#I cried in front of them after my mother humiliated me

[lost-souls-system]

Reblog this if you ever broke down in front of your family member[s].

[you don't have to say the reason in the tags or when reblogged.]

#I cried in front of them after my mother humiliated me #they just laughed and joined in on the humiliation #this just added into my anxiety and was on the verge of crying #surprise surprise they just laughed when I cried #god just give me a break! #fowxy rants! #toxic household #toxic relatives #toxic siblings #toxic brother #toxic mother

[abyssruler]

5 SUNDAYS OF KINKTOBER

5TH MASS ♱ scaramouche x fem!reader

homily — you look good when you cry in the middle of the hall after he deliberately humiliates you in front of everyone. but he thinks you look best when you look up at him through teary eyes as you choked on his fingers in the school’s public restroom.

communion — comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist!

modern au, college au, bully scara, possessive scara, noncon, manipulation, blackmail, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia, oral m-receiving, semi-public sex, nonconsensual filming, spit kink, warning you now: scara is an asshole

5 sundays of kinktober

Scaramouche could be so pleasant when he wanted to, donning a fake smile that worked on your parents like a charm, talking and laughing with them over breakfast like he hadn’t just been pounding his cock into you last night, your cries and moans muffled by the forceful way he shoved his fingers into your mouth.

He got off of seeing your face twist with pain, tears flowing down your cheeks as you gagged around his fingers knuckles deep in your throat.

It was a wonder your parents never suspected anything of your childhood friend, not raising the slightest question whenever he invites himself to your home for a ‘sleepover,’ as he likes to call it. But a sleepover doesn’t involve him lying next to you as he grinded his hardness over your ass, arms circling around your torso possessively as his hands grabbed and tweaked at your nipples, ignoring your silent protests and the way you futilely tried to move away from his reach.

He never fails to lean in, breaths hot against the shell of your ear, and whisper in a tone that’s so falsely pleasant it makes your stomach churn with fear, “Stop moving. You don’t want those videos getting leaked, do you?”

And like a dog that’s been trained to obey its master, you do whatever he asks of you, whether it’s opening your legs for him or getting on your knees to have your throat abused by him.

Now, he smiles like the friend he pretends he is to you when you’re with your parents, complimenting your mother over the delicious breakfast she made and making conversation with your dad about the latest project at his company.

You know what your parents think of him, that he’s such a sweet boy, so smart and charming, he’d be such a good boyfriend, don’t you think?

It always makes your throat close up, fighting the nausea that threatens to overtake your senses. They don’t know just how wrong they are, how much he’s violated your body and privacy, the blackmail he owns is a constant thing that hangs over your head in shame. The person you thought you could trust most in the entire world ended up being the person to betray you first.

Kunikuzushi was so sweet when you were children, but now you barely recognize him anymore. Not since he got involved with the wrong crowd when you were in high school, not since he started going by the name Scaramouche.

“I better go now, I promised my friends I’d meet with them later,” he tells your parents, pretending to look forlorn at the prospect of leaving. Your parents ate it all up, assuring him that he’s always welcome to return, that he can visit whenever he likes. All the while you’re sitting beside him, twisting your fingers on your lap and trying not to flinch with each word that comes out of your parents’ mouth.

A hand lands on your shoulder. It takes all you have not to rip it away.

You turn your head up to see Scaramouche standing from his seat, looking down at you with something you could almost describe as soft—still all for show. The moment you’re out of your parents’ eyesight, he’ll go back to being his cruel self.

“Will you come see me off?” He asks, but the brief tightening of his grip on your shoulder says enough. It wasn’t a request.

“Y-Yeah, of course, Kuni.” The old nickname slips off your tongue, as familiar to you as your own name. He likes to pretend it bothers him, especially when you call him that in front of others, but you know how much he likes hearing it from you. He always comes undone when you moan his name, on the few times when his hand isn’t covering your mouth or his fingers aren’t choking you.

You walk him to the front door, your parents staying seated at the table. He turns to you when he reaches the door, the smile on his lips gone, replaced with a familiar scowl that continues to haunt your dreams.

His hand closes around your jaw, fingers digging almost painfully to your cheeks. He leans in, eyes narrowed on your frightful face.

“Open your mouth.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You already know what he means to do, so you part your lips, sticking out your tongue for good measure. He likes it when he doesn’t have to say something to make you do it.

He looms over you, opening his mouth and spitting a glob of saliva directly over your tongue. It takes all you have not to shudder in disgust. Even after going through such a thing for what feels like hundreds of time, his twisted perversion never fails to make tears well in your eyes at the humiliation.

“Swallow.”

Your throat nearly protests the action. You have to force yourself not to heave after it goes smoothly down your throat.

Scaramouche’s eyes are focused intently on you, pupils blown wide and his lips stretching into a mocking smile. You jolt when he suddenly reaches down and cups your clothed cunt, having easier access to it due to the skirt that he always forces you to wear.

He steps close, and you still in order to stop any involuntary reactions from you should your movement cause his hand to produce friction against the sensitive spot between your legs.

His eyes bore into you, nearly making you shrink back from his gaze. “Don’t even think about touching yourself while I’m not there. This fucking cunt is mine.”

As if to emphasize his words, his hand applies the slightest pressure, grazing against your clit and evoking a whimper from your lips.

You nod shakily. “Yes, I-I won’t touch myself, Kuni.”

He smiles, pouring all his false saccharine sweetness into that one gesture, loosening his hold on your jaw and retracting his hand from beneath your skirt to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. It would have seemed like a gentle act — if you didn’t know any better.

“Good girl.”

✧

His friends all think you’re his little pet.

Dottore leers at you from across the table, playing with the butter knife in his hand as he twists his lips to show razor-sharp teeth. You avert your gaze hastily, a combination of fear and disgust bubbling in your gut. An amused puff of laughter is all you hear before you feel a hand tug at a lock of your hair.

“Now, who let Scaramouche’s little bitch sit with us at the table?” Comes his mocking drawl, a hint of that twisted sense of amusement in his voice. You try your best to keep your gaze fixed to the table, knowing they’ll see it as defiance should you raise your head to meet their eyes. “Don’t you know dogs belong in the kennels?“ He pulls at your hair, hard enough to make you wince. “Why don’t you—”

A hand slaps away the hand holding a strand of your hair.

“Who do you think you are to touch what’s mine?”

You risk a glance at Scaramouche sitting by your side to find him glaring at Dottore, the fork in his hand gripped so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

Dottore grins unrepentantly, retracting his hands and raising them in the air as a sign of peace. “You should teach your little pet better manners.”

“And you should learn how to mind your own business,” he sneers, stabbing his fork straight into his steak.

Dottore smirks, utterly entertained by Scaramouche’s temper, but ultimately deciding that toying with you must not be worth it.

You reach up to fix your hair, still keeping your gaze on the table. Tugging on the hem of his shirt to get his attention, you murmur when he deigns to turn his head to you, “Thank you, Kuni.”

Though it seems you weren’t as quiet as you’d hoped to be.

Tartaglia, who was sitting on your other side, snorts at the nickname.

You freeze up just as Scaramouche beside you goes still. Heart beating out of your chest, palms beginning to turn clammy, and tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, you dare to look up and see what expression he has.

Your heart drops.

He’s looking down at you, face frozen in a mask of fury, eyes wide with a promise to do unspeakable things to you later.

“Pft. You let her call you Kuni?” Tartaglia fans the flames, knowing how much trouble it’d get you. You feel his hand slither near your side, and you shrink away from his touch. You’ve always thought that if Scaramouche weren’t so terrifying, all his other friends would have forced themselves upon you by now.

Your tongue twists on itself, bottom lip trembling the way it always does whenever you so much as get a hint of his anger. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Shut up,” Scaramouche says icily, whether it’s for you or Tartaglia, you didn’t know.

He doesn’t like it when you call him Kuni in front of others. For all that he gets off of hearing your once-innocent nickname for him be said in such debauched tones accompanied by the squelching sounds of your walls squeezing around him and the slap of skin against skin, he abhors it when you call him that in front of others.

He grabs your jaw harshly with one hand, forcing you to look him in the eye and ignoring the way you whimper at how hard his grip is. From your periphery, you can see that the rest of his friends have stopped their conversation to watch your impending humiliation with a sick sense of delight.

“I thought I told you to keep that mouth shut.” He pulls you close, his mouth a hairsbreadth away from yours, breath warm against your lips. But then he leans away, roughly pushing your face away as he lets go, leaving your jaw aching and eyes watery. “Get out of my sight.”

You scramble to do as you’re told, ignoring the jeers of his friends and the pitying looks from nearby tables, nearly toppling your chair from the haste with which you stand up. You don’t see the leg that stretches out beneath you.

Your knees ache, palms red from the force as you fell to the floor. You’re sure you’ll be sporting gashes and bruises on your knees tomorrow, but it isn’t the pain that opens the dam of your tears, lips wobbling in an attempt to smother the hiccup that threatens to rise from you.

It’s the sound of laughter that echoes in your ears.

You all but run out of the cafeteria and into the restroom you always hide out in, practically feeling his gaze on your back the whole way. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine what sort of look he would have had as you tripped. Eyes leering at you, mouth twisted in a cruel mockery of a smile, and perhaps a hint of pink at his cheeks—the only sign of his arousal, proof of how much he enjoys seeing you get hurt and humiliated.

The door to an empty cubicle locks shut behind you, falling to the closed seat of the toilet and placing your hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs. Even that one simple act reminded you of him, of the way he likes seeing you gag and choke around him and the way he’d push your face over the mattress to silence you, palms heavy against your lips whenever he fucked you in a public space, “You don’t want us to get caught, do you? So be quiet.”

✧

He finds you, just like he always does whenever you run away to have your little tantrums, as he calls it.

“Get out.”

You opened the door of the cubicle, ever the obedient little pet his friends like to taunt at. He’s leaning by the sink with his arms crossed, a frown fixed on his deceptively angelic face, eyes narrowing once he sees you.

Fidgeting with your fingers, you try to apologize again as sincerely as you can muster, “Kuni, I’m sorry.”

Scaramouche is at you in an instand, a hand around your neck and a dangerous look on his face, not quite squeezing but still tight enough to be threatening. Your knees lock in place, hands trembling with fear as you fought the urge to cry again with the way he’s looking at you.

“Get on your knees.”

Your eyes dart to the unlocked door, heart rate rising. Anyone could enter at any moment. He liked the thrill of defiling you on public spaces—fitting rooms, cubicles of public restrooms, the janitor’s closet—but always with an added precaution, always with the door locked.

“Someone might come in and see—”

“So what?” He rudely interrupts, squeezing his fingers around your throat just enough to be uncomfortable. Then he snickers, watching the way your eyes begin to water again. “You’re such a crybaby.”

“Kuni, please. I don’t want—”

His mouth roughly lands against yours, swallowing whatever protests you had as he roved his tongue inside your mouth, taking and taking and taking without consideration. It hurts, the way he’s pressing his lips over yours and the way his teeth bites onto your bottom lip, tongue roving over your own, making sure you taste all of him. It leaves you lightheaded and out of breath by the time he pulls away, a trail of saliva hanging between you that he doesn’t bother wiping away. Just as he likes it. Rough, messy, and filthy.

He likes seeing you covered in his own cum from head to toe, dribbling from your mouth, running down the valley of your breasts, and your pussy so stuffed full that it drips down your thighs and makes a mess beneath your feet.

You think if he could, he would keep you locked up in his room, never stepping out and only there to be used as a cum dump and admired as you lay on top of his bed with your eyes crossed in the wake of an orgasm, legs spread, cum oozing out of your hole and slipping between your ass, utterly making a mess of the sheets below.

Scaramouche laughs at your dazed look, loosening his hold on your neck, enough that you can break out should you wish it. You don’t.

“Are you actually scared?” He taunts, a grin on his lips that managed to show how truly deplorable of a person he is. “Scared that someone would walk in and see how much of a slut you really are?”

You place both palms on his wrist, looking at him imploringly through glassy eyes. “Please—”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” He steps close, close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your face. Then, in a whisper that is nothing short of threatening, he tells you, “Everyone knows I’m fucking you like the little whore you are, they only need proof. Now, should I send them the video, or are you gonna get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness?”

He delights at the way your eyes dim in understanding. You can feel his hardness throb against you when you bite your lips to stop the rush of tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

You hate yourself for being so easy to be reduced to tears, but mostly you hate yourself for being unable to truly deny him anything.

His hands release their hold on your neck just as you obediently fall to your knees, looking up at him in despair. He raises a brow, gesturing to the growing hardness in his pants with a humorless smile.

Your fingers fumble to undo his zipper, pulling down his waistband and taking him in your hand. Shuddering as you began moving your hand up and down his shaft, he impatiently grabs the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair as he forced you to look up at him.

“Open your mouth.”

With only the slightest hesitation, you part your lips for him, taking care to open them wide enough that your teeth won’t graze him. (Your jaw still aches with the memory of being forced to have him inside your mouth until your jaw nearly locked in place and you were crying, pleading with your eyes to please, please make it stop.)

Scaramouche slips inside your mouth with ease, groaning in pleasure as his cock is enveloped with a heat that only your cunt could top. He pushes all the way inside until your nose is brushing against soft tufts of hair and the tip of his length hits the back of your throat. You gag, but no amount of pushing against his thighs has him moving, watching you with pupils blown wide, his cheeks pink and breaths shaky.

“Hah… look at you, all on your knees for me. You’re probably secretly into this, being used like a toy. You’ve always been so hard-to-get, but inside you’re nothing but a slut who likes feeling my cock anywhere inside you.” He laughs, tugging at your hair and pushing himself even deeper than before.

It isn’t until a tear falls from your eye that he retracts himself, giving you only a moment’s respite before pushing your head forward, keeping a harsh but steady pace as he fucks into your mouth, bruising the back of your throat the same way he constantly abuses your insides. Thick spurts of pre-cum escape the slit of his cock, dragging across your mouth and dripping from the corners of your lips. It mixes with your drool, flowing down your chin and onto the floor, slathering his length in a transparent sheen that gathers along the base of cock as he repeatedly slams himself hilt deep into your throat.

You find it difficult to breathe, difficult to swallow, difficult to think as he continues to thrust into your mouth without abandon, his pace becoming erratic, harsh puffs of breath escaping him, and from the familiar twitch of his cock, you can tell he’s close. So you flatten your tongue along his shaft, hollowing your cheeks as best as you can, and closing your eyes to stop the tears from breaking out.

“Fuck, fuck. Look at me,” he orders, voice one pitch away from becoming breathy.

You open your eyes and gaze up at him, unable to stop the wetness that’s gathered in your eyes from falling. His hips falter, his hold on your hair tightening to the point that it makes you cry out from the pain. It only serves to pleasure him more, the vibrations from your throat sending him to the edge as he pushes himself in as far as he can go.

Thick, warm spurts of cum shoot into your mouth, a taste so familiar you barely gag as it gathers in the back of your throat. Scaramouche thrusts himself into you, once, twice, until he’s sure your mouth has finished milking him dry.

He pulls out, not bothering to tuck himself in as he moves his hand from the back of your head to your cheek, tilting your head up. And you already know what he wants you to do, so you open your mouth, let him see his cum mixed with your saliva. Your mouth is too full to keep them all in, flowing down your chin in excess and staining your shirt.

You’re unprepared for the two fingers he shoves into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag and involuntarily swallow his cum.

“That’s right, swallow it all like the cum-thirsty whore that you are,” he laughs at you, at the pathetic look you must sport — red eyes, puffy lips, and dried tear tracks on your cheeks.

