#( save ) / * take a breath and dive in deep .

[rafeysbunny]

rafe saves you from drowning

a/n. based on this ask.

"she can't swim, top!" by the time sarah shouts at him, it's already too late.

topper has thrown you inside the cameron's pool, despite how desperately you were squirming in his arms while you begged him to put you down, really hoping he wouldn't be and ass just for once. unfortunately, the guy seemingly cannot stop being a dickhead.

you're panicking, kicking and flailing your arms in the deep end of the pool to try and stay afloat, but there's no use. you struggle to keep your head from sinking under the water, taking quick breaths whenever you are on the surface, panic clear on your face. but then you swallow some water, and as you start coughing strongly, trying to swim gets even harder

you can't avoid sinking for much longer. and when you submerge, you can't physically bring yourself back to surface anymore.

sarah's scream has silenced everyone's laughter, but no one moves a finger to help you —even though you're obviously drowning in there. no one, except rafe cameron, who doesn't even hesitate to dive into the water so he can take you out. he reaches you just in time, grabbing you tightly and pulling you to the edge; his heart is racing as he does so.

still coughing and sputtering, you look up at him, and he can see the exact moment in which your panicked expression softens in a mix of relief and gratitude.

topper approaches the two of you quickly, worried, while everyone whispers around you, looking at you like you're some kind of freak show, some of them even recording the whole thing —are they for real right now? you almost died.

"stay away from her, topper," rafe snaps at him, and the guy immediately stops on his tracks, clearly knowing he's fucked up. "the rest of you, get the fuck outta my house!"

you're shocked.

rafe doesn't pay attention to anyone but you as he helps you stand up carefully, his arm around your waist at all times. your clothes are completely soaked through, as well as your hair, and you shiver a little at the cool summer breeze.

"let's get you some clean clothes, yeah?"

when he talks to you, his voice is completely opposite to the gruff tone he used before; now it's sweet and caring. you nod in response, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders in a protective manner while he guides you inside the house. he doesn't seem to care that he's dripping too, his entire focus put on you.

rafe takes you to his room and he closes the door behind him so no one bothers you. he gently hands you a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, which smell so, so good —just like him, and then he takes you to his private bathroom.

"you can use the shower if you want," he says, opening some drawers to grab clean towels for you. when you simply stay silent, looking at him like a fool, he adds, "are you okay, y/n?"

you hesitate, fidgeting nervously, before you finally gather the courage to speak, "why are you doing this?"

"what?" he seems a little confused by your question.

"why are you, uhm, helping me?" you ask, staring at him as he drops the towels on top of the sink to go start the shower for you.

when the water's running, he turns around to face you, his gaze so intense that you swear it's piercing holes right through you.

"isn't it obvious?" he smirks; a little lopsided smirk that has a lot of butterflies fluttering around in your belly. "i like you, silly."

more.

[trashytracktales]

Hiii, I’m not sure if your requests are open, but if they are, could you write something with Lando and Reader where they have been dating for just a few weeks, haven’t had sex yet. One day they’re working out together at Lando’s house in Monaco (the room with the mirror from the video I Ate and Trained Like Lando Norris for 24 hours). Reader is doing squats with her back towards the mirror and Lando can’t help but stare at her ass and he gets hard / flustered so he stops from doing his exercise and reader asks him what’s wrong and before he answers she realises he’s horny so she teases him - this time on purpose- and then they fuck in that room on the floor

In the heat of it | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you for trusting me enough to bring this to life, it was... something 🥵

🌸 summary ──── They’ve been dating for a few weeks now, but the time was never right for them to get intimate. During a playful workout together, Lando gets caught staring, sparking a moment that leaves them both realizing just how deep their connection actually goes.

🌸 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🌸 rating ──── explicit

🌸 category ──── F/M

🌸 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, fluff & smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, swearing, established relationship, suggestive/flirty behavior.

🌸 word count ──── 3.6k

🌸 date ──── Nov. 12, 2024

IT DOESN’T TAKE long before Lando starts to regret his decision. It would have been much easier to invite his girlfriend to have lunch together. That would have saved him from a constant dry mouth and irregular heartbeat every time he feels her eyes accidentally landing on him.

The smooth floor and sophisticated equipment in his personal gym are softly bathed in the morning sun that seeps through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Monaco’s streets are still peaceful at this hour, considering it’s the middle of the week, and the port is sparkling in the sunlight.

The room usually has a subtle scent of cedar and rubber, fresh and energized, but now it carries a sweet honey scent, borrowed from her presence.

They are already halfway through their warm-up. She’s pulling a resistance band around her thighs, stretching before they dive into the heavier part of their routine, her focus completely on the exercises he’s walked her through. But, of course, a huge part of her focuses on how Lando touches her, purposely, to guide her when her posture doesn’t match the exercise.

Even in simple gym shorts and a T-shirt, Lando somehow manages to look so effortlessly attractive, with his curly hair a little messy, face flushed just enough from their recent sets, and his labored breathing after putting in the effort. He’s all energy, fluid in his movements, though he’s clearly trying to keep his pace casual.

“Lookin’ strong,” he teases, flashing a grin as she adjusts her stance.

The girl shrugs, “I’m just that good at following instructions. Although, I think having one of the best trainers in the area helps, too.”

Lando lets a chuckle out, “I won’t go easy on you just because you kiss-ass. But it’s cute to see you trying.”

Even though they have only been dating for a few weeks, there is an undeniable spark between them two, especially in a setting where every glance and skin-to-skin contact feels amplified by the intensity of their exercises. Her sports outfit leaves no room for interpretations, hugging her curves and defining her lines, and Lando’s imagination is stimulated every time he turns his gaze towards her.

He’s now down on the floor, holding a plank, his core engaged and muscles taut as he fights to hold his body up and spine straight. She’s supposed to be timing him, but the second he shoots her a cheeky grin, she decides she can’t resist a bit of fun; in her defense, he started it. With a simple touch, the seconds freeze on the screen of his phone, then she places it on one of the boxes stored in the corner of the room.

“Hi there,” says the girl in a mellow tone once she sits down in front of him just inches apart, propping herself up on her elbows so her face is level with his.

Lando raises his eyebrows, trying not to laugh as his shoulders shake slightly from the effort of holding his body weight. “Don’t,” he warns her, breath coming in controlled puffs.

“I’m not doing anything,” she smiles innocently, kicking her feet in the air while inching a little closer until her nose almost brushes his.

He laughs at her bad acting, his arms starting to shake a bit more. “Outrageous is what you are.”

She pouts just as Lando dips his head down, managing to steal a playful kiss. Their lips meet briefly, soft and warm, before he pulls back up to maintain his form. It makes her sigh in frustration, the ghost of a kiss not nearly enough for her. If anything, it only leaves her wanting more.

Luckily, he doesn’t pull back when she cups his cheek in her palm, pressing her mouth on his once more, his giggles mixing with hers as he tries to keep his balance. Savoring the feel of his lips and the way Lando grunts softly into the kiss, she can feel that this one is more deeper and slower — much real — making her shiver. It seems as though everything else disappears, the feel of each other reminding them both why they decided to give the relationship a shot in the first place.

“And you are so fun to corrupt,” she admits, finally getting up to give Lando time to recover.

After a few sets, she finally moves on to squats, and Lando follows her positioning herself in front of the mirror. It wasn’t even supposed to be there, but he sometimes uses the gym as a storage room for random packages. This one, specifically, came in the mail a few weeks ago and he didn’t have time to hang it in the hallway, where he initially planned. So, he simply let it rest against the wall in his gym room, and it’s been there ever since, forgotten.

Giving the circumstances, he is seriously thinking of leaving it there for good.

Conveniently, Lando decides that now is the perfect time to start his Russian twists, so he bends over to collect a dumbbell off the floor, then sits down on the yoga mat. Right in front of her.

Unaware of the effect she’s having on him, he watches her go through each squat with his eyes trailing down on the reflection of her ass in the mirror, an intense warmth spreading over him as he tries to focus on his own exercise. It is quite innocent, he’s just respectfully looking, until it isn’t.

Until he feels it in his boxers.

Until he almost drops the dumbbell, which catches her attention.

Lando tries to ignore it, though, to nonchallantly brush it off, telling himself that it’s natural and that he’s just admiring her physical appearance. Anyone in his shoes would do it. However, his thoughts start to wander, images flashing uninvited as his heart rate quickens for reasons far beyond the exercise.

“Are you okay down there, hotshot? What are you fighting?” she asks curiously, raising her head just enough to catch the dazed look on Lando’s face.

Her voice pulls him back, his breath catching for a moment, “Yeah, never better.”

It’s his husky voice that gives it away. Right after, she notices a lingering gaze, and the soft pink creeping across his features as his eyes are fixed ahead. She stops, fixing her posture and straightening her back as she turns to catch his gaze in the mirror. She realizes exactly what’s going on in a matter of seconds, a little grin forming in the corner of her mouth.

“Am I too dictracting, Lando?” she purrs, her question — and the fact that he knows she caught him in act — not helping at all.

“No,” he lies, “But I think you’re killing it with those squats.”

“And if I turn around to finish my set, what then?” she whispers, a challenge glinting in her eyes as she brushes the tip of her tongue against her lower lip.

His breath is shallow the moment he decides to abandon his exercise. “Then you would be killing me,” he admits with no restraints. “So, by any means, proceed. Please.”

She glances over to see Lando lying flat on his back, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes, as if he’s in serious pain. His other hand is splayed over his stomach, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm. It’s still funny to see him like that, but then she notices the way his chest rises and falls a bit too fast, and her eyes drift lower, catching a glimpse of the growing bulge in his shorts, an unmistakable proof of what she’s actually doing to him.

Suddenly, all the amusement disappears from her face, being replaced by a warmth that wraps around her neck that’s slowly rising to her cheeks. Her heart is starting to race, small impulses between her thighs forcing her to close them together.

Swallowing hard, she crosses the small space to kneel beside him, gently pulling his arm away from his eyes. His lashes flicker open, meeting her gaze with a mix of embarrassment and desire. And so much lust.

“How can I help you?” asks Lando, his voice rougher than usual, trying to keep things light, though the hint of vulnerability shows in his eyes, and it’s not that hard to read.

She chuckles nervously, “The question is how can I help you?”

In response, Lando uses the same hand to wrap his fingers around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. She feels his hand squeezing a little, the other one moving to her waist, hesitating before pulling her completely on top of him, without breaking the kiss. His tongue slips firmly into her mouth, just as it has done so many times before, but now it feels somehow different. Somehow, they both know that the kiss is meant to lead to something much more intense, because there’s nothing stopping them anymore.

In the intimacy of his apartment, without interruption, Lando lowers his hands to her waist, rubbing her against him. Slowly. Repeatedly. The pressure forces them to moan in unison, a brief taste of the pleasure they are about to share. His hands then drop lower, roaming over her thighs, then back down to her ass, cupping it in his large palms.

He breaks away just enough to murmur, his voice low and almost reverent, “That enough of an answer?”

“Positive,” she replies, feeling his breath hitch as she shifts on top of him, straddling his hips, her hands splaying over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips.

Her lips find his again, sweet and intoxicating, each kiss sending sparks to her core. The new position makes her feel him much more firmly between her legs, taking Lando by surprise when her hand lowers to cover his length, massaging him through the thin material of his shorts.

“Fucking hell,” his lips stutter against hers, while rocking his hips into her touch.

“Yeah…” she agrees, breathing hotly above him, “Did I do this to you?”

Before Lando gets a chance to even think of an answer, she slips her hand under the elastic band of his boxers, taking him in her hand, feeling him in his entirety; deliciously soft skin, warm and ready, and so painfully hard.

It makes her ache for him.

She pumps his cock in her hand a few times, enough for her to feel how he shifts under her. It takes her a lot of self-control to stop herself from taking him in her mouth the second she hears his sweet little panting, her thumb rubbing gently over his swollen tip.

The workout itself had left Lando’s muscles burning, but her touch it’s something else entirely, igniting a heat in him that burns deeper than anything he’s felt before. Five more minutes enjoying the same high and he can give up cardio completely. Guaranteed.

Slowly coming back to his senses, Lando realizes that he has free will, so he slips his hands under her sports bra, palming her hungrily until he feels her nipples hardening under his touch. He breaths heavily as he rolls them between his fingers, managing to make her respond with a soft meowl, her grip on his cock losening.

That’s his cue to take the lead, pulling her bra over her head in a quick move, and flipping their bodies over so that now he’s hovering above her, eyes filled with need while looking down at her.

“Hi there,” Lando copies her tone from earlier, feeling a little fraction of the power she had over him.

She wants to talk back so badly — one of her sarcastic little comments that she knows he loves — but all she can do is let out a pathetic whimper between her lips when his mouth finds home on her bare breast. At that, Lando feels a shiver running down his spine, looking up at how she closes her eyes in pleasure, arching her back more against his mouth.

“Driving me insane with your pretty ass, baby,” he says, breathing heavily, managing to cover her body in a thin layer of goosebumps, “And your pretty fucking nipples.”

“Lando…” she lets another cry slip out, opening her eyes to look at him.

The image that greets her makes her breath catch in her throat. The way he sucks on her nipple while playing with the other one, and the way he looks up at her through his eyelashes. It’s all too much. She ends up wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him down with her. Then she runs her hands down his back, tugging at the edge of his shirt, tossing the useless material carelessly to the floor before pulling him closer for another kiss.

Mouth to mouth, chest to chest, skin on skin — who says heaven isn’t real?

But if that’s heaven, then what can she name the feeling she gets the moment his hand slips into her gym shorts and his fingers brush against her soaked entrance? Because it feels way too fucking good, much better than she expected, and certainly much better than her own hand whenever she pictured his face while fingering herself.

Lando starts slowly, spreading her wetness around her pussy, then fucking his fingers in and out, while cautiously watching her facial expressions changing. It’s not taking him long before finding that sweet, sweet spot that makes her roll her hips into his hand, desperation painted all over her face.

“Lan…,” she starts panting, “That’s—yes, right there.”

He hums proudly, sealing his mouth to hers, while parting her thighs with his knee so he can spread her more in front of him. Feeling herself open to his touch, so easy and wet, he no longer feels self-conscious about the way she’s so quickly tunring him boneless under her gaze. He realizes that the feeling is mutual, and it makes him want her even more.

If that’s even possible.

The sound of his fingers repeatedly fucking into her is all that anchors her in the present moment, but the second Lando feels her squeezing around them, he stops so he can silently ask for her permission to take the last piece of her clothing off.

She nods in a rush, swallowing the lump in her throat in anticipation.

Every inch of her is now bathed in the soft, golden light streaming through the window. Warm shadows are cast along her curves, the light outlining each delicate contour of her body as though the sun itself is painting her in real time. The image is so powerful yet vulnerable as she stands there, her figure glimmering with an almost unearthly serene confidence. Lando is utterly captivated by how ethereal she looks, like a goddess come to life, the kind he never imagined he would be close enough to even touch, let alone enjoy. He feels like he’s witnessing something sacred, something so incredibly rare, and the awe he feels is mixed with gratitude that she’s here with him, letting him see her in a such perfect lighting.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Lando finally manages to say, hoping that he hasn’t started drooling all over her in the meantime. “All of you.”

“Your turn,” she says in a muffled voice, slightly bashful at the way he stares at her like he wants to devour her. Which is not far from the truth.

He agrees that it’s a fair request, realizing that the only thing separating them now are his own shorts. Without protesting — because that would be so fucking dumb considering how hard he is — Lando gets rid of them with the speed of a perfect qualifying lap.

Matching the same pace, Lando’s hands slide around her waist, his fingers pressing gently into her hips as he guides them both to the side so they can face the window. Or that’s what she thought. Confused at first, she’s frowning at him, then follows his gaze, lost in the direction of their reflection, understanding immediately what he really wants: a show. A show just for them, in which they can lose themselves together, without limits.

She sighs at the sight of their hot, naked bodies, the way he aligns himself with her, and how he’s finally pushing inside, enough to hear her whimper. She watches as he stands above her, his hands gliding slowly over her sides, up her arms, grounding her in his touch. The image of them together, framed in the soft glow of the room, feels surreal, so intimate and vulnerable in a way that’s completely new for both of them.

Lando pauses, pulling out at her little whimper, then pressing back in, but just the tip.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, “You’re so fucking wet it keeps slipping out,” adds Lando in a low tone, so turned on that it makes her clench around him.

To her frustration, the speed at which Lando pushes back inside might as well be negative, causing her to explode with how needy she becomes in the meantime. But just as she’s about to encourage him to sink further, he buries himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

“Lando,” she says as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, “You… feels so good, shit,” she takes a moment to breath into his skin, then she turns her head to catch their reflection once again.

Lando is already looking, and when they make eye contact through the mirror, he starts fucking her slowly and gently, as if he could break her.

“See how silly you look for thinking we won’t match?” he sounds so amazed by how easily she opens up for him, over and over again, with each steady thrust of his hips, “See that? Taking all of me so well, baby.”

“Mhm,” she cries out at the way his cock throbs against her walls, because she knows it’s way too slow, even for him.

It’s simply agonizing.

“So perfect around me,” he states, “Can’t believe I lasted that long. Should’ve fucked you from the first night.”

At this point, he’s just rambling, but the thought makes her stomach tie in a knot.

“You would’ve let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” she speaks, already drunk on the way he feels inside her, “I would have let you fuck me in the plane bathroom, on the way to Imola. And back in your driver’s room, when Oscar caught us kissing. And last week, outside the club. Fuck. I wanted you to fuck me there so bad.”

His mind goes blank with all the lost opportunities, causing him to gradually increase his pace, the sound of them connecting so obscene.

“Wh—” he almost chokes on words, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You… stressed about work. I didn’t want to be… distraction,” she tightens her legs around him, keeping him inside her, the words losing their meaning as Lando shifts his position, wrapping his arm around her thigh to open her up even more for him. “Oh. Yes, like that!”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he swallows hard as he squeezes roughly at her thighs. “I’m so close.”

She knows that will leave marks on her skin, but nothing beats the pleasure of having Lando fucking himself so deep inside her, that her vision starts clouding.

All common sense went out the window the moment she stepped through his door, anyway.

She can feel his breath warm against her neck, hear the soft hitch in his breathing as he leans in, his lips brushing her shoulder, never breaking eye contact with her in the mirror. Lando’s hands are making their way to cup her ass, pulling out all the way, before fucking back in, all over again, until he finds the perfect rhythm between their bodies. He moans loudly, pressing his upper body on her, their scents blending together and sweat transferring from skin to skin. They move so in sync, completely attuned to each other, and the sight of their shared pleasure, reflected back at them, turns everything into fireworks, her mind completely empty. Except for how well she’s being fucked.

“Lan—Lando,” she’s so close to sobbing that she shuts her mouth at the sound of her voice, thinking it’s too pathetic to whine as she cums around him, her release dripping all over between their bodies.

The wet sound her pussy makes gives Lando way to fuck in deeper, taken by surprise that she finished without any warnings whatsoever. He grips her ass one more time before he stills inside her, his cock throbbing, and pulls out right before he starts leaking, resting his cock against her thigh, his entire length coated in her release. His cum drips from his tip to her inner thigh, making him groan while he fixes his gaze on the mirror at the image of them.

She buries her fingers in his curls after he finally collapses on top of her, their heavy breaths echoing throughout the room. With his head on her chest, he can feel her heart racing, gradually slowing down, and lets out a soft laugh as she shifts a little under him.

“We’re so fucking matching, baby. Let’s gooo!” exclaims Lando, exhaust evident in his voice.

She feels her cheeks warm, “I think you’re a little biased right now,” she jokes.

Lando shifts slightly so he can see her face, brushing a thumb tenderly along her side. He smiles softly, the usual spark in his eyes softened by something deeper, so gentle. “I’m just so happy for us.”

Her heart flutters, and she feels him sink even closer to her, threading his fingers through hers.

“And very sweaty,” she adds with a chuckle.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s you,” he teases, letting the moment pass slowly, then calling out her name in a serious voice.

“Mhm?” she hums while turning to look in the mirror, watching him getting comfortable on top of her.

“Where do we go from here?” asks Lando.

“Your bedroom, I hope. The floor is killing my back.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[luna-azzurra]

A Free E-book on Writing Characters That Feel Real

A year ago, I sat down to write this book. At first, it was just an idea, a fleeting thought that whispered, Hey, maybe you should do this. But if I’m being honest? The only reason it actually exists today is you.

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Now, This isn’t your typical “Here’s how to write a character” manual that tells you to slap on a few traits and call it a day. No, we’re diving deep into the messy, complicated, and downright chaotic process of creating characters who feel real, the kind who make readers laugh, cry, and scream into the void when they suffer.

What you’ll find inside:

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🔥 Motivation & Goals – What do they want? More importantly, why? What’s driving them forward or holding them back?

"So, can I just say my character wants to save the world?" No. You need to know what’s underneath that. Do they want to save the world because they failed to save someone before? Because they crave approval? Because they feel powerless and this is their way of taking control? Go deeper.

🔥 Relationships – Nobody exists in a vacuum. Who do they love? Who do they hate? Who’s their worst enemy, and who’s the person they’d take a bullet for?

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"Can I just give them a scar and call it depth?" No. A scar is cool, but why does it matter to them? Do they trace it when they’re nervous? Does it make them self-conscious? Does it remind them of a promise, a failure, a night they wish they could forget? The details mean nothing unless they mean everything.

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[pucksandpower]

Jilted

Charles Leclerc x runaway bride!Reader

Summary: you find out that your groom is a cheating bastard on your wedding day … Charles helps you pick up the pieces

The sun-drenched bridal suite buzzes with anticipation as you stand before the full-length mirror, your reflection a vision in white lace and satin. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through your veins. This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but something feels ... off.

“You look absolutely stunning,” your best friend, Mia, gushes as she adjusts your veil. “James won’t know what hit him.”

You force a smile, trying to shake the nagging feeling in your gut. “Thanks, Mia. I just ... I can’t believe this is really happening.”

Mia squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Cold feet are totally normal. Trust me, once you see James waiting for you at the altar, all those doubts will melt away.”

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. Your mother peeks her head in, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

As she enters the room, you notice her clutching her phone, her knuckles white. “Mom? Is everything okay?”

She hesitates, exchanging a worried glance with Mia. “I ... I’m not sure how to say this, honey.”

Your stomach drops. “Mom, what is it? Just tell me.”

She takes a deep breath. “I just got off the phone with James’ mother. She... she overheard him talking to someone. A woman.”

The room spins as you struggle to process her words. “What are you saying?”

“It seems ... it seems James has been seeing someone else. For quite some time, apparently.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. You stumble back, gripping the edge of the vanity for support. “No,” you whisper. “That can’t be true. We’re getting married in an hour!”

Mia rushes to your side, her arm around your waist. “Y/N, breathe. We’ll figure this out.”

But you can’t breathe. The room feels too small, the air too thick. “I need ... I need to talk to him.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re bolting from the room, your dress billowing behind you as you race down the hallway. You burst into the groom’s quarters, startling the group of groomsmen inside.

“Where is he?” You demand, your voice trembling.

James’ best man, Tom, steps forward, his face pale. “Y/N, what are you doing here? It’s bad luck-”

“Where. Is. He?” You repeat, each word dripping with venom.

The bathroom door opens, and there he stands — the man you thought you’d spend forever with. James’ eyes widen as he takes in your disheveled appearance. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

You laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “What’s wrong? How about you tell me, James? Who is she?”

His face crumples, and in that moment, you know it’s true. “Y/N, I can explain-”

“Explain?” You spit. “Explain how you’ve been cheating on me our entire engagement? How you were going to stand up there and lie to my face, in front of everyone we love?”

James reaches for you, but you recoil. “Please, just let me-”

“Don’t touch me!” You scream, tears streaming down your face. “How could you do this to me?”

The room falls silent, save for your ragged breathing. James’ groomsmen shift uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. You turn to leave, but James grabs your arm.

“Y/N, wait. I love you. We can work this out,” he pleads.

You wrench your arm free, fixing him with a glare that could freeze hell itself. “Love me? You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

With that, you’re running again, pushing past concerned guests and ignoring the calls of your name. You burst out of the hotel into the blinding sunlight, your legs carrying you down the street without a destination in mind.

You don’t know how long you run, your white dress now stained with dirt and tears. Eventually, you find yourself in a part of town you don’t recognize, your feet aching and your lungs burning. A neon sign catches your eye — The Dive Hole.

Without thinking, you push open the door to the dingy bar. The few patrons inside turn to stare as you stumble in, a bride in full wedding attire, mascara streaking down your cheeks.

The bartender, a gruff-looking man in his fifties, raises an eyebrow. “Rough day, sweetheart?”

You laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. “You could say that.”

As you collapse onto a barstool, the weight of the day finally crashes down on you. You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

The bartender slides a glass of amber liquid in front of you. “On the house,” he says gruffly. “Looks like you could use it.”

You lift your head, offering him a watery smile. “Got anything stronger?”

***

The world spins as you stumble out of The Dive Hole, your wedding dress now stained with whiskey and regret. The streetlights blur into a hazy glow as you teeter on your heels, struggling to maintain your balance.

“Hey, watch it!” A passerby shouts as you nearly collide with him.

“Sorry,” you slur, waving a hand dismissively. “Just trying to ... to find my happily ever after. Have you seen it? I think I lost it somewhere.”

The man hurries away, leaving you alone on the sidewalk. You laugh bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty street. “That’s right, run away! Everyone else does!”

As you take another unsteady step, your heel catches in a crack in the pavement. You lurch forward, bracing for impact with the cold, hard ground. But instead of concrete, you find yourself enveloped in warmth.

“Whoa there!” A gentle voice exclaims. “Are you alright?”

You blink, trying to focus on the face of your savior. Kind green eyes peer down at you, filled with concern. The man helps you regain your footing, his hands steady on your arms.

“I’m fine,” you insist, even as the world continues to tilt around you. “Just ... just celebrating. It’s my wedding day, you know.”

The man’s brow furrows as he takes in your disheveled appearance. “Celebrating alone? In the middle of the street?”

You nod vigorously, immediately regretting the action as nausea washes over you. “Yep! Best day ever. Who needs a groom anyway, right?”

“I’m Charles,” he introduces himself, his accent warm and inviting. “And I think maybe you should sit down for a moment. There’s a bench just over there.”

He gently guides you to the nearby bench, helping you settle onto it. You slump against the backrest, your head lolling to the side.

“So, Charles,” you drawl, poking him in the chest. “What brings you out on this fine evening? Looking for love in all the wrong places?”

Charles chuckles softly. “Actually, I was just heading home after a late dinner with friends. And then I found a beautiful bride who seems to be having a rough night.”

You snort, gesturing to your ruined dress. “Beautiful? I look like I’ve been through a war. A war of the heart.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles offers, his voice gentle and free of judgment.

For a moment, you consider spilling everything. But the wound is too fresh, the betrayal too raw. Instead, you shake your head, feeling tears well up in your eyes once more.

“No talking,” you mumble. “Just ... can you sit with me for a bit?”

Charles nods, settling onto the bench beside you. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

You sit in silence for a while, the cool night air slowly clearing your head. Charles remains a steady presence at your side, occasionally glancing at you with concern.

Finally, you break the silence. “I should probably go home. Except ... I don’t really know where home is anymore.”

Charles frowns. “You don’t have anywhere to go?”

You shake your head, a humorless laugh escaping your lips. “Nope. Funny how your whole life can fall apart in a single day, huh?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, seeming to wrestle with a decision. Finally, he speaks. “Look, I know we’ve just met, but ... I have a spare room. You’re welcome to stay there for the night, just to sleep it off and figure things out in the morning.”

You blink at him, surprised by the offer. “You’d do that for a stranger?”

He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. “Well, we’re not exactly strangers now, are we? Besides, I couldn’t live with myself if I left you out here alone.”

You consider his offer. Every logical part of your brain is screaming that this is a bad idea, but something in Charles’ eyes tells you he can be trusted. Plus, you’re not exactly swimming in options at the moment.

“Okay,” you agree softly. “Thank you, Charles.”

He helps you to your feet, steadying you as you sway slightly. “My car’s just around the corner. Think you can make it?”

You nod, determined. “Lead the way, knight in shining armor.”

The ride to Charles’ apartment is mercifully short. You spend most of it with your head against the cool glass of the window, trying to keep the nausea at bay. Charles fills the silence with gentle small talk, his voice soothing in the darkness.

When you arrive, Charles helps you out of the car and into the elevator. As you ascend, the reality of your situation starts to sink in.

“Oh God,” you groan, leaning against the elevator wall. “What am I doing? I don’t even know you. For all I know, you could be a serial killer or something.”

Charles chuckles. “I promise I’m not a serial killer. Just a guy who couldn’t leave a crying bride on the street.”

The elevator doors open, and Charles leads you down the hallway to his apartment. As he fumbles with his keys, you sway on your feet, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with you.

“Here we are,” Charles announces, pushing open the door. “Home sweet home.”

You step inside, taking in the stylish but comfortable living room. “Nice place. Very ... un-serial-killer-like.”

Charles laughs. “Thanks, I think. The spare room is just down the hall, but maybe we should get you some water first.”

He guides you to the kitchen, filling a glass with cool water. You accept it gratefully, gulping it down.

“Easy there,” Charles warns. “Small sips or you’ll make yourself sick.”

You nod, slowing down. As you finish the water, a wave of emotion washes over you. The events of the day come crashing back, and before you know it, you’re sobbing.

“Hey, hey,” Charles says softly, moving closer. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms, burying your face in his shirt. Charles stiffens for a moment, surprised, before wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m s-sorry,” you hiccup between sobs. “I’m getting your shirt all wet and snotty.”

You feel Charles’ chest rumble with a soft laugh. “Don’t worry about it. That’s what washing machines are for.”

He holds you as you cry, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. You cling to him, this kind stranger who’s shown you more compassion in one night than your fiancé did in years.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles asks gently.

You shake your head, still pressed against his chest. “Not yet. Maybe... maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he says simply. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You stay like that for a while, your sobs gradually subsiding into quiet sniffles. Charles continues to hold you, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

As your breathing evens out, exhaustion begins to overtake you. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you find yourself struggling to stay upright.

Charles seems to sense your fatigue. “Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He leads you down the hallway to the spare room, supporting most of your weight as you stumble along. The room is simple but cozy, with a plush-looking bed that seems to call your name.

“There should be some spare pajamas in the dresser,” Charles says. “They might be a bit big, but they’ll be more comfortable than that dress.”

You nod sleepily, already fumbling with the zipper of your gown. Charles quickly turns away, a blush creeping up his neck.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to it,” he stammers. “Bathroom’s right across the hall if you need it. And I’ll be in the living room if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, your eyes already half-closed. “Thank you, Charles. For everything.”

He smiles softly. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

As the door closes behind him, you manage to slip out of your wedding dress and into a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. The bed feels like heaven as you sink into it, your body finally relaxing after the emotional roller coaster of the day.

But as you lie there in the dark, the silence allows your thoughts to creep back in. Memories of James, of the life you thought you’d have, of the future that’s now shattered. Tears begin to fall once more, soaking into the pillow.

Before you know it, you’re padding out to the living room, sniffling quietly. Charles looks up from his spot on the couch, concern etched on his face.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Every time I close my eyes, I see ... I just ... I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Without a word, Charles opens his arms. You practically collapse onto the couch next to him, curling into his side. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

You nod against his chest, fresh tears soaking into his shirt. Charles doesn’t seem to mind, just holds you tighter and begins to hum softly, a soothing melody that washes over you.

As you lie there, surrounded by the warmth and kindness of this virtual stranger, you feel something you haven’t felt all day: safe. The steady rhythm of Charles’ heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest lull you into a state of calm.

Your eyelids grow heavy once more, and this time, you don’t fight it. As you drift off to sleep, still wrapped in Charles’ arms and using his shirt as a makeshift tissue, your last coherent thought is a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be better.

***

The first rays of sunlight filter through the unfamiliar curtains, gently rousing you from your slumber. For a blissful moment, you’re disoriented, unaware of where you are or why your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Then, like a tidal wave, the memories of yesterday crash over you, bringing with them a fresh wave of pain and embarrassment.

