#my boy finally releasing music after so many years... crying sobbing

[eatingyourteeth]

CHANSUNG(2PM) & AK-69 feat. CHANGMIN(2AM) / Into the Fire

[90363462]

Kendrick Lamar’s Harrowing Song ‘We Cry Together’ Has a History Far Deeper Than Eminem’s ‘Kim’

Jem AswadMay 17, 2022 12:07pm PT

Popular on Variety

“We Cry Together” is probably the most conversation-stopping song on Kendrick Lamar’s brilliant and challenging fifth album “Mr. Morale & the High Steppers” — a horrifyingly realistic recreation of an argument in an abusive relationship that finds Lamar and actress Taylour Paige saying absolutely horrible things to each other, with her delivering an entire verse while sobbing, and apparently culminates with the two of them having sex.

The most commonly cited precedent for “We Cry Together” is Eminem’s 2000 song “Kim,” an even more horrifying scenario in which he murders his real-life ex-wife. It’s plenty upsetting but in many ways is more like a horror film, with Eminem voicing both characters. But what is most unsettling about “We Cry Together” is the anguish and anger in its delivery, conveyed so powerfully by Lamar — who is the only credited lyricist — and Paige. While there’s no shortage of yelling or violent lyrics in the annals of popular music, particularly heavy metal and hip-hop, that kind of deeply upsetting screaming and crying has few precedents in major songs.

One particularly harrowing example is “The Boiler,” a single released 40 years ago by the Special A.K.A., a group assembled from the extended musical family around pioneering British ska legends the Specials after that group split in 1981. Set over increasingly ominous ska-jazz music, the song is a narration by vocalist Rhoda Dakar about an evening that culminates in a date-rape. Centered around a story about a lonely woman (a “boiler” is  a British slang term) on a date with a man she gradually realizes is dangerous, it’s anchored by a pummeling beat, Jerry Dammers’ demented-calliope organ and Dick Cuthell’s braying trumpet, all of which grow more and more threatening as Dakar’s narrative gets increasingly uneasy and frightened, until the song concludes with 90 straight seconds of her horrifying screaming — the kind of oh-my-god-call-911-right-now shrieking that triggers the amygdala, the area of the brain that generates a fear response. It’s a deeply powerful and disturbing song that you can’t un-hear — we can’t put enough trigger warnings on it — which was presumably the point. (There’s no indication that Lamar is aware of the song.)

A sad irony of the Specials’ career is how many of the group’s madly skanking fans were completely oblivious to the deeply political meanings behind many of their bouncy, cheerful-sounding songs: Nearly every one had a socially relevant point and perspective, whether it was racism, the stupidity of unplanned parenthood or simply feeling alienated on a Friday night. The group’s final single, “Ghost Town,” was a stinging indictment of the race riots that plagued Britain in the summer of 1981 and reached No. 1 on the country’s singles charts as the group imploded, with the three singers forming Fun Boy 3 and Dammers and others continuing with singers Dakar (previously with British ska outfit the Bodysnatchers) and Stan Campbell under the Special A.K.A. moniker.

“The Boiler,” released in January of 1982, certainly continued the group’s socially relevant messaging, but it removed virtually every vestige of the pop and fun that made the Specials’ music go down so easily. The song somehow reached No. 35 on the British singles chart, and Dakar even sang it on the BBC’s “Oxford Road Show,” a performance that is surreal enough in itself, as she dances through the first verses and then becomes far more serious as it progresses. The Special A.K.A. ultimately would release just one album (which did not include “The Boiler”), but made an indelible mark on the world with their galvanizing song “Free Nelson Mandela” in 1984. Dakar picked up her solo career in 2007 and has continued to tour and record ever since, with an album called “Version Girl” comprised of reggae covers of songs like the Pretenders’ “Stop Your Sobbing,” Tim Buckley’s “Song to the Siren” and Patsy Cline’s “Walking After Midnight” due later in the year.

Speaking with Variety over Zoom on Monday night, Dakar had mixed feelings about “We Cry Together.”

“It’s kind of disappointing, because she caves at the end, doesn’t she?,” she says. “It’s like, ‘Oh no, she’s gonna go back to him!’ And at the end, where she caves and says, ‘fuck me,’ I was really disappointed: I’m reading it as an abusive relationship where she is essentially colluding in the abuse. That’s something women don’t get taught not to do, in a sense. You know, ‘He may be abusive, but at least I’ve got a man.’ It made me annoyed.”

Dakar is quick to acknowledge that although she is a big fan of the British rap hybrid grime — “because it’s about where I come from” — and felt a connection to ’80s rap pioneers like Public Enemy and N.W.A, contemporary American hip-hop doesn’t really speak to her, although her kids are fans.

Looking at Lamar’s larger discography and lyrics, “His life experience has been so different from mine that I can’t relate,” she says. “If you’re Black in the U.K., you can’t relate to the level of the level of racism that he will have come up against, because it’s not as blatant. Racism here is very different; I suppose it’s more sort of nuanced. You know how English people talk to each other, all nuance and inference: An American will just come up and say, ‘Hey, you’ve got some green shit on your face!’ but an English person would never tell you that. (Laughter) They would be mortified to say it, and just let you walk around with this thing on your face all day.”

She is also surprising low-key about the creation of “The Boiler” and any musical or societal impact it might have had. “I wasn’t trying to do anything,” she says. “We’d just decided to be in a band — [the Bodysnatchers] didn’t know how to play our instruments or how to write songs, and we had our first gig in a month.” The original idea for the song came about during a Bodysnatchers rehearsal. “I had been in youth theater and I wanted to be an actress,” she says “but then you realize that you will only ever play nurses and prostitutes for the rest of your life, because that’s all there was for Black women in the ‘70s and ‘80s. But that’s where my experience in storytelling came from.

“Anyway, one day in rehearsal I just started to do what was an improvisation from a story [about an incident] that somebody had told me not long before, so it was essentially a piece of theatre. And because I was completely wrapped up in the idea of the actors’ studio and Stanislavski and emotional memory and all of that, that’s how I was able to make it real: You use the emotional memory technique, which can trigger you into appearing as if you’re reliving something had happened to you, but you’re just telling a story.

The song, later recorded with the Special A.K.A., “was [written] before we really had a term to describe it: Now we call that date rape.”

Responding to an observation that she’s downplaying how powerful and impactful the song is, she says, “Well, thank you. But obviously, I have no idea how it lands because I’m entirely the other side of it. It’s a piece of theatre: How it lands to you is whatever you make of it.

“People sometimes say to me, ‘Why don’t you do sing “The Boiler” [at concerts] now?,’ because it’s kind of culturally appropriate. It’s because the character was a young girl in her 20s, and I don’t know that I could pull that off now. A woman of my age wouldn’t get sucked into that [kind of situation] — at least I’d like to think she wouldn’t — so the story would have to be different. Actually, it would be probably be something like more like the Kendrick Lamar song [‘We Cry Together’], about domestic violence.”

Which, in a way, brings the discussion full circle. “People will probably shoot me down in flames for saying this,” she concludes, “but I’d say to Kendrick Lamar: If you want to know what a woman thinks about domestic violence, don’t write the words for her!”

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Ksndrick Lamar,

Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers

[softykooky]

the habits of a broken heart.

☾ genre : soulmates au, unrequited love, art student!JK, english student!Y/N, angst, fluff, subtle enemies to lovers

☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

☾ summary : jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak. 

alternatively,

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

☾ word count: 26.3k (my biggest one yet!)

☾ author’s note: this took forever oh my gosh! i really hope you like it! it’s my first time writing such a big single piece, and trying a different style. thank you so much for your support, always! please let me know what you think ♡

The first time he had his heart broken, Jeon Jungkook had been 13 years old. He was fresh out of middle school and so ready to face his freshman year with an impressionable mind and plenty of voice cracks to earn him months worth of teasing. You see, at the age of 13, Jungkook wasn’t something to swoon over. He had yet to grow into his ears and Dr. Park assured him that his braces would be off as soon as she could get them. He was a little lanky and a bit too reticent to be considered social. So when a girl in his grade comes up to him, nervous and stuttering, and asks him to go to the heavily romanticized homecoming dance, Jungkook has already come to the conclusion that she might be his soulmate, even if he was far too young to get his mark yet. 

Her name was Mina, and Jungkook is confronted with this memory every time he visits home and his mother makes the family flip through the photo albums dating back to his high school years. He grimaces every time he sees the picture of them together. Him in a pink button-up to match her offensively ugly ruffled taffeta dress. 

Mina broke up with him three months after that picture was taken, through one of her friends no less and in front of his entire gym class. Jungkook couldn’t remember how long he cried for while he felt the pain from his first heartbreak would never go away, regardless of how much time passes. He held onto his mother and sobbed out the agony and humiliation of Mina not wanting to be his girlfriend anymore, and how he had lost his soulmate before he even knew it was her. His mother assured him that without the mark, there was no way to be sure and that there was hope. But back then, all Jungkook could think of was ways to avoid Mina the next day, especially when they sat next to each other in 3rd period biology.  

At 13 years old, Jungkook thought he would never find love again. 

He is 18 when he stands alongside his parents in a pale examination room and awaits his destiny. He’s leaving for college the next day, yet the only thing that’s making him nervous is the mark that will inevitably appear on his wrist in the next few minutes. The same one he would find on his soulmate’s, and Jungkook wonders if there is the possibility of scaring everyone away when the first thing he’ll ask on a date is: can I please see your wrist? 

To say the least, Jungkook is petrified. Because that mark on his wrist is going to serve as a constant reminder of his missing piece, and Jungkook knows he’ll always feel lacking until he finds them. It’s a crescent moon. Small and black and nestled comfortably on his skin. He knows many times the marks don’t have any correlation with the couples, but Jungkook wonders if you are an astrologist. Or an astronaut. Or just had a weird affinity for the moon. He smiles when they congratulate him and can’t stop himself from thinking that he might be in love with you already. Wherever you are. When he leaves for university, he feels less lonely when there is a crescent moon to accompany him. 

Contrary to the beliefs of his 13-year old self, Jungkook does fall in love again. Hard. This time, it was a girl with brown hair and big eyes and a smile so pretty he could see it from across a crowded room. She was a grade below him; a frazzled college freshman with no clue to where her lecture hall was, and he: a sophomore who had a compulsion of changing his major every other month. When he met her, it had been chemical engineering and three weeks before that was film composition. Her name was Yoojung, 18 years old while he was 19.

 Her soulmate mark is a single star, and even though he knows she is not his soulmate, he can’t help but to think how perfectly their marks complement each other. How they would make a perfect night sky. 

They had met at a frat party, no less, and the combination of cheap booze and bad hiphop music had made her look so incredibly gorgeous under the dim lighting. They had their first kiss in a random person’s living room, highly intoxicated and much too irresponsible and Jungkook had barely even remembered it in the morning until she showed up at his doorstep and invited herself in. Yet it wasn’t too long before he made a perfect space for Yoojung in his life.

 Each day after his physics lecture, he’d go to her dorm and they’d chat over breakfast until she had economics at 10 o’ clock. After she was done, he’d insist that they go get a greasy hamburger at the joint his friends took him to when they got high and, she’d end up dragging them both to the health food restaurant that prided themselves on only using organic. Leave it to Jungkook to find himself a vegan girlfriend. 

Sometimes though, when he looks at Yoojung, his mind drifts to his actual soulmate and a little flower named guilt blooms in his chest. But he is so young and his other half could be anywhere in the world, so Jungkook thinks there is no harm in allowing himself to indulge in a little affection. These days, it wasn’t completely abnormal for soulmates to part ways, and when Yoojung is in his arms, Jungkook likes to think that his soulmate would understand. They would want him to be happy. In the middle of synchronizing their busy student schedules and sneaking in quick kisses through cramming for finals, he had found it unnervingly easy to fall in love with her. 

Deeply and blindly in love. 

Yoojung brought him home to her family on fall breaks and the occasional winter vacation and Jungkook had melded perfectly into their dynamic. The son I never had, her father would tell him over the dinner table while her mother constantly made sure his plate was piled high. Her little sister was visibly in love with him, and would ask Yoojung where he was every time she came home from university, yet avoiding him at all costs when he was there. 

Jungkook’s own family, however, was a different story. To put it delicately, they had liked it more when he came home by himself and left her at school. It had put a strain on their relationship sure, but at the end of the day, Jungkook loved her. A simple love. 

Every day he remembers that their marks do not match. But if this is love and he feels like he is on cloud 9 with every moment they are together, Jungkook begins to doubt if the universe’s will is truly divine and successful. Maybe Yoojung was his soulmate and it did not matter what was on their wrists. 

He loved her intensely, and she did him. She was the first thing on his mind when he woke up and manifested in his dreams when he slept at night. To Jungkook, Yoojung could do no wrong. Like some sort of divine being or angel that the heavens sent just for him, and he found himself thinking maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life beside her. 

But he would come to learn that the higher the climb...the harder the fall. 

Jungkook and Yoojung were together for the better part of 4 years before she cheated on him with a guy that she’d supposedly met a couple weeks ago. When Jungkook screams at her asking why she had been disloyal, Yoojung shows him her wrist. Her single inked star. 

“I found my soulmate, Jungkook. And I love you so much, you know I do. I didn’t know how to tell you so I…”

The rest of her words fade into white noise and all Jungkook can do is look at her and commit every detail to memory as he feels her fade farther away. Her teary and remorseful brown eyes. Her plush lips. The fan of her eyelashes and the mole on the side of her temple. He’ll never get to see her like this again. 

“I was ready to be with you, soulmate or not. I know it’s not fair but I wanted the same from you”, he whispers, falling down on the couch and burying his face in his hands. 

“Soulmates be damned, the universe was wrong. I was so hideously in love with you. How could you not at least tell me when you met him?” Jungkook feels his heart collapsing in on itself with every word of resignation. Of burgeoning acceptance. Yoojung can only mirror his desolate expression and stares down at the star on her skin.

 Jungkook wishes it were a moon. 

“Just go, Yoojung.” 

It would have hurt less if it was only a one night stand with a stranger she did not know the name of. He was in love and spineless enough to move past a one night stand. However, Yoojung had found her soulmate and fallen in love with him. Jungkook had merely acted as a placeholder for the real deal to come along and sweep her off her feet. 

This time he doesn’t cry. Just stares out the window of his living room and wonders what it would be like to disappear altogether. When the door is slammed shut, and he is left to nurse his aching soul, Jungkook apologizes in advance to the person that shares the same mark on their wrist as him. He no longer believes that soulmates exist. 

When Jungkook looks back at his 13 year old self with the innocent construct of what heartbreak feels like, he wants to laugh and maybe slap that stupid boy upside the head. Yoojung had destroyed him. Destroyed the innocent and starry-eyed person that he’s tried so hard to preserve. Destroyed his vulnerability and bright outlook on life and in their place, cultivated walls of rock and steel meant to keep everyone out and him safely tucked inside. In her wake, Yoojung left behind a shell of a man who pushed his emotions so deep he became numb and forgot what it was like to feel. 

So Jungkook does what he always does to push away the hurt. He changes his major; to art history this time. He stacks up bracelets on his wrist to forget the mark of a moon. He scrapes up his rainy day money and treats himself to the most expensive pair of Saint Laurent boots he’s ever worn. He tests the limits of the human liver, and takes advantage of the biceps and jawline he’s acquired since high school to establish a reputation. 

To his friends, Jungkook remained raucous and always down to order infinite rounds of shots until he couldn’t see straight. To those that looked even closer, Jungkook was so completely shattered he didn’t even feel it anymore. 

The second time he had his heart broken, Jungkook was 23. He promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen again. 

◐

“For the last time, Jimin, I’m not going to give you a blowjob so you can pay for my student loans.”

You don’t know how many times you’ve had this conversation with your roommate. Most of the time, it was convenient to have a roommate whose parents were loaded and sent him monthly installments that looked more like small loans than allowances. You knew he just wanted to help. Heck, he probably would be willing to pay them off for you without the promiscuous favor, but you had made it clear to Jimin that you wouldn’t be riding off of his charity. 

“Ugh, Y/N you’re really no fun”, he sighs, falling backwards onto your twin-sized bed and feigning devastation. You reward his melodrama with a giggle, ruffling your hands through his fried hair. Jimin had a knack for changing his hair color as quickly as his mood. 

You look at the bill that’s staring back at you from your computer screen, and it feels like it’s just reached out and punched you in the face. “Hey do you think it’s a common mistake for bank tellers to add a few too many zeroes?” 

“Y/N.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m rationalizing as a self-defense mechanism.” Sometimes it was annoying that your roommate had a degree in psychology. Then again, Jimin was making more money than you and your degree in English. 

You sigh deeply and look up at the ceiling in attempts to quell your tears of frustration. And also because it is a plea to whoever is up there controlling your destiny: please I’m begging you. Melt my debt away. 

You and Jimin sit in comfortable silence and he plays with the hem of your worn comforter while you scroll through the emails you have been ignoring in your inbox. You want to smash your head in at all the deadlines. Times like these, there is one thing that brings you comfort and always has since you turned 18. 

The quaint little crescent moon that sits right atop your radius. 

You had a habit of pressing your thumb against it and feeling your pulse against the mark, stupidly wondering if your soulmate’s heartbeat has synched up with your own. If he was out there somewhere, touching his mark and wondering the same about you. He was taking his sweet time, that’s for sure. Jimin sees your nervous tic and sighs again.

“You’re so hopelessly romantic it makes me want to barf, Y/N.” You scowl at his words and chuck a pillow at his unsuspecting face. 

“I don’t understand you, Jimin. Your soulmate is out there and you’re not the slightest bit curious? You don’t want to do anything extra to find them?” Jimin looks at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s exactly it, though. I know they’re my soulmate and I’ll find them when the time is right. So why worry about it? It’s better not to force anything.” His statement is followed up with a grin and his fingers reach out to pinch your cheeks. This was the dynamic of your friendship. He is easy-going and flows like a careless river. You’ve read one too many books to not vie and daydream for the moment you lock eyes with your soulmate. 

Your mom always said that you’ll know just from a look. It’s like getting hit over the head with a ray of sun, she said. Like suddenly their eyes are the only eyes you ever want to look into again. Since then, you’ve dreamt for the day you find someone with that same moon on their wrist. For now though, you had more immediate concerns more along the lines of crippling debt. 

“What do I do, Jimin? Should I be a stripper?” He laughs and the thought makes you groan. You couldn’t even walk in heels, much less try to dance or look like you didn’t have two left feet. Stripper life just wasn’t for you. 

“Hm...I could call in a few favors for you at the office. Get you an internship or secretary position.” 

“Maybe. Too much nepotism. Your father owns the office you work at”, you remind him, and his eyebrows crease further in thought. God, maybe you do have to be a stripper.

“Wait!” Jimin yelps so suddenly you almost fling the computer off your lap. 

“I think I know someone. He’s been looking for a model for his art portfolio or something, and he said he’s willing to pay.” Jimin reaches for his phone and his thumbs type up a storm while you watch from the sideline. 

“I think he mentioned it’s about a month-long project. You’d just have to be on call whenever a stroke of genius arrives.” 

“That sounds great! I’m an amazing model!” you crow, to which Jimin giggles again.

“The several candids I have in my camera roll tell a different story, Y/N.” Naturally, he receives another pillow to the face. But you follow up with a cheery kiss to his cheek as you rejoice in the new opportunity for cash flow by a celebratory dance, which looks more like a wiggle when you remain seated on your bed. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, you chirped, “I owe you one.”

“Hey...I know how you can repay me.”

 When you look towards him, his eyebrows are raised inquisitively and there’s a devilish smirk on his lips.

Jimin gets a third pillow to his face that day. 

◓

Jungkook’s favorite type of arguments to get into is whether Neo-classicism or post-impressionism had the most impact on European art and architecture. Call him a snob, but he loves to prattle on about Degas and Caillebotte until his opponent tires or concedes out of pure exhaustion. Jungkook regards it as a battle strategy: bore your enemy so that they stop fighting. 

He’s in the middle of a heated debate with his classmate from graduate school when he receives a phone call from Park Jimin. Now, Jungkook has no idea how or when Jimin became an installment in his life, or how he’s roped his way into his inner circle. He just remembers waking up one day with a killer hangover and finding that there was a pink-haired stranger lying on his floor. When he tried to shoo him out, the stranger shoved a wad of money in his shirt pocket, muttering “just five more minutes”, and Jungkook was in no position to deny easy cash. Jungkook now considers Jimin one of his close friends. 

“What’s up, Jiminie?” He laughs into the microphone. 

“I told you not to call me that, you brat. I’m older than you.” 

“I’m taller than you.”

“My dick is bigger.”

“I-okay fine you got me there.” He hears Jimin wheeze over the line as he tries to rein himself in to say what he needs to say. 

“In all seriousness, though. I have a proposition for you.” Jimin lilts in a mischievous tone, which makes Jungkook nervous enough to get up from the café table he had been sitting at with his friend and careen to a quieter corner. 

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so you know how you were telling me about your portfolio for the gallery. The one you have to submit by the end of the season? How you needed a model on call 24/7 in case inspiration struck?” 

Jungkook wants him to spit it out because he has been searching high mountains and low valleys for someone that would be willing to be his muse for a month or two. Constantly at his beck and call so he can finish this damn portfolio and get his name out there in the art world. Maybe start debating post-impressionism with the cream of the crop. 

“I think I’ve found someone to do that for you.” Jungkook exhales in relief at his words.

“She’s my roommate and she’s super low on cash and unemployed with a bachelor’s in English literature, so she’s got time to spare.” Perfect. That way, Jungkook can call her whenever he needs to.

“That’s amazing, Jiminie. Can she meet me at the art building tomorrow at noon? We can start right away.” Jungkook breathes through the phone, a small weight coming off his shoulders now that another thing had been accomplished. One less thing he had to worry about on the journey to his goal. Jimin confirms the plans and they exchange pleasantries before Jungkook hangs up as the man on the other line starts screaming about his burning lunch on the stove. 

Jungkook catches sight of the mark on his wrist when he looks down, and quickly rearranges his bracelets so that it is once again covered to his eyes. Out of sight and out of mind. 

The gallery portfolio had been a thorn in his side. It had been months in the making and if he allows himself to reminisce, Jungkook remembers the nights he and Yoojung stayed up until dawn and talked about his blossoming interest in art. How he wanted a space of his own to display his works. Back then, she listened to him with stars in her eyes and basked in the afterglow of post-coital cuddling, promising that she would help him achieve it. 

His heart sinks at the memory of the imprint of her tresses of hair spilling on his bedspread. He burned those sheets the second she left. 

Jungkook represses his intrusive thoughts about Yoojung and wills her to get out of his head. He forces it down until it feels like he’s just dumped ice water over his heart and vomited out any semblance of emotion. He makes his way back to the cafe table with a sly smile that hides the internal ache he’s promised himself to never let anyone suspect of. 

“So what were you saying about Renoir’s Moulin de la Galette?”

◑

The art building is situated besides a library, with a bakery flanking its left. Two years spent at the university, and you’ve never once stepped foot there. Maybe it was the daunting abstract sculpture on the front lawn or the prejudices you held against annoying art snobs on their high horses, but you often found yourself subconsciously avoiding the space in intimidation. 

“Okay, Y/N, you’re going to do this so you can pay off your loans”, you whisper under your breath, words meant for your ears and no one else’s. “And if he asks you to pose nude, you run the opposite direction.” 

It was easy to get lost in the building. For art students that know how to draw, they really took advantage of abstractionism to make the most confusing map you had ever seen in your life. Luckily, with some direction from the vapid front desk secretary and some intuition, you were able to to find room 62B. You don’t think you’ll be able to forget the number 62B if you tried, Jimin had screamed it to you so many times as you left the apartment. 

The door soundlessly opens with a nudge of your hand and you stick your head inside.

“You know when Jimin told me he found me a model, he didn’t mention her lack of punctuality.” His voice is calm and subdued with no lingering annoyance, even if his words are uncourteous. You whip around to him and the first sight you see of Jeon Jungkook is merely a tuft of brown hair behind a vast canvas. And some expensive looking leather boots that anchor his feet to the ground. 

You clear your throat and approach with an outstretched hand and the shiniest smile you can muster. 

“I’m Y/N. Jimin’s roommate. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Jungkook.”

It is when he steps out from behind the canvas that you finally understand what your mother meant when she said meeting your soulmate feels like getting hit over the head with a ray of sunshine. You can’t describe it any other way, but that’s exactly what it feels like. Like the air becomes so sweet in your lungs it turns to viscous honey. Like suddenly the person standing in front of you is Valentine, encapsulated. 

You know he feels it too, yet you don’t know why he forces himself to remain blasé, and if you hadn’t seen his widened eyes and heard the gasp from his lips you would have never suspected anything at all. Stranger courtesy is abandoned and you forcefully grab his wrist, turning it over to find his mark while pulling up your sleeve to reveal your own. 

A little black crescent moon.

Right on the pulse point.

Just like your’s. 

When you finally muster up the nerve to look into his eyes again, you wonder if it is healthy for the human heart to beat so fast and so thunderously it feels ready to jump out of your chest. Jungkook, however, still wears that same expression on his face. Flat and cold, not even a glimmer in his eyes. He stares at you disinterested and wrenches his wrist from your grasp. 

“Wait, Jungkook...aren’t you….”, you sputter through a desperate smile, “aren’t you happy?” He stays silent and trains his attention on the canvas in front of him, but you can see the conflict that swirls in his iris. 

“I’ve been looking for you for so long! And I’ve finally found you. In the art building no less, just my luck that-”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you expect from me but I’m not looking for anything right now.” 

There were no objectively ugly words. But you think the ones that have just spewed from Jungkook’s lips come pretty close. They stoke a fire in your chest.

“What do you mean? We’re soulmates”, you faltered, sinking deeper into confusion as you stare at the unaffected man in front of you, whose only concern is the conglomerate of paint on his palette. 

Jungkook sighs monotonously. Almost as if he had better things to do than be here.

“It’s only a mark on your wrist. And we just happen to have the same one. Amazing that you still think somehow one single person was made entirely just for you.” His words are bored and he doesn’t even have the decency to look you in the eye when he speaks. You think you might want to punch him if you weren’t so speechless.

“Look”, he sighs as if you were inconveniencing him, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell you that I’m the one you’ve been looking for this whole time. We have the same mark, but...I’m not the guy you want.”

“B-But...I’m your soulmate. We-we’re made for each other.”

Jungkook scoffs harshly, and you want to sink into the ground. “That’s just a silly myth.” 

“So you don’t...believe in soulmates?” The words felt wrong to say when all your life, finding your soulmate felt like the ribbon at the end of the finish line. But here he was now, and you felt so small under his gaze. Like you weren’t meant to be there and standing in the same room with him was a concoction for heartbreak.

“No.”

Jungkook’s syllable pangs in your ear, and you think it might be your least favorite sound. Then you leave. And if it was hard for you to meet your soulmate - the person who you’re destined to be with - who doesn’t believe in you, then walking away from him was a different cross to bear. 

You take the bus home and ignore the glare of strangers when you burst into tears at a red light, and cry the rest of the way back. Your mother hadn’t described this. She prosed on and on about the feeling one gets after finding a soulmate but never mentioned to you how it feels when you find out they want nothing to do with you. What do you do when you realize the person you’ve been chasing for forever has been trying to run away at the same time? 

Jimin holds you together that night on your bedroom floor, while you break apart and scratch at the moon on your wrist until your skin breaks. He listens to the words you sputter; as much as he can decipher when they are drowned out by the painful sound of your sobbing. Jungkook’s beliefs bleed into your consciousness. Perhaps he is right and perhaps there is no such thing as true soulmates, and the marks are obsolete. 

However, when you fall asleep in your friend’s arms from the physical fatigue of violent crying and the sheer mental exhaustion of meeting Jeon Jungkook, your mind comes to a more painful conclusion. 

A more truthful conclusion.

Your soulmate only needed to meet you to decide that he did not want you.

◒

Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates. He thinks they’re a stupid coy to give people false hope. An illusion to feign happiness and to take Yoojung away from someone she genuinely loved. Though in the hours of the night, when he is by himself and the bed feels too big for one body, Jungkook wonders if there is truly a reason why someone has an identical moon on their wrist. But he is still so broken and unhealed from the wounds Yoojung left behind.

 So instead of soulmates, he thinks about what she must be doing. If she’s eating well. If she’s moved in with her own soulmate and if they’re happy together. Jungkook is an involuntary masochist and he pays for it with every pillowcase that becomes stained with his tears. 

He sighs out an expletive after downing a shot of whiskey, relishing in the familiar burn as it slides down his throat. Alcohol doesn’t seem to be working efficiently, though. He’s only barely tipsy after years in college building tolerance, and he can still see your face each time he blinks. Like you are imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Jungkook wonders why Jimin had cancelled on the group tonight. 

There is a little devil called remorse and it stands atop his shoulder, unseen by everyone but him, and Jungkook decides he will get rid of it by calling another round of shots. From his seat in the dirty booth, he can see Min Yoongi and his soulmate practically dry humping on the dance floor. If anyone asks him if he ever gets jealous seeing soulmates happy and in love, he’ll laugh in their face and tell them he pities people like that. People that are so blinded by the system. But loneliness is a stern mistress and it makes him think of you. How lovely the moon looks on your wrist. How your hand felt so warm when it caressed against his skin. 

He tips his head back again. Vodka this time.

“Dude, are you okay?” 

To his right comes Kim Taehyung, designated driver extraordinaire, and he looks at Jungkook with friendly concern laced with amusement. Jungkook nods contentedly. 

“Soulmates are so bullshit, Tae”, he snickers, fingers tracing the rim of the shot glass and smirk on his face to mask the bitterness of both the alcohol and his heart. Taehyung spares a knowing glance, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder with the weight of knowledge of Jungkook’s past. 

The night is young and so is he. He drinks until he can no longer taste the liquor and forgets altogether about what had happened only a couple of hours before. Until the crescent mark on his skin just looks like a shapeless black blob, and it makes him smile. He thinks he likes it better that way. 

Taehyung drops him home and personally tucks him into bed while he is still in jeans and his shirt smells like the bar. His sleep is dreamless that night. When the morning comes and his friends tease him about how he begged Taehyung not to leave, Jungkook will laugh and blame the alcohol for his foggy memory. He won’t tell them that he does remember, and that he was only grasping at any warm body to soothe his aching loneliness.

◐

Usually when he first opens his eyes in the morning, Jungkook is thinking about the next class he has to attend and if he is late (which is usually most of the time). This morning, albeit morbidly hungover, Jungkook thinks of the apple strudels they sell at the bakery next to the art building. Mrs. Kim always gets the pastry to filling ratio just right. But when he opens the door with a jubilant smile on his face and the scent of baked goods already in his nostrils, Jungkook has a feeling apple strudels will have to wait. 

There you are. In all your messy-haired glory, huffing like a caged bull in the doorway of his apartment, fiery gaze directed completely at him and all he can think to say is:

“How do you know where I live?” Jungkook schools his face expressionless in your presence. He hopes this will discourage you, but it only makes you angrier. 

“Park Jimin”, you snarl. 

Of fucking course, it’s always Park Jimin. Jimin who drunkenly sleeps in his bedroom and now Jimin who is leaking his address to any stranger.

“Um”, Jungkook stammers and takes a step back, “what are you doing here? Didn’t I get my point through yesterday?” He can see the statement catching you off guard, and the fury in your eyes dwindles to dejection. Only for a millisecond though, before you are aiming your wrath at him once again. 

You take a deep breath. “What is wrong with you?” 

Jungkook can think of a lot of answers to that query. He opts to interpret it as a rhetorical question and keep his mouth shut. 

“You just...found your soulmate! I’m your soulmate! And you don’t even want to get to know me? At all?”, you scream exasperatedly. Jungkook catches the gaze of a middle aged lady who is not-so-discreetly staring at the two of you, and pulls you inside his apartment by your arm. If you weren’t so frustrated, you would have been flustered at the physical contact. 

“Listen. Soulmates don’t end up together all the time. I’ve told you I’m not really interested in anything right now and it’s not a priority”, he takes a breath through his passionate monologue, “and I’m sorry that that’s not something you expected, but I….don’t want a soulmate.”

Maybe...he just doesn’t want you. 

When he says them out loud to a living breathing person, Jungkook realizes how cruel it sounds. He can see it in the way your eyes have become glossy under his living room lights and the way you shrink into yourself as self-defense against his blows. He rationalizes that he’d rather tell you the truth than lie to you now, only to hurt you later. Really, he’s doing you a kindness. Right?

You turn your back to him to gather your thoughts, and wipe the tears that you refuse to let him see. The salty drops sting the raw skin of your wrist after last night, and you are brutally reminded of the current reality. His brutal honesty makes you want to abandon all hope, but you were a woman with a plan. You came here for a reason, not to just lose your temper in your soulmate’s apartment and tell him what you really thought about him.

“I have a proposition for you”, you asserted calmly, staring Jungkook in the eye as he remains unbothered. 

“Now I reckon something’s happened to you to make you lose all your faith in soulmates, so I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Your eyebrows furrow when you speak focusedly.

