on the hoodie before leaving her to finish getting ready. She walked downstairs to the kitchen where she knew her dad would be, deciding there was no time better than now to ask about the Port Angeles trip with her friends from Seattle. She smiled at him as he looked up when she entered the room, “Good Morning, Tal.”

“Morning Dad.” She chewed her lip, before spitting out nervously, “Can I visit with my friends next friday? They’re going to be in Port Angeles.” she looked at her dad expectantly as he mulled over the idea, before ultimately shaking his head no, “I don’t think that's a good idea, Tally.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance, “What do you mean it's not a good idea!? They’re my friends who I have known since I was a kid! You let me go out with pretty much strangers just last night!” She nearly yelled, she was angry and annoyed that the level of control she had in current life felt like it was at zero. “These same friends that got you into all this trouble are the reason you are not going to see them.”Her dad's voice now raises slightly too, clearly she gets her ability to stay calm from him, or lack of.

“They didn’t get me into anything! I did that myself! Those were my choices. And maybe I shouldn't have. But I did, and now I’m here and you're refusing to let me move past them. It’s not fair!”

“You’re not going, Tally and that's final.” She spoke with such authority that she knew better than to argue.

“Fine!” she fumed, turning on her heels and heading for the front door. Grabbing her car keys as she did so. She slammed the front door as she made her way to her car, climbing in and slamming that door too. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel as she took a few deep breaths to collect herself.

After figuring she was calm enough to drive, she started the engine and pulled away from her house, following random roads with no destination in mind.

Turning right, a mix of stand alone stores came into view, Uley's BookStore amongst them. She could see Paul's blue truck sitting outside of it. She didn’t know exactly why, but she wanted to see him and before she could stop herself she was parking her car next to his and climbing out.

She walked into the store wearily, a small chime alerting that someone had just walked.

She spotted Paul almost immediately as he lifted his head up from his spot at the counter that he was occupying, pen in hand and papers all laid out, ‘Hey, you didn’t tell me you were going to stop by today.” he said, his smile mirroring her own. All anger from 15 minutes prior had left her mind, just from being in his vicinity. “Last minute decision.” Tallulah admitted,

“Do you work here?” she asked as she marveled at the petite shop, its painted a forest green colour with dark wooden bookcases. Some were already lined with books, others were bare. Tallulah assumed those were recently put together. There's a bright red spiral staircase that leads to the second floor in the corner of the room, adjacent to the door she had previously walked through. It felt so cozy and welcoming.

“No. I’m just helping Sam and Emily out.” he said, setting down whatever he had been working on before she had walked in.

“Oh. What do you do then?” she spoke as she continued to look around the store, “Did you build these yourself?” she asked, thoroughly amazed as she looked at him. Paul nodded, “I do lots of things.”

Tallulah tilted her head, clearly looking for more clarification.

“I, uh, fixed up Chief Blacks wheelchair ramp a while back and kind of just stuck with odd jobs like that around the rez. I liked to do something else eventually. When I’m able to settle down.” Paul spoke, watching her as she ran her index finger down the spine of a book. “Settle down?” she asked curiously, looking over her shoulder at him. He nodded in return, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, “I work for Sam mostly, but I don’t want to be doing that forever.” Tallulah held back the urge to roll her eyes, “Right, his little protection squad he’s got going on.” she turned back to the bookshelf she was looking at, picking a book up off the shelf to read the synopsis. “Is that what they’re calling it these days'' She nodded her head while still looking, “Yeah, and from what I’ve gathered you guys are a real pain in everyones ass.” she teased, thinking about the night before when he had showed up with Sam in the clearing. Paul laughed before saying, “I’ll tell you more about it another day. Can you help me with this?”. Tallulah nodded and walked to him, he was holding a wooden shelf against the wall, but it wasn’t quite centered. They traded places and began to adjust it, stepping back to make sure it was centered before marking the wall so that he could drill the wall studs. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, making her want to be closer than they already were. She shook the thought from her and handed him the shelf before making her way to another bookshelf that had already been set up and filled.

She found a book on Quileute legends that she had yet to hear about and plucked it off the shelf before making her way to the counter and hopping up, and reading the first few pages.