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. How did you end up here? Slowly, fragments of the night before come back to you — a kind stranger, an offer of shelter, crying yourself to sleep on the stranger’s couch.

Charles.

His name was Charles.

The smell of coffee and something deliciously savory wafts through the air, making your stomach growl despite the lingering nausea. Reluctantly, you drag yourself out of bed, wincing at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair is a tangled mess, mascara smudged under your eyes, and you’re wearing clothes that are decidedly not yours.

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself to face your host. You pad quietly down the hallway, following the sounds of movement in the kitchen. As you round the corner, you see Charles standing at the stove, his back to you as he hums softly to himself.

You clear your throat softly. “Um, good morning.”

Charles turns, a warm smile lighting up his face. “Good morning! How are you feeling?”

You grimace, running a hand through your tangled hair. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck. Emotionally and physically.”

He chuckles sympathetically. “I bet. Here, sit down. Coffee?”

You nod gratefully, sinking into a chair at the small kitchen table. “Yes, please. And maybe some painkillers if you have them?”

“Coming right up,” Charles says, placing a steaming mug in front of you before rummaging in a drawer for the pills.

As you sip the coffee, relishing the warmth spreading through your body, Charles returns to the stove. “I hope you like omelets. I wasn’t sure what you’d be up for, but I figured eggs are usually a safe bet.”

“Omelets sound perfect,” you say, your stomach rumbling in agreement. “Thank you. For everything. I ... I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me last night.”

He waves off your thanks, sliding a plate in front of you. “No need to thank me. I’m just glad I could help.”

As Charles settles into the chair across from you with his own plate, a comfortable silence falls between you. You pick at your food, your appetite warring with the knot of anxiety in your stomach.

Finally, Charles breaks the silence. “So ... seems like yesterday is quite a story.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “A very long one.”

Charles’ green eyes meet yours, filled with gentle curiosity. “Care to share?”

You hesitate, pushing your food around your plate. Part of you wants to keep it all locked away, to pretend yesterday never happened. But another part of you is desperate to unburden yourself, to make sense of the whirlwind that turned your life upside down.

Taking a deep breath, you begin. “Well, yesterday was supposed to be my wedding day.”

Charles nods encouragingly. “I gathered as much from the dress. What happened?”

“I found out my fiancé — ex-fiancé now, I guess — has been cheating on me. Throughout our entire engagement.”

Charles winces. “Ouch. That’s ... I’m so sorry.”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as tears prick at your eyes. “Yeah, well. Apparently I’m great at picking them.”

“How did you find out?” Charles asks gently.

You laugh bitterly. “Oh, it was a real soap opera moment. His mother overheard him on the phone with the other woman, literally an hour before the ceremony. She told my mom, who told me, and ... well, you can imagine how that went down.”

Charles shakes his head, disbelief etched on his face. “That’s awful. What did you do?”

“I confronted him, of course. In front of all his groomsmen. It was ... not my finest moment. There was a lot of yelling, some crying, probably some mascara running. And then I just ... ran. In my wedding dress. Like some cliché runaway bride, except I had nowhere to run to.”

You pause, taking a sip of coffee to steady yourself. Charles remains silent, his face a mix of sympathy and something else — anger, maybe?

“I ended up in some bar I’d never been to before,” you continue. “Drank way too much, way too fast. And then I was stumbling around on the street, and ... well, you know the rest.”

Charles nods slowly, processing your story. “Wow. That’s ... that’s a hell of a day.”

You snort. “You can say that again.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Charles says, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand gently. “No one deserves that kind of betrayal.”

His touch is warm and comforting, and you find yourself fighting back tears again. “Thanks. I just ... I feel so stupid. How did I not see it? We were together for five years. We were supposed to spend our lives together. And all this time ...”

“Hey,” Charles interrupts softly. “You’re not stupid. He’s the one who made the choice to betray your trust. That’s on him, not you.”

You nod, not entirely convinced but appreciating his words nonetheless. “I guess. It’s just ... where do I go from here? We had a whole life planned out. A home, careers, maybe kids someday. And now it’s all just ... gone.”

Charles is quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe this is an opportunity.”

You look at him skeptically. “An opportunity? To what, have my heart ripped out and stomped on?”

He chuckles softly. “No, no. I mean ... look, I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you’ve been given a chance to rewrite your story. To figure out what you really want, without having to consider someone else’s dreams or expectations.”

His words give you pause. You’d been so focused on what you’d lost, you hadn’t even considered what you might gain. “I ... I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to see it as a positive yet,” Charles assures you. “Healing takes time. But I promise you, this isn’t the end of your story. It’s just the beginning of a new chapter.”

You manage a small smile, the first genuine one since yesterday morning. “Where did you learn to be so wise, huh?”

Charles grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, you know. I moonlight as a philosopher when I’m not rescuing damsels in distress from the streets.”

You laugh, surprised by how good it feels. “My hero,” you tease.

As your laughter fades, a comfortable silence settles between you. You find yourself studying Charles, really looking at him for the first time. He’s handsome, in a boyish sort of way, with kind eyes and an easy smile. There’s something familiar about him, but you can’t quite place it.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “I’ve shared my tragic backstory. What about you? What’s your deal, Charles?”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, you know. Just your average guy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Average guys don’t usually invite strange women in wedding dresses to stay the night. Unless ... oh God, you’re not married, are you? Did I just cause some poor woman to think her husband was cheating?”

Charles laughs, holding up his hands. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m very much single. And I promise, inviting strange women in wedding dresses to stay over is not a regular occurrence for me.”

“So what do you do, then? When you’re not playing knight in shining armor?”

A flicker of something crosses Charles’ face before he answers. “I’m ... in sports. Racing, actually.”

You nod, impressed. “Racing? Like, cars?”

“Formula 1,” he clarifies. “I’m a driver.”

Suddenly, it clicks. The familiarity, the nagging feeling that you’ve seen him before. Your eyes widen. “Oh my God. You’re Charles Leclerc. The Ferrari driver.”

He grins sheepishly. “Guilty as charged.”

You bury your face in your hands, mortified. “Oh God. Oh God. I cried all over a world-famous race car driver. I used your shirt as a tissue. This is ... this is so embarrassing.”

Charles reaches across the table, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “Hey, none of that. I’m just a person, like anyone else. And I meant what I said — I’m glad I could help.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “You’re sure? Because I’m pretty sure I got mascara and snot all over your probably very expensive shirt.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “I promise, it’s fine. The shirt will survive. I’m more concerned about you. How are you feeling now?”

You consider the question, taking stock of your emotional state. “Honestly? Still pretty awful. But ... maybe a little less awful than before. Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me last night.”

Charles smiles softly. “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time. And hey, look at it this way — you’ve got a pretty unique story to tell now.”

You groan, but can’t help laughing. “Oh yeah, because drunk and crying in a wedding dress is exactly how I wanted to meet one of the best F1 drivers in the world.”

“One of the best?” Charles teases, clutching his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m clearly the best.”

You roll your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of such greatness.”

As you banter back and forth, you feel something shift inside you. The pain is still there, raw and aching, but it’s no longer all-consuming. For the first time since yesterday, you feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be okay after all.

***

The roar of engines fills the air as you make your way through the bustling paddock, the excitement of race day palpable. You can’t help but smile, still amazed at how much your life has changed in the past few years. From runaway bride to Formula 1 WAG — it’s a plot twist you never saw coming.

“Mon cœur!” A familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Charles jogging towards you, his race suit tied around his waist. He grins as he reaches you, pulling you into a quick embrace.

“Hey, you,” you say, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

Charles shrugs, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve got time. Besides, I needed my good luck charm.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Flatterer. Go on, get back to work. I’ll be cheering you on from the garage.”

He steals one more kiss before heading back towards his team, leaving you shaking your head with a smile. As you turn to make your way to the Ferrari motorhome, a familiar face in the crowd stops you dead in your tracks.

Your ex-fiancé is standing just a few feet away, gawking at you with wide eyes. For a moment, you’re frozen, unsure how to react. It’s been years since you’ve seen him, since that disastrous almost-wedding day.

Before you can decide whether to acknowledge him or pretend you haven’t seen him, James is moving towards you, a strange mix of emotions playing across his face.

“Y/N?” He says, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Is that really you?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Hello, James.”

He looks you up and down, taking in your sleek outfit and the VIP pass hanging around your neck. “Wow. You look ... different. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with my partner,” you say simply, not feeling the need to elaborate.

James’ brow furrows. “Your partner? You mean like ... a business partner?”

You can’t help but laugh. “No, James. My partner. As in, the person I’m in a relationship with.”

His eyes widen comically. “You’re dating someone involved in Formula 1? Who?”

Before you can answer, a small group of fans approaches, their eyes lighting up as they spot you.

“Excuse me,” one of them says excitedly. “You’re Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend, right? Could we please get a picture?”

You smile warmly at them. “Of course!”

As you pose for photos with the fans, exchanging a few friendship bracelets as well, you can see James out of the corner of your eye. He’s standing there, mouth agape, looking like he’s been hit over the head with a frying pan.

Once the fans move on, James practically pounces on you. “Charles Leclerc? You’re dating Charles Leclerc? How ... when ... what?”

You sigh, already tired of this conversation. “Yes, Charles and I have been together for a while now. Is there something else you needed?”

He shakes his head, still looking dazed. “I just ... I can’t believe it. How did this happen?”

“It’s a long story,” you say, not particularly wanting to rehash your past with him. “One I don’t really have time to get into right now.”

James seems to ignore your hint, his eyes narrowing. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t expect me to believe that you’re actually dating one of the best F1 drivers in the world. What’s really going on here?”

You feel a flash of anger at his dismissive tone. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, no offense,” James continues, oblivious to your growing irritation, “but last I knew, you couldn’t tell the difference between F1 and NASCAR. Now you’re supposedly dating a Ferrari driver? It doesn’t add up.”

You clench your fists, trying to keep your cool. “People change. They grow. They learn new things. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He scoffs. “Right. So I’m supposed to believe that in the few years since our ... since we last saw each other, you’ve not only become an F1 expert but also managed to snag one of the most eligible bachelors in the sport? Come on, Y/N. What’s the real story? Are you some kind of ... I don’t know, brand ambassador or something?”

Before you can respond, a warm hand settles on the small of your back. You look up to see Charles standing beside you, his expression a mix of concern and confusion.

“Everything okay here, mon amour?” He asks, his eyes flicking between you and James.

James’ jaw drops even further, if that’s possible. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You lean into Charles’ side, drawing strength from his presence. “Charles, this is James. My ex-fiancé. James, this is Charles. My boyfriend.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up in recognition, but he recovers quickly, extending a hand to James. “Nice to meet you,” he says politely, though there’s a hint of steel in his voice.

James just stares at the offered hand, then back at you, then at Charles again. “This ... this is a joke, right? Some kind of prank?”

Charles drops his hand, frowning. “I assure you, it’s not a joke. Y/N and I have been together for over two years now.”

James shakes his head vehemently. “No. No way. This doesn’t make any sense. Y/N, what are you playing at?”

You feel your patience snap. “I’m not playing at anything. Charles and I are together. We’re happy. I’m sorry if that’s difficult for you to comprehend, but it’s the truth.”

“But ... but how?” James sputters. “How did this even happen?”

Charles tightens his arm around you, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Well, if you must know, I found her wandering the streets in a wedding dress, crying her eyes out because her fiancé was a cheating bastard.”

James blanches, his face turning an interesting shade of purple. “That’s ... that’s not ... you can’t just ...”

“Can’t what?” You challenge, feeling emboldened by Charles’ support. “Can’t move on? Can’t find happiness with someone who actually respects me? Can’t build a life that doesn’t revolve around you?”

A small crowd has started to gather, attracted by the rising voices and the presence of Charles Leclerc. You can see people whispering, phones discreetly pointed in your direction.

James seems to notice the attention too, his eyes darting around nervously. “Look, Y/N, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

“It’s not a game,” you interrupt, your voice firm. “This is my life. A life I’m very happy with, I might add. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Charles has a race to prepare for.”

You start to turn away, but James grabs your arm. “Wait, just ... just tell me the truth. Is this some kind of revenge? Did you set this all up to get back at me?”

Charles tenses beside you, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I suggest you remove your hand,” he says, his voice low and controlled.

James lets go as if burned, taking a step back. “I just ... I don’t understand. How could you … with him?”

You take a deep breath, deciding to end this once and for all. “James, listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once. What happened between us was years ago. I’ve moved on. I’ve built a life I love, with a man I love. Your inability to believe that says far more about you than it does about me.”

You turn to Charles, softening your voice. “Come on, love. You need to get back to the team.”

Charles nods, pressing a kiss to your temple before addressing James one last time. “It was ... interesting meeting you. Enjoy the race.”

As you walk away, leaving a stunned James in your wake, you can’t help but let out a small laugh. “Well, that was ... something.”

Charles chuckles, squeezing your hand. “You handled that beautifully, mon cœur. Though I have to admit, I was tempted to deck him when he grabbed you.”

You lean into him, smiling. “My hero. But I think leaving him standing there like a fish out of water was far more satisfying.”

As you approach the Ferrari garage, you pause, turning to face Charles. “Thank you,” you say softly. “For being there, for backing me up. For ... everything, really.”

Charles cups your face gently, his green eyes full of love. “Always. You know I’ve got your back, just like you’ve always had mine.”

You stretch up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, you know that?”

He grins, that boyish smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “I love you too. Now, how about we go win a race, yeah?”

As you enter the garage hand in hand, the organized chaos of the team preparing for the race enveloping you, you can’t help but marvel at the twists and turns that led you here. From the lowest point of your life to the highest — all because a kind stranger couldn’t leave a crying bride on the street.

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before he heads off to his car. As you watch him go, you silently thank whatever twist of fate brought him into your life that night. The road hasn’t always been smooth, but you wouldn’t change a single moment of it.

After all, sometimes the best love stories start with a broken heart and end with a chequered flag.

[livinghalfway]

Bury Him with the Roses Pt. 1

Masterlist

Summary: Damian learns that his twin is alive only to learn that he was dead and buried a few hours before his impromptu arrival to the Fenton household. When he goes to visit Danyal's final resting place he finds two individuals digging up his brother's grave.  Word Count: 1302

Damian will say time and time again that school is a waste of his time. Which is why he'll never admit that he enjoys projects that allow him to truly deep dive on subjects he wouldn't normally have any reason to. 

This specific school project has him doing research about animals that were once thought to be doomed for extinction only for their numbers to rise once more. Which is how Damian found himself looking at the face of a familiar looking boy that disappeared so many years ago; his twin. 

Apparently, his brother saved the purple-back gorillas from going extinct a year after his disappearance from the League. Instead of reading further into the article, and wondering how so many professionals were able to miss something so critical to an animal's survival, he's stuck on the photo of Danyal smiling at the camera. 

It feels as if he was staring at that face for hours when a knock on his bedroom door breaks his concentration. 

"Master Damian, dinner will be served in a few moments if you wish to join us downstairs." Alfred calls out from behind the door. 

"Thank you Pennyworth, I'll be down soon." He replies as calmly as he can, and it isn't until he hears footsteps heading away from his door does he feel like he can breathe again. 

Before this Damian was fine with keeping the secret of Danyal close to his chest. He knows how this family deals with death, and he didn't want to put them through any more grief for a child they would never meet. 

So how is he meant to reveal something so frightening. How are they going to react to this kind of betrayal; keeping a brother and son from them all because he didn't think they could handle it.   

These thoughts are like a whirlwind as Damian slowly makes his way to the dining room. Upon entering he finds that everyone else is already seated. Which is when he remembers that this is one of those rare dinners where even Jason has agreed to attend. 

Silently, he takes a seat with Bruce on his right, and Dick on his left. Damian would have been glad to just sail through the meal without saying anything, but of course Dick had to notice his voice missing from the choir. 

"Baby bat, is everything all good? I don't think I've heard a single quip out of you tonight." Damian can tell he's trying to be casual with his question, but his concern is not hard to miss.  

This was his moment to just confess everything wasn't it? He takes a calming breath and clears his throat before speaking. "Actually Richard, there is an announcement I must make. Something that I have kept to myself for far too long." 

It's clear that everyone heard him as the table goes quiet, and all eyes look toward him.  "I have a- a twin brother." 

There. There it is. Finally out in the open. 

That doesn't calm his heart thundering in his chest though as voices explode all around him with questions and demands. His father's though is the one that he pays any attention to. 

"What is his name?" With the look on Bruce's face Damian wonders if stabbing him would have been kinder than doing this. 

"His name is Danyal al Ghul, though I've recently discovered that he goes by the name Daniel Fenton now." 

With the mention of a name Damian sees both Tim and Babs pulling out their phones to seemingly try, and find any information that can on his brother. 

"Wait! A twin? Why didn't he come to Gotham with you then?" Duke, who is sitting across from him, questions. 

"As of an hour or so ago I believed him to be dead." He feels Dick put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "He- he went on a mission with Mother, and never returned. I was told to forget all about him; that he was nothing but a weakness that would hold me back." 

"Dami, I'm-" Dink starts to say something, but is interrupted by Bruce speaking up. 

"You said you found out he was alive today, how? Are you sure it is him." Damian recognizes that tone, it's not his Father speaking anymore, it's Batman. 

"Bruce." Dink's voice has a warning tone to it as he clearly doesn't like the way he's speaking to him. If anything though Damian prefers it right now. It allows him to think of this conversation more as a mission report than a personal one.

"I was doing research for school, and I came across an article about purple-back gorillas. It featured his name as well as a photo of Danyal due to his impact on the species." 

"And you're positive it is not someone who just looks like him?" 

"I gave Danyal a scar on his jaw before he left with Mother. The same scar can be seen in the photo." 

"Found it." Tim announces, "And a scar is on the kid's jaw." 

Jason, who is now leaning halfway out of his seat to look at Tim's phone, gives a whistle as he gets a look at the photo. "Yup, that is definitely your kid B. Looks just like the demon brat too minus the eyes of course.” 

Without a word Bruce holds out a hand for the phone, and silently Tim passes it down to him. Everyone can tell he’s trying to keep his emotions to himself, but when he takes a look at the photo it’s clear something inside him is breaking. Knowing that he didn’t just miss the youth of not just one son, but two. 

Slowly he slides the phone back to Tim before focusing on Babs, "Have you found any other information about him?"

"I'll have to do a more in depth search once I get my hands on an actual computer. The article is so far the only thing I've been able to find so far." Her face in a frown as she continues to search for more. 

"Could the kid just not have any socials, and that's why nothing is popping up?" Stephanie questions. 

"I would normally assume so if it weren't for the fact that I can barely find anything about his hometown that was listed in the article." 

"Hm." Bruce's face is set in a deep frown as he stands up, "Let's continue this in the cave. I want a full report on every single thing found about Danyal, and who he's currently living with." 

Practically everyone at those words rushed down to the cave, Damian on the other hand stayed seated. His eyes closed, and head slightly bowed. He couldn't help but wonder if he had done the right thing revealing Danyal's existence to everyone. 

His twin must know that he is in Gotham after all. Why hasn't he reached out?

Despite the table now being empty Damian knows that he is not alone; behind him is a looming presence. 

“Damian, sweetheart.” Bruce lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, his mask now completely gone as every emotion runs through his voice. “I wish you would have told me about your brother sooner. I’m sure you have your reasons though, and will want to hear them later. For now though I’m just going to ask if you’re alright.” 

He didn’t know how to answer that question so instead he just stands up, and says, “I’ll be better once I see Danyal again. I assume you’ll be going to him once we have his location.” 

“... Yes, I will be.” 

“Then I will be joining you, and you can not stop me from doing so.” With that said Damian turns and strides towards the cave. A new goal now set in his mind. 

Bring Danyal home. 

[igwb]

Blue & Grey.

"where is my angel? the end of a tiring day, someone come and save me, please."

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (depressed!jk x editor!oc)

genre: established relationship au, angst

summary: when you met jeon jungkook, he never hid his depression from you. he wore it like a shadow, heavy and constant, and somehow, you felt the need to help him, to take on his burdens as if they were your own. but in the process, you realized something. love isn’t a miracle—it can’t magically erase someone’s pain. you wished that it could, but the truth was, the only one who could truly heal him was himself.

word count: 24K (one shot)

warnings: angst, fem!reader, fight against depression, mentions of; self-harm, self-degrading, suicide talk, bad mental health, blood, jungkook is suffering, having to see your loved one struggling, mentions of; sexual contents (no actual smut!), road to learn how to love yourself & mesuring the importance of your own life♡

playlist: i always wanna die (sometimes), uncomfortable, heavy, shot glass of tears and blue & grey

Neither you nor Jungkook can pinpoint exactly when or why it happened. However, you remember vividly the moment he revealed his feelings to you, about the demons he’s been struggling with since childhood.

At that time, you were both in university, and your relationship was still new. For you, it wasn’t anything too serious—just the warmth he offered. His head rested in your lap as you ran your fingers through his soft, dark hair, and that’s when he opened up.

“I’ve been diagnosed with depression for four years,” he said. Your hand froze, and your eyes widened. It wasn’t at all what you were expecting. The night had been going so well—you were laughing, kissing, and slowly exploring each other’s bodies without any rush.

At first, you didn’t know how to respond or what he expected from you. You’d never been in this position before. Of course, you’d heard of depression, and as a literature student, you’d read about it—it was a recurring theme for many authors.

But reading about it didn’t mean you truly understood it, especially now that it felt so real. So close.

When Jungkook felt your hand freeze, he immediately sat up and looked at you with wide, chocolate eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on the tiny mole beneath his lip, because if you looked into his eyes now, you were certain you would burst into tears. You’d always been a romantic, always searching for beauty even in the most difficult moments, and always absorbing the weight of emotions when someone close to you seemed so vulnerable.

“I—” you began, your breath catching in your throat. “It’s not like that, it’s just—”

Jungkook let out a soft chuckle and gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. He felt the need to see your face, to make sure you weren’t hiding behind your hair as if you didn’t know him anymore. He hadn’t meant to scare you, not at all. He just wanted to confess because he felt safe enough with you to do so.

“I really like you,” he began, his voice soft and sincere. “And I feel like this is something I wanted you to know before I ask you out for real,” he confessed, his gaze drifting to anything but you, a shy smile playing on his lips.

Your cheeks flushed at his sudden confession, and you couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your face. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t just some fleeting warmth you sought on some days and not others. Maybe he meant something more, because you could already feel your heart stuttering in your chest.

“It won’t change anything then,” you said softly, finally meeting his deep, boba-like eyes.

Maybe you should’ve learned more before diving headfirst into what Jungkook had implied.

Maybe you should’ve taken the time to understand depression, to go beyond what you found on the internet or the romanticized portrayals in the books you read.

Because now, standing in front of it, you didn’t know what to say or do. Your mind felt completely blank, and in that moment, you felt like the most useless person alive. There you were, watching your boyfriend of seven months—someone you cared deeply for—slapping himself roughly across the chest. His sobs echoed through the dorm room, his hair tangled from the way he had been pulling at it before you arrived. His face was flushed, red from the tears and the screams, and you had no idea how to help him.

“Kook,” you said softly, unsure if he even heard you over the intensity of his sobs. “Baby—” you repeated, trying again as you knelt in front of him, but he immediately shoved you away, shouting for you to leave him alone.

It had been two weeks since he started acting differently. In the beginning, your relationship had been perfect. He was nothing but caring, gentle, and loving. After that night at your apartment, he hadn’t talked about his depression because, honestly, he was feeling good—he felt like he was in a better place.

But he had been fighting this battle for four years, and even longer before the diagnosis. If he thought that life could be like one of those romance novels you loved, that somehow, with a miracle—you, his demons, and the dark thoughts would just disappear, he was wrong. So deeply wrong.

Because now, here he was—sitting on the cold tiles of his bathroom, his chest bare and exposed, falling apart in front of the one person he wanted to protect from his pain.

From an outside perspective, Jungkook might seem terrifying right now. Violent, even. His eyes were dark, wild, as if he were ready to lash out at anything that dared to come too close.

But for you? For you, he was the guy you fell in love with. He was the guy who held your hand while walking, always choosing the side closest to the road to protect you. He was the guy who brought you chocolate every month on the date you officially became a couple. Because he said your anniversary shouldn’t be just once a year—it should be celebrated every month, because he was so grateful to have you in his life as his girlfriend, even after just seven months together.

He was the boy you held at night when his body tensed in his sleep, as if haunted by nightmares he never spoke about. And in the morning, you pretended not to notice the dried tears on his cheeks, too afraid of the truth—afraid that when the time came, you wouldn’t be ready to face it.

But the time had come. And you had to be there. Right now.

“Come on, Kook,” you murmured, reaching for him again. You shifted, setting your bag on the cold floor so you could use both hands to hold him. “I’m here.”

His mind was a blur, his ears suffocated by the voices screaming at him—telling him he was broken, unlovable, incapable of love. That he was everything and nothing. That he didn’t deserve happiness.

And worst of all, they told him he would hurt you.

He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t pretend he was okay while those words poisoned his thoughts. That’s why he ran to the shower, hoping the water would wash them away. But it did nothing.

And then suddenly, you were there. Crawling in front of him, your shaky hands settling on his bare shoulders, whispering in that soft voice only you had, telling him you were there.

And the voices stopped.

Because he heard three words. A raw confession. Vulnerable. A moment that would be etched into his memory forever.

“I love you, Jungkook,” you sobbed, holding him tighter, as if letting go wasn’t even an option.

Since that day, you never wanted to be far from him again. The sight of him breaking down had shattered your heart, and some nights, when you were alone in your apartment while Jungkook was in his, his sobs still echoed in your mind.

You even found yourself wandering through the medical university’s library, pacing between shelves, searching for anything that could help you understand him—help him better.

You left with five different books on depression, mental health, and other topics that felt too overwhelming to even think about.

It had been a month since Jungkook’s first outburst, yet somehow, you still felt like you hadn’t done anything to truly help him. And you hated that feeling. The next time it happened, you wanted to be ready. You wanted to do things right.

When you saw him approaching, his eyes immediately found yours as he pulled out one of his AirPods. He almost ran to you, a playful, childish smile on his lips—the one you fell in love with. The one that made him look like a soft bunny you just wanted to kiss.

But suddenly, the weight in your arms felt unbearable. You were scared to admit why you were really there, scared that he’d feel like some kind of psychological case you were trying to study. Guilt crept in as you clutched the books tightly against your chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice the bold black letters on the cover: How to Understand Depression?

“Baby,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your side carefully so he wouldn’t crush the books you were holding. So considerate. “What are you doing here?” His gaze flickered to the medical building behind you, curiosity lacing his tone.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he added, raising his eyebrows in a way that made him look so silly—yet so adorable that you swore your heart might burst.

It wasn’t unusual for you to visit him at his faculty whenever you had a break, but it was unusual for you to show up unannounced.

“Surprise—” you offered weakly, forcing a semblance of a smile.

He didn’t question your odd behavior, but when he tried to peek at the books in your arms, he immediately held his hands out.

“They must be heavy, give them to me,” he said without hesitation. You instantly refused, tightening your grip. “Why not?” he scoffed, frowning.

“I’m an independent woman, I can handle it,” you blurted, quickly finding the perfect excuse to ease the tension.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes but let it slide, falling into step beside you. After a moment of silence—filled with him insisting on walking you to your faculty—he finally asked,

“What are you reading that made you go all the way to the medical library?” His voice was casual, but you could hear the underlying curiosity.

He walked a little behind you, clearly annoyed that both your hands were full—because it meant he couldn’t hold yours.

“Some… stuff,” you muttered, swallowing hard, your throat tightening around the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say—depression, mental health, coping mechanisms. Anything would have been better than the lie that left your lips next.

“I have to write a poem,” you added hastily, grimacing at how terrible it sounded. “And I thought… medical stuff could help.”

Jungkook’s brows lifted in amusement. “You could’ve just asked me,” he said, his hands settling on your shoulders as he pulled you closer. If he couldn’t hold your hand, he’d at least keep you near somehow. “Your wonderful boyfriend studies psychology, and you didn’t think to ask him?”

His smirk was dangerous—the kind where the right side of his lips lifted just slightly more than the left. The kind that made you feel like if you looked at him too long, you’d spill the entire truth.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” you mumbled, eyes dropping to the ground.

A terrible decision.

Because the moment you did, a cyclist came speeding toward you. You barely registered the rush of wind before you stumbled back, losing your footing. The books tumbled to the ground, and you followed right after them, landing hard on the pavement.

“Hey!” Jungkook’s voice was sharp as he immediately knelt beside you, glaring after the cyclist. “Watch where you’re going, idiot!” His tone was filled with irritation, muttering curses under his breath. “Stupid guy…”

But then his attention snapped back to you. His gaze softened as he saw you wince, your hand gripping your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “I swear, if I see that guy again—”

He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes flickered downward, locking onto one of the fallen books.

And that’s when he saw it.

The bold, black title staring back at him.

A strange chuckle escaped Jungkook’s lips, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes—like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“What is that?” he asked, his voice eerily calm as he pointed at the books scattered across the pavement.

Panic surged through you. Without thinking, you rushed to gather them back into your arms, clutching them tightly against your chest.

“Nothing,” you blurted out, suddenly deciding that the slight pain in your shoulder wasn’t worth acknowledging anymore.

Jungkook sighed, saying your name in that warning tone—the one that made your heart clench. His soft eyes searched yours, silently pleading with you not to lie to him.

“Are you sure it’s nothing?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “And not you… trying to study my terrible condition?”

You dropped your head in defeat, your gaze landing on one of the books—The Five Stages of Depression.

One of them was anger.

And that was the last thing you wanted Jungkook to feel toward you.

“Jungkook—” you started, ready to fall to your knees and beg him to forget about it, to tell him you were sorry for being intrusive. But before you could even utter another word, he pulled you into his arms, his embrace firm, his head burying into your shoulder. His soft hair tickled your neck, and you felt the warmth of him seep into you.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost fragile. “But I don’t want you to overthink this. You being here is enough.”

His warm breath ghosted over your skin before he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. Then, he pulled back slightly, his fingers tilting your chin up, his eyes serious now.

“Or,” he said more firmly, “you could just ask me—instead of reading stupid stuff like that.”

You couldn’t admit you were scared—because admitting it would mean acknowledging that, in that moment, Jungkook had scared you. And you never wanted him to think he was capable of hurting you in any way.

So you just nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile.

“I will,” you murmured.

One day.

One day, when the thought of your boyfriend shifting between light and dark no longer unsettled you. When you finally accepted that this was just a part of him—something you had to learn to hold without letting it slip through your fingers. Something you had to handle on your own.

Jungkook could pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with you. It happened long before you even acknowledged his existence.

There was something about you that drew people in—he could see it in the way boys looked at you, admiration laced in their gaze, and in the way girls gravitated toward you, eager to talk, to compliment, to be near you.

For someone like Jungkook, who had spent most of his life blending into the shadows, erasing himself so others wouldn’t notice the weight he carried, it was impossible not to be drawn to someone like you—someone who seemed to shine effortlessly. Someone who had light in places he never thought to look for in himself.

And yet, it was ridiculous how the moment he truly fell for you wasn’t during some grand event or breathtaking scene—it was on an ordinary day. A simple moment.

You had come to the medical faculty, apparently looking for a friend. The sun hit your face at just the right angle, making your round brown eyes squint slightly against the light. And for a second, Jungkook could swear it wasn’t just the sun making you glow—it was you.

He watched as you wandered through the campus, searching desperately for whatever—or whoever—you were looking for. And he just stood there, too shy, too caught up in his own darkness to even think about stepping into your light.

He swore he wasn’t some creep, but it was almost pitiful how consumed he had become by thoughts of you since that day. It wasn’t just a passing attraction—it was something deeper. He learned that you were often on campus, meeting friends, and all he could do was watch from afar, unable to tear his gaze away as you smiled. Your white teeth gleamed, and your laughter rang out, deep and genuine. Your entire being seemed to radiate pure happiness.

And there he was, stuck in the shadows, unable to even imagine what it would feel like to be a part of that world you lived in.

Jungkook could only dream about it—about you.

And yet, somehow, your paths crossed.

Jungkook sat quietly, as usual, engrossed in a psychology book that made him chuckle under his breath. Sometimes he thought he was a masochist for choosing a major like that, especially when he couldn’t even fully understand himself. But there was something about it—the need to understand why he was the way he was—that drew him in.

He was reading when he heard the familiar sound of giggles nearby—one of them unmistakably yours, and the other from someone he didn’t care enough to acknowledge. He glanced to his left and saw you, standing with one of your friend. The girl—who wasn’t you—immediately turned away, her cheeks flushed, playfully nudging you before disappearing.

Before he could even process what was happening, you were standing right in front of him. He instinctively started to close his book, preparing for his usual retreat, but then you spoke, and he froze.

“Jeon Jungkook, right?”

It was the first time he had ever heard your voice up close, and in that moment, he realized he had been right all along—it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

He didn’t even ask how or why you knew his name; before he could, you answered for him.

“My friend over there,” you said, pointing to the girl who was now hiding her face behind her hands, “really likes you.”

Jungkook’s heart dropped straight into his shoes. It wasn’t what he had hoped for—not even close.

You looked at him with a playful smile on your plump lips, your eyes locked onto his as you batted your long eyelashes.

Jungkook knew he wasn’t always the best at handling things delicately, and before he could even think, he blurted out, “Not me.”

Your smile immediately faded, and you raised your brows at him, clearly taken aback by his bluntness.

Later, you’d admit to him that you didn’t even know how your friend could like someone like him when your first impression of him had been so off-putting.

But right now, Jungkook found himself asking the same thing. How could someone like you—someone so full of light and warmth—ever care for someone like him?

Jungkook watched you from afar as you spoke with some of your colleagues about the book that had just been released, and how you were the one editing it for the first time. They congratulated you, hugged you, and the sight warmed his heart. It had been a long time since he had seen you smile that genuinely.

Not because he was the one who caused it, but because it was simple colleagues—literal strangers to Jungkook, people he didn’t even know the names of—who made you smile like that. People you’d met only five months ago when you found your job at the editing firm.

And it stung. Not even your boyfriend of five years could make you smile that way anymore.

Jungkook set the champagne glass on the table as he saw you walking toward him. The moment you were no longer surrounded by your colleagues, your smile faded, and he couldn’t help but notice the distance between you.

He reached out his hands, asking if you were ready to leave. You nodded without a word, walking in front of him, ignoring his hand completely.

You entered the car silently, letting Jungkook settle into the driver’s seat. He started the car without saying anything, and the silence between you two was deafening.

It had been like this for a couple of years now—everything you did had become mechanical. It wasn’t the same as it had been before, and both of you were aware that this shift was expected after so many years together, living in the same space and spending every day side by side.

But it hurt. It hurt so much because you could see it—the way Jungkook had slowly sunk deeper into his own dark thoughts, day by day. And you couldn’t reach him anymore. He wasn’t pushing you away on purpose; it wasn’t that he didn’t want things to improve—it was that he simply didn’t have the strength to fight for it anymore.

And it was breaking you, because you knew him. You saw how he was disappearing, and you could do nothing to pull him back.

It all started two years ago when Jungkook decided to drop his psychology studies. You tried to convince him not to, but he was determined, as he always was. He just wanted to let everything go, except for you—somehow, you were the one thing he held onto.

Then, it was the way he started falling asleep at odd hours, like 5 AM, and waking up only at 2 PM, as if the world had no place for him.

And the most noticeable change—he stopped leaving the house. He just stayed there, letting the days slip by, waiting for time to pass him by without any real intention.

You knew it was bad again, but this time, it was worse. He wasn’t even trying anymore. He had given up, and you felt it in every quiet moment between you.

It almost felt like a miracle that he agreed to come to the small party your colleagues had thrown for you. But he came, even though you could tell his heart wasn’t really there. You could feel it in the way he distanced himself, sinking into the background, staying silent and observing from a distance. He wasn’t participating, just existing in the space, a shadow of the person he used to be when he’d engage and enjoy those moments with you. The gap between you both grew with every passing minute, and you could feel the distance pulling at your chest.

“Jungkook,” you said softly, your voice heavy as you stared out the window at the passing scenery. “What if you start therapy again?”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles going white at the suggestion. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with you for trying.

“I’m scared,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his voice flat. “It’s always the same shit over and over again. I’m done fighting.”

Hearing those words felt like a blow to your chest. It was the first time the truth between you both had been laid bare, no beating around the bush anymore. It should’ve been said long ago, but you never had the strength to bring it up, and he… he didn’t have the strength for anything anymore. The weight of his words broke you in a way you didn’t expect.

Over the five years you spent with Jungkook, you slowly learned how to navigate his world. You became attuned to when you could step into his thoughts and when it was better to hold back. You discovered the delicate art of helping him through his darkest moments, though it never made it easier. Every time he suffered, every time the world seemed to crush him, the images of him hurting himself lingered in your mind, haunting you like scars that wouldn’t fade.

But what once terrified you, no longer did. You’d learned how to steel yourself when it all came crashing down. When the despair crept in, you stood firm, your posture a silent promise to him that you wouldn’t waver. You’d keep your chin up, your voice steady, and you’d be the one to remind him that you were there—that you weren’t going anywhere. You would repeat it like a mantra: The voices in your head aren’t true. You’re not broken. You’re wonderful. You’re worthy of love. You’d hold him through the pain, speaking the truth of how deeply you loved him, of how glad you were to have him in your life.

And somehow, after those words, things would get better. For a while, at least. For a few weeks, you’d see a glimpse of the Jungkook you loved, the one who smiled without a weight in his eyes. But it always came back. The darkness would return, the cycle would repeat, and you would find yourself standing tall once more, trying to carry him through it again.

It was a dark, endless loop he had thrown himself into each day, a loop that had become so familiar he no longer fought it as he once did. At first, you fought with him, trying to help him escape the suffocating grasp of his thoughts, but as time went on, you found yourself fighting for both of you. He had stopped trying, worn down by the years of battling with something he felt would be a part of him forever.

For Jungkook, it started at thirteen. He didn’t know why it began, but he couldn’t remember a time when the thoughts hadn’t been there. In the beginning, it was small—denying himself food, punishing his body just to feel something, anything, that would distract him from the noise in his head. As he grew older, the need to escape deepened. He would lock himself in his room, choking himself, holding his breath until the world blurred and the silence in his head was enough to make him forget—if only for a few moments—what was clawing at him. Afterward, he would slip out to join his family for dinner, pretending everything was normal, pretending he wasn’t just on the verge of losing himself entirely.

Then came the sharp objects. He had never meant for it to get so far, but it was like the sharpness against his skin provided a release, a temporary relief from the pressure. And soon, it was a constant cycle, one he couldn’t break free from. The loop tightened around him, and he found himself circling through the same actions, day in and day out, unable to stop. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was that he didn’t know how to anymore.

Jungkook had never felt at peace like this before, not in the way he did when he met you. At first, it was as if your light was something he could hold onto, something he could follow with an innocent smile that hid the darkness he had carried for years. It was a brief reprieve, a fleeting illusion that maybe, just maybe, he could escape the spiral that had consumed him for so long. But the peace was always temporary. The thoughts—of dying, of hurting himself—always found their way back, lurking in the shadows just when he thought they were gone.

Your suggestion pulled him from his thoughts, your voice soft, yet hopeful as you looked at him. “What if we go there together?” You asked, your gaze meeting his. You had noticed his hand resting on the gear shift, your fingers brushing over his, and you offered him a way out, a way to face this together.

He hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought over your words. Therapy had always been something he did alone. He’d been going since he was sixteen, ever since his parents found him unconscious in their bathroom, blood staining his arms from a wound too deep for him to remember. They had been terrified, worried enough to send him to a therapist. Since then, he’d kept it to himself, thinking that no one could understand the things that ran through his mind. Not anyone, at least, who wasn’t a professional.

But with you… you made him feel safe in a way no one else ever had. He felt comfortable with you, like maybe—just maybe—he could open up, share the darkness that still clung to him.

“I—” His voice faltered for a moment as he squeezed your hand around the gear shift. “I don’t want you to be hurt by what you might hear,” he admitted softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. The last thing he wanted was to drag you into his mind, to expose you to the pain he carried.

You had never pushed him about his therapy sessions. He’d always told you that it wasn’t worth talking about, that right now, all he wanted was to be with you. The intimacy you shared, the quiet moments together, had been enough for you to respect his space, to let the subject fade away when you were lost in each other. A kiss on your lips, making love to you—it was all enough to make you forget about the weight that hung over him.

But now, as you sat in the car, waiting for him to answer, you realized that maybe it was time for you to step into the shadows with him, not as someone who could fix him, but as someone who could walk beside him through it all.

Jungkook kept his eyes on the road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly, but his mind was elsewhere. He could feel your gaze on him, could sense the vulnerability in your voice, yet he still couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. The weight of your words hung in the air, and despite the walls he had built around himself, there was a crack, a small but noticeable shift inside him.

“I have to,” you reassured him, your voice soft but firm, your eyes never leaving his profile. “I know that those thoughts do not define the man I’m in love with. It won’t hurt me, Jungkook.”

The words settled into his chest, lingering there, something tender and almost fragile stirring in him. His heart skipped, and for the briefest moment, he allowed himself to believe it. He stole a subtle glance at you, the gentle curve of your lips, the sincerity in your eyes, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Your words always had a way of reaching him, cutting through the armor he’d built around himself.

Sometimes, he couldn’t understand why you were still here with him, why you stayed when you could have someone else. Someone who could give you more than the broken, bruised version of him.

But you were here. You were still here. And when you whispered those words, so simple yet so profound, it was as though you were offering him a lifeline.

“I love you, Kook,” you said, your voice cracking just a little as your eyes watered. It made his heart tighten, a pang of guilt and gratitude flooding him. You’d always been sensitive when it came to your feelings for him. It reminded him of the first time you had told him you loved him—when he was at his lowest, when everything felt like it was slipping away.

“And I want you to let me truly in,” you continued, your voice quieter now, but no less determined.

He could feel the weight of your love in those words, the unwavering support you were offering him. He wanted to tell you everything, to open up, to let you in fully, but the fear—of burdening you, of dragging you into his darkness—held him back.

But you were already there, weren’t you? You had been all along.

With a deep breath, Jungkook reached over, his hand gently finding yours, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He squeezed your hand softly, as though trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. Maybe it wasn’t the grand confession he thought he needed, but it was the beginning of something. Something that might take time, something that might hurt, but something worth fighting for.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned your hand in his, intertwining your fingers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Jungkook allowed himself to feel just a little bit of peace.

You tried to convince yourself you were ready for this moment, that hearing whatever Jungkook would say in that room wouldn’t break you, but deep down, you knew the truth. You weren’t.

You took the whole day off, determined to be there for him, to support him in a way you hoped would help. Jungkook told you not to, insisted you didn’t have to come, but you couldn’t let him face it alone. With a soft smile, he kissed your cheek, and that was enough to make you feel like everything would be okay.

Walking through the long, sterile corridor, you felt the heaviness of the walls closing in on you. Everything was white—too white, too clean, too impersonal. Jungkook seemed almost at ease in this space, his steps unhurried as if this place, these cold rooms, had been a part of him for years. And that thought tore at you. He had been coming here for so long, battling his demons alone, trying to make sense of a world that felt too harsh to belong to. You wanted to stop his pain. You wanted to erase it completely, to make it go away, but all you could do was follow him, offering the only comfort you had: your presence.

In the waiting room, you clung to Jungkook’s hand, your fingers interlaced tightly. You read everything on the walls to distract yourself from the sinking feeling in your chest. Messages about caring for your loved ones, numbers to call if the thoughts became overwhelming, tips to prevent the darkest moments from swallowing you whole. But nothing held your gaze like one particular poster.

Every life is precious, even yours.

The words were bold, bright, and so painfully raw. Right beside it was a suicide hotline number, and you could feel your heart freeze. The thought of losing him—of losing Jungkook—was unbearable. The idea that this number was a lifeline for someone who might not be able to see the worth in themselves was too much to bear.

You squeezed Jungkook’s hand tighter, trying to ground yourself, but it didn’t help. Your throat tightened, and the lump in your chest felt like it was suffocating you. You didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to imagine a world where he wasn’t in it. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep ignoring the fact that he had been on the edge for so long. And the fear of him slipping away from you gnawed at your insides.

Jungkook must have known exactly where your mind had gone, because without a word, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your hair. You felt his warmth, his love, and it was both a comfort and a torment. He was here, right here with you, but you were scared—scared of what he might say in that room, scared of what might happen after.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft, yet full of meaning. It was simple, but it was everything.

And in that moment, you realized that despite all the fears, all the doubts, and all the pain, you were willing to face this—whatever it was—together. You were ready to hear him. Ready to be there for him, even if it meant facing the parts of him that terrified you the most. Because you loved him, and in the end, that was enough to hold on to.

You had never imagined this moment would feel so heavy. Everything about the room felt foreign—the warmth, the soft lighting, the gentle atmosphere. Dr. Kim’s office was nothing like the sterile, clinical space you had envisioned for a therapy session. There were no white coats, no cold stares, no judgements. He wore simple, comfortable clothes and smiled with kindness that seemed to erase any tension in the air. His eyes, warm and welcoming, never once made you feel out of place.

Dr. Kim had greeted you with genuine interest, his voice filled with warmth as he asked, “Are you the one Jungkook always speaks about?”

You smiled nervously, a little surprised by his openness. Jungkook had spoken about you to him? He’d told his therapist how much he appreciated you, how grateful he was for you. Dr. Kim even told you about the photos Jungkook had shared, and in that moment, you felt like maybe you were the one who didn’t deserve the love he so freely gave.

The session began smoothly, with Dr. Kim and Jungkook discussing everything from his current emotional state to his recent activities. There were small, easy conversations at first—how his days were going, what made him feel good or bad, how he was coping with his darker thoughts. But then, suddenly, the conversation shifted. Dr. Kim asked a question that seemed so simple but carried so much weight.

“Have you tried anything to hurt yourself? To…,” Dr. Kim hesitated, noticing the sudden tightness in your body, before continuing with a softer tone, “To kill yourself?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and everything inside you went cold. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick and heavy. You weren’t prepared for this. You hadn’t expected the conversation to go in this direction so suddenly, and the words felt like a punch to your gut. You squeezed Jungkook’s hand under the table, your fingers interlocked tightly with his, a silent plea for him to be okay.

You looked at him, hoping, praying that he would say something to reassure you, to make this feel less real. But as your eyes met his, your heart sank. His gaze was soft, almost distant, as if he was ashamed of what was about to be said. His hair fell into his eyes, and he didn’t meet your gaze for long. He was already retreating into himself.

You felt your pulse race in your ears. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t focus.

“Yeah,” Jungkook’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. But those two syllables felt like the heaviest weight. His words hung in the air, suffocating you.

Everything seemed to freeze around you. The realization of what he had just said hit you with a force you weren’t prepared for. He had tried—he had tried to end it all. The thought of it, of him hurting himself, overwhelmed you completely.

You held on to his hand tighter, as if that physical connection could keep both of you grounded in the moment. You wanted to speak, to scream, to ask why, to fix it, but your throat was tight, your words caught somewhere between your chest and your lips.

You never wanted to hear those words. Not from him. Not from the love of your life. The person who you thought was just… so much more than his pain.

But you couldn’t look away. Because he was still here, with you, trying, and that was enough.

Even if it hurt more than anything.

You couldn’t forgive yourself for not seeing it sooner. He admitted he had tried two weeks ago, and the realization hit you like a wave. It had been so close, yet you hadn’t noticed a thing. You felt a deep, bitter sting of guilt, wanting to slap yourself for being so blind—so naïve about his struggles.

Your boyfriend had tried to take his own life, in your shared apartment, probably in your bedroom or the bathroom. Dr. Kim asked him how and why, his questions clinical but jarring. You hated how necessary they were, even if it was part of the process. They felt like a violation, a raw intrusion into a pain you hadn’t even fully understood.

Jungkook hesitated, unsure if he should say more, especially seeing how still you were, your face pale, and your eyes wide in disbelief. He couldn’t feel your breath beside him, just the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, his voice quiet and concerned as his hand found its way to your knee.

The question nearly broke you. How could he ask if you were okay? You were the one sitting there, shattered, while he was the one who had tried to end everything. His tenderness towards you, so selfless, made the weight of it all feel even heavier. You wished he could see how much he was worth, how much he deserved to love himself the way you loved him.

Tears began to pour down your cheeks, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the overwhelming pain rise in your chest. You reached for him, pulling him into you, desperate to hold him, to somehow fix everything.

“I just wish you would’ve told me,” you whispered into his neck, your words a jumbled mess as your sobs came quicker, harder. But through it all, Jungkook heard every word, felt every ounce of your pain as you clung to him.

Jungkook felt his chest tighten as you wept in front of him. His heart shattered into pieces, each of your sobs echoing in his mind, louder than any words he could say. He had never wanted to see you like this—broken, distressed, helpless—and yet, here you were, crying because of him, because of something he thought he could keep hidden.

His hand moved from your knee to the back of your head, gently pulling you closer into his chest, his heartbeat racing with every tremor of your body. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, as if he could somehow absorb your pain, even though he knew he couldn’t. Not completely.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t want you to find out like this…”

But the words were too late. You were already drowning in the realization of it all, and the weight of the secret he had been carrying was now too heavy to ignore. You wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to make him understand how much you would have fought for him. How you would’ve done anything to help him, to take the burden from his shoulders. But you couldn’t, and it made everything worse.

“I just… I just don’t understand,” you cried, lifting your face to meet his, your voice strained with confusion and anguish. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you try to do it alone?”

Jungkook couldn’t meet your gaze. He looked down at his lap, as if trying to shrink into himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of you seeing him like this, so vulnerable and broken. He didn’t want you to see the ugly parts of him, the darkness that he could never escape.

“I thought… I thought it would be easier for you if I kept it to myself,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want to burden you.”

You shook your head, pulling away slightly, but still holding on to him, your grip desperate as if afraid he might slip away. “Jungkook, you are my burden. But you’re also my love. My life. You’re everything to me. You’re never a burden. I want to help you, not carry this alone… but I can’t do that if you don’t let me in.”

Your voice cracked, and the words you had been too scared to say for so long finally came pouring out. You had always been there for him, always done your best to be the strong one when he needed it, but now, in the middle of this storm, you needed him to let you be strong for both of you.

“I love you,” you whispered, tears still flowing freely. “Please, let me help you. Let me carry this with you.”

Jungkook felt a knot tighten in his throat as he looked down at you. His eyes were filled with guilt, shame, and love all at once. How could he let you love him when he could barely love himself?

But the tenderness in your eyes, the desperate need for him to trust you, finally broke through the wall he had built so high around his heart. His fingers traced the back of your hand, intertwining with yours, his touch barely a whisper against your skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, his voice trembling as he pulled you back to his chest. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just… I don’t know how to handle this sometimes.”

You wrapped your arms around him, not wanting to let go, not wanting to lose him to the dark thoughts that had controlled his life for so long.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered into his chest. “I’m here. Always.”

Dr. Kim watched the interaction between you and Jungkook with a scrutinizing gaze, his heart filled with a mixture of admiration and caution. He couldn’t deny that it was a beautiful thing to witness—how you cared for him, how you were there for him in a way that seemed unwavering. It was clear to him that Jungkook had found someone truly special, someone willing to help him pick up the broken pieces that had been there long before you came into his life. The way you loved him, with such purity and patience, felt almost like a dream—an idealized version of what healing could look like.

But Dr. Kim was a professional. He had seen enough cases over the years to know that hope could be a dangerous thing. He couldn’t allow himself to be swept up by the tender scene unfolding in front of him, no matter how deeply it touched him. He had learned long ago that love wasn’t always enough to heal the deepest scars, and that sometimes, when one person relied too much on another to save them, it could lead to devastation.

What worried Dr. Kim, what unsettled him deeply, was the certainty in your voice, in the way you held onto Jungkook like he was your lifeline. He couldn’t help but be terrified that, someday, that light you carried so brightly would be too blinding for Jungkook, making him believe that he was fine, that he was whole, when in reality, the darkness inside him was still there, waiting to resurface.

He had known Jungkook for years—since he was sixteen. Dr. Kim had watched him grow, slowly spiraling deeper into himself, becoming more fragile and withdrawn with each passing year. Jungkook was sensitive, vulnerable, and far more complicated than anyone could see on the surface. His lifeline had become you, but Dr. Kim feared that the way Jungkook’s world revolved around you could become an unhealthy attachment, one that wouldn’t allow him to truly heal.

In the end, Jungkook wouldn’t be able to fully heal if he didn’t learn to love himself first. His life couldn’t continue to revolve around someone else, not in this way. He needed to find the strength within himself to stand on his own before he could fully give his love to anyone else. Dr. Kim couldn’t shake the fear that if this lifeline—this beautiful bond between you and Jungkook—wasn’t grounded in something stronger, something more stable, it could break. And when it did, he feared Jungkook might never open his eyes again.

Jungkook seemed to be doing okay, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe. But who were you to be so certain when you hadn’t even seen the moment he tried to take his own life? You couldn’t ignore the lingering doubt that perhaps you didn’t really know the full extent of his struggles, no matter how hard you tried to be there for him.

Still, those two months after the therapy sessions felt like a fresh start—like the beginning of your relationship all over again. There was something tender about it, as if you both were learning each other anew, slowly rediscovering what it meant to be together.

If Jungkook felt that you were being too suffocating, too invasive, he didn’t say anything. The silence between you both seemed more comfortable now, but it also felt like there was an unspoken understanding. He didn’t push you away, not like before. Maybe it was because he missed you, needed you more than ever, especially since you had been working a lot lately. Even when you mentioned taking some months off to focus on what truly mattered, he didn’t argue. He simply accepted it.

You told him about all the things you wanted to do during your time together, and as you spoke, he didn’t always catch every word. But that didn’t matter, because what he remembered most was how safe and content he felt in those moments, with his arms around your naked body and your fingers drawing invisible hearts on his bare chest as you spoke.

You talked about getting a dog, going on a trip to the mountains, doing body painting, sleeping under the stars—things that felt so simple, so hopeful, so full of life. And as you spoke, you could tell he was slipping into sleep, his breath steady and warm against your skin. But what he didn’t hear—what he had fallen asleep before you could finish telling him—was that you also dreamed of getting married.

In July, you both went to a shelter, your hands tightly intertwined as you walked through the rows of cages. The day felt full of hope, like it was the start of something simple but profound. When you left, you had a small Doberman by your side, its leash firmly held in Jungkook’s hand, the other still wrapped around yours.

Jungkook was surprisingly taken with the little puppy, his eyes lighting up as he playfully interacted with the dog. It was impossible not to smile at how genuine his excitement was, so pure and unguarded. He was practically glowing with joy, and you couldn’t help but let him choose the name for the dog. He was so animated, so childlike in the best way, that it felt like a moment worth letting him have.

After some back and forth, you both quickly agreed on the name: Bam. It felt right, fitting for the little guy. Jungkook explained it with a little chuckle, saying that the name was a reflection of what he wanted to escape—night, darkness, all the things that haunted him. He said that if something as pure and innocent as this dog could carry such a name, then maybe he could start seeing his own struggles differently. Perhaps he could find a way to paint them with something a little softer, a little cuter, just like the brown Doberman that was now bouncing happily at his feet.

And so, Bam it was. The name wasn’t just a label for the dog; it was Jungkook’s small, hopeful way of reclaiming the darkness. A step forward in the way he was learning to face his own battles.

You watched them both from your spot in the garden, the book you had started reading now forgotten in your lap. The sight before you—Jungkook sitting on the grass with Bam, laughing as the puppy showered him with affection—was far more captivating than any story in your book. The reality was better than anything you could’ve imagined, and it made your heart swell in ways you hadn’t expected.

“Are you really planning on teaching him tricks?” you asked, a playful smile tugging at your lips. Jungkook was on his bottom, his hands full of puppy fur as Bam licked his face. The dog was way more affectionate with Jungkook than with you, but you couldn’t blame him. You were just as smitten by those big round eyes, eyes that seemed to hold the whole universe in them.

Lately, you had been seeing those stars in Jungkook’s eyes more often than before. They made your heart ache with a love so deep, it felt as if it might overflow. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“I know he can do it,” Jungkook said confidently, turning his attention back to Bam. “Bam! Pow!” He pointed his finger in a playful gun gesture, trying to get the puppy to follow along.

You couldn’t help but smile as you stood up, walking over to them. Gently, you patted Bam’s head, your hand lingering on his soft fur for a moment. “Maybe you could start with the basics first,” you suggested lightly. “Like, ‘sit down’?”

Jungkook shook his head, laughing. “Too boring,” he said, his voice filled with determination. “I want my son to be a smart boy.” He pointed again, shouting “Pow! Pow! Pow!” over and over, but Bam was far too excited, wagging his tail and bouncing around, clearly too distracted to learn any trick.

“If your son is anything like his dad,” you teased with a grin, “then he’ll definitely be very stubborn.” You leaned down to kiss him softly on the lips, then quickly pulled away, running off before he had a chance to catch you.

“Hey! Wait up!” Jungkook called after you, laughing as he scrambled to get to his feet. Bam, of course, was right behind him, barking happily as they both chased after you.

It didn’t take long before Jungkook caught up to you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his slender waist, the proximity so comforting, your heart racing as Bam’s playful licks tickled your feet. But honestly, the whole situation was just a perfect excuse for you to be as close to him as possible.

“He’s truly like his father,” Jungkook chuckled softly, shifting his grip on your legs so you could lift your feet higher to keep them out of Bam’s reach. The playful gesture had you both laughing.

“You’re disgusting,” you teased with a mock glare, squirming a little in his hold. “I’m never letting you near my feet. It’s a Bam privilege.” You glanced up at him, your head settling comfortably on his shoulder as you let out a small, content sigh.

Jungkook’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle. “How I wish I was Bam right now,” he whispered, his voice full of affection and admiration. The thought of being the one to receive all your love, to be the one you held so close, made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

As your laughter echoed softly against his chest, he thought to himself that if being alive was like this—wrapped in warmth and love with you—he’d be ready to live not one but three lifetimes. One for each moment shared with you, one for every moment of joy, of feeling alive, of building a future together. With you. Always with you.

“You know,” his voice dropped an octave lower as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head, his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary. “I remember that night you said you wanted to try body painting.”

Your face immediately heated up as you hid it against his shoulder, a quiet groan of embarrassment escaping you. “I really thought you were sleeping that night,” you mumbled, a shy smile still tugging at your lips.

Jungkook chuckled, shifting slightly so he could look at you better. “I hear everything you say, you know that,” he teased, his fingers tracing mindless patterns on your back.

He laid you down carefully on the soft grass, his gaze never once leaving yours. The sight of you beneath him, surrounded by wildflowers and bathed in the warm golden light of the late afternoon, made his heart stutter. If there was such a thing as heaven, he was convinced nothing could come close to this moment right now.

Bam wiggled his tail excitedly near you, trying to nuzzle into your side, but Jungkook held up a warning finger. “Bam, not now,” he said, furrowing his brows.

The serious expression on his face made you burst into laughter. His round cheeks puffed out, lips slightly pursed, and big doe eyes attempting to look stern—it was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.

“Look at you, ditching your son like that,” you teased, rolling your eyes before cooing at Bam, scratching gently behind his ears. “You have a terrible father, right?”

Jungkook opened his mouth to protest, but the words never came. Instead, he just stared at you—his mind drifting elsewhere, to places he never used to allow himself to go.

Father.

The word had never been something he imagined for himself. It never felt like a possibility, not when he spent so long unable to picture any future at all. But now, watching you with Bam, your touch so gentle, your voice so full of love—it didn’t seem like such an impossible thought. The idea of something made from the both of you, something so pure and full of love, was oddly comforting.

But would he even be enough?

Before his thoughts could spiral too deep, he leaned in, pressing his lips to the curve of your neck. He felt the way your breath hitched, your body instinctively arching under him when he found that soft spot behind your ear.

“You said you—” Your voice broke off, a sharp inhale replacing your words as Jungkook rolled his hips into yours, his hands firm on your waist.

The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, your fingers tangling into his hair as you pulled him closer, losing yourself in the warmth of his touch.

It had been a long time since you’d felt him this close, since his unpredictable sleeping schedule always kept you apart, since exhaustion weighed down on him so heavily that he barely had the energy to do anything but rest. And you never blamed him for it. You never needed physical intimacy to feel close to him. But now that he was here, fully present with you, touching you, holding you, loving you—it made you feel just like the first time.

That first time had been messy, full of nervous laughter and whispered reassurances, both of you scared of doing something wrong. But even in its clumsiness, it was perfect. Because it was him. Because it was love. And love, no matter how imperfect, was the most beautiful thing you had ever known.

That day, he made love to you with a tenderness that left you breathless, his gaze locked onto yours like he was afraid to look away, afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he did. The only time he closed his eyes was when he got lost in the overwhelming pleasure, his lips parting to release quiet, breathless moans.

Between whispered confessions of love and gratitude, he moved against you with growing desperation—his thrusts deepening, his hands gripping you tighter, as if trying to merge himself with you completely. As if he could disappear inside you, drown in your warmth, and become something whole. One soul. One body. One mind—only yours. Because his own still felt like a dangerous place to be.

He wasn’t sure if he was truly getting better. Some days, he felt stable. Other days, he felt like he was standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff, barely holding on. But with you beneath him, surrounding him, whispering his name like a prayer, he let himself believe—just for a moment—that he was safe.

But if he ever voiced his thoughts out loud—the desperate wish to erase himself, to exist only as a shadow behind your bright light—you would be quick to shake your head, a stubborn crease forming between your brows. Because your love would never be complete without him. Without his pain, his dark thoughts, his flaws, and the jagged edges of his soul.

You had never loved him in pieces. You had always loved him whole.

You may not have done body painting the way you originally imagined—the playful strokes of color across each other’s skin, the laughter, the mess—but in a way, that night became its own kind of art.

The way he kissed your body like it was a canvas, the way your nails traced over his back—not deep enough to hurt, but just enough to leave something of yourself on him, something softer than the scars he had given himself. Marks of love, not pain. It was as if, little by little, you were painting over something broken, turning a dark stain into something beautiful—not by covering it, but by making it a part of the masterpiece.

And when he finally released himself inside you, trembling against you, it felt just like the first stroke of a brush on a blank canvas—a moment of pure creation, something intimate, something new.

It wasn’t the body painting you had planned.

It was something much better.

When Jungkook felt your breath even out against his chest and your body relax completely, he knew you had fallen asleep. Moving carefully, he slipped out of bed, making sure not to disturb you. You looked so peaceful, and he didn’t want to take that away.

Standing beside the bed, he let his eyes linger on you—your body sprawled across the sheets, hair still slightly damp from the shower, strands sticking to your cheek. You were wrapped in one of his old shirts, the same one he had given you back when you were still in university. You had never stopped wearing it.

The sight of you like this did something to his heart—something deep, overwhelming, and impossible to put into words. He wished he could carve this moment into his memory, etch it into his skin, so that even when he closed his eyes, you would still be there. And if they were ever to close forever, he thinks he would be okay if this was the last thing he saw.

Yet, beneath the warmth in his chest, something unsettling lurked—a weight, an ache, a feeling he couldn’t quite name.

He quietly stepped out of the room, careful not to make a sound, and slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Jungkook watches his own reflection, his breath unsteady, his fingers gripping the edge of the sink as if it’s the only thing keeping him from collapsing. Just moments ago, he had felt weightless—like he was floating, lifted by you, by your love, by the warmth of your body pressed against his. But now, staring at himself under the harsh bathroom light, he feels like he’s sinking.

His feet are stuck in the mud, his knees buried deeper and deeper, as if the very earth beneath him is swallowing him whole.

The contrast is suffocating.

He blinks at his own reflection, at the tired eyes, the shadows beneath them, the slight redness at the tips of his ears from the heat of your shared moment. He should still feel warm. He should still feel safe. But instead, that old, familiar heaviness presses down on him, curling around his chest, whispering things he doesn’t want to hear.

It’s never enough. You’re never enough. She deserves better.

Jungkook clenches his jaw, shaking his head as if he can physically reject the thoughts. He grips the sink tighter, his knuckles turning white. His heart is still racing from being with you, but now it’s for a different reason.

The high never lasts.

He knows this feeling too well—the way joy is something temporary, something borrowed, and how reality always comes crashing down eventually. How no matter how much love you pour into him, it can’t stop the way his mind works, the way it twists things, turns them into something painful.

His breathing grows uneven, and for a second, he considers waking you up—because you always know what to say, because your voice is the only thing that cuts through the noise.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he sinks to the floor, his back against the cold bathroom tiles, and exhales shakily. He doesn’t want to wake you. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.

Not again.

When his eyes met his reflection again, he couldn’t stand the sight. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, as if it didn’t belong to him but to the demons wrapping themselves around his organs, his mind, his muscles—suffocating him. He felt ugly. Disgusting.

His hand lifted to his cheek. He had never liked them—too round, too soft. The only time he tolerated them was when you kissed them or pinched them playfully, adoring them in a way he could never understand. His fingers pressed against them now, as if he could tear them away, reshape them into something else.

Then, his fingers traced over his lips. He hated them too. Hated the words that came from them, hated how they always failed him. He could never seem to say what he truly wanted, never find the right way to express what was clawing at his chest.

His touch traveled to his eyes, and the urge to dig his nails into them, to rip them out, crept up his spine. He despised the way they always looked so full of pain, so childlike, so weak. The thought made him snap. He slapped himself—hard—wishing he could wake up as someone else. Anyone else. Someone stronger, someone more put together, someone worthy of your love.

Because how could you love him when all he saw in himself was filth? How could you look at him with such warmth when the voices in his head screamed that he was unworthy?

The only time he ever felt beautiful was when he saw his reflection in your wide, adoring eyes. The version of him that lived there always seemed better than the one staring back at him now.

He slaps himself again. And again. Until his cheeks burn red, until his breathing turns ragged, until his eyes fall onto something else he despises—his body.

His scars.

They run across his arms, his stomach, his thighs—everywhere. A map of every moment he tried to escape, every time he sought relief through pain. When you truly want to disappear, you find every inch of your body willing to suffer.

Even now, the ghost of your lips lingers on those scars, reminders of the way you tried to love them away. But tonight, even that isn’t enough.

His fingers claw at his arms, nails digging into the flesh, desperate to tear it away—this skin, this body, this evidence of all the times he failed to leave.

He scratches and scratches, until the pain dulls, until it isn’t enough anymore. He needs something more—something deeper, something that cuts through the noise in his head.

And then, his mind goes blank.

That’s when the demons take over. When his body moves without him, when he becomes a passenger in his own skin.

He looks at himself again.

His eyes seem darker, less round, less soft. His chest appears broader, his scars less like wounds and more like the marks of someone who has survived. The voice in his head purrs, telling him he looks better like this—stronger when he surrenders to them.

He teeters between disgust and admiration, caught between fear of the reflection and the temptation to let it consume him.

“Fuck!”

The scream rips from his throat as his fist slams into the mirror, shattering his own image, breaking his skin. Blood drips from his knuckles, seeping into the cracks of the fractured glass.

In a daze, he crawls toward the shards of broken glass scattered across the floor. His fingers tremble as they close around a jagged piece, gripping it so tightly that it bites into his palm, splitting skin, drawing blood. The sharp sting barely registers—almost welcome, almost grounding.

Against the door, he hears Bam barking. The puppy isn’t stupid; he knows something is wrong. He can sense the suffocating weight in the air, the darkness creeping in. Whatever is happening inside that bathroom—it isn’t good.

It’s Bam’s desperate barking that wakes you.

Your eyes flutter open, and immediately, you feel it—the cold emptiness beside you, the absence of his warmth. Your heart lurches. Sleep is forgotten as you throw off the covers and rush toward the sound, toward Bam, who stands anxiously in front of the locked bathroom door.

You try to open it, but it won’t budge. Your breath catches as you press your ear against the wood, straining to hear.

Then it hits you—his ragged sobs, his muffled shouts, the agony spilling from him in broken cries.

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces.

He’s lost to the voices again.

“Jungkook?” You call again, your voice fragile, barely audible, but laced with desperation. The fear that you might do something wrong, say the wrong thing, sends a tremor through you. You can’t bear the thought of losing him, not like this. “Kook, it’s me, can you open the door, please?” You bang your fist against it, your heart thundering in your chest.

On the other side, Jungkook can’t hear you. The voices—so loud, so demanding—drown everything else out. His mind is a chaotic storm, each voice fighting against the others, battling for control. The noise is deafening, unbearable. His hands, trembling, press against his ears, trying to block out the sounds, the pain, but it’s no use.

He slaps his hands against his ears, but it only intensifies the agony. A piercing, shrill sound claws its way through his skull, making his head throb with such force that he collapses onto the floor. The broken glass beneath him cuts into his skin, but he doesn’t feel it. The pain is a distant echo, overwhelmed by the torment inside his mind.

Frantically, you glance around, your mind racing, trying to find anything that could help you get inside. Your hands tremble as you search the hallway. You spot the spare key to the bathroom, hidden on the shelf above the coat rack. It’s meant for emergencies, but never did you imagine you’d be using it for something like this.

You rush over and grab the key, your pulse racing, a desperate need to get to him consuming every part of you. You push the key into the lock, but your hands are shaking so violently it takes a couple of tries before the door finally clicks open.

With a deep breath, you push the door open, your heart in your throat. The sight that greets you makes your breath catch—Jungkook, collapsed on the floor, surrounded by shards of broken glass, his hands bloodied, his body shaking uncontrollably. He’s not aware of you yet. His eyes are wide, but lost in the chaos of his mind.

You ignored the sharp sting of the glass cutting into your feet, your focus entirely on him—on Jungkook. His cries echoed in the room, and the sight of him trembling, lost in his own chaos, tore you apart. You reached out to him, your hands trembling but determined as you cupped his face, making him look at you.

“Jungkook!” You rush to him—ignoring the sharp sting of the glass cutting into your feet, your focus entirely on him—kneeling beside him, your hands trembling as you gently try to lift him up, wiping away the glass from his skin. You speak his name again, louder this time, your voice full of panic but laced with love. “Please, Kook, I’m here. I’m here. Look at me.”

Your heart breaks seeing him like this, seeing the darkness that still clings to him. You hold him, your arms around him, whispering over and over again, trying to bring him back, trying to remind him that he’s not alone.

You pressed your forehead against his, your hands gently moving to cradle him, holding him as if you could protect him from all the pain and demons that still haunted him. He didn’t react at first, his body still shaking violently, his eyes distant as he clung to his own broken thoughts. But you held on, refusing to let go, even as the blood from your feet mixed with the tears that streamed down your face.

“I love you, Jungkook. I love you, please… let me help you,” you murmured through the pain, trying to hold him steady, trying to remind him of the love that surrounded him, that always surrounded him. The love that was still strong, even through all of this.

After what felt like an eternity, sitting together amidst the broken glass, Jungkook slowly came to his senses, his head pressed into your chest. You held him tightly, your fingers gently running through his hair, brushing away the tears from his cheeks.

“My baby,” you whispered, your chin resting on the top of his head. “If only I could take all your pain away.” Your own eyes brimmed with tears, and they fell silently onto his hair as you buried your face into it, trying to hide the ache in your chest.

The sound of your sobs mixed together as you felt his hand slide to your waist, his body inching closer to yours, as if he needed to be even nearer.

“Why are you staying?” His voice cracked, hoarse from the weight of his sobs, barely audible—but you heard him. You always would.

“Because I don’t think I could breathe without you,” you replied, your voice steady and certain, no doubt in your words. You cupped his face gently, gazing into his eyes. The sight hurt you, but it was still your Jungkook. The love of your life. “And because I love you so much that I can’t imagine a world without you in it,” you continued, brushing your thumbs over his eyes, pushing his hair back so you could see them clearly. “And because you are worthy of everything I can give, I would give you my whole life without hesitation, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s body shudders against you as your words settle into the quiet space between you. He inhales shakily, and despite the rawness of his emotion, there’s a sense of calm that begins to settle over him just from the warmth of your presence, the sincerity of your love.

“I don’t deserve that…” he whispers, his voice a broken whisper that only you can hear. His hand reaches for yours, gripping it like he’s afraid you might slip away.

“Jungkook, don’t say that,” you reply softly, cupping his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are still red, still full of pain, but now they search yours desperately, like he’s trying to find something—anything—to hold on to. “You are worth everything, all the love in the world. You’ve always been. I don’t care about the scars, the pain. You’re worth every single thing, Jungkook.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his, your breaths mingling as you share the silent comfort of the moment. “We’ll get through this, together,” you murmur.

“But how long? What if I never get better?” he whispered into your shoulder, his voice breaking with uncertainty. “I won’t blame you if you decide—”

You tightened your arms around his back, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Jeon,” you murmured, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the heavy, suffocating weight of the atmosphere. You wanted to ease his pain, if only a little. “One day, you’ll see yourself the way I see you. One day, you’ll love yourself as much as you love me. I’ll make sure of it.”

Carefully, you helped him up, your body pressing against the shards of glass, the pain digging into your thighs and bottom as blood began to trickle out, but you ignored it. His well-being was all that mattered now.

“But you have to trust me, okay? Whatever I decide, it’s for your own good.” Your voice wavered as you spoke, though you tried to keep it steady, like you had everything under control. But deep down, there was a thought buried in your chest, one that you had locked away and refused to let surface—something you weren’t sure you could ever say aloud. But what if that was the answer? What if that was what Jungkook needed? The catalyst that would finally push him toward healing, to love himself without needing to love you first?

What if your light was preventing him from finding his own?

If that were the case, you wouldn’t let it continue, even if it meant letting him go.

When you saw Dr. Kim again, you weren’t with Jungkook. You gripped your bag tighter, steeling yourself before you could chicken out and run away. Your eyes fixed on the damn poster on the wall.

Every life is precious, even yours.

Why couldn’t Jungkook see that? If only you could show him.

“Mr. Jeon, it’s your—” Dr. Kim’s voice faltered when he saw not the man he was expecting, but you. His expression shifted from surprise to something softer, more understanding. He didn’t question why it was you standing there instead of Jungkook, just opened the door and gestured for you to enter.

“Come in,” he said gently, his voice welcoming.

You sat down in the chair, unsure of why you were there in the first place. Just that morning, you’d told Jungkook you wouldn’t be long, lying through your teeth when you said you needed to go to work to verify some things. You had kissed his cheek, told him to keep sleeping, and assured him you were fine on your own when he asked if he should come with you.

“I’m guessing you want to talk about Jungkook, right?” Dr. Kim asked, twirling his pen between his fingers, his tone calm and patient.

You nodded quickly, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. His eyes softened, a small understanding smile forming on his lips, dimples appearing as his expression turned empathetic. “How is he?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat thickening before you spoke. “Bad,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You knew there was no point in lying about his condition now. “Yesterday night he had an outburst.”

You went on to explain everything that had happened, the broken glass, his sobs, and the overwhelming pain he was carrying. Dr. Kim listened intently, writing everything down in his notebook without interrupting.

Dr. Kim’s gaze didn’t waver. His eyes were steady and gentle, yet intense, as if he was pulling something from deep within you that you hadn’t even realized was there.

“And how are you?” he repeated, his voice steady but carrying a weight that made your heart skip a beat. His hands were crossed on the desk, but his presence felt much larger, almost like he was trying to see into the very core of you. It made you feel exposed, vulnerable.

“I—” you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly unsure how to answer. How were you? It felt like such a loaded question, one that you didn’t know how to untangle. What you did know for sure was that you wanted Jungkook to get better, and you were willing to do anything to help him with that. “I’m trying to hold on, but it’s nothing compared to Jung—”

Before you could finish, Dr. Kim cut you off gently but firmly, “No. I’m not asking about Jungkook right now. I’m asking about you.”

Your eyes drifted, avoiding his gaze for a moment as you fumbled with your thoughts. He noticed your discomfort, and with a small sigh, he leaned forward slightly, his voice softening as he tried to clarify his question. “You know that when you spend many years with someone suffering from depression, you don’t realize how it can get under your skin too. You might start carrying some of their weight without even noticing.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach as his words hung in the air. It was like a sudden revelation that you hadn’t fully considered. Could it be? Were you carrying the burden too?

“I don’t see Jungkook as a burden,” you assert, your voice firm, “I want to help him because I love him so much.”

Dr. Kim watched your expression soften as you spoke about Jungkook. Without even realizing it, and without him prompting you further, you began to recount the story of how you first met him, how he asked you out, and the journey that followed. You shared how he never kept his depression hidden from you, and how, despite the pain, it made you love him even more deeply.

The therapist gave a small smile as he listened, but the curiosity in his eyes didn’t fade. He leaned in slightly, his tone gentle but probing. “So, why are you here today? What made you feel the need to come and talk to me?”

He dug deeper, not leaving any stone unturned, until you could feel the weight of his question pressing on your chest, forcing the truth to finally come out.

You paused, your thoughts swirling for a moment as Dr. Kim’s question lingered in the air. It wasn’t easy to put into words what had brought you here. You’d been focused on Jungkook for so long, trying to be strong for him, trying to help him heal, but now, in this room, with Dr. Kim’s calm but piercing eyes on you, the weight of your own feelings became undeniable.

You shifted in your seat, feeling the weight of your words before they even left your mouth. “I’m scared that I’m suffocating him, like maybe he’ll never truly see his own worth because he’s too focused on loving me,” you confessed quickly, wanting to get the burden off your chest.

“And I’m scared that I can’t help him the way I think I can. I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that I’m not constantly on edge, holding my breath, waiting for the next thing. When he has those episodes, it feels like I’m losing him, and when he’s better, I try to be strong for him, but… it’s getting harder. I’m scared, Dr. Kim.”

You took a shaky breath, your heart heavy as you finally admitted what you had been too afraid to say. “I don’t think I can be the one to save him. I think it’s something only he can do.”

Dr. Kim nodded slowly, giving you the space to let the emotions flow. He could see the depth of your care for Jungkook. “I’m glad you’re aware of it,” he said softly, his voice reassuring. “It shows how much you love him, and that’s what matters. Jungkook is lucky to have someone like you.”

You buried your face in your hands, overwhelmed with the weight of it all. “But I—” you choked on the words, the sobs breaking free before you could finish your sentence, “I don’t want him to think I’m abandoning him. But why does it feel like it?”

The sight of you in so much pain tugged at Dr. Kim’s heart. Even though he had witnessed similar situations countless times, it didn’t make it any less heartbreaking. He took a deep breath, his tone gentle as he handed you a tissue, his eyes filled with empathy. You took it with a grateful smile, trying to regain some composure.

“If anything,” he said, his voice steady and calm, “you’re not abandoning Jungkook if you want him to focus on himself first. It might feel like you’re stepping back, but that’s what he needs right now—space to heal on his own.”

He paused for a moment, ensuring you understood, and then continued. “Jungkook has always struggled with his self-worth. He’s never truly learned to like himself. That’s the root of his pain. He’s projected the love he couldn’t give himself onto others, and that’s where the cycle of self-doubt and self-destruction comes from.”

Dr. Kim then went into the medical side of things, explaining Jungkook’s depression and self-destructive tendencies with more technical terms, while making sure you understood it clearly.

“He has what we call dysthymia, which is a long-term, chronic form of depression that causes persistent low mood. It’s not always obvious to others because he’s learned to mask it, but it takes a serious toll over time. His tendency to push people away or retreat into himself when he’s struggling comes from a place of deep insecurity. Jungkook’s also dealing with self-destructive tendencies, which means he might turn his pain inward, sometimes even in harmful ways, as a way to cope with the emotional turmoil he feels.”

He looked at you, his eyes softening. “But this isn’t about you not being enough for him. It’s about Jungkook learning to feel worthy of love, and that’s something only he can work on, no matter how much you wish you could fix it for him.”

The weight of Dr. Kim’s words hung heavily in the air, and despite your best efforts to absorb everything, your chest tightened with the painful realization that Jungkook’s journey to healing was something only he could walk alone. You thought about how much you longed to comfort him, to hold him, to take away his pain, but now you knew the truth—no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t be the one to fix it for him. Not unless he found a way to heal himself first.

A soft ache blossomed in your heart as you thought about how desperately you wanted to run home to him, wrap him in your arms, and just hold him tight, feeling his heartbeat against yours. But deep down, you knew that no amount of physical closeness could change what needed to happen inside him. You had told him countless times that he was worthy of love, but he had to believe it for himself. If he didn’t, those words would remain just that—words—falling on ears that couldn’t yet hear them.

“Jungkook needs to find a way to love himself,” Dr. Kim’s voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. “Before he can truly give love to someone else, he has to learn how to give it to himself first. He needs to find what makes his heart beat when you’re not there, and learn to be okay on his own, so he doesn’t rely on others to fill that void.”

The pain was still there, the ache in your chest growing stronger as you thought about letting go of him, even if just for a while, to give him the space to heal. It felt like a cruel paradox. You loved him more than anything, but you knew that if you didn’t let him go, he’d never be able to fully heal. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you wanted him to be happy, even if it meant not being by his side through every step.

Dr. Kim’s words seemed to settle into the deepest parts of you. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” he continued gently, sensing the internal struggle in your silence. “But Jungkook needs to focus on himself first, before he can fully give himself to you. He can’t truly love you if he doesn’t love himself.”

You nodded slowly, trying to let the words sink in, feeling the weight of them. It was hard, but you knew deep down that you couldn’t force him to heal. As much as you wanted to be his everything, you couldn’t be the one to save him. He needed to save himself.

Even if it meant letting him go. Even if it meant stepping back and allowing him to find himself before you could truly be together the way you both deserved.

Your heart ached at the thought of it, but you knew this was the only way forward, for both of you. Jungkook needed to find peace within himself, and you had to learn to give him the space to do that, no matter how much it hurt.

“And if you’re worried about him,” he continued softly, his hand resting gently on yours, “I’ll make sure to be there for him—not just as a therapist, but as a friend. You’re strong. Not everyone could make the decision you’ve made. To give up something you love for the sake of the other’s well-being… that’s a kind of strength not many possess.”

His words seemed to linger in the air, and for a brief moment, you almost felt like you weren’t alone in this, that someone else understood the weight of what you were going through. It didn’t completely erase the pain, but it gave you the reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

“When the time is right, you and Jungkook can find happiness again. I promise you that,” Dr. Kim added, his voice steady and sincere.

You nodded, the tears that had been threatening to fall slowly subsiding, though a faint, fragile hope flickered within you. Maybe things weren’t as broken as you thought. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for everything to be okay again. A small part of you believed it—believed that, despite the hurt, there was a path forward. And even if it was a long road ahead, you knew now that you wouldn’t have to walk it alone.

Talking to Jungkook about the decision you felt was best for both of you was one of the hardest things you’d ever done.

Tears streamed down both of your faces as he clung to you, whispering that he couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving, that he loved you more than anything. You whispered the same in return, trying to be strong, though inside, you were just as shattered as he was.

“Promise me you’ll wait for me,” he whispered into your shoulder, his warm breath brushing against your neck, his tears soaking into your skin.

Without a second of hesitation, you nodded fiercely. “I promise, I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes,” you said, taking his face into your hands, making sure he could see your sincerity. “I don’t want to love anyone else. You’re the one I want. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Jungkook.” Your eyes locked onto his, willing him to believe every word.

Jungkook didn’t need any more reassurance. The way you held him, the way you looked at him, told him everything he needed to know. But still, he asked, “And promise me, if I can’t heal, you’ll be happy too.”

That was a promise you couldn’t make. The thought of a world without Jungkook was unimaginable to you. You couldn’t even remember who you were before him; every part of your life had become intertwined with his.

“Baby,” he whispered, lowering his head so he could look into your eyes, his hands gently gripping your cheeks. “Please, I need you to say you’ll be happy,” he pleaded, his forehead resting against yours. “Use your words.”

As much as it hurt, as much as it tore you apart to even think about it, you managed to say, “I will be happy, Kook. I promise.”

Jungkook’s grip on your cheeks tightened, as if he was trying to hold onto this moment, to the love and the promise you made. His eyes searched yours, his expression softening as he processed your words, and though you could see the vulnerability and pain in them, there was something else too—trust.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as more tears fell. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

The rawness of his emotions tore at your heart, but you did your best to comfort him, your hands caressing his face as you held him tightly. You felt his pain, his fear of losing you, and yet, you also understood the importance of this space. This was something he needed to do for himself, even if it broke your heart to say goodbye, even for a little while.

“I know, Kook,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to lose you either, but I need you to heal. I need you to find yourself again… and when you’re ready, we’ll be together.”

Jungkook pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky as he whispered, “I’ll never stop loving you. No matter what.”

And in that moment, you believed him. As much as it hurt to part ways, you both knew that love couldn’t just fix everything. It couldn’t heal wounds that were deeper than either of you could touch, but it could be the foundation to help rebuild. You knew that no matter what happened next, your love for each other would always be there, even if you had to find it again in different ways, at different times.

You both decided that you would be the one to leave the apartment. It felt right, especially because you didn’t want to shake Jungkook up any more than he already was. You couldn’t bear the thought of telling him to leave his own home.

You also agreed that Bam would stay with him. It never crossed your mind that you would take the dog from him. Bam had always been more attached to Jungkook than to you, and Jungkook loved him so much. Taking him away would’ve been selfish, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. That small happiness was something you couldn’t take from him.

As you packed your things, Jungkook helped, always asking if you were sure you had everything. There were no angry words, no shouting—just understanding. That’s what your relationship with him had always been, and in some ways, it made leaving feel just a little bit easier.

But as you stood there, packing up your life, you had no idea where you would go next. Where would you live for the next month, year, or even longer? It felt like you were being thrown back into independence again, but this time, it was different.

“Wait!” he shouted from the hallway just as you were about to turn around. You froze, heart racing.

“I love you,” he said, his voice raw from all the emotions that had been building up.

He stepped closer, and without a word, he cupped your face in his hands, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss started soft, tentative, but soon deepened, passion overtaking both of you. Your tongues tangled, your teeth clashing as you both fought to hold on to each other, not wanting to let go.

You had no idea how you’d live without him. You’d never imagined this moment, and you weren’t sure you were ready to face it. But maybe, deep down, you knew it was what was best for both of you. You’d lost yourself in the process of trying to save him, and now, perhaps, it was time to find yourself again.

For both your sakes, maybe it was for the best.

Jungkook wouldn’t lie, the first five months without you had been nothing but tears, therapy sessions, and him pouring his heart out to Bam, as if the dog could somehow respond with the answers he desperately needed.

But the dog, in his own silent way, seemed to understand. Bam would always settle close to him, resting his head on Jungkook’s lap or licking his face gently, offering what little comfort he could. Jungkook would laugh every time Bam did it, the sound bittersweet. He couldn’t help but remember how you used to say it was gross, but now, in the absence of your teasing, he welcomed it, even if just for the comfort it gave him in that moment.

Honestly, Jungkook hadn’t made much progress. If anything, he felt like he was regressing. He thought about calling you often, his thumbs hovering over your number, knowing that you’d pick up right away. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not like this. He knew that if he reached out, it would only make things worse, so he told himself he’d wait until he was fully healed, ready to love you again, even though a part of him knew he’d never stopped.

“What about finding something to do?” Namjoon suggested, breaking the silence in the apartment as he sat on the sofa. Over the past five months, Dr. Kim had become more than just a therapist to Jungkook. He had slowly, but surely, become his friend—his only one. And though it didn’t fill the hole in Jungkook’s chest, it did ease his loneliness, just a little.

Jungkook thought about it for a moment, his mind heavy with uncertainty. It had been so long since he did anything other than wait for the days to pass, simply surviving. Since he dropped out of university, he’d felt lost, not knowing what he was supposed to do. If it wasn’t you, then what? Maybe Bam could fill that emptiness, but even that felt uncertain.

His eyes wandered to his dog, who was nestled beside him, gently purring as Jungkook absentmindedly ran his hand through his fur. And suddenly, Namjoon’s voice cut through the silence.

“What about working in that shelter?”

Namjoon shifted on the sofa, his excitement bubbling over like he’d just stumbled upon the solution to everything. Jungkook looked up, and for the first time in a long while, his eyes sparkled. Something about the idea clicked—maybe it was because it involved something tangible, something he could care for without feeling lost in his own head.

He hadn’t realized it until that moment, but it felt like a possibility, a way forward.

“Yeah… Yeah, I could try that,” Jungkook murmured, his voice gaining strength. For the first time in a while, it felt like he was stepping towards something instead of just existing. Maybe this could be the beginning of figuring things out.

The next morning, Jungkook took a little extra time to prepare himself. The usual dark hoodie he’d worn so often lately felt too familiar, too comfortable in a way that made him feel stagnant, stuck in his own thoughts. He switched it for something a bit more presentable—a white shirt you’d bought him for his birthday, paired with some jeans. You used to tell him how handsome he looked when he wore that, and for a moment, the memory of you saying those words made his chest tighten. He could almost feel your arms around him again, the way you straddled him that night after the restaurant, kissing him like you meant every word.

That birthday had been the best one of his life, and the memory of it brought a bittersweet warmth. But he pushed those thoughts aside, not wanting to get lost in them now. He couldn’t afford to get distracted, not today.

He knelt in front of Bam, scratching behind his ears as the dog lay at his feet. “Daddy will leave for a bit,” he murmured softly, his fingers stilling when Bam rolled onto his back, showing his stomach. Jungkook couldn’t help himself; he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Bam’s belly. “Be a good boy,” he whispered before standing up, taking a deep breath. He was about to leave the apartment, the first step towards something new, something unknown, but maybe, just maybe, it could be the beginning of healing.

With a final glance at the apartment, Jungkook stepped outside, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, but with a tiny spark of hope in his heart.

The moment Jungkook stepped out of the house, he couldn’t remember the last time he had done anything outside of his routine—whether it was running errands or heading to his usual therapy sessions with Namjoon. It all felt foreign, but as soon as the sun began kissing his golden skin, a warmth spread through him. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sunlight wash over him, and for the first time in a while, he felt something close to peace.

He walked steadily towards the shelter, his heart picking up pace with every step. Each one brought him closer to something he wasn’t quite sure about yet, but there was a strange pull, a feeling that maybe this was the right thing to do.

It wasn’t long before he saw the sign: Hope Shelter. It was a small, humble building, but something about it felt right. As he pushed open the door, the soft jingle of a bell echoed in the room, signaling his arrival.

Almost immediately, a familiar face appeared. The boy he had met when Bam first came into his life—his energetic smile wide on his heart-shaped lips.

“Hi!” the boy greeted with a sing-song voice, quickly wiping his hands on his jeans. His eyes locked onto Jungkook, and it took only a second for recognition to hit.

“Wait—” he paused, holding up his finger as if trying to place where he had seen him before. “Bam, isn’t it? The cute Doberman?”

Jungkook’s heart did a small leap at the mention of Bam’s name. He nodded quickly, feeling the tension in his chest start to ease. “Yeah, Bam. That’s my dog,” he said, his voice a little lighter now. The familiar name had broken through the knot of anxiety inside him, making it easier to breathe.

Hoseok’s face twisted with concern, his eyes widening. “Wait— is he okay?” he asked, and Jungkook quickly reassured him that Bam was perfectly fine, his tail wagging happily at home.

“Oh, thank god,” Hoseok sighed in relief. “I was a little worried there.” He paused for a beat, his tone shifting into something more casual. “I’m Hoseok, by the way. I think I forgot to mention my name when you came with your girlfriend.”

Jungkook’s eyes dropped to the floor at the mention of you, the weight of the words hitting him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. His chest tightened, but before he could get lost in the sea of thoughts that suddenly flooded him, Hoseok continued talking.

“Anyway, why’d you come by today? You look like you have something on your mind,” Hoseok asked, his voice kind but direct.

Jungkook hesitated for a second, but something about the easygoing way Hoseok spoke made it easier to open up. “I… I wanted to work here,” he said before he could second-guess himself. “I think I can help.”

Hoseok’s eyes went wide, and his mouth formed a surprised ‘o’. “For real?” he said, a grin quickly spreading across his face. “Wow, it’s like you’re some kind of miracle! I could really use a hand around here,” he added, before stopping himself with a chuckle. “Especially some strong hands.”

The light-heartedness in Hoseok’s voice made Jungkook smile. He hadn’t expected this interaction to be so easy, so natural. It felt good, like he could finally exhale, the weight of the past few months loosening its grip on him just a little bit. The thought of working here, doing something with purpose, felt like a step in the right direction.

“Thanks,” Jungkook said softly, a bit more at ease now. “I think I could do it.”

Hoseok showed Jungkook around the shelter, explaining everything with patience and enthusiasm. He made sure to cover every detail, from feeding schedules to cleaning routines, and Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how easy it was to talk to him. There was something about Hoseok’s energy—he was genuine and approachable, never rushing, always making sure Jungkook understood what he needed to know.

At one point, Hoseok casually mentioned that there were two people working there. “My former assistant left a few months ago,” Hoseok said with a smile, “He followed his dream of becoming a guitarist. Pretty cool, right?” Jungkook didn’t ask too many questions about that. He didn’t want to pry into someone else’s life, especially not when it came to personal decisions. But the fact that Hoseok was willing to share a little bit made Jungkook feel more comfortable, like maybe he wasn’t just an outsider here.

After some time, the conversation shifted to something Jungkook didn’t expect: dogs and their tricks. Hoseok mentioned how much he enjoyed teaching dogs new tricks, and it sparked something in Jungkook. He hesitated for a second before admitting, “I’ve tried to teach Bam some tricks, but… I don’t know. He never really seems to get them.”

Hoseok laughed, a soft and comforting sound, before jumping into teaching mode. “It’s all about patience and knowing how each dog learns. Bam’s a smart dog, I bet you just need to find the right way to communicate with him.” He explained a few simple techniques and gave Jungkook advice on how to approach training. It felt like a small step in the right direction, not just for Bam, but for Jungkook himself.

And then, out of nowhere, the conversation shifted again—this time to you.

“So,” Hoseok started, almost as if he was tiptoeing around the subject, “How’s your girlfriend doing? She still helping you with Bam, or…?”

Jungkook froze for a moment. The mention of you caught him off guard, like a sudden shift in the air. He wasn’t expecting to talk about you, not yet, not in this setting. His stomach tightened, but he didn’t want to seem too distant or closed off, so he forced a small, neutral smile.

“She’s… doing good,” Jungkook replied, though his voice sounded a little more distant than he intended. “We’re not… together anymore.” He caught Hoseok’s eye, not sure how the other man would react.

Hoseok, ever the easygoing presence, didn’t press further. He just gave Jungkook a small, understanding nod, as if he could see the weight of the words without needing an explanation. “It’s tough, man. Breakups suck, but sometimes, it’s what’s best for both people.”

Jungkook let out a slow breath, feeling a little lighter somehow. It was strange, talking about you like this, but it also felt good to say it aloud, to let someone else know what he was going through.

He was about to open his mouth, to argue that it wasn’t exactly a breakup like most people would think, that it wasn’t as simple as that, but something in him told him to keep it in. Maybe, it wasn’t the right time to go into all of that. It felt like it was a conversation for another day, another moment when he wasn’t still sorting out his feelings.

Seeing the way Jungkook’s gaze dropped again, Hoseok quickly tried to shift the atmosphere. “Hey,” he said, a light tone in his voice, “Maybe next time you bring Bam here, we could work together on those tricks you want him to learn? I bet he’s got it in him. Plus, I think a little extra practice might help you too.”

Jungkook felt a small, grateful smile tug at his lips. It wasn’t much, but Hoseok’s attempt to lighten the mood worked. The conversation shifted, the air feeling a little easier to breathe. It was like a fresh start for him, a new focus on something simple, something manageable.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, nodding slowly, “That sounds like a good idea. Maybe Bam will listen to you more than me.”

