#there is so much to that 'buttons exist at the same time' college au that condenses into the buttons jokingly cant stand each other | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aquaquadrant · 3 months

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Philophobia

Word Count: 5,271 Warnings: Shipping, inappropriate/crude humor, paranormal activity, suspense/mild horror, descriptive kissing, mild language Summary: For architecture major and paranormal skeptic Grian, his friends’ after-hours ghost hunting group was just an excuse to spend time with his crush, Scar, without having to actually ask him out. But one fateful night, he finds there just might be things in this world that are scarier than emotional vulnerability… even if only by a very slim margin.

A/N: Did someone ask for a Phasmophobia-inspired Scarian au? Oh yeah, my friend @lunarcrown did! Inspired by the art she made here.

So this is kind of a modern-day college au (not set within the fictional universe of Minecraft), howEVER there are some fantasy aspects in that non-human species (like mob hybrids/monsters) still exist cuz they’re fun and I’m not giving anyone a normal modern name cuz that’s too weird. This is only Phasmophobia-inspired in that GIGS have a ghost-hunting group that functions the same way, but rarely find any conclusive evidence, and don’t have unlimited lives cuz they aren’t playing a game. With that out of the way, hope y’all enjoy, please reblog/comment if u do! - Aqua

~*~

Philophobia

~*~

“I think this is gonna be the one, guys,” Impulse says, turning their van into the driveway.

The suspension creaks as they roll over gravel, rattling the frame in a way that hums through Grian’s hollow bones. His arm is cold where it presses against the window; it’s almost sunset and Impulse has yet to get the van’s heater fixed despite his promises. Stupid demon blood keeping him warm while Grian shivers in the stupid custom pleather jumpsuit that Scar insisted they had made, for their stupid ‘brand’ as a stupid ghost-hunting group. Great, his stupid zipper’s come down again- he stubbornly zips it back up because unlike Scar, he doesn’t like constantly having his bare chest out on display.

Of course, he hasn’t got as much to show off as Scar, who must be getting up at 3 am every morning to work out in order to maintain all that muscle. No wonder Scar prefers to keep his zipper down to his belly button, and doesn’t seem to have ever met a shirt that fits him properly.

… Not that Grian’s ever paid much attention to that sort of thing.

Grian gives an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been saying that about every case we’ve had for three years!”

“No, no, I really mean it!” Impulse insists. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Yeah,” Scar agrees, leaning forward so his shoulder brushes against Grian’s, “you know Impulse bones good!”

The earnest nature of his statement- and the unexpected physical contact- makes Grian flush. “Scar!” he shrieks, swatting Scar’s shoulder.

“What?” Scar defends. “What, he- he’s got big and strong bones, wonderful bones…”

He acts as if he’s got no idea he said something that could be taken the wrong way. And if it weren’t for the upturned corners of his mouth and the barely-restrained laugh in his voice, Grian might actually believe him.

“Dude,” Skizz chuckles from the front seat, “shut up, that’s awesome.”

Impulse sighs. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “the place recently had a change in ownership. Previous owner passed away-”

“From murder?” Scar gasps.

Another sigh. “No, from liver failure.”

Grian snorts. “From all the drinking he did to forget about the ghostly hauntings?” he presses, exchanging a cheeky grin with Scar.

“No,” Impulse says, with the patience of a saint, “just normal old-age organ failure. The guy was ancient, and some kinda recluse. House had been in his family since it was built, but uh, he had no living relatives, no will when he died. So the bank took ownership and it’s been sitting off-market for like, fifteen years, til some hot-shot investor thought he could flip it-”

“Ughh,” Grian groans, tipping his head back against the seat. “Investors are the worst-”

“I know, I know,” Impulse soothes, “but um, he’d barely begun when things started happening. Contractors reported it day one, then the owner experienced an event himself and called us. So it’s basically still untouched.”

They haven’t even reached the end of the driveway yet, passing by seemingly endless rows of tall, gnarled pines. Admittedly, Grian’s curiosity is piqued. When he agreed to join this stupid ghost hunting group three years ago, he didn’t do so in the hopes of actually discovering any real paranormal activity. The whole idea is laughable. Ghost hunting is a pseudoscience, at best. Just a bunch of idiots scaring themselves silly in an empty house- and now they’re the idiots! Even their name is stupid: Ghost Investigation Group Services, or GIGS, embroidered on their ill-fitting pleather jumpsuits.

But despite his outright skepticism and dislike for pulling late nights in his already extremely limited free time, Grian’s got one very good reason for agreeing to join.

And his name is Scar.

Grian spent half a semester pining away at the fellow architecture major from across the lecture halls of their many shared classes. Charismatic and easy on the eyes, it was inevitable that Grian would develop a bit of a crush. But as they spent more time together during class projects and conversations in the hallway, he found out just how kind-hearted and passionate Scar was, and how easy he was to talk to, and how strong his arms looked in long-sleeved shirts…

… Yeah, ‘crush’ perhaps isn’t the right word.

So when Impulse- the engineering major who Grian was partnered with for physics lab- got the brilliant idea to start a ghost-hunting group with his best friend and roommate Skizz, and Scar expressed interest in joining, Grian made a split-second decision in a moment of weakness. He maintained his skepticism, claiming that he wanted to tag along just to prove how silly the whole idea was. Impulse was fine with it, while Scar said Grian had to wear the same uniform as them, and the rest was history.

(To be fair, that was before Grian knew it’d be a pleather jumpsuit.)

So here they are now nearly three years later, rumbling down a long gravel road in the dark and cold, up late on a Saturday night even though he still isn’t finished with his condominium model that’s due at 8 am on Monday and he’s fresh out of popsicle sticks. Moments like these almost make Grian wish he could just ask a guy out like a normal person, so they could spend time together without chasing pretend ghosts around dusty houses all night.

But that’d require him to talk about his feelings. Ugh, he’d rather let the ghosts get him.

“Alright.” Impulse slows the van to a halt. The doors unlock with a heavy clunk. “What do you guys think?”

Grian isn’t expecting much when he glances out the window. But the sight that greets him immediately prompts a hasty exit from the vehicle, scarcely noticing the sudden chill, his jaw dropping open in awe.

It’s a Victorian. Not a house that someone has mistakenly called ‘Victorian’ just because it looks old. A genuine, honest-to-goodness, Queen Anne’s style two-story Victorian manor with an asymmetrical facade and a rounded corner tower and a generous wrap-around porch, silhouetted against the fading light of the evening sky.

Grian reaches for his flashlight. Sweeping over the exterior, his breath catches. Knots of ivy creep up the walls, and there are a few places where the intricate wood trim has been lost to previous repairs and weather damage. A couple of the windows are bricked up. Most of the paint is faded and peeling. But overall? It’s beautiful.

“Oh man,” Grian murmurs, pushing his glasses back up, “look at the shape of it... look at the dormers!”

A second beam of light joins in; Scar’s emerged from the van. “Lots of character,” he says, sounding similarly entranced. “And still in great condition! Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s enough to make a man cry.”

Impulse hops out of the driver’s seat, chuckling. “I knew you two would like it. It’s an ‘85.”

Grian gives an appreciative whistle. “Look, I still don’t think we’re gonna find anythin’,” he says with a sideways look at Scar, “but I gotta tell ya… if- if I were a ghost… I think I’d haunt a proper house like this. Not those builder-grade boxes in the suburbs.”

“Right?” Impulse says, his forked tail flicking through the air. “That’s what I’m sayin’... I uh, I think this place has real potential.”

Skizz, who’s come around the van to stand with them, nods thoughtfully. “Definitely somethin’ special ‘bout it, that’s for true,” he says, exchanging a look with Impulse. Then he claps his hands together. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get movin’!”

Impulse and Skizz turn towards the van, heading to open the back.

Grian stares after them, squinting suspiciously. That wasn’t just any look. That was a Look. A Look that he knows all too well. They had that same Look on their faces at last year’s frat mixer, when they rigged the speakers at the Heta Kappa house to play ‘Margaritaville’ every time someone flushed a toilet.

It means that they’re Up To Something.

… Grian’s sure he’ll find out sooner or later.

“Well, Grian,” Scar says, hands on his hips as he surveys the property, “if it’s any connotation, at least we’ll get to study some real architecture tonight.”

Grian gives him a bemused look. “Consolation?”

Scar blinks. “Cono- what, what’d I say? Con- coronation?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, ey,” Grian chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

~*~

“Check it out, dude,” Skizz calls excitedly, “temp’s dropping in here! Five degrees colder than the rest of the house!”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s an east-facing room and the sun’s only just set, of course it’s colder than the rest of the house,” he says, idly passing his UV glow stick over an armchair. No prints, of course. “I doubt they’ve updated the insulation anytime within the last two decades.”

“And hey, look,” Impulse chimes in from the corner, “I’ve got EMF 1.3!”

Grian doesn’t even look up. “There’s an exposed outlet in here and I’ll bet the wiring’s older than I am. And in any case, it’s still below the recommended threshold.” Ew, okay, now that’s a suspicious UV stain on the floor, but not of the supernatural kind…

“Oh, it’s definitely not up to code,” Impulse agrees. He waves his EMF reader around a bit, making the pitch warble. “But I dunno, I think this must be the ghost’s favorite room. Might not be here right now, but I’m getting some real vibes…”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Sure…”

Twenty minutes in, and despite the house’s hauntingly elegant construction, it’s been the same old story. The house is empty and quiet, as abandoned houses tend to be. Quite sparse, as most of the furnishings probably went to auction. The furniture that’s left is covered with tarps and every surface is coated with a fine layer of dust. He can smell mold somewhere in the floorboards and there’s apparent water damage in the ceiling.

The only renovation attempted thus far was the removal of some cheap linoleum tiles that were laid in the kitchen at some point- a renovation Grian can heartily agree with, there’s some absolutely gorgeous hardwood underneath- but they didn’t get far. The removed tiles are still sitting about in a haphazard pile, hammer and chisel abandoned on the floor beside them. Frantic footsteps smeared in the dust and powder paint the scene of a terrified contractor fleeing for their life from the reported ‘ghostly hauntings’.

In any case, they haven’t heard any activity from the spirit box, nothing unusual has stood out on UV, and the salt Impulse laid out is still undisturbed. Surprise, surprise. Grian’s spent most of his time admiring the elaborate wooden trims lining every wall, scuffed as they are. What he wouldn’t give to properly restore this place…

“Hey, Dipple Dop?” Skizz calls suddenly. “Your radio working okay?”

Impulse gives him a curious look. “Huh? What, is there-” He pauses, glancing down at his radio. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, actually, mine’s on the fritz, must be overdue a battery change.”

“Oh?” Grian tilts his head innocently. “You don’t think it’s a ghoooost?”

Impulse purses his lips. “I don’t think everything is a ghost,” he says mildly. He clips the radio onto his belt, turning to the door. “I’ve got extras in the van, hang on…”

“I’ll go, too,” Skizz says quickly, slinging an arm and his wing around Impulse’s shoulders. “Buddy system! You know what, I- I’m tellin’ you, you never split up when hunting ghosts. That’s how they get you, dude.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Grian gives them a warning Look.

They give him a cheeky Look back.

“Yup, yeah, that’s true,” Impulse says with obvious feigned sincerity, steering Skizz out of the room. “So uh, you two keep at it, okay, and we’ll be right back…”

“Oh, okay!” Scar says cheerfully, busy setting up the tripod over in the corner and completely oblivious to their scheme. “Have a great time not getting murdered!”

Grian opens his mouth to protest, but Impulse and Skizz are already gone out the front door. Leaving him and Scar completely alone. Totally by coincidence, surely. Oh, he knew his drunken confession to Impulse at the school’s annual bar crawl fundraiser night would come back to bite him eventually.

It’s almost insulting, in a way. Like they think the only reason Grian hasn’t made a move is because he hasn’t had ample alone time with Scar. Like he needed them to give him an opportunity. But if he’d wanted to confess to Scar, he already would have. He’d have had it well done by now. They could give him a little credit.

See, the thing is, he’s thought about it. Plenty of times, in fact. But the issue he keeps coming back to is that if he tells Scar about his crush on him, then Scar will know about it. There’ll be no going back at that point. And if Scar doesn’t feel the same way- well, Grian can kiss their friendship goodbye. So yeah, no, he doesn’t think he’ll be making any dramatic love confessions tonight, strangely enough.

The risk of an awkward silence developing is astronomical, so Grian clears his throat. “Man… isn’t this place somethin’,” he says, then immediately fights the urge to cringe.

Scar, luckily, gives an emphatic nod. “It is, it truly is amazing.” He straightens up, dusting his hands off as he turns to Grian. “You know who’d really love this place, is Gem?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Grian agrees. He busies himself with the UV, so he’s not just standing around. “We should take some pictures for her.”

“Oh, good idea!” Giving the tripod a final once-over, Scar wanders over to Grian. “So, any fingering goin’ on, yet?”

Grian nearly drops his glow stick. “Sorry- any what?!” he screeches, whirling around on Scar.

“You know, ghost fingers!” Scar says, perfectly innocent. He holds his hands up, wiggling his fingers in demonstration. “On the- on the glowy light?”

Grian takes a deep breath, face burning. “Oh Scar, buddy, you gotta think through your words better before you say them, alright?”

“Whaaat?” Scar pretends like he doesn’t know. “What, I’m just- you’ve got the stick, you know, little glow stick for when the ghost touches, uh-”

“Nevermind,” Grian groans. “Anyways, no, I haven’t found any ghostly handprints and I never will, because ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar folds his arms. “Well, hey, maybe the ghost is just polite! You know, he- maybe he’s just minding his business, not touching anything or- or anyone. Just because we don’t get anything on UV doesn’t mean ghosts aren’t real, I’ll have you know.”

Grian sees the challenge for what it is. “Alright…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his spirit box. Holding the transponder to his lips, he belts out, “Where ahhre yewww?” in his best imitation of an over-exaggerated pop-punk accent. If Impulse and Skizz are eavesdropping through their radios, he hopes he gave them a start.

Scar laughs. “Oh man, been a while since I heard that one! You-”

I’m close.

Grian jumps so badly he nearly drops the box, his wings puffing out involuntarily. “What?! Wha- who said that?” he demands, spinning around.

Scar blinks at him. “What? Did you hear something through the box?”

“I- I dunno?” Grian says uncertainly. The box seems to be working as normal; when he holds the receiver down, there’s a faint hiss of static, and the bulb remains white. No further noises come from the speaker.

After a couple seconds of tense listening, Grian feels silly. Way to play it cool. He switches the box off with an exasperated sigh. “No, of course I didn’t hear anything through the box. Like I said, ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar hums noncommittally. “Oh, Grian... you know, there are some things in the world that can’t be explained.”

Grian snorts. “Oh, yeah? Well, I- I got a few explanations for ya.” He counts on his fingers. “It could’ve been this old house creaking in the wind, or an electrical surge causing feedback through the transponder, or- or, not to mention, Impulse and Skizz pranking us through the radio?”

Scar snickers. “That does sound like something they’d do, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah.” Grian slips the box back into his pocket. “And y’know, being in a creepy abandoned house, after dark, out in the middle’a nowhere... it’s easy to think you’re hearin’ things.”

Scar rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. “I know, I know, so you’ve told me. But one of these days, mister, you’re gonna eat your words.”

“Right,” Grian drawls. “I’m so scared…”

The front door slams shut.

That makes Grian pause. They always leave the front door open while out on a job. It saves time when they have to go back and forth from the van, and saves battery life on their radios when they can just shout to each other through the open doorway. Obviously this job is a little different, because Impulse and Skizz have clearly got it in their heads to try and get him and Scar together, but he wouldn’t think they’d go so far as to-

The lights suddenly flicker and go out. But in the split-second before they do, Grian sees a shadowy figure silhouetted against the door.

Pure instinct takes over. Grian spins on his heel, grabs Scar by the arm, and absolutely flies down the stairs to the basement. He knows they’ve disturbed one or two piles of salt but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. His wings are bumping against the walls and he’s certainly never tried carrying someone as big as Scar before but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even process the ache of it rattling through his body. He bursts into the basement, feathers flying, and careens towards the back of the room, around a tall shelving unit, and into the corner.

There’s a heap of boxes stacked up in this corner; Grian unceremoniously shoves Scar over top of them, dropping him in the narrow space between the boxes and the wall. He’s wedged in as far as he can himself, laying across the boxes, his double pair of wings preventing him from squeezing in beside Scar. He’s still got the UV light clenched in his fist, he realizes belatedly- he braces his forearms against the wall to try and cover it, fanning his wings out behind him to block it out from the rest of the room. Glancing back over his shoulder, he tries to gauge how much light is getting through when a noise makes him freeze.

Footsteps.

They’re soft and light- certainly not the heavy boots of Impulse or Skizz. No, they sound almost barefoot. And as they gently tap down the stairs, the sound of giggling fills the air. It’s a feminine voice. Young, like a child. Like a little ghostie girl is prancing down the stairs to murder them.

Grian thinks he might pass out. Can ghosts actually kill people? How would they do it if they’re incorporeal? He’s never considered the question before, he never thought he’d have to because it’s ridiculous, ghosts aren’t real, of course they can’t kill people-

The footsteps stop.

Grian isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. He doesn’t dare move. A chill runs up his spine, making every single feather stand on end. He can almost hear the high-pitched violins that would be playing right now if this were a horror movie; the cheesy, overdrawn kind of horror movies that are always playing at the drive-in that the four of them watch while piled into the back of the van in a tangle of limbs and spilled popcorn and oh god he’s spiraling now because he’s about to be killed by a ghost-

Bye-bye!

The chill recedes. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he sees the faint glow of light from upstairs return.

It’s over.

Grian’s mind is spinning. What was that? What was that? It seems impossible, it doesn’t even feel real to be in this situation right now but he is, there was a ghost, there was a ghost. It feels insane to even think it. But the residual adrenaline coursing through his body reminds him it was very real, he just encountered a ghost.

A ghost! Oh, after three years of very loudly decrying the entire concept as rubbish. He can’t believe it. He really can’t believe it, this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen tonight. Ghosts are real. Ghosts are really, really, real. He doesn’t know what to do, who would ever believe him? Is this how the others have been feeling this whole time? God, he can’t believe this-

“G...?” Scar’s voice pipes up hesitantly. “What... what are we doing?”

Oh, right. Grian glances down at Scar- and his heart jolts. He’d been so focused on getting away from the ghost, he’d acted without thinking, so only now does he realize the... predicament he’s put them in.

Scar’s slumped against the floor beneath him, head tucked just below Grian’s arms. His long legs are still draped over the box that Grian’s laying across, resting on either side of his waist. And due to the odd posture Grian’s in, his chest has been thrust rather close to Scar’s face, lit by the soft purple glow of the UV.

This is probably the closest Grian has ever been to sitting in Scar’s lap.

Grian’s not proud of the yelp that escapes him. “Sorry, sorry!” His wings flail as he struggles to push himself off of the wall, stumbling back onto his feet. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated and he nearly falls backwards, his heart pounding.

Scar manages a laugh, easing himself up off the floor. “No, no, it’s okay, I- I just... what- why’d you bring us down here?” he asks, dusting off his jumpsuit.

Grian catches his breath. “Wait, you... didn’t hear the creepy ghost on its way to kill us?” he asks, frowning.

Scar‘s eyes widen. “What? There was a ghost?”

No way.

“Are you-!” Grian throws his arms up. “Honestly, I- I know avians have better hearing than most but that’s insane. She was laughing! Laughing and skipping down the blumin’ steps! And you didn’t hear any of it?”

“No…?” Scar shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, okay! I- I don’t know, I was- a lot was happening, you- you’re grabbin’ me, pulling me down the stairs and into this little corner, I didn’t know what was going on! I didn’t know, I- I was all disconbodulated- disco- bobo, bobumated? I was a little distracted, okay. Jeeze, give a man a break…”

“Distracted?” Grian repeats incredulously. “You’re the one who actually believes in ghosts, here, how could you get distracted? What do you…”

He trails off. Scar is very clearly fighting to avoid looking at Grian, but for the briefest moment, his eyes dart down to Grian’s chest. Suddenly confused, Grian follows his gaze, and-

Oh, for goodness sakes. At some point during his frantic flight, the stupid zipper on his stupid jumpsuit came down again, exposing a frankly scandalous amount of skin. Not Scar-level of scandalous, but pretty close.

Grian immediately feels himself turn red. “Oh. Uh- right,” he hastily pulls the zipper back up, “sorry ‘bout that…”

Wait. Wait just a second.

Scar was distracted from a literal ghost hunt going on... because Grian’s bare chest was showing? Does that... does that mean he liked it?

Scar’s avoiding his gaze again. His cheeks are tinted pink.

“Scar...?” Grian ventures carefully. “Were you... lookin’ at my chest?”

Scar’s cheeks darken. “Ah, I- I- don’t- I mean, why would you- I didn’t mean to, it’s just...” He fumbles for the words. “What- what am I- hey, your pecs were basically in my face! I wasn’t trying to look, I- I just-”

“Scar,” Grian says, keeping his voice light and teasing, “did ya… did you like what you saw?”

Scar splutters for a moment. “Well, sure, Grian,” he tries to laugh it off, “I mean, anyone- anyone with eyes can see you’re uh, you know, you’re- you’re pretty attractive. I- I’m secure enough to say it, I don’t care, it’s- sure, of course, you’re very muscular! You’re a- you’re a muscular man, it’s just not always obvious with the sweaters you wear. Or- sorry, you call them jumpers in Britain land, right, they’re jumpers-”

“You been checkin’ me out, Scar?” Grian asks, caught somewhere between playfulness and utter disbelief.

“Uh...” Scar rubs the back of his neck. He exhales slowly, clearly debating with himself. “I... maybe? What... what would you say... if that were the case?”

Grian swallows. His heart is absolutely racing now, and he’s broken into a cold sweat that’s definitely not supernatural in origin. The air between them feels fragile; he’s acutely aware that a single word from him could swiftly plunge them back into the realm of safe familiarity, of casual light-hearted teasing between friends. Scar’s always said things that bordered on the flirtatious, and Grian can hide behind the plausible deniability of teasing. This entire interaction doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be easily moved past and forgotten.

And yet, strangely enough… Grian doesn’t want it to. Maybe it’s the post-haunting adrenaline or the fact that he could’ve died tonight, but all of a sudden, he feels like taking a chance. Like he could finally say what he’s wanted to say for the last three years. He managed to hold his own against a blumin’ ghost, for goodness sakes- he should be able to face his own feelings head on.

He takes a breath. “I’d say that’s a relief… ‘cause I’ve been checkin’ you out since day one of first year.”

Scar stares at him for a long moment. His expression is utterly unreadable. The silence draws on long enough that Grian feels a spike of panic, worried that maybe he’s mishandled the situation-

“... oh my god,” Scar says finally. “Really?”

It sounds like the good kind of surprise. Grian offers a shy smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he admits. “I- Scar, I know I’m real good at playin’ these things close to the vest, but uh, I- I’ve had a massive crush on you since... basically since the day we met.”

“Huh.” Scar blinks. “You’re serious. You- you’re not pranking me right now?”

That startles a laugh out of Grian. “No! Scar, I don’t- we just survived being hunted by a ghost, I’m not pranking you!”

“Well, that’s- that’s amazing!” A grin spreads across Scar’s face- and man, oh man, does he have just the most wonderful smile. “Oh my gosh, G, I don’t- you don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Yeah, me too!” Grian laughs, half-dazed and half-giddy, running a hand through his hair. “I- I even- look, the whole reason I even joined this group was as an excuse to hang out with you!”

Scar’s mouth falls open. “No way! That’s- that’s the whole reason I joined in the first place, too!”

Now it’s Grian’s turn to gawk. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not!” Scar insists, “I swear, I’m not- Impulse said he wanted to start the group and maybe we’d all join and get to hang out and I thought ‘hey, ghosts are cool and Grian is cool’ so I just-”

“Oh, I can’t believe this…” Grian groans, hiding his burning face in his hands. “We really are idiots, we’ve wasted nearly three years…”

Scar’s hands close around Grian’s wrists, lightly pulling them down from his face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he says smoothly, leaning in.

Corny, but Grian will allow it. He closes the gap, tilting his head up to meet Scar’s lips.

In that moment, everything else fades away. All the nervousness, all the second-guessing, even the bombshell discovery of the existence of ghosts- there could be one standing in front of them right now and Grian wouldn’t care. The way Scar gathers Grian in his arms, hands gently roving through his feathers- it’s bliss. It’s perfect.

Scar kisses him strong and purposefully, with no trace of carelessness or haste. He doesn’t rush. There’s intent written into every single movement, jaw working to deepen the kiss. Grian curls against him, hands splayed across Scar’s chest. He can feel Scar’s heart pounding through his flushed skin, and it’s wildly exciting- to think Scar is just as breathless as he is.

Growing bold, Grian dares to slip his tongue into Scar’s mouth, and the noise he makes- part surprise, part delight- sends pure electricity fizzling up his spine. His mind is starting to drift away from him, lost in the sensation of weightlessness, of floating, that almost makes him feel like he’s gone completely incorporeal- like his own spirit has become untethered from the mortal coil.

Then Skizz’s voice comes down the stairs.

“G-Sharp! Scarface! You down here? We just saw a freaking ghost on the cams, and- oh my god!”

Grian breaks away from Scar, but not quick enough. He turns to see Skizz and Impulse standing at the bottom of the stairs, expressions shocked. And then, as if they’d rehearsed it, they both break into massive shit-eating grins and spin around to high-five each other.

“Woo!” Impulse cheers. “We got ‘em! Ladies and gentlemen, we finally got them.”

“Yeah, baby!” Skizz pumps his fist in the air. “Oh, I love it!”

“Oh, would you two stop it?” Grian huffs, but he’s not really cross. Hard to be cross when he’s on cloud nine. “The ghost did most of the work, alright?”

“That’s right,” Scar sniffs, winding an arm around Grian’s waist. “You know, I- I’m startin’ to think you all were in cahoots! Cahoots, I say!”

“Dude, if only,” Skizz laughs, walking over to clap them on the shoulders. “Could not have planned it better, that’s amazing. Well done, gentlemen!”

“Yeah, it’s about time!” Impulse adds, crossing his arms. “I was starting to think we’d graduate before either of you fessed up, I- I had to take drastic measures…”

“Impulse,” Grian says warningly, “if you’re about to tell me you started this whole paranormal investigation group just as a way to push me and Scar into confronting our feelings, I swear-”

“No, no,” Impulse assures him, chuckling. “I really do like the ghost-hunting deal, don’t worry. But uh, we did deliberately ditch you guys in the hopes that something would happen.”

Scar waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, things happened, alright.”

“Scar!” Grian swats at him, but he’s laughing and it feels good. It feels right. After all this time spent worrying about worst-case scenarios, about denying his feelings for the sake of maintaining the comfortable mundanity of his comfortable life, it turns out the scariest part was the fear itself.

The irony doesn’t escape his notice. A bit on the nose, if he’s honest.

“But in even bigger news,” Impulse graciously continues, “you saw the ghost? And you believed it? You, Mr. Non-Believer in all things ghostly?”

Grian sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know…”

“This is incredible!” Skizz claps his hands together. “Okay, okay, we gotta go cleanse the area and I wanna hear everything, got it? Don’t leave a single detail out!”

Grian slips his hand into Scar’s as they follow Impulse and Skizz back up the stairs. “Yeah, alright,” he relents. He supposes he’s due for a lot of ‘I told you so’s’. But really, it’s a small price to pay for the life-altering knowledge that ghosts are real… and for finally finding the courage to believe in something extraordinary.

Scar hums. “Wait, details about the ghost or about the kissing?”

“Scar!”

~*~

#hermitcraft #hermitshipping #scarian #my writing #listen i am only a casual phasmo enjoyer and idk anything about architecture school pls don't come for me abt any inaccuracies #just here for a good gay spooky time #wanted to see if i'd be any good at writing commissions (ie. solely based off someone else's idea) and i had FUN #but it's always easy to be inspired by mel <3

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wooataes · 1 year

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Real Eyes, Fake Lies (Part One)

Pairing: soulmate!Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Angst, Hanahaki AU, mentions of death, mentions of infidelity, reader cries, Seungcheol and Jeonghan being the cutest couple

Summary: What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

A/N: Just a little warm up post to ease myself to getting back into writing. I’ve had this idea in my head for a few years now, and finally decided to get it up and running. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy it! - Taelor ☺️✨💜

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You believed in soulmates. It wasn’t something that could be debated on in your world - someone out there was literally chosen and designed to cohabitate in perfect harmony with you, and only you. To love and cherish for the rest of your lives. Once you come into physical contact with your soulmate, it’s said that all the dull black and whites you see explode into a beautiful display of more colours than you could ever think of, and everything you feel is intertwined with what your other half feels. You have spent all 21 years of your life dreaming about what that would feel and look like.

You’ve seen soulmates meet before your very eyes. You saw it when your older brother, Choi Seungcheol fell for Yoon Jeonghan, literally, in your first year of college. You saw it when Jeon Wonwoo, close friend of your brother, caught Kim Mingyu into his arms just weeks prior.

You saw how much your mother loved her soulmate, your father, before he decided to leave her for a woman half his age when you were only 11 years old, and your brother 13. You saw your mother’s true love for your father seal her fate, falling ill to the dreaded curse of your soulmate not loving you back - watching life leave her with every flower petal she coughed up until there was nothing left. You saw it in your best friend Kwon Soonyoung’s parents, who took both you and your brother in until you both were of age and left for college.

You definitely weren’t a stranger to the phenomenon of soulmates, but you sure as hell were a stranger to knowing the beauty of colours and feelings of another. It’s something you craved and wanted so desperately to feel, you never knew when you would get to experience it.

In a way, you wished your soulmate was your best friend. Soonyoung knew everything about you; how to push your buttons and how to make your worst days feel like the best. Why couldn’t he be the one made for you? You spent most of your days together, being in the same Theatre and Dance majors at your college as well as the Theatre Club. In a realistic way, you two made perfect sense. But alas, Soonyoung’s soulmate came in the form of Lee Seokmin, the third in your best friend trio. You know that most of the time you’re the third wheel in your group, but you’ve grown to accept that fate over the previous 2 years.

Not having a soulmate never stopped you from living your life as you had intended, though. Living with your brother and best friend, along with the additions of their soulmates in a large 4 bedroom house inherited to you and Seungcheol by your mother in the city of Seoul, conveniently only a short commute away from your university. It wasn’t bad, on the contrary, you loved the company of your closest people who you call your family. There were the days when you often missed your mother and longed for the love only a soulmate could give, but those days are rare to have for you. You were more than content in your little bubble of existence.

“Choi Y/N!” You groan at the excited tone of your older brother calling you from the kitchen.

“It’s 6am, Cheol.” You grumble, snuggling into your knitted hoodie wrapped around your body as you slump against the breakfast bar, taking a piece of fruit from the basket on the bar. “Why are you so chirpy?”

“Good morning to you too!” He chuckled, reaching over and fluffing your hair up as you whined. “Don’t you think this green shirt makes my eyes pop?”

Seungcheol and Jeonghan had devised the perfect plan; wear an obnoxiously bright coloured shirt with the goofiest patterns and shapes - and once you found your soulmate, they would easily know because you would be so horrified that you would have to tell them what your thoughts were on the colour clashes.