He retracts his fingers from your mouth, not bothering to wipe them clean.

“Get up,” he orders, stepping away from you and approaching the sink. You stand on shaky legs, knees sore not only from the hard tiles, but also from the fall earlier.

Scaramouche gestures to the counter, his lips pulled up in a leer, roving his eyes over your figure, lingering on the stain on your chest from the cum you failed to keep in your mouth earlier. You nearly collapse by the sink, arms supporting you as you leaned your top over the counter.

His hands push the hem of your skirt up, palms lingering on the swell of your ass, before he unceremoniously pulls your panties down to your knees. You unconsciously clench down on nothing as your pussy is exposed to the cold air.

He runs a finger up and down your folds, gathering your slick and raising his hand to examine them. You finally raise your head, meeting his eyes on the mirror.

“You’re all wet. I bet you enjoyed it, didn’t you? Being used like a ragdoll. Tell me, do you touch yourself when I’m not there?” He delivers it in a nonchalant tone, but from the tightness of his fingers around your hips, you know he’s serious.

Quickly shaking your head, you try to plead that he’s the only one who’d ever touched you, voice scratchy from his earlier abuse of your throat. “I-I promise, Kuni. I’ve never—”

“Liar,” he hisses.

The only warning you have is the way he shifts, and then his cock slips inside you, far too thick and far too big, pushing through your walls and splitting you in half. The vein that runs along his shaft rubs against your insides in a way that has you clenching down at him with pleasure, even as you cry out in shock and pain at being entered without preparation.

“Fuck,” he groans, the tip of his cock touching the entrance of your womb, and you know without a doubt that he’ll continue hitting that spot later, if only to see the way you squirm and cry in a mix of pain and pleasure. “Still so fucking tight even after I’ve fucked that hole of yours so many times. Hah… if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a virgin.”

Slowly, he pulls out, relishing in the way your walls clench down on him, trying to suck him back into your heat. And when only the tip of his cock remains inside, he rams his hips into you with a force that has you choking out a sob as he hits your cervix, over and over and over again, until you can no longer distinguish between pain and pleasure. Only an endless motion of him fucking his length into you, fingers digging into your hips in a bruising grip that will no doubt show on your skin tomorrow.

“Kuni—Kuni, please… slow down—” A particularly harsh thrust has you slurring your words, arms losing balance. Your top falls onto the counter, the coolness of the cheap marble against your cheek doing nothing to chase away the heat that’s bubbling inside you, gathering in your belly and threatening to snap with every drag of his length against your cunt.

“Shut up,” he snarls, biting back a moan at how you clench down on him at the harsh order. “I can feel your sloppy little pussy sucking me in. You’re like a bitch in heat, taking my cock in like that. If you even think about letting anyone else use this fucking cunt, I’ll kill them.”

You can do nothing but nod to his words, sobbing on top of the counter as Scaramouche uses you like you’re nothing but a hole for him to fuck himself into, unrepentantly slamming his hips into your ass, blunt nails digging into your skin.

Moans and whines fill the restroom, the air smelling of sex as you cried out his name with every thrust he takes. Your mind is far away, lost in a haze of pleasure, uncaring whether your voice will be heard by any passing teacher or student, uncaring of the unlocked door and the fact that if even one person hears your cries, the whole campus will know it by tomorrow.

So lost in your thoughts as you were, you failed to notice when Scaramouche pulled out his phone and started filming, angling the camera into the sight of his cock pushing in and out of you, a ring of cream gathered at the base, the squelching sound caught by the microphone. He moans, a guttural sound that he doesn’t even try to hide, pace stuttering and hips jerking into you in short, fast thrusts.

You’re unable to hide the way tears run down your cheeks, stopping yourself from reaching your climax until he allows you to, breaths fogging against the counter and toes curling inside your shoes, legs shaking from the effort of keeping your lower half upright, along with your impending release.

“Kuni, I wanna—I wanna—” You sob, unable to form the words and resorting to incoherent babbles.

“Fuck, fuck. You’re so fucking—” Scaramouche lets go of your hip and reaches for your clit, rubbing harsh circles into the sensitive little nub that has you wailing, your hands futilely trying to muffle the loud sounds. “Go.”

Your legs spasm, walls clenching down on him so tight, he has to stop for a moment as you reach your release. Your lips part to let out a scream the way you always do when the thread snaps and your orgasm hits you, and without fail, he reaches out to cover your mouth with his palm, fingers digging into your cheeks.

He lets out a few quick jerks of his hips before he releases inside you, biting down his lip to keep himself quiet, pushing himself deep inside and making sure not a drop of his cum is wasted.

Warmth explodes inside you, as familiar as the feeling of him pulling out, feeling his cum begin to flow out of your hole.

He remains silent, breathing heavy puffs of air before he leans in, pulling your hair back and pressing an impossibly soft kiss to your temple. He holds you steady as you wobble to a stand, arms sore and knees feeling like jelly, eyes red and drool slipping over your chin.

He holds your waist in a steady grip, his arm over your stomach to support you as he helps you pull your panties up and adjust the skirt of your uniform, smoothing out any wrinkles using the palm of his hand.

You watch him do all this with half-lidded eyes, mind still hazy from your climax. Your hands are tight over his arm, trying to keep yourself upright as you lean your back on his chest, trying to catch your breath. You spy his phone lying on the counter but think nothing of it, much too focused on the familiar script of Scaramouche’s quiet aftercare.

He could be so gentle during these times. In the aftermath of his rough fucking, when all that repressed anger has been spent on you, melting away and leaving a hollow shape in his chest. You think he doesn’t know what to do when he isn’t feeling anger or satisfaction — rather, he’s forgotten how to handle feelings that he might call shallow, such as happiness and love.

Quietly, he murmurs, a stark contrast to himself just minutes ago, “I’ll buy us dinner later, just the two of us. I’ll even drive you home after.”

It’s times like these that lets you see a glimpse of his old self, the Kunikuzushi you once loved.

But then he sighs, an annoyed furrow to his brows, and the tender moment is broken.

“Get off. Can’t you stand on your own? Or are you that stupid that you can’t even function without me?”

You take a step out of his hold, legs shaky but managing to support you regardless. From the corner of your eye, you spy him swiping his phone into his pocket, far too quickly for someone attempting to be inconspicuous.

Your heart sinks at the realization of what he’s done — again — but you only have yourself to blame for being so spineless.

Scaramouche turns to you, a considering look in his eye before he reaches out to smooth your hair into something that resembles less of a bird’s nest. He sneers at you, “Don’t go around looking like an imbecile.”

His hand clamps around yours, but despite the harsh look on his face, his touch is soft. He drags you out of the restroom, not even bothering to clean up the mess you’d made in the form of a few splotches of cum mixed with drool on the floor as well as the counters. But neither do you. All that’s on your mind is his hand on yours as he pulls you through the halls.

Like this, with only the back of his head facing you, you could almost pretend you’re back to being those naive children, giggling to each other as he promised to marry you someday back in the summer of your tenth birthday.

Perhaps that’s why you continue to stay, why you’ve never told your parents about the things he’d done to you, why you suffer through humiliation after humiliation just to continue being with him. And it’s unhealthy, you know that much, and maybe you should have turned your back on him when he knocked on your bedroom window with blood on his hands and a terrified look on his sixteen year old face — the beginning of the end, that one turning point in his life that made him the way he is now.

And maybe you do blame yourself for it, for not knowing how to help him, for being so lost and young and utterly ignorant of what was brewing in his head. Maybe that’s why you continue to stay beside him, the guilt of failing him, of failing Kunikuzushi.

His hand tightens around yours when you pass by a gaggle of male students, all of them looking at you with a smirk that soon dies when they see the expression on Scaramouche’s face.

And maybe you can continue deluding and comforting yourself with the thought that you’re here with him willingly, that it’s guilt and a sense of responsibility that makes you stay — even though you know the true reason is that he has a tight leash on your neck in the form of a video he took during the first time he had you, back when he still had bright eyes and a genuine smile, back when you still believed you loved him.

5 sundays of kinktober

word count — 5.1k

taglist — @pardofeliscalico @monicahar @monikidk @sunhareskies @thearcanafan @kaeyats @luvrsthrist @xinii @w9vyy @ineedavirtualboyfriend @holynix @myheartneverbe @karasuneo @rei-vi @shuvvs @miss-fantazmagoria @bunnlatte @shironakuronatasa @leleforpresident @scaranaris-lil-niko @holy365

#not sfw #this is the spiciest fic i’ve ever written #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x reader smut #fem reader #5th mass #5 sundays #kinktober #genshin kinktober

[magicalink]

❥Perfect Night

Taglist: @butteerflyy @linn-a-a @divinechicha @etherisy

The taglist keeps growing! I'm so happy!🥺 If you wanna be added let me know!

When Kunikuzushi got out of his ratcave to set the table, it was late. You had already done it and were sitting at the table with a radiant smile that annoyed the shit out of him.

Yae was serving the food and his mother was sneering at him with a deadly glare.

"You couldn't do one simple task." she sentenced with a cold voice.

"Don't worry Ei, it was no problem," you said, quickly drawing another smile on your face to calm the waters, rising from your seat to extend your hand to Kuni to beg him to join the table and end the uncomfortable scene.

But when you stood up and he saw you in your beautiful, tight dress, his whole body went pale except for his face, which turned bright red. It was just too much. Too short, too tight, and your cleavage drained the blood of all his bidy to send it to another place.

"A-are you okay??" You asked, worried by his suddenly sick appearance, completely oblivious of the reason.

"My stomach hurts really bad…" he lied with a grunt, putting his hand over said part of his body. The other one stayed mysteriously in one of the pockets of his dark sweatpants "I'll skip dinner." he said and quickly fled back to his den.

He slammed the door shut behind him, fuming with anger.

He was so mad at you for being so beautiful and so fucking compliant. Always the golden girl.

But he was even madder at himself for having a fucking boner over you.

What a pathetic virgin. Simply disgusting! Getting hard at the mere sight of you, like you were finally getting inside his head, fooling him too!

He was grossed out at his reaction. So he threw himself on his desk chair and put on his headphones to discharge his rage onto some poor random on an online game. Yeah, that would relax him and make his boner disappear.

Ei mumbled under her breath, cursing his son, not believing a single word from him, tired of his childish and useless behavior. You and your mother backed him up to calm her down.

"Poor Kuni," you said. Like mother like daughter. Always protecting the peace of that poor home.

You finished eating in harmony and your mom offered to do the dishes since you were leaving for the party.

At 10 pm o' clock, Barbara's dad honked in front of your door with his white church van. And you shivered in anticipation. You were really nervous. But determined to ask Huffman out!

"Have fun sweetie!" Your mom yelled from the kitchen.

"Be careful," Ei said with a solemn voice.

"Bye!" You exclaimed with an excited smile, closing the door behind you.

Barbara and Keqing waved at you from the window.

You jumped into the car and said hi to them. Then you left for the party.

This night was super important. You could feel it in your gut. Something life-changing was going to occur. The party had to be perfect!

At around 2:30 am, you were coming back home with your makeup ruined and your heart broken.

"It's okay, Y/N, he's a total idiot, you'll feel better soon," Keqing said, patting your shoulders to comfort you.

Long story short, Huffman avoided you all night long and when you were determined to face him, you found him kissing another girl. All your hopes were crushed and you felt betrayed and humiliated.

Luckily, you had loyal friends by your side. Even if your friendship was recent, it was already strong. Keqing was especially present, always taking care of you and being the voice of reason. She was like an older sister to you.

After soothing your cries, she called her daddy to pick you up early.

Now he had stopped in front of your house.

"Are you sure you don't want us to stay with you?" She asked with a worried expression.

You shook your head, wiping away your last tears with your wrist, finishing to fully smudge your black mascara.

"It's okay," you sniffed, pulling yourself together. "I need some alone time," you whispered.

"That's healthy," she nodded approvingly with her usual serious look.

Before leaving, you pulled her into a warm hug.

"Thanks for being by my side," you sobbed in the crook of her neck.

At first, she was a bit shocked at your action but she quickly hugged you back, moved.

"That's what friends are for," she said, her firm hands giving you some sense of security.

You said thanks and goodbyes and you stepped off the car to walk to your doorstep.

You reached for your keys inside your purse and opened the door. You waved a last goodbye to Keqing and her daddy, before closing it behind you. You kinda didn't recognize him but you didn't care, you were too lost in your painful emotions.

The house was in complete silence when you entered. That gave you some peace. You didn't want your family to see you like that. To get worried over something so trivial.

Yeah, it was so trivial but it hurt like hell.

You went to the bathroom to take your makeup off. Then got taken aback by your battered reflection in the mirror. You looked like a dejected raccoon, with all your mascara smudged all over your reddened face.

You had been crying a lot.

Right then, you felt so lonely.

Despite having this little assembled family, you had to give your everything every day to keep it all together. And both Kuni and Ei were so distant and cold.

Your mom was an angel and you loved her deeply. But you felt you couldn't tell her about these feelings you had. That would only worry her.

Despite remaining friends, you felt really lonely when you broke up with Guy, because it felt like you weren't really a part of his family like you had thought. He never called you again.

So you were happy and thankful for having met such good friends at this school. They were so nice you couldn't believe it. Especially Keqing. Having her by your side, backing you up, and supporting you made you feel you weren't completely alone. Made you feel safe and loved by true friends.

That gave you strength. They would help you get over these nasty feelings, you were sure. But that would take time.

You went to your room to put on a night dress and then got inside your bed, still sobbing a little bit. You wanted to sleep it off.

You still felt down. It was like the little pieces of your broken heart were stinging the inside of your chest. It was so unfair. It made no sense! What was going on inside Huffman's mind??

You thought he was your friend! He was clearly flirting with you! He kissed you, he had sex with you for archon's sake!

Was that it?! Your sadness suddenly became anger. Was that why he stopped talking to you? Because he just wanted sex and now he had no interest in you?! If that was it, he was a complete jerk.

And you thought he was a nice guy! Damn him, you should have never given such a popular guy a chance!

You gritted your teeth. If he was that kind of guy, then he didn't deserve you shedding more tears for him.

Well, that was easy to say but not to do. You felt like shit for being treated so poorly. Luckily the anger took away your need to cry. But it also made you remember how needy and unsatisfied you were…

You rubbed your thighs together under the sheets, your clit begged to feel some friction.

It wouldn't hurt to touch yourself to alleviate that thirst you had been holding for such a long time. That would help you sleep. Yeah, you had been working so hard lately, you deserved some rest.

So you put on your headphones and started some boyfriend ASMR and moved one of your hands to one of your breasts and the other one down your body until slipping it inside your panties. You started to search for the spots that made you feel good. 

Everything was marching right, except for the fact that you didn't quite know yet what to think about to further stimulate yourself. You would only think of Huffman again over your dead body! Guy? So boring! You kept browsing through your brain trying to find a handsome man, someone you would like his hands to be in the place of yours right then. It didn't need to be someone from the school, it could be an actor, an idol, someone you saw on tv…

Your finger suddenly stopped over your eager clit when you discovered yourself thinking about the guy next room again. You felt a sudden wave of heat take over your body. It was half dark in your room, but you were sure your whole body was fire red. You were ashamed, so ashamed of being thinking about Kuni. Again.

Your breath hitched. Did you really want his cold, scratchy hands all over your body, touching your sensitive spots and flicking your buds with the pads of his pale fingers?