“Here. You’ll like this one.” she heard him say, looking up as he brought a book over to her. She placed the one she was currently holding beside before taking the one from his hands, reading the name out loud, “The Wolves Are Back”, Tallulah looked up at Paul amused, “Very funny.” Paul laughed lightly at her reaction, “You’re the one who wanted to know if there were wolves here,”nudging her teasingly, “And you said there are wolves in the forest!” she exclaimed, “and if a bear could wander close to the rez so could the wolves, plus I heard one earlier this week” she stated, and he nodded his head, no doubt. “You’ll hear them all the time, but they're deep in the woods. They don’t come anywhere near civilization.” he assured.

Tallulah and Paul stayed at the bookshop until dark. The more she got to know him, the more she realized she had misjudged him. They way he talked about his group of friends, especially Sam made her realize just how similar they were. Loyal to a fault.

It also made her realize how she could in fact go visit her friends with just a simple white lie. And sure, she was supposed to be spending her time in LaPush bettering herself, but clearly after what her dad said, they don’t think she can. That she will always be no good. She’s not going to change their opinions of her, so she might as well live up to their expectations of her.

Tags:@cperry0516 , @bhasbhabiessss, @fuzzyfingersandcavier

[guessimwritingficsagain]

To be seen, part Three (Frankie Morales x Reader)

Summary : The birthday party comes and goes. You're pining but get a grim reminder that Frankie has a daughter (and a spouse ?). You want to take a step back from that blooming relationship but things don't go according to plan. You want to surprise Jessie with a nice present.

Author’s note : I rewrote this thing like 4 times but here we are. Just so we are clear, we are NOT about to have a lot triangle between OFC, Frankie, and random new character James. I just want OFC to have some wholesome relationships and to be her own person besides her new relationship with Frankie and the boys (which, btw, a writer, a friend of mine actually, told me "sometimes you write about what you can't have" and boy didn't that hurt because I'm currently in the process of grieving a friendship that could have been so good if not for the fact that we have very different ways of seeing friendship ... so I guess that James comes from that, a little). The former version had Frankie being more forward but I do like a slooooow burn and also it felt OOC.

Anyway,

the song Sweet is by Porridge Radio.

The song Canción sin Miedo is by Vivir Quintana.

The French radio that only plays women, trans and NB people is a real thing : it's called Radio Tempête and I like it very much. Give it a try !

There had been questions. Linda had grilled you hard and actually told you to go for it. It felt nice, all of it, up until you’d asked Linda why she was here. She'd grown sheepish.

« I need a new start. A change of pace. And I- I miss you, not, you know, like that, but I miss my friend, and I figured a new start with an old friend, that could be nice. »

You’d nodded, wondering if there was something she was not telling you, but figuring she’d get to it in her own time. In the meantime, she was here. And it was nice. She got along immediately with both Jessie and Anna and could make Phil laugh like no one else. Still, there were things that you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her. You two had a history, just like you had with Jessie and Anna, but not the same kind and five years was a long time not to see each other.

That’s why you waited until Linda was playing with Clara to tell Jessie, quietly :

« That fifth guy who used to hang out with the boys ? »

Jessie looked surprised. She was usually the one fishing for information. You knew why you were telling her that : to share the epiphany you had, to remind her, and yourself, that these men were real people. And maybe, just maybe, to remind her in a way that there was a real world out there.

« He’s dead. »

The air grew quiet at that. You looked at her face. She nodded, juste the once. And then, never brought the boys up the way she used to. She asked for news, once in a while, but never again in the giddy way she used to do it.

———

Right. So maybe, maybe, you’d gone a little overboard with that birthday party, but the kid had lost her father a year ago and she deserved nice things.

Right ?

They didn’t have to know the bar didn’t actually own fancy, festive plates and an army of balloons. Besides, everybody had pitched in. And Phil had made an extra nice menu. It’d been a team effort, really. Except that when Linda came in to grab a coffee after work - she was working at the local bookstore and that made your heart clench a little - she raised her eyebrows and said :

« You said seventeen, right ? Because I think you’re going for seven, here. »

So. You were a bit nervous, which, what the hell ?? They weren’t your friends. They were paying consumers. Except you were fooling yourself there because you were pretty sure that paying consumers didn’t quite cover it.