“Ah, yes,” You hum, waving your banana around in the air. “They make the grey’s in your eyes really stand out.” You huff in a monotone voice, resulting in a laugh from the top of the stairs.

“It’ll happen eventually, Bug.” Jeonghan smiles as he passes you, giving you a peck on the forehead. “And we’ll be the first to know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You smile, waving the couple off. “I’ll see you guys when I get home tonight. Don’t worry about dinner, it’s Working Bee tonight. Our sets won’t paint themselves.” You pull your backpack over your shoulder, umbrella in hand as you walk to the front door. “I’ll be home at around 8?”

“Sounds good, Love Bug!” Seungcheol smiled - Love Bug being a loving nickname from your mother. “But call us if you’re going to be home any later. We’ll wait up.”

“Will do! Love you,” you sang as you closed the door behind you.

It’s late in the day when Lee Jihoon hums quietly to himself as he strolls through the hallway of the Music Building, tapping his fingers on his sides as he attempts to get the chord progression in his head correct. His eyes scan the bland black and white scenery in front of him, a blank expression matching the blank scenery.

“Hoonie!” A voice called, making Jihoon smile.

“Hey, you.” he hummed, pressing his lips to Kang Ji-ah’s temple, taking her into his arms.

He knows what you’re thinking. Why the hell would he be with a girl who wasn’t his soulmate? Well, why would he tell you? He doesn’t have to explain it to anyone, him and her are the only ones who know, anyway. It isn’t harming anyone. He didn’t even know if he believed in soulmates at this stage. And it’s not like anyone assumed any different. On the outside and to everyone else, Jihoon and Ji-ah were soulmates. They didn’t have to know it wasn’t real.

“I’ve got dinner with my parents tonight, Hoonie, but we can rain check our date until next week, right?” She smiled as Jihoon’s hands rested delicately around her waist.

“Of course, babe. I have to stay late for the Theatre Club anyway. Gotta get the orchestra prepared for rehearsals.” He lets her hands wrap around his shoulders as she pulls him in for a tight hug.

“Thank you, my love!” She cooed, giving him a final kiss on the cheek. “I’ll text you tonight, yeah?” She happily spun around and proceeded to go back from where she came, waving to Soonyoung and Seokmin coming towards Jihoon hand in hand.

“You two are sickeningly cute.” Soonyoung grimaces as Seokmin only grins.

“Oh stop it, Soonie. You know for a fact that Jihoon thinks the same about us.” He smiles as Jihoon only nods his head in agreement.

“Is there a reason you’re blessing me with your presence?” He raises his brow.

“Surprisingly, yes.” Soonyoung nodded quickly. “Jihoon-ah, you know you’re my best guy friend, right?”

“I am?”

“Don’t sound too shocked.” He pouted, making his soulmate giggle to himself. “I came to ask a favor of you.”

“Okay..?” Jihoon tilted his head.

“Are you able to walk Y/N back home tonight after the Bee? Min and I can’t make it and Cheol doesn’t want her walking home alone when the sun is just going down. I’ll shout some dinner for you next week to make up for it.”

“Oh, is that all?” He nods thoughtfully. Of course he knew you. You were Choi Y/N, top of your classes in Theatre. You were well known for your powerful vocals and bubbly personality. You were also a shoo-in for the lead role for Mamma Mia this year, and Soonyoung’s adopted sister. Your paths have crossed a few times, and Jihoon never had a problem with you; he even thought you were a cool girl. “Yeah that’s fine, it’s on the way home for me anyway.”

“Ah, you’re a lifesaver, Jihoon-ah! Thank you!” He grinned, clapping him on the back as he squeezed Seokmin’s hand. “Min and I have to go do a last rehearsal for my Hip-Hop final, but shoot me a text when you get home yeah?”

“Can do.” He nods, waving his hand as he makes his way to the campus band room to meet with the orchestra.

When Jihoon arrives at the auditorium two hours later, he’s surprised when he’s only met with you, covered in small splotches of paint, and a halfway finished set piece that is meant to look like the pavements of Greece. Your hair is disheveled and tied in a lopsided ponytail on top of your head and your glasses sitting on the tip of your nose with no one else in sight.

“What happened to the Bee?” Jihoon made his presence known to you, causing you to jump as his voice echoes across the empty stage, the only other sound being heard coming from your small Bluetooth speaker by your side.

“Ah, it’s just you, Oppa.” You smiled as you held your hand over your chest, calming down your wild heartbeat from the fright. “The guys all left about half an hour ago. They all had to study for auditions and all that.” You lean down as you speak, painting over the wooden set. “But it’s fine. I work better alone anyway.”

“Doesn’t mean you should.” He frowns, walking up onto the stage and setting himself down on the other side of the large set piece, a blank canvas on the other side. “Why didn’t you finish when the others did?”

“Cheol isn’t expecting me home until later, might as well fill in my time helping the team out.” You shrug, smiling to the confused man as he watches you paint. “I gotta say though, being only able to paint the black and white parts of the sets is boring as hell.”

You intrigued him. According to Soonyoung, you suffered through a fair bit as a child and yet you seem so content with your life as you hum and paint away. After a brief moment, he sighs and picks up a paintbrush, dipping it into the paint.

“Woah, woah, woah.” You try to stop him. “You don’t have to help, really. I know Soonie put you up to walking me home, you don’t have to do this too.” You smile softly to him, and he just looks back at you with an expression you can’t decipher.

“You said it yourself,” Jihoon mumbles, painting the wood in front of him. “Might as well help out.”

After thirty minutes of quiet but hard work of painting, you take a deep breath before lifting your head to the older boy who sat across from you, his long dark hair tucked delicately behind his ear as he worked.

“Oppa?” You ask quietly, only receiving a hum in return. “What’s seeing colour like?”

A beat of silence passes as Jihoon pauses his painting mid-stroke. “I wouldn’t know.”

“What?!” You drop the paintbrush on the newspaper covering the stage floor. “Ji-ah isn’t your soulmate?!”

“No?” He laughs incredulously, like it was the silliest question he had ever been asked. “I just like the girl, is all.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” You gasp. “Why are you even with her if she isn’t your soulmate?”

“It’s not like It’s a secret. No one ever asked, they just assumed. So I never told. Why does it bother you so much?” He frowns, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

“It doesn’t,” You counter, picking up the paintbrush again. “But.. like, aren’t you curious to meet the person literally made for you?”

“Made is a bit of a stretch.” He laughs, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, it isn’t that big a deal. So we haven’t found our soulmates yet. We are just having fun with each other right now.”

“And what if you found your soulmate, what would you do then?” You ask cautiously, lifting your head and pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose once more.

“I don’t know?” He laughs again - a nervous tick of his. “They’d just have to accept that I really like this girl? We have a really good thing going on and I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that because the ‘universe’ says so.” He lifts his fingers into a quotation mark. “At this point, I don’t even think soulmates are a real thing. I mean, sure, our friends are happy together with their fun, colourful lives but I’m quite content with Ji-ah. We just get each other.”

“Well, Mr Debby Downer,” you pout, putting your paintbrush into the bucket of water by your side. “I appreciate your thoughts on the situation, I’ll be sure to rub it in your face when you eventually meet your soulmate and fall in love and never want to leave their side.” You smirk to yourself.

“Yeah, like that’ll happen.” He huffs, putting his paintbrush down as well. “Soonyoung was right, you are a hopeless romantic.”

“Well of course I am,” you beam and if Jihoon didn’t know any better, your eyes almost seem like they’re sparkling. “I can’t wait to see colours and meet the person I’m destined to be with. There’s nothing wrong with having dreams, Lee Jihoon.” You smile, packing up the paints on the floor as you speak.

“Sure.” He hums again, standing up as you pack up the auditorium and collect your things. “Ready to go?” He asks as you nod, pulling your hood up over your head.

“You seriously didn’t know it was going to rain tonight?” You keep your hands stuffed in your pockets as your knitwear keeps you dry from the drizzling rain that falls from the sky.

“I don’t check the weather websites like an old woman.” Jihoon frowns, holding your umbrella over his head as he walks alongside you.

“You’re weird, Lee Jihoon.” You giggle quietly to yourself.

“Uh huh. I’ll be sure to let my soulmate know that when I meet them.” He remarks with a laugh as you walk together, letting the comfortable silence take over the both of you, the only sounds behind the rain pattering against your umbrella.

It takes the both of you 20 minutes to finally make it to your home and by the time you arrive, the rain has slowed to a light drizzle, the setting sun attempting to peak out behind the dark clouds.

“Well, thank you for walking me home, and the interesting take on soulmates, Oppa.” You smile as you step through the front gate, Jihoon still holding the umbrella over you so you don’t get wet. “I wish your soulmate the best of luck whenever you meet.”

“Likewise.” Jihoon laughs as you pull your hood off your head, getting ready to climb up the small staircase leading to the front door.

“I’ll see you for auditions, yeah?” You smiled as Jihoon nodded.

“Sure will.” He smiles, closing your umbrella as you turn to face the front door. “Oh, wait, your umbrella.”

“Oh, right.” You laugh, turning back and reaching out to take it from his hands, only for it to slip from his grasp at the last second.

“Crap, sorry-”

“Oops, sorry-”

You both reach for the umbrella on the pavement, fingertips brushing against each other gently. You let out a gasp as you look up to Jihoon’s face, his eyes changing colour right before yours, unexplainable colours starting to burst in all speckles of your vision. Your eyes widen as his face, clothing and the scenery around you lights up with multiple colours and shades, the now forgotten umbrella drops to the ground with a thud.

Jihoon is staring back at you with an unreadable expression, eyes mirroring yours as his hands shake. He feels dizzy as the sickeningly bright colours flood his vision. You’re staring at him in awe as the rain starts to grow heavier, coating the two of you with water.

“Oppa?” You ask quietly, so quietly that if Jihoon wasn’t looking at you when you said it, he would have missed it.

“…”

“Oppa, please say something..?” You ask shakily, and he shakes his head quickly. He can see it. You’re already imagining all the possibilities of your future. A future with him.

“… Don’t think this changes anything from what I told you at the Bee, Choi.” He grunts, not caring about the rain soaking his clothes. “I-I stand by it. You need to accept that I’m with Ji-ah, and nothing will change that.”

He pauses and waits for your response, growing more and more impatient as you just stare at him.

“W-well, if you don’t have anything more to say, then goodnight, Y/N.” Jihoon turns away, starting to head to the gate before feeling a sharp pain inside him. Wincing and reaching to hold the left side of his chest, he lets out a soft hiss. “Ah… what the hell?” He mutters to himself, turning back to look at you. He wishes he didn’t.

When you’re standing still, hand on your chest as the rain drenches your clothes, tears now falling freely down your cheeks is only then when Jihoon knows what he just felt; the only other side effect to having a soulmate.

He just felt your heart break.

“Y/N?” Jihoon asks cautiously.

As if snapping out of your trance, you blink a few times before whispering out “Don’t worry, Jihoon. No one will ever know. Just like you want.” You quickly turn and run up the stairs, opening the door to the house as Jihoon steps forward.

“Wait-” the door slams in his face as he reaches it, leaving him soaked, alone and feeling the pain of his soulmate’s broken heart.

“Hey, Bug! How was the Bee?” Seungcheol steps into the entryway from the kitchen, your eyes immediately falling to the multicoloured button up shirt he had on. “What do you think of my- Y/N?” Cheol stops as he sees the tears on your face, your chest heaving as you struggle to take a breath.

Without another word, you quickly run upstairs and into your bedroom, deep sobs leaving your chest as you curl up into a corner of the room and bury your face into your knees. Seungcheol followed you quickly, stepping into the room cautiously.

“Y/N? Love Bug, what has happened?” He asks quietly. “Are you hurt?” He sees you shake your head no, and he sighs with relief. “Let me turn the light on to check, just in case okay?”

“No.” You hiccup, your face staying buried in your knees, your stomach twisting in pain. “Please.. I d-don’t want to see it. I hate it. Don’t make me look at it!”

“Bug? Look at what?” Cheol asks worriedly, his hand resting on the top of your head.

“Colour.” You sob, your body slumping against your brother. “I hate colour, I hate soulmates, I hate it!” You cry harder, your tears soaking into his stupid colourful shirt.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen angst #seventeen #woozi #woozi x you #woozi x reader #lee jihoon x reader #lee jihoon #woozi angst #woozi fluff #seventeen fanfic #jihoon x reader

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blondeboyfriend · 1 year

Text

𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

» Part 2 [ PAIRING ] Dio Brando x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] The title is a Hamlet reference. I doubt any of this is historically accurate and I quite frankly do not give a fuck. Not beta read; we post like men. Oh and like don’t binge drink, it’s bad for you [ SYNOPSIS ] You and your toxic bestie, Dio Brando, get drunk and horny at your family’s country house after graduating from your respective colleges. [ WORD COUNT ] 2.8k [ CONTENT ] Canon AU, alcohol, y/n wears men’s clothing (yes, you hate all that fancy, upper-class finery. yes, you’re not like other girls.), voyeurism, dubcon, mutual masturbation, oral sex (m receiving), snowballing, teasing.

You were draped on the couch, taking up as much space as possible. Your head rested uncomfortably on the ornate armrest. The intricate, oak carvings couldn’t have been more unforgiving as they pressed against you. You found yourself resenting your parents’ taste in gaudy furniture, an aspect of them you never had a strong opinion about before this very moment.

Granted it wasn’t often you found yourself existing under these circumstances. How could your perception remain the same? There you were, drunk on whiskey in your father’s library while he entertained guests on the other side of your modest country house. Your contentious yet closest friend was seated on the other end of the couch, his large hands haphazardly resting on your bare feet. His head was tossed back, eyes shut. A slight scowl adorned his face. You suspected he was fighting off the spins.

“Are you alright?” You asked, nudging him with your foot.

No response. Not even a groan.

“Dio.”

“No.”

“What’s troubling you?”

“Nothing,” he yawned. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“Come on.” You nudged him once more with your foot. “Entertain me. It’s the absolute least you could do.”

Silence. You sighed, saddened he refused to humor you. You gazed down at the floor and felt around for the bottle of whiskey the two of you had been nursing all night. The room was dimly lit, the chandelier above you barely casting off any light.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you knocked over the bottle.

It made a muffled thump as it collided with the plush carpet. You sighed again though this time it was tinged with relief. Sitting up, you opened the bottle and took a sip. The sound of your swallowing seemed to rouse the blonde. His eyes fluttered open and turned his gaze towards you.

“How pathetic,” he slurred. “Hand it over.”

A callous response but it still radiated warmth. It was part of your report, that tender snarkiness. For the most part Dio was a perfect gentleman which you felt was a little phony.

“You cannot expect me to do anything vaguely helpful after calling me pathetic.”

“I could have sworn you had a thicker skin,” he said as a slight smile crossed his face.

It would have been cruel to deny him so you handed over the bottle. His fingers brushed up against yours, the pads of them roughened by years of playing rugby. You thought about how they’d feel caressing your cheek. And you thought about how the weight of his palm would feel against your neck. Closing your eyes, you hoped to push the thoughts from your mind.

“My skin couldn’t be thinner,” you said exhaling.

Dio stifled a laugh before taking a sizable swig from the bottle. He wordlessly handed it back to you. You went to take another sip, but hesitated. Your skin was flushed and you felt like the temperature in the room had risen a few degrees.

“Where did all your conviction go? Didn’t you say something about getting so drunk you go blind?”

“I was coming off the high of graduating. I can't be held accountable.”

You rolled up the sleeves of your dress shirt and unfastened the first few buttons, incredibly thankful your parents suggested dinner be a more casual affair. You couldn’t imagine how miserable you’d be if you were cursed to wear a corset and bustle along with a florid gown.

“We should probably go back out there. Let them know we’re alive.”

You groaned. “But all those people...”

“There are seven people here including you, your parents, and me.”

“Do you want to go back out there?”

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed.

“I am torn though,” you murmured before gulping down some whiskey, savoring the woody burn it left on your tongue. “Watching all those people kiss my father’s ass would be hilarious to see but I—I’m… It also sounds terrible… Because… I’d have to talk to… people.”

Dio clapped.

“Bravo. Your articulation is unmatched.”

You kicked him.

“Asshole. Be nice. We’re in my house.”

“Last time I checked you didn’t own it.”

“Last time I checked…” You struggled to put together a retort. “You… Fuck off.”

“I’d rather fuck you.”

His frankness caught you off guard. You nearly choked on your own tongue.

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you,” you muttered, trying to cover up your growing embarrassment.

You always had a crush on Dio, but you buried it deep down inside yourself in hopes that it would dissipate. It wasn’t worth pursuing him. You told yourself a smattering of assumptions to aid it: he’s betrothed to someone else, he’s too popular for a slag like you, he probably snores, he’s not into women. You weren’t sure if any of those things were true, but you tried your damnedest to believe them wholeheartedly.

“I’ve drank too much to be a gentleman.”

Looking him in the face was a struggle. There was no way you could keep up your façade if you had to confront his copper-colored eyes.

“Don’t act like you’re not interested,” he teased.

You wanted to slap the devilish smirk off his face. He was right; you were very interested in having his cock throbbing your cunt. But the library wasn’t conspicuous. Hell, the doors didn’t even lock. Anyone could stumble upon the two of you.

You exhaled and decided to be frank.

“You’d have to be a fool not to notice I suppose.”

He inched closer to your end of the couch. You leaned away from him, hoping that keeping your distance would let you fight off your ardor.

“I’m not going to force myself on you. But you’d be a fool to deny me.”

“Good thing I don’t mind being a fool,” you said, laughing nervously.

“I, Dio, can’t accept that,” he slurred.

“Even if I wanted to… y—you’re too drunk. I’d be taking advantage of you.”

“You’re just as drunk as I am. Don’t be stupid.”

“Are you going to insult your way into my pants?”

“Only if it’s working,” he said before making grabby hands beckoning you to pass him the bottle.

You took a quick sip before handing it over. You watched in horror as he finished off the last of it. Sometimes you worried about his drinking, but your concern always felt hypocritical considering you were his drinking buddy. So many nights spent intoxicated, stumbling down empty streets, illuminated by moonlight.

“Is it working?” He asked expectantly.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“There’s no need to be so demure.”

His face was inches from yours. The aroma of whiskey radiated off him, the scent overwhelming your senses.

“You know you want me,” he purred.

“Even so my father’s down the hall. It’s too risky. I don’t even want to think about what my mother would do.”

“As if that doesn’t make it more intriguin—”

“Don’t tell me you want to get caught!” You exclaimed.

You quickly covered your mouth with your hands as if that would've muffled your previous comment. Your skin grew even warmer, the embarrassment becoming unbearable. You wanted to fuck him, to feel his rough hands all over your body. But you knew it would be a disaster if you were caught with Dio of all people. Your family found the blonde charming, but his status as an adopted son was a stain upon his existence. Sure, he had good manners and seamlessly adjusted to living in the lap of luxury, but he was still a low-class lout from the slums of London.

“Oh god no. That’d be awful, but you have to admit it’s sort of appealing. You did say you wanted to be entertained. I can’t think of a better way.”

“Dio…”

“Like I said, I won’t force myself on you. But I don’t plan on giving up so easily.”

“Th—that sounds rather ominous,” you laughed nervously.

He leaned in closer, the heat of his body intermingling with yours.

“You love it,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “You need me inside you.”

He glanced down and noticed he was unbuttoning his pants.

“I haven’t even agreed to anything yet!”

“Hm, I find it hard to believe you don’t at least want a peek.”

Damn. It. He was right. You desperately wanted to know what his cock looked like.

“If you’re that nervous I’m certain we can think of something else to do. I already have an idea.”

“And what is that exactly?” You asked.

“Let’s violate ourselves in front of each other.”

You cocked an eyebrow. Now that wasn’t a bad idea at all. You’d even argue it was a good one.

“That does sound thrilling. Though I may need more convincing.”

Dio leaned back against the arm rest. Once again he flashed a smirk only the devil himself could muster. You desperately tried to invoke some semblance of bravado to hide your simmering lack of composure. All bets were off however when he pulled out his cock. It was thick and long with a couple veins snaking around it, and it curved slightly upwards. It was gorgeous.

“Are you impressed?”

“No. I mean, very,” you choked out.

He licked his palm and began to stroke his raging erection. You were frozen in place, your eyes trained on the blonde masturbating in front of you. You were utterly transfixed, intoxicated by the playful gleam in his eyes.

“Are you waiting for a written invitation?” He questioned.

“What? N—no,” you stuttered as you undressed.

You dropped your trousers and undergarments on the floor in a heap. You felt so exposed compared to Dio. If your parents were to walk in he could easily force his cock back into his pants, but you were naked from the waist down which was much harder to disguise. You cursed yourself for chucking the throw pillows across the room when you first decided to hole up in the library.

“Quit pretending to be shy,” he hissed. “Spread your legs.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Any discomfort you previously felt melted away. You never realized how much power his words held over you. You repositioned yourself on the couch and spread your legs, letting him get a scenic view of your cunt. You cupped your hand around your mons and let your fingers drift down your clit. Your eyes were fixed on his cock, lust radiating from your gaze.

“You want me. I can tell,” he said, stating the obvious. “You couldn’t hide it if you tried. Pitiful.”

You hated how right he was. Having his cock buried in your cunt sounded spectacular. But you simply couldn’t, at least not tonight.

“I bet you’ve been waiting your whole life for something like this to happen.”

Once again, he was right.

“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” you said as you spread apart your folds.

“I’ll do that once you stop being so obvious.”

“Liar. We both know you’ll always have a needlessly large ego.”

“Needlessly?”

Your legs tensed up, muscles constricting with pleasure.

“Ye—yeah,” you groaned. “You heard me.”

You slipped your fingers inside yourself, coating them with your fluids. Your cunt throbbed as you pulled them out and let them slide along your labia. You were so sensitive, almost certain your climax was on the horizon. You hated being so easy, so quick to come. But there was no way you’d be able to stave off the ecstasy enveloping your existence.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you?” Dio asked as he rubbed the tip of his cock with his thumb.

His cock was like a beacon, glistening with precum. You wanted to wrap your lips around it and let him fuck your mouth to his heart’s content. Your breathing gradually morphed into subdued panting. You were coming undone. Dio’s verbose declarations and moaning didn’t help. You didn’t expect him to be so vocal.

“You look as pathetic as ever,” he said, gripping the length of his cock.

“You don’t look much better.”

“Ha. Sure I don’t.” His tone dripped with sarcasm.

He was holding it together better than you, but still he was slowly breaking down. His strokes grew faster, his hips bucking against his fist ever so slightly. You knew you were a sight to behold, that he was loving every second of this.

You went to speak but you were soon overwhelmed with pleasure. It was as if your body was sinking into the couch as your orgasm overtook you. It started as a tingle in your toes and then proceeded to barrel through your body like a wild animal. You held your free hand over your mouth to temper your moans.

“Uncover your mouth. I want to hear you say my name.”

You wanted to kick him off the couch, but refrained and relented.

Dropping your hand, you cried out his name.

“Again,” he ordered, clenching his jaw.

You repeatedly moaned his name, letting it fall from your lips like a prayer. You only stopped once the tingling and warmth invading your body ceased. You turned your attention back towards him. He looked so satisfied. Him deeming your declarations enjoyable filled you with pride.

“Would you mind if I helped you?”

Dio’s eyes widened though he quickly regained composure. He unfurled his hand from his cock and grinned.

“By all means,” he replied, gesturing towards his cock.

You got closer to him and gripped his cock. You brought your face closer to it and rolled your tongue against the tip. You ran your tongue along the underside, relishing in the low groan it elicited from him. You savored the precum that coated his cock.

“Who’s pathetic now?” You said, flicking the tip with your pointed tongue.

“Stop talking and suck.”

You rolled your eyes and proceeded to service him. You breathed through your nose and gradually took the full length of his cock into your mouth. He placed his hand on the base of your skull and pushed your head down. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to relent.

“Shit,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

You were taken by surprise when he began to fuck your mouth. He latched onto a chunk of your hair, forced his cock in and out of your mouth. Your head vigorously bobbed up and down. You didn’t even gag. The pride you felt was insurmountable.

“You’re such a good girl,” he moaned.

You lived to be praised by Dio, to have his light shine down upon you. His words enraptured you and left you entangled in his charm.

His body tensed up and his hips rolled against your face. It didn’t take long for your mouth to get filled with the piquant taste of his cum. It flooded your mouth and seeped out from the corners, dribbling down your chin. Once he finished he gently pushed you off of his cock. You held his cum in your mouth and leaned in, cupping his face in your hands. Pressing your lips against his, you forced your tongue into his mouth. You let the cum you held in your mouth flow into his. He let out a grunt that seemed to have an air of unsureness, but he ultimately accepted your gift. Resting his hands on your back he passed his cum back to you. You broke the kiss and swallowed. You wiped your lips with the back of your hand and cleared your throat.

Suddenly everything felt rather awkward.

“That was—”

“I’m sorry!” You blurted out. “I should have asked before I did that. To just spring it on you wasn’t fair.”

“You have no business interrupting me,” he chided. “Like I was saying, that was—”

“Terrible. Horrible. Ghastly even.”

His tone softened. “Hush. It was great.”

He rubbed the back of your head and pulled you, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re much more forgiving than I’d ever be.”

“I believe you earned it.” He ruffled your hair. “We ought to make ourselves decent. Show our faces. Let everyone know we’re still alive.”

“No, come on. Let’s make them think we perished,” you whined.

You were kidding obviously, but you had no desire to face your parents let alone everyone else. Dio merely shook his head and put his cock back in his pants. You stood up and put yourself back together. You stumbled a bit like a fawn taking its first steps. The blonde snickered at your gracelessness and slung his arm around you.

“What do we tell them if they ask what we’ve been up to?” You asked.

He appeared to be deep in thought.

“We should be honest. I don’t think I could bear lying to them all.”

He sounded so genuine. If you didn’t know him well, you’d be apt to believe him. But you knew he was more wolf than sheep. You elbowed him in the ribs.

“You’re the worst. I’m telling them you were puking in a vase and I had to console you.”

#dio brando x reader #dio x reader #jjba x reader #dio brando smut #dio smut #jjba smut #jojo's bizarre adventure smut #x reader #reader insert #.fics #.jjba #.dio

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daechwitatamic · 1 year

Text

IV. Something Has to Change

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

Your friendship with Taehyung starts to show its cracks.

Section Warnings: language

WC: 7.5k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Saturday October 20th

You text Taehyung before going to sleep just to confirm he didn’t die in a ditch, but it’s radio silence from him until almost three o’clock the next afternoon. When he does finally answer you - “alive but at what cost?” - you roll your eyes and turn your phone over, screen down. You’re sitting in the living room, two author anthologies open on the coffee table, bookends to your open notebook.

Apparently he’s displeased with your silence, because your phone buzzes again a few minutes later - the longer buzz, indicating a call of some kind. With a huff of aggravation, you flip it over to see it’s a video call, his preferred method of communication. You slide the button to accept the call, but let him stare at your ceiling.

“What?” you demand. “I can’t talk, I have to go call off my search parties.”

“I was asleep,” he defends himself. “I texted you as soon as I woke up!”

“Didn’t sleep last night, huh?” you joke, but the sting is there. Just a little.

He avoids the question. “What are we doing tonight?”

You laugh at the audacity of his whole existence. Admitting to your face that he’d been up all night with a girl, and then calling you first thing upon waking like he knows you’ll just be there, waiting for him. What would happen if you weren’t?

Not to mention asking what the Saturday night plan is thirty seconds after waking up with a hangover.

“I’m assuming you won’t want to go out?” you ask.

He hums, runs a hand through his messy hair. “Depends. I could be persuaded, maybe. Wouldn’t mind just hanging out, though. What about a movie? We have that one we’ve been saving?”

We.

You’re not sure why, today, it’s bothering you so much. The truth is, Taehyung’s acting and speaking the same as always. So what’s different?

You don’t want to examine the answer to that, so you focus on the plan instead. “I like the sound of a movie,” you agree. “Wanna see if anyone else is interested?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “I’ll text everyone.”

“Sounds good. See you around eight?”

“Should we order dinner before that?” he asks.

Something in your stomach turns. You don’t want to. You don’t want to keep getting your heart stepped on. You don’t want his metaphorical scent on all of your clothes, so that you can’t go anywhere or do anything without him lingering on you.

And at the same time, he’s your best friend. He’s your family. You love him, in multiple ways.

It feels like being tugged in opposite directions. It feels like lose/lose. It feels like there’s no right answer, nowhere to turn, no option that doesn’t hurt.

“Not tonight,” you hear yourself say. “I have too much homework.”

“Okay,” he says easily. “See you around eight, then. I’ll let you know if anyone else is coming with me.”

You try to return to homework after you hang up, but your focus is shot. You lean onto the cushy back of the couch, closing your eyes. You’re still sitting like that when you hear the front door open. Namjoon hadn’t been home when you got up, had been out the whole time.

“Hey,” you say, eyes still closed.

He gives a chuckle. “Everything okay?”

“I think my brain is broken,” you tell him. “Can Edna write about something besides death?”

He huffs out a laugh, and you hear him drop his keys onto the counter. “I think she does,” he says, coming closer and peering at the anthology you still have open on the table in front of you. “Nature. Rebellion. Men. Women. Love. Sex.”

Your cheeks burn, like you’re thirteen damn years old, just from hearing the word sex in his low, steady voice.

Get a grip, you scold yourself silently.

“I guess so,” you admit. “But today everything I read is about grief.”

“Take a break,” he suggests, moving into the kitchen. You hear a cabinet open and the sink run, and then he comes in carrying a glass of water. He sits down a few feet away from you on the couch and copies your pose, leaning back against the cushions.

It occurs to you that you’ve never sat on the couch at the same time as him before. In fact, your Uber ride last night was the closest your bodies had ever been.

“We’re gonna watch a movie tonight,” you find yourself telling him. “That new one with what’s-his-face, Raven’s Prophecy? Around eight. If you want to join.”

“Yeah,” he says right away, surprising you. “Sounds good.”

–

The movie’s good - really good. You’re all crowded around the living room - Namjoon on one end of the couch, Yoongi on the other, you and Taehyung and Jimin on the floor. The coffee table has been pushed to the side to make room for you, the lights turned down. Taehyung is sitting with his back against the couch, legs extended in front of him, and you have a throw-pillow leaning against his knees, laying perpendicular to him. Jimin sits next to Taehyung, one of his legs resting lazily over top of yours.

It feels normal, and it feels nice, and everything weird from earlier seems to float away. Maybe you had just been tired.

“That’s totally foreshadowing,” you pipe up, raising a hand to point at the screen. “Because when he-.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says loudly, reaching over to flick the back of your arm. “No nerd talk. Just enjoy the movie. No one asked for a literary analysis.”

“But, look -.”

“No,” he repeats firmly, and Jimin giggles, used to this exact squabble. “This is fun, not school.”

“Foreshadowing is fun!” you protest, laughing, but you let it go.

A second later, your phone buzzes in your hand.

[9:37 PM] Namjoon: 🤯

You bite back a smile, turning off your screen before the light can catch anyone’s attention, and then you cast your gaze up at the couch to find Namjoon looking right at you, a sheepish smile creeping up on one side of his face.