Well, maybe? Because upon thinking about it your whole body trembled with a soft tickle. Your mind disagreed, but you gave it a chance. Fantasizing about it didn't mean you wanted it in real life, right? That's what you told yourself. Doing it with Kuni was impossible, not only because your mom was madly in love with his but also because he was really mean.

You had always been too benevolent with him, always the only one in the world who insisted that he was a nice person under that prickly exterior. And you really meant it. But that didn't mean you would go out with him if he kept being such an asshole. Of course not. You didn't let Huffman step all over you, you wouldn't let Kuni either. Or anyone, for that matter!

Yeah, that was it, masturbating to Kuni didn't mean you wanted him for real. He had a terrible attitude. But it was just his beautiful body you were feasting upon in your mind. His lean figure, his handsome face, his attractive voice…

You imagined his voice saying hot things that would never cross his virgin mind in real life, and his rough hands all worn down by playing videogames but never touching a woman’s body pushing all the right buttons to make your folds melt and clench around nothing, urging you to kick the panties away.

Dang, it worked like magic.

You started to lightly shake the bed as you approached your orgasm, moving your legs along to accompany the movements of your masturbation. You had to kick the covers away because the heat was insufferable. You even slid a finger inside your folds, then two, then you wondered how much Kuni would be packing down there and how it would feel if he put it inside of you, and then the release was right around the corner…

Meanwhile, the door at the end of the corridor opened and Kunikuzushi got out of his cave to go to the bathroom. When he arrived at said place, his face contorted and his eye twitched upon seeing your stunning short dress thrown onto the tiled floor.

"So she's back??" He thought, irritated.

And he became furious when he realized he had a boner because of you again. Because of your fucking tight dress. He cursed you under his breath and it took all of his self-control to refrain from picking up your dress and ripping it out of pure anger. He opened the running water and washed his face, trying to calm down. He contemplated his reflection in the mirror with disgust.

He looked at himself in the eyes, with hatred for being so weak, for almost falling for your dirty charms. 

The truth was that when you had arrived, you were too sad to realize you had left the dress on the floor and the door to your bedroom a little bit open, but in his paranoid mind he was sure you had done it on purpose to provoke him.

So he decided it was time to put a stop to your disrespect and to say something. Out of anger, he finally decided. He would pick up your disgustingly sexy dress and throw it at your face and scold you for leaving your things all over the place.

But first, he had to calm down his blush and his boner or he would look utterly pathetic. 

It took a lot of cold water down his face until he could calm down and get his dick soft enough to be able to pee and wash his hands and face all over again to prepare himself to confront you but he finally made it.

He took the dress harshly in one fist and stepped out of the bathroom courageously, ready to assert his dominance over you. It was the first time he would do it with you the same way he did with everyone else: aggressively. So he was excited, cocky, eager…

Until he entered your room and caught you masturbating. And not only that, but in a very heated way. 

He got completely paralyzed, stiff from head to toe his cock especially. His already pale skin went almost transparent, except of course for his poor cheeks. 

He couldn't believe his eyes. With the light that entered the room from the hallway, they witnessed, open wide, as your cute little nightdress was pulled over your waist, leaving your pussy on full display for him to see from where he was standing by the door.

He gulped down unconsciously. He couldn't believe just how beautiful it was. All swollen from arousal, so incredibly wet! And you were giving him no rest, rubbing circles on the clit with one hand and sticking two fingers inside with the other, pulling them in and out but also stopping to shove them as deep as possible, insisting on that sweet perfect spot…

He couldn't even think about his raging boner, his heart was thumping so hard it felt like it was about to jump out of his chest. He just couldn't seem to decide what to stare at. If your beautiful face, contorted in an expression of pleasure, your plush breasts barely covered by the dress, your hard nipples pushing against the cloth, or then again your breath-taking pussy.

It was just too wet. Damn too wet. His heart was ringing in his ears wondering what on earth could have turned you on so hard as to get so damn wet and have so much fun with yourself.

Luckily or unluckily, by mere coincidence the most unexpected answer fell off your lips with the lewdest moan he had ever heard not that he had heard any in real life but anyway it was very lewd:

"K-kuni…" you panted as you finally reached your orgasm, your eyes pressed shut as you got lost in your feeling of pleasure. Yeah not only your body was feeling amazing by your knowledge of how to touch yourself, but your little fantasy about Kuni being all nice and hot with you, ramming his cock inside of you just the way you told him, made your heart race and your toes curl.

This was just too much. More than he could handle. Again, luckily or unluckily for him, his phone vibrated and he desperately tried to shut it, terrified that the sound would make you realize his presence.

There was no option, he had to escape.

And so he did, he ran faster than ever in his life, straight to his room for a feeling of safety. He locked himself in, covering his mouth with a trembling hand as he fell with his back against the door until he sat on the floor.

It took him several minutes to normalize his breath and process what just had happened. The outrageous situation he had just witnessed, of you shamelessly masturbating to him and even having the nerve to moan his name. He simply couldn’t believe it. That your pussy looking so drenched and delicious was inspired by him.

His heart was still thumping hard. Did you notice him? Did you see him? Did you hear the sound of his phone and his footsteps and opened your heavy eyes and saw him as he escaped like the coward he was?

He wanted to slam his face against the wall. This could have been the best chance of his life, knowing that his enemy had a thing for him. He could have exploited it. But what if you saw him? If you did you could accuse him of being a total pervert over what was an unfortunate misunderstanding.

That would be his ruin. There had to be something he could do.

Chasing his last hope, he gathered all his courage to open his door and peek to see if yours was still open. He gulped down. It was. Maybe you didn’t hear or see anything? He sighed, trying to calm down. He would have to wait until the following day and analyze your attitude to determine if you did. He looked at his hands, which were still trembling from the shock, still trying to figure out if all had been real.

When doing so, he realized that in his clenched fist, he was still holding your dress, the reason for all this fucking disaster.

And the first thing he reached out to do in his soporiferous state of craziness was to take it up to his nose and smell it.

He closed his eyes and gave it a deep sniff and all the subtleties of your fragrance reached the deepest of his being. That calmed him down a bit. He held the cloth tighter and his knees pressed together. The image of your precious pussy glistening in the gloomy room and your yearning face got back to his memory. Your lips looked so kissable. He let out all the air in his lungs abruptly, so hot it made a little cloud of vapor in the cold air of his ratcave.

He got up, dress still in his hand, locked himself in his room so as not to end up just like you, and hid in his bed.

He just couldn't think reasonably because the soothing feeling that your smell and the memories of your lewd display had made his other hand wander slowly to his boxers.

If you had realized or not, that had to wait until next morning. Right now, This should have been the most prideful night of his life. 

He just couldn't believe it. He knew he had good looks and he had told himself that the girls at school probably got off thinking about him despite them saying they hated him for his awful personality. But he didn't believe it for one second! Actually witnessing a girl touch herself thinking about him, and making it unmistakable by moaning his name so sensually…and not any girl, it was you.

Even though he hated himself for feeling like that, he still thought you were the most beautiful. And after getting to witness just how angelic your voice sounded moaning his name, a life without hearing it again sounded like doom.

He couldn't help but imagine your voice moaning his name again and again, begging him to do the lewdest things to you. To imagine how it would feel to touch and lick your pussy in such an aroused and drenched state.

And he couldn't help but to put his hand around the base and stroke his cock, the one you were fantasizing was inside of you instead of those fingers you stuck inside your soaked pussy. The one you were wondering about its size, width, feeling against your skin.

It was there, at the other side of the wall. He was stroking it at an increasing speed as he inhaled your smell from the dress he kept close to his lips.

The same dress you had worn to impress another man. One who deserted you and broke your heart like you were nothing.

The same dress that had made him so mad, but also unable to keep hiding to himself that he desired you deeply. It made him want you and no other. Even if he hated you, he needed you crazily.

So he imagined he could have you as he masturbated, thinking a bit that you owed it to him. If you could shamelessly get your pussy that swollen and red and have such a good time at his expense, then he could jerk himself off to death fantasizing he could have you too.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Art by @miruko40393 on twitter.

This is truly the exact face Kuni had after doing what he did, feeling awful with himself.

Author's Note: OMG I can't believe I finally finished it 😭 I hope you like it cuz I put my all into this one 🥲 I'll start next chap when I finish a spin-off of this story that was requested to me, which is on the making 👀 So sad cuz I started uni again but that doesn't mean I'll stop writing! I'm working on finishing these projects!

#scaramouche smut #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin x you #fanfic #genshin fanfic #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi smut

[crp-low-quality-content]

My experiences from shifting to a realistic creepypasta reality.

i'm gonna tell you guys about my shifting experience to a REALISTIC creepypasta reality. Remember that you have to at least be 14 or 16 to read this because there are very messed up and disgusting stuff in this post, and most things look like it came from a the boys episode so DON'T READ IT if you're too sensitive to this stuff.

And a reminder that english is not my first language

One day me and smile dog made a bet about something i don't remember much, but he lost and i made him dress like paw patrol for a week.

once I had a mission in an abandoned factory and I hadn't to kill anyone just rob an item there, but there was criminals in there and an innocent man, so I decided to save him, which was extremely hard for me but he ended running from me frightened because of me... and he ran to a avenue where a truck ran over him.

one day masky made me mad, so I sneaked into Toby's room and extracted his cum on the floor and put it in masky's coffee.

I had a crush on Dr smiley once so I decided to write him a letter confessing to him. but the letter ended up in Slenderman's hands and later he told me he felt the same.

During a phase of my childhood when I was 7 years old, I had a kitten, and one day my cat had disappeared and I had been very sad, so my mother had prepared a meat soup to cheer me up, and when I had finished eating she showed me a piece of my cat's head and said: "was it good?". And then she laughed.

When i was a normal human in my 14s i had an encounter with a zalgo's prophet on Omegle's and they said that they were coming to me, so i thought that if i acted weird in my webcam they wouldn't come. So i started to do wild animal noises and pissed myself.

The prophet or zalgo's proxy, didn't came to get me so it worked.

one day I was in my real form, when I saw a girl with black hair wearing a white sweatshirt that I thought was Jeff, so I started following her, until she turned to me and screamed: "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" and threw pepper spray on my face.

I've already eaten a piece of Jack when he had an accident and was on the operating table, so they removed a piece of meat from his ribs that was very damaged and hanging and left it on a tray next to him. I was passing in the corridor and when I looked inside the operating room I saw the piece of meat on the tray and that Dr. smiley had gone out to get something, I sneaked in, took the piece and ate it and left the room.

I don't know what came over me, but at least it was good.

I found out that he regenerates, so this accident was no big deal.

One day I'd been bullied by everyone in the mansion, so i "accidentally" dropped some drug in the soup i was making and the people there ended up eating it, and everyone, except the ghosts, went high. And i got punished for it.

One day I made pasta (not a Creepypasta) as dinner and everyone who ate got sick and almost shit themselves. And again I've got punished and gone to the mansion's dungeon.

One day the proxy trio humiliated me in front of everyone, and i wanted revenge so i posted anonymously a hentai of them three in the mansion's web, and everyone who had phones saw it.

I dated Jack for a while there, and he started to like me to the point where he revealed his face to me. When he did that I realized he was so ugly that I almost cried when I kissed him. After about two weeks I broke up with him.

during my first Christmas in the mansion I saw offenderman using the Christmas turkey to do things u know what... but I was too shy to tell anyone, so during the dinner everyone ate the turkey, except me.

During a mission me and some proxies were discussing a plan and soon we got to a part that involved opening degrees, so I made a joke telling masky to open my legs 180 degrees and I got punished for it.

Note: proxies have a higher ranking than other creepys or lone rangers as they're called there, so you can't disrespect them at all

I already made at least 3 people go to a mental institution.

One day i got to knew about Jeff's and Liu's parents, so while Liu was very drunk i called him on a caller ID and i did my best mom impression voice to say: "it's me Liu, your mother, and I'm coming back for you." While playing hell background noises.

when i was 8 i hated clowns with all my forces but one day i had the bad luck to laughing jack find me. i hated him too much but i was good in not showing it, so one day I've set fire on him and Lucky that my mother found out about my "friend" and got rid of him.

my mother was a witch in that reality.

One say i fell out of my bedroom's window and broke a few bones, and i was brought to the medical office of the mansion and explained what happened to me to nurse and and she just said: "skill issue".

Of course, these are the funniest and light stuff that happened to me. Going to this reality just messed with me, and I'm still scared of some things, but my mental state is fine there's nothing to worry about me.

#creepypasta #shifting #reality shifting #dr smiley #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #masky #ticci toby #slenderman #zalgo #nurse ann #smile dog #homicidal liu #weird

[cinnamon-roll-seth]

Aemond Targaryen X Fem!OC Fic || chapter VI

Fic Masterlist

Jacaerys was still fuming at breakfast the next morning.

“Bloody one-eyed cunt,” He grumbles under his breath as he takes another bite of his muffin.

“Jace,” Rhaenyra scolds lightly.

“What, so he’s allowed to insult us in front of everyone but I cannot insult him in private?” The Princess’s oldest son responds.

“We are here to make peace with our family, not fight with them.”

“He started it!”

“And you will finish it. Aemond is our family, our blood, and soon enough he will be your sister’s husband. You must learn to get along with him, or ignore him at the very least.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Jace grumbles. Laenora pays no attention to her brother’s complaints, looking down at the table silently as she eats her food.

“Laenora, my sweet girl, are you feeling well?” Rhaenyra redirects her attention, taking notice of her daughter’s disheveled state, “You look like you’ve hardly slept.”

Truthfully Laenora hadn’t slept very well. It had taken her the longest time to find sleep after Aemond had left her room and when she had finally fallen into unconsciousness her dreams were plagued by a certain silver-haired uncle.

“I’m alright mother. I did not sleep very well, to be honest. I’m just feeling a bit homesick.” She lies. She was certainly not going to tell her mother the real reason she hadn’t slept well and certainly not in front of her brothers, stepfather, and stepsisters.

“Oh darling, I miss home as well. We only have to endure it a little while longer. I suspect we’ll leave for Dragonstone a day or two after you and Aemond’s wedding.”

“She’ll be coming back with us?” Lucerys asks, “Shouldn’t she stay in King’s Landing with her husband?”

“Normally she would, yes. But Laenora is my heir, she will be Queen after myself. My father taught me how to rule and I will teach my daughter as well. Aemond will be coming with us to Dragonstone. I suspect Alicent won’t be happy about it but she’ll have to deal.” Rhaenyra responds to her son.

“So he’ll be living with us then. That’s great news,” Jace replies sarcastically.

“Perhaps he won’t be so bad if you just give him a chance, Jace,” Laenora suggests.

“Give him a chance? After the strife he caused last night? The vile insult he made against us?”

“It was in poor taste I agree. But if you had only been a bit kinder to him when we were young maybe he wouldn’t feel the need to lash out now. You could’ve been good friends.”

“You take his side now just as you always did then. You are living in the past, Laenora, believing that you have any chance at a happy marriage with him simply because you two were friends as children. We had been here only a day and our uncle was already being cruel. He is nothing like the boy he once was and you are silly and naive to think otherwise.” The oldest son of Princess Rhaenyra stands up from his spot angrily as his sister recoils from the harshness in which he spoke to her.

“You are Strong as much as Luke, Joffrey, and I. His insults do not exclude you, remember that.” He finishes hotly.

“Jace!” Rhaenrya scolds but her son had already stomped out of the room.

The rest of the room was silent as they had witnessed Jace’s outburst. Laenora’s cheeks were flushed with humiliation. Her stepsisters were looking at her as if they pitied her while Lucerys was looking down at his plate awkwardly.

“Oh, my love. He didn’t mean it, he’s just angry.” Rhaenyra tells her daughter, reaching out to place her hand gently on Laenora’s shoulder. The younger princess stands up from her spot.

“I’m going for a ride,” She announces quietly, rushing out of the room before anyone can see the tears threatening to escape.

She cries softly the whole walk back to her chambers and while she puts on her riding gear until she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror attached to the vanity, face red and splotchy. She looks weak, like a silly little girl crying because her brother was mean to her.

But she is not weak. She is a dragon, and dragons do not cry.

She wipes her tears away angrily before she leaves her chambers in pursuit of flying freely through the skies.

Vermithor perks up when he spots his rider dismounting the horse she had borrowed from the castle stables. He is quick to notice her distressed mood as she approaches him and he leans his large snout down to rest against her chest as he lets out a concerned grumble.

“Nyke alright, vermithor. Nyke simply yearn naejot sagon isse se jēdar. (I am alright, Vermithor. I simply yearn to be in the sky.)” Laenora tells him softly.

Understanding her words the beast nods his head toward the rope ladder cascading down the side of his large bronze body, beckoning his rider to climb up. She wastes no time, climbing into the leather saddle before ordering him into the air, to which he immediately obeys.

There is nothing Laenora loves more than being up in the sky on dragon-back. Nothing could ever compare to the feeling of freedom that comes from soaring through the open air and feeling the wind in her hair.

The Princess often retreats to the skies in times of distress or when she simply needs a break from reality, much like her mother when she was her age. Rhaenrya would always love Syrax and the feeling of riding but she hasn’t had as much time to do so since Aegon and Viserys were born.

Laenora dreads the time that will come when she will have her own children to occupy her time instead of having the freedom to take Vermithor to the skies whenever she desires.

“Sōvegon eglikta, vermithor! (Fly higher, Vermithor!)” She shouts and the dragon obeys, soaring up through the clouds. She closes her eyes in content as the wind blows through her dark hair and the conflict from breakfast is lost in her mind.

Vermithor suddenly grumbles in alert and Laenora opens her eyes once more as a shadow is casted over them. She looks up, seeing a familiar, large she-dragon soaring above them.

Vhagar swoops down so that she is flying along side the Bronze Fury and Aemond smirks over at his niece.

He can’t believe how beautiful Laenora looks upon her dragon’s back, looking perfect and joyful and free as she rides one of the largest beasts alive.

“Nyke gōntan daor expect naejot ūndegon ao bē isse se air, Niece! (I did not expect to see you up in the air, Neice!)” He calls out to her.

“Emagon ao māzigon naejot torment issa arlī, Uncle? (Have you come to torment me again, Uncle?)” She responds accusingly.

“Do you believe my only goal is to bring you torment?”

“Well it certainly seemed that way last night.”

“And were you terribly bothered when I left you breathless and squirming?”

“No actually, I was referring to when you insulted my brothers and I, and ruined dinner,” She responds hostilely.

“Don’t lie, Niece. You were like a bitch in heat, practically begging me to fuck you. I imagine you were quite frustrated when I left.” Aemond taunted.

Laenora’s cheeks get hot as she squirms in her saddle, “You have a filthy mouth, Uncle.”

“I think you will find that my filthy mouth will satisfy you quite nicely once we are married.”

“Bold of you to assume I will let your filthy mouth anywhere near me,” She shoots back.

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be able to resist. You already tried that last night and it didn’t work out very well if I recall.”

The princess doesn’t respond, instead dashing ahead on Vermithor, leaving Aemond stunned as he watches her long dark hair fly behind her.

He speeds after her, attempting to cut Vermithor off, to which his rider directs him to swoop down and fly underneath Vhagar.

The Bronze Fury soars back up, cutting off Vhagar, who then drifts to the left to avoid running into the slightly smaller dragon. Laenora looks back and laughs at her betrothed’s frustrated expression.

Aemond swerves in front of Vermithor. Laenora curses as she directs him upward, narrowly missing the other dragon. Now it’s his turn to laugh.

The two dragons continue swerving and dancing around each other playfully as their riders seek to cut each other off.

“Ao don’t gīmigon skoros seeing ao riding aōha zaldrīzes raqagon bisa iksos doing naejot issa, niece! (You don’t know what seeing you riding your dragon like this is doing to me, niece!)” Aemond calls out at one point.

Laenora smirks and calls out, “Dracarys!”

Vermithor, staying far enough away from the other dragon so that she knows it is not a real attack, breathes a mouthful of flames at Vhagar, narrowly missing Aemond, who is stunned again as his niece laughs and speeds off again.

The two dragons land side-by-side and Laenora climbs down from Vermithor.

“Ao gōntan sȳrī tubī, vermithor. Nyke jāhor maghagon ao nykeā reward tolī. (You did well today, Vermithor. I will bring you a reward later.)” She praises her dragon softly, rubbing her hand down his scaled face.

Vermithor let’s out a content grumble that almost sounds like a purr and nuzzles against his rider’s hand.

Aemond approaches Laenora’s side after dismounting Vhagar.

“You don’t play fair, Niece.” He accuses.

“Neither do you, Uncle,” She responds simply.

“I never claimed to.”

“Nor did I.”

He steps closer to her, “You truly don’t know what you do to me, Laenora.”

“Then show me, Aemond,” She tells him.

He leans down slowly as she looks up at him, encouraging him wordlessly to keep going. He does, eager to close the distance between them, just as he has imagined doing so many times before. However, just as his lips are barely brushing against hers she abruptly pulls away.

“Remember, I don’t play fair.” Is all she says before she turns and walks away. It’s his turn, now, to be left confused and unsatisfied.

Y’all I am SO sorry for the lack of update in the last week and a half. The weekend before last we had family staying over and then all week last week I was super sick. I am recovered now and will be back to updating as often as I can. I don’t know if this chapter will make up for the wait but I hope it will.

Tag List- @elle4404 @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @alijulia87 @octaviareina @bekky06 @solacestyles @stargaryenx @xcharlottemikaelsonx

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #laenora velaryon #multifandom #multifandom fic #aemond targaryen imagine #house targaryen #house velaryon #aemond x laenora #jacaerys x daena

[dangermousie]

There was no light in the room. She didn't see Gu Jiusi, but she heard his breathing. She followed the moonlight and walked in, and saw him.

Gu Jiusi was sitting beside the bed, he curled up, hugged himself, gritted his teeth, trembled, and didn't say a word.

He cried uncontrollably, his tears and snot mixed together, but he made no sound.

Liu Yuru walked in front of him, Gu Jiusi was holding himself, he seemed to know what Liu Yuru was going to say, he sniffed and his teeth chattered: "I'm fine, you don't need to say anything, I It's alright, I'm really alright..."

"We will go to Youzhou tomorrow, we will not delay, my mother is still waiting for me, you also want me to send it back, I am fine, fine..."

Liu Yuru didn't say a word, she just stood in the dark, watching this person quietly, after a long time, she squatted down, opened her arms, and hugged him gently.

Gu Jiusi was stunned for a moment, he froze in her arms, and he heard her say, "Cry."

Gu Jiusi didn't speak, Liu Yuru hugged him tightly and whispered, "I'm here, I don't laugh at you."

Gu Jiusi was silent, and Liu Yuru hugged him quietly, feeling that his tears fell through her clothes and fell on her shoulders. 

And:

Gu Jiusi was out of breath, he leaned against her arms and wailed: "What's the use of me? What's the use of me?! I can't protect anyone, I can't. Live him, I can't protect Yang Wenchang, my father, my brother, I can't protect anyone!"

"I'm pretentious, I think the whole world is drunk and I'm awake alone, now the wind and rain are coming, now, there is only a mere Wang Shanquan!" Gu Jiusi gasped, scolded, shouted angrily, "Just mere Jiedu envoy can ignore the law of the king, bully me and humiliate me and cause me to come this far, make me flee with my family, lose my father and right, and make me so embarrassed."

Gu Jiusi closed his eyes in pain, and fell into Liu Yuru's arms. Liu Yuru didn't say a word, she just hugged him tightly, put her head against his neck, and listened to his heart-piercing voice. Crying, not saying a word.

"I hurt him..." Gu Jiusi burst into tears, "I hurt him..."

"No, Jiusi," Liu Yuru said, she hugged him tightly and gritted her teeth, "It wasn't you who killed him. It was Wang Shanquan, Your Majesty, and Liang who harmed him. These chaotic times, these people will do anything for their own rights, and treat the common people as ants."

"You did nothing wrong."

Liu Yuru sniffed: "It's them who are wrong, it's them who should be punished, you can't take their faults on yourself, and punishing yourself doesn't work."

And:

And Gu Jiusi looked at him quietly, he didn't say anything, after crying all night, he had a strange calmness instead. He watched this playmate from childhood to adulthood, watching him laugh out loud, then the knife fell, the head rolled to the ground, and blood spurted out.

There has never been a moment when he has such a profound understanding of what a troubled world is.

There has never been a moment when he truly understands what an urgent and sincere desire he is to acquire thousands of rooms in a mansion.

When he was reading and hearing this sentence, he only felt that the words fell on the top, heroic and sad, but when he listened to it like this, he felt that every word had a piercing pain.

Until there was no one around, he watched the heavy rain wash away Yang Wenchang's blood, he stepped forward, knelt on the ground, and put his hand on his blood.

Liu Yuru was watching for him, Gu Jiusi just let the blood and rain soaked his palm.

"Wenchang," he said, "Go ahead, I will help you realize your wish."

Gu Jiusi knelt on the ground, kowtowed three times, then stood up, grabbed Liu Yuru's hand, and walked away without looking back.

1. I love this novel!

2. This novel and the drama trailer seem to have nothing in common.

3. I actually love that the mains are not of special overpowered status. She is very minor upper class and he’s from a very wealthy merchant family, but neither is royal or from a family of powerful generals or feudal lords. Nor do they have some secret army or special magic powers or better than anyone’s fighting skills or w/e. It’s unusual in the web novels I come across and it actually makes it more realistic - I actually find it really narratively neat that their entire world is upended and Gu Jiusi’s whole family and friends are either murdered or made to go on the run not by the emperor or prime minister or w/e but a relatively minor military aristocrat. The Wang Clan just wanted money for upcoming troubled time and to cow other merchants to shore up its position and used the incoming period of lawlessness as a pretext to go after the family with the most money (and who they personally didn’t love.) I mean, there is little chance of the Wang Patriarch coming anywhere near the Imperial Throne or even having plans to. Controlling the city is about the most he can expect (or maybe if he gets really lucky, an eventual court position if he backs the right challenger in the civil war.) And yet, he was able to destroy the Gus and other merchants without even trying hard. That makes it not only real, it means the leads have to work really hard to survive since their position is not special.

#cnovel #Chang Feng Du

[uroborosymphony]

   I always loved the sea.

   2023, March. Ilana's memories of the sea.

"I remember my mother, at sea. In her white dresses and grand hats, back in the summers on the coast in america. She was singing to me as our eyes were resting on the back of my father, sailing. My Little Doves, he always called , asking of us to never stop singing as he was listening, along the chants of the waves. There was tranquility, serenity, at sea. When I close my eyes I still hear her laughter, like a gentle melody next to mine ; I still feel the sun, on my skin in the late July.

I want Luna to meet the sea. She's never seen the ocean, it's one of my grandest sorrows. My little girl could have, early in the year as her school was organizing a trip to the south of the country. It was just a matter of money I have worked the hardest I could to gather. Debasing myself, letting the clients hold me by the waist around a glass of whiskey after my stages, eager for bigger tips. Eating a little less on my side, making sure her plates were full and hopefully, saving just a little more by the day. It wasn't enough, it's never enough. On a monday morning, we watched her classmates get on that bus, without her. They left her behind. No money, no trip. My little moon wasn't upset no, We can go to the pool, I like the pool 엄마 - she said. And I cried, like I sometimes cry in front of her, this frustration, this humiliating pain, unstoppable rivers from my eyes. I feel her little hands holding my cheeks asking me why I am crying, why I am so sad. It destroys me, not to be able to give her the world like I promised I would, having to face the other mothers looking down on me for not being a little more like them. I have stolen a car not so long than two days ago. It's a really nice car. In the weekend I will drive and drive and drive all the way to Busan with her. I have enough for a couple nights in a motel by the beach. I will give her the sea."

#일 𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐎 / the songstress. #일 𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐎 / diary.

[valerieismss]

Dude arfid sucks it’s the most embarrassing mental disorder ever. Embarrassing arfid moments:

• the time I went to an aapi event to try different Filipino dishes and other foods that were there in an effort to explore different flavor profiles but left early and cried in my dorm in front of my now ex girlfriend over it

• the time my now ex girlfriend invited me out to eat with her 4 other friends at a restaurant I had never been to and I broke down in the bathroom and she had to comfort me outside the restaurant

• the one thousand times I’ve had to embarrass myself at restaurants by asking for the kids menu or at people’s homes when they insist on cooking for me not understanding that it is torture on my end (I usually eat alone or beforehand)

• the times my friends have invited me to eat with their friends in literal dhall and I’ve declined because eating in front of new people is so vulnerable and awful

• being force fed as a child even after I’ve expressed that I don’t like the food (likely what caused my intense fear of food. I wasn’t like this as a baby)

• the times Miguel (bio father) would yell at my mother and I in public because I didn’t want to finish my food (I was fucking five)

• the binging in private…the restriction…obviously not inherent to arfid but arfid isn’t my only food problem and it exacerbates my others

• being interrogated by people who don’t understand my fear around food who insist on having me try new foods and saying things like “really? You don’t like that? How?” And “you just have to try it!!”

• feeling like a fucking child and being infantilized even though I’m an adult because the way I am about food makes me feel like the helpless child I was

• just today I nearly cried over trying octopus man I stare at food for so long before I try it because imagining the texture makes me lose it

• being hesitant to try safe foods when they’re made by other people which just makes me look like an asshole

• trying to articulate why I’m like this about food fully knowing everything I say is irrational and sounds childish and everyone thinks that of me as well

• when cat sitting for my professor, the only thing I could say when she asked me what groceries to buy was “I eat like a child”

• over and over the insistence of trying new foods and just eat vegetables and balanced diet and constant lectures over the way I eat it’s so infuriating I could SCREAM!!! I cannot talk about my food issues even to my damn THERAPIST without getting this shit

I’m a person who constantly works towards self improvement. I do the things that are hard. I force myself to try new foods even though it ends in a breakdown sometimes. Even when I like the food I feel like an idiot about it. I take my meds, I try not to be self destructive, but with food it’s so hard to control myself. It’s such a social act. When I became a teenager, I started eating alone at home. I’m not used to eating with family or others. My friend says she’s going to eat dinner with her family often and it gets me every time.

I work so hard to be okay and all people see is this terrible avoidance of new food and how I eat like a child. It’s fucking embarrassing. I hate it so much. It’s embarrassing to have to tell people. It’s embarrassing to have an eating disorder. It’s embarrassing to enforce the idea that autistic people are like children in others when I so desperately fight against that view.