But when Santi came in with her, the girl swallowed by a huge scarf to protect her from November’s chilly air, you saw the smile on her face, you knew it’d been worth it. Santi actually came and hugged you and whispered « thank you, Starbuck » before giving Anna a high-five.

Yeah, the Starbuck thing had stuck. And you might have started calling Santiago Santi.

You were introduced to the birthday girl -Sarah- who was lovely and perhaps, you realized quickly, a tiny bit smitten with Anna, in a when-I-grow-up-I-wanna-be-her kind of way. Anna, of course, was completely oblivious. They sat down at the counter first, waiting for their friends to get here, her with a coke, him with a beer, and you were content to just let them be. It was a moment you felt was too private for your tentative relationship.

Sarah hugged Frankie as he came in and you did not let your mind wonder what it would feel like. Beers to serve. Mind out of the gutter. But he came to find you, and he looked at you with those soft eyes and he leaned in a bit and you couldn’t help but smile. And he smiled back, elbows on the counter, so close.

« You didn’t have to do all that. »

His voice was barely a whisper, and you answered the same way :

« I know. »

He was looking at you like he was seeing you and you got that warm feeling again, at the center of your belly. There was nothing, for a few seconds, except his brown eyes, until Anna cleared her throat and you were reminded you were at work. You turned back to get a beer for Frankie, but were interrupted again by a hand on your arm. Anna was looking at you and asked, as quietly as possible :

« What was that ? »

Her eyes were kind, there was no teasing in her voice but you shrugged the question off anyway. You didn’t know what that was. And it wasn’t the time nor the place.

———

The birthday party had been a success, and the night would have been perfect if not for Phil’s pragmatism. He knew you, he could tell, and your little admission a while back, when under the fire of Linda’s questioning that maybe you had a tiny little crush hadn’t fooled him.

Oh, the mortifying ordeal of being known.

He’d came up to you when you’d been cleaning the coffee machine and he’d said :

« He has a kid, you know that. »

He’d left it at that, knowing it was enough.

And that was just the thing, right : you knew. And with kids usually came a spouse. He probably had a lovely one, someone pretty and smart and funny and soft just like he was. So you’d decided to take some emotional distance, just to keep it professional. Paying costumers, after all.

Of course you were fooling yourself, you were protecting yourself from something that had the possibility to break you heart. And that, that was the worst part, the scary part, because you remembered vividly not thinking about Linda that way and then she’d said I like you, I really like you, you know, in a way that makes me want to make out with you. And you’d realized you liked her in a way that made you want to make out with her too. Back then the closet had been a thing, a hard one to get out of, even though your parents loved you unconditionally, no matter how many tattoos they disapproved of covered your body, no matter who you dated. You just hadn’t realized what you’d felt for her until she’d spelled it out for you. It’d been beautiful and simple and safe.

Here, though, you were thirsting on a man a tiny bit older than you, who had a daughter, who was probably married. And you’d been avoiding thinking about that, and he never mentioned anyone. But you knew you needed to get a grip on those spiraling feelings.

You needed to refocus, and in doing so, you realized something that filled you with shame and guilt : you’d overlooked Jessie entirely. The Christmas Holidays were coming up and you hadn’t made any plans with her. You’d been so caught up in your world that, for the first time in years, you forgot about her. The fact she worked day shifts and you night shifts now meant that you saw less of each other. And since Linda got here, and the boys were around more, and you didn’t need to babysit Clara as much, you’d seen even less of her.

But you had a plan.

———

The plan showed up on your doorstep a few days later, greeting you when you opened the door with :

« I hope you finally threw away that ugly couch and that the new one is comfortable. »

Here he stood, in all of his stupid glory : James. Their parents probably had a weird sense of humor to call their first born Jessie and their second one James. Or maybe you had a weird sense of humor for noticing it.

Here’s a bit of a backstory : James was your age, and you’d actually been friends since you were ten. Attached-to-the-hip kind of friends. I-don’t-care-about-anyone-else kind of friends. He used to be your only friend, back then, because he was just enough. Jessie, being five years older, had no real interest in you whatsoever so you only befriended her later, when her ass of an ex-husband skipped town and you got a panicked call from James one morning asking if you could help his sister to find a job because she used to be a stay-at-home mom and now she really needed the cash. James couldn’t come home to help her, so you’d had to help Jessie. Not that it’d been a problem.

And James, James was spectacular in the way he never settled for anything. He’d left home to go to Harvard and then became a bloody CIA agent because why not. Except he hadn’t liked that so he’d quit the bloody CIA and opened a restaurant in Washington. The President of the United States of America ate there, on a regular basis.

(Sometimes, when life got too hard and you got too caught up in your own mind, and you felt you weren’t enough, you wondered why a man like that bothered to skype you twice a month, and one time, drunk and alone on your birthday, you’d left him a voicemail asking him that very thing and he’d given you so much shit for that you never asked again. You were his girl, forever and always.)

So you’d called him, explained the whole Jessie thing, and the guilt that came with it.

Now there he was, ready to hide in your apartment while you got everything set to give your girl Jessie the surprise she deserved. You let Phil and Anna in on the secret that was James, just so he could come to the bar when he wanted and no one would tell Jessie about it.

That’s how you found yourself jumping slightly at the abrupt change of a song, one night at the bar, and you declared, knowing who it was :

« Costumers don’t get to change the music. »

The only answer you got was a laugh. You turned around to see James, bending over the counter to get to the computer, all crinkled eyes and white teeth.

« Don’t tell me you don’t like hearing Sweet. » He quipped.

« I like that song », you explained as you secretly rejoiced in hearing the familiar notes. « But that doesn’t mean you get to play anything you want. I know you, you get too comfortable. »

He sat down at the bar, a bit away from the boys who were joking and laughing at the counter. Benny had won his fight and got a girl’s number so it was a good night for him, the kind of night you didn’t want to intrude on. Except you wished you could, and that, that was a red flag in itself because usually, when James was around, there was nobody else in the world but you still thought about Frankie, about how you wished you were sitting on the other side of the counter, pressed against him, laughing at whatever it was that had been said. Paying consumers, right ?

You’d been serving beers left and right, only stopping a moment to get another round to the boys when you heard :

« Where the fuck is that French radio playlist ? You know, radio that only plays songs by women, trans and non-binary people ? I know you have one, can’t seem to find it. »

« James. »

You turned around. He was standing behind the counter.

« How on earth did you get there ? »

« I jumped. You were busy, didn’t see it. Anyway. That playlist ? There’s some good shit on that. Though we might want to avoid the songs too obviously sexual, right ? »

You let out the biggest sigh. Of course he'd jumped. Of course he’d find that absolutely normal. You waived him away and got to find the playlist.

« I wanna hear Canción sin Miedo. » He added, all but propped up on the counter.

« Get down. Also your accent is shit. » You hissed. You complied, though.

As the Mexican song started playing, Will gave you a look.

« That’s Jessie’s brother. » You explained, your voice still a touch exasperated.

« But that’s a secret. » James added, still very much sitting on the counter. He smiled and said : « Hi, I’m James. Like Bond. James Bond. Nobody ever saw the two of us in the same room, by the way. »

He winked and you ugly snorted.

———

The noise was overwhelming and the place reeked of beer and sweat but Anna was steering you gently through the crowd and Linda’s hand was grounding, on your shoulder. MMA fights were not your scene but Benny had asked and Anna had said yes before you could get a word in. You’d called Linda in a panic, muttering you know how I get in crowded spaces and she’d offered to come.

You still didn’t know how Anna managed to get your boss to give you both the day off for that but you were glad.

You heard Benny come in more than you saw him, and Anna guided you to the place where Santi, Frankie and Will were. Santi made a jab at Linda, who laughed it off and introduced herself at the others. She was blending in with ease, as always. You, though, felt lost, until you sensed someone right next to you. Lifting your head, you saw Frankie hand you a drink, before his hand came and gently grabbed your arm, guiding you to a sit right next to him.

« You okay ? » he asked in your ear, close enough that you could feel his breath, his hand still on your arm.

You explained right in his own ear :

« Crowed spaces. »

You felt his hand give a squeeze and, without thinking, tapped his thigh in a way you hoped would convey your thanks. Then, you held onto your drink for dear life, as Benny started beating the shit out of the other guy.

———

Benny was breaking down his fight, as the other men pitched in with a comment, once in a while. You hadn't exactly enjoyed the fight, but Frankie's presence and explanations had made the whole thing better. You drew the line, though, at debriefing, so you turned to Linda :

« So, how was your date ? »

« Nice. »

« Nice ? Just nice ? But she was bloody gorgeous. You showed me pictures ! »

You weren’t as quiet as you thought you were because next think you knew, Anna was leaning in, wiggling eyebrows, and the rest of the table grew awfully quiet. You turned to see all the eyes on you.

« Who was bloody gorgeous ? » Santi inquired.

« My date. »

Everybody was listening, now. You motioned her to go ahead.

« Well, her yoga lessons came in handy, if you know what I mean but … yeah … yoga. Pilates. Rabbit food. »

« Well, you still got her to do some yoga » you replied with a wink.

That got Anna to spit her drink.

« She was plenty good at that, but, yeah. »

She shrugged and too a sip of her beer.

« Wait, she ?»

So yeah, Santi hadn’t caught on the Linda’s a lesbian train yet. Though to be fair, he’d seen her once, twice counting tonight.

« Got a problem with that ? » Linda asked.

You felt the tension roll off of her and you couldn’t blame her. You never really knew how people were going to take your coming out, no matter how well you knew the person. And she didn’t know Santi at all.

He hurriedly shook his head.

« No, I just didn’t expect it, is all. »

He lit up, then, and you could almost see the bad idea that came to his mind.

(Maybe you were starting to know him after all.)

« I could be your wingman, and you my wingwoman. »

« No fucking way, Santiago. »

You laughed as you listened to Linda give a few more details, sweet Anna beaming in awe as the discussion went to Linda’s great adventures in dating.

« So, you’re a serial dater. » the younger woman exclaimed.

« She was never good at settling » you confirmed.

Linda turned to you and, with mock outrage, asked :

« Never good at settling ? Do those two years with you mean nothing ? »

You laughed and she laughed and Anna laughed and Benny all but shrieked :

« You two dated ??? »

That only made your belly clench even more, the laughter an unstoppable force, Linda warm by your side, Anna crying from laughter, Santi and his existential crisis because he’d hit on a lesbian and suddenly everything made sense because nobody said no to Santiago - at least that was what your were feeling he was thinking. And Benny, just confused, said :

« I didn’t know you swung that way. »

The sentence was meant for you, you knew that, but before you could calm down, another voice, one you’d recognize anywhere, anytime, answered for you :

« Oh, she swings every fucking way, right, baby ? »

You turned around sharply and there he was, again, James. Right on time. He settled right next to you, his warmth a comforting presence. You swallowed the anxiety down. Everything would be alright.

And everything was.

Because fifteen minutes later, Jessie was coming in, Clara in her arms, wondering what the emergency Phil called about was. You would forever remember the look on her face when she saw her brother sitting right there. The blinding smile, the way James took Clara in his arms and cooed.

It was going to be a good night (again).

———

« That was real nice of you », Frankie mumbled. « What you did back there, with Jessie and her bother. »

You’d stepped out to have a smoke and he’d joined you, hands in pockets, just standing there, not close enough to touch you but close enough that you could feel him.

« You two seem close », he stated after a bit.

That wasn’t jealousy. That you could tell.

« He’s my best friend, I guess. »

« He seems nice », Frankie stated. « A bit over the top but then again, I’m friends with Pope so … »

You had a flashback, then, of your first encounter with Benny, and asked :

« What’s with the nicknames anyway ? »

« We served … » Frankie started. You cut him off.

« Yeah, I know, but. What does it mean ? »

Frankie just smiled, then, took a step closer to you, shoulders brushing. You felt hot, all of a sudden.

« A callsign is trust » he explained and then quietly added :

« Starbuck »

You managed to keep it together. You kept it together because paying consumers. You kept it together because that man had a daughter and was probably married and what he’d just said was said out of friendliness.