#and after the last few years the only way i cope with anything is having a safe space to hide from stuff

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

tfw you're not sure if it's anxiety or hunger making your stomach hurt so you try to eat and unfortunately it was definitely anxiety

[yndrgrl]

for some reason, your enemy, yandere! katsuki bakugo, is oddly possessive over you

lowkey yandere! reader. smut. fem!reader. regular au. enemies (with benefits) to lovers. virgin! reader mentioned. jealous! bakugo. lowkey! angst the highkey! fluff.

warnings: nsfw, mentions of virginity being taken by katsuki, public sex stuff, tit fucking, degrading, free use, oral (fem receiving), rough fucking, choking, masochism??

a/n: should i start doing more drabbles & headcannons or do you guys like the long fics?

---

katsuki loves seeing you angry.

it's such a strict contrast, really. you're usually calm, put together, level-headed with a hint of dark humor & sarcasm. you seemed like you had unweavering patience when it came to the daily annoyances from stubbing your toe to helping a student that couldn't seem to grasp a subject, no matter how many times you tried explaining it.

the only person who could get under your skin was a certain, arrogant classmate who always had something to say. he would never say anything absurdly rude, but it would always get on your nerves. "the back of your shirt isn't tucked in, dumbass." "your lip gloss color is too bright on you, fuckin' idiot." "there's an easier way to do that, stupid."

maybe it was the tone he gave you-- condescending. maybe it was the way he was so predictable, always following up with a coy smirk. you didn't know why he was the only one to irk you, but you do know one thing, you hate him.

& he hates you.

yet for some reason, you two know more about each other than anyone else. you know how much katsuki hates sweet things, so you'll dump half a bottle of that cheap teriyaki sauce that tastes like artificial sweetener into his spicy ramen when he's cooking. he knows how you have your backpack organized, so he'll purposefully put things into the wrong place just to annoy you.

you two were obvious rivals in almost all aspects of life, & yet the two of you are attached by the hip. he was always in your dorm room while you did your homework, blowing on your ear or messing with stuff he knows he's not supposed to. you would find yourself in the gym with him late at night, sitting on the floor as you watched him to an exercise you didn't wanna do.

your friends would always ask about him, which was another way he would get on your nerves. even when he's not there, his name would get thrown around. "so, (y/n), when are you & bakugo gonna make it official," snickered jiro.

"yeah! we wanna know," momo chimed in. you've had this conversation with anyone who knew you & bakugo, & your answer was always the same.

"NEVER!"

the funny thing about "never" is that it means you, at no time in the future or in the past or on any occasion, would ever, ever even glance at bakugo with any sort of care or attraction. "never" means the only look you'd throw his way is a glare.

yet, there you were, under him, contradicting "never." this arrangement -secret rendezvous & lustful activities- happened a few weeks ago, you remember it so vividly. it was a late night, & you & bakugo were dead tired after training (aka fighting non-stop) with each other for hours followed by studying at his dorm. the two of you weren't done until late, so you told him that you were going to stay in his dorm whether he liked it or not.

another snarky argument ensued, which mellowed into vulnerable confessions. you told him you've never had a partner because you've never had any intimate experience before, so how would you even cope? that night, you lost your virginity to your enemy, & it was so addictive.

after that, your guys' dynamic didn't change outwardly. if people paid attentions a bit more, they would've seen the two of you holding pinkies during lunch. he would sit a tad bit closer in class. it's a good thing you've been wearing your hair down because your neck was covered in hickies.

today, katsuki was even more annoying than he has been the last year. something was coursing through his veins. he was so much more daring, so much more of a bully today.

it started when you woke up in his bed, naked after a night of taboo touches. even last night, he was different, something on his mind. groggily, katsuki shot you a lazy smirk. his fingertips ghosted over your exposed skin while you laid on his bare chest. goosebumps followed in his fingers' wake. you laid there for a moment longer then said, "we should probably get ready for school."

"hm.."

"what?"

"i just need something taken care of, (y/n)," said katsuki, voice deep. you felt him against your thigh that was draped across his hips.

"k-katsuki, we-we can't," you blushed. your protests went unanswered as he started to mark your neck. his love bites trailed around your neck, down to your collarbone.

"shhh, just relax," katsuki whispered as he groped your tits. as quickly as he removed his hand, it was replaced by his mouth, suckling on your nipple; his fingers pinched the other. his free hand dove between your legs.

"katsuki!" you gasped, pussy still sore from last night. you couldn't help but grind your clit against his palm while his fingers were knuckle-deep and pressing against your g-spot. "go-gonna cum," you moaned out, & it was like a switch flipped inside of katsuki.

he pulled his fingers out of your dripping cunt. climbing atop of you, katsuki sneered"didn't i tell you quiet?" he shoved his fingers coated in your juices down your throat, making you gargle in surprise.

his heavy cock laid between your hickey-covered tits. "press your tits together," he commanded. you must've given him a confused look because he instructed sternly, "use your hand & fuckin' press your tits around my cock, nerd." oh god, how he made you so mad. you couldn't even tell him off.

that morning, he finished all over your face & tits. he smacked your cheek a couple of times with his semi-hard cock before getting off of your body to get a towel for you.

the two of you sat in aizawa's class, next to each other, like you didn't have to wash katsuki's cum out of your hair just before school started. what was embarrassing was that your friends (bless their sweet, sweet souls) complimented you, which wasn't out of the norm. however, they were gushing about how your skin was absolutely glowing.

katsuki, knowingly, shot you look of pride. he is truly the worst.

the next period came & went, & then you were stuck in another class with katsuki. your teacher decided that they were sick & tired of the regular routine, so they led the class to the library. they essentially said, "run wild, don't leave the library, & leave me to my own devices."

it's not like you were complaining; you've been wanted to pick up a new book to read so you browsed the aisles. were you also avoiding katsuki? a bit. today, especially, he was just too much. his unfortunately well-placed cockiness & his eagerness to get his hands all over you was a deadly combination.

as your eyes darted from the selection of books, the one you wanted just so happened to be on the top shelf. it wasn't unreachable to you, but it was an inconvenience. you creased your shoes as you went on the tips of your toes, trying to get a grasp of the book when a larger, familiar hand gripped yours. standing behind was katsuki, towering over you. out of instinct, you retracted your hand away, & he grabbed the book

you were about to say thank you when he placed it on top of the shelf. you could barely even see it, so there way no way you were going to be able to reach it. "i want to read that," you deadpanned, trying to turn around but katsuki's hands were on your shoulders. "h-hey, you're not doing what..." your voice trailed off.

his hands glided down your shoulders, caressing the curve of your figure, then stopped at the hem of your skirt. "are you crazy?!" you whisper-shouted at the blonde, to which he just scoffed.

he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, & all you heard was rustling of fabric. he flipped your skirt up, covering his erect cock with it. sandwiched between your thick ass, he started to grind against you. "then stop me," katsuki whispered into your ear. he brushed your hair away from your neck & blew on your sensitive bruises forming on your skin. "just don't be too loud~ you don't wanna get in trouble, do you?" he snickered, pushing your panties to the side. katsuki shoved his girthy cock inside of your hole, stretching your already-aching walls.

you slapped your hands over your mouth to muffle your gasp. you could hear students, your classmates, talk all around the library. sure, you were tucked away on the second floor in a quiet corner, but you were still in public.

he started rutting his hips against you, shallow & uneven. he was testing the waters to see how far you'd let him go. with the fear of getting caught & utter adrenaline pumping through you, you tried to push away katsuki. his response was to pin your hands against the book shelf & pound your dripping pussy. soft smacks were only heard by you two, no one else close enough to hear the huffs & the mewls.

they say keep your friends close, & your enemies closer, & maybe you've taken that to heart. now, katsuki, your sworn enemy, knows your body inside & out. he knows how much you love being manhandled, which is why he made you arch your back as held your arms above your head while he thrusted in & out of you.

your pussy twitches, as it does every time when you're about to lose yourself in the pleasure, & katsuki knows this too. you were chasing your high, your eyes lulled to the back of your head when, suddenly, he pulled out. "k-katsuki!" you groaned in annoyance & shock. he was a selfish person with the stamina of a sex god. you'd usually cum several times all over his cock before he'd ejaculate inside you.

he flashed you his signature smirk as he wiped his dick with your navy blue skirt. he zipped his pants back up & redid his belt. with a shrug, he sauntered away, & you were left with a knot in your stomach, ratty hair, & frustration bubbling inside of you.

you were not going to entertain whatever sick fantasy he was trying to fulfill. you avoided him the best you could, however the two of you shared pretty much every class together. purposefully, you'd be the last one to class so you wouldn't have to sit beside katsuki. it always landed you in the front of the class, & you could feel his gaze burning holes in the back of your head, but it didn't matter. distance is what he deserved.

you were so mad at him that you didn't even want to look his way, you didn't want to be in his general vicinity.

the moment you saw him notice you, you would walk away from him. your plan was working to your favor until the evening. katsuki & you had very similar day-to-day routines. because you were always stealing portions of katsuki's food in the evening, your stomach began to grumble like clockwork. however, the moment you go downstairs, you would have to confront katsuki.

between the hunger you felt & your distain for the blonde, your hunger felt insatiable-- unfortunately for you. it was hard to ignore because you, while trying to avoid katsuki, skipped your regular meals. all you have in your room is an empty mini fridge, a water dispenser, & a couple of snacks that won't do anything but upset your stomach.

"ughhh," you let out a groan, getting out of the comfort of your bed. you slipped on a pair of pj pants over your spandex shorts & house slippers, prepared to tell katsuki off while stuffing your face with the food he's cooked.

knock. knock.

you jumped, almost letting out a shocked gasp. "oi! open up, stupid!" it was katsuki on the other side of your dorm door. you held your breath... maybe he hasn't heard you yet? "i know you're in there!"

"goddamn it, katsuki! go away," you shouted back as you walked towards your door. you looked through your peephole, only to see an agitated katsuki holding onto something.

"would you stop being a fuckin' child & open the door?"

"no, you're the childish one! get out of here, & go suck midoriya's dick!" just as katsuki can effortlessly get under your skin, you can do the same with him.

he punched your door, which sent vibrations around the door & frame. "you're such a fuckin' kid, (y/n)! i know this is 'cuz i didn't let you cum all over my co-"

abrasive, you threw open your door & dragged the loud-mouth into your room. your hand threw itself over his mouth as you seethed, "would you shut your damn mouth, people can hear you." under your hand, he smirked & kissed the palm of your hand. you tried to pull away with an embarrassed blush, but he gripped your wrist to keep you in place.

he kept leaving butterfly kissed on your palm, maintaining eye contact with you. each gentle kiss shot tinges of pleasure through your nerves. "wh-what are you doing?"

"you're so sensitive, y'know," he responded, kissing up your arm while pulling your closer to him. since when was katsuki this affectionate? your eyes glossed over slightly as he trailed kissed up your arm. sighs of content escaped your plush lips when he started to kiss your collarbone. something brushed against your leg, & that's when you noticed him holding something.

"wh-what is that?" you asked, dragging your nails down his arm that was gripping it. goosebumps appeared all over his arm, & he tensed up.

he cleared his throat. he pulled away from you, &, if you didn't know any better, it seemed as though he were nervous. "it's the reason i'm here in the first place," he grumbled, avoiding eye contact. it was a box wrapped in an all-might cloth.

"oh, you mean you're not just here to torment me & use me," you shot back. you were still so, so angry with him.

he looked at you, eyes wide. "what the hell are you goin' on about, woman?"

you were about to tell him off, all your pent-up frustration about to spill out of your throat when you were cut off by a distinct grumble-- your stomach. katsuki scoffed, but it was clear what you said played over & over in his mind. "it doesn't matter right now, just eat." he shoved the cloth into your hand & sat on your bed; you followed in suit.

unwrapping it by pulling the knot, it came undone to reveal two dark wood bento boxes, two pairs of chopsticks, & two spoons. he took the utensils off the top to place them on the fabric & opened the top bento to give to you. decorated beautifully (& almost intimately) was a homemade bento with onigiri shaped in the traditional triangle along with your favorite protein with pieces of bell peppers, carrots, & other veggies cut into the shapes of hearts & stars. your rice ball had a cute cat face made out of seaweed. you bursted out in laughter, "wh-what is all this!?"

"shut up, asshole!" face flushed, katsuki yelled. "i fuckin' care about you or whatever." your laughter died down, taking in the words he was saying. "when you didn't eat lunch or come train with me or go get a pastry at that one god-awful cafe, i knew i pushed you too far."

"you think?" you retorted as your tapped the tips of your chopsticks against the bento. he took his & took off the lid to reveal his: scraps. it was enough to make him full, but it wasn't as pretty as yours. it was all just thrown in there without a care. the middle of his carrots & bell peppers had heart-shaped holes cut out of them. while your sauce was in a small container to avoid your food getting soggy, his was tossed in there, coating everything. his onigiri was just a ball with the classic seaweed strip.

"learn to shut up for once, will ya?! god, i made you food, so could you just sit there & look pretty & just listen?"

"fine, say what you wanna say," you huffed, taking a bite out of your food.

"listen, (y/n)," he started, "i know i'm harsh & not the best, & i get why you hate me, but i'm not trying to use you. yeah, i like that you & i do the nastiest shit together, but i also like just... walking around with you. you might think that it's just 'cuz i wanna get in your pants, but i couldn't care less about that shit. i don't know, i'm just, i'm sorry, alright?" this rant was so uncharacteristically not him but him at the same time. he was vulgar, yet vulnerable. he apologized.

"katsuki..."

"& i was just messin' with you 'cuz damn raccoon eyes told me that dunceface was gonna ask you out. i know that we're just doing stuff so you'll feel more confident in, i don't know, fucking, but i don't want you with anyone else. i messed up, i know. i just... d'know, i just want you to yearn for me as much as i need you."

"katsuki," you called out. "c-can i admit something to you?"

"what is it?"

"i really like you." a suddenly quiet ensued. katsuki, the guy who always had a snappy comeback, was speechless, & it made your throat tighten.

"(y/n), seriously, don't mess with me-"

"i'm not!" you yelled, but you weren't upset. "the reason i was so mad at you was because i felt used... i don't like feeling like that, especially since i really, really like you. all the stuff we do together let's me be delusional & pretend we're dating. & it's hard to stop because you're just so... doting in your own way. but then today, you didn't wanna make me, you know, so i just thought-"

"we'll that's what you get for thinking," katsuki teased, placing his & your finished bento on your desk. he sat close beside you; if you were to turn your head, your lips would've been centimeters away from his. it's not like you guys haven't kissed before, but this time was different. it felt like the first time all over again.

"(y/n), look at me," he whispered into your ear. you shifted in your spot, but you did as you were told. facing him, you backed your head up, only for it to be stopped by your headboard. "i'm so sorry, angel. let me make it up to you."

"katsuki, i-it's okay-" you were cut off.

he hushed you, eyes half-lidded & clouded with lust. "you'd think by now you'd learn your lesson about shuttin' up, huh?" he said as his hands slid under your shirt, up your torso. you raised your arms, allowing him to take off your shirt. under his breath, he whispered, "fuck."

katsuki climbed in between your legs, looming over your figure. he kissed the valley between your breasts while his arm snaked around your body. with one hand, he unclasped your bra. you threw it onto your dorm floor, & he wasted no time to latch onto your tit. he swirled your perky nipple around his tongue. you squirmed under him, your pants, shorts, & panties joined your bra

to take a moment to breathe, katsuki pulled back, & you, as eager & as horny as ever, ripped off his shirt. "woah, someone's impatient."

"you piss me off, let me have this," you snarled back, a possessive tone in your voice. katsuki made a note to himself: edge you as much as humanly possible. you pulled him close to you. sure, you crushed your face against his chest when you did so, but you didn't care. you started to nip at his exposed skin. hickeys crawled up his chest, decorating his collarbone & creeping onto his neck.

"sh-shit, angel," he breathed out. against your thigh, you felt his clothed dick twitch with every bite. he pushed you away from his bruised skin with a gentleness, his tongue trailing down his body. & just like that, he was the dominate one again.

katsuki, spreading your legs wide for him, placed your legs on his shoulders. your thighs could crush his skull if you so pleased. "you're dripping, (y/n)~" he snickered, followed by a long, slow lick against your slit. you gasped out in shock, back arching out of instinct.

"m-more," you whined. he chuckled that sinister chuckle he always does when he's about to say the most annoying shit ever.

"ask nicely."

"katsuki," you said in a stern voice. you didn't want him at that moment, no, no, no. you needed him. you needed him to make you cum; you needed his stupidly talented tongue on your pussy. you needed to be destroyed by his dumb, heavy cock. "i'm not playing around."

"i'm not either, (y/n). just swallow your damn pride & ask like a good girl, hm?" he replied as he spread your pussy lips apart with his thumbs, blowing cool air on your clit. you two bantered the way you usually do, as though he weren't in between your legs, mouth ghosting against your weeping hole.

you knew he wasn't going to let up, so you swallowed thickly. "k-katsuki?"

"yes?"

"pl-please eat me out," you begged. you looked at him with faux tears welling in your bright, doe eyes.

"how could i say no when you look at me like that, sweet girl," exasperated katsuki, acting like he was doing you a favor when, in reality, he was a selfish man. he loved eating you out, he loved watching you wraith in pleasure, hand clasped over your mouth as cute, little moans escaped your quivering lips. if anything, it got him rock hard & throbbing.

it started out with kisses against your clit, like it always does. soon, the kisses turned into licks & sucks. your hands found themselves entangled in his unruly, platinum hair, & your hips bucked forward. you rubbed your clit against him. one hand started to tease your entrance while he flicked your clit with his tongue. your juices with his drool made it easy to slide his middle & ring finger inside of you.

as if you were holding in a breath, you exhaled in relief. his fingers pumped in & out of you while his tongue circled your bud. the all-to-familiar knot began to form in your stomach. "g-gunna cum!" you whisper-shouted, back still arched & head thrown back. for a second, your vision turned white as you creamed all over katsuki's face. he lapped your juices up like it was an elixir given to him by the gods. overstimulated, you thought he would pull away after cleaning you, but he relented.

that's what you get for thinking.

"hey, wh-what are you doing?" you gasped out as you propped yourself up with your elbows. this time, instead of attacking your clit, his tongue jetted in & out of your hole. he didn't say anything, only looking up at you with his ruby red eyes. you found yourself bucking your hips onto his face once more, finding pleasure in the friction. every time you would look away, he would slow down or stop completely. you came, then came, then came again.

after the fourth time, he finally stopped. you took a deep breath, your frustrations wiped away. "f-fine, you win. y-you made it u-up to me," you stuttered out as you tried to steady your heart rate. your eyes were closed, & your chest heaved with every breath you took.

"why do you look so comfortable? we're not done yet, angel," katsuki growled, & that's when you felt it; his tip running up & down your folds. your eyes snapped open, & your jaw dropped. he eased inside of your pussy, which sucked him in eagerly. you felt full, stretched, yet he was only half way in. he snapped his hips forward, covering your mouth because, every time he does that, you'll let out a droned-out moan.

the fact that he's made you lose your unwavering, cool composure made him feral. you're dripping wet all because of him. you were sucking him in so good. his eyes were trained on your gorgeous face, your eyes were half-lidded, tearing up. whimpers muffled by his large hand made his cock twitch inside you. the way your body looked as you took him in full was the reason he can't let anyone else have you. honestly & truly, you made him crazy.

he showed this in this thrusts. they were harsh, tip slamming against your cervix. as he pumped in & out of your pussy, he uncovered your mouth, his hand travelled down to your neck. with a firm grip, he cut off your airway. your tongue hung out of your mouth as you panted like a bitch in heat. fast & hard, your body jerked forward with each one of his rough thrusts.

choked out mewls escaped your lips, & your eyes rolled to the back of your head. you were about to pass out when he released your throat. you gasped. with every exhale, you couldn't stop yourself from moaning out his name. "k-katsuki~ k-kat-m~"

"such a good fuck," growled katsuki. he draped your legs over his shoulders. the blonde, smirking viciously, loomed over you, leaning forward. your knees were against your bare chest, you feet passed your head. you were folded in half, powerless. all you could do is squirm, cry out his name, & let him pound the shit out of your pretty pussy.

he held himself over you with one hand. his other cupped your face. he squished your cheeks together so your lips would pucker. "you're such a fuckin' pretty asshole," he chuckled. "you know how many guys wanna piece of you? none of 'em get t' have you though, that's all my privilege," katsuki gloated, his voice sounded muffled yet so clear. you tried responding but all that came out were lewd moans

he let go of your face as his thrusts started to become erratic. his grunts were animalistic, the sound of skin slapping skin echoed off the thin walls. possessively, he growled sweet nothings into your ear, & you had to bite back your screams of pleasure. at this point, you felt so good that you couldn't even begin to care about who might find out. hell, even if someone told aizawa that the two of you were breaking rules, you would tell him to scold you the next day.