I want to cry in anger because the people I love do this to me so fucking often and I really do try new foods despite everything and it’s so hard but I do it but no one sees that. I can’t think of a person who doesn’t embarrass me about the way I eat, and half the time the embarrassment comes from me and not them because of how much shame I feel. I feel humiliated. Fuck this man like I KNOW!! I FUCKING KNOW ITS STUPID!! I KNOW I SOUND LIKE A CHILD!! I KNOW ITS IRRATIONAL I KNOW ITS BAD STOP ASKING ABOUT IT DONT TALK TO ME ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#valerieisms

[storiesagehumileation]

Mums point of view

 Anne Steals from Her Mother As a mother, I always tried my best to instill good values and morals in my children. However, there are times when they test our patience and push the boundaries. This was one of those times. One sunny afternoon, I noticed that my favorite skirt and knickers were missing from my wardrobe. I searched high and low, but they were nowhere to be found. My heart sank as I realized that my daughter, Anne, must have taken them. Feeling a mix of anger and disappointment, I quickly went to find Anne. I found her attempting to sneak out of the house, wearing my stolen skirt and knickers. Anne! I exclaimed, my voice filled with frustration. Startled, she froze in her tracks, her eyes widening with guilt. She knew she had been caught red-handed. Without saying a word, I grabbed her by the arm and led her straight into the kitchen. Once we reached the kitchen, I sat Anne down on a chair and stood in front of her, trying to calm myself before speaking. Anne, I began sternly, stealing is wrong. It's not only disrespectful but also hurtful. Tears welled up in Anne's eyes as she realized the gravity of her actions. But before she could utter an apology or explanation, I decided it was time for a more direct approach. I gently took hold of Anne's chin and looked into her eyes. You know what happens when you misbehave like this, I said firmly. With that, I reached into a drawer and pulled out a pacifier. Placing it in Anne's mouth, I spoke to her as if she were a baby. Now, now, I cooed softly. We need to remind you of your place. Anne's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she sucked on the pacifier, feeling like a small child once again. i then leaned her over my lap and spanked anne like an infant. she screamed and screamed as i spanked her over my skirt and knickers. anne kicked her legs helplessly

As I continued to scold Anne, I knew that a simple scolding and spnaking wouldn't be enough to teach her a lesson. I needed to make her understand the consequences of her actions fully. With a heavy heart, I gently lifted Anne from the chair and guided her towards the center of the kitchen. Anne, I said firmly, this skirt you stole is mine. You have no right to take it without permission. I raised her skirt and lowered her knickers, exposing her bottom and vagina. Anne's face turned bright red with humiliation and i held her there in that postion for all the world to see. anne realized the extent of her punishment. To add an extra level of discipline, I placed a toddler's potty beneath her and sat her down like an infant  Now, I said firmly, you will sit here and think about what you've done. Anne's eyes filled with tears as she sat on the potty, feeling incredibly small and foolish. i smiled a gentle smile when anne used the potty. her face going a very dark red 

After some time had passed, it was clear that Anne had learned her lesson. She was sobbing uncontrollably, begging for mercy and promising never to steal again. Feeling a mix of sympathy and determination, I stood Anne up from the potty and led her to the sink. she waddled all the way over as her knickers remained around her ankel. she continued to cry, I gently cleaned her like an infant, using warm water and a soft cloth. Anne's cries grew louder as she felt the humiliation wash over her.

I gently removed Anne's skirt and knickers, leaving her in just a vest. I then sat her down on a chair and looked into her tear-filled eyes. From now on, you will speak like a baby, I said softly, trying to maintain a calm but firm tone. Anne's face turned even redder with embarrassment as she realized the extent of her punishment. She hesitated for a moment before finally speaking in a small, childlike voice. I sowwy, Mommy, she whimpered, her words slightly muffled by the pacifier still in her mouth. I nodded, acknowledging her apology. That's a good start, Anne, I replied gently. But remember, actions speak louder than words. You need to show me through your behavior that you understand the importance of honesty and respect. Anne sniffled and nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. She knew that she had let me down and that it would take time to rebuild my trust. Good girl, I said softly, patting her head gently. Now let's get you cleaned up and dressed properly. I led Anne to the bathroom and filled the bathtub with warm water. As she sat in the tub, I carefully washed away the tears and dirt from her face. Anne closed her eyes and allowed herself to be cared for like a baby, feeling both comforted and humbled by the experience. Once she was clean, I dried her off with a fluffy towel and helped her into fresh clothes.

[thesecretattic]

DEATH NOTE

Kisiki do logo ki laash pe se apni “wannabe” Shaadi baraat nikaale simply cuz everyone else was marrying in Cov times. Shameless people Harsh and his FAKE lugaai she should read this and see how serious it is especially about Aditya Singh Rajput and his death and my death. More SHOCKING things about Harsh and what he said or did back then he turned the tables after that. Please read it entirely it’s VERY IMPORTANT.

“I was pretty too at 20-21 I was looking fair and cute without makeup in broad daylight BUT he ruined me”

I was struggling to breathe n I was breathing in bits I can’t walk even upto the bathroom my pressure was falling tremendously and my vision had turned WHITE and blurry I couldn’t see anything in the bathroom and I cud feel numb and lifeless and all the blood levels being sucked out of my brain I was cold inside it was chilly ice cold in my head I’m somehow writing this

Its VERY IMPORTANT pls read it I had to jot it down again ignore typos or lack of punctuation marks. Relying on autocorrect.

You all know that he Harsh Jayesh Rajput came first to me and the story has been going on since the past 8-10 years! All MY YOUTH I’m dyin-g a lip virgin or virgin today I was treated like an untouchable now no one will accept me in this age

NEXT you’ve seen the SHOCKING OBVIOUS signs along with all the markings in my previous posts (at least from June 2023 I’ve been sharing them since years now and there are more than 1000s of coincidences or signs since the past 10 years there’s not been a single day I haven’t received them) they all revolve around me and Harsh

Yet inspite of that since he himself came AND THEN STARTED ACTING ODD like OCD for no reason he wud like my pics on some dating app they had a Snapchat like feature he was already in my list and you could upload 24 hr selfies or posts he would religiously like them BUT not utter a single word, I have all the screenshots in my old laptop, he had also ASKED for my bb pin but he was not adding either and then he was talking to my fake ID which he knew was me he even taunted and left innuendos he was asking if I was single and sending kiss emojis even on day one he was sounding very happy but he was blocking the REAL ID and he was going on being ambivalent and bipolar he would come and then block.

I didn’t want to say all that, I can’t share much in detail my hands and feet are ice cold and I’ve cried a lot and I have fever too and my health condition was already critical since the past 3 days I’ve been struggling and hampering to breathe I can’t even walk up to the bathroom I told u what happened. That’s why I’ve been sleeping for hours throughout the day I’ve been up since 12 am today the whole night crying due to my mother’s torture and this issue.

IN 2019 I sent those gifts to make up for the book and because his fans would not send anything, Taher and Aneri wud always flaunt, I had stopped watching TV in 2015 itself and I’ve never heard his voice in real life, so I was NOT some fan he came first he was interested he was asking for the bb pin je was liking the photos he was sending kiss emojis FIRST and he was asking if I was single, he had used WORDS LIKE “DEAR AND DARLING” I still remember cuz I’m not used to this, someone using such terms of endearments for me, no one talks to me leave alone nicely. I know it’s cheesy but I have mixed feelings about it cuz it was him I thought it was safe.

I SENT those gifts to makeup for the book even thought I had not divulged anything about him in the book I have high fever n low pressure + shallow breathing I might just die after writing this post pls read I sent them across hoping I’ll find someone ELSE cuz he just went away without giving me a chance I have mentioned how he was luring me with the kisses and those other things go READ them had to say that, but then he SHOWED everyone that it was one sided and he humiliated me publicly in front of the world,

Since he was doing that I thought I’ll find someone else eventually and the gifts were just to makeup for the book which had nothing about him I wanted to make him happy cuz i loved him but I could only do it materialistically because he hated me now (due to unknown reasons) I was like he can take those things and be happy and I can love him from far or send him that love and I’ll find someone else but he took that opportunity again to humiliate me, he didn’t thank I had made those cards and everything on my own and wrapped those 14 gifts on an EMPTY stomach but he didn’t thank nor did he return them cuz of that OCD of direct contact which grew after 2015 even more, back then he allowed himself to talk to the fake ID or just like the pics and he was then using his engaged friend’s ID that too on the dating app HE CONNECTED with me there and added me on Instagram I had shared about it on my blog the article was - Biggest Revelation or something it has a HUGE shocking sign too. He had even read that (Harsh Jayesh Rajput) anyway his OCD grew so much that he became insensitive (go through all my posts from 2020 pandemic year IT WAS ON A VERY HEINOUS LEVEL) I’m dy-ing today after 8 years of total (bed) confinement because of him, and he neither thanked nor returned the gifts to avoid any contact (OCD) and he was sitting there making fun or god knows what. Like I said I was giving them to makeup for the book and I had already thought I’ll find someone else but He even took that opportunity to reject and humiliate me in front of my cruel mother and his friends and family and eventually on internet, he himself had sent kisses and called me all sorts of things (terms of endearment) he was religiously liking the pics he was vying for that bb pin and from behind he was showing everyone that I was chasing him.

The coincidences and signs continued and next he got worse during the pandemic year AFTER which I started writing about him to seek help or to wake him up.

HE received my messages on iMessage sat there SEEING OUR SIGNS AND MARKINGS until He changed them and now I see Aneri’s numbers which torture me there’s always 53 & 23 together (5 is him and 2 is me) it started as our marriage signs you’ll understand when you’ll read my previous posts but now I see 63 somewhere lurking around along with her birthdate. I’m done. He can have a threes-ome like he said (it was his fantasy) to that fake acc he can have that with that now porno Nida and Aneri she was wearing straps and what not on her thighs that Nida no pants just like Harsh if he’s so obsessed he can do that. I want a REAL love story and actual passion if at all not such FAKE ORGAS-MS it’s all forced when you force yourself too… otherwise you don’t need handcuffs or garters. It’s in fact tacky, real lovers just need each other after all that’s what it’s all about you don’t need ENTICEMENTS.

If they had what was the most important to me he meant the entire world I loved style even when he was poor and he would repeat clothes I loved him for the same attire even the 50th time, my name happened to be Zara for a reason like the brand I was born like that my grandmother named me she wasn’t even aware of the brand. I wud dress up like that since I was a toddler. But those cheap girls had his LEATHER JACKET and Ear Stud so now I don’t want him. I’m not a beggar enough of this! Or else I’ll change my gender. I’ve cried enough.

They had him at his best even when I loved him at his worst.

This is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING:

I LOVED HIM A LOT I NEVER STALKED HIM AFTER 2016 Feb n I had stopped watching tv in 2015 itself whatever I came across was accidentally through other people, anyway I HATED myself and I was feeling very hopeless but then I remembered that I loved him even when he was looking dark in his Photos back then in 2014-15 in fact that’s why I had chosen him because I wud stay away from people who were fair and white or rich. So I chose him cuz I thought he was like me (fair-golden-dark mixed) or darker I don’t exactly fall into that dusky category but I’m not white. I’m losing breath I can’t write I’m numb I’m dy-ing I’ll copy paste rest everything from an old post cuz I’ll be reiterating it anyway. BUT FIRST I have to write this down somehow - I told myself I hate how I am and I know no will ever accept me I’m an “untouchable virgin” I got a reality check on 5th mar regarding the extent to which anyone can hate and all the INSENSITIVITY he left me to die and so did others I was open to someone “new” I had decided to find another person I thought someone else will come along even while sending those gifts I WAS ENTIRELY RELIANT on somebody else (who just wasn’t there) because Harsh was not there for me either, I kept getting abused ruthlessly I was beaten up a day PRIOR to the gifts I couldn’t sleep on one side my neck and head were swollen and even my fingers and hands with purple marks in this fibromyalgia I was beaten to death and even told I should die, I already had fever and infection also back then but I got only beatings no rest was up all night no medicine and no food had to ear my antibiotics on empty stomach then 5th Mar happened and I realised how much I was HATED.

My CONVICTIONS grew after that and I realised why THERE WAS NO ONE he had not given me any chance either although he had come first sent kiss emojis religiously liked several pics throughout the month, asked if I was single asked for the bb pin somehow used his friend to fetch my Instagram acc and also called me Dear and Darling etc. etc. But inspite of that and tons of signs he hated me and I realised he probably had superficial shallow reasons to do that and so did everyone else SO I DECIDED FIGHT BACK cuz I knew I would die alone in this abusive house if I won’t.

I was pretty too at 20-21 I was looking fair and cute without makeup in broad daylight BUT he ruined me

I remembered that all these factors which make me feel hopeless now after he has spoilt my looks were the same things I OVERLOOKED he was 7 years older than me and I was 20 back so it’s not like he didn’t have bad days, I said I hate myself but I loved him even when I saw his feet in the pic they were looking Dark Brown Sindbad promotional event when i last stalked in 2016 Feb I still loved him and told myself you can’t even imagine hating someone’s tired feet white or black, especially him I loved him blindly and dearly. And in other pics he was looking dark extremely dark so I thought he looked like that naturally otherwise I wud distance myself from fair or rich ppl NEVER even now, is a NO so I didn’t hate him in fact I loved him but I’m hopeless, then I was thinking about weight gain due to my sedentary life HE GOT ME BED RIDDEN otherwise I was 30 kgs due to stress in 2019, but I had a muscular physique (naturally) so I was broader and taller than Aneri not that petite otherwise she will read this and tell everyone I was rejectable she got a love bite I’m an untouchable virgin till now and she will tell everyone I deserved it, no I was broader and slightly taller too due to my bone structure (long hands and legs) they would tell me I should become a model when I was in my teens

He ruined that also, but I saw a sign which reminded me of something related to him so it wasn’t just his dark feet or complexion I had also seen his double chin in 2014-15 and puffy face and pimples too and I still loved him dearly. And when I was talking about “tond” Hindi word which another girl had mentioned cuz she was conscious about it I remembered THAT IN HIS BIRTHDAY pic he had that also! When I last saw in 2016 and I still loved and respected him inspite of that TOND I would’ve never left him and been around forever and ever I loved him that much

and I was punished for it.

He was poor too I still loved him. I was okay with 1% of looks and 99% ugliness or whatever poor financial status poor grammar etc. the complexion the tond the double chin the repeat clothes everything I had to share that cuz I want other girls to understand that you are NOT a loser if you feel conscious about the same things. I liked him irrespective of that and I didn’t want anyone else but him. Unfortunately he wasn’t like that and he turned out completely different and wrong I told God if he would’ve sent someone who was actually like that (full of flaws) he wouldn’t have done this. He is very proud of himself. I cried a lot even while arguing with God.

I was okay with 1% looks like I said but I didn’t want someone who was scary, boring, dull, random or creepy. I am from Gen Z he’s a millennial his parents are boomers mine are Gen X so obvs I wanted someone who would speak my language and keep up with my pace, someone of my caliber who would fathom what I’m saying but I was FORCED to talk to illiterate ppl who were adding me as “secret admirers” random creepy salacious pervs from Bhopal and all they would not understand a single word in English totally incoherent and uneducated ppl all uncouth from some village area, they weee creepy ugly not even those 1% looks scary NO STYLE even if he repeating his clothes it was different this man was nowhere like him I’m from a metropolitan city from the newer generation NO ONE WILL ACCEPT OR TOLERATE THIS NONSENSE! That perv ewww his eyes were demonic as if he wud wear Kajal (kohl) and he was very lecherous and all yucks full por-nhead I didn’t deserve that! He couldn’t even say “What’s up?” No youthfulness I wanted someone of my level like Harsh but he was chasing ppl out of his league.

And here’s the BIGGEST thing which haunts me and makes me cry day and night, whenever he wud block I wud black out and get a hammering headache and my heart wud stop too after that I got that destabilising “cluster headache” issue and fibromyalgia due to constant torture he kept blocking and liking sporadically FOR NO REASON but he was trying to lure and humiliate me and show me - this is the main part due to which I can’t live and I cry, he was trying to prove that I’m my worst nightmare I’m a “creep” like that Bhopali perv and I deserve to get married or rapd by one. It’s the same thing if girls aren’t attracted (moreover he’s illiterate n pervy and he doesn’t even understand any English or anything to talk in common he won’t understand my ideas he’s to salacious anyway) ITS NOT “double standards you misogynists” there’s a scientific réason which I HAD ALREADY DEFIED for his wrinkles, his advanced age, his double chin, his complexion which was there in the photos his Tond (that Hindi word) his horrible haircut, and all those erroneous pics which made me believe he was ugly in real life and natural lighting only 1% looks where 0.5% was style and personality, AND I STILL LOVED HIM

I defied that scientific logic for him cuz I loved him.

I can’t get rapd by someone who doesn’t even have that 1 or 0.5% you want to read that tond part again? If we aren’t attracted then we aroused and then we are not lubricated either and then it’s forced entry which is r-ape. Lubricators don’t work so many girls have complained and why shud I?

I was molested when I was in KG as a toddler that’s how our life is in India and I shud let someone like that creep touch me? Forget lubrication!

He showed me that I’m my worst nightmare and I deserve that.

That Bhopali and another Bihari guy TOOK ADVANTAGE OF HIM (didn’t want to get communal not all Biharis are such but ppl are sick of each other in their own culture even in our religion I don’t want to get married to Dadi-walas bearded men cuz they keep 2-3 wives illegally another girl was complaining about it that too in Hijab don’t underestimate Muslim girls) so they took advantage of that and created an ID called Harsh last year to write something in their horrible grammar/English and then as a backup plan block me to torture me more as Harsh this time he wasn’t him it was a fake ID but he blocked too and made Preet block me too after I sent those LINKS with signs cuz he hates them and he doesn’t want to see them I sent them again from my laptop’s iMessage. He turned a blind until he managed to get Aneri’s signs too (the DEVIL shows her numbers) I had seen Zara Rajput NOT just numbers like her’s and I had also seen several ZH here and there and even SHARED all those shocking screenshots all across social media, with all the relevant markings and stuff. Our names had again come up with 53-23 marriage signs and all this has happened many times before, even our birthdates but he will not even look at them

I wanted a platonic relationship but then some fortune telling site LITERALLY SHOWED ME this - I wasn’t expecting that it had my words which I never VOICED

I would say in my head that I don’t want to ruin anyone’s life I don’t like “INJUSTICE” even though scientifically it pains girls not men if they aren’t attracted to anyone, but I opted to be the nail instead of the hammer cuz I don’t want to be my worst nightmare like he showed, so that was however the Injustice part I like fairness and I didn’t want injustice for anymore so I came up with platonic which meant love and care but no intimacy, but I knew that the other person might not care if he’s not ready to (fully) accept me in a complete relationship like I overlooked Harsh and all those things if it’s not like that then I can’t expect much concern either.

The site said “Going through the hardest things ever, unimaginable struggles and pain but Giving Blind JUSTICE to others and ignoring the natural and immediate need for care, love and intimacy.” It’s as they read my platonic idea or mind :/

I jotted it down so that I can be more comfortable in a platonic relationship but I didn’t want to budge from that. Or else I wanted you o be just house mates. I was cute and fair once and his pics too had only that 1% looks and I loved him but things changed and he left me behind. And even ruined me.

He is making me feel like I’m my worst nightmare you know how or why you’ve read enough I can’t keep typing you know he’s still DOING THAT he knows about the ring too and those signs and the Devil’s involvement BE KEPT TURNING A BLIND EYE until his Friend DIED and how shameless he’s still doing that.

Fetch Diana’s post she was afraid of car accidents and the devil made sure her car would run into the 13th pillar and there were more numbers which I can’t even take here which I saw in Harsh’s case cuz he was HELPING THE DEVIL in surfacing me my worst fears and nightmares, inspite of OUR MARRIAGE signs he got married and it still kills le I wasn’t ready to stalk him so the Devil Killed Aditya Singh Rajput like Diana to show me Harsh’s ring. He knew my fear of rings EVEN IN INDIA where it’s highly uncommon, they exchange rings there but I was afraid of spotting a gold ring on his ring finger which I eventually saw at the funeral.

He was insensitive to me and he left me to did but that new fake wife had him wrapped around her finger in no time he was putting reels with Jiya hardly in Oct last year I saw due to an accidental click on a fanclub ID and within a few months that new woman GOT HIM LAID that too forever. He didn’t throw the ring. I’m dyi-ng after this I just wanted to share this whole culminated note to describe everything for one last time but his love for her and insensitivity towards me is killing me that too for no reason - Zara Sauleh Bye you’ll never see more signs again I’m dy-ing forever. He was the worst man I had ever met after my mother I’m dyin-g that virgin and it’s okay ur fake wife must be used to this, she’s that creep you were showing me she’s SHAMELESS and opportunistic that that Bhopali to take advantage and come and sleep with someone else’s LOVE I’m not you’ve read enough.

Zara Sauleh

Additional notes copy pasted after which I’ll die a silent death:

Aneri was white like Mohsin and Aaditya Kapadia and Srman Harsh was never that fair, Aaditya however is married a girl who’s dusky and darker than me, and Srman too was seen with the darkest girl possible way more darker than me… it was some random sketchy girl though anyway Harsh is the only one chasing someone whiter. And HE TURNED OUT TO BE MY WORST NIGHTMARE

For girls it’s not easy to look good, we lose a lot of haemoglobin count during periods, speaking of pms this is why it’s easier for men to look better - we get PMS symptoms for almost 20 days they start before our period at times even 11-12 days prior and last all the way for another 10 days and then Ovulation, during both the times we are in pain even during the latter and our skin breaks out, our hair is frizzier, we get bloating not only in the stomach but also in the face, fingers and legs… so if we’ll match our looks we are going to end up with someone who’s dumb average minded and it’s riskier because as “men” they aren’t safe they don’t have noble intentions, these same people who wouldn’t have anything to talk about will only think of fcking and it hurts girls not men if we aren’t turned on or aroused, none of us is in interested in their body girls have assets to turn men on men have nothing, except for the face and some even have a very feminine physique even though women are more likely to gain weight (again due to science and comparatively a slower metabolism) so they literally have nothing and if we aren’t aroused then we aren’t lubricated (girls have already said lubricators don’t work) when we aren’t lubricated it’s a FORCED ENTRY ITS RAPE I mean clearly we are not even interested… then they don’t match our mentality thoughts or caliber eww. In India the problem is men are chasing girls who are out of their league they all want someone one notch higher when the fact is it’s easier for them to look good unlike us who face pms and ovulation (read that again) for 30 days that’s almost a month so it should have been the other way round.

[toiivoton]

I grow up locked in a room most of time w my sister, she was and has been the person i have interacted the most my entire life, my life was that room and her so she was my entire world. my mom never acknowledged my existence unless it was to casually insult me or scream to me to insane levels when she was high (she did talked w my sister for some reason) and my father who only visited me to torment me and hit me, i would literally run trying to escape for then be catched and hit again n again and my mother would watch and laugh

My mother loved making jokes abt it and my sis get mad when i didnt stand up for myself against him, but i was so small and my dad was so big i dont know how i could have i just felt so humiliated and pathetic and weak, just a total worthless failure, i think when i see violent parents in movies or media they tend to be violent against all the family but i was the only one he ever hit, i feel there was something specific with me that it was so defectuous i made everyone upset and angry and sad, i wish i had never be born so everyone would have been happier people

At some point my sis went to live to panama w our grandman and i was put back in the same room with now no human interaction since my sis was gone this time, this made me miss her n feel she was my one and only savior back then.

until today im not sure for how long was i in that room bc there wasnt sun light it was so horrible i lost sense of time it could have been a week or 6 months i have no idea. I developed insomnia and also forgot how my voice sounded like and missed the sensation you get on your throat when you make a sound, so i would talk to myself at times, otherwise i felt i would end up forgetting how to talk. i had a tv and 3 cds and i cant stop thinking about them bc im so grateful for it, i could watch them on replay forever and have something to do and have company. i feel after this any possibility of social skills were now completely taken from me or thats what i love believeing bc i love blaming on

everything for my defects

Later when i was 11 my sis came back n started getting bad and really sad but it got so bad she started threatening about killing herself. If i didnt do everything she wanted I once tried writting how i was feeling and that i was feeling bad n she found my post hand she was so digusted, she told me no one does that and that it was cringe n that i should delete it, my best friend also got annoyed at me later for being scared all the time and writting so much nonsense, i have had so little amount of friends on my life and almost if not all have leave me for this.

if i looked sad she would get mad if i didnt do everthing she say it will be so bad much worse for me, shed got so upset and would later have freak outs and talk about killing herself

if i dont do what she says she will kill herself and it will be my fault, i had to clean everything for her do all her cleaning part, wash her clothes cook n bring her food, give her all my belongings agree to everything she says, later on life when i started working i must give her all my payments, when she screams or freaks out at me and by no means im allowed to say anything back if i do it will be the end it will be much worse.. on school i cried literally everyday in front of everyone bc i just wanted to die and i didnt wanted to go back home but at the same time i was losing it bc if i wasnt there w her she would kill herself and it woul be my fault, but then bc of crying sm and being so weird i got always got bullied on school

It was like this for the next 4 years then it became less horrible and now isnt so bad shes better and im glad now but i cant help but wonder if its also bc became better at not replying back and behaving, still she’s genuinely so good to me and we can laugh togheter but im so terrified of her

But i i dont know how to be away if i say i want to live alone she will be so sad and ill be questioned, and even so im so psychically n mentally ill. I often go blind, i was in bed sick for 2 years and my medication is already so expensive, i dont feel i can live by myself i dont know how to live without her im an absolutely lost cause a

nd i feel its too late for me and i cant be fixed n i feel even if everything would be promised to me to be better n never hurt again im not sure if i want to even continue bc i no longer have energy left i just want to die

[absolutelyfizzing]

little dove

loki x reader

description - Loki acted so caring around you, more so than anyone else in his life. He loved to take care of you, especially when you had a long day, and he got teased by some of the team for it.

warnings - fem reader, cute loki and pet names, implications of gender fluid loki?, reader gets picked up, slight implications of a nsfw theme the night before

word count - 1900

A/N - this is a pretty plotless blurb but i just love this man, i have been obsessed with the new series and just wanted to write anything about him. i will inevitably be writing for him more so please end me now. there are no spoilers for the new series and it takes place in an AU after new york but pretty much otherwise out of timeline. all the avengers live at the compound together, endgame didnt happen and no i wont talk about it.

MASTERLIST

Loki was not someone who was overly friendly. To most of the people in the compound, he was courteous at best. That rule, however, was bent occasionally. The only exceptions were you and his brother (some of the time). He had been smitten with you the moment he saw you though he would never admit it. You were bubbly and light and the exact opposite of him. You were so friendly and kind that it almost made him want to be the same.

You were kind to him, which he was shocked by. Most of the people in the compound tolerated him but they were never caught being too nice. You, on the other hand, were friendly to him the day you met him.

You weren't an Avenger, you weren't really even a fighter. You were a genius in the medical field as well as the unofficial caretaker of everyone on the team. You made sure that they all ate, they didn't overwork themselves, that they were getting enough sleep every night because they were your closest friends. Everyone listened to you. You had this power over them all that they just wanted to make sure you were happy and that meant they wanted to do what you asked of them. They tried their best to take care of you as well.

When you met Loki and were very nice to him, he expected some ulterior motive. He assumed that there was something you wanted or that you would gain his trust and then humiliate him later. So he kept his guard up. This was proved wrong over the months to come. He noticed that you were that kind to everyone and you were just happy to be around other people. He let you in over time.

You became the only person who he opened up to, even more than his brother. You would keep him company even when he lashed out at others and when he was filled with guilt. You forgave him for his past without question and opened up to him as well. It took probably 3 months for Loki to realize that he was in love with you.

He couldn't believe himself. In love with a midgardian? What was he thinking?

But it was undeniable and uncontrollable. He just couldn't help himself. You would read to him and watch movies with him. You would braid his hair when he was stressed and would teach him how to cook when he asked. You were just everything to him. It took him a long time to confess. He was terrified that you would reject him. You could have had anyone you wanted, why would you choose him?

When he did confess, you were thrilled and he couldn't believe it. You kissed him and he thought he could die happy right then and there. He had never felt this much love for anyone besides his mother.

You continued to break his walls down and he fell deeper in love with you every day. He didn't, however, change his behavior towards others very much. He had grown closer to the team, having regained some trust from them all. He was no longer aggressive and he tried very hard not to lash out. Most of that was out of his own desire to be trusted. He realized that he was going to have to make his life work to remain with you and he slowly learned that most of the people in the compound weren't actually as awful as he might have originally guessed. That didn't mean that his personality changed toward them though. He was still slightly cold and short. He wouldn't smile too much and he was what some might call grumpy most of the time.

That only changed around you and everyone noticed. Loki got teased for it constantly and he couldn't care less. He just wanted to make you happy and he had no regard for what anyone thought of your relationship.

He was waiting patiently in the common area of the compound on the couch. Steve and Rhodey were sat on the couch watching something that Loki didn't recognize or care for, it was some kind of reality TV. When he heard the elevator door open he looked toward the door and you were walking towards him. A grin spread over his face and his posture relaxed. He could hear the men on the couch scoff at his sudden change in demeanor. When you got close to him he picked you up and pulled you to straddle his hips on his lap and immediately began kissing all over you. You buried your face in his chest and he kissed your hair.

"How are you, my love?" He mumbled sweetly and you hummed. "Long day?" he questioned and you nodded in affirmation. "Lets go get you some food then, yes?" He asked lightly and you hummed happily. He picked you up and you clung to him, arms and legs wrapping around him. He carried you with ease toward the kitchen. It shocked you sometimes how much he could lift and how easily he lifted you but you had to remind yourself that he was indeed a god.

"How come you never treat us that way?" Rhodey called from the couch and Loki grumbled a bit.

"Oh I'm sorry did you want me to pick you up and make you some tea?" He asked sarcastically and you giggled from where your face was pressed into his chest. He smiled at the fact that he had gotten you to laugh and he set you on the countertop. He tried to pull away to make you some food but you did not let him leave you, still holding on to the front of the shirt that he was wearing. "Do you want to talk about your day?" He asked sweetly, kissing your forehead lightly. You gazed up at him lovingly and his heart skipped a beat.

"I'm just tired. People are annoying and I didn't exactly sleep much last night." You winked at the last part. He smirked at your comment.

"I'm sorry, my love. I was under the impression that you enjoyed what we did last night but I would be happy to give you plenty of time to sleep tonight if that's what you would prefer." he teased and you punched him lightly in the chest.

"Okay fine you're right, I like getting kept up." You confessed. You paused for a moment and his eyes remained on you as he waited patiently for you to continue. "I was mistaken for an intern again today. You would think that after over a year of working here that people would recognize my name and my work but today there were some new investors walking through the facility. When they came to look at my work they started to talk to one of my coworkers and then turned to me to ask me to get them a coffee order while they waited for the doctor to arrive." You grumbled, your mood now sour at the memory. Loki frowned and he felt his anger begin to take shape inside of him. His eyes flashed green for a moment.

"Would you like me to go and teach them a lesson? Perhaps just to mildly terrify them?" he asked, fully serious. That cheered you up plenty and you chuckled. Loki knew that you were laughing because of the absurdity of his statement and the fact that he was dead serious but he was just happy to see you smile again. "I will never understand the midgardian obsession with gender roles. Though I suppose my own identity is more fluid than most asgardians as well." He confessed and you brought your hand to rest on the side of his face. He leaned his head into your hand as he beamed at you. You loved when he compared his home to yours. It reminded you just how powerful he was and that he still chose to spend his days with you. There was suddenly a flash of green before he held his hand out to you, now holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. When you gasped and moved to grab them he slipped from your grasp to move towards the refrigerator.

"Hey that's not fair, you tricked me." You pouted at him, now grumbling that you couldn't hold him anymore.

"Little dove, I cannot make you food when you hold onto me. When I am finished cooking then you can stay with me for as long as you would like." He promised and you nodded solemnly. He quickly pressed another kiss to your cheek before moving around the kitchen to prepare you waffles as he often did when you were having a long day. You observed the beautiful flowers in your hand and watched him as he moved around the kitchen, a million times more comfortable than he had been when he first moved into the compound. You talked contentedly with the people passing by as well as the man who was diligently trying to improve your mood. Occasionally one of the other team members would walk by and laugh a bit at how caring he was acting toward you, all of them just happy you were content though. Eventually Thor stopped by while Loki put some batter into the waffle iron and sliced some fruit.

"You know, this is the happiest I have ever seen him." He stated simply, a smile in is voice.

"It's the happiest I've been too." You responded with a small grin.

"The last time I saw him open up to someone the way that he opens up to you was on Asgard with our mother. She would be happy to see him being so vulnerable again." He patted your back and walked away as tears started to come to your eyes. The brothers would talk of their mother sometimes and Loki often mention the fact that he believed she would have loved you, if not for your own personality then for what you did for her son. You wished that you could meet her.

You were suddenly taken out of your thoughts by someone handing you a plate of waffles and sliced up fruit with a little container of syrup on the side. You looked up at Loki and nearly cried right there. You put the plate aside for a moment to reach out and pull him into a crushing hug. He was a bit startled but responded quickly, a hand going to the back of your head and his fingers brushing through your hair soothingly.

"Did something happen, my love?" He asked softly and you sniffled a bit.

"Just love you and I'm very thankful for everything you do for me." You got out and he affirmed to himself that he would die for you in an instant.

"I love you too, darling, but I slaved away at those waffles and now they are getting cold." He teased and he kissed your hair gently. You took a deep breath before pulling away, looking up at him with love. You smiled and then hopped off of the counter. He walked with you over to the dining table where he sat next to you and serenely waited as you ate, the food lifting your spirits a bit and easing your anxiety of the day. You planned on spending the rest of it with the man next to you as well as every day after that.

#loki #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki x reader imagine #loki laufeyson #thor #thor ragnarok #thor imagine #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #the avengers #avengers imagine #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #fluff #loki fluff #loki x reader fluff

[ecoamerica]

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[softykooky]

the habits of a broken heart.

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

☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

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

alternatively,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deeply and blindly in love. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Jungkook wishes it were a moon. 

“Just go, Yoojung.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

◐

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey...I know how you can repay me.”

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

Jimin gets a third pillow to his face that day. 

◓

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

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

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

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

“I’m taller than you.”

“My dick is bigger.”

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

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

“Shoot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◑

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can call me Jungkook.”

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

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

A little black crescent moon.

Right on the pulse point.

Just like your’s. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

A more truthful conclusion.

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

◒

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

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

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

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

He tips his head back again. Vodka this time.

“Dude, are you okay?” 

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

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

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

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

◐

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

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

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

“Park Jimin”, you snarl. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe...he just doesn’t want you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You agree before he even gets to take another breath. 

“Deal.” 

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

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

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

◓

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

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

“Hello?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.” 

“Wait...actually?”

You blinked in shock at his lack of resistance. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

“Totally.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◑

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

“Your left or my left?”

He pauses. “....left.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, okay, grandpa. What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◒

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well…do you like it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◐

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, fair point.”

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

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

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

Of course.

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

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

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

Yoojung looks as beautiful as the day she left him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Could you give us a minute, Y/N?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m really happy for-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◓

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, because I’m your soulmate.” 

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

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

Jungkook has never wanted to kiss you more. 

So he does. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◑

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

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

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

Jungkook makes you wait another week before replying. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◒

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

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

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

Jungkook is painfully gorgeous and painfully not yours. 

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

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

“I....Can we talk, Jungkook?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Try: I love you too.

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

“Then shouldn’t you leave?”

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

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

Look where that has gotten you before. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t…” Rip off the bandaid. 

“I just can’t love you.”

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

I can’t love you.

I can’t love you. 

I can’t love you. 

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

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

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

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

“Be happy, Jungkook.” 

You truly mean it. 

◐

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

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

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

“Mina, Get out.” 

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever the reason, tonight feels more lonely.

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

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

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

◓

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

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

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

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

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

“So I have a friend…”

“Jimin, no.” 

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

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

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

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it.” 

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

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

Not if they’re not Jungkook. 

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

◑

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Her name is Y/N….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◒

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

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

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

 But what does Jungkook know about such things? 

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

Just everything about you. 

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

◐

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

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

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

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

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

“And you must be Namjoon. Likewise.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what did your soulmate do to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◓

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

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

You art is too one-noted, Jungkook.

Be better, Jungkook.

You’re talentless and will never succeed, Jungkook. 

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

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

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

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

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

It looks like you. 

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

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

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

It is then that he comes to the daunting realization:

Holy shit.

Professor Sejin was right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◑

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But what if, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

◒

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose so.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that’s my favorite one too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop, Jungkook.”

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

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

“Jungkook-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you promise?” 

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

“I promise.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too, you goddamn idiot.”

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

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

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

☾

#btsguild #jeon jungkook x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #bts fanfiction #bts soulmate au #bts enemies to lovers #bts reader insert #thoabh #bts imagine #bts scenarios #jungkook imagine #bts one shot #jungkook one shot #jungkook soulmate au #jungkook reader insert #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction

[sugawara-sweetheart]

𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯 (𝔪)

❥sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader

❥summary: cousin sakusa has missed you so much

❥warnings: dubcon/noncon, incest, humiliation, degradation, spitting, hair pulling, marking

❥word count: 3.1k

your brother has always been more family-orientated than you are. family makes him happy, seeing the familiar faces all linked by blood and love joyous and well together, creating and sharing happy memories.

you just wish you could’ve felt the same.

komori’s birthday brings you anxiety. your stomach churns as you stand awkwardly in the hallway between your older brother and your mother, kissing your aunties and hugging uncles, grinning at your cousins you’ve not seen in so long. you’re waiting, your stomach turning with a nauseating sickness engulfing you. would he even come? surely he was too busy these days- you’d seen his face on magazines and billboards, on the television with his black onyx eyes boring into the screen, piercing into you with a horrible darkness you’d know you’d never be able to escape. maybe he wouldn’t come.

you glance at your brother subtly, heart twinging at the wide grin on his face and the lopsided birthday hat on his brown head of curls. he’d always been closer to your cousin from the two of you, even though throughout childhood you all shared the same memories. giggling throughout the night in sleepovers you begged your parents to let you have, sharing toys and walking to school together, all the way throughout high school. but then things started to change, and you didn’t hang out with them so much. whenever komori would peak his head into your bedroom, announcing that he was on his way to kiyoomi’s he’d wait expectantly for you but you wouldn’t budge, claiming you had too many assignments to get through. whenever a family event would arise, you’d always be careful to ask your mother beforehand about it. “who else is invited?” and as she listed all the names of familiar family members, your heart would sink at the sound of one.

“omi!”

you could be sick. your heart thuds against your rib cage and a cold shiver runs through your icy blood when the front door opens and in steps your cousin. it’s been a while since you last saw him in person but you’re shivering all the same, taking in his tall, broad body that towers over you. his white face mask conceals half his face but it just makes his depthless eyes even more piercing, a thick lump rising in your dry throat when they bore into you, sharp as daggers.

“motoya,” his voice is calm. deep and slow, almost soothing you hate to admit, as he walks to your brother. komori’s grin is wide as he reaches out to hug him, but sensing the way your cousin tenses he just settles on patting his muscular arm instead. “happy birthday.”

“thanks!” komori grins when he takes the gift bag from sakusa and you’re half-surprised that he even thought to bring a gift. but then you realise that’s not entirely fair- he wasn’t entirely a bad person. not to your brother. “i’m surprised you came! you must be busy, huh?”

“yeah. a lot of training but i managed to find the time.” you’re holding your breath when sakusa steps towards you and your hands tremble as you curl them into the sleeves of your shirt, trying to avoid his heavy eyes that are practically cutting into you. but your mother gets there first, and it’s a huge relief to be able to breathe when you slip away from the busy hallway as she pulls him into a hug he can’t refuse.

you manage to avoid sakusa for most of the party. you’re thankful for all the family members crowding your house, and the fact that your cousin still hates crowds because it puts a huge distance between you. you’re able to slot yourself into groups where you know he won’t join. but it’s not enough. you can’t ignore the vicious thoughts and pungent memories, too visceral and too painful, bleeding out into your mind when you’re telling your aunts all about your new job, and you can feel the eyes burning into you when you’re playing with your cousins’ children out into the garden, wishing you can just focus on the laughter spilling into the warm, sticky air instead. even when you’re singing happy birthday, watching the candlelight illuminate komori’s grinning face in a warm orange glow, your stomach churns and your voice wavers, cracking too much that you eventually give up singing. your eyes settle on sakusa’s instead but he isn’t watching your brother blow out the candles, watch him make a silent wish. they’re focused on you, and his clenched fists is enough to make the tears well in your eyes.

the scramble for cake is the perfect time to slip away into the quiet upstairs of your family home. it’s peaceful with the music and the chatter sounding so distant beneath the floorboards and you can breathe, you can relax your racing heart as you slip into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. those inches of wood is enough to separate you for now until someone- your mother probably- notices you missing and calls you back down again.

how horrible. your eyes clench shut but all that burns in the back of your eyelids is the pale, stoic face of your cousin sakusa kiyoomi. the family member your parents and relatives brag about as the pride of the family- successful pro-athlete, the one they watch clips of on youtube and show off to strangers. sakusa kiyoomi, the one presence at family functions that’ll have everyone beaming, even when he’s cold and brooding, everyone adores his presence. except you.

“you know, i never liked being around too many people either.” the calm voice makes you freeze, your heart suddenly racing against as your throat grows dry. you hadn’t heard the door creak open and you don’t dare face it as it clicks shut behind you. no. this can’t be happening.

but it is.

the footsteps are slow on the carpeted floor, heavy with his weight and the mattress dips behind you, his presence heavy with the faint smell of hand sanitiser burning in your nose. you hadn’t that smell, that horrible pungent smell of ethanol that’s scarred your memories.

“it’s been a long time, y/n.” sakusa says. “i’ve missed you.” you shudder when he trails a finger along the back of your shoulder blades, his skin cold and you swallow hard as he twines his finger around your hair, tugging slightly at the lock to induce a lingering of pain. “you stopped coming to a lot of family functions. motoya was always there, but never you.” you can’t reply- you think you’re going to be sick if you try and your legs tremble too much you’re sure your knees will give out if you even dare to get up. then he’d know you’re scared.

he always looked different whenever you were scared. you remember the wide grin and the gleam in his round eyes when he showed you the bug he found in the garden, slipping it down your shirt to make you scream and run to his mother in tears. you remember the smirk tugging at his lips, the way he’d scrutinise you after telling you a scary story in the dead of the night that’d have you paling, begging komori to walk you to the bathroom. you remember how his lips were smiling against your skin when he was pressed against you, cornering you in his bedroom as the smoke and aroma of the barbecue wafted in through the open window, carrying up your family’s laughter, as you cried, begging him to let you go.

“i think- i think my mum’s calling-”

“no one’s calling you, y/n.” you can hear the smile in his voice, the malicious, sadistic joy carried in his knowing words. “i dont even think they noticed you slipped out. but i did.” you tense, not being able to resist the small whimper that falls from your lips as sakusa edges his face closer, the tip of his nose grazing along your jaw as his hand grasps the back of your neck, thick fingertips pressing into the sides to make you gasp. “i’ve been waiting to see you for a long time.”

you’re forced to look in his eyes when he turns your head,  his eyes locking with yours as he scrutinises you carefully. he notices it all- the trembling of your bottom lip, the tears building in the corners of your eyes, the goosebumps pebbling along the back of your neck as you clench your fists to hide the shaking. he likes it- he always has. the only time you saw your cold, stoic, unexpressive cousin smile so wide was when he was watching the tears roll down your cheek, when he was the one causing it.

“kiyoomi, can you let go-” you’re cut off by his lips pressing against your cheek and you cringe as you realise the tip of his tongue slides along, gathering your tears and leaving his saliva cold on your hot skin. “s-stop that!”

“doesn’t this just remind you of old times? all the fun times we had alone?” sakusa’s proud smile just makes you cry harder and you’re horribly aware of how he shifts his body to press himself into you, letting you feel his hard throbbing cock pressed against your thigh. but you’re not an innocent eighteen year old girl anymore.

“it wasn’t like that! get off me, you creep!” you hear the crack of his hand against your face before you even register it. you gasp at the hot pain searing through your cheek. blood rushes in your ear, your face throbbing as hot tears sting your eyes. “k-kiyoomi-” your skin is tender to touch and you’re trembling as you scramble away from sakusa, tears streaming down your face as you clutch it.

“don’t act like you didn’t fucking like it.” he hisses. there’s no trace of sadistic amusement evident in his depthless black eyes now, teeth gritted with a blue vein throbbing in his temple as he crawls towards you. you flinch when he grips your thighs, dragging you towards him and you’re no match for his size or strength, your thrashing useless as he pins you down onto your own bed, caging you in.

“let go-” your desperate cry is muffled by his hand slamming onto your face, his other hand reaching for the hem of your dress to flip up as you squirm and try to prise his fingers off you but it’s futile. too strong. he’s always been too strong.

“since when did you become such a bitch?” he sneers, fingers probing into your mouth. they’re big and invasive, weighing down on your tongue and aching your jaw as you almost choke on your own saliva. “you weren’t like this before- what, you think you’re too good for your cousin?” he scoffs at the idea, pucking his lips and spitting directly into your open mouth. you clench your eyes shut at the sensation of his cold saliva hitting your tongue, mixing with the saliva that pools in your mouth and trickles down your chin, making him grimace with disgust. “messy slut. what’s happened to you?”

your sobs are muffled and choked with his fingers in your mouth, your face hot with stinging pain and bitter tears whilst you try to scratch at his hand that snatches down your panties. but you’re helpless, a horrified sob ripping from you when the cold air hits your folds.

“can you stop crying? you look really pathetic.” sakusa sighs, pinching your drooling tongue sharply before he rips his fingers from your mouth. strings of saliva coat your chin and he merely rolls his eyes as you turn your head to bury it in the comforter, your hands gripping the bedsheets. why was this happening to you? it’d been years since you last saw sakusa, so many years you managed to avoid him and now it was all happening again, just when you thought you were safe.

“you want me to fuck you like a slut?” he taunts, pressing his wet fingers to your clit and rubbing it slowly. you hate that your toes curl with the warm pleasure, a little sigh escaping you amidst the muffled weeps and he chuckles as his other hand roams up your body, groping your breast through your dress. “i can do that.” you gasp when he yanks down your straps, your tits hanging out of the dress and a snicker escapes him as he harshly pinches the pebbling nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from you as you squirm below him.

“k-kiyoomi- stop this! please.” he groans at your words, burying his face into the crook of your neck and his teeth sting as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive neck.

“why? you like this, you just want to act like you’re not some sort of perverted bitch that wants her cousin’s dick. look how wet you’re getting, it’s disgusting.” his words sting and you hate that you’re wrapping your arms around him, fingers clinging to his broad shoulders as he swirls your swelling clit with his thumb, fingertips sliding along your folds with your obvious wetness dampening them. “you want me right?”

you shake your head wildly but it’s hard to cry no when the pleasure builds, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening. it’s wrong, it’s disgusting and dirty and you don’t want this but your hips are bucking up into sakusa’s hand, walls fluttering as the sensitivity heightens and your orgasm crashes through you in heavy waves. sakusa chuckles in your ear, his teeth catching your lobe as your slick trickles down between your quivering legs, toes curling as you bury your choked, teary moans into his shoulders.

“see, i knew you’d like it. you just came all over my fingers.” there’s an uproar of laughter from downstairs and it makes you cry harder. the shame festering in your chest hurts and you just wish you were downstairs, safe and surrounded by your family, not caged under sakusa, being his dumb little prey time and time again. “you want my cock, right?”

“no, kiyoomi, i don’t!” but he doesn’t listen to your weak protest when he flips you over, pushing your tear-stained face into the mattress with a strong grip on your hair that sends pain burning in your scalp. you grip the bedsheets, trying not to collapse under his chest weighing down on your back as you hear the unbuckling of his belt, the little clink as he tugs down his pants, freeing his cock.

“god, no!” you try to pull away from him when you feel the drooling cockhead graze against your bare ass but sakusa’s grip on your hair is too strong, keeping you pinned in place. it’s suffocating- you feel like you can barely breathe with the your face pressed into the comforter and blood pounds in your ears but his harsh voice cuts through too clearly.

“you won’t be calling out god’s name when i’m done with you, whore.”

it burns when he shoves his cock into your cunt, his thickness stretching out your tight walls. you can’t even moan, your mouth falling open with drool pooling onto the bedsheets, pain burning deep between your legs as he fills up your cunt. he’s long and thick, veins pressing against your tight walls as he groans, the grip on your hair tightening enough to induce fresh stinging tears in your eyes. so wrong. it feel so wrong, so painful and you cry bitterly as you realise nothing’s changed- he’s still using you as his cocksleeve all these years later.

“you’re so tight.” he hisses when he snaps his hips into you. there’s a dull ache each time his cockhead slams against your cervix but sakusa’s relentless, fucking you for his own pleasure with one hand gripping your hair and the other slapping and groping your ass, nails piercing into the soft flesh. “but fuck- you feel good.” you cringe when he leans down to press a kiss to the back of your neck, a cold shiver running through you amidst the pain and the slight pleasure as he fucks against your spongy walls. wetness drools from your aching cunt, his balls slapping lewdly against your ass and you’re so full you can’t hold back the choked moans that spill into your bedsheets as you grip them tight. “i’ve missed this cunt. you’re made for me, aren’t you? this messy pussy is all for me.” it’s no use begging him to stop. the pressure builds in the pit of your stomach as he pounds into you, wetness squelching lewdly and your walls squeezing tighter every time he tugs on your hair, pain searing through you. you feel like you’re being split apart on his drenched cock as he drives it into you, letting you feel every ridge and vein. it hurts- sakusa had never done this for you ever- but you can’t deny that part of it feels good, and you hate that it does, you hate that your walls tighten around him when he brushes a sensitive spot and a deep moan falls from your lips, not muffled enough by the bed.

“is that it?” sakusa grunts, stilting his hips and rubbing his cock against that spot again and again. “will this make you cum, you messy bitch?” wetness spills down your thighs as his cock brushes against your sensitive walls, pleasure building in you as you jerk below him. it’s wrong and you feel so tainted, so dirty and disgusting but you can’t resist arching your back, letting him fuck you deeper, letting him push you over the edge. sakusa fucks you through your high, his hand yanking your head back sharply as he presses you down onto the bed, his weight squeezing the air out of you as you gasp.

“that’s it, cum all over your cousin’s cock, you dirty girl. say my name,” he groans. “say it.” you don’t want to but with his grip tightening in your hair, his throbbing cock driving into your gushing cunt and prolonging your climax, you can’t stop his name from falling from your lips in breathy moans. it’s not right to chant it like a prayer, to let your eyes roll to the back of your head before you fall limp on the bed, panting as he pulls out of you.

you don’t have the energy to fight back. every inch of you feel bruised and sore and your teary eyes flutter shut as sakusa cums with a deep groan, hot ropes of sticky fluid splattering over your clothed back.

it hurts. it hurts when he kisses you messily, gripping your face tight with his nails piercing crescents into your tear-stained cheeks. it hurts when he drags you out of the room without even letting you look in the mirror but you know why. fresh tears fill your eyes when you’re pushed into the living room, your aunts and uncles, your mother, your brother komori staring at you in horror when they see the swollen lips and dishevelled hair, the bruises littering your throat, the glistening sheen coating your thighs and the white stains clinging to the back of your dress.

#darkconfectionery #tw.incest #tw.noncon #yandere!sakusa #yandere sakusa x reader #yandere sakusa imagines #yandere sakusa fic #yandere haikyuu imagines #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa imagines #yandere sakusa

[animeomegas]

Hello! I have a question if Itachi’s alpha ever said that they might need to have break from their relationship because the alpha feels like thier destroying Sasuke and Itachi’s bond how would he react? I just feel like he would want more reasoning and to seriously talk to Sasuke. After it’s all said and done though I bet when he looks at Sasuke all grown with children now that he still remembers almost losing his alpha because of him. Thought it would be a little angsty, and fluffy!

(Oh anon, this just breaks my heart! Okay, let me see...)

If Itachi's alpha asked for a break to help Sasuke and Itachi's bond, things would go from bad to worse in almost every way. It will be taken as a rejection, no matter what his alpha's intentions were. The a/b/o world isn't really one for 'breaks', especially in the Narutoverse, and double especially with the older clans.

Itachi would be absolutely heartbroken. He would fight to keep his alpha with him as hard as he could and if they still walked away, he would breakdown. He feels betrayed, he feels humiliated, he feels furious, he feels resentful. He's a cocktail of desperate emotions and misery. Itachi does not thank his alpha for this.

Itachi's parents are absolutely furious, seeing it as the alpha cancelling the wedding/bond and cancelling the contract with the Uchiha. They are humiliated that their eldest son wasn't good enough for this random alpha. People will talk now. They will have a much harder time finding a partner for Itachi now because of the stigma of an alpha walking out on him. Winning back their support would be almost impossible, and without their support, the clan would turn against them. The Uchiha guards at the gate will be told to not to let the alpha in under any circumstances.

Because of his parents' and clan's reaction, Itachi sees all his dream get shredded in front of him. He'll either be sent back into ANBU or married off as soon as possible to someone he doesn't know to cover the stigma. He can't believe he fought for someone who walked away from him so easily.

And perhaps the most ironically, Itachi's and Sasuke's relationship gets worse after this. Sasuke, being 12 and tone deaf, celebrates Itachi's alpha leaving and says to Itachi's face that Itachi will be much happier now that the scummy alpha is gone.

Itachi, grieving and humiliated, doesn't take too kindly to this. He snaps.

...

"Are you happy now, Sasuke?" Itachi snarls, slamming the bowl he'd been washing back into the sink.

Sasuke recognises the hostility and steps back a little, but he doesn't stop.

"They were awful, big brother," Sasuke insists. "You'll be able to go back to being a shinobi now and everything!"

Wrong thing to say.

"I've done everything for you!" Itachi shouts, sharigan activating. "And you could even let me have one thing, one thing, for myself!"

Sasuke steps back like he's been slapped, shocked into silence by his brother's aggression. He's never seen his brother like this before.

"And now it's ruined..." Itachi trails off, suddenly looking lost and confused. "I should have..."

And suddenly Sasuke doesn't feel like celebrating anymore. He feels a little sick watching his brother like this. He's never seen him so... defeated.

"Itachi," their father storms into the kitchen to join them both. He'd been an an even more foul mood than normal since Itachi's alpha left. "Enough! This behaviour isn't becoming of the Uchiha heir, if you can't control yourself, go upstairs."

"Itachi," his mother's voice calls gently from behind his father. "Come with me upstairs, I'm sure Sasuke can finish the washing up."

Itachi obeys without thinking, still dazed and lets his mother lead him upstairs and into his bedroom. His eyes are immediately drawn to an innocuous blanket on the armchair in his room. His alpha ex-alpha had scented it right before they left.

On auto pilot, he walks over and picks up the blanket, running his thumb over the soft material. Tears start pooling in his waterline. His mother places a hand on his shoulder from behind.

"Mother, they left me," Itachi whimpers, the tears finally falling. "They left me."

"Shh, I know," his mother says sadly. "Come here, my dearest son."

Itachi accepts his mother's offered embrace immediately, needing any comfort he can get.

"What if they want to come back?" Itachi cries into his mother's shoulder. "What do I do then? I'm so confused."

"We won't let them near you, not after this," his mother declares firmly. "They aren't allowed to discard you like this, to play you like this... We are Uchiha. You are worth so much more than that."

Itachi says nothing, only crying harder.

He doesn't know what to do. They've ruined everything.

...

Clan nonsense isn't to be messed with, and asking for a break (no matter the reason) from the omega you planned to marry and mate in a few months won't end well.

#young!sasuke #headcanons #a/b/o #omegaverse #reader insert #itachi x reader #omega!itachi #alpha!reader

[dykefight]

I want to share some of the experiences of my loved ones and myself that started leading me to radical feminism

One of my best friends (currently a 19 year old college student) used to have an onlyfans and currently sells underwear online. She says that the most humiliating moments of her life happened on onlyfans and similar websites. She had guys ask things like would she have sex with her brother, could she cry on camera, or if she would piss herself for them. There were two men she encountered that still make me sick to think about. The worst one was a man who regularly paid for videos of her pretending like she was being raped by him without a condom. She would beg for him to stop, not to impregnate her, and she cried and screamed. She was not allowed to get any pleasure from it or she wouldn’t get paid. The man only found pleasure in the idea of a teenage girl being traumatized and abused. The other man paid her to dominate him over the phone. He wanted her to control every aspect of his life. He was nearly 30 at the time while she was 18. The worst part of this ordeal was that they knew each other from when she was around twelve or thirteen. During this time I watched her mental health rapidly decline. Her poor mental health ended up causing her to quit less than a year after starting her account. Now she sells underwear and the conditions are no better. She’s been asked to sell worn underwear, underwear she’s pissed in, underwear with her period blood in it, and underwear she’s worn while masturbating. She has been masturbating so frequently that her skin over her clit has begun peeling. The idea that this is empowering her as a woman makes me sick. It’s basically a form of self harm. Anytime I mention that she might need to slow down she explodes, ranting about how she loves doing it, how it’s good money, and that it’s her choice. No woman should be brainwashed into that mindset.

Two of my other friends have been coerced by their boyfriends into sex that they didn’t want. One of them was guilt tripped into having anal sex by her boyfriend. She didn’t want to have sex until marriage, which he already knew prior. She said he looked so disappointed that she felt like she had to let him do anal. She also said this was easily one of the most painful experiences of her life. She ended up being pressured into vaginal sex only a few weeks later. Another friend was VERY adamant about saving any kind of sex until marriage. Her boyfriend pretended like this was totally fine until around a year into their relationship. He starting persuading her into giving him handjobs and blowjobs, insisting that they were meaningless acts and no big deal. She complied but still wouldn’t let him do anything sexual to her. Eventually he got impatient and decided to touch her while she was asleep on a school trip. She admits to being scarred from this, but insists that he didn’t mean any harm and that he wouldn’t do it again. In March, they were at a party together and had a fight. My friend is known for being a lightweight. While she was furious and drunk, her boyfriend was barely tipsy. He apparently decided that the best way for her to get over it was to push her into a room and have sex even though she was fully unable to consent. At some point, someone walked into the room, saw them, and told everyone at the party about it, including complete strangers. People still bring it up to her like it’s some funny story. Neither of my friends see anything wrong with their boyfriends or their actions. I, along with mutual friends, have tried to bring it up but they insist that it was a one time thing, their boyfriends didn’t know any better, and that we’re being over dramatic. It hurts me to know that they’re just one of many girls who dismiss sexual assault just because they’ve never been told what is wrong in a sexual relationship.

My mom was raped by my father while they were dating. My mom was raised in a very religious family so she saw premarital sex as one of the ultimate sins. She was okay with everything except penetrative sex. At some point, they were naked together and he saw that as an invitation. She froze up and couldn’t bring herself to stop him. That was how she lost her virginity. It wasn’t until she told me that she realized he raped her and that was only because I told her. She didn’t know she was raped until over 30 years later. She said she always thought she asked for it since she was naked around him and let him get close enough for it. She didn’t know that there are multiple types of rape until much later in life, so she never connected the dots. If she had known, she might’ve been able to save herself from the abusive marriage that followed.

Speaking of my mother and her marriage, she was also taught that getting a divorce was a sin in the eyes of god, especially if the wife initiates it. My mom couldn’t bring herself to divorce him in the beginning and then once she had kids she couldn’t divorce him until she made sure he wouldn’t get joint custody of us. She suffered through 35 years of abuse all because of some bullshit she had forced upon her since she was young. My grandma on my moms side experienced the same thing and wouldn’t divorce my grandfather who cheated on her and had a child with another woman.

These last ones are my own personal experiences. I, like many women, have faced sexual assault multiple times. The first time was when I was 12 and sexually assaulted by my long time family friend who was 15. He was best friends with my cousin who I am very close to so he also became a friend of mine. We also went to the same school. One day the three of us were at my cousins house and I was sharing a blanket with the friend. Under the blanket, he began to brush his hand along my ass which I thought was an accident since we were on a small couch sharing a blanket meant for one person. It soon escalated to him grabbing my ass under my jeans and through my underwear and then cupping my boobs. This was all while my cousin sat five feet away. When I finally got the courage to get out I got a text from the guy begging me not to tell my cousin. It took me nearly a month to tell my family and the school. My family said they would cut all contact with his family and the school said they would make sure I never had to be around him in a school setting. However, almost immediately, my family went back to being friends with his family and my school went back on their promise. Even though the guy confessed and I had the texts as evidence, he faced no real repercussions. Another guy continually harassed me over the course of our freshman, sophomore, and junior year. He’d do things like grab me, slap my ass, stick his hand down my uniform, grind against me during class while I was bent over, and he always found new ways to contact me after being blocked. When I finally told a teacher mid junior year, the way the school “punished” him was by having his football coach talk to him. This is the same football coach that’s known to indirectly slut shame girls in front of everyone. The guys behavior towards me didn’t change so I just gave up. I was never taken seriously when these incidents came to light. Everyone just assumed it was something to brush off. That it’d go away after a gentle scolding. Even my peers who say they’re all about protecting and defending women basically responded with “that sucks” and moved on.

I turned to radical feminism because it’s given me a place to be heard. I can speak my mind. Even if someone doesn’t agree with me, they’ll have a civilized discussion or simply move on rather than start an argument.

#and there’s more obviously #radfem #terf safe #terfs do touch #gender critical #terfs please interact #radical feminism #drop the t #lgb #long post #sorry #mine