“We don’t have to be together. That’s your will. But…”, you hesitate, pushing past the uncertainty and fear of another rejection from Jungkook, “will you let me at least try? You don’t have to promise anything. Can we just start as friends?” 

Naturally, Jungkook wants to shoot down your offer, kick you out of his apartment, and pretend like he never met anyone by the name of Y/N. Call it divine intervention but when he looks at you, pleading for any semblance of connection, he feels a tug at his heart strings. So Jungkook makes another promise to himself. He would let you “try”, whatever that entails. But there was no virtual possibility of letting you any closer than necessary. 

You both stand in contemplative silence before he lets out a resigned sigh. “On one condition”, he responds slowly, but there is already a premature grin growing on your face and you don’t think you could stop it even if you tried.

“You still have to be my model for the art portfolio.”

You agree before he even gets to take another breath. 

“Deal.” 

When you finally make your way out of Jungkook’s apartment, parting ways with an awkward number exchange and a ‘see you later’, there is a simultaneous feeling of hope and desolation. The optimism for Jungkook combines with the insecurity that perhaps you, just as you are, is not nearly enough to make someone fall in love. Especially someone who disregards their soul connection to you. 

You walk back to your apartment with a heavy heart that warms with embers of determination. Jeon Jungkook was an enigma. A Bastille fortress of self-defense mechanisms and destructive tendencies, and you know that there is unresolved pain. Call it a soulmate instinct or something, but you see it in his eyes. You see it in the way his face begs to show emotion but his mind refuses to acknowledge. 

You know Jungkook is not obligated to accept you after the dust settles, much less fall in love with you. Under the peach blossoms of the campus sidewalk, you make a promise anyway.  To yourself and to your soulmate and the silly little mark on the inside of your wrist. Even if he does not love you, you vow to help Jungkook learn to love himself.

◓

When you are harshly woken up at 5:30 in the morning, the last person you expected to be blowing up your phone was Jeon Jungkook. If it weren’t for the pure exhaustion seeping through your bones, you would have been excited about your soulmate calling you. Alas, slumber was your soulmate now. Jungkook would have to step down. 

On the other side of the paper thin wall, Jimin is frustratedly banging from his room, your ringtone reverberating throughout the entire apartment. You pick up his call without even opening your eyes.

“Hello?” 

“Y/N I need you to come to my apartment as soon as you can.” There is no sleepiness in his voice. Just clean and cold like it always is and he has hung up before you get the chance to scold him for waking you up at this unholy hour. You’re about to give him a piece of your mind but you remember he is paying you very handsomely for your efforts, and reluctantly drag yourself out of bed to call an uber. Thank god he doesn’t live too far away otherwise you’ll stick a foot through his canvas for the transportation bill. 

The front of Jungkook’s apartment door is strangely therapeutic, and you find yourself falling asleep standing up after you’ve rung the doorbell. Either time passes too slowly when you are sleep-drunk or Jungkook moves to get the door as quickly as your grandfather does. Whatever the case, you are about to pass out on his doorstep if he doesn’t come soon.

“Y/N, why are you just standing there? The door has been open.” 

“Jungkook. Why are you making me do this so early?”, you yawn, pushing inside the apartment. 

Jungkook takes in your discombobulated appearance, and almost wants to laugh. You were still in your pajamas, and the bun on your head now looked more like a heaping blob that drooped down your temple. It was obvious that you had just rolled out of bed and he almost feels bad for disturbing your sleep, but he does not decide when his strokes of inspiration spontaneously appear. 

The living room is bombarded with Jungkook’s art supplies and stray canvases, and you take note of the clay sculpting table that blends in as furniture next to his kitchen. You plop yourself down on the stool across from Jungkook’s easel, eyes still half closed and impossibly tired.

 In this moment, Jungkook wipes the fact that you are his soulmate from his mind. He needs to do the portfolio. That is all he’s keeping you around for, and the only reason he agreed to your plan was so that you would remain his art model. 

In the silence of his makeshift art studio, Jungkook paints whatever comes to his mind, referencing your figure on the stool for the curves he can never get right without a model and need for a human presence to translate onto his canvas. You become more lucid as time goes by and the sun starts to rise from outside his window, sitting up straighter and paying more attention to his concentrated face as Jungkook pours himself into his creation. 

Looking at him in this light, you realize that he is beautiful. And not just because he’s your soulmate. Jungkook’s hair is scruffy and stubbled, undereyes sporting impressive dark circles. But the way he caresses the paintbrush and the way his body moves to the beat of the painting is poetic. He glances at you sporadically, eyes darting to and fro to capture as much as he can before the creativity burns out. He is beautiful and it makes your heart ache to know that he does not want you. In spite of the bond the universe has created. 

You wonder if in his focused hazed, he notices the new glaze across your eyes and the silent sound of your soul calling out for his. You wipe away the first dripping tear as quickly as it came. You know Jungkook sees, but does not bat an eye and you can’t tell if you’d rather prefer him to acknowledge it. 

It’s 8:00am when he puts the paintbrush down, takes a step back, and surveys his work. His eyes trail over each organic line and areas where he decided to use burnishing instead of cross hatching. It’s far from perfect, but it’s enough. 

“Okay. You’re free to go”, he announces, plucking the painting off the easel and resting it against the wall, hidden from your eyes. 

“W-What? That’s it?”, you sigh disappointedly, “you’re not even going to let me see it?” Jungkook shrugs. His detachedness makes you want to rip your hair out and sob into your pillow at the same time. You don’t understand how a person could be so unfazed. 

“S’not ready for debut. Thanks for showing up, though.” He doesn’t spare you another glance. Just goes back to cleaning his brushes and dumping out the glasses of murky paint water. You ignore the twinge of hurt in your chest and slide off the stool. 

“Okay, fine. Now it’s my turn. Would you like to go have some breakfast?”, you smile expectantly to Jungkook, who stares at you with an indifferent gaze. His first instinct is to make up a half-assed excuse to get out of this, eager to detach himself from you as much as possible and avoid any more interaction. However, he was insanely hungry, and the glimmer in your eye just looks so hopeful even Jungkook couldn’t bear to shoot you down.

He sighs with resignation. A little breakfast couldn’t hurt, and he wasn’t going with you necessarily. You were just...going to the same cafe in the same direction as him and likely sitting at the same table. Yeah, that’s it. 

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.” 

“Wait...actually?”

You blinked in shock at his lack of resistance. 

“Yes. Now come on. I know a place with really great apple strudels.”

You weren’t aware that by ‘breakfast’, Jungkook actually meant sitting in complete silence and wolfing down food like your life depends on it. You want to be grossed out when he inhales 3 apple strudels in less than 10 minutes, crumbs flaking on his shirt without a care in the world. Yet you just feel endeared. The sight makes you smile. And maybe if Jungkook did not detest you, you would have leaned over and kissed the cinnamon sugar right off his lips. 

“So….”, you sip on a sweet coffee, “Jimin told me you’re going for a masters in art history?” 

Jungkook nods halfway through a bite of his pastry. “Yup.” 

“Is it something you’re really passionate about?” you inquire, desperately wanting the conversation to delve into something that wasn’t so surface level.

“Uh huh.”

“What are some other things you’re interested in besides art?”

“Totally.” 

Jungkook is completely clueless. He only spares glances to the windows and occasional looks to his oh so precious breakfast treats. You want to slap him and be angry, but you only sigh. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to your soulmate, yet it felt like trying to pull teeth when he was so completely disinterested in you. You wonder if this is worth it.

You look up at him from your steaming cappuccino cup and use your wildcard. 

“In my opinion, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus did little for the Italian Renaissance movement.” 

Your statement almost has Jungkook falling backwards in his chair and choking on a piece of fruit filling, eyes growing as wide as saucers when he finally processes what you just said. A flaming insult to the entire art historian community. 

“What do you know about Botticelli?”, he sneers, and you internally celebrate for this is the most emotion Jungkook has shown since meeting you. 

“I know that his work supposedly epitomizes the spirit of the Renaissance”, you swirl the coffee in your cup nonchalantly, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “But if you ask me, Bellini’s San Giobbe Altarpiece did much more to encapsulate the values of 15th century Italy.” 

Jungkook’s speechless expression is one that you want to take a snapshot of and frame it to your wall. It is glorious, and arguably more artful to you than Botticelli himself. So what, you had conveniently forgot to mention to him about the class you took junior year of college, with a professor that made you engrave the fundamentals of Italian painting in your brain. It’s so much more gratifying to see him stunned silent. 

Across the table from you, Jungkook feels a warm smile itching to display itself. Before it can appear, he disguises it as a cold smirk. He feels something akin to a butterfly at the pit of his stomach, but blames it on indigestion and the inhuman pace at which he devoured his breakfast. Yeah that must be it. There was no way he was feeling butterflies. 

He cracks his knuckles, raises his cup to gulp down a lukewarm green tea, and rests his elbows on the table separating the both of you.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me your thoughts on the influences of neo-classicism in the 18th century?” 

◑

“No, Y/N, turn to your left a little”, Jungkook frustratedly sighs behind the camera lens.

“Your left or my left?”

He pauses. “....left.” 

To any outside eye, you and Jungkook look like two buffoons trying to take pictures on what might possibly be the windiest day of the season, under the peach blossom trees. Jungkook had called you earlier that day and stressed about how he needed mixed media in his beloved portfolio, and photographs were the next topic of interest. Though you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just set out a fruit bowl on his windowsill and call it still life photography.

Jungkook stares down at his camera, dissatisfaction clear on his face. You almost want to apologize for your abhorrent modeling skills but hey, he was the one that chose you. 

“Hmm...try staring at that boat in the distance”, he dictates, standing beside you and aiming the lens at your side profile. You do as he asks, but don’t hear the shutter of the camera. Jungkook sighs again and leans forward, so close you could feel his warm breath hitting your skin. You hope he doesn’t notice the beet blush on your cheeks.

Jungkook’s hands meet your chin when he uses it to slightly tilt your face downwards. He positions you in the way that he wants you to pose and you finally understand why photography is considered an art. Because it’s almost as if Jungkook is molding you like clay, to get the silhouette he wants to capture with his camera lens. The day is brisk, but his skin on your’s lights you on fire. 

“Okay, that’s…..that’s perfect”, Jungkook breathes, hurriedly picking up the camera that had been hanging onto his neck by the strap and angling it. At the moment his index finger presses down on the button, there is a gust of wind that surrounds the both of you.

The breeze loosens a strand of your hair and it falls into your eyes. You let your eyes drift close for a second, smiling into the cold air that tingles on your skin. Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he thanks the skies for the howling wind so you wouldn’t be able to hear his thumping heartbeat. But surely it’s only because it’s cold. And absolutely nothing else. Jungkook coughs inconspicuously to snap himself out of his trance, sighing in relief when he realizes your eyes are still closed and that you hadn’t noticed his internal struggle. 

He drags you to a bridge next and makes you lay on the cold wood to which you vehemently object before you remember that he’s paying you and that you want him to fall in love with you, not dislike you more than he already does. After the bridge, Jungkook makes you kneel beside the park pond and dip your hand in the icy water and you find yourself wanting to do the same thing to his precious camera. 

Before the two of you have realized, the sun sets into the horizon and tinges the sky in a combination of purples and pinks that Jungkook himself has a hard time replicating on canvas. He aims his lens at the clouds and takes a picture that he knows won’t make it into his gallery. He just felt the need to have something to remember this day by. For no reason in particular…

A buzzing coming from your coat pocket alerts you both of the time that has passed and how the sky has considerably darkened since you began the session. When you fish your phone out, Jimin’s contact photo is staring back at you while the marimba ringtone continues playing. You put the phone on speaker.

“Hey Jiminie”, you smile and Jungkook catches a glance of it. And the discomfort in his chest is definitely, 100%, not jealousy. Not at all.

“I told you not to call me that! What is with you younger people and your disrespect for the elderly?” The corner of Jungkook’s lips twitch into a subtle smile at the similarity of your’s and his conversations with Jimin. 

“Okay, okay, grandpa. What’s up?”

“Can you come home ASAP? I may or may not have broken the stove trying to make soup.” 

The redundancy of his confession makes you sigh, as Park Jimin desecrating your shared kitchen space was not a rare occurrence by any means. 

“I’ll be right there”, you chided through the line, “please do not cook anything else before I arrive.” 

“Thanks Y/N-ie, you’re the best!” Jimin’s voice is far too cheery and you make a mental note to nag him a little extra when you get home. The phone call is ended promptly and you turn around to Jungkook, eyes widening in surprise when he has already packed up all his photography gear. The sky had turned dark and the streetlights had been turned on to illuminate the park. If you had craned your neck upwards, you would have noticed the stars that awoke again to shine down upon the city. But you didn’t. You only saw the stars that were twinkling in Jungkook’s eyes. 

“Uh”, he stammers, “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.” 

“Oh! Uh...Thanks.” Though he was still cold and indifferent, your heart jumped in elation. Perhaps this could be considered baby steps. 

The trip home is quiet, only the sounds of your tandem footsteps on pavement and the rustle of a breeze through tree leaves fill the space of silence. But the quiet is not uncomfortable. Just a bit awkward as you two try to figure out how to be around one another. Jungkook’s hands are shoved in his pockets and your fingers itch to intertwine themselves around his own. To press your soulmate marks together and feel them calling out to each other. But you and Jungkook are anything but normal soulmates. For you are already head over heels in love with him and he is adamant on not sparing you a crumb of affection. 

To your disdain, the apartment was closer than you thought and the short walk with Jungkook ended before it really even began. You could practically hear Jimin’s impatience emanating from the third story of the building. 

“So I’ll see you later?”, you smile meekly. Jungkook readjusts the strap of his camera bag before nodding. He is walking away before you turn around to enter the apartment building and even though it was something small and mundane, you wished he would have waited to see you get in safely. You make your way inside, more downcast than you had been before.

You don’t see when Jungkook turns around. You don’t feel the reassurance that washes over him when the door shuts safely behind you. 

That night, Jungkook is reminded far too much of Yoojung. When he goes to make his usual chamomile, he finds her mug at the very back of the tea cabinet. She must have forgotten it when she packed up her stuff. When he spoons in the sugar, he remembers how Yoojung drinks her tea with honey instead. And when he feels himself start to fall apart, he remembers how Yoojung is not there to keep him together. 

Jungkook pushes away his pain, abandons the lukewarm mug of tea, and opts for an early bedtime to sleep away the ache. The camera sitting on his nightstand, though, beckons him to look over the photos you both had taken that afternoon. 

In the moment, he had been dissatisfied with the pictures, always thinking there must be a better angle or a better position you could shift into. However when he looks down at his camera now, in the quiet and solemnity of his bedroom, Jungkook can’t help but to think they are absolutely perfect. 

He doesn’t know whether to credit his own artistic skill or you; for breathing life into his photographs. It’s the lines of your hands, the slope of your nose, and the stray strands of your hair that makes his pictures more human. 

The ones he ends up picking though, are not perfectly  staged and not the ones where he made you change the position of your stance for 10 minutes. No, the best pictures were the ones he took without you noticing. When you had just been enjoying the cool breeze or admiring the beauty of peach blossom season. When you point out a cool looking bird and when you stared annoyedly past the cameras lens (at him no doubt). 

Yoojung is gone from his mind for just a tiny fleeting moment. For little reason at all, Jungkook finds himself smiling. And there is only the company of the moon to see it. 

◒

 It is ten o’ clock in the morning and Jungkook comes to a realization that in the couple weeks since he has met you, he has sighed more times than he has in the past 23 years of life. Jungkook sighs when you text him first thing in the morning about the dream you had the night before and describe it in painfully vivid details. He leaves them unanswered. Sometimes he wished you would just email him the google document instead. He sighs when you fidget in your seat when he’s trying to paint and keep focus, but you are only interested in asking him the snacks he has in his fridge or when he’s going to finish. He sighs when you and Jimin collectively trash his art studio by spamming his $1,000 camera with ugly face pictures and sword fighting with his sable paint brushes. Jungkook often has a hard time believing that both of you are in graduate school. 

Today, he sighs when you bombard into room 62B of the art building; what is supposed to be Jungkook’s completely zen and peaceful creative space. You are tiptoeing around him as you always do, scared that you’ll do something to set him off and your soulmate will disown you for good. He glances at you once, eyes quickly darting back to the sculpture he is molding on the clay table and saying nothing. 

“There’s a new cafe that just opened right across from the apple strudel place”, you gulp tensely. “I was gonna go check out the competition.” Your words seem deaf to Jungkook’s ear and he only furrows his eyebrows, fingers fussing over the mass of clay. There was just something he couldn’t get right. He didn’t know what it was. 

Jungkook pushes away the sculpture frustratedly, wipes his hands on his apron, and finally looks at you. Maybe he did need a break and come back to it with fresh eyes. That’s all it was, though. A break. He wasn’t going because you asked him to. 

“They better have blonde roast otherwise you’ll be compensating me for my time.” Jungkook is as ruthless and blunt as ever and you decide to look past it as you always do. Him agreeing to go with you was a mini success. 

“Welcome in! You’ve stopped by at the perfect time. The strawberry scones have just been taken out of the oven!” The cafe employee is far too enthusiastic for receiving minimum wage and greeting grumpy people off the streets who just want to be caffeinated. His name tag reads Jung Hoseok. 

“Oh, strawberry is my favorite”, you whisper, the statement only meant for your ears but Jungkook picks up on it anyway. He declines to tell you that strawberry is his favorite as well. Hoseok’s eyes light up when you and Jungkook approach the entrance, like he finally succeeded at luring a customer. 

The cafe isn’t anything special. A bit more modern compared to the one across the street and you think you prefer the latter because this new one doesn’t have the owner’s handsome son standing at the cash register. He may not be your soulmate, but even you had to admit Kim Seokjin was a beautiful man if there ever was one. However, this cafe is warm and has ceiling length windows that let in an obscene amount of sunlight. Jungkook makes a mental note to try some pictures here in the future. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in his pocket and you are already leaving him behind in the dust, walking straight to the counter and peering up at the menu deep in thought. You turn around to see that he is immersed in mysterious conversation, and take it upon yourself to order him a drink. 

“I’ll have a matcha latte. And uh…”, you decide, trailing off as you wonder what kind of drink Jungkook would enjoy. “And an iced vanilla mocha latte, extra whipped cream, extra chocolate syrup. Do you guys have rainbow sprinkles?” 

A little sugar never hurt anyone. Especially someone so often bitter like your one and only soulmate. 

When Jungkook hangs up and makes his way to the corner table where you are situated, the sight of the concoction on the table is enough to give him an instant cavity. You hide your smile behind the mug of matcha. He grumbles and sits down swiftly, sticking the straw past his lips in defiance and you can only watch expectantly. 

“Well…do you like it?” 

This is when Jungkook realizes you didn’t order this to spite him. You just had completely zero idea what he liked and disliked and chose the first thing you thought was best. As cold as he is, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he drinks coffee, he likes it black. No cream, no sugar, and the darkest roast with the most caffeine to push him through those nights spent in front of a canvas or over a clay table. 

Jungkook fights to keep steady from the ambush of sugar and wills himself to swallow it down. There is sticky chocolate syrup on his hands and it feels cosmically more uncomfortable than paint. But Jungkook manages to look up at you and nod, to which you reward with a smile. 

“I knew you would like it”, you say smugly, giving yourself a mental pat on the back. “You look like you have a giant sweet tooth.” There is a mellow giggle that follows your statement. Jungkook feels a flutter at the bottom of his stomach, and convinces himself it’s only because it sounds so much like Yoojung. He catches sight of the moon on your wrist, and pushes the feeling away even farther. 

The two of you spend the rest of the midday there, tucked away in a corner of a cafe and losing track of time as you always do. Jungkook finds himself forgetting about the mountains of work he has to do to finish his art gallery portfolio, and the unfinished sculpture back at the studio that’s just not right. 

Today, he allows himself to enjoy your presence and get to know you more. Your favorite color is yellow. You had a dog named Benny when you were a child. You detest beer with a passion, but enjoy a nightly glass of pinot grigio. Jungkook barely notices when the entire cup of coffee has disappeared. Every last rainbow sprinkle.

On second thought, he feels that maybe there was something sweeter than his unexpectedly delicious iced vanilla mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Maybe that something was sitting right across from him, rambling about the fundamentals of English literature with unexplained vigor. 

Jungkook’s soul feels lighter when he goes to bed that night. And when he finally succumbs to Morpheus, his last lucid thought is of you; sun beams coming from the large cafe windows that comb through your hair. He looks at you through his mind’s eye and all he can see is the potential heartbreak you have the power to put him through. The fan of your eyelashes. The curve of your smile. The plush of your lips. All he can see is Yoojung as she crushes his soul in her bare hands. 

Yet in the midst of his internal conflict, Jungkook’s subconscious allows him to fall in love with you a little bit. Perhaps not love just yet, but affection. Like a toe dip in uncharted waters or sticking his finger in a bowl of creamy cake batter just for a taste. The walls he has built are still there, strong as ever, but perhaps a couple bricks look a bit askew. He doesn’t know, but his soul calls out to your’s through the fortress.

◐

“Y/N I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“Oh hush, just close your eyes and point where your heart tells you to.”

In the lobby of a train station, facing a map and an ETA board is where you and Jungkook will be embarking on your next “date but not really because you don’t believe in soulmates so let’s just hang out”. It had taken a good two hours of nagging and whining on your part to convince him to abandon his portfolio for just a little bit to go an outing. Now standing here, with you excitedly bouncing next to him and a mystery destination, Jungkook feels something akin to utter regret. 

“What if I choose somewhere that’s a thousand miles away? Or just in the middle of nowhere?”, Jungkook groans, still putting up an unbothered and cold front. 

“Well then we will go somewhere that’s a thousand miles away or in the middle of nowhere”, you quipped back at him. Jungkook had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one. 

He reluctantly places a hand over his eyes, sighing with resignation before pointing to a random spot on the map. There is a giggle that sounds to his left and Jungkook finds himself wanting to hear more. 

“Wonderful choice”, you smiled, “couldn’t have picked it better myself.” 

Jungkook peeked his eyes open one at a time, scared of seeing what his intuition has chosen for your guys’ spontaneous destination. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that his fingers landed on a town on the outskirts of the city, 20 minutes away from the university. He silently thanks the universe for not sabotaging his wallet and time. 

“We’re never doing this again, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks as you are in front of him, skipping happily to the front desk to buy two train tickets. 

“Wasn’t it fun, though? The thrill?”, you chuckle at his demeanor, to which he only shakes his head vehemently. You note the newest thing you’ve just learned about Jungkook: he has an aversion to uncertainty and spontaneity. 

The train ride was as brief as it was uneventful. You spent the time rambling to Jungkook about all the quips and quirks about yourself and he only listened. Though he kept quiet, his face was free of any annoyance or indication that you were speaking too much. Jungkook only stared at you and unknowing to you, he soaked in every bit of information like a sponge. If anyone asked, he could tell them what foods you were allergic to, what colors wash you out, and what vegetables you hated the most. 

“Wow you didn’t have to pick somewhere so far away, Jungkook.” You muse as the two of you step out of the train car. So far away in fact, that if you were to crane your head up enough, you would be able to see the university from a distance. 

“Hey, you were the one who made me choose”, Jungkook spares a rare smile, “Would you rather we have shelled out our wallets to go on an 18-hour train ride?”

“Okay, fair point.”

The city was as abundant as it was big, and the both of you walked aimlessly from avenue to avenue, stopping occasionally whenever you see a dog you just can’t help but to pet or whenever Jungkook complained about his sore feet. As cold and indifferent as Jungkook made himself out to be, you’ve quickly come to realize that he’s actually a big baby. He still hasn’t let you in or even lowered his walls by a tiny centimeter, but you like to think that even agreeing to go anywhere with you could be considered significant progress.

Jungkook doesn’t notice the pounding of his heart whenever his hands graze against your’s, walking side by side so close he can feel the heat emanating through your coat. He doesn’t notice the peace he feels, just the synchronicity of his feet as he places them on the pavement. 

The fraught wind that blows straight at Jungkook’s face prompts him to look up from where his eyes were cast on the ground. He almost staggers at how strong it is, but finds himself weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

Of course.

Of all the days, of all the times, of all the people in this entire city.

Of course she had to be the one that was currently staring at him from across the intersection. 

The red light seems to go on forever. Either that or time has just spontaneously frozen, Jungkook can’t tell. But his eyes are fixed on hers and his feet bolster him to the concrete when all he wants to do is sprint the other way and forget he ever saw this ghost from the past. 

Yoojung looks as beautiful as the day she left him. 

She’s gained some weight and her cheeks have filled out, but it looks healthy on her now (Jungkook always chided her for forgetting to eat). She stares at him with a combination of shock and guilt and something he wants to overthink into affection but he won’t give himself that satisfaction anymore. She dyed her hair. Light brown looks good on her. 

She looks...happy. As happy as anyone can look when they’re rushing through thick crowds of a city, traffic horns blaring like a dilapidated symphony. 

In the heat of it all, it’s impossible for you not to notice Jungkook’s sudden change in demeanor or the way he has suddenly stopped breathing. When you follow his gaze, there is a girl on the other side of the street that shares the same starstruck expression and even from the outside looking in, you can feel the weight of something painful in his eyes. In her stature. 

When the lights turn green, the throngs of city dwellers migrate across and you stay beside Jungkook when he doesn’t move a muscle. Not even a finger twitch. But she does. And he can only fight to keep the ache away when Yoojung gets closer with every millisecond. Until she is standing right in front of him and he can smell her familiar vanilla perfume. 

“Jungkook”, she speaks, apprehension in her voice. “It’s been a while...how are you?” 

Yoojung only spares you a side glance while keeping attention on Jungkook and you only grow more curious as to who this strange woman is. 

He wants to speak so badly but his tongue remains frozen. He turns to you with flabbergast in his eyes and shakes his head to snap out of the daze of confusion. Of seeing the love of his life again. Or who he thought was the love of his life. 

“Could you give us a minute, Y/N?” 

You didn’t know why but the words that came from his lips made you feel disappointed. Perhaps you were just stupid for thinking he would introduce you. Tell her that you’re his soulmate and scream it at the top of his lungs with sheer pride. But your imagination has hurt you countless times and you had a feeling this one wouldn’t be the last. You manage a curt nod and push away the twinge in your heart. There was a boundary between you and Jungkook and today was not the day to cross it and introduce yourself as his soulmate to any random stranger. 

Once you are out of vicinity and have found solace in a bookstore 10 feet away, Jungkook allows himself to breathe in Yoojung’s presence. 

“I didn’t know if you were still in the city”, he falters, voice coming out quieter than he would have liked it to. But what was he supposed to sound like confronting the supposed love of his life. 

“I never left, Jungkook...my entire life is here.” She sighs, smiling lightly with eyes seeping with guilt. 

He scoffs. “I don’t know Yoojung, you seem to leave behind important things pretty easily.” Jungkook feels himself getting angrier and resentful by the second, and though he knows it is unfair of him, Yoojung’s mere presence brings back all the wounds he never truly healed from. 

Granted, on a concrete sidewalk next to a traffic light pole was not the best place to have a heart to heart about failed relationships. But when has the universe ever given Jungkook the best things in life. He is devastatingly cynical for someone who dedicates his career to art. 

Yoojung wears a frown on her face, but there is no vindictiveness there. Just an overwhelming sense of remorse that Jungkook communicates as pity. 

“I don’t know how else to say that I’m sorry”, she sighs, eyes falling to the ground. Jungkook wishes it would just open up and swallow him whole. 

“Then don’t say anything.” He turns to walk away.

“Wait! Jungkook can we...can’t we catch up or something? For a couple minutes?” Yoojung is visibly desperate, and her hands are outstretched as if wanting to touch him but keeping herself from overstepping the line. 

Jungkook glances through the window of the bookstore, and you are situated on a chair, already nose deep in a hefty book. He wants to smile and tease you for being such a nerd, but the weight of Yoojung’s presence makes him reinforce those walls of indifference tenfold. 

He exhales frustration and inhales temptation, looking back into Yoojung’s familiar eyes and nodding. Jungkook walks to a nearby bench and sits down with no words exchanged, looking forward coldly even when he feels her warmth next to him. A couple months ago, Jungkook would have set all his canvases on fire to feel her beside him again. Now, he’s not so sure.

“So…”, she starts, “who’s that cute girl you were with?” 

“No one.” He shoots out a little too soon with no hesitation. Yoojung gulps.

“You know Jungkook, it’s okay to find someone. I-I know I hurt you, but I’m glad if you’ve found someone who doesn’t.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything so she continues.

“I’m really happy for-”

“I never really forgave you Yoojung.” He stares blankly at the passersby and tries to ignore the ache in his bones. The one that’s been there the day she left and took a piece of his heart with her. 

“And I don’t want to blame you for my decisions but I want you to know that I push away a lot of people because of you. People that don’t deserve it.” From the corner of his eye, he can see her nod solemnly to his words and fidget with her hands in her lap. Part of him feels guilty for unloading on Yoojung. Part of him feels like maybe he deserves to. 

“What you did was really shitty. Astronomically fucking shitty. And I’ve spent the past eternity hating you and maybe I still do, but…”, Jungkook takes a deep breath, “I want to forgive you now. If not fully, then partially. I hope you can understand that.” He finally tilts his head to look at her and though the smile on her face is as beautiful as he remembers it to be, Jungkook no longer feels the longing. No longer feels the sting that he usually does when his thoughts take him back to the years they spent together. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to call it closure, not yet anyway. Sitting here on the bench, he still wants to scream and yell and tell Yoojung of all the nights he’s spent alone since she left. He still wants to drag her back and wonder if she could love him again like she used to. 

But he doesn’t. He listens when she tells him about her new job and her new apartment right by the lakeside. They share snippets of their separate lives. Just deep enough to rekindle something warm but shallow enough to not invite anything else in. 

When he walks away from the bench and into the bookstore, Jungkook stills feels the walls that he has built around himself. He is still scared of opening up and being vulnerable but the anger held for Yoojung for so long is no longer a raging fire. More so a wickering flame. 

When he spots you, though, he remembers why he built those walls in the first place. He remembers how easy it used to be for him to climb a high peak and fall to his demise. Your eyes widen when you catch sight of him, lips curling into a wide smile and clear excitement in your expression. The book in your hands is tossed aside and tunnel vision reserved for him and him only. Something blooms in his chest and he can’t remember the last time someone’s been so elated to just simply see him...aside from his dog. Jungkook reminds himself to act uncaring. If he pretends long enough, he’ll start to believe it himself. 

◓

The train ride home feels longer than the one there. The minutes drag by and perhaps it is because of your drooping eyes or the way Jungkook is looking at you with a different tenderness than he has been before. His stare is not harsh. It’s soft and sweet, but subtle enough for you to wonder if you are just imagining it. The night has always been unforgiving and cold even in the spring, but perhaps all that’s needed to breathe some warmth, is a 15 minute train ride and a wrist with a crescent moon.

Yet every time you become more smitten with Jungkook, there is a harsh reminder that follows you everywhere like a designated storm cloud. 

Jungkook does not love you. And you are trying and you will continue to try but his eyes tell you something he is too courteous to say. You see it now as he sits across from you and admires the skyline from the window. It makes you wonder if it is soulmates he doesn’t believe in, or if it is just you that he can’t bring himself to accept. With every cold glance and wall that he puts up, you start to convince yourself that it is the latter.

“We’re here, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks quietly, interrupting your drifting thoughts. He turns around and leaves the train car with hands tucked in his coat pocket. Did you expect him to escort you out and hold your hand? Of course not. But you were tired of Jungkook being so indifferent to your existence. 

You follow him glumly out the doors that slide close after you step through. Then it zips off again and you wonder where it would have taken you if you just stayed in your seat. If Jungkook would have even noticed that you hadn’t followed him when he left. 

You sigh into the night air and wish it was winter so that your breath could be visible as a white cloud. Maybe then Jungkook would notice that you were a living being beside him. 

“Who was that girl that we met back there?”, you murmur hesitantly. Jungkook nearly chokes on air. 

“No one”, he responds curtly, effectively cutting off the conversation then and there. It makes your heart sink. She must be important and all you want to do is know every single detail about their relationship, but the look in his eyes warn you to not pry. 

You don’t think you can forget the way Jungkook looked at her from across the street. Like he had been lost this whole time and she was the North star. You saw the way his eyes twinkled in the midday sun and sparkled even more when she came closer. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to have that effect on him. 

“Hey, next time you should pick a place you and I both do not live in”, you giggle, nudging his shoulder with your own. It makes him smile and even though your heart feels heavy in your chest, Jungkook looks so beautiful when he smiles. 

The two pair of feet subconsciously carry you both to the front door of your apartment building and the scene is too familiar from the last time. You expect him to turn around and whisper a hushed goodnight under his breath, and you’ll have to watch the back of his head disappear down the street. But he doesn’t. Just stands across from you quietly and waits for you to say something. So you do. 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry if I brought up something you didn’t want to remember. I don’t really know your story but it seems you two have a lot of history.” You want to tell him how hard it is for you to be his soulmate when he is so clearly vying for the warmth of someone else. Someone who didn’t have a crescent moon on her wrist. 

“I know you’ll tell me whenever you’re ready, and if that’s never then I’ll keep waiting until forever. But I’m here if you want to talk or unload and I already know I can help because…” you fidget with your hands and look around nervously. 

“Well, because I’m your soulmate.” 

When you say it loud and explicitly, Jungkook thought the statement would have made him recoil. But it doesn’t. It just seeps through his consciousness and feels warm when he thinks about the weight of those words. You are his soulmate, regardless of if he believes in such a thing or not. You carry the same mark as he does on your wrist and somehow, by some intangible factor, the universe had decided that you were created for him and he for you. 

And when he looks at you. Really looks at you. When Jungkook processes your sincere words and how you manage to deal with his insurmountable boundaries even when you barely know him…

Jungkook has never wanted to kiss you more. 

So he does. 

Your lips taste like mint chewing gum and the ghost of words you wish to tell him but can’t. He feels you stiffen until you completely melt in his hold, and Jungkook cradles your face with both his hands, pulling you closer to him until there is no barrier between you but the clothes on your back and the emotional distance. You feel so far away even when you’re this near. Was it a trick of your imagination when you felt the moon on your wrist tingling? 

It doesn’t last as long as you would’ve liked it to. Jungkook yanks his hands from you like your skin scalded him and takes several steps back. His chest rises up and down violently when his breath comes out ragged, posture stiffening as the gravity of what just happened finally absorbs. You’re there, he knows you’re there and standing in front of him. So why is it he can only see Yoojung. Yoojung and the star on her wrist and apologies on her lips. Yoojung and the tears in her eyes when she walks away. 

You can only stare confusedly when his body goes rigid, and a sudden coldness envelops you both. 

And in the haze of post-embrace, like any two normal lovers, you catch something in his eyes that sets a heavy feeling in your stomach. Before you can confirm if it’s just a trick of the light, Jungkook is already running in the opposite direction and you can only see a shadow of sullen love that follows him. He is gone and you are standing alone, wondering how moonlight could feel so cold even on a spring night. 

You don’t get any sleep that night. Every time you close your eyes, there is only the sight of Jungkook’s disgust and regret to lull you to dreams. 

20 minutes away from your apartment, there is a boy who doesn’t sleep either. He won’t text or call to tell you that he can’t shake off the feeling of your skin on his and your breath fanning his cheek. He won’t admit to himself that tonight, when he looked at you, he felt the possibility of falling in love. He won’t tell you that the moon on his skin longs to be traced by your hands. No, he just shares those secrets with his pillow as its linen soaks up his tears. 

In the midst of it all, there is one verdict that becomes clear to him.

Jungkook wishes he had never told Jimin he needed a muse.

◑

The next three weeks is dedicated to trying to get in touch with your soulmate. Through the whirlwinds of utter confusion and desperation, you try texting, calling, emailing, even showing up at his art studio and apartment to no avail. It seemed he had a talent for avoiding soulmates. 

It hurt, to say the least. That he left you high and dry after giving you the most intense

kiss of your life and doesn’t even have the decency to let you know he’s alive. The feeling of his lips still burns on your skin and you wonder if you are a complete fool for being so smitten with a person who, quite possibly, hasn’t spared you a single thought after that night. You just want - no you just need some clarity. 

Jungkook makes you wait another week before replying. 

It is an impossibly sunny day when you wake up. Your neck is stiff from sleeping like a contortionist and your heart aches even more than your muscles with every passing morning with radio silence from your soulmate. You want to call him and tell him you’re sorry. That you’ll forget anything ever happened. It hurts to even think about it, but for Jungkook, you would go through a little more pain so he would let you into his life. 

Outside the hall, Jimin is singing along to a familiar melody of a song you don’t know the name of and judging by the aroma that wafts through the cracks of your door, he has successfully made a pot of coffee. He has been an anchor throughout this whole thing, and sometimes you make a secret wish to the stars that Jimin had been the one with a crescent moon on his wrist instead. Perhaps that way, you wouldn’t have to go through the agony of chasing love that is constantly sprinting away from you. 

Your phone lays on the bedside table and buzzes innocently to start the morning. When you reach over and scroll through notifications routinely, there is a name there that makes your heart pang. Makes you want to throw up and celebrate at the same time. A text from Jungkook. Your fingers shake as you open it. 

I no longer need a model for the portfolio. Thank you for your involvement. Compensation will be provided promptly. 

The day you met him, you already knew that Jungkook was cold. He never dawdled around a painful truth or toed the line between bluntness and sparing feelings. Jungkook spoke his mind, collateral damage be damned. But this is a different type of cold. This one feels more like dry ice on warm skin. Like the numbing chill of a fading hope. Like winter’s first snowfall when autumn had promised you it would forever stay. 

Phone in your hand and tears threatening to drip down your cheeks, you wish you would have waited a bit more before opening his text. Perhaps that way you could have spent the rest of your morning basking in the spring sun, drinking Jimin’s inevitably bad coffee, having hope that Jeon Jungkook would grow to care for you. Perhaps if you hadn’t opened it so soon, your soulmate would still seem in reach. 

Jimin’s mug nearly drops out of his hand when the door of your bedroom is slammed open. He flings it to the side when he notices your red-rimmed eyes and the shaking hands that clutch onto a cellphone. You scream and sob at the universe, at anyone, asking why it was you that had to experience the chaos of longing. Jimin was there to hold you, as he always is, and helplessly listen to the sound of your heart breaking once again by the hands of Jungkook.

◒

Room 62B of the art building is a place you hope to never have to visit again. Though it’s walls contain memories of you and Jungkook, and the evenings navigating his gallery portfolio along with your convoluted relationship, the wallpaper bleeds with a longing ache. A yearning pain. And if those walls could talk, you don’t think you would want them to say anything at all. They would only murmur what you are slowly accepting to be true.

Jungkook, your soulmate, wants nothing to do with you. 

When you hesitantly rap on the door with a fisted hand, the sound of him rustling from inside makes you want to run the opposite direction. It opens before you get the chance to change your mind and the sight of him nearly takes your breath away. He is beautiful as he always is, hair ruffled and mussed from undoubtedly running his hands through it compulsively. His lips are pink from biting on them and the dark circles under his eyes tells you of the dreams he has deprived himself of. 

Jungkook is painfully gorgeous and painfully not yours. 

“Y/N...I sent you a text earlier.” His voice is saccharine but the words taste so bitter. 

“I know. I read it”, you murmur, shrinking in on yourself. 

“I....Can we talk, Jungkook?” 

His eyes dart around nervously at your question, chewing on his bottom lip and tapping the toe of his shoe as if he was impatient and you were bothering him. And you have known that simply being around Jungkook hurts but the light at the end of the tunnel only continues dwindling. 

You understand why he is acting so restless when your gaze drifts past him and into the room. There is a girl perched on a stool, across from a canvas and easel that you know awfully well. You don’t recognize her but it’s only in your nature to begin comparing every aspect of yourself to this stranger. She sits on her hands and swings her legs back and forth, head in the clouds and eyes trailing the ceiling. She isn’t aware of the weight of her presence in the studio, nor the turmoil she has brought to you, who is standing just outside the door. 

The oxygen in the hallway thins and the breath you’ve been waiting to release since knocking catches in your throat. Coming here, you prepared yourself for a long and inevitably heart-wrenching talk with your soulmate. But you hadn’t prepared for the possibility that he had replaced you overnight. 

The only thought that blares through your mind is that this is your fault. For letting yourself think you were worth more to Jeon Jungkook than any other stranger. You can no longer find it in yourself to be angry at him. Just yourself. 

“You…”, you gulp down a whimper, “you replaced me.” 

Jungkook follows your vacant stare past him and sighs, realizing you had most likely deducted what this scene looked like. You would be right. Between the weeks of trying to understand what you were to him and the impending due date of the portfolio, Jungkook was sure the best way to move past this confusion was to just speed full steam ahead. That meant finding another muse. You were no longer an option.

You only stare down at the floor, but Jungkook begins speaking anyway. 

“Y/N, I…I’m sorry.” You scoff at his words, feigning anger when inside, you truly didn’t know if you could piece yourself back together this time. 

“Look, Y/N. It’s not you. It’s just that…”, he breathes deep, not knowing why it was so hard to say. “I’ve stopped believing soulmates were truly a thing a long time ago. I’m sorry.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve heard these words but it doesn’t mean they hurt any less.

“I didn’t want to initiate anything, Y/N, but you did and I let you and that was my fault to let anything start. I shouldn’t have when I knew nothing would come of it.”

It was a fault to him. It never should have happened. 

“So you just thought you would kiss me and decide that I meant nothing to you afterwards?”

“It was a mistake.” It was painful to think it but when you hear Jungkook say it, you experience a new kind of ache. A humorless chuckle bubbles past your throat.

 “I really thought you would grow to love me. Now I know it’s not your fault that I’m a complete fool. To fall head over heels for my soulmate who wishes he had never even met me. Much less share a mark.” 

You can see Jungkook’s eyes widen at your confession, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It was the truth. He deserved to hear it. 

“You shouldn’t. You can’t.” He reaches up to pull at his hair frustratedly.

“Can’t what, Jungkook? Love you? You think I want to be in love with someone who wishes I didn’t exist?” You hate your voice for breaking, but its impossibly painful when he does nothing to deny your statement. 

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? What can I say to make this better?”

Try: I love you too.

“I don’t need you to say anything you don’t mean, Jungkook.” 

“Then shouldn’t you leave?”

Jeon Jungkook is cruel even when he doesn’t mean to be. There is oblivion in his gaze, and his question is one of genuine curiosity. But it still stabs you exactly where your heart is most tender. Yes, I should have left. 

“I guess I thought you were worth the pain, Jungkook. When you pushed me away and wanted nothing to do with me, I thought you were worth hurting for just to try a little more. Worth the uncertainty of being around you but never getting to actually be with you”, you numbly mutter, uncaring about the rivulets of tears down your face. Not like it wasn’t something he’s never seen before. There is more to come on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook stays quiet to let you speak. There is conflict in his vision, but you don’t want to give yourself the false hope that he cares for you. 

Look where that has gotten you before. 

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

Saying the words are revelation for you as much as it is for him. All this time, you’ve been running away from the truth in the pursuit of your soulmate. You hadn’t realized that the chase led you astray. 

“And I know that loving me is not easy. I’m…”, you force the words out so he can at least hear your turmoil by his hands. “I’m never really good enough for anyone. Why did I expect that I would be good enough for you?” 

Jungkook’s expression crumples into a frown. “Y/N, no, that’s not what I mean-”

“You don’t have to tell me what you mean, Jungkook. I meet you and the first thing you say is that you don’t believe in such a thing. I try to get close to you and all you know to do is push me away. And I try so hard to be enough but how can I when Yoojung still has your heart? So you don’t have to say it. I know what you mean.” You’ve stopped crying but the ache relents, and you can only look desperately at the boy who’s slipping from your grasp with every passing second. 

“I’m sorry.” The message is redundant.

“I can’t…” Rip off the bandaid. 

“I just can’t love you.”

The words make their way past his lips before he can stop them, and they shoot through your core ruthlessly. A sharpened dagger to soft flesh. It manifests itself in a physical pain that reverberates across your chest, and when the last strength left in you is used to stare at Jungkook through a pained and teary gaze, you are deaf to everything but those four words.

I can’t love you.

I can’t love you. 

I can’t love you. 

You’re not sure what he is sorry for at this point. If Jungkook is apologizing for not loving you, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry for entertaining the possibility, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry that you are the one with a crescent moon on your wrist, well...you don’t blame him either. All your life you cherished it like some kind of gift from the universe. Now, nursing your crumbling soul in front of Jungkook, you wish it had never appeared in the first place. 

You shake your head, tucking your lip in between your teeth to stop the sob in your chest from escaping. Through the crack of the door Jungkook hadn’t shut fully, the girl was still there, patiently sitting where you were supposed to and making herself scarce after inevitably hearing you bare your heart to a boy who had no interest in it. 

Humiliation goes hand in hand with heartbreak, and the embarrassment that comes with confessing your love and insecurity urges your feet to run home. But even you cannot deprive yourself of looking at him one more time. 

His wavy head of hair. The scar on his cheekbone that makes him look even more beautiful, if that were possible. The gloss in his dark brown eyes, and the way he looks at you through stone cold walls. You commit it to memory, however painful, before you walk out of his life. 

“Be happy, Jungkook.” 

You truly mean it. 

◐

 The sound of your footsteps getting farther away from him is a sound Jungkook thinks he’ll remember for a long time. It almost prompts him to run after you, cradle you to his chest, and profess how sorry he is again and again until you can truly feel the sincerity. But he doesn’t. Only remains behind the self-procured walls and watches when your figure disappears down the hallway. 

Cold. Unbothered. Indifferent. That’s what he had always told himself when it came to you. But the hallway feels so lonely and the ghost of your presence feels even lonelier, and Jungkook wonders if he had been wrong. 

He walks back into the studio, permanent frown on his face and shoulders hunched over in stress. The paintbrush feels like a stranger rather than an extension of his arm, as it always does, but Jungkook begins painting anyway. Looking at the girl in front of him, he is reminded of the look on your face when you realized he had replaced you completely in the span of three weeks, without even giving you a notice. Her presence in his art studio suddenly feels entirely suffocating. 

“Mina, Get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out of my studio. I don’t need you as a model, anymore. Thanks.” His voice cut through the tension of the room, like a hot knife to butter. He recognizes it as the voice he always forces himself to use around you, and grows even more aggravated. 

The girl scoffs annoyedly, snatching her handbag from the floor and rushing out of the room. Obviously she had thought something more was to come from Jungkook’s art arrangement. He made sure to let her know that was not the case. 

There is a gnawing in his chest. Deep and subtle, but it becomes more prominent as the window view from his studio turns from blue to black. He ponders about spending the night in here, instead of going home to his bedroom where he is forced to consult with the agony of solitude. On top of everything today, Jungkook doesn’t think he can handle that. 

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the pain in your face when he tells you that he can’t love you and he hears the shaking in your voice when you tell him the things that weighed on your soul. He thought the word “wither” was only reserved for flowers. Jungkook didn’t realize a person could wither until he saw it right in front of him. 

In truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could love you or not. And to Jungkook, that was already a feat in itself. He’s spent so many months convincing himself that his emotional fortress was impregnable. So many nights over whiskey bottles telling himself that love was only for fools and pretenders. To be uncertain about love, now, well...that’s something he is not yet ready to admit to himself. Much less admit to you. But letting you any closer was a fatal game. 

Being uncertain about love means being uncertain about getting hurt. Jungkook has a feeling he wouldn’t make it out in one piece if his heart fell into wrong hands. 

He does end up returning to his apartment that night. But the walk feels far too long and the air feels far too frigid, or perhaps is it because he can’t hear the tread of your footsteps beside him? 

Whatever the reason, tonight feels more lonely.

The stars tell him it’s because he does not like the person he’s alone with. 

Back in room 62B, there is an abandoned painting on a rickety easel. He hadn’t even had the will to wash out his paintbrush, and he’s sure he’ll pay for it the next day. Looking at the piece now, his professor would tell him that there’s too many colors. Too much contrast and nearly not enough depth in his strokes. But what was he to do when he had kicked out his new model and couldn’t get the image of your visible heartbreak out of his brain? 

A familiar wrist with a quaint crescent moon sits on the canvas, and he sure as hell didn’t use Mina as the inspiration. Jungkook reminds himself to throw out the painting tomorrow morning. 

◓

The grease on Jimin’s skillet pan is always so hard to clean. The dish soap never truly cuts through the oil, and no matter how much you rinse it over with scalding water, it still feels soiled. On a normal day, it wouldn’t frustrate you so much. Today, a month-and-a-half after your soulmate made it clear to you that you had no place in his life, you want to throw the pan out the window and cry on the kitchen floor until it collapses with the weight of your tears. 

You settle for throwing down the sponge and making Jimin wash his own dishes.

The phone-that you usually now tend to ignore-buzzes on the counter, and you groan at your complete lack of desire to answer it. But the screen lights up with your roommate’s name and you hit the green button. 

“Y/N! How are you feeling, lovebug?” Jimin’s cheerful tone on speakerphone makes you want to cry. You can only imagine how terrible it is for him to be your roommate when all you know how to do now is mope and cry about a boy who probably hasn’t thought about you since. But he’s been holding you through all your breakdowns, and even sets up the air mattress on the floor of your bedroom when some nights are a little bit harder than most. 

“I’ve had better days”, you glare at the pan in the sink. “What’s up?’

“So I have a friend…”

“Jimin, no.” 

He sighs over the phone understandingly, but still not satisfied. “I know it’s only been a month Y/N, but it doesn’t have to be anything. He’s not looking for anything serious either. But maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off things.” 

It’s been a month. Four weeks. Roughly 31 days, and you still remember every word he said to you in the hallway of the art building. Every pause and quiver of his breath, and the way he looked so completely indifferent to your pain. Was one month enough for you to let go even after finding out Jungkook never planned to hold on in the first place?

“Look, you don’t have to decide now. I’m sorry for pushing you if you’re not ready.” His mumbling is apologetic and it makes you realize that Jimin genuinely means well. Maybe you weren’t ready to move on from Jungkook yet. Maybe you never will be. He was your damn soulmate, after all. But maybe a distraction couldn’t hurt.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it.” 

You can practically feel him smiling like an idiot over the phone. “Really?!” You sigh into the speaker and Jimin knows better to continue talking before you change your mind.

“His name is Namjoon, he works with me at the office. Super cute. Super hot. Super smart. Checks all your boxes!”, he rambles on about the nitty gritty details and though a part you is proud that you’re making the decision to move on with life, you can’t help but to realize that no one will ever be able to “check all your boxes”.

Not if they’re not Jungkook. 

“He sounds great, Jimin.” Anyone can tell your happiness is disingenuous, even through the phone. Jimin tells you that he had already planned a date (without your knowledge), and sends you on your way with a quick goodbye when his taxi arrives. The silence of the apartment after the conversation leaves you feeling even more weighted, but hopeful for the possibility of a distraction. You had a feeling you won’t be able to forget the likes of Jeon Jungkook if you tried. But, if only for a night, you were to forget the pain of loving him, you’ll take that chance. 

◑

“What do you mean they all ‘feel the same’?” Jungkook is exasperated. He had drafted a complete version of his portfolio, working through the nights by the sweat of his brow. Now his professor was telling him that all his pieces felt the same and Jungkook thinks he might commit arson to the art studio.

Professor Sejin sighs contemplatively, taking off his glasses and throwing them on the table, all too familiar with Jungkook’s periodic art tantrums. 

“I mean that your pieces lack any variegation. The portfolio is well done and coherent, but the completed package is one-noted. It’s consistent. But too much so.”

Professor Sejin’s words make him fall back into the chair dejectedly, shoulders slumped and disappointment in his eyes at the critique of his art. Though it is hard to hear, Jungkook always welcomes productive criticism. The older man sympathizes with his downcast eyes and the visible stress on his back. 

“Look, Jungkook”, he affirms sincerely, “you just need to find some dynamic. Something to make people know that you can do more than one tone of art.” It’s obvious that the professor has a soft spot for the boy in front of him, who looks like his entire world is collapsing. The portfolio folder is handed back to him and Jungkook has the urge to burn it and not hear the word “gallery” again in the next decade. 

“I have faith in you. You’ll figure out what it is that you’re missing.” The smile on the man’s face is congenial. Genuine. And even though he has an ambitious amount of work to do, Jungkook finds the will to nod, haul himself off the office chair, and begin the trek back to his studio. 

The pinnacle of spring is approaching and the sun shines brighter with each morning. Not that he would know or care. He’s spent the last month locking himself inside, dedicating every fluid ounce of energy towards completing his project. It’s been surprisingly easier, and Jungkook finds himself finishing paintings, sketches, and sculptures with ease. Like untapped inspiration had revealed itself to him suddenly. Yet it still wasn’t enough...at least not according to Professor Sejin. 

Headphones drown out the cacophony of hustlers and bustlers with the laughter of children as accompaniment. He doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the music of the city. Not anymore. It gives him too much space to think, and Jungkook has a feeling that’s not good for anyone and definitely not good for him. 

The sight of a familiar bakery with particularly delicious apple strudels is enough to stop him in his rush, feet winding down until he is standing outside, staring at the door and wondering if he could go in without being reminded of you. Well, it might be too late for that anyhow, but further signs of protest are halted when he hears his growling stomach. 

Jungkook had morbidly underestimated your presence in the memory of his favorite cafe. You are everywhere. He sees your smiling face when he looks up at the chalkboard menu, soul vying for you to be next to him and excitedly choosing a new fru-fru drink that would undoubtedly have excessive sugar. He hears your giggles ruminating through the cafe while the other patrons only hear the music over loudspeaker. He practically feels you near, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s better this way. No one gets hurt this way. 

Jungkook plops himself at a corner table and buries his face in his hands, fingertips soothing over his pulsing eyebags and wrinkles he’s gotten from sleep deprivation. He desperately needs an espresso shot. Or five. 

“Hey…”, a voice makes him snap his head up. Jungkook recognizes the stranger as the owner’s son, who always stands guard at the cash register. The tag on his lapel reads Kim Seokjin, and Jungkook has a distant memory of you gushing over how nice Seokjin’s hair was. He had acted unbothered back then, but Jungkook would die before telling a soul that he was annoyed and jealous when you thought the cashier was cute. 

“Jungkook, right?”. He has a kind smile and a natural air of invitation. Jungkook nods. 

“I’ve seen you around a lot. Where’s that girl you always come here with?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business”, he nearly hisses, antsy at the mere mention of you. He instantly regrets it though. Seokjin looks like he’s been cornered with a blunt weapon, and it makes Jungkook sigh at his own asshole-ishness. 

“I’m sorry”, he mumbles, “just not a good day. At all.” 

There is a pause and hesitation before the boy speaks. “Do you...wanna talk about it?” Seokjin’s question is met with silence. 

There is a predictability about Jeon Jungkook. He doesn’t open himself up to anyone. He pretends that he doesn’t have problems so well, people start to become convinced. He avoids new connections like it’s the plague. But there is something so idiosyncratic about Kim Seokjin that makes him want to talk. Makes him want to trust a complete stranger. 

So Jungkook nods, depositing his black backpack besides him and lets himself breathe deep. 

“Her name is Y/N….”

In the lukewarm air of the café, Jungkook tells Seokjin about you. About the tiny crescent moon on your wrist that identically matches his - even unwraps his cloth to show it - and how he pushed you away hard enough to put an ocean’s worth of distance between the two of you. He tells Seokjin about Yoojung and the stars on her skin that have been plaguing him since the day she left. He tells him about that damn portfolio that refuses to be finished; one that he apparently has to start over because Professor goddamn Sejin says it's too boring. He allows himself to unload, and wow is it easier to breathe when you talk about your feelings. Jungkook reminds himself to do that more often. 

The “conversation” seems to stretch for hours (if a conversation can be considered one person unleashing all their hidden baggage on the other while they sit in silence). Jin listens intently through the entire ordeal, offering occasional nods and encouragement for him to continue. When Jungkook finally finishes with a deep breath, falling back on the chair looking completely worn out, Jin fixes him with a hot tea before speaking.

“The portfolio is important to you, Jungkook. If it’s important to you, you’ll find a way. Something tells me that you’re not one to give up so easily”, he quips with a playful lilt in his voice. Jin’s genuine faith in him makes Jungkook believe in himself.

“And as for Yoojung, well, I can’t speak on your pain. You are the only one that narrates your experiences but as much as she seems like a villain in your story, perhaps she has opened a door.” Jungkook thinks his voice sounds far too wise to be coming from a guy in his 20’s.

“Would you have known how to nurse a broken heart had it not been for her? I’m sorry she did that to you, Jungkook, but..Yoojung is your past. And I see so much in your future.” 

Jungkook only stares into the abyss of his tea cup. The reflection that stares back is someone he desperately wants to learn to love. When he looks up again, there is a sad glimmer in Seokjin’s gaze. Something so despondent that he feels second-hand pain. 

Jin pulls up the sleeve of his knit sweater. On his wrist sits a faded marigold, so blanched it almost blends in with his skin and makes him wonder if it will just disappear one day. Jungkook feels his blood run cold.

“It’s been two years since she died”, he stares solemnly at his skin, “I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her.” 

Jungkook’s thought about his soulmate mark disappearing before. Even hoped and prayed for it the days after Yoojung left. But now, when he sees it up close on Seokjin’s wrist, Jungkook doesn’t want to wish that loneliness upon anyone. 

“She was so damn...persistent”, Jin laughs, fondness dripping in every word. “Like your Y/N in that way, I suppose. She had a goal and was hell-bent on achieving it. She was so kind and strong and much more of a badass than I could ever be. I loved that about her.” There is sorrow in his voice when he uses the past tense, and Jungkook feels even worse for pouring his heart out about his very alive soulmate. 

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know? Ironic that even the best doctors couldn’t have saved her in the end.” His sentence trails off and he loses focus gazing out the window, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand with a faraway look in his eyes. 

“I don’t mean to ramble about my dead soulmate for no reason, Jungkook. And I’m in no position to tell you what you should or should not do regarding Y/N. But if I could restart this life with my soulmate, there wouldn’t be one second I would waste not at her side.” Jin’s tone is not accusatory or convicting. Just honest.

“It’s normal to be scared and apprehensive. Hell, I would be more concerned if you weren’t going into it with a shit ton of skepticism. I was terrified. Yet out of the billions of people that could’ve had my mark on their wrist, just knowing that she was that one was enough for me to love her.”

The cup of tea has long gone cold. Jungkook only manages to stare at the mahogany table, thoughts too heavy to voice aloud, so Jin continues. 

“I think I would give anything to know that such a person still exists for me. Someone out there that was chosen by an unknown, cosmic force for an unexplainable reason just for me. To see a mark that matches my own. Well…”, Jin breathes deeply, tears welling in his eyes but not falling, “I think that must be the most wonderful thing in the entire world.”

◒

Seokjin’s words stick with him long after he has departed from the café. Long after the tea has settled in his stomach along with the weight of what a soulmate means to this stranger whose life story he has learned in the course of an evening. 

Even so, Jungkook’s not sure what he should feel. The fear of vulnerability still feels like a designated thundercloud above his head, and the thought of letting you past his walls makes Jungkook want to run the other way.

At the same time, the trepidation doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. It’s still there, and he can’t pinpoint exactly what happened but when he sees your smiling face behind his eyelids, Jungkook doesn’t feel scared. When he focuses on what you look like under sunlight, or your eyes staring at him through a camera lens, there is no fear of the broken heart you could leave him with. Just something warm. Something that feels an awful lot like...love?

 But what does Jungkook know about such things? 

He shrugs it off his shoulders, and readies himself for a night of inevitably restless sleep. He blames it on the impending due date of his beloved portfolio, but really, it is you. You and your insistence on trying every single coffee shop in the city. You and your convoluted idea of a date; letting your partner choose the location with their eyes closed. You and…

Just everything about you. 

He falls asleep well into 4am. The thin strap of cloth sits on his bedside table. Even if it is only for the night sky to see, Jungkook lets his soulmate mark breathe. 

◐

It’s been so long since you’ve dressed up or cleaned up to go out anywhere, the reflection that stares back feels like a stranger. You’ve opted for a bold red lip, meticulously applying your makeup so that even the wing of your eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. Jimin forced you to curl your hair too, of course. The girl in the mirror looks beautiful. You know that she is beautiful.

So why is it that you can only see the face that is not enough for Jeon Jungkook? A person that he is unable to love. No, not even foundation can cover the face of longing.

“Y/N”, Jimin sing-songs, “hurry! You don’t wanna be late do you?” No, you don’t want to be late. You want to not go. Maybe retreat to your bedroom and cry the night away again. But you won’t tell him that when he is so clearly ecstatic that you’re spending a night out for the first time in months. 

The restaurant looks like it is entirely out of your budget. Well, you reckon any restaurant is out of your budget with all the debt that looms overhead and your painfully apparent unemployment. Waiting for Namjoon is less than exhilarating, and you spend the time fiddling with your bracelet that conveniently covers the crescent moon. These days, you can’t bear to look at it anymore. Your eyes are glued to the little mark, before a voice sounds from across the table.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was insane. You must be Y/N, nice to meet you.” You weren’t sure what you expected Kim Namjoon to look like but were pleasantly surprised. Namjoon looks like he takes care of himself, neat and clean and sporting a very shiny watch that looks like 4 months’ worth of rent. 

“And you must be Namjoon. Likewise.” 

When he pulls out the chair to sit down, you can’t help but to notice the cloud on his wrist. It was smaller than yours but you had no doubt it felt just as heavy. If Namjoon felt your gaze on his skin, he did nothing to show it. 

“Hey, I know I just got here but…”, he sighs and takes a look around the room, “do you wanna get out of here? Find the cheapest and greasiest food we can?” His request makes you smile, and you grab the purse that rested on the table. 

“Namjoon, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet.” 

You and Namjoon manage to find a diner that wasn’t far from the fancy restaurant, and you thank the skies that you didn’t have to pay $50 for a salad tonight. Just some pocket change for quite possibly the best and oiliest hamburger you’ve ever had. 

By conversation that happens through mouthfuls of food and faces smeared with milkshake residue, you come to learn that Namjoon is an unsurprisingly nice guy. He studies poetry, but is working as a secretary at an office, hence his connection to Jimin. He loves to garden and talks about his bonsai plants to you like they’re his kids, even pulling up pictures on his phone and gazing down at them fondly. It makes you smile. He plays the piano, and likes to take long bike rides when the weather permits. 

It’s nice to have someone reciprocate your effort. It’s something you haven’t experienced in a long time, all credit to one Jeon Jungkook. Namjoon is warm in all the corners where Jungkook is cold. 

In a word, he is pretty damn perfect. And if he had a crescent moon on his wrist, you probably wouldn’t bat an eye or have a lick of doubt in the universe. He encompasses everything you want, so alike you in so many aspects it makes you wary. If Namjoon had your matching soulmate mark, you would already be in love with him. 

But he doesn’t. And that thought alone keeps you from feeling anything but platonicity. He is not Jungkook. You don’t think anyone can make you feel the way Jungkook does. You want to curse the stars for making this so. 

It’s well into the night, and you both remain planted in the diner booth, chatting and chuckling over a plate of french fries. It’s when you drift off while he’s talking about his latest attempt at focaccia that Namjoon sighs and sits back in the seat. 

“What?”, you confusedly ask after he suddenly stops speaking.

He smiles. Stays silent for a couple seconds. Then speaks. 

“So what did your soulmate do to you?”

His question catches you off guard and you can only stare at him, frown on your face and words lost on your tongue. 

“You’ve been staring into space every 5 minutes this whole night, and fidgeting with your bracelet so much I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off”, he explains, tenderness and sympathy in his tone. 

“Every time I speak, you have this sad look in your eyes and I have a feeling you’re imagining someone else’s face, Y/N. I’ve enjoyed talking to you...a lot. But I can tell you want to be somewhere else so”, Namjoon places his elbows on the table and gazes at you endearingly, “tell me about your soulmate.” 

You stare at Namjoon through shocked eyes, glistening with the onset of tears that you manage to keep from escaping. Gosh, you were pathetic. Already wanting to cry at the mere mention of him. Or maybe the fact that someone could see through your facade. You take a deep breath. 

“His name is Jeon Jungkook.” Your voice quivers, and Namjoon continues listening intently. You are reluctant to continue because you know that once this conversation begins, there is a chance you might have to confront yourself again with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t want love. You internally apologize to Namjoon in advance, for you might cry on this first date. 

“I…I’m completely head over heels in love with him  but after everything, I’m not sure I have the slightest clue what love is. Because what sane person can fall in love with a person who has made it clear that that love wouldn’t be reciprocated from the get go?”

You fiddle with the plastic straw in your milkshake, searching for the courage to go on and tell him about every thought that you have denied yourself the satisfaction of verbalizing. 

“He loves apple strudels, you know. Eats them every time like they’re the last apple strudels he’ll ever have and he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching”, you chuckle, gaze drifting off to space. There is a fondness in your eyes as you speak, and Namjoon does not miss it. 

“He’s as punctual as the day is long. One time I was late to a photoshoot and he almost made me cry lecturing me about the importance of being on time. But now I’m never late.” 

The memory makes you, as well as Namjoon, smile. 

“He paints like his life depends on it, and he’ll get oil paint on his face without noticing and sometimes I just want to reach out and wipe it off. But I think he’d murder me on the spot.”

“How come?”, Namjoon offers his first words in the midst of your monologue. You’re not sure what to say next. 

“Well...I think Jeon Jungkook might be the coldest person I’ve ever met”, you dejectedly sigh. Reality tastes bitter even with remnants of whipped cream on your lips. 

“Every time I was around him, it felt like I was willingly breaking my own heart just for the chance to know that he was next to me. That in this entire world of billions of people, the one with the same moon on their wrist was next to me. And...I guess I didn’t really need him to love me yet”, your gaze locks onto Namjoon and you find he is already staring at you with utmost curiosity and subtle pity. 

“Jungkook alone was enough. I just wish he could have felt the same about me.” 

Perhaps the reason why the truth is so painful to speak is because people have a tendency to run from it. Then when it catches up to you, it’s a harsh trip and fall to the rocky ground. There is no cushion when you land. 

Namjoon doesn’t offer advice. Doesn’t dish his own experiences to relate to your own or even make any comments from his perspective. He just sits and listens in silence, but it doesn’t feel like he is disregarding you. No, his eyes tell you that he soaks in every word. You hope you’ll get the chance to do the same for him...if he ever decides to share his story with you. 

The two of you leave the diner with a prospective to be friends, and no plans of a future second date. You had a strong feeling that spending the entire evening talking about your unrequited soulmate love had something to do with that. Nevertheless, though Namjoon didn’t work out as a distraction, you were glad to have met him. It made you realize something.

Even if Jimin thought you were ready to move on. Even if you thought you were ready to forget. It might be a lifetime before you finally let go of that boy.

◓

The morning reeks of rain and dew, humidity nearly clawing its way through his window and turning his apartment into a swamp. When he wakes up, it is not to his blaring alarm clock, but the uncomfortable sensation of a sweaty shirt sticking to his back. Jungkook groans, already tired of this day. It seems hopeless from the beginning. 

As much as he wanted to stay home and crank up the air conditioner so much that his landlord would come running, Professor Sejin’s voice reverberates through his eardrums.

You art is too one-noted, Jungkook.

Be better, Jungkook.

You’re talentless and will never succeed, Jungkook. 

Of course, these are not Professor Sejin’s verbatim, more so Jungkook’s own mind that twists his teacher’s constructive criticism into something else. He is a master at feeding his insecurity.

Jungkook chugs down a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and his stomach growls for something with a little more sugar and maybe a dash of rainbow colored sprinkles. He guesses he has you to thank for that. The art studio is always a daily destination, and this day is no different. Jungkook has a plan to dedicate himself to fixing his portfolio and maybe finish that clay piece he never got around to. 

The studio is too cold for his liking; Jungkook can’t remember how many times he has begged the superintendent to lower the AC. The cold he can deal with. The loneliness, however, is a different story. Jungkook is always alone. Alone when he’s in his apartment. Alone when he’s in class. Alone when he’s in the art room. These days, aloneness feels more haunting when he knows he had the option to escape it, but chose to stay. A part of him is ready to admit that it’s because of you. 

Jungkook hums a random melody that had been stuck in his head since the morning, fingers gliding over the slick sculpting clay. The days are easier now. He doesn’t think about you so much when the sun is out and there is the bustling of the busy city to distract him. The nights, however, are just as difficult as they have been. Jungkook’s last drifting thought is of you, and your face torturously carries over to each dream. Like his entire being misses you but he refuses to accept it. 

He takes a deep sigh in relief once the sculpture feels finished. Professor Sejin wanted something more dynamic, so there: his very own realist clay piece drawing inspiration from Praxiteles’ sculpture of Aphrodite. He sits back in pride, admiring his own handiwork and giving himself a mental pat on the back. It looks great. Perfect even. It looks….

It looks like you. 

Jungkook pales at the realization as the clay face stares back at him. No, this was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, inspired by the ancient Greek artist that sculpted her. Then why does she have your nose? Those eyes are definitely your’s and even those cheeks are identical. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that in the rhythm of his art, he got lost and accidentally sculpted your face instead. 

He walks away from the clay table and hurriedly yanks off the soiled apron around his waist, confusion swimming in every cell of his body. How had he just...made a sculpture of you? With no knowledge that he was doing it?

Jungkook leans with his back against the sink, staring down at the floor with furrowed brows and a thundering heart. With a sudden epiphany, Jungkook leaps from his position and pulls out all the canvases, printed photographs, graphite drawings, and clay pieces he’s made for the past few months. Everything he can grab in the small studio space. 

It is then that he comes to the daunting realization:

Holy shit.

Professor Sejin was right.

 Everything feels the same. His whole portfolio has one note and no dynamic or diversity because...well, because all of his pieces are of you. Not you, necessarily, but your breath has come alive on his art in some way, shape, or form. 

The multimedia painting he made two weeks ago using polystyrene sheets was supposed to mimic sunlight through a stained glass window, but Jungkook hadn’t even noticed he'd drawn the window of the café you dragged him to on its opening day. And the colors of the glass is just the twinkle of your eyes when they stare back into his. 

The photoset he spent hours taking around the city, after taking a 15 minute train ride, were just repeats of all the places you two went to that one day. The book store. The park. The streetlight where Yoojung stopped him. He hadn’t even realized he only saved the photos associated with a subconscious memory of you. 

Jungkook can’t explain it, but he feels you in every single picture. Every piece of art that his hands have manifested since you walked into his life, stupid smile on your face and that little moon on your wrist. He feels it...and call it artist’s intuition or something but perhaps that’s why Professor Sejin could feel it too. 

Even though he stopped making you his muse months ago, you are still the root of inspiration for whatever he’s produced since. And if that’s not enough to finally tell him what he needs to hear. Finally make him realize that he’s fallen in love with you without even knowing it, the universe doesn’t know what will. 

The minutes it has been since he realized your place in his life melts like slow dripping honey, feeling like an eternity when it is mere moments. Jungkook regains his focus in the haze. He knows what you mean to him now, but there was something he had to fo first. 

He swipes all his paintbrushes and palette knives to the side, sweat on his brow as he furiously rearranges his portfolio. He takes out the pictures of Mina - no one would miss them anyway - and trashes all the photos he took before he met you. He only uses the art he’s created post-Y/N and tucks them in the manila folder so rapidly, there’s paper cuts on his fingers. But he doesn’t feel them. Jungkook has only one objective. 

He snaps a picture of the new clay sculpture he’s just finished. The photo goes into the portfolio with the name ‘Aphrodite’, but Jungkook knows better about whose face that truly belongs to. Not that anyone would bat an eye. He thinks you are as beautiful as the goddess herself. 

The trip to Professor Sejin’s office is short, unsurprising though, since Jungkook sprints the whole way there. When he arrives, and the professor can only stare as he’s bent over and huffing violently trying to catch his breath, Jungkook reminds himself to spend less time at the studio and more time on the cardio. 

He throws the portfolio onto the man’s desk unceremoniously, nearly collapsing on the chair across from him and not ready to speak yet. Professor Sejin confusedly rifles through the folder quickly, too quickly, and sighs, ready to offer Jungkook yet the same critique again. 

He opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off. 

“Before you say anything…”, he gulps, finally ready to admit the truth to himself. 

“I want you to know that I’ve met my soulmate, a-and there’s a reason why you feel that my portfolio is all the same. There’s a reason why you feel it’s all one-noted or that there’s no progression.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and you are there behind his lids. 

“It’s because she sowed the seeds for all of them. Everything. Those paintings and photos and sculptures are just symptoms of what I’ve been feeling this whole time after meeting her. She’s practically the artist, not me.” Professor Sejin stays silent at his monologue, gaze unreadable but eyes sharp and trained solely on Jungkook. 

“Maybe...Maybe art doesn’t need to be super variegated all the time. Maybe it’s supposed to be a cohesive unit and the pieces should string to each other. Maybe paintings should have a relationship to photos and them, to sculptures. Maybe you’re just...wrong.” 

He is exasperated and passion flows out of him through every pore. Jungkook looks expectantly at his professor, who has the open folder in his hand and still in the process of taking in his words. When the adrenaline starts to fade, he realizes that he just dissed his venerable teacher. 

“With all due respect…”, he coughs, “sir.” 

Professor Sejin lets Jungkook spend the next couple minutes in complete torturous silence so that he can finish reviewing his portfolio. The tension is cut with the sound of the man’s hands slapping together as he closes the folder. Jungkook prepares himself for a stern lecture.

However, when he looks up, there is a smile on the man’s face. There’s no malice there, or even disdain. He pulls off his glasses, sets them on the table, and sits back in the office chair, arms folded over his chest. Jungkook can feel his heart threatening to pound past his rib cage. 

“Jungkook…”, Professor Sejin declares, “I think you’ve got a contender for the gallery spot.” 

◑

If someone had asked you what Jeon Jungkook meant to you, you would look them in the eye and tell them that he meant nothing. Because it’s easier to pretend that someone does not mean anything to you after they pretend that you do not exist. That the universe had not given you both matching marks and deemed that your souls were meant for each other. Jeon Jungkook is a stranger to you. One that you wanted so badly to love. But you’ve come to learn that no matter how hard you try; you can’t love someone who doesn’t want to love at all.

So the days trickle by as they usually do. Painstakingly slow and viscous with memories of a boy named Jeon Jungkook and the way he has hurt you enough to last a little bit over forever. 

“I understand why you don’t want to go, Y/N. But aren’t you the least bit curious? Especially after that fancy invitation in the mail?” Jimin’s query is innocent. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your blood boil. 

“I don’t know...the thought of going to my soulmate’s grand art gallery when the last time we spoke, he told me he can’t love me, just doesn’t seem appealing Jimin”, you snark, burying your face into the bowl of cereal you are now spooning far too aggressively. 

“But...it’s been months. And he wouldn’t have sent you an invitation if he didn’t want you to come.” 

This conversation has happened too frequently since that red envelope arrived at your apartment. You cried your eyes out when you opened it, both out of pride for Jungkook and the fact that no matter what you did, the universe found a way to keep you from moving on. 

A sigh heaves through your chest, and the cereal is abandoned by your loss of appetite. “I’m not going to show up there and have him tell me again all of the reasons he can’t be with me. I barely survived it last time.” 

“But what if, Y/N?”

There is a glimmer in Jimin’s eye and he radiates so much hopefulness for you, you can’t help but to feel it too. 

“Isn’t the what if already enough? You used to tell me that Jungkook was worth anything. Isn’t he worth the risk this time too?”

You don’t have anything else to say after that because as much as you hate to admit, perhaps Jimin is right. Jungkook is worth going through anything for, even if he wants to stay as far away as possible. Call it a fluke in the postal system that the invitation to his gallery landed on your doorstep, but can you allow yourself to read between the lines and dare say that he sent it himself? Can you put yourself through such a perilous thing like optimism?

Jungkook has left you battered and broken for the past months. But you would give your heart to him to break all over again if he asked. 

◒

To say that you did not fit in with those dawdling around the art gallery was a gross understatement. You didn’t just not fit in. Your entire presence and aura defied every expectation, and suddenly, watching the upper echelon of the city mingle with champagne and gaze critically at Jungkook’s art, makes every breath feel like an insecurity. 

The boy in question was nowhere in sight, and you now regret not dragging Jimin with you. The invitation had specifically prohibited plus one’s, and though Jimin whined to no end about his hurt feelings and emptily promised never to talk to Jungkook again, you managed to keep him home. Now, you wish you were back at the apartment with him.

The pieces were, in short, completely breathtaking (to no surprise, of course, this was Jungkook you were talking about). Though you knew he always held doubt in himself, in the short time he allowed you to be in his life, you had never once thought he was anything less than spectacular. Yet you could not allow yourself to completely enjoy them. Each brushstroke and paint color you remember from his palettes, or the filters on the photos that you helped him with, was agonizing to look at. 

You are standing in front of a canvas titled “Windowlight” when a man comes up beside you. He nurses a flute of bubbly champagne and makes no move to gain eye contact. Unknown to you, Professor Sejin knows exactly who you are. He’s seen your face in his student’s portfolio one too many times. 

“Artful use of mixed media, isn’t it?”, he mutters.

“I suppose so.” 

“He’s quite the prodigy. Have you met him yet? I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere.” The man takes a sip from his glass, smirk on his lips hidden from your eyes that still blankly stare ahead.

“Yes. He’s a...friend.” We share a soulmate mark. He hates my guts. 

He hums a sound of affirmation and you ignore the weird feeling it leaves in your stomach; one that tells you this stranger sees right through you. 

“Ah, how rude of me. Professor Sejin. Arts director and senior advisor.” He spares you a brief glance, but you make no move to shake his hand or pretend to be courteous. You don’t have the energy for it tonight. Just being in this building, surrounded by everything Jungkook has touched, makes you want to collapse into yourself. 

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He speaks nonchalantly, and you almost miss the fact that you never told him your name. Your brows crease in confusion and you are ready to turn and interrogate the stranger, but he is already walking away, gliding smoothly across the gallery. Before he gets too far, though, Sejin cranes his neck and makes eye contact. 

“Oh, and be sure to visit the one called ‘Moon’. It’s upstairs, next to the Aphrodite sculpture on the second level exhibit”, he entreats, a suspicious lilt in his voice.

“Something tells me you’ll appreciate its…sincerity.”

Honestly, you’re not sure what you expected when you came to Jungkook’s art gallery tonight. But to be approached by a stranger who already knows your name, who dubiously instructs you to seek out a mystery art piece, was not on the list of expectations. Still...Professor Sejin’s words made you curious. 

Through the night, your eyes subconsciously seek out that familiar head of fluffy brown hair and a tall gait that always seems to stick out, even in a large crowd. It was as if Jungkook versed himself in complete camouflage, so much so that you began to doubt that he was even in the building.  

The traipse through the gallery is done in silence and solitude, and you tune out the sounds of popping champagne and raucous laughter coming from the second floor, as the patrons undoubtedly banter over which piece to auction off. You hope he keeps them. You’ve never seen someone appreciate art the way that Jungkook does. 

You catch sight of a few pieces that you recognize, ones that you remember him showing you when he had finished. You always excitedly told him every single one was a masterpiece, and Jungkook only rolled his eyes and made minimal effort at hiding the blush on his cheeks. Your steps falter when you come across a set of photographs in black and white, set in consecutive frames next to each other and it feels so warm despite the lack of color. Jungkook just had that special talent when it came to photography. 

It’s the bookstore. In the city during the impromptu train ride you had coerced him to take. Your heart catches in your throat as you recognize all the other ones immediately because well...you’ve been to all those spots. A familiar pressure builds in the back of your eyes, and you swallow down a whimper of pain. 

The urge to leave becomes too strong. But not strong enough to quell the slow burn of curiosity from Professor Sejin. There is a chance that you might not run into Jungkook at all tonight with the vast space and people bumbling through the corridors. It hurts to think that you might never see him again at all, but you’ll allow yourself another indulgence. Something is calling you. 

Moon. He titled it Moon? You grip onto your wrist reflexively and run your thumb over the mark, like you did when you were younger and still had hope for soulmates. The pulsepoint there beats under your finger and lets you know how alive you are. Compels you to give into your curiosity, even if it might decimate your already crumbling heart. The stairs that lead up to the second floor are short, but the trek feels like it knocks the wind out of you, or perhaps that was just the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side.

You were right to be scared. Because right in the smack dab center of the circular room is where you see it, and your gasp is one that can be heard from each wall and corner. 

A painting of you. A portrait from the waist up, with oil paint and so much detail, Jungkook has even managed to line the shallow wrinkles by your eyes when you smile. You have never considered yourself beautiful in any sense but the way he has captured you on canvas starts to make you believe that you truly are. You feel Jungkook in each streak of the brushstroke where he hadn’t spread the color evenly. It is as if the painting is alive, and though you are staring at yourself, it doesn’t feel like the way it does in the mirror. Doesn’t feel like a reflection. 

No, this feels like looking through Jungkook’s eyes. It is what he sees in you, rather than what you see in yourself. And what he sees is beautiful. Through the haze of shock and confusion as to why he chose this as the centerpiece, you don’t notice the warm presence that lurks behind you. The one that has watched your every move since you walked into this building. 

“Yeah, that’s my favorite one too.” 

You whip your head around so quick it nearly gives you whiplash, but the sight of him is the nail in the coffin. Jungkook is cleaned up in a black suit, and an unfamiliar smile on his lips he rarely lets you see. A genuine one that he’s tried to hide so many times but now that it’s clear and up close, you resent him for keeping it from you. 

Jungkook is just as gorgeous as the day you lost him. 

But looking at him hurts. You don’t know why you’re even here, and why he sent the invitation, or why he was standing in front of you now and there is not a sliver of antipathy in his eyes. You don’t know why your face is plastered in the center of the gallery. Most of all, you don’t know why you are still weak in the knees for Jeon Jungkook. 

“Although, I have to say, it was a close race between this one and the pictures I made you take at the lake, when you nearly dunked me in the river because it was so cold”, he breathily laughs but you aren’t able to get through the shock just yet. If Jungkook notices your starstruck state, he doesn’t let it affect him. 

“And I definitely have to give some credit to the one I painted after you told me about your dream”, Jungkook prattles on, “where you were a mermaid who planted peaches under the sea, remember? That’s an honorable mention.” 

These memories make you want to smile but in this moment, the best you can do is try to hold yourself together when your eyes begin to warm with tears. Jungkook stays silent when you do. He notices you haven’t said a word and your gaze refuses to meet his. 

“Why are you doing this, Jungkook?”, you curse yourself when your voice cracks. “Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” Jungkook’s smile drops off his face, and for once, you can see your own pain reflected in his eyes. 

He takes a deep breath, hands hanging limply at his side that itch to wrap themselves around yours. To feel your skin. Feel your mark. 

“I…”, he hesitates in his words, “I remember that day every night when I go to sleep, Y/N. Every time I shut my eyes, I just see your face when I told you I can’t love you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such aching before. Not even when she left me.” Jungkook’s voice is tinted with desperation but it just makes your walls rise higher. 

He’s lying to you. Your tongue wants to protest, but he continues. 

“I see you in everything”, Jungkook breathes out, like he is also admitting it to himself. 

“The paintbrushes I can never put down to the black coffee I force myself to drink nowadays because the ones I actually like, the ones with too much whipped cream and vanilla syrup, just reminds me of you.” His brows are knitted, and his feet vie to step closer to your quivering form. But you look like a caged animal about to bolt at any moment. 

“And when I’m reminded of you, I am reminded of…”, he gulps down the fear, “I’m reminded of how I am utterly in love with someone who deserves so much more than what I have put them through.”

The blood that runs through your veins drops to subzero temperatures, and you swear in the split millisecond that you have absorbed what he’s just said, your heart ceases its beating. The world stops turning, and the waves still for a brief moment. You can’t find any words just yet, but Jungkook can see straight through you and your stupefied expression. 

“Y-you’re lying to me, Jungkook. Stop lying.” 

“I’m not lying, please…” Jungkook knows he’s losing you by the second, but he’s promised you he would persist. He just wants you to listen. Wants you to feel how sorry he is, and how his soul screams to be next to your’s. 

“I can’t explain how it happened. Like it was an epiphany. Like someone has been screaming at me and I had been ignoring them, and that someone was my own heart.” Jungkook doesn’t stumble over his words once. He does not stutter because it is the plain white truth. 

“Stop, Jungkook.”

“It’s been knocking on the door of my chest and when I finally let it in, it just yells and shouts ‘oh my god, you’re in love’ and then I realized oh my god, i’m in love. In between painting you and convincing myself that soulmates meant nothing to me, I’ve completely and unquestionably fallen in love with you, Y/N.” 

Jungkook can’t decipher the look on your face. Something between the lines of disbelief and heartbreak, and it makes him want to split at the seams at the pain he’s put you through. How he’s convinced you you’re impossible to love. He vows to make it right again.

“Jungkook-”

“And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not hard to love. Hell, I was dead set on never loving again and you managed to make me so smitten, I can’t paint or draw a damn thing without including some aspect of you in it.” Jungkook steps back and gestures to all the canvases and photos that hang on the wall. 

“Take a look around, Y/N. It’s all you. Every piece.” Once he says it, you finally notice Every piece of art in this room can be traced to you, or a memory you two share. It’s so clear, you don’t know how you missed it before. You feel yourself in the art Jungkook has poured his soul into. Instead of making you feel elated, these words that you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear just ignites the sting. 

“Just stop. Please.” It is only a weak whisper through your lips, and he ignores it. 

“If you can’t forgive me, I get it Y/N. I can’t forgive myself either. But can you just know that you are enough. You are more than what I deserve. And I know you told me to be happy, but there is no way I can possibly do that without you.” 

When your gaze falls to the floor, you notice that his wrist is clean of any bracelets or watches. Come to think of it, this is one of the first times you are seeing it clear and in the flesh. Jungkook doesn’t tell you, but nowadays, he doesn’t allow anything to impede on the sight of the crescent moon.

When your guard is down and you are distracted, he finds the perfect time to finally reach forward and take your hand in his. His touch is gentle when it wraps around your wrist, tugging off the ribbon that circled it, and revealing the matching mark. Your pulse jumps under his fingers, and skips a beat when he runs a thumb over the moon. You are already melting with such simple contact, and you almost allow yourself to succumb. Almost.

It’s as if suddenly his skin was scalding, and you snatch your wrist from his grasp at lightning speed. The tears that have strayed down your face are wiped away as quickly as they came. The surprise on his face is missed by your eyes because before he can comprehend what is happening, you are bolting down the staircase and out the glass doors of the gallery. No, you cannot forgive him yet. What would you do if he hurt you again? You don’t think you would survive. 

You ignore the pain of seeing his art pieces as you run, now that you know you are the muse behind them all. The only noise is the sound of blood rushing in your ears, and you are oblivious to the racket of Jungkook’s shoes clapping against marble flooring as he chases after you, expertly dodging the other patrons and butlers holding trays of champagne. 

And Jungkook? Well, he is oblivious to the complete turmoil that runs through your every nerve. He only sees your back, and not the way you bite your lip painfully to keep the sobs from escaping. Not the way your pain is exhibited clear as day in the crease of your eyebrow and the wrinkle of your nose. 

The air outside is so cold it bites at your nostrils, but makes it easier to breathe. The wind calms the thundering heart in your chest.

He must be lying. There was no way he had a change of heart now, not when he was so rooted in his belief before. There is no virtual possibility, on any plane of existence, on any dimension where Jeon Jungkook has fallen in love with you. 

Right?

The hand that circles around your wrist tightly to keep you from getting any farther tells you that you are wrong. He did come after you. Jungkook’s strength forces you to stop running, but you can’t find the courage to turn around and face him just yet. But you don’t make an effort to pull away, and he takes it as progress.

“You can run if you want, Y/N. You can walk away from me and from us, but don’t doubt that I’ll always be chasing after you. For as long as it takes.” He is panting and speaking through heavy breaths, but you hear him. Loud and clear. 

“I won’t let you leave again. Not like last time.”

There is no malice. No coldness, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his words feel like warm honey instead of monotone ice. He is utterly distraught when you turn around slowly, hesitant like you’re afraid he will break your heart right then and there. 

His heart shatters at the wetness at your waterline, and the way you look up at him; completely vulnerable and scared. 

“Do you promise?” 

There is a lot of weight in your three-word question. It’s not as innocent as meets the eye, and Jungkook knows it. He feels it. When you ask him if he promises, it is an invitation back to you. You are offering him your heart, which he has already broken and bruised, and trusting him to be careful with it this time around. Jungkook already knows he loves you. And if you let him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure this promise remains unbroken. 

“I promise.” 

It’s a commitment. One he used to be terrified of making, but it seems so easy when it’s for you. 

And when you fly forward to wrap your arms around him, Jungkook feels like home. Like the stars twinkle a little brighter and the earth stops spinning for a mere second, just for the two of you. You feel him squeeze you closer, just as tightly, and Jungkook wants to kick himself for depriving you both of a simple thing called love. 

You are here, souls and now bodies intertwined, and Jungkook lets the pain of past hurt fall away. Pain is so miniscule when you are by his side. When you pull back, Jungkook frowns at your red-rimmed eyes, and the tears that still persist. He wipes it away oh so softly, as if you were delicate clay and he, a sculptor. 

“Please don’t cry anymore, princess, it breaks my heart. I’m so sorry.” It is the softest, most sugary tone you’ve ever heard out of him. But hearing affection from his lips makes you feel that perhaps all of this sorrow, this longing, has been worth it. He has been worth it. He always has. 

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook’s words are almost as beautiful as he is. 

His lips are familiar when you lean forward and kiss him. Yet they are different. This time, the hands on your waist hold you a bit more carefully, even closer if that were possible. You can feel his thudding heart as it beats against your own, learning to match rhythms with each other, and Jungkook cradles your face in his hand like you are the only artwork he has truly been proud of. 

And it’s true. All the canvases and paints and camera film seem wasted now. Nothing he ever makes will be quite as alluring as the art he holds in his arms in this moment. 

“I love you too, you goddamn idiot.”

You meant it all those months ago, and you mean it now. If Jeon Jungkook was the sun, you would gladly change your name to Icarus. If Jeon Jungkook was the moon, then you are the tides that he pushes and pulls. If Jeon Jungkook belonged to you, well...you don’t have to imagine that anymore. He is your’s, as you are his. 

Old habits die hard, but they are not immortal. They wax and wane, and remind you that in the cosmic vastness of things, you are only human. Humans whose hearts beat in tandem and souls made to complete the other. Humans with identical crescent moons, lost but now found.

Old habits die hard. But you have learned to fix those of a broken heart. 

☾

[teacupcollector]

A Helping Hand - Chapter 3

Series Masterlist Summary - As a woman who is pregnant you are doing anything if it means survival. Even so you found yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was it the other way around? Now you are in the community of Jackson and you can’t help but attract a certain pair of hazel eyes.

(Hello! I would like to note that this is much longer then what I usually write for a chapter so I hope it doesn’t come as a bother. I hope you all enjoy!)

From then on those thirty minute talks became a regular thing between the two of you. You and Joel would meet up, mostly at night on each other's porches and just talk or maybe just sit in silence. He seemed to be very rough around the edges in the beginning especially when it came to questions about his past. All you really knew about Joel before the outbreak was that he was a divorcee and was a carpenter. You decided not to push it and talk about other things. As of right now you both were currently sitting on a porch swing on your porch. He had his guitar in his lap playing a soft little tune and humming.

"You ever play?" He asks out of the blue. "What? Oh no I have never played." You say. "Would ya like to?" He asks. "I couldn't even if I tried." You laughed. "My belly is almost the size of a full grown watermelon. The guitar wouldn't fit in my lap." You say and he chuckles. "But I will say this little sucker likes hearing you play." You say rubbing your belly. "He looks between you and your belly. "Does he?" Joel asks. "Yes definitely! They wouldn't give me a break until you started playing." You say with a warm smile. "And how do you know they are a 'He?' How can you tell?" You asks and he chuckles. "You're carrying low." You give him a confused look and he chuckles. "That means the weight is lower. With a girl it would be more elevated." He says setting the guitar against the railing of the porch. "And how would you know that?" You ask. He pauses for a moment before saying. "I had a daughter before all of this happened." You try not to have a reaction. You place a comforting hand on his arm. "You don't have to talk about it Joel." "I uh... I'll tell you one day okay sweetheart?" He asks and you nod with a blush.

There is a silence before Joel asks. "If you don't mind me asking. What happened to the father?" You sigh and look down removing your hand from his arm. "Well it is kind of hard to explain." You let out a nervous laugh. "It was mainly a friends with benefits thing..." You says looking ahead. "... But he did step up when he found out I was pregnant. I would be dead if it wasn't for him." You say with a quiver present in your voice. "There were these fucking hunters that attacked us. We were talking about baby names." You say with a laugh as tears fill your eyes. "We were best friends from the start actually. It was just us against the world." You sniffle. "He sacrificed himself to save me and I have to live with the thought that I got him killed." You say wiping your eyes as tears begin to fall down your face. "You didn't get him killed (Y/N)..." "Yes I did." "You didn't." "I did!" You cry out. Joel immediately wraps an arm around you bringing your head to his chest.  "All I can think about is that he got chopped up into tiny pieces!" You say into his chest. "I-I went back even though he told me not to. I went back to see if he was dead and... And all that was left was his head!" She sobs into Joel's chest grabbing onto his jacket. He wraps his other arm around you, one cradling your head and the other rubbing soothing circles on your back. He stands up with you and guides you inside to your bedroom. He makes sure you lay down and tucks you into bed. "D-don't leave! Please..." You whimper and he nods bringing your desk chair over and sitting down. "I'm sorry..." You murmur as your eyes drift close.

Ever since that day Joel made sure he did his best to make himself available to you. When he isn't on patrol or with Ellie he is with you. The early tells of Spring has just arrived so as a small celebration everyone decided to get together in the square of Jackson. Kids were playing and singing, there were streamers and fairy lights hanging off the buildings, there were small fold up tables with drinks and food on them, and then there was you. You were in some black flats wearing a beautiful maternity sun dress and Joel couldn't keep his eyes off of you. Your hair was styled differently, or maybe it was the same but never have you looked so beautiful. His eyes traveled from your smooth exposed legs, to the swell of your stomach and hips, to the fullness of your breasts, up your neck, then finally your beautiful side profile. When they say that a woman is glowing when she is pregnant, that would be an understatement when it came to you. He was convinced that you could outshine the sun if you wanted. He is nudged to the side slightly breaking him from his trance. He looks beside him to see his little brother next to him. Tommy had a shit eating smirk on his face. "What?" Joel grunts. "She's beautiful ain't she?" Tommy asks looking to see his brothers reaction. Joel only grunts and looks away. "Why don't ya just tell her?" He asks and Joel sighs. "She is to young for me Tommy..." Tommy sighs. "She isn't that young, she is in her thirties." Tommy says trying to reason with his brother. "She is going to have a baby Tommy. She shouldn't have to deal with an old man like me..." Joel says with sadness filling his voice.

"You know she talks a big deal about you right?" Tommy asks. Joel looks at him curious urging him to continue. "She boasts about ya. Sayin' how helpful you are to her and stuff." Tommy says before continuing. "You both were the talk of the town when you went off on Seth. You have been spending a lot of time with her." He says then nods in your direction. "Ellie seems to like her as well." Joel looks up and sees you smiling and laughing with both Dina and Ellie. Dina seemingly can't keep her hands off you bump and the two teens eyes widening with excitement when they feel a kick from the little life that is inside you. There was currently music playing as couples begin to pair off with each other. He sees you place both hands on your belly and go to sit on a bench that was placed near the square for this event. Joel sighs and continues to admire you. "You deserve to be happy brother... Now you go ask that pretty lady to dance." He says elbowing Joel's side gently and Joel nods and begins to make his way over to you.

Despite all the ruckus in the square you have never felt happier. This was your first town event since you have been here and you couldn't be more excited. When it came to the preparation and set up of this event you wanted to help in any way you could. Maria decided it would be best if you didn't do any hard labor since you were coming up on eight months now. Maria thought it would be a good idea to distract the children so they wouldn't get in the way and you gladly accepted. You spent all morning coloring, reading books, and playing with them. They all were very curious about your stomach and you allowed them to feel. All the kids decided to color you and the baby when he or she arrives. They all also made a book of names for you to choose such as: Hotdog, Teddy, and Sprinkles. You giggled and laughed all morning until one of the mainly residents came to let you know that the kids are allowed to go to the event. You had them walk in two single file lines all the way to the square and to say that the parents as well as Maria weren't impressed would be a lie. Maria went up to you immediately and offered you a spot for helping and or teaching the kids. You accepted but only after your baby was born to which she agreed.

As of right now you just got out of a conversation with Dina and Ellie. You were happy to be talking to them despite the fifteen or sixteen year age difference. You decided it was best to sit down and get off your feet for a bit. You let out a sigh of relief as you sit down on the bench. You roll your ankles in circular motions in order to relieve some tension. You close your eyes and hum along to the music when there was suddenly a tap on your knee. You open them to see one of the kids standing next to you. He had brown hair with many freckles and brown eyes, he was maybe around  eight years old. "Would you like to dance Miss (Y/N)?" He asks and you smile. "Of course good sir I would love to dance with you." You stand up and walk to a free space where people weren't dancing. You had to lean down  slightly in order to hold his hands as you both sway back and forth. The child went on and on about how his day was going, what his friends were going to do at the sleep over, and even how you were his favorite teacher. The conversation was interrupted when Joel tapped on the young boys shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?" He asks with a small smile and the boy shakes his head before going to run off with his friends. Both you and Joel stand there for a moment before he reaches out his hand. "Hi..." He says seemingly gazing at you. "Hi..." You say taking his hand. He brings you as close as he could despite your belly getting in the way. He places his other hand at the small of your back and begins to sway from foot to foot. "How are you?" He ask. "I couldn't be better." You say smiling. You look him up and down to see him in a button up flannel of sorts. His sleeves are rolled up to expose his forearms and to say he looked good was an understatement. " You clean up nice. " You say with a smile before releasing his hand wand wrapping both of them behind his neck. "I try and look nice every once and a while." He says with a smirk. "And you dance too?" You ask. He nods before taking your hands off his neck and slowly twirl you to where your back was against his chest. You let out a joyful laugh and look over your shoulder to smile up at him. "You've got moves huh Mr. Miller?" You says smiling. "That I do." He says looking down at you. Your eyes are locked in a trance as you both can't seem to stop. You were sure you could feel his heart beating out of his chest against your back. You find yourself glancing down at his lips and he does the same. You begin to lean in and up slightly closing your eyes when suddenly you feel him pull away. "Sorry..." He mumbles before walking away from you leaving you on the dance floor by yourself. To say your heart didn't ache would be a lie.

[uwuwriting]

Soulmates w/ Dabi, Shirakumo and Keigo

Request: Hello! I just read a few of your writings &I'd just like to say they're amazing! Anyways, may I request some hc's for a soulmate AU w/ Dabi, Shirakumo, & Hawks?(all separate)- anonymous

Soulmate Aus have a shit ton of tropes so I went for a different trope on each boy bc I love them all. My man Dabi has dipped the last few chapters and I’m getting kinda deprived, although I appreciate him not burning my baby Shoto to a crisp so we good. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: angst with some fluff

 Dabi/Todoroki Touya II Interchangeable eye color

-Dabi’s outlook on love is really negative. 

-Growing up the way he did and in the environment he did, the possibilities in him believing or cherishing love and soulmates was low. 

-When he got his soulmate sign he was around 12. 

-It was the darkest moments of his life and he hated himself to no end. 

-When he woke up on that fateful Sunday morning he thought that he was hallucinating. 

-Then he imagined that this could be an after affect of his trauma, just like his hair. 

-His mind though drifted to his soulmate. 

 -He didn’t have a mark up until now and your eye color changing was one of the many soulmate signs out there. 

-As he stared at his left eye, the e/c orb staring back at him, he began to cry. 

-Sobs wracked his body as he clutched his eye. 

-This was unfair. 

-He shouldn’t have a soulmate, what good could he be to anyone?

-He is a failure and he is gonna bring down his soulmate as well. 

-So he hides it. 

-Puts a patch over his eye to conceal the new color blooming around his iris and when his family starts questioning it he buys contacts. 

-Natsuo helps him even though he doesn’t understand why his brother doesn’t want a soulmate. 

-Years pass until he finally meets the person that has changed his life. 

-Shigaraki was being a brat as usual, whining about needing new members for his little group. 

-Dabi couldn’t care less.

-This  whole charade with these losers would only aid him reach his ultimate goal. 

-He didn’t care about Shigaraki’s shitty ideologies and otherworldly desires, he just wanted his revenge. 

-His eyes scanned the so-called hide out in utter boredom, his gaze landing once again at the bar’s door left slightly ajar in case someone came looking. 

-He didn’t expect for the door to open though. 

-And as the grease old door creaked open a figure stepped into the room, clad in black from head to toe. 

-A mask was covering half of your face leaving only your eyes visible. 

-You scanned the place before your eyes landed swiftly on him, knocking the breath out of him as you locked gazes, e/c orbs baring into his own. 

-The vibrant blue on your left eye had him gasping for air. 

-It was stunning. 

-You moved to talk to Shigaraki, your voice albeit monotone and cold, sent tingles up his spine making his hairs stand at attention. 

-His eyes were glued on you, one of his hands subconsciously going to the left side of his face where his mark should be visible.

-It felt as if his contact burned his eye and he quickly took it off, not minding about possible infections since he didn’t wash his hands before touching his eYE DAMMIT YA NASTY AF. 

-His body was drawn to you, his mind screaming at him to talk to you to go close to you. 

-You knew he was your soulmate. 

-You had known the moment you stepped into the bar; no one had such a beautiful blue hue in their eyes other than your soulmate. 

-Despite your mutual desire to be close to each other you  held off for months. 

-Months of keeping distance, months of giving each other the cold shoulder. 

-It would all reach a tipping point soon and Dabi would finally understand what it’s like to truly love someone. 

-Until then though, suffer in your mutual pining. 

Shirakumo Oboro II Red string of Fate

-The string around his pinky finger always lay motionless for years. 

-It was slack and lifeless, no sign of his soulmate being remotely alive. 

-It really worried him, he thought that he might be one of the few unfortunate individuals who didn’t have a soulmate. 

-He talked to his friends about it and they all reassured him that his soulmate was just too far away from him so even if they tugged at the string he wouldn’t be able to feel it. 

-This reassured him all throughout middle school. 

-He started getting a little discouraged when he saw all his classmates getting their soulmate signs whether it be names tattooed on their wrists, one of their eyes changing color or a strand of their hair, other could hear faint music if they concentrated hard enough while others were unfortunate enough to feel their soulmate’s pain. 

-Shirakumo was left staring at the red string surrounding his finger. 

-He had thought about tugging at it, making the first step instead of waiting for the person on the receiving end.  

-But on this day, the day when both Aizawa and Hizashi got their respective signs he found himself tugging at the string. 

-At first he pulled lightly watching the string grow taught slowly and then go slack again. 

-He waited for what felt like a century before tugging again and again, more force being put in his pulls every time. 

-After an hour of waiting and tugging he was done. 

-Eyes downcast with a frown on his lips, he was ready to let this whole soulmate thing go. 

-At the end of the day he doesn’t need the universe to tell him who he should fall in love with; who he is destined to be with. 

-Then he felt it. 

-The lightest tug at his finger. 

-His eyes followed the red string as it straightened a few times before going limb again. 

-Aizawa walked in on him pulling the string like crazy, excited giggles leaving his lips when his soulmate responded with their own pulls. 

- “Shota I did it. T-they answered!”

-This whole string communication business lasted until the first day of high school. 

-As Oboro walked through the halls of UA he felt the string shift on his finger. 

-It was as if it was wrapping tighter around his finger, almost to the point that it hurt. 

-Maybe he was about to meet his soulmate that’s why the string was thinning. 

-Wait, meet them??

-He wasn’t ready to meet them!!!

-What if they didn’t like him? What if his hair was a bit too cloudy for their likes? Oh god his hair must be a mess because he flew here. Maybe he can dash into one of the bathrooms and fix it real quick. Will he be too loud for them? What-

-Lost in his own thoughts he completely missed the person standing in front of him and soon he was crashing into them, a small grunt leaving his lips as he maneuvered himself to cushion their fall. 

- “Oh God I’m so sorry, I was totally zoned out. Are you alright?” 

- “Why are you apologizing? I ran into you.” 

-He let out a chuckle as you scrambled off of him, dusting off your skirt before offering him a hand. 

-As he took it he felt his pinky being released from the pressure.��

-Right before your eyes you witnessed the red string that connected you both unwrap for your fingers, illuminating for a moment before completely disappearing leaving a sense of familiarity and warmth in its wake. 

-You both stared wide eyed at each other before awkwardly introducing yourselves. 

-It didn’t take long for you two to actually fall in love and if you’re being honest it’s was so easy to fall for him that you believed that even if you weren’t soulmates you would have loved him. 

-Even after years, even after that fateful summer, the sense of his presence and his warmth never left you; it was as if he wasn’t gone and he was still somewhere out there. 

-You were half wrong in that one….I think. 

Takami Keigo/Hawks II Name tattoos

-He got his tattoo when he was 13. 

-It had really awful timing if he was being honest. 

-The hero commission was isolating him completely, even from the few friends he had made around the facility he trained in.

-He couldn’t even begin to imagine what they might do if they find out he had a soulmate. 

-He truly wished he had a different soulmate sign or no soulmate at all. 

-He did everything in his willpower to hide the calligraphy of your name on his left wrist. 

-Bandaging it up, covering it with a watch even scribbling over it like he used to do when he was 9 and bored. 

-But at some point it became harder to hide it, harder to conceal the beautiful name that was printed on his wrist. 

-So he confided in someone. 

-One of the caretakers at the commission had taken him under their wing ever since he was a wittle toddler, he trusted them with his life. 

-When he approached them frantically grasping his wrist in attempts to hide the letters, they were both delighted and saddened. 

-It was nice knowing that this poor child had someone out there that was meant for him and would make him happy, replace every single one of these awful memories with new ones.

-Memories he would like looking back to. 

-But just like Hawks himself they knew that the commission wouldn’t allow this person to get involved with him, at any costs and they knew how far these people could go in order to guarantee Hawks’s undivided concentration. 

-So they helped him; they bought him some make up to cover it up and taught him how to apply it correctly. 

-By the time he was out of the hands of the commission *at least not in close reach* no one apart from them knew of his soulmate’s name. 

- “Now listen here Keigo, I want you to take good care of them when you finally meet them. And never forget that you deserve nice things, don’t let anyone take your happiness away.” 

-He did find his happiness. 

-It didn’t happen right away but it did come sooner than he expected. 

-He had learned about the new transfer student who began attending UA in the middle of the year. 

-He never heard their name but he knew they existed. 

-Turns out they were quirkless but were determined to become a hero despite their shortcomings. 

-After a few months he bumped into them and oh lord his wings have never been puffier. 

-He was  relaxing on the roof, away from prying eyes and loud people, just him and the birds *he found his people at last*.

-When he heard the door open he almost leaped off the building but paused at the sound of a soft voice. 

- “Oh I’m so sorry I didn’t know someone was up here.” 

-Turning around he came face to face with the most beautiful person he had ever laid his eyes upon. 

-For the first time in his life he stumbled over his words, a swift ‘It’s alright’ escaping his lips and before he knew what he was doing he was inviting you to sit with him. 

- “Wow you can see everything from here.” 

- “The view is better up in the sky if you ask me.”

-After a long pause he added. “I could show you if you want.” 

- “How can I trust you? Hmmm?” you teased. “I don’t even know your name.” 

-He let out a chuckle before continuing. “Could say the same for you but since I’m a gentleman I will grace you with my name. I’m Keigo Takami or Hawks if you wanna go with my hero persona.” 

-He saw your eyes widen as you stared at him, your eyes darting to his covered wrists. 

-Quickly you composed yourself straightening your shirt and extending your hand, the black letters of his name delicately engraved on your smooth skin. 

- “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N L/N.”  

TAG TEAM AY:

@the-arcana-fan-fic​ @angelwritings​ @axerrri​ @reinyrei​ @dnarez​ @storage11037​ @ezoyscorner​ @letscheereachotheron​ @wolfkid22​ @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses​ @threeamwriting​ @ysatrap​ @yashinosakura @belladonna-coven @angel6786​

[tyongxnct]

𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 - 𝐿𝑒𝑒 𝑇𝑎𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑔

pairing: Taeyong x reader

special guest: Mark Lee

summary: You and Taeyong promised each other to go through everything together. You both dreamed of the music industry and after so many years, you finally got the opportunity to sign a contract with a big company, but they only wanted you, not Taeyong and you. At first, you didn’t want to do anything without Taeyong, but he encouraged you and supported you, but after your big success, Taeyong changed and his jealousy destroyed your relationship.

song: the heart wants what it wants - Selena Gomez

genre: idol!au, angst

warnings: mention of alcohol, swearing

word count: 4,8k

A/N:​ I really love this one and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, listen to the heart wants what it wants by Selena Gomez while reading!! 💖

taglist: @alex-chann​

© tyongxnct on all platforms

I was on stage and I was thinking of... I felt like I know him though I know his heart And I know what he wouldn't do to hurt me But I didn't realize that Feeling so confident, feeling so great about myself... And then it just be completely shattered by one thing By something so stupid But then you make me feel crazy baby Feel like it's my fault I was in pain…

The award in your one hand and your phone in your other hand. You were nervous, almost scared. You whole body was trembling, and your lips were about to bleed, you chewed on them without feeling any pain.

You looked on your phone, for the millionth time in the last three minutes and there was still no call and no text.

You felt like the dress you were wearing, the beautiful golden dress, was suffocating you. It was tight around your waist and with every passing second it got tighter.

You clutched your heart.

Are you dying?

You can’t breathe.

Is this it?

Your vision is blurry, tears filled your eyes.

“Y/n! Can you hear us? Hey, honey, are you alright? Look at me.” This was your manager, she tried to calm you down. You were going to die, there was no other way to stop the pain.

“Someone bring me a fucking bottle of water!” she yelled to the crew in your dressing room. “You did it, Y/n! Artist of the year award is in your hands! This was your dream!”

You looked at the award in your hand.

Artist of the year.

Did you deserve this? Of course you did. You worked day and night, non-stop without any breaks, this was your dream and you did everything you could to achieve this.

But did you really deserve this?

“You looked absolutely gorgeous on-stage Y/n! Honey, you moved everyone with your speech! It was beautiful, you’re trending first place worldwide on twitter!” she told you as she handed you the bottle of water. Your throat was dry, and you finished the whole bottle in one go.

“Thank you.” You said and then you turned your phone off. He wasn’t going to text you anyway.

The water helped you calm down and the crew and your manager cheered and popped a champagne bottle. Today was your day, and you had to push every painful thought away and just be happy for once.

After the award show you found yourself in your bed, but it was hard to fall asleep. You could see the sun rising and the clock on your wall told you that it was almost 6am. You were awake the whole night, alone in a cold bed without him keeping you warm.

The bedroom door was suddenly opened with him stumbling inside. The heavy smell of alcohol surrounded the whole room. When he saw you looking at him, he laughed. He walked towards the bed and almost tripped on his way.

“Oops.” He giggled to himself.

You starred at him, curious about his next move.

“I saw y-you on the tv. You looked so small.” He laughed again like a little boy. He took off his socks and then his shirt.

“Do you know why I was on the tv?” you asked him.

“I don’t know and I don’t care.” With that, he got under the blankets and turned his back to you.

Tonight was one of the most important nights of your life and Taeyong simply didn’t care.  

The bed's getting cold and you're not here The future that we hold is so unclear But I'm not alive until you call And I'll bet the odds against it all Save your advice 'cause I won't hear You might be right but I don't care There's a million reasons why I should give you up But the heart wants what it wants The heart wants what it wants

Your history with Taeyong started when you were both around twelve years old. The typical childhood friends to lovers. You had your first kiss with him when you were fifteen, you officially started dating when you were sixteen and you had your first time when you were eighteen. Years later, with twenty-three, every memory, every special day with him wasn’t the same anymore.

You two always dreamed of becoming the greatest couple in the music industry. You promised each other to go through this together and love each other forever. Taeyong was more into rap and producing and you were more into writing lyrics and singing. For the first couple years everything was perfect, but it was also exhausting and tiring. The music industry was harder than you imagined and the day you signed a contract with a big company, without Taeyong, was the day your relationship started falling apart.

You didn’t want to sign the contract. It was always Taeyong and you or nothing. Taeyong felt bad and didn’t want that to happen, he couldn’t be selfish just because it took longer to achieve his own dream. Taeyong worked in your studio, you let him spend as much time as he wanted and he produced song after song but nobody wanted to sign him. Your company offered Taeyong a job as a producer to produce a couple songs for you and other artists, he accepted the offer and hoped that one day, he could produce something for himself.

Taeyong supported you at first. The day you released your first self-written single, he surprised you with a big party and a promise ring. A promise to be with you forever. When you released your first full album, your fanbase grew even faster and you album hit first place on almost every chart. You were twenty-three and you were a star.

Taeyong was distant after you released your first album. He never left the studio and produced day and night. Every time you tried to get close to him, he’d find an excuse to push you away. No company wanted him, and he was going crazy. You understood, you tried to keep your own stuff for yourself and never talked about your job, you didn’t want to hurt him more.

While you got more popular, Taeyong’s hate towards music grew and one day, he just stopped.

“There’s no need for me to keep doing this. I don’t want this anymore. I need money to pay for this apartment, I need money to buy food and-“ he rambled nervously.

“Taeyong, you know that money is no problem for us anymore. This was your dream, you can’t just give up-“

“Oh please, don’t start with that bullshit. I don’t want your fucking money! Keep it to yourself! Go buy yourself some diamonds or I don’t fucking know, a house or no, go buy yourself a plane!”

Taeyong hated it whenever you talked about money. He hated it that you gained more money than him and provided for you two. The thought of you now paying for the apartment drove him crazy.

“Taeyong, I don’t want you to stop trying. Just let me pay the rent, I love you I just want to help-“ You loved Taeyong so much and you knew how much music actually means to him.

“I don’t want your fucking help. You’re not paying the rent. End of discussion.” And like every other night, he left you alone and went to a bar.

You knew you shouldn’t, but you did it anyway.

You bought the apartment you were living in and didn’t say anything to Taeyong. For two months, he didn’t notice that the money he paid for the apartment was back on his bank account. You knew that he’d find out sooner or later, but you couldn’t sit back and watch him destroy himself anymore.

But one day, he noticed, and you thought it was really the end of your relationship. The future you always dreamed of was nowhere to be seen.

“Do you really think that low of me?! Do you really think I can’t even fucking pay rent?! Huh?! How could you do something like that behind my back!” he yelled at you.

“Taeyong, please. I did it for us. I don’t want you to worry about money, I can help-“

“No! No you fucking can’t help! I don’t want your fucking money! You think, now that you are fucking famous you can do whatever the fuck you want?! Is that how it works? Just because you sing like anyone else, you can do whatever you want? I don’t even get why people are listening to your fucking music! It sound like every other artist singing you’re not special, not unique! You don’t have any fucking talent but here we are, you get the contract and not me, someone with actual talent.”

Every word that left his mouth, felt like a knife piercing in your heart. You finally heard how he really felt about your success and it broke you apart. You never wanted it to go this far.

You sobbed, you felt numb and his gaze on you didn’t help. Maybe he was right. There was nothing special about you. He deserved to be in your position.

“I-I’m sorry-“ you blurred out, “D-do you want me to g-go?”

Taeyong’s gaze softened, you looked like you were about to fall apart, and he couldn’t catch you because it was his faut in first place.

Did he want to break up? Was it over now? Do you have to leave the love of your life now?

“N-No, I’ll leave.”

And you didn’t see him for next hours.

You did nothing except for crying while listening to your songs. He was right, there was nothing special about your voice. You were like anyone else. No talent, how did people even listen to you?

It was late, past 3 am.

You were still crying, and you thought that Taeyong left you- forever. You took off the promise ring and tried to fall asleep, but he entered the room, and you could feel his presence behind you.

Taeyong hugged you from behind and cried. His head fell in the crook of your neck and he cried with you in his arms, you were also crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” He whimpered. “I didn’t mean anything I said. You’re perfect, the best of the best. I’m sorry, please don’t leave me. I love you.”

You turned to him. When he saw the tears on your face, he stroked them away and kissed your cheeks. “Please don’t cry- I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

You did the same with his tears and he noticed the missing ring on your finger. “W-Where is the ring?”

“I’m sorry, I took it off. I thought you’d leave m-me.” You told him and he cried harder. “No baby I’d never leave you. I’m sorry, please don’t take it off. I still mean it.”

You turned to your nightstand and put it back on.

“I’m sorry. I’m stupid and an idiot. T-This is just driving me crazy- Am I not good enough? What am I doing wrong?” he said, you could see in his eyes that he was in pain and it hurt you so much to see him like this.

“You are not doing anything wrong. You’re perfect, they are just blind and don’t see how great you are. They don’t know what real music is, Tae. You are so talented and please don’t stop trying.”

You put your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

“A-Are you serious? O-Or are you just saying that to make me stop crying like a baby?” he pouted.

“I’m telling the truth. I’m not biased here. Well, I do love you but I’m really telling you the truth. You are the most talented person I know.”

“Thank you.” He kissed your head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for earlier- I hate myself for saying that to you.”

“It’s okay, I know that you didn’t mean it.”

“I love you so much, never leave me, okay?” he said softly.

“I love you too.”

You got me scattered in pieces Shining like stars and screaming Lighting me up like Venus But then you disappear and make me wait And every second's like torture Hell over trip, no more so Finding a way to let go Baby, baby, no I can't escape

It didn’t stay like that. Not even weeks later, you were back to the cold and distant Taeyong, he was still the same cold guy who hated your success with a burning passion.

Two weeks later, you were back at the studio, after you won the artist of the year award, in the studio working on some music with a hungover Taeyong. He still didn’t talk to you about the fact that you won the artist of the year award and you were not going to say anything about it.

You were distant. You tried to keep your thoughts to yourself and only talked whenever it was really needed.

“Try again.” He said for the fifth time.

Your throat hurt after last night and singing the same verse over and over again didn’t help.

“Taeyong can I take a break?” you asked.

“Mrs. Artist of the year wants to take a break? That’s not so professional of you. Artists don’t take breaks. They try and try until it’s perfect.”

First of all, you thought he didn’t know that you won artist of the year? And second, so he knew but he didn’t even show you a tiny bit of love. You won the biggest award of the year and your boyfriend hated you for that.

“But my throat hurts- I can’t hit the notes.”

“Drink some water.” He pointed at the water in the recording room.

And then you tried and tried to hit the note, but your voice gave up.

“Fine. That’s it for tonight. We won’t get any further with that voice of yours.” He said coldly.

When you left the little recording room, you gathered your things together but Taeyong didn’t move. “Aren’t we going home?” you asked.

“You can go, I’ll stay a little longer.”

And without saying anything or kissing him goodbye, you left.

The pain in your throat got worse and talking was difficult. You were talking to your manager about a potential tour, but after one sentence your voice broke. You stopped talking immediately, the pain only got worse whenever you tried to talk. “Here drink this tea. You should stop recording for a couple days, maybe even weeks.” You nodded, your voice was still there, but you didn’t want to risk losing it completely.

A couple days later, you talked to your boss about taking a break for a couple months, a short hiatus to calm your voice and throat and just write lyrics for your upcoming album. You decided to leave the city and rent a little beach house. Your manager was happy, you were happy but Taeyong, well, Taeyong just laughed at you.

“Taeyong, I just told you that I’m going to take a break and you’re just laughing?”

“Our little pop-star got enough of being the star? Why? Are they paying you too little?” he said mockingly.

“You know that this isn’t about money! I’m stressed, I’m not feeling good. My voice is always breaking, it even hurts to talk.”

“You can’t even handle that, can you? What kind of singer are you? Pathetic.”

You had enough. You really had enough.

“I’m the pathetic one? Look at yourself for once! You did this to me! I’m recording 24/7 and you don’t give me a single break! How is my voice supposed to handle that?! Tell me! You hate me so much, you weren’t even there for me when I won that stupid award! We talked so much about being there for each other in the past, but you threw everything away because of your jealousy! You weren’t there when I needed you the most even though I’m always there for you. You promised me b-but I’ve had enough…  I can’t let you tear me down. I worked so hard, but It feels like a punishment to sing.” Once again, your voice broke.

“I want you to leave my apartment. I don’t want to see you or any of your stuff here. I’m done with you breaking my heart.”

Fortunately, your bags were already in the car, you thought maybe Taeyong would come with you, to relax and remind him of the love you once shared. But after what he had said, you just couldn’t stay with him anymore.

Taeyong looked at you, eyes wide open and lips trembling. Was he about to cry? Impossible. He must be happy that you’re finally leaving him.

“Y-You’re breaking up with me?” he asked slowly.

You took off the ring and placed it on the shelf next to you.

You turned around without saying anything and walked out of the door and when you finally closed the door of the car, you cried. Taeyong didn’t realize that you just left him. He was staring at the ring, he couldn’t move, he wanted to go after you, but his legs were numb.

After more than 10 Years, you left him. You had promised each other that you’d never leave each other but he also promised to be there for you.

This is a modern fairy tale No happy endings No wind in our sails But I can't imagine a life without Breathless moments Breaking me down, down, down, down

You lived at the beach for five months and you had no contact to anyone except your manager and a couple of producers you met. Your manager was always there for you after your breakup with Taeyong. You wrote so many songs in the past months, only love songs. Sad ballads about broken hearts.

You were scared to go back, scared of seeing him in the studio and scared that you actually weren’t ready to go back on stage, but after a long talk with your manager, you felt ready. Your five months hiatus helped you feel better about yourself and gain more confidence.

You woke up to the sounds of waves and you fell asleep to them. Your body relaxed and your throat didn’t hurt anymore. You felt good and you were ready to face the reality you were living in.

Your manager talked to some producers and that’s when you met Mark Lee. A young producer from Canada who was really talented, and you couldn’t wait to work with someone who wasn’t Taeyong. The car stopped in front of the building you tried to avoid for the last months. Your driver kindly opened your door and helped you get out.

“Thank you.” You said politely and entered the building with a nervous heart. Your manager told you that Taeyong was still working in the company, just for other artists and you hoped that you’d never cross paths.

You softly knocked on the door.

“You can come in!”

You opened the door and greeted Mark. It wasn’t your first time meeting him. He visited you at the beach house to talk about your new songs.

“My favorite singer is finally here in my office!” he said happily and hugged you softly. You hugged him back and sighed, “I don’t know If I’m ready.”

“Of course you are. We are going to produce some hits for you. I mean the songs you wrote are sad but like a good sad and everyone loves a good ballad.”

His studio was a little bigger than Taeyong’s and it was also warmer, the vibe was definitely better here. “Well we’ll see about that-“

“Yo Mark do you want to-“ suddenly someone entered the studio and when you turned around time stopped.

Taeyong looked, well, he looked like he always looked and that was perfect. His hair was a pretty shade of blue, he looked mesmerizing.

His eyes widened, his hand on the doorknob tightened and his body tensed. You weren’t doing any better. Your grip on your bag also tightened and your heart clenched.

Mark did know a little bit about your history with Taeyong, and the tension right now was crazy.

“H-Hi.” Taeyong said nervously.

“Hey.” You just said back, trying to avoid his gaze.

“You’re back.”

You nodded, not knowing what to say.

“So, Mark is a new producer here-“

“Yeah I know. I’m going to work with him.” You simply said.

“Oh, t-that’s good. I mean he’s good. Mark is really good.” He mumbled. Taeyong tried to meet your eyes, your beautiful pretty eyes he had missed so much, but you looked down to your feet.

“Uhm, Taeyong, I guess I’ll talk to you later?” Mark tried to save you from this awkward situation.

“Yeah sure.” He slowly left the room and you thought you’d die any second.

“That was so awkward.” Mark said and wiped the sweat from his forehead, “I can’t handle awkward situations, shit I thought we were all going to cry any minute.”

“Let’s start, I need to distract myself.”

Taeyong held his heart tightly when he entered his own studio. He wanted to ask Mark to order some food, but seeing you there after months, looking beautiful as ever.

Taeyong missed you and he was more than happy that you were back, even though you weren’t a couple anymore. You looked healthier and happier and he hated himself whenever he thought about the past. He was an asshole to you, you never deserved his stupid attitude. Losing you was his own fault and he had to leave you alone.

But Taeyong is selfish.

The bed's getting cold and you're not here The future that we hold is so unclear But I'm not alive until you call And I'll bet the odds against it all Save your advice 'cause I won't hear You might be right but I don't care There's a million reasons why I should give you up But the heart wants what it wants The heart wants what it wants

The past two months, you recorded and recorded. You new album was done, and you were able to perform on stage after a long time again. You were extremely nervous, but it also felt like a relief to perform the heart wants what it wants with a big audience.

Each song on your album had a deep meaning. After getting your heart shattered into many pieces, you wrote sad but beautiful lyrics. Everyone goes through heartbreak which is why so many people could relate to your songs.

“Are you ready honey?” you manager asked you.

“I hope I don’t cry.” You tried to joke but everyone knew you were actually serious. “It’s okay to cry. Just go on stage and let it all out.”

You hugged her and even Mark was there to cheer on you. “You’ll do amazing. The songs are amazing and you’re going to deliver them perfectly. Don’t worry.” Mark said as he hugged you tightly.

It felt like a déjà vu. You were in the waiting room almost a year later after you won the Artist of the year award, this time before you performed, and you still hoped to get a text from a certain someone. Did Taeyong even knew that you were going to perform tonight?

You breathed in and out and when you were on stage you poured your heart out.

When the performance ended, you didn’t cry. You almost did, but in the end you didn’t. The genuine smile on your face showed the relief you felt and that you finally reached happiness after years of looking for it.

You left the stage and adrenalin was pumping through your veins. A big smile was on your lips and when you entered your waiting room to celebrate with your crew, there was no one inside except for one person.

“Taeyong?” you asked, not sure If you were imagining him.

“Hey,” he looked you up and down, “You look gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful.”

You were shocked. Is it really him? “W-What are you doing here?”

“I watched your performance. Front row. I wanted to be in the crowd and watch you perform. It was phenomenal. You were breathtaking.”

He stepped closer, “W-Was the song about me?” he whispered.

You nodded, tears were about to fall down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I was a blind little boy, I was so obsessed with the idea of me and the music industry that I forgot about you and your feelings and I can’t tell you how much I hate myself for that. You were always my number one priority, b-but then… all I could see was red and I let my anger and frustration out on you. I love you more than anything and instead of loving you I tried to hurt you and I thought it would make me feel better about myself, but it didn’t, and I realized that when it was too late. You left me and I was absolutely devastated. I couldn’t imagine my life without, and I still can’t. You were always a part of me, and I don’t want to lose the most important part of my life. No one and nothing on this planet is more important to me than you are. You are my world and when you left, my world stopped spinning and I didn’t know what to do. The first time I saw you after our breakup I-I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that you were real and that I lost someone as beautiful and kind as you. I don’t need to be an artist. I don’t need fans- I just need you. My number one fan and supporter.”

You were bawling your eyes out and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying harder and harder.

Taeyong was also always a part of you. Everything you achieved was thanks to him. He was the one who taught you how to play the guitar and the piano. Taeyong helped you find your voice when you were younger, and you found your passion for music and singing all thanks to him.

You went through so much, and you never stopped loving him. You loved him on every single day since the first time you met him until now.

He came to support you. He watched your performance and it felt so good to see him here. Your heart was beating against your chest and you couldn’t talk, you were scared that your voice might break, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t need to.

One step, two steps and you were standing right in front of him.

Taeyong’s face was completely wet from his tears and his big doe eyes trembled, tears still rolling down his pretty face.

You cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer to press your lips on his.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had kissed him or touched him. His lips were perfectly on yours, slowly kissing you with so much longing and passion.

He dropped the bouquet of roses in his hands and pulled you even closer. His hands were on your waist, holding you tightly. He was scared that you’d slip away or that he’d break you. He kissed you tenderly, you were so fragile in his hands he was scared to break you with a simple touch.

The two of you pulled away slowly, he never let go of you though. You hid your face in the crook of his neck and sobbed silently.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He whispered to you and hugged you as tightly as he could. He would never let go of you again.

“I love you so much Taeyong. I always loved you so much and I don’t think I can love anyone as much as I love you. I also need you in my life- the months without you- I just wanted to go back to the days we were happy. I miss those days so much Taeyong. I love my job, but I love you more.”

“I love you so much. I love you. More than anything else. I promise you I’ll give you everything you deserve and so much more. Okay baby? Just like back in the days. You and me against the world.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

After everything you’ve been through, you couldn’t let go of him. No matter how many times your cried yourself to sleep, in the end, the heart wants what it wants and yours wanted Taeyong.

The heart wants what it wants, baby It wants what it wants, baby It wants what it wants It wants what it wants

The heart wants what it wants, baby It wants what it wants

[footballxposts]

A Blue Forever - Mason Mount

Prompt: Mason proposes.

Warnings: Flufffyyyy af

Recommended listening: Fairytale of New York by Gavin James

A/N: I might do a p2 to this bc I have ideas that need to be released.

It was a dark and frosty Tuesday evening in December, exactly four days before Christmas. As you and Mason, your childhood best friend turned boyfriend, pulled into one of the staff-only bays of the car park situated next to the Millennium hotel, you sighed furiously. He refused to tell you the entirety of your journey where you’s had been headed, and now he was adamant on remaining silent, giving you no indication as to why you were now less than a five minute walk away from Stamford Bridge. Your head was rested against your fist, your elbow on the window ledge, holding your arm upright. Mason quickly took the keys out of his ignition, and flicked the overhead light in between you both on to illuminate your faces. Smiling across from you like a little kid, you turned your face to meet him, your expression still blank.

“Come on, don’t look at me like that.” He teased, taking your free hand into his own. “You’ll find out why we’re hear in a few minutes.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?” You whined and pouted at him, hoping your puppy dog eyes would win him over like they usually do. But it wasn’t working. Mason was terrible at keeping secrets, especially from you, but nothing was going to stop him this time.

“Because it’s supposed to be a surprise and if I tell you now it won’t will it?” he widened his eyes back at you, his little grin still in place.

“No, but you know I hate surprises, Mase. I always have done and always will. So pleeease can you just spare me the anxiety and possible embarrassment and just tell me now?!”

Ignoring your final plea, he rolled his eyes and mumbled a small ‘my god woman’ under his breath before looking down at the phone in his hands. An incoming call message was now plastered across the screen from a number you didn’t recognise, the vibrations and ringing causing the pit that had already formed in your stomach becoming even bigger.

“We’re all ready when you are, Mason.” a woman’s voice sounded, just audible enough for you to hear despite his phone not being on loudspeaker.

“Okay perfect thank you. See you in a minute!” Mason replied kindly. Ending the call, he hurriedly re-locked the device and turned the light above you both off. “Ready?” He asked nervously, his eyes twinkling ever so slightly.

“I mean I don’t know what for and no not really but okay, let’s go.” You replied with a huff, letting go of his hand and grabbing your handbag from down beside your feet. Mason stepped outside the car first, and you followed after as he closed his door, the crisp air hitting you both. As you closed your own, you met up with him around the back of the car and linked arms, making your way to the stadium entrance, blissfully unaware that the best moment of your entire life to date was patiently awaiting you inside.

Upon entering the building, you were greeted by a friendly-looking female, one who you could only assume was the lady Mason had been speaking with on the phone previous to your arrival. Mason engaged in conversation with her as you zoned out, eyes observing the empty grounds and racking your brain for an answer. Thought upon thought filled your mind, but you couldn’t pinpoint a solid explanation. Why on earth had he brought you to not only one of his main places of work but both your childhood club’s historic venue at 9pm in the evening when it wasn’t a match-day and it was so close to Christmas? Literally nothing made sense.

Before you could bite your cheeks or worry yourself sick anymore, Mason’s hand gently squeezed your own as he led the way to the Shed End. Stepping outside and making your way down the steps, you came to one of the middle rows and sat down beside him, not before looking down at him and giving him a stubborn ‘can you please tell me what is going on now?’ look.

“Mason Tony Mount, can you please enlighten me as to why we are sat here on a cold winters night when there’s no reason to be?” you looked at him, clutching at your scarp. “I’m scared now.” you informed him. His eyes looked at your own and he smiled, then diverted his attention back to the empty green pitch in front of you both.

“Do you remember when we were.. I don’t know maybe around ten years old? I think it was a few years after I had just started training properly for Chels at the academy. And we came here to watch the first team play together and after the match you told me you couldn’t wait to see me playing at this place someday, I think you referred to it as ‘with the ‘big boys’, but don’t quote me on it.” He smirked.

Placing your hands in your pockets and leaning back into the hard plastic seat, you took a deep breath before answering. “Yeah of course.. how could I forget? It seems like it was yesterday. And yes you’re right that’s exactly what I said though it pains me to admit it.” you responded, looking down at your lap with a small awkward smile. “What about it though?”

“Well, I told you I didn’t think I would ever be good enough, maybe for the first team back in Portsmouth but never for a club as big at Chelsea even though I was in the academy. But you had faith in me and reassured me even at that age. You said..”

“I said ‘You have to play here Mase. Chelsea’s not just our favourite team it’s our second home.’” Your smile widened at him as you took the words out of his mouth. “I told you.. I remember.” Mason smiled back as tears began forming in your eyes. “And now look at you.”

“And now look at me. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you Y/N. I owe so so much of it to you.” He said, standing up from his position and holding out his hand again. “Which is why I need you to follow me again because I want to say thank you.” Taking his hand into your own, you followed him down to the end of the stand, and made your way onto the pitch.

You went to question him again multiple times but each time he cut you off, not giving away anything. As you came to the end of the tunnel and walked towards the centre of the field, the frosty green grass now with a trail of footprints on it.

“Mason what on earth is going on?” You asked him, terrified as to what was about to happen.

“I’ll tell you in two minutes I promise, but first watch this.” He said, pointing to one of the large screens as the floodlights had gone off. You jumped a little but the little moment of being slightly petrified was about to be so worth it. Now playing was a video compiled with memories of you and Mason growing up to now. You laughed and sobbed as you looked back on all your special moments with such fondness and gratitude. Each part of the video had a message appearing on the screen, with Mason telling you all the things he loved about you and how he couldn’t wait to create so many more memories with you like all the ones you had shared over the years. The final message to appear on the screen was a question. It read ‘you helped make one of my dreams come true. will you please help me make another come true by saying say yes?’

Confused and in shock, you gasped and put your hand up to your mouth, not realising Mason had moved behind you whilst you were reminiscing and distracted. Turning around as only some of the lights came back on, you saw Mason down on one knee and started bawling. He was crying himself, but also unable to contain his smile.

“Y/F/N, You have been my best friend and my girlfriend for the longest time ever now, and I absolutely adore you. I don’t think that’s ever going to change. I don’t want it to because loving you to ends of this earth in the greatest privilege I’ve ever been given. Please will you do me the honours of marrying me and being my wife?” He asked, popping the all important question.

“Oh my god, Mase.” You sniffled. “Yes, of course.” You said as he stood up again, kissing you as his body engulfed you in a hug. Just as you broke apart and he placed the most beautifully cut ring you had ever seen on your finger, it started snowing. The snowflakes dancing around you both, tickling your skin. Smiling as your foreheads rested against each other, music started playing and fireworks began shooting up from the roof of the stadium. He really had pulled out all of the stops.

“Ready for one last surprise?” He asked.

“More? Mase my heart, I don’t think I can take it.” You giggled at him.

“I promise you it’s just one more thing and it’s literally only something small.” He responded.

“Okay.” You said making your way down the tunnel after him. You stopped outside the home dressing room. Upon entering, you noticed all the other players shirts had been taken off their usual hanging spots, including Mason’s, which had been replaced by one in only his spot. On the back of a new home jersey was ‘Mrs. Mount 19’.

“Oh wow, nice touch.” You teased him, nudging his side with your elbow as you walked over towards it. Your old jerseys at home only ever had Mason’s surname on the back of them.

“What can I say? You’re not just any blue forever, you’re my blue forever.” He winked.

Best early Christmas present you had ever got from your best friend. Ever.

[imnotasuperhero]

I would lie and say you’re not in my mind.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Stark!Reader

Type: Angst.

Summary: Reader finds herself alone, with no explanation as to where Wanda went. And life without her was a true nightmare she could only scape with not-so-nice coping mechanisms.

Wordcount: 2644

Warnings: Drug abuse, one suicidal thought and depression.

A/N: This is my submission for @jbbarnesnnoble writing challenge! I’m so sorry for the delay. Life and work got in the middle, leaving me drained to get some actual writing done. You can search this and other works with the tag #JBBNNMHAMChallenge which deals with different types of mental healt, as to raise awarenes about it.

A/N 2: Since it’s inspired in real events, I decided to twist this and give it a happy ending. People need to know there is hope. No matter how hard life becomes, you’ve got this and you shouldn’t suffer alone. Fight your fear and seek for help. I promise, life is worth living.

A huge than you to @marvelfansince08love for enduring her patience with my rants and mini meltdown about this monster. I could never thank you enough for puting up with my dumb ass, boo. I owe you a lot! <3

If you guys want more, I might have a plot for some kind of spin-off for this story. Just let me know. Also, criticism is welcomed.

"Miss Stark," one of the executives called your attention. "Your nose is bleeding."

Automatically, your fingers found your nose and yup, it was happening. Fucking hell.

Excusing yourself, you left the conference room with rapid steps to the closest bathroom, dismissing whoever you crossed on your way. You weren't new to this, after all.

Once you got the bleeding under control, you inspected yourself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was nothing like your old self. The circles under the eyes needed much more concealing and your smiles were forced. But at least you picked a black blouse today, which it'll do until you got a chance to go back home and change.

"Are you sure you don't want to go home?" Julia asked sheepishly.

"No. I'm capable of handling the rest of the day," you mumbled as you finished the last touches to your make-up.

"Mr. Stark could find-"

"Mr. Stark will find out shit," you cut your assistant. "This is just a sneeze that caused a vein to pop. Understood?" You could see how the woman in front of you shivered slightly and you almost laugh at it. You've become so pity.

"Y-yes, Miss. Is there anything else I can do?"

"No." You inspected yourself in the mirror once again before walking out. "Go over the rest of my day and make sure you send the informs to Stewart."

Fortunately, the day progressed smoothly with very few bumps. And none of them were about you, so you took it as a victory.

Kicking your high heels after closing the door behind you, you started to strip while walking towards the bathroom. The weekend was finally here, which meant you could wind out and enjoy your own company. After the latest events on Beto's, you made sure to lay low for a while. You didn't need another clingy bitch hanging from you all the time. You were just a gal wanting to have some release. Nothing more, nothing less.

In the middle of your calming bath, the sharp razor you kept for emergencies caught your eyes. 'God, it'd be so easy.' You thought to yourself. Just a little line in the right place would do it. The consuming pain would disappear and you'd be free. Hell, maybe you'd find her again in the afterlife.

Before you could continue the line of thoughts, your phone rang with your dad's personalized ringtone. Something you made sure of for when you were doing not-so-nice activities.

"Hey, dad." You absentmindedly sank deeper in the tub. The bubbly water covering up to under your jaw.

"Hi, Peanut." Tony's voice soothed your damaged soul the littlest bit. "It's been a while. How are you?"

"I'm fine," you answered nonchalantly. Lying has become second nature by now. "Living the life. How are you guys?"

"That's what I called you about. Pepper and I want you to come to spend the weekend here. We barely see you outside work so we thought it'd be nice to take advantage of the long weekend. Pleeeeaaase? With a cherry on top?" He finished in a child's voice and you felt your heart squeeze itself.

Truth was, you were tired of lying all the time. You were tired of faking and saying you were okay when you weren't.

"Okay," you sighed. 

"Yay!" Yup, he was a child. "We'll get your room ready. We'll have your favorite."

You didn't know the exact moment you started crying, your dad going a mile a minute talking about his latest invention and how he'd love for you to help him figure out the last touches.

Hanging up, you finally let out the awaiting sobs. Memories of an easier -and happier- time plaguing your mind, making it harder and harder to breathe. Life without her sucked balls.

After drying yourself and throwing on a fresh pair of pajamas, you quickly fixed your bag for the weekend, knowing fully well you'll wake up with just the right spare time before you had to leave for your dad's.

The next morning, you woke up before your alarm went off, which would be fine if it weren't for Wanda appearing in your dreams. Promises of a better life and reaching milestones together, fanning the painful fire in your heart.

Walking to your stash, you retrieved the white powder, forming three consecutive lines on your nightstand. A small straw between your fingers ready to be used. You wouldn't be able to consume when you were at your dad's, so you better took your chance before it was too late. Odin knew you needed the boost.

Stopping at a random café a few blocks from your home, you quickly got yourself a black coffee and a muffin before hitting the pedal once again, changing the playlist to something more upbeat. 

Soon enough, your mind drifted to the impromptu road trips you'd do with Wanda. Sometimes even a week-long trip. Just the two of you apart from the chaos of your lives. 

Out on the road, it was only laughs, music, and fast food with the occasional make-out sessions. God, if you could, you'd live in the past forever. 

Stepping out of your car, you couldn't help the smile that broke your face. Working in the same place as your dad didn't mean you've got to see him every day. And being honest, you were happy he offered you scape from her curse.

"Hi, dad." You answered once you reached him, returning his hug. And boy, didn't you felt safe in those strong arms. They never failed to soothe you.

After what seemed like hours of walking around your dad's property, you and Pepper came back to the house ready for a refreshing iced tea. But any trace of a nice calming bath dissipated away when you say your dad standing in the middle of the living room, his face stoic.

"What's this?" The quietness of his voice freezing your blood.

"I'm waiting, Y/N." 

You cringed at your dad's voice. The disappointment showing in his eyes made you regret not checking before you grabbed a random bag for this trip.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me this is not what I think it is," he begged, showing you and Pepper the almost empty baggy between his fingers. And you ignored him. He already knew the truth, after all. "Say it," he growled.

"So the bleeding nose-"

"Screw you," you muttered, cutting Pepper mid-sentence.

"Hey! That's no way to talk to her,"

"You know what?" You walked to your dad, looking up to his eyes. "Yes, I'm an addict. Good job, Sherlock. Now you can get rid of me as you did with my mom. After all, you never wanted me in the first place, so why should it matter." You snapped with burning tears in your eyes. "There's no need to keep faking it anymore." You walked away, leaving them mouth agape, trying to process your words.

Plopping down on your bed, you couldn't help the feeling of failure igniting inside you. The tears in your eyes burning your eyes as they appeared, flowing down your cheeks as the sadness and emptiness became just too much to handle.

You didn't remember when was the last time you were genuinely happy. And it sucked that it depended on someone. It sucked and you despised it more than anything. But then again, Wanda was everything you'd need to live in this world. Always positive, with a smile so bright that could light up the darkest room. Her eyes? God, you loved losing yourself in those green orbs of hers in the afterglow. And now you had to live without all these little things that made you happy. All the little moments of joy were gone, tuning you into this sack of bones and flesh, with no expectations for life.

It wasn't till much later that night that you left your room, after ignoring your dad's callings.

Padding your way to the bar, you served yourself a whiskey. The burning on your troat a welcomed feeling. Your mind going back to her, as it was the normalcy since she dusted away, leaving you with thousands of questions and a hole in your heart that you knew well you could never fill again. How could you, when you knew she was it? how could you even try to patch it up, when you knew there was no one else like her?

One whiskey turned into 5 and you didn't know when you started to cry, considering you thought there were no tears left after all these years. But the strong hand on your shoulder made you snap from your pity party, hurriedly drying your tears. Crying was for the weak, and boy were you weak.

"I'm sorry," you drowned the last of your drink before looking up, mustering the best stoic face you could.

"You don't need to fake around me, Peanut. We're family," your dad poured you another drink as he got one himself. 

"Look, what happened with your mother has nothing to do with you." He continued once he sat beside you. "And I would never leave you alone, Y/N. No matter how many headaches you give me." He joked but composed himself when you didn't react to it. "I- Pepper is pregnant. And we really want you in the baby's life. But.. Look, if there was a way to bring her back, I would. In a heartbeat. But Y/N, you have to understand, she wouldn't like this version of you. If not for yourself, do it for us,"

You wanted to speak, you wanted to answer him. But the lump in your throat was too big to swallow and the knife in your heart twisted when you saw your dad's eyes tearing up. And fuck did it hurt. To see him cry -for the first time- pained you like hell. And knowing you were the cause of those tears made you feel like you were the worst person alive. 

"I-," you paused to gather your bearings, but your dad beat you to it.

"I know, Peanut," his arms surrounded you in that way that only him could.

"I promise you," he continued once you broke away. "One day, it will get easier. Those feelings will never fully go away, but it will get easier." He dried your tear-stained cheeks softly. "You are not alone. And she'll always be with you,"

 And despite the grief eating you from the inside, you knew you had to live. For them. For her.

The next few months had been a true rollercoaster. You didn't know the abstinence would affect you so badly. And while others would have it much worse, you couldn't help the change of moods and the few tears you caused to those around you. Not to mention, the significant drop in your moods. But you also knew better. You've kept your word, and you hadn't touched it again. 

Under Natasha's supervision, you got rid of every secret stash you had at both, your apartment and your office, and you deleted the number of your dealer. And even if sometimes it seemed like hell would manifest itself as Nat was your watcher, you couldn't be more glad because, admittedly, the woman had balls and she did knew how to bribe you, to the point that you'd even quit drinking even if it was more of a social addiction, in your case. That, mixed with Natasha's friendship and support -as well as those around you- and the birth of Morgan, your little sister had you believing once more, even if you knew you'd never get to be the same person you once were. 

The little bundle of joy had come to this world with a few rays of sunshine for you, finally opening your eyes and making you realize that there was hope. Even if you never saw her again, life was worth living and you'd live it for her at your best capacity. 

So when Pepper asked you to babysit Morgan for a few days, considering she couldn't bring a 2 months old baby with her, you accepted in a heartbeat.

But as you were awoken by a fussing Morgan, after an eventful night in which you barely slept, you realized this might've not been your brightest idea.

Inhaling deeply, you got up and walked to her room, picking her up from her crib and rocking her as you made your way to the kitchen. Babies were a fucking clock. Which only served to add to your decision of never having kids. 

If you were on the verge of tears most of the time, wishing deeply for her parents to come back so you could have time for yourself, you knew you'd be mental if you had to live through this for the rest of your life.

Your ears catching the front door opening made you stop mid singing, turning around as you walked to the hushed words as you feed a calmed down Morgan just to stop dead in your tracks when you saw her. The only reason you stood still, was the baby in your arms. 

Your eyes scanned the room, looking for a sign that this was just a dream. That the image of your girlfriend was just a projection of your mind, like so many other times before during these 5 years since she disappeared from your arms. But the silence surrounding you all and 8 pairs of eyes inspecting you made you realize that this wasn't a dream.

The cries of Morgan took you all from your reverie and soon, Pepper was by your side, taking the baby from your arms before kissing the top of your head, something she always did whenever you felt unsettled.

"Peanut-"

"Is she real?" You questioned as you scrutinized a fidgety Wanda, who stood by the door, ready to run away if needed.

Natasha could sense your turmoil growing with every single second that passed and soon enough you felt a strong pair of arms supporting you, ready to catch you if you fell.

"She's here, Maliska. We brought her back," she spoke quietly, making sure you understood her words.

The wild thoughts on your mind got you walking towards her. The need to touch her and prove yourself that she was back, got your fingers itching. You could feel the blood running in your ears and you shaking steps as you got closer to who you thought was gone forever, leaving you empty and moving through life like a zombie.

The choke that broke through you when your hand cupped her cheek got you smiling as tears rolled down with every erratic thump of your heart.

"You're here," you whispered, afraid of breaking the spell you've found yourself into. 

But you couldn't stay in that thought for long because an intimately familiar pair of arms surrounded you as Wanda threw yourself at you, hiding her face on the crook of your neck.

Feeling her hot breath against your skin was all you needed to finally give in and hold her with all you had, knowing that she was here; with you.

You didn't know how long you both stood there, holding each other and basking in the calmness that surrounded you. All your previous tormenting thoughts dissipated in that exact moment. Wanda was back and you found the hole in your heart start to fill itself.

"Hi, Printsessa," Wanda murmured against your neck, kissing her way up to your jaw, peppering your face with kisses before she finally kissed your lips. And boy, did your knees trembled.

After 5 long years, the lips you've got used to kissing whenever you pleased were once against yours, igniting all the love and hope and good things you got to feel once upon a time.

You can find the continuation, here (:

Taglist: @summergeezburr @wannabe-fic-reader @natasha-danvers @jumbojamba47 @rooskaya-yelena @sananabdliw @aaron-despair @username23345 @nate-the-dreamer @higherfurther-romanova

[alitaimagines]

“isn’t it lovely? all alone. heart made of glass, my mind of stone. tear me pieces, skin and bones, hello, welcome home.”  

tamaki amajiki ☆  MY HERO ACADEMIA 

“hey Ami!” you screamed to your classmate, “have you seen Amajiki at all? he forgot his uniform jacket in my dorm last night and I don’t want him to get in trouble for not having it on.”

she remained silent before snapping her fingers, “I think the hero department third years have that simulation training today! they’re not even going to be in the classroom,” Ami explained as you nodded, “right, I forgot that was today. well, I guess I have no reason not to wear it,” you joked before slipping on your boyfriends jacket. 

you were in your second year at U.A. and being that Tamaki was a year older than you, you weren’t really informed on what your upperclassman had on their schedules. 

Tamaki and you had met at Fatgum’s agency on his second year internship and your first. you attended U.A. for their business department and managed to get interned with Fatgum’s business partner. 

how the two of you got together was still a question for many people, including Mirio, Fatgum, and Nejire. 

they all knew that the two of you met at the agency but neither three of them ever figured out who asked who and when it actually happened. all they knew is that one day, you were holding and swinging Tamaki’s hand down the hall as he had a blush written all over his face. 

“do you know how long that was going to take? I know Amajiki was pretty nervous for it,” you told Ami as the two of you went to grab a quick breakfast snack, “he was over my dorm almost having a nervous break down last night,” you said a bit sadly. 

she shook her head no, “no, I don’t. I know those simulations they give are pretty rough and it’s not like it’s even an assigned simulation, they just give them random events,” she explained. 

you sighed knowing your very nervous boyfriend was probably panicking in the simulation room. like Ami had said, you did hear that those simulation events they gave the third years were pretty rough on the soon to be pro-heroes but being that you weren’t even in the hero department, you would never know how those would go. 

“I just hope they don’t give Amajiki something that’ll trigger his panic attacks,” you admitted, “he doesn’t deserve to go through that today,” you mentioned as Ami rubbed your back, “I’m sure he’ll be okay, don’t stress about it,” she consoled you as you tried to keep your head off of what Tamaki was doing. 

what you had hoped for was not what you got granted.

as the third years arrived to the simulation room, they were immediately situated in their seats to start their simulation training. Tamaki was thankfully in between Nejire and Mirio for the training but anyone could tell that he was ready to shove himself in a corner for the next six hours. 

“it’ll be fine, don’t worry!” Nejire told Tamaki in an enthusiastic tone, “I’m pretty sure all the rumors surrounding these stupid simulation training are just word of mouth and they’re not as bad as we think they are,” Mirio added on. 

you had texted both Nejire and Mirio to watch out for Tamaki. they knew that he was nervous but it was a rarity when you texted them. it wasn’t that they didn’t like you but because Tamaki was a bit nervous to bring you around them and you weren’t even in their year, the three of you hardly interacted. 

they put the VR style glasses on as they heard the countdown from the proctor. as soon as they heard the system let out a robotic ‘go’, the simulation had started. 

Tamaki was instantly brought into what seemed like a regular day of patrol with Fatgum and Red Riot. he could feel himself instantly sighing in relief as the three of them were walking around, patrolling the street. 

they were around the Fatgum agency when they felt a rumble on the ground. after the rumble, a loud scream teared through the air as a villain was running towards civilians and killing them instantly. 

“Red Riot, get the back, Sun Eater, you have the front,” Fatgum immediately instructed before running towards the side of the building that the villain was aiming for, “remember the protocols!” he reminded them before leaving them to do their job. 

Tamaki instantly ran the front of the building and released his quirk to start helping civilians get to safety. when he started putting a few civilians in a safe and closed off area, his brain snapped. 

you were in that building. 

Tamaki tried to run inside of the building but as soon as he tried to find you, the villain had snatched up a few employee’s and held them in his hand.

you were struggled under the weight of the villains hand when Tamaki heard your loud scream. while any other time he would’ve been a little nervous to try and save those who were being held hostage, his GIRLFRIEND was in danger and he couldn’t even fathom the thought of something happening to you. 

“RED RIOT!” you screamed to the red haired boy as Kirishima’s eyes widened realizing it was you, “TAMAKI, PLEASE!” you yelled through sobs and hiccups. 

Kirishima tried to get to you when they heard the villain let out a violent scream and smack those who he was holding against a building before punching the building down to a dusty mess. 

Tamaki felt himself stand still as he heard the first responders started close in on the scene. as he heard Fatgum tell him to go check on those who were thrown against the building, the villain grabbed them and threw them up against another building before making it collapse. 

“Tamaki, please,” you whispered as you tried to catch anyone’s attention and not fully realizing that you were using your pro hero boyfriends real name, “oh god,” you exasperated as you felt your eyes start to become heavy. 

you wondered how you were still alive but you gained a small bit of energy when you saw Tamaki approaching you with tears in his eyes. your eyes were half open as you started to accept your fate.

you were going to die. 

“Tamaki, win this for me,” you whispered as he grabbed your hand, “don’t,” he said as he watched your eyes close and your head start to dangle, “DON’T DIE ON ME! NOT NOW!” he screamed making your body jump slightly. 

hearing Tamaki scream was a rarity as you tightened your grip as much as you could, “stop,” you whispered, “this isn’t the end for us. I promise I’ll see you one day,” with that your head fell to the side as your body started to slump to the same side.

Tamaki let out a piercing yell as he grabbed you and cradled you like an infant. tears were streaming down his face as he stared at the collapsed building in horror. 

after the civilians were safe, the hostages that managed to stay alive were taken to the paramedics, and the villain was taken down, Kirishima and Fatgum made their way to the blue haired boy. 

“oh my God,” Kirishima mumbled as he saw Tamaki holding your body, clearly realizing that you were dead, “Tamaki,” Fatgum said as he tried to grab your body to take to the paramedic team, “you need to let her go,” he whispered.

as soon as Tamaki heard those words being mumbled, he whipped his head to his mentor, “NO!” he screamed making both of them jump back and making Tamaki hold you even closer. 

Fatgum sighed as before calling the paramedics over to them, “if you don’t want to let her go, you don’t have too but she needs to seek assistance,” Fatgum stated before Tamaki heard a ringing going off in his ears. 

all the third years took off their headsets as Tamaki remained with his on.

“Amajiki! you can take it off now!” he heard Nejire say as Mirio whipped the headset off, “Tamaki?” he asked a bit panicked.

not even realizing, Tamaki was looking at the whiteboard with tears streaming down his face. Mirio’s and Nejire’s eyes widened as they noticed their best friend crying. 

“hey, hey! what happened?” Mirio asked as all the students started to leave the simulation room, “Amajiki, it’s okay! none of it was real,” Nejire tried to rationalize, “it was all a simulation.”

Tamaki finally looked at the two of them, “I watched ( your name ) die,” he mumbled, “she got murdered by a villain and I couldn’t save her. she died in my arms,” he continued before looking back at the blank white wall.

Nejire whipped her phone out and texted to see if you were still in class or not. Mirio on the other hand tried to get Tamaki to relax and bring him down from his panic attack. 

“she’s in the common area,” Nejire whispered to Mirio, “hey Amajiki, ( your name ) is in her residency's common room, want to go see her?” Mirio asked cautiously as he watched Tamaki get up from his seat. 

“hey ( your name )! it’s Nejire! where are you right now? Tamaki wants to see you. it’s kind of important!” 

“I’m in my residency building, you guys can head over here if you’d like! why, did something happen to him?” 

the top three students walked slowly to your residency building as Tamaki tried to calm himself down before seeing you. he knew how much you worried over him and he didn’t want to see you so terrified over him, especially not now. 

after they got scanned into the residency building, they saw you at one of the tables with your laptop open and singing along to the music you had blasting into your headphones. 

you noticed Tamaki walking inside with a blank look on his face. you immediately whipped off your headphones and walked towards your upperclassmen. 

“hey, how did the simulation training go?” you asked Mirio as they gave you a saddened look, “ours went fine however I don’t think it’s our place to say anything about Amajiki’s,” Mirio explained as Tamaki put his head in between the crook of your shoulder and neck. 

you whispered a thank you to Nejire and Mirio as they gave you a smile before leaving. you grabbed your laptop and ushered Tamaki towards the elevators before heading up to the level where your room was at. 

once you and Tamaki got inside, you shut the door and Tamaki immediately wrapped his arms around you as he started sobbing onto your shoulder. you stared to panic as you tried to get Tamaki to breath. 

“hey, Amajiki, what’s wrong, what happened?” you asked as you grabbed Tamaki by the face and held him in your hands, “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” you said. 

he hiccuped before trying to look at you, “my simulation was trying to save civilians from a villain but the building he attacked was Fatgum’s agency. I watched you die in my arms,” he vaguely explained as he tried to refrain from full details. 

your eyes widened as you held him for a tight embrace. the two of you stayed that way for what felt like hours as Tamaki tried to calm himself down once more. once Tamaki fully came around and stopped crying, you held his face in your hands again as you tried to wipe away the last few tears. 

“Amajiki, I’m right here. I’m alive. I’m not going anywhere,” you told him as he nodded, “that’s never going to happen and you’re going to make sure that it doesn’t happen. you, Fatgum, and Kirishima are not going to let me or anyone die. I’ll be by your side for as long as you want me to be.” 

Tamaki nodded but didn’t say anything. you gave him a passionate kiss and ran your fingers through his hair, just the way he liked it. 

“do you want me to walk you back to your dorm so you can have a few moments to yourself?” you asked as Tamaki shook his head no very quickly, “c-can I stay h-here for a w-while to cuddle?” he murmured as you nodded. 

this had been the first time you heard him stutter as he spoke.

Tamaki liked to be the big spoon between the two of you but this time you shoved everything that was on your bed onto the floor before laying him down on your chest and running your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. 

as soon as you realized that he passed out, you gave the top of his head a kiss before laying him down on your bed and covering him with a blanket. your room tended to be a bit cold sometimes. 

“I’m not going anywhere Amajiki, I promise,” you whispered into his ear, “I love you way too much and I know you’d do anything to keep me safe.”

you got up and dusted off your skirt before giving your boyfriend one last look. you knew he would napping for a few hours so you figured you’d make his favorite food during the time he was asleep.

Tamaki loved your cooking and you knew that with the way he was feeling, your food could be a bit of a pick me up for when he got up. 

ALITA

[hlcreators]

AUTHOR REC: only_angel_28 / @beau-soleil-louis​

Don’t forget to leave kudos and comment to show some love! ♡

a week and thirteen days (1k)

Harry falls in love with the morning sun. 

I can’t do this alone (sometimes I just need a light) (7.8k)

“Harry,” he says after another contemplative moment, “can I hug you?”

It’s been...well, Harry doesn’t actually know how long it’s been. Less than an hour, probably, but already Louis says his name like it’s safe in his mouth, and now he’s opening his arms like Harry could be safe there too.

“Please,” Harry nearly sobs, and sinks into him the way butter melts on toast. It’s an apt metaphor, really, because what Louis is giving him is as essential and sustaining as a loaf of bread to a starving man. His basic need for physical affection is as vital as his need for sustenance, for sleep, and he can’t believe he’s allowed himself to ignore it for so long.

Or: Harry is having a rough time. Louis is the kind stranger who makes him smile again.

I think I’m falling (I’m falling for you) (6.8k)

Louis is a disaster gay on a skateboard. Harry is a beautiful, quirky stranger on a bicycle. Their first encounter really makes a splash.

Bloom (just for you) (495)

“Do you ever think about boys?”

The words fall from Louis’ lips casually, but they’re fragile like a gossamer thread, a single silken strand from a spider’s web of labyrinthine thoughts. They’re the product of literal months of careful introspection, of soul-searching and agonizing and over-thinking. They’re words that he’s never dared to utter aloud, a mirror of his own swirling inner-turmoil of thoughts. Thoughts he previously held tightly to his chest, locked away in his heart along with all his other feelings regarding his best friend.

*Or the arrival of spring brings a new beginning for Harry and Louis.

dopamine (7.8k)

Louis honestly doesn’t know how he gets himself into these types of situations.

Well, actually, that’s a lie. He’s doing this because he needs the money, and because he’s curious. And, okay, maybe because he might be a little bit lonely too. He has always had what his mother affectionately calls an “adventurous spirit.” Couple that with being a (tragically single) broke grad student and voila! here he is scrawling his signature on a release form provided by the university’s sociology department. Essentially, he is agreeing to snog a stranger on camera for the sake of science.

Shouldn’t be a problem, right? All he has to do is lock lips with a (hopefully) fit bloke, collect his money, and be on his way. Easy peasy. Little does he know, fate has other plans for him in the form of one adorably quirky art student who goes by the name of Harry Styles.

How Would You Feel (If I Told You I Loved You) (81k)

An AU inspired by the music video for Ed Sheeran's song Perfect featuring two idiots who are too thick to see that their friendship is anything but platonic, lots of pining, too many terms of endearment to count, a wedding, slow dancing, a couple of steamy hot tub moments, karaoke, snow, a healthy dose of cuddling, love confessions, and Harry and Louis being quite generous to each other.

*Or the one where Harry has been in love with his best friend for four years, and New Year's Eve at his family's holiday home in Switzerland is perfect for finally telling Louis how he feels.

Breathe Me (13k)

The story of what happens when Harry finds a stranger sleeping inside the car his late grandfather left him.

“Louis?” Harry queries softly, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “Why are you living in my car?”

Louis sighs, and this time it’s laced with a mixture of sadness and exhaustion, the sound of it tugging at Harry’s heartstrings. “Long story,” he says finally with a weak smile.  

“Will you tell me?” Harry prods gently, his demeanor akin to that of someone approaching a wild animal with their arms outstretched in a gesture of submission. “You don’t have to, like—I mean…it’s just, I’m a pretty good listener, and you seem like maybe you could use a friend?”

“What gave me away?” Louis jokes dryly.

*Or the one where Harry has a broken heart, Louis has a broken home, and all it takes is one night together for them to fall in love.

You got that something, I got me an appetite (5.9k)

After years of being forced to hide their relationship, Harry and Louis decide to come out with a bang.

Shape of You (11k)

“Seriously?” Surely, Harry must be joking. Louis arches a skeptical brow and snaps the waistband of Harry’s joggers playfully. “What exactly do you have down there, Styles? I know you’ve got four nipples, d’ya have a couple extra bollocks as well or summat?”

“No!” Harry shrieks, his voice bordering on shrill. “No,” He repeats a little quieter, calmer, “I just—I’m, er, kinda…big, I guess.”

Louis rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. “That’s hardly a problem, curly.”

*Or Harry is insecure about a certain rather large part of his anatomy that is apparently intimidating to the point where it has actually scared off potential shags. When he ends up confessing this to his best friend and roommate, Louis takes it upon himself to prove that Harry’s size doesn't have to be a curse, and decides to help show him just how perfect he is.

Please Be Naked (17k)

Louis starts squirming, desperately needing something to do with his hands. Needing to do anything, really, to distract him from the perfect male specimen standing naked in front of him. In the end, the only thing he can do is strip out of his own jeans and briefs, which he does with trembling, clumsy fingers, his heart beating out a violent, chaotic rhythm in his chest the entire time.

He hears Harry’s sharp intake of breath, and slowly raises his eyes from where he was staring at his own bare feet to meet his gaze.

“So,” Harry says bashfully, his voice gone even deeper somehow. “We’re naked.”

“Yup,” Louis squeaks.

“You okay?”

No!

“Yup,” Louis repeats, sounding just as unstable as he did the first time.

This is the last favor Louis Tomlinson is ever doing for Zayn Malik. (Because, after today, he’ll be dead, but that’s neither here nor there.)

*Or the one where Louis agrees to help out Zayn with one of his art projects and ends up getting much more than he bargained for.

Hey I Heard You Were A Wild One (If I Took You Home It’d Be A Homerun) (12k)

"Are you out?” Louis huffs a long suffering sigh as he studies Harry from the other side of the bar, the neon from the beer signs making his eyes glow an unnatural shade of blue, and causing Harry to question - not for the first time tonight - if he is real or just some fever dream-esque fantasy conjured up by Harry’s alcohol addled brain.

“You’re fucking kidding me right?” Harry laughs incredulously.

Louis is resolute in his posture as he continues to observe Harry, the slight arch of a brow his only acknowledgement of Harry’s question. That’s fine, Harry decides, it was mostly rhetorical anyway.

“A gay cowboy who rides for a living, can you imagine all the Brokeback Mountain jokes I’d have to endure on a daily basis? I don’t really fancy being compared to Jake Gyllenhaal.”

A hint of a smirk tugs at the corners of Louis’ pursed lips. “Now you’re the one who must be joking, because you are so clearly Heath Ledger in that scenario.”

*Or Harry came to the bar to forget. Louis gives him a night to remember.

Your Love Is My Turning Page When Only The Sweetest Words Remain (8.4k)

“Crying already, Styles?” Louis chides him teasingly, unable to contain the smile that’s breaking across his face.

“So what if I am? What are you going to do about it?” Harry sniffs indignantly.

Louis makes a show of pretending to consider this, steepling his fingers in front of his chest and giving Harry a contemplative once-over.

“Marry you.” He decides, smirking at Harry.

“Guess you won’t be able to call me Styles much longer then.” Harry counters, biting down on his own barely-contained grin.

“Guess not.” Louis agrees happily.

Say You Won’t Let Go (5.7k)

Harry hates flying. Louis is the kind stranger who helps him when he gets sick in the airport restroom. The rest, as they say, is history.

Back To You (5.8k)

"Hello?" His voice came out all high and breathy like an anxious school girl, and he cringed internally at how wrecked he sounded already.

"Lou?"

Harry's voice was the same as ever, deeper than the sea and somehow both gravelly and smooth as silk. Harry was full of infuriating little contradictions like that. It drove Louis crazy. He had spent a good portion of his life questioning if Harry Styles was actually even human; on paper he just didn't make sense. He was an enigma, an anomaly, the exception to every rule.

*After dropping his new single, "Back To You" Louis gets a text from Harry inquiring about the true inspiration for the song.

[thevoilinauttheory]

The Great Eight

[ In lieu of the Rising event ending tomorrow - and myself, just now finishing it - I had some words I wanted to get out.

I get this type of nostalgia - it hurts, it physically hurts my chest; I feel sick to my stomach, and I just want to cry. I’ve asked others if they ever feel this way, but I’ve never gotten a yes to it.

The Rising always gives me this feeling. It’s be eight years since I first picked up XIV. Eight whole years. That’s a slap to the face, it’s been so long and it feels so short. I wish I could give people the same experiences and feeling I had for this game - the pain and happiness this nostalgia brings me. When I say this game means so much to me, it’s not an exaggeration. This game changed my life - I wish to share it a little bit with you. I touched on some of it in the past, but here I’m laying it all out. ]

[ I first started playing in 2013, when a friend recommended the game to me shortly after the game’s rerelease. They were ecstatic to have another player join them, and I owe them a lot for the experiences they gave me. My very first character was Raramlah Ramlah - she was a paladin, because that’s what I mained in WoW. I realized shortly that a tank probably wasn’t the best way to go, but also that my computer at the time couldn’t handle playing it, due to the graphics.

I gave it another shot in 2014, that’s when I made Danny Harold. He was the first character I ever got to level 50. I absolutely loved the game, when I wasn’t sitting idly for my friends to come online as I had with Raramlah; when I picked it up of my own accord. I remember I was in the hospital when I first picked it back up, when I first made him and leveled him through Gridania. But I was still going intermittedly between it and WoW. I missed the first Rising due to ignorance.

2015 comes around, and I’m in a stressful place. I just started a new job, and I’m finally able to live on my own with little issues from my disabilites. However, my apartment complex didn’t have internet, and so I’d take my laptop to Starbucks and sit there until they closed playing WoW instead. I wanted to spend what little time I had on the internet with the friends I already had grown close to.  Year 2 went on without me. But it still wasn’t all bad. Near the end of 2015, Maximiloix Voilinaut was created - and when I started up my XIV tumblr account under “ishgardianscholar”. See, I had made it to Heavensward on Danny when I found out that someone I had met through a friend was starting up a new character for the purpose of RP. I thought to myself “I want an Ishgardian character” - and rolled a new one. It was a new adventure, a clean slate, with a couple of friends I knew from WoW to join me.

Here comes 2016... and WoW had let me down. My disabilites came back full force, and I was left bed bound and reliant on partial disability from my workplace while waiting for SSDI to start kicking into effect. My roommates did little to help take care of the house we were renting, lied to me about their incomes, and forced me to use what little money I was getting to pay for everything myself. I’m short a total of 2000$ because of it. But. But. That was the best year of my fucking life. It ruined me, that year ruined my life, but it was the happiest I had ever been. Lothaire Voilinaut was first conceived and Maximiloix became my pride and joy as a character, I found the class I wanted to keep playing - I made friends, so many of them! So, so many of them! And I loved them, and I still do! I miss them terribly. If I could relive one year of my life... it would be that year. What I would give just to feel that way again - because I had never felt it since. I didn’t realize until Year 3′s Rising came around, how nostalgic just the few short times and experiences were to me. Because I was met with two things... the first song that truly captured me in Final Fantasy games (Prelude), and the first song I ever heard in the game itself (A New Hope). I cried there. Music has always hit me so hard, and I never realized just how much this game meant to me until then. This was how I knew I would stay - that XIV had my heart for good.

2017, during the release of Stormblood, I went homeless. I had wanted so badly to see my first expansion release - and only witnessed second hand “Raubahn EX”. My friends moved on without me, and I was left alone again to start playing. But I told myself already. XIV had my heart, there was no reason to go back to WoW. So I didn’t. I didn’t, and I don’t regret it. This is when I truly started playing Lothaire fully - and when I met my spouse, he became my main. I made it to Year 4, and cried just as much.

2018 - with the loss of friends, did I find new ones. It wasn’t the best time of my life, but I wouldn’t trade the memories for a thing. Year 5 came and went faster than I could blink, but that was it. I heard the music, I remembered my first Rising, I remembered all the times I had before. And I cried.

2019 started off rough. I moved across the country and had a hard time finding a place to live. I got it down, started a new job... and made it to the release of Shadowbringers. I had grown so much since I first started - and the expansion release was everything I wanted it to be, regardless of the issues that came with it (though I’ve been told that it was a far smoother release than the others). I was so excited... and I was not let down. XIV upheld its standards and presented to me a game worthy of pushing onto my friends no matter how annoyed they got with me about it (looking at you @rose-color-boy). Everything about it was a pure masterpiece, people think I’m exaggerating. But this game had done so much for me, that finally, now, I got to witness something I always wanted to. Sure, I didn’t have many friends to start the expansion with... but the story captivated me immediately. Year 6... and I cried.

2020. There wasn’t much to say about it, I was stuck inside all year and I hit a bad patch during the end of it, but... Year 7. It hit me like a truck. It gave me goosebumps, it gave me laughs, and ultimately, it gave me tears. I actually sobbed, this time. Remembering everything I gone through hurt me so badly, the nostalgia was coming in hard. But I knew, in the end, this game would always be here for me. This game had wormed its way into my heart accidentally, and yet I feel like I couldn’t live without it.

This year. Perhaps it didn’t hit me as hard - I still cried. This game means so much to me. So, so much. It hurts, it really and physically hurts how much it means to me. This game made everything in my stressful life so much easier, littered the pain with good memories. I can recall bad places I was in, and associate it with something good that happened to me in the game. 2020 - I got knee surgery... but 5.3 had just released and holy shit. My spouse got a little annoyed at me that the only thing I was listening to was the theme of that last battle (To the Edge). It helped me get through it, the pain and the misery I felt from not being able to walk. 2019 - Work was driving my depression in deep, and I didn’t want to live and continue the pain I was feeling... but I got to the end of 5.0 and only wanted more. I wanted to know what happened next. I still remember that one cutscene, how they got me attached to a minor character so quickly and ripped her away just as fast; and the first dungeon? Experiencing the Trust System, and going through this intense battle on a grand scale with the help of the friends they kept on the sidelines for so long. 2018 - My life was monotonous and I had three other people living with me in my one-bedroom apartment. One of my roommate’s ex’s was now stalking him around my apartment, and work was becoming physically taxing on my legs. But I remember how much fun I had doing maps - and the release of the Tsukuyomi fight? That whole scene there? Oh, wow, it was so bittersweet. The fight was beautiful, the music was haunting, everything about it. Not to mention the ending solo-instances and Ghymlit? The Burn? Omega? The Four Lords? As much as I disliked them (due to my computer issues), even Rabanastre was memorable. 2017 - I was homeless, forced to work a job my body couldn’t handle. I met my spouse, though. I became heavily invested with my tumblr account, doing a full re-write of it all. While I wasn’t much of a fan of the expansion itself, there were some places that really opened my eyes. Azim Steppes? So beautiful - and gotta hand Y’shtola the award for sickest burn. Then I heard my favorite piece of music, and the most nostalgic for me when it comes to SB, Skalla’s theme (Far From Home). 

Lastly, I know this has been long. But I thank everyone around me for being so supportive and kind - I may not be in a good place, but know that every good thing that happens will be associated to this moment. I’ll look back on Year 8 and go “my security was compromised, and my anxiety ran high, but there were these people here who supported me on tumblr, that kept my blog running strong”. I will remember my roleplays, I will remember the music and scenery - even now, I’m getting nostalgic about Shadowbringers, and Endwalker hasn’t even come out yet! So thank you. Here’s to year number 8 - 8 whole years of XIV being in my life. It may not have been that long for many of you, some of you, this might be your first year; hell! Some of you, it’s been longer! But know that this community has helped me so much, and I can’t wait to continue being a part of it. Here’s to the eventual tears Year 9 will bring me! ]

[tintentrinkerin]

Cathartic Arrest

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Characters: Michael (Supernatural), Minor Characters

Additional Tags: Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Post-Lucifer’s Cage Sam Winchester, Dubious Consent, Caning, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), It’s all about inflicting and receiving punishment, Jealousy

Summary: ”Sam needs to cope with memories of Lucifer’s abuse. Dean is still trying to cope with this time as torture Master in Hell.

And he’s JEALOUS.”

Word Count 1,793

READ HERE OR ON AO3

Sam was still shaking when he got back to the bunker. He had taken his time before he came back home, but still. This time, it had all been different. She had to help him back into his pants, his shirt, even tuck his shirt in, help him ground himself; when he still didn’t come down from what just happened, she made him sit in her “calm room” as she called it. 

She gave him food, good food. Fruits. Pineapple, strawberries, vanilla infused yoghurt. Juices of passion fruit and apples, bread with butter and some lean chicken tenders. He could choose whatever music he wanted, but all he ever would choose was hard rock – the music of his childhood, part of his youth and part of Dean. The music in his ears, usually is of a different, much more intense nature. He’d tried pop. One Direction. Too happy. He’d tried Nu Metal. He was too old to bounce back into his emo stage, also known as his years at Stanford. He had tried all kinds of metal. Trash, Death, Melodic, Symphonic. Nightwish. Later Aesthetic Perfection. All good music, quality wise. But nothing was ever louder than the noises in his head. The crying of baby Sam Winchester, inner-child Sam Winchester. Traumatized and angry and helpless. 

Only the noise of a cane meeting his skin, his ass, his legs, even his feet, his own painful cries, the muffled grunts, the thank you’s and the yes'es, the reenactment of his shame, would silence the child. It’d been rough today. The wax on his chest left pink swollen spots, the cane beat him bloody this time.

“I can stop, aye?” she said. 

“No, Mistress. Don’t. I want it to bleed.”

She’s not his Domme and he’s not her slave. He isn’t that twisted in his mind to reenact the power exchange, his own powerlessness. Michael watching. Michael. That god forsaken coward.

Sam was still shaking when he started Baby’s engine, slowly rolling away from the place he visits when pressing on his scar stops working. And it’s been working less and less and less. Until nothing else will help but being beaten up by someone to finally overcome the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being weak and useless. Sam Winchester might be broken, but he still can take a beating without crying.

Dean hates liars. Which is kind of, let’s say  hypocritical, given his nature, his past. He lied to Sam about hell, he lied about the deal, he constantly lies to the only person who will probably never leave him. Because even if Sam does leave, he always comes back. He won’t even die for good. Dean doesn’t, Sam doesn’t. They’re here, two moons in this earth’s gravitational pull, doomed to circle each other; the forces of nature keeping them in place but always keeping them apart. 

It's one of those days when Sam says he’s about to go jogging, but since when does he have to drive fifty miles to some secluded forest area to jog when they're in the literal middle of nowhere? Dean has seen Sam in the showers. They have their privacy here, both want that or pretend to, but the showers are group showers, long lines of shower heads like in school gyms. They usually lock the doors, so why, this one time, does Sam not lock himself up like he used to? Dean knows about the nightmares, the triggers, the sudden flashbacks and the pressing of Sam’s thumb against the palm of his cut hand. He noticed cuts, deep cuts around Sam’s wrists, that never heal because he keeps on scratching off the scab. The bleeding never stops. 

Dean decides that today, enough is enough. He knows this trauma, he was in Hell too. He tortured innocent people, he tortured Bela fucking Talbot. A woman he really respected in the end, though he sugar coated it with cunt-y behaviour. He’s seen so many faces twisted in pain and agony – and all they do in the end? – cry for mama. They cry for their fucking mother, and Sam? Dean wonders who he cried for in the Cage?

Sam is packed up in his “jogging outfit” and he’s about to leave, when Dean gets up from his armchair in the library.

“Where ya goin’, Sammy?”

He jumps.

“Jesus, don’t scare me, man. Really? I’m going jogging.”

“There’s a whole ass forest in front of the batcave, Sam. Why not go there?”

Sam looks down and Dean knows, he’s angry. He’s angry because Dean caught him in his damn lie and there’s no good way out of it.

“I have a jogging buddy over there,” Sam clears his throat, his whole body is tense. Ready to run. Wherever.

“Ah, jogging buddy, I see. Lemme guess, their name is Mistress Lana and he looks bomb in tracksuits.”

Sam is about to erupt and he grows, his posture straightens and he yells. “This is private Dean, you have no, absolutely NO right to spy after me like a--”

“Like a what?”

“Like a fucking jealous wife who caught me in an affair?”

Dean falls silent, but his body, pure, condensed power, anger, fear, slams his arm against Sam’s throat and presses him to the wall. 

“It is exactly like that. You drive an hour to see a dominatrix, to what? You become a subby bootlicker all of a sudden? You like that?”

Sam’s nostrils flare and damn, now Dean is on freakin’ thin ice. He is so goddamn jealous of this woman giving Sam something that Dean would give him freely. And happily. He would give him the relief he needs. 

“Don’t talk like that!” Sam hisses, trying to wind himself out of Dean’s grip but he’s still sore from the last time Lana tied him up like a Christmas present and hung him on the wall like a pig-half at the butcher’s. Sam loved the marks of the rough rope, loved the feeling of just hanging there, floating, the ground beneath him so far away, the rock bottom so far…“You have no idea how I feel!”

Dean’s head tilts to the side. “I tortured people in Hell, Sam. I know how to make you feel the worst pain of your life – but I can also give you the greatest relief. I can show you mercy, because that’s what you really want. Isn’t it?”

Sam finally breaks free and attacks Dean, one hit after another, breaks Dean’s nose, gives him a black eye, and it only stops when Dean lands a blow right over Sam’s kidney – he staggers back. 

“I deserve the pain,” Sam wheezes. “I don’t rely on anyone’s mercy.”

Dean drags him up and brings Sam, who is suddenly so pliant, to his room. What no one has ever known about is the secret door. Dean’s not a witch, Sam would be a great one, but Dean managed to hide a tiny little torture chamber behind his room. Sam fights,  he insults Dean. Dean knows, yes he knows, it’s Sam’s way of provoking him and, kind of, making Dean stop. 

Sam knows that, when he came back from Hell, Dean fucked around even more than before he’d died –but no one ever saw him with the girls, the submissive ones, the broken little dolls he found. This is Deam’s coping. Reenacting Hell.

Sam clings on to Dean when he’s tied to the bench, naked. Sam is still black and blue, some of his bruises had turned green-yellowish already but no one should hurt him there again. These bruises would take ages to heal, if they’re lucky, without a doctor needed. Sam isn’t fighting anymore, he’s crying.

“Please Dean, take it off of me. Please… I can’t… Take it OFF!”

“I can’t”, Dean says, gently, brushing away Sam’s tears.“Does she fuck you?”

A gasp. “What? Why--?”

“Simple question, Sammy. Does. She. Fuck you?”

Sam nods, hiding his face in his hair and pressing his forehead against the padding.

“I can’t spank you in this condition. You have to heal. Why would you go to that woman when you’re still so roughed up?”

“Why do you care?”Sam’s voice is so thin. Little, scared Sammy, and there was no one in the Cage to save him from what happened. 

“Sammy.” Is all Dean says.

“My Sammy.”

Dean is not like that. He loves Sammy, and he would do a lot, but he won’t do That.

Dean’s favorite is his cane. Rattan. Unpeeled. Sam endures several hard blows, in a staccato, a rhythm other people would faint from. But Sammy is strong, and he wants to be broken.

HE

WANTS

TO 

BE

BROKEN

And Dean is giving him that. He can think of the girls and boys in Hell while doing it, like he’s not the one inflicting this pain on Sam, but it feels so damn good. Purging. Sam’s cries and whimpers, his yells and finally, finally, when Dean is about to lose control and maul Sam alive – there’s the one Sammy would cry for.

“Dean.”

A gasp. The blows stop. Blood dripping down Sam’s legs. 

“Dean.”

Again.

“Sammy..”

So gentle. So tender. So silent. 

“Dean, I want to go home….” and that is truly when Sam is broken, the last bastion of his mind, his pride, his goddamn pride is stripped from him. He babbles, he cries, snot and tears and gulps, he even chokes on his cries. “I want to be home with Dean, please hold me, Dean, take me home, Dean…”

Dean dissolves. His own trauma resolves for a minute. He knows, it will never fully go away, he will never heal. But.

“Sammy. I’m here, Sammy. Come here. I’ll take you home, my baby brother. I’m here.”

“Dean, I love you”, Sam chokes out. It could be anything. It could be nothing.

“Sammy, I love you more.”

Dean leans onto Sam’s heaving, still tied up body, sweat and blood, tears, the sobs. When Dean releases Sam from the restraints and carries him to a sofa, he huddles up in Dean's lap. Like a newborn. Overwhelmed with the world outside, sobbing and crying for Dean. Dean is here, holding him tight. Offering him water and more blankets.

Lucifer has never been closer, but Dean has blown him away from Sam. He made Sam just forget for a while. It’s so fucked up, but he can live with fucked up. As long as it’s with Sam and Sam never, fucking never, goes to a whore again when he can have everything from Dean.

Dean will do anything for Sam. 

“Dean…”

“I’m here. You’re home.”

»And I will never let you go.«

@laxe-chester67 @deanking @vulgar-library @writethelifeyouwant @itsabookishblog @schaefchenherde @sacrificialtendencies @cloudesworld @all-4-wincest @ohnoitsthebat @rpsocsandcanonohmy @stemroses @nightmarecait @lostmykiliel @alexa-alcantara @wincestismyheart @closetedshippers @dragonardhill @alex-is-a-gay-human

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[closedafterdark]

Damp

Jessica Jung x Male Reader

2238 words

categories: smut, swallowing

Note: a super quick oneshot because Jessica is hot

You surprised your girlfriend Jessica one day at her and your company, SM Entertainment. She was preparing for a comeback with her group members. Most of the security and staff at SM knew you since you were a record producer, only a select few actually knew you as Jessica’s significant other. You smiled at the various people who walked by, even high fiving others you have grown to be close with.

“Hey, you” a woman behind you said. You turned around and saw her. Bae Joohyun. A close noona of yours who was preparing to debut soon.

“Hi noona” you said. “Do you know where this practice room is?” you handed Joohyun a piece of paper with instructions.

“Of course. I just came from there” she said.

“Hi brother!” you were swept into a bear hug as your bones were being crushed. Only one person was capable of being affectionate while slowly killing you.

Kang Seulgi.

“Sister, I’m dying” you moaned out. Seulgi blushes and lets go as color returns to your face.

“How’s the debut preparations going?” you asked them.

“Good! We should be debuting soon” Seulgi said as she hugged you.

“They’ve narrowed it down to four of us” Joohyun replied. “They’re thinking of possibly adding another person in the future”

You and Seulgi listened attentively as she explained how the group was supposed to debut the previous year but it was pushed back. You looked at your watch.

“Oh shoot, I gotta go. It really was nice catching up with you two” you said as you removed Seulgi’s embrace. She pouted, pretending to be hurt.

“Don’t give me that face, sister” you said.

“But I miss you! You’re always too busy for us” she whined.

“Drop by my studio sometime. I’ll have a song ready for you guys” you said as you began to leave.

“Wait!”

You turn around and Joohyun holds onto your shoulder and lowers it, tiptoeing so that she can kiss you on the cheek.

“Come by the practice room sometime too. The other girls want to meet you” she said softly as she takes Seulgi and drags her away. Seulgi was stunned, waving goodbye at you frantically until she followed along.

You reached the room that was written down on the piece of paper. Sighing deeply, you knock on the door. The music playing inside pauses as someone opens the door.

“Oh, hey you! We were just finished with practice.” Hwang Miyoung greets you with an equally bright normal and eye smile as she pulls you in for a hug. The other members stand up and see what all the commotion is about.

You let go of Miyoung as the other members push her aside and give you a hug as well. All, except one.

After greeting the last of the members, she looks back at you in shock. She runs towards you and knocks the wind out of you. Her legs wrap around your waist as she begins sobbing.

“I miss you so much!” she cried as your clothes began to be stained with her tears.

“I miss you too, princess” you said as you stroke the back of her head gently.

A few of the members pretend to vomit while one of them hits them on their upper arms hard.

“We’ll leave you guys alone” one of the taller members said to you as she placed a hand on her shoulder. Eventually, all of them left the room only leaving you and her.

“Stop crying, Sooyeon. You look ugly” you said with a laugh.

She hit your chest as you both stared in front of the mirror.

“You’re adorable” you said to her as you kissed her cheek.

Jessica chose to wear a simple outfit today: black yoga pants, a pink sports bra, comfortable nikes and a balenciaga cap. A faint layer of sweat glistened from the lights above.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, babe” she said to you as she leaned into your embrace. “Our comeback is really soon”

“You know I always understand. I am the one who produced this track, remember?”

You fixed Jessica’s hair as she turned around and kissed you softly on the lips.

She gets up soon afterwards and goes to the door, locking it. Once she turns around, her expression changed.

“It’s a good thing they left” she said.

“What do you mean?”

She doesn’t reply as she pushes you softly onto the mirror. She captured your lips, kissing you fiercely as her hands began to unbutton your shirt.

“Why don’t we stay…” she said naughtily as she bit her lips and kneeled down, beginning to unbuckle your belt.

“We might get caught” you said nervously.

She removed your pants and boxers as she looked up at you. “That’s what makes this so exciting...”

Blood rushed through your body as you looked on with excitement at the sight of Jessica removing your pants. The room was completely empty, nothing would be able to cover you both if someone had keys to the room. She didn’t care though, as she seduced you with an innocent expression that was anything but.

“You seem turned on by this, babe” she said as she began nuzzling her cheek against your rock hard cock. Her nose brushed against your base  as she kissed your underside.

“This is so bad” you moaned.

“And yet your cock is so hard. You know how much I love sucking it” she said softly as her tongue slid from your balls all the way up to your tip.

“Oh shit… that feels good...” you exhaled.

She teased your tip, gently drawing circles with her tongue as she stroked your shaft and ran her puckered lips up and down its length. She began licking up as much precum leaking out of you as she could.

“It’s always so yummy…” she said as she took your balls into her mouth. “These feel so, so full”

Jessica covered your entire cock in her saliva, establishing it was no longer yours, but hers. “Do you want me to suck your cock now, babe?” she said seductively.

“P-please. Please suck my dick” you groaned.

“Be a good boy and don’t make too much noise okay? We don’t want others hearing and coming inside” She said as she parts her soft, wet lips with your cock.

“Holy shit…” you cried as she began sucking you.

“That’s not being quiet, baby” she said as her tongue swirled around your head.

Jessica began sucking your dick harder, wrapping her lips fully as she took you down all the way to the base. Your body began to give out as you were hopelessly under her spell.

You looked up at the ceiling, fearing you would cum if you saw her.

“Is there something on the ceiling prettier than I am, baby?” she asked you as your cock was being stroked roughly. You gather the willpower to look down and see Jessica smack her face, her spit coating it each time she did so.

“You’re prettier. You’re the prettiest girl in the world” you moaned.

“I am, aren’t I? Now be a good boy and keep watching me suck your dick” she said as she slapped herself a few more times while stroking you.

She enjoyed hearing you moan and gasp from breath because of her as she roughly sucks on your balls, giving them more attention.

“Babe. Can you facefuck me, please?” her sweet tone betraying the lewd words it released.

You were aroused at this point. Seeing your girlfriend on her knees, dick in her mouth. Her being sweaty from an intense dance practice session with her members. It was all too much for you. You held onto her hair and made a makeshift ponytail, bobbing her head up and down roughly as your cock reached the back of her throat. Jessica no longer had any signs of a gag reflex from how many times she took you in her mouth.

She held onto your thighs harder as she took an intense pounding. The sounds of saliva collecting in her mouth and slowly dripping onto your thighs and balls were music to your ears as you roughly dirtied Jessica Jung. After pushing her all the way down to your base a few times, she tapped on your thighs and pushed herself off.

She began to breathe through her nose, not wanting your cock to escape. She gargled on it as you fucked her mouth more, watching as Jessica placed a hand inside her yoga pants and began to rub herself. A small pool was beginning to form on her crotch. Every time Jessica tried pulling away from you, you ignored; pushing her deeper. If she wanted to get her mouth fucked, you were going to give it to her.

You finally let her breathe several minutes later. Jessica was coughing as you grabbed her and began sucking on her neck. The air condition in the room was useless from how sweaty you both were becoming. Her body was warm to the touch. You grabbed her ass through her yoga pants. They felt so soft as you slapped her ass harshly. Her ass rippled because of this, letting out a scream from her and echoing throughout the room.

“Babe, I’m so dirty” she whined.

“I don’t care” you said, pushing her face down against the mirror and pulling her pants down. You blew warm air on her pussy as her body began to tingle. You held onto Jessica’s arms as you dived in, burying your face in her pussy. You tasted all of her juices, she was a leaking mess. You kissed and licked every inch of surface you could reach. Her natural smell turned you on even more.

“You’re pushing me into you, babe. That doesn’t sound like someone who claims that they’re dirty”

“I’m so gross” she cried. “But your tongue is just so good”

As you ate Jessica out, she cried out in ecstasy. She stopped grabbing onto the yoga mat for support and instead grabbed your hair and pushed you deeper. Her mouth opened in pleasure as she saw you through the reflection. With one final lick, you removed your head and got behind her, slapping her clit several times with your tip. You both moaned in pleasure as the initial penetration sinks your cock inside her.

Jessica made eye contact with you through the mirror as you both watched her get fucked. You held onto her arms from behind as you began thrusting into her faster and faster.

“I love getting fucked!” she yelled. “Even more so when I watch you fuck me”

You began pumping into her harder, her soaked pussy making it extremely easy for you to slide in and out.

“Oh my god…” she screamed loudly. “Harder! Fuck me harder!”

You released her arms, moving your hands onto her hips as you held them tightly. You watched as Jessica’s sex face was a sight to behold. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as her open mouth began to moan incoherent words.

Her screams echoed throughout the entire dance room. You were sure people could hear from the floors above and below.

“You’re too fucking loud!” you said as you smacked her ass, roughly fucking her as the sounds of skin slapping against skin continued to fill the room. All of your senses were heightened, the thought of ruining a place used by almost everyone in the company turned both of you on even more.

“I’m coming” you moaned, nearing your limit.

“Ahhh”

“Babe. I’m coming” you said again.

“In my mouth” was all she managed to weakly say as you continued fucking her.

Your heart began to thump faster as Jessica screamed loudly from your sudden forcefulness. Thrusting into her several more times, you manage to pull out just in time as she gets on her knees and sucks your cock once more.

“Babe-”

Your orgasm rushes down at once, from your head to your toes as they curl from the intense sensation. You push Jessica’s head down all the way to your base as you cum into her mouth in long, steady pulses.

“Holy fuck…” you quietly said, your legs beginning to feel weak.

Jessica swallowed your entire load. She had put you on a diet which she said would make you cum more and taste sweeter. You weren’t sure about the taste part, but it definitely did make you cum more. As your orgasm winded down and Jessica’s head was no longer being pushed in, she released your cock as saliva began to drip onto the floor. She looked up at you and stuck out her tongue, showing you there were no traces leftover. She smiled sweetly as she gave your tip one final smooch.

“How hot was that?” she said as you both began to gather your clothes. “Sucking my boyfriend’s cock after dance practice”

“That was so intense” you said. “I never had an orgasm that felt that good”

“There’s more of that where that came from, mister mister” she said as her finger poked your chest. You slapped her ass loudly before pulling her into your embrace.

“Hey babe”

“Yeah?”

“You’re always talking about someone watching us right?”

“What about it?”

“Why don’t we let someone watch… and then join us?” you asked.

“Are you sure?”

“I know someone… I think you’ll like her”

[kitwalker02]

New Girl

(Pre- death) Tate Langdon x Reader

“Hey, new girl. What’s got you looking so down?” You flinched in surprise as the dirty blonde boy slid into the vacant seat beside you, looking at you expectantly. You shook your head slightly to clear your thoughts, collecting yourself just enough to give Tate a forced smile. “It’s just been a long day.” You sighed, explaining yourself sadly. Tate pouted apologetically, briefly glancing up at the clock that sat in front of the classroom “Well, I hate to be the one to tell you, but it won’t be over for awhile.”

Letting out a low groan, you buried your face in your hands, fighting against the rapidly rising urge to cry. “And to make things worse, I have a test next period that I didn’t study for!” You exclaimed, voice cracking as you all but sobbed. Almost reflexively, Tate placed a comforting hand on your shoulder at your distressed tone. “(Y/N), it’s just one test. I can't even tell you how many I've bombed, just study next time-” But his words did little to soothe you as a light sob racked your form causing Tate to run his hand across the backs of your shoulders.

“You know, (Y/N)-” Tate began, dropping his hand and leaning in closer “if you’re cool with it, we could just kind of take off after this period.” Lowering your hands, you met Tate’s mischievous gaze. “ I’ve never skipped before.” You whispered harshly, the idea seemed exciting, but you couldn’t help the anxious rush you felt with it. Smirking, the boy moved to murmur in your ear “Come on, there’s a first time for everything. You can’t graduate without skipping at least once.” When you still didn’t look convinced, Tate lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve got pot.” You gave him a long look considering your options. Sighing loudly, you leaned back in your seat, never breaking eye contact with him. “Fine.” You said finally, smiling at the way his face lit up “I’m down.” “Great!” Tate grinned, elbowing your side playfully. “Just follow my lead.” 

It wasn’t long before the bell rang signaling the end of the period and you were walking hand in hand with Tate through the bustling hallways. Once you made it outside of the school, you gripped his hand tighter, your heart pumping with adrenaline. Tate turned just enough so you could see the soft smile on his lips “Just stay calm. We’re almost there.” He warned, guiding you to an old, run down car. “See? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Tate teased, unlocking the doors and sliding in the front seat. You released a breathe you didn’t know you were holding before hopping into the passenger seat. “No, I guess it wasn’t.” You agreed, smiling warmly “But didn’t you say something about pot?” Tate scoffed at your eagerness, returning your smile.

You and Tate were halfway through your first joint, deciding to pass it between one another so you didn't use up all his stuff. At least that’s what Tate had told you, but you weren’t stupid, the sexual tension that resided in the car was nearly suffocating, but you were happy with the foggy haze that began to take over your senses as you faintly bounced your head along to the low music that played on the radio. You had to hold back a groan when Tate spoke up, breaking the comfortable aura. “(Y/N), since I’m sharing my drugs with you and all, do you think you could at least tell me what’s been bothering you?” You shot him a disbelieving look and you swear you saw a nervous glint in his dark eyes as you took the joint from his hand. Taking a long drag, you took a moment to put your thoughts together, trying to remember what had you upset in the first place. “I-It’s nothing really bad-” You warned, suddenly feeling pretty stupid but Tate continued to stare at you intently letting you know that whatever it was, it was important to him. “It’s just...starting senior year at a new school probably wasn’t the best idea.” Tate gave you a sympathetic smile, reaching forward to place a reassuring hand on your knee. He didn’t say anything though, but he also didn’t complain when you finished off the joint, instead just rubbing tiny circles into the side of your bare knee with his thumb. 

“If it helps at all,” He started, once again breaking the silence “I’m glad you came here.”  His sweet words sent another wave of emotion through you and, with another threat of tears, you desperately grabbed onto the hand that had slid up to now hold your thigh. Turning to gaze into his dark eyes, you bit down on your lower lip. “It’s just all so new.” You explained softly. “I know it is. I know.” Tate cooed, cupping your cheek gently when you tried to look away from him, he pressed his fingertips delicately into your skin, urging you to keep your eyes locked on his. “But it’s gonna be okay and you know that, right?” You swallowed thickly and nodded, unable to stop your eyes from drifting down to his lips.

“Hey, Tate?” You asked nervously, eyes snapping back up to his. “Yeah, (Y/N)?” You sucked in a sharp breathe of air, searching his eyes for anything besides reassurance but he seemed completely clueless to what you were really thinking about. “I really want to kiss you right now.” You blurted out, not giving yourself another second to reconsider. Tate froze for a moment before he started to laugh, leaning back in his seat and releasing your jaw, he left you feeling embarrassed and rejected. You started to think he was actually going to turn you down until he suddenly met your eye again. “Then do it.” He told you firmly. Your eyes widened, not use to being the one to initiate things. “W-what? Can’t you?” He shook his head slowly, an amused expression plastered across his face. “Nope. That’s all on you.” You licked your lips, glancing up to give him a determined look. “Fine.” You mumbled, reaching forward to twist your fist into the front of his shirt, you were quick to wipe the smug look off his face as you tugged him forward without another thought and smashed your lips together into a clumsy, painful kiss. “S-shit..” Tate swore when you pulled back, shocked at your own actions. “I’m sorry-” “That was so hot.” He said, interrupting you with his seductive tone. You barley got a chance to smile as Tate forcefully grabbed the back of your neck and reconnected your lips. You winced as your teeth clashed but still smiled against his mouth, one hand coming up to gently caress Tate’s face for a second before you roughly tangled your fingers into his messy blonde locks, tugging his face closer to yours.

You shifted in your seat, trying to raise yourself above Tate and he took that as his cue to grope your thighs, a little more than necessary, to get a solid grip on you to help guide you over the console and onto his lap. You separated for a minute as you had to readjust yourself to straddle him comfortably without putting all your weight on his legs. Tate impatiently repeated your initial action by grabbing onto the front of your dress and yanking you back down, using his other hand to press on your lower back so you fully sat in his lap, not caring about your earlier ministrations. You couldn’t help the surge of happiness that shot through your body, you pushed back on his shoulders to break the kiss once more and gave him a thankful smile as you realized things may just be starting to look up.

[deanlesbian]

here’s a little fic i wrote for @mindblindbard which is the best interactive fiction wip i’ve ever read!! i love the characters so much. this is set when my button (ellery) is 19, so unfortuantely i can’t include any sweet, sweet kenna content, but i had a lot of fun diving into ellery’s trauma lol. (this is like 1500 words oops)

Ellery wakes early on the day of the anniversary. She snaps out of sleep quickly, abruptly, her heart pounding out of her chest, her breath caught fast in her lungs. The dream is gone already, but she can imagine. Her limbs locked, her chest tight, the loud sobs of her mother echoing through the high-ceilinged kitchen.

She pushes herself upright, waiting to see if Nick noticed. If he could feel her spike of emotion from his bedroom.

But there’s no intrusion, no soft whisper in her mind. He’s asleep. Good.

When Nick wakes before her on this day in October, he always makes a big deal out of it. Huge breakfast waiting for her in the kitchen, coffee from her favorite place, telepathic fingers prodding at her psyche. He thinks she doesn’t notice. That worries her. How often is she actually picking up on it? How many times does he sift through her thoughts, self-justified because he’s worried about her, that she doesn’t notice?

Ellery climbs out of bed, her bamboo sheets left in a tangle. Her bare feet protest against the cold hardwood, but she relishes the little pricks of pain. She crosses to the window and pulls back the curtain. There are tiny patches of frost coating the neighbor’s grass.

Fall has been late to Chicago, this year. Nick’s birthday two weeks ago was warm and sunny—they’d actually acquired a boat and puttered around Lake Michigan, the Wiseman siblings and Gray and Sally. Nick had done his best to mask his disappointment at not being able to have his parents join for his birthday. He’d driven up and spent the night in Milwaukee, leaving Sally and Ellery free to get wine drunk and have a dance party in the brownstone’s kitchen.

Ellery is glad that it’s cold this morning. She prefers running in the cold. She pulls on leggings and a sports bra and runs through a quick sun salutation to get her muscles flowing, to practice control, tension and release, shake out all the paralytic fear of nightmare and memory. Three years ago today, Ellery Wiseman lost her parents.

She pulls on her running shoes and a light long-sleeve and ties her recently cut blonde hair back into a tiny ponytail. She chugs half a bottle of water, puts in her earbuds, starts her metal playlist, straps her phone to her arm, and then she’s out the door.

The air is sharp and bites at her exposed skin as she thuds down the front steps and onto the street. Ellery always feels pulled back into herself when she runs. Her muscles moving fast, responsive, following her every command. Her thoughts clean and clear, music channeling her thoughts, endorphins pushing aside everything but a sense of focus. Any Ments she passes quickly falling behind, away.

Ellery heads east, to the lake. She dodges walkers on the sidewalk and Ments who swivel their heads to watch her speed by, crosses streets abruptly. The music screams in her ears and her breath huffs in and out of her and sweat pricks at her collarbones and her feet slam into the pavement and she feels good.

Nick and Sally tease Ellery for her obsession with running. Nick runs reluctantly, to stay in shape, but as a last resort, preferring gym time and basketball with Gray. Sally despises running. The Aeon prep runs they go on together are a litany of complaints.

But running is everything for Ellery. It’s the only time she feels her anger draining out of her, left behind in ribbons along the lakefront path, blown away by the icy winds off Lake Michigan, beaded up and dripping off her forehead.

She pushes herself harder than usual, faster, taking her regular route south along the lake too fast, using up her stamina too quickly. Her breath drives in and out of her too fast, painful.

No, she thinks as her muscles burn and her body begs for relief. I can’t stop yet, I’m not ready—

The memory pushes itself, jagged and unwelcome, into her mind. Hope’s arms on her arm, fingernails digging in, shouting—

Ellery’s ankle turns, and she falls.

It’s a terrific fall. Her palms skid along the pavement, her knee drags with her momentum, tearing a hole in her leggings.

I need to get up, she thinks dazedly, but she can’t. She can’t because her mom is in her head and her thoughts are all swirled together with someone else’s, and her body is no longer her own.

Her breath is going like she’s still running, but there’s no one on this stretch of path right now and she’s out of Nick’s resting brainrange so she lets it happen. She picks herself up off the sidewalk, wincing at the sting in her scraped palms. She crosses the path and treads down to the soft sand of the 31st street beach. The wind slams against her, unceasing and angry. She unstraps her phone from her arm and puts on her favorite The National song on repeat. She wraps her arms around herself and finally, finally lets herself cry.

It’s so much easier to be angry. To decline phone calls and delete voicemails, to skip lunches with her dad and call him “John” to his face, to leave the room when Nick tries to say something like “it’s been three years, do you think….” Easier to beat her knuckles bloody on a punching bag and refuse to talk to Sally about it. Easier to think, if they didn’t want me then, they don’t get me now.

But today, Ellery just kind of wants her mom.

Yesterday at the mall with Sally they were sniffing perfumes and Ellery had burst into tears when Sally spritzed herself with Chanel no. 5. She hadn’t even remembered that Hope had worn Chanel no. 5 until the scent wafted over and she was taken back. Nights when Hope had actually been able to handle being around Ellery, when her mind was clear. The best nights were frequently right after Hope got back from a trip, refreshed after a week or so without Ellery’s thoughts pricking in the back of her subconscious.

Hope would shoo the boys out for dinner or a basketball game or something and she and Ellery would cook pasta in the cavernous marble kitchen of Ellery’s childhood home and then they would eat and watch a romantic comedy and Hope would paint Ellery’s nails (doing a much better job than Sally ever could) and they’d talk about everything and it would be good.

And then a few days later Ellery would notice her mom was back to flinching whenever she walked into a room and the distance would expand again.

Ellery cries, loud and gulping, tears streaking down her cheeks. She cries for her broken family, and for Nick who gave up everything for her, and for Sally who she knows misses Hope and John but would never say so, and for her parents who she’s hurting more and more everyday she goes without talking to them, even if they deserve it. Even though they abandoned her when she needed them most.

Most days, this grief lives deep inside her, smothered with righteous anger and cold indifference. So deep that Nick can’t even sense it amongst everything else broadcasting from her head.

Loud, she calls herself, and thank god for that.

After a little while Ellery manages to slow her breathing. The cold air in and out, calm, measured. She feels a little bit cleaner inside. She feels okay enough that when she goes back home Nick will sense a low level of melancholy, but that’s to be expected, on this day, so he won’t feel the need to pry. Now she can think about other things.

Her phone rings. She knows it’s Nick so she doesn’t bother checking her phone before tapping her headphones to accept.

"Hey Button,” he says. “Where are you? I’m making breakfast.”

This is a ridiculous question because a) if Nick tried he could use his telemetry to see her and b) he could check her location on his phone.

“I’m at 31st,” she says. “Went on a run.”

“Well, get your butt back here,” he says. “I’m doing an omelet bar and Gray and Salome are going to be here in fifteen.”

The tension in Ellery’s chest loosens a little more. This is why Nick doesn’t know about the grief that hides so far down. Because most of the time, she’s content with the family she has. Her overbearing, well-intentioned brother. Her best friend who takes her as she is and loves her for it anyway. An obnoxiously nice Brit who is fun to treat with her best annoying little sister routine.

Most days, that’s more than enough.

“I’ll head back right now,” Ellery says.

“Swing by Bluebird on your way and get coffee for everyone,” he says. “I checked, none of the Ments on staff are working today, so you’re good.”

“Sure,” she says. “Love you, Tick.”

“See you soon, Button.”

[let-me-write-shit]

Somebody To You: 1

A/N: It’s finally here! The first chapter of my second Harry Styles fic! We’re starting off with a LOOOONG, heavy one. I want to thank you all for patiently waiting. Most of the characters in this story is based off of some of YOU! Zoey, Nancy, Aurora, Andy, and Katie - Thanks for reading and being apart of this story. I’m sorry if I didn’t get your personalities right, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I’ll be posting every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday! Enjoy. 

<3 Shannon

To Read My Previous Story, Click Here

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CHAPTER ONE

Never in a million years did Zoey think she’d move across the country on her own. But here she was, driving down the interstate in her dingy 2010 Toyota Camry, car filled to the brim with her belongings. LA had always been a far fetched idea. Actually, if we were being honest, it was never her idea to begin with. It was Jessica’s. Moving to LA alone was never a part of the plan. Jess should have been here. They should have been blasting music through the stereo, complaining about the shitty A/C in the car, road raging together, and dreaming about all of the things they would do when they arrived.

Instead, Zoey drove in silence, briefly passing through all of the tourist spots and monuments they had always talked about visiting along the way, pulling into walmart parking lots for bathroom breaks or cat naps, alone. The only noise disrupting the silence was the hum of the engine and the occasional whisper under her breath as she spoke, in vain, to her best friend.

Jess was a force. Anyone who had the pleasure of knowing her would say the same thing. She lit up a room. She was the outgoing one. She’d talk to anyone and everyone that passed her, striking up random conversations that only she could come up with. And her laugh was infectious. Zoey always made Jess laugh and it got them in a lot of trouble over the course of their fifteen year friendship. 

Jess always had her platinum blonde hair straight, never putting it up - something Zoey always did out of habit, rarely letting her hair down because she didn’t like how it looked. Jess always had a knack for the dramatics, which is why she wanted to move to LA since she was little. She had dreamed of becoming an actress. Zoey saw her in every high school and college play. And she was good. Really good. Honestly, she had potential to make it. But, to Zoey, all of the long talks of moving to LA was just that: talk. She could never let go of the comfort of being close to family in her small, Pennsylvania town with her best friend and boyfriend. Besides, how could they even afford it?

But all of that changed on June 9th of last year. It was Jess’ 26th birthday and the two girls went out to celebrate with a few friends at the bar they worked at together. Zoey and Jess were the last to leave and had drunk a little more than they intended, so they had Zoey’s boyfriend, Michael, pick them up. Not even 3 minutes into the car journey it happened. A drunk driver ran a red light and had rammed into the rear passenger side door at 50 mph. The car flipped and Zoey hit her head against the window, sending her unconscious. 

She woke up in the hospital the next afternoon with a broken wrist, a few fractured ribs, and a concussion, surrounded by her parents who were crying, her little sister, Katie, who sat timidly in the corner of the room, and Michael who only had a few scrapes and cuts, but was ultimately fine, squeezing her leg that was tucked under the heavy white blanket. When her eyes fluttered open, her mom gasped and both of her parents hovered over her, her dad stroking her cheek. The first thing Zoey managed to croak out was, ‘Where’s Jess?’. Her mom lost it, uncontrollably sobbing. It was her dad that had to break the news to her. Jess didn’t make it.

It’s weird. You’d think hearing the news of your best friend’s death would send you into a fit of rage or hysterics, but that didn’t happen for Zoey. She felt numb. It could have been the shock, but it didn’t feel real. Jess couldn’t have been gone. She was here only hours ago, laughing her infections laugh and smiling her gorgeous smile. And even so, when Jess’ parents came to visit her at the hospital to discuss the funeral, it still hadn’t set in. She wanted to laugh at them to stop being so dramatic. That everything was fine. That Jess was still here, she was just sleeping. She couldn’t just be gone. Not Jess. She was too full of life to just be gone. But the bags under their eyes told a different story. They had lost their only child. How do you recover from that?

Zoey was stuck in the hospital for a little over a week, causing her to miss her best friend's funeral, which didn’t help in her denial. The day she was released, her boyfriend picked her up from the hospital and drove her to Mr. and Mrs. Lewis’ house. The walk up to the front door felt different. Over the past fifteen years, Zoey never knocked on the front food or rang the doorbell, she just walked in. She wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate now. Unsure, she knocked, hesitated, and cracked the door open where she was met by the exhausted couple who gave her a warm hug and led the two towards the back, past the pool where she had so many fond memories of laughter with Jess, the glistening water seeming so inviting on this warm afternoon, towards the pool house where Jess stayed.

Some had questioned why Jess still lived with her parents if she was 25 and worked a well paying job. But, to put it lightly, Jess’ family was very well-off. Her dad had built and owned a business from the ground up and it became a major success practically overnight. She had her own space, rent free. Besides, the pool house was big enough to fit three of Zoey and Michael’s apartment into it. Why would she not stay there?

But when they walked in, it hit her. Everything was exactly as they had left it, nothing had been moved. Except this time, the room did not feel full of life like it always had. It felt cold and empty. And Zoey broke down.

She felt stupid for crying in front of Jess’ parents. How could her pain feel compared to theirs? But they didn’t judge. Instead, they held her in an understanding and loving embrace. After all, Zoey had been a part of their family for fifteen years. With every sob, the pain from her still-healing ribs hurt more and more. Michael stood off to the side and let the three have their moment, and when the tears settled, they began going through some of Jess’ things, letting Zoey take whatever she wanted, which included a hoodie, a dress, a pair of converse shoes, the other half of their friendship bracelet that they had made in 10th grade, and finally a note that she had written in middle school to Zoey, stuffed with the hundreds of other notes in a shoebox under her bed.

The year that followed was tough. Zoey found herself lost for a while. She quit her job at the bar her and Jess used to work at, because working without Jess was too much for her to handle. She didn’t go out anymore, and hardly talked to anyone except for her younger sister, Katie. Growing up she didn’t really get along with Katie. It’s not like she didn’t like her, but Katie was eight years younger than her, plus Zoey was so focused on friends and boys that she didn’t make any time or effort for her younger sister. But after Jess died, Zoey got to know her sister a lot better. She learned that Katie, aside from appearance, was almost exactly like herself. Katie took after their Irish dad in the way of looks with long, dark brown hair and adorable freckles, compared to Zoey’s pale skin and dirty blonde hair. You wouldn’t think they were related by looking at them. But, in personality, they were almost identical. Both were afraid to take risks, shy at first keeping a very small group of friends, but very caring. The complete opposite of Jess who was care-free and miss positivity. Katie was essential in her grieving process.

Anytime someone brought Jess up in conversation, they always skirted around certain topics or words. They always used her name in past tense or said things like, ‘no longer with us’ or ‘passed away’. It was infuriating. One night, Zoey’s parents had invited her, Michael, and Mr. and Mrs. Lewis over for dinner nearly three months in. Her mom had brought Jess up for the fourth time in two hours and said something along the lines of ‘I’m still finding it hard to process Jess not being here anymore.’ And Zoey lost it.

“She’s dead, mom! She died! Okay?” Zoey shouted, pushing away from the table, causing her glass of wine to spill, and darting up the steps to Katie’s room that they used to share when Zoey lived there.

She collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily with tears streaming down her face, angry, when there was a faint knock on the door. Her fists clenched in annoyance, half expecting it to be her boyfriend as Michael had been extra clingy since Jess died, almost as if he was scared of what Zoey would do if she was left alone. Which was stupid. What good would it do anyone if she wasn’t here either? But to her shock and horror, it was Jess’ mom who walked into the room. 

Zoey shot up straight and wiped the tears from her face, instantly regretting the outburst she just had. “Mrs. Lewis, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t,” Jess’ mom cut her off, motioning for her to sit down beside her at the edge of the bed. Her expression was warm and not at all angry, “I can’t even begin to tell you the amount of times I wanted to say that over the past three months to anyone who mentions her. I know it’s hard, and I understand.”

Zoey nodded, twisting Jess’ bracelet that was now tightly wrapped around her wrist, a strand of her dirty blonde hair had fallen out of her hair tie and she pushed it behind her ear as Jess’ mom continued, “I only came up here because I thought it’s be a good opportunity to talk to you in private before we go.”

“What about?”

“Well, Mr. Lewis and I were going through some more of Jess’ things last week and we came across a bunch of old ‘Dream Journals’ the two of you wrote in over the years.”

Zoey felt the heat of embarrassment rise to her cheeks, remembering some of the things they wrote in there. The ‘Dream Journals’ were more of a fantasy bucket list than anything, but there were definitely a few inappropriate things involving Jared Padalecki and Jeremy Sumpter in there that she wasn’t too keen on the idea of Jess’ parents reading.

She continued, “Mr. Lewis and I noticed nearly every page was filled with things you two wanted to do in LA.”

It sounded more like a question than a statement. Zoey cleared her throat, “Yeah. We always talked about moving there one day.”

Mrs. Lewis nodded, “I know how much she wanted to go. And I know it probably always seemed out of reach. But, Zoey, I don’t want this to stop you from going. Jess worked hard to save up so you both could go. And I don’t want that to be for nothing. Mr. Lewis and I talked about it and we decided. Jess had managed to save up $18,000, and we wanted you to have it. And we know how expensive LA can be, so we wanted to add an extra $7,000 on top of it. Hopefully that’ll be enough for rent for at least a year.”

Zoey’s mouth fell open, trying to process everything Mrs. Lewis just said. So many questions ran through her mind. How did she manage to save so much on the same salary that she had? Stupid question, she had no bills. She twisted a little too hard on the bracelet, causing it to pinch her wrist and snap her back to reality, “$25,000? To move to LA?”

“It was her dream and she never got to fulfill it. We want you to live your life and hopefully bring a little bit of our baby girl to LA with you in spirit. All that we ask in return is that you try to find peace out there.”

That was the moment of revelation for Zoey. The turning point. The moment that made her get off her ass and stop the pity party. She didn’t want to take Mr. and Mrs. Lewis’ gift for granted. So, Zoey worked her ass off. She got three jobs as a warehouse worker, waitress, and got her old bartending job back to save up even more money. She had eventually even found a room that two girls were renting out in a beautiful skyrise condo on the nicer end of LA, and had got a bartending job lined up and waiting for her when she moved. Zoey vowed to herself to start adapting some of Jess’ personality into her own. She wanted to be more outgoing and try to say ‘yes’ more often, to learn to let her hair down (figuratively speaking), and she wanted to try and be more adventurous. It wouldn’t be an overnight success, but she would try. Baby steps. 

Finally, almost a year later, it was time to move. Zoey had finished saying goodbye to her and Jess’ parents. Even Michael had come to see her off. The two of them had broken off their nearly four year relationship a couple months ago, but still remained close. Zoey could tell that he was heart broken, and so was she, but she also knew that things had changed between them after Jess died. They weren’t the same people anymore and it seemed like they were holding on to each other to force the fraction of normalcy they had left. They didn’t deserve that. They deserved to be happy, not just content, but genuinely happy. 

They gave each other a tight hug and Michael sweetly kissed her cheek, whispering her a farewell. Saying goodbye to him stung a bit more than she had anticipated. Not because of some kind of lost love, but because he was the only other person in her life who she could talk to about Jess and who would actually understand. He knew Jess in almost the same sort of capacity that Zoey knew her. Poor Michael was forced to be the third wheel so often that he saw sides of her and Jess that no one else could possibly know about. And that sense of understanding comforted her. Now that she was letting that go, it was a little harder for her to leave.

Katie stood off to the side, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, twiddling her fingers together and avoiding her older sister’s gaze. The freckle faced teenager bit the inside of her cheeks, trying to focus on anything other than Zoey leaving. As horrible as this past year has been, she knew that the bond they built would not have happened otherwise. Katie had become just as reliant on Zoey as Zoey had been on her, and for her sister to be leaving was heartbreaking. She held back her emotions, but all Katie wanted to do was cry.

A frown formed on Zoey’s face. Her sister looked like a shelter puppy who’s owner had given up on them and knots formed in her stomach. Should Zoey really be leaving now, just as things started to come together for her? But as Katie’s demeanor cracked and she embraced her sister with a loving and understanding hug, she knew that this was the right move. Zoey still had some healing to do and Katie would always be there. Jess would have wanted this for her. 

The silent journey to LA was full of self reflection and internal pep talks. Not only did Zoey want to adapt a little bit of Jess’ personality, but she knew that this move gave her the opportunity to start over and live the life she always wanted. But what was that exactly?

As she neared her destination her heart began thumping faster, nervous for this new chapter. She looked at her surroundings of the bustling city, gorgeous people on every block, recognizing some buildings from her sleuthing around Street View on Google Maps after speaking with Nancy about moving in.

She’s been talking to Nancy via text and facetime over the course of a month since they met online and made plans for her to move in. Nancy seemed like one of the coolest people she had ever talked to. Tan, with the curliest, raven toned hair, she had nine ear piercings and the most interesting eyes-one brown and the other a deep green. She styled herself more on the rocker chic side, but somehow made it look so feminine and fitting. She could be a bit intense at times, but somehow made you feel comfortable and constantly laughing. 

Zoey didn’t know much about her other roommate, Aurora, or Rory, as most people called her. She only knew that Nancy had met Rory when she first moved to LA when they were 18 and they were best friends. The two of them just recently moved to their new condo and since Rory was gone most of the week for work and they had a spare bedroom, Nancy felt more comfortable and safe if there were another roommate there so she didn’t have to live on her own.

Nancy and Aurora had an interesting dynamic because they were practically polar opposites. Rory was born and raised in both Paris and a small town in England. She was new on the modeling scene but apparently making her way up the ladder rather quickly. And from the pictures that Nancy showed her, it was no wonder why. She was beautiful, with long brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and the sweetest, freckled baby face that reminded her of her little sister.

The GPS announced that she had reached her destination as she pulled up to the parking garage of the skyrise condominium. Zoey plugged the code that Nancy had given her into the keypad to enter the parking structure and drove in, finding a spot two rows in. She took her phone off of the car charger and checked the time. 3:14 PM, Thursday, April 23rd. It took her almost 4 full days to get here and it almost felt surreal that she had finally arrived. She stepped out of the car, legs buckling a bit from being sat in one position for so long, before stretching and calling Nancy’s phone.

“Are you fuckin’ here?” Nancy’s loud voice boomed excitedly.

Zoey laughed, stifling a yawn, “Yeah. In the parking garage.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you down in the lobby. Same code as the parking structure to get in.”

The call ended and Zoey felt her nerves settling as she glanced down at her wrist adorning Jess’ friendship bracelet. Everything will be fine. She grabbed as many things as she could manage to hold, realizing she’d have to take several trips to completely unload her car, before bounding towards the door. In order to put the code in she had to set some of her bags down, and as soon as it was unlocked, she yanked the door open, scooped up the bags, and headed down a hallway towards the huge, modern lobby. The walls were light gray with twelve foot ceilings lined with abstract black and white artwork and industrial light fixtures, a huge water feature right in the center. It seemed so extravagant that she almost felt silly for wearing the same gray sweatpants, matching small t-shirt layered with a long, white cardigan and white flip flops that she had worn since she left Pennsylvania, her hair now in an insanely messy bun, and not in a cute way, desperate for a shower. She could hear her flip flops echoing throughout the room along with the chime of the elevator door reaching her level. 

Nancy stepped out, curly hair framing her face, barely any makeup on but maybe some mascara, and so naturally pretty. She wore an oversized aerosmith shirt that had been splattered in bleach and barely covered her black shorts. Nancy’s eyes widened at the sight of Zoey and she ran over, smiling.

“Hey!” Zoey giggled, hiking up a bag that was slipping down her shoulder.

Nancy gave her a careful one-armed hug so as not to knock down the tower of belongings in Zoey’s arm before grabbing two bags to lighten the load a bit as she was led towards the elevator. Nancy talked her ear off about her day so far and what she had planned for dinner tonight when they reached the twenty second floor and got out. There was a small lounge area in the center of a large landing with a single door on the other three walls, each leading to three separate units. Nancy led her to the unit on the far left - 2201. 

“Okay, so the code is pretty easy. It’s all four corners of the keypad. So 1,3,7, and 9,” Nancy punched in. A green light appeared and Nancy pushed the door open, stepping inside. “Zoey’s here!” she called out as Zoey readjusted the bag that was slipping down her shoulder again. 

She looked around as she made her way past a small bathroom and suppressed a gasp when she reached the beautiful, modern kitchen that opened up into the living room, the wall lined with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city. Seeing the apartment in person was a completely different experience than virtually. The pictures didn’t do it justice. How could she afford to stay here? Jess would have lost her mind if she saw this. Zoey was so distracted by the view that she almost didn’t notice the two figures on the couch until they both stood up and started making their way over.

“Zoey! It’s so nice to meet you,” a sweet voice called. Aurora’s accent was an odd mix of French and British, only adding to her appeal.

“Hello!” A soft, deep voice greeted her.

Zoey smiled kindly, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of beauty in the two. Like the apartment, Rory’s pictures did not do her justice. She was more beautiful in person, almost making her feel inferior. And as for the guy beside her, he was scruffy with tousled brown hair and dark green eyes. His perfect white teeth could be seen through his smile and his dimpled cheeks made him even more discernible. 

“I’m Harry,” he spoke.

Zoey blinked, so exhausted from the long car journey that she was unable to decide what emotion to feel and unsure of how to respond. Her arms trembled from the weight of her luggage. The trembling caused a shoe to fall out of one of the bags, making a thump on the floor. Harry let out a startled gasp and quickly bent down to grab it, “Here, let me help,” he offered, grabbing the stack of bags out of Zoey’s hand, leaving her with just two on her shoulders. “Where would you like these?”

Before she could answer, Nancy spoke up, “Her room. Come on,” and led the way down another hall, Harry en suite.

Aurora smiled brightly at Zoey, “You must be exhausted,” she said, motioning for Zoey to follow the other two, “I hope the ride in was okay.”

Zoey tightened her bun and wiped beads of sweat from her forehead, glad that Aurora was being nice to her. “Yeah, lots of traffic as soon as I hit the city, though.”

Aurora laughed as they reached the doorframe, “You’ll get used to it.”

As the bedroom came into view Zoey saw Harry gently placing her things at the foot of the full sized bed. Thankfully the room was already furnished with the larger items. He huffed as he stood back up, dusting his hands together before pushing back the strand of hair that had fallen in front of his face. It was only a split second of realization. What the hell was happening? Was this just another dream? How could she be in LA, in a beautiful skyrise condo, with a gorgeous model and the coolest girl she had ever met as roommates, and Harry-fucking-Styles was standing in her bedroom? Surely she was still in her small one bedroom apartment back in Pennsylvania.

“Is this all you brought?” Harry asked, his accent snapping her back to present. 

“Oh, uh, no. I have more in my car.”

“Let me help bring your things up,” his eyebrows raised as if he was waiting for an answer, but his tone was more insistent.

Zoey hesitated, still in shock from the whole situation. Thankfully Nancy spoke up again before the silence got awkward, “Yeah, let’s go.”

She led the way out of the room followed closely by Harry who smiled nicely at her before his glance shot to Aurora. Zoey was sure he had meant to be more discreet, but she could have sworn he had winked at Rory. And the coy smile on her face seemed to confirm the hunch. Zoey kicked herself for being so awkward, mentally reminding herself to channel Jess’ sociability.

The four of them made conversation while they took a few more trips from the car to the apartment until all of her luggage riddled her room and her arms felt like jello. They all sat lined up on the large, pewter sectional with Zoey on an end cushion, Nancy sat cross-legged in the corner, and Aurora and Harry on the other side, close but with safe distance between them. She found out that Harry was in the middle of a U.S. tour and had a few days break, so he flew here to hang out and would be leaving again first thing in the morning. She also found it interesting to learn how they met each other a few months ago at a charity dinner event that Aurora had attended with Nancy as he plus one. They had all been sitting at the same table together and this was only their third time seeing him in person due to his tour.

“And now I have another friend,” Harry grinned, motioning towards Zoey.

“Yeah, until you scare her away with your horrible dad jokes and eating habits,” Nancy snorted.

Everyone laughed as Harry lightly nudged Nancy’s leg with his foot, “Just because you can’t beat the master at jokes doesn’t mean they’re horrible,” he shook his head in mock disappointment before turning his attention back to her, “So what made you move out here, Zoey? Work?”

Zoey gulped, not wanting to bring up Jess. She knew if she had, she would break down and cry and they didn’t know anything about Jess yet. I mean, how would everyone feel if she blurted out, ‘my dead best friend’s parents insisted I make their daughter’s dream come true and paid for me to move here’? 

She quickly composed herself, “Change of scenery. Thought I’d try out a new time zone,” she joked, causing them to chuckle. “I’m trying to be a bit more independent and adventurous,” she admitted.

Harry noticed her hesitation and looked at Rory and Nancy to see if they noticed it, too, but they seemed to be oblivious to it. He shrugged it off. He respected her desire to be more independent; something he understood all too well. The singer listened,  impressed as she revealed how many jobs she had been working in order to save just to come here and how proud she was of herself for taking the leap and coming here. Zoey didn’t seem braggy about it, in fact she seemed humbled, crediting her family and even her ex-boyfriend for the support. It wasn’t often you met someone down to earth in LA. It could be because she was so new to it. But Harry thought she would make a great fit with Aurora and Nancy. They had been here for seven years and the Hollywood Bug hasn’t bit them yet. He had his fair share of friends on the west coast, but it was nice to be close with ones who made him feel more grounded like these two.

The four ordered postmates and continued talking and laughing over Nancy’s stories as the sun began to set, casting a beautiful orange and pink hue over the city. As soon as she was done with her chinese food Zoey quickly excused herself to call her family. Once out of sight the three friends turned to each other.

“I like her,” Aurora decided.

Nancy kicked her feet up on the couch where Zoey had been sitting, “Yeah, thank god she’s not like any of the other crazies that messaged us to live here.”

Harry smiled, looking over at Aurora who laughed and he felt a little flutter in his stomach. She was obviously beautiful and fit every characteristic of his type. He could relate to her from living in a small English town but also found her intriguing that she had also been raised in Paris and spoke fluent French - a language he was always attracted by. Aurora and Harry were clearly attracted to each other, but the timing wasn’t exactly right. They met right as Aurora’s modeling career started to take off and just before Harry left for tour. They hadn’t even been on a first date yet, or even kissed for that matter. Just shameless flirting via text. 

In an effort to make an excuse to come back again, Harry spoke up, “Well, next weekend I have off. I don’t know what Zoey’s new work schedule will be, but if she’s up for it, how about we take her to Secrets as a little welcoming party? My treat.”

Secrets was a popular bar in the area that had private rooms you could rent for karaoke. Most of the club-goers were known to be gay, though a lot of straight people went with friends if they wanted a fun clubbing experience without any unwanted nuisances. It was always a good time whenever they went.

“That’d be lovely,” Aurora grinned.

“Yeah, sounds fun! I’ll talk to her about it and find out her work schedule,” Nancy agreed.

Harry nodded, excited about another opportunity to hang out with Rory. And honestly, he was excited to get to know Zoey, too. She seemed easy to talk to. And his instincts in people were pretty good.

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