"c-cum," you rasped, your legs sore from being folded. you squirmed under him to find some comfort for your legs. you tried pushing him away, yet you still chased your high. was the pain turning you on? there's no way.

"tch, cum, you fuckin' brat," commanded katsuki, & it was clear he wouldn't let you change positions until you creamed all over his thick cock.

"c-cumming!" your legs shook as your walls spasmed around katsuki. you heard him curse under his breath, his dick twitched inside you.

"gon-gonna fill you up, 'k?" he told you, all you could do is weakly nod. for a moment, he didn't care about your pleasure. he had one mission, & that was to use you so he could cum. he was treating you like a toy. your legs fell near his hips, but you couldn't find the strength to wrap your legs around him. gripping your hips, he moved you up & down his dick like you were a fleshlight.

"you're such a naughty girl, (y/n)~ everyone's gon' know that y'er all mine," he told your through gritted teeth. he didn't wait for a response, groaning loudly. "take it, fuckin' take it, baby," he said as he slammed his cock inside of you before his thrusts became needy, shallow. hot ropes of his cum painted the walls of your pussy. with the entirety of his cock inside you, his cum seeped out of you, dripping onto your duvet.

you felt your heartbeat in your core, & you struggled to catch your breath. he captured your lips in a passionate kiss, it was so unlike him. since when has anyone described katsuki bakugo as gentle? yet here he was, tending to you, cleaning you up & giving you soft kisses on your plush lips. "you okay, babe?" he questioned, just a hint of snarky pride behind his tone.

"y-yeah," you stuttered out, stretching your your legs. they quivered with every movement, & your face was flushed with embarrassment. he scooped you up with one arm while the other swiped the duvet off your bed. he tossed it in your dirty laundry hamper. your arms were around his neck as you cuddled into his bare chest when you told him, "you were just rough is all."

he laid the two of you down, covering you with your fluffy, (what you dubbed) "emergency" blanket. he started to scratch your head, & your eyes felt droopy. "i'm sorry, sweet girl. was i too rough?"

"no," you sighed with a smile. "i can handle it."

"yeah, i'm sure you can."

"i can! i just proved it to you!" you retorted, your eyes closing.

"whatever."

[moondirti]

animalic (1)

series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 1.9k summary: he won't stop until he gets you warnings: enemies to lovers, injuries, kissing, minor ATSV spoilers, size kink (?), mentions of gore and death, not spell checked nor edited, honestly not my best work but the horny is all that matters notes: stayed up all night for this because i had to get it out of my system before finals. there'll be a few more parts, i promise i'm not this cruel haha

“I thought grace was a prerequisite for your little spider-club.” 

Your quip sounds disjointed – even to your own ears – entwined with wheezes that rattle your splintered rib cage. In all honesty, the circumstances don’t seem to be favouring you; he’s got you confined upon the wreckage of your own fight, hanging off the remnants of a crane that dangerously tips over a quarry. And though this isn’t the worst you’ve faced, Miguel’s presence always seems to make things more complicated than they need to be.

You’d had a stable hold on the beam, ready to pull yourself up and dematerialise to wherever he wasn’t. Until, of course, the asshole kicked your elbows off. Now, your fingers remain as your only attachment to the structure, shaking violently with their diminishing strength. Your torso isn’t faring any better, either – the bleeding both internal and trickling from the gashes in your hoodie. 

(You wonder if he’s toying with you, like a panther with its food. Of the rare times he’s assigned another spiderman to pursue you, they didn’t tend to drag it out for this long. 

But, you suppose, Miguel’s different.) 

He takes a small step forward, lifting his foot over your digits. He could crush them like this, turn the bone to powder and keep pressing until it macerates in the gore. You can’t put it past him, really, not if you utter one more self-sabotaging word. You’ve seen him rip through steel and silk alike, fueled on the resentment that simmers deep within his very essence. Yours is merely the same fate that’s befallen every other obstacle that’s dared to come his way. 

But the tension buzzes between you two, thickening until it’s palpable enough to taste. Miguel is quiet as ever, completely still save for the flickering light of his dimensional travel watch. You envy his position – that resolute stature, brimful of power as his shoulders square, his calf rippling with subdued strength, still stretched over your hand. You blame that, or the mask, slick with sweat and humid as it sticks to your nose. Or the glasses that slowly slip to reveal your squinting eyes. You blame anything apart from what it is; that fear that steadily begins to flood your senses, numbing it all into one, cohesive panic. 

You’ve never been good at life or death scenarios. 

“Or, maybe, the big boss thinks he can break his own rules?” 

The air snaps. With an infuriated roar, he lunges at you, razor-sharp talons swiping at your face. In your frenzied dunk to avoid them, your fingers drop. 

You plunge to the bottomless chasm below.

Okay. Let’s try to get this right, one last time. 

Your name doesn’t matter. It hasn’t, not for a while now. 

For the past year, you’ve been on the run from the Spider Society. You don’t exactly blame them for it, either. Every world you’ve crashed has gone to shit, despite serious lack of trying. Food-barren wastelands, borderless warzones. Truthfully, after the mantle of Earth 7BB-1 convected in on itself, you were inclined to turn yourself in. 

Independant of the fact that Nueva York seems to be the only place you can’t fuck up. Regardless of the relatability you have with the residents of its lobby. You were bitten by a radioactive spider just the same, and for all the good you’ve tried to do, you’ve never been a spider-hero. If it meant that no one else got hurt, you really would have been able to cope with lifetime confinement.

(Greater good and all that.)

Would’ve. Could’ve. If it weren’t for Miguel O’Hara’s interjection, and his goddamn alternative solution, things just might have turned out that way. 

You’re not dead. 

The realisation whips your consciousness into high alert, eyes snapping open to survey your surroundings. You process the light first, its brilliance piercing through the bromine-doused cotton that stuffs your skull. Then, it’s the pain that, up until this point, had been thrumming in the background. It crackles, marrow-deep, tearing down the tendons in your shoulders to the throbbing area around your ribs. They’re in doubtlessly worse shape than they had been at the quarry, the ache searing across to engulf your spine too. 

He had let you fall on your back, that dickhead. 

But– 

You’re not dead. 

It doesn’t take you long to figure out why that is. 

A red forcefield entraps you, droning its monotonous hum, partially obscuring everything beyond your own reflection. You can see the faint impression of a silhouette – no, multiple – stalking you on the other end, a great shadow court. They warp and grow with every passing second, gorging on your offered vulnerability, awaiting some wordless signal from the harbinger of death, to execute justice upon the one who’s been causing them so much trouble. Jess Drew. Hobie Brown. Ben Reilly. 

(They’d been more forgiving, once. Willing to negotiate peace, to treat you more than the screw up you’ve proven to be. 

His voice overrode theirs. Always.)

It’s easier to make out the devil himself – more so than the others. You’ve come to memorise the slope of those shoulders, how his fists clench at his sides as he circles you. You imagine the smug set of his jaw and those eyes, just as luminous as the cage you curl within. The puck at the base is recognisable, akin to the capture weapons he’s thrown at you previously. He’d saved your life, then.

On a technicality. You’ll bury that thought to rage over later. 

“How–”

The question hardly forms before you’re ripped in two, the atoms of all but your spirit splicing into one another in a defect of blue and orange. The glitch exacerbates the fractures that threaten to knock you out, racking through your system as it rearranges your matter into amorphous forms. It’s only when something is thrown into the enclosure do you snap back to. A bracelet clatters to the floor. 

“Didn’t know whether you’d be used to the glitching yet.” A disembodied voice remarks. It’s at a particularly whiny pitch – you assign it to Ben. 

“We… tried to get it on you, kid. But you–” A feminine inflection crops up. Jess sounds the same since the last you spoke. 

You glower at them from the corner of your eye – unsure if they can actually see you – and snap the day pass on. Your spectral abilities were handy at the best of times; to shift from the corporeal, coming into immateriality, makes the most complicated situations evadeable. You credit it for your continued survival, if nothing else. Yet to speak like you could control it, especially while unconscious, was pushing it. You clearly weren’t able to activate it when you needed it the most.

And now you’re here. 

“I’m not going to ask what you want, so let’s keep this short– y-yeah? Either you let me go, or this Earth’ll be the next to unravel.” Despite your intentions, the demand escapes you in a long-winded croak. You hear Hobie snicker, the laugh teetering the edge of approval. Anyone can tell the promise has no foundation.

“That won’t be happ–” 

“Leave us.” 

The room clips into white noise. You fail to focus on anything but that echoing order. 

His voice comes across clearer than all else, too, cadence resonating past any natural boundary, tugging your heart right where it’s tender. There’s that fear again, that singular dread, only ever triggered by his indifference. Perhaps more potent than fury, his patience gives away an all-assured determination. Deadly. 

You bite your cheek, steeling your expression into one of similar apathy. It feels like a child’s attempt at dress up, grubby hands clutched around mother’s lipstick, painting on a clown’s complexion. Crackling apprehension brushes across your most vulnerable parts; layer by layer, you’re skinned as the group files out. Bare nerves are all that’s left for your faceoff with the hulking man.

He throws another puck to the floor. His own forcefield conjoins to yours. 

His cheeks have gotten hollower, you notice, emphasising the cheekbones that are just as keen as everything else about him. He offers no smile, no grand boast of victory. Instead, he breathes – calmly, fixedly, and lets you absorb the overwhelming magnitude of his size once more. He’s aware of what it strikes in you, can see it in the way you falter upon every reintroduction. Miguel is colossal, a reality that has never been more apparent than in this cramped enclosure. 

You know that if you stop to ponder it, it’ll ruin you. 

Rearing on your heels, you bounce from your place on the ground, making a grab for his watch. He anticipates it, having caught the decision blaze in your pupils, and side steps, pivoting to gain the upper hand while your back is still turned. You rebound off the field wall, stumbling back when he yanks you by your hoodie. Your shoulder presses into his chest, and he moves to wrap himself around your form.

Your skin prickles. His body passes right through you. 

His recovery time is nearly nonexistent relative to your last fight – quick learner – but you’re still swift on your feet, bolting to his watch again. It’s a millisecond too slow, for his talons sink into your forearm when you start to pull away. 

Your pained yelp loses momentum as he slams your back against the wall, using a knee to pin your other arm in place, his free hand wrapping around your neck. 

He’s close. Too close. Your stomach flips, pushing up on your oesophagus until you choke with the bile that sears its lining. Your breaths are as deep enough as his clutch will allow, index and thumb cutting off the circulation on both sides of your neck.

Ichor blooms from the puncture points at your wrist, the warmth puddling at your palm, not yet heavy enough to drip down onto the floor. You don’t think he realises how deep his claws are, how near he is to scratching bone. You don’t think you do, either. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and while you’re sure you’ll regret not prioritising it sooner, you don’t think– Don’t think–

“I-I’m not goi…going home,” You gasp. 

“It’s not up to you, Wraith.” Miguel growls, chokehold loosening.

It hits you, then. Animalic. He smells addictingly animalic. Like musk, a blend of brine and hot air and hints of a patchouli aftershave that still clings to his jaw. Your eyes flutter, seeking all you can get of the latter. Unwittingly, you move in closer. 

You haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time. 

His expression oscillates between a sneer and a grimace, nose pulling up to reveal the very pointed ends of his two canines. Set side by side with plush lips, you zero in on the thought of experiencing the contrast with your own. 

He’s huge. 

Closer. 

Completely overwhelms you, in size and presence and–

Closer. 

Your ribs ache. Your back groans. You’re quickly losing feeling in your fingers, and movement – soon – if you don’t do something. 

Your breath weaves with his. He doesn’t reciprocate when your lips brush, but he doesn’t pull away, either. 

You kiss him for longer than you should. Longer than you need to. It’s firm, and not unlike what you expected. 

(World-shattering, all the same.) 

Your skin prickles. It takes all of your rationale to pull away – dematerializing out of his grasp, and into the portal you’d activated from his wrist.

chapter 2 →

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[juiles]

Hiding it

Requested: yes

Summary: you’ve had adhd your whole life and have managed to keep it from your team and 2 year long girlfriends. They start to get snippy with you and when you get an injury and they find out, you snap a little.

Type: angst and fluff

Pairing: Wandanat x reader

Warnings: swearing, anger, blood, gunshot wound, fighting, yelling, argument

Important questions!!!!

Masterlist here!

Request here!

A/N: so this idea was given to me by a very lovely reader and honestly i fell in love with the idea! I have ADHD and honestly it just gave me some outlet which i needed tbh.

————————————————————

Part 2

It had taken you 18 years to officially get diagnosed with ADHD. Your parents couldn’t have cared less about your well being which is why it took so long. You had been so shamed for the way you were that when you started with the Avengers, you just decided not to tell them. You had your coping skills and your medication. You didn’t need them to think anything less about you. The only person who knew was Cho and that was because she did your prescriptions for you.

You weren’t great at making sure they were refilled and that meant you messed up. Small things that wouldn’t normally set people off however, they were so consistent that people started to notice.

You had been dating Natasha and Wanda for a few years now and had managed to avoid them finding out so far. Perhaps that’s what had gotten you into this predicament. If you had just been honest with them, they wouldn’t have been so mean to you.

——————————————————

“Really y/n?! Again?!” You flinched, hearing Natasha’s voice rise slightly as you two sat in the quinjet while Tony flew you three home. “Why can’t you just pay attention?! God damn it. You could have gotten someone killed!”

You felt like sinking into the seat and disappearing from her line of sight and not saying anything, however that made her more mad. “Really?! You’re going to ignore me?!” She stood up, her hands flying up into the air as she stomped her way into the cockpit leaving you alone to overthink what had just happened.

You had lost track of the snipper that stood on the roof of the building across from you after Tony had mentioned a helicopter near by that you ALSO needed to keep an eye on. You couldn’t keep an eye on both but felt bad so instead of mentioning it to them, you tried to do both and in the attempt, last track of both of them. Luckily, Natasha had gotten the intel quick enough that the three of you were able to get out unscathed. Now it was just having to listen to them both bitch about your mistake.

Once the quinjet landed, you slowly grabbed your things and trudged outside, hoping to have Wanda comfort you but much to your dismay, Natasha had gotten to her first and as soon as the brunette landed her eyes in you, she instantly started berating you for being so careless and “how dare you be so risqué about Nattys life!”. This wasn’t the first time they had yelled at you. Last week, after a mission, the two of them ignored you for 3 days because of an accident you had. This time, instead of taking it, you trudged your way inside and instead of turning left and entering the bedroom the three of you shared, you went up 3 more doors and opened the door on the right to reveal your bedroom.

A room you hadn’t stayed in, in years due to moving into the shared room. You closed the door and threw your duffel on your bed and with a groan, you hauled ass to the bathroom to strip out of your suit and get in the shower. The warm water felt nice against your dirty skin and you relished in it however, the feeling only lasted a moment before you heard a door open and Natasha and Wanda were barging into your room causing you to get out of the shower and change into some spare clothes.

“Seriously y/l/n. That was a really reckless mistake that could have caused a life!” Wanda ranted storming into the room as you opened the bathroom door. “What if Natasha had gotten shot?! Huh?!” The guilt that already gnawed slightly at your stomach intensified as you ducked your head squeezing your eyes shut. “I would have NEVER forgiven you if something had happened to her! Do you understand me?!” You nodded softly before Natasha grabbed the witch’s hand.

“Come on love. Let’s go have a shower hmm?” She said, loud enough for the words to sting you. “I don’t want to see her face right now.” With that the two left, slamming your bedroom door shut, causing you to jump. You stayed in your room for 2 days after that. No one except Pepper cared enough to come and check on you. The woman had been bringing you food, which you barely touched and reminded you to sleep.

On the third day, Fury came knocking and told you that you had a mission and to be in the jet in 15 minutes. You stuffed your duffel bag, threw on your suit and slipped your way to the jet, managing to avoid your angry girlfriends.

The mission, which was supposed to be an easy single person intel recon, turned into a 3 day stakeout where you ended up getting shot in the shoulder at the end right before escaping. Upon your return, you were whisked away to the medbay where Cho, Natasha and Wanda were waiting. The latter two, with angry looking faces. “Come on Y/l/n. Let’s get that stitched up hmm?” Cho said guiding you to sit down as you actively avoided the assassin and the witch standing beside you.

“Where the hell were you?! You didn’t tell anyone you were gone y/n/n! What if you died?!” Wanda said, fear and anger etched into her features.

“It was stupidly reckless y/n.” Natasha said, her face her normal calm facade.

Cho sent the two looks to shut up as she finished stitching you up. “I’m assuming since you were gone for three days that you didn’t take your meds so when you take them tomorrow, remember you’re going to have side effects okay? Also, you need to come and get a refill soon.” Cho said softly to you as she finished up the bandage.

Your eyes widened and your head whipped up to look at her before quickly stealing a glance at the two avengers frozen beside you. “M-medications?! Side effects?!” Natasha stuttered out. “What is she talking about detka?”

Chos eyes widened commically as she looked at you. “I thought they knew! I’m so sorry y/n/n!!” the doctor rushed out. You simply shook your head and muttered an assurance that it was okay before she skittered out the door. You slowly stood with a grunt and brushed past your two girlfriends with the intent to head back to your room to clean up. They followed behind you, scrambling with their words before you quickly stopped and turned on your heel with an angry look on your face.

“Shut up!” You seethed at the two who froze and stared at you wide eyed. “God for once just stop. Not that it’s any of your business but i have ADHD. A pretty severe case and Cho does my meds for me. All those “stupid little reckless mistakes” were caused by something i have NO control over. You two couldn’t have given two shits about me for the past 5 days so why the fuck would you care now?!” You felt all the anger in your body start to boil up. “FUCK!” In a state of anger, you turned around and punched a hole in the wall beside you which caused your knuckles to start bleeding however, it seemed as if you didn’t even notice as you continued to punch the wall with no thought to your safety at all.

The girls were in a state of shock for a moment before Natasha grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you away from the wall, Wanda using her powers to hold your hands still. “Baby stop! Stop! You’re hurting yourself!” Wanda said walking towards your angry looking figure, your eyes narrowed on her as she reached her hand up and cupped your cheek which seemed to snap you back to reality. “Take a deep breath my love. Just take a moment okay?”

Your eyes filled with tears as you stared into her blue eyes then turned to face Natasha’s green ones. “I-I’m sorry… i’m sorry i’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so angry. I c-can’t always stop it.” You muttered pulling your hands to your chest. “Without t-the meds I-I don’t have good control of my emotions… they-they feel like they’re trying to rip through my body…” Wanda merely hushed you as Natasha pulled your shaking form into her body, being extra cautious of the now open and bleeding wound on your shoulder.

“No detka. We’re sorry. Were sorry we couldn’t help you and instead just got angry with you…” Natasha murmured into your hair. “Why didn’t you say anything…?”

You merely shook your head and clutched to her shirt with your bleeding hands as your body began to rack with sobs. “Shhhh… you’re okay malyshka. Let’s go to our room hmm?” You nodded softly as the two lead you into your shared bed and settled down, with you curled up between them. You sat and cried for a while before the sobs turned u to sniffles and Wanda pulled away causing you to whimper.

“I’m just getting the first aid kit my love. We need to restitch your shoulder and bandage your hands okay? I’ll be 2 minutes.” With a kiss pressed to your forehead, the witch shot off and was back in less than a minute with a full first aid kit in hand. You were shifted to be leaning into her warm body as Natasha started cleaning you up. The three of you sat in silence as this happened until you were all bandaged up and securely back in their arms.

“I’m a burden…” You whispered softly. Wanda went to say something but got stopped by a look from Natasha. They knew you needed to get it out. “I’m a burden and weak and stupid. That’s what they called me…”

“Who detka…?”

“My parents… kids at school… teachers…. I was never good enough and when i turned 18 and finally got diagnosed with ADHD it made sense to me but i feel this gnawing shame in my stomach. A shame that was shoved in me from birth. That who I am is nothing more than a burden and no one should have to deal with me. The meds help a lot… i appear almost normal. Those times the boys have jokingly told me I’m annoying and it seems like i have a big reaction to it is because it’s my biggest fear. That my family will leave me again, that everyone i live will get bored with having to help me with everyday tasks and leave me alone again… I know i can be a lot sometimes. I know i can be stand off ish. But i’m scared. I can’t handle losing another family…” You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back the tears as you tried to wriggle out of the girls arms before the two pulled you in tighter and squeezed you, the both pressing kisses to your hair and face while whispering assurances to you.