You’re thankful for the dark of the room, the light shifting and changing with the scene on the tv screen, as you feel yourself blush.

God, you think to yourself. Get it together. Two days ago, it hadn’t been like this, where every met glance cues up a shy smile, and each tiny smile elicits a flush. You don’t know who this girl is but she is un-fucking-recognizable.

You wait a minute or two, then turn your brightness down and send back, “but am i wrong?”. Then you glance back up to watch Namjoon read the text. He gives a laugh, one shake of his shoulders as he sees it, and then he meets your gaze. That same half-smile on his face, he shakes his head imperceptibly.

Behind you, beneath you, Taehyung shifts and you turn back to the tv quickly, feeling something akin to guilt simmer in your gut. You don’t see his eyes bounce back and forth between you and Namjoon, curious.

Monday October 22nd

Monday brings bright sunshine despite the chilly air, morning light illuminating the deep reds and oranges of the trees down the block.

Namjoon finds you in the kitchen, staring listlessly into an untouched cup of coffee.

“Good morning?” he greets you, a question.

You startle. “Shit!” you yelp and then laugh, heart pounding. “I didn’t even hear you getting ready in there. ”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says apologetically. “I’m heading to campus in a bit… how about you?”

“Yeah,” you say glumly. “I have work and class.”

“Same,” he says, moving around you to rummage for some breakfast. “Class first, and then I’m TA-ing all afternoon.”

You give him a little smile. “I don’t think I’ll be needing your services today.”

“No?” he asks mildly. “Last few submissions went well?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume I’ve written anything worth submitting.”

He laughs, his back to you, and then settles against the kitchen counter. “I can help you brainstorm, too, if you’re stuck.”

You bite back the prideful I don’t need your help that rises to your tongue. He’s being nice. Instead, you say, “Hopefully I’ll make some progress on my own. Have fun, though. You still have that office to yourself? If I had that, I’d be so productive. Nothing to distract me.”

Namjoon shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “I find ways. I still have my phone. And a window.”

You laugh at this, and then rise, draining half of your mug of coffee in one go. “I need to head in. Are you leaving now, too? Or, later?”

“I can make now work,” he says, something warm in his tone. “Let me just go grab my bag.”

Out front, you blink against the sudden brightness, holding up a hand to shield your eyes as they adjust. Namjoon locks the front door and comes down the steps at a light jog, stopping next to you.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you tell him, and you start off towards campus in silence, the only noise around you the calls of birds and the hum of car engines from nearby traffic.

You stop at an intersection, watching the orange hand tell you to wait. “So,” you say, glancing up at him as the cars whiz by, “what’s your book about?”

He looks at you completely blankly, like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“For the grad program,” you clarify. “You said you were in fiction, right?”

“Oh,” he says, as if he forgot. “Yeah. Um, I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” you say dryly.

“It’s a coming-of-age, I guess,” he says, rubbing his chin as he thinks. He’s wearing his glasses today, and you have half a mind to tease him that he’s just trying to look like one of the professors so they don’t kick him out of his hijacked office. “And a bit of an unrequited love story.”

“The good kind or the bad kind?” you ask, a little absently. When he doesn’t answer, you look at him to determine why, and he’s looking at you like you’ve asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

You huff out a sigh. “Like - unrequited because the other person doesn’t know, or because they don’t return the feelings?”

“One of those is the good kind?” he asks, raising a brow.

“The first one,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “It’s… it always exists only as the idea of love, it’s untarnished, it can remain a beautiful and pure thing. It never gets messed up.”

“But you’re alone,” Namjoon counters.

“You still love someone,” you insist. “The meaning of life, and all that shit.”

Namjoon shakes his head as the stoplight above you changes from green to yellow, and then to red. “It’s not the same as loving someone and having them love you back, building it together and working to sustain it,” he says firmly. “That’s real love.” And then he heads for the crosswalk, his long legs carrying him swiftly away.

You hurry to catch up, feet following his without question.

–

The first leaf falls, a warning. Now the rest will follow. I watched them sway all summer. Autumn leaves me hollow.

There’s a promise in the air, I turn towards the icy bite. If autumn can’t make me happy, I wonder if winter might.

Aren’t those frozen days so dark? Isn’t catching snowflakes strange? Perhaps this could be something. Perhaps something has to change.

You frown at the page. Half of you is tempted to take Namjoon up on his offer to workshop during his TA hours, but you’ve got a good reason not to let him see this one.

“Y/N?” Kris calls from the register at the front of the store. “Did I leave my phone back there?”

Their voice brings you back to reality, pulling your focus from the page of your notebook open on your lap. You’re hiding in the stockroom, sitting on an unpacked box of what you hope are books, trying to cram in some coursework.

Kris’s phone is indeed on a table behind you, where you sling your bookbag when you come in to start a shift. You rise, slipping your notebook back into said bag and grabbing the phone, walking it out to them.

You’re alarmed when both phones buzz in your hands, a long, repeating pattern that you aren’t accustomed to.

“What the fuck?” you utter, even though if your boss heard you cursing on the floor you’d get a written reprimand for the first time in your life.

“Storm alert,” Kris says, reaching one grabby hand out for their phone. You pass it over and press your thumb to your own screen. Sure enough, it’s a severe weather alert.

You groan. “Great. I walked here.” You try to pull up the radar, but your shitty service takes too long to load it so you switch over to the hour-by-hour.

“See if your knight in shining armor will give you a ride,” Kris says with a twisted chuckle.

For a second, you aren’t sure if they mean Taehyung or Namjoon, and that fact is startling. Obviously they mean Taehyung, they know a lot of your history with him and they don't know anything about what’s happening with Namjoon. Nothing is happening with Namjoon, you correct yourself sternly. You had a weird desire to scoot closer while drunk in an Uber and had one sort of deep conversation. It’s not a thing.

And, actually, texting Taehyung for a ride is a pretty good idea. Outside, it’s not even raining yet, but the clouds hang low and the leaves that have managed to cling to their branches this late into autumn are flipping and shimmying in the harsh wind.

There’s a long line of students waiting to check out - probably grabbing last minute snacks and drinks before the rain starts, so they don’t have to go out later - so you slide next to Kris at the second register and swipe your access card. You work like this for at least an hour, the rain starting a pace outside the windows as steady as the flow of students trying to get what they need and hurry back to their dorms.

When you catch a minute, you send a text, holding your phone down under the counter and typing with one hand, as if it isn’t painfully obvious what you’re doing. When the answer comes in, you tap the screen quickly.

[4:22 PM] You: are you still on campus?

[4:31 PM] Namjoon: just finished work. can’t wait to walk back in this…

You giggle and Kris looks at you out of the corner of their eyes.

“That him?” they ask. They mean Taehyung, and you’re too damn aware of the lie as you answer, “Mhm.”

[4:34 PM] You: i’m done in 25 min if you want to suffer together

[4:36 PM] Namjoon: yeah sounds good you can make sure i dont drown lol

An “lol”? Oh, goodness.

[4:37 PM] Namjoon: you’re at the bookstore right? i’ll come there and wait for you

Oh, lord, Kris is going to have a field day with this. You don’t have time to focus on this, as your boss finally sweeps out of her adjoining office, announcing that you need to shut down the second register and finish everything in the back room before your shift ends. She’ll be the one to close the store tonight, as she does on Mondays.

When you emerge from the back room at 4:59 on the dot, your backpack on your back, Namjoon is loitering near the registers, and Kris is shooting you looks that are somehow mischievous, delighted, and wounded. You have a feeling you’ll be interrogated during your shift on Wednesday.

Outside, the rain isn’t that bad, but it is steady. The wind blowing makes it look like it’s raining left to right, in sheets.

“We’re gonna be drenched,” you groan. You follow Namjoon out of the bookstore, waving a goodbye at a still-disgruntled Kris, stopping at the glass doors that lead outside.

“It’s not that bad,” Namjoon tells you, voice a little fond, like he thinks your complaining is cute. “We’ll just go quick. I’m mostly worried about my laptop.”

“Ugh, same,” you lament. “We’d better be fast, I fully cannot afford a new one.”

“Let’s go,” he tells you, and leads you outside. Just like that morning, your feet follow his, like it’s natural. You walk in silence almost halfway home, the pace too clipped to really carry on any kind of conversation.

You’re practically panting for breath when you hit the major crosswalk, stopping to wait for the signal to walk. The rain seems worse when you’re stopped - sticking your hair to your head where it lands, raising the hairs on your arms as your body gives one dramatic shiver against the chill. Namjoon looks down at you.

“We’re almost there,” he says, reassuring.

“Mhm,” you manage, rubbing your hands over your arms to fight off the goosebumps. The light changes and you start across, following Namjoon and his naturally long stride. You keep your eyes on the ground, dodging puddles, watching the white stripes pass beneath you.

You’re just across, stepping up the curb onto the sidewalk, when it happens.

The sky opens.

One second it’s raining hard enough to be a nuisance, the next second it feels like someone dumped a bucket of water over your head. The sound goes from a soft patter to a sudden roar, like the rain is alive and it is pissed. You splutter, actually blowing water away from your lips, reaching up to wipe your eyes.

“Fucking shit,” Namjoon swears, and then he grabs your hand and tugs. “Come on!”

He’s not running that fast but there’s still a few seconds where you feel uneven, your gait awkward, trying to match his. Eventually your feet settle into the rhythm and you run just behind him. His hand, so large in yours it's almost swallowing it, is warm and solid and sure. His grip is tight - like he means it. He doesn’t look back as he runs, just squeezes your hand in his and trusts you to keep up.

When you round the corner of your block, together, you try to pull back, try to slow down. Your lungs hurt, your legs are burning, and you just want to admit defeat and walk the block letting the rain know it won.

Namjoon doesn’t let you. He slows his pace to more of a race-walk, gives your arm another playful tug. Not for a single second does he loosen his grip on your hand.

“You can make it,” he tells you over his shoulder. His hair is flattened from the rain, his face a little flushed from the run, but his dimples wink at you through the deluge.

When he reaches the front of the apartment, he finally drops your hand and takes the steps at a clip. At the top, under the safety of the awning, he turns to see why you haven’t followed him.

You can’t help it - it’s all so ridiculous you have to laugh. Your hair sticks to your face like cooked spaghetti, your shirt clings to your arms, your backpack is dripping water like there’s a faucet in there, and even your socks are wet, making each step you take squelch like mud. Still cackling at the absurdity of this moment, of having been completely defeated by the season, of running all the way home and still ending up half-drowned, you look up at the sky. The rain slides down the sides of your face and you let it cool the heat that’s there from either running, or Namjoon’s touch.

You feel a little drunk from it.

“Y/N!” Namjoon scolds from the top of the stairs, but he’s smiling that same fond little smile he’d had on movie night a few days ago. “Come inside! You’re going to get pneumonia.”

You look back at him, the rain still assaulting you from above. There’s a second where you feel something. Something like… you’re half-drowned and chilled to the bone, but you feel warm with his affectionate gaze on you. Like you don’t want him to look away and leave you cold again. Like the rain was penance and now you’re all paid up.

Like for at least this moment, right now, the rain has washed away your histories and left you clean and empty, a blank page waiting for a new story to tell - where before, your pages were full of scribbles and scrawls that held such heavy meaning there was no room for anything new.

You’re thinking too much.

You’re standing in the rain, Namjoon is looking at you like you’re nuts, and you’re thinking too much.

Watching your feet, you head up the stairs, going through the front door that he’s holding open for you.

You squish your way upstairs, neither of you talking. Inside the apartment, Namjoon flicks on a few lamps.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” he tells you, voice quiet. “You should, too.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “That was my plan.”

You stand beneath the spray of hot water, tapping on the faucet to work it hotter by degrees, not wanting the temperature to jump and scald you. You feel drained, like your limbs are noodles. You lean your forehead against the tile wall, closing your eyes and just breathing.

“What the fuck…” you whisper to no one, “is going on?”

You wish you had a friend to talk it out with. Kris would go overboard, exploding with glee. Lin isn’t a talk about boys kind of person, or even a talk about your feelings kind. That leaves Taehyung, and the idea of trying to talk to him about your burgeoning feelings for Namjoon makes you laugh out loud, the single syllable echoing off the shower walls, echoing back to mock you.

When you finally make it back into the living room, hair blow-dried and wearing your fuzziest joggers and a hoodie, Namjoon is tucked away in his own room, the door open that familiar four inches.

You get settled on the couch and pull out your phone and realize practically with a gasp - you hadn’t even tried to text Taehyung to drive you, nice and dry, back from campus. Your brain had thought but I walked here with Namjoon and the option of “dry” went right out the window.

You cover your face with your hands, sliding down on the couch a little bit. What is the matter with you?

You feel right now like it’s all happening too much, too fast. What even is “it”? Do you like Namjoon? Despite barely knowing him? Despite having to live with him?

Despite the years and years of experience you have with loving Taehyung, and Taehyung alone, out of everyone in the whole wide world?

Luckily, Namjoon stays in his room for the rest of the evening, sparing you from any more self-reflection, any more soul-searching.

You still kind of wish he’d come out.

Tuesday October 23rd

One of the steady things that you and Namjoon share, that works for you as roommates, is that neither of you cooks. A whole kitchen of pots and pans just to heat up water for tea and ramen and to occasionally cook an egg.

So when you get home from class on Tuesday so late that it’s already pretty dark out and you hear the clanging and banging from the kitchen that indicates a meal being made, you genuinely wonder if you’re at the wrong door.

As you push the door open, the noise only gets louder. You round the corner and see the kitchen in chaos - two unmanned pans on the stove, bowls and whisks and colanders and cutting boards all over the counterspace. Namjoon has his back to you, a large kitchen knife in hand.

You ease around him, not wanting to startle him until the knife is set down. He spots you anyway, and gives you a sheepish grin.

“What… exactly… is happening here?” you inquire.

“It depends on the scope of your question,” Namjoon answers, because of course he can’t just fucking answer you like a normal person. “If you’re referring to the stove, I am burning some sauce on the left and burning some meat on the right. If you’re referring to the cutting board, I am -.”

“The stove is on fire!” you shriek, pointing, your spare hand flying to cover your mouth in horror. Flames crawl from underneath the pan of meat, over the top, devouring what’s in the pan and leaping into the air. Namjoon drops the knife with a clatter and whirls around, eyes wide.

“What do I do?” he cries, hands in the air like he’s going to swat the flames like gnats.

“Turn off the burner and smother it!” you cry, not willing to enter the kitchen and get closer to the danger.

“Smother it?” he repeats, the words a little wild as he screams them. Smoke has filled the kitchen, blurring your view of him, and the smoke alarm over the front door begins to blare.

“The lid!” you scream, trying to be louder than the alarm. “Turn off the burner and put the lid on the pan! Be careful!”

You add this last part in a shriek as Namjoon follows your directions, reaching towards the flame to twist the burner and then slam the lid over the top of the pan, hissing a little as he does.

The flames vanish almost instantly, but the smoke remains and the alarm keeps screaming. Namjoon looks at the pan, then his hand, then at you.

“Go run cool water on that,” you tell him firmly, and you cross the apartment to open the windows and turn on the fans.

You return to the kitchen to find Namjoon running the sink over his knuckles, brows furrowed.

“Is it bad?” you ask loudly - again, to be heard over the smoke alarm - as you open a drawer and get a kitchen towel, moving to stand in the kitchen’s doorway flapping away, trying to send the smoke towards the open windows.

“No,” he tells you, pulling his hand out of the stream of water to examine it more closely. “It’s just a little red.”

“Keep it there for a little bit,” you tell him, still flapping away. “I might have burn cream in my bathroom, I’ll check in a second.”

Eventually the alarm quiets and you both heave a sigh of relief. The cold air coming from the open windows chills you down to your toes, but smoke still clings to the room, blurring your vision just enough to wonder if you’re imagining it.

You find the burn cream in your medicine cabinet and return to the living room. Namjoon is looking at the ruined remains of his dinner with something like heartbreak on his face.

“Come here,” you tell him, sitting at the breakfast bar, ointment in your hand. “Come sit so I can do this.”

“I can do it,” he protests, but he heads your way.

“Sit,” you repeat, pulling out the stool next to you.

He does, silently and obediently, sliding his hand over to you. You can see the redness over his knuckles, middle and index the most. You uncap the tube and squeeze a little onto your fingers, then take his hand in your spare one to hold it steady. Gently you press the cream into his skin, making sure to cover each bit of redness. Namjoon watches you solemnly, wincing a little when your fingers touch his middle knuckle.

“See if that helps,” you tell him, his hand still resting on yours. “Want help cleaning up?”

He sighs heavily, and you both look at the kitchen in defeat at the mess of pans and bowls to wash.

“Do you ever just… miss your mom?” he asks plaintively, not looking at you.

The thing about grief - long-term grief, lifetime grief - is that you can go days, maybe even weeks at a time without noticing it. It’s kind of like a bruise in a hard to reach spot. It just takes one bump in exactly the right place, and it hurts just as bad as day one all over again. Namjoon’s words pierce you, and you take a slow breath. You were just caught off-guard, that’s all. You can be fine. You can be normal.

“Sure,” you say, trying to sound casual. Failing.

He narrows his eyes at you in suspicion. “Why’d you get weird?” he asks. “Do you have a bad relationship with your mom or something? I didn’t mean to -.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, but you rise and head for the kitchen, starting to pick things up just to do something with your hands. “It’s just… I don’t have my mom anymore. She passed when I was little. My dad too.” Might as well get it all out there. It felt weird to let someone only know half.

It’s easier to handle this moment with Namjoon in another room. You don’t have to watch him react, don’t have to translate his silence and his body language. You slide all the chopped onion onto a plate just in case Namjoon still wants to use it, and turn to rinse off the cutting board in the sink.

He appears behind you, silently lingering in the doorway. “Y/N,” he says softly.

“It’s fine, Namjoon,” you tell him, scrubbing at the cutting board vigorously. You don’t turn to face him.

“I wouldn’t have been so blase about it if I’d known,” he says apologetically.

“I know,” you say. You turn - away from the doorway - to put the cutting board aside to dry. You grab the pan with sauce in it - all congealed and unappetizing now - and move to scrape it into the garbage can.

He comes up beside you; his fingers touch your elbow, feather-light, like he’s afraid he’ll spook you.

“Y/N,” he implores. “Look at me.”

You do, glancing sideways up at him, the pan heavy in your hand. “I’m not upset,” you assure him. “People just get so weird when they find out. I hate… navigating that, over and over again, with new people.”

He gives you a guilty smile, but there’s relief in it as well. “I will stop being weird immediately,” he promises. “I just felt like I stepped in it, you know?”

You shrug. “It happens to the best of us. It really is fine. It’s been a long time.”

You arm tingles where he’d touched you, but he stays put when you move back to the sink, running the water hot enough to steam before you put the pan under it. Then, wordlessly, he moves next to you, grabbing a cloth and starting to dry the cutting board you’d washed.

You carry on that like that, a perfectly synchronized dance, in silence until the countertop is empty. All that remains is the pan that had been alight about half an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he asks, leaning against the counter as you scrape the remains of the charred meat into the garbage with a grimace. “I’m just curious. You can tell me to fuck off.”

“It’s so jarring when you swear,” you tell him.

He grins at you. “Hobi says my surprising potty-mouth is one of my best charms.”

You laugh at this. “I can see that,” you agree. “It is surprising.”

“Not charming?” he teases.

You shrug, feeling that blush rise up again. “No comment. Anyway - what did you want to ask?”

He lets you get away with evading the flirtation. “If you were little… who raised you?”

“Oh,” you say. You aren’t sure what you thought he’d ask, but it wasn’t that. “My grandma, until she couldn’t. Then my Aunt Lin took over, but she’s more like a big sister than anything.”

Namjoon nods. Then he asks, carefully, “Did Taehyung know your parents?”

The question makes you smile at the memories it pulls up - you and Taehyung as kids together, goofing off around your house, back when it had been filled with people.

“Yeah,” you say softly. It doesn’t occur to you to wonder why he’d ask that. It doesn’t occur to you to mask the tiny smile, that it might jostle his feelings even a little bit.

You look over at him when you realize he’s gone quiet. “Are you close with your family?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He nods, eyes on the pan lid that he’s drying. “Very. I was a lost soul when I first moved to campus. I couldn’t do anything.”

“You burned dinner tonight,” you point out.

“I can do laundry now,” he retorts, smiling at you as you put the last of the dishes away. “I’ve come a long way.”

“Still room to grow,” you tease, reaching out to give his arm a playful nudge.

You’re giving playful touches now. That’s a thing that’s happening.

You ache, again, to have someone to tell.

Wednesday October 24th

You both love and hate Wednesdays - on one hand, you have your thesis double-feature, and you actually enjoy it. On the other hand, you go straight from double-class to closing shift at the campus store, and you don’t get home until dark. The day is long, and you’d rather be home. For several reasons.

Your morning goes as you expect - you make it through the lecture part of class, updating Professor Jemisen on how your research segment is going. During the break, you eat some leftovers you’d thrown in your backpack, and talk with Gloria and the other girls. After the break, your group helps you workshop your latest poem, the one about the season changing, and you do the same for them.

The season changing is happening in real life, all around you. Fall fades quickly, the days darkening, the chills lasting longer, becoming more pronounced. Gone are the autumn days that change their mood and become summer again for hours at a time.

You normally go straight to the campus store after class, but this week you’re hungry - the leftovers you packed weren’t enough to keep you until you get home. Instead of heading down the main paved path to the student center, where you work, you head for a large academic building you pass on the way there. You know there’s a little sandwich station on the lowest floor, tucked away past the mailroom like a well-kept secret.

You take a hallway off to the side, passing some open classrooms on your way to the staircase. You’re walking mindlessly, head thinking only about the sandwich you’re going to order. You slow your steps when you hear a familiar voice, low and calm.

“All I’m saying,” a girl is saying, and you stop in the doorway, listening, “is that while the idea of going to live alone in the woods is actually extremely appealing, Thoreau as a whole kind of sucks.”

“I might agree with you, but you need to frame that more academically,” Namjoon corrects gently.

A circle of students - freshmen, if you had to guess, maybe eight of them, are sitting at desks, their bags all forgotten on the floor by their chairs. Namjoon perches on the edge of the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, legs casually stretched out before him. He’s listening intently as the students debate.

“We have to specify the problem,” someone else in the group points out. “I’m all for metaphorically dragging down statues of the patriarchy and everything, but we need a solid argument.”

“Or,” a different girl says, voice just barely loud enough for you to hear from the hallway, “maybe instead of giving more attention to ‘classics’ we see as undeserving, maybe instead we should focus just on the underprivileged voices that we prefer to be amplified?”

“You mean pick a lesser-known author and shed light on their work instead?” Namjoon clarifies, and the girl nods.

The group begins to debate this passionately, and Namjoon lets them fight it out, taking a second to glance at his phone. You become aware of the fact that you’re just standing in the hallway staring. You’re about to move on when Namjoon notices you. He looks away quickly at first, and then it registers that it was you standing in the doorway like a weirdo, and his gaze flies back to you.

Caught, you have no choice but to lean into it. You give him a tiny smile, raising a hand in a guilty wave. He smiles back, just barely. You stay there another minute, smiling at each other, while the freshmen continue to argue. Then your feet spur you on, and you give him a little nod before heading down the hall. But the stupid fucking butterflies stay in your stomach the whole time you wait in line for your sandwich.

When you get to the bookshop, you toss your backpack behind the counter and slump onto a low stool that’s stashed back there. You lean your head on the counter next to the currently unmanned register and let out some unhappy grumbles.

Kris comes out from the stockroom - you can tell it’s them by their footsteps.

“What is happening here,” they say flatly, not exactly a question.

“Kriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis,” you whine, not looking up. “I think I need to talk about… my roommate.”

“Bitch!” they utter indignantly. “He has a name! What grade are we in right now?”

You stomp your feet lightly, needing to display your crankiness. “I am feeling very confused and conflicted and I need you to be nice to me about it,” you say petulantly, finally picking your head up so you can pout better.

“Okay,” Kris says easily, leaning against the wall. The shop is devoid of customers, so you don’t bother to lower your voice. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you continue to whine. “It’s just how I feel.”

Kris gives you a level stare. “I need the whining to stop, like, yesterday. If you feel conflicted, there’s a reason. So, figure out what it is.”

“I already said I don’t know,” you tell them, still pouty, but sitting up straight now.

“Dig deep,” Kris deadpans. “Do it for the dimples.”

“Oh my GOD,” you say, unable to even make eye contact. “Never mind, conversation over.”

They shake their head, not letting you off the hook. “What’s the problem, Square?” It’s a nickname they gave you last year when you wouldn’t go partying - because… apparently you’re a square.

“You know the problem,” you grumble quietly, making them lean closer to hear you.

They lean back, something knowing in their eyes. “Ah. It’s the Taehyung factor.”

“Shh,” you scold, glancing around the empty store like someone might have materialized without you noticing. When you return your gaze to them, Kris is just staring at you plainly, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I don’t know,” you say, and then more emphatically, “I don’t know! If I… start something else… does that mean giving Taehyung up? Because I can’t say I want to do that. Not if I’m being honest.”

Kris nods silently, letting you work it out. You meet their eyes, suddenly feeling the squeeze of anxiety around your chest, like your lungs have something heavy they have to push every time you inhale.

“If I lose him,” you say in practically a whisper, “I will quite literally die.”

Kris scowls at you. “You will not.”

“I will,” you retort.

Kris gives you an eyeroll. “So dramatic,” they scold.

“He’s my family, Kris,” you try to explain. “In a lot of ways he’s my only family.” Your voice breaks as you ask, “What if I lose him?”

Now Kris softens, lips pulling together into something like a very pursed frown. “Maybe you should talk to him,” they suggest quietly.

You hate that idea a lot. “Maybe,” you say loudly, slapping your hand on the counter and standing as the bell over the door chimes and a group of lacrosse guys (the sticks are a give-away) enter the store with a burst of noisy chatter, “I should never talk about any of this ever again.”

Kris sighs heavily, practically doubling over. Now who’s dramatic? “You’re so self-destructive,” they complain.

“Don’t be mean,” you say, going back to pouting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kris waves a hand at you. “Go write a poem about it.”

“And what if I do?” you demand, but you’re both laughing now, unlocking the registers as the lacrosse dudes line up to pay for their snacks and drinks.

–

Taehyung texts you near the end of your shift - “we haven’t hung out in five billion years :(“.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and text back, “come get me from the bookstore then and hang out for a little”.

You’re pleased when he agrees. He shows up a little bit before closing, knocking on the already locked glass doors. You hurry to let him in, ignoring Kris staring knives into your back.

“Hi,” you say happily as he slips into the store, and you lock the door again behind him. “I’ll be done in about four minutes.”

“‘Kay,” he says easily, striding over to the checkout counter and leaning against it.

“Taehyung,” Kris greets him, nodding their head as they lock the register. “How’s it going?”

He sighs dramatically. “The usual. Classes. Parties. Trying to figure out why Y/N doesn’t love me anymore.”

You freeze halfway to the stockroom, your eyes wide, air catching in your throat.

Luckily, Kris is and always has been way more slick than you. They cock their head quizzically, letting a playfully concerned frown settle over their features.

“Y/N doesn’t love you anymore?” they echo, the poor baby pronounced in their tone. “What on earth do you mean?”

Taehyung shoots you a mischievous look; luckily, you’ve gotten your act together since he said those words.

“I had to beg for her attention tonight,” he says, clearly loving this bit. “I’m beginning to think she has a secret boyfriend she’s not telling me about.”

He’s teasing and you know it, but after a lifetime of friendship with Taehyung, you know this too: there’s a little sliver of him that must be hurt, or at least bothered, or he wouldn’t tease at all.

You feel both caught - despite not having a secret boyfriend or anything like it - and guilty.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I just got busy with my thesis and everything. I promise I’m not out with other people and not you. Even Kris only sees me at work these days.”

“And Namjoon,” Taehyung adds plaintively, and your blood runs cold.

“Namjoon?” you echo, not sure you can form a different word.

Taehyung’s pouting now, which means he’s not too serious. “Yeah, he has no choice, you’re in his living room every day.”

“Oh,” you say, relief flooding through you. “Yeah.”

You don’t see the point in telling Taehyung that there’s a teeny, tiny something starting with Namjoon. Not when it’s so… unformed, insubstantial, uncertain. You don’t know which word fits best. It’s a maybe at best, and it just doesn’t seem worth rocking the boat over it.

What would happen if things started for real? Would you tell him? It shouldn’t have to be a secret… it shouldn’t stay a secret, not if you mean it. What would happen?

You’re afraid to know the answers.

You finish up in the store and you all head to the parking lot together. You tell Kris goodbye and drop down into Taehyung’s passenger seat.

“You’re gonna stay at the apartment for a little?” you ask.

“Mhm,” he says, fiddling with the heat until he gets it how he wants it. “Can I work on homework with you?”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I have so much shit to do. I wasn’t kidding when I said school is eating my life. Senior year sucks.”

Taehyung isn’t looking at you - he’s watching the road as he waits for an opening in traffic so he can pull out of the parking lot. But something crosses his face - relief, maybe. Something softens, anyway. Maybe he really had been hurt that you hadn’t been hanging out as much.

When you return to the apartment, Namjoon isn’t home - his door hangs open, his bedroom completely dark.

You and Taehyung settle in the living room, dragging out your laptops. It’s nice, hanging out like this again. You hadn’t realized how long it had been - over a week - since it had been just the two of you, like old times. Everything falls right into place. You swap snacks, hands brushing as you both reach into crinkling chip bags. You reach over and type nonsense into his paper when he isn’t paying attention, letting out peals of laughter when he figures it out and starts spluttering at you in outrage. You tell him about the customer at the store who argued with you over - of all the stupid things - a used copy of The Odyssey.

When he hugs you goodbye at the end of the night, swaying you playfully back and forth like he might drop you, both of you giggling wildly, you’re reminded of just what the stakes are. You’re reminded of just how much you have to lose.

<- Prev || Next ->

ahhhhh what do we think??!! there was hand holding!!!! are we clutching our pearls??!!!

as always thank you all so so so much for being here, i appreciate every one of you so extremely much!!!

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shivunin · 10 months

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hello!!!!! for the fic questions: 1, 30, 41, and 42!! because i'm greedy hehe

Well I am greedy to answer questions, so this works out perfectly 💗 Thank you, Zen!

(Zen, this turned out so long sdkfjbkasbkf)

(Fic Writer Questions)

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

Oooh, either As Two Reflected Stars or To the Bone. I think they both have a word count that isn't too intimidating and between them they contain most of the recurring tropes I tap into a lot. Also, so much pining. Who doesn't love pining?

(But if someone was asking and they really like pain/angst, I will point you toward Wander the Drifting Roads and be here with tea and a blanket when you're done)

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

Actually, it's not fic-related, but when I was in college I had an assignment to write a braided narrative (nonfiction) and it was sooooo hard. I had no idea what I was doing. But in conference with my professor afterward, we walked through each "strand" of the writing separately and then together and it really changed the way I think about linear narrative.

I mean, obviously (you've read my work haha) it's one of my favorite things to do now. It's most easily seen in Wander, but the Mass Effect piece I'm writing now utilizes this idea to some extent. I like the idea of the future and the past and memory existing simultaneously and separately at once. Especially when the plot is about memory to some extent (and, really, most of them are for me haha)

41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

Oooh here's some that used really cool mechanics/techniques that I like (and, Zen, I mean this genuinely, not because it's you asking, so I'm gonna pretend you didn't write it while I talk about yours):

What to Do by Undomiel_Writes: This fic uses such a cool way of keeping time in the story and I love it. It's Garrus by Shepard's bedside and he's trying to keep busy, so there's this really cool reiteration of all the little tasks he gives himself and it is just. So so neat.

Scar Tissue by zenstrike: I am a sucker for the divide between someone's words and what they mean/think, and this fic has it in spades. I really like following Garrus's thoughts so closely, and the way dialogue is present/not present at the same time (because it kind of complements the sense that everything is only sort of happening to him/his thoughts and actions being sort of blurred). It's just! Really clever and it makes me think differently about the rhythm of speech and thought.

I couldn't pick just one by them, but Under Thorns and River Stone by loquaciousquark: The first because it made me rethink how an AU could work/how all the parts of canon could be reshaped into a different world (and also, I like. love the fairytale this is a retelling of). The second because when I first started writing fic, one of the reasons I did so was to learn how to write action sequences/fight scenes and the one at the beginning of this fic is so good (they all are, really). Also, I finished this fic and started it over again immediately, and when I was done reading it the second time, I thought man, I want to write something that somebody sobs over and them immediately hits the chapter one button again.

Experiments in Diplomacy by Dulcidyne: I really really enjoy the way the author fuses emotion and science in this fic; it is just so heartfelt and well-done and it made me think about how I could incorporate the things I love into my own writing.

A Man's Word is His Bond by howlsmovinglibrary: I adore the Surana in this fic and the character work with her is just. so delightful. Her personality comes across so strongly and consistently that when I first read this, it was absolutely something I wanted to achieve myself.

Oh shoot it said a fic. As in one. I meant to only do two, but I waded into my bookmarks and here we are. Sorry D: I'm gonna leave all this here anyway!

42. Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

Yeah!! Honestly, all of the really specific and heartfelt ones stick with me. I think about them when I use the same sort of trope or technique again, especially if the comment itself was agonized. But here are a couple specific ones (and I don't want to embarrass anyone by pointing them out specifically, but if you wrote one of these and want me to I will tag you lol).

I was genuinely thinking about deleting Wander and starting over roughly three weeks after I posted it (I was never 100% happy with the ending) and literally the night I was driving home and mulling the pros and cons of doing just that, I received a comment on the final chapter that said, among other things, "I don't have the words to describe it. Raw? Real? As if you had torn out my heart and repeatedly squeezed it in front of my face. I don't know I wish I had a better vocabulary for what I want to besides that I am really hurt, I am haunted by the pain, and I thank you for it." It was just...so well-timed and so genuine that it completely changed the way I thought about the story and my writing as a whole and also....made me want to participate in the fandom in general.

The review that described Maria as a "radiant menace" and I loved it so much I had to change my blog title

The first comment I ever got (on Your Fate) complimenting my taste in music <3

Every time someone comments on a new fic like "go ahead, fuck me up, I'm ready," hahaa it makes me feel so seen and trusted

"Your writing is so good I want to eat it like a bonbon" I think about this literally all the time. When I finish a good section, I think hmmm yes like a bonbon

Actually fuck it, I was reading through my AO3 inbox to try to find something and I am crying now and I love everybody and I'm so glad I started writing fic I can't think of anything else to say T.T

#ask response #help i am cryin

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strawbearytae · 1 year

Text

I posted 343 times in 2022

That's 343 more posts than 2021!

191 posts created (56%)

152 posts reblogged (44%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@strawbearytae

@jung-koook

@jeonqquk

@v-hope

@jimimn

I tagged 209 of my posts in 2022

Only 39% of my posts had no tags

#papercuts - 134 posts

#bts fanfic - 51 posts

#bts fluff - 49 posts

#bts college au - 48 posts

#bts fanfiction - 48 posts

#bts smau - 48 posts

#bts angst - 47 posts

#jungkook fluff - 47 posts

#bts college smau - 46 posts

#jungkook fanfiction - 46 posts

Longest Tag: 99 characters

#again i’m so sorry everything is backed up i’m literally so iverscheduled rn i can’t even breathe💀

My Top Posts in 2022:

save me📎

“popular”! jungkook x underclassman! reader

genre: angst

synopsis: after coming home from what was probably the worst day of your life, Jungkook calls you

series: part of my papercuts smau

Your hands shook as you pressed the green button to accept his call, “H-hello?” Your voice was hesitant, but his end was silent. You desperately wondered what he was thinking, did he know how much it pained you to see him? How much of a homewrecker you felt like? How each step you took in the halls, you felt the eyes and whispers of your peers. It was impossible, logically, for them to know that you were the reason that Jungkook and Miya broke up, but each stare that lasted too long and with each whisper that escaped your classmates’ lips tore you apart.

You were a home wrecker.

You were the reason the “IT” couple weren’t together.

You knew this and continued to see him. Continued to feel the warmth of his soft hands in your calloused ones. Even after knowing that he had broken a girl because of you, you continued to stare into his doe eyes full of want. And you hated yourself for it.

With every passing second, the more you realized the magnitude of your actions. If only you hadn’t dmed him, if only you knew your place and never approached him.

And yet you were still here, trying to find comfort in the very boy you needed to avoid.

“Hey.” His voice made you grin and tear up at the same time. You could hear him close a door and shuffling into a room, “How was your day?”

I saw your ex-girlfriend cry and wanted to vomit at the sight. And one of my best friends punched you in the face because they all low key hate you now.

“Good.” You peaked your voice higher to sound cheery as you stared at the wall blankly, “How was yours, Kook?”

He didn’t answer, only taking in a sharp sigh that fanned your ears. You wondered if he knew. If he knew how guilty and dirty you felt, a homewrecker… it felt as though the word was imprinted onto your forehead.

“I’m good.” He didn’t sound like it. “We… I… need to tell you something.”

“Yeah.” You nodded with a close-lipped smile, as if the fake smile would make you sound more convincing, “tell me. I’m here for you, Koo-“

“I’m-“ He interjected before hesitating once again. You didn’t know that at this moment, he was pacing around his room. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to feel. But he knew that he was afraid, he rolled his head back before looking at the ceiling. Wanting to desperately form the words in his head, how does one say this in the most asshole way possible? How does one become an asshole? He didn’t know, so he just accelerated forward. “Let’s break up.”

You froze. You had hundreds, if not thousands, of scenarios in mind of this particular instance. Thousands of ways to tell him of the stress this relationship was causing you, sometimes to the point of wanting to leave him. They ranged from horrific, anger-ridden tears of an angsty goodbye to the reassuring and thankful smiles of a good breakup -if such even existed.

But never did you imagine that he would do this to you first.

“Y/N?” His voice sounded rough, but in reality – the one you weren’t aware of- he was choking back tears… carefully studying his reddened eyes in the mirror to insure that not a single one had slipped from his eyes. “Did you hear me?”

You didn’t realize you had stopped breathing before you took in a sharp one, “Yeah.” You swallowed heavily as you looked around the walls of your room, “I heard you.”

“I think… It would be best.” He sounded absent-minded, you couldn’t see the clenched fist by his side nor the nails digging into his palms as he spouted lies through his teeth, “You and I… aren’t a very good match. We don’t look good for each other.”

For some reason your natural instinct to argue had dissipated, you stayed silent. Words seemed to climb up your throat but piled up on your tongue. You were afraid that if you opened your mouth, incoherent, broken sentences would escape it.

“Are you crying?”

“No.” Your answer was immediate. You didn’t even feel sad in that moment. Disappointed? Embarrassed? Played? Hurt wasn’t one of them… sad wasn’t even close to it. “I’m not.”

“Good.” You heard him swallow heavily, little did you know that it was a sob, “We just wouldn’t work out, y’know? Me and you… we’re too different.” He felt rotten, absolutely repulsive for the trash that he was forcing out of his lips, “We’re on two different levels.”

And there came your inferiority complex, crashing into your heart and turning the peaceful meadow into a sea of humiliation and disgust. You and Jungkook were too different. He was smart, tall, handsome and good with people. Student body president, captain of the soccer team, and a natural born musician. You, a procrastinating overachiever with an irrelevant passion for marble figures of naked men, was nothing compared to him. And there was this small part of you that knew that this was a lie, a part that was pleading you to fight back. Scream. You’re worth it. But it was quickly swallowed by the humiliation and self-repulsion.

“I understand.” You widened your eyes to trap the tears that clung to your eyes.

“Good.” Jungkook looked away from himself, “Goodbye, Y/N.”

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285 notes - Posted April 14, 2022

maniac pt.2: 100%

ex boyfriend!jjk x reader

genre: angst ft. Fluff

word count: 6.1 k

warning: drunk! jk, y/n cries a lot, Conan Gray songs (I like him don’t come at me), mentions of sexual themes, language (as always), slightly annoying plot but I got in THE FEELS™️ okay????

synopsis: a mutual breakup from your long term boyfriend leaves you inevitably devastated, but a unexpected collaboration may just be the breakthrough the two of you needed.

read part 1

“Fuck you.”

“That’s your job, love, not mine.”

🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

To say that Jeon Jeongguk avoided you after the… ordeal… was the biggest understatement of understatements. The man disappeared. One moment you could see him on campus out of the corner of your eyes, then the next second: poof he dematerialized.

You thought about texting him, demanding him to… to… to what? Apologize? You weren’t sure if that was what you wanted. You were, afterall, going to kiss him if he hadn’t kissed you first…

Fuck… He was like a drug. You grazed your lips lightly with the tips of your own fingers… It was as if you had been clean for 9 months of him and that one single taste, that one single brush of his tantalizing lips against your own got you hooked once again. You craved him.

So, it was more than a surprise for you when you walked into your favorite library on campus to see Jeongguk behind the counter. Even more so since there was a girl in front of him who was obviously flirting with the man. And the world seemed to fade around you when you realized that Jeongguk had welcomed the flirting.

You shouldn’t feel upset, betrayed, queasy or anything even remotely close to what you were feeling. You had broken up; he was free to be with whoever he wanted. Free to meet, flirt and date whoever and whenever he wanted.

But the stabbing feeling in your gut couldn’t be ignored.

When you read romance in books, they always described this feeling as someone stabbing in your heart. But why was that? Your heart felt fine. It was beating stronger and faster if anything. However, your gut, your stomach felt hollow. A clawing feeling from the inside made you want to vomit. It was as if your body was telling you that something was wrong. That the pain of betrayal was physically excruciating.

Not that you were betrayed.

You were his ex, nothing less… nothing more.

You glanced over your shoulder once more as you exited the library, Jeongguk was watching you with a raised brow. The girl tugged on his sleeve for his attention once she realized it fled, he indulged her.

You slipped out of there silently.

///

The demo went successfully though you were half-afraid that Jeongguk would not show up. He did, he just didn’t acknowledge your presence. The professors from the music department congratulated you and were excited to see your performance in the next month. Jeongguk ate it all up while you stood there as if you were stoned, eyes glazing over as you watched Jeongguk interact with them with natural ease.

It was sickening.

Every time the conversation went to you, he went silent, Jeongguk looked around the demo room with an expression of faux curiosity. He masked his obvious distaste for the topic, you would’ve been fooled if you hadn’t been so tuned into his emotions before. Jeongguk was a master at masking his feelings… when he wanted to be.

“Y/N.”

You whipped your head up to see all the professors looking at you expectantly, even Jeongguk looked at you with a slight frown, “Sorry… What was the question?”

Professor Shin smiled, “Oh no worries, Y/N! We were just wondering if you had anything in mind after graduation. But that’s of no matter!” She looked at Jeongguk then back at you before smiling, “You both have been working so hard! No wonder you’re a little out of it.” She stepped back, calling the hoard of professors to retreat, “We’ll be looking forward to your performance, Y/N and Jeongguk.”

An inevitable breath escaped your lips when the professors were a safe distance away from the demo room. “You good?”

You almost yelped at Jeongguk’s voice; you had forgotten he was even there.

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373 notes - Posted November 9, 2022

clay

boyfriend!Namjoon x artist!Reader word count: 1.7k genre/trope: crack, fluff, jealous joon synopsis: Namjoon is ready to make things official between the two of you but when an unexpected guest shows up on your date, he’s less than impressed.

🚲🚲🚲🚲

“Please tell me you didn’t eat that.”

Namjoon looked up from the clay cake that he had taken a bite of, eyes immediately dropping in horror. “What’s it made out of this time?” His voice was low as his chubby cheeks were filled with parts of your artwork. “Clay,” You bit back your laugh as Namjoon immediately spit the cake out, “And vanilla extract.”

Namjoon ran from your studio to (what you assumed was) your bathroom as he immediately retched up parts of your latest sculpture, causing you to burst into a fit of laughter. It was the part of Namjoon you loved so much and the part that surprised you most about him. Never did you think that the insightful and soft-spoken man that visited your gallery 2 months ago would have such a clumsy side to him. You smiled to yourself as you thought about that night.

You were nervously pacing; it was the first gallery you were able to secure since your hiatus after breaking up with your long-term boyfriend. A mutual breakup, but still devastating for you, nevertheless.

You remember chewing on your bottom lip as you observed the viewers who came to enjoy the sculptures you had created, each filled with a mirage of emotions from your heartbreak. Then you saw him. He had almost a demeaning aura about him, aristocratic despite his rather comfy outfit of cotton straight pants, oversized white tshirt and baseball cap. The way he had surveyed every line and each ridge that the clay had folded itself into from your hands had made you feel stark naked. Exposed. It didn’t help that he was surveying your least popular and most emotionally driven piece of the night. And conventionally: the ugliest.

He had approached you later that night, standing next to you in front of your popular artworks.

“Expressive. Not as much as the other one though.” He murmured to himself.

And you immediately hit it off after that. It was cliché and unexpected but the pair of you talked all night. About art, about philosophy, about nature, about emotions. He was surprised and delighted when you revealed that you were indeed that creator behind the clay objects that stood in the room.

He walked you out of the gallery as it closed for the night and asked you to coffee. Not to drinks, but coffee. Oh, how you fell for that man. Your relationship progressed naturally from there and he frequently came to your apartment on your off days to run errands with you, sometimes you let him in your studio. Today was one of them.

“I’m sorry.” Your head moved toward the deep voice behind you, seeing Namjoon with his hands clasped in front of him with his head bowed.

You shook your head, slowly making your way over to where he stood in reverence. You had to bite your lip in order to hold your laughter, you ruffled his hair, “Aigoo, this is why we don’t eat random things in art studios.” You teased lightly.

Namjoon looked over to the table where the clay-cake stood, “Is it salvageable?”

You shook your head, “Nope.”

Namjoon’s head dipped lower, making you giggle, you pushed the base of his neck forward so that his head laid on your shoulder,“Yah, don’t worry.” You played with the hair on his nape which you had recently learned soothed him, “It was just a practice piece anyway.”

Namjoon whimpered, “It looked so real, I’m sorry.”

“Yah.” He peeked up, “Don’t worry, okay? I really don’t care too much about it.” You reassured him, “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late.”

He removed himself from you, staring at his wristwatch before looking back to you, “You sure-“

You tsked, “No more, okay?” You shook your head, “It’s really fine, Joon.” He slightly smiled at the nickname, “It means that my technique is improving… at least to the point that you think that it’s a real cake anyway.” You grasped his wrist and pulled him out of your studio, “Now let’s go, you said you wanted to go to the river before the sunsets.”

———

Namjoon was pouting as he cycled behind you, not only did he make a fool out of himself in front of you (once again), but he also missed the opportunity to ask you to be his girlfriend.

It wasn’t that the pair of you weren’t dating, he knew that you had feelings for him, and he had them too (if the numerous makeout sessions in your studio didn’t show it). You ran errands together almost every week and you visited him frequently after work to grab dinner and settle down with coffee and books at your place or his. You had held him in your arms when he stressed over work issues, he kissed you while reading together and the pair of you had frequent, heated debates on issues that would be quickly forgotten with your arms around his neck, his on your waist as your lips molded against each other’s. He liked you. A lot. He wanted to make it official.

“Joon!” You called out making him cycle faster to get next to you on the bike lane, “Look!” You pointed to the river.

“Let’s park by the trees.” He pointed to the oak trees that were providing shade, Namjoon looked around to see the location of the sun. It was setting soon; he would ask you then.

———

“Woah.” You breathed in awe as the sun hit the water with shimmers of red and orange, dying the river in an explosion of warm colors, “It’s so beautiful.”

Namjoon held your hand in his as he stared at the scenery, you with the wind blowing in your hair lightly as the waters were colored into an exquisite pattern, “It is.”

You turned back to him and smiled, “I’m glad to exist here with you.”

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395 notes - Posted April 17, 2022

maniac

ex boyfriend!jjk x reader

genre: angst ft. Fluff

word count: 3.3k

warning: tattoos, drunk! jk, y/n cries a lot, Conan Gray songs (I like him don’t come at me), mentions of sexual themes, language (as always), I was sad when I wrote this so buckle up for some HEAVY angst

synopsis: a mutual breakup from your long term boyfriend leaves you inevitably devastated, but a unexpected collaboration may just be the breakthrough the two of you needed.

“Fuck you.”

“You already have.”

🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

“If anyone tells you to “let’s stay friends” after you become emotionally involved with them that is the most bullshit lie anyone can say.”

“Why?” You sipped your drink as you watched your boyfriend down his once again.

“Because.” Jeongguk shrugged, “It’s gonna be uncomfortable. You shared everything and now you have to find the middle ground between that everything and nothing. It’s gonna be hard.” He started to slur his words as he leaned on the bar counter.

You flicked his nose, making him grimace, “I didn’t think you’d be this sentimental on my birthday.”

Jeongguk wrapped his arms around you before pecking your head, “Don’t worry love, that’ll never happen to us.”

You rolled your eyes as you took the next drink away from him, “Come on, Jeongguk, you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Nuh-uh! I’m fine” Jeongguk protested, reaching for the glass that you took out of his hand. He pouted once he realized that you weren’t going to give in, “You’re mean.”

“And you’re drunk.”

“And you love me.” Jeongguk smiled absent-mindedly before leaning in… only to be met with your palm that cupped his face.

“You’re drunk.”

“I still want a kiss.” He whined with pursed lips.

You rolled your eyes, “Why do I even love you?”

“Cause I’m one handsome motherfricker.”

“That you are.” You smiled before pressing a kiss against his lips. ——

3-year anniversary! Your phone notified you, immediately dampening your mood.

8 months.

It’s been 8 months since you ended your relationship with Jeon Jeongguk. And 8 months since you had talked to him. It was a mutual break-up, a good one if such had even existed. A difference of opinions and stress from your relationship. The continuous fights and lack of compromise, it couldn’t have been fixed… or so you liked to tell yourself.

Funny thing is that a part of you didn’t hate him, a part that still loved him existed. Though you had agreed to maintain your friendship after the breakup, that never happened. You had waited for him to text you after, to ask you how you were, if you were free to hang out. And by the time you realized that he wasn’t going to, it was too late… too awkward for you to ask as well. So, the two of you had resorted to ignorance and hostility. You ignored each other in public and private, he was a stranger… just another face in the crowd.

And in those brief moments that you had made eye contact with him, you couldn’t help the daggers that bore from your eyes for he was shooting them as well. Your glares started to act as a shield, a mask for the longing and mourning of not only your lover but also your friend. He had been your friend for the 3 years you had known him, 2 years of dating. And now all of it was down the drain.

But life went on, and your friend groups (thankfully) weren’t intertwined, so you could resume your social life without the worry of seeing him. You went drinking, partying, doing things that you hadn’t done since you were single. Things that would’ve counted as cheating, things that felt like cheating. They felt oh so wrong. Flirting with other guys, them flirting with you, them touching you.

But you still soldiered on, you got out of bed and did your assignments. Dutifully attended your college classes and went to the café that you had worked at. You studied, you ate, you slept, you exercised, and you lived. Life went on and it seemed that it wouldn’t stop like the movies did even though you had cut one of the most important people out of your life. Sometimes you forgot, most of the time you did. Your life had never been orbited around Jeongguk and it seemed even less so now.

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622 notes - Posted August 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

papercuts📎

gym crush au!

“popular”! jungkook x underclassman! reader

genre: smau, fluff, slight angst, crack, high school au, college au, everyone is kinda dumb, strangers to lovers to ex’s to lovers

warnings: language, drinking, mentions of s*x, cyber bullying, WEIGHTLOSS, unhealthy coping mechanism, therapy, tattoos, allusions to harry potter because you muggles might not be able to handle-

synopsis: flirting with your crush of 3 years wasn’t something you thought of when first getting twitter, a nasty breakup wasn’t what you expected either… but why is it that after 3 years and loads of droning on self-improvement and trying to become “that” girl , your gym buddy reminds you of the one person you wanted to forget?

↠youth: bts college smau masterlist↞

📎📎📎

0.5 intro📎

1. yn and friends📎

1.5. jk and friends📎

2. alphabetized📎

3. blocked📎

4. too bold📎

5. left on read📎

6. Peter Holland📎

6.5. jack, I’m flying🖊

7. they both have numbers📎

8. 3 month subscription📎

9. touch some weed📎

10. same📎

10.5. chickenshit🖊

11. fake love💔 📎

12. me too ig🙄📎

13. parents divorcing📎

13.5. face of someone suspended📎

14. save me🖊

15. Olivia rodrigo my anthem 📎

16. oH hELL nAh 📎

17. low key vibin📎

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1,614 notes - Posted February 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #THANK YOU ALL FOR MAKING THIS YEAR SPECIALLLL

2 notes · View notes

kodaiki · 2 years

Text

hoodie.

summary: when you break up with someone, you’re not exactly supposed to hold onto the other person’s belongings, right? you know it’s the case for most situations. so why is it that you can’t let go of something of your ex, miya atsumu’s? it’s just a stupid hoodie, isn’t it?

pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader

genre: exes!au, college!au, post breakup!au, exes to lovers, fluff, some angst, featuring hinata.

word count: 6.3k

a/n: inspired by the song ‘hoodie’ by heyviolet! <3 another repost from my old blog!

you know it’s wrong. even though the thought is pushed to the back of your mind, you still know. yet, you still manage to draw yourself back to that same stupid sweatshirt and you couldn’t place your finger on why.

it’s like compulsion; before you can even think, you’re reaching for the piece of clothing and letting it swallow your figure, bringing you a shameful sense of comfort. maybe it’s the sense of welcomeness, the fact that it’s always there, just waiting to be worn. or maybe it’s the sense of home, or rather, hiraeth; the desire and longing for a home that doesn’t exist or no longer exists.

at first, it was just a lazy piece of fabric to put on when there wasn’t anything better to wear. the sweatshirt was for times like when you woke up late for class or had to make a quick grocery store run and you needed something convenient and easy to wear.

the hoodie was thrown around your room and found in different places each time. sometimes it hung behind your desk chair, making it easy for you to slip your arms through the sleeves during an especially cold day where your school’s heating system did nothing beneficial against it. other times, it was hung in your closet, dead-center, as if knowing it’s purpose was being a go-to resort.

on a particularly chilly day, you’re hunched over your desk, typing away on your laptop, probably resembling a zombie by the lack of rest you’ve gotten in the past weeks. everything school related seems to pile up on you at the most inconvenient of times and with two projects and three exams to study for, your sleep schedule was taking a beating.

reading your typed response, you shake your head, opening your mouth to yawn, before aggressively tapping the backspace button. nothing sounds right.

how much is this worth in your final grade? you debate on winging the paper, taking the blow for your final average but the small inner-overachiever voice in you cheers for you to push forward, knowing you’re in the homestretch.

your warm-toned plaster walls feel more cool-toned in the frigid weather. what normally was a sticky bedroom during the summer felt dry and cold and you can’t decide which one you hate more.

you turn your head to glance over at your unkempt–although welcoming–bed and frown at the soft pillows and that plush blankets just calling your name to return.

setting up classes later in the day was a curse disguised as a blessing. facing your prior semesters with waking up early, you were absolutely stoked at the chances of being able to sleep in and have more time getting ready for class. but alas, things aren’t what they seem. with late class, that just meant you were given homework assignments later in the day. in other words, you’d be found doing your homework well into the early morning or sacrificing your day time, more specifically, social hour.

you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen your friends. granted, your schedule wasn’t the sole reason you hadn’t spoke with them, but at least it’s an excuse you don’t feel exactly guilty for.

coffee, you think, attempting to blink yourself awake. coffee might help.

stretching your arms up, you let out another yawn. using your palm against the top of your desk to support your body, you push yourself up off your desk chair, slightly fumbling with your keys and id card hung on a hook.

although the foggy, dreary air gave your university a somber aura, you enjoy the weather nonetheless; as you simply put, it’s an excuse to wear the comfiest of clothes, like hoodies and sweatpants, without being judged too harshly for it.

you spin on your heel, eyes scanning the room in search of the something to cover you up for your trip. and, as they always do, your eyes halt at the familiar gray sweatshirt hanging on the back of your dorm room’s door.

you shuffle closer to it, gripping the thick fabric between your fingers, and pull it off the hook. you stare down at it for a moment and you suck the inside of your cheek. it was just a university sweatshirt. the logo was slightly worn, obvious from the use it received and the aglets from the strings had since fell off, leaving them unbraided and slightly frayed at the ends.

with a sigh, you pull the larger sweatshirt over your body, refusing to accept the pounding of your heart at the familiar scent that engulfs your nostrils. yet, just as quickly as your heart races, it also calms down as if it was a simple adrenaline rush. carrying on, you flip over your scattered shoes, slipping them on.

shoving your hands into the hoodie’s pockets, you shiver as a cold wind brushes past you, making the hairs on your neck stick up. the walk to the coffee shop is a relatively short one, with just some other buildings to walk past. including the dreaded recreation center aka gym.

you aren’t against fitness, that’s not it at all.

but when a certain someone probably spent more of his time there than his own room, that was a run-in you had to constantly be cautious about.

miya atsumu was accepted to your university with a full athletic scholarship where he’d play the setter position for the volleyball team.

if you had told yourself on your first day of freshman year that you’d end up dating an athlete, much less a starting line athlete, you’d probably double over in a laugh. but hey, fate has a funny way of twisting events to its will.

had you not gotten drunk at that one party and ended up barfing in the rented house’s bathroom with the faux blonde standing behind you, holding your hair back, you’re sure none of the future events would’ve happened.

at the time, you were far too wasted to feel any embarrassment and only felt the way your stomach contents were practically punching themselves from your body. but the day after? phew, you still cringe about it sometimes.

the first weekend parties of the university semester are always a mess for some people; freshman don’t know their limit and end up going too far near or to the point of blacking out. you were lucky you hadn’t shown up in the hospital like some other students you heard about.

regardless of the night’s events, miya atsumu met you. and that meeting would drastically change your expected university routine for the semesters to come.

your steps falter when you notice you’re walking alongside the recreation center. most of the gym has glass windows lining the walls, making it great for natural sunlight and well, as you used to put it, scouting. you lightly scoff at the memory of seeing girls giggle amongst themselves, observing the men workout and pointing out which ones they found the most attractive.

your eyes dart along the glass panels, observing the weight lifting gym equipment scattered along the first floor. men and women were found doing their bench presses and pull ups and for a second, you almost miss the environment.

a year ago…

“you are not making me workout with you.”

“awh, come on, y/n! i’ll spot you and everythin’! like a couple thing,” atsumu grins, slinging an arm over your shoulder as he guides you through the intimidating equipment.

“we aren’t a couple,” you deadpan, turning your head so he can’t see the flush of your cheeks.

“yet,” atsumu chirps, and you can just imagine the dumb smirk on his face. “we aren’t a couple yet, doll.”

your scanning eyes freeze at a familiar head of blond hair and even though you shouldn’t, you squint your eyes and crane your neck forward to make sure you aren’t imagining things. and, as if feeling like someone’s staring holes at the back of his head, like you are, the man turns around.

your body jolts in surprise at your own actions, quickly turning your head to face the ground and you scurry past the building in hopes he hadn’t caught your face.

your pace never falters as you take quick strides down the pavement in the direction of the coffee shop. your steps do slow when you see the view of the cafe in your line of sight and and releasing the nerves tingling throughout your back from the prior event, your shoulders slouch in relief.

you order your coffee with no hassle and, surprisingly, without a long line, a perk that managed to brighten your hazy day ever so slightly. that source of light is something you’re going to clutch onto as you spend the rest of your early afternoon until class came around.

what should i attempt to complete once i get back? that damn essay?

you shudder with a frown at the thought of the nearly blank word document saved on your desktop.

i could start studying for those exams coming in a few weeks, you ponder.

before you could even make a choice, your phone buzzes in your pocket. using the free hand that’s not holding your coffee, you pull out your phone, casually unlocking the device. your brows raise at the numerous texts you’re being sent, one after another.

reading over the texts, your lips twitch upwards at the long string of sad emojis being spammed by your best friend. you quickly walk back to your dorm and grab the necessary belongings for a day of studying at the library.

“i swear, this school’s heating system is crazy,” you grumble, turning in your seat to reach for the hoodie you took off when you walked into the semi-crowded library.

your close friend, hinata, watches you skeptically as you tug on the sleeves of the familiar piece of clothing. then, his eyes widen in recognition. “y/n?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. his tone is in between one of concern and confusion and by the look on his face, you’re assuming he’s feeling both at the moment.

“yeah?” you ask, tilting your head slightly at his expression. “everything alright?”

“isn’t that,” hinata trails off, pointing to the hoodie. he looks around him a few times, as if searching for anyone who could be listening in on your conversation. leaning in, he cups a hand beside his mouth and whispers, “atsumu’s sweatshirt?”

furrowing your brows, you look down at the hoodie. “yeah, so?” you shrug.

hinata’s mouth parts at your nonchalance and blinks rapidly. “did you get back together and not tell me?”

you shake your head. “no, why?”

“it’s just,” hinata mumbles, leaning back in his seat to scratch his temple. “when you’re broken up, don’t you give back all the belongings that belong to your ex?”

you’d think it’d be strange having your closest friend at university also be one of atsumu’s closest friends. granted, they are athletes on the same team so it makes sense for them. atsumu was the reason you even met the orange haired sophomore in the first place.

while together, you often tagged along, following atsumu to practice and built proper friendships with the rest of his teammates. hinata, and some other players, would also attend the same classes as you in addition to that so it only made sense that you hung out with them, too.

even following your break up, since you were technically a part of the friend group, no player ended their friendship with you.

hinata, who bonded with you during classes and study sessions, not to mention his adamant trips to the bubble tea shop on campus, also took the sly role of being the middle man. while neither of you asked him directly, hinata would hint at you and atsumu’s wellbeing’s to each other. it was a simple gesture really, something he started to just observe the residual feelings either of you had, if there were any.

you ponder over his question for a few seconds before nodding haphazardly. “i guess? i forgot to give this one back and i found it about a month after we ended things. ‘didn’t think he wanted to see me anyway.”

“…so you’re choosing to wear it around instead?” hinata’s face crumples into disbelief and you’re sure if you look closely enough, there’d be smoke coming out of his ears by how the cogs are swirling in his head.

“i guess?” your voice lilts as you repeat what you said previously and hinata’s face only shows more concern. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“you can’t just be so casual about it!”

“pardon?”

“y/n,” hinata deadpans, dropping his chin into his chest. “you are wearing your ex boyfriend’s sweatshirt around, claiming you’re not together and you’re acting this normal? are you feeling okay?”

you snort at your friend’s questions. “sho, it’s literally fine. not a big deal.”

“oh, so you’re just in denial then,” hinata huffs, leaning back in his seat. never did he think he’d so blatantly see an obvious show of your feelings for your ex boyfriend. why the hell was he trying to be sly by slipping atsumu into conversations briefly just to catch any reaction from you?

“denial? what am i in denial about?” your brows furrow at his accusatory tone.

“obviously there’s some deep buried feelings for him if you’re keeping it, right? y’can be honest with me, i’m your best friend!” hinata nods his head vigorously, showing off a reassuring grin; reassuring, but a little mischievous, too.

“fee-feelings?” you scoff incredulously before leaning forward to flick your friend’s forehead. “are you feeling okay?”

“yes, feelings.”

“i do not have feelings for him anymore, sho.” you look away from his knowing glance and shrink on your seat. “we broke up a while ago…”

“so?” he raises an eyebrow. “y’all were the poster couple for right person, wrong time. feelings like those sometimes don’t go away.”

right person, wrong time.

your friend had a point…

although the universe conjured your love story in a less than smooth way, starting with the two of you meeting by chance at a party and then more times in random places, the timing of it all was awful. atsumu is an athlete at your school, pressure about going pro heavily placed on his shoulders.

while you were dating, you understood just how busy his schedule was but with your workload in your major in addition, your schedule was busy, too. after months of relishing those small moments you were able to share, the toil of looking forward to only an hour a day if you were lucky was bearing less satisfaction than usual.

“i’m just saying,” hinata says when you stay silent. “if you still have feelings for atsumu, that’s understandable. but if you really want to be over him or you’re claiming you’re a hundred percent over him, i suggest maybe not wearing that thing around?” he finishes off with a wince.

did the sweatshirt really represent your feelings for your ex? sure, you hadn’t gotten rid of it because you’re sure it’d be an awkward exchange anyway.

with a sympathetic look in his eyes, hinata pulls one side of his lips up in a side smile. “sorry for bringing it up. we can go back to our work.”

hours pass with you and hinata typing away on your laptops, finishing up your study outlines and comparing notes. it’s comforting to share a class with someone you know well enough to share notes and admit worries regarding exams and projects.

but even as you did your work together, the nagging thought of hinata’s question picked at your brain, making the entire experience more difficult than it should’ve been.

“so uh,” hinata mumbles, adjusting the trap of his backpack as he reaches to tug on the hood of his jacket. “about the sweatshirt…”at your silence, hinata continues. “i’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, please, that’s the last thing i want nor need to do for you.” hinata chuckles, shaking his head. “i just think it means something.”

his words echo in your head as you part ways, him going off to his own dorm building and you to yours. was this piece of fabric really meaningless for you to wear? did you actually disassociate your previous relationship with it and pretend it had no ties to it?

of course not.

i miss him.

you frown at the revelation, feeling a tightness in your chest. you’d missed him this whole time but you were far to stubborn to admit that to yourself. you were adamant on the fact that the breakup was mutual, leaving the two of you on relatively decent terms but…it really wasn’t mutual.

and you hated admitting that.

for the next few days, you star at the sweatshirt as it hangs on the corner of your bedpost. you really don’t know what to do with it.

trash it?

burn it?

return it?

you figure you should do something since wearing it around won’t exactly erase the feelings you begrudgingly still have for your ex. if you want to heal, you should rid yourself of the thing. right?

burning it feels like too much of an extreme and it’d be something you’d do if you held a certain grudge over atsumu, which you don’t.

regarding returning it, you simply couldn’t do that. you can just imagine facing him after so many months with a, ‘hey! here’s the sweatshirt i’ve had for months after we broke up! i decided to give it back in hopes of actually getting over you.’ yeah, that sounds promising…

so, you decide to go with your first thought. grabbing the hoodie by the sleeves, you hold it up to take a final look at it. a guilty feeling rises from the pit of your stomach at the mere thought of dumping the thing.

i’ve worn it this often…one more time won’t hurt.

you pull the hoodie over your head and this time, you don’t ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach or the way your heart skips a beat. absentmindedly, you smile softly at the familiar scent blended into the fabric; even after so many months, the familiar cologne lingered in the material. what made your smile slightly watery were the fleeting memories flashing in your mind.

several months ago…

“you know,” you begin, smile playing on your lips as you play with the drawstrings of the sweatshirt.

“hm?” atsumu hums in a slight daze, laying beside you and blinking slowly as his eyes adjust to being open after napping for the past hour.

these kinds of days were probably your favorite. the two of you didn’t share the same major and many classes so seeing each other was only possible when you were both free. you spend your time together, swinging your intertwined hands as you walk throughout the campus, meeting up with friends, or, like now, lounging around in each other’s dorm rooms without a single bad thought in either of your heads.

“i’m keeping this.”

“doll,” atsumu says pointedly, raising an amused eyebrow. “you can’t just claim my hoodie as yours.”

you let out a hum of consideration and after a few seconds, you shake your head. “uh, yes i can, and that’s what i’m doing.”

atsumu observes you as you shift your body further into him and bury your head into the neck of his sweatshirt you were currently wearing. a grin finds its way on his face and before he could even think about making some cocky comment, he instead decides to be wholesome:

“i would say no and see if you attempt to steal it from me, but,” he trails off when you look up at him through those oh-so adorable eyes. “you’re too damn cute.”

“simp.”

atsumu coughs in surprise at your blatant remark, quickly glaring at the smirk on your face. “i’m trying to be roma-”

“i’m always going to have this though,” you murmur quietly, eyes shifting away from his as your tone grows more serious. “‘makes me feel closer to you when you’re not around.”

atsumu sighs, tightening his grip on your waist. “you better.” and when fatigue washes over him again, both from the workload of the week and the mushy energy in the room, he pecks your forehead twice and closes his eyes shut.

you sigh at the memory, feeling your heart clench in your chest. looking down at the slightly faded material, you realize a few darker spots from tears. when had you started crying? you rub at your eyes, quickly bushing away the effects from the negative feeling sitting in your chest.

i can’t get rid of this now…

no matter how much you should, you can’t find it in yourself to discard of the sweatshirt. it’s going to be tied to you, whether you liked it or not and truthfully, you didn’t mind that. the sweatshirt’s sense of comfort was enough to blemish the harsh reality of what happened between the original owner and you in the first place.

in fact, against hinata’s judgment, you find yourself wearing the hoodie wherever you could. it was like his questions about it ripped the veil off of whatever desire you had for it that you’d long repressed.

you’ll get rid of the hoodie…eventually. just not today…or tomorrow.

it’s hard at first, of course, knowing the owner of that sweatshirt isn’t yours anymore and if you’re being honest, he probably doesn’t even know you still own the damn thing.

well, what he doesn’t know won’t kill him, right?

you wore the hoodie to class, walking to the coffee shop, just as you normally would have and did for the past few months. only now, you’re hyper aware of the fact that you’re wearing it. you’re not wearing it out of pure convenience anymore. no, you’re wearing it because you want to. truth be told, maybe you always did want to and you simply never registered it before.

and about that comment about what atsumu doesn’t know won’t kill him?

on a dreary friday afternoon, as atsumu finishes up his usual upper body routine and walks over to the water fountain to fill his water bottle, he’s given a clear sight of you walking past the recreation center, most likely on your way to the coffee shop just as you normally did. atsumu isn’t totally aware of your schedule since you’d broken up at the end of the last block, but he knows that you need your fair share of caffeine to function as he recalls the numerous times you’d asked him to pick some up before he came to see you.

he focuses less on your coffee habit and more on the dark piece of clothing swallowing your figure in a familiar way. then, when taking a closer look by walking toward the window and slightly squinting his eyes, atsumu realizes: that’s his hoodie.

returning back from a late class, you kick your shoes off with a relieved sigh. class wasn’t too harsh on you but with the weight of finals on your back, it was more tiring than anything.

allowing yourself to fall back on your bed, you sprawl out, closing your eyes. you rotate between checking your phone and taking power naps to fill in the rest of your night’s time. you’re well aware as soon as you wake up in the morning, it’s straight back to studying so you tried your best to relax the best you could for the time being.

at around the eleven p.m. time, there’s a knock at your door. you sit up, furrowing your brows. it can’t be an RA when you sound like you might as well be dead, and it certainly isn’t a cleaner since it’s too late into the evening.

rolling your eyes, you remember a specific occurrence when you had a knock closer to midnight than you’d have liked. i swear to god if it’s that girl in physics who asks for the homework, you think with a frown, approaching the door. swinging open the door, you’re ready to threaten whoever it was, but you freeze in place.

“uh-” atsumu’s eyes widen as if he himself is shocked at the fact that you were the one who answered the door. he mentally smacks himself with the thought, who else would’ve answered HER door, idiot?

“atsumu, what…” you trail off, raising your eyebrows in disbelief.

it’d been at least three months since the two of you had faced each other so close in person. following your breakup, the two of you remained in each other’s presence since you both shared mutual friends but after a while, you realize that when one of you confirm about being present during a get together, the other doesn’t show up. you used to be relieved when hinata believed your excuse about an exam or project.

your real reason was easy: it took everything not to stare at him and reach out for him like you casually would when the two of you were still dating.

his reason? you’re not so sure.

“what are you doing here?” you finally find your words and force a welcoming smile on your face because, even if the two of you had broken up, it didn’t mean you couldn’t be civil.

“i uh- you have night classes - sho told me - and i wasn’t sure when to stop by and..um,” he stammers, staring down at his shuffling feet, “i saw y’walk past the gym earlier…and i um noticed the…the sweatshirt.” atsumu’s eyes gaze down toward the familiar piece of clothing that you’re still wearing.

“oh!” you face grows flushed in embarrassment. you’ve become so focused on speeding past the gym in fear of making eye contact with your ex, you hadn’t even realized he could’ve easily spotted you anyway! “do you want it back? i’m so sorry-”

atsumu cuts you off when you grip the bottom of the sweatshirt and move to lift it. “no, no!” his cheeks tint with a reddish hue. “you promised you’d always have it. i’m just surprised you kept it.” atsumu rubs the back of his neck.

“well, if i’m being honest, it was stuffed in the back of my closet,” you chuckle, lifting a hand to scratch your temple, “and i was far too…er-sensitive, to give it back.” before atsumu has a chance to ask what you meant by ‘sensitive,’ you clap your hands, “but! i don’t break a promise either so maybe it was fate.”

“fate,” atsumu repeats, eyes softening, “sure.”

feeling the environment become heavy all of a sudden, you try to lighten the situation. “bokuto told me you were in mr. kim’s business class. never thought you’d just ignore a warning from me.” you murmur quietly, humor lacing your tone as you cross your arms over your chest.

small talk? really, y/n?

atsumu quickly blurts, lifting his hands in exasperation, “it was the only section left! ‘wasn’t my fault!”

“hm, was it the only section left because you waited ‘till the last minute to make your schedule?”

atsumu huffs, looking away briefly. “maybe…it’s hard, ok? i’ve got to make sure nothing clashes with volleyball practice and meetings and the advisors are never helpful it’s just-”

“damn, maybe you should’ve paid me for making your schedule those few times i did, hm?”

atsumu’s grin mirrors yours and he shakes his head in amusement.

this is nice. although it’s awkward seeing your ex face to face after such a long time apart, conversing with atsumu felt so natural still. the ache in your heart began to grow, though.

“so,” you trail off, “if you aren’t here about the sweatshirt, what are you here for?” your head tilts to the side in slight question. you hate to ruin whatever moment you’re having but your curiosity gets the best of you.

“you,” he answers bluntly, without skipping a beat. his cheeks are crimson at this point and after he says the word, he looks back down at his feet. “i needed to see you.”

“you did?” you blink.

“i’ll be honest, i didn’t even realize i was walking to your dorm until i reached the front of your building…” he slowly cranes his neck back up and winces, as if fearing your reaction. “i’ve missed you.”

your breath shallows and it nearly feels like your lungs might collapse in on themselves. you certainly weren’t expecting something so bold from him. still, your heart warms, the ache subsiding for a moment. “i’ve missed you, too,” you answer softly, hands clutching your sleeve tightly.

“i mean,” atsumu chuckles lowly, “shoyo does let me know about your wellbeing but it’s been a while since i’ve seen you in person.”

“yeah, we really cut ties, huh?” you nod in agreement and gnaw the inside of your lower lip, shifting from foot to foot.

“yeah.” atsumu swallows before swallowing the lump in his throat. “how have you been?” you wonder if his chest feels as heavy as yours does.

“meh,” you gesture with a flail of your hand toward your desk in the corner of your room. “papers and studying, mostly.”

“you’re takin’ care of yourself, right?” it’s purely instinctual for atsumu to ask that he can’t stop himself. relief washes over his face at the way you don’t seem very fazed.

you nod, a smile reappearing on your face. “i’m trying my best. and you?”

atsumu wracks his head for the right answer. should he mention volleyball? class? midterms? he’s sure anything specific he might say will just remind you of your breakup.

a few months ago…

“how about thursday? you don’t have class time around then,” you say, looking over at your boyfriend who’s busy tapping away on his phone.

he gives a long sigh, shaking his head. “coach, he’s planning meetings nearly everyday now.”

“so, you’re unavailable mornings and evenings now?” you frown. “gee, that sucks.”

atsumu frowns at the pout on your face. he’s been flaking far too often than a boyfriend should and you’ve been nothing but supportive.

“but i guess we’ll have to wait until your schedule clears then!”

the optimism in your voice makes atsumu’s frown deepen. “it’s not going to clear up anytime soon, at least, not ‘til the season’s over. then again, i have year round training so i’m not sure how much time i’ll actually-”

“hey,” you cut him off from his ramble. “well figure it out.”

atsumu hates that you’re still smiling.

“no.”

“no?” you raise an eyebrow, surprised laugh escaping your lips. “never thought i’d hear miya atsumu say no. what’s gotten into you?”

“you don’t deserve this.” atsumu’s words are curt and cold, a side of him you never really get to see. he’s being serious. “i just,” he doesn’t know what’s he saying. “all this time away from each other. i get that you may be okay with it, but i hate that you’re okay with it. plus, m’not okay with it.”

“oh.” you blink. “what are you saying then?”

atsumu sighs and rakes his head through his golden locks. “i think maybe i shouldn’t’ve gotten into a relationship in college. it’s tough.”

your eyes widen a fraction at his words. you know by now that he’s blunt by nature but hearing him basically say he regrets getting in a relationship (with you) still hurt.

“do you mean that?”

atsumu looks back over at you and the hope he once saw in your eyes, a look that used to shine easily, was flickering now. he didn’t mean it. had he not have gotten in a relationship with you, something that grounded him and allowed him to be more comfortable with himself, he probably would’ve been an asshole. but believing this was a better outcome, he answers:

“yeah…”

“so…” you trail off, nibbling on your lip and averting your eyes. you play with the bottom of his sweatshirt, “are you saying we should…break up?”

“i don’t want you to keep waiting for me… maybe in the future, when my life isn’t so busy…? but, until then, i should really focus on my career, too.”

but i want to wait for you, you want to answer, but the tiredness in atsumu’s eyes keeps you quiet. “i see…”

you’ve always been understanding of his career wishes, even going as far as pushing him to put more of his attention on it and less on you. but god, in this situation, it just hurts.

“well,” you break a moment of silence and nod. “i certainly don’t want to put more pressure on your plate as it is, and i have been missing you-” (not enough to break up with him) “so, if it’s best, maybe you’re right.”

atsumu visibly sighs at your answer, as if believing you might’ve gotten angry or been more offended. but it was you, so of course you wouldn’t. atsumu smiles apprehensively at you. when you exchange goodbyes, your hug lasts longer than usual and you have to be the first to pull away, ducking your head low and you swiftly leave his dorm room. there’s no way you wanted him to see the tears streaming down your face when he was smiling at you.

his words that day have to be one of his biggest regrets.

atsumu frowns at the memory and clenching his fists, he remembered the first thought that appeared in his head when he started making his way to your dorm. “not very well.”

at that, you tilt your head in concern. “why not? are you alright?”

“no,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “the love of my life isn’t with me anymore and since she’s been gone, i’ve been a cavity of a man.” a voice in the back of atsumu’s mind laughs at his theatrics. cavity of a man? where the hell did he learn that from?

“atsumu,” you gasp, blinking.

“i mean it,” he huffs. “god, i’m still so consumingly in love with you and i’ve been trying so damn hard to respect the decision we,” he pauses to look at you. he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t see that flash of hurt cross your face when he brought up breaking up all those months ago. you agreed to it, but that was just the selfless part of you that cared more about him that yourself. “the decision i made to grow apart and wait for a possible future but i just can’t.”

your lips purse and your chin drops slightly – a sure sign of your shyness – as you watch the stern look in atsumu’s eyes. he’s only ever had that look while he was on the court, immersed in his deepest concentration.

“and then i saw you walk by wearing that?” his eyes soften as he points at his sweatshirt. “i knew i had to see you and tell you.”

“but atsumu–”

“tsum,” he corrects.

“–our schedules are always clashing and there’s never time for us. besides, you still have your priorities and volleyball and-”

“do you still love me?”

your face falls when he takes a step closer to you. you gulp at the knowing look in his eye.

he knows it isn’t a fair question but he asks it anyway. reaching over, atsumu lifts your chin with his hand, quirking an eyebrow. “y/n?”

you look away from him, avoiding eye contact as you nibble on your lip.

“…yes.”

atsumu doesn’t give you a moment to say anything else because he’s taking your jaw in between both his palms and presses his lips to yours. the kiss sucks the air out of you, nearly making your knees buckle in on themselves but one of his hands trails down to your waist to support you.

when he pulls away, he sighs and presses his forehead to yours. “i don’t care about the scheduling. i’ll make time for you, for us. i don’t care what i have to change but i can’t not be with you.”

you pull him away so you’re at arms length, even with the racing of your heartbeat, you find yourself lightly smirking. “you’re always the dramatic, aren’t you?”

atsumu grins, nodding a few times. “i think i remember someone tell me it was charming.”

you roll your eyes in amusement at that. “maybe i did.”

“so?” he asks, this time more seriously. “can we try again? i just know, i really do, it’ll be different.”

“and if it’s not?” your voice softens and it’s laced with the concern of facing the fate of your previous relationship.

atsumu frowns at the way your lip wobbles. he really deserves a punch in the face for putting you through the break up; he won’t be surprised if you chose yourself for once, instead of another relationship with him. “i won’t be a coward like i was before,” he mumbles, sure of himself. “i promise.”

he sucks in a breath as you think hard. after a moment, your hard stare finally breaks as you slouch in his arms.

“well, who am i to not accept one of miya atsumu’s promises,” you sigh longingly, eyes twinkling with warmth.

“god, i love ya.” a long smile stretches across atsumu’s face, a smile that lifts his cheeks and crinkles his usually hooded eyes. bringing your face closer once more, he closes the gap between you, murmuring something about making up for lost time.

atsumu hates apologizing but that night, you think you heard it at least ten times. it wasn’t the apologies that made your heart swell, though. it was probably the thank you’s that you allowed him to be yours again.

2K notes · View notes

venusiangguk · 3 years

Text

gold rush pt. 3 | jjk (m)

>>pairing: jungkook x reader

>>genre: pwp, v little plot, smut, kinda fluffy, college au (kinda), established relationship

>>word count: 9.9k um?

>>warnings: pegging!!!, butt stuff!!!, sexy anal!!!, sub jk, soft dom oc, crying why do i always make everyone cry, fingering (m), strap on, dildos, vibrators, sex toys, sex shop adventures, explicit sex, like so explicit this bitch is basically 10k, mutual masturbation, coming untouched, kisses, aftercare in the form of snacks, titty squeezing, dirty talk, excessive use of pet names, yoongi exists

>>notes: i wasn’t gonna write this bc ur girl does not know the first thing about pegging, but jk sucking the strap came to me in a dream and i had to do it. it was highly requested so i hope u like it! i wrote and poorly edited this whole thing today so im sorry for any mistakes !!

>>summary: jk wants the strap, and jk gets what he wants !!

pt.1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

The sun is shining, and there’s just the perfect amount of breeze to cool Jeongguk as sweat runs down his temple. The soccer pitch just got cut, making the ball much easier to control, and therefore much easier to aim at Jimin’s ass. It’s cool-down time, so the team is in groups of three, idly kicking the ball between each other, for the last few minutes of practice. All in all, a great day to talk about getting pegged with his best friends.

Jeongguk glances around the field, making sure the other groups are far enough away from him and his friends before clearing his throat. “So… do you guys like… get pegged?”

When Taehyung passes the ball to Jimin, Jimin completely misses it due to the fact that he is looking at Jeongguk like he is the most pitiful human on the planet. Jeongguk adjusts his shin guard to avoid the scrutiny.

“Gguk… honey… are you dumb?”

Taehyung’s jogging back after retrieving the ball that ran astray. “No, Mini. He’s straight.” He kicks the ball to Jeongguk. “If by ‘pegged’ you mean fucked in the ass by a real dick, then yeah. We do.”

Jeongguk receives the ball with a ‘rainbow’ and juggles it from his thigh to his laces, balancing the ball for a second before kicking it to Jimin. He nods, contemplative. “Nice.”

“Okay ace.” He passes to Taehyung, before throwing Jeongguk a teasing look. “You thinking about taking it up the ass, Gukkie?”

“Perhaps I’m contemplating.” He sniffs nose in the air.

Taehyung laughs. “Got your button milked once and now you wanna take a phallic shaped object? Proud of you.” He places his hand over his heart, like the mere thought of Jeongguk getting railed makes his heart warm.

A whistle blows, and Jeongguk kicks the ball up to his arm, tucking it into the curve of his trim waist. “Why does everyone call it a button? And it hasn’t only been once.” He sounds exasperated and so so tired.

His friends jog to bump shoulders with him as they make their way to the locker rooms. “Hey, jokes aside, I think it’s cool you’re like comfortable enough, or whatever, with __ to explore the things you like.” Taehyung says.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Okay Dad.”

“No seriously!” Jimin insists, holding the locker room door open for them. Fuck the rest of the team. “She seems good for you. Babys you like you need.” Jimin laughs.

Jeongguk’s shirt gets caught on his head as he squawks. “I don’t just like being babied, fuck you.”

“Okay so she also entertains your sadistic side. She’s the full package.”

Jeongguk looks down with a blush. He shrugs his shoulders lightly before bending over to get out of his gear. “She’s pretty cool I guess.”

Taehyung knees him while he’s still bent over making him stumble a bit. “Awe, Jeonggukkie is in love.”

“Shut up.” Jeongguk smacks him in the face with his smelly sock.

“When you gonna do it?” Jimin asks, buttoning his new pants.

Apparently they aren’t showering today. Jeongguk will just have to stop at his dorm before heading to yours to help you study. That reminds him that you have a test on Friday, but are free this weekend. He just so happens to be free as well. The team they were supposed to play had to forfeit because their coach got caught sleeping with one of the cheerleaders. Sucks, but good for Jeongguk and his little asshole.

“Maybe this weekend.” With their backpacks on, they start the trek back to the dorms. It’s nearing night now, the sun just starting to set in the sky. Jeongguk pulls out his phone to tell you he’s stopping by his place before heading to you. You reply quickly.

baby🥺💘😏🧠🙄👊🏻:

okie

wanna have sex instead of helping me study

me:

yeah but im not gonna

just think about how good the sex will be when u get an a

baby🥺💘😏🧠🙄👊🏻:

🙄

When Jeongguk pockets his phone, Taehyung speaks up.

“You think she’ll be down?”

Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, probably.”

Ever since the first time you made him cum untouched, butt stuff has been a moderately regular occurrence for you both as a long-term, healthy, pro-ass eating couple. Honestly it was mostly him getting his butt played with, but he supposed it made sense. Like Jimin explained to his once naïve self, it was just biological- or something. Whatever. He wonders if three fingers will be enough to fit a fake dick in his ass. He asks his friends.

“Eh…” Jimin starts, looking up like he’s thinking. “Maybe, but you might wanna try to get to four, maybe five if you're using hers, since she’s tiny.”

Jeongguk’s mouth falls open and he pales. Taehyung notices and laughs.

“Don’t get scared. It’s just better to over-prep than under-prep. And like obviously you work up to it, she’s not just gonna shove her fist or her cock up your ass.”

Her cock. A little tingle settles in Jeongguk’s lower belly at the statement. He’s been thinking about this for a while, looking at porn in his free time. Seeing the way the guys moan on their girls’ strap always gets him hard. Seeing how hard their cocks get when the toy hits them just right. He throbs when he sees the guys cum just from the strap, no hands. Maybe he should fuck you when he gets to your dorm instead of helping you study. His cock is feeling a little plump.

“Alright well… Bye, thanks for being gay and answering my anal questions!”

As he’s pressing the button to his elevator, they lived on opposite sides of the athlete dorm and there were different elevators for each of the wings, Jimin chirps, “Don’t forget to empty your asshole really well, and don’t eat the day of! Also buy extra lube and put a spare blanket down!”

Jeongguk winces. Valuable information indeed, information he mentally pockets, but did he need to yell it in the dorm common room?

“Noted!” He yells back at the elevator dings and opens up. Jeongguk pretends like he doesn’t meet the curious, kind of confused gaze of one of his teammates. He must have walked in while Jimin was yelling and only caught the end of the conversation while waiting for the same elevator. Jeongguk gets in and immediately closes the doors. He can catch the next lift.

~~~

Jeongguk’s got his head in your lap and you’re running your fingers through his long, silky hair. He showered today, so waves of his aromatherapy lavender shampoo are wafting up to you. Sweet boy. He seems sidetracked, occasionally sighing and subtly twisting, but is still more or less purring on your thigh, feet tucked up onto the cushion of the couch. Netflix is on the small tv that was left by the last person who lived there, you’re mac book connected via HDMI. You’re not really paying attention. Mind kind of tired from all the studying you had done this week. Jeongguk fidgets a tiny bit again, wiggling like he’s trying to get comfortable. He huffs a sigh.

“Hey,” You say softly, getting his attention.

His body curves at the waist, causing his t-shirt to bunch up and show off the dip of his hip bone. He looks up at you with wide eyes. He seems surprisingly awake. Must have some busy little bees buzzing around his mind. He makes a little questioning noise.

“You okay? You’re kinda fussy.” You murmur.

He groans. “I- am just thinking.”

“About?” You drag the word out in a singsong-y manner.

The way Jeongguk’s face flushes is so pretty, you have to stop yourself from cooing.

He moves himself from your lap and sits facing you. He looks like he's thinking about what to say, or how to say what he’s thinking so hard about.

Eloquently he states, “I’m horny.”

You glance at his cock. Not quite hard, but a little happy and excited. You chuckle, leaning towards him, giving him a playfully sexy look. “Okay, let’s fuck baby.”

Jeongguk blushes even more, cheeks tinted red, while he leans away from you.

You pout. “What?”

Again he pauses, a small pout on his lips. He seems to be in a soft, needy, difficult mood. You’re probably going to have to pry what he wants to say out of his mouth.

With another uncalled for exasperated huff, Jeongguk rolls his eyes and moves closer to you before catching you by surprise and swinging a leg over your lap. He’s facing you while he straddles your thighs. His arms are looped around your neck, he’s playing with a little bit of your hair, twirling the long length around his fingers. You smile up at him, gently. Your palms squeeze at his narrow hips encouragingly.

“I want to try something new…” He says. He sounds nervous and looks at you the same.

“Mhmm.” You say, fighting a smile.

“Really bad. Like I want it really bad.” His hips roll, probably unconsciously from the way he closes his eyes to ground himself.

You peek at his lap, and his cock is bulging, the fabric of his sweatpants doing nothing to help hide it. You bring your hand to it, and massage him through his pants.

He whines and pushes against your palm before a hand comes down and grabs your wrist, stopping the movement. “Quit it, I’m trying to talk.” He’s so petulant and whiny.

You move your hand away and place it back on his hip, giggling a little. “Well spit it out, then.”

He scowls. You reach up and smooth the wrinkle in his brow before trailing it down and cupping his cheek. He softens immediately, melts like butter in your hands. His eyes close and he lets out a soft sigh, body relaxing a little.

He’s whispering, kinda giggling out of embarrassment, when he says, “I want you to fuck me.” He pauses, peeking at you through his lashes. “Like for real.”

Almost instantly a little spark ignites in your belly, and you feel your pussy get that telltale heartbeat. You didn’t want to push Jeongguk into anything, but you’ve been thinking about taking the ‘next step’ with your… ass-plorations for some time. But you figured he would get to the same point on his own, and would come to you when he was ready. Turns out you know him as well as you thought you did.

“Yeah?” You rub your free hand up his side.

He nods quickly, eagerly. You pinch his cheek lightly, and he retaliates by trying to bite at it. To avoid the attack it finds his way back to his waist.

“When did you want to? Tonight?”

He wiggles impossibly closer to you. Kisses you quick before nodding again. “Yeah. I um. I already like prepped… mostly. I prepped what I could by myself.” He pauses with a cute thinking face. “You will probably have to help me a little. But yeah. I got ready for you just in case.” He nods.

You hum, glancing at the old clock on the wall, another gift from the prior tenant. 11:52 pm.

“If we hurry, we can make it to a sex shop? They don’t usually close until 2 or 3 in the morning.” You suggest.

Jeongguk bites his lip, smiling excitedly. “Really? Can we?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah, duh.” You lean up and give him a speedy, but thorough kiss, smiling into it. “Been wanting to peg you for so long.”

His face scrunches endearingly. “Don’t call it that.”

He hops off your lap, and goes to grab the keys, wasting no time. He stands by the door expectantly. His cock is, extremely obviously, sticking out. Someone didn’t wear his briefs today.

“Can you like… kill that?” You’re laughing as you tug on some sweats of your own, having only been lounging in your panties and one of his shirts. Your usual at home attire.

He looks down, and has a smug grin on his face when he looks at you again. “It’ll go down in the car. Hurry up!”

~~~

A dildo looks so much bigger when one is looking at it knowing that it will be inside of them within the next few hours. And there are so many options and colors. Some vibrate, some have fake pubic hair on them. Some have balls that are squishy and feel eerily… accurate.

Jeongguk isn’t having second thoughts, no. But he is having thoughts. Very overwhelming thoughts.

You’re next to your boyfriend, glancing between him and the varying selection of fake cocks displayed in front of you both, trying to gauge his reaction. He looks a little pale, but tentatively excited. Curious at the very least.

“Which one do you want?” You ask.

“No idea.” He responds, eyes wide.

Like most store clerks, one shows up, almost like they have a built in ‘customer needs help and has no idea which dildo to get to peg her super hot boyfriend’ radar.

“You guys need help?” He is a small man, with a monotone voice. He looks like he would rather be anywhere else at 12:30am on a Saturday night.

“NO!” Jeongguk says quickly and loudly. Very loudly.

Both you and the store clerk flinch, looking at him shocked.

Jeongguk shifts on his feet. “No.” He says in a more socially acceptable tone. “No- I’m sorry. But we’re uh-” He grabs your arm and pulls you closer. “We’re good, thanks.”

The clerk looks between you and Jeongguk and the dildos. “Um… Alright.” He starts to walk away before he turns back around. “Well if you change your mind, I’m Yoongi and I’ll be at the counter. If your toy is electric I’ll test it in the back before you leave… We uh- provide batteries with your purchase if needed…” With one last glance, a very judgmental one in Jeongguk’s opinion, Yoongi takes his place at said counter. His eyes flicker to you guys every once in a while.

“Baby,” You grab Jeongguk’s face between your palms and make him look at you. You squeeze and his lips poke out making him look like a guppy. He blinks. “I know you’re nervous, but it’s going to be okay.”

He rolls his eyes, guppy face and all. “Well obviously. I just- We don’t need help.” He wiggles out of your grip, much like a… guppy.

You grin, trying not to laugh, and just be the supportive girlfriend you are. “Okay, did you decide which one you want?”

A side glance. “Not yet…”

You walk up and go to grab a pink sparkly one.

“Uh, not that one.”

You quirk an eyebrow and move your hand to a larger one.

“No.”

You play a little game of dildo hot or cold until you have a better idea of what Jeongguk wants. His preference seems to be skin tone, close to his own, with a more realistic feel. Normal balls though, not squishy. Also no faux hair. You thank him for that. If you actually had a penis it would surely be waxed. Bless Jeongguk for doing the same. As for size, he leaned more towards a very normal, moderate size. Maybe 5 or 6 inches at most, not too thick. Smaller than himself. One last option.

“Do you want it to vibrate?” You ask, holding one in your hand testing the numerous different settings.

He shakes his head, answering quick. “No.”

He pauses.

“Wait.” He thinks. “Maybe. Should we? You could use it too?”

Sweet, kind, considerate angel. Always thinking about you and your pleasure. Couples who share the strap last the longest.

You shrug, pointing out, “I could use one that doesn’t vibrate too.”

He looks offended and sounds snotty. “Uh, you don’t need to.”

“Whatever. Why don’t we get both?”

You had a point. He pretends to ponder it, before nodding, already persuaded. “Okay.”

“We need the harness now.”

You begin the harness hunt, walking through the store, coming across many a things, but for some reason you both keep missing them. They’re nowhere to be found.

“Maybe they’re sold out?” He tries.

“Doubt it. Let’s go ask.” You grab him by his pinky and try to drag him to the counter. He resists.

“Let’s not.”

“Koo.” You say giving him a look.

He whines, throwing his head back. Borderline throwing a fit. You hold your ground, smiling.

He’s easy to give in. Being a brat just on principle. “Fine but you’re talking.”

You stand on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “Of course, baby.” With his pinky in hand, you make your way to the counter.

The store clerk, Yoongi, if you remember correctly, is sitting behind the counter hunched over smiling at his phone. He doesn’t seem to notice you’re there.

You clear your throat gently, “Excuse me?”

Yoongi jumps, almost throwing his phone. “Fuck!” He exclaims. His fists come up ready to fight before he sees it’s you and Jeongguk. He then places his hand over his heart. “Shit, you scared me.” He chuckles, recovering quickly. “How can I help you?”

You stare at him for a moment longer before speaking up. “Um yeah, I was just wondering where your harnesses are?”

He leans on the counter, head in his hand looking kinda bored. “Hanresses? What kind? Hanging harness? Body harness?”

You glance at Jeongguk and he looks like he’s going to die.

“The um- strap on harnesses?” Your voice goes to a whisper when you say it, despite it just being you guys in the store.

Yoongi sits up, and looks at you, and then looks at Jeongguk. A look of understanding comes over his face along with an amused smile. He nods to himself, while getting up to help you. “Nice. Follow me.”

Jeongguk gapes at the ‘nice’ and looks at you in disbelief. You pat his butt telling him to get going.

With some help from Yoongi you pick out a harness that looks supportive and comfortable, the ring that holds the dildo, compatible with both the ones that you plan on getting. It’s a simple adjustable black one. Yoongi recommended wearing something under it if the straps dig into you and irritate. He seems bored, but he’s actually very good at his job, and very knowledgeable.

Finally you’re at the counter. You place all the items in Yoongi’s reach and he’s just about to tell you the total when Jeongguk perks up.

“Wait!” He says before scurrying off.

It’s quiet for a split second. Before the clerk speaks up.

“He’s cute.”

You smile, “Thanks, he’s mine.”

Yoongi laughs, small little fish teeth and gums on display. Must be a Pisces. You know Pisces teeth. “Does he have any cute friends?”

You nod. “Yeah, but they are dating.”

He shrugs. “Don’t care.”

“Uh… I can give you their Instagrams?”

He pulls out his phone, and follows them right there after a quick glance at their pages. Confidence is nice.

There’s a short lull in the conversation. And Jeongguk seems to be taking his sweet time getting something you guys must have forgotten. Or the poor things lost. It’s a big store. You speak up this time.

“Do you have like a manager I could leave a review for? You were really helpful, and seemed like you really knew what you were talking about.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I own the place. You think I would be here on a Saturday night if it wasn’t obligatory? Thanks, though.”

“Oh.” You say. That was pretty impressive. The store was quite successful based on the reviews. You would make sure to let Jimin and Taehyung know Yoongi was a business man.

“Okay, I’m back.” Jeongguk announces. “Sorry I forgot where it was.”

He places 2 (two) large bottles of lube on the counter. You cough out a laugh.

“Baby, we have lube at home.”

“But do we have enough?”

“I think maybe one more would be more than enough.”

He ignores you, looking Yoongi in the eyes for the first time tonight. “Add both please.”

Yoongi nods, looking a little scared of Jeongguk’s seriousness, and does as he’s ordered.

After Jeongguk pays, and you both are making your way to the exit, Yoongi calls out, “Good luck, tell your friends to follow me back!”

“Uh- Okay?” Jeongguk yells back. When you’re in the parking lot, he asks, “What the heck was that about?”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. “Don’t worry about it.”

~~~

As soon as you get back to your dorm, the atmosphere is thick, full of tension and nervous anticipation. Jeongguk’s fidgety, eager to get started. You’re not far off, but contain yourself a little more. Need to keep control of the situation in case Jeongguk gets deep into his mood.

You guys are in the bathroom now, each one washing a toy before you use it. You make sure to unwrap the harness and the lube as well, both at Jeongguk’s insistent request, ensuring you don’t have to stop and deal with it later.

“Let’s just get undressed in here, it’s where my hamper is.” You say already tugging your shirt over your head, tits bouncing freely. Jeongguk went without briefs today, and you went without a bra.

Jeongguk quietly follows suit, and you don’t miss the way his hands are trembling a little in anticipation. When you’re both naked he kisses you quickly, and jiggles your boobs a little just because they are there and because he can, before saying, “Okay, lets go.” He’s out the bathroom before you can even respond. You laugh to yourself and gather the stuff he forgot in his excitement.

When you walk out with your hands full, you see Jeongguk spreading out a blanket over your comforter.

“Whatcha doin?” You ask curiously, placing the items on the nightstand.

“Gets messy. Wanna save your bedding.” He states.

You squawk, grabbing the blanket he set up on your bed. “Not my baby blanket you monster.”

He laughs, abs tensing. You notice he’s already hanging a little heavy between his thighs. “Sorry. Was the first one I saw.” He walks over to the couch and replaces the blanket that’s hanging over the back with your baby blanket and resets up. “Better?” he asks, extended his arm towards your bed to show off his work.

You nod, and take the few steps needed to close the space between you both. Your hand runs down his belly, and you feel his muscles jump, and you see little goosebumps sprout all over. His hands come up to cup your tits. You kiss softly where his heart is. You look up at him.

“I love you.” You smile.

He blushes. “Love you.” He whispers, before he leans down and slots your lips together.

It’s eager from the start. Your bodies press together, as your hands roam. When he takes a breath and surges back in, your teeth click together is his haste, before his tongue slips into your mouth. He groans into you, his hand going down to cup your ass, squeezing and pulling you impossibly closer.

You feel his cock against your belly, almost fully hard already. You reach down to wrap a hand around him, wanting to help him get there before you get started. He hisses, thrusting forward instinctively before pulling away. He looks like he hates that he does.

“No- I,” He’s already short of breath, chest rising and falling a little bit faster than normal. “I wanna watch you cum. With the toy.” He reaches around you, grabbing the vibrating dildo. “Please?” He asks. His eyes are fervent.

You take the toy in your hand, and kiss him again softly. “Yeah, baby. Whatever you. It’s all about you tonight.”

He shakes his head. “Always about you too.”

Your heart beats, happy in your chest. You thought about it earlier in the night, but Jeongguk really was the best lover. He always, always made sure you were taken care of, before, during, and after sex. He was so vocal and communicative, genuinely wanting you to know it was always about both of you, even if one was receiving more attention. He was caring like that in and out of the bedroom. You were so lucky to be his.

“You’re too good to me,” You laugh, climbing onto the bed. You settle back against your pillows, propping some behind you so you can see him, and watch him while you get off. He takes his place in front of you, looking at you expectantly.

He’s impatient, placing his hands on your knees, spreading you open so he can see your cunt. You let him get you into position before saying, “Keep your hands to yourself now, okay?”

He nods, eyes never leaving your pussy. He licks his lips. “Okay.” It’s said in a distracted kind of far away tone.

You hum as you bring the toy to your mouth, getting it wet. You wouldn’t need any lube, you would be dripping in no time. You don’t waste any time putting your free hand down between your legs and spreading your pussy lips, so your clit and the pretty pink center of your cunt are displayed for Jeongguk. You glance at him through your lashes, when you hear a small gasp fall from his lips. He’s already got a hand around himself. Just the tips of his fingers stroking his length, at a leisurely pace.

“She’s so pretty… You’re so pretty.” His eye flick to your face before zeroing in on your center again.

“Tell me how to do it baby. Tell me what you want to see.” You say, voice salacious and soft. You circle your finger slowly around your nub, dipping inside just a bit to spread your slick around.

When he swallows, it’s audible, his Adam's apple jumping. “I want you to turn it on low, and put it on your clit. I want you to feel good.”

You smile, and drag the tip of it down your body to just above your clit, turning it on the lowest setting before making contact with your sensitive nub. Your legs jolt, almost closing when you feel the vibrations. Even the lowest setting was strong. Your head falls back, and your legs spread more for him once you get used to the strength of the toy. “Fuck…” You breathe.

“Does it feel good?” He asks, greedy for your pleasure.

You nod, eyes still closed, focusing. You move the vibrator in small circles over your clit. You can hear Jeongguk’s breaths speed up.

“Turn it up.” His voice gives away that he’s speeded up his hand on his cock too.

You do as he says, looking at him as you do. He’s sin personified. He’s on his knees, sitting back on his feet, so his thighs are flexed and bulging. His abs tense when his palm twists under the crown of his cock. His eyes almost look black, pupils blown so wide, lust taking over his face. He’s got his plump bottom lip drawn between his teeth. He looks up from your pussy and catches you staring. He smiles shyly.

You keep your eyes on him as you bring the toy back down to your core. A short high pitched moan falls from your lips, as your brows knit together, before your eyes roll back. He groans, your expression enough to make his cock start to leak.

“Feels so good, Jeongguk.” You moan. The vibrator is right where it feels best, pulsing against your clit, causing pleasure to bleed into your veins.

“Yeah, baby?” He asks, he’s breathless, sounds like he’s in love. With you, your cunt. “Tell me.”

“‘S just right Koo, could make me cum just like this…”

He curses, and you open your eyes just in time to see him grip the base of his cock, keeping himself in check. “Not yet, baby. Little longer, please.” Still so polite and good for you, even when he’s the one telling you what to do.

He has you keep the vibe there, for a while longer, right in the spot that’s gonna make you lose it. He watches as a tiny clear drop leaks from you pink little pussy. It looks like it’s heavy and about to drip down to the blanket under you. He doesn’t notice your legs shaking until you’re gasping, “Koo, I’m almost- I’m gonna-”

“No!” He says quickly, his hand reaches out to pull the vibrator from your cunt just before you get your high. Your pussy aches and throbs, wanting to cum so bad.

Your chest is heaving when you ask, “Are… are you edging me?”

He shakes his head, even though your eyes are closed, trying to catch your breath. “No, no! I just. I got distracted.” He looks at that small drop of slick again. Fuck, he wants to lick it up and drink you down. “You’re leaking.” He states.

You laugh, breathing getting back to normal. “Yeah?” You reach your hand down to collect the distracting little droplet and bring it in front of you. You press the sticky finger to your thumb and then pull them apart to see the clear strings stay connected even as you pull. You hum, before offering your hand to Jeongguk. He sucks in a breath.

“Want some?”

He’s quick as he crawls between you legs, cock fully hard now. He watches you as he sucks your fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling around getting every last bit, before he sucks off with a pop!

He crawls farther up your body to kiss you deep, wanting you to get a taste of yourself too. He pulls back just a bit, and whispers against your lips, “I want you to fuck yourself with it, okay? Just for a little bit, then you can cum?” He’s phrasing it as a question, knowing he really doesn't have the final say, not tonight. But his voice is shaking from how turned on he is, how could you ever say no?

“Sit back.” Is all you respond. He does as he’s told.

You buzz the toy over your clit again, just because you can. Wanting to see how long Jeongguk can be good before begging. Turns out it’s not long at all.

“Put it in…” He moans. You look at him and his mouth is parted, and his eyes heavy as he watches you. His hand is moving fast over his cock, sticking straight up to his tummy. “Please.”

You drag the toy down to your slit, and tease it there before just barely pushing it in just a fraction of the length. Jeongguk whines, high and desperate. Apparently you’re moving to slow for him.

“More,” He begs.

You sigh, “You’re so needy tonight, baby.” He nods, agreeable.

When the toy sinks inside of you all the way to the hilt, you and Jeongguk both moan a quiet, “Fuck.” simultaneously. You’re coherent enough to laugh a little at the jinx, but he seems to barely notice, too focused on watching the toy sink into you, and then come back out to vibrate your clit again. You keep up this teasing pattern, again waiting to be told what to do by him, waiting to see how long he makes it this time.

“Harder, do it harder,” He’s panting. Moaning every word that leaves his lips.

You do as he says, and finally push the toy in at a pace that gets you climbing to being close again. You won’t be able to come like this though, and he knows that. Knows that you can only cum from penetration with him. He leans over and grabs the other toy from the end table, spitting on it and spreading it around until it's covered well.

“Use them both, want you to cum for me.”

With two toys in your hands, one in your cunt, filling you up, and one on your clit, making your legs shake, you do your best to make yourself cum. But it’s not enough. A soft whine falls from your lips, you’re so close, but you need more. More than you can give yourself.

“Faster baby, faster. You’re so close.” He whispers. He got both hands working now too, one stroking and one down tugging on his balls.

You whimper, “I can’t my arm hurts. It’s tired.”

Immediately he stops pleasing himself and gets right to pleasing you. Your pleasure taking priority. “Shh, don’t worry, I’ll help you baby.”

Jeongguk sits between your legs, and takes over the toy fucking into you, and turns up the one on your clit. With him pushing the toy in at a pace that you couldn’t do yourself, and the other toy vibing your clit incessantly, it takes barely any time at all for you to cum. You were so close already, just needed him to push you over.

Your legs are shaking and your toes are curling, when you cry out, “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, baby. Wanna watch.” He’s quiet, paying close attention to your body and the reactions he’s helping pull from it. He’s part of the reason why your face looks so pornographic as you finish. He’s part of the reason why your back is arching off of the bed. He’s part of the reason why your toes are curling, and why your legs are shaking, and why your pussy is contracting over the toy he’s still thrusting inside of you, working you through every last second of your orgasm. He reads your body cues, and slows down and pulls it out when you start to come down. You look blissed out, and you bring a hand to your hair and fluff it a little before laughing.

“That was good.” You sigh smiling, and when you look at him an image forms in your head, and you have every intention of making him carry it out.

Right before your eyes, Jeongguk wraps his lips around the toy that is going to be inside of him in just a short while, sucking off your slick. He laps his tongue around it trying to get it all. He’s obscene.

“Gimme,” You say sitting up with an extended hand.

He pouts at being interrupted, but does as he’s told. He takes your spot on the bed, and you head to the bathroom, stopping by your dresser on the way.

When you get to the bathroom, you close the door and get to cleaning the toys once again. After, you get to the stuff you grabbed from the wardrobe. A lacy pair of black panties, and sheer black thigh highs with matching lace adorning the tops. You slip into them, and then move on to the strap on. You hold it in front of you and try to make sense of which part goes where, and which holes your legs go into. It takes a second, but you get into it, adjusting it so it's nice and snug. Your outfit probably won’t help much with protecting your thighs, but at least the little part above your pussy will be safe. You look at yourself in the mirror. Not too weird or scary yet. You glance at the dildo on the counter.

It’s not too big so hopefully it’s not too… jarring when you see yourself with it. You get to work, slipping the suction base of the non-vibrating toy into the ring that’s meant to hold it in place. You look at it sticking out from your crotch and take a deep breath before turning to the mirror.

You gasp, before cackling quietly. You knew it was going to be weird. Like you knew. But actually seeing yourself with the whole get up is funny. Right now at least. You know it’s going to be sexy, once you get used to it and into the moment and inside of Jeongguk. You wonder how he’s going to react. Only one way to find out.

While you're walking to your bedroom from the bathroom, the dildo bobs, and you're giggling distractedly until you lift your eyes to let your boyfriend know you're ready. Again you’re met with a scene so indecent it belongs in a porno.

Jeongguk’s eyes are closed and soft moans are falling from his lips as he strokes his cock. He’s got three fingers in his ass, opening himself up for you, for your cock. Such a good good boy. He was so patient and productive while you got ready for him.

“You’re so good baby,” You murmur softly.

Jeongguk blinks his eyes open slowly, and rolls his head to the side to look at you. He doesn’t even falter in his movements at all, hand still moving, fingers still thrusting. He smiles a little when he sees you, but his eyes are hazy and he sounds lust drunk when he simply says, “You look sexy.”

You blush and a fond smile graces your lips, any embarrassment or self consciousness you were feeling prior to seeing him spread out for you on your bed, quickly vanishing.

You settle on the bed between his legs and watch for a moment as his hole takes his long fingers in. “Want me to help?” You ask quietly.

“Mhmm,” He nods, eyes closed still, tongue peeking out from between his lips. He doesn’t take his fingers out, though.

You grab the lube next to him, and flip it open. “You gonna get out so I can get in?”

He shakes his head. “Nuh uh. Put one in with mine.”

Something about that makes your body tingle. Inside of him with him. Opening him up. You can’t explain it, because you don’t really even get it yourself, but it makes you buzz and feel almost high.

You slick up your middle finger, and drizzle some more on his for good measure. He jumps slightly, and then giggles softly.

“Cold.” He says.

“Sorry,” You say distractedly. Your finger is lined up with his now.

“I’ve never done 4 before so you… have to go slow…” He pauses as he speaks, letting himself moan freely when his fingers graze over that secret spot that he’s grown to love so much.

“Tell me to stop if you need to.”

He doesn’t reply, just stops his fingers so you can wiggle yours in next to his. At the first push against his hole, there’s resistance. Very much expected. He’s quiet, teeth gritted, but he never says stop, knowing his body wants it, and knowing it will accommodate what he wants. After the second knuckle, your finger sinks in, almost gets sucked in, by his hole.

He lets out a shaky breath.

“You okay, baby?” You check in.

“Yeah just… full.” He moans when you wiggle your finger experimentally. “”S good. Move it some more.”

You do, and his start to move with yours. You can feel his fingers curl inside of himself to reach his prostate, and it’s pleasant in an out of body way, knowing when his face is going to contort in pleasure, and when he’s going to cry out, when you never really knew before. You’ve milked him before, of course, but feeling him do it to himself from the inside? It’s kind of thrilling.

“Pull, stretch me out.” He moans, voice impatient and needy.

He gets kinda slutty when something’s up his ass.

He swears when you do, his finger rubbing insistent circles on his prostate to distract himself from the minor sting of the stretch. His moans, start to raise in pitch and his hand that’s on his cock, still jerking it, starts to speed up. You can tell he’s close. He clenches against your finger that’s still stretching him open.

“Fuck,” He says, on a breathless giggle, “Take them out. Or I’m gonna cum.” He’s still stroking his cock, like he doesn’t wanna stop.

“You c-”

“No. Out.” He demands, hand finally pulling away from his cock, and his fingers inside stop. You gently ease out of him.

When Jeongguk’s fingers slip out, you gasp. His little pink hole is clenching on nothing, still open just the tiniest bit, thoroughly stretched.

“You know how you always say my pussy is pretty?” You ask, fingers tracing around the puffy stretched rim.

He makes an affirmative noise, watching you with hooded, lazy eyes as you touch him. He even spreads farther so you can touch and see better. You marvel at the difference between the embarrassed boy you made cum untouched a couple months ago, and the one in front of you now, so comfortable and relaxed. It makes you happy.

“Well, your butthole is pretty.”

He snorts, and kicks you lightly. He smiles at you, soft and sluggish. “Just fuck me.”

He sounds so wistful and just ready.

But you’re not.

You grip the base of your cock, and stand up. You walk to the head of the bed, next to his confused face. You stay there waiting for him to get it. He doesn’t.

“You want me inside of you right baby?” You ask, voice gentle.

He nods, eyes no longer hazy, but wide and confused. He looks between you and your cock.

“I think that means you have to get me ready. Get me nice and wet, right?”

You can physically see when Jeongguk gets it. When it clicks for him. His eyes darken, and he licks his lips. “Yeah… You’re right. I should… help you.” He whispers, sitting up. You back up enough for him to have a place on the floor.

Jeongguk on his knees for you isn’t a new sight. He’s eaten your pussy like this before, you either grinding onto his face, or him holding you still and making quick work of your clit. But Jeongguk on his knees for you to suck your cock? New, and lewd.

He looks nervous, kind of hesitant. A hand is raised midway, like he isn't sure if he should grab it.

“Lick it, baby.” You encourage.

He glances at you, doe eyes seeking approval as he leans forward and gives a kitten lick to the tip. You nod, letting him know he’s doing well. His hand comes up and replaces yours at the base and he opens his mouth enough to wrap his lips around the head, and he swirls his tongue.

He pops off, and strokes up to where his mouth was and spreads the little bit of spit. The silicone is still dry though, so he spits on it more, straight from his mouth. You suck in a breath.

“Fuck, you’re so hot baby.” You whisper a breathy moan as his hands move up and down your cock. He adds his mouth again.

He hums a little, before backing up and looking at you again. “Does that feel good?” He asks.

You laugh lightly, in pure awe of him. He’s so sexy, and so sweet, and so incredibly lust inducing. Your pussy aches behind your cock. “Feels so good, baby. You’re doing so good.”

He hums, still stroking you off. “I really want it inside me…” He says, hinting that he’s ready.

You have mercy on him, having fulfilled your newfound personal fantasy enough for the night. Maybe you could revisit it another time. But now it was time to fulfill a mutual fantasy.

“On the bed, hands and knees.” You tell him.

Excitedly he hops back onto the bed, and gets into position, his hole on display for you. His back is arched and you can see the plush swell where his lower back meets the top of his cheeks. You settle behind him, and his shoulder to waist to hip ratio, is sinful. He’s always had the daintiest waist, strong, but still so small. But at this angle, it’s cinched and the way his legs are spread makes his hips look wider, accentuating the dip at his middle. You rub your hands over the narrow curve, all the way to his cheeks, grabbing handfuls of the muscle. There’s a slight give when you squeeze your hands.

Jeongguk’s head drops, and he lets out a shuddering sigh, he’s got the chills again, and he’s got a constant thrum coursing through his body. “Please…” He moans, so quietly, so desperately.

You kiss the small of his back before grabbing the lube left abandoned on the bed. You lather 2 of your fingers, and push them into Jeongguk’s hole making sure he’s nice and slick. There’s no resistance at all, hole loose and ready enough for them to slip right in. Then you lather your cock, probably with too much lube, honestly, but you wanted to be so sure that he didn’t feel any more pain than absolutely necessary. You knew the first initial push in would be the worst, but you were hopeful you both had stretched him out enough to at least minimize or diminish it altogether.

You grab the base of your cock and line it up with his hole. It flutters, when you barely press against his rim.

“Ready?” You ask, giving a heads up.

“Yeah.” He says softly.

He’s tight. His hole sinks in with the tip of your cock before the rim gives and swallows around it. Jeongguk tenses and his hands grip the blanket under you.

“Shit…” He groans. He sounds like he’s clenching his teeth.

You rub soothingly at his lower back, fingers dipping when you run them over the dimples at the bottom of his spine. “You’re doing so good baby.” You tell him.

“Doesn’t really hurt, I’m just stretching.” He says through his teeth. “I can take it though, keep going.”

You grab the lube and drizzle more directly onto his hole. He doesn’t mention the cold this time, too focused on taking your cock. You push against him, and feel yourself sink deeper into him. It’s like after the tip was in, his body knew what to do to take the rest. The slide wasn’t a swift, fast stroke, but it was a smooth and slow glide. When you bottom out Jeongguk’s arms give out from under him, his face going to the bed.

“Holy fuck.” He keens, resting his head on his arms. Your hands are constantly on him, soothing him in any way that you can.

“Tell me when.” You whisper patiently. He nods. With his head turned to the side and pillowed on his arms, you can see his eyes are squeezed shut. The inhales and exhales you can see in the expanding of his ribcage, tell you that he’s taking deep breaths working through the stretch, getting himself used to it.

“Okay… Ready.” He murmurs.

You pull out just a bit before pushing back in. Jeongguk moans softly. Spreads his legs even wider, arches his back even deeper. He’s pushing his ass out for you, his body begging you to make it feel good.

You keep a slow pace, kind of nervous to speed up.

“You can go faster, feels nice.” He says. He’s been puffing out little gasps of air every time you bottom out with your slow pace.

With his consent, you grab at his hips and pull out to just the tip, before swiftly pushing back in, fast and hard. His cheeks bounce on the impact. You grab one and jiggle it a little, thrusting into him again, drinking down the whines that slip out.

“You’ve got such a bubble butt, I never noticed before. But it like… bounces.” You say, wonder in your tone.

“Thanks, can you like tell me about it later?” He asks, voice strained.

Point taken.

Your thrust game is kind of shitty, in reality. It’s hard to find a rhythm, your hips not used to moving this way. But Jeongguk is moaning freely underneath you, just happy to have something inside of him after thinking about it all week. So you keep going, and eventually, the pattern comes to you, still kind of messy, but now you’ve got him cursing beneath you. You’ve got one hand on his ass, the other braced on his arched spine.

A particularly good thrust has Jeongguk burying his face into the bed, teeth biting at the bedding. “Yeah fuck-” He groans with his mouth full of blanket. With his hands now free, he brings them behind him and settles them on his cheeks and spreads.

You watch clearly as your cock sinks into Jeongguk’s ass. You’re out of breath, but you make sure to tell him how good he looks, how pretty his hole looks swallowing your cock, like it was made to take it.

“Wanna ride you.” He says. His voice is pitifully wrecked and he sounds so thoroughly fucked, you feel a little proud. Still, you’re grateful for a break. You don’t know how he fucks you like he does. ‘Topping’ is tiring. You pull out of him, and realize that when you were in awe of his hole at taking your fingers, it was premature. Jeongguk’s hole after he takes your cock is vulgar. It’s properly gaped now. Not huge, but around a fingers width.

He rolls over, and settles on his back like he just needs a moment. His chest is heaving, similar to yours. You hop off the bed, and a needy keen comes from him. You glance back at him, and he looks like he’s going to get up and follow you, but you hush him gently.

“I’m just getting some water, baby. I’ll be right back.”

He huffs flopping back onto his back. “Hurry please.” He whines.

You get back as soon as possible with a glass of water for you both to share. He sits up onto one elbow and makes a grabby hand for the cup after you’ve had your share. You swat his hand away and hold the cup to his lips. He hums, gulping the water down. He’s happy to be coddled and taken care of. When he finishes with a cute little gasp, you place the cup to the side, and brush your hand through his sweaty hair.

He butts his head against your palm and laughs. His eyes shut, and crinkled at the corners. His water break seems to have perked him up. His cock hasn’t deflated one bit. Rock hard and red, throbbing against his tummy. It’s messy and wet too.

You’re about to ask if he touched himself while you were inside of him, but before you can, you’re getting manhandled until he’s on top of you. He’s got your hands pinned above your head, and he smiles at you playfully, before leaning down to kiss you, deep and slow. He sucks on your lip, and slowly grinds his cock onto your belly, soft whines spilling from his tongue. He brushes his nose against yours as he sighs into your mouth, finally allowing himself the pleasure of paying attention to his cock.

He doesn’t allow himself relief for long, however. He’s sitting up and looking from side to side for the lube before finally spotting it. His movements are quick and hectic, like he’s too excited and overly eager.

You rub your hands over his strong thighs. “Hey, slow down. You don’t have to rush. We have all night.”

He sighs at your touch, and nods softly. He whispers. “Yeah… okay. I love you.”

The little affection makes you swoon, absolutely smitten. “I love you.” You squeeze at his legs, tenderly.

He hums. “Gonna ride you now.” He opens the lube and continues with eager actions, almost like you didn’t even slow him down just a moment ago. You smile fondly to yourself. Jeongguk’s too busy slicking up your cock again to notice the mushy look.

He’s got a hand reaching behind him and he’s gripping your cock to line it up with his hole. He wiggles to get into the right position before slowly starting to sink down. His eyebrows are pinched, and his mouth falls open. But his eyes roll back when he bottoms out. His hands are braced on your stomach.

“Oh, I love it like this.” He whimpers. His legs tense at your sides, almost like he’s trying to close his legs at the pleasure he feels from your cock being tucked inside of him, hitting all the right places. He starts to grind on your cock, soft pleasured little mewls just tumbling off his tongue.

He looks so good, whining, grinding on you with his weeping cock displayed. But you wanna see him lose it on your cock. See him fall apart at how good it feels, not watch him bask in it.

“Bounce on it.” You say, voice sounding almost as fucked out as his. You know your panties are soaked through at this point, pussy pulsing and neglected, tucked away behind the strap.

Jeongguk nods. “Yeah, wanna.”

He’s lifting himself off your cock to the tip before sliding down on it again, hard and fast. It punches a sharp gasp from his lungs. He finds a pace he likes and keeps it up, his thighs tensing, and his abs flexing as he tests his stamina, chasing that euphoric feeling he wants so so badly. He’s so strong and fit, bouncing up and down on your cock as loud unabashed moans fill the room.

The force of him riding you makes your tits jiggle, bouncing around until they catch his attention. He groans before his hands find them, squeezing hard, using them as leverage as he pulls and drags his hips over yours. Your cock must be rubbing over his prostate because he’s losing his mind. All kinds of noises leave his mouth, and the expressions he makes are filthy.

“Fuck baby. You make me feel so good. The best- I-” He eyes squeeze shut and his mouth opens in a silent moan, overwhelmed, before a guttural groan sounds from deep within his chest. “God. Wanna cum on your cock, baby. Fuck me-”

You laugh, wonderstruck, and kind of deliriously high on the satisfaction and fulfillment you get from seeing Jeongguk feel so just…. Good. “Yeah baby? You’re gonna cum for me? All over my cock?”

He whimpers and nods as he gets back to bouncing, a desperation to his movements that wasn’t there before. His cock is slapping against both of your stomachs with nasty wet noises due to his precum getting everywhere. You feel some fly and hit your neck, his cock just dripping, weeping and begging to cum.

It won’t be long though, before he cums. You feel the way his thighs tense, and he gets that confused look on his face, and he’s got that puzzled pitch to his moans. It’s the way he always gets when he cums untouched, always in awe that he can do it himself, without a hand around his cock. His whole body is flushed and hot to the touch, sweat making him glow in the soft light of your bedroom lamp.

He throws his head back, neck extended, and veins bulging, before looking down at his bouncing cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He’s so whiny and noisy when he moans.

“Yeah?” You ask again, “Do it baby, show me how. You can do it, cum for me.”

He’s nodding frantically, “Yeah- I’m gonna... Fuck, yes- Yeah, I’m-” He bounces a few more times, silent aside from the obscene squelching noises of your skin meeting, before his body tenses one last time before that string in him snaps. “Cumming-” He chokes it out. His moans don’t stop the whole time his cock shoots out his load, landing on your tummy. The moans even turn into cries, actual tears filling his eyes and falling down his cheeks. His body jerks and twitches with his orgasm. But still, he’s grinding on you, your cock still rubbing that spot inside of him, it’s like he never wants the feeling to end, even if it’s devastating, bordering on too much to handle.

You smooth your hands all over his sweaty body, before firmly placing them on his hips, stopping him. “Hey. You’re good, you did so good baby, you don’t have to keep going.”

Jeongguk’s cries are quiet, and he takes a few deep stuttering breaths to try and calm himself down, nodding with your soothing words. He rubs the back of his hand at his eyes, trying to dry them. It doesn’t help much, he’s calmed himself some but a few silent tears still make their way out, along with some soft hiccupping breaths.

“Lay down, and wait for me, hmm?” You whisper gently. He nods and lifts himself slowly, wincing at the sore ache in his hole. It’s more prevalent now that the pleasure has subsided. He all but collapses onto your pillow.

“I’m gonna get some more water, and a towel okay?”

He grunts in response.

Before you go, you strip out of the gear, just tossing it on the ground, eager to get back to Jeongguk after getting the things you need.

When you get back, he is in the same exact position, and you laugh lightly.

“Baby?” You ask, making sure he didn’t fall asleep.

Another grunt.

Good, he would hate you in the morning if you left him to sleep being so messy.

“Sit up, I have water and snacks and cleaning supplies.”

His head pops up. “Snacks?” His hair is sticking up on one side.

You laugh, endeared. He’s not crying anymore either, a good sign that he will be okay in just a little while after some kisses and love.

“Yeah, I got some of those seaweed chips you like, and some water.”

He sits up, leaning back on the pillows knowing the drill for after butt stuff. You hand him the water and the chips. He eats first.

“You hungry?” You ask, fitting yourself between his legs with the warm washcloth. He opens easily, munching away. You both are far past after sex shyness.

He talks with his mouth full. “Yeah. Jimin said not to eat the day off.”

You hum curiously, but don’t question it. Jimin partakes in butt stuff much more than you both.

You’ve got all the lube cleaned off his thighs and cheeks, now all that’s left is his hole. You do it as gently as you can, knowing he’s sore just from how red and swollen and puffy it is. But he still winces.

“How bad is it?” He mumbles.

You hesitate. “Um… You’re gonna be a little sore.” You tell him simply.

He groans, before downing his water. When he’s done, he says, “Practice is going to suck.”

You nod in agreement. It was. You wrap the used cloth in the blanket you used to protect your sheets, once again just tossing the bundle to the floor.

“Worth it though,” He smiles, pleased.

You chuckle as you find your place by him. He’s set his refreshments aside and lets you curl against him. His body sags with exhaustion when he feels your warmth press into him. You plant kisses on every inch of skin you can reach. He purrs.

“Why’d you keep going?” You ask, between smooches.

“I don’t know… it just felt so good. I guess I didn’t want it to stop.” He’s quiet, and his words are said on a sigh.

You nod, your kisses making your way to his lips. You just kiss him, slow and easy, for a few minutes until he yawns into it. He giggles.

“I’m so tired man.”

“I bet man.” You tease.

He kisses you one more time before asking, “Will you tickle my back until I fall asleep?” It’s hopeful and so sugary sweet.

“Yeah roll over.”

It’s barely a few minutes before you're met with his soft snores. You kiss his shoulder blade, before following right behind him.