Hoseok chuckled, a bright, genuine laugh. “I doubt it. But we’ll see,” he said, giving Jungkook an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

For the first time in a long while, Jungkook didn’t feel the weight of his past dragging him down. Maybe this was just what he needed—a small step forward, one trick at a time.

Jungkook settled into the rhythm of the shelter quickly. It had been a month since he started working there, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself genuinely enjoying his days. He wasn’t great with words or socializing with people, but with the dogs, it was different. They didn’t need much from him—just patience, love, and consistency. Those were things he could give without hesitation, and they responded in kind.

Bam, his loyal dog, also adapted slowly but surely. At first, Bam stayed close to him, too shy to socialize with the other dogs, but as the days passed, he began to trust the others. He became more playful, even learning some new tricks. Jungkook smiled as he watched Bam roll over on command.

“Bam!” he called, holding his hands out in the shape of a gun, and said with a grin, “Pow! Pow! Pow!” His fingers mimicked gunshots, and Bam immediately rolled onto his back, playing dead as if he’d been shot.

Jungkook laughed softly, bending down to pet Bam’s soft fur. “We will have to show mommy that you finally learned it,” he murmured, his lips curling into a deep, fond smile. His heart ached a little as he said it, the familiar words slipping out without thought. He knew, deep down, he would always want to share these moments with you.

Hoseok, who had been observing from a distance, saw the exchange and didn’t ask any questions. He understood now, after a month of working closely with Jungkook, that despite everything, Jungkook spoke about you often. It was clear that whatever had happened between the two of you, it wasn’t the end. Hoseok could tell that there was still so much love there, even if Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it.

So, Hoseok just smiled. There was no rush, no pressure to fix anything. He had learned that sometimes people just needed time to figure things out, and maybe, just maybe, this shelter, these dogs, and the bond between Jungkook and Bam were the first steps on his path toward healing.

Jungkook had learned a lot about himself—things he never even thought to explore before. One of those discoveries was his surprising talent for painting.

“What does it represent?” Kim Taehyung asked, tilting his head as he studied the canvas in front of them. His boxy grin was ever-present, but his eyes held genuine curiosity.

Jungkook met Taehyung at the shelter a few months ago. The guy had been looking for a Pomeranian, and Jungkook introduced him to Yeontan. That day, Taehyung found not only his “dream dog,” as he excitedly called him, but also two unexpected friendships.

The bond between Jungkook, Taehyung, and Hoseok had formed naturally. At first, it revolved around their shared love for dogs, but soon, their conversations stretched beyond that. They talked about everything—music, movies, life. Jungkook never really knew what it felt like to have friends, not like this. Of course, Namjoon was close to him, but their relationship was different. Namjoon knew him too well—sometimes better than Jungkook knew himself. He knew about the depression, the struggles, the darkest parts of him.

But Taehyung and Hoseok didn’t. If they noticed his scars, they never said anything. Maybe they assumed it was something he had struggled with but was overcoming. And in a way, they were right.

Because Jungkook was healing. He realized it when he counted the days—two months since he last hurt himself. Two months clean. It was a long time. It meant he was getting closer. Closer to healing, closer to loving himself, closer to you.

It had been seven months now since he last saw you. Of course, he still thought about you every day. But it wasn’t painful anymore. It wasn’t an aching wound—more like a quiet presence, something that gave him strength rather than pulling him under. He didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to reach for you anymore.

Not yet.

Because he knew he wasn’t fully ready. But one day, when the time was right—he would be.

Jungkook tilted his head, studying his painting as if shifting his perspective might help him understand what his hands had created. He rarely painted with intention—his heart spoke louder than his mind when he held a brush. Sometimes, that meant beauty. Other times, it meant something much darker.

Like this one.

Before him stood a black shadow, its form ambiguous but undeniably human. The face, if it could even be called that, had a wide-open mouth, round eyes, a soft nose, and puffed cheeks. The more Jungkook stared, the more it began to resemble… himself. The shadow looked like it was screaming, dark tendrils spilling from its mouth, like it was vomiting out something toxic. It was abstract, eerie, yet painfully familiar.

It was exactly how he felt.

Taehyung, who had been watching quietly, placed a steady hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. He didn’t ask for an explanation anymore. As a professional painter himself, he knew that sometimes art didn’t need words. And if it did, those words belonged to the artist alone.

So he didn’t press.

“You’re really talented at that,” Taehyung said simply before refocusing on his own painting.

Jungkook didn’t respond, just hummed in acknowledgment as he continued adding strokes to his canvas. While they painted, they shared bits and pieces about themselves—small things, nothing too deep. Jungkook preferred it that way. He listened more than he spoke, occasionally answering or adding a comment, but never giving too much away. It felt good, light, easy.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder—how had he found the courage to tell you about his depression so quickly? There must have been something about you, something that made him feel safe enough to spill the parts of himself he usually kept hidden. And when he really thought about it, he almost couldn’t believe he had done that. He had handed you his darkness and somehow still wished you would love him despite it.

And you did.

That was something Jungkook still couldn’t quite understand. Because if the roles had been reversed—if he had been the one hearing all of that from someone else—he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have been afraid.

After saying goodbye to Taehyung and his small dog, Jungkook left, already looking forward to their next meet-up. It made him smile—he was filling his days with things that gave him purpose. His work at the shelter with Hoseok, his painting sessions with Taehyung, and now, his weekly meetings with Namjoon.

It felt strange, in a good way. For someone who once spent his days just waiting for them to end, waiting to get closer to nothingness, he now had things to look forward to. And that realization made him smile.

He didn’t even think of these meetings as therapy sessions anymore. At some point, they had shifted from Namjoon’s office to more casual settings—sometimes a walk in the park, sometimes at Jungkook’s home, and today, a coffee shop.

As he walked in, he spotted Namjoon right away, sitting by a booth with a cup in front of him. His dimples showed as he smiled, watching Jungkook over the rim of his glasses.

“Your banana milk is on the way,” Namjoon said as Jungkook settled into his seat. Jungkook thanked him, a small warmth spreading in his chest. There was something comforting in the fact that people around him knew his preferences—what he liked, what he didn’t. It made him feel seen, like he was no longer just drifting through life. He was someone with his own tastes, his own choices, slowly shaping the world around him rather than just moving through it.

“So, how was your day?” Namjoon asked, his dimples showing as he smiled. Just seeing Jungkook sitting across from him, breathing and present, was enough to fill him with quiet relief. He had known him since he was sixteen, had watched him struggle, fall, and fight his way back up. To see him getting better, little by little, made Namjoon’s chest feel lighter.

“It was good. I spent time with Taehyung—we painted,” Jungkook said before lowering his gaze as the waiter placed his banana milkshake in front of him. He stirred it absentmindedly before continuing, “I painted something kind of dark… but it felt good, you know?”

Namjoon nodded, stirring his coffee as he listened. “That’s the thing about art,” he said. “It doesn’t always have to be pretty to be meaningful. Sometimes, the darkest things we create are the ones that help us the most.”

Jungkook hummed, taking a sip of his banana milkshake. It was sweet, familiar. He felt the corners of his lips twitch up slightly. “Yeah… It was weird. I didn’t even know what I was painting until I was almost done. But when I looked at it, I just… understood.”

Namjoon smiled knowingly. “That’s progress, Jungkook.”

Jungkook tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “How?”

“Because you’re expressing instead of suppressing,” Namjoon said simply, setting his cup down. “Before, you used to bottle things up until they consumed you. Now, you’re letting them out—through work, through painting, through friendships. You’re finding outlets instead of drowning in them.”

Jungkook let the words sink in, stirring his drink absentmindedly. He hadn’t thought of it like that, but Namjoon was right. He was living now, not just existing.

After an hour of conversation—mostly about his feelings, but also lighter topics—Jungkook left the café, feeling the pull to return home to Bam. Socializing was still something he was getting used to, and he found that he needed time to himself afterward. But unlike before, being alone with his thoughts didn’t scare him as much anymore.

Namjoon watched him go, a small smile on his lips as he pulled out his phone and quickly dialed your number. The moment you answered, he spoke.

“Hey,” he greeted softly.

At the sound of his voice, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“I just saw him. He’s doing good,” Namjoon reassured you, smiling at the way he could practically hear your relief through the phone.

Because what Jungkook didn’t know was that Namjoon wasn’t just close to him—he had also grown close to you. Before you left, you had insisted on getting updates about Jungkook, checking in on him even from a distance. At first, Namjoon wasn’t sure if it was the right thing for you, but after seeing how much it mattered to you—after hearing you beg—he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

You thanked Namjoon before saying goodbye, finally releasing the breath you had been holding. A small smile crept onto your lips. Even if you didn’t know the details of Jungkook’s progress—how he was healing or what had changed—just hearing from Namjoon that he was doing well was enough for now. You didn’t need explanations yet. You would hear it all from Jungkook when the time was right, when he was ready to tell you himself. And more than anything, you wanted to hear his voice as he shared everything he had discovered while you were apart.

You were preparing yourself for whatever came next—if you ever saw Jungkook again. Because as much as you longed for that moment, a small, nagging fear remained. What if, once he truly learned to love himself, he no longer felt the need to love you? And as much as you wanted him to reach that place of healing, the thought of him moving on from you made your stomach twist.

Then there was another fear, one more grounded in reality—what if, in his journey of healing, he met someone else? What if he found a girl or a boy who fit into his new life, someone who didn’t remind him of his darkest days? What if you became nothing more than a distant memory, a part of his past he no longer needed?

And yet, strangely, you felt ready to accept that possibility. Because if Jungkook was happy—whether it was with you or without you—you knew you could never be angry. You had loved him enough to let him go, and if this was what he needed to heal, then you would find a way to be at peace with it too.

Jungkook didn’t expect to face his depression again—not like this. It wasn’t triggered by his own reflection in the mirror or by the weight of his past pressing down on him. No, this time, it came from someone else.

A man walked into the shelter, his dark hair falling over his forehead, sharp cat-like eyes scanning the room. He carried a guitar case slung over his shoulder and asked for Hoseok. Jungkook could tell immediately—this must have been the former assistant, the one who had left to chase his dreams. There was a familiarity in the way he moved, like he had never really left.

But Jungkook’s attention wasn’t on his face or the way he spoke. It was on his arms. The faint but unmistakable scars running along his skin. Scars just like Jungkook’s.

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He had always known there were others like him, others who carried the same marks of pain, but he had never met one. Never seen someone else wearing their past the way he did.

“He—” Jungkook started, his voice slightly shaky as he forced himself to look away. He didn’t want to seem intrusive. He knew how it felt to have people stare like you were something broken, something they didn’t understand. He didn’t want to make this guy feel that way. “He isn’t here right now. Can I get your name so I can let him know you stopped by?”

He reached for a pen, quickly scribbling the name down, but in the process, his sleeve shifted, just enough for his own scars to peek through. The man’s sharp eyes caught it immediately.

Jungkook froze. Their gazes met.

For a second, he felt exposed. Vulnerable. But then, instead of pity or shock, the man simply smiled—a quiet, knowing smile. A smile of understanding.

“Min Yoongi,” he said.

And just like that, another friendship was born. One built on shared hardships. On survival. On the quiet, unspoken understanding of two people who had made it through the darkness.

Min Yoongi fit into their little group with ease. He already knew Hoseok, so getting to know Taehyung and Jungkook wasn’t difficult. But with Jungkook, it was different. It wasn’t just about introductions or casual conversations—it was like they already understood each other without needing to say much.

Jungkook admired Yoongi. He carried himself with confidence, never hiding his scars, wearing short sleeves like they were nothing. Jungkook, on the other hand, was still learning to accept his own. He was starting to love them, to see them as proof of his survival, but he still kept them hidden beneath baggy clothes and long sleeves.

“You’ll get there,” Yoongi said, casually sipping his drink.

Hoseok and Taehyung had left them alone at the table, off at the bar ordering another round. It hadn’t been easy for Jungkook to agree to come here tonight, but Hoseok had insisted—pouty lips, pleading eyes, impossible to refuse. Jungkook still wasn’t sure how he felt about bars. The last time he had been in one, it was with you. He had been anxious, uncomfortable, but you had held his hand the entire time, grounding him. Making it lighter.

Now, he realized with a small smile, he didn’t need your hand.

He finally turned to Yoongi, meeting his steady gaze.

“It took me years before I could show them,” Yoongi admitted, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

It was the first time they had ever talked about it. Their scars. Their past. The silent war they had both fought.

Jungkook nodded, his fingers tightening around his glass, but his eyes softened. He understood. He knew that his time would come, just like Yoongi’s had. It wouldn’t happen overnight, but he had enough hope now to be patient, to wait for the day when he could let go of the shame and embrace what made him who he was.

Jungkook kept track of the days, and today marked one year since he last saw you. He never thought he’d make it this far, but now, a year later, he was proud of how far he’d come. He was better, and with each passing day, he felt himself getting closer to you again.

There were moments when doubts crept in, when he wondered if you’d even want him in your life after everything he’d put you through. But you promised. What he knew for certain, though, was that he still wanted you in his life. He dreamed of the day he’d see you again. He wondered if your hair was still the same, if you still wore that floral perfume, if you still loved fried chicken, and if you were still obsessed with books. He hoped, more than anything, that you were still that same smiling girl he fell in love with.

He was beginning to drift into those thoughts again when a sharp punch to his face snapped him back to reality. “Yah!” a voice shouted. “Jeon, you were daydreaming again,” said the boy with the blonde hair, grinning at him.

Jungkook shook off the daze, now fully aware of his surroundings. He was at the gym, a place he frequented often, having developed a newfound love for boxing and sports.

“Sorry, Jimin,” he muttered, holding his gloves up to his face, ready to get back into it.

It was Namjoon who had introduced him to boxing, suggesting it as a way to channel his anger into something productive. With a little courage, Jungkook had given it a try—and now, it was one of the things that helped him keep going.

Jimin took off his gloves and walked over to the bench, dropping onto it with a loud sigh. Jungkook followed, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long sip.

“What had you so distracted?” Jimin asked, a teasing grin playing on his lips—one that could probably make anyone spill their secrets.

“Nothing,” Jungkook replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. He had been thinking about you, and that reaction felt natural.

Jimin raised his eyebrows playfully. “Is it a girl?”

Jungkook scoffed, punching Jimin’s shoulder lightly before shaking his head, trying to hide the way his cheeks were heating up.

“Shit, I didn’t know you were in love,” Jimin laughed. “I shouldn’t have told my friend you were available.”

Jungkook turned to him, eyes wide. “What?”

“A friend of mine asked for your number,” Jimin explained with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “She said you were the hottest guy she’s ever seen.”

Jungkook felt his heart clench at that. He never thought of himself as someone who could attract that kind of attention. He never saw himself as “hot” or particularly handsome. The only time he ever felt beautiful was when you told him so. But now, knowing that someone else could be drawn to him, his heart pounded louder than he expected.

“I doubt that,” Jungkook said, trying to brush it off, though the confession had shaken him more than he expected. He hadn’t meant for it to affect him, but it did. And it felt wrong. Because he was still waiting for you—because he was going to be there for you. The thought of someone else making his heart react like this felt like a betrayal.

“No, for real,” Jimin insisted, turning his body toward him. “You just have that kind of look that draws people in.” He whistled playfully, flashing a teasing grin. He was like that—lighthearted, fun. Jungkook was always laughing with him when they weren’t throwing punches at each other. “So? What do you say?”

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek. He had no idea how to answer that. He didn’t think he could ever give his trust to another girl—to open up, to give himself, his body, and everything that came with it.

“I can’t,” he admitted, staring at his fingers.

“Why not?”

“I have someone,” Jungkook said, then immediately regretted how it sounded. “Well—I mean, not right now, not here, but…” He sighed, struggling to explain the situation without sounding like a madman waiting for someone who might never come back. Without diving into everything that had led him to this moment.

Jimin clapped a hand on his shoulder, his expression softer now. “It’s okay. There’s someone else. I get it.” Then, with a knowing smile, he put his gloves back on, signaling that the conversation was over.

But the thought kept circling in Jungkook’s mind all day. Even as he wandered through the grocery store, scanning the shelves, his mind was elsewhere.

Because now, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what would happen between the two of you.

What if you didn’t want him anymore? What if you had found someone else?

The thought made his chest ache. His grip tightened around the basket handle. He had spent so much time healing, convincing himself that when the time was right, he’d find his way back to you. But what if you had already moved on?

If only he could have some kind of sign. Some news about you. Something to hold onto.

And that’s when he heard it—your giggles.

His favorite sound. The one he could recognize anywhere, the one that used to make his world feel lighter.

But it wasn’t just your laugh. It was that loud, terrible, over-the-top laughter that followed. A man’s laugh. One that was far too comfortable, too close.

Jungkook hated it.

Because what could he—whoever he was—have said to make you laugh like that? The kind of laugh that made your eyes crinkle, the kind that used to be his to hear.

His first instinct was to turn around, to leave before you could see him. To run.

But then—

“Jungkook?”

His feet stopped dead in their tracks, his body frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

And when he finally turned, his gaze didn’t land on you.

It landed on him.

The man standing beside you.

Same height as Jungkook. Same dark hair. But somehow, he seemed… better. His features were sharper, his posture effortless, his presence so at ease beside you.

Jungkook had never felt this small before. And it wasn’t because the man had broader shoulders or a stronger stance.

It was because—

He had you.

“Jungkook?”

The guy said his name like he was tasting it, like he recognized it but wasn’t quite sure yet. Then, realization flickered across his face.

“Wait, the Jung—”

Before he could finish, you shoved your basket into his hands so fast he barely had time to react. And then you were running.

Straight to Jungkook.

He barely had time to process before your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your face buried against his chest. He felt the warmth of your body, the familiar way you fit against him.

And he knew that with your ear pressed right there against his chest, you could hear how fast his heart was racing.

But Jungkook’s eyes weren’t on you.

They were still on him. The other man. The one who had been standing next to you just seconds ago.

He was watching the scene unfold, but strangely, he didn’t seem all that surprised. Not angry. Not even uncomfortable. Just… there. Observing.

And that only made Jungkook’s stomach churn harder.

Because if that guy was your boyfriend—if you were his—then he was a terrible one.

Because if it were Jungkook, if he had you, if he loved you the way he still did—he could never just stand there and watch while you ran into another man’s arms like this.

His hands hesitated before they found their way into your hair, fingers gently pressing against the back of your head. His body was still frozen, his mind scrambling to catch up.

But one thing was clear.

He had missed you. More than he even knew was possible.

Jungkook’s mouth worked faster than his brain. “Your boyfriend is watching.”

The second the words left him, he wanted to slap himself because you immediately pulled back to look at him, confusion flashing across your face before you burst into giggles. That same sound he knew by heart, the one that had haunted him for months.

“My what?” You turned, pointing at the guy who was now laughing too—the same obnoxiously loud laugh Jungkook had heard from the other aisle. “Seokjin? He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Jungkook let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding. And without thinking, his hands found your arms again, tugging you back into him.

This time, he didn’t hesitate. He hugged you properly, arms wrapping tightly around your frame, holding you like he’d never let go.

“Fuck, you scared me,” he murmured into your hair, eyes squeezing shut as he breathed you in.

There was so much to say. So many things left unsaid. So much time lost between you. But none of it mattered right now.

Because he was here. And so were you.

You didn’t want to think about the past, about the pain or the time apart—not when he was this close, not when he felt so different.

You leaned back slightly, taking him in properly for the first time. His hair was longer now, curling slightly at the ends. His chest looked broader, stronger. But what caught your attention the most were his arms.

Bare.

Out for the whole world to see. Not hidden behind layers of clothing. Not hidden at all.

Your fingers reached out before you could stop them, tracing the muscle of his forearm, the skin that had once been covered in sleeves no matter the season.

“I promise I was waiting for you,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Jungkook swallowed hard, his grip tightening around you, as if grounding himself.

“Me too.”

You left the grocery store together, Seokjin trailing behind—his arms full of shopping bags, huffing dramatically about being ignored. But you barely noticed.

Jungkook was right beside you. That was all that mattered.

As you walked, he learned more about Seokjin—the man he had been so quick to despise in the span of a few minutes. He was your roommate, your colleague. The one who had taken you in when you left. The one who made sure you were okay.

Jungkook immediately bowed to him in gratitude, his chest tight with something unspoken. Because you were safe, and it was thanks to him. He almost felt bad for wanting to punch the guy’s too-perfect face. Almost.

Still, he couldn’t believe this was real. That you were here, walking beside him, chatting like no time had passed at all.

You mostly talked about lighthearted things—Seokjin’s habit of screaming too loud while playing video games, how you had to bang on his door at night to make him shut up.

Jungkook listened as you and Seokjin bickered over who was actually the loudest, letting the familiar sound of your laughter sink into his bones.

And finally, he let himself look at you properly.

All the questions that had haunted him for months—answered in an instant.

Your hair was different. Lighter. And longer too—a quiet reminder of the time you had spent apart. Your cheeks were rounder, fuller. You looked healthy. Happy.

And as the sunlight hit your face just right, illuminating your bright, shining eyes—Jungkook felt something shift.

Because he remembered the exact moment he had fallen in love with you.

And somehow, standing beside you now…

It felt just the same.

You weren’t sure how long you spent getting ready. It had been a while since you took this much time to make yourself look pretty.

Finding the perfect outfit wasn’t easy either. You kept changing, staring at yourself in the mirror, second-guessing every little detail. And maybe you were more anxious than you thought you’d be.

Because tonight, you were meeting Jungkook. And your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the moment you said yes.

“Is this a date, or just an excuse to see your dog?” Seokjin asked, lounging on your bed, watching you pace around the room.

It had been two weeks now of him laughing at you, teasing you endlessly about Jungkook. Ever since the grocery store, you hadn’t stopped talking about him.

You shot him a glare, smacking his shoulder as you crouched to put on your heels.

“I really do miss my dog,” you huffed, even as you swapped your sneakers for heels at the last second. Because heels made it feel like a date, didn’t they?

Technically, neither of you had called it a date. Jungkook had just texted: hi! bam wants to show you the tricks he learned! :) And how could you not say yes?

You had jumped on the opportunity, replying almost immediately that you couldn’t wait to see Bam. (And Jungkook too. But you hadn’t told him that part.)

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “The dog or the owner?”

You glared at him. And yet, you didn’t answer.

Seokjin sprawled out on your bed like he owned the place—well, technically, he did. But still, it was your bed.

“I can’t wait for you to finally go back to your loverboy,” he said, smirking devilishly to himself.

You huffed, throwing a t-shirt at his face. “Shut up and close your eyes, I’m changing again.”

“Again?” he groaned but obeyed, covering his face with a dramatic sigh.

You turned back to your wardrobe, sifting through your options with a frown. “Maybe nothing will happen,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore.”

Seokjin let out a sharp laugh. “Uh, he was literally glaring at me at the grocery store the other day.”

You told him he could open his eyes, and when he saw what you had settled on—a plain white tee—he scoffed.

“For real? After all that? Just a boring white shirt?”

You sighed, sitting down beside him on the bed. “I don’t want to get my hopes up. I just… I want to play it safe. And I don’t want to pressure him into anything either.”

For once, Seokjin didn’t have a joke ready. Instead, he nudged your shoulder.

“You’re overthinking,” he said simply. “Just go see him.”

As you knocked on the door that was once your home, you clutched your bag tighter against your side. When Jungkook didn’t answer right away, you seriously considered running away and sending a terrible last-minute excuse about why you couldn’t make it.

But just as you were about to turn, the door swung open.

Jungkook stood there, breath slightly uneven, his hair messily tousled. His shirt was buttoned all wrong, and the sight made you chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, only to be shoved aside by a blur of brown fur as Bam bolted toward you.

You barely had time to react before the large dog was on you, his tail wagging excitedly as you crouched down to pet him.

“That little traitor,” Jungkook grumbled, crossing his arms as he pointed at Bam, who was soaking up all your affection. “He threw up at the last minute, and I had to clean up everything. Because of him, I didn’t have—”

“Kook,” you interrupted with a smile, looking up at him from your spot on the floor. “It’s okay.” Then, turning your attention back to the dog, you cooed, “You gave Dad a hard time, Bam?”

Your voice was soft, affectionate—the kind only Bam was lucky enough to receive. And for some ridiculous reason, Jungkook felt jealous of his own dog.

“He was probably excited to see you,” Jungkook murmured, more to himself than to the dog.

“I’m sure he was,” you replied with a playful smile, rising to your feet. “I was, too.”

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed a little, and he stepped aside, holding the door open wider for you to enter. His gaze lingered on you as you walked in slowly, taking in the apartment. It felt so right to have you back there, even after all this time. You’d always belonged in this space with him.

Although the place had changed, Jungkook had felt the need to make a fresh start, switching out the furniture and changing things up so he wouldn’t associate it all with the past. Still, a part of him worried you might not like all the changes.

“You did a great job,” you commented, sitting down on the new dark leather couch and gently bouncing on it as if testing its comfort. “I didn’t know you had an eye for interior design.”

Jungkook smiled softly, though there was something more behind his expression. “Yeah, I guess… I had a lot of help. A friend of mine gave me a hand with it, even though his taste can be a little… unconventional. But it worked out.” He talked about how Taehyung helped him pick out the new furniture for the apartment.

At the mention of his friend, a small smile tugged at your lips. It was the first time Jungkook had spoken about anyone close to him, and hearing him mention Taehyung made you curious. You suddenly wanted to know more about his life, how much he had changed, how his world had shifted while you’d been apart. The little glimpses Namjoon gave you were just the beginning, and you wanted the whole story now.

You laughed as Bam jumped onto you, nearly knocking you back into the couch. You scratched behind his ears, and then turned to Jungkook with a playful glint in your eye. “So, this friend of yours. How did you meet him?”

Jungkook hadn’t expected you to dive right into that, but he didn’t mind. The quicker he told you about everything—from his work at the shelter to his new friends and hobbies—the quicker you’d understand the changes in his life. And maybe, just maybe, he could be yours again. If you still wanted that.

“We met at the shelter a while ago,” he began, sitting down on the couch as Bam quickly shifted from you to him. Some things never changed—Bam still preferred his dad. “He’s kind of… quirky sometimes, but he’s a good guy, you know?” Jungkook smiled at Bam, scratching his head absentmindedly.

“Oh yeah,” he continues, “You remember the shelter we got Bam from?”

You nodded immediately. Of course, you remembered—Jungkook had been smiling so brightly that day, something you didn’t see often, so it stuck with you.

Jungkook’s smile widened, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, well, I actually work there now. It’s pretty cool,” he continued, his tone casual but there was a warmth in his voice. “Bam comes with me most days.”

Seeing the smile on his face as he talked about his job, how much he enjoyed it because it allowed him to avoid too much socializing, you felt relieved that you had let him take Bam. He clearly thrived in the environment, and it was good to see him happy.

He continued talking, sharing more about his friends and how they had helped him discover what he truly liked and didn’t like. He seemed genuinely happy to have a group of people who cared about him. It made your heart lighter knowing he wasn’t alone anymore.

Then he mentioned his new hobby of hitting the gym, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he showed off some boxing moves he’d learned. You had to admit, he was impressive. You tried to calm your heart as it raced, especially when he casually said you should try boxing with him next time. Next time—that meant he still wanted to see you, and for a moment, everything else faded.

After a long, quiet minute of exchanging shy glances and soft smiles, you finally found the courage to ask, “How are you feeling now?”

At that, Jungkook froze for a moment, clearly thrown off guard by the question. But you knew it was one that needed to be asked, and he knew it too.

“Let’s just say… I want to keep doing what I’m doing,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

And in that simple answer, everything was clear. He wanted to continue, to keep living, to keep moving forward. He was happy with where he was now, and that was all you needed to know.

The night unfolded just as you had hoped—laughter, playful teasing, and those light touches that both of you were too shy to take further. Your hands brushed against each other, and yet, it was enough to send your heart racing. Every moment felt like it was building towards something, something you couldn’t wait for.

But you both knew it was important to take things slow. There was no need to rush. Step by step, you’d rebuild what was once lost. You were certain of one thing now—you would be together again, and it would happen soon enough.

As you walked back to your home, a sudden realization hit you, making you gasp. You had completely forgotten about the one thing Jungkook had promised to show you—what Bam had learned.

You smiled to yourself, shaking your head a little. You were so caught up in the moment, that you hadn’t even thought about it.

“Come on, punch!” Jungkook commands, holding his hands out in front of you. After a month of seeing each other, you finally agreed to join him for one of his boxing sessions. Now, here you are, gloves on, feeling a little silly as you throw punches into his palms.

“Yeah,” he nods, clearly proud of how well you’re doing. “Just like that,” he encourages, and you can’t help but laugh because you’re so happy to be there with him, doing something he loves.

“Don’t lose focus!” he calls out, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you burst out laughing. “Bab—” he catches himself mid-sentence, quickly swallowing his words. “I mean—don’t laugh! I’m trying here,” he says, looking at you as you collapse onto the floor, exhausted from his rigorous training.

“I know,” you whine, pulling off your gloves. “You’re a great teacher, it’s just… you’re so cute,” you admit with a soft smile.

“How am I cute?” he asks, genuinely confused, sitting cross-legged beside you. “That’s because you still haven’t seen me throw punches and dodge them—I look really cool doing it, you know?” he says with a playful raise of his eyebrows.

You turn your head to him, letting your eyes roam over his face. He looked so beautiful, more than you remembered. You had always thought Jungkook was the most handsome man you knew, but seeing him so happy made him even more stunning. In that moment, you wished time would freeze so you could stay like this forever.

But Jungkook had other plans. He quickly stood up and held his hand out to you.

“It’s not over, come on, stand up,” he said, his voice full of determination.

You shake your head, whining because it had been two hours of non-stop training, and you definitely didn’t have his stamina.

“Please, wait a second, The Rock,” you groan, closing your eyes, exhausted.

Jungkook finally dropped his teacher mode, chuckling at your words. His laughter rang out, and it was so perfect to your ears, you couldn’t help but smile.

And so, it went on like that for a month—the two of you rediscovering each other, starting fresh, but with the comfort of old memories woven into the new ones. The feelings had never really gone away, they had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface, so undeniable and raw that neither of you needed to say a word. Jungkook felt it too, the unspoken connection between you, as if time had paused and everything was falling back into place without effort.

Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling of selfishness creeping in, a longing that deepened with every passing day. He wanted you, completely—your presence, your touch, your love. He wanted you to come back home, to him and to Bam, to kiss you, to hold your hand, to just be by your side, always. And in that moment, he knew it was time. He wanted to ask you out.

The timing might not have been perfect, but watching you talk to his friends—whom you’d just met tonight, but somehow fit in like you’d known them forever—he couldn’t help but feel a warmth spreading through him. His heart lightened, and without thinking, he reached for your hand under the table, his fingers brushing yours gently. You didn’t say anything, just accepted it, and in that simple, unspoken exchange, he knew you felt the same.

As you both walked to your home, hand in hand, it felt like the world had stopped. Jungkook hadn’t let go of your hand since he took it, and the weight of the moment felt like something precious. Finally, with a nervous but hopeful tone, he asked, “I don’t want to be pushy, but… when will you come back home?”

You smiled, trying to hide the grin spreading across your face, and turned your head away slightly. “I was waiting for you to ask,” you said softly. “You know I will always wait for you.”

Jungkook froze in his tracks, and you stopped with him, turning to face him. His hands found both of yours again, pulling them gently to his chest. “I’m ready,” he whispered your name, his voice low and full of sincerity. “I want you back.”

Looking into his eyes, those doe eyes full of vulnerability and love, you nodded eagerly, feeling your heart race. And before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours—soft, then urgent, then full of passion. His hands found the back of your neck, pulling you closer until it felt like you were melting together.

But with two hearts and two minds. Not just yours, because now Jungkook didn’t feel the need to hide himself anymore.

He wanted to be beside you, walk with you, live with you—not just through you, but as equals, as two people who had found their way back to each other.

an: hiii!! tysm for reading, it really means a lot to me and pls dont hesitate to let me know what you think! :) and always remember that you are loved, no matter what ♡ take care xx

[ayumigotabittoolonelyquitted]

Stay alive, that's an order

Synopsis : After a brutal battle, Levi finds you barely hanging on,and he’s pissed. You ignored his order to stay alive, and now he’s stuck between anger and relief, trying not to show how bad it actually scared him. (You aren't death don't worry)

Warning ⚠️ : hurt / comfort, angst , mentions of death and violence, some graphic details. Spelling mistakes

Pairings : levi Ackerman x reader

Words count : 14k+!

“They’re all dead.”

The words hit like a blade to the gut. You tightened your grip on your ODM gear, knuckles turning white as the scout delivered the grim report.

Five teams. Five entire teams, wiped out before they even had a chance to fight.

Your squad stood in stunned silence outside the walls, the wind carrying the distant, guttural roars of Titans. The plan had been simple,split into units, clear the Titans blocking the eastern route, and secure a safe path for the retreating supply wagons. But now…

Five teams were gone.

“Shit,” someone whispered.

Your heart pounded as you turned to Levi. He stood at the front, arms crossed, eyes shadowed by his lowered head. His silence was far more terrifying than anything else.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Change of plans.” His voice was steel. “We don’t retreat. We finish what they started.”

Your stomach twisted, but you nodded. There was no running now,not when their deaths would be in vain.

Levi’s sharp gaze flickered over the squad. “Stay close. Don’t do anything reckless. If you die, it better be after killing at least five Titans.”

A weak attempt at dark humor, but no one laughed.

You checked your blades, feeling the familiar weight of steel in your hands. The air was thick, suffocating, but you pushed it down. Fear wouldn’t save you. It never had.

Levi’s voice cut through the tension. “Move out.”

And with that, you launched into the air.

The moment your squad arrived, it was clear why the others had fallen.

Titans. Too many of them.

They lumbered through the ruins of what had once been an abandoned outpost, bodies crushed beneath their massive feet. You spotted at least fifteen, and those were just the ones in sight.

Your breath hitched. No way had the scouts been prepared for this.

“We’re going in,” Levi ordered, already unsheathing his blades. “YN, you take the left flank. Flank and slice, don’t linger.”

You nodded. Focus. Breathe. Kill.

The battle exploded around you.

You hooked onto a nearby rooftop, gas propelling you forward as your blade sank deep into the nape of the first Titan you reached. Blood sprayed, hot and thick, but you barely registered it as you twisted midair, avoiding the grasp of another.

Levi was a blur beside you. Effortless. Precise. Death itself.

A scream tore through the battlefield. One of your squadmates,gone in an instant.

No time to look. No time to grieve.

You cut down another Titan, barely dodging its flailing arm before moving on to the next. Your heart pounded, lungs burning as the fight stretched on.

And then

Something was wrong.

Levi’s voice snapped through your earpiece. “Regroup! NOW!”

You turned, eyes scanning for him,only to freeze.

From the treeline, a second wave of Titans emerged.

Your blood turned to ice.

You were outnumbered.

The second wave of Titans hit harder than you expected.

You barely had time to breathe before the first one lunged,massive, fast, and hungry. Your instincts kicked in, and you fired your hook into the nearest rooftop, propelling yourself into the sky just as its hand crashed down where you had stood.

“YN!” Levi’s voice cut through the chaos. You turned just in time to see him slicing through a Titan’s nape in a perfect arc, blood spraying across his uniform. His movements were precise, deadly,there was no hesitation in him.

You wished you could say the same for yourself.

You tightened your grip on your blades and dived down, slicing through another Titan just before it could grab one of your remaining squadmates. The battlefield was nothing but blood, screams, and chaos.

And then you heard it.

A scream,too close.

You whipped around just in time to see one of your comrades Lena,caught in a Titan’s grip. Her eyes locked onto yours for a split second before

CRACK.

The Titan bit down.

Your stomach lurched, bile rising in your throat as her body went limp. Gone. Just like that.

There was no time to grieve.

You forced yourself forward, moving on autopilot, dodging, slicing, killing but it was clear now.

This wasn’t a battle anymore. It was a massacre.

"Fall back!" Levi's voice rang out through the earpiece. "Regroup near the treeline!"

But you were too far. Separated.

Your gas was running low, and your muscles burned with exhaustion. You cut down another Titan, barely avoiding its grasp, when

Your wire snapped.

A Titan’s stray swipe hit your gear, sending you spiraling. Your body slammed into the roof of a broken-down building, pain exploding in your ribs. You couldn’t move.

Shit.

The ground trembled as a Titan lumbered toward you. Its mouth hung open, ready to devour, and for the first time, real fear sank into your bones.

You had no gas. No mobility. You were trapped.

Then, in a blur of black and silver

Levi.

He came down like death itself, his blades slicing through the Titan’s weak point in one clean motion. The body crashed beside you, shaking the earth, but he was already moving,ggfgrabbing you by the straps of your uniform and yanking you up.

"Can you move?" His voice was sharp, but underneath ityconcern.

You gasped, trying to steady your breath. "Yeah... just winded."

He didn't look convinced, but there was no time to argue.

More Titans were closing in.

Levi’s grip on your arm tightened.

"Stay close."

then you were moving. (Back to life)

You and Levi fought back to back, moving like two parts of the same blade.

He was ruthless, fast, untouchable. Every slice of his swords ended a life. Every move was calculated, precise.

You did your best to keep up, lungs burning as you pushed through the pain in your ribs. You weren’t as fast as himyno one wasbut you knew how to fight.

You trusted him.

And hetrusted you.

But the Titans weren’t stopping.

The second wave had turned into a flood, and your squad was gone.

It was just you and Levi now.

"We're getting surrounded," you breathed, dodging a Titan's swinging arm. "What now?"

Levi didn’t answer immediately. His sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, calculating every possible escape route, every possible failure.

Then, he made his decision.

"We cut through."

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your hand and launched forward.

You lost count of how many Titans you killed. Five? Ten? Twenty?

Your arms were numb. Your body was on fire. Your ODM gas was almost gone. (Second gear brought by levi)

And then

Your blades snapped.

The Titan in front of you lunged, and you had nothing left to fight with.

You braced for impact, but Levi was faster.

He tackled you out of the way, the two of you crashing onto a nearby rooftop. His body shielded yours from the impact.

"Dammit, YN!" His voice was harsh, but when you looked up at him,his eyes told a different story.

He wasn’t angry. He was scared.

Levi Ackerman, humanity’s strongest soldier, was scared.

For you.

You tried to push yourself up, but pain shot through your leg. You looked down,a deep gash, bleeding badly.

Shit.

You weren’t getting out of this. Not alive.

Levi knew it too. His jaw clenched, his breath ragged. You could see it in the way his hands trembled, just barely.

For the first time, you saw the man behind the soldier.

And it broke you.

"Levi..." Your voice was hoarse. "Go. Leave me."

His expression darkened. "The hell I will."

More Titans were closing in. You were both running out of time.

You grabbed his wrist, nails digging into the fabric of his uniform. "Please. If one of us has to make it out of here, it should be you."

His eyes burned into yourszanger, frustration, something deeper, something he couldn’t say.

And then,chis grip on you tightened.

"Stay alive."

His voice was lower now. Almost desperate. Raw.

"That's an order."

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t just a command. It was a plea.

Even as the world burned around you, even as death loomed closer, he was still fighting for you.

And if Levi Ackerman was willing to fight for you

You couldn’t give up.

Not yet.

Not today.

The world was nothing but blood and chaos.

Titans surrounded you, their massive shadows looming over the crumbling buildings. You could hear their heavy, labored breaths, smell the stench of rotting flesh.

Your leg was useless, your gas was running low, and your blades were broken. You were a soldier with no weapons left to fight.

But Levi was still standing.

And he wasn’t backing down.

He was a force of nature.

With a flick of his wrist, he launched forward, a blur of black and silver. His swords tore through Titan flesh with effortless precision, movements too fast for your eyes to follow.

He cut down one. Then another. Then another.

But there were too many.

A Titan lunged from the side, and for the first time Levi didn’t see it coming.

“Levi—!”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Your body slammed into his, knocking him out of the way just as the Titan’s hand came crashing down. You hit the ground hard, pain exploding in your already battered body.

But Levi,Levi was safe.

He was on his feet instantly, blades ready, but when he turned to you his face twisted in something close to fury.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” His voice was sharp, but his eyes his eyes were terrified.

He crouched beside you, checking for injuries with frantic hands. His fingers ghosted over your bleeding leg, your trembling arms. His jaw clenched when he realized how bad it was.

You laughed weakly, though there was no humor in it. “Had to save your ass at least once.”

“Shut up,” he snapped. But his voice was hoarse.

A Titan's roar echoed behind him, and his entire demeanor shifted.

The fear disappeared. The hesitation was gone.

What replaced it was cold, unrelenting fury.

He stood up, rolling his shoulders. His grip tightened around his swords, his stance lowering. Every movement screamed death.

And when he spoke his voice was lethal.

“I’ll kill them all.”

Levi Ackerman, Humanity’s Strongest Soldier

You had seen Levi fight before.

But never like this.

This was war.

He moved like a shadow, faster than your eyes could track. Every movement was precise, calculated deadly.

A Titan lunged at him he was already gone. He reappeared at its nape, his blades tearing through flesh before it even realized what had happened. Blood rained down, but he was already moving on.

Another Titan swiped at him he ducked, twisting midair, his blades slicing through its wrist before plunging straight into its weak point.

One by one, they fell.

But Levi wasn’t just fighting.

He was protecting you.

Every time a Titan got too close to your fallen form, he was there slaughtering, shielding, refusing to let them reach you.

And in that moment, you realized something.

He wasn’t fighting for humanity.

He wasn’t fighting for victory.

He was fighting for you.

Levi landed beside you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Blood so much blood stained his uniform, his skin, his hair.

But he wasn’t done.

He grabbed your arm, pulling you up despite your protests.

“We’re leaving.” His voice was strained, but it left no room for argument.

You tried to move, but pain shot through your leg. Your body swayed, and his grip immediately tightened.

You saw it then the brief flicker of panic in his eyes.

Levi Ackerman didn’t panic.

Levi Ackerman didn’t hesitate.

Levi Ackerman didn’t show fear.

But right now he was afraid.

For you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but then

A Titan’s shadow loomed over you.

Everything happened in a split second.

Levi turned.

The Titan lunged.

And it went for you.

Levi’s entire body reacted before his mind could.

He threw himself in front of you, blades up, but not fast enough.

The Titan’s hand swiped at him full force.

Levi went flying.

Your scream tore through the battlefield.

The Titan reached for you next.

You barely had time to process before your hands found the hilt of a fallen soldier’s blade.

You had no gas. No ODM. No strength left.

But you had this.

And if Levi was still breathing, you weren’t going to die here.

The Titan’s fingers closed around you, lifting you off the ground but your blade was already sinking into its hand.

It roared in pain, releasing you just enough for you to drive the sword straight into its eye.

It staggered. You twisted the blade deeper.

Then

A flash of silver. Again

Levi.

He was back.

Despite the blood dripping down his face, despite the pain slowing his movements he came back for you.

And with one clean strike, the Titan was dead.

The battlefield was silent.

The only sound was your ragged breathing. Levi’s labored exhales.

You collapsed to your knees, gasping, too exhausted to move.

Levi caught you before you hit the ground.

His arms wrapped around you, firm, steady,warm. His forehead rested against yours, breath shaky.

"I told you," he whispered. His voice wasn’t sharp this time. It was raw. “Stay alive.”

Your vision blurred, exhaustion finally winning.

But before the darkness took you, you felt it.

Levi’s hand, gripping yours. Desperate. Steady. Unshaken.

And then,nothing.

Pain.

That was the first thing you felt when you woke up.

It crept through your body like fire, every muscle aching, every breath sharp. The scent of antiseptic filled your nose, mixed with something warm.

You tried to move. A mistake.

A sharp gasp left your lips, your body flinching at the pain in your ribs.

Instantly,a shadow moved beside you.

"You're awake."

Levi’s voice.

But not the one you were used to.

It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t irritated. It wasn’t barking out orders or insults.

It was quiet. Low. Tense.

Your vision cleared, and there he was.

Sitting beside your bed, arms crossed, dark circles under his eyes. His uniform was still stained with dried blood,yours and his. His hair was messier than usual, like he had run his hands through it a hundred times.

His gaze was locked onto you, intense and unreadable.

But you knew Levi.

And this was the look of a man who had just been through hell.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then,Levi stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back.

“Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that was?”

The anger in his voice caught you off guard. Your throat was dry, but you still managed a weak, “Good to see you too.”

Levi didn’t laugh. He didn’t even roll his eyes.

He just stared at you.

Then he turned away, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

“You almost died,” he said, voice low. “Do you understand that?”

The air in the room shifted.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the sharp pain in your ribs. “Yeah. I know.”

“No. You don’t.” Levi’s jaw clenched. He took a slow, measured breath like he was trying to stop himself from breaking something.

Or maybe… from breaking himself.

You had seen Levi angry before.

You had seen him furious, ruthless, cold.

But this?

This wasn’t anger.

This was something else.

“Levi…” Your voice was softer now. “I-”

“Don’t.”

His hands trembled for just a second before he clenched them into fists. He still wasn’t looking at you.

“Do you think this is a game?” he asked. “Throwing yourself in front of me like that?”

“I wasn’t-”

“You did.” He finally turned, and his eyes

His eyes were burning.

“I could’ve handled it. I always handle it. But you-” His breath hitched, just barely. “You shoved me out of the way. And then you were on the ground. Bleeding. Barely breathing.”

You swallowed hard.

Levi took a step closer.

“You almost died,” he repeated. His voice cracked this time. “And I-”

He stopped himself.

His hands were shaking.

Levi Ackerman’s hands were shaking.

And suddenly, you understood.

This wasn’t just about you almost dying.

This was about him almost losing you.

You forced yourself to sit up hissing in pain but Levi was there immediately, pressing you back down.

“Stop moving, idiot.”

But his hands on your shoulders were too tight. Like he was scared that if he let go, you’d disappear.

You looked up at him, really looked at him.

This wasn’t Levi, Humanity’s Strongest.

This was Levi, the man who had lost too many people.

And almost lost you, too.

Your voice was quiet. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Levi’s breath hitched again. His hands didn’t move from your shoulders.

“You did,” he admitted.

That was it.

That was the moment everything changed.

Because Levi didn’t admit things like this.

He didn’t talk about fear, about loss. He didn’t let people see the cracks beneath the surface.

But he was letting you see them now.

Your throat tightened. “Levi, I-”

His fingers curled into the fabric of your blanket.

“just please,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

And for the first time,you understood what he really meant.

It wasn’t just about the mission.

It wasn’t just about orders.

It was about you.

Levi wasn’t asking you to live for the sake of humanity.

He was asking you to live for him.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The only sound was your breathing, the distant murmurs of soldiers outside.

Finally,Levi sat back down beside you, exhaling slowly.

“…I stayed here all night,” he muttered. “Hange tried to drag me out. Didn’t work.”

Your lips twitched. “That’s probably the first time Hange ever failed at something.”

Levi gave a soft snort, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I meant what I said,” he added after a pause. “Stay alive.”

You met his gaze.

“I’ll try.”

His jaw clenched. Not enough.

“You will.”

And then,Levi did something that made your heart stop.

He reached for your hand.

Not roughly. Not like an order.

Softly. Carefully.

Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

His fingers brushed over yours before finally settling warm, steady, firm.

And you squeezed back.

Byee

[itertarot]

Tarot | Future Spouse

What fantasies will your Future Spouse have about you when they lay their head on the pillow before falling asleep? +18

Close your eyes and take a deep breathe, if you don't feel drawn to any image it's okay, I'll be doing more piles soon. This ain't supposed to be an +18 reading so i won't dive deeper in their sexual thoughts now.

Pile One:

If they are a man:

Your future spouse will think of you every night as the moon rises in the sky. In the most intimate moments, before falling asleep, they will feel deeply emotional and connected to you. It's as if the silence of the night intensifies the emotional and spiritual bond you share. It wouldn't be surprising if they have an intuitive and sensitive Moon in their birth chart, under the moonlight their heart will allow itself to feel the love that overflows between the two of you. You are, without exaggeration, the biggest love of his life. The feelings they have for you are tender, fluid, calm, but also passionate, affectionate and intense. Your future spouse will think not only of you, but of the family you will build together. They will fantasise about simple details like making you coffee just to see you smile (and they love your smile), or tucking you in with a blanket on cold nights and watching you sleep with a deep sense of gratitude. They will take care of you, making sure you are warm, fed and happy. Every gesture, big or small, will be filled with meaning and etched in their minds and hearts. But this relationship is not all about affection and tenderness. Your future husband will be skilled (especially in their hands if you get me) and attentive, both emotionally and physically. He will have a touch that will make you discover pleasures you never knew were possible. He will be curious and devoted, always looking for new ways to bring you to your climax, like an explorer in search of hidden treasures. They will want to be the best for you, the only one who can fully satisfy you, like a magician who knows all the secrets of your body and soul, imagining they put their hands all over you especially you clitoris and vulva.

If they are a woman:

Your future wife will be a deeply romantic and family-orientated woman, possibly fitting the profile of a tradwife. She is highly intuitive and gifted with spiritual qualities, probably brought up in a religious environment which has made her deeply attached to values such as chastity. It's possible she's a virgin, saving herself for the person she considers chosen to share her life with and explore the mysteries of pleasure together. But being so reserved and modest made her fantasies revolve around finding someone to take her on this journey of discovery, someone to show her how far the body and soul can go in terms of intimacy and connection. She wants someone to "corrupt" her in a loving way, to guide her like a puppet, but with care and respect, transforming her into a freer, more submissive version of herself. In her fantasies she imagines a partner who has complete control over her, someone who holds her firmly but with skilful and gentle hands. In this scenario, you are the person she has chosen to be her guide, the one who will teach her what true pleasure and deep intimacy feel like.

But don't be mistaken: although there is a strong element of submission in her fantasies, this is mainly due to her inexperience and her desire to break free from the chastity that has always protected her. Your future wife is above all a romantic. She is sensitive, both emotionally and physically, and may be vulnerable to pain. It is therefore essential that you are gentle, patient and attentive to her needs. She will fantasise about how great amd skilful you're in bed.

Pile Two:

If they are a man:

Your future spouse has an intense and exhausting routine, with days filled with tasks and responsibilities. When they finally come home and lay their head on the pillow, their greatest desire is to rest and soothe their aching body after a long day. They are not the type to live in a world of imagination but rather someone practical who prefers action over dreaming. However, when they allow themselves to dive into thoughts about you, even if rarely, their reflections revolve around when things will change, when your lives will finally find peace and stability. They long for the day when you can live together as a family, in harmony and tranquility. Your future spouse works to the point of exhaustion, not just out of obligation but because they want to feel worthy of you. They want to offer you a stable and comfortable life, proving that they are capable of providing and taking care of you. Their fantasies, as simple as they may be, are centered around proving themselves deserving of your love and earning your recognition. They imagine the moment when they will finally have the courage to approach you, especially because, in their thoughts, you are always surrounded by people, as if you were someone admirable and unattainable. They find you incredibly beautiful and feel inspired by your presence.

When it comes to intimacy, your future spouse may have an attraction to spontaneous and passionate moments. They fantasize, for example, about taking you home and, after a goodbye kiss, things heating up so much that you end up giving in to desire in the car. The idea of having your body so close to theirs in such a tight and private space excites them, creating a feeling of unique and intense connection. They also have a fantasy of having sex in the beach, something about the sand on your body, the sound of the sea and open landscape is very exciting for your future spouse, they also love the smell of your body after spending the day on the beach.

If they are a woman:

The fantasy of your future wife revolves around you being the person who will rescue her from the exhausting and draining life she currently leads. She dreams of the moment when you will take the initiative, stepping in to take control of the situation and approaching her with sincere and captivating charm. In her thoughts, she imagines the family you will build together, the cozy home you will share, and the financial stability you will achieve as a team. To her, you are the right person, the one she wants to marry and share a full, happy life with. However, her current reality is quite harsh. She is exhausted, working tirelessly and feeling like the "Cinderella" of her own story, a modern version of Cinderella, trapped in a routine that brings her no fulfillment. The constant fatigue prevents her from diving deeply into romantic thoughts or sexual fantasies, as she barely has time to rest. Despite this, she can’t help but look at you during the day, seeking your presence as a refuge, even from afar. Your proximity makes her nervous but also excited, as if you were a beacon of hope amidst her draining routine. She wants to feel special, cared for, and, above all, safe by your side. And when you finally come closer to her, she will be ready to give you not only her heart but her efforts and dreams.

Pile three:

If they are a man:

You, my dear, are the "damsel" your future spouse dreams of rescuing, but with an important detail: you are no helpless princess. He fantasizes about being the knight in shining armor, the one who enters the tower to save the beautiful, seemingly vulnerable damsel. This is, without exaggeration, the image he creates in his mind. However, he knows very well that you don’t need saving. In fact, he sees you as an extremely independent, self-assured woman, completely capable of handling everything on your own. In a way, you even intimidate him. Your future husband sees you as the "queen bee," the most beautiful, the most admirable, always surrounded by friends and admirers. There's even a song that fits perfectly called Miss Independent by Ne-Yo. You are so confident, radiant, and self-sufficient that he creates scenarios in his head where he can prove himself useful, just to earn a bit of your attention. He wants to be your Prince Charming, the one who shows you that, with him, you can relax and let your guard down. He wants to prove that, if needed, he’ll be there to take care of you. But deep down, he deeply admires the strong, independent woman you are, and that’s one of the reasons he feels so drawn to you.

When it comes to sexual fantasies, he imagines you giving yourself to him as a reward for being your hero. However, he doesn’t delve too deeply into these thoughts because there’s a great deal of respect and admiration involved. He spends more time imagining what it would be like to feel your body even before removing your clothes, or what your kiss might taste like. Kisses, by the way, are a recurring theme in his fantasies, he catches himself thinking about how it would feel to touch your lips, to feel your breath close to his. But because he sees you as a princess, he struggles to take these thoughts to a "dirtier" or more obscene place. To him, you are someone to be adored, not just desired.

If they are a woman:

In the fantasy of your future wife, she sees herself as a powerful queen, the ruler of her own kingdom. She is independent, confident, and has everything she desires in life, except for one thing: a bold and charming knight, and that knight is you. She sees you as someone full of energy, sociable, courageous, and with an irresistible sense of humor. Your daring and boldness deeply attract her, and she admires the way you naturally charm everyone around you. In her fantasies, you win her over with your smooth lines and magnetic presence. She imagines what your scent must be like, how your body feels after a day of activities, and what you look like beneath your clothes. And yes, she will notice that you’re in great shape ( it doesn't matter if you don't see yourself as hot, she will for sure), it will only fascinate her even more. She fantasizes about the two of you going out together, attending a party, starting to drink and dance until the chemistry between you becomes irresistible. At the peak of sexual tension, she imagines that you won’t be able to control yourselves anymore and will need to find a quick, secluded place to finally give in to the desire that burns between you.

She has a very high sex drive, and her fantasies involve many passionate scenes in risky or unusual places, where the thrill of being caught only heightens the excitement. She also fantasizes about the size of your penis (if you have one), imagining what it would feel like to have you inside her. Moaning in your ear is something she would love to do, using her voice to make you even more aroused and connected to her. She wants you to be the knight who challenges and conquers her, but also the one who makes her feel safe and desired. Deep down, she knows that by your side, she can be both the powerful queen and the woman who surrenders completely to the pleasure and passion you share, but don't be fooled she don't like to give up her control.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

What remains of us

Summary: Y/N's intern year comes to an abrupt end when she enters a school during an active shooter lockdown. Understanding what happened to her, maneuvering this new reality is impossible - but she might have someone willing to guide her through it all.

Warnings: death, descriptions of a dead body, injuries and blood, SCHOOL SHOOTING, swearing

Word count: 2.3k

Lips trembling, her eyes opened slowly. Clutching her chest with shaky hands, Y/N struggles to sit up, gasping for air. Every breath she draws is held, unable to exhale from the shock. Her fingers press against her shirt, feeling…nothing. No torn fabric, no sticky warmth of blood…No searing pain she felt before the fall. Her heart is hammering, yet there’s no ache, no wound. But she remembers it…The explosion of agony, the sharp, suffocating burn of a bullet ripping through flesh – the way the world blurred as she fell. Blinking away tears, she scrambles to her feet. The tremor in her limbs betrays her, knees buckling beneath her. She grits her teeth, steadying herself. If she stays out in the open, she won’t be as lucky next time. The shooter will not miss twice.

A strangled breath escapes her as she slaps a hand over her mouth. Her pulse pounds in her ears as she takes off down the hall, her footsteps echoing against the linoleum floor. The world around her is wrong—too quiet, too still, as if holding its breath with her.

She dives into an empty classroom, shoving desks against the door with what little strength she has left. But it’s not enough. The flimsy wood and metal legs scrape loudly, barely a deterrent. It won’t hold. If someone wants in, they’ll get in.

Her hands dig into her hair as she paces, eyes darting around. This isn’t what they trained her for – med school never said what to do when you’re the one being shot at! She was supposed to save lives, not run for her own. They never should have let an intern go inside in the first place! She knew it wasn’t safe, that they couldn’t guarantee she’d walk out alive. They didn’t even know if there was anyone hurt!

There has to be a way to get out of the school. Her breath shudders as she pats her pockets. Phone. Phone. Her fingers find nothing but fabric. “Shit.” It must have slipped out when she fell. She didn’t even grab her supply bag.

“Fuck”, she grumbles under her breath. Running a hand through her hair, she looks out the window. The stadium isn’t far. If she could get down safely, she could make a run for it. Staying put is a terrible idea, especially when the classroom isn’t barricaded properly.

Her heart pounds as she pushes the window open. Cold air rushes in, biting against her flushed skin. Her eyes land on the flagpole just outside. Her mother would kill her if she knew.

"MY daughter on a pole? I’d disown you!"

A shaky chuckle escapes her lips, raw and humorless. “Not sure you’d appreciate the irony, Mom.”

A single tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away.

Taking deep breaths, she grips the pole with both hands, her knuckles whitening. The wind howls around her as she steps onto the windowsill, her stomach lurching.

“Don’t look down!”

Frowning, her eyes lock onto a figure - a guy bellow, standing a few feet away from her landing spot, beckoning her to hurry.

“You can do this!” he calls out

Nodding nervously, she holds her breath as her descent begins.

“You’re doing great!” The man continues cheering, but she can’t bring herself to say a single word in response. Besides, if he keeps being so loud, the shooter might hear them.

The world blurs around her as she slides, her breath hitching with every inch downward. The pole burns against her palms, but she doesn’t let go—not until her feet hit solid ground.

She barely has time to process the relief before she feels him beside her.

 “We can’t stay here”, she states quietly. “The stadium isn’t far. We can make it if we run.”

His eyes widen, looking behind in confusion. Locking his eyes with hers once again, his lips part. Pointing a finger to his chest, he raises his eyebrows.

“We can’t waste time,” Y/N doesn’t wait for him to argue. She grabs his elbow, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, and pulls him forward.

They run.

The stadium is like a beacon, a promise of safety. She can’t know for sure, but something tells her it’s a lot safer than the school. From there she can find a way to contact police, inform them of the shooter’s last location, and get extracted. And get the guy extracted too.

The guy, whoever he is, runs beside her, his pace matching hers. She barely had time to see his face, too desperate to escape and save him, as well as herself. All she remembers is the blue varsity jacket, realizing he’s likely a jock at the school. Ugh, she hated jocks when she was in high school.

He didn’t say a word when she grabbed him, nor now as he caught her by the wrist when she nearly lost her grip, steadying her as they continued running.

“Faster”, she mutters, voice rough, urgent.

Her lungs burn, legs scream, but she doesn’t stop. The stadium is right there, just a little farther.

Then she hears a voice – no, voices – shouting from ahead. The guy pushes her hard, yanking her into the shadows of the bleachers. They crouch low, listening.

“Are we sure?” A man’s voice, gruff, serious.

“We found her body.”

“FUCK!”

Frowning, she moves closer to the men speaking, realizing they’re policemen. Letting out a sigh of relief, she smiles at the jock beside her.

“Thank God!” She turns to the guy beside her, a smile breaking through the fear.  “C’mon!”

She grabs his sleeve, pulling him onto the field.

“Hey, officers!” she calls, brushing her scrubs nervously as she approaches the policemen. “I…I just got out of there. The shooter was on the 2nd floor! I had a really close call”, she lets out a breathy, nervous laugh.

Nothing.

Not even a single head turns.

Her brows knit together. She waves a hand, stepping closer. “Hello?”

Silence.

Her forehead creases as she reaches out, fingertips grazing the shoulder of the nearest officer.

And meeting nothing. Just air.

Y/N blinks, her hand hovering where the officer’s shoulder should be. But it’s like he isn’t there…like she isn’t.

No.

No, no, no.

Her breath catches in her throat. Slowly, she tries again, pressing her palm forward. It slips right through the thick fabric of his uniform, through solid muscle, through him. A cold shiver crawls up her spine.

“No”, she mutters. Her knees nearly buckle.

“They’ve already done the necessary forensics,” one officer mutters. “Her body will be brought through here, away from the press. It’s going to be a media shit show.”

Y/N staggers back. The words claw at her mind, but they don’t make sense. She’s here. She’s standing. She’s breathing…

Isn’t she?

Her heart slams against her ribs, but there’s no answering thud in her ears. No pulse pounding in her wrists. She whirls toward the guy beside her, this stranger who’s been with her since the flagpole, since the escape. He’s watching her, quiet, unreadable.

“What’s happening?” Her voice shakes. “Why can’t they see me?”

His expression softens.

“Because,” he says gently, “we’re already dead.”

Her body tenses, the weight of his words sinking in like lead.

“That’s impossible,” she grimaces. “I’m being pranked!” she decides. “This is some sort of intern hazing that you’re all taking too far!” Cackling, she tries to touch the officer again only to meet air instead of flesh.

Swallowing thickly, she presses her lips in a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” the guy sighs. “I didn’t realize it until you spoke to me after climbing down.”

Rubbing her forehead, she turns to look at him – properly look at him, for the first time. There’s no denying he’s handsome – the kind of handsome that sneaks up on you, not in the obvious ‘in your face’ way Henry Cavil is, but in a way that lingers… and holds your breath hostage.

His hair is a little messy, framing a face that looks like it belongs in an old school yearbook – classic, effortlessly cool. With a sharp jawline and a kind smile on his lips, his features are boyish in a way that makes her stomach ache.

The letterman jacket clings to his broad shoulders, the fabric worn in the best way, like it’s seen years of games, of wins, of effortless charm. He’s got that all-American, football-star thing going on, but somehow, it doesn’t feel cocky. It just feels him.

And right now, he’s looking at her. Smiling at her.

“How…how are you so sure?” she clears her throat, “I mean, I felt your touch! I felt –“

“Because I died,” he takes a step closer. “I died at the homecoming game in my senior year…it was the fall of 1983. I celebrated my 18th birthday just a week before.”

Closing her eyes, she licks her lips. “I’m dreaming. Or I hit my head hard when I fell and now I’m hallucinating a hot jock who supposedly died before I was even born!” Laughing maniacally, she nods erratically. “Yeah! That’s what happened!”

“Except, it’s not.” Taking a step closer, he gives her a sympathetic look. “I’m Wally. You’re kinda standing where I died.”

Jumping from the spot, she narrows her eyes at him. “And what? Huh? You’re just haunting the school because you can’t get over your glory days?” Shaking her head, she looks up at the grey skies. “I could have at least imagined something more believable. No excuse for slacking in my sleep!”

“It’s hard to accept, but it’s the truth.” Wally steps beside her, pointing to a few more officers coming closer, wheeling a gurney. There’s a body bag, one even Y/N can ignore.

“That’s….that’s supposed to be a body?”

Wally nods.

“My body?”

His fingers graze her wrist and she pulls away immediately. Rushing to the huddle of officers, she walks through them.

The zipper slides down with a slow, mechanical rasp, and Y/N swears the world tilts beneath her feet.

She stares.

That’s her face. Her body.

Her eyes are closed, lashes resting peacefully against pale skin, but there’s nothing peaceful about this. Her scrubs—light blue, still wrinkled from her morning shift—are soaked through with blood. The fabric clings to her chest in a grotesque, darkened bloom, right over her heart.

“Close-range shot,” one of the officers mutters, pulling back the bag further. “Went straight through. No exit wound.”

“Christ,” another says. “Poor girl. Didn’t stand a chance.”

Y/N’s breath stutters, but she doesn’t feel it. Her hands curl into fists as something hot and electric builds in her chest.

“No,” she whispers, stepping closer. “No, this isn’t—this can’t be right.”

Her fingers twitch at her sides, the urge to shake them, to scream in their faces overwhelming. But what would it matter? They can’t hear her. Can’t see her.

A laugh, bitter, sharp, bubbles out of her throat. “I’m right here!” she shouts, throwing her hands up. “I just ran across the damn field! I—” Her voice cracks, rage colliding with something raw and suffocating. “I can’t be dead!”

A hand brushes her shoulder. Solid. Gentle.

She turns, eyes burning, and finds Wally watching her, his face filled with understanding. Like he’s seen this before. Like he knows.

“It’s messed up,” he murmurs, his voice steady in a way that almost anchors her. Almost. “But you have to breathe.”

She lets out a shaky, breathless laugh. “I don’t think I can anymore.”

Wally gives a small, sad smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I remember that part.”

She looks at him, at his letterman jacket, his stupidly kind face…this boy who’s been dead for decades—and for the first time, the weight of it all crashes into her.

She really, truly is dead.

“I barely even lived,” she shakes her head lightly. “I’ve spent my life trying to become a doctor. My twenties slipped through hospital shifts.” Holding back tears, she looks at Wally. “I’m twenty-six and I’ve never been in love.” Her voice cracks. “No one’s ever loved me.”

Slowly, he reaches for her hand. His touch is light, careful, letting her decide, waiting patiently as she erases the distance between them. A choked sob escapes her as she buries her face in his chest. For a moment, he’s still. Then he lets out a heavy sigh before wrapping his arms around her small form tightly.

“It’s okay to fall apart,” he murmurs. But he won’t let her lose the pieces that fall now…She’s going to put them back together in time…and he will help her. When she needs a shoulder to cry on, he’ll anchor her, and when she needs strength to keep going, he’ll let her borrow his own.

She grips the fabric of his jacket, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping her tethered.

“You’re not alone,” he whispers in her hair. “I may not have all the answers, but I’m pretty fluent in showing up for people.”

She presses her face deeper into his shoulder, breathing him in. Her arms snake around him too, reciprocating the tightness of his hold on her. He knows he can’t always fix people, but he can sit with them in the dark…and sometimes that’s enough. Even when his hands shake, they still hold steady when someone needs them, and if Wally learned anything from his time with Maddie it’s how the weight of their goodbye made him cherish every hello.

And this hello might be the only certainty in a world full of lonely uncertainties.

PART 2

[secretmellowblog]

On the subject of the Titanic ‘submersible’ that was lost in the deep with all its wealthy tourists— it’s so insane/eerie in hindsight to read this article from the Smithsonian that interviews the CEO Stockton Rush long before the disaster.

Despite the Smithsonian supposedly being an organization that cares about science and truth, and the fact that there were SO MANY obvious red flags from the beginning and so many people criticizing the company…..the article is a puff piece uncritically glorifying the CEO’s obviously terrible submersible project. It compares him in glowing terms to Elon Musk. It is an article about how private ventures like those of Stockton Rush and Elon Musk can and should be the future of the world.

We’ve obviously learned now that there were whistleblowers at the company who were warning for a long time that Stockton Rush’s submersible was unsafe— only to be fired and then sued. It makes sense the submersible was so unsafe, because the CEO in this interview is open about how he has no background in underwater engineering and is annoyed by quote “regulations that needlessly prioritize passenger safety.”

Soon after, the private [submersible] market died too, Rush found, for two reasons that were “understandable but illogical.” First, subs gained a reputation for danger. Working on offshore rigs in harsh locations like the North Sea, saturation divers, who breathe gas mixtures to avoid diving sicknesses, would be taken in subs to work at great depths. It was the world’s most perilous job, with frequent fatalities. (“It wasn’t the sub’s fault,” says Rush.) To save lives, the industries moved toward using underwater robots to perform the same work.

Second, tourist subs, which could once be skippered by anyone with a U.S. Coast Guard captain’s license, were regulated by the Passenger Vessel Safety Act of 1993, which imposed rigorous new manufacturing and inspection requirements and prohibited dives below 150 feet. The law was well-meaning, Rush says, but he believes it needlessly prioritized passenger safety over commercial innovation (a position a less adventurous submariner might find open to debate). “There hasn’t been an injury in the commercial sub industry in over 35 years. It’s obscenely safe, because they have all these regulations. But it also hasn’t innovated or grown—because they have all these regulations.”

The fact that Stockton Rush (who was piloting the submarine when the disaster happened) is on record complaining about the evils of regulations that prioritize people’s safety, and the Smithsonian uncritically regurgitated that rhetoric in their glowing puff piece about how rich tycoons like Elon Musk and Stockton Rush are going to save the world is just…..in hindsight of how everything ended it’s just so much horrible black comedy? It’s like a satire about the dangers of uncritically worshipping the rich.

It is mentioned in the article that Rush chose to make his submersible in a different shape, and with a different (cheaper) material than is usually used for submersibles. The article frames this as a result of daring innovation, and not of negligence/ignorance. This passage in particular, which in context is supposed to portray Rush’s critics as joyless naysayers who were proven wrong by the noble tycoon, is pretty foreboding in hindsight:

Rush planned to pilot the sub himself, which critics said was an unnecessary risk: Under pressure, the experimental carbon fiber hull might, in the jargon of the sub world, “collapse catastrophically.”

And then!!

The exact problem that happened to Titan this weekend, happened on Titan’s very first test voyage to the Titanic! The experimental carbon fiber hull had an issue and it caused communications to break down!

The dive was going according to plan until about 10,000 feet, when the descent unexpectedly halted, possibly, Rush says, because the density of the salt water added extra buoyancy to the carbon fiber hull. He now used thrusters to drive Titan deeper, which interfered with the communications system, and he lost contact with the support crew. He recalls the next hour in hallucinogenic terms. “It was like being on the Starship Enterprise,” he says. “There were these particles going by, like stars. Every so often a jellyfish would go whipping by. It was the childhood dream.”

Both Rush and the article writer treat this as a fun quirky story, instead of a serious safety failure and red flag with his experimental macgyvered regulation-flaunting submersible.

Other highlights from the article include:

Stockton rush saying that if 3/4 of the planet is water, why haven’t we monetized it?

Stockton saying we will “colonize the ocean long before we colonize space”

Lots of weird pro colonialism stuff in general??? This article loves colonialism and thinks it’s cool

Rush saying he plans for this to eventually help find more underwater resources for the US to exploit and profit from

Elon musk comparisons. The article writer does not mention that Elon Musk’s rockets explode and therefore it would be a bad idea to get in one of them, because that would imply it’s a bad idea to get into the submersible

Stockton rush seeing himself as Captain Kirk

The article writer comparing the tourists who plan to join Rush to Englishmen who went on colonialist journeys to Africa as if that’s like, a good thing. So much pro colonialism stuff in this article

So many sentences about Stockton Rush being handsome when he literally just looks like some guy

The article beginning with an editor’s note from years later disclaiming that the extraordinary submersible they’re advertising in this article is uh. It’s now uhhhh

But yeah it really does just bring home how so many organizations that supposedly care about scientific truth or journalistic integrity are willing to uncritically platform propaganda for wealthy CEOS. It’s frustrating how easily people fall for the fake myths that careless wealthy people invent for themselves, and even more frustrating that supposedly respectable institutions will platform irresponsible lies that end up getting people killed.

Rush is such an obvious and simple example of this, and his negligence is “only” killing five people including himself. But to me it feels like a cautionary tale to bear in mind when it comes to uncritical puff piece media coverage of similar “daring tycoon innovations” by people like Bezos or Musk.

[littlelovelunette]

hihihihi :3 (sevika x (dead) reader)

could you do where the reader gets badly hurt and ends up dying..?

but after the death, she's(sevika) convinced shes gone insane when she sees the reader or hears their voice. she thinks readers haunting her for not saving them, but really the reader is watching over her..?

(IM SOSO SORRY IF THIS IS BAD YOU DONT ACTUALLY HAVE TO WRITE IT)

One Last Time, Please

Tags: @elyxir1zz @pornoangelz @emobunn @riverripley @burntoutghost @djstinkyfartz @veasvka @kierqnslim @ilyforeverxox @aprilshireath

Summary: Sevika and you once worked under Silco, but as his shadow, she rarely saw you. Despite the little time spent together, it was love at first sight. Sevika never thought anyone could understand her until one day you were brought in gravely injured, impaled and bleeding. Sevika, overwhelmed with concern, stayed by your side day and night, but despite Shimmer treatments, your condition worsened. After wishing her goodnight, Sevika knew your eyes wouldn’t open the next morning. Sevika's convinced she's going insane but all it is, is that you're watching over the love of your life.

Contains r's death, hallucinations mentioned, depressed Sevika, angsty

You were the light of Sevika's life. Sevika hated the world for taking you away in such a slow, painful manner. Her hand rested on yours which was ice cold compared to her own. "Please, don't leave." Sevika muttered, she wasn't one to plea yet she did. Her grey eyes had angry tears at the corners, tears that spoke volumes of how much you meant to her.

"I'll always be there." You replied, your voice a weak rasp as your hand rested on her chest where her heart was beating albeit slightly irregularly and unhealthily fast. "In here. Always." You smiled although your facial muscles felt too tight.

Sevika wanted to wail, sob and do anything that would keep you conscious but she could see you fading away there in her arms. "I love you." Her voice broke when she uttered your name with her confession.

Your mind was flashing with all the moments you had had with Sevika. Every little gift you'd gotten from her. Every little date you've been on with her. Although, work had always been heavy on your mind and hers too, you both had somehow managed to spare time for each other. "Oh, Sevika." You whispered her name, your breath feeling more laboured than before as your eyes looked up with great difficulty, lids burning to just close and get it over with.

Sevika, the woman who had tended to you even though she knew you'd die, the woman who never gave up on you simply because you understood her in a way she claimed no one else ever had before.

"You'll be okay." You said, corners of your lips curling weakly, "I love you too, Sevika..." Your eyes were growing blanker with every passing second. Sevika held you in her arms, your body cradled on her lap as she hugged you but she didn't wail. She silently mourned you. Her rough, calloused fingers were gentle on your face when she slowly closed your open eyelids, "You can rest now." She whispered and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

The funeral was the saddest part of it all, she wasn't ready to say goodbye to you yet. She wasn't ready to stand firm and tall while you would be six feet under. She just wasn't ready to see you off.

"I'll meet you on the other side. Soon, I hope." She thought over and over again. However, what only added to her sadness was the fact there was no family that turned up for your funeral. It was just her. No family, no friends.

She dug your grave with shaky hands, sweat mixing with her silent tears. Sevika had never cried this hard over anything or anyone before. As she took one last look at you in the casket she heaved a deep sigh of regret, she should've been there to protect you. The casket closed a bit later and was lowered into the grave, Sevika wanted to dive right in and bury herself with you but she still had sanity so she didn't.

"Rest in peace." She said, her voice hoarse.

Every day, she came to your grave. Every day. Every single day, she'd just stand there with a bouquet of roses and daisies as she stared at the sight of the tombstone. Sevika told you about her day, how she doesn't like drinking or smoking as much as before but tries to force herself into it in an attempt of getting over your death. But it didn't help.

Sevika explained how she didn't even feel the itching need to gamble when she went to Last Drop anymore, all tasks purely work focused now. "I never thought I'd be alone in this again." Sevika said, "I thought you'd really stay, I was almost convinced by that too." She paused, looking up at the cloudy sky so her tears wouldn't dribble down her cheeks.

"Dammit." She wiped them away hastily. "Still crying." She chuckled humourlessly before setting down the daisies on top of your grave. "I'll go home tonight. I don't know how long I can bear staring down at you and hoping you do wake up."

Sevika contemplated whether to kiss your tombstone or not but she didn't, instead she just gave you one last look, mouthing, "I love you." Because her throat was so dry, the words didn't sound out. She adjusted her red poncho over her body, starting to walk out of the cemetery.

As she entered the house, she exhaled deeply. It didn't feel home without you. You were her life and soul. Sevika ran a hand down her face and slumped onto bed. Her eyes closed, the burning feeling of her swollen eyes sinking in finally. She hadn't eaten anything in a long while, how could she when she knew you hadn't?

It was silly, it really was— atleast to her. But she couldn't bring herself to eat, a meal you wouldn't have cooked. It didn't settle right with her. "Goddamnit! Why did I even let her join Silco?" Sevika covered her face with her hand. As Sevika buried her face in her hands and settled onto the pillow, she tried to force herself to drift off and get some sleep. But she kept hearing your voice.

A faint echo somewhere. "It's okay, my Sev. It's okay, it's not your fault. I'll be waiting for you." Sevika turned over on her side, "I'm going insane. I'm hearing her voice." She muttered.

She turned over her other side, feeling restless. Her eyes shut tight for a second before opening, she swore she felt a touch. "Nuh-uh." She got up, grabbing her keys and put on some decent clothing, putting her poncho on and left the apartment, locking the door after herself. She needed to get to Silco's office. Atleast, there if she experienced any hallucinations, well, she wouldn't be the only one.

"Just as I thought you'd be here." Silco said when he entered his office and saw Sevika seated on the couch, downing a bottle in one go. "Feeling depressed? Or are you wondering if you could've done anything to stop it?"

"I should've been there." Sevika said in her deep voice. "I should've been able to protect her. I failed her, and I don't know how you even handle trusting me to protect you at this point." Silco raised a brow hearing those words from Sevika.

"Sevika," Silco breathed. "Guilt is one thing, grief another. You can't fuse both of them together." He walked to his desk, sitting down and crossing his legs, gesturing to the bottle of alcohol in Sevika's hand, "Or it turns out like that."

Sevika looked away. She didn't want to be getting judgement for drinking her sorrows away. It's how she handled things. Silco continued. "Death is a blessing sometimes. Would you rather she suffered the injuries longer than she did?" Sevika shook her head.

"I just— I hear her." Sevika said looking down at the ground, fixing it with a partially angry, partially tired look. "I hear her at home so I came here." Silco opened his mouth to say something but then decided against it. Instead, he said, "You can stay."

The following day was almost worse than the one before. Sevika felt your stare. She felt your warmth somewhere but she couldn't exactly locate where. Sevika was sure she smelled your natural scent as well. "I'm going insane." She looked at her face in the bathroom mirror, hands resting on each side of the sink.

Groaning, she rubbed a hand down her face trying to knock the sleep out of her mind. Her dark hair was pulled back in a half updo, messy. Little strands stuck out here and there from the restless night she spent. Sevika pulled the hair tie down, looking at her hair now framing her face. It reminded her of how you had always complimented how pretty her hair was.

"You should take care of yourself." Sevika wildly turned to try to spot where your voice came from. But there was no one in the bathroom with her. Just... An odd sense of warmth. "Am I becoming like Jinx?" She rubbed her temple with her damp hand. "Should get my ass back to work." She mumbled.

Work. Work for Silco, something that killed you. Painfully, slowly. In her arms. The feeling of your dead body resting in her arms flashed through her head and she squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to scream at it to stop, but she knew just how maniacal it would make her seem so she didn't. She cursed again and leaned against the cold wall. You died in her arm because of something, and with that exact something she was trying to distract herself from grieving your death properly. Although, the amount of grieving she was doing was probably unhealthy, it still seemed inadequate to her considering she blamed herself for your death.

Sevika squeezed her own frame using her flesh hand as she remembered how cold you felt against her in the tub. She bathed you one last time before the burial. "It's your fault." She could hear your voice in her head. "You weren't there. You promised you'd be next to me whenever I needed you the most."

Sevika looked in the mirror, she wanted to bust it, rip the sink off its place and throw it across the bathroom. "I'm going crazy." She breathed, mechanical arm whirring as she bundled her hair and tied it back hastily. The air in the bathroom was stale and she could feel her tears building but she didn't cry. "I'm going fuckin' crazy."

She needed to accept it, this is how her life was going to be for the rest of her life. But it didn't feel okay to accept the fact that you were gone already. Sevika felt like there could've been so much more she could've done to prolong your stay in the world. But Silco's words rung in her brain like a siren. "Death is a blessing sometimes."

Sevika didn't want to take a personal day off work, she needed it to distract her from the lingering sense of loss clawing at her chest. So she forced herself out of the bathroom and back to Silco's office. "Sir." She strode inside. "I'm ready."

"Sevika." Silco said calmly. "You look like you've gone through hell and back, are you sure you can do your work without sulking too bad?"

"I'm certain, sir."

"Alright, so be it." Silco said before starting Sevika's day off with some of the most challenging tasks of the week. He knew it would be hard for her but it would serve as a better distraction than tedious tasks.

Little did any of the two know, you were always watching her. She was, after all, the love of your life. And you simply needed to make sure she was safe. Even if it meant occasionally haunting her.

[scwheeler]

— isn’t it delicate?

luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: a little bit of fighting

summary: how did game night turn into your first kiss with the boy you’ve been crushing on at camp?

a/n: it’s kind of all over the place and i didn’t proofread it so i apologize ahead of time!

this ain't for the best

across the dim-lit cabin eleven, luke could still spot your twinkling eyes that were attracted to the dice rolling in front of you. the euphonious laughter coming from your lips sounded like music to his ears. how your head slowly tilted backwards before catching your balance and opening your mouth once again.

my reputation's never been worse, so

he thanked the “gods” that your cabin agreed to game night as he was almost begging on his knees to your half-siblings that it was a once-in-a-summer experience and they would miss out.

he wasn’t lying, with the stoll twins creating a game tournament behind the little white lie that hermes cabin was just introducing the newbies to fun sleepovers for bonding and friend making, to keep chiron happy and out of their business.

you must like me for me

lounging around in his cabin, trying to take his mind off of the possibility of your cabin, more importantly, you entering the door, luke was making everyone’s beds. as an annoying chore that all the campers avoided, they dared not to interfere or ask him why he was rapidly fluffing pillows and folding blankets.

we can't make

but as his best friend, chris put a hand on his shoulder and spun him around. “you can calm down y’know. it’s only like—six o’clock only.” he pointed to the clock above the treacherously haunting front door. luke sighed and sat down on one of the beds, running his hands through his dark curls.

any promises now, can we, babe?

“but this was the perfect opportunity!” he suddenly exclaimed but quickly lowered his voice once surrounding campers looked at him.

“perfect opportunity to do what exactly? you’ve talked to her like twice—at a max three if you count her saying hi to you this morning.” chris reminded and sat beside the sulking boy. he yet again put a hand on his shoulder, giving a little reassuring pat.

but you can make me a drink

luke faced his best friend to respond but there was a knock at the door that interrupted him. chris thanked whoever it was, or else he would’ve had to witness luke spiral and start his crazy overthinking. a camper near the door went to go reach for the handle but a loud voice stopped him.

“wait! i-i’ll get it!” luke jumped from his seat, giving chris a scare.

dive bar on the east side, where you at?

he rushed to the door as the startled camper now backed away, obviously not wanting to go against the cabin counselor. before turning the handle, he took a deep breath and slightly adjusted his hair. chris mentally cringed at the sight of his best friend being so nervous, yet it was quite funny.

phone lights up my nightstand in the black

mr. cool guy, head counselor, and ‘best swordsman’ at camp was nervous about whether a cabin accepted his proposal of joining hermes’ cabin for a night of monopoly and poker. yes, possibly hilarious even. stifling a laugh, he watched luke open the door with a resounding sense of false confidence.

around ten to twenty campers of all ages were standing in front of him with pillows, blankets, and snacks in hand. for a moment, he was frozen.

come here, you can meet me in the back

not in fright, he’d seen most of these kids wincing on the ground during sword training or fall of the rock wall mid climb, he was the one teaching and catching them.

he was stunned because you weren’t in sight.

“welcome! you guys can chill and relax, meet your friends, and start on games! luke and i will be there in a bit!” someone announced from behind him, alarming just a little. but he easily recognized the voice of his best friend saving his ass.

dark jeans and your nikes, look at you

the excitedly hyper campers burst into the cabin, amping up the noise a couple levels. while they were coming in, luke was stuck in a trance once more but not cause of jitters or worry but because of you and your mere presence.

oh damn, never seen that color blue

as the campers of your cabin were entering the blaring room, you found luke’s eyes. softening your expression, you smiled at the familiar face.

dazed, luke stood straight until chris nudged his side and returned to attending to the campers as promised. leaving the two of you alone and the lack of luke’s acknowledgement of your existence, you decided to clear the awkward air.

just think of the fun things we could do

(cause i like you)

“hey luke.” maintaining your sweet demeanor, you closed the door behind you from letting in more of the cool summer air into the warm cabin.

this ain't for the best

as if someone snapped their fingers, luke blinked and returned to reality. his chest rose while he took another deep breath to calm himself and returned your smile.

“y/n, you came!” he regretted his choice of words and tone the second it came out of his mouth. gritting his teeth, he swore to let you do most of the talking from now on.

my reputation's never been worse, so

“of course i did! i’m known as the ‘monopoly master’ so you know i just had to come to defend my honor.” you emphasized the ‘had’ but deep down you knew it was a simple yes or no question when your cabin asked if you wanted to go. as cabin counselor, you were supposed to always keep an eye on the campers but it was just one night anyway.

you must like me for me (yeah, i want you)

you debated it in your head, did you really want to leave your cozy bed next to your best friends to play some board games with chaotic and overexcited children who were some of the worst sore losers you’ve ever encountered? no.

we can't make

but before you could refuse, your best friend stepped in. in a sing-songy voice, she added a detail that may have swayed your decision making just an inch.

any promises now, can we, babe?

“hermes cabin is hosting it—aka castellan’s cabin.” she smiled at her comment and crossed her eyes with both eyebrows raised. waiting for your answer, you bit your lip and looked to the floor.

okay, so spending your night with campers full of sugar and crying sore losers but luke castellan possibly sparing you a glance and perhaps maybe even a few words? fine, you’d make an appearance.

but you can make me a drink

now here you were, both of your maybes becoming certainly’s. your words were coming out quickly, way faster than you wanted them to. were you rambling? no. yes. no. definitely.

is it cool that i said all that?

why in the heavens did you just say ‘monopoly master’?! why was he not speaking? was he just being friendly by saying hi? of course he was.

is it chill that you're in my head?

you looked away in search of your friends or anyone at this point to make this conservation a little less awkward. but everyone was already sitting and playing games or conversing with each other. you cursed your head for telling you to come, how did you possibly think that he would talk to yo—

a laugh.

he was laughing with the brightest smile ever, his eyes still remaining on yours though. he had one of those contagious laughs, immediately urging you to join him. you couldn’t help yourself but follow, making the both of you look like two crazy idiots laughing at nothing but air.

'cause i know that it's delicate (delicate)

“well i think we better see if your honor will be challenged later tonight, miss ‘monopoly master’” he replied and gave a light-hearted grin.

you could’ve sworn that your heart just fluttered and there was something flying in your stomach. catching your breath, you walked towards the laid out board games where luke was right on your tail. his footsteps were only inches from yours, wanting to be close to you as possible.

is it cool that i said all that?

now luke was admiring your laugh once again. someone would’ve had to drag him with all their strength out of that cabin before his eyes were peeled off of you.

unbeknownst to you, he had been staring ever since the game had began. opting out of this round, he joined chris’ team mid game but remained quiet the rest of the time.

is it too soon to do this yet?

you couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t speaking. he was usually peppy and very talkative, so you’ve heard and seen, but never really experienced. luke was very popular in every group, with the kids who saw him as a role model, those who saw him as their fearless counselor, and especially the girls who fawned over him and his every move (you).

'cause i know that it's delicate

so why was the socially favored extrovert sitting still, fiddling his thumbs from time to time. keeping your head in the game, you could only look up whenever it was chris’ turn, using it as an excuse to peek at him who was almost like a shadow.

isn’t it, isn't it, isn't it?

with such little lighting, only his facial features were highlighted from the candle next to luke. you didn’t mind though as his sharp nose, faint scar and rare flash of a smile were still in view.

isn’t it?

suddenly there was a furious roar of thunder outside, enough to get your attention. you felt an elbow nudge you to the right, making you turn to face your best friend next to you. she leaned in, making sure no one except you heard her whisper.

“are you gonna to go or just keep drooling and dreaming about your boy?”

isn’t it, isn't it, isn't it?

only your eyes widened, now staring back at your friend, dumbfounded. she gave you a ‘stop making it obvious and go!’ look and you kept your eyes down, on the monopoly board. grabbing the two dice and rolling for your turn, you moved your piece and unfortunately landed on a space that chris occupied.

isn’t it delicate?

you groaned in both not wanting to lose and the inconvenience that the universe continued to hand you. however, chris was everything but disappointed, two seconds away from jumping up and down in excitement. you had somehow avoided getting caught in someone else’s city for about ten turns in a row, but now you were stuck by the person you were actually avoiding.

or at least his team member’s.

third floor on the west side, me and you

paying in full to a happy chris, you didn’t catch luke’s chuckle at your expense. not in a ‘ha ha we’re going to win’ way but because of how upset you truly looked. he thought it was cute how badly you wanted to strangle chris for costing you six-hundred million and potentially the win.

“seems like your winning streak is coming to an end!” chris implied and put his hands together as if he was thanking you.

handsome, you're a mansion with a view

you narrowed your eyes, just adding fuel to the fire of your competitive nature. for gods sake, you were an ares kid. tonight, it sure didn’t seem like it though. with your stumbling introduction and now your downfall in monopoly!

“what is the meaning of this!”

everyone collectively jumped and stopped what they were doing, no matter if it was playing cards, a pillow fight, shoving candies in their mouths, or jumping on the beds. even without turning, the voice was evident in its owner: mr. d.

do the girls back home touch you like i do?

“i want everyone in their cabins now! ares cabin return and go to bed right this instance. i will check to see if you are all there, with the lights off soon.” he demanded in a stern voice, forcing your cabin to rapidly grab their belongings and run out the door, unable to even say their ‘goodbye’s.’

long night with your hands up in my hair

“hermes cabin, i want you all to clean this mess up in no more than an hour. i will also come to check that this place is tidy as earlier and that you are all in bed, sleeping. all of you will receive punishments tomorrow morning at six am in the mess hall. do not be late.” he continued, but the last of words left campers moaning and muttering in defeat.

echoes of your footsteps on the stairs

you were collecting your campers and pushing them towards the exit, about to do the same yourself until chiron interfered.

“not you, ms. y/l/n.”

slowly turning to look up in confusion, he continued. “as head counselor of ares cabin, you know the responsibility you earn with that title, correct?”

stay here, honey, i don't wanna share

putting your head down, you avoided his eye contact but nodded. you caught one of the last campers and told them to do as they were told and you would be back soon.

“mr. castellan, i want to speak to you as well.” he insisted and luke reluctantly made his way next to you. something he would never refuse to.

this ain't for the best

“i’m very disappointed in the both of you. knowing both of you were the head counselors of your cabins, i thought you would do the best in keeping them in order and avoiding such events but i was clearly mistaken. c’mon guys, there are only like five major camp rules!” he explained, putting his fingers to his temples and crossing his eyes.

my reputation's never been worse, so

briefly giving each other glances, you mouthed ‘we’re so screwed’ to luke who seemed very relaxed compared to your tense figure. sure, you’d gotten in trouble maybe once or twice but first of all, that was trouble by yourself which meant not costing your entire cabin punishment and it was very unintentionally, making mr. d let you off the hook since it was your first offense.

you must like me for me (yeah, i want you)

however, those were the only times you had ever been caught. there were countless times where you had secretly broken the rules by sleeping in your other friends’ cabins, entering the forest by yourself, switching your seat during meals, and staying in your cabin past eleven at night. one that you have broken yet again.

in response to your nervousness, luke smirked.

we can't make

‘why the hell are you smiling?’ you mouthed but he looked at mr. d now, quite mischievously if you may add.

“mr. d, we terribly apologize for the inconvenience and we swear to never do this ever again, this will be the first and only time.” luke spoke with such sincerity in his tone. he only prayed that mr. d could not detect his lie of it being his first to host.

any promises now, can we, babe?

“well thank you luke, but you two are stil—”

“we are so sorry that we thought it would be best if we made it up to you. perhaps that bottle of 1985 château haut-brion in the galley that has been calling your name ever since it arrived?” luke swiftly suggested, eyebrows raised in persuasion.

but you can make me a drink

mr. d stood invested in luke every word, deeply interested in his statement. he took a breath, almost coming to a realization that luke was trying to bribe him but then he put his index finger to his finger, actually thinking about the offer.

is it cool that i said all that?

you were shocked, in the least. luke castellan was not only a troublemaker and a liar but a hell of a good one. in any of other circumstance, you would be hesitant about bringing up such a suggestion to mr. d but if it meant no punishment for you or luke then you were all for it.

is it chill that you're in my head?

“mr. d, when was the last time you’ve had wine? c’mon you and i both know that diet coke won’t cut it for tonight, i mean it’s friday night!” you stepped in and added in on the coercion.

following your voice, mr. d’s head whipped to face you, definitely tipping the scale towards a ‘yes’ now. luke watched proud at you chasing his suggestion, now with full confidence in his chest.

'cause i know that it's delicate (delicate)

“are two seriously saying that you guys would go down to the galley…get that merlot…and bring it back here to me…?” he repeated and narrowed his eyes.

for a second, you guys were back into your frozen positions until mr. d responded to himself. “cause if you guys are going to do that, then we can just forget about all this.” he admitted, sort of laughing at the mess around the cabin.

is it cool that i said all that?

after agreeing to your end of the bargain, mr. d had let you both off the hook. by the time everything was settled, the campers had finished cleaning up and everyone was ready for bed. therefore, in order to not disturb them, the two of you took a moment outside before you had to run back to ares cabin.

is it too soon to do this yet?

the cabin luckily had an overhead covering near the front door, creating a safety net for you two from the rain. it was raining heavy, yet it wasn’t cold and the summer air still remained. it always rained on the first week of august, like a set reminder to the campers that time was slipping away.

'cause i know that it's delicate

both of you were already slightly drenched from running to the galley and back but using the trees and several camp buildings on the way, you managed to stay quite dry. you couldn’t say the same for luke though, he shook his wet hair to dry off, in search and need of a towel.

“jesus—you’re acting like a wet dog.” you commented and kept moving your head to dodge the water droplets flicking in your direction. trying to maintain a straight face, you kept a tight-lipped smile but laughs slipped from your lips.

isn’t it, isn't it, isn't it?

“why you don’t like it? you’re getting a free shower right now, i think you should be grateful!”

his sarcasm was abundant and stepped closer to you while matching your laughter. you backed up into the outer cabin wall, as he continued to approach until he was only inches away from your face. even with the rain surrounding the pair, you could hear his breathing after his laughs.

isn’t it?

he stayed with a smile on his face, such admiration found in his eyes while staring at you. automatically there was a tug on the corners of your lips, a genuine smile creeping onto your face. he gently moved a strand of hair out of your face, placing it behind your ear.

isn’t it, isn't it, isn't it?

you stayed put, reaching out to the wall supporting your weight. your heart sped up as he got closer, feeling his body heat on yours. you parted your lips to speak but he beat you to it.

“you’re beautiful.”

isn’t it delicate?

his words melted into you, the only warmth in the middle of the rain. you blinked three times before confirming that this was reality, it wasn’t a dream or a fantasy, it was real.

luke castellan had just called you beautiful. the man you were crushing over since he’d pinned you on the ground in capture the flag last year.

sometimes i wonder, when you sleep

no one had ever dared to come near you, too much in fear how old easily you could defeat them. but luke liked a challenge, thus he went straight for it and ignored the rest of plan. something he would definitely pay for later by a pissed annabeth.

he found you in the middle of the forest, the closest person to guarding your team’s flag. he had battled a couple of rouge kids on the way, effortlessly blocking and knocking them down.

are you ever dreaming of me?

he took pride in his swordsmanship and ability to fight, when he first arrived, all he would do was train and practice, day and night.

all of it paid off though in the end, earning the title of ‘best swordsman at camp’ and being quite the deal when it came to activities like capture the flag. however, campers still came at luke, sword in hand. while you were all alone, the only thing accompanying you being the geckos that slithered in the area.

sometimes when i look into your eyes

as a child of ares, you most definitely had a temper, but otherwise you were known to be one of the more ‘composed’ siblings unlike clarisse who would fight a bug that got in her way. you stood out because of your swordsman skills though, climbing up the ranking until you were right below luke.

on the day of capture the flag, you swore that you would beat him and then steal the title he so proudly wore. but when he did arrive to your position near the flag, he didn’t cower in fear or come straight charging at you.

i pretend you're mine all the damn time

instead he casually walked towards you, sword in hand of course but he didn’t even hold it up. he held it like some sort of an accessory, as if he’d never held one before. almost excited to see a person after hours of waiting though, you instantly jumped at the opportunity, discarding his relaxed posture.

is it cool that i said all that?

gripping your sword, you charged first, something you usually did not do but the greed in achieving the title made you think otherwise. he bested you though, eventually proving himself to you why he was known as the ‘best swordsman at camp.’ he ran off with the flag while you were left with a gash on your right arm.

is it chill that you're in my head?

even though after his team won the game and luke had beat you at your most respected trait, he immediately approached you afterwards. this time, he wasn’t holding a sword or wearing armor but just his camp shirt and cheery demeanor. you could’ve bet that it wasn’t him and a completely different camper.

“hey, i’m really sorry about what happened back there. is your arm okay?” he asked, now with worry in his voice like he was one of your close friends or half-siblings.

'cause i know that it's delicate (delicate)

you looked at him weird, confused at the sudden switch-up in his actions. “y-yeah i’m fine.” you responded and looked to join your half-siblings in plotting some devious revenge or something.

but he grabbed your wrist, making sure to not hold the wrong arm. “are you sure? i can walk you to the nurse if you want?” he insisted and pointed to the infirmary that was just down the path.

(yeah, i want you)

“seriously i’m fine.” you continued. it wasn’t like you hated the guy but for someone who just swung a sword at your face and cut your arm, he was surprisingly considerate.

“oh—okay. you were really good out there, i’ve never met anyone else at camp who had their sword so close to my neck.” he joked, attempting to clear the seriously awkward air.

is it cool that i said all that?

you have him a half smile, trying to take his off in lightening the mood. “thanks, i can clearly see why you’re the ‘best swordsman at camp.’” to which he lightly chuckled.

“yeah yeah, but i think you might take that title from me next time!” he mentioned. you couldn’t even tell if he was being sarcastic or not, too distracted with his charming smile.

is it too soon to do this yet?

after that day, luke castellan had been stuck in your mind. you’d see him in the mess hall during meals and passing on campus with his friends, but you never got the courage to talk to him again like you did after capture the flag. maybe it was because you were so annoyed and he just happened to be the first person you ran into! whatever it was, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. no matter what.

'cause i know that it's delicate (delicate)

under similar circumstances, luke watched you quickly dismiss his offer of accompanying you to the nurse and walk off to join the ares kids. you looked back once, probably to see if he was watching you or not and he easily got caught, his eyes lingering. once being noticed, the ares kids started laughing but so did you.

is it cool that i said all that? (isn’t it?)

even though they were clearly laughing at him, for once he didn’t mind it. he couldn’t even see the other kids as you were the only one in view. your hair swaying in the wind as your head moved back and forth. your laugh was sweet, putting a smile on his face as it continued.

is it chill that you're in my head? (isn’t it, isn't it?)

afterwards, he found his eyes attracted to you. if you were at the arts and crafts table or in the archery range, he wasn’t focused on the task at hand or his campers asking a million questions.

he would use his head counselor advantages to sneak glances at you across the field from time to time. pretending to look for a ‘missing’ camper or informing his friends that he thought there was a rare bird sighting, his gaze fixated on you.

'cause i know that it's delicate (isn't it delicate?)

your eyes twinkled in the faded moonlight, water drops laying on your eyelashes. luke’s damp hair aided his curls, his fresh scent seeping through the rain. he reached for your waist as you went for his shoulder, closing the gap between you two.

shutting your eyes, you went for it.

your whispered, unsteady breath indicated your nervousness but it was now or never. luke’s arms curled around your waist, pulling you in completely until your lips met. your hands unconsciously wrapped around his neck, embracing the kiss.

(yeah, i want you)

if you both weren’t holding onto each other, your knees may have buckled right then and there. luke’s chest was pounding, almost loud enough to hear but was too invested in how the other tasted. his lips were soft, a delicate touch that matched his behavior. even with luke’s certainly intimidating figure, he was always sweet and made sure to show his caring abilities towards campers. this was the first time that you felt it firsthand.

is it cool that I said all that? (isn’t it?)

he could tell you were hesitant at first, suddenly pulling slightly away in the beginning but becoming familiar with the feeling. a fire was lit in the pit of your stomach, signaling you to continue. luke could feel it too, your body reaching for his.

now breathless, both of you pulled back, still your hands remaining where they were. his eyes were wide as if you had opened a new world to him. you couldn’t help it but swallow, waiting for him to break the silence.

is it too soon to do this yet? (isn’t it, isn't it?)

“i like you. a lot.”

a little startled, you were left speechless but after observing his worried expression, you had to let him know you felt the same.

“i do too—like you a lot. if you couldn’t tell.” you joked and smiled at him.

'cause i know that it's delicate

that was when he realized he needed this girl. he couldn’t bear to see her smile or laugh with someone else. he wouldn’t let it happen, because his heart was yearning for her. and her only.

a similar grin crept up his face, making you understand why you wanted him so much. his alluring smile had gotten you again, whisking you away from your deepened emotions and warming your heart.

isn’t it delicate?

there was only one possible question you could ask now:

“can i kiss you again?”

[glossgojo]

jon seeing reader in a new dress🤭

omg anon i’m so sorry for seeing this just now but this has got my eye twitching (every jon girl remembers him telling ygritte he’d rip off her dress it’s haunted us long enough…)

fem wife!reader x lord jon snow

you walk in rather casually into the shared space of your living room, jon had some guests over so you made sure to dress properly

the fabric of your gown was a deep blue velvet, adorned with silver embroidery, bell sleeves adorned your arms of a finer material, with a straight skirt, and a heart neckline that displayed your cleavage

when you went to greet the guests you bowed low and deep, they were unfamiliar to you but it didn’t matter, your husband outstretched his hand with wide eyes and small hint of a smile reserved for you alone, pressing a kiss to your hand when it found its place in his

you made polite conversation, all the while feeling jon’s gaze on you every so often, he was stealing rather obvious glances, unbeknownst to you he was counting down the seconds till he could have you all to himself, if you weren’t both under the scrutiny of your guests he would have dug his hands into the flesh of your thighs, letting the material singe his thumbs with how hard he’d grip

NSFW UNDER THE CUT MDNI

it’s not even minutes after the guests leave, maybe a total of ten seconds, all you know is it’s two breaths and a gasp before jon has his hold on you like a wild animal, hoisting you over his shoulder and to the nearest room he can find. he lays you down gently on the furs that line the mattress. you don’t even look down, your eyes are fully trained on him and his ravenous gaze. it makes the slight breeze traveling up your skirt all the more pleasant when you can feel your bare flesh, moisten and clamp down on nothing.

he doesn’t need to hold back any longer, he’s drinking in every inch of you, although he hasn’t even touched you properly you shiver at the way his jaw clenches at your now exposed calves. you hold your breath when he gains on you, predatory and careful like he didn’t want to scare away his little lamb, not that you would dare to run, you were entirely at his will

warm, large hands roughened by the leather of a sword clasp your ankles, tugging you down the length of the bed effectively dragging your skirt up as he planned for, jon’s gaze burns your skin, a flame licking up the trail he leaves and his hands are like fuel, making you writhe under his attention

he tries to wedge himself between your legs finding that your skirt couldn’t accommodate him, a dark look cascading his expression, and you shake your head as he removes a hand and takes a hold of the velvet “jon it’s a new dress.” he spares you an amused glance, tugging it apart and trying to make the fabric stretch, it doesn’t yield as he assumed, but he might as well give it a try for you his pouty wife. you look practically edible splayed out on the bed and he can’t hold back much longer.

“‘aye it is my love and i’ll buy you one in every color, you look beautiful in it.” you try to stop him but you know it would be futile, you hear the rip of the fabric before you can even speak, and then the skirt is pushed off your legs. fortunately it has some semblance of being saved, a tear down one side is manageable, if only you could count on this one being the last. jon swears under his breath at the sight of his wife’s pretty puffy cunt glistening all for him. “the dress never stood a chance.” your legs are hoisted onto his shoulders as he kneels between them, reverent and a ostensibly gentle gaze, drinking you in like he doesn’t plan to ruin you. the warm breath of his exhale fans across your core, pricking the sensitive bud and you shudder beneath him, trying to roll your hips closer to his face, for any semblance

“jon…lord snow please.” your whines snap him out of his trance, his lips pressing to you before he spits onto your cunt, as if it needs more slickness, and dives into you. jon slurps, spits, kisses, bites, and eats like he might never see another drop of liquid again, like he would rather die than be torn from you. you buck and cry his name as his tongue laves over your clit between coercing and drinking straight from your source. you’re about to cum and he can feel it the way you flutter around his tongue so he pulls back, drawing another whine from you. jon seems drunk off your taste as he licks his lips clean and relishes in your scent staining his beard. the sight of him lost in pleasure because of you makes you sit up and pull him up the length of you, urging him to take up the space that pulses for him, the space that feels empty without him. he chuckles at your desperation but assuages you regardless, tearing down the front of your dress, buttons and fabric flying across the room and you can’t find it in you to care, not when jon is latching onto your breast and biting at your nipple, you’re so sensitive you arch into him and try to find some friction by bucking your hips into his. he realizes what you’re doing and pulls off with an obscene pop. his poor wife, flushed and breathing heavy, pouting and writhing beneath him. how could he be so cruel?

your dear husband, finally gave you what he you needed and unbuckled his belt, drawing a sigh of relief from your pretty lips, and you fumbled with his zipper, he brought his hand to your entrance, ready to prep you but you gently slapped his hand away, prying his cock out instead. you didn’t care if it hurt, you needed him so badly and your body screamed for him to fill you up.

jon pressed a kiss to your lips and then your heart before he lifted one of your legs up and onto his shoulder, before pressing into you, you were so tight around him he felt like he had to push into you, a gush of your liquid coating him and his balls, making it easier for him to slip in. when you could feel the heavy tip of his cock brush against your cervix you knew it was in, relaxing and acclimating to his length and girth. jon was shallowly and slowly thrusting in and out to help you, but as soon as you shook your head slightly he knew you were giving him permission, permission to ruin you as he wanted

he pulled all the way out before slamming back into you, knocking against your cervix and jerking you up the bed, your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at the sensation of feeling so empty and then all at once filled so much you swore you could feel him in your lungs, the air was knocked out of you because of it, but your husband, still drunk off of you didn’t give you any time to recover as he continued his bruising pace, fucking you so hard the bed scraped against the floor and you worried the headboard would leave a dent in the wall. he had no such concerns, pulling your hips into his, as if he could reach further into you, when that proved unsuccessful he pulled your other leg over his shoulder and pushed down, down, down until his hips were flushed with yours and driving into the bed, the new angle made him curve against you, his tip hammering against the spot inside you that made you scream his name. in a few more thrusts you were coming around him, spasming and clenching him so much he felt close too and that wouldn’t do. he let you ride out your orgasm, his pace unfaltering but to him that was acquiescing enough. of course when the wood under the mattress snapped he had no choice but to pull you off of the bed, carrying you (speared onto his cock) to the desk nearby. you moaned at the change in position when he stood, pressing into you deeper and the pain of him pushing against your cervix had you near tears.

he put you down on your shaky legs before turning you around, pushing you against the desk and your fuzzy mind caught up to his actions, you gripped the edge of the mahogany in preparation for what was to come. the skirt was once again shoved up your legs and jon pressed into you from behind, a new angle offered new sensations and your clit bumped the wood with his first experimental thrust, earning a groan from you, jon moaned at the new position too, satisfied with how he could dive into you without the fear of breaking you, you weren’t so sure about that though with how deep you could feel him.

the sound of the desk shaking was negligible against the sick squelch of your cunt, you were nearly dripping onto the floor underneath you, you had came again at some point and then again and the orgasms began to blur into one hazy blissed filled sensation, your cunt tingling and spasming around jon

you could feel that he was close, the twitching inside you and the tightening grip on your hips told you enough, finally when you moaned his name, jon always loved to hear it from your lips, did he come inside, rope after rope filling you up and then out when there was no space left, he pulled back and held your skirt up so he could watch your hole pucker and try desperately to keep it all in

your legs crumbled underneath you as his weight left yours, the support you needed now gone and jon cooed at your shaky form, covering you in his discarded robe and carrying you out in your half-torn dress to a different room, one with an unbroken bed. your skin burned at the thought of your staff having to clean it up the next day, but then it wasn’t the first time they’d found such a state and it wouldn’t be the last with how your husband looked down at you, he still looked ravenous. oh you were in for a long night, especially given that your dress was still partially on your body, jon had more plans for the remaining fabric

okay i went a lil crazy (not gonna read the word count im embarassed)

[sycamoregirlsworld]

If I can’t have us.. -L. Castellan

luke castellan x fem! reader

a collection of memories between luke and his girlfriend, because no one understands him but her.

“i’ll build you a fort on some planet where they can all understand it.” -taylor swift

i’m back surprise surprise

The days following the betrayal had been hard for her.

She seemed to be stuck in limbo, she was like a ghost- a husk of herself floating through the day, not knowing where to go or what to feel.

Camp without Luke didn’t seem right, life without Luke didn’t feel right.

The girl sat at the dining pavilion alone, fiddling with the hem of one of his old crewnecks as she averted her gaze from her fellow campers. They eyed her with an expression of wariness, and while it hurt, she didn’t blame them.

The whispers were what cut deep.

I’m not surprised he ran off his Kronos! He always seemed off to me… I’m surprised she didn’t run off without him!

She had been living in her head the past few days to ignore the whispers, thinking of better times to distract from the hurt.

Despite everything, (Y/n) couldn’t bring herself to think ill of Luke, unlike her fellow campers.

They didn’t know him like her.

And maybe there was a nostalgic haze clouding her vision, but maybe it was just love.

⋆✦⋆

“Babe, watch my dive!”

(Y/n) sat up from her spot on the rock and frowned as she saw Luke standing on one of the taller rocks.

“That water is really shallow, Luke!” She called back, shielding her eyes from the warm sun.

“It’ll be fine!” He waved her off as he begin to back up slightly, preparing to take a running jump.

(Y/n) bit her lip in fear as she watched him jump off the rock and into the sparkling water, droplets from the splash sprinkling her face.

She breathed out a sigh of relief when he popped out of the water with a boyish grin, shaking the water from his curls like a wet dog. “Did it look cool?” He smiled up at her as he swam closer.

The girl rolled her eyes but couldn’t bite back her smile as she brushed a wet curl from his forehead. Okay yeah, it did look cool. But she wasn’t going to admit that. “You had a good form, I guess.”

“You guess?” Luke scoffed as he grabbed her ankles. “That dive probably could’ve gotten me an Olympic ten!”

“An Olympic ten?” She snorted. “What do you know about an Olymp—” Before she should finish her question, Luke had tugged on her legs and pulled her into the water with a laugh.

And even though she was choking up the water that had went up her nose, (Y/n) hadn’t felt more at peace then in this moment.

⋆✦⋆

“Morning, beautiful.” Luke smiled softly as his girlfriend sat down next to him. “You slept in late.”

(Y/n) frowned and looked at the table, seeing how little food was left. “Probably too late, I missed breakfast.”

Luke sighed dramatically and grabbed her hand. “That really sucks. You have no food, you’re going to starve.”

“Luke—” Her shoulders fell as she looked up at him. “Don’t rub it in.”

It was silent for a moment before Luke pushed a plate towards her, smiling softly. “Yeah, it must suck that your boyfriend didn’t save you any breakfast.”

A sense of pride swelled within his chest as her face lit up at the sight of chocolate chip waffles, her favorite.

Before she grabbed the plate, she pressed a kiss to the bottom of his jaw. “You’re the best.” She mumbled.

Luke laughed fondly before kissing her forehead. “Yeah, yeah. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you starve?”

This was weird for him, but it was a nice kind of weird. With (Y/n) he didn’t feel like Luke Castellan: Best Swordsman in Camp and the  counselor of the Hermes cabin.

He was just Luke. Or, as she liked to call him: babe, baby, dumbass, jerk, or whatever other nickname she came up with.

It all melted away with her. They just felt so… domestic. They werent two demigods who were dealt a bad hand at life when they were with eachother. They were just Luke and (Y/n), and he loved Luke and (Y/n).

⋆✦⋆

Quiet days at Camp Half-Blood were hard to come by.

There was always something going on. Capture the flag, sword training, archery, or other physically strenuous things.

So whenever there was free time to sit around and spend time with eachother, Luke and (Y/n) made sure to take it.

Sure— they practically saw each other every hour of everyday, but most of the time they were sparring.

And (Y/n) wasn’t a fighter.

It’s not that she wasn’t a good fighter, as she had trained with Luke and he made sure she was good, she just didn’t enjoy it.

What she enjoyed most was spending time doing the things she enjoyed, like reading and Luke.

There was an area by the lake they had made their own. It was semi-secluded and far enough away from the shoreline to keep dry but close enough for a pretty view. (Although both would argue that eachother was the prettiest view.)

None of their friends ever found the two in this spot, but it wouldn’t be uncommon for them to be found draped across the picnic blanket, Luke’s head in her lap with her fingers tangled in his hair and the sound of (Y/n)‘s voice struggling through a book.

Luke laughed as he heard his girlfriend mess up another line. He thought it was cute that she enjoyed reading out loud to him, despite her dyslexia.

Currently, she was attempting to read Emma, which was written in older English which made it all that harder for her to read.

But yet she persisted, and Luke admired that about her.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes playfully as pushed his head off her lap. “Don’t laugh. You can’t even read this either.”

Luke frowned as he was pushed off of her lap and sat up. “Why’d you push me off?”

“You’re such a baby..” She mumbled with a smile. “Imagine what everyone would think if they saw you right now.”

The brown haired boy grabbed her chin gently and leaned in closer. “You know I don’t care about that.”

His warm breath fanned her face as he spoke. “I just love you, why wouldn’t I be like this?”

For her, he would mold like clay. Forming to be whatever she wanted whenever she wanted.

Of course, (Y/n) never wanted him to be anything but himself.

And that was even better. She never expected anything but love out of him, and that he was happy to give.

(Y/n) averted her face from him as she bit her lip. “You go so soft around me. Nothing like swordsman Luke.”

“I definitely don’t go soft.” Luke snorted as he pulled her into his lap.

“Luke!” Her face bloomed red as she heard his innuendo. “You’re such a freak.”

“Yeah, but you love it.” He shrugged before leaning forward to connect their lips.

⋆✦⋆

The seventeen year old bit at her nails in anxiety.

She was standing outside the Hermes cabin, debating on whether or not she should go see her best friend.

“What are you doing outside?”

(Y/n) flinched in shock at the sudden noise and turned around, frowning as she saw Luke standing behind her.

“Oh.. sorry, I thought you were inside.” She rubbed at her arm as she looked away, a nervous habit she had picked up.

“Oh? Did you want to see me?” Luke smirked as he leaned against a post, his brown eyes glinting up at her.

“I mean… yeah.” She shrugged as she stepped down to his level. “You know, you’re going on that quest and—”

“Aw, you wanted to wish me luck!” Luke reached down to intertwine their fingers, something normal between the two friends.

“Duh.” She snorted before taking a deep breath. “I also wanted to tell you to be safe. You’ve got people back at camp waiting for you.”

Luke’s cheeks felt warm at her words. Of course him being careful was always the plan, he didn’t want to die on the quest.

And he did have people he wanted to come back to, like her.

“Who are these people?” He covered up his feelings towards her with a teasing smile, running a hand through his brown curls.

He held his breath in anticipation as she looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. Was this it? Was she finally going to admit that she liked him?

“Annabeth. She’s like your sister, she’d be heartbroken if you left.” (Y/n) said in a hushed tone, knowing that the little girl could’ve been anywhere around camp. “Be safe for her.”

Luke deflated as he heard Annabeth’s name. That can’t be why she came here! He huffed and grabbed both of her shoulders, pulling her closer.

“(Y/n).” He said firmly, looking down at her with hooded eyes. “I find it hard to believe you came here to tell me to be safe for Annabeth’s sake.”

“W-what do you mean?” She asked incredulously. “Why is it hard to believe that I want to to be safe for Annabeth.”

“Because Annie can speak for herself, you know that.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s not the only one who cares about me, is she?”

“Well, of course not..” (Y/n) sighed as she crossed her arms. “I care about you.”

“But you don’t want me to come home to you?”

“L-Luke that’s not— I didn’t mean—” She stuttered as she looked up at him, her eyes wide and frantic.

“Then be selfish for once, ask me to come home for you.” He breathed out as he cupped her face.

The tender way in which he held her contrasted with the roughness of his hands, years of sword fighting causing them to become rugged. It felt right.

(Y/n) gave in as she melted into his touch, it never took much convincing from him for her to break.

“Come home for me.” She whispered as squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Luke. I—”

Luke’s thumb grazed over her cheek as he fought the urge to lean in closer. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll always be here.”

Slowly, Luke tilted her head towards him. “Can I—” He pursed his lips in hesitation. “Can I kiss you?”

⋆✦⋆

It was a miracle. Divine intervention, perhaps.

It wasn’t often that Luke’s team had won against Clarisse’s during capture that flag, but when they did it was a huge deal.

“Babe!” Luke’s boisterous voice yelled as he ran over to his girlfriend. “We won!”

His body slammed into hers as he hugged her tightly, their armor making a clash! as they collided.

“I know! I’m so proud of you.” She beamed up at him as he pulled away. She really was, beating the team that had the Ares cabin on it was always difficult.

(Y/n) squealed happily as Luke picked her up by her waist and spun her around, happy laughs escaping his mouth as he squeezed her.

“Proud of me? I’m proud of you!” He said as he set her down on the ground.

“Oh whatever, you’re the captain.” She leaned up on her toes to give him a peck on his cheek. “I didn’t do much.”

“Is it a crime for me to be proud of my girl?” He smirked and threw an arm around her waist, tugging her closer.

“No.” (Y/n) blushed when he called her his girl, “But you should be more proud of yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Luke shrugged nonchalantly. “But I like sharing my victory with my girlfriend.”

He leaned down and kissed her, his hands immediately finding their home on her waist.

He didn’t care if his friends thought he was lame for being so openly affectionate towards (Y/n), she was the only one that mattered.

The girl laughed into the kiss as he squeezed her waist. “Luke, we’re still in the middle of everyone.” She mumbled as she pulled away.

Luke looked around at the crowd before smirking.

“Well…” He started as he looked down at her, his eyes hazy and his smile wide.

Before she knew it, Luke had thrown her over his shoulder and began to march out of the field.

“Let’s get out of here!”

⋆✦⋆

[kisakis-boyfriend]

May I get head canons of Kaveh, Bennett, and Freminet getting hit with some sorta sex pollen so reader blows their backs out to save their lives? Big Fuck-or-Die Vibes

You sure can! Reader is a dom/top male as usual~

All characters are depicted as 20+ as well~

-

Kaveh

Just my luck, he thinks as a blast of pollen hits him directly in the face. Nothing good ever comes from touching strange plants...

The effects come on quickly, sending tingles throughout his entire body, the feeling is especially noticeable in the area between his legs

Kaveh calls out your name, stumbling towards you and clinging onto your arms for stability. You're understandably worried and reach out to cup his face when he suddenly drops to his knees, humping at your leg desperately

You stare at him wide-eyed, watching him whimper as he clutches your pants tightly, begging for you to fuck him

Kaveh cries until you finally do just that, not even bothering to fully remove either of your articles of clothing. Instead, you simply pull his pants down so that you have access to his hole, and pull your own down far enough to shove your cock into him

His legs tremble as you ram into him relentlessly, overtaken by some unfathomable pleasure coursing through his veins

The only thoughts floating around in that pretty little head are “need cock” and “needtocumneedtocumneedtocum!! ”

You end up fucking him for a while as the effects of the mysterious pollen persist for hours. Just pounding his wet hole over and over, making his pretty back arch so far off of the ground, cumming again and again as he cries and moans loud enough to lose his voice that night

Kaveh is so incredibly embarrassed about it the next day...he doesn't fully understand what came over him and apologizes profusely 😞

Bennett

He doesn't think much of it at first. After all, he's used to things like this happening, well aware of his terrible luck

But he quickly realizes that something is wrong. A little bit of pollen shouldn't cause him to think of being railed by your thick cock out of nowhere...

Bennett tries to hold it together, not wanting to bother you with something so lewd all of a sudden, but he soon gives in and tells you about his thoughts

You're a bit concerned about why this happened and what kind of plant could do such a thing, but you save those thoughts for later, swiftly pinning Bennett to the wall of some ruins and removing his shorts

If you don't want to get caught by some poor adventurer passing by, you'll have to cover Bennett's mouth or create a makeshift gag because he is LOUD

He's wet literally everywhere. Drool running down his chin, cum dripping down his dick from multiple orgasms, his ass is wet and messy because you've been drilling into him for over an hour now, tears are probably running down his pretty cheeks as he's so overstimulated too

But he insists that you don't stop, clawing at the back of your shirt and screaming “yesyesyesyesyes—!! ” as you pound into him harder

Also embarrassed about it when he finally comes back to his senses. Your reassuring smile does ease his mind a little though 🧡

Freminet

You swam away for only a second, taking a picture of some pretty seashells before returning to your diving partner...only to find him swatting away some sort of goo? Spores? You weren't really sure, more concerned with helping Freminet to the surface

Quickly ascending to the surface world, the two of you found a secluded place to sit so that you could assess his condition

By that time though, the substance had already begun to work its magic. Freminet breathed heavily as his dick brushed against the fabric of his pants

You reached out a hand with the intent to feel his forehead, seeing as his cheeks were a deep crimson, but Freminet grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand down to his bulge. Immediately moaning and humping against your hand

Apologies spilled from his lips, simultaneously begging you to fuck him in the same breath. You were concerned, but quickly connected the dots

After finding a soft spot in the grass, you removed his clothing, slipping your pants off and pushing your cock into his ass

Freminet's hands dig into your arms as you force your length deeper inside of him, broken moans falling out of him as tears spill down his cheeks

He begs for you to go faster, fuck him harder, cum in him again, please? Just don't stop or he'll cry harder

His small body bounces with every thrust, surely there will be dark purple bruises covering his waist due to the vice grip you have on him

He'll be incredibly sore for the rest of the day, walking with a limp because of how hard you fucked him, probably still apologizing for asking you to do that so suddenly...

Freminet will also need tons of aftercare and reassurance, just be extra gentle with him for a few days 💙

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

wow this is another difficult one to go through. okay. okay.

it's been 57 years since we saw agatha kill her mother and the salemites - agatha should now be around 74, 75. how many of those years has she spent with rio? even if they met right away, that is a comparatively short time considering their long lives (rio's especially) and the almost 300 years they stayed separated afterwards.

the first thing we notice about the scene: just how damn green it is.

the forest and the river - rio, nature, is everywhere.

we're not told why agatha is running, but the obvious answer is that she is running from rio. she's in her shift, she was probably in their bed in the little cabin in the woods going through labor. and then rio told her that nicky was going to be stillborn and, in typical agatha fashion, she bolted, she tried to buy time, to bargain, to outrun the inevitable. but nature is all around, engulfing her. trying to escape is futile.

I so appreciate how bloody this scene is but I can't watch it, it's too much. she's run as far as she could, but the baby is coming now. she bites on a lemon and pushes. no family, no coven, no midwife. the one person in her corner, rio, has betrayed her.

that shot of rio so small between the trees, and yet the same exact color as the leaves? both one tiny person and the very essence of nature everywhere? I've got chills.

rio has brought her orchid so you know how serious the situation is. and I believe the costume department called this a shepherdess outfit? she chose this gentle look to guide nicky's little innocent soul to the other side.

you need to look at plaza's acting closely in this scene because while agatha's pain is on full display, raw and open, rio is keeping her pain close to her chest, she has no other choice. she swallows, she shakes her head ever so slightly. agatha is shaking her head too, completely and utterly devastated.

Rio walks closer, strong determined steps that don't match how difficult she's finding it to speak. her face contracts with pain before she smooths it back in a neutral expression. she shrugs a little, so small and apologetic. remember how formidable she was with alice, how clear she made it look that there was no escape? she can't quite bring herself to do that here.

you know by now what it means when agatha clutches her chest like that. you've seen her poor heart.

she licks her lips, she straighten up, vicious, ready to go into battle, ready to bite and hurt and beg and do everything, everything in her power to save nicky. we get this scene at the very end, when we know agatha and rio and their dynamic so intimately, and it's so easy to read what's happening. agatha will never go down with dignity, she'll fight till her last breath.

rio gives the tiniest of nods, she takes a deep breath. she knows agatha so well, she didn't expect anything less. while agatha is all over the place, rio is so still. her eyes are huge, and there's one stubborn tear that she's not allowing to fall. this has always been their dynamic - agatha's pain is too overwhelming, it engulfs all, there's no containing it. rio has to be strong and wise for the two of them.

this is rio losing her wife and child in one tragic swoop. this is rio being cast as the villain that took nicky's life.

this is futile. we can't fight Death.

oh, but she will try. she's been trying since we've known her. since she killed that poor dog to see if wanda could do something about it.

Death makes her decision.

not only does the grim reaper refuses to reap a soul. for the first time in all of history, she actively uses her magic to stop someone from dying. it goes against everything she stands for, and it's ultimately useless, because not even the power of the greatest Green Witch can heal nicky, she can only delay the inevitable. but she does it anyway, because she loves agatha too much. even if she knows perfectly well that she's just lost her forever.

rio is apparently impassible, but look closer: her nostrils are flaring, her jaw is trembling. if rio can't kill, by logic she can't generate life either. not that she's not able to - she's not allowed to, because she needs to be impartial. because if she lets herself fall in love with someone, it might just happen that their child will be stillborn in 18th century nowhere, massachusetts and Death might not be able to be selfless and impartial about it.

and then bye bye, sacred balance.

who the fuck came up with this story? and made it about lesbians, too? was it you, jac? I don't know if I want to kiss you or scream at you.

agatha doesn't recognize the world-shattering decision, the unprecedented sacrifice rio has just made for her. she can only think about nicky. how much time has she won? a day? a month? ten years? not knowing is torture.

and look, this is agatha, selfish to her very core. but can you blame her? can you feel anything but infinite pity and understanding for her at this moment? who is even to blame here? agatha, a mother begging for her child's life? rio going against every law and everything she believes in to give her beloveds one fleeting moment of reprieve?

there is no one to blame, not even nature - it has no concept of tragedy. (now that I think about it, agatha is the only person in history who could ever made nature feel.)

you did it, agatha, you made Death go away. you made your choice. it's you and nicky now.

oh god, kathryn, don't make that face. it's too much.

I spoke no spell, I said no incantation, you were made from scratch. the utter beauty that is agatha, the witch killer, the master of spells and craft, creating a baby (almost) the old fashioned way - the magic of life that no spell could ever improve.

this is agatha claiming nicky as hers. not rio's, only hers. she sought to have him for arguably selfish but deeply human reasons: because she needed to prove her mother wrong. because she wanted someone who would love her unquestioningly, unconditionally. because she was so, so lonely, and rio alone couldn't fill the chasm in her heart. she wanted her coven to grow from two to three, but looks like it's coven two again: her whole happiness is once again tied to only one person.

the little feetsies!

this shot, dear lord. green leaves and water taking over.

this entry was a lot. I need a hug.

go to episode 9 part 2