“No baby. You are not a burden. You are not annoying. You are not too much. You are our perfect girl. We are so sorry we messed up but you need to know that you love you with everything in our hearts and we NEVER want you to be alone again or feel like you’re weak because you’re so strong.” You scoffed lightly rolling your eyes at Wanda’s words.

“You are y/n. You are so strong to be holding all of this to yourself and not be able to tell anyone else but never again okay? From now on, Wanda and I will be here for you. To support you and love you and care for you. In the ways people should have when you were little.” Natasha said, with a finality in her tone and a kiss on your head, making you believe she was telling the truth to some extent.

Of course it wasn’t perfect after that but they kept true to their word. Everyday, the would remind you of their love for you in the small things. They would make sure you had taken your pills and eaten more than an energy drink with them. They would leave kisses on your head as you walked past. They set reminders on their phones to remind you that you had a load of laundry in or that you had said you would do the dishes. Small things to remind you that they will fight by your side through it all. While they may have seemed insignificant to the others, you knew how much these small things meant and you cherished them all.

[fanfictiongirlie]

Twilight: Some Soulmate - Chapter One

Click here for masterlist

Parings: Paul Lahote x Reader

Description: Y/N a member of the Cullen family is imprinted on by one of the wolves, she is shocked, he is shocked. She is struggling with drinking animal blood over human, and he is disgusted by a vampire for a soulmate… But maybe it could work..?

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

Words: 1,819

"Good morning" I smiled as I skipped into the living room, I wiped the blood from my mouth, my hunt was successful, disgusting, but successful. Deer blood will never quench my thirst, but to stay with my family this was to stay part of my diet. 

"Good morning Y/N, how was your hunt?" Carlisle, my longest friend asked me. I smiled weakly, I was so hungry. Esme appeared behind me, before I could answer, she placed both her hands on my shoulders giving me a tight squeeze. I always felt so loved when she was around, it relaxed me. 

"It was okay, better than last time" I answered. I was lying of course. I missed human blood more than I could even explain. I suppose one good thing that comes from only drinking animal blood was my eye colour, I must preferred the amber over the red. Of course the Amber still didn't compare to my human blue eyes. 

"Are you ready Y/N?" Alice asked me. I nodded and followed him and the rest of my siblings out the door. Luckily we were taking Rosalie's car today, I preferred her driving over Edwards. Luckily Edward was out picking his human up and taking her to school. 

I hated how Edward always smelled like her now, her blood was intoxicating. Jasper struggles too, I suppose it makes me feel better that I'm not struggling alone. I'm not sure how Edward copes. I remember when I had a blood singer, only once it had happened to me. Of course I killed him, I hadn't been a vampire long. 

We spent most of the drive silently, as we normally did. Then Alice turned back to me, smirking. 

"Guess what?"

"What?" I asked, I had an inking to what she was going to say. 

"Mike's going to try again today" She giggled.

I groaned, ever since we started at this school, two years ago, Mike Newton had tried, every few weeks to ask me out, and even though I'd say no, every time, he continues to ask. I wonder if he'd ever get bored. 

"A few months and then it's over" I smile, thinking of never having to go back to that place, I had decided this was the last time I'd attend school, at least maybe for a while. Luckily I was in the same school year as Rose and Emmett, meaning I could escape sooner. I also couldn't wait for people to stop telling me I look way too old to be in High School. Physically I was 21, way over high school age, but I had a baby face. 

We arrived at school to see Edward with his arm over Bella, I thought they weren't going to become a official thing.  I climbed out of the car.

"I'll see you at lunch" I smiled at my siblings before I set off inside the school. I had English first, a class I didn't mind too much. But of course Mike was waiting outside of my classroom, I'm sure he knows my schedule better than I do. 

"Hey Y/N!" He grinned happily. 

I muttered a small hello, he smelt so strongly of his aftershave, it was burning my nose. 

"Prom's coming up, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?" He asked, I pretended to take a deep breath. 

"No thank you Mike, I've said before I won't be going" I smiled sweetly, and then I pushed past him to get into my class.

~~~~~~~~

I didn't pay attention to the class, I knew everything that was being taught. Another reason why I was excited to leave, maybe I could get a job, or take another college course. I'm sure there's something I haven't read about yet. I found myself drifting into a daydream, I was excited for my life after school, but of course I'd have to stay close to the family, otherwise it would upset Carlisle and Esme, and I'd do anything for them. 

'It had been a few months since I had become a vampire, and I was leaving a long string of bodies behind me, it was so easy to keep going. No more would every suspect the woman who could easily bat her eyes and get away with whatever she wanted. It was the year 1887, I was 21. I was never meant to become a vampire, but one night, a man grabbed me, and started drinking my blood, he was going to kill me. But someone or something stopped him, and I was left to die in an alley. I was suppose to die in that alley, but a few hours late I woke up, changed. 

I was all alone, and so scared. 

Until a man found me, he was a strange man, I thought he was human at first, but just a second before I lunged I couldn't hear his heartbeat, couldn't feel the heat of his blood. I had never met another vampire. Not since I became one. 

"Who are you?" I hissed, my teeth bearing at him. 

"My name is Carlisle, if you'd let me, I'd like to help you" He smiled, I felt a warm feeling wash over me, maybe I could trust him?'

When I met Carlisle he took me in, tried to show me the vegetarian way. But I've struggled with it. After a few months with Carlisle, we realised I had a gift. Not a big one, but I can always tell what someone thinks of me, how they feel about me. It's how I could tell Carlisle was to be trusted. I can always tell if someone likes me, to dislikes me. It made hunting so fun, I could always tell if someone thought I was beautiful, it meant I could seduce them, and feed from them. 

It's how I can tell Mike only thinks I look nice, he doesn't care about anything else. 

Once class was over, and another class droned one, it was finally time for lunch. I had a blacked out water bottle full of animal blood. It was gross. 

I sat along side my siblings, except Edward, he chose to sit with Bella. I envied them almost.

Edward and I were the last two without mates. Now it was just me. 154 Years old, and I had never found someone who made me feel complete. My family had, and I endured seeing it everyday. I'm sure if my heart still worked it would be constantly breaking. 

I sipped my drink loudly, my siblings hated when I did that. I smirked at them and carried on..

~~~~~~~~

"Y/N" Esme called, I left my room and followed the noise coming from the kitchen, I walked in and was shocked. My family were cooking, actually cooking. 

"What's happening here?" I asked, watching them. I had no clue what they were even making.

"Edward is brining Bella here" Esme beamed, I rolled my eyes playfully at her, but then felt my throat burn.

"And I want everyone to be welcoming" She added. 

I put my hand to my throat and rubbed it absently. 

"Esme, I don't know if I can" I panicked "I'm worse than Jasper"

She pulled me into her arms and hugged me for a few seconds. 

"You'll be okay" I smiled at her, and stepped closer to Emmett. He was strong enough to stop me if needed. 

"Is she even Italian?" Rosalie asked. 

"Her names Bella" Emmett answered as if it was completely obvious. I started chucking at him, until I smelt it. 

Bella, her blood, it smelt amazing, intoxicating. I held onto the breakfast bar and tried concentrating. 

"Here comes the human" Rosalie sung. 

Edward and Bella walked in, Edward introduced her to Esme and Carlisle, and then brought Bella over to me. I wanted to kill him for bringing her closer. 

"This is Y/N, she's actually the third eldest in the family, after Carlisle and Jasper" He chuckled, but stopped when he saw my face. I'm sure he could hear me cursing him in my head. 

"Yes Edward, mention my age" I said grimly, but it gave me an excuse to walk out. I needed to hunt.

I left my house quick, and ran into the forest, I found something to feed on, and managed to get blood all over myself. I looked a complete state. I slumped against a tree, and sat. I sat and sat for hours, thinking, and making a weird little flower chain. I was quite content, and calming myself down. Until I heard a growl. 

I looked up, and jumped in fear, I jumped so I was clinging onto the tree a few feet off the ground. 

I heard the growl again, realising it was probably a animal, I jumped to the ground. I was still thirsty, perhaps I could find the source. Without a sound I slowly started walking towards the animal, I had picked up it's scent, it was foul smelling. No animal I had smelt before. 

I stopped, deciding to find a more appealing animal, until it jumped into the clearing. 

"Oh, it's one of you" I hissed, one of the shapeshifters. I hadn't seen this wolf before, not that I had seen many. He was dark silver, and was looking incredibly angry at me. 

I looked into its eyes, I wasn't sure if it was going to attack or not, but I wasn't going to make a move. Suddenly I felt something wash over me, a strong feeling of love and care, it confused me. I didn't understand what was happening, but the feeling was coming from him. 

"What's happening" I stutter at the wolf. The wolf looked scared now, he growled once more and ran off. I copied, and ran home, fast. 

"Carlisle" I screamed when I got close enough to the house. My family were outside the greet me, all of them worried.

"He imprinted on you" Edward suddenly said, I was still confused.

"What?" I screamed, they all flinched. 

"Imprinting is when a wolf finds their soulmate" Carlisle explained carefully 

"So a wolf is my soulmate? They hate us! They want us dead!" I yelled "Not to mention I'm not even allowed on their land"

I started walking towards the house, wanting to be away from everyone. 

"Some soulmate" I scoffed to myself, knowing the others could hear too. 

I walked into my room, shutting my door and locking it. 

I grabbed my laptop and started researching about the wolves, and their legends, and mostly about imprinting. Apparently it didn't happen very often, it was described as extremely rare. I didn't even know the wolf, I had no way of finding out who he was either. I wasn't allowed on their land, not that I was brave enough to even go close. 

To make matters even worse, I'm not sure there was anything I could even speak to about this.. 

Next Part

[azzibuckets]

loopy in love part 2 [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: sorry for the long wait! i wasn’t gonna write a second part but @makethemhoesmad forced me to.. and let’s pretend that azzi miraculously healed before the end lmfao

word count: 1.4k

part 1 | masterlist

Azzi needed to forget.

She needed to forget how warm Paige’s hands were when they’d traced her hair. She needed to forget the feel of Paige’s lips against her cheek, grazing across her skin and coming so close yet so far from where she needed it the most. She needed to forget the way Paige held her through the night, the two of them pressed so close together she didn’t know where she ended or began.

And she really needed to forget how uninhibited she’d been with the nitrous oxide running through her veins, revealing the secret she’d spent years perfecting to keep away, locked in the corners of her mind. Paige had been gone when Azzi had woken up this morning, with no text or note. Azzi been relieved at first, not knowing what to say or do so soon after the fact. But she also couldn’t ignore the anxiety swirling in her stomach, worried that she’d ruin everything they’d built over the past few years.

So that’s how she found herself with a bottle of tequila in her hand, sprawled out on the couch at 1 PM. Her apartment was utterly dark, the curtains drawn to block out the sunlight. She knew this wasn’t a healthy way to cope, but frankly, she didn’t care. She wanted, needed to numb the ache in her heart at Paige’s absence, at how she’s embarrased herself last night and probably destroyed their friendship ever.

But the doorbell rang, and when the door revealed Paige, Azzi was stuck, unsure of what to say or do. Paige’s face was void of emotion, her expression tightly controlled in the same way it was when she talked to reporters, the press, strangers, anyone that wasn’t someone she was close to. Azzi’s heart thudded.

Paige stepped in, not waiting for an invitation. She set a drink on the counter, the cup wet with condensation. “I brought you a smoothie.”

Azzi’s hands gingerly rubbed her jaw that was still swollen. “Thanks.”

Paige nodded in acknowledgment. She didn’t say anything, but her foot nervously toeing the ground told Azzi everything she needed to know.

“This is awkward,” Azzi blurted out.

Paige winced. “Yeah, it is,” she admitted. She went to go sit on the couch, but she paused when she saw the bottle of alcohol sitting on the coffee table. She picked it up, staring at it in disbelief as Azzi looked away in embarrasment. “Is this yours?”

“No, that’s…” Azzi’s mind furiously searched for someone to blame it on. “Caroline’s. She left it here the other day.”

Paige’s eyes hardened. “I can see droplets on the table.”

Azzi swallowed.

“Are you kidding me, Azzi?” Paige threw the bottle on the couch and approached her with blazing eyes, her jaw tense. “Did you happen to forget that you had surgery yesterday?”

Azzi sighed, having had enough of the conversation. She went to the kitchen, rummaging around the cabinets for something soft to eat. “It was just my wisdom teeth,” she muttered. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Alcohol thins your blood, Azzi, you know that.”

“I really don’t need you to babysit me right now.”

“Then stop acting like a kid.” Paige marched past Azzi to the sink, bottle in hand. Before Azzi could stop her, she unscrewed the cap and poured the entire bottle of tequila down the drain.

“Paige, what the fuck?” When Paige only smirked at her, Azzi felt herself grow hot with anger at her audacity. “That cost fucking money.”

“Please,” Paige scoffed. “This shit is cheap as hell. And we both know money isn’t an issue with you.”

Azzi was done with this conversation. She was done with the way that Paige was able to get under her skin so easily and make her feel things that no one should feel for their best friend. Knowing she was only proving Paige right but still not caring enough, she headed to her room and slammed the door, feeling like she was 13 years old again.

But, of course, Paige followed her, opening the door and slipping inside. “Wanna tell me why you’re trying to get drunk at 1 in the afternoon?”

“Wanna tell me why you’re not at lift?”

“I’m not at lift because I wanted to make sure you were healing okay.” Paige’s voice rose an octave, but she forced herself to calm down once she saw the change in Azzi’s body language, how she was shifting away. “What happened, Az?” Her voice was soft now, and she took a seat next to the younger girl, letting their elbows knock together.

Azzi stared straight ahead, focusing on the loose thread in the carpet instead of daring to glance over at Paige. She could feel the alcohol buzzing loosely through her body, not enough to be intoxicated but enough to give her that little bit of boldness she wouldn’t have otherwise. “You don’t think I notice that you don’t tell me anything anymore?” The words cut like a knife in Paige’s chest, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, trying to let Azzi continue before saying anything. Azzi brought her knees up, folding her arms around them, making herself as small as possible like she was trying to protect herself. “Lately we’ve been fighting all the time. I-,” she paused, inhaling deeply, “I wasn’t even gonna ask you to take me to the dentist. I was scared you’d say no.”

Azzi closed her eyes briefly. “You know how devastating it is? To realize that I’m in love with my best friend, that I have been for the last four years. But then you started to pull away, and now it feels like I’m losing you, and I don’t know what to do.” She finally worked up the courage to look at Paige, but as soon as she did, she regretted it almost instantly. Paige’s eyes were rimmed red, wet with tears, her bottom lip trembling.

“It was two months ago.” Paige recalled the moment she’d started distancing herself from Azzi. “The guy at the bar - he was flirting with you. Remember how I was in a terrible mood that night?”

Azzi chuckled. It had become an inside joke with the team, how Paige had been the one who came up with the idea to go to Ted’s to celebrate that win, but had ended up sulking in the corner of the room the entire night because she “didn’t feel well.” “I remember.”

“You were flirting with that girl from Virginia Tech.” Paige was the one to look away now. “I remember feeling so irrationally angry. And I couldn’t even be mad, because you looked gorgeous that night. With your black top that I love.” Paige laughed dryly, but there was no humor in her voice. “And I remember thinking, damn, if I were that girl and seen you on the court playing like that, I would’ve flirted with you too. And I think that’s when I realized. That to me, you were more than just my best friend.”

Paige’s words hung in the air between the two of them, the tension almost tangible. Azzi burrowed her chin into her knees. “We fought that night,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“We did.” Paige anxiously rubbed her elbow. “And we got over it, but…”

“We never really did,” Azzi finished.

Both girls were silent.

Paige turned to face Azzi, giving a small smile. “But yesterday, huh?” She waggled her eyebrows obnoxiously. Azzi went to push Paige, but Paige grabbed her wrists instead, pulling her into her body until they were only a couple inches apart. Azzi had never been this close to the blonde before unless you counted her dreams, and it was dizzying, the smell of Paige’s perfume combined with the warming heat of her body.

When Paige’s fingers trailed up her palms, lightly tracing each groove before grazing the skin on her arm, Azzi sucked in a breath. Paige had touched her before. They cuddled almost every night for fuck’s sake. But it was different now, with electricity charging the air between them.

“Do you want this?” As soon as the word yes left Azzi’s mouth, she was pulled onto Paige’s lap, her legs straddling the blonde’s hips. Before she knew it, Paige’s mouth was on hers, soft and gentle, and Azzi realized then that she was fucked. In a split second, she knew that there was no way she’d be able to live without getting to taste Paige’s lips over and over again for the rest of her life, without the feeling of Paige’s teeth nibbling at her bottom lip and Paige sighing into her mouth. It was electrifying and it was thrilling and it was perfect, the way Paige’s lips molded against hers.

Paige suddenly pulled away, wiping at her mouth with a grimace. “I think I taste blood.”

Azzi ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Way to ruin the mood.”

Paige laughed, then pulled Azzi down so that they were lying on the bed, facing each other. “I’m sorry for pulling away. I was just trying to protect myself from falling too hard for you.” Paige’s thumb went to stroke Azzi’s cheek. “But I don’t think it worked anyways.”

Azzi’s breath caught, and she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from smiling too hard. “I don’t blame you. I’m pretty easy to fall in love with.” She expected a quip back, but Paige only stared at her with intensity.

“We’re still best friends, right?” Paige’s voice was small and unsure.

“I’ll die before we stop being best friends,” Azzi assured, pressing her forehead against Paige’s.

[amaranthineghost]

ahh!! i think i speak on behalf of a lot of people when i say i need a part two, because that was so amazing and so beautifully written 🫶🏻🫶🏻

| I CAN'T NOT HAVE YOU, I'LL TRAVEL THE SOLAR SYSTEM TO MEND OUR STARS ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairings: lando x reader

ꕥ parts: 1

ꕥ tagging: @gulphulp

ꕥ summary: they hadn't seen each other in months after their breakup, which left them in more misery than they thought. because now they'll do anything to make it work.

ꕥ authors note: I've been planning this in my head while writing the first part to this and i really like how this came out! going to work on christmas imagines and also finish up a request that I've been meaning to write!

ꕥ warnings: smut (at the end if you don't want to read that part), heavy angst (wanted to break some hearts), mentions of alcohol abuse and heavy drinking, mentions of eating struggles. not proofread the end.

IT'D BEEN MONTHS. months since he last abandoned her in their old apartment. since he drove off in his mclaren, punched the rearview mirror because he couldn't take it. to this day, he regretted it with every fiber of his being. he tried to convince himself for days on end, it was for the better. but was it really?

he was struggling. he couldn't sleep properly, staring at the dark ceiling, feeling beside him in the bed for another warm body, breaking his heart more every time he reminded himself that she wasn't here. it was cold.

it was cold despite the blistering summer heat of monaco, windows open to let in the heat. max swore at him every time because despite being rich, he was letting out cool air. but lando couldn't stand the cold. without her, his heart was frigid.

it worsened as the months grew colder and races passed him by. he was peforming fine, for now, but he'd reach his limit soon enough.

he hated when the air got bitterly frozen because this year, he wouldn't have her. he wouldn't have the heat that radiated off her to keep him warm.

he'd waste himself away with alcohol to forget the memory of leaving her. it turned his stomach in knots everytime to think of her watching him leave because they didn't know what to do to fix them. he wish he knew, he should've.

more often than not, he'd spent his nights on bathroom floors of the club, puking his guts out into the toilet, or sitting on the kitchen floor belonging his temporary roommate, max fewtrell. he sat against the tiled floor and wooden cabinets with a half-emptied bottle in his hands, tears on his face.

he'd sit there for hours, wasting away with every sip burning at his throat. he hated alcohol, but it was the only way to cope because he didn't want to remember any moment without her.

when he was nearly passed out on the floor, max would drag him up by his arms, forcing more than a few glasses of water down his throat. he'd grown familiar with his friend's new sulking.

max threw him on the guest room bed he didn't bother to make because he was miserable. he made it everyone's problem then. he'd leave his passed out friend a concoction of medicines to help with the hangover, he'd gotten used to this routine for the past couple of months.

when lando would stumble his way down the stairs, hands wrapped in his curls with a splitting pain through his head and a grimace on his face, all max would comment is "well, aren't you a pitiful sod."

lando rolled his eyes, groaning at the pain as he did so, sitting on a chair at the table across from his best friend, cringing at the resemblance of dinners with his girl—who wasn't even his anymore.

"jesus, mate, maybe you do need an intervention." he'd push his bowl of oatmeal towards lando, watching the expression on his face closely.

"I'm fine."

"clearly not," max scoffed, "mate, it's great havin' you here, but y'need to sober up."

"I will."