~~~~

you ask for pegging and you shall receive :] i hope you liked it and that it met ur pegging standards askdkhjd as always, comments and feedback and asks and notes are loved and appreciated. thank you for reading friends ily :*

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softykooky · 4 years

Text

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.

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.

☾

8K notes · View notes

bsstories · 3 years

Text

House Rules

pairing: armin arlert x annie leonhart x fem!reader

rating: mature, nsfw, 18+. MINORS DNI

word count: 12.3k

genre: college au, modern au, friends-to-uhhh?, smut, fluff

summary: in which an intense game of uno among friends brings out the best and worst of its company, including a few secrets that incite more fun than was originally planned.

tags/warnings: sub!armin, dom!annie, switch!reader, college au, modern au, friends-to-uhhh?, fluff, smut (nsfw, threesome, degradation kink (m & f receiving), praise kink (m & f receiving), cunnilingus, blow jobs, ass-slapping, use of toys (vibrating cock ring, ropes, strap-on), use of restraints (ropes), orgasm denial, dumbification (m. receiving), dacryphilia, vaginal penetration, rimming, anal penetration (m. receiving), pegging, mommy kink, daddy kink, use of pet names (angel, beautiful, baby, baby girl, baby boy, etc), tongue sucking, spit kink, creampie (f. receiving), aftercare) if i missed anything please let me know.

You watch amusedly as your friends Annie and Armin bicker about Uno house rules from the floor of Annie's living room, taking a slow sip from your drink. The sweet and slightly bitter taste of cherry hit your taste buds before sliding down your throat.

You were currently nursing the nearly empty White Claw can in one hand, the other pushing your slightly sweat-dampened hair out of your face. Your Uno hand laid face down in front of you, untouched since the argument began five minutes prior.

The three of you had participated in a biannual game night together with a few of your other close high school friends as a way to see one another and catch up after graduating. Between this year being your last year in college and the first time working as an intern, you had very little time to socialize with anyone, let alone friends who didn't all go to the same college as you. But spring break provided the perfect opportunity for everyone to reconnect.

It was down to you three, your other friends leaving one by one as the night grew longer and the drink supply dwindled. You had been planning on staying overnight at Annie's apartment anyways, so it wasn't like you had anywhere else to be.

As for Armin?

He was adamant on winning this monster round of the card game, as it had dragged on for nearly an hour and he was too invested and too stubborn to just forfeit. For better or worse, Armin was never one to back down from a challenge, and Annie knew exactly which buttons to press to get him fuming.

When the game had originally started, there were still five more people hanging out, participating, or watching the round unfold. But they had grown tired and turned in for the rest of the night, and you didn't blame them one bit. You yourself were sleepy too, your eyes drooping and head tilting back against the squishy thrift store couch behind you.

You yawn and finish the rest of your drink, your head spinning just a bit from the alcohol in your system.

"You can't stack normal number cards! You can only stack draw two's or draw four's!" Armin stresses for the third time, his face pinched into an irritated scowl and his normally pale face a light shade of pink. You couldn't tell if it was from the drinks or his frustration with your friend, though knowing him, you suspected it was a mix of both.

Annie heaves a sarcastic sigh, lips curling up into a devious, cheshire-cat-like smile. "Says who? House rules are made up. And considering you're in my house, my house rules apply," she simpered, taking a dramatic sip from her Bang energy drink that she had mixed little too much tequila into.

You hear the boy grumble under his breath angrily and you have to stifle a laugh. He was too cute to appear actually angry and too tipsy to be taken seriously. "I can't fucking stand you sometimes," Armin mutters, finally picking up his cards and aggressively throwing a green four onto the existing pile.

"Hm? Wanna say that louder?" Annie pushed, leaning closer to the blonde-haired man and meeting his eyes with a look that almost dared him to speak up. Armin swallows thickly and clears his throat, shaking his head in response. "That's what I thought," the woman said, placing down a blue four on top of Armin's own card.

"Are you two done?" you ask exasperatedly, glancing between your two friends with a tired but fond look that made both of them smile.

"For now," Annie responds slyly. You and Armin both groan, heads tipping back in frustration. "What? You guys don't have to argue with me but you do it anyways. You can just admit that I'm right and you two are just little brats."

You gasp, feigning offense and dropping a blue eight in the messy discard pile. "Um, I was not a part of this fucking mess, I was watching it go down."

"Don't even pretend to be all innocent, you like being right more than Annie and I combined," Armin snips, using a wildcard to change the color to red. Annie swears under her breath, drawing three cards before pulling a red reverse card and placing it on to the pile.

"I never implied that I was or that I didn't," you say calmly. You turn to the other girl. "Can we all at least agree that Armin is the biggest brat here?”

Annie, and begrudgingly, Armin nod their heads in confirmation. The man scowls at you, sticking out his tongue. You just giggle, used to his childish antics, then stood. Yawning again, you stretch your arms over your head, missing the unsubtle glances your two friends steal of your exposed midriff and then exchange with one another. "I'm gonna grab another drink, anyone want one?"

Annie held up her half full Bang can in response. "I'll have whatever you're having," Armin requests. You nod, retrieving a bottle of Dr. Pepper, splitting the soda into two glasses, and adding a splash of Fireball for a little kick.

When you return, you raise your eyebrow at the disappearance of the Uno cards. Even more strange was the lack of Armin's typical pout when he didn't get what he wanted.

"Gave up on Uno?" You ask confusedly, settling back down in your spot on the floor and passing Armin's drink to him, fingers slightly brushing his during the pass off.

"Got bored," Annie states simply, shrugging her shoulders. Armin nods in agreement. You thought you felt a major shift in behavior and overall energy from two minutes ago, but you supposed it could just be you overthinking. You eye the two of them warily, suspicion creeping into your buzzed brain.

"Okay," you drawl. "Was there another game you had in mind?"

Armin and Annie make no effort to conceal their conspiratorial smiles, briefly making eye contact with one another. You huff, hating the feeling of being out of the loop and hating it even more when the two of them got along for long enough to scheme without you.

Your fingers unconsciously drum on the sides of your cup and you weren’t sure if it was from anxiety or restlessness.

"We were thinking truth or dare." Annie says, a playful smirk playing on her pink lips.

"What are we, thirteen?" You snort, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Come on, please? It could be fun." Armin whines, sounding so childish that you roll your eyes and send him a sharp glare at his tone, too tired to make fun of him. He promptly blushes, looking away from your intense gaze.

You sigh, shoulders slumping. "I guess since we have nothing better to do," you turn to Annie. "truth or dare?"

"Dare." Annie states with no hesitation. You expected nothing less from her, her impulsive nature and fiery wit being some of the most prominent aspects of her personality.

"Okay, I dare you to text that one conservative ex-hook up saying you miss him."

Annie rolls her eyes. "Lame," she deadpans, whipping out her phone and scrolling through her contacts. A few tapping-filled moments later, the subtle "whoosh" noise of a text being sent filled everyone's ears and the blonde turned her phone as evidence of her completed challenge. "My turn, bitch. Armin, truth or dare?"

"Truth," Armin responds, drinking from his glass lazily.

"Okay," she paused, looking around the room thoughtfully until her eyes landed on you. Without breaking eye contact, she asks, "Have you ever masturbated to one of us? If so, who?"

Armin, who had been taking another sip of his carbonated drink, choked on it, coughing a couple of times to clear his airway. You gently but firmly pat him on the back, giggling slightly under your breath, at which the blue-eyed man glared in response.

A sigh followed by a deep breath. He gingerly places his glass on the coffee table beside him before admitting, "Yeah, I have."

Annie and you both glance at each other with wide eyes. The blonde clears her throat. "Which one of us?"

Armin's eyes dart back and forth between the two of you for a second before he shakes his head. "That's two questions. Try again later." Annie opens her mouth to object but closes it after seeing your pointed stare in her direction, slowly slumping against the armchair behind her.

Armin calls out your name. "Truth or dare?" he asks, voice still a bit raspy from choking on his drink. A shiver travels down your spine at the sound and you had to pinch your thigh ground yourself.

"Truth," You answer, finishing your drink in one large gulp. Annie fake-coughs to cover a poorly masked "pussy" that taunts your decision. You flip her off in response, still holding eye contact with your male friend.

"What was the first thing you thought when Annie suggested a threesome between us when we stayed at the beach last summer?"

You freeze.

That weekend was one for the books. You and your friend group had stayed at a beach house for a long weekend to celebrate Annie turning twenty one. The beach itself was private, so only the residents or guests staying there had access to it. You had all gotten pretty lucky despite the fact that it wouldn't have been crowded anyways, as most of the tenants had been away or had been staying indoors.

Each day was spent in similar fashion: wake up, eat a nice breakfast of whatever someone had made that morning, go out to swim and sunbathe, play volleyball, break for lunch, more swimming, bonfire with s'mores and soft guitar-playing, and endless competitive rounds of Cards Against Humanity. There was one day, however, that stuck out to the three of you more than others.

You had been laying on your pink towel-covered beach chair, dressed up in a cute little yellow bikini and a snapback, soaking up the sun's rays and listening to the waves crashing on the shore. Some soulful R&B played out of your best friend Mikasa's speaker, and you could faintly hear the sounds of your other friends splashing and laughing in the water only a hundred feet away.

"You were wondering what?" You had perked up at the shrill question, propping yourself up on your elbows and pulling down your sunglasses a bit to see what was going on.

Annie and Armin were talking just a few feet away. Annie had been nonchalantly popping some chips into her mouth while Armin's hand, which held a fork speared through a particularly ripe strawberry, had stilled in mid-air on its way to his mouth in response to whatever ridiculous thing she had said.

Annie catches sight of your movement and breaks out into a grin. "Come join us! We were just talking about you," she said loudly. Armin cringed, finally biting down on the strawberry and chewing in a way that you could only describe as pouty.

"All good things, I hope," you had responded, swinging your legs over to the side of the lounge chair and standing to walk over to where your two friends sat on a red picnic blanket. You were acutely aware of both of them subtlety checking you out, instead finding yourself mesmerized by the ocean and it's gentle splashing against the shore. You took a deep breath, letting the scent of the saltwater breeze fill your lungs before exhaling, rolling out the tension in your shoulders.

Settling down beside the two, you reached into the bowl of fruit and fished out a few blueberries. As you ate, you gestured at Annie to continue.

A smirk blossomed on her sun-kissed face. "We were just talking about when we first met each other. Armin told me that the first time you two hung out, he said that he'd let you fuck him. Is that right?"

You snorted, caught off guard by the sudden question. "Yeah, basically. Why?" You could see Armin fidgeting with his swim shorts in your peripherals, glancing up at you every once in a while before looking away. Focusing back on the girl in front of you, you shoved the rest of your blueberries into your mouth.

"I was just suggesting that since all of us are queer and pretty close already that we should definitely have a threesome."

This time, you choked. After a moment of struggling, you swallowed the fruit and coughed, reaching for a bottle of water while a disbelieving laugh erupts from your chest. "Actually?" you had inquired once you regained your breath.

Annie shrugged. "Why not? We're all hot as fuck, we already established that we would fuck each other if given the chance, and we're sexually compatible. You're a switch, Armin is a sub, and I'm a dom. It's perfect!"

You had made eye contact with Armin, who was anxiously biting his lip. Gaze sweeping over his face to look for a reaction, you only found the slight increase in his breathing and the disappearance of his freckles masked behind a dark blush. You weren't used to him being so quiet while you discussed things like this.

"I suppose you're not wrong."

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about either of your friends in a sexual way. Given the fact that you were not only queer but your friends were incredibly attractive, it might've been more weird if you hadn't thought about fucking them.

You squirm nervously, invasive thoughts barging their way into your brain of the three of you together on a bed, a couch, a countertop... Gulping quietly, you press your thighs together in a meek attempt to calm the throbbing of your core.

Annie and Armin look at you expectantly and you want to crawl into yourself, hide your body and face away from their scrutinizing gaze. Instead, you jut out your chin, feigning indifference, and reply, "Well, at first I thought she was kidding. But when I thought about it, I definitely thought it'd be super hot. We all find each other attractive and at the end of the day we are really close, so I hypothetically wouldn't mind trying it out."

"So, hypothetically, if one of us dared the other to kiss you and it led to something more, you'd be into it?"

"Annie, we already established that it's one truth or one dare at a time." You admonish, dodging the question cheekily. You could almost see the girl's eyes darken at your statement.

"Armin, truth or dare?" She asked, swirling around the remnants of her energy monstrosity and refusing to make eye contact with you.

"Dare," the boy answered after little hesitation. Annie's face breaks into a wicked grin.

"I dare you to make out with our favorite little switch over here," she gestured to you. Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you supposed that you weren't surprised. You were pretty much asking for her to do this when you refused to answer her follow up question.

The tension was so thick it was almost suffocating. Other than the faint sound of Frank Ocean playing in the background, it was almost silent in Annie's living room.

Armin turns to you, a playful look taking over his androgynous features. He crawls closer to you, not stopping until his face was just inches from yours. "Is that okay with you?" He murmured, settling in front of you.

You think back to all the times your touches lingered on one another for a second too long, or when one of you dropped a compliment that was just a little bit too flirty to be considered nice. The times where it was just the two of you hanging out, your playful banter turning a little more naughty more often than not, tone switching from playful to provocative.

You study his face for a moment. You could see the obvious dilation of his pupils, the scar on his nose from a sunburn that never healed quite right... His freckles were close enough to be counted one by one like the stars of a clear night sky.

Letting your tongue dart out to wet your lips, you take a breath to collect yourself before reaching up to cup the nape of his neck, threading your fingers through the soft baby hairs that found purchase there. Armin shivers under your light touch and leans into your hand.

"More than okay," you whisper. Tentatively, the two of you lean closer - both weary of disrespecting boundaries - until Armin impatiently closes the gap between the two of you and...

Oh.

His lips are soft, gentle... and his light touches were even more so. One of his hands warily moves to cup your face, thumb lightly brushing over your cheek. Though he was the one to initiate it, you took the lead in the kiss, your free hand snaking its way around his torso and pressing into his back, not-so-subtlety urging him to come closer. You feel him gasp into your mouth at the feeling of your hand pulling him close you and you take the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth. The two of you let out twin sighs when you tasted the sweet flavor of cherry on one another, accented by the cinnamon bite of Fireball.

The kiss turns heated and needy gradually, teeth lightly nipping at one another's lips and tongues gently being caressed. You break away from his intoxicating lips to trail open mouthed kisses along his jaw and down the column of his neck, sucking marks here and there just to hear more of his pretty noises. Low groans tumble from the boy's lips, much to your enjoyment, as you toy with him.

From the corner of your eye you spot Annie, eyes clouded with lust and lip caught between her teeth. You could see her chest heaving at the sight and watch as her gaze darted from where your teeth nipped at the skin of his jugular to where his thumb massaged slow circles on your hip.

"Annie," you say breathily, catching her attention almost immediately. "Truth or dare?"

Annie's eyes follow Armin's hands as he gripped your waist and pulls you into his lap. Her fists clench at her sides and you barely catch her adjusting herself to get slightly more comfortable. "Dare."

"I dare you to come join us," you say, hands resting on Armin's firm chest as he dips his head down to suck a hickey on to your neck. An airy moan leaves your bitten lips at the sensation.

Annie doesn't even bother responding. Looking a bit too similar to a cat, a low growl-like sound rumbles from her throat as she all but pounces on you and Armin. She takes Armin's jaw firmly in her hand and pulls him into a rough, messy kiss.

You watch, mesmerized, as she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs, a low whine escaping the boy's mouth. Annie chuckles, running a hand through his light hair before fisting a chunk of it, pulling his head back to expose the milky skin of his neck.

A small yelp morphs into a moan as Annie traces over his throat with the tip of her tongue, Armin's eyebrows furrowing in pleasure. You can't help but slowly move your hips over his own, feeling desperately horny just watching them. The feeling of your now-slick panties sticking to your folds and dampening your jeans has you ready to tear off your clothes at a moment's notice.

When Annie's mouth reaches Armin's collarbone, she presses a slow kiss to his red lips before turning her head to you.

"Come here, baby," she coos, index finger and thumb gripping your chin before gently pulling you closer to her. The kiss was slow, sensual compared to the one she had shared with Armin. Her hands are gentle, holding your face between them with soft thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

Feeling her suck on your tongue has you whimpering into her mouth and tasting the pineapple and coconut flavor of her drink. As she toys with the soft muscle, you grind harder onto Armin's lap and feel his growing arousal beneath you, as well as the light rumble of a groan under your hands.

Annie pulls away abruptly. "Bedroom. Now."

You and Armin don't need to be told twice, practically stumbling over your feet and each other trying to pile in. Annie strolls in behind the two of you, a prominent air of dominance and leisure emanating from her as she enters her room.

You and your male friend had found yourselves on the bed, your thighs straddling his lap and pelvis grinding slow circles on to his own. His hands play with the hem of your shirt and you're close to begging him to take it off.

"What am I going to do with the two of you," Annie muses, watching you two hastily break apart at the sound of her voice. And as soon as you make eye contact with the blonde, steely blue eyes practically staring into your soul, you scramble to move into a less compromising position.

She taps her chin mock-thoughtfully before her eyes light up. You gulp, knowing that whatever she was thinking was probably either really good or really bad. "Armin, truth or dare?"

Armin gapes at her, gaze darting to you in confusion. He was obviously unaware that the game had continued into the bedroom.

Admittedly, you had also thought it ended once Annie joined in with you two, but you weren't going to admit that.

Annie raised an eyebrow, watching Armin fumble, his mouth opening and closing with no sound or semblance of an answer coming out. She leans closer to him, lips brushing the shell of his ear before nipping it. "I'm not going to ask you twice."

Armin released a shuddering breath.

"Truth," he replies shakily, eyes trained on Annie's hands, fingertips every so slowly grazing his chest over his thin shirt and moving dangerously close to his nipples.

Annie pulls back, brushing his cheek with her knuckles. "When you masturbate to both of us, who's topping you?" she asks in a tone far too innocent for the content of her question.

Armin bites his lip. He peers at both you and your other female friend, slowly scanning you both up and down with glazed eyes. His tongue darts out to lick his dry lips. "Both of you," he finally admits quietly. Annie sniffed, grabbing his hair again and forcing him to look at her in the eyes.

"Can you repeat that? I didn't hear you," she snaps. It was obvious that the question was not a request. Your legs press together, only a little bit surprised by your own growing arousal at her sharp tone.

"Are you sure you're not going deaf?" he snips, nose scrunching irritably at her inquiry. Your hand slaps over your mouth; this was not going to end well for your friend.

Annie's eyebrows raise and her grip moves from his hair to his jaw. You have to hold back a moan when Armin whimpers pathetically, his blue eyes glassy and mouth agape. Annie's nails slightly dig into the soft skin of his jaw as she whispers something into his ear.

"Both of you," he repeats, much louder this time. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was very affected by whatever the woman had told him. Annie released her hold on him with a smirk.

"That's a good boy," she praises, causing Armin to turn a delicious shade of red. She steps back and scans you both, hands on her hips and lips slightly pursed. "Strip down to your underwear. Both of you."

You and Armin exchanged anxious, but excited, looks before standing to undress yourselves. Before you can even begin though, "nuh uh," Annie intervenes, halting you both from shedding your shirts. "Be nice little whores and help each other out."

The two of you freeze, staring at each other like deer caught it headlights. You timidly make the first move, your stomach fluttering in excitement. Fingers dancing along the zipper of his green jacket, you gently pull it off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. His chest heaves in anticipation, neck flushed pink to match his blushing face.

A smile grows on your lips and the satisfaction of having someone be putty in your hands has your head buzzing. You take far less time to remove his t-shirt, pulling it off his head in one well timed yank. Your eyes dart to Annie. "Can I please touch?" you ask, eyes round and pleading.

Annie has to take a deep breath herself, her resolve just one pout away from dissolving completely. "Yes, you may, baby girl."

Your chest flutters at the praise and you waste no time exploring Armin's toned body, fingertips brushing against his collarbones, chest, abs, before gripping on to his biceps and pulling him into a kiss. Armin hums against your lips, pulling you closer to his body by your waist. Large hands travel down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze that has you gasping. You glare at him, receiving an innocent grin in response. "Next time you touch me without permission, you don't get to finish before you make Annie and I come at least twice."

Armin just giggles, massaging your soft flesh beneath his palms. "I'd like to see you try," he taunts. Your eyes widen at his brazen attitude. It was clear that he was not nearly as intimidated by you as he was Annie. You look at the girl, who is desperately trying to mask an amused smile. When she spots your irritated glare, however, she turns on her heel to her closet and retrieves an open amazon box.

"Come here, princess," she says sweetly, watching as you flounce up to her. You shoot Armin a teasing smirk and his own smile drops, seemingly realizing that he had majorly fucked up. "Since Minnie over there won't stop being a little brat towards us, you get to pick out the toy we use to play with him."

Annie sees your eyes light up in excitement as you look down at her vast collection of toys. Biting your lip, you rummage through the box until you find a baby blue vibrating cock ring. She chuckles, giving you a slap on the ass that makes you squeak in surprise. "Excellent choice, baby. Why don't you help our pretty little slut finish getting undressed? I'll get the lube so you can put his present on."

"With pleasure," you simper, turning back to the boy you and your friend were going to have way too much fun messing with. His eyes widen when he spots the cock ring in your hands and he immediately whimpers. Immediate satisfaction fills your chest when you notice how nervous he gets the closer you stride to him.

"C'mon, baby, I was just joki-" you cut Armin off, hand wrapping around his throat and pulling his face down to yours, lips barely an inch apart.

"I don't remember giving you permission to call me that. Since when do you think you can make requests around here?" You feel him swallow under your palm. In your peripherals you see Annie turn back around, lube in hand. "Annie, what do you want our little slut to call you?"

The other girl's blue eyes twinkle at your question. She stalks over to where Armin's neck is still caught in your hand, running her nails down his arm to make him shiver. "It's daddy to you tonight. Got it?"

Armin whines quietly and nods.

"Words, bitch. Or are you too much of a dumb little whore to speak? Are you already so turned on that we don't even have to fuck you dumb for you to go mute?"

"Y-yes daddy," he says, trying and failing to subtlety cross his legs to relieve the discomfort of his cock straining against the tightness of his jeans.

"You can keep going, princess. If he gives you any more trouble, he won't cum at all tonight." Annie states, slipping off her own shirt and shorts, leaving her standing in a slightly lacy pair of black lingerie. Your eyes drag down her toned figure and you can feel the stream of arousal further soaking your panties.

"Yes, daddy," you reply, swiftly removing Armin's black jeans and, after confirming with Annie, his boxers as well. The second his dick was let out of its confining material, Armin lets out a relieved moan, head tipping back. His cock was hard and heavy, resting against his toned stomach with the head leaking precum on to his skin. The shaft was pale with pretty veins running up and down the sides, straining from how long it had been left untouched. It was turning red at the top of the head from the constant grinding and rubbing it endured thanks to you and his jeans.

You had licked your lips earlier at his size alone when you saw it tenting in his boxers, but seeing it without being obstructed by fabric almost had you drooling at it's girth and length. Pushing the man on to the bed and pressing his chest down into the mattress, you squirt a bit of lube on to your fingers, warming it up a bit before coating the toy and his shaft in it. The second your hand makes contact with the silky skin of his cock, Armin lets out a loud, frustrated whine. "It's your own fault we're in this situation, baby," you say softly, voice dripping in faux sympathy.

"I didn't mean it! I know I'm just a brat, I didn't mean it!" he cries, voice cracking into a moan when you finally slipped the blue ring snuggly onto the base of his dick. You leave it off for now, wanting to save the real show for later.

"Don't even think about touching yourself," you murmur into his ear, giving his cock a sadistic squeeze just to hear him groan.

Annie clears her throat. "Actually, I can help with that." You turn back to her, who was unashamedly checking out your ass through your jeans. She bites the inside of her cheek and strides forward.

Her hands reach out, fingers looping through your belt loops and pulling you flush against her body. "Why don't we make sure his hands don't make their way anywhere they shouldn't?" She holds up the hand not occupying your waist, slender fingers curled around baby blue ropes that matched Armin's eyes and the cock ring perfectly.

"Great idea," you agree, yelping at the sudden sharp slap against one of your ass cheeks. "daddy," you add.

A smirk stretches across her lightly tanned face and in seconds, Armin's hands were expertly tied behind his back in intricate knots that Annie clearly had experience using. When she finished, she drew your body back into her own, ignoring Armin's pout entirely.

"You've been being such a good girl, gorgeous. Do you want help taking these off?" she questioned, trailing her fingers down your hips.

"Yes. Please, daddy," you affirm, all too ready to be free from the constricting material. Annie unbuttons your pants and yanks them down your legs, letting you step out of them. You vaguely register Armin whimpering on the bed, eyes glued to your each and every curve, but Annie pressing trails of kisses up your leg had blood rushing to your ears, leaving you totally distracted.

You're so turned on that every press of her lips against your skin feels like a branding. You half expect to see her lip print seared into the plush skin of your thighs when she pulls away, a permanent reminder that she had claimed you as hers tonight. And as she gets closer to where you need her most, she grins and pulls off, making you grown internally at the discontinued contact.

"We're going to use the color system. I don't want to actually hurt either of you, unless you're into that," Annie winked. "Green means that we can keep doing whatever it is we're doing, yellow means wait a moment for me to catch up, and red means stop. We can say it at anytime and must respond verbally if asked. And, if you're not able to talk, tap whoever's closest three times. Got it, sluts?"

You and Armin both agree, eager to finally be fucked stupid.

"Now. Look at me brat," she snapped, getting Armin's attention immediately. "I'm going to give our princess her reward for being a good girl and following directions. If you even make a little bit of noise, you won't get to cum at all. And if we decide that you deserve to cum after learning your lesson, we'll let you free. Understand?"

Armin looked ready to object, but after seeing your glare, he glumly nods his head. "Yes, daddy."

Annie smiles, turning her attention to you. She captures your lips in hers, a sensual yet sloppy kiss that took your breath away for the nth time that night. "You can touch," she breathed in between kisses and you eagerly grab handfuls of her plump ass. She sighs, content with the feeling of your soft hands on her.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful, daddy," You whisper, leaning into her neck to suck a hickey along her jaw. Her head tips to the side to allow you to mark her, fingers tenderly threading through your hair and teasingly playing with the straps of your bra.

"You should see yourself, babe. Armin, doesn't our princess look absolutely ravishing?" she asks, taking your hand and slowly spinning you so the boy could take in the way your matching panty set complimented every curve of your body.

He opened his mouth to respond, but upon remembering what would happen if he spoke, he nodded enthusiastically. You giggle at his reaction and turn back to the woman behind you, whose eyes devoured the sight of your scantily clad form.

Annie steps closer, running her hands down your body tenderly and making your hair stand on end, chills running down your spine. "Daddy, please stop teasing," you whisper desperately, her touch driving you more and more crazy with every brush of her fingertips.

She wordlessly obliges, pulling you into a messy kiss that was all tongue and teeth. Her hands slide their way down your sides to your thighs, breaking apart from you briefly to mumble "jump" against your lips. Strong arms prevent you from slipping out of her embrace, her fingers slightly digging into your soft skin to support you. She throws you on the bed beside Armin before climbing on top of you.

Pressing short, sloppy kisses down from your lips to your neck to your chest, Annie's nimble hands make quick work of removing your bra, leaving you almost completely bare in front of two of your best friends. You typically would have felt a bit more bashful being naked in front of people who you had never been so exposed to before, but the way the two of them took you and your figure in had you feeling more confident than you ever normally would have been. "Fuck," Annie swears, reaching towards your chest to knead your breasts. "Armin, baby, aren't these the most perfect pair of tits you've ever seen?"

You spare a glance over towards Armin. His teeth are digging into his lower lip so hard that part of you was worried he was going to draw blood and his eyes were glassy from how frustrated he was.

It was a wonderful sight.

The feeling of Annie's lips finally catching a nipple between them brings you back to the present, a surprised gasp escaping you at the feeling. Her teeth bite at the sensitive bud harshly before soothing the pain with the flat of her tongue, gently sucking in a way that snatches the air away from your lungs.

Leaving one of your now hard and swollen nipples alone, she decorates the tender surrounding skin with love bites, never leaving too big a patch untouched. It was becoming impossibly hard to resist touching yourself, you could hardly imagine how worked up Armin was getting.

A particularly rough nip to the supple skin ripped a high pitched moan from your throat, back arching off of Annie's sheets and chest pushing closer to the woman's face. As she switches to your second breast, she glances up at you, a sly smile stretching across her face and a lust-filled gaze studying you through full eyelashes.

"Do you like when daddy plays with your titties, gorgeous?" she said lowly, tongue tracing around your puffy skin. You had to force yourself to answer with words.

"Yes, I do. I love it so much," you breathe, a hand moving up to card through the dangerously beautiful girl's hair. You watch her icy blue eyes dart to the shared brat beside you, whom she had been promptly ignoring since she began to worship your chest.

"Armin," she exclaimed sweetly, pinching and pulling at your nipples to keep you stimulated. "Would you like to get a taste of mommy's pretty tits?"

You could feel blood rush to your face and to your pussy at the name; the gush of your arousal following it was something that didn't necessarily shock you but the use of it now definitely caught you off guard.

The boy nods frantically, the beginning of a pout starting to present itself on his face and his big, blue eyes widening almost comically.

"Do you think you deserve it?" she questioned, reaching out to push his damp hair out of his flushed face. Armin shudders at even the faintest touch, a whine escaping his throat before he could even begin to think about stopping it. He freezes, eyes cautiously studying Annie's stoney glare to see if she was upset. Evidently, she decided to let it slide, adding, "You can speak."

"Yes," he responds almost immediately. "I haven't made a single sound without your permission. Please let me touch you and mommy, I need it,"

Annie turns to you, her hands running up and down the man's chest. Each time she raked her nails back down, she would get more and more close to his painfully hard length. Armin squirmed, muscles clenching as he tried to ignore her touch. "What do you think, angel?" she asks, ignoring the blonde that she was teasing.

You briefly ponder the proposition, running your hands down your chest and stomach just to rile the two of them up. You were having way too much fun teasing the two of them because even though Annie definitely established herself as a dom, both her and Armin easily became putty at your hands. Playing with the band of your panties, you finally respond, "He was doing so good right up until you touched him. I say we keep him waiting just a bit longer."

Annie nods in agreement before moving towards you. You stop her though - a sudden brilliant idea striking you - leaning to whisper in her ear, "Can I play with him for just a bit?"

She laughs loudly, the sound surprisingly bright and airy in comparisin to the cold façade she carefully sculpted and maintained around strangers. But you and the people she held dear were able to view the brighter, less severe side of her, one that was a tease and loved to mess with her friends but wouldn't hesitate to break someone's arm if they tried to do the same.

Gazing at her in admiration, you press a kiss to her cheek and feel her lightly pat your ass to urge you forward on your hands and knees. A well placed slap following the more tender moment has you moaning and arching your back, another pretty chuckle making your stomach flutter.

Armin looks at you warily from where he's kneels on the bed, back hunched and shoulders slumped forward from the tension of the restraints. You smile sweetly and move to press feather light kisses down his chest, abs, and thighs, dancing around the part of him that demanded the most attention. Your mouth waters at just the sight of his dick being throttled by the pretty blue toy; you want it in your mouth as soon as possible.

"Mommy," he whines. Your hole flutters around nothing at the name and you swallow a moan. "Please, please touch me. Do anything you want, I don't care, just please touch me."

You cock your head, settling on your stomach. Clearly, the brat has no fucking clue what he's giving you and Annie permission to do, and you can practically feel the excitement radiating off of the woman beside you. Now eye-level with his cock, you bat your eyes up at him. "Really? I can do anything?"

A frantic nod from the boy sets off so much desire in your chest that you don't even bother to correct him for not verbally responding to your question.

"Okay, baby, but remember," you reach out and loosely grip his length, hearing the man suck in a breath.

"You asked for this."

Your lips wrap around the flushed and leaking tip of his cock, a depraved whine leaving his swollen pink lips and his hips unconsciously rutting forward, trying and failing to push his length down your throat. Bringing a hand to his hip to keep him in place, you begin to leisurely bob your head on Armin's cock. The taste of precum spreads across your tongue, and though it definitely wasn't the best taste in the world, your turned-on brain had you wanting to sucking on his dick like it was a lollipop just so you can keep tasting it.

Pulling off of him to catch your breath, you let a blob of spit dribble from your lips and on to Armin's aching length, jerking him off in slow, languid strokes that made his steady stream of moans speed up. You watch his face scrunch up in pleasure, head tipped back and adam's apple bobbing furiously. His whole body had adopted the baby pink flush his face had taken on. He would have looked angelic if it weren't for the ropes binding his hands behind his back and cock ring fitted snug on the base of his most intimate area.

Annie, never one to enjoy being left out, runs her nails down your back lightly to make you shiver, making their way to your panties. She kneads the soft, supple flesh of your thighs and ass, a soft sigh rumbling from your throat causing Armin to jolt forward with a loud moan. Propping you up on your hands and knees, she spreads your cheeks and chuckles lowly. If it weren't for the amount of fun you were having watching Armin desperately try to get off to no avail, you would have stopped just to see Annie's reaction to your ruined underwear.

"Look at this mess you've made," she tuts playfully, hand unexpectedly cupping your pussy and drawing a gasp out of you, your hips pushing back into her hand in a lame attempt to receive more friction. "Is this for me?"

You nod, pulling off of Armin's spit-covered length to whine, "It is, daddy. I need you to touch me so bad, I can't wait any longer."

Annie doesn't respond to your pleas verbally, instead choosing to yank the ruined fabric down your legs unceremoniously and bring her attention to your sopping wet heat. The groan that leaves her throat is almost feral, the look in her eyes more so as she eyes your pussy hungrily.

"I can't believe I haven't seen this pretty pussy before now," she wonders aloud, voice dropping lower in pitch at the sight. Her middle finger dips experimentally into your hole and spreads your arousal around your blushing folds. Even that little bit of contact has you jerking violently and you gag as Armin's cock unexpectedly slides down your throat, your high pitched moan muffled by the intrusion.

The feeling of your throat constricting so tightly around him sends Armin into a frenzy, now thrusting with reckless abandon and chasing a high that will never be received. The ring that serves as a barrier to Armin's release bumps into your lips with every sharp snap of his hips.

Annie hums, rubbing slow circles on to your clit with her thumb and watching with almost crude fascination as you desperately try to receive more friction, tears building up in your eyes from both desperation and Armin's cock repeatedly rutting into your throat.

Armin whimpers, and you look up at him, tears now freely falling down your cheeks as you gag and choke on his dick. Even though part of you was annoyed with the brat, you couldn't help but admire his features: the elegant lines of his jaw and neck, the light sheen of sweat making his body glow in the dim lighting, the muscles that strain from the effort his body was exerting... Almost as if he senses your gaze, he takes one look at your face and groans in pleasure and frustration. Speeding up his movements further, you have to actively coax your throat to relax and your nose to do it's fucking job, growing lightheaded from the lack of oxygen.

Meanwhile, Annie begins to rub faster circles on your clit, nipping hickies on your inner thighs and on the bottom swell of your ass. You don't bother to stop the moans spilling from your lips and instead focus on deepthroating the little whore who was growing more and more frustrated with his inability to get off.

Armin's cock suddenly slips from your mouth, and though you're relieved to give your aching jaw a break and your burning lungs the air it deserved, you still find yourself disappointed that you didn't have him down your throat anymore. You vaguely register the sound of the boy sniffling and turn to see tears of frustration spilling from his pretty blue eyes. The feeling of your heart clenching at the sight is interrupted by Annie's voice.

"Hey, baby?" Annie prompted, the circles she was rubbing on your clit slowing down to a pace that almost has you growling in annoyance.

"Yes, daddy?" you refrain the urge to grouch.

"Turn on Armin's cock ring and ignore him." You throw a surprised glance over your shoulder and barely catch the horrified look that settles on the man's face. But she doesn't look at you. Annie's hard stare is trained on the boy. "Don't think I didn't notice you practically suffocating mommy because you were so fucking desperate. Is that dumb little brain of yours so empty that you forgot that the fucking cock ring will physically stop you from cumming?"

Armin whimpers, head drooping ashamedly. "I forgot, daddy. I'm sorry, mommy." he whispers, his now-loud sniffling catching your attention once again. You sense that all of this is getting a bit too intense for him, gently stroking his thigh and pressing feather light kisses on the pale skin.

"Color?" you prompt quietly. Armin looks up, eyes glassy.

"Green," he mumbles. You arch a brow, disbelieving. A deep sigh escapes him, knowing that you didn't believe him in the slightest. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

You're immediately up on your knees, bringing the boy in for a reassuring kiss and feeling him melt into your comforting embrace. "Baby, I didn't mind. In fact, I like when you're rough with me. I'm a big girl! I can handle it. And if I truly couldn't breathe or wanted you to stop, I would've tapped you. Remember?" you soothe, tucking his blonde hair behind his ear.

Armin sighs in relief, visibly relaxing before nodding in confirmation. He nuzzles his face into your palm, delicately kissing the smooth skin before replying, "Okay. Yeah, I remember. I'm good, don't worry. Green. For sure this time."

The two of you exchange soft smiles... before his own drops, head immediately snapping to where your hand had just switched on the cock ring he evidently forgot about. He lets out high pitched moan and you press one last kiss to his lips, feeling a little less bad about how frustrated he was.

Once again, you're brought back to earth by Annie's fingers, making it clear she was getting impatient from her lack of action. Her middle finger traces around your eager hole before slowly pushing in, and the feeling of finally having internal stimulation after waiting for so long nearly has you shaking. "Fuck, daddy, I need more," you whine. You would have been embarrassed by the sound of your own pleas, but you were so horny that your dignity had promptly exited the premises.

"Hm, do you now?" Annie teases, curling the one digit up into the part of you that makes your eyes roll back.

"Yes! I do, I've been such a good girl, please." Your eyes were beginning to water and you slump back down on all fours, ass pushing back against the teasing woman's finger unabashedly. When she adds a second one and begins pumping them into you faster, the tears pricking the corners of your eyes threaten to spill. They actually do when she curls her digits again, a moan leaving your lips as they abuse your walls over and over again.

Squelching noises and moans are some of the only things you can hear as you lose yourself in the feeling of Annie's skilled appendages, arms shaking with the effort it was taking for you to hold yourself up. When her fingers abruptly slide out of you, the whine that was ready to slip out is immediately silenced by the feeling of your ass being spread apart, a glob of spit landing directly on your slit.

You were already dripping, but knowing that she had a part of her mixing in with your essence has Annie licking her lips. Rubbing the saliva all around your drenched core with the two soaked fingers that had initially been stuffed into your tight hole, she brings them to her lips, groaning at the taste of you and eagerly cleaning them up.

She breaks, motivated by your taste and your begging, finally burying her face in between your legs. "Oh, fuck!" you gasp, the sudden oral assault of your core catching you off-guard after what felt like a lifetime of teasing. The tip of Annie's tongue parts your lower lips before circling around your clit and you can just feel the vibrations of her amused chuckle against the needy bud.

The wet muscle gathers up the juices that made your pussy looking absolutely ravishing, the taste filling Annie's mouth. She groans against you, kneading your plush ass as she sucks your puffy clit into her mouth, tip of her tongue lapping at it harshly.

At this point, you're grinding your core against her face, desperately trying to get as close to Annie's talented mouth as possible. The lewd noises of the woman's mouth sloppily eating you out paired with the harmony created by your's and Armin's moans has you gushing, your head and belly buzzing at the overwhelming amount of stimulation.

You're brought down to your elbows when Annie's tongue finally pushes into your fluttering hole, back arching and arms stretching out at the feeling of it brushing against your walls. "Shit! Right there, daddy," you cry out when one of her thumbs comes up to rub tight circles on your clit. Her nose brushes the tender skin separating your pussy from your ass when she fucks her tongue in and out of you, the muscle curling up against the spongy spot that has you seeing stars. Your nipples, already sensitive from Annie's ministrations, brush lightly against the sheets and send shockwaves to your pussy.

Between her tongue and her thumb, Annie already has you tipping on the edge of release. The coil in your tummy felt ready to snap at any moment, and Annie sucking your clit into her mouth again sends you over. You cry out, feeling your arousal gushing from your hole. Your thighs shake from the intensity of your first, long-overdue orgasm.

Annie helps you ride it out as long as possible, tongue swiping across your puffy lips to collect your juices. "Fuck," she exclaims, pulling back from you, face glistening. She looks at Armin and beckons him towards her.

"Would you like to try mommy's pussy? It's the sweetest one I've ever had," she tells him, kissing his jaw while she waits for a reply. You roll on to your back, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath after one of the best orgasms you've ever had. But Annie's words to your shared sub already has you up and ready to go again, nerves set alight by her tone alone.

"Yes please, daddy."

One of Annie's hands grabs the sides of Armin's face, squishing his cheeks and forcing his mouth open. She spits a mix of your juices and her saliva right on to his tongue, groaning as she watched the boy swallow it obediently.

"Good boy."

You urge yourself to not whine as well when she captures his lips in a deep kiss, tongues tangling together briefly. When they break away from one another, a thin string of saliva connects the two of them.

You can't help but admire their beauty.

The prettiest pink blush dusts the tip of Armin's nose and his high cheekbones, big blue eyes wide as a doe's, clearly not used to being praised nor being treated so gently... at least not by Annie.

"Do you wanna prove to me and mommy that you've learned your lesson?" Annie questions, tweaking Armin's pert nipples to watch him squirm.

"Yes, daddy, I do! I've learnt my lesson, I promise." His eagerness is adorable, and one glance to his red and aching cock confirms what you already know: he wants it off, and he wants it off now.

You don't blame him, of course. It was hard enough to wait for any sort of stimulation, but at least you weren't constantly teetering on the edge of orgasm and never being allowed to finish. Your nose scrunches distastefully at the mere thought of it.

"Okay, baby." Annie looks over at you, lost in thought for a moment. You can practically see the lightbulb flicker on, however, a devious smile playing on her lips before she speaks to the two of you. "Brat," Armin sheepishly meets Annie's eyes. "I'm gonna have you help me out while mommy gets you prepped for me to take you. Understood?"

Armin looks slightly confused, but not even a second later the implications of her words dawn on him. His eyes grow even larger, which you had no idea was even possible and an eager whine escapes him. "Yes, daddy. I understand. If I do a good job can you please take off my binds? I wanna touch you and mommy so bad it hurts," he pouts, and your inner soft dom melts at the sight. You join him in making pleading eyes at Annie, who takes a deep breath before sighing in defeat.

"Fine. But only because you two have the awful ability of coercion," she deadpans, the smile tugging at the corners of her lips reassuring you that she's not actually annoyed.

As you go to retrieve the necessary supplies, Annie makes herself comfortable. Her back relaxes against the headboard and she shimmies out of her panties, tossing them to the side carelessly.

You almost drop the bottle of lube when you return in time to see the athletic girl spread her legs, exposing her absolutely stunning core to you and Armin. Her pretty pink folds were flushed, glimmering with her juices despite the minimum light that just barely illuminated her room. Her clit was already puffed up in arousal and you had never wanted to eat a pussy more.

It seemed as if Armin agreed with you, laying on his chest to get face level with Annie's heat. His cute little ass sticks up in the air in preparation for you and you bite your lip, the sight turning you on like nothing else could.

Not being able to resist joining in when Armin provides the first kitten lick to Annie's core, you stride over, fully intending to have the best view in the house. Annie's breathless gasp sounds deceivingly innocent, but her hands gripping her ankles and holding them open so confidently gives away that she does, in fact, get around. Part of you is impressed, while another flares up in what you surprisingly (and begrudgingly) have to admit is jealousy.

Shaking your head to refocus on the moment, you run your hands over Armin's ass and knead it gently. You simply can't help yourself. The man had a nice butt, one that could almost rival Annie's. And you made sure he knew how much you appreciated it by pressing kisses on each cheek, his little gasps being muffled by his mouthful of Annie's pussy.

You trail the now-sloppy kisses closer to his hole. The skin was a light pink that matched the natural flush of the rest of his body, puckered and inviting in a way that leaves you increasingly more wet. Spurred on by the sounds of Annie's light moans and gasps, as well as the wet noises of Armin lapping at the woman's pussy like a cat, you spread his cheeks and start experimentally tracing around his hole with the tip of your tongue.

If you and Annie thought his moans were loud before when it had only been the agonizing cock ring teasing one of his most sensitive spots, then you severely underestimated him. The cry he lets out at the first couple licks is high and whiny, making you and Annie both smirk at the sound.

"Now, now, baby, don't get too distracted now. You still have to prove you've learnt your lesson," Annie scolds, a hand guiding Armin's head back between her legs and keeping him there. Her other one lazily pushes off the straps of her bra and pulls it down enough to play with her breasts. You were almost sad that you were too busy rimming Armin and getting him ready for Annie to suck on the woman's gorgeous tits, her nipples the prettiest shade of pink, but you were loving your task at hand enough for you to not care.

You busy yourself with pushing your tongue into the tight ring of muscle, indulging yourself in the warmth of Armin's ass and his beautiful moans. Starting to slowly thrust your tongue in and out of him, you tighten your grip on the man so he wouldn't squirm away from the intense pleasure you were giving him.

Your slick was running down your leg in an erotic but agonizing way, a physical reminder of your own desire that heats up your insides and ignites your thoughts. It fills them with even more lewd images and innermost desires, ones that you could only hope you'd have the opportunity to try out with these two later on.

Pulling your face away from Armin's hole, you exchange your tongue for your fingers, warming up a generous portion of lube between them before beginning to slide a digit in.

Armin whines against Annie's folds at the intrusion, trying to relax and busy himself with pleasing his daddy. He's pretty confident he was doing a good job by her reactions: the sounds she makes, the way she pushes his face even closer to he core, and the way her thighs begin to shake in pleasure all serving as to spur on Armin's movements.

"Baby boy is doing such a good job," Annie breathes out heavily, chest rising and falling erratically as it became clear she was approaching her first high of the night. "Such a good job."

Armin preens at the praise, sucking Annie's clit into his mouth and suckling at it harshly. An uncharacteristically high moan falls from the blonde woman's lips as she arches her back, overwhelmed by such an intense feeling. Her fingers tugs roughly on Armin's hair, but he doesn't mind at all if it meant he was doing a good job.

You took in the view, admiring how beautiful Annie looked when she was cumming, her ab muscles clenching and thighs spasming as the orgasm wracked throughout her whole body. Armin continued to suck at her hole, enjoying every bit of the arousal that coated his tongue and wanting to clean her up as good as he could.

It was at that moment that you decided to add another finger into Armin's tight hole. This time, not even Annie's loosening grip on Armin's hair could stop him from pulling up from her pussy just to let out the most filthy, wanton moan you've heard thus far.

"Do you like mommy's finger playing with your ass, baby?" You ask, pushing your two fingers in to the knuckle. Armin only nods his head frantically, cheek resting against Annie's stomach and eyes screwed up at the intensity. When you begin thrusting the digits in and out slowly, however, he finds his words again.

"Fuck," he whimpers, your fingers trying to scissor him open as gently as possible. Annie strokes Armin's hair soothingly, trying to match your own gentleness to calm the boy down.

"It's okay, baby. You're doing so well," she whispers, reaching to undo the binds that kept his hands restrained. The ropes fall on to the sheets, and immediately Annie reaches for some calming ointment to treat the tender skin. She gently massages it in, pressing kisses to his palms.

"It feels so good," he says breathlessly, looking up at the blonde woman through his long eyelashes, unable to fully lift his head.

"I know, it'll feel ever better soon."

As if on cue, you begin to curl your fingers experimentally, searching for the spot that would steal every bit of oxygen from Armin's lungs. It only takes a moment for the man to alert you of your discovery.

"Oh, shit!" he cries out, hands fisting the sheets besides Annie's thighs. "Right there, mommy! Fuck, do that again!"

You comply without any complaint, beginning to diligently thrust your fingers in and out and curl them up against his prostate every time they were completely pushed in. Each time that they made contact, moans would fall effortlessly off of Armin's swollen lips, practically drooling on Annie's stomach as he lost himself in a haze of pleasure.

You knew that if you kept this up, he would be way too internally overstimulated for Annie to do her thing. But, nevertheless, you add more lube to your fingers and slowly push a third one in.

Armin's jaw falls open in a silent scream, back arching almost painfully as you very carefully push the three fingers in to the knuckle.

"Oh my god," he whispers, chanting those three words over and over again as if they were the only ones he knew. His hips began pushing back against your fingers erratically, clearly eager to have them filling him as much as possible.

Annie calls your name and you meet her eyes. She nods and you get the message she's trying to get across. When you pull your fingers out, Armin lets out a tortured cry into Annie's chest.

"Daddy," his voice breaks as he begs. "I need to cum. I need to cum so fucking badly, please. Fuck me please, I need it so bad, it hurts."

"Okay, baby boy," she replies, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head and carefully moving off the bed to grab her strap on. You take her place, sliding under the boy and pressing your own lips to his forehead. His eyes meet yours, cerulean irises gleaming with the same tears that run down his face.

"You've done so good, baby. What do you want from mommy as a reward?" You ask gently.

He sniffles, pushing his bangs out of his sweaty face to look at you better. "Can I... Can I please fuck you? I need to feel your pussy, I've wanted to feel it all night. And..." he takes a deep breath, collecting himself. "And can I... I wanna cum inside you."

You raise your eyebrows slightly, but you can't deny that his words go straight to your core. You part your legs further for him and he looks at you hopefully.

"Go ahead, babe." His eyes gleam in excitement, pressing a kiss to your lips and trailing them down the column of your neck, your collarbones, and stopping at your chest to finally play with your tits. Armin's lips catch each of your nipples briefly, nipping and sucking at them gently.

He wastes no time, sliding down your body and pressing more kisses on his way down, much to your own enjoyment. When he reaches your pussy, he laps at it a few times before groaning. "I need that mouth on me later," you pant out.

He giggles, licking his lips and sitting back on his heels. "I needed to taste it for myself. Daddy's right. Your pussy tastes fucking amazing, mommy,"

Your laugh turns into a gasp when you feel his cockhead begin to slide up and down your slit. His whole body trembles in anticipation, lip harshly caught between his pretty teeth. Out of the corner of your eye you see Annie watching the two of you, not unlike the way she had been looking at you before this all started.

When his thick cock finally slips inside of you, the sounds you two make are nothing short of pornographic. He barely bottoms out fully, the cock ring vibrating against your clit briefly, before pulling out of your tight hole and slamming back in, sending you jolting up the bed. "Fuck, Armin," you cry, hands finding purchase on his shoulders.

Armin's light moans in your ear and the wet sound of skin slapping spur you on, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling the man closer to you.

He mumbles into your ear as he humps into you. "Once I get this fucking ring off, I'm gonna pump my cum inside of you. So, so deep inside you, gonna feel me for weeks." His words have you gushing, your arousal coating your inner thighs and his lower stomach completely.

"Yes, fuck your cum into me! God, such a good boy, learning his lesson 'n makin' daddy and I cum," you ramble, words slurring together almost unintelligibly. You sort of notice the bed shifting as Annie finally gets herself situated, covering her strap on with lube in preparation.

"I'm gonna need you to stop for just a second," Annie says, a hand gripping Armin's hip to stall his movements, which happen to be when his dick is sheathed all the way inside of you, soft walls effectively cockwarming him. The cock ring now vibrates incessantly against your clit, catapulting you towards your second release.

"Oh, shit. I'm gonna cum," you whimper, nails digging into Armin's muscles arms. He hisses a bit at the pain and you quietly apologize.

"Hold it, princess." Annie responds, confirming that Armin is still prepped enough to get going.

"Daddy, please hurry." Armin stutters out. You make a noise of agreement, your skin hot and tingling with every minor touch.

You don't see Annie pushing her faux dick into Armin so much as you feel and hear it, Armin's cock throbbing inside of you and his breathing turning ragged. He moans and you hit your breaking point, just as Annie permits you to cum again.

Your orgasm hits you like a bus, the pleasure almost painful as it takes hold of your whole body. You clench impossibly hard on to Armin's cock, creaming around it, and you knew that if it wasn't for the damn cock ring, he'd be painting your walls white.

Armin nearly screams, the feeling of the dildo pressing firmly against his prostate and your velvety walls gripping him like a vice causing his vision to white out for a minute.

"Color?" Annie asks.

"Yellow." You and Armin respond immediately, the both of you at your wit's end.

The moment of waiting is both a blessing and a curse, giving the two of you time to regain your bearings but also forcing you to feel the same amount of stimulation as before. The two of your bodies cannot stop shaking, Armin dangerously close to collapsing on you. You shakily reach down, switching off the vibrations that were abusing your poor clit and Armin's abused cock. The sigh he lets out is full of relief, and you smile at him. The one he returns to you is soft.

"Green," he says, and you repeat the same.

"You sure?" Annie asks, to which you nod. "Alright then."

She pulls out almost completely before thrusting back in harshly, hitting Armin's prostate dead on and shoving him impossibly closer to you. This time, the boy does scream, and he does collapse. He manages to catch most of his body weight on his elbows before he crushes you, but his body is still pressed firmly against your own. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, knowing you were going to need as much leverage as possible for the ride Annie was about to take you on.

Annie's thrusting is brutal. She pulls out slowly but snaps back in swiftly, bottoming out completely each and every time. Her pace is quick and the actual motions are hard enough that Armin doesn't even need to move his hips for his cock to be rubbing against you.

Armin's repeated whimpers of pleasure had morphed into sobbing, garbled speech barely actual words apart from the occasional swear word or "'s s'fuckin' good."

Annie is having the time of her life having the two of you at her mercy. Every wail that escapes Armin and every whimper that leaves you has her floating. She's on such a power trip that she hardly needs external stimulation to get off, however, the vibrator buzzing inside her definitely helped.

"Mm, who's fucking you this good, baby boy?" she taunts, bottoming out and grinding against Armin's reddening flesh.

"Daddy is," he sobs, the pleasure too great for him to say anything else.

"And who's gonna finally make you cum?"

"You and mommy, please, I need it so bad!"

You push his chest up and off of you, the two of you shakily sitting up so you can gently remove the cock ring. And as soon as it's off, Armin buries himself inside of you again, Annie resuming her rough pace.

Annie's moan is high pitched when the vibrator hits just the right spot, sending her toppling over the edge and her hips bucking wildly into Armin.

If your orgasm hit you like a bus, Armin's hits him like a fucking bullet train. One final snap of the dildo into his prostate and clench of your pussy has him screaming, whole body shuddering as he pumps what feels like buckets of hot, sticky cum inside of you.

The sheer pressure and temperature alone has you cumming for a third time. You feel absolutely spent, your whole body sore and hot and sticky as Armin shallowly thrusts in and out, trying to fuck his seed into you as deep as he possibly can.

You can't talk, you can barely breathe, your whole body going limp. Armin seems to feel the same way, finally flopping on top of you completely, not even bothering to pull out his slowly softening cock from you. When Annie can no longer take the overstimulating buzzing that the vibrator was providing, she pulls out of him, and you laugh softly when you realize that he's so sleepy his only reaction is a small sigh. But despite all that, you felt absolutely content.

It takes longer than you initially predicted to regain any semblance of awareness. Annie chuckles softly at the sight of you and Armin practically glued to each other, both metaphorically and physically, when she returns from cleaning up the various toys you three had used.

"How are my babies doing?" she asks gently, coming up to the two of you to gently rub Armin's back. He whines, cuddling closer to you and blindly reaching out to pull Annie back on the bed so he can snuggle with her too. "Tired, I'm sure. But I need to clean you up at least a bit, okay?"

The two of you nod sleepily, Annie sighing both fondly and irritably at your lack of movement. She disappears into her bathroom once again, bearing two warm rags when she returns.

"Armin, I need you to help me here. You're heavy as fuck," she says.

The blonde boy huffs, slowly sitting up to reach down and pull his soft length out of you, making both of you gasp in overstimulation. He swears when he watches his cum drip out of your hole, almost mesmerized by the sight. His admiration is cut short by Annie clearing her throat, gesturing for Armin to lay back down beside you.

It's quiet as the woman makes quick work of wiping the two of you down, making sure you don't feel nearly as sticky or gross as before. You mumble a small thanks, earning a soft kiss in response.

The silence that ensued after was very comfortable, not unlike the ones you would sit in as friends when you all had drained your social batteries. Those were the times everyone would curl up with tea and books and just enjoy one another's company, savoring the feeling of being with your best friends. It would be cozy, comforting... nothing too overwhelming. And at the end of the day, everyone would return to their dorms or apartments or houses alone, leaving you feeling loved but still painfully alone.

You weren't quite ready (nor awake enough) to start questioning what the three of you were after tonight, so you settled on just enjoying the familiar but foreign silence that encased you all like a quilt.

When the rags are disposed of and the sheets are stripped, Annie throws t-shirts at everyone before joining you two on the bed, dragging a clean comforter behind her. She throws it over you all once everyone pulls their shirts on, sighing in content as she finally snuggles up to your side.

Armin's chest becomes your pillow, the gentle rising and falling of his chest lulling you to sleep like a silent lullaby while Annie tangles her legs with your own, arm thrown over your waist protectively.

You don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling of the two of them on you in such an intimate way. But you can absolutely get used to the way their presence makes you feel at home.

A/N: so uhhhh... thoughts? please let me know if i miss a warning or have some sort of funky grammar error i can fix :) i hope you guys enjoyed. these types of one-shots probably won't be nearly as long as this one when i write in the future, but who knows? i'll see what happens when inspiration strikes!

thank you for reading <3 i love you

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#bsstories #attack on titan #aot #aot fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #snk #annie leonhart #annie leonhart smut #this is my first fic on here omg #ngl i'm very scared but i hope y'all like it #armin arlert #armin arlert smut #sub armin #dom annie #switch reader

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