#she truly couldn’t help that she’d fallen for him so deeply even though he hurt her and so many others

[thornquillthefiendish]

I have to apologize for the recent inactivity first because guilt but

I’m not sure if anyone has done this idea yet but

Fuck me I’ve been thinking extensively on a Sasha pmv set to killing me softly with his song because it h u r t s

As much as I don’t usually love the romance in the books the tragedy of Sasha loving someone she never truly knew but whom she had felt known her is so cruel. It’s so cruel and she’s so underrated. I love her so much. And to be clear, not tigersasha because she deserves better, but it just goes so well with her still struggling with her feelings over tigerstar even after what she learns about him, after coming to terms with the fact he was terrible and manipulating her she still seemed to carry love for him, or at least the version of him that he made for her, and knowing you’ve fallen in love with a lie? That is tragic, coming to terms with the fact that someone you had fallen so deeply for was never real, that it was all just an illusion and there’s no telling what the other actually felt, but for you? All of it felt real, all of it felt true? That’s a deep as shit conflict. It’s disappointing we don’t get more of Sasha after the beginning bits of tnp.

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi :) I was wondering if you’d be open to writing something about Tommy and baby Shelby going to see Alfie. With season 5 Alfie trying to hide his scars because he thinks she’d be scared but she just cuddles into him. I get if this is weird or too specific😅

Protected

“Remember what we talked about eh?” Tommy says to his youngest sibling as he tugs open the door on her side of the car. (y/n) Shelby takes her brothers outstretched hand to help her jump down out of the car that was a little too high up for her to manage to climb out by herself. “Yes Tommy.” She responds, skipping off in front of him to the big heavy front door of the building they were going into. The little girl leans against the door to very little avail as it barely even budges until Tommy reaches the door too and pushes it open with one strong arm.

He steps very firmly in front of (y/n) in the lobby of the building to prevent her running off again, and crouches down to her height with both hands placed firmly on her small upper arms to hold her still. “You stay right next to me okay?” He repeats, “And stay quiet yeah? I’ll try and be as quick as i can.” (y/n) smiles in response, “And then we can go to the sweet shop?”

Tommy nods and gives his little sister a soft smile before he stands up straight and takes her hand tightly in his. His littlest sister is so fearless and unaware of the dangers of the life she was dropped into that it always gives Tommy a sense of relief in some ways. It was almost like a form of escapism. Bouncing between Polly, John, Arthur, Charlie, and Tommy had made her life very different from most, even from Tommy’s young son. It would be incredibly safe to say that it was a shock when Polly Gray had entered into the betting shop in Watery Lane holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. They were all incredibly confused and very soon learned that Arthur Shelby Senior had shown up on the doorstep with another child he wasn’t interested in raising. She was an accidental one who’s mother died in childbirth and the deadbeat father had been gifted with yet another little life to let down.

Of course it became very important for Tommy that the baby girl did not experience the same kind of sheer let down that their father had given to all of them. He named sweet little (y/n) on that evening 6 and a half years ago. He felt like he was completely aimless and useless at that time. He had decided not to go after Grace and that lost love was weird for him after finally having it. Then that beautiful, quiet, warm and sweet little girl was placed into his arms and held tightly onto his finger and suddenly, his world and his love seemed to hold new meaning.

She was his muse, his greatest love and his favourite little sidekick.

“Tommy fuckin’ Shelby.” Alfie rumbles out, his back to the door as he faces out his balcony. “That’s a bad word, Tommy.” (y/n) chides in a whisper as she looks up cautiously at her elder brother. Tommy offers her small hand a gentle squeeze and nods his head, but promptly turns his head back to the man holding a gun at the window. “And you’ve brought your mini protégé, i see.”

Alfie turns half of his face, only his good half, to see the sweet little wave from the youngest Shelby sibling. “Alfie, this is my sister; (y/n).” Tommy introduces, hoping his willingness to divulge his sisters name would move Alfie away from the subject as quickly as possible so that they could talk about what he was really there to talk about and then he could take his sister and go quickly. He didn’t like her having to be involved in these things, he always feared it would bring her into the line of fire. “Mhm,” Alfie grumbles, “Last time i saw you, you was only about this big-” He gestures with his hand only a few feet off the floor, “Couldn’t speak much, either.” The Londoner adds, eyes slightly narrowed. The 6 year old tilts her head to the side.

“I can speak a lot now, Mister Solomons.” She says, somewhat proudly. The burly man laughs, not his usual sinister or mocking way. “I can see that.” He hums in response, eyes moving from the little girl to Tommy when he clears his throat heavily to draw attention back to him. “If we could, Alfie, I’d like to talk business.” Alfie nods his head in response, gesturing with his hand to the couch across the room. Tommy let’s go of his sisters hand to sit down on the couch, the little girl doing her best to climb up beside him with only a little help from her brother. Alfie sits on the chair across from them. Tommy knows there had to be significant damage to the side of the man’s face after the injury he sustained from the bullet fired out of Thomas’s gun. There was almost no way he escaped that unscathed.

“I’m going to kill a facist, Alfie. And i need some men.”

The words from Tommy prompt Alfie to rather abruptly turn his head, somewhat shocked by the words, but more shocked by the fact the 6 year old little girl was completely unbothered by the words her brother had spoken. The pre-school aged girl simply continues fiddling with the pocket watch Tommy gave to her. She looks to be dismantling it with a very distinctive focus that reminds Alfie she is a Shelby, and she might fully be aware of how to kill him already.

“A facist ey?” Alfie repeats, his eyebrows raised. “Politics got to you, Thomas?” Tommy rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette. “I need some men.” Tommy adds, making Alfie scoff. “Oh you do, do you? And you want mine?”

Tommy merely nods his head.

In his discussion with the head of the Peaky Blinders, Alfie had not forgotten the presence of the 6 year old on the couch, but it had fallen away from the forefront focus of his mind as he debated the thought of lending men to a Shelby’s cause. In doing so, he turned his head in thought and a little noise of awe left the youngest Shelby. Tommy and Alfie both direct their attention straight to her.

The little girl scoots herself off the couch and Tommy reaches for her arm, but just misses. She trods right up to the huge London gangster and tilts her head. “What happened?” She asks softly. Alfie shifts uncomfortably on the couch he sits on, running his finger absentmindedly over the scarring of his face. “Got shot.” Alfie responds, Tommy clears his throat heavily and almost awkwardly in knowing he was the one who had given Alfie Solomons his facial scarring. (y/n) tilts her little head in awe as she clambers up onto the couch next to him.

“Looks cool.” She mutters in awe.

Most look at him in some kind of shock or horror even. Some with sympathy thinking it had come from the war and some with fear knowing where it had really come from. But few with the kindness and curiosity of the 6 year old standing on his good couch.

“Does it hurt?” She asks quietly. Alfie shrugs.

“Depends.”

That’s when her little hand reaches forward to trace over the scarring with an almost feather light child’s touch as she stands there on the couch, her hands are cold and gentle over the markings that no one has touched since his last hospital appointment.

“Her mother’s daughter.”

Alfie flicks his eyes back over to a now standing Thomas as he reaches forward to lift his sister up into his arms where she sits on his hip with little furrowed eyebrows and a purse on her lips. Alfie’s residual aching cheekbone pain has faded to nearly non-existent for the first time he can soberly remember. He knows that Tommy knows this by the look in his eyes and the way in which he notes his prior statement before he gathered his sister.

“She’s sweet.” Alfie nods, standing to his feet. As softened as both men may be by the child in the room, Alfie does not like sitting as Tommy Shelby towers over him whether the man is an ally or not. “Polly says i get it from Tommy.” (y/n) chimes. Alfie raises his eyebrows with a grin that makes Tommy roll his eyes at the retired gangster. “Oh do you now?” Alfie hums, opening his mouth to speak again when Tommy cuts him off. “You go ahead to the car (y/n), eh? I’ll meet you down there in just a minute okay?”

The six year old nods and runs off the moment her feet hit the ground. Tommy turns to Alfie immediately.

“If you ever-“

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mister Mom.” Alfie rumbles, crossing his arms over his chest with a beaming grin. “Little miss Shelby has you whipped, mate. Tell me, what’s your favourite apron you wear at home eh Thomas?” He chuckles heartily, making Tommy glower in rage at his teasing. “I’m fucking serious, Alfie.” He growls. Alfie straightens up and stops laughing immediately.

His eyes narrow for a split second and he tilts his head, his eyes searching the depth of Tommy’s cerulean blues and immediately noticing the sheer panic and worry that lies deep within them, attempting to hide under brotherly protective instinct and rage at the prospect of harm falling on his little sister. Alfie inhales deeply. He would truly never dream of harming a child. It’s not in his nature, nor does it sit well with him. And though he had been quick to give the head of the Peaky Blinders a reality check in the past regarding the safety of his son, in the end he had no idea Charlie Shelby had been taken and he never would have arranged for that to happen.

Alfie nods his head and leans forward. “She’s special to you, yeah?” Tommy doesn’t know why Alfie asks. He’s sure it’s clearer than he wants it to be, but alas the Londoner asks anyway and Tommy doesn’t know exactly how to answer, so he simply makes a motion something akin to a nod though looks more like a twitch of his chin. “Mhm, I can tell. You can have the men. I’m sure you know the price.” Alfie turns away. Tommy doesn’t know what it was in Alfie’s eyes that reassured him more than words ever could that he wouldn’t lay harm on the 6 year old little girl who treated him with more respect and kindness in the ten minutes she spoke to him that anyone had in years. There was an element of brotherly protectiveness that Alfie felt only after knowing her a short time.

“And Tommy?”

“Yes, Alfie?” The Birmingham MP turns back as he leaves the doorway of Alfie’s sitting room.

“Anything ever happens to the kid, you fuckin’ let me know yeah?”

Tommy nods his head, the ghost of a smile somewhat on his face. His little sister is just about as protected as they come, and there was a distinct feeling of certainty that Alfie Solomons was there, lurking in the shadows of existence with a familial fondness of the little Shelby girl who carries the glow of an angel above her head that would ensure no men, from Birmingham or further afield would have to go through every Solomons and Shelby loyal man up and down the country before a hair on (y/n) Shelby’s head was messed. Tommy holds hope somewhere deep in his heart that his little sister will never have to see violence aimed at her, and that for as long as she lives she knows that she is instantaneously loved, dearly held in every heart and ferociously protected by some of Britain’s most dangerous men.

[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. 

☾

[hlizr50]

What's in a Name?

My first Gwynriel fic. And the rest is history, I suppose!

This fic was actually inspired by the epilogue chapters of A Court of Smoke and Shadow, another Gwynriel fic by our favorite, the incomparable @daevastanner. Read that here on AO3.

Gwyn and Az discuss surnames.

Read on AO3

“Azriel?”

“Gwyn.” He lifted his gaze to the female who had become, well, everything. Her back was to him now as she surveyed the bookshelf intently, as if the House wouldn’t gift her exactly what she was looking for. Azriel studied her, taking in how her straight, silken hair shone like copper in the firelight and how the shadows highlighted her toned back. She seemed… tense. She so rarely took so much time to choose her words. “Berdara, what’s on your mind?”

“You don’t have a surname?”

Had she been dwelling on that all afternoon?

“I don’t. When you’re brought into the world… as I was… you are not given the honor of a birthright.”

“Does it… does it bother you?” Gwyn looked over her shoulder at him, teal gaze burning through him. Cauldron, he could look into those eyes forever. He shrugged before rising from the couch and running a hand through his dark locks.

“It used to. Not as much anymore.”

“Really?” She’d returned her focus to the books lining the shelf in front of her. Azriel closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her stomach, resting his chin on her shoulder. It wasn’t so long ago that he had refused to touch her without her request. Now their intimacy was almost casual and carefree. He smiled when she placed her freckled hands over his scarred ones. “It doesn’t bother you anymore?”

“When I was younger it was a source of shame. It took me longer than it should have to realize that the name didn’t matter, because I did have a family.” He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I have an incredible family that made me nearly whole. And then came you, the missing piece. Worrying about a name seems almost silly when I have you.” Gwyn squeezed his hands and he tightened his embrace.

“When we’re mated, though, how will that work?”

“I’m not sure,” he shrugged. He hadn’t missed the ‘when’. They hadn’t accepted the mating bond, at least officially, but he had no doubt that it was only a matter of time. Their relationship had taken years to develop, allowing her time to heal and feel safe in his arms and in his life. They’d shared so many moments and new achievements and he was certain they would be making each other proud until they both withered away.

Gwyn wriggled a little and he loosened his grasp. She turned to face him, her hands on his chest. He let his hands find those perfect hips as he met her questioning gaze.

“Maybe…” she looked down for a blink, took a breath, and then looked back up at him, eyes glimmering with determination. “Maybe you could take my name.”

His fingers tightened on the curves he held and he felt his eyes widen ever-so-slightly. Which words did he want to say? What could possibly express how deeply humbled he was that she – the brave, beautiful, incredible Valkyrie, survivor and warrior – would honor him with her name. He, who had no birthright, had little more to offer her than his scarred heart, killing power, and a vow that she would always be safe with him.

“Azriel?”

He blinked and found Gwyn’s eyes wide with questions… and a hint of uncertainty. Cauldron, he’d been so deep in his emotions. Az sucked in a breath, searching again for what he wanted to say.

Damn him and his sensitive heart.

“Gwyn… I…”

She shrugged and looked down, pulling her hands way from clasp at her chest. Azriel could have whimpered from the loss of her touch.

“I don’t really know what is expected or what is… typical…” her voice trailed. He chuckled softly, unaccustomed to seeing the Valkyrie so unsure. He raised his left hand and softly pressed fingers against her jaw, lifting her face to his.

“I’m not sure much about our relationship has been typical, Gwyn.” He could have kicked himself when her eyes dimmed and she looked away, moving her chin away from his touch.

“I know… I…” She was too quiet, voice laced with regret. “I know I’ve made it difficult for you, Azriel. I wish –“

“Gwyn, stop, please,” he pleaded, grabbing her folded hands and pulling them to his chest. “I am so sorry, love, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” He waited patiently, stroking his calloused thumbs over her fingers. His eyes were trained on her face, cursing himself as he noted the flush under the dusting of freckles and the thin thread of silver lining her ocean eyes.

“Gwyn… please,” he pleaded as he willed her to turn back to him, give him a chance to right his mistake. His chest swelled with pride when her lashes fell and she took two deep calming breaths.

She was the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing could break her.

He could have fallen to his knees in relieve when she turned that sea-deep gaze back to him. The burning in the back of his eyes intensified as he lost himself in her bright stare that shone with wetness and… shame? He would not stand for that.

“Gwyneth Berdara, I would not change a single moment of what we have shared. Please, please, know that.” Azriel’s words were quiet and fierce and raw with emotion. “When I was… much younger - centuries ago - I assumed that courting would be walking through gardens and showering a female with gifts; symphonies and plays and fancy dinners in crowded upscale restaurants on the Sidra. I would be a powerful male with a demure beauty on my arm.” The copper-haired warrior tried to avert her gaze again at his words but he reached out and touched her cheek, willing her eyes to return to his. “That was a different time, and I am a wholly different male than I was then. Gwyn, you and I? We launch ourselves at each other in the training ring, each trying to draw first blood. We read by the fire until we fall asleep. We eat cookies until we feel sick and laugh until we cry. We save each other from our nightmares and encourage one another to chase our dreams. You are incredibly witty and strong-willed, and our banter rivals the most arrogant Illyrians in all the war camps”

Azriel’s mouth quirked as she tried to stifle a giggle. He moved his other hand to her face, cupping her cheeks as her fingers spread lightly over his chest. Then he leaned in, their noses a mere fingertip from touching.

“All I mean to say, Gwyn, is that I never would have expected my story to end up like this. And I may be biased, but I think our love story rivals even the most soul-shattering works in all the great libraries.”

“I don’t know about that,” Gwyn laughed, but her eyes crinkled and a few stray tears escaped from the corners. She moved her hands to grasp his jaw and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, sweet and chaste. She never ceased to surprise him, to amaze him. He grinned and pulled her back into him, lips capturing hers again. It was longer, deeper, and full of promise. When he released her mouth he kept his forehead against hers.

“I love you, Gwyneth Berdara, and I would be honored to take your name when we are mated. I am truly humbled that you would offer that to me.”

“Azriel.” He smiled wistfully as her fingers stroked his cheek. “It is my honor to give it. To the one I love. To the one who has helped me to be brave and strong. You have made me whole again, Azriel. You are a part of me. I couldn’t dream of not sharing my name with you.”

He could drown in those bright, trusting eyes for all eternity. He had to remind himself so often that he would, that they would have decades and centuries to stare more and more deeply into each other, to dream and grow together.

Azriel kissed her forehead and then pulled her against him. She tucked her head against the crook of his neck as he swayed gently back and forth. Fingers from one hand brushed through her hair as the other hand painted soothing strokes up and down her back.

“I’m sorry I was so sensitive,” she murmured under his chin. “I shouldn’t have overreacted.”

“Don’t apologize, love,” he answered, nuzzling the crown of her head. “Every one of your feelings is valid, even if it isn’t what I had meant for you to feel. What I said bothered you, and I’m relieved you were honest in your reaction so I could reassure you. Never hide your feelings from me, Gwyn. Just as I am a part of you, you are a part of me, and I could never forgive myself if I left you hurting.”

Gwyn nodded against him. “I love you, Shadowsinger.” Her arms wrapped around him and she breathed in, squeezing herself impossibly further into him.

He grinned. Being wrapped in that embrace was the sweetest captivity he had ever known. He never wanted to escape. “I love you, too, Berdara.”

[kira-fluff]

Hello! Have you done headcanons for a MC that is a really good artist? Like, that's what she loves and hopes to make a career out of it? (For the RFA, V, And Saeran?) thankyou! Bye bye! \ ^-^ /

a/n: I LOOOVEE this idea! As a passionate artist myself, this one hits home :) As you probably know, I’ve updated my rules, since you specified 2, I will pick 2 from the RFA :) Again, let me know if you’d like to have different characters than the ones I picked! I went for MC instead of Y/n this time. Let me know what you think. Thanks! 

Also, this is pre-relationship and it may or may not have turned into a confession headcanon oh gosh 

- 

MC is an Artist +Confession bonus 

V +bonus confession 

As a fellow artist, V would be incredibly proud of you 

Even though he might sometimes have trouble saying it 

V has always showed actions above his words 

You’d quickly gathered this from his lack of communication with the RFA chat and text messages between the two of you in general 

But you understood him, in a way 

You related to the freedom he felt whenever he expressed himself through his photography 

Because you felt that same feelings when you painted 

You were incredibly inspired by Beatrix Potter, your memories of her various artworks inspiring you to do the same 

You adored nature just as much as V did 

Together, you both made a beautiful pair 

You wore an adorable flower-patterned, yellow sun dress

A beige sunhat you held to your head with a hand, carrying your brushes and paint palette

Him, dressed smartly in a sweater with khaki pants 

 V could carry your easel for you, his professional photography bag slung around his shoulder. 

You’d laugh, turning around to look at him, the wind blowing in your face, urging him to “Come on!” 

V had never thought you more beautiful than the time you’d accidentally tripped into a meadow of freesias, scattering them every which way 

You gasped, whipping out your pocket book, etching down the scene before you 

After a measurable silence, you looked over at V who had been quiet in taking pictures of you 

He keeps many copies of the pictures, putting one in his wallet and other places he’d look frequently just to make him smile 

He’d never let others besides himself see them, but they were the most beautiful photos he’d ever taken, and this not just by his standards of your beauty 

You sometimes would catch yourself sketching him during your time outside with him, sitting in a quiet pasture 

The world’s creatures were your muse, but you couldn’t help yourself from taking every opportunity to capture V’s every expression

And maybe that’s when you realized you were completely and utterly in love with him. 

In those quiet times in the meadows, all along you were in love with him. 

When you’d caught V taking candids of you, you always would beg him to delete them, which he begrudgingly would, if you really begged him 

But.. other than that, you were positive V had no real feelings for you outside of a deep friendship. 

That must’ve done it. He knows.  

Because suddenly, V had become incredibly distant, flaking out of your naturalist escapades, becoming increasingly difficult to come in contact at all..

it was all pointing to the fact that he had realized how deeply you loved him. 

You in turn, pushed away everyone around you. 

Rejection hurt. So much. One does not truly understand it until they’ve felt it themselves. 

It came to a point where you had no more tears left to cry, you knew he was gone forever. 

Your love, your inspiration. 

All was gone. 

You hadn’t touched a paint brush in months 

You’d been skipping meals for a while, beginning to feel more and more fatigue because of it. 

It came to the point where all in the RFA (except V) had become so worried about you that they’d sent Jaehee and Yoosung over to check on you 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d checked your phone 

Your blinds and curtains had been shut for a subsequent amount of time. 

It had been weeks since you’d last changed your clothes, your hair was unkept. 

You stopped taking care of yourself completely, emptiness overtaking you. 

You had always had a dream of making artwork your career.. but just when your freelance career had begun to take off.. you lost everything. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to touch your paints or pocket book. It reminded you too much of him. 

You weren’t concerned about money, Rika’s apartment was already paid for and… well, with no real meal expenses, you didn’t feel any real purpose to continue. 

You heard a soft knock on the door. 

Instead of answering, you groaned, rolling over in your sheets – hoping if you ignored the knocking they’d assumed you weren’t home.

Any last grain of hope you’d had left you a long time ago. 

“….MC?” 

You slowly sat up in your bed. It was Yoosung. 

You instantly felt shame for ignoring them.. and looking, well, like this. 

“I’m coming in!” Came a loud shout, causing you to panic. 

Damn. Seven must’ve opened the apartment.  

Seven was concerned for you, given the surveillance footage, he couldn’t find almost any instances when you’d left your apartment. 

Given your apparent closeness, Seven shot a text to Yoosung, Jaehee, and of course, V. 

Yoosung and Jaehee replied in agreement and concern, V, however, said something very different. 

// V:  I’m sorry. I can’t go. >> [sent, 6:08am]

707: I thot the 2 of u were rly close. Did sth happen? >> [sent, 6:09am]

V: I’m selfish. I can’t see her anymore. >> [sent, 6:29am] 

707: ? >> 

707: > [sent, 6:29am]

read, 6:32am. //

You began to cry, embarrassed and ashamed, as Jaehee and Yoosung called your name throughout your hollow feeling apartment. 

Immediate concern covered their faces when they saw you teary eyed in your bed. 

“Oh, MC, hey, it’s going to be okay.”, Jaehee immediately held your head in her arms. 

She ordered Yoosung to get some food from your local convenience store

From there, she opted to begin cleaning you up. 

Jaehee didn’t want to force you to do or say anything, so she never asked questions – unless to ask whether you were comfortable taking a shower or perhaps, eating something later. 

You were not opposed to the help, rather, you felt indebted to them, feeling guilty for causing Jaehee, Yoosung, and likely Seven a great amount of trouble. 

Jaehee made quick work of stripping your bed sheets, stuffing in the laundry and opening the blinds, cleaning your room and dusting where necessary 

A part of her chastised herself for not doing so sooner, but she and the others were afraid that they’d be intruding on your right to take a social media break or something of the sort. 

Yoosung came back relatively quickly, a meal in hand, per Jaehee’s request. 

He made quick work of making his specialty – an omurice omelette. 

Jaehee continued to tidy up, checking up with you when she’d realized the apartment had gotten too silent

You at last stepped out of the shower, your hair taking on a glimmer, as if thanking you for taking care of it at last. 

You washed your face, trying to gather your thoughts as your shoved a crew-neck shirt over your head, opting for jeans and slippers as well. 

At last coming out of the bathroom, you at last made eye contact with Yoosung and Jaehee you began to cry again. 

Without hesitation, they rushed toward you for a hug, hushing you when you’d blubbered, “I’m sorry, thank you, I’m so sorry” in between dry heaves. 

After a quick call to Seven from Jaehee, Zen, Jumin and Saeyoung had made their way to your apartment as well. 

They each had their piece to share, kind words of encouragement and love. 

You were happy by their words, but… 

V wasn’t here. 

At last gaining confidence through their encouraging words, you ushered them to the large sofas that laid beneath your TV. 

Looking down, you said, “I-I’m sure you’re all wondering about V and I..” 

You didn’t dare look up when your sniffles began. 

You took a deep breath before beginning, “This is nothing to his fault, but….” your lip wobbled, “I believe.. I think he realized that I had completely fallen for him,” you laughed pathetically, “Still am”

Seven began, “MC–” 

“I don’t blame him, really, I never intended to tell him… it’s awkward.” 

Zen clenched his fist, “That asshole…” 

“And my friend” Jumin quickly rebutted. 

“P-please! I didn’t tell you this to make you dislike him or anything! I just felt like I owed you all an explanation…”, you begged.

Seven stared at you for a while before saying, “MC… V he’s– I think you should tell him properly.” 

Zen, ever the hot-head, stood up shouting, “And get her heart broken all over again?! How heartless can you be!” 

You smiled ingenuinely, “He’s right, Zen.” 

Before you could change your mind, you picked up your phone, and for what felt like years, you at last dialed V’s number. 

On the last ring, you heard sound that the caller had, picked up though there was no sound on the other line. 

Jumin and Yoosung ushered everyone out of the room, deciding to take a little stroll outside the apartment complex. 

After a moment of silence you started, “…..V?” 

You now heard him breathing on the other line.

“V, I know you’re there. Please…” You felt your voice wavering, “P-please… come to my apartment.”, you whispered a final, “please.” 

V was silent for what felt like hours before saying, “……..okay.” 

You hung up, attempting to mentally prepare yourself for the world of hurt you were about to endure again. 

After a long silence in which you’d zoned out, you suddenly heard the door bell ring. 

You glanced up. Only V ever used the doorbell.. always had. 

You slowly crept toward the door, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. 

Gently opening the door a crack, you took in V. 

It had been a few months, but he looked so different. So…hollow. 

You moved for him to come inside, closing the door behind you. 

“Um, V, there’s something I need to tell you.” 

“You already know my answer.” 

You looked up, tears welling in your eyes, doing your best to ignore his statement. 

“V… I love you.” 

You’d never seen V so taken aback, his whole face grew pale. 

“Y-you love me?” 

“Have. For a long time.” 

You looked down, “You can go now.” 

Yet you didn’t hear a sound of movement. 

Looking up, V was still standing there, shocked. 

At last, you managed to hear the softest whisper, “All this time….”

You leaned in closer, “What?” 

“I- I loved you.. I love you. Since we’d first met. I-I thought you didn’t want a thing to do with me. Thought you’d figured out I’d fallen in love, so I distanced myself.. selfishly to try not to get hurt, but I still did. And all this time you felt the same.” 

You were now the stunned one. 

“Really?” 

V gently smiled at you, enveloping you in a tight hug, “Really.” 

Jumin +bonus confession 

You loved to create stories 

Various areas of fiction, watercolor splashing against crisp, white pages 

Telling a beautiful story in color 

And Jumin adored it. 

He adored you. 

He admired your deep passion to create and your love for everything. 

He couldn’t understand how you could see the beauty in everything around you… for Jumin, he tended to consider things in their degree of usefulness. 

For the longest time, his father and those around him had encouraged this mentality 

And so, Jumin rarely sought for things that would have no real purpose – his penthouse proved this point by its bare walls – void of artistic charm

It wasn’t until you’d met him through the RFA that you’d immediately brought a force of color into his life 

He remembered well the first time you’d come to his apartment 

You gently ran your soft fingers against the walls of his penthouse saying, “Mr. Han, I think you need some more color in your house. It looks like a hospital in here!” You turned to him, a playful smile on your face. 

The breath was knocked out of him. 

God, he could never say no to you. If you’d ask, he’d get you anything you’d ever need. 

But he loved that you didn’t appreciate that kind of affection. Jumin knew he immediately ran to gift giving for love because it was the only way he had been shown love throughout his life…. and, it didn’t really mean anything to him. 

Still, he desperately wanted to be helpful, so if you were ever in a financial struggle, he’d offer to assist you. 

You’d proudly decline, declaring you could do it all yourself. He liked that about you too. Your independence, your kindness. 

It didn’t take long for him to realize he had taken to you greatly. 

One day when you’d come over for a visit, while petting Elizabeth III, you said, “Hey, Jumin.. have you ever fallen in love before?” 

Tension filled the air while Jumin stared at you. 

How could MC be so blind. 

When it had been a few moments he’d not answered, you awkwardly said, “J-just kidding! I figured you’re probably engaged – that was a stupid question, sorry..” 

Jumin was stricken by your sudden uncertainty, but didn’t make anything of it. 

“I’m not engaged. Don’t listen to anything my father says regarding that. And to answer your question, I think I might have an idea of what that feels like.” 

His eyes bore into yours, but he of course missed the look of sorrow that’d taken over your eyes.  

He’d watch you paint all day if he had the time. 

He couldn’t understand how you could look at a blank sheet of paper and write something so poetically beautiful and paint a lovely picture to match 

It was all a part of his amazement of you. 

He could watch you for hours, humming to yourself while you played around with contrast colors for your watercolor pieces 

No other art had value quite like your own 

He encouraged you at every chance he got, “MC, you should go into the arts.” 

“That’s what I want to do! But, Dad says the arts aren’t a realistic job.”, you frowned. 

“That may have been true in some outdated decade, but in our world today people are always looking for something hand-made and authentic. When we research our products, we look for items that have a ‘signature’ to them. Trust me, people want your art not only because it is breath-taking.. but because you made it.” 

You smiled at that, Jumin was always one to put a rational thought forward for your consideration, something you’d cherished. 

“Besides, I think you’d be happy anywhere you can create.” 

You grinned, pulling him into a tight hug, “Thank you, Ju Ju.”

Staying close friends became increasingly difficult, but Jumin wasn’t going to risk losing his friendship with you because of feelings. 

So you surprised him when you began randomly, “Jumin, I think I’m in love with you, okay?” 

You made eye contact, doing your best to show you were serious. 

As soon as he realized you were authentic in your confession, you turned around and began sprinting, flying open the door to his penthouse 

Jumin immediately chased after you, both in a full sprint 

You screamed when you heard his breathing and steps behind you and so increased your speed 

You had at last reached a dead end, but Jumin was a ways behind you. 

You reached for the elevator button, furiously clicking it – thankfully it came on the first ding. 

You rushed inside, repeatedly tapping the door-closing button. 

You sighed at last when you felt the elevator moving up, gasping for air. 

You attempted to continue going up to the highest story, which happened to be 320, grateful that this damn skyscraper had a ton of floors. 

You froze when the door came to a stop at floor 13. You panicked, trying to force the doors not to open. 

In front of you was a random businessmen, looked slightly peeved at the long wait he must’ve had for the elegant glass elevator. 

You apologized, allowing him into the elevator along with a crowd of impatient people, some gorgeous women with a smart suit and long hair, their phone resting on their cheek next to their ear, some more businessmen, glancing anxiously at their watches. 

As the elevator climbed to floor 21, a heap of people acknowledged their stop, pressing out of the elevator shaft and onto the busy hallways of what appeared to be the finance department. 

You sighed, pressing more buttons to go up higher. 

You screeched when you felt a hand on both of your wrists, slamming you into the wall behind you. 

Jumin’s eyes were glowing from the slight sweat that was beginning to form on his brow 

He looked pissed. 

“Don’t. Ever. Run. Away. From me. Again.” 

You gazed up at him, a guilty expression clouding your face 

“S-sorry..”, you quickly looked away, not bearing to look at the anger in his expression, the way he clenched his jaw and his eyes took on a darker hue… brows knit together. He was really mad. 

“You didn’t let me answer.” He said, his voice deep. 

He leaned in closer.. you closed your eyes in anticipation. 

He breathed a laugh through his nose, resting his forehead on your collarbone and shoulder. 

You blushed in embarrassment. 

Suddenly, Jumin hugged you tightly, “I love you too, MC.” 

Zen

As a fellow artist, Zen was overjoyed to say the least when he found out about your love for singing 

Your social media accounts were growing rapidly from your posts of music covers and original songs 

You also had a deep love to playing the harp. 

It had taken a lot of coaxing to convince your father to let you pay half and he pay the other of the expense of a 200,000 Won pedal harp 

But you loved it so much 

And so does Zen 

He’d definitely insist on doing a collaboration with you 

After the recording session and upload, both your following counts grew rapidly 

Comments of all types flooded your posts: 

OMG!!! ZEN!! BEAUTIFUL ZEN!!

who’s the b*tch next to him? 

omg, right? 

ew lol 

AHHHH I LOVE YOU ZEN!!! 

MC looks so cute…

fyp!! 

ZEN AND MC WOULD MAKE SUCH A CUTE COUPLE AWEEEE 

I agree!! 귀엽다   (cute) 

Over the course of your social media endeavor, you’d learned to ignore the ruthless comments of jealous fans 

Zen was worried you’d taken them personally so he validated you a lot over the period that the video was a hit 

Zen wrote a song about you (which he definitely serenaded you with): 

“your passion, my passion one in the same this song – our communicator of my love to you. your smile each day this serenade a simple translator the time we have means so much i wouldn’t spend it any other way.” - radio wave COMMUNICATION by Zen 

The song overtook the song charts, making it’s way to the #1 spot in half a day 

You’d asked him, “Zen, are you going to make that a single? You are, aren’t you? Right?” 

“No, this is something for you and you only” 

You smiled at that, but said, “Zen, love like this deserves to be shared. This song will mean something so special to someone else, just like it means something to me. Music, what we do.. it was made to be shared.” 

Zen looked at you with stars in his eyes, taking you in a big hug. 

You truly were the kindest person he’d ever met.. and he loved you so, so much. 

Even though you may not have realized yet what the truth of his feelings were in his serenade, he knew he’d wait for the day in anticipation when he’d finally ask you to be his. 

Saeran

Saeran wasn’t personally one for dramatics, but he loved watching you perform  

You’d sing for all kinds of musicals – you’d act for a series of plays 

He loved it when you’d act in classics like Macbeth or The Phantom of the Opera

It felt like a safe place to forget everything in his life and just watch you 

But he hadn’t fallen for you for who you pretended to be, but for who you really are. 

You were shy – something he found surprising (but unbelievably adorable) because you were a well-known actress 

When you’d first met him, you were walking outside the entrance way of the theater a few hours before your showtime. 

You had accidentally tripped and spilled coffee all over some tax forms you had to fill out

You let out a soft, “oh no!” 

Saeran had been early for a nice seat (hopefully away from other people) and noticed a woman in a cute over-sized sweater was muttering words under her breath, picking up what seemed to be endless amounts of papers 

He quietly walked over and just as softly said, “…need some help..?” 

You were surprised at the sudden presence of a stranger 

“o-oh! … yes please..” 

he smiled, leaning down and picking up stacks of coffee-stained paper

“would you like me to carry them for you?”, he said 

“are you– are you sure?” you looked up at him innocently in concern 

he answered by gently taking the stack of papers, “where to..?” 

“um… i’ll show you..” 

he nodded, following you to the backstage area where there was a mirror attached to a dresser, stage makeup covering the top of it. 

“you’re an actress?” 

you grinned shyly, “everyone’s surprised..” 

“n-no, i think it suits you. i was surprised because i’m watching the show tonight.” 

“r-really? you’ll watch me?” 

he nodded, blushing at your hopeful smile 

“i’ll do my best then, if you’ll watch me..” 

“good.” he looked away 

“i’ll be waiting” you said with a soft smile 

“so will i” 

yeah you two were literally so adorable.

- 

enjoy my beautifuls

[captain-josslett]

Broken Melody - Part Twenty

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen...

Summary: Grammy Award winning Emma Danvers is the first to say she has a pretty good life. But what happens when it implodes around her and it looks like things will never be the same again?

Words: 5.8k+

Warnings: Angst, Fluff.

Pairings: Emma Danvers x Lena Luthor

This Part: Emma tries to work through everything and continues to struggle with not seeing her sisters.

So, so, sorry it’s been a while since updating. I’ve started a full time job and my mind just hasn’t been able to write 😅 But I do get to daydream when I work so I have loads of ideas stored away and hopefully will be able to update quicker.

Thank you for reading and let me know if you wanna be tagged or any general feedback will be greatly appreciated. Please! I like knowing your thoughts.

Taglist: @finleyfray​​, @life-is-hella-unfair​, @natasha-danvers​, @supergirl-writingz​, @camslightstories​, @thinking1bee​, @aznblossom​,

Ten year old Emma Danvers jumps awake when she hears a blood curdling scream. For a few moments she blinks into her dark room, confused at the noise that woke her. But when a softer wail fills the silence Emma quickly rolls out of bed. Recognising the cries coming from her recently adopted kryptonian sister, Kara.

Emma pads out of her small room and into the hallway, yawning and tiredly rubbing her eyes as she gently pushes Alex and Kara’s bedroom door open. Kara’s whimpering increases in volume as Emma enters the room. She softly closes the door behind her and quietly tiptoes over to Kara’s bed.

Emma sadly looks over at her oldest sister, Alex, who is turned away from the crying alien. Seemingly ignoring Kara’s pain. This annoys Emma greatly and the sisters have already argued over it. The blonde had even offered to swap rooms with Alex but the redhead stubbornly refused saying it was her room.

“Kara?” Emma whispers softly and waits for the crying figure to respond. Tearful blue eyes peer over the shaking duvet before quickly disappearing again.

Emma looks mournfully down at the other blonde as she thinks of ways to help her. After a few moments Emma lifts the corner of the covers and climbs into Kara’s bed. She gently reaches out and hugs Kara close, remembering how her Mom would comfort her after she’d have a bad dream.  

Her new sister flinches slightly at the touch but soon Emma feels Kara settle and maneuver around to hug her back. The alien starts to shake as she tries to stifle her sobs into Emma’s shoulder.

Emma’s heart aches at the sound. She pulls her head back so she can see Kara’s face. The night light illuminates Kara’s flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes. “No, it’s okay to cry. Mom said you get sick if you try to keep your tears in.” Emma tries to encourage the alien. Though she doesn’t know if Kara can fully understand her yet. However, Kara’s face scrunches up and fresh tears fall.

“It’s okay.” Emma says soothingly while stroking her hair.

“S-s-sing?” Kara gulps out and buries her head back into Emma’s little shoulder.

“Which one?” Emma asks softly and Kara thinks for a moment but shakes her head as she sniffs heavily. “Okay.” Emma purses her lips forward as she thinks about the other songs she has sung to Kara. “I got it.”

Somewhere over the rainbow, Way up high, There’s a land that I’ve heard of, Once in a lullaby.

Emma immediately feels Kara relaxing as she continues to quietly sing. The sisters had recently watched ‘The Wizard of Oz’ with Kara because Emma wanted to show her new sister one of her favourite films. The alien had truly been fascinated with the movie and Emma couldn’t help but watch Kara’s reactions to certain parts. How Kara’s face lit up when Dorthy opened the door to a world of colour or how freaked out Kara got when the Wicked Witch appeared in a plume of red smoke and disappearing in a blaze of fire.

Somewhere over the rainbow, Bluebirds fly, Birds fly over the rainbow, Why then oh why can’t I?

As Emma nears the end of the song Kara’s sobs start to die down, being replaced with shuddering breaths. The twelve year old alien clings tightly to the little human, the pressure hurts Emma slightly but she knows Kara doesn’t mean to hurt her and she is not use to her super strength yet.

Emma stares over at Alex’s back. Not knowing if the redhead was awake or asleep. But Emma guesses she is awake by how she is breathing. Silently Emma hopes her oldest sister will come around to Kara.

Yes it had been a shock when Superman brought his older, but now younger, alien cousin to them but Emma was overcome with curiosity and intrigue over the other blonde. She tried to communicate with the alien and found a way through hand gestures and persistence. Repeating words for Kara and pointing items out. Mainly important things like water, food, Star Wars and everything a ten year old finds important. Once Eliza found Emma talking to the Kryptonian about the different plants and vegetables in the garden and Kara patiently listened. Fascinated by the texture of the leaves and the words Emma was saying. Both missing the scowling glare Alex was giving them from her bedroom window.

Emma then presented the wooden swords her dad had made. Giving Kara Alex’s and demonstrating how to sword fight. Soon the two blonde’s were giggling while twirling around and bashing each other’s swords. Until Alex furiously stormed over to them and took her sword away from Kara. Grumbling it was hers and she was going to break it. Jeremiah immediately set to work making Kara one of her own. Which the two blonde’s watched with tilted heads.

But when Jeremiah told them to go play and leave him to concentrate Emma took Kara back into the house, trying to figure out more things to show her new sister. She had already displayed her seashell collection, which Kara analysed deeply and Emma noticed a crinkle appearing between the other blonde’s eyebrows.

Emma looks around the house and her eyes fall on her art supplies. Making Kara jump when she claps her hands together in excitement.

“I hope you like art! Alex doesn’t really, which is sad but she likes her own things. Like reading. Reading is okay but I much prefer doing something.” Emma smiles at Kara who smiles politely. “Have a seat.” Emma points at the dining room table and Kara complies. The ten year old then pulls out all of her art supply to show Kara. She watched as the alien’s blue eyes lit up behind her glasses.

“Did you do art on Krypton?” Emma asks, happy that she may have found something Kara enjoys.

Kara nods and the pair quietly sit for hours as they draw and paint. Emma didn’t mind Kara using most of the red paint and was pleased she thought of a good idea.

She hardly sees Alex, seemingly too moody that she wasn’t the centre of attention in the Danvers household anymore. Keeping to herself and barely talking to her baby sister.

Weeks turned into months and slowly Alex seemed to warm up to the new addition to the family. Especially when Kara defended Emma against a group of bullies. Standing with her little sister and ready to defend her. Alex marched over and stood next to her side, ready to punch any bully in the face that hurts either of her sisters. This was the moment Kara uttered her family motto, explaining they were stronger together.

The three started to become closer over time and would regularly be found in the forest by their home playing and having adventures.

On one such occasion a fifteen year old Alex and twelve year old Emma teamed up together as heroes to try and take down the evil villain that was destroying their town of Midvale.

“Psfft I don’t see the target. Over.” Emma quietly talks into the walkie talkie and holds her wooden sword tightly in her other hand.

“Please tell me you did not just make the static noise?” Alex laughs while rolling her eyes.

“Ah come on Al! Plus you need to say over. Over.”

“Fine.” Alex sasses back. “Over.” The redhead continues to look around, listening intently for the fourteen year old Kara. Having a sneaky suspicion that her alien sister was using her powers. Which was against the rules.

“Psttf I have an idea. Over” Emma’s voice whispers out from the walkie talkie.

“And what is that?” Alex responds quickly. “Over.”

“What if we do what that guy did in that movie. Over.”

“Vague… We watch loads of movies dork.” Alex rolls her eyes again at her little sister’s comment. She twirls her bow in her hand as she waits for Emma’s response.

“You know he sacrifices himself. Draws the evil guy out and gives the hero a chance to defeat them. Over.”

“Not a bad idea. Especially if you are the bait.” Alex chuckles and shakes her head. “Over.”

“Let’s do it by the fallen tree in the clearing? You can hide and I’ll call for her. Over.” Alex smirks at the excitement within Emma’s voice.

“Sure Peanut. Over.”

Alex quietly jogs to the huge fallen tree. Constantly on the lookout for Kara. But her adopted alien sister is nowhere to be seen. As Alex approaches the clearing she sees Emma step out of the other end and start to look around. Their eyes immediately connect, as if Emma could sense where she was and Alex quickly hides within some bushes and waits. Readying her bow and arrow. Making sure the arrow was a dummy that would only sting Emma slightly if she got in the way.

Emma waits for Alex to get into position and cups her hands over her mouth, yelling loudly. “Kara?! Hey Kara!” She waits and soon enough a blur appears before her. “Hey! You used your powers!”

“Well as a villain of course I would!” Kara bites back slyly with a grin.

“You really are evil!” Emma gasps dramatically, raising a hand to her chest.

“And when I am finished with you I will hunt your sister down and hurt her! And your little dog too!” Kara slowly takes a few menacing steps towards Emma who stands her ground.

“No! Not Alex and Toto!” Emma’s eyes fill with tears. Alex is always blown away that her baby sister can cry on demand and would often use her sister’s talent to get extra treats from their Mom or sitter.

“Little one?” Kara asks, concerned enough to break character.

“They are fake, keep going! You’re doing really well!” Emma gives Kara a smile before filling her eyes with tears again. “You will never get away with this!” Emma yells dramatically, pointing at Kara.

‘Give her the damn Oscar!’ Alex thinks with a smile as she watches the blonde’s.

Kara nods and puts a sly smirk back on her face. “But I already have!”

“No! You will never win! Good always defeats evil, you piece of bantha fodder!”

Alex snorts at Emma’s Star Wars reference and readies herself, knowing she’ll need to spring out at any moment.

“How dare you insult me! Me the mistress of all evil! You are nothing but the dirt on the bottom of my shoe!” Kara yells as she reaches for her wooden sword. Emma circles around so Kara’s back is to their eldest sister. “Now prepare to meet your doom!”

“Not if I can help it!” Alex suddenly appears behind them and fires her bow and arrow at the blonde. Hitting Kara’s right shoulder where it harmlessly falls to the ground.

“No! Ow!” Kara screams and collapses to her knees. “Damn you!” She coughs comically and falls to the floor.

Emma snorts and places a hand over her mouth.

“Emma! It’s rude to mock the dead.” Alex scolds her little sister.

“Sorry.” The blonde tries to wipe the smile off her face and make her expression natural.

“Who says I’m dead?” Kara’s muffled voice pipes up from the ground.

“Well the arrow would have been made out of a substance that could kill you and due to my excellent marksmanship it went through your heart. Killing you instantly.” Alex explains as she twirls the bow around.

Kara lifts her head up and smirks at the redhead. “You hit me in the right shoulder. My heart is on the left dummy.”

Emma snorts again which erupts into loud laughter when Alex glares at her. “Great shooting Alex!”

“Which means… Sneak attack!” Kara yells while pulling Emma onto the floor and starts tickling her.

“Nooo!!” Emma screams with laughter and tries to get out of her sister’s grip. “Please! Stop! Argh! Alex! Help!”

The redhead watches the pair with amusement before stepping in. “I’ll help you!” Alex yells theatrically. But instead of aiding Emma she joins in with Kara.

“Traitor!” Emma gasps out. “You’re… My sister!”

“And? Maybe I purposefully aimed for Kara’s right shoulder to take down the real villain!”

“Dun dun dunnnnn!” Kara laughs out as she continues ticking the thrashing blonde.

“Please stop! I’m gonna pee!” Tears of laughter stream down Emma’s face and the sisters finally stop their attack.

Alex smirks at her baby sister as Emma wipes the tears from her face, the redhead then looks up at the sky. “It’s getting late, we better head back.” She stands to her feet and holds out her hands for her sisters to take, helping Kara and Emma stand. The sister’s turn towards home and walk together in unison, laughing and joking together. Ready to take on the world.

-- -- --

Present day Emma stares out of the DEO window while plucking at her guitar while her mind wanders through her memories with her sisters. Though she can’t really remember the time before Kara came. To her Kara has always been there.

Slowly her mind starts to filter through the session she had with Alistair. They had worked on her fuzzy memories of the attack. How they are slowly coming back into focus but seemingly her brain was protecting her by blocking most of it out. Emma had projected the hurtful words spoken by her sisters that Emma does remember. That a part of her believes making her insecurities bubble up to the surface.

Lily, Alistair’s white german shepherd, had almost instantly jumped up on Emma’s bed and placed her head in Emma’s lap. Staying there throughout the session. Helping to ground Emma and when she got emotional or experienced a flashback, Lily had been a comforting presence.

A noise by Emma’s open door draws her attention away from the window. Standing in the hall was a transfixed Winn with Brainy and Nia behind him.

Emma smirks and waves at the trio. Stopping the music seemingly snaps them out of their trance.

“Hi Em.” Winn smiles brightly as he approaches one of the chairs around Emma’s bed. Emma returns his smile but it is more subdued. “You okay?” He frowns at the blonde, noticing her lack of a smile. He places the food container on the tray table by Emma and she nods while pulling the table closer to her. Her smile brightens slightly when she sees the sausages, vegetables and mash potato.

“Doctor Hamilton said you can start trying some form of solid foods and as I know you like that British restaurant down the road we thought lunch could be a bit more international.”

‘So the Tai food the other day wasn’t international enough for you?’ Emma wants to say but doesn’t write it down. Instead letting out a breathy snort as she starts cutting into the food.

“Oh yea Doc also said to cut it up real small. Chew lots before swallowing” Winn lists off the instructions Doctor Hamilton had told him while opening his container. Watching as Emma nods in response. “Enjoy your bangers and mash!”

Emma lets out a breathy laugh, remembering the weird names the Brits call their food. ‘Spotted Dick’ being her favourite by far. Not believing they would call a fruit, sponge dessert by that name, but had been proved wrong when the amused waiter brought the pudding out for Emma to try. Despite the very off putting name, Emma thoroughly enjoyed it. Almost having to fight off her bandmates to eat all of it in peace.

“Have you been to the UK Winn?” Nia asks, filling the silence.

“Yea I have. Both future and present.”

Emma lifts an eyebrow in response. Wondering what life is like in the future and being frustrated that Winn was keeping so tight lipped about it all.

“Awesome! I haven’t yet but it’s on my bucket list.” Nia replies enthusiastically, a longing look fills her eyes.

“Did you know the British public consume over sixty billion cups of tea a year. Around 100 million each day.” Brainy chimes into the conversation, causing Nia and Winn to gape at him about the statistic.

Emma continues to listen to her friends talking. Wishing she could join in and tell them about her time in the UK. But also being aware of how painfully slow conversation flows when she has to write everything down.

Sighing deeply Emma shoves more food in her mouth. Thankful that Winn chose something she enjoys. To be fair Emma likes anything. Other than Marmite… A disgusting yeast spread that half of Brits like. One of her stage managers in the UK dared Emma to try it. Making the blonde gag and causing her to drink loads of water to get rid of the horrible taste in her mouth.

“Emma?” Nia calls out, breaking Emma’s train of thought. “You’ve been to the UK many times right?” Emma nods. “Have you seen the Queen?” Emma nods again.

“What when?” Winn asks with a mouthful of food and his eyebrows almost up to his hairline.

Emma quietly sighs and grabs her notebook, keenly aware of the silence in the room as she writes.

‘The Royal Variety Performance.’

“Ah yea!” Nia smiles remembering the video she found on youtube after Kara first told her about Emma. She had been transfixed by Axis’ music and Emma’s performance. Singing a powerful ballad that moved the brunette to tears. Nia had spent hours upon hours going through Axis’ social media and debated about whether to send Emma a friend request. The brunette had squealed loudly when Emma had accepted and immediately messaged her,

A knock stops Nia from asking more questions as Emma looks over to see Lucy standing awkwardly by the door. Emma can’t help but shift uncomfortably in the bed, hoping Lucy has calmed down from earlier this morning.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to yell at you.” Lucy says as if she has read Emma’s mind. “May I come in?”

Emma nods before turning back to her meal. Though she feels like she has lost her appetite.

Lucy glances at the three friends who give her looks of encouragement as she cautiously approaches Emma’s bed, watching the blonde push her food around.

“Can I sit here?” Lucy points to the end of the bed and Emma nods without looking up at her. Lucy lowers onto the bed and takes a deep breath. “So, I’m sorry about earlier. I overreacted when I found out you were missing and you are like a sister to me and I got so scared-” Lucy lifts a hand to her head trying to find the words to how terrified she had felt when Emma wasn’t in her room or in the building. She immediately rushed down to the cells but when there was no sign of Emma anywhere the brunette really panicked.

A hand grasps her knee and Lucy’s green eyes snap up to Emma’s. “Sorry.” Lucy breathes out and Emma gives her a timid smile. “So, we also need to discuss the next steps. Mainly the timeline of your recovery because we cannot disclose the Phoenix serum.”

Emma nods and leans back against the bed.

“How long would this timeline be?” Winn asks with a frown.

“We are trying to not make it overly long. Doctor Hamilton did say wounds like Emma’s would have taken at least 3 months to heal fully and she’d be bed bound for a while.”

“But Emma isn’t bed bound.” Nia blinks in confusion. “Would Emma need to stay here?”

“Or in her apartment.” Lucy looks at the blonde mournfully, who deeply swallows in response. Not liking the sound of that at all. Not feeling at all ready to go back to the apartment. Even after J’onn had told her a crew had made it good as new, with no evidence of the incident.

“There would be a huge media frenzy if any photos come out of you like this. The world thinks you can barely open your eyes and hardly move due to the amount of broken bones you have.”

Alarm fills Emma and she quickly grabs her notebook to write.

‘Robyn?!’

“Ah yea. I had her sign a NDA.” Lucy rolls her eyes. “She was annoyingly persistent. I thought you hated each other?” Emma shakes her head and lets out a breathy chuckle. “Jack isn’t far behind, though I’m trying to hold him off for as long as possible.”

Relief starts to filter in and Emma nods before starting to write again. She bites the inside of her lip at the thought of returning back to her apartment. Not sure she’s ready or even wants to go back there.

‘How do you propose we move forward?’ She holds the pad up and watches her friend’s face as she reads.

Lucy hesitates slightly before unlocking her tablet to bring up the timeline. “We will need to stage photos and videos showing your recovery and release them at the right time.” Lucy looks down at her notes. “We do have some already but I’d be happier if we do more.”

Emma glumly sighs causing Lucy to glance back up at her.

“I’m sorry Em but we need to do this to keep the media off our backs. J’onn and I had hoped it would have died down but everyone is still up in arms about what happened.”

Emma’s expression morphs into one of shock and disbelief. She quickly writes one word before showing the lawyer.

‘Why?’

“Because those that listen to your music feel a powerful connection towards you. Even though they have not met you or know you personally.” Brainy explains simply.

“And the attack has brought your music to the attention of more people.” Winn points out.

“Tell me about it.” Lucy says exasperatedly and runs a hand through her hair. “I had a three hour debate with your record label as they want to release the work you’ve done on your new album. Even the covers you’ve been sending Lena.”

Emma immediately shakes her head quickly at the idea. Causing a ringing in her ears.

“Yea I told them they can shove it.” Lucy agrees and quickly takes a piece of sausage from Emma’s container. Almost getting her hand stabbed from Emma’s fork.

Emma playfully glares at the brunette and Lucy sticks her tongue out before popping the meat into her mouth. Emma shakes her head and starts writing.

‘So I will be under house arrest?’

“I’m afraid so.” Lucy says softly, causing Emma’s shoulders to slump and her expression becomes sullen.

“I may be able to help with that.” Winn pipes up, causing Emma and Lucy to stare at him. “I, with Brainy and Lena’s help, could develop a face modifier. That way Emma can move around freely and not disrupt the timeline.”

“That could work.” Lucy squints her eyes as she considers the idea.

“May help Alex and Kara to know Emma is moving around too. I’ve never seen them so broken, I mean poor Alex, you would have thought Kelly would have stood by her and not run away-” Nia comments passionately and Emma freezes.

Horror fills Emma's whole body. She remembers Alex telling her the morning before the attack that she and Kelly were having problems but Emma never imagined Kelly would leave Alex like this. Especially with what her sister is going through.

Immediately Emma leaps out of bed and sprints to the door. She needs to see her sisters. Her heart aches knowing they are both in pain. That they are broken.

“Emma?!” Her friends yells fill the hallway as they chase after her. Agents seemingly appear ahead of her but the blonde easily sidesteps them. Using the training Alex had taught her in self defence.

As soon as she reaches the end of the corridor the blonde slides into the wall and repeatedly slams her hand on the elevator button. When it becomes obvious the doors won’t open quick enough she dashes towards the door to the stairs. Her determination gives her tunnel vision and she ignores those around her.

Until someone leaps on her back.

“Emma stop!” Lucy yells as she clings to Emma, wrapping her arms and legs around the blonde. Halting Emma from leaving the floor. “I’m sorry but they aren’t ready to see you. I’m so sorry.”

Emma tries to get Lucy off her back but the brunette has too good a grip. The blonde heaves in heavy breaths and her face scrunches up as she starts to silently cry. She longs to hold her sisters. To reassure them they are okay.

A ping announces an elevator has arrived. Emma turns her head to gaze longingly at it but feels Lucy’s grip tighten around her chest.

“Emma please.”

The blonde watches mournfully as the doors close.

When it becomes apparent that Emma won’t be running down to the cells Lucy slides off her back.

The brunette sadly looks at the tears streaming down her friend’s face. Placing a gentle hand on Emma’s shoulder Lucy guides her back to the room.

“Emma.” Nia squeaks out with wide eyes as she walks with the pair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think-”

The blonde reaches out and squeezes Nia’s hand. Giving her a barely there smile which Nia returns with an encouraging one of her own.

Emma re-enters the room and sits heavily on her bed. Staring out of the window.

“Em?” Winn asks softly, causing Emma to slightly move her head and focus on him. “Are you gonna finish that?” Winn points at the half eaten food.

Emma shakes her head before turning back to the window. She ignores the yelp of pain from Winn when Lucy slaps his arm as he reaches out for the discarded food. Purposefully tuning out the conversation in the room.

Instead, focusing on the world outside of the DEO. The airplanes that zoom across the sky, the birds that flutter past the window and settle on the sill. The traffic down an avenue she can see. Anything to try and keep her mind from acknowledging the pain she’s feeling. The thoughts that are screaming in her mind about her sisters.

“-ma?” Winn’s voice breaks through as she recognises he’s calling out to her. Slowly she turns to look at him. “We’re going back to work. I- er- left your food.”

Emma looks down at the tray and sees that Winn hasn’t touched it. She nods and lifts the right corner of her mouth slightly to show her appreciation.

Emma eyes flick to Nia as she cautiously approaches her. “Can I give you a hug?” Emma nods and opens her arms. Nia immediately dives into them. “Message me if you need me.” Emma nods again and squeezes the superhero. When Nia steps back Winn is already there with his arms open, waiting for a hug. Making Emma voicelessly snort.

“Ah come on!” Winn whines and Emma motions for him to hug her. He does immediately and Emma can’t help but feel more of her anxiety melt away. “If you need anything just give a shout.” Winn says as he pulls away. Emma raises an eyebrow at him and can’t help but smile at the look of horror that comes across his face. Especially when Brainy, Nia and Lucy lower their heads into their hands. “Em. I’m so sorry I-”

Emma immediately lifts a hand to his lips, silencing him. Thankfully he complies, instead gaping at her like a goldfish.

“See you later Emma.” Brainy nods at her before quickly leaving the room, already analysing his tablet at ideas for a face modifier. Nia forcefully grabs Winn’s hand and pulls him out with her.

“I can stay if you want me to?” Lucy asks as she hovers by the bed and massages her shoulder.

Emma is tempted to shake her head but instead she nods. Not wanting to be alone right now.

“Okay great!” Lucy beams at her. “Do you want to do anything? I mean I have work I can be doing but I can watch a film with you or we could play a card game? Chess?”

Emma looks over at the chessboard on the coffee table by the sofa. Lena had brought it in to give Emma something else to do. But the board is currently being taken up by an intense game the girlfriends were playing. Emma reaches for her notebook and writes a response.

‘Lena will immediately say she’s won if we mess the board up.’

“Ah! We can’t have that!” Lucy jokes and sits on the end of Emma’s bed. Her expression becomes sombre as she studies the blonde closely and Emma stares right back. “Are you okay?”

Emma looks between Lucy’s questioning green eyes and slowly shakes her head.

Lucy reaches out and gently holds Emma’s hand. “I’m here if you want to discuss it.”

Emma’s eyes start to glisten with tears and she wipes at them in exasperation.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Lucy grabs Emma’s hand to halt her rubbing. “It’s okay to cry. God knows I’m done my fair share recently.”

Emma tilts her head and frowns slightly.

“What?” Lucy mirrors Emma’s expression. The blonde lets go of Lucy’s hand and starts writing.

‘What do you mean?’

“About what?” Lucy asks, confusion written across her face.

‘What have you been crying about?’

“About you! And Alex and Kara! This whole shit show!” Lucy says bitterly and watches Emma move her pen to paper. “And don’t even think about writing that you are not worth my tears cause you fucking are!”

Emma eyes’s snap up to Lucy’s and her mouth drops open. She was going to write exactly that.

“I’m right aren’t I?”

Emma shuts her mouth and shakes her head.

“Bull.” Lucy narrows her eyes. “Have you forgotten I am a lawyer? And a damn good one at that?”

Emma smiles sadly and looks down to write. ‘Yea you are. Frustratingly so.’

“Unless I’m the one defending you right?” Lucy raises an eyebrow and Emma nods, her smile turning more genuine. “So, do you wanna write about it? You don’t have to, I just-” Lucy hesitates, sighing deeply as she chooses her words. “I worry about you and I wish I could make everything better.”

‘I know.’

“You totally wrote that with Han Solo in mind didn’t you?”

Emma lets out a breathy snort and Lucy laughs loudly.

“You're such a nerd.” Lucy teases and Emma just shrugs. But her smile fades and the blonde gazes down at the paper as she thinks about her sisters. “Em?”

Emma takes a breath and starts writing. Lucy watches her and the expressions Emma makes as she scribbles her thoughts down. In these moments Lucy really misses Emma’s voice and her anger bubbles up at whoever did this to her friend. But before Lucy’s anger simmers up anymore Emma turns the notepad around.

‘I just feel so helpless. We’ve always done everything together and I’m happy they have each other but I want to be there with them. Dad always joked we were like a three legged stool. When one of us wasn’t at home we almost couldn’t function. I get what you are saying that they aren’t ready to see me... But I just miss them so much.’

“Aw Em.” Lucy says sympathetically after she reads. Her eyes flick back up to Emma’s. “It will get better. I know that doesn’t help right now. But, it will.”

Emma nods and leans back against the bed.

“So, what do you want to do?”

‘Okay if I paint?’

“Of course it is! I’ll just work here on my tablet.” Lucy smiles reassuringly at Emma and hops off the bed. She pauses and turns back around to Emma. “Hug?”

Emma smiles and opens her arms. Lucy wraps her arms around the blonde and tries to convey how much she cares for her in it.

After Lucy sits in a chair to work she can’t help but watch how Emma morphs into her creative mode. How the blonde focuses solely on what she’s doing with her paint brush. The way Emma’s eyes squint and her tongue slightly pokes out to the side.

Lucy smiles and tries to concentrate on her own work. Leaving the pair in peaceful silence.

-- -- --

Many hours later there is a knock on the door. Lucy glances up as Lena and Sam enter the room.

“Hi!” Lucy greets the friends happily and turns to look at Emma. The blonde is still so busy with what she’s doing she hasn’t noticed the new arrivals.

It’s only when Emma cleans her brushes, happy with what she’s done, does she sense Lena’s presence in the room. She quickly looks up towards the sofa where Lena, Sam and Lucy are sitting. Seemingly halting their conversation as the trio notice Emma’s focus on them. Lena can’t help but greet her girlfriend with a beaming smile.

“Hi love.” Lena says while standing and approaches the blonde. Emma waves at her but gives her a questioning look. “I didn’t want to disturb you.” Lena gracefully sits on the bed next to Emma and softly kisses the blonde’s lips. “You were so engrossed in what you were doing.”

“Sorry.”

“No don’t be! I’m glad you are painting.” Lena smiles reassuringly at her girlfriend. Her smiles then morphs into a shy one. “I- er- got you something.”

Emma tilts her head and her eyes bulge when Lena lifts a huge bouquet of flowers up. Having not noticed them when the raven haired beauty walked in or when she came over to the bed.

“Wow!” Emma signs and she reaches out to touch a red rose. Feeling the softness of the petal and admiring the colour.

“The florist told me the roses mean love, obviously. The baby breath is everlasting love. The-” Lena pauses as she tries to remember the meaning of the other flowers. Emma starts kissing her cheek making Lena beam and lean into them. “Em! I’m trying to think!” Emma pulls away and rests her chin on Lena’s shoulder. “So, the daisies are my love is pure and the tulips all have different meanings, the red being eternal love, the orange desire and passion, yellow happiness and sunshine and the cream tulips-” Lena gently moves her girlfriend’s head so she can gaze deeply into Emma’s slightly bloodshot eyes. “I will love you forever.”

She watches as Emma melts and her eyes glisten with tears. The blonde tilts her head and slowly leans towards her girlfriend. Lena copies her and they gently kiss but before they can deepen it further and noise fills the room.

“Blurgh!” Lucy yells out, pretending to heave. Emma furiously pulls away and flips her off. Glaring at the brunette before turning back to her girlfriend.

“Thank you. I love them.”

“I’m glad.” Lena smirks at the blonde and Emma carefully places the bouquet on the tray table. Making sure not to knock any of the other stuff on there. “So, how's your head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints yet.” Emma signs cheekily and Lena roars with laughter.

“What did she say?” Sam looks between the two girlfriends, wanting to know why Lena reacted the way she did.

“Haven’t had any complaints yet.” Lena responds while continuing to laugh, causing the two brunettes to join in with her and Emma just smiles happily at them as she snuggles into her girlfriend.

(Part Twenty One)

[gwynsnesta]

Light - Gwynriel

It had been at least a couple days since Gwyn and Azriel had got any sleep. The twins were going through their wing faze when their wings grew and the pain is excruciating. As little babies, Gwyn hoped they’d give into sleep but it hadn’t worked so far. Neither parent had any sleep with them always on one baby.

Right now, Gwyn was holding Catrin in her arms trying to get her daughter to sleep. Azriel was across the room trying to lull Damon to sleep. Az sighed as he rocked Damon side to side. Gwyn wanted to smile and laugh, to kiss him and rest by his side. But all her energy had been taken from her. Some days she wondered if she was a good mother to her children.

Downstairs, their friends were gathered around after Gwyn and Azriel invited them to dinner. But that had been weeks ago and they forgotten to cancel after Madja had warned that the twins wouldn’t stop the wing faze till late next week or even later. Nesta had come early to help Gwyn make dinner and Cassian had helped Azriel with the babies. But now, Gwyn regretted the dinner.

“Hey.” Azriel moved over to her and placed a kiss on her forehead as they held their babies. “You aren’t a terrible mother and you shouldn’t ever regret anything. We may have underestimated the skills we have to help them but the pain is natural.”

“It is natural.” A voice broke their talk and they whirled to see their family and, “You were just like this. Your fat- father used to hate it so much he’d start to cry himself. The one joy that man brought me, besides you, was to see him cry.” Azriel’s mother stood there as beautiful as the day she’d turned twenty. You’d never guess she was over 500 years old. Or that her son was the spymaster of the Night Court with twin babies.

Azriel gave her a light laugh. One that hadn’t been heard since the twins faze began. Nyx played around with his cousin Athena (Nesta & Cassian’s daughter). His mother stood next to Cassian and Rhys. Azriel hadn’t brought his mother near males for a very long time. Not even his brothers. Only Gwyn had truly met her and spent time with her.

She entered the room and took baby Catrin from Gwyn’s arms. Gwyn was nearly crying as she took a seat in the window seat of the twin’s room. Az smiled at her. She could have a moment’s rest. Feyre followed behind and took Damon from Az’s arms. “Take a seat. You and Gwyn took care of Nyx so much when he was in his faze. Now it’s our turn.” She gestured to the family.

Azriel sat beside Gwyn and held her in his arms. His mother began a soft melody that Gwyn knew it all too well. She’d written that song when she had learnt she was pregnant. She’d never sung it once, to anybody, until Azriel’s mother. She’d sung for her after her and Azriel had broken the news. When Az had gone to see Rhys and Gwyn had stayed. Not even Az had heard the song.

“May these words be the first

To find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun

Now that you're here

Though your eyes will need some time to adjust

To the overwhelming light surrounding us

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will always hold you close

But I will learn to let you go

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best,

And I'll do better

With every heartbeat I have left

I will defend your every breath,

And I'll do better

Everyone stared at his mother for a moment. At her soft voice. Then Gwyn joined in. No one could place the song. Gwyn stood and took Damon from Feyre’s arms as her babies began to rest.

'Сause you are loved

You are loved more than you know

I hereby pledge all of my days

To prove it so

Though your heart is far too young to realise

The unimaginable light you hold inside

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will always hold you close

But I will learn to let you go

I promise I'll do better

I will rearrange the stars

Pull 'em down to where you are

I promise, I'll do better

With every heartbeat I have left

I'll defend your every breath

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

Hold the world to its best

I promise I'll do better

With every heartbeat I have left

I'll defend your every breath

I’ll do better.”

When they finished the song, Damon and Catrin were sleeping. Gwyn placed Damon in his crib with a soft kiss on his forehead. Catrin was placed in her crib by her grandmother with another soft kiss before the two ushered everyone out and back down stairs.

“Now, it may be because I was raised human but who the heck wrote that song and what’s it called? I want to sing it to Verena.” Nesta was the first to speak as everyone retook their places in Gwyn and Az’s lounging area. Verena was the youngest child of Cassian and Nesta (so far) who was just a little bit older than the twins. Luckily she had been born without wings unlike her sister Athena.

“I-I wrote it.” Gwyn whispered as she took a place by the fire. “When I found out I was pregnant. I kept feeling so afraid that I’d fail. Like I failed Catrin. Like I failed the children in Sangravah.”

“You saved those children, though.” Elain replied.

“Not all of them.” Gwyn felt the tears prickle in her eyes. “Some of them hadn’t been in their rooms when it started. They’d died and I hadn’t been strong enough to save them. Maybe if I had just-”

Rhys took her in his arms knowing all too well the guilt of losing children. “There was nothing you could’ve done. Those children, they know you would’ve tried to save them had you could of. But you saved many more. So many who are alive with their own families and lives today because of you, Gwyn. That isn’t a failure. That’s a hero.”

She smiled softly at Rhys. “Thank you.” She started to laugh a little before looking at her mother-in-law. “How did you remember the song? I sung it once. So long ago.” Gwyn said.

“I never forget a beautiful song like that.” Az’s mother grinned, “Singing always worked with Azriel and I didn’t think his children would be much different. Except, I didn’t have wonderful songs or an extraordinary partner to sing with.” Gwyn blushed as she kissed the top of the woman’s head.

“It was beautiful, Gwyn.” Emerie commented holding Mor. The two were looking to adopt but still had no news. It deeply hurt Gwyn so she allowed the two to take the twins on little Aunty days whenever they wanted.

“Even Amren couldn’t help but smile.” Varian mused as Amren hit him in the chest.

“You’ll pay for that later.” She muttered.

“Oh I’m sure I will.” Varian retorted and gave Gwyn a wink. She broadly smiled at him.

“Thank you for all coming tonight.” Gwyn started, “But I think it’s time for us all to retire. Those babies won’t sleep forever. I don’t want you all to suffer because of it.” She murmured.

“Auntie Gwyn.” She looked down to see Nyx and Athena smiling at her. “We know a way to help!” Nyx proudly told everyone.

“You do?” Azriel raised a brow as his shadows played around Gwyn, Nyx and Thena. The three loved them the most. Well the twins and Verena did too. “How?” Azriel asked

“Whenever my wings hurt because they’re still growing,” Nyx began to explain, “Dada or mama would fly me around Velaris. It always cooled me down and made me feel better.” He continued, “Uncle Cass did the same for Athena.” Athena nodded proudly and touched her wings.

By far, her wings were the largest. Nyx hated it at times but Azriel liked to boast that male wings took longer because they were fiercer. He did it to make Nyx feel better when it wasn’t at all the truth. Athena didn’t mind though.

“If the twins wake up I’ll take em for a fly. One at time and Gwyn can sing to the other.” Az replied, “Thank you kiddo’s.” The kids each hugged their aunt and uncle. Everyone bid farewell and disappeared into the night.

“Would you like me to winnow you home, mother?” Azriel asked

“When did you become so formal?” She laughed.

“Sorry Mama.” He kissed her head

“I’ll stay. You two rest. If the twins wake I’ll take care of them. Tomorrow night you can take them for a fly. Tonight you rest.” Gwyn gave the woman a bone-crushing hug. They got her set up in the room next door to the twin’s and headed for their room.

They bathed together and then headed for bed. But Gwyn couldn’t sleep as she was too worried for her babies. She felt Azriel begin to draw lazy circles on her back. She moved closer into his touch, too tired to do anything else but savour his warmth.

“Сause you are loved

You are loved more than you know

I hereby pledge all of my days

To prove it so

Though your heart is far too young to realise

The unimaginable light you hold inside.”

When Azriel finished he felt Gwyn’s breath slow and realised she had fallen asleep. Once he knew his mate, his mother and his children were asleep, Azriel allowed himself too, to rest. For tomorrow would bring a whole new day of crying and craziness. But for a few hours, he could dream of Gwyn and the life they had together. Of the gift she’d given him.

Light in his world of darkness.

—

The song is called Light by Sleeping at Last xx

[jazzistolkienfanfics]

Melleth - Legolas x Reader

Type: Imagine Pairing: Legolas x reader Summary: Y/N knows some Elvish, but she confuses the two meanings for one word Legolas is continually saying: melleth (which can translate to both ‘female friend’ and ‘love’) Warnings: middle finger, mentions of being high, crushing obliviousness, ‘shit’ Word Count: 1462

Y/N and Legolas certainly made for a strange pairing wherever they went. Y/N, constantly covered in sweat, dirt, and occasionally blood, a decent height but absolutely dwarfed by elves (or most men, really), with a mouth like a drunken sailor also high on pipeweed and an irritating level of clumsiness. Legolas, ethereal, stupidly good-looking Prince of Mirkwood, taller than was comfortable for Y/N, never tripped onto his face in front of other royals, and spoke in a calm, agreeable voice on most occasions.

Outsiders to their life would never have assumed them acquaintances, let alone the most familiar of friends, with constant inside jokes with one another and the occasional awkward moment brought on by what the less ... stately members of society liked to call ‘sexual tension’.

According to Y/N, Legolas had absolutely no interest in her whatsoever. She’d heard his stories of his ex-flame, Tauriel, and how his father, King Thranduil, had declared her a ‘lowly Silvan elf’. The beautiful, talented, Captain-of-the-Guard Tauriel, ‘lowly’. Y/N was quiet certain Thranduil would choke on his imported wine if he heard of a human girl who was infatuated with his son, who didn’t like her anyway, as far as Y/N was concerned and aware. 

Y/N allowed herself some of her rare minutes alone, when she wasn’t caught up in all the action and battle as a result of joining the Fellowship after they’d helped her in a battle against Orcs, to contemplate on what life could be like with Legolas, permitted herself to briefly think of how he would hug her, how he would kiss h-

“Y/N! Are you coming, melleth?” the blonde elf in question called her name from where he exited the stable where Arod and Hasufel were kept.

Y/N jumped in surprise, her cheeks now a deep red and she was fervently thanking the Valar that Legolas was not telepathic. Though her embarrassment was muffled by the disappointment at hearing him call her ‘friend’. “Mellon! (friend!) Yeah, I’ll be right with you.”

Legolas’s face fell almost imperceptibly at her use of the word friend - he was constantly confused that every time he greeted her as ‘love’ Y/N would respond with ‘friend’. The beautiful, wild, headstrong human girl, he’d fallen for from the moment he first spoke to her, rejecting him so casually day after day, and yet still smiling at him and hugging him and ... it was all very confusing for Legolas. He knew that elves only fell deeply, truly in love once in their long, long lifetimes, and he was so sidetracked by her continuous ... ‘friend-zoning’ that he didn’t know if his feelings for her were the true kind, or just the kind he’d harboured for Tauriel - the same love young, naive children declared for each other.

But he did know that he found Y/N very attractive - from her e/c eyes that could hold thousands of emotions and subtleties at once, to her s/c skin that pleasantly reflected sunlight and was soft despite the fact it often had some small amount of dirt or blood on it, not to mention her unruly h/c hair that she was constantly blowing out of her face/fidgeting with in a most adorable manner. 

“Hey! Legolas!” the blonde elf jumped at the unexpected speech, looking down and starting when he saw her only centimetres away from him. “We going, or what?”

“Yes, of course,” he stuttered a little, then cleared his throat and smoothened out his speech. “Come on.”

He mounted Arod in one smooth movement, and held out his hand to Y/N. She was definitely gladdened by the fact that he was inviting her to hold his hand, but she glanced suspiciously at the horse he sat upon.

“Normally, I just walk next to you,” she said, and Legolas cursed internally at her quite valid statement.

“Aragorn said that we must move quickly today,” he said quickly. The Ranger had, indeed, said that. “And Arod does not like Gimli very much. So ... would you ride with me?”

Y/N grinned and let him pull her up so she sat in front of him, leaning over Arod’s neck. Legolas brought his arms around her waist so he could hold the reins. Gimli looked at the two of them and muttered something about ‘lovesick fools’, which made Legolas shoot him a scathing glare and Y/N give him a withering middle finger. Aragorn just sighed quietly, mounting Hasufel and pulling Frodo up. 

---

Hours later, Y/N began to shift uncomfortably and blink sleepily.

“It’s all right, melleth,” Legolas said kindly. “You can lean on me.” He was silently hoping, praying that she would say anything but-

“Thank you, mellon,” Y/N said through a quiet yawn, leaning backwards so her head (and then her entire top half) was resting against Legolas’s chest. 

The elf waited until he heard her breathing even out, and he was sure she was asleep, before he began to talk to her softly.

“Why must you do this to me, Y/N? Why do you flirt with me and blush around me and then reject me moments later?”

Unbeknownst to Legolas, who was still expressing his frustration aloud, Y/N had opened her eyes, and was fully awake and listening.

“I don’t understand!” he burst out, almost making Y/N reveal that she was awake as she struggled not to jump in shock. “I say that I love you, I call you love ... is it a human thing to ignore romantic advances?”

“Oh!” Y/N couldn’t stop herself and she sat straight up, twisting around to look at Legolas, who was somehow both pale with shock and flushed with embarrassment at once. “Melleth! It means love in Sindarin, doesn’t it? Shit - I thought you were calling me friend!”

Legolas took the hand that was holding the reins and smacked himself on the forehead. “I forgot that I was the one who taught you Sindarin! And I taught you that melleth meant-”

“-friend,” Y/N finished. “Does it really mean love?”

At this point, Legolas was wondering whether to tell Y/N the truth or not: to save him from the crushing mortification he felt of misunderstanding her for a period of months, but he decided that a late confession of his feelings would be better than potentially hurting her. Not that she would be hurt if she didn’t return his feelings, which was what he expected after Tauriel. 

“Yes, Y/N, it does,” he said slowly, looking at her - her e/c eyes wide with confusion. “I told you that elves only love once in their lives. And I think that my love is you.”

“You ... love me.” Y/N repeated slowly, knowing she sounded stupid but being too shocked to care. 

“Yes. And you probably don’t-”

“Legolas, if you say ‘you probably don’t love me’, so help me I will throw you off this horse.”

Legolas blinked rapidly. 

“I kept thinking you were deliberately calling me friend because you knew I was attracted to you and you were discouraging me!” Y/N explained. “And, honestly, look at you! You’re the Prince of Mirkwood! And you’re an elf - I didn’t even think that elves fell in love with humans.”

“We do,” Legolas smiled, his entire expression transforming into one of soft happiness. “Or, at least ... I do.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, before laughing loudly and unapologetically. Legolas’s face fell a little. 

“I am so stupid,” Y/N laughed. “I can’t believe I kept calling you friend.” 

She turned on the horse, lifting one leg over so she now sat side-saddle, and gently reached out, touching his cheek so softly it felt like a stroke of the wind.

“I am sorry for hurting you,” you said, taking a deep breath to steady yourself for what you would say next. “Gi melin. (I love you)”

Legolas breathed in sharply, surprise sketched all over his features. You gave a low chuckle.

“I thought elves were meant to be more observant than this.”

Legolas just rolled his eyes, pulling you towards him and connecting your lips softly. He tasted like the kind of pure, sweet water one could drink straight from a spring, and like something citrusy and a little earthy. Everything he did was gentle - how he pulled her towards him, how his lips softly brushed across hers, and how his arms wrapped around his waist.

“OI!” Y/N and Legolas broke apart at the loud shout, that had come from Gimli’s direction. “STOP MAKING OUT AND KEEP MOVING! Oh, and Aragorn? You owe me ten gold.”

Aragorn muttered something under his breath along the lines of ‘shit’, waving a hand for you to get moving.

Legolas kicked Arod into motion, both of his arms remaining firmly around your waist. “Gi melin, melleth.”

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to heart this imagine, give me a follow and/or request (it makes my day so much!).

[shadowturtlesstuff]

you belong with me- thomas

this is thomas’s pov. i like doing both pov (i dont know if you can tell) but there are a few things im working on but enjoy!

“How could-? Are you even hearing yourself speak you fool? No- no. God, you know what I'm done.” I throw my phone on the bed, scaring Sir Issac in the process. I cringe even as I begin pacing back and forth. It was truly absurd, utterly crazy, that William lived in such a world where he would ever consider me being with anyone but Audrey Rose. Whilst we weren’t together per say, it was clear there would be no one else for me. The fact that he had already caused trouble for us once makes this even more irritating. I turn and find Audrey Rose already watching me. Her hair disheveled in a messy bun which tells me she is studying or researching something. I give her what I hope classifies as a smile and watches as she pulls out a familiar notebook, searches for her pen and then writes: Are you okay?

Of course she would ask if I'm okay and not what happened; using our absurd way of talking to each other instead of using the window or even messaging me. I shake my head but smile and make my way towards my window. The wind hits me, sending my hair flying but I embrace the fresh air as I watch her move herself off her bed, cursing at her stiff legs. She has been there most of the day, not moving and lost in her work and music. She curses once more as she hits her elbow on the window sill and she looks truly adorable. “You have a wicked mouth Wadsworth. Did you not learn cursing is unlady-like?” I try to ignore the other thoughts I have of her mouth.

“Fuck you,” she scowls at me. It always makes me smile hearing her curse, she always sounds confident in them somehow, making them seem so real. The first time she swore was the time she failed a science test. Well, not exactly a fail, but she was marked wrong by a substitute teacher who didn't like her so she decided to berate him in front of the whole class, starting with her shouting ‘bullshit!’ as soon as she saw her results.

“I assume dear wadsworth, you want to ask what has made me so irate?” As much as I would rather climb across the gap and make her watch another one of my romance films again instead of talk about it, I know that I should. Otherwise it'll eat at my mind when I go to sleep. As well as it being used against wadsworth in some way too.

“Perhaps,” she says, eyes sparkling with mischief as she rests her head on the wall and brings her knees to her chest, “perhaps I merely wanted to ask if Sir Issac was okay.” I nearly burst out laughing at her. She has a love hate relationship with my cat. She pretends to hate the ‘beast’ but will often let him sit on her lap or pet him whenever she is over here. When I first got him, she stayed round mine for the night and we settled him. Even then she had tried to pretend not to like him but she doesn’t remember that she fell asleep with him curled up next to her. I had to sleep on my chair because they were sprawled out, surrounded by her work.

“Really? You always refer to him as a little pest, whereas as with me, I am your dearest person, of course you want to know how I am feeling. My son is good though, very energetic today.” Said cat brushes against me and I look at him, the memory still clear in my mind. Yet I know I need to stop avoiding the problem, Audrey Rose is too kind to push me into telling her, and will let me avoid it for as long as I need. It is not the worst thing we’ve faced yet I still hate it.  

“I assume you saw the call, well that was William,” she nods, her face already falling at the mention of his name, “Yes, awful. Apparently though, there is a rumor that I'm with Miss whitehall. I don't even remember her first name, but he was convinced of our relation despite my protests. Madness.” I scoff at the sheer audacity of him and his friends. Sir Issac nuzzles into me, knowing that I'm upset and wanting to change that. As well get attention.

“Is this the same William that had convinced everyone I was dating him?”

“Yes.” Anger rolls through me at the memory of that disaster. What hurt Audrey Rose the most is that she truly thought he was a friend. She’d explained that with me she didn't try, but everyone else she had too, so when they'd fallen into easy conversations during lessons she really enjoyed having someone other than me and lize and her uncle to talk to.

“Bitch. Why on earth is he such a problem? Where on earth does he even make this assumptions about us?'' She begins pacing, her mind working faster than her steps as she no doubt recalls everything that happened. I am inclined to do the same. I can still remember her walking into her room, looking at me and falling apart. I climbed into her room and held her letting her calm before she spoke to me. I cried as well, slightly, knowing how much that friendship had meant to her. I'd made us watch a really cheesy film and she'd fallen asleep in my arms.

“I have never once,”I say to drag her back to the present “shown interest in her, nor will I ever.” I drag a hand through my hair. “She's just- a lot.” the first time id met her she was just very loud and demanding, I couldn't stand her. I'd watched her insult so many people for being themselves, for liking childish things, or in Audrey Rose's case, morbid things.

“That is the understatement of the year Cresswell. Besides, you wouldn’t work, she's too- your,” she falls silent, either lost in thought or not wanting to tell me those thoughts. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink and I smile. She doesn't meet my eye as she sits herself down and I raise my brows as she asks what? As though she didn’t just show me that she has many inappropriate thoughts about me. She curls herself into a ball, hiding in her oversized hoodie, which is mine that I'm not sure she realizes is.

“I’m what? I'd be delighted to know your innermost thoughts of me, Wadsworth.”

“You're absurd but fine I'll elaborate,” she rolls her eyes though, even as the pink deepens slightly. Her eyes focused on my own. So I face her fully, like an astute student in class dying to seek knowledge, “you're too kind, too witty and clever and Whitehall wouldn’t appreciate you enough. You-” she stops talking immediately, as though whatever is in her mind she cant voice. Her face twists into something unreadable and I get the sense that she would rather not ever speak about me being with someone other than her.

“You forgot to mention how handsome I look, or how charming I am, but I'll take it,” she suppresses an eye roll and her smile and ignores the way my voice deepens ever so slightly. I pat Sir Issac off me and earn a whine but he jumps off me. I reach out to her and she leans, her hair ripping free of her bun with little effort from the wind. Her dark curls cling to her face, framing her perfectly too. It makes me want to hold her face in her hands and kiss her deeply.

“I don’t need to inflate your ego further Thomas.”

She inflates my ego every time she smiles at me, whether that be because of my joke or simply smiling at me because I am her friend. “I know but it would've been nice. I did say the inner most thoughts but we’ll get there. Audrey rose-I don’t belong with her, you’re right, my heart would never belong to her especially since it already belongs to someone else.”

She blinks at me, her face falling flat. Silence falls over us and I realize she thinks I'm talking about someone else. And idea forms, one that she may hate me for but one I'm going to do anyway.

“I-” she begins, no doubt going to tell me she wants me to be happy without whomever I'm with. I stand before she can say anything and she stares at me for a second so I motion for her to move. I want to be able to hold her and be next to her. I climb over and set myself on her window sill, leaving enough space for her on the other side. “I hope you are happy with whomever has your heart Cresswell.” I try to hide my smirk at her. Preparing myself for the worst. Preparing myself for her calling me an idiot and that she doesn't like me that way. I wouldn’t blame her.

“Of course I'll be happy. She's amazing. Let me tell you all about her. I met her many years back and was instantly smitten with her emerald eyes and her quick witted mind. How she sings to herself every morning and how her dark curls fall across her face whenever she sits on her bed and reads. I adore her curiosity for the dead and how wicked her mouth is and how delightful it is to watch your mind at work. I love when she shows me a note through the window to see if I'm doing okay and-”

“Wait,” she blurts out, her cheeks red now and eyes bright with shock, “Thomas, are you talking about me?”

I can’t help but laugh. She is one of the smartest people I have ever met yet she, just like I do, struggles with social cues sometimes. Albeit it she is better than I will ever be. “Yes, finally! I thought I'd have to keep speaking forever till you realized it was you.” Not that that would be a problem. As of right now I'd happily list the way her eyes are filled with both relief and shock and happiness and it's a look I want to capture whenever I need a reminder of something good in life.

She scowls at me, ignoring her blush. I take a risk and reach out my hand, moving closer so that her back is straightened on the wall, her attention fixed on me completely. No fake scowl or bright smile, just an intent gaze I can't quite pick apart. I rest my hand on her leg, now free of her (my) hoodie. “Wadsworth, darling, I have been in love with you for some time now.”

I stare at my best friend, my love, as she tries to convince herself this is real. It's truly adorable. Then her eyes widen slightly as she whispers: “I have something to show you.”

She jumps from my grip, running the short distance to her bed and then shuffling through the mountain of books and papers sprawled there until she pulls out a notebook and shakes it, letting a piece of paper drop. It's folded and creased a lot, as though it has been opened often. I watch as she faces me and slowly, her face fixed on the sheet as she opens and holds it out to me.

I read the words: I love you.

I love you.

I read them over and over and over, trying to imprint it on my brain. Her delicate handwriting and her confession reaches out to me and I desperately want to reach out to her, hold her against me and press kisses and make her laugh.

Audrey rose takes her seat across from me and I instantly reach out, holding her leg again. Anything to reassure me this is real. “I wrote that the night after you came here the second time.” her voice is soft, her curls once again framing her face as she looks at me, “Something in me clicked that no matter what you'd find a way to comfort me. Not save me, but work alongside me. I wanted to tell you I just couldn't face it. But I needed to acknowledge it. So I wrote it down, and I look at it every time we use the note system; I try to convince myself to show you.” Audrey Rose would never need saving, never want it, yet her words save my own dark heart that she has felt this way for so long, and we have somehow lived alongside each other and been so blinded by our love entwined with fears that it has taken so long to finally acknowledge them.

I debate pinching myself. Only minutes ago was I miserable and upset, yet Audrey Rose has taken her time to cheer me up. Yet even if I had left it as I am fine, even though she knows me better than that, she wouldn't have pressed for answers; would have waited for me to open up. So i lean in and the world stops as we both wait until our lips are pressed together It's a light kiss, one full of promise and wonder. When I lean back we are both smiling so freely my heart feels as though it too is reaching out to hold Audrey rose. We trade kisses, never wanting to leave this loop but I do lean back away from her. I’m already too drunk on her kisses, I need to breathe, to process this so I can remember it. Once my back is against the wall I pull her, twisting so her back is against mine, leaning into my warmth and I rest my head atop hers. Trying to contain my smiles but to no avail. My hand covers hers and as i look down at her i notice she doesn't bother controlling her smile. It is a magnificent sight.  

“Now would be a perfect time to tell me how handsome I am, my love.”

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[imnotwolverine]

LOVE IS LIKE - Books and Babes

PART 1 Books and Babes | PART 2 >

Summary: As he travels home to London with his assistant Leah, Henry recalls some moments from his past, including breakups, ladies and that one book that keeps getting into trouble. 

Word count: 2.566

The song: Sweet - Love Is Like Oxygen 

Disclaimer: mentions of one-night-stands, breakups, bullying, hopeless love and weed smoking. Other than that it’s pretty much just comedic fluff 

--

LOVE IS LIKE... books and babes

--

‘Love is like oxy-gen,

You get too much,

you get too high..’

Henry mimed along with the music in his earpods, shuffling forward as the line of businessmen moved to the gate that would transport him to the plane taking him back to London Heathrow.

‘Not enough and you're gonna die--’

A short jab in his ribs made him look down at the glowing pink cheeks of his PA. She’d had to make a run for it.

‘Love gets you high-.’

With a quick fumble Henry killed the music, as he was greeted by one heavily panting Leah who pushed his lost book back in his large hands.

‘Found it.’ She smiled with another few long puffs, sweet sweat beading down her brow.

‘Leahhh.’ Henry sighed and shook his head with a laugh. ‘You know you didn’t have to do THAT.’

She chuckled. ‘And have you bother me all flight? Ohhh no, none of that.’

‘Like I’m such a pain.’ Henry winked, shuffling forward now the line before him was slowly funnelling down the long white tunnel into the plane.

‘Sometimes..’ Leah gave him a playfully chastising look before starting to quickly dig down her bag to find her ticket and passport.

‘Piers?’

Henry wanted to knock on his brother’s bedroom door, but halted, hearing something peculiar arising from the small confinement his oldest brother was hiding out in. Was that a..girl he heard giggling? Putting his ear flat against the rough oak wood, he listened more closely.

‘Do you like that?’ He heard his brother ask. The girl giggled again.

‘Stop it! Hahaha. Piers! Stop it!’

Henry felt his muscles tighten and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Was that Ellie? The blond girl that lived a street away? And was Piers...hurting her? His older brother truly was strange now he had full on hit puberty. Frowning, Henry looked down the hallway, his ears now picking up the sound of feet climbing up the stairs.

‘Did you call him for dinner yet?’ Marianne puffed out as she dragged a full basket of dirty laundry up the narrow steps, her face not managing to poke out over the large pile. Henry quickly straightened up and swallowed.

‘Eh..’ With a sharp knock he finally rapped on his brother’s door. ‘Piers! Dinner!’

Inside he could hear the panicked kerfuffle of what may have very well been clothing zipped up, but again Henry couldn’t be sure as he looked back at his mother who now lowered the basket in her arms. One conspicuously raised eyebrow from her was all it took to burn his cheeks a bright pink.

‘I wasn’t listening!’ He squeaked, though Marianne knew better.

‘Sure you did sweetie.’ She winked at him then tilted her head in the direction of Piers’ room. ‘Piers honey, don’t forget about what me and dad told you!’

With a swift swing the door was pulled open and one both terribly embarrassed and terribly annoyed Piers appeared in the door opening. ‘FUCK mom! Did you really have to --’

‘Language young man! ..Especially in front of ladies.’ Marianne looked over the shoulder of her lanky teen son to find the shy expression of one equally embarrassed Ellie.

‘Hello Mrs. Cavill...’ She squeaked before noticing the fiercely blushing young boy next to Marianne. ‘..Henry.’  

Henry felt his chubby cheeks burn even more. Oh why was he like this with girls?

‘This is not working out...It’s not you, it’s me...’ Her words swam in the back of his head, tumbling around like his brain had turned on the dirty laundry setting of his conscience. Henry felt nauseated, tired and utterly empty as he lay here on the couch of his friend, his hands folded over the phone on his chest. He had thought she was the one. Starry eyed and hair black as night. That smile throwing him off whenever he saw it. She was still the one, right? Why oh why did she not want to work through this? Why did this have to be the end? Why did she have to decide for him how to feel about all this? Why not put in the darn fucking work?!  

Looking to his right he heard the soft snoring of the puppy they had adopted only months ago. His body was all disproportionate with his floppy ears and oversized lanky paws. Henry sighed. At least he still had Kal.

‘Welcome Mr. Cavill and thank you for travelling with us.’ The pretty asian lady handed him back his boarding pass with a smile that was near inappropriately close to a flirt. Henry didn’t mind though. Mind a kind smile his large paw retrieved the most used book in his life: his passport, and stepped to the side as they checked Leah’s boarding pass as well. Leah did not receive that same flirtatious look, the asian lady barely offering Leah a glance as her eyes already roved on to the next business man who stepped in line.

Leah raised an eyebrow at him and Henry couldn’t help but offer his dear PA an even wider smile to compensate. ‘What’s the matter with you today?’ She asked, chuckling as her legs moved past him to start their way down the white tunnel of led lights and muffled blue carpet.

‘Absolutely nothing dear Leah.’ Henry smiled. Most women came and went in his life, but at least Leah was here to stay. Like Kal she was one of the few who were true friends to him.

In for it through thick and thin.

‘So what do you think of King Pellenore?’ Young Henry shuffled a little closer to the girl who was sitting on the other edge of the school yard bench. Rosy cheeked and hunched over in his hand-me-down blazer he eyed the sweet red haired girl that seemed to share his fascination with reading. They had worked together on a group project a week ago and he couldn’t help but be interested in her.

Finally she looked up, Anne, her brown eyes skittishly skimming over him before both their ears picked up the sound of a bunch of classmates laughing. Laughing at them. Him. With a small “o” on her mouth the girl quickly grabbed her belongings and rushed inside, leaving Henry alone on the bench, his hands nervously picking at his backpack as the other kids threw him some mean comments.

Fat Cavill. Nerd. Sissy. Fool!

Was he really such a failure with girls?

‘Kal! OH NO...KAL! Give that back!....naughtyyyy.’ Bent through his cracking knees Henry tried to reach for the book that his dog had snatched from the coffee table. But the pup was quick. With a cheeky side eye he glanced at Henry before sprinting down to the hallway, nails tapping on the slippery tile floor. He was near full grown now, but had antics in abundance - and sharp teeth to grab anything and everything he could drag around. Shoes, socks and his new favourite: books.

Chasing after the Akita, Henry followed him down to the kitchen; the home thankfully anything but large and with a few large steps he had managed to chase the dog into a corner, hands grabbing him by the collar before he pried the slimy book from his maw. ‘Oh well would you look at that..’ Henry sighed and tried to swipe some of the doggy drool off the leather bound cover. He had started to read King Arthur again, but his dog was clearly just as little a fan as his old classmates had been. Though of course the dog was not really being mean: he just thought it was time to go out, play, run, chase squirrels!

‘You are one cheeky bugger, you know that?’ Henry looked down at the Akita who sat down, looking up at him with big puppy eyes. It was hard to stay mad at him for long.

‘You sure you’re okay with this?’ Charlie settled down in the comfy hotel deck chair, the Californian sun burning down on their heads.

‘Why of course! I mean, I’ll still tease you like any good older brother. But you LOVE her you big Sissywat. Of course you’re going to marry her.’

‘Haa…’ Charlie sighed and looked at the pool where some women were lounging on sunbeds. ‘..well I guess here’s to the last days as a truly single man?’

Henry raised an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. ‘I really don’t get how people think you’re still single before the ring’s on the finger.’ He sniffled as Charlie shrugged.

‘It’s just a saying, Hen.’

‘Well single or not, you better take good care of her, will you?’

‘Of course! Each and every day, with every make-up stain on my blouse and every cold foot giving me first degree freeze burns beneath the bed sheets.’ Charlie clinked his beer with Henry’s.

‘For better or worse!’ The brothers laughed.

‘Don’t want to stay for breakfast?’ Henry sat up to see his late-night ladylove squeeze herself back into her skinny jeans. Her round butt cheeks didn’t seem to cooperate and he had to resist from pulling her back into the bed so he could convince her to stay. 

‘No, thanks.’ She inhaled deeply so she could zip up the tight jean fabric. 

‘Will I see you again?’ Henry internally scolded himself for sounding so insecure. 

The woman shot him a confused look. ‘I don’t think I’ll be in London any day soon. It was fun though. Hey,’ She crawled up onto the bed and Henry rolled onto his back in hope she’d at least give him a kiss, her body folding over him. ‘ah there it is.’ With a swift hand movement she retrieved her bra from behind his pillow. ‘Gotta go, my cab is here.’ She pushed herself back off the bed and grabbed her bag. With one last glance and smile she was out the door. ‘Bye Superman!’ 

Henry felt his heart sink. Oh Henry you fool!

‘OH CRAP!’  The woman in the business class chair next to Henry shot up from her seat, hands pulling a book away from what appeared to be a fallen over drink. ‘Shitshitshit.’ She quickly bit her lip and anxiously started to look around for something to wipe down the mess. Henry killed the music in his ear.

‘Love is like.. --’

‘Oh dammit.’ She scrunched up her nose as she realised how much of the juice had fallen over her book; it was just about ruined, pages soaking up the berry purple colour.

‘Here.!’ Henry sat up and quickly grabbed some tissues from his travel bag; having a slightly messy dog taught you to always be prepared.

‘Thanks.’ The woman breathed, some staff now also joining in to help clean the mess and put the book on a tray before it’d contaminate anything else. It took a good minute before it was all cleaned and gone, the brown haired banana-sock-wearing business woman settling down in her chair with a sigh.

‘You alright?’ Henry asked. It was the first words they shared after a whole hour of flight, her attention first having been preoccupied with her laptop or..reading, which now seemed out of the question.

‘Yea..yea..’ She shook her head and looked at Henry. Mediterranean turquoise eyes hidden behind thick glasses, her low brown-haired ponytail slightly disheveled after being smushed into the seat.

‘Was it a good book?’

‘Yea..just some..old timer. Good ol’ ..King Arthur.’ She hushed the last words as if she felt awkward about admitting she was reading a children’s book.

Henry blinked for a moment as he looked at her, his brain short circuiting before he turned to rummage through his bags again.

‘Oh am I..Is there something on my face?’ She grabbed for her glasses and took them off to look at them with squinting eyes.

‘No no, please. Eh..’ Henry raised the chewed and mauled, but ever loved copy he had bought himself all those years ago. ‘..just..coincidence I guess.’ He reached out his rendition of King Arthur and His Knights to her.

‘Well have you there. Leather bound too!’

‘And absolutely destroyed, also. I think these books just ..beg..to be harmed haha.’

‘You have a dog? Or..’ She pushed her glasses back on her nose and let her finger trace over the large indents.. ‘..bear..perhaps?’

Henry laughed. ‘No no. Just a dog. A large one. But, deep inside still very much a sweet pup.’

‘Apologies.’ A flight attendant halted as the glassed woman turned to look up. ‘We are seeing to the drying of your book. Though I’m afraid we do not have anything to get the stain out.. -’

‘Oh, that’s quite alright. Please.’

‘Could we perhaps offer you a new refreshment?’

‘Some wine would be great. WHITE wine..’ The woman grinned. ‘..less chance of stains.’

The flight attendant nodded, before Henry quickly interjected. ‘I’ll have one as well.’

‘Chardonnay, Sauvignon?’

The woman turned to Henry and with a dapper smile he picked their choosing.

‘You just gotta be yourself man.’ Henry’s skinny, beanie-hatted friend spoke, inhaling the saturating smoke of his Red Dragon joint. The whole room was some kind of blue, bean bags scattered around the Californian apartment, people lounging and chilling in their daze.

Henry inhaled deeply and felt the wooze of a broken heart and drugs fight an odd battle inside his heavy chest. He felt both extremely relaxed and extremely wrong for being here; shouldn’t he be trying his best to get her back?

‘What if I never find anyone to be with me?’ The chubby boy inside him spoke, unsure blue eyes peering out at the ceiling that seemed to move and dance before him. The whole world had slowed down, but his mind tried its best to keep going.

‘Hey,’ His friend struggled up from his beanbag, making Henry fall to his side. ‘you’re a good guy mate. You hear me? You’re a GOOD guy. And if you’d be gay I’d totally..totally do you.’ His friend burst into a fit of giggles before he cleared his throat and shook his head to clear his mind. ‘No, but really. Don’t change for the girl, ever. Yea? You’re such a good guy.’

Henry wondered if this is what Kal felt like. 

Good boy! Good boy! 

‘Where’s your book?’ Leah had to speed up to keep up with the light long steps of Henry as they moved through the long airport hall for their connecting flight. Henry smiled and looked over his shoulder.

‘Who said it again? If you love something, let it go?’

Leah frowned and with a few more fast steps got in line with him. ‘You are a handful! You know that Cavill? I ran my lungs out to--’

‘Leah. It’s fine. I gave it to someone who I’m sure will love it even more than I could ever.’

Leah puffed and, from the way her cheeks already burned, Henry decided to slow his pace.

‘And if she doesn’t appreciate it, I can always buy a new one.’

‘She? Did I miss something?’ Leah hoisted up the bag on her shoulder and shook her head. ‘You and your romantic antics.’

‘Incorrigible Cavill.’ Henry mimicked her voice, before smiling down at her. Leah rolled her eyes.

‘You said it first!’

‘One very high man once told me I just have to be myself. So that’s what I’ll do. And who knows..’ he hinted at a Valentine’s day poster they passed by. ‘..Love is like oxygen!’

--

Go to PART 2 > 

--

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[jaskierek]

Temporary

Summary:

Everyone's always left Jaskier, he's come to expect it. After all, he was temporary, forgettable. Until Geralt comes back. Until Geralt seems bent on proving him wrong.

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

Julian and his parents were never that close.

They weren’t really invested in him if he was being honest.

Well, maybe they were. They were invested in his academic grades and his ‘upbringing’, which for them consisted of learning how to hunt pheasants and which fork to use.

Other than that, Julian was pretty much left alone with no one but his nanny to keep him company. He liked her. She’d sing for him and tuck him in at night with a kiss.

When he was 7 he figured out that she was being paid to care for him so he closed himself off even to her, hiding behind his blinding smiles.

His father wasn’t gentle with him and Julian tended to get in trouble. How else would an ignored child get any sort of attention? Turns out that the Earl of Lettenhove was more invested in the dignity of the Lettenhove name than he was in ignoring his son. So Julian got what he wanted…in a way. It’s sickeningly clichéd, isn’t it?

Eventually his parents didn’t know what to do with him so they sent him off to boarding school.

Julian learned how to be charismatic, how to become popular among his peers and earn ‘friends’. All fleeting relationships, never lasting long, never slipping past his mask of smiles. Unfortunately, that did not stop him from getting into trouble, nor did it keep him interested in his studies.

He remembered one particular professor. He was a wizard with a cane. He knew exactly where to strike to make it the most painful. “No tears.” He used to say and Julian was forced to swallow them down. After a while he learned how to be an academic.

His love for poetry came as a surprise. He’d only started liking it when he was 19. It was also when he’d met the Countess de Stael. Once she’d stepped into his life, poetry had poured out of him. He’d forgo sleep in favour of letting the words slip onto the pages before him. She loved it at the time.

And then she left.

And so Julian had carried on with his studies, allowing his broken heart to write the most beautiful sonnets and ballads.

And then Julian had left. And he’d changed his name. He changed it to Jaskier. Buttercup. Beautiful, bright and yellow. Small, delicate and smooth to the touch.

Buttercup. A weed.

Loosen the soil, yank at its base and pull it out. More room for better things now.

He’d fallen into many beds during his travels. Men, women, neither. Sometimes it was the Countess de Stael herself. He remembered most of their names. And when he didn’t, it was because he’d been blackout drunk. And even then, he’d remember things like the touch of their skin or the colour of their hair.

None lasted long. Many didn’t care to learn his name. He wasn’t hurt. He hadn’t expected anything more.

He wrote beautiful songs. People didn’t care to listen. So he wrote what was popular. He wrote of monsters and heroes and kings. He knew nothing of monsters and heroes and kings. His songs were bad. He wasn’t paid much.

Then he’d met Geralt of Rivia. Witcher. Monster Hunter. Emotionally constipated. Self loathing. Kind. Generous. Asshole. Utter and absolute asshole.

The love of Jaskier’s life.

Geralt had never shown Jaskier much outward affection. Jaskier had hoped that he cared though. He’d hoped that he wasn’t dispensable, forgettable. The Witcher, for all of his grumpiness, had provided food, had let the bard sleep in occasionally, had let him talk for hours on end, had made sure he was always safe and healthy. He had once even nursed Jaskier back to health after a particularly malicious cold that had left him numb and with a raging fever. Jaskier could even make out the faint whisper of worry in the Witcher’s golden eyes.

Geralt had also inspired him to write in a way he hadn’t known possible. Suddenly, the lyrics and notes were pouring out of him again. His pockets filled with coin. His stomach filled with food. His fame spread. His music was respected. People’s desire for him had grown. He was wanted. But never in the way that he needed.

People ignored him when he was with Geralt, their gaze slipping over him like water. He understood. It was hard to focus on a simple bard when a Witcher stood right beside him. And not just any Witcher. Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. A mass of muscles and sharp swords and white hair and amber eyes and gods, did Jaskier understand. He often found himself struggling to look away. And besides, he was used to not being seen, at least not being seen truly and wholly.

Then came the golden dragon and the witch and the mountain and -

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

It seemed to be a common wish for anyone who’d met him.

Some of his relationships lasted a night, maybe a week, a month, maybe a little more.

With Geralt it had been 20 years. He’d cleaned his wounds, he’d bathed him, he’d learned to understand his grunts and the minute twists of his lips, he’d loved him with all that he had. 20 years. He still wasn’t enough. Jaskier wished he could blame the Witcher. But he’d seen him be kind, he’d seen him be gentle, he’d seen him be careful with his words. Perhaps Jaskier simply wasn’t enough. Maybe he wasn’t enough to warrant care.

Dispensable, forgettable, temporary. Fun while it lasted but not enough to love.

While Jaskier was an idealist, he’d always considered himself to be realistic about his own assets. He was attractive, he had great eyes and a great smile, he was a good dancer, he could write a hell of a song.

There was not much else.

He was annoying, too excitable, too greedy, he was interesting up to a point. He talked too much. He was too cocky. He was useless in a fight. He had a tendency to fool around with married people. He was unlovable.

Ah, yes, and he was dramatic. Overly dramatic.

Jaskier looked at himself in the mirror and smiled, big and bright.

Buttercup.

Weed.

Temporary.

“If life could give me one blessing -”

The smile didn’t waver.

Geralt had found him half a year later performing at a rather respectable inn. He had been singing one of his new songs. It wasn’t about Geralt. None of his new songs were. Not for lack of material though, he found he could write about the Witcher endlessly. Jaskier had believed himself adept at swallowing down pain. He was proven wrong.

“What can I do for you, Witcher?” He’d asked with a grin, hoping Geralt wouldn’t see through it.

“Nothing, Jaskier.  I want nothing from you.” He’d responded and the bard felt his chest clench at that. Perhaps this meeting had simply been an accident. Geralt didn’t want anything to do with him. He should have been used to it.

“Ah, well then,” Jaskier said, turning around, finding he couldn’t stand to look into those amber eyes any longer, “see you around, Geralt.”

“No - Jaskier, please, wait,” the bard had ground to a halt at that, looking over his shoulder to see a pained expression on that beautiful face, “I - I’ve been looking for you.”

So, yes, Geralt had found him and not accidentally. He had been looking for him.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do with that information.

“I want to apologise.”

The smile finally slipped.

“You…you want to apologise?”

“Yes.” Came the response. Short. Fast. Without any room for doubt.

“Why?”

Geralt looked almost incredulous, almost confused. “Because I said terrible things to you.”

Jaskier furrowed his brows.

“So?” He couldn’t help but ask, not maliciously but entirely curiously.

“‘So?’ What do you mean ‘so’? Jaskier, I said things to you that I didn’t mean, things that I couldn’t stand you believing. I - Jaskier, you - you were there and I was angry and I lashed out.”

A beat of silence.

“After the mountain, I - I tried to be alone and I couldn’t stand it. Even…even before - we’d spend weeks apart but I still never felt as alone as I did after I said…what I said and I - I didn’t mean it and then I went to find Yennefer,”

Ah, Jaskier was an idiot. Add that to the list of flaws. Of course he wasn’t the first one to be sought out by the Witcher. Why would he be?

“Must have been a fun reunion.” Jaskier said, trying to inject some genuine sounding mirth into his voice and the smile that had reappeared. Geralt looked away.

“It wasn’t like that. Although we care for each other, we realised that that wasn’t what we wanted.”

Despite himself, Jaskier’s chest still tightened painfully. Hearing - hell, even seeing - how truly and deeply they cared for each other… His smile didn’t waver.

“Sorry about that.” Was all he could think to say.

“Stop it.”

Jaskier blinked.

“Stop what?”

“That smile. That smile you do when you don’t really want to be smiling. I’ve known you for 20 years, bard, I know which smiles are genuine.”  Geralt sounded frustrated. Almost pained.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier. I know I fucked up. I know I did and you deserve to be angry at me but don’t give me that smile. I hate it. I hate that smile.” The Witcher took a step closer and the bard finally let his smile slip. It wasn’t his only mask. Geralt seemed to realise this too, still looking displeased.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, the amusement gone from his voice, but he managed to keep it levelled, not betraying the tiredness behind it.

“I don’t want anything from you, Jaskier,” he paused for a moment. “What I wanted to say was that I talked to Yennefer and she helped me realise that I don’t want a life without you.”

It would’ve sounded romantic if Jaskier wasn’t certain that Geralt would never think of him like that.

“So you do want something from me. You want me to travel with you again.”

Geralt winced and after a moment said, “yes”.

“You hurt me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m - I’m trying to make up for it.”

Jaskier was weak. Add that to the list. He was so fucking weak.

“Okay.”

After that, Geralt would eye the bard warily for a while, as if expecting him to reveal himself as some sort of shapeshifter, a doppler maybe. But Jaskier knew that the Witcher would smell anything like that a mile away so he didn’t really know why he kept glancing at him over the campfire.

Other than that, it seemed like things were back to normal.

Everything forgiven, nothing forgotten. Unfortunately.

Jaskier pushed that out of his mind and returned to his rambles and Witcher-themed ballads. After all, Geralt had said he’d missed him. Surely that had meant the whole ‘Jaskier experience’, prattling and all.

The bard still didn’t know how to comprehend that information. No one had ever missed him in his life. At least, not that he knew of. Maybe they missed how he made them feel, like when the Countess would moan “gods, I missed this,” as he’d trail kisses up her thighs. So no, he didn’t know what Geralt wanted but it was strange. The Witcher smiled at him more, talked to him more. Every time they separated for a time, Geralt would greet him with a small smile. It made the bard’s heart do things and it wasn’t fair.

Perhaps this was a punishment from some god or another, maybe destiny herself or karma. Maybe it was Jaskier’s punishment to have to endure a love for a man who would never reciprocate it, all the while being subjected to that same man openly stating that, yes, he wanted Jaskier around.

A few months later, Geralt had kissed him.

It was after a battle with a Leshy, half wildcat, half bear, with fangs and claws like knives, sharp and long enough to sever a man in half. Jaskier had gotten very close to being that man before Geralt had yanked it back by its tail, swinging his sword as it whirled around in fury. After the fight, the Witcher had surged over to Jaskier, arm bleeding and eyes searching.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice gruff. His hands were running over the bard’s body, checking for injuries.

“No.” Jaskier managed to choke out, trying to ignore the feeling of Geralt’s hands skimming over his hips. “But you are. Let me check that arm.” He said, reaching for the Witcher’s bleeding bicep. A hand snapped up and grabbed his wrist, bringing it back down to his side.

“You got too close.” He rumbled, taking a step closer so that he was practically pressing the bard up against the tree behind him. Jaskier swallowed.

“I know. Sorry.” He let out a shaky breath as he noticed those golden eyes sliding down to his lips. Geralt growled and pressed their lips together, one hand behind Jaskier’s head, the other still gripping his wrist. Jaskier was quick to reciprocate, tangling his fingers in the Witcher’s snowy hair and opening his mouth willingly.

Their kiss was all tongues and teeth and sucking and biting. Their sex was much the same. Jaskier knew it was adrenaline and he knew it was just physical, but he couldn’t stop from smiling the next morning, for once waking before the other man. Geralt’s injured arm was wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, the wound already mostly healed. The bard found himself tracing the outline of Geralt’s cheekbone, his jawline, his thumb running over his lips. He had never known the Witcher to sleep so deeply that a touch would not wake him.

He didn’t know whether this was a one time thing but he was grateful it had happened. Even if he only got to taste the man once, he would find a way to make it be enough.

After a while, Jaskier got up and wet a small rag, cleaning himself before rinsing it and beginning to clean the Witcher, it was nothing he hadn’t already seen, some of it he’d even helped wash before. They were still sticky from the night before and they were nowhere near any lakes or rivers. Geralt woke to Jaskier running the cloth across his thigh.

“Sorry, I thought it would be nice to wake up not so icky.” The bard said, pulling his hand away.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand, “I like it.”

Jaskier smiled and looked away, missing the way his favourite pair of golden eyes lit up at the sight.

“Well, I’m not about to miss my chance at touching that body again.” He said with a whistle. Geralt laughed at that and pulled the bard down, pressing a kiss to his lips that threatened to burst Jaskier’s chest with affection.

The Witcher’s gaze was soft for the rest of the morning.

They’d fall into bed multiple times again. Sometimes it was rough and fast and adrenaline-hazed. Sometimes it was soft and gentle and it left Jaskier feeling heady, his head filling with sweet honey as Geralt’s fingers worked wonders.

It was hard for him not to get attached even more. He knew he shouldn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe that Geralt cared for him romantically. He wouldn’t put his heart through that. Still, it was hard.

So one evening, when a particularly brave woman had chosen to flirt with the Witcher, all but offering herself up on a platter, Geralt had looked to Jaskier with a look in his eye.

“It’s okay, Geralt.” He’d reassured him from the seat across the table, he smiled and Geralt frowned before rejecting the woman bluntly. Jaskier felt a sigh of relief building in his throat as the woman sauntered away.

“What did you mean ‘it’s okay’?” Geralt asked, turning to him with stiff shoulders. Jaskier froze. Was he really going to make him say it aloud?

“I - I mean, it’s okay if you want to sleep with other people, you don’t have to worry about me.” You don’t have to worry about me trying to stop you, about me being hurt.

“What - Jaskier -,” The Witcher struggled for a moment before taking a breath, “is this just about sex for you?”

Jaskier definitely wasn’t expecting that.

“I…is it for you?” He asked. It was a coward’s response. Had he already put that on the list? Add cowardly to the list. Geralt was quiet and Jaskier could feel his heart beating in his throat as those amber eyes searched his.

“No.”

He thinks he might have misheard.

“What?”

“It’s not just about sex for me and if it is for you then we should stop.”

Jaskier’s mouth was open, trying to find a response. He knew what he wanted to say but a declaration of love was probably not what the Witcher wanted.

“I love you, Jaskier.” Geralt said, his face pinched.

Huh.

“I know you don’t want me like that,” Geralt continued, his gaze still on Jaskier’s, “you of all people have seen the worst of me and I wouldn’t blame you for not being able to stomach romance with a Witcher,” the way he said that word made his chest clench, “but I can’t keep doing this, Jaskier.”

Since when had Geralt ever been more eloquent than his bard?

“You think I don’t love you?” Jaskier’s voice came out quiet, hesitant, incredulous. Geralt’s eyes looked wary.

“You -“

“Geralt, how can I not fucking love you? I’ve spent 20 years loving you. Fuck - it - it hurts how much I love you.”

Because it did. Every time Geralt smiled at him or teased him or tied his hair back in the morning, it was like a blow to Jaskier’s chest, but he’d gotten good at swallowing pain, swallowing tears.

He could tell Geralt was still disbelieving and fuck - he knew that the man’s self-loathing ran deep and he couldn’t help himself from saying; “Geralt, you are the best man I’ve ever known and it frustrates me to no end that you don’t see it.”

Geralt was watching him, scanning his face, his eyes, looking for something.

“Then why - why do you hide yourself from me?” He asked, frustrated, “You - you do this smile that - it’s not you, it’s not your smile. There’s this look in your eyes sometimes. It’s like a wall and I hate that you need to hide from me.”

Jaskier’s hand shot out to grab Geralt’s, trying to comfort him. The Witcher had never been big on affection in public but he let his hand be taken by the bard.

“It’s not you, Geralt, I don’t blame you. It’s - it’s not love…what you feel for me.” Jaskier smiled sadly, his years of practice swallowing down tears being put to use. “It’s not love. You’ll get bored of me soon. I’m not permanent. I’m - I’m a fleeting fancy. And that’s okay.”

“You - I - what?” Geralt asked, looking so completely confused that it was almost comical. “Fuck. We’re not talking about this here.” He said, standing up and dragging Jaskier up through the inn and into their shared room. “Now,” the Witcher growled, whirling on the bard and grabbing him by his shirt, “what the fuck did you just say.”

Geralt didn’t scare Jaskier. He could never scare him, but the bard’s eyes were wide as he looked at Geralt’s furious expression.

“I - I don’t know how to say it, Geralt, I - no one’s ever wanted me before, not in a way that matters.” He managed to choke out, his vision turning blurry. Fuck, he thought he’d gotten good at swallowing down tears but Geralt had yet again proven him wrong.

“Who told you that?” He asked furiously.

“No one,” Jaskier responded, pushing Geralt away and scrubbing at his cheeks fiercely, “no one had to. I know, okay? I know.” The Witcher snarled.

“You know nothing, bard, if you don’t know that I love you.”

“Stop it, Geralt.”

“No.”

“I can’t do this if you’re just going to leave me.”

Jaskier froze and a silence passed. His breath was shaking from barely restrained tears.

“I can’t do this, Geralt,” he continued in a quiet voice, “not if you find someone better and leave me. I - I don’t know what I’d do. Everyone I’ve ever known has either left me or grown tired of me. It’s not a pattern that’s going to end with you. I - I don’t think I could take it if you left me again.”

Geralt’s gaze was soft, pitying. Jaskier was pitiful, add that to the list.

“I’ve known you for over 20 years and I have not grown tired.”

“What is 20 years to a Witcher? And even so, you did, you did grow tired of me.”

‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.’

“I didn’t grow tired of you. I grew tired of myself and my ability to fuck everything up.” Geralt said softly, “And I did, I fucked it up.”

“Geralt, it’s not love.”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s not.”

Geralt snarled and pushed Jaskier up against the wall, leaning in close so that Jaskier had nowhere to look except for those golden eyes. Those disarmingly honest, golden eyes.

“Listen to me, Jaskier, I love you.”

Jaskier wouldn’t cry. He swallowed down a shaky breath.

“I’m irritating.”

“You are.”

“I talk too much.”

“You do. I like it.”

“I’m greedy.”

“You enjoy finery. It’s not the same.”

“I’m arrogant.”

“Clearly you’re not.”

“I can’t fight. I’m a coward.”

“You’re one of the bravest men I know. To the point of recklessness, it worries me.”

“It does?”

“It does.”

Geralt’s lips were grazing over his now, teasingly. Jaskier smiled, genuinely. Geralt smiled right back.

“You love me?” He asked, voice breaking.

“I do.”

And Jaskier cried, finally.

Jaskier cried and laughed and kissed Geralt. It was bad. It was wet and sloppy and he loved it. And Geralt loved it too. Because he loved him. Jaskier. He loved him.

Then Geralt had dragged him to bed, whispering praise into his skin as if hoping it would soak through him and settle in his bones. Jaskier had done the same because fuck, he was in love and it was dizzying.

“You know,” Jaskier began the next morning, earning a grunt from the Witcher laying under him, “I think last night was the longest I’ve ever heard you speak.” The chest beneath the bard’s head rumbled with a laugh.

“Fuck off.”

“I guess I just bring it out of you, Witcher.” Jaskier continued, grinning devilishly.

“I will kick you out of this bed, bard.”

“Please, I dare you to try and rip me off of you. I have melded my body onto yours.”

Geralt simply grumbled in response. It was a grumble of acceptance, Jaskier could tell. He could always tell.

-

They ran into Yennefer two months later and Jaskier found that he wasn’t concerned. He wasn’t worried Geralt would return to her. Partly because when she spotted them the first thing out of her mouth was;

“Finally. For Melitele’s sake, that took much too long.”

Geralt had looked at her with a pointedly unamused gaze which she’d returned with a wink.

Later, after they had helped her with a monster-slaying job so she could collect some sort of venom, the three had shared drinks.

“I take full credit for this, by the way.” She’d said, gesturing to the two of them and the arm wrapped around Jaskier’s waist.

“In what way is this your doing?” Jaskier had asked.

“I’m the one who told him to tell you how he felt.”

“Which he did months after he’d found me.”

“Is his lack of communication skills my fault?”

“If he didn’t do it when you told him to then it doesn’t count.”

“Fuck off, it counts.”

“It most certainly does not.”

Geralt took a sip of his ale as the two continued to bicker.

Not long after, Yennefer had decided to join them - “graced” them with her presence as she’d put it. Jaskier could tell that Geralt and the sorceress still cared for each other deeply. He couldn’t really talk though, he’d found himself caring for her as well. When she’d called him her “friend” he had practically glowed. Then Ciri had barrelled into their lives and their little circle had grown and gods, did he love that little girl.

“Where are your parents, Jaskier?” She had once asked as he was soothing her back to sleep after a nightmare. It was always Cintra burning, Jaskier ached for her. She was too young for all of this.

“I don’t know, honey, I haven’t spoken to them for years.”

“Why not?”

“We were never really a family.”

Ciri paused before smiling widely.

“But you have a family now.”

Jaskier smiled back, brushing the hair out of her face and listening to the sounds of Yennefer sleeping soundly and Geralt mumbling something to Roach.

“I do.”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

39. "If he's the devil, I finally understand the appeal of hell." 79. "One more word and I'll stitch those lips of yours shut." I'm coming back with more requests 🤣

39. "If he's the devil, I finally understand the appeal of hell." 

79. "One more word and I'll stitch those lips of yours shut."

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

A/N - Since you didn’t specify who it is for, I’m choosing my current obsession aka Nicholas Scratch :)

Pairing: Nick x nephillim!reader

Summary: Deciding to be bold and visit hell, Y/N finds someone is need of help.

Warnings: ANGST

Word count: 1800+

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

All witches go to hell eventually, it’s the price of walking down the path of night. A necessary evil for a very long life filled with beauty and power - a combination very few could ever deny.

Y/N walked a different path, one very few were given directions to. Path of light was guaranteed only for nephillms and being the daughter of an archangel, Michael, Y/N found herself more powerful, pure and possibly the most ambitious than any witch that walked the earth.

While witches served the dark lord, Y/N sought to destroy him and all he hold dear. Hell could be her domain. She certainly wanted to try.

A portal to hell was easy to find, entering it ever easier considering a fallen archangel ruled it, but she felt weakened. Her powers were far from what they usually are and she couldn’t help but wonder if the danger she’ll face because of it might be worth a retreat...at least for a while.

“A peak won’t hurt, will it?” She whispers under her breath, convincing herself to at least see the throne of lies made by the king of hell. A part of her needed to see Lucifer for herself, to understand what she’s fighting against.

Mouth hanging open, she found her heart picking up speed as she noted the empty throne, glorious as she imagined it to be.

“Wow.” She breathes out, stepping out from her hiding spot without a second thought. Her steps are determined, the look of awe on her face unmatched by anything he had seen and while she was none the wiser, he made himself seen. 

“See something you like?” The low drawl of his voice tugs at her heartstrings and she feels it drop. Is it fear? Perhaps lust? It was hard to tell as she looked at the one speaking.

She hated her thoughts, but they were all coherent and in agreement: ‘If he's the devil, I finally understand the appeal of hell.’

He’s shirtless, his muscular body showing off every ab, every inch of his perfect skin. His dark hair frames his chiseled face perfectly, a little unkempt but the appeal is only stronger with the messy curls forming on top of his head. His forehead is sweaty, his eyes as dark as she suspected his soul is and just as tormented. 

There’s something in his tortured gaze, the black pools framed with long eyelashes that call out for the uncorrupted to make certain it is stained after a single touch of his sinfully big hands. The smirk is what truly brings her to her knees and while she knew better, Y/N nods.

“Can’t lie.” She folds her arms and smirks confidently. “The throne is up to my taste.” 

“Oh? I was certain you’d compliment the body suit I’m wearing.” Sticking his tongue out, he steps closer and Y/N steps back accordingly, holding in a breath that would escape along a scream. A forked tongue? A meat suit?

Lucifer is possessing someone and for once, the throne wasn’t on her mind.

“Who are you possessing?” She tried to act innocent, buy some time to form a plan. Could she really fight the devil for dominance in the name of a man she had first seen just a minute ago?

She wasn’t really sure.

“A warlock who sighed his soul over to me.” Raising an eyebrow, he folds his hands in front of him, just before the skimpy underwear he’s got on. 

“He sacrificed his life to save the world, if you can believe it.” Lucifer steps closer once again and she stands her ground, clenching her jaw to stop it from quivering.

“You sound almost”, she pauses to find the right words, cursing her anxiety for making it hard to converse, “impressed.” She raises an eyebrow too, daring him to speak more. 

“Nicholas Scratch showed a great deal of loyalty and courage...too bad it wasn’t shown for me.” Growling the last bit, Lucifer’s face darkens and Y/N’s heart sinks further.

Nicholas...The name suited him, but it made it harder for her. She couldn’t leave him behind. Not now.

“So why not release him?” Baiting him, Y/N remains impassive on the outside while a hurricane ravages her insides. “He’s of no use to you now.” She steps closer, trying to conjure all of her power. If she can leave a mark of an angel upon him, the devil would have to leave his body and she’d have just enough time to teleport back to earth where Lucifer can’t follow as easily.

“Why would I do that? Torturing him every second of every day is so fun!” Chuckling as Y/N’s left eye twitched ever so slightly, Lucifer’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re in his body. It’s his territory. What if he wins and you’re but a forgotten goat inside a closed off hell?” Losing her temper wasn’t wise, but Y/N had no restrain. Longer she remained in hell, weaker she felt and while she knew it definitely isn’t her domain, she needed to save the warlock who didn’t belong there either. Not for a long while, at least.

However, her words irked the dark lord, causing his charming facade to fade as well. "One more word and I'll stitch those lips of yours shut." 

Holding her breath, Y/N knew it was a matter of time before she lost her advantage and Lucifer realized her identity. So, she mustered all her energy, every last bit of her essence channeled into her right hand and when she fixed her gaze on him, she didn’t fail.

Smiling, almost viciously, Y/N jumped on Nicholas’ body, her right hand landing on his left shoulder and the scream erupting from him echoed in every corner of hell.

She felt the body shaking, held onto him with all she had while he all but convulsed and when she heard him coughing, she looked in time to see a black matter leave his weakened form.

Mumbling a spell, a flash of bright light set hell into a frenzy, temporarily blinding any demon in its vicinity. 

Opening her eyes, she found herself back in her home, Nicholas’ body in her arms. As he collapsed, taking her down with him, Y/N felt her heart crack with worry.

What if it killed him? Demons tend to kill their host, so what if Lucifer killed him too?

Her lips tremble as her fingers press above his carotid, awaiting anything to take the weight off her shoulders. Blood thumping against her fingers drew a relaxed sigh, one that made her giggle with relief. 

“Thank God.” She exclaimed, ignoring tears pricking at her eyes. Nicholas is safe and she had to make sure he stayed safe. 

Spelling him onto the bed, she tended to his fragile body and most importantly, his mind. Reaching him wasn’t possible as his thoughts were erratic, but she did find one important clue - where she needs to bring him back...to who she needs to bring him back to.

Sitting back in her chair, Y/N couldn’t help but shed a tear. 

Nicholas felt familiar, somehow drew her to him and while she could pretend she didn’t care for him, her heart already had a place for him. It’s angel’s nature to love fiercely, to recognize kindred spirits and she never met anyone more suitable for her. 

“Pity.” She smiles though the pain, an affliction that comes with letting go of someone she knew would have changed her life for the better. He could have been her one - someone to love truly, madly, deeply, but she saw her - Spellman, as he called her. His heart wasn’t free and unattached and he would never love an angel.

He’s a warlock, walking the path of night and destruction and she will always be Michael’s daughter, meant to be a beacon of light and hope. Darkness and light don’t mix, she knew that. He’d snuff out her light if she allowed herself another moment of weakness...of love.

“You won’t remember this.” Her frown deepens and she sighs heavily, leaning over him with lips pressed together. “You will never know what we could have been, or what I did for you.” Leaning in, she allows her lips to tremble before pressing them against his forehead with a tenderness she didn’t know she possessed. 

“It’s too late for me. I will always wonder how you are or if you’re safe, but you’ll never be damned with the thought of me.” A sad smile appears on her lips as she feels the tears form once more. 

“Why is it so hard to let go of what isn’t even mine?” Resting her forehead against his, the tip of her nose brushing just past his, her grief of what must be done dissipating with determination to do right by him.

“I hope you find happiness.”

And in a blink, Nicholas was back, laying next to unsuspecting Sabrina.

Opening his eyes, Nick sat up with a gasp, looking around with a wild look in his dark eyes. “Where?” He breathes out, convinced someone else was beside him and it was definitely not Sabrina.

“Hold on, Nick. I’ll get help!” Sabrina jumps to her feet, but Nick is quicker.

“Where is she?!” He can’t remember much, but he remembers a warmth, a sense of safety he never felt before.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about. Nick, calm down!” Sabrina stepped closer, wanting to hold him - to simply take his pain away and he allows her the intimacy of a hug. It just doesn’t feel right. Not as it felt...he just can’t remember when or with who. All he knows is that someone had helped him out of the mess he made and he was safe. 

Perhaps it wasn’t real and Lucifer made him hallucinate a woman made of light, but he could have sworn he felt her lips on his skin. He could have sworn he heard her soothing voice guide him through the dark.

“What the?” Sabrina frowns, pushing him away just to stand and look at his shoulder, frowning with concern. “There’s a...hand print on your shoulder!” She exclaims, moving out of the way so he’d see it in the reflection and despite the pain he feels inside, Nicholas smiled as tears formed in his eyes.

“She was real.” And he had a clue how to find her.

[iamtrebleclefstories]

maybe it’s wrong to say i love you - part one

Part One: Cardigan

i knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss... i knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs... So... this is a miniseries that was inspired by one of my many many jolex breakdowns. It is definitely going to be different from anything you've ever read so please enjoy and let me know what you think in the comments!

In this story, Jo was part of the original class of interns (MAGIC)

--Part 1--

-When you are young, they assume you know nothing-

“Hey! Wilson” 

Jo turned around and saw her fellow intern that Cristina had appropriately nicknamed Evil Spawn, “Yeah, Karev?”

Alex nodded and gave the woman a once over. “I just… I saw that you had trouble with that case today and I wanted to make sure you were alright. I know I can be an ass sometimes, but if you need someone to talk to about… whatever it is, you can talk to me. I was abused as a kid so I don’t know, maybe I can help you.” 

“It’s a long story,” Jo looked down to the ground. He was right. The case they were on today was really hard on her. They had treated a woman and her son who’d been abused by their husband/father. Jo had worked with the mother while Alex took care of the son. “I’ve never shared it with anyone before.”

“I’ve got time,” Alex cracked a smile. “Want to go with me to Joe’s? Drinks are on me.” 

Jo felt her lips curve up into a smile, “Okay.” 

————

-But I knew you-

-Dancin' in your Levi's-

-Drunk under a streetlight-

“Stop, Alex!” Jo let out a peel of laughter. “It’s pouring. We’re going to get sick.” 

“Who cares?” Alex’s drunken face lighting up as he stood in the rain and danced under the lights outside of Joe’s bar. “Jo, come on. Live a little. We passed our intern exams. We’re residents now!”

“No. I don’t want to get sick,” Jo shook her head, grinning despite herself. She looked at Alex, who had a mysterious glint in his eyes. Practically reading his mind, Jo held her hand out in protest. “No. No. Alex! Don’t you dare!” 

Sure enough, Alex surged forward and lifted Jo over his shoulder, running out into the rain. They laughed and Alex spun around a couple times before putting Jo back down. He looked down at her wide smile and couldn’t help but match it with one of his own, “You see. I told you it would be fun.” 

“You are a child,” Jo rolled her eyes, trying not to let on just how much she was enjoying the experience. Becoming friends with Alex had been an unexpected blessing. He’d broken down her walls and saved her from herself in so many ways. He knew her deeply, intimately. Every secret she’d ever held, he knew them. He was her person. A person who she was starting to develop inappropriate feelings for. Which is why she was trying so hard to not get wrapped up in all of the butterflies currently coursing through her. “But you’re right. It was a lot of fun.”

“You see, I’m right sometimes,” Alex walked over and wrapped his jacket over her now shivering frame. His feelings for Jo had snuck up on him. She had just been a friend that he enjoyed spending time with, a friend that he knew he could tell anything to. She made him better and saw through all of the facades he’d put up. He loved her. He was sure of that. Maybe what he was about to do next would screw it all up, but he didn’t care. He was willing to take the risk. So, that’s why he leaned in a bit closer and took a deep breath. “And I really hope I’m right about this.” 

If you asked them about it later, they’d probably both laugh at how cheesy the whole thing was. A first kiss under the rain, outside their favorite bar, illuminated by the streetlights, gasping for air as they broke apart, staring at each other in wonder. 

“So, was I right?” Alex asked breathlessly, eyes flitting back down to Jo’s lips. 

“Yeah, you were right.”

————

-I knew you-

-Hand under my sweatshirt-

-Baby, kiss it better-

“Wow,” Jo sighed breathlessly. “That might be some of your best work yet.” 

“You think?” Alex grinned and propped himself up on one elbow. He took one of Jo’s hands and laced it with his own. “I aim to please.” 

“You are way too proud of yourself,” Jo chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss him again. “I could lay here all day.” 

“Me too,” Alex smiled and ran his free hand up and down her bare back. “Hopefully no one will page us for a while.” 

“Yeah right,” Jo snorted. “We’re on-call in the middle of the night with no attendings around. We’re going to be getting paged every two seconds.”

“Ugh, I know,” Alex huffed. “One can hope.”

-And when I felt like I was an old cardigan-

-Under someone's bed-

-You put me on and said I was your favorite-

They laid there in silence for a few minutes when Alex spoke up again, “You know, we could do this more often if we just decided to be together.” 

“Alex,” Jo sighed. “You know why we can’t really be together. You know why I can’t give you more than I’m giving you right now.”

“Jo, I already told you that I don’t care about Paul. I love you and I want to be with you and only you,” Alex stared at her intensely. 

“You say that as if you aren’t also sleeping with Izzie,” Jo muttered quietly. Alex looked at her in shock. She let out an unamused laugh. “Yeah. I know that you’re sleeping with her again.” 

“Jo--”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jo shook her head. “We’re not a couple. We’re… you’re my best friend. And I’m still legally married to that asshole, so maybe it’s better that you see Izzie.” 

“One day, you’re gonna be free and I’m gonna get my crap together and we’re gonna be together. We’re gonna be a family. I promise you. I’ll wait for you,” Alex pressed a kiss on her shoulder. 

Jo looked up at him with a soft expression on her face, “Okay.” 

————

-Chase two girls, lose the one-

“No! No, you said you’d wait for me,” Jo shook her head and paced up and down in the empty exam room. “Alex you said, that you love me” 

“I do! I do love you, Jo,” Alex paused. “But--”

“But you love Izzie, too. You’ve fallen in love with her these past few months and you don’t know how to deal with that right now,” Jo stated, eyes watering. “Please… please don’t do it.” 

“Jo, I have to,” Alex looked down sadly. “She’s dying. She’s sick and dying and maybe, just maybe, I can take away a little bit of her pain. I can do this for her. I can give her the wedding of her dreams.” 

-You drew stars around my scars-

-But now I'm bleedin'-

“I’ll file for divorce from Paul! I’ll do it,” Jo exclaimed desperately. “If it’s marriage you want, I’ll file for divorce. Even though I'm terrified that he will come find me, I will do it for you. Please, Alex. You promised.” 

“I know, I know I promised,” Alex swallowed back a few tears. “I hate than I’m breaking my promise to wait for you. I hate that I’m hurting you. But please, I need you to love me enough to let me do this for her. Let me make her last few months a little less miserable. And then, who knows? Maybe you and I will have a chance one day. But right now, I need a best man and I’d hoped you’d be it.” 

Feeling like she was going to vomit, Jo fought against the bile that was threatening to come up and nodded despite herself, “Okay.”

————

-'Cause I knew you-

-Steppin' on the last train-

-Marked me like a bloodstain-

“Jo,” Izzie’s voice cut through the dark stillness. “What are you doing?”

“I—uh… I’m leaving,” Jo breathed out quietly. 

“What? Why?” Izzie stood up from her spot on the couch.

“Why are you down here?” Jo attempted to change the subject. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about George,” Izzie whispered, a sad look crossing her face. She looked back up. “Now, answer my question.”

“I have to go,” Jo clutched her bags tightly and shook her head. “I have to get out of here… I can’t—I can’t stick around.”

“Because of me and Alex, right?” Izzie’s face turned downcast. “You can’t leave. You’re his person. His best friend. He needs you.” 

“I can’t,” Jo shook her head and felt her tears threatening to fall. “I can’t stay because I’m in love with him. I’m so in love with him that it hurts to see him with you. It was okay for a moment there, when you were dying and Alex told me he wanted to do this for you. Because, you were dying and you’re my friend and I care about you. Now you’re getting better—and I’m grateful for that I truly am, because I love you and I want you to live. I want you to be able to see your career grow and have kids and grandkids. I want you to thrive and beat cancer’s ass. But you living, means that I can’t and won’t ever get Alex. Because he’s good. He may be an ass and a douche and a jerk at times, but he’s good and loyal and he loves you and he will stay with you.”

The women stood in silence for a minute before Izzie spoke up, “He loves you more.”

“Maybe,” Jo shrugged simply. “But that doesn’t matter. He made a commitment to you and he will stick to it, because that’s who he is. He’s honest and kind.” 

“If you’re so sure of that, why do you have to leave?” Izzie furrowed her brows. “You’ll only hurt him if you disappear.” 

“I’ll hurt him more if I stick around. I’ll hurt me more if I stick around,” Jo paused, finally losing her fight with the tears she was trying so hard to keep from falling. “I need to leave, because if I don’t—I don’t know if I’ll recognize myself if I stay. I might drown in that pain. All my presence does is cause pain. It’s a painful reminder of what could’ve been. And you don’t deserve that when you’re trying to build a marriage and a life together.”

-Tried to change the ending-

-Peter losing Wendy, I-

“Jo, please there has to be some other way—“

“There isn’t. Izzie, I can’t breathe,” Jo cried. “I can’t breathe here… I’ve never let myself get attached to people. I always ran before they could leave me because abandonment sucks. It’s all I’ve ever known. But then I started working here, and I met you guys, and I formed a family. A family that has helped and supported me through some of the worst days of my life. This is where I became a doctor. This is where I made connections. This is where I fell in love. So, trust me when I tell you, that leaving feels like I’m ripping part of my heart out and leaving it behind. But staying? I can’t stay. And I hope that you can support me in this one last thing.”

“I don’t like it, but…” Izzie wrapped Jo in a tight hug. “Please be careful.”

“Will you give this to Alex for me?” Jo handed Izzie an envelope. “I just—I can’t face him, but he should hear it all from me.”

“Of course,” Izzie nodded and released Jo from her embrace. “Okay. Now, go before I change my mind and yell at everyone to stop you.”

-I knew you-

-Leavin' like a father-

-Running like water, I-

————

-But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss-

-I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs-

“Hey, good morning,” Alex said as he walked down the steps and gave his wife a quick kiss. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Izzie answered simply. 

“That sucks,” Alex commented quietly and tied his sneakers. “Do you know if Jo’s up? I was gonna go for a run and wanted to see if she wanted to join me.”

“Alex.”

“What?” Alex looked at Izzie and flashed her a crooked grin. 

“Jo left early this morning,” Izzie was wringing her hands nervously. 

“She went to the hospital already?”

“No,” Izzie let out a breath. “Alex… I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Alex shook his head. 

“Jo’s gone. She left last night and she asked me to give you this,” Izzie held the letter out in front of him. 

“What do you mean she’s gone? Jo wouldn’t leave. This is her home. We’re her family. She’s my—she’s my best friend. She wouldn’t leave and not tell me,” Alex furrowed his brow. 

“Alex… she’s gone.”

“No… no. No, dammit! Why didn’t you stop her?” Alex exclaimed. “She—I… where did she go? Iz, you have to tell me.”

“She didn’t say,” Izzie looked down sadly. “She just said that she was sorry and to give you this letter.”

Alex nodded his head slightly and finally took the letter from her hand, walking out the front door. He paced up and down the porch for a few minutes before taking a seat on the swing out front. With shaking hands and tearful eyes, he took a deep breath and opened the letter.

Dear Alex, 

The last thing on earth I wanna do is hurt you, but I’m leaving. I'm sorry. You deserve more than a letter. And this right here, this cowardice, this letter? It's officially the worst thing I've ever done. But it's about me, Alex. It's not about you. It's not what you deserve. You deserve and have earned so much better than this. I love you, Alex. I love that you are resilient and bold, and no matter what you go through, you never let it hold you back. It makes you stronger, kinder. You made me stronger. You loved me for exactly who I was, and I loved you. I love you. Maybe it's not fair to say that, but it's true. What's also true is that you're in love with Izzie. 

I used to imagine this whole life for us. One day, when I finally got my divorce from Paul and you decided to stop playing the field, we'd get married. We'd buy a big house in a nice neighborhood and have kids. So many kids. They'd be happy and loved and spoiled and have everything we never had growing up. 

I had never pictured that kind of life with anyone else. Before you, the thought of being a mom scared the crap out of me. I didn't think I'd be a good one. I didn't feel safe enough with anyone to even entertain that possibility before you. But you tore down all my walls and became my best friend. 

Now you're living this life - the life I pictured - with Izzie. And I'm happy for you. I truly am. Because this is what you've always wanted. You wanted a wife and a family, and now you have it. With Izzie. I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted. I'm sorry I was too scared to go all-in with you. I'm sorry I'm running away.

I can't stay here. Even though I'm happy for you and Izzie, I can't stay here and watch her live the life I was supposed to have with you. It hurts too much. That's why I left. That's why I can't come home. I'm not coming home, Alex. I can't face you. I can't look you in the eye because I wouldn't be able to walk away. And I have to. I have to walk away if I want to survive, if I ever want to get over you. Honestly, I'm not sure I ever will, but I have to try. You have to try.

Maybe it’s wrong to say I love you, but thank you for making me better and taking care of me when I needed it. Oh, you deserve everything good in this life, Alex. I hope you and Izzie have the happiest life together. Thank you. I'm sorry. I don't know how to end this. I don't want to. 

Goodbye.

Alex struggled to hold back his tears as he read the letter. This was his fault. He brought this upon himself. In trying to help Izzie and give her something to live for, he'd caused the most important person in his life unimaginable pain. Maybe it wasn't fair to say that Jo was the most important person in his life considering he had a wife that he loved, but it was the truth. Jo had rescued him. She healed him and brought life back into his eyes. The past two years, she'd always been around. She encouraged him and made him a better person. He wasn't sure if he remembered how to live without her constant presence and the sound of her laughter brightening the room. He didn't want to live without her.

After a few moments, Alex walked back inside the house, eyes red-rimmed. Izzie looked up from her bowl of oatmeal and sighed, "You okay?"

"No," Alex shook his head. "But I will be."

————

-I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired-

Over the next few months, Izzie had improved tremendously. She’d even returned to work and was performing surgeries again. She and Alex moved out of the frat house and into Derek’s old trailer in the woods and were attempting to work on their relationship--which needed a lot of work if they were being honest. Maybe it was the stress of the cancer or the hospital merger or the death of a friend and the disappearance of another one, but Alex and Izzie couldn’t help but argue constantly. It didn’t take away from the fact that they loved each other, but they certainly were less than compatible, a fact they were just coming to realize. They were dangerously close to falling apart and they both knew it, despite hiding their issues from their friends.

What really drove the nail in the coffin was when Izzie was fired. Having heard about her getting cut from the program, Alex rushed over to the residents’ lounge to find her before she did anything stupid. He caught her just as she was stuffing her things into her bag, scrambling frantically, almost as if she were trying to leave in a haste. 

“Izzie!” Alex reached out and grabbed her arm, causing her to pause. “Iz, I heard what happened. I’m so sorry. We can talk to the board. We can make an appeal. It’s not fair for Webber to fire you. You’re not back fully. You’re still getting better.”

“Alex get the hell off of me,” Izzie pulled her arm away and glared in his direction. “This is all your fault.” 

“My fault? How is this my fault?” Alex scrunched his face in confusion.

“You told Webber that you were worried about my ability to do my job! Of all the people, I thought you’d at least have my back!”

“I talked to Webber to help you,” Alex furrowed his brows. “I told him that you needed this. You need this job because you need something to look forward to. I told him to go easy on you when making this decision because you’re trying to recover.”

“Well, you trying to help just made things worse! This was all I had left, Alex! How could you jeopardize it?” Izzie was livid, shaking with anger. 

“All that you have left?” Alex raised his voice. “Really? Well, it’s nice to see where I stand on your list of priorities. You have me. I do everything for you. I gave up everything for you.” 

“Oh please,” Izzie scoffed. “Don’t talk to me about priorities and what you gave up for me.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I know you blame me for Jo leaving! I know that even though you married me and stood with me, I’m not your priority. I know that Jo was and will always be the number one person in your life,” Izzie flailed her arms. “That’s why this job is the only thing I had left. Because I never had you. You always have been and always will be hers.” 

“Iz, I’m trying,” Alex bowed his head. “I’m trying to be a good husband, please. You have to give me a chance to get over her.”

“No, Alex. I know you’re trying to be good, but we can’t keep doing this. We are horrible for each other! I’m done. I’m done with this place. I’m done with this marriage. I’m done, Alex. We’re over. Just let me leave,” Izzie placed a hand on Alex’s face. “Please. I don’t have anything left for me here. Denny died, George died, I got sick and almost died, I got fired. I can’t stay here anymore.” 

 “Fine. Leave. Run away and don’t come back,” Alex’s mouth curled up into a scowl and he huffed. “I could’ve--I could be with Jo right now! But because I hurt her, she left and didn’t tell me where she was going. I have no idea where she went or if I’ll ever see her again. And it’s all because I was trying to be a good husband to you. Because I’ve given everything of myself and changed so that you could be happy. And this is how you repay me?”

“I’m sorry, Alex but I’ve made up my mind. This is my decision. I am leaving and hopefully one day you’ll see that this was what was best for both of us,” Izzie picked up her bag and made her way towards the door. She turned to look at Alex again, “I’m going to go pack my stuff in the trailer and I’ll be gone before you get back from work tonight.” 

-I knew I'd curse you for the longest time-

-Chasin' shadows in the grocery line-

[honouraryweasley12]

Remembrance

At Shell Cottage, Ron and Hermione grieve a fallen hero. In doing so, they must face some truths long-hidden and make a decision about their future.

Also on FF.net

The sunlight streaming through the window provided ample light, but the sprawl of words in front of her were hazy, Hermione's own thoughts preventing her from focusing. It was rare for her to have such difficulty, especially when she was reading for sheer enjoyment. Her recovery had taken a lot out of her, and she'd been pouring her remaining energy into the planning of their next task.

A lull in the strategizing was a welcome change, yet she felt unsettled. Like she should be doing something more meaningful with the precious respite they had been granted. Time seemed to slow at the cottage, her first real breather since August.

The book lay still in her lap as she stared at the window, her eyes misty as she recalled the blur of empty oppressive days and narrow escapes, living in fear and paranoia.

So much had happened, the most recent as terrible as anything she could recall physically, and certainly the worst thing she'd ever personally experienced—the wiping of her parents' memories an extremely close second.

The torture she had suffered was not something easily forgotten, being so close to her own demise shook her to her very core. She found tears would come unbidden, as they were presently, at the most random times. Her hands had started trembling, and any loud noise startled her. Through it all though, she had found her source of comfort and healing.

Ron.

She smiled and wiped the wet trails running down her cheeks. The pretense between them had been shattered. That night had been a wake-up call that anything could happen, and it spurred them both, especially Ron, into action. They were no longer afraid to be openly affectionate and supportive toward one another. She didn't care about being vulnerable in front of him, if it meant an embrace and the soothing warmth of his hand rubbing slow circles on her back.

It was their silver lining.

She sighed, putting aside the book. She wanted to embrace his attentiveness as much she could, until their time ran out. It wouldn't be long now until they had to abandon the safe haven of Shell Cottage and attempt another incredibly dangerous mission.

Their so-called plan was foolish at best, fatal at worst. It was high risk but also high reward, their first real lead on a Horcrux in ages. The chances were grim, but at least there was a sliver of hope. She didn't want to think about that now, especially the myriad of potential outcomes.

The urge to see him seized her. Gingerly, Hermione got out of the bed and shivered, her skin erupting in gooseflesh as a gust of cool sea air blew into the small bedroom. She eyed the jumper he'd thrown over the back of the chair, where he'd been spending time with her at every possible opportunity. Debating for a second, she slipped it on and took a deep breath, his scent a balm for her frazzled nerves.

Slowly making her way down the stairs, she could hear muffled voices from the small living room. Turning to the kitchen, she found Harry, staring hard at the white wood of the quaint table as he turned that lucky shard of glass over and over in his hands, a reminder of what they had suffered through.

She almost couldn't bear to look at her friend in such a state of despair, opting instead to glance around Bill and Fleur's kitchen. Something was missing though—or rather someone. Ron was usually around to keep Harry's spirits up, so it struck her as odd that he was alone.

A sudden panic gripped her, her heart pounding in her chest. Where was he? Had he left? Her hand flew to her chest and she tried to take a calming breath, despite her obvious stress.

No, he wouldn't do that again. He'd promised her, and she believed him. The demons that had been plaguing him months ago had been pushed away with the destruction of that insidious locket, at least for now.

She hated that this was her first reaction, still scarred from his last departure. The bruises on her heart were a sickly yellow, healing but not completely gone.

Stop it, she chastised herself silently. He had more than made up for it since his return. Even now, after she'd been through such a painful ordeal, he was showing such consideration and concern for her. A deft touch that she never would have suspected he possessed. This is how she thanked him? By doubting him, yet again? By dwelling on a mistake she knew would haunt him forever?

She felt disgusted and angry at herself. He'd come through for her  innumerable times, the doubt the last vestiges of lingering hurt. She didn't trust anyone more than she trusted Ron, that much she knew.

Harry, who suddenly looked up from his stupor, raised his brow at the large letter 'R' emblazoned across her torso. He must have noticed her misery and nodded his head towards the door. "He's outside."

"Thank you," she whispered, watching her friend's face as it fell into deep thought once again, the weight on his shoulders crushing him.

Pushing open the door of the cottage, she stepped out, squinting from the bright light. Too many days of darkness had taken its toll, the freedom of simply being outside, in the open, felt foreign. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the harsh rays and began walking toward her source of comfort.

Ron was crouched down, all limbs and fiery red hair, messed from the breeze. He had matured, they all had, far too quickly. His transformation upon his return had shocked her, but her self-erected barricade hadn't allowed her to express it.

She hugged herself as she walked up, the too-long arms of his jumper enveloping her thin frame. It was a poor substitute, having felt his warm embrace more in the past few days than she had over the previous seven years.

He stirred slightly as she approached, stilled by her hand on his shoulder. His weathered plaid shirt was soft under her fingers. She almost laughed at how easily they'd transitioned to something more than they'd ever been. How natural it felt to just give in and touch him without fear of rejection. The years they spent skirting their feelings seemed rather silly now.

She waited, giving him time. She was learning not to rush him. That he would often take a minute to organize his thoughts the way he wanted to, rather than feeling the pressure of replying before he was ready to. It was just the two of them on the bluff, with the churning sea below. Nothing else existed except the memorial in front of them.

The crudely carved stone held a heartbreaking epitaph. Such simple words for someone who had made the ultimate sacrifice.

Ron sniffed, his voice rough. "He was so fucking innocent."

She squeezed his shoulder in agreement, watching from above as he twisted a pair of worn socks in his large hands. After a moment, he gently laid them down at the feet of the plot and placed a stone on them to keep them in place.

He cleared his throat before continuing, his voice wavering. "I wish I could do more, besides giving him Bill's old socks."

Her eyelashes prickled with tears at seeing how deeply Dobby's death was affecting him. Beneath her hand, his body shook for a moment and calmed. After taking a deep breath, his voice broke the silence, quiet but firm.

"I've thought—for a while now—that if the time came, I'd sacrifice myself to help Harry. So many have. Maybe that's all I would be good for. The expendable Weasley. Seemed like I was made just for that purpose. Now..."

She held her tongue, wanting to admonish him for even considering something like that, to extol his virtues, and tell him how truly broken she felt during his time away. How much he meant to her, Harry, and everyone that knew him. Something stopped her; she was curious to hear where he was going with this.

He glanced up at her, his piercing blue eyes filled with an intensity she'd never seen before.

"Now, I... I don't feel as if I could, knowing what I might be leaving behind... what could happen if I dared to think I could make it through this."

That one look told her everything. Everything. His remorse, his fear, his love for her. She was the reason he wouldn't do something foolishly heroic. Even though he already had in rescuing her.

She could see his continuing struggle, his anguish. The waves of tension were palpable, his muscles straining under her fingertips.

"It feels so wrong to want something, to want happiness. Look at Harry—he's given up everything for this war. I bet if he could sacrifice his life to end it, he would in a heartbeat."

Seeing his pain so openly caused her chest to tighten. She wanted to wrap him in a hug and spirit him away. Just the two of them, hidden from the rest of the world.

Her voice was soft in her ears. "It's not selfish to want to live, Ron. To want something more after this war. There's a life beyond this that I dream about, too."

As he watched her, she tried to convey everything he meant to her through her eyes. That the life she imagined included him, could only be with him.

He gave her a slight nod, as if telling her he understood. Slowly, his hand reached up and met hers, their fingers loosely intertwining.

"I'm scared, Hermione. Scared for Harry and my family. Mostly terrified for you, of losing you. Almost did."

He looked away, but Hermione knew what he meant. She shared the same fears, unvoiced but ever present.

Ron sniffled again and let out a quiet cough. "Those were the worst moments of my life, in Malfoy Manor. I felt so bloody helpless. There was nothing I could do."

She didn't mean to say it in the moment, but it slipped out. "We're even now."

His neck twisted up and he stared at her with wide eyes, his expression one of incredulity. "You can't mean..."

She nodded, her eyes wet. "When you left, I was so afraid I'd never see you again. I was utterly heartbroken and there was nothing I could do. Whatever the locket was doing to you was a form of torture, too. It must've been for you to leave. That wasn't the Ron I know."

He protested, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. "You can't compare the two! You didn't choose to be tortured, and you still didn't give in. You weren't the stupid git who left!"

In that moment, she knew in her heart she forgave him, that he had come back and ultimately saved her. She was hit by a sudden realization.

"Don't you see? It doesn't matter anymore! Whatever happens, we'll find each other again. My voice brought you back, and you were there to rescue me!"

She felt his posture slump.

"I didn't though, not really. I couldn't even take your place." Ron's voice dropped to a whisper, almost lost in the breeze. "I couldn't stop them from hurting you."

"It was an impossible situation, but you saved me, Ron. Everything you did that night saved me. Your screams for me, the way you fought them, getting me here safely. Harry told me—"

He shook his head. "I got lucky, so fucking lucky. Dobby was the real hero," Ron said, staring back at the carved stone. "Hermione... he died... so... so you could live. He didn't have to help us save you. If it was Harry he was worried about, he would have just brought us here first and then maybe tried to rescue you. But he didn't. Without him... I would have lost you."

His words rung in her ears, a horrific truth. "He died... so you could live."

She hadn't thought of it that way. In her head, she’d equated the loss of Dobby with another loved one protecting Harry. The impact of it hit her, and she stumbled back a step. Ron was on his feet in an instant, pulling her to him as they cried, together. Mourning the loss of such a selfless, compassionate soul. Releasing the pent-up emotions of almost losing one another. Ron held her tightly and she was reminded of Dumbledore's funeral. This time, however, Ron dropped loving kisses into her hair.

She pressed her face to the flannel of his shirt, her tears soaking into the cloth. She held onto him, anchored to the cliff by his strength.

"Dobby was so incredibly courageous. Gods Hermione, I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't saved us all. If he hadn't sacrificed himself."

"He saved me, Ron. But so did you."

He looked down at her, brushing away her tears with large unsure thumbs. Their eyes met, the gaze between them deep.

"Sod it!" He suddenly declared. "You-You are the most important thing in my life, and if you hadn't survived..."

She pressed a finger to his lips, causing them both to shudder. "I did, and I intend to finish this and have the life I want. With you. But..."

"Not until this is over."

She nodded. "Alright, Ron?"

"Yeah," he agreed, but he couldn't resist pulling her against him once again.

They stood there for a moment longer, silently paying their respects to the one who gave them a chance.

"I swear Hermione, I'll never forget what he did. I'll never be able to thank him or repay him."

"All we can do is honour his memory and keep fighting."

Ron nodded his head in agreement. It was all they could do for the future they both so desperately wanted.

As they turned to head back to the cottage, she thought she heard him whisper a final thanks to Dobby.

They were quiet as the walked down the cliffside, their hands clasped. A new determination had overcome them. They were going to fight. They needed to be as brave as the departed elf.

As they reached the cottage, Ron playfully nudged Hermione, the amusement obvious in his voice. "You know, maybe SPEW wasn't such a bad idea."

"It's S.P.E.W!"

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n- Hopefully this chapter isn’t too confusing. Flashbacks in italics)

Masterlist   Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3

Warnings- Mentions of murder/violence, angst

Chapter 4 Beautiful Nightmares

Drenched and breathless, Y/n awoke with a startle, her wide eyes confused by the darkness. It took a moment before she’d realized where she was; in her bedroom at her penthouse, safe and alone. Her chest was dominated by heavy, uneven breaths and the black silk of her simple, lace edged camisole clung to her skin uncomfortably. Even as Y/n tried to settle herself, inhaling deeply through her overly dry mouth, she couldn’t push the flashes from her very vivid dream away;

A couple, swaying in each other’s arms as pale yellow moonlight washes the dark wooden panels constituting the floor of the back porch as soft music wafts from a radio on an end table. The woman’s giggles are soft as her husband leads them in a  slow, casual waltz and not too far off, after she’s been told to not stray near the lake, a young girl no older than six, plays with a plastic fairy wand, entertaining herself. She loves fairies; she wishes they were real but her mother always reminds her that they are, and that she’d the most beautiful one of them all.

It was one of Y/n’s fondest memories of her parents, the last one that had really embedded itself in her memory before the bad. Their love was one that seemed to stand out above rest, though, Y/n supposed that at that age, she couldn’t have known much about romantic love anyways. She hadn’t learned much more about afterwards either, only that it was destructive. That in the end, all it could do was hurt you.

The fire below the rustic, cobblestone mantle laps viciously at the iron barrier separating it from the rest of the sitting room. Not too far off, near the designated holder, one of the pokers lay forgotten. He hasn’t really spoken to anyone in days, not even his seven year old daughter and his eyes have taken on this sort of vacancy that makes its almost frightening to look at him. She’s scared of him, and the only person that would know what to do is gone. Meredith is gone, for good. They took her. It’s been three days since they found her on his birthday, three days since he knew that everything had changed, even if he can’t quite explain it to their daughter. Three days since she’s been asking for her mommy and three days since she’d gone from adoring him to fearing the shell of what he used to be.

The dream, it had taken a nightmarish turn and at some point, Y/n wasn’t watching her parents dance in the backyard while she chased fire files, instead, she was standing in the doorway of the sitting room, watching her father stare that the fireplace, wondering how the bravest man she knew could seem so lost. She hadn’t understood then, and she wouldn’t, not until the funeral, where a large service had taken place at a mortuary and the police had showed up, poking and prodding until someone, Donavan’s father, who had a long standing connection with the commissioner’s office, had stepped in and scared them off. That was probably the day he’d really changed, her father. After that evening he’d gone from broken to cold and ruthless. No one stood in his way because they were simply afraid to, and without his wife as a buffer, things had changed in his organization quickly. Trust could no longer be borrowed, it was earned and traitors were appropriately dealt with. If he couldn’t bring back his wife, then he’d definitely vent his frustrations where he could.

After Meredith passed, Y/n had clung to her father, even if he’d never been the same. He’d cut out most of his affectionate traits and though they were close, most of his time was spent molding her into someone unshakeable. Someone who wouldn’t ever have to feel the way he did. It was working too, by her teens, Y/n had developed into a stolid adolescent, able to suppress whatever she was feeling so she could one day grow into the woman he’d be proud of. The woman he’d never meet.

Money, it makes everything easier. People like you better, you can shop wherever you want and know one bats a lash when you do something you shouldn’t have. Or maybe, just maybe, that last thing isn’t a consequence of money. Maybe it’s fear. It doesn’t matter though, she’s used to that too, the look of fear in people’s eyes when she walks into a room. Even her father’s muscle sometimes squirm around her, there’s no telling what she’ll do or say, she’s just so…...vulturine. Face of an angel with the prowl of a predator. But even predators have bad days, terrible days, the one that becomes their worst day. 

Hers came after one of the most mundane afternoons of her life; she’d gone to a little pastry shop in the city with the son of one of her father’s affiliates. He’s a nice boy, just a couple years her senior and while letting people in is hard, Jack understands the life. Y/n’s dad likes him too. Her dad. “Daddy?” She calls out, pushing one half of the front double door closed behind her as she steps inside, the heel of her booth thudding quietly on the hardwood. It’s eerily quiet in the manor and in the air hangs a metallic smell that she knows all too well. The combination of gunpowder and blood. Usually, it's the smell she associates with her father and the business he’s training her to take over, but that evening, there’s a distinct portentousness that mingles with it. It’s too quiet, too cold, as if someone forgot to turn up the heat to combat the temperate fall evenings. 

“Daddy?” she calls again, only to gasp upon entering his home office. The white rug dominating the room is saturated with warm red and some of it’s even seeped out to the hardwood, probably staining it and almost causing Y/n’s to slip as she hurriedly enters. “Daddy,” she emits a choked breath as she sinks to her knees, not caring if the blood soaks the blue denim of her jeans. Immediately, she pulls off her scarf, doing the only thing that seems logical in that moment, pressing it to the gaping gash on his neck, trying to quell the rapid, almost cinematic flow. That’s sort of how it feels too, like Y/n’s been plopped into a movie, because that can’t be real, her father can’t be dying in her arms. “Hold on, okay?” Her mind is going twenty miles a minute and while she knows that there are people that she can call for help, all she can think is that she needs to help him now. 

He tries to speak, though, he’s literally drowning in his own blood, and that’s the first time that Y/n realizes that his wounds are mortal. Not just the slashed throat, but also several stab wounds to the chest. The sounds are sickly and stomach turning, and the sight isn’t much different, but still, she persists, he won’t see her undone. Even if inside, Y/n feels like she’s being ripped apart; torn to shreds by winter breeze. The feeling makes something change inside her, and as she presses the rich cashmere to the split in her father’s neck, Y/n feels the surge of something inhumane shoot up inside. The last shred, the only person she can truly care for has been snatched away, and in that moment, she becomes what he’s wanted her to be for the past thirteen years, made in his image. Utterly ruthless, unashamedly vengeful and undeniably frightening. 

The dream, even after several minutes of sitting up in her California king, stuck with her, and if Y/n shut her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of blood on her hands and hear the sounds that her father made as he struggled to take his last breaths. It had been a while since she’d last had a dream like that, but Y/n would have preferred to attribute the runnings of her subconscious to the events of the past couple weeks; having to clean up the mess of a betrayal but more so her mother’s birthday. With a heavy, deflated sigh, she flopped back, moving messy hair away from her face and dragging her fingers along her scalp. 

The clock on her bedside read as twenty minutes to four and despite the hour, Y/n knew that committing to slumber soon wouldn’t have been possible, so instead, she slunk out of bed, not even bothering with her robe as she slipped her feet into a pair of comfortable, fluffy flip flops before heading towards the door.

It was a soft, hesitant knocking that roused John from his slumber. A heavy sleeper might not have heard it, but his ears were trained, never missing a thing, and he awoke almost immediately. Groggily, he took a moment to blink sleep out of his eyes as he weaned his hand out from under the pillow, where he usually kept a pistol. Registering the time as quarter to four in the morning, John also noted the near darkness of the large room, the only light besides that of the neon green numbers of the digital alarm clock being whatever filtered through the thin, grey curtains; some from apartments in the opposing building, a street lamp and the quarter moon. It was enough to wash the shiny marble floor with a white glow, though not nearly enough to disturb John's sleep.

Again, the knocking on his bedroom door called his attention, and with a soft sigh, John flipped the thick duvet off his legs, planting his feet on the floor and padding barefoot towards the door. "Y/n?" He knitted his brows upon the sight of her; dressed in the suggestive pajama set he'd glimpsed her in earlier, the same one that had brought with it all sorts of crude thoughts as he'd fallen to sleep. 

"Hey," she breathed meekly, tongue darting out to moisten her bare lips as Y/n tucked some hair behind her ears. She seemed so unlike her usual self, a little unsure, and much…...softer, almost harmless even. The pale white light coming from the opposing window illuminated her delicate features with a near bluish, ethereal glow. "I uh," she cleared her throat, standing a bit straighter, "Sorry for waking you."

That was odd, she never apologized. Shaking his head dismissively, John’s hand slid up the edge of the door as he slid against the frame, fleeting sleepiness disturbing his focus. Or maybe it was something else. “It’s okay,” something about the mood felt…...off. John couldn’t describe it really, like the air was swirling with something electric, making everything a little hazy, “What are doing here? It’s late.”

“I know,” Y/n didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, and John couldn’t help but notice the absence of confidence in her disposition. It was so unlike her to be so unsure of herself and jittery. “It’s just,” she hesitated, mulling on her next words, “I can’t stop thinking about you John,” his name was a breath of her lips and when Y/n finally reached out, her palm hovering over the sleeve of his t-shirt before landing on his bicep. “I know its……..sudden, but it's true, and I can’t take the not knowing anymore. John-”

“Its okay,” he reassured softly, his eyes softening as he stepped forward, reaching out to place a hand on her hip, he raised the other to brush a couple strands away from her face, “I feel the same. There’s just something about you,” he searched her gaze, still cupping her face and his thumb ghosted the apple of Y/n’s cheek, “It just pulls me in. I’ve tried Y/n, but I can’t get you out of my head.”

“Good,” sliding her hand up his shoulder, she embraced the side of his neck with her warm touch, leaning into John as she stood on her toes, “Have you been dreaming about me John?” He could feel her breath fanning his lips and feel the warmth of her skin emanating from her top, “The way I dream about you?” Y/n pecked the corner of his lips, curling her arm around his neck.

“Yes,” he shuddered, feeling her lips travel along his jaw, his crotch twitching appreciatively at their proximity. His arms locked around Y/n’s frame, ensuing she was flush against him and his senses had never felt so awakened, making John acutely aware of how her full breasts were pressed to his chest, and how silken her skin felt when a couple of his fingers evaded the hem of her blouse, gracing the lower part of her spine. “I dream that I’m touching you, feeling you around me. I dream that…..”

“That what?” Y/n reached up to nibble on his earlobe, her free hand journeying between their bodies to grope him through the thick material of his sweats, “What else do you dream about John?”

“That you’re mine,” involuntarily, he bucked into her expert touch, his grip on her tightening possessively, “I want you to be mine,” he growled, a surge of jealousy pluming in his chest at the thought of Y/n being this way with Donavan. 

As one of John’s palms searched her warm skin, eventually reaching up to cradle Y/n’s upper back, she brought her lips over his once again, sharing their longing breaths, “Then make me yours,” Y/n tilted her head, leaning in and almost letting their lips brush, teasing him. “Do it John,” she prompted enticingly, “Make me yours.”

In an instant, he’d crashed his lips to Y/n’s feverishly, holding her in place and humming roughly into her mouth as his only response. Y/n stumbled forward when John stepped back into the room. The way she responded against him was unmatched and for just a second, every bit of guilt he’d harbored because of his growing feelings for her vanished, if only it could stay gone.

“John,” a familiar voice intruded, urgency growing as he ignored it, “John!”

It wasn’t Y/n, it couldn’t be her after all, and when John finally pulled away, he was greeted with the most gut wrenching sight; his Helen, standing in the doorway, hurt tugging at her features. She looked the way she did just before things got bad, before the long hospital stays and the machines. So impossibly beautiful, so incomparably pure and right then, so undeniably wounded. Her eyes, the ones he’d fallen for upon matching them for the very first time, welled up with tears, shining in the low light and her paled features were smeared with the twinge of betrayal. 

“How could you?” She sobbed, just as John untangled himself from Y/n, not noting the way her face changed, focused only one one thing; his wife.

How could he?

“Helen!” John brushed past Y/n, following Helen out into the hall, just as the hem of her white dress fled the corner. But he could hardly run fast enough and before John could reach for her arm, she was gone.

“Helen,” John shot up in his bed, breathing heavily as he lunged forward. Even with his eyes now open, adjusting themselves to being so suddenly opened, he swore he could still see Helen as if she were right there, at the foot of his bed, tears in her eyes as a result of his betrayal. It was exactly what he’d been afraid of; betraying her memory. John couldn’t do that to her, he’d fought for his life just so he could live to remember her, the love they had. The only love he ever had.

Scrubbing his hands over his face and then through his hair, before turning on the lamp at his bedside and pulling open the drawer of his nightstand. What he sought laid at the top, and without hesitation, John brought out a picture and a little card out, holding them each in one hand. Every time he looked at the photograph, the memory would come back like it was yesterday, that day at the beach, when in each other’s arms was the only place either of them wanted to be. They’d known she was sick then too, but times were simpler and treatment had been working well. They had time, time to build a home, plan a life, be in love. 

Before Helen, that day he’d laid eyes on her in that restaurant, John didn’t think his heart had ever beat that fast. For a long time, he lived, fought for his life in the military and then under the mob, but when he met her, John, for the very first time, felt truly alive. And when she died a year and a half prior, part of him did too. Even if the love he had for her would never waver.

A lone tear fell dripped onto the photo and John’s teeth tugged on his lower lip to suppress a sob as he opted to shift his burning gaze to the letter. One of the last things he had to remember her by. Daisy was long gone; stolen by a fool who’d cashed for an untimely death, but John had held on to that letter. The only reason he’d still had it was because he’d had left it in his car, which, thankfully had been in the shop when his house had been destroyed by another dead fool. That card had kept him sane in dark times and had given him a glimmer of hope in quieter moments. 

“....you still need something, someone, to love.”

“........and now that I have found my peace, find yours.”

Loving again didn’t even seem possible, and it didn’t seem right either. And even if the glimmer of affection he felt of Y/n should have given John hope for a better tomorrow, she was tainted, corrupted; there was no peace there. Not for him and certainly not for them together. 

Bringing the picture to his lips, John swallowed tightly as he kissed Helen’s image, desperately wishing that things could have been different. He’d have burned the world down if it would save her life. But it wouldn’t have, and it was taking time, but he was learning to accept that. Returning the keepsakes to their security, John pulled himself out of bed, trudging out towards the kitchen hoping to find some remedy for the dryness in his throat. 

As usual, his steps were silent and hardly noticeable and John was just about to turn off from the corridor and enter when something stopped him in his tracks. At first, he’d thought his ears were betraying him, that perhaps he was still caught in his all too vivid dream, until he poked his head out, confirming the more logical explanation. Much to his surprise, Y/n stood in the kitchen, a wine glass on the counter, near a bottle while she had her back pressed against the large integrated refrigerator, head bent and hands pressed to her face as she elicited muffled sobs. Her frame shook slightly and her breaths were audible and ragged.

The sight was more than peculiar, it was surprising and wildly unexpected, yet still, John yearned to go into the kitchen and encourage her towards his chest and hold her until she was okay. Even if he’d had caught her shedding a tear or two in her bedroom a couple mornings ago, he’d never taken Y/n for the type that cried her eyes out when no one was looking, though he supposed that everyone had their limits, things that broke them down and reduced them to a state where nothing else seemed possible. His was Helen, he wondered if Y/n’s was her mother. 

A loud, hitching breath left John dashing for cover, pressing his back to the wall, and peeking out once again soon after, just in time to see Y/n slide down the silver door onto the floor as untamed sobs grew louder. He ached, physically, to go over to her, but the idea weighed heavy on his mind and knowing Y/n, she probably wasn’t seeking comfort anyway, so instead, John gave her what he thought she’d appreciate more; the solitude that he usually craved when reduced to tears, toeing back down the hall, and hoping that by morning she’d be okay.

******

Tagging-@harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea  @jupiterdawngirl

[melindacoulson4]

By her side

AOS started with the death of a hero. The Tahiti project was created to bring back a fallen hero. And so the cycle continues....only this time it isn't Phil Coulson.   Daisysous fic. Post-finale.

THIS IS WILD. PREPARE FOR FEELS. 

She jerked awake. Her eyes automatically looking to her right for the man in the chair. He was there, watching her closely. It took him a minute to react. He froze sitting up quickly, mouth falling open. "Hey. Hey. You're awake." He stood up and moved to her side quickly.  

There was a beeping. Her body hurt like someone had thrown her off the side of a building. At first glance, she saw nothing but white. White walls. White blanket covering her body. White bandages over her arms. Several things ran through her head at once. Miles was always telling her that she needed to cool it with her speed. That her van would turn into an accordion against any vehicle with substance. A car accident that had to be how she'd wound up in here. And this guy at her side was some nice citizen. A witness that had come to make sure she'd be alright.  

He completely surprised her when he grabbed a hold of her hand. "Skye," he whispered.  

He knew her name. "Huh?" She said. The way her voice sounded startled her. It had come out scratchy and deep, leaving the inside of her throat aching.

"Are you okay?" He looked down at her full of concern.  

No. Most definitely not okay.  

She tried sitting up. And that brought a spike of pain that went rolling down her spine but she continued to try anyway.  

"Hey. Hey. Hey," he protested. "Take it easy," he said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "What is it? What hurts?" He asked, slowly transitioning to a seated position at the edge of her bed.  

The overwhelming sense of unknown threw her into a panic. "Everything. I. I. I..." She stuttered. "What's happening?" Against her will, her eyes watered. She didn't want to appear weak or fragile but it was kind of hard not to in this situation. It couldn't be helped.  

"You were in an accident," he told her, rubbing his thumb against the top of her hand. He was gentle in the way he touched her.  

An accident. That was acceptable, but the thing that scared her most. That had her palms sweating under the knit white blanket and her breathing picking up was that the last thing she remembered was white sand. Had she nearly drowned? Or worse, attacked by some stranger?

"Breathe. Just breathe. D- Skye. Look at me." It was a request, not an order. "Breathe with me, okay?"

Eyes swinging back to him, she nodded. His presence was calming. She blew a breath out. Her heart continued hammering away.  

"Slow...in and out," he coached softly.  

His chest rose and fell rhythmically. She did her best to mimic it. "Okay. Okay," she whispered. Feeling rational thought return. Things were okay. For one, she was alive and two, this man was here. As she knew he would be....somehow.  

Sensing her need for space again, he backed up slightly, but didn't go far. He stayed an arm's length away.  

Her mouth was so dry. Like someone had shoveled a truckload of sand into it while she slept. "Water," she requested.  

A styrofoam cup with a bendy straw appeared in front of her. She swallowed it down greedily, finishing it in three long gulps. His eyes never wavered from her face as he held the cup in place for her. When she found her breath, she asked, "Not to be rude or anything but...who are you?"

He looked down, swallowing hard. "James." It was not what she expected him to say. "You like calling me Jim though." He said, attempting to smile, but it failed to reach his eyes.  

"Jim," she tested. It felt weird, but she nodded anyway, wanting to make him feel better as he just did with her. His clothes were rumpled. Dark circles seemed engrained on his face like he hadn't slept in weeks. Several stacks of newspapers sat on the window ledge. He'd been sitting by her bedside for a while then. And it looked like he'd been in the same accident as her. A long, odd looking bruise lined his jaw. Several small cuts were sprinkled over his face. There was a black sling around his neck, cradling his entire right arm.  

Her eyes dipped to the hand he had near hers on the bed. No ring. So they weren't married. Given the hand holding and lack of ring there were only a few options. "Okay. Jim. Um. What are you to me?"  

She expected pain to cross his face or more realistically anger. Forgetting him entirely wasn't exactly a nice thank you for him sitting by her bedside. But he remained straight-faced, almost stony. "Your boyfriend," he said.  

Should she apologize? Hey Jim, you seem like a swell guy, but I have no memory of our time together at all. "I can't remember anything," she whispered, sounding small.  

He nodded. "That's okay," he answered, calm and collected. Not anything like his world had just been flipped upside-down, which lead her to suspect that he'd anticipated this.  

There was a cot pushed against the far wall. She had no roommate. A blanket was thrown over the back of his chair. A tower of books were stacked off to the side. She read the spine of the thickest one. "A concise history of the 20th century". He'd been bored enough to read something like that. Just how much time had passed? Long enough to accumulate these things to keep himself occupied. She was afraid to know the answer, so instead she asked, "What happened to us?"

He looked her right in the eye. "Helicopter crash."

That did not sound right at all. "A what?" She blurted, doubt clouding her mind.  

"There was a helicopter crash. We were...in Tahiti." He shook his head as if recalling something painful. "It completely shattered your left shoulder blade. You had a concussion. Ten broken ribs..." He trailed off.  

Come to think of it she did feel different somehow. Like she'd been torn apart and then put back together again, piece by piece. She expected some other explanation. Maybe it was the disorientation of the memory loss. Either way it was a deeply odd feeling to have.  

"Believe it or not you were lucky." His face shadowed over like he'd seen too much. Witnessed too much. "We...were lucky," he amended.  

And others not so much, her brain finished for him. "People died?"

"Yea." A haunted look crossed his face.  

It made her uncomfortable, so she didn't look at his face. He caught her staring at the rest of his body. "I have a broken arm, but it's healed well. It was in a...cast. But now I have this." He gestured to the sling.  

The door opened. A young woman walked in, shuffling papers and watching Jim. The doctor, Skye suspected. The woman smiled at Jim like they were on friendly terms, familiar with each other. "Ma-

"She's awake," he said, interrupting her.  

The doctor turned to her, shocked to her core. "You're awake," she repeated Jim, almost in disbelief.  

"I am," Skye confirmed, then felt stupid.  

"How long have I been here exactly?" She asked, changing the subject.  

The doctor stood in place, still staring at her, stunned that she was even speaking. Skye had never seen a doctor so thrown by a patient waking up.

"A while," Jim answered. His eyes flickered away.

That scared her.  

He seemed to detect her fear because he reached out and touched her fingers. "It was bad. I thought you were gone."

"You're a fighter," the doctor said. Skye felt that she could trust her. There was a genuineness about her. A face that you'd want to tell anything to.  

"Not literally though. I work with computers for a living," Skye said almost on automatic. The words felt true though. Keyboards and screens. She remembered that. "Right?" She looked to Jim for confirmation.  

There was a long pause. Jim seemed almost mournful for a moment, then he smiled. "Yea. Don't ask me the details though. I don't understand the first thing about those things."  

Both he and the doctor laughed, but it failed to truly reach either of their eyes. They both seemed worn down. There were more lines on Jim's face than she remembered ever being there.  

"I'm feeling...." Skye trailed off, thinking about what to say. Claustrophobic. Locked up. Trapped in a bubble. "Could I maybe take a walk?" She asked the doctor hesitantly. She wasn't really in great shape, but she needed to move.  

When no answer came, her eyes flickered to the doctor. She seemed trapped in some sort of trance, staring down at the papers in her arms.  

"Doctor?"

The woman blinked, coming back from where her mind had been. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"A walk. Do you think I could take one?"

The doctor opened her mouth, denial clearly on her tongue.  

"Please," Skye added quickly. "Please," she begged, meeting the doctors eyes. She seemed like a good person. Human and able to work with a patient.  

The doctor swallowed past a lump in her throat. "That can be arranged for you," she stated quietly.  

It wasn't until she and Jim made it into the hall that Skye realized she never caught the doctor's name. The woman wore no nametag nor white lab coat. But it had been obvious who she was by her caring demeanor. As she'd fiddled with the machines and disconnected the IVs, Skye felt a healing energy around the room. She wanted to ask the doctor where she was from. The accent was British and could hardly be missed, but the doctor had grown skittish towards the end. Like something was deeply upsetting. Jim had stepped in to help her stand from the bed. The doctor had made herself scarce after that.  

The going was slow. She kept her eyes primarily on her feet. One foot in front of the other. She couldn't ever remember having to use crutches before. There had been the time in middle school when she'd fallen over a soccer ball. On the landing there had been a distinct crack from her leg. She didn't dare say anything to her foster parents. All they needed was one excuse to be rid of her. That's how they all were, so she'd walked with a pretty profound limp for a while. And that marked the permanent end of her sports career.  

During her time in the bed, her muscles had grown weak. Her body itself seemed to be in relatively okay shape for a woman who'd had so many injuries. As she lifted the crutches, she wobbled a bit.

"Woah. I've got ya," Jim said with a supportive hand at her back.  

She believed him. She knew it was true down to her core. He would always be there to pick her up. Or not let her fall in the first place.  

It was quiet out here. So much so that her crutches seemed a thousand times louder than they truly were. When she tapped them on the tile, the noise seemed to echo all around them. She had the suspicion that this hospital was really small. There was barely any activity around. No nurses hustling around. No other patients. Maybe she'd seen too many movies. At this point she was kind of desperate just to see different people around. Just when she was about to ask Jim where they even were in terms of a city, she saw actual people.  

They passed a small waiting room. It was an open area filled with chairs and tables. She saw a middle aged-man and woman sitting side-by-side. Clearly a couple by the way they leaned on one another. The man wore a white checkered shirt that was tucked into a pair of khakis. Dark rimmed glasses rested on the tip of his nose. He had a book in hand, halfway finished by the looks of it. The woman wore a light purple sweater and a necklace. Her dark hair was pinned back. Her arm was threaded in the man's. They looked like old sweethearts.  

The woman caught Skye looking. They locked eyes and Skye felt her chest tighten. The woman smiled politely, but it was a facade. Putting on a brave face, Skye thought. There was a deep sadness to her. She clutched at her husband's hand. They both appeared tired and worn down, like they'd received bad news or were waiting on news of a close family member. At least they had each other. She hoped things would work out for them.  

One of her crutches caught on the tile floor. She found that she could no longer lift it. Her breathing had kicked up. Heart beating erratically. Sweat had broken out under her arms. She could scarcely hold onto the rubber grip attached to the crutches. She halted in place, feeling like she couldn't move forward. There was something deeply wrong...but her mind blanked.  

"You okay?" Jim asked from her side, but he sounded far away. So far away.  

The world was spinning fast, intending on hurling her off somewhere that she didn't know. She'd never felt so lost before. Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to fight it all off. Parents. The word had entered her mind from nowhere and spread out like wildfire. Even though she was an adult she wished she knew who they were. It hardly mattered at the moment. She couldn't understand why this was happening now.  

"Skye, can you hear me?"

Jim. Jim was still here. And just like that everything was okay. When she opened her eyes the world had grown still once more. Normal. Things were normal. He was at her side and he wasn't going anywhere.  

"What just happened?" Jim questioned, clearly distraught.

She didn't want to worry him. She wanted to see him happy. A smile on his face, that was something she could remember. When he chuckled he looked so damn endearing and genuine. So she put on a brave face. "Just out of breath for a sec," she told him, brushing her panic away.  

"Maybe we should go back." His warm hand settled against her shoulders.  

Nothing seemed real in here. Like she might be dreaming. She wanted to see birds flying through the air, feel wind on her cheeks, and hear the sound of traffic. What she didn't want was to keeping breathing stale, recirculated hospital air. "No way I want some fresh air. Just needed a breather is all. I'm good now. Promise," she said, determined to finish this.  

So they continued on.  

Something flew across the floor, bounced off the toe of her shoe, and came to a halt about a foot away. A green dot. It was tiny, not even the size of a penny. The word pebble popped into her mind, but it wasn't right. That was a stupid thing to think. Pebbles weren't lime green. It was a piece of candy. She stepped over it easily.

The proof came a few feet later. A man had a red baggie in his hand. He was busy tossing skittles and catching them in his mouth. And from the looks of him, he was terrible at it. But luck seemed to be on his side, most of the candies had wound up in his lap so he could try again. Best two out of ten, she thought.

There were several candy and chocolate wrappers on the empty next to him. She counted at least three lemon head baggies. Clearly he had a sweet tooth. He upended the Skittle bag into his palm. It was red. He looked about ready to prepare for the next toss, but stopped short. Wondering what the hold up was, her eyes ran up to his face. She was almost taken aback by the way he was staring at her. His eyes were blown wide, like a deer caught in headlights. She'd always heard the expression and had used it herself sometimes, but now she was seeing it in its truest form. If a giant bulky alien popped up and punched him in the face, she didn't think he could look anymore shocked than he did right now.  

The woman next to him seemed to notice his rude behavior, turned and elbowed him in the gut. He flinched, dropping that last Skittle. His head swung towards the woman. "Ow!" He complained, outraged.  

"Pendejo," the woman said.  

The two began bickering back and forth like siblings. Clearly they had a familiarity with each other. Neither one looked at her again.  

Completely thrown by the exchange, Skye's brows furrowed. Both of them were purposefully not looking at her. A terrible thought crossed her mind. Had she been disfigured? A face transplant. Or skin graft. Helicopters could explode and Jim never gave her the details. All the terrible ways someone could be hurt in a crash ran through her mind. "Is something wrong with my face?"

"No," Jim said quickly.  

"Don't lie to me," she warned.  

"I would never lie to you about something like that," he said seriously. "Besides a few gnarly scratches and some bruises your face is perfect."

Perfect. Where did she find a man this nice? She didn't think she'd ever heard someone call her face perfect. Caring. Supportive. Nice. Attractive. She patted her past self on the back for choosing him.  

A large guy, built like Dwayne "the rock" Johnson coming down the hall.  

"Holy God. That guy is big," she murmured.  

He was stacked with muscles, but slim. He had a cardboard carrier in each hand. Both completely full. There were four coffees in each carrier, each of varying sizes. One was even a frappuccino.  

"How many coffees does one guy need?" She whispered, trying not to stare.  

"When you're that big, I guess eight," Jim responded.  

She chuckled. They kept moving and when they passed the coffee man he actually met her eye without reacting like she looked like a leper. He nodded politely as he passed. She smiled and did the same.  

There were pictures all along the walls of different landscapes. She stared at them and wondered where her home was. She had no idea. The only thing she knew was that Jim was in her life. That felt right.  

To fill the silence, she asked, "So what were we doing in Tahiti anyway?"

"Taking a long deserved vacation. Which is what we're going to continue doing until you're all healed," he said.  

A vacation from what? She tried to picture herself living with Jim. Maybe having dinner ready for him just as he set foot in the house after a long days work. She couldn't picture it. She wanted to know what he did for a living. Then she realized that she didn't even know what her own job was. So many questions and not enough answers. She didn't want to hurt him, but she could barely remember anything. The last thing she remembered was the pain. She'd fought so hard to live. Several questions bounced around her head about the accident. She wanted to know more, but thought back to his reaction in her room and decided she could wait. She didn't want to upset him.  

They made it outside without even having to use an elevator. Apparently her room was on the first floor, the only floor. Weird hospital. This must be a really small town or some private place for rich people.  

Jim lead her over to a bench and helped her sit. The black metal had a soothing warmth to it from soaking up all the sunshine. It was a welcomed difference from inside the hospital. The sun felt nice on her arms. Most of her arm was bandaged up, but the skin that she could see was pale. So she held out both arms as best she could, enjoying the heat that soaked into her.  

Jim's hand rested on her thigh, barely there so as not to hurt her. But enough so she could feel his presence. Because of him she felt warm inside too.  

She didn't know how much time had passed, but the next time she opened her eyes a little girl had appeared. Merely a few feet in front of her stood a small girl, no more than five. She had blonde hair that was almost white and was wearing the biggest smile on her face that Skye had ever seen.  

"Hi there, cutie," Skye said, smiling back. The little girl's happiness was infectious.  

She felt Jim sit up straighter.  

"No no no no." A man came over in a rush and completely out of breath. "Over here, sweetie," he said, directing the little girl away.  

He had an accent. Just like that doctor. What were the odds of that? Small odds. Waking up from a coma? Also small odds. Maybe the universe was trying to tell her something. She should go buy a lottery ticket.  

The girl proved to be a stubborn one. She plopped down right in front of their feet, unwilling to budge. The man scooped her up. "I'm so sorry," he apologized to her and Jim, barely sparing them a glance.  

"Don't be," she said, smiling at how sweet the girl was.  

No response came from the man. In a rush of nervous energy, he booked it away from them. Almost as if he couldn't get away fast enough. Like he thought they had some disease. Odd.  

A heartbroken cry echoed.  

Skye looked to their right. The little girl had her arms stretched out, reaching back. Her face was very displeased. That was when Skye saw a small plastic monkey toy discarded on the sidewalk.  

The man seemed to notice too. Grudgingly, he backtracked his steps.  

"What's her name?" Skye called out to him, desperate for conversation or something else she couldn't figure out.  

The man looked at her, startled. "Uh um," he fumbled over his words. He had a young looking face, but the beard and mustache combo mad him more distinguished. Avoiding her eyes, he grabbed the toy, then paused like the ground had suddenly cracked apart and was about to suck him in. After a long pause he finally spoke. "Dandelion....Dandy for short." Without waiting for her response, he spun around and took off like a fire had been lit under his ass.  

Weirdo...

People these days were weird. Not only his reactions, but that name....dandelion. What happened to boring, normal names like.... Melinda or something? "Remind me that when we have kids not to name any daughter we have after a flower," she said to Jim. He stayed quiet and her brain caught up to what she'd said. She shut her eyes in exasperation. Idiot.

"I'm sorry. Was that too soon? I actually have no idea how long we've been dating."  

"Dating," he said as if the word were foreign to him.  

Oh god, he wasn't one of those kind, was he?  Afraid of any commitment. Worry settled in the pit of her stomach. "That's what we're doing, right?" She asked, confused now.  

He leaned towards her, quickly grabbing her hand and meeting her eyes. "Yea....yea...of course...I just....I like calling it....going steady," he said almost nervously.  

That made her laugh. "What are you? Ninety years old?"

He chuckled and there was that happiness from him that she loved to see.  

She turned, searching for the little girl again, but she and her father were long gone. "That was weird, right? That guy. Acting like we were going to steal his kid or something..." She looked at Jim for confirmation that it wasn't just her that thought so.  

He nodded. "It was weird. Maybe he's just paranoid."

"Speaking of weird. In that hospital room, when I first woke up...even before I opened my eyes, I just knew that you would be there. Like I had this sixth sense of you sitting by my bedside or something," she told him.  

"Maybe you heard me talking to you," she said and she could feel the rumbling in his chest as he spoke. "Telling you I needed you to come back to me." He took her hand, threading their fingers together.  

"Maybe." She smiled. It felt good to just sit and not have any commitments. To not have to rush to respond to something. To what? She didn't know, but either way she was going to take advantage of this.  

She stared up at the sky, still lost in thought of the image of him asleep in a chair. In her mind he was wearing blue and he looked damn good.  

"Someone's getting tired," he observed.  

"Sorry. Yea, I think I am." There was a pounding going on in her head that she didn't like.  

"Let's go back in. I don't want you pushing yourself like you always do," he said.

"Okay," she agreed. Anything to make them get back to her bed faster. This whole thing really had tired her out.  

Everything was going to be okay though. She felt safe. She felt at home. Jim was with her.  

//end//