"you've said that last month, and the month before that, and the month before that." he shook his head, "I don't even get why you guys broke up."

lando groaned, rubbing his fingertips to his temple and chugging the water before he spoke, "it wasn't working out, 'ts for the best."

"for the best? are you kidding me?" he scoffed his friend's words, he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

to max, breaking up was for the worst. he could tell lando was in misery, and he'd guess she was the same, maybe worse. maybe he didn't know much, but he knew enough to know that they were meant for each other.

"I'm not kidding," he muttered, pushing the oatmeal around the bowl, his spoon clinking against the sides, "besides, we tried to fix it, 'n it didn't work."

he paused, "fix it 'ow?"

lando rolled his eyes, feeling the consequences of his actions through his head, mumbling under his breath, "we went out to eat."

"you're jokin' me?" he leaned forward, a look of disbelief and disappointment on his face, "you went out to eat? how's that goin' to solve anything?"

lando shrugged again, refusing to look max in the eye as he pushed the mush around in his bowl, picking out the bits of fruit throughout.

"you're a real geezer, y'know that?" he sighed deeply, leaning back into the stool as he sat looking at his idiotic friend, "it was a perfectly salvageable relationship, mate, and you just threw it away." he shook his head, his arms crossed against his chest as he leaned his head on one hand.

"you gonn' call me a muppet next?" he aggressively bit into the small strawberry.

"might as well because you're acting like one. now why did you break up with her?"

"she broke up with me." he quietly corrected him, though it didn't seem to shed light on the fact that they didn't try as much as they thought they did.

"then fight for your relationship!" max exclaimed, throwing his hands up in response, "did you ever talk about what was wrong?"

"we didn' have time to," lando admitted, "and we didn't know what to do." he pushed aside the bowl, having barely touched the food residing in it. it's gone cold now, just like him.

"make the time!" he suggested, jabbing his finger into the counter to make a point, "when was the last time you were alone together?"

"when we had dinner together."

max groaned, shoving his face into his hands, rubbing his closed eyes on his palms. lando was starting to give him a headache, "when was the last time you were alone together, no people, no cameras, no fans, just you and her doing something?"

"i 'ont know."

"jesus, man." his voice muffled into his skin as his face remained in his palms because of the idiocracy of his friend.

"well, what do you suggest i do then, max?" lando's tone got seemingly more aggressive and annoyed, the volume of his voice raising slightly.

"actually spend time with her! take her on holiday!" he suggested, matching energies.

"mate, I can't just ask her after months of not speakin'," lando's stool pushed against the floor as he stood up, he was agrivated. he harshly grabbed the bowl with the cold food and shoved it in the sink.

max turned in his seat, "right, so just give up and go back to drinkin' then?"

lando ignored the comment, it infuriated him because max was right. if he didn't find the solution to his problem, he probably would go back to getting blackout drunk. all in hopes that'd help forget his misery

he leaned against the sink with his arms, his head hung between his inner biceps with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths before asking, "how should I ask her then?"

"you truly are a muppet."

"christ, just help m'out here!" lando pleaded because he couldn't take it anymore. he'd been losing himself to however many bottles of alcohol that'd stacked in the bin and the amount of over-the-counter drugs he'd force down his burned throat. all to forget what seemed like an impossible fix, but all he needed was another person. just because they didn't know what to do doesn't mean others wouldn't.

and of course max would help. he just had to give lando a hard time for screwing up so badly because he would've never expected him to show up at his front door midday, stumbling drunk and muttering slurred phrases about her.

his first thought when he saw his disoriented friend was to wonder if something had happened, the obvious answer being, obviously. because lando barely drank. max knew how much he couldn't stand the taste and chasing burn so it wasn't often you'd catch him drunk, much less to this extent.

he knew it had to involve his girlfriend by the here-and-there words he could decipher from the rest, but he couldn't expect to get the full story from the utter nonsense his friend spewed.

it wasn't till morning max discovered the extent of lando's stupidity.

" 'ts your relationship," max sighed, "and you realize she might not be so accepting to see you."

it hurt to think about. he didn't know what was worse, for her to be in such misery like himself or for her to not want him back. his stomach tied itself in knots to even think about, but he was the one who left her in the first place.

"yeah, I know."

he was lost without her. everything seemed so meaningless without her by his side, though she hadn't been for months, even when they were together. but the idea of her presence somewhere in his vicinity was all he needed.

she was like a drug he tried so hard to quit because it seemed to be getting him no where. but he was addicted. all he thought about when he wasn't drunk was her. every single dollar wasted on booze was drank to forget her. the lack of her in his life.

so when he showed up at her doorstep, it was more than just a shock. she'd opened the door, the last thing she expected was to see him, standing with an expression that seemingly matched hers. the smell of booze wafting from his clothes and the bittersweet smell of his cologne she had long forgotten about. smelling it again brought back everything she tried to learn to forget about him.

she wanted to be mad, to push and kick him away, but she'd been waiting for months for him to reappear into her life. for him to come back to her, the anticipation built in her body every time the door bell echoed off the walls, or knocks that pounded against the door.

but instead she slammed the door almost immediately, and he didn't blame her. how could he when he'd been the one to leave. because on the other side of that door, her heart was pounding.

she'd been wanting to see him for so long, so badly wanted him back in her life, but what if they made the same mistakes? she couldn't take losing him a second time because she'd already lost most of herself when he drove away the first time.

because she'd watched her future slip through her fingertips and there wasn't anything she knew that would make her catch it.

she knew she was to blame for breaking them up. it was for the best, she told her guilty conscience, but it didn't change the heart-wrenching want to have him back.

she'd spent months in the cocoon she made of their cold bed, ultimately settling on his side to feel closer to him. but what was the point? he hadn't slept in that bed in months, the sheets that reeked of him faded, and even more so when he left her, for at the time she thought, forever.

"love, please," he pleaded against the door, his forehead against the cold metal, "I screwed up, but please, let me fix this, us."

she hesitated. she knew she was the type to let people who hurt her back into her life so easily, as if nothing happened, but she was the one who forced him out. she knew that.

so when the door creaked open, he pushed himself away from the door as fast as lightning. her doe eyes peaking around, staring at his chest before they found their way to his face. he'd changed. he looked tired, unkept. she'd be lying if she said she looked the same as she did months ago because she honestly looked worse than him.

because being apart brought out their worst qualities in themselves that they'd helped the other through, but it resurfaced.

when he'd gotten a good look at her, he realized she definitely wasn't the same girl she was months ago. he'd notice the dark circles under her eyes, half-lidded and puffy, begging for sleep. the oversized hoodie he left her, though surprisingly clean, was well-worn by her. through the baggy cloth, he could tell her physique was slimmer, he felt nauseous.

she couldn't stand the silence between them even when they lived the last months of their relationship filled with it. they were both hurting and they both knew it, but they'd assume the other would be the one to patch it up. that's where they messed up, they seem to do it a lot.

"so why now are you here?" she'd cut through the silence with a butter knife, sawing back and forth as she stumbled where she stood. she struggled to keep her balance, lack of energy will do that to you.

"I realized how much of an idiot I was," he stepped closer, bringing his hand to hers, pressing her fingers between his. he trailed the pads of his fingertips down her hand and to her wrist. he'd latch on, caressing the soft skin, he'd remember the feeling.

"but I was the one who broke you with you."

he didn't mean it like that, to insinuate that she was the idiot for breaking them up because in no way did he blame her. he put the blame all on him for not fighting for them.

" 'nd I was the one who left."

she stared up at him, her big eyes doing things to him, he shouldn't feel it in a moment like this, but he did. he just wanted her back, to feel her lips on his, her smooth skin under his soft but callused hands.

her lips parted when she'd realize the feeling of warmth against her face, his hand running along her jaw to her chin. though she was already looking up at him, he pushed her head up further, but so softly.

his voice was raspy and deep, pleading, "please, darlin'." she couldn't say no even if the voice inside her head and the feeling in her heart told her to.

"just don't leave again."

he could never, not after the misery he'd been through without her, blackout nights to forget everything that had led up to their break up. he couldn't imagine the anguish he put her through.

and at those words, he couldn't hold back anymore, his lips colliding with hers so desperately, like he needed her to survive. he kind of did. he tasted faintly of alcohol and fruit, she tasted like mint. her lips moved softly against his passionate kiss because he was acting like she was his oxygen, his water, his everything because she was.

his hand tangled in her hair, the sounds of their breaths between their lips, the heavy heat that surrounded the air as they separated.

"let's go somewhere," he'd suggest, his chest rising and falling more noticeably now.

her lips became a swollen pink as she looked up at him, dazed as her eyes flickered between his green eyes, "where?"

he shook his head, smiling. god, she missed that smile. he spoke so softly now, "anywhere, you pick. it'll jus' be us."

money didn't matter to him. if she wanted to travel to the moon and back, he'd make it happen because he wanted to make things right. he wanted to show her he was all in now because he would never take another step out ever again.

so they'd travel across the world. he'd rent out hotels, restaurants, amusement parks, anything she'd want. like max said, he wanted this between the two of them. no cameras, no fans, no public. just them enjoying their time together and alone at the most beautiful places she could think of.

she'd end up on an island with him, the only other people being the employees of the resorts he'd rent out. he did everything with her.

they went on yachts around the crystal waters and coral reefs surrounding the beaches that they'd later lay and tan on. they'd talk as they bathed in the sunlight. snorkeling while holding hands and pointing out various species that inhabited the waters.

candle-lit dinners sitting across from each other, though their hands never left each other. they'd been offered fancy wines, lando ultimately opting out. she understood. they tried the exotic foods and other virgin drinks the resort had to offer.

they had long runs along the beach, heavy makeout sessions on stranded towels where they couldn't take their hands off the other, deciding to take the trip back to their hut over the waters.

when they'd make it back, he wasted no time because he missed her, the feeling of her around him, the taste of her.

as soon as the hut door slammed shut, his veined hand would be pressured on her neck, pushing at the skin under his fingertips to pull her into his lips. he was desperate, she knew that.

his lips were harshly against hers, she could feel the vibrations of his groans against her flesh, feeling his working hands across her chest, having left her neck temporarily to undo her tied bikini top. it was discarded onto the wooden floors with no further regard. they'd separate, foreheads pushed together and their noses clashing as their breaths mixed in the middle.

his head dipped below her jaw, biting at the skin of her neck. whimpers left her lips and she felt his smirk on her skin while she grasped at his curls. he slowly pushed their bodies towards the open laid bed behind her, her calf's meeting the mattress. he tugged at the elastic of her beach shorts, though deciding to take his time, which made it all the more agonizing for her, she needed him.

his lips trailed her body, leaving trails of his saliva and marks where he nipped at her skin, from her neck down to her chest. he groped her tits, earning a low groan from her as his tongue swirled her areola. she tugged his hair, his curls between each of her fingers as she bit back the sounds that forced through her throat. he was starved of her, which only turned her on more. she felt the heat between her thighs.

he'd kneel on his knees in front of her as he'd continue to leave a string of dark hickeys down her skin as he'd continue to her stomach, and just above her panty line, pulling the elastic of her shorts down. she'd almost just rip them off because she couldn't take how slow he'd move compared to when they first ended up in this situation.

his finger wrapped around the band, slowly pulling the material over the curves of her body, but he'd left her panties, which infuriated her. he did it all while looking straight up into her eyes, the glint in his eyes filled of lust and mischief. he'd lift her leg with his hand wrapped around the back of her knee, helping her kick off the clothing.

he'd kiss the skin just above the side of her knee, his lips glued to her skin as they traveled higher up her thighs, as well as his hands, sliding under the side of her panties. his nose brushed against the cloth of her cunt, ghostly stimulating her clit. it provoked a reaction out of her as she whined, and he'd continue to kiss along the line of her undergarment.

he may have started off desperate, but now he was taking his sweet time to take care of her. she wanted to badly for him to just hurry it along, wanting to feel him, but he'd rather enjoy the moment he had with her, like it was his last.

he pushed aside the cloth barrier, licking his lips as he eyed the wet patch caused by him, his warm breath panned across her cunt and she pleaded, "lan, please." god, he loved to hear her beg, it was music to his ears, but her moans were a symphony.

his two fingers slowly parted her folds, feeling her pulse under him as she moaned against the contact, he 'tsk'd at her reaction, "so wet for me, darling." his voice was raspy, deep and she cursed under her breath as she watched him lick her off his fingers.

the taste of her brought him back, he'd savor it because he hadn't before, not when he didn't realize it could've been the last. she was sweet, her skin smelling of vanilla as his nose brushed against her.

he'd had enough teasing for now, and gently he'd pull down her panties. she'd be fully exposed, but he was still dressed, his clothes feeling tighter around his body, specifically his swim shorts.

he didn't care. he'd thrown one of her legs over his shoulder as he flattened his tongue across her, feeling the tremble in her standing leg. he'd bury his lips in her cunt, vigorously tasting her like he hadnt eaten in weeks. his tongue lapped at her heat and she let out strings of curses interrupted by moans as she'd tug him closer to her by his hair.

vibrations of his groans stimulated her clit as he softly nipped at the sensitive flesh. he'd lapped at her cunt for not long before it became overwhelming, her moans growing high and squeaked as her legs nearly buckled.

he kept going, looking up at her with massively dilated eyes, half-lidded and seductive. her jaw went slack as she stared into his eyes, she felt the crescendo of her high and she'd nearly scream out his name as she came on his tongue. he'd lick up any remaining juice of hers.

his tongue left one long trail over her cunt, pressuring on her sensitive before pulling away, a trail of saliva connecting to his mouth and her slick glistened on his lips and chins. she panted heavily, he watched the rise and fall of her chest, felt the shaking of her knees as they nearly gave out under her.

he'd smile up at her, his goofy grin greeted her after her hazed high calmed. she'd roll her eyes at his light-heartedness after she'd just came on his tongue.

but it was moments like those that'd bring back the spark of youth and naivety to their relationship. because it was what they'd needed all along. all they needed was each other.

[babystrcandy]

the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )  

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . . 

But . . . 

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to. 

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless). 

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him. 

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . . 

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic. 

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS. 

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn. 

Actually . . . 

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket. 

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm. 

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was. 

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest. 

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug. 

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought.  “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar. 

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . . 

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face. 

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice. 

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts. 

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . . 

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief. 

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed. 

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again. 

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar. 

Did you like it? 

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“ 

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you. 

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“ 

But he was already gone. 

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look. 

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be? 

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . . 

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight. 

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone. 

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him. 

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care. 

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then. 

It seemed he always was . . . 

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki. 

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care. 

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent? 

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . . 

A beat of silence. 

In it more relief. 

Beat.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality. 

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him. 

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to. 

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you. 

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words. 

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“ 

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat. 

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before. 

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . .�� in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . . 

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism. 

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped. 

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing. 

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other. 

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . . 

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence. 

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat. 

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.” 

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart? 

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin. 

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason. 

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become. 

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything. 

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done. 

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too. 

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves. 

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it. 

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you? 

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?” 

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face. 

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . . 

Wait . . . 

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near. 

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean? 

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No. 

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . . 

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you. 

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would. 

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just— 

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going. 

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . . 

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory. 

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now. 

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed. 

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . . 

But . . . 

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing. 

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried. 

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia. 

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . . 

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more. 

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . . 

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too. 

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring. 

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh. 

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear. 

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . . 

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life. 

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help. 

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers. 

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books? 

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent. 

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now. 

Not here. 

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now. 

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . . 

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt. 

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page. 

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now. 

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then? 

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway? 

. . . 

Whatever. 

It didn’t mean much, right? 

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . . 

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air. 

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?” 

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . . 

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward. 

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived. 

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it. 

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true. 

Whatever . . .  it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . . 

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . . 

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge. 

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?). 

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been. 

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it. 

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future. 

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought. 

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . . 

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . . 

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . . 

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles.  “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words. 

OK, he nodded. 

OK, he smiled. 

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles. 

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault. 

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant. 

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself. 

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash. 

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . . 

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams. 

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him. 

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . . 

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . . 

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . . 

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you. 

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds. 

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other. 

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . . 

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in. 

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . . 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once. 

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features. 

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch. 

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . . 

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes. 

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes. 

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

taglist:

@hrts4kook , @taehyungs-chopsticks , @loomipee , @st3ft0n3s , @callmenada , @neg-l3ct , @dawn33 , @illegurlbangtan , @jeonsdetails , @rihabaxl , @yoongipost , @jjk1iscoming , @miumiugurl , @sadgirlroo , @lucwithbangtan , @iamsisuu , @shanelleeex , @beonim , @sherlynxx , @fairy1919 , @purplewhales , @bloopkook , @ggukcanim , @bloodline1632 , @jungkooksseuphoria , @tea4sykes , @mugiwaraelly , @darkuni63 , @jalexad , @lpgirl2324 , @fairy-jaykay , @h0tvillainap0logist , @stuffy16 , @keniicastillo , @yoongukie-ff , @seesawe , @chocolatesublimesoul , @yopjm , @jeonlovescoffee , @xmirvamx , @jk-190811 , @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase , @vminkookgf , @werxyz , @tornparts , @aprilspring , @kswr1d , @jimilter , @02010802 , @sunsetnamjin​ , @lonekittycat , @moonchild1 , @hanamgi , @yoongslast , @heronstairsxd @pointofviewyugyeom

[flnpushy]

A tricky Pushing

It happened so fast. An internet hookup. He wasn’t even who he said he was. The guy was a complete jerk. I fell for his charm, but deep down I knew he was no good. Why did I let him do it? Why didn’t I just walk away…. He was aggressive with me, almost abusive in the back of his truck. Before I could do anything he had me naked…. After the one night stand he ditched me, never to have contact again, I tried to tell him but he ran, there was no getting him back. So now here I am, 9 months later. With his baby in my belly. 

I awoke from this crazy dream. This dream I've had for 9 months now. Hoping this time when I woke up, it wasn’t true. However when my eyes came open, there it was, a big belly hanging from my tiny frame. Ugh… I just want this to be over. Get back to the fun, outgoing, 18 year old girl I was. But this baby had to come out first. I went to all my appointments, and found that of course he had to put a huge baby boy in me. A first time 18 year old mom to be with an 11 pound baby in my belly. I’m so small I thought, I’ve only had sex once, how the hell am I going to push an 11 pound baby out of my tiny pussy? I guess I was about to find out.

After getting pregnant I vanished from people. I didn’t see my friends, my family, or even go outside of my house, except to the doctors. I just wanted to push this baby out and be done. I knew nothing about birth or pregnancy, the doctors said I should seek help to birth or even hire a midwife. I wanted nothing to do with this. It was too embarrassing and I had too much anger to cope with an assisted birth or midwife. I would just do this myself. I tried to end the pregnancy by pushing, reaching inside me and messing with things, hoping to break the water or something. But it was no use. The baby was inside me, and i had no choice but to let it grow….. So much anger, If only I could find that guy and take revenge…..

As I arose for another day of being pregnant alone, It hit me, A hard pain in my gut. I knew it was going to be happening. Finally i thought, I can get this baby out of me. Just push it out nice and fast, and be done.

These pains became more regular. A Couple hours passed. I curled up in a blanket to watch Tv and ride the pains. All i wanted to do was just push, but I knew there was no way the baby was going to just drop out of me. There had to be a dilation thing… right? I truly didn’t know. I stood up from my couch and pulled off my pants, shirt, and panties, exposing my lovely little body. I rubbed my painful belly a couple times and pushed like i needed to poop. This is how you do this? I think…. 

I pushed a few times, I quickly grew impatient. I carried his baby around for 9 months and now its going to be hard to push out! Seriously! I just wanted this to be done. I stuck my fingers up inside me. I reached way in as far as I could fit my fingers. I felt something bulging. Not sure what it was though. I decided to lay back down on the couch. 

Time passed, the pains got worse. It was afternoon, then evening.  Was I even going to have the baby today? How long does this labor thing last? Evening turned into night. I went to bed in pain. Awaking every 15 minutes to searing pains in my belly. Now i was really angry. 

The next morning came. I had been feeling pains for 24 hours now. But things felt different. The burning and stinging deep inside me was gone. Now The burning was inside my vagina. I awoke and immediately inserted my fingers. I pushed in a ways and bumped something. Its was membranous, squishy, and warm. I pushed in a bit more and felt something hard. Was this the babies head? Suddenly i felt a large gush, my hand was soaked and so was the bed below my body. What the hell was that?! Now the pains got worse… Have I done something bad? I thought to myself? I didn’t care. I walked painfully out to the couch and sat down. I was naked and it felt good, But my body didn’t, My vagina area was really starting to hurt. 

“THATS IT!!” I said aloud, “THIS BABY NEEDS TO COME OUT!”

I thought of him again. All this pain for his little bit of pleasure…. UGH!

I then felt like i needed to poop, and badly. I headed to the toilet and sat down. I pushed a few times and quickly realized it wasn’t poop, it was time for me to push the baby out. I made a couple grunts on the toilet before returning to the couch. My body began forcing me to push, it wasn’t very painful yet, and it felt good to push. Each pain made my belly tense up. I put my finger back in my pussy and pushed. I could feel something hard pressing against my finger about 2 inches inside. It must have been the babies head, but i wasn’t sure. When i stopped pushing it receded back a bit. This heightened my frustrations. I stood up, spread my legs wide and pushed hard. I did this for about 15 minutes until i could feel my pussy bulging . I reached down again and felt inside, just within my opening was a head, i could feel a tiny tuft of hair. I knew i was getting close now. Getting closer to being normal again, with no baby in me. Little  did I know the battle was just beginning. 

I continued pushing standing up for about 20 minutes, growing ever more frustrated that the baby hadn’t come out already. Is this baby stuck in me? I couldn’t help it, i reached down and felt inside me again. 

“SERIOUSLY!” I said out loud.

The baby had hardly done anything, not even a centimeter of movement. It had to be stuck. It had to…. But I didn’t know what to do about this. I wasn’t going to seek help… no never. All i wanted was the baby out. I sat back on the couch and pulled my legs up as far as i could, my big belly protruding out hugely in front of me. I pushed a couple times as a bead of sweat ran down my face. 

“UGH!! COME OUT!” I yelled. 

I realized that I could not see what i was actually doing. My belly was much to big for me to actually see my vagina. I got up and found my big mirror from my bedroom. I took it from the room and balanced it up against my coffee table about 2 feet from the couch. Now i could actually see my vagina. I went to push again. But caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror….. I took a hard look at my huge belly and by puffy pussy below it. I thought of him…. I couldn’t truly believe what his seed had done to me. I was angered once again. I pulled back on my legs and began pushing once more. I continued watching the mirror as i went. After about 20 minutes a tiny slit opened a bit in my pussy, I reached down and pulled my labia open, i could see the head now. As soon as my push ended the head disappeared from sight….

What the hell i thought… Its back inside! I had to think about it, i had held a newborn baby when i was younger that my cousin had gave birth to a couple weeks prior. I remember the size of the head. I looked at my pussy and realized….. How on earth is that going to fit….

Didn’t matter…. I needed this baby out!

I pushed hard again. This time the head could be seen with out opening myself up. I pushed hard an held it. The little head stayed there, until i stopped pushing…. Then it slid in. 

“Ugh!!” I said aloud. 

I tried again, once more holding the push, seeing the little head, and then watching it slide back in. Was this how it was supposed to be? Or was the baby already stuck? 

“Get outta there!” I said aloud.

I pushed again and reached down to feel the little head. How could i see it, touch it, but no matter how hard i push it won’t come out?

It was starting to feel like pushing wasn’t effective. But i kept going.

I squatted down holding the couch behind me. I could still see below my belly with the help of the mirror. 

“Mmmmm aaaaaaaa.” I pushed. I could see his little head again. 

“aaaaaa hhhhh.” Another push. More of the head. 

‘Come on little man…mmmmMMMmmmm.” A bit more head, about the size of a silver dollar was showing now. The contraction ended. Almost like a vacuum the babies little head slipped back inside me. I slid back from my squat and sat on the couch. I closed my legs and relaxed, sealing the baby back in my belly. I relaxed for a few minutes and regained my composure to try again. I squatted back down and began pushing. Nothing with the first contraction, not even a sliver of the head. The next contraction revealed a sliver of the babies head, before retracting back inside me again. One more push with the contraction revealed a bit more head, but not much before disappearing again. I became frustrated. Thinking about his baby stuck in my belly. He had it so easy… Now i have to push….

After another hour of making no progress i decided to walk around and push. Maybe moving around would trigger something to happen, or make more room for that little head to squeeze outta there. I grabbed a little mirror from the bathroom that I could carry, this way when i pushed i could see what was happening. I walked around the room, pacing through contractions. When a contraction hit me i squatted and pushed. I did this for awhile, Walking then, squatting to push, only to continue to see the baby slide back in each time. I continued this for a half hour. Finally i ended up back at the couch, full squat, and pushing more again. I began wiggling my hips as i pushed. Trying anything i could think of to make progress. It just wasn’t coming out. Now i was mad. 

I leaned back and pushed with all my strength, i reached down with my hands over my big belly and pulled back on my pussy lips. I tried getting my fingers in and around the babies head as if to attempt to pull it out. But it was no use, the head was to slippery to get a grip on. I was upset and exhausted.

Minutes went by, my body started basically pushing on its own. I had no choice now, there was a baby in me and my body was doing everything it could to push it out. All could do was work with my body and hope the baby came out. About 30 minutes of this passed, finally my pussy was opening farther and farther, slowly letting the baby come forth. Each push shoved the head farther into the opening and attempted to stretch my tight opening. Soon the head was starting to poke out a little bit, but my tight pussy lips continued to grip the babies head relentlessly. The head was now getting ever closer to crown, but still only the size of a silver dollar was really showing in my opening. I needed assistance to get this head to come farther. Maybe how the baby went in could help get it out I thought. I began rubbing myself and playing.

15 minutes passed and i couldn’t hold any longer. I orgasmed. The pressure was crazy as the orgasm contractions slid the baby down a bit more. the head was now pressed so tightly in my opening, it felt like i was going to rip open. The head was now so much bigger in my pussy opening. I pushed a few times but no progress was made. I was getting so close to the forehead of the baby coming through. It was so close, but yet the baby could still slip back in. I was scared to have to go through this again, so i constantly squeezed my muscles to prevent the baby from sliding back. I couldn’t bare the frustration of the baby going back in me now. It was so close to coming out. 

“Come on baby, get your head out!” I yelled pushing as hard as i could. 

This was the case for 45 minutes. Pushing with all my strength, making absolutely zero progress. I was pushing, my body was pushing, But with everything i had the little baby refused to move. 

“COME ON BABY!” I yelled.

I began wiggling my hips side to side and bouncing up and down. Doing anything in my bodies power to release the baby. It was stuck firm. I got up and walked around. the head didn’t move from its position making walking just about impossible. I pushed as i walked hoping for the baby to just fall out of me. But gravity was no help either. I went back to the couch and began to sit down. Thats when i screwed up…..

As is sat down I closed my legs slightly. I felt it…. The slip…. The babies head began retracting back inside. 

“NO NO NO NO!!” I yelped. “AHHHHH!” It was painful as the baby retracted. I watched in the mirror, pushing as hard as i could to stop it. But there was no stopping my body. I watched as the head got smaller and slowly disappeared back inside me. I saw in the mirror as my pussy closed up, sealing the baby back in my belly. I literally was flabbergasted. 6 hours of pushing and i still end up pregnant! I took a break.

30 mins went by. Finally i built up the courage and strength to go at it again. I pushed and things went faster this time. One push had the head in view. The next had the baby back where it was. Finally i made one more big push and i was at crown. Now it was time….. For the ultimate push. 

I dug my hands into a pillow, gritted my teeth, curled my little toes and push with every ounce of muscle mass that my body had. In one huge movement the head popped free. The baby began to rotate. The new push had the shoulders. Finally one last push freed the baby from the tight clenches of my 18 year old womb. I was done. 

[multimilfs]

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader: The Reigning Game, Chapter (6/?)

Chapter 6 - The River's Purpose

Summary: Taking the next steps to protect your kingdom, you're faced with some brutal memories. Also, Agatha schemes.

AO3

A/N: This chapter is moving us into some plot points a little more and I'm really excited to set into motion what I've been brewing for several years now. So many layers... so many.

Thank you so much to anyone and everyone who left comments on chapter 5! It was hard to come back after being away for so long, but the warm welcome made it easier. I ask that if you feel so inclined, please leave a comment telling me what you enjoyed/liked <3 comments keep me writing!

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @thatmacrameisnotgonnahitchitself @thoroughly--confused @white--lillies

Warning(s): Murder, blood, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smut; sadism/masochism, biting, semi-public sex, blood play (kinda), degradation, choking (mentioned), masturbation

| Previous Chapters |

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”  C.S. Lewis

It’s the muffled noises within that bring you to step over the threshold. You drag your fingers along the door as you pass, fingertips slipping over grooves, tracing the familiar picture.

The shades are drawn. Light creeps in around the edges. There’s a chair positioned by one of the windows, and in it sits a figure.

“Why me?” It whispers, moans in anguish, “Please, why me?”

Not this, anything but this.

You stop in your tracks. The soft cries continue, echoing off the walls of the cavernous room. Foreboding builds in your gut, twisting your insides into something awful. She shouldn’t be crying; she had always been so beautiful in joy.

The figure tilts her head back, pleading to the sky, “Why me?”

Nothing here serves you. You know where it leads. You remember the end.

You turn to leave, but the door is replaced by a solid wall. Your hands scramble over its length. This can’t happen—this is your mind, isn’t it? And you want out.

You press your hands against the wall, willing it to release you, but they shake. The only way out is through. That’s always been the truth, hasn’t it?

As you approach, you see how she rocks in the chair, knees to her chest as she moves. Her hands are clenched in her hair, obscuring the face you love.

“Please.” She begs.

You can’t breathe. You fight the bile coming up your throat.

You don’t recognize your own voice, “Mama?”

She continues on as if not hearing. Her hands are bone-white where they clutch her head. Blood seeps from where her fingernails puncture the skin.

“Mama?”

You lay a gentle hand on her shoulder, just as you did then. She lets free a blood-curdling scream.

--

The first thing you do upon waking is turn and expel your last meal onto the ground beside the bed. Your throat feels raw, your middle clenching and seizing as you try to just breathe. Tears seep from your eyes.

Attempting to move makes your stomach turn again. You snap your eyes shut, hands fisting in the furs of your makeshift bed. A miserable whimper leaves your throat.

Half a lifetime of memories and the sound of her screaming is clearer than any else.

For a moment in your anguish all you desire is to call out for her; to have your Mother press kisses to your hair and tell you that you’re safe, it was only a terrible dream. But you’re alone. You’re a woman grown, left to bear the weight of soothing yourself. Agatha certainly won’t do any soothing for you.

Agatha.

You turn over—an action your stomach does not thank you for—expecting her mocking face to watch from the dark. The wind blows open the flap of your tent and a slant of moonlight peeks in. Agatha’s chair sits empty at the foot of the bed.

“Harkness?” You call, voice hoarse.

Only the wind against the tent and a faint rushing of water answer back.

You’re careful when stepping your way to the opening of the tent, desperate for light. Without it inside, you do hit your foot a few times. The pain… helps. Centers you before dissipating all too quickly.

The short grass whips in the breeze. Flowers painted in moonlight twist, petals flying away into the darkness you can’t see. The water is louder, racing away. You admire the glimmering surface from afar.

In the staggering heat of the day you had hardly taken the time to admire this place. More plants and flowers than you’ve ever seen line the riverbank on each side. Shining, scaly bodies of fish leap from the white-water. They fly and spin with the trees as their audience. Then, they’re returned to the depths, gliding downstream where the white-water careens over a cliffside and into the neighboring kingdom on the southern border. 

Short of marching to some battle or another, you’ve scarcely seen any of the kingdom beyond Greymont. And while you love your home, there is so much you ache for. How many scenes matching this one await you? 

To reach the Witch’s barrier you traveled southwest. You’ve been trailing the southern border for days now, having opted to take the Eastern Pass through the Felian Mountains to gain some distance. The foliage here is beautiful and bright and wilder than that of Greymont. You’re eager to travel through the Eastern Pass, even if it means freezing. 

The ground has already begun to steepen and you remain days away. You hadn’t known to expect such scale; the mountains surrounding Greymont are mighty, but few. But you welcome the change. You want nothing more than to see Nethys’ Peak up close. It looms pitch-black against the navy sky. 

So much beauty surrounds you, awaits you, and you’re never going to see it. You’re going to die when that Witch comes for you. The second she made her threats, you’d known it. 

A million steps you’ll never walk. A thousand people you’ll never meet. Countless experiences you’ll never have. 

Tears spring to your eyes unbidden as you walk closer to the river-side. Your bare feet touch something unnatural. Squinting, you make out a heap of dark clothing.

“Come to enjoy the full moon as well?” A voice drawls.

There, with arms propped upon the bank, is Agatha Harkness. She’s blanketed in water from the chest down. The long tresses of her hair float atop the water and obscure most of her form from your vision. You take a deep breath, swallowing hard.

“What are you doing?” You hiss.

“You have eyes.”

You don’t have the energy to match her at this hour, “Why?”

“The full moon is renewing for witches, realigns our power. Did you know this river is the oldest source of water in your kingdom?”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s a feeling.” Agatha says, head propped up on a hand as she tilts her head. There’s a cocky little smile playing at her lips, “Like standing at the base of a fortress and knowing that power lies behind the gates. For a big girl, anyway. Baby witches might just feel stronger, enjoy a prophetic dream or two.”

It’d be nice, you think, to sit near something so powerful and not feel small. You’d give anything to feel a lick of strength right now.

You find yourself sitting on the bank, pulling the skirt of your slip up to your thighs so it doesn’t follow your legs into the rushing water. Agatha watches you. A hand reaches out to toy with the hem of your slip. You raise a brow, but don’t smack the hand away.

The current threatens to pull you away and you only sit up to your calves. You wonder if the force of it pulls Agatha, too, but she stands steady.

“And this fortress, do proper witches have the key to it?”

“It offers enough of a boost that most take it and move on.”

“And you?”

“I could commandeer the whole damn thing if I wished.” She smirks, “But that’d upset the balance.”

“I didn’t know you were bound by anything so common.”

“Balance binds all things living and dead.”

Balance. What form of balance was in play when it came to your Mother?

You shove the thought away. The river is warm and soft, even as it pushes around you. The moon is bright; soothing you for a moment, like a hand upon the shoulder. Agatha’s hand is warm where it rests against your thigh.

“Are such places admired while clothed or is everyone like you?”

“Darling,” Agatha purrs, “there is no one like me.”

You roll your eyes.

“You are singular in how you grate on the nerves.”

She chuckles low. Her hand resting against your thigh shifts, trailing down, until it ghosts against your calf in the water. You twitch. You can’t summon the strength to shake her off. 

“Join me.” She urges.

“I’m happy just as clothed as I am now, thank you.” You say.

“I won’t let you be swept away if that’s your concern.”

“And I’m meant to trust you?”

“Witch’s vow.” Agatha reminds.

There’s something earnest in her face. Her fingers trace patterns on the back of your leg, descending to your ankle. Should you reject her, you’re not entirely sure she won’t just drag you in.

No one lingers to watch the two of you; Agatha had insisted after the first night that she was more than enough protection. The firelight is faint from the rest of the camp. If you listen, you can hear your forces laugh and jeer. Are they aware that they’re steps away from somewhere sacred?

Witch or not, you do find yourself drawn to the idea of bathing in the waters. You want to pull strength from it, too. You want your limbs to stop shaking.

“I’m not undressing.” You declare.

“Pity.”

You lift your body and slide down the bank until the water is up to your own chest. It feels a little colder for a moment, but you enjoy the bite. A collection of rocks press into your feet. There are the jagged ones, stabbing into your arch. Then, the smooth ones your feet nearly slide over.

The current unsettles your footing. You’re pushed forward until your full body collides with Agatha’s. Her arm loops around your waist within a moment.

“Careful.”

You nod, trying—and failing—to clear your mind of just how much she is pressed against you. Through the thin, wet fabric of your slip, you can feel every powerful muscle and delicious curve. You shouldn’t have come, not when you’re drowsy and not thinking clearly.

She is the enemy, you cannot desire her. You won’t.

“You made it look weak.”

“Most things are when paired against me.” She shrugs, as if the statement is not laced with extreme ego.

The silence that descends is almost nice. Agatha, you’ve found, is good at comfortable silence when she chooses to be. Granted, she’s usually focused on a conjured text, or scribbling in a notebook of her own—even still, the time with her has been surprisingly bearable.

She was cruel that first day; no doubt repayment for nearly letting her die. By the second she had returned to her normal self; teasing you one minute, asking questions you didn’t understand the next.

“This is where we’ll set the first ward.” Agatha says.

“Here? In the center of the river?” You ask.

“Higher, where it splits.”

“How?”

“So many questions. I’ll explain when we set it, tomorrow.”

You nod. The hand on your back is tracing patterns again. Against your better judgment, you relax in her arms. The water caresses you easier when you do.

You should’ve known this place had meaning when Agatha was adamant on setting camp here. She’d made an effort to take little interest in anything beyond herself—but then, a spark. An awareness she hadn’t cared to have until that moment.

Reading faces has always been easy; you’re not sure how you missed what you saw in Agatha’s. You haven’t missed anything so obvious since…

Though the water is warm, and the hands on you, too, you shiver.

She’d been so gaunt, cheeks hollow. Your Father couldn’t stand to visit, but you visited twice every morning and night. She hadn’t smiled in years by that point, but she did then; brushing a bony hand over your cheek, smiling, wistful, and murmured, “My little sun.”

When you left, something in your chest felt wrong. And when you returned in the morning she was gone.

The nausea returns tenfold. You try to push the memory of her face away, but it just won’t go. You sink your nails into your thigh but it isn’t enough. Agatha’s nails ghost over your flesh.

Agatha will have no qualms with harming you. You don’t think it will make a difference what purpose it serves, only that she can draw your blood again. 

Desire had danced in her eyes the day you were defeated, dripping blood, and it wouldn’t change now. Yet, if you ask this of her, you’ll be giving into the desire yourself. Can you, in good conscience, allow yourself this, even as a distraction? 

Time is fleeting; the weight of death that looms over your head. Should you turn away from this available source of hedonism and pleasure, then you’ll never know it. You want to know how it feels to be touched before you die. 

You want something other than your heart to ache.

“I need you to hurt me.” You demand.

Agatha’s hand stills. She flinches back, eyeing you, “Say again.”

You’ll blame the exhaustion later.

“Hurt me,” you say, “distract me.”

There’s a moment where she hesitates. Her eyes are wary, looking over you, then around.

“As you wish.”

Agatha’s hands grip the back of your thighs and pull you closer. Her nails dig in, and you whimper, knowing that if you could see it, the water will be red with your own blood. At the same time, her teeth dig into the side of your neck.

Some higher awareness reminds you that this is wrong—she’s the reason for everything terrible in your life, she’s a monster—but you don’t care. Not when her teeth distract from the nausea. Not when the soothing of her tongue chases away your misery.

One of her hands shifts to your inner thigh, tracing threatening shapes. Her hand just grazes the perfect spot between your legs. You moan, your mind screaming yes, please, touch me.

Her lips have moved to another spot on your neck, but her teeth haven’t yet come out to play. You twist your hand in the wet strands of her hair and hold Agatha in place.

“Who knew you wanted to be bruised.” She teases, voice low, “What would your people say?”

The ghost of her hand between your legs is driving you mad. You chase after it, but she pulls away each time.

“Touch me.” You demand.

“Oh, but I am, dear.” She punctuates the statement with a nip to your neck, “What is it you really want?”

“Harkness.” You grit out.

“Tell me.”

You should extract yourself from her and return to the tent. Nothing good can come from giving her this—giving her you.

But gods you want. Since the summer celebrations, you’ve ached. You remember passing rooms and hearing the sounds the other women made. You waited. With destruction on the horizon, why wait anymore?

“Fuck me.” You beg.

The answering laugh in your ear sends shivers down your spine. Agatha is everywhere, all at once. The feeling of her is euphoric.

One hand toys with you over the fabric of your slip. Deft fingers rub, feeling, but your nipples are already peaked from the combination of cold and desire. The friction draws a moan from your throat. She pinches, hard, and your hips jump, you choke out a groan.

Her lips have yet to stray from your neck. The bites she deals you are delightful, painful, on the edge of too much yet just enough, but it’s her kisses you prefer. No comparison exists for the softness of her lips, the pressure so light it almost tickles. Would they feel the same way against your own, or would they be rougher, dominating?

You shut that thought down. Kissing implies intimacy.

“Hold on to me.” Agatha murmurs.

Lacing your fingers around her neck, she gets started on the real work. Her other hand releases your waist and delves between your legs.

It takes everything in you not to come from the first touch. The touch of her is firm, knowing, as two fingers slowly work their way inside you. Her thumb ghosts over your bundle of nerves.

You’re no stranger to the power of a delightful orgasm; your own hand is a reliable companion in pleasure, but this… this is indescribable. To be touched, to be at the mercy of not knowing what she’ll do next adds another layer you could never experience on your own.

Her breath is hot on your ear, “The Good Queen, spread open beneath the moon, no better than some desperate, common urchin.”

“Fuck you.” You snarl, but roll your hips, impaling yourself further on her fingers.

“You couldn’t handle me, darling.”

You imagine the sight of Agatha Harkness beneath you, hair spread around her head, your hands firm on her throat as she squirms; the pathetic, weak noises she’d make with the little air you allow her—her eyes dark with desire so ravenous it could consume you on sight. You clench around her fingers.

“I hate you.”

Her thumb sets a brutal pressure upon your clit. You know it won’t be long before you’re coming.

“How humiliating it must be, then, to need me so much.”

Agatha’s right. Humiliation burns through you, but turns molten along the way. Her fingers continue to rub over the spot inside you that conjures lights behind your eyes. A well placed swipe to your clit and you’re done, falling over the edge.

Your fingers dig into her shoulders, something between a groan and a shriek leaving your lips. Agatha moans in your ear. Your body tightens, clenching, and you roll your hips over her hand to keep it going, even as it hurts.

Agatha’s hand on your hip stills you. You whimper into her neck when she pulls out, leaving you empty.

Face buried in her neck, you miss the way she pulls back to regard you; with moonlight and a strange look in her eyes. Her hands are gentle, free from the bite of her nails. One hand holds you against her. The other pulls through your hair, working out any knots in the strands. It’s nice. Comfortable. Which is precisely why your stomach turns as the euphoria wears off.

You tense. Agatha’s touch stills.

The rush of water is no longer intriguing, Agatha’s arms far from comfortable. What have you done?

Though you feel like you’re made of jam, you take a step back, surprised to find your feet steady on the stones below. You look Agatha in the face—you won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you cower—and smile, the business-like smile of a Queen, despite the tears in your eyes.

“Goodnight.”

Agatha tilts her head, “Goodnight, dear.”

When you haul yourself back up onto the bank and walk as quickly as you can back to the tent, you feel her eyes on you the entire way.

--

The Captain is on her feet the second the opening of the tent allows the morning light inside, golden blade in hand. She lowers said blade at who enters, “Your Majesty.”

Agatha raises a brow at the welcome.

“I understand my wife set a meeting with you.”

Though the Captain’s blade has been lowered, she remains taut. Her eyes shift briefly to the opening of the tent. Agatha senses the suspicion lingering in her mind, though she does well to push it down—not fast enough, however.

Agatha could grin at how they lord over you, protect you as if you’re some helpless fawn in the woods. Do they not remember the goddess who led them on the battlefield, the woman who cut down dozens to reach her? You’re hardly the wide-eyed innocent they believe you to be.

No wide-eyed innocent would have begged her jailer to fuck her, for starters.

That is neither here nor there, though. Sharing such information with your forces would hardly aid your opinion toward her; not in the way she requires.

“I trust Her Majesty is well?” Thena says.

“Dealing with a small bout of sickness.” It isn’t a lie, if the evidence at your bedside was anything to go off of, “I thought it best she rest a while more.”

She’d almost blanched at your appearance when she returned to the tent. The sight of a pale, shaking woman had been the last thing she expected. For a moment, she hadn’t recognized you.

Agatha had waved her hand and cleaned the mess. Then, with a more precise hand, she placed her fingers against your forehead, digging; bright images of color she couldn’t comprehend flashed, there and away, playing out a story she couldn’t follow but could feel tormenting you. A calming brush of her own magic had returned some color to your cheeks.

Her words to the Captain ring true; if you are to be of any use while setting the wards today, you’ll require all the rest you can get.

Though suspicion still lingers, the Captain nods, “Please, sit.”

Agatha eyes the map atop the table. She notes the areas that are marked.

“What orders did she give you on the subject of extra forces?”

“She wanted as many called to service as the kingdom can spare.”

Agatha sighs. You really hadn’t been thinking in the midst of your panic, had you?

“She wants this handled quietly. Tell the battle masters to keep their soldiers sharp, but nothing more. I’ll handle a more discreet force of power.”

--

You stomp through the brush and uphill, pointedly ignoring Agatha’s put-upon sighing as she follows behind. There’s a barely-there path you follow alongside the river. It’s lined with flowers in some areas, though others find brambles pulling at your skirts.

The river is stronger the higher you trek, though you’re not sure how it’s possible. Only last night a section had threatened to sweep you away. You can only imagine what this area would do.

“Are you going to pout all day? I’d like to know how difficult this task is going to be.” Agatha drawls behind you.

“I am not pouting.”

“Oh, of course, my mistake.”

You whirl on her in a patch of chamomile flowers. Glaring down from your only-slightly-taller position, you point a finger straight at her chest.

“You had no right to go against me like that.”

Agatha raises a brow, “I think you’ll find I had every right, if that was my aim.”

“What would you call taking over my meeting and overturning my word—aid?” You scoff.

“Allowing a Queen who lost control of her faculties to attend a meeting rather than healing would go against the best interests of your kingdom. Remember those pesky things I’m bound to?”

For a moment, you had taken the loss of control comment to mean your mental faculties; the very ones that’d prompted you to fuck her in the middle of the river you now stand beside. Then you remember your bout of sickness and flush with embarrassment. When you woke up this morning to find the evidence missing, you assumed it had been imagined.

“You can’t expect me to believe you care.”

“No, but I did not spend hours bathing in moonlight to lose what I recharged so soon.”

“Is that what you call what happened?”

Agatha grins, chuckles dryly, “Ah. So that’s what this is about.”

“No.” You deny, turning to continue on your way up the incline, “Simply an observation.”

She matches pace, keeping in line with your own stride. You can see her grinning from the corner of your eye.

“Did I touch a nerve when I made you come, princess?” Agatha teases.

“Ugh!”

You throw your hands up.

The incline comes to a slow stop, leveling off. You stop and realize just how out of breath you are from the hike.

Spread before you is a quiet section of the river with two veins shooting apart. One grows choppy, running downhill fast in the direction you just came from. The other follows a lazy curve away from its sister path. 

A near-placid pool holds the water before it decides which path to take, collecting the runoff from the mountains. It is this pool that Agatha steps up next to and begins removing her layers. You growl, covering your eyes.

“I don’t care to travel back down in wet clothing, dear.”

“You have magic—just wave yourself dry.”

“And deny myself the pleasure of watching you squirm?” She laughs.

You cross your arms and pointedly look anywhere but at her. Though in your periphery you notice she’s at least kept her shift on, thin as it may be. Even the silhouette of her is enough to render you speechless. The whole of her had been pressed against you only hours ago. You clear your throat.

“Why, exactly, are you getting in?” You ask.

“Easier to call on the magic if you’re standing in the center of it.”

You nod, perching on a rock beside the water, “I do love a show.”

“You’re joining me.”

“No magic, Harkness.”

Agatha shakes her head, “Every being has a spark of magic in their blood, though it may not manifest enough to make them a true witch. Barring that, you are the heart of your kingdom. Your presence focuses the intent of the magic.”

“You speak of the magic here like a living thing. Focusing it, calling on it—what’s next, marrying it, too?”

That earns you an eye-roll. A sharp pain strikes your hip and you jump, catching the dissipating wisp of violet.

“All magic is a living thing.”

“And yours chooses to live with you… questionable.”

“It doesn’t live as we know living.”

“What of the river?” You ask, tilting your head, “You said it’s especially old. Does it live closer to our experience or further?”

“Closer. A special case.”

“How so?”

She sighs. The endless barrage of questions seems to annoy her just as much as it sates your curiosity; you smirk, pleased.

“It’s from the time of Light and Darkness and Chaos. Older than the First Coven. Chaos made this river; imbuing it with more power—thoughts and desires. Which is conveniently why we can use it for the wards.” Agatha explains, hands waving and fingers twitching. Violet flows from her fingers every now and again, forming wispy pictures of crowns and the like, “It aches to do more. To be more. My direction and your intent will give it the great purpose it craves.”

You look into the water and almost believe you can feel the magic there. A primal, ancient desire to run free and fast, but also to do more—shift, protect, live. It wants to help you, it only requires guidance.

Agatha runs her hands over and through the ripples with near-reverence. She stares into the depths like it’s whispering secrets. 

If it’ll protect your people, then you’ll do whatever is required; even if you’re convinced Agatha is making half of it up to see you in various states of undress. You shed your outer layers and embarrassment. The dress pools in a heap at your feet, which you step out of. You’re left in a similar shift to that of the night before.

Watching, Agatha licks her lips, and holds a hand up to you.

“My Lady.” She teases.

You take her hand and accept the assistance into the depths. The water is warm. You correct, “My Queen.”

She smirks.

The water laps gently at your form as Agatha leads you to the center of the pool. It comes to settle just below your breasts. The push and pull reminds you of a child tugging at your skirts.

Quiet is the air. The breezes wait, watching, eager to see their sister directed. You’re oblivious to the stillness. The water holding to you is warm, as is the hand in your own.

Agatha stops and takes your other hand, stepping back until the two of you form the shape of a full moon. She inhales deeply and you mimic the action. Then, her eyes close, and her head tilts back; baring her face to the warmth of the sun. She chants;

Chaos filia, 

Quid est quod desideres? 

Filia tenebrarum Domine, 

Quid est camena? 

Lucis filia, 

Audi me et esto usus.

Complete stillness creeps over the world. The river stops; bending, waiting; and you feel a deep tug in your abdomen. Agatha continues to chant until she cuts off rather abruptly.

There’s the buzz of magic all over your body from your connection to her. The electricity of her purple cascades over and around you. You watch as she straightens and opens her eyes. They’re dark, heavy lidded.

She steps forward. One blackened hand comes to press right above your heart. Purple dances in her eyes.

“Hear her.” Agatha urges, pressing harder.

The tug grows. Then, you hear.

Purpose! Purpose! O Mothers, what is your will? A voice asks, eager, almost childlike, Allow me use!

Agatha’s orders don’t come in the form of words, but rather, images; a solid invisible wall; the Witch and all the terrible of her, barred entry. You feel the river’s attention shift and regard you. It waits.

Intent. It wants intent.

Images flow similarly from you; your people, tired and weary, whom you ache to see safe; your friends without fear in their eyes; curious eyes and little hands that seek out your own. The river attempts to embellish, tugging and pulling at your intent. You hold tight to the images in your mind. Those are the things you crave, the things you will—you are not to be cajoled otherwise.

The Chaos is not pleased. Yet, it bends.

You do not open your eyes, but you don’t need to. In your minds eye you watch every molecule of the river light up in white, all of them racing through their paths; into streams along the border, below ground to the worms, into the fray and over the cliffside bordering the next kingdom; as they run, they dance and interlock, forming an impenetrable wall that glows purple upon full realization.

The wall pulses as if to say, are you pleased? You are. You’re very pleased.

The tugging inside you stops. On all sides, sound creeps back in, from the smallest bug to wolves in the forest. The river babbles and roars.

You’re left with a euphoric desire that nearly brings you to your knees. The lidded eyes of Agatha tell you she must feel it too. Her hand begins to trail from your chest toward the apex of your thighs. Catching her wrist, you shake your head.

Those images are still bright in your mind. They’re intimately coupled with the knowledge that Agatha poses a threat to them. Subdued and bound as she may currently be, the touch of her hand still makes you sick.

You redress beside the river and begin the descent back to camp alone, uncaring of the way your still-wet shift clings to your flesh with each step.

--

Agatha lays in the grass beside the river, letting the sun dry her. Somehow the warmth of it doesn’t truly penetrate. Her hands are cold. She’s near-shivering despite the heat of the day.

She sighs. There’s still so much to be done.

With the easiest task of the day behind her, she thinks about the one that awaits with dread. It would be a mercy to handle all of it herself. But, though she hates it, she can’t handle this new threat alone. 

Two fingers between her lips, Agatha whistles, shrill and measured.

A beat passes before Aquila appears in a cloud of black and purple smoke. She perches on the rock next to Agatha, the same that you’d been sitting on only hours ago.

Aquila tilts her head, then warbles.

“Yes, I did have a reason for calling you. Give me a moment.” Agatha huffs, but scratches affectionately at the raven’s neck.

She summons parchment and a quill upon sitting up. It hovers before her, waiting. She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

The trust on her side is tentative, but what other option does she have? She can’t go to the Court of Crones. She’d be killed on sight by the Court of Mothers. And the last one is useless.

Had things not turned out the way they did, she wouldn’t be in this mess. They’d have to do her bidding without question. She sneers at the situation.

Aquila warbles again, impatient.

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you have more pressing engagements?” Agatha asks, “You should lay off the Greymont mice. You’re looking a little fluffy.”

That earns her a rather vicious nip of the fingers. Agatha wipes the blood off on her dress, ambivalent.

Squaring her shoulders, the quill jumps to life. She can’t put this off anymore. It moves quick, scrawling out her message;

I call on your wisdom and sisterhood. The old shrine, two days' time. Sundown.

A. Harkness

The parchment rolls itself up and finishes with her signature purple seal. It attaches to Aquila’s leg where she sits. The raven stares down at it, then up at her Mistress.

Agatha regards her, “Find Lilia. Don’t return until you do.”

--

The walk doesn’t quell what the ritual summoned in you. If anything, the time alone to think left you worse off; your shift drying, but the space between your legs wetter.

You understand the allure of magic, now. The energy that’d come off Agatha still sends shivers down your spine. What you’d give for some of that power for yourself.

You try—and fail—to find a purpose for the day. Meetings are scant and activities even more so. You attempt to read, but your vision blurs. You practice your swordsmanship but it only serves to make you warmer.

Near sundown you give the order that none are to disturb you. You shed layers down to your slip and bend over the end of the bed, fingers reaching as deep as you can manage, biting back the whines under your breath. The angle isn’t quite right, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You work your fingers hard until you squeeze around them, trying to ignore the blue eyes swimming in the back of your mind.

--

“Her Majesty was terrified, I tell you.”

Walking back in the dark, she stops behind one of the outlying tents. The words root her to the spot.

“Come on, Phillip. Her Majesty faced down an entire army without flinching.” One voice says.

“Maybe so, but whatever was in that bubble had her babbling. If I didn’t know any better I would say she went a little mad.” The original voice responds.

A third voice laughs, “I say she already is.”

This would not do.

Agatha summons her armor with a wave of her hand. It’s heavy, but familiar. It still boasts bloodstains from that final battle. Another wave and she’s sitting across from the three soldiers around their own fire. They don’t notice her at first.

“An interesting rumor.” She drawls.

All three men jump to their feet. One begins to shriek before cutting off the sound. They bow. Glancing over their minds, she can feel the primal fear in their veins. She breathes it in deep. God, she forgot how intoxicating it could be to make grown men quiver.

She really should play with the forces a little more. It’s endlessly enjoyable.

The one she recognizes as the second voice stutters, “Your Majesty, our apologies—”

Agatha waves away the apology, having no use for it.

“How many have been told of what you witnessed at the barrier?” Agatha asks.

Two of them look to a third. Ah. This is the little talker, then. He fits the bill; smaller than the other two, lackluster. She wonders if he is any good among the ranks beyond his loose lips. 

“None but us, Your Majesty.” He offers.

She rifles through his mind to find he’s telling the truth. Good. That’ll make her job much easier then.

Agatha grins, shark-like, “Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

All three necks snap with a carefree flick of her finger.

--

She stands steps from the tent when the wave of pain hits her, forcing her to double over against a tree. It’s like lightning is rushing through her body and popping all the joints.

The scarred-over X on her palm throbs in warning.

Another wave hits. Agatha’s hands dig into the tree, cutting open the flesh. Her nails threaten to crack.

Agatha groans, then snarls under her breath, “I got the message!”

Her palm tenses once more before it all comes to a stop. She takes a long minute to curse the forces of nature before entering the tent. 

[pedrospatch]

we need you

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Afraid of failing the two of the people he cares about more than anything, Joel decides you and Ellie are better off without him.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SET IN JACKSON. takes place during Kin. arguing, angst. helpful to know reader was not present when Joel and Tommy talked in the garage. NO mentions of age, reader has no physical description.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: welllllp i don't know about you guys, but i am DEAD inside after tonight so to cope i am going to write a little drabble. already put it in the warning/tags section, but once again, just to be on the safe side of things: potential spoilers, proceed with caution if you do not want the newest episode spoiled!

“Just what in the motherfucking hell was that, Joel?” You nearly growled, bursting through the door of the bedroom that he’d chosen to occupy for the night. Having heard the way he’d spoken to Ellie—not to mention, all that he had said to her even after her heartbreaking confession to him, her unspoken cry for him not to abandon her, all you could see in your mind was the color red. Sure, you and Joel had been through your fair share of bullshit over the years, disagreements that caused friction between the two of you weren’t all that uncommon seeing as the two of you shared similar personality traits to each other, stubbornness being one of them. But you could not, for the life of you, remember an occasion where you’d been this angry with him, this fucking livid. As you watched him sink down onto the bed without a word, your hands curled into fists at your sides. You knew it would only make matters worse, losing your temper, but you weren’t all too sure that you could contain it this time around.

The blood in your veins was bubbling, boiling hot underneath your skin.

“Are you going to fucking answer me or what?” You prompted, a cool edge to your tone despite the heat radiating throughout your body. “You’re really trying to hand her off to Tommy?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

“Find what out, Joel? That you went off and made a decision, and a really fucking dumb one at that, without even talking to me about it first?” You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. Despite how incredibly furious you were, the sadness was heavy inside of your chest. Tt was as if Joel had forgotten the fact that for the last few months, Ellie had been under your care too, and you had every right to be a part of any decision that he made regarding her and her well-being. It hurt you to your very core that he’d done this without talking to you first, and it hurt you even deeper to know that Ellie had known about this and she’d kept it all to herself all evening.

She’d come home from the movies and when you offered her dinner, she refused to eat and stomped upstairs, locking herself in the bedroom. You’d chalked it up to nothing more than a typical teenaged girl simply having a mood swing. After all, it hadn’t exactly been the best day for Ellie. She’d arrived in Jackson and the first thing she noticed was how everyone in the colony looked at her, especially the children. She was different. She didn’t fit in, she stuck out like a sore thumb and you knew that had to have been hard for her. Not wanting to push her, you’d figured that she would come out of the room eventually and talk you about it when she was good and ready. But now that you knew the real reason why she had come home so upset, you couldn’t help but to feel guilty.

For hours, Ellie had been upstairs in that room knowing that Joel planned on dumping her on Tommy and you didn’t have the slightest fucking clue about what was going on until you’d overheard Joel and Ellie’s shouting match just moments ago.

“Joel.” You said his name in a tone neither of you recognized.

Low, venomous, borderline dangerous.

You were like a ticking bomb, seconds away from going off.

Joel narrowed his eyes at you. “She’s better off with Tommy, alright? And we both fuckin’ know that,” he said. “It’s the best thing to do for her. I’m doin’ it because I know damn good and well that if she stays with me, all I’m gonna do is have her fall into the wrong fuckin’ hands or killed.”

“You’re wrong!” You countered, dropping your arms away from your chest and back down to your sides. “Joel, don’t you dare fucking do this. Ellie doesn’t want Tommy, she wants you. She all but fucking said it right to your face just a minute ago!” You cried, pointing a finger towards the door of the room as if pointing to Ellie herself. “She admitted to you that she wouldn’t feel safe with anyone else, Joel. So don’t you fucking do this to her.”

He gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles going ghost white. “She’ll be better off with Tommy,” he repeated himself. He paused for a brief moment, just long enough to avert his tortured gaze from yours as he said, “And so would you.”

Your mouth parted slightly in shock. “Fucking excuse me?”

“I can’t keep her safe. Hell, I can barely keep you safe! How many fuckin’ times have I almost lost you? ‘Cause I don’t move fast enough? ‘Cause I’ve made the wrong decisions? ‘Cause I’ve asked you to do somethin’ for me and turns out that I unknowingly sent you into the fuckin’ lion’s den?” He inhaled a sharp breath, and you could hear his voice breaking with each and every word that fell from his lips. “I’ve almost cost you your life how many fuckin’ times now?”

“Joel—”

“Tess died ‘cause of me.” He saw you open your mouth to protest and he quickly added, “You can sit there and tell me over and over that it wasn’t my fault ‘til you’re blue in the face, but let’s just fuckin’ be honest and tell it how it is, alright? I couldn’t get to her quick enough and now she’s dead. I won’t let you meet the same fate.” Joel reached up, raking a hand tiredly through his hair, mentally bracing himself for your reaction to what he was about to say next. “I think you should go with Tommy and get Ellie to where she needs to be. After that, you should—you should think about stayin’ here with him in Jackson. I probably don’t belong here, but you do.”

You let out a small, shaky breath of air.

“Who the hell are you to make that kind of decision for me?” You asked, willing yourself to keep yourself from crumbling into tears. “I’m sorry Joel, but you can’t make that kind of a choice for me. And do you want to know what else?” You didn’t even wait for him to respond. “You can’t make it for Ellie, either.”

“She’s fuckin’ fourteen years old—”

You took a step forward as you challenged him. “Do you really think that girl isn’t smart enough to know deep down inside what’s best for her? Tell me, do you really think that Ellie pulled everything she said out of her ass? Do you honestly think that she could ever trust Tommy the way that she trusts you?” You felt a warm tear slide down your cheek and quickly wiped it away before he could see it. “Ellie is young, but she’s not a baby, Joel. I get that sometimes we need to guide her through shit, but let’s be real. She is old enough to make decisions for herself. Maybe not all of them, but the decision that you’re trying to make for her right here, right now—it isn’t yours to make.” Another tear made its way down the side of your face as you whispered, “And the one you’re trying to make for me isn’t either.”

Joel hung his head, seemingly defeated. “Why can’t you see it’s for the best? Why are you makin’ this so hard?”

Willing your trembling legs to move, you slowly walked over to him and sank to your knees in front of him; although you tried to meet his eyes, he refused. “You care about Ellie. I know it, I can see it and I can feel it. For as much shit as you give her all the time, I know that she’s become so important to you.”

“‘Course she is,” he mumbled. “You’re both important to me.”

You reached for his hands, pulling them forward onto his lap. You placed your own hands on top of his, lacing your fingers together. “Then don’t fucking do this to us, Joel. Please. I’m already down on my knees and I will fucking beg and plead if that’s what it’s going to take.” You crouched down a little further, enough so that you could look up into his dark brown eyes. “Ellie wants to be with you, Joel. And I do too.”

Joel’s gaze glistened with tears that he tried, but failed, to keep from falling in front of you. “I’ll fail you, just like I’ve fuckin’ failed everybody else.”

“Joel, please listen to me. Hear what I am saying, for the love of Christ. We have come so far,” You said, firmly squeezing his hands in yours as if somehow that would snap him out of it. “Whether you choose to believe or not, we’ve only come this far because of you. You have done so much for us. It’s why we trust you, why we feel safe with you. Me and Ellie, we belong with you, Joel—not with Tommy, not with anyone else. We need you, okay? We fucking need you. Do you understand me, Joel?”

Joel exhaled the breath he’d been holding shakily, leaning down to be closer to you. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against yours as he tried to even out his breathing.

Rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs in soothing circles, you lifted your head and lightly pressed your lips against his forehead.

“We’re going to finish what we started,” You murmured quietly against his skin, feeling a slight shudder rack his body as a single whimper escaped him. You squeezed his hands again. “Together, Joel.”

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 2

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

Prev - Next

CH.2

"Don’t get me wrong, I stand in solidarity with all assortments of criminals, felons, and anyone who sticks it to the man, but damn do I hate being the man who gets stuck."

"This is for your own good."

"You're not the first kidnapper to tell me that.”

“...We’ll touch on that later. How are you feeling?” 

“Like I’ve been kidnapped by some delusional maniac.”

“...I meant physically. How are you handling your stitches?”

“They’re slightly better than the last set of shady back alley stitches I got. I thought you said you weren’t a medical doctor?”

“My fields of study are wide and varied, of course I’ve covered some basic medical topics.”

*Ford tosses a book titled ‘Battlefield Medicine and Emergency Blood Transfusions For Dummies’ into a drawer and closes it*

“Where are we, anyways?”

“We’re still in Gravity Falls, but in my research facility in the woods; right now we’re in my below-ground level lab. You’re in one of the containment cells I use for cryptids, monsters, and anomalies.”

“So, what, you're some kinda mad scientist? Are you gonna do some depraved experiments on me?”

“No, you’re staying there until you heal, and you admit you’re lying.”

“Lying about what, specifically? It’s a long list.”

“Lying about not knowing who I am. You’re only doing this so you can pretend you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That does sound like something I’d do. Did I sell you something that blew up or gave you a rash?”

“What-? No! You know what you did. Stop playing this ‘Not what he seems’ card, Stanley-.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“It’s your name.”

“Is it?”

“...What do you think your name is?”

“Stan.”

“And...?”

“And what?”

“Your surname. What's your surname?”

“Malone.”

“That’s your fake name this time? Stanley Malone?”

“Just Stan. I guess Stan might be short for Stanley? I don't think too hard about it.”

“It is short for Stanley. It can only be short for Stanley or Stanford and the latters already taken.”

“My ex used to joke around that my name must be Staniel... Heh, Rick you asshole.”

“Malone- Mr. Mystery, or whatever fake identity you’re using this time, it isn’t going to work on me. You’re a liar, Stanley Pines. And you’re staying in that cell until you admit it.”

“Ok, I’m a liar. Now let me out.”

“...No.”

---

“Last year Ma tried to call me and update me on whatever antics you were pulling at the time. I always hung up before she could try to get me invested. Is that what this is about? Are you angry I didn’t bail you out of whatever trouble you were in?”

“Last year’s a blur, PhD. But there’s nothing I did that a second mad scientist could have possibly helped me with.”

“I’m not a- second?”

“Sure you’re not a mad scientist, sure. You just have an evil basement sub-lab in the middle of some creepy woods. And you conveniently already had a prison cell with a one-way forcefield ready. And there’s a jar with eyeballs in it on your counter. A normal, sane scientist has all of these things.”

“Don’t patronize me, Stanley. I told you my specialty is anomalies. Of course I’d have a containment unit for anything human sized or greater.”

“And would a not-mad scientist miss their brother so much they go around knocking out and kidnapping the first person who looks like him?”

“I did not miss you-.”

“What happened to him, anyways? Did he die or something and this is how you're coping?”

“That- that isn’t funny Stanley!”

“And you’re a barrel of laughs yourself.”

*Ford gets up and approaches the cell, before reaching into his trench coat and pulling something out to show him*

“I don’t hate you, if that’s why you’re pulling this stunt. I still have this. I’m still mad, I haven’t forgiven you, but I never hated you.”

“Gee that’d be such a nice sentiment if I knew what the hell you’re talking about, and what that picture’s supposed to be.”

“It’s us when we were children.”

“Huh. Guess you do have an identical twin.”

“And that boat is the Stan O’War, we found it as boys and tried to fix it up. You always talked about sailing the world one day, and dragging me with you.”

“No thanks. I hate the ocean.”

“... What?”

“The ocean creeps me out, Doc. Really, any big enough body of water. They swallow you up, and you disappear. I wouldn’t sail the ocean, and I wouldn’t take some maniac like you with me.”

“... You’re not lying.”

“About not liking the ocean, or you being crazy as fuck? Because both are 100% no bullsh-”

“You… Truly don’t remember, you’ve lost your memory. Stanley, you have amnesia.”

To be continued...

[overrboarrd]

sanctuary [2]: ghost of you

firefighter!roman reigns x azure clarke [oc]

warnings: hospital setting, mentions of spousal/sibling loss

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this one's kinda heavy, maybe not as much as the prologue but brace yourselves. sorry for getting it to y'all kinda late, i had midterms and a capstone and hella papers to do but, once again, we made it! let me know what y'all think. <3

Roman leaned against the cold tile wall of the firehouse shower, letting the scorching water beat down on his neck and shoulders. Five days straight. Five days of putting out fires, saving lives, and pushing his body to the limit. Normally, he welcomed the distraction—it kept him from thinking too much. But lately, his mind had been wandering to things he couldn’t control.

He was there again, standing in the smoke-filled yard, his heart pounding as the flames consumed the building. Echoes of the sirens screaming and the other firefighters shouting around him. And there they were, the nine words that would haunt his memory forever.

“There’s someone else inside,”

“I don’t have time, Ro.”

Time. 

That was the last time Roman heard his brother’s voice. The last time he had the chance to save him, and he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing. His own name being the last thing his brother ever said to him. Roman opened his eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of the locker room pulling him out of the past, but the weight of grief stayed, pressing down on his chest like a vise.

Roman shook his head and stepped out of the shower. He couldn’t let himself get trapped in his thoughts, not when he had a job to do and a team to lead. The shower did little to relieve the tension that remained in his body as he finished getting dressed. His heavy steel toed boots carried him down the hall to the equipment room where it was quiet; the only sound being the soft clink of metal as he hung his polished helmet in the locker.

“Roman?”

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Randy, his teammate, stood at the doorway with a small yet knowing smile on his face. “You good, man? Looks like you’re about to go ten rounds with that helmet.”

Roman glanced down at his hands. He hadn’t even realized he was gripping the helmet so tightly. “Yeah,” he paused, “Just putting the rest of my stuff away.”

Randy didn’t buy it but didn’t push. Leaving Roman with a small nod, he walked back into the lounge with Damian and Drew, the rest of Roman’s squad. The three of them had been a part of his lifeline since Daniel’s death. Together, they formed a tight unit, the kind of brotherhood one could only find in a firehouse.

In those first few weeks after the accident, when Roman was too numb to feel anything and too angry to express it, the squad stepped up. Randy was the oldest of the group, a seasoned veteran who’d seen more than his share of tragedy. He offered the kind of quiet support Roman needed, never pushing him to talk but always making sure he wasn’t drowning in silence. Sometimes, Randy would sit with Roman after a tough shift, handing him a cold beer and making casual conversation about the job, easing him into normalcy.

Damian, with his laid-back personality, had his own way of helping Roman cope. He’d crack jokes at the most unexpected times, forcing Roman to crack a smile even when it felt impossible. He had this uncanny ability to lighten the mood without dismissing the heaviness they all carried. Whenever Roman had one of those days where the weight of loss bore down harder than usual, Damian was the one who made sure they got out of the firehouse to toss the football around for a few, or go for a round at the bar.

Drew, the youngest of the group, had gone through his own version of hell a few years before. He was the one Roman ended up confiding in the most when the grief felt like it was suffocating him. Drew would sit with him after late shifts, talking through the pain in a way that only someone who’d experienced loss could. He knew the right things to say—or when to say nothing at all. With Drew, there was no expectation to have it all together.

Grabbing the small backpack that held his things, Roman made his way out to where the guys were, finishing up their meals before the shift change. The TV was on, though none of them seemed to be paying much attention to it. They were too busy talking about their last call, the adrenaline of it still fresh.

“Man, that kid was lucky,” Randy said, taking a long drink from his water bottle and shaking his head. “One second longer in that car, and it would’ve been over.”

Damian nodded, his face thoughtful. “Yeah, but I’ll tell you what—I can’t handle when kids are involved. Messes with my head every time.”

Roman sat down on the couch next to Drew, his usual silence enveloping him. It was one of the reasons he liked working with his group; they didn’t push him to talk. But Damian’s comment lingered in the air. Everyone had something that got to them—an image, a sound, something they couldn’t shake.

His chest tightened as the words hung in the air, unspoken but understood by all of them. The job took its toll, physically and mentally. You couldn’t save everyone. Roman knew that all too well. He hadn’t been fast enough, hadn’t been able to stop his brother. All the training in the world, all the strength he had, and it still wasn’t enough. He tried to shake it off, but some scars just ran too deep.

“You alright, Roman?” Drew's thick Scottish accent asked lowly so that only Roman could hear, giving him a sideways glance. All the guys knew not to push too hard, but Drew always had a way of sensing when something was weighing on him.

“Yeah,” Roman muttered, taking a sip from his water before sitting the bottle on the table and slouching against the couch. “Just tired s’all. Ready to go home to my daughter.”

“Ah,” Drew nodded slightly. “How's the little one?”

Roman stiffened, a pang of guilt rippling through him. “She’s…good. I’m just doing what I have to,” he said, trying to brush it off, but the truth was more complicated. Adopting Audrey had been both the hardest and the most rewarding thing he’d ever done. But there were days, like today, when he questioned if he was doing right by her. 

“You’re doing great,” Drew, always perceptive, reassured. “Don’t forget that.”

Roman offered a tight nod, but inside, the doubt lingered. The guilt that gnawed at him, the feeling that no matter how much he tried, he would never be able to fill the void Daniel left behind.

•────────────────•

About an hour later, Roman found himself walking up the steps to his house, exhaustion setting in from the long shift. The house was quiet, the early morning light filtering through the windows, casting a faint glow over the familiar furniture. He set his bag down by the door, trying not to wake anyone. Jey was already at the house, staying with Audrey while he was on shift. His cousins had been a godsend, always willing to step in when he had to be away. But it was too quiet. It always felt like that after he’d been gone for a few days, the silence somehow amplifying all the things he wasn’t here to see.

Without thinking, Roman moved upstairs toward Audrey’s room. The door creaked open, and he leaned against the frame, watching her sleep. She was small under the blankets, clutching her favorite stuffed animal, a gray plush rabbit she named ‘Kitty’. Her chest rose and fell in soft, even breaths, completely at peace. Roman’s heart clenched. He loved her more than anything in this world.  He stepped into the room and knelt by her bed, brushing a loose curl of hair away from her face. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake up, lost in whatever dream children dream. For a moment, all the noise in his head quieted, and he allowed himself to just feel the love he had for his little girl. She wasn’t just his responsibility—she was his reason for pushing through the darkest days.

With a heavy sigh, Roman kissed her temple, stood and quietly left her room, heading downstairs where he found Jey in the kitchen.

“You’re back early, Uce,” Jey said, lifting his coffee mug in greeting. “Everything go alright at the station?”

Roman shook his head, leaning against the kitchen island after stretching out his tired muscles. “Had a close call with a kid today. Wanted to come home earlier.” Jey nodded as Roman continued. “What about y’all? How’s she doing?”

“Little cousin’s an angel, as always,” Jey said with a small grin. “Stayed up last night watching the game with me and Jim before he left.”

Roman shot him a slightly annoyed glance, “Y’all know she’s not supposed to be staying up too late.” 

“I know man, but aye, you try saying no to her when she starts her lil’ pout thing.” Jey shrugs, “Plus the 49ers and the Seahawks was playing and she wanted to watch.”

An exasperated sigh escaped Roman’s lips before his hand ran over his face, stopping at his beard. “Can’t believe y’all got my daughter hooked on football.” He chuckled softly.  

“Exactly, your daughter, Uce. You shoulda seen it coming.” Jey added with a smile before finishing his coffee and grabbing his wallet and keys. “Oh, before I forget, me and Jim invited your new neighbor to the cookout this weekend.” 

Roman’s brow raised. Granted, he hadn’t been home for a few days, but nothing outside the house seemed different when he pulled in earlier. “What new neighbor?”

Jey’s mouth opened to speak, but he shut it just as quickly. A smirk formed on his lips as he walked halfway out of the front door.

“You’ll see.”

The sun peeked through the blinds of the nearly vacant room, casting soft shadows across the vinyl floor, but Azure felt far away from the warm Florida light. She sat up on the air mattress slowly, the weight of her dream still pressing heavily on her chest. Her mind was still trapped in the memory of D.C., of the home she had once shared, a time when she believed the world was whole.

The dream had started so sweetly, a memory she once treasured——the two of them unpacking, teasing each other about their new life together. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, and they had laughed over the chaos of settling in.They were shuffling boxes around the living room, deciding where each piece of their new life together would go. Her husband’s smile was as vivid in the dream as it had been in life, and for a few fleeting moments, everything felt normal, as if he had never left.

But then his expression had shifted. His eyes had softened with a kind of sadness that Azure recognized all too well, even in the fog of sleep. “I miss you,” he had whispered. His brown eyes, once full of life, seemed to look through her. "I wish I could still be with you, Azure." That was when the dream turned sour, the warm light of their new home dimming until it faded completely, leaving only the ache of loss behind.

The sorrow in his voice had pierced her soul, and she had reached out for him, but he was already fading. The dream blurred into confusion as the sound of his words echoed in her mind, each syllable a reminder of what she had lost. Now, wide awake and alone in her new home, Azure could still hear him. She buried her face in her hands, trying to shake the feeling that he was just out of reach, still waiting for her.

Cursing under her breath, she checked the time—she was running late. Azure dragged herself out of bed, feeling hollow. She stumbled into the bathroom, blinking against the harsh light as it flickered on. The mirror reflected a version of herself she unfortunately recognized—tired eyes, disheveled curls, and the faintest trace of tear streaks from where her cheeks had been damp with emotion in her sleep. The sadness she’d felt in the dream had seeped into her waking hours, turning every movement sluggish, every thought weighed down by a familiar grief.

She ran her hands under cold water, splashing it onto her face as if the shock might somehow wake her from this emotional haze. But the flashes of the dream continued to assault her, memories of her husband’s voice lingering in the back of her mind. Azure leaned over the sink, gripping the edges of the counter tightly. She had been doing so well lately, she thought—moving to Pensacola, starting fresh—but mornings like these felt like setbacks, reminders that grief was never linear. 

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she let them fall freely this time, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. The bathroom felt too small, too confining, and her sorrow expanded, filling the space. Her husband was gone, and no matter how many times she tried to accept it, the pain would sneak up on her in moments like this—unexpected and overwhelming.

After a few moments, Azure straightened up, taking a deep breath. She wiped her face with a towel, trying to steady herself. She didn’t have the luxury of falling apart—not today. She was already running late for work, and the last thing she needed was for Bianca or anyone else at the hospital to see how unraveled she felt. She had a job to do, patients to take care of, and a new life to build. It was why she had moved in the first place, wasn’t it? A chance to leave the ghosts of the past behind. Even if they seemed to follow her no matter where she went. No one knew about her husband, about the life she’d left behind in D.C. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to share that part of herself yet. 

As she finished getting ready, the memory of the dream continued to flicker at the edges of her mind, but she pushed it down, burying it beneath layers of routine. She dressed quickly, pulled her hair back into a low bun, and grabbed her bag before heading for the door. When she stepped outside, the crisp morning air hit her face, grounding her for a moment. She stood on the porch, taking a deep breath, before locking the door. It was a new life, she reminded herself. A chance to move forward. But as she started to walk toward her car, a small figure caught her eye. The little girl from across the street, with her dark curls and wide, curious eyes, was waving at her. Azure felt an unexpected smile tug at the corners of her mouth, and she waved back, her heart lightening for just a second. 

Then she noticed the man standing next to the girl. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a stern expression etched into his features. He was watching her, his dark eyes sharp, as if trying to place her. Azure hesitated for a moment. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite figure out from where. He gave her a brief, quizzical nod, his expression never softening, and Azure, flustered by the encounter, quickly turned and rushed to her car. She didn’t have time to dwell on the interaction. She was already running late, and today was not the day to make a bad impression at work. Azure hesitated, feeling his gaze linger on her. She wasn’t sure why, but something about the way he looked at her made her feel like she was being assessed. She gave a brief, awkward wave before quickly heading for her car, trying to shake off the unease.

•────────────────•

The morning traffic didn’t help Azure’s mood, and by the time she pulled into the hospital parking lot, she was already running far too behind. As she hurried into the hospital, her priority was getting through the shift.

Inside, the busy hum of the pediatric wing helped drown out the lingering emotions from her dream. Azure clocked in and found herself at the nurses' station, where Bianca, the lead pediatric nurse, was already reviewing the day’s assignments. As soon as Bianca looked up, she frowned slightly.

“Morning, Azure,” Bianca greeted her warmly, though her perceptive eyes were quick to take in Azure’s slightly disheveled appearance. “You look a little off today. Everything okay?”

Azure hesitated, her instinct to brush off the concern kicking in. She wasn’t one to unload her personal issues on others, especially not when there was work to be done. She forced a smile, even though the heaviness of the morning still clung to her like a shadow. “Just a rough night,” she said, her voice more casual than she felt. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Bianca studied her for a moment longer, clearly not entirely convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she offered a gentle smile. “Well, if you need anything, let me know. You’ve been doing a great job, and I’m sure today will be no different.”

The warmth in Bianca’s words made Azure feel a bit lighter, even if just for a moment. She gave a grateful nod, appreciating the encouragement but too distracted by the emotional weight she was carrying to fully absorb it. She threw herself into her work, trying to focus on the children she cared for. The hours passed by in a blur of routine tasks, but the emotional residue from the dream stayed with her, a constant undercurrent of sorrow.

Near the end of her shift, she was checking on a young boy recovering from a minor surgery. It was moments like these that reminded Azure why she loved her job, why helping others heal brought her some small measure of peace. Suddenly, she felt someone’s eyes on her. Glancing up, she saw Dr. Rollins standing in the doorway.  “Azure, I need to go over a few things with you before you head out.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. This is it. I’m about to get fired and I’ve only been here for a month. She managed to let out a quiet “Sure,” before following Dr. Rollins down the hall.

•────────────────•

Azure returned home after her shift, exhaustion pulling at every muscle as she dropped her keys onto the kitchen counter. Boxes she had yet to unpack loomed in the corner, silent reminders of the past she wasn’t quite ready to let go of. She stepped onto the front porch, hoping the warm Florida breeze might ease her nerves. The evening sky was tinged with shades of pink and gold, and the quiet of her suburban neighborhood felt comforting, if not a bit lonely. Azure closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, willing herself to relax. But her thoughts were too scattered to calm.

Across the street, she heard the distant sound of a child’s laughter. Her eyes flicked up instinctively, catching sight of the same little girl she saw a few days ago.This time, it wasn’t the twins that were with her. There was a man—tall, broad, and familiar—standing nearby, watching the girl with a soft expression, though his posture was still tense, like he was ready to jump into action if she needed him.

Roman.

She knew she’d see him again eventually, fully expecting it to be at the hospital.

But she did not expect to see him standing in the yard across the street. 

And what she definitely didn’t expect was her heart unexpectedly fluttering at the sight of him. 

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded in her direction as if deciding whether to approach. He walked towards her, crossing the street with easy strides, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans. Azure straightened slightly, unsure if she should wave or just wait for him to speak.

"Hey," he said when he reached the bottom of her porch steps. His voice was low, steady, just like she remembered. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Guess I should’ve said that earlier, just didn’t notice someone moved in.”

"Thanks" she replied, her own voice coming out quieter than she intended. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, unsure of what else to say.

Roman nodded, folding his arms across his chest, his posture relaxed but guarded. There was something unreadable in his expression, as if he was watching her, assessing. Like he was constantly on alert, always trying to stay in control of whatever was happening around him.

“I ran into your cousins the other day,” Azure continued, trying to break the silence. “Jimmy and Jey?”

“Did you?” Roman allowed a faint smile to cross his face. 

She nodded, "They practically insisted on helping me move everything in. Well, it sounded more like they were threatened into helping me move in."

A soft chuckle fell from his lips, causing Azure to feel that unfamiliar fluttering again. 

“They’re good guys. Always trying to help out where they can.”

"It helps that they’re so friendly," Azure added with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood, unsure of what to say next. She could feel the weight of the conversation hanging between them.

Roman shifted slightly, his gaze flicking to the house before returning to her. “So, you’ve been working at the hospital a while now?”

“Just a couple of weeks,” Azure replied. “I moved here to… well, for a change, I guess. I needed something different.”

Roman nodded, though he didn’t press for more details. Azure could sense that he understood without needing to ask.

“That place can be a lot,” Roman said, his tone thoughtful. “The hospital, I mean. You see a lot in a short amount of time. It’s not easy.”

“I can handle it,” Azure said, her voice soft but firm. “I like helping the kids. It makes me feel like I’m making a difference.”

Roman studied her for a moment, as if weighing her words. “It’s good work. Not everyone can do it.”

Azure wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an observation, but she appreciated it nonetheless. There was something grounding about talking to him, even if he kept most of his thoughts to himself. He had a presence that made her feel like he could understand things without having to spell them out.

She sighed softly, looking down as her mind went back to the conversation she had with Dr. Rollins earlier in the day. It was good work. And Azure loved her job, but it seemed like for the past twenty-four hours, her emotions had almost put that at risk. 

Roman looked at her, his brow lifting slightly as he watched her, though his expression remained neutral. “What happened?”

“So, I had kind of a rough morning,” she began, trying to sound casual. “Ran late for work—had one of those mornings where everything just slows you down, you know?” Azure hesitated for a moment, unsure how much she should share about the emotional start to her day. But she pushed forward, deciding to keep it simple. “I guess just…adjusting to the move. It’s been kind of overwhelming at times.”

Roman nodded, his arms still crossed over his chest. His eyes softened slightly, as if he understood that feeling all too well.

“Anyway,” Azure continued, “I barely made it on time, and then Dr. Rollins called me into his office.”

At the mention of Dr. Rollins, she noticed a slight change in Roman’s posture. It was subtle—his shoulders tensed just a little, and his jaw seemed to set. He didn’t say anything, but the reaction was there. Quiet, but noticeable.

Azure paused, wondering if she should keep going, but she was already in the middle of the story. “He wanted to check in, see how I was adjusting to the job. I think I caught his attention because I was running behind this morning. We talked about how I’ve been handling the workload, the transition to a new place… that sort of thing.”

Roman’s gaze darkened just a fraction, and though he didn’t say anything right away, his silence felt heavier now. Azure could feel something unspoken hanging between them.

“How’d that go?” Roman asked, his voice calm but with a slight edge to it. It wasn’t aggressive, but it wasn’t as relaxed as before either.

“It was fine, I guess,” Azure said, unsure why Roman seemed so affected by the mention of Dr. Rollins. “He was nice, just… doing his job. Making sure I’m not overwhelmed, that I’m keeping up with things.”

Roman nodded slowly, but his eyes seemed distant for a moment. He shifted his weight, uncrossing his arms, and glanced toward the street, as if gathering his thoughts. There was something he wasn’t saying, something that made his reaction to Dr. Rollins more than just casual indifference.

“You work with him a lot?” Roman asked, his voice even quieter now.

“Not too much. Mostly with Bianca or Ms. B, but he’s the head of the department, so we cross paths.”

Roman didn’t respond right away. His eyes narrowed slightly as if he were trying to piece something together. His quiet intensity was beginning to feel a little more guarded than it had a moment ago.

Roman shrugged, but there was an unmistakable tension now, barely hidden under the surface. “Just be careful. He can be… hypocritical.”

There was a pause, the weight of Roman’s words lingering between them. Azure wasn’t sure how to respond. It was clear Roman had some kind of opinion about Dr. Rollins, but whatever it was, he wasn’t willing to go into detail. It left her feeling slightly unsettled.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice softening. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Roman nodded, but the quiet tension didn’t leave him. He shifted his focus back to her, his gaze slightly more guarded than before. Whatever his issue with Dr. Rollins was, it was clear it ran deeper than just a passing thought.

“So,” Roman said after a pause, “if you need anything—questions about the neighborhood, places to go, whatever—don’t hesitate to ask.” 

Azure nodded, feeling a warmth in his offer, even though he still seemed distant. “I appreciate that. I’ll definitely let you know if I need anything.”

There was a brief moment of silence between them, the kind where something more could be said, but neither of them took the step to say it.

“Well,” Roman said finally, taking a step back, “I should probably head back inside. Audrey’s probably getting into something she shouldn’t.”

Azure smiled at the mention of the little girl. “She seems sweet.”

“She is,” Roman replied, his tone softening just a fraction. There was something in his eyes then—something that flickered briefly but quickly disappeared, as if he’d pulled a curtain over whatever it was he wasn’t ready to share. “Anyway, welcome again. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” Azure said, watching as Roman turned and headed back toward his house. “See you around.”

-

[widowmaxff]

Hiii WandaNat x daughter reader where R was severely harmed in a mission or got involved.

For example, they Nat or Wands were assigned on a mission to investigate and just so it happens, R was there so when chaos started, R was severely injured and like got a pretty bad brain damage which she will fight through. How will the mother's copee??

Thankss!

safe & sound

pairings: parents!wandanat × daughter!reader (platonic)

warnings: angst, bad writing :P, crying, physical violence, hospital, natasha blames herself ;((, lots of love from moms <3

a/n: im really sorry it took me SO long to write this request, ive been having awful weeks and im really trying to write. anyway, i hope you like it and thank you very much for the request luv <333

When you decided you wanted to follow in the same footsteps as your mothers, they didn't react so well. You always trained with the Avengers, closely watching their next steps for any unforeseen circumstances and how good they were at what they did. And you especially loved seeing Wanda and Natasha fighting, they have been your inspiration since you were little and understand each other. 

You remember when you asked your mother Natasha to start going on missions, even if it was the easier ones that would only take a few hours, and you could swear you saw her eyes light up with regret. Not that she didn't trust you, but both Natasha and Wanda knew that any mission would be dangerous and the last thing they wanted was to leave you hurt or for anything bad to happen to you. So, you started to train even more and show how much you dedicated yourself to going on one of these missions and, as your mothers knew you so well, they knew that you wouldn't give up until you went on one of them.

"Fury allowed you to go on this mission with one of us," Natasha was sitting in front of him next to Wanda in the meeting room. You couldn’t hide the smile on your face, your legs shaking because you were so excited for your first mission. "It's an easy mission where you just have to investigate and collect some important information in an old Hydra base." You nod listening to every detail of what you needed to do.

"Fury assured us that there will be no one and no agent, but for your safety you will carry a weapon, okay?" Wanda, your other mother, spoke this time. She also seemed to be a little worried about your first mission since she remembers very well what it's like to be in the hospital bed after one or see anyone else in it. Just imagining you in that position makes her body shiver.

Your mothers start to tell you some information about what you should know and what would happen. Even though the mission was so easy and simple, Wanda decided that it would be better if Natasha accompanied you, since if she went along she might end up getting so nervous that she would faint. And even though you assured that you would be careful, she made you hug her for at least five minutes, stroking your hair and giving you all the comfort you would need for that mission. "I love you so much my love."

"I love you very much too, Mama." You felt Wanda leave a long kiss on your hair as you laid your head on her shoulder. "I promise everything will be fine."

She laughs and takes a deep breath. "I'm the one who should be saying this. But you're right, my love." You separate from her and see that her eyes were full of tears.

Even though it seemed a little dramatic, you knew that Wanda was very close to you. Whenever your mother missed you because you were only away from home for a few hours, you remember when Natasha told you that when it was your first day of school when you were a toddler, Wanda didn't want to let you go at all. And now several years later, she still reacted the same way.

"Alright, we better go before Wanda makes us give up." Natasha says, making her other mother roll her eyes before walking towards her, leaving a long kiss on her lips.

"Ew, not in front of me." You make a disgusted expression at them, even if it was just a joke. You've always admired how much your mothers are in love with each other and how much they show it on a daily basis. Wanda always preferred physical affection to love Natasha, and Romanoff always preferred acts of service to love Maximoff. And even though they were different things, the two never disliked these acts.

"One day it's going to be you, sweetheart." They giggle before hugging each other as they say 'I love you'. 

[...]

Your hands sounded as you entered the Hydra base. A gun in hand as you looked in every corner of that place. You felt like something was out of position, but you tried not to worry. Maybe it was just your anxious conscious or maybe you were just too nervous. The noise of your heart was too loud and the only thing you heard was the faint footsteps of your boot on the ground. And even though you tried to focus on what was happening there at the moment, it seemed like now all of your mother Wanda's nervous genes were in you.

"I think I found it, Mom." You speak into the device in your ear, Natasha listening on the other side. She praises you, sending a wave of comfort to your mind that seemed to be trying to sabotage you at that moment.

You quickly place the pen drive in the computer and see the percentage of how much was transferred appear on the screen. You hold the gun tightly in your hands as you scan the place, looking at every possible corner. You walk to your right calmly, trying not to make too much noise in your tall black boots. And when you were about to take the next step, a big tud behind you made you turn around quickly, still with the gun pointed forward. "Mom, I just heard a noise-" And before you could finish speaking, the lights in the place went out completely, the energy going out.

"Y/n- need- leave-!" The device in your ear was getting stuck a lot, loud noises disturbing what little you could hear. Natasha tried to say something, but you almost couldn't hear, leaving you alone with your own thoughts.

With all the training you had you tried to stay as calm as possible. Even if you couldn't see if someone or something was with you, your ears tried to capture any sound coming from that space, but with the device in your ears it was almost impossible. You knew that if you took it off it would be a big risk if your mother ever managed to talk to you again. But it would also be a risk not to hear what was around you.

You debated with what you should do or not do, but it was too late when two large arms grabbed your body from the ground. You let out a startled scream when you realize what is happening. Your reflexes are quick as you forcefully push your elbow into the stomach of the stranger behind you. He staggers back, making you fall to the ground, but before you can do anything, a kick lands in your belly. You hit your head on the ground, making your vision even blurrier. Your gun was still stuck in your hands, so the first thing you do is aim forward and shoot, when you hear a male scream of pain you know you hit him somewhere. "You bitch!"

You don't realize what's happening when he takes a gun out of his pants and also shoots. You scream in pain when the bullet pierces your arm that was holding the gun, it wasn't very deep, but the pain was too horrible. And even if you tried, you couldn't raise your arm to shoot the guy again. You start to crawl backwards trying to get away from the figure that you still couldn't see in the dark and prayed that he couldn't see you too.

But when you started to hear his heavy footsteps towards you, you knew there was nothing left to do.

[...]

Wanda felt her heart stop when she heard the doctors moving around in the Compound. Someone had been hurt on some mission a few hours after you and Natasha left. Maximoff was shaking as she waited for the injured person's Quinjet to pull up, and even though she asked any of the doctors who the unlucky one was, it seemed like she was invisible to them. It seemed like they didn't want to respond to watch her heart break into a million pieces.

Wanda felt so nervous that she thought maybe she was going to faint. Thinking that the extremely injured person, since the doctors were going almost crazy to get everything they needed, could be you or Natasha, made her want to throw up her entire lunch right there. And when the car appeared in their vision, Wanda moved even closer, continuing to give the doctors space to do their work.

When the big door opened, the first thing your mother saw was Natasha with some bruises on her face along with tears that still fell on her pale face. Romanoff held you in her arms. One of them put pressure on your arm to stop the bleeding, but even so, you seemed to be bleeding from other places as a pool of blood was being spilled by Natasha's suit. Your body was unconscious and heavy in your mother's hands, your face completely scarred with cuts and bruises all over it. And even if your mother tried to look at your fragile and small body, she couldn't.

Maximoff lets out a grunt when she sees that you were the current patient. Seeing how Natasha staggered with you in her arms was one of the worst sights she could have had. You being placed on the stretcher while the doctors took you to surgery as quickly as possible was in her nightmares, and now, she could feel firsthand how horrible that was. Natasha follows the crowd of people, finally coming across her wife there. Romanoff didn't wait a second to throw herself into Wanda's arms as the two allowed the tears to fall. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"Shh- it's not your fault, Natasha." Wanda tried to calm her down, even though it was almost impossible since she also needed comfort. "Y/n is going to be fine, it's okay."

"I- I couldn't get there in time. She was in- in a huge pool of blood and this guy was-" Natasha couldn't finish speaking before her eyes started bursting with tears again as she recalled the scene of you barely conscious on the ground while the Hydra agent kicked you mercilessly. Blood smeared everywhere and your face full of tears was what she saw every time she closed her eyes, it was horrible.

It took Wanda a few minutes to get Natasha to calm down. Despite many other occasions being the opposite, Romanoff has always shown how concerned she is about you. But seeing you and having to carry you almost dead in her arms was another thing entirely, and one that will probably haunt her forever. Natasha had the beginning of a panic attack there, with her blood on her suit and on her hands, but Wanda, knowing her wife, managed to make her feel like she was on the floor again.

A few hours had passed since you entered that operating room, and knowing that it would take a long time for the doctors to stabilize you, Wanda took care of Natasha, cleaning her body and putting her in more comfortable clothes to wait for you sitting in the waiting room. Your mother was able to breathe normally now, even though the tears hadn't stopped falling from both of their faces. Natasha felt her body want to sleep, but her mind wouldn't let her, not when you were fighting for your life in the next room.

Wanda runs her hand affectionately through Natasha's red hair that reminded her of your own. Her head on her shoulder as she felt her wife's body relax but then become rigid again, but even if Maximoff tried, she wouldn't be able to make Natasha relax. "Remember that time Y/n fell down the slide and broke her arm? She didn't even cry." Wanda spoke so softly that any outsider who saw it would think she wasn't as nervous as her wife.

"Yeah... she even asked you to break her arm with your magic so she could put a cast on it again so she could draw on it." Natasha laughs remembering when you were seven years old, you were probably the happiest child in the world.

"She's so strong," Wanda murmurs as she presses a kiss to Natasha's red hair and she closes her eyes taking a deep breath. "I know she'll make it out of this."

And when Maximoff stopped talking, one of the doctors who was participating in your surgery enters the room. Natasha was now more than awake, her body jumping up towards the man in the white coat. Wanda doesn't take long to join her either, rambling questions to the doctor over and over again. "Everything went well in the surgery to remove the bullet from Y/n's body, despite the heavy blood loss." Romanoff holds her wife's hand while listening to him talk about your conditions, squeezing it every time she feels like her heart is going to come out of her mouth. "Unfortunately, due to the severe injuries to her head, she was caused a brain injury called a concussion."

"Oh, God. She's going to be okay, isn't she?"

"Don't worry, Mrs. Maximoff. Concussion is a very common thing for people to experience and usually with a few weeks of medical treatment and rest she will feel well again." The two women were finally able to take a deep breath without feeling that nervousness in their chests. "You just need to pay attention to some symptoms she may have, such as headache, mental confusion, sometimes memory loss, nausea, vomiting, excessive fatigue and some other things that you will probably notice. With the treatment I am sure that Y/n will recover much better.”

Despite all these things you might feel, they were relieved that you were okay. And they knew you would recover quickly, your genes coming from Natasha and Wanda weren't just anyone, you were strong and everyone knew it. And even if they thought that way, nothing would prepare them for seeing you lying on the stretcher. Your body was so fragile and small there, your eyes looked so tired despite being closed and the cuts on your face didn't help. The tubes coming out of your body weren't the prettiest, but it was what was helping you survive at that moment.

"My baby girl..." Wanda stroked your hair as she looked at you now slightly pale face. Her comforting touch would make you lean against her even more if you were awake, but that wouldn't be possible at the moment. 

Natasha remained a little distant compared to Maximoff. She was scared, scared that if she made any move you would get hurt again, because in the redhead's mind everything that had happened was her fault. If she had checked to see if the area really was clean, if she had warned you as quickly as possible so you could get out of there, if she had arrived on time. "Nat?" Wanda knew what she was thinking, what she felt was written on the ex-assassin's face, and her wife had been with her for enough years to know what that mind was thinking.

In a few moments, Romanoff's body was enveloped in Wanda's affectionate and comforting embrace, who gently moved from side to side, holding her head against her shoulder while leaving a chaste kiss on her hair. Natasha knew that hug from anywhere, the hug that said everything was okay, that everything would fall into place again. Sometimes it took more than a hug for her to feel that, but sometimes she knew Wanda was right. "I w-want a hug too." Your hoarse voice was present at the scene, making your mothers quickly separate from each other.

"Y/n, my god! You scared me so much, don't ever do that again-"

"Wands, calm down, don't give her any more headaches." You chuckle along with your mother Natasha who was now holding your wife's hand. They walk towards your stretcher seeing that you still seemed to be a little disoriented with everything that happened, but even so you still had a smile on your face for them.

"How are you feeling, my love?" Wanda again made the same affectionate gestures to you as she sat next to you, feeling your body relax at her touch, but this time, you are awake enough to feel it.

"Headache and feeling like I might throw up at any moment."

"Ew." Natasha complains in a funny tone making you want to laugh at that moment, but having a headache would make things even worse. Romanoff still had an apprehensive tone on her face, maybe it was the guilt she felt she had or maybe it was seeing you in that place, with bruises everywhere. 

"You aren't hurt, are you, Mom?" Even though you almost died with a gunshot wound to your body and a brain injury, it was obvious that you would care about others, especially if it was one of your mothers.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me, sweetheart." Natasha moved a little closer to you, leaving a kiss on your forehead that was welcomed with a smile on your face. "I was so worried about you." She murmurs as Wanda places one of her hands on her wife's thigh, making small circles on it.

"I'm fine now, Mom. Thanks for going to save me." You put a small smile on your face in a funny way, trying to ease the tension of the hospital room.

"You know I'll always be here for whatever you need." Natasha wasn't just referring to helping you save yourself from physical violence, but she was also referring to helping you when you have any problems. Do you need a shoulder to cry on? She will be there. Do you need help completing a task? Don't worry, you know she won't take a minute to come to you. Problems with girls or guys? She will love telling you how she really knew the love of her life. 

In those times when something difficult happened, your mothers knew how to comfort and help you. You had an unbreakable bond and that always warmed your heart. Realizing that you had people who more than cared about you by your side was incredible. Maybe for some other people it was strange to have two mothers, but you didn't care, because for you, it was an indescribable magic.

[jjkamochoso]

I Survived Shiganshina and All I Got Was This Stupid T Shirt

Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Levi Ackerman x gn!reader

The battle at Shinganshina is here—how will Levi cope with the imminent death of another person he loved?

Warnings: cussing, violence, mentions of blood and death

A shiver flew through your entire body, your bones shaking under your skin. Your fingers were having trouble fastening the emerald green cape around your neck, the button slipping from your quivering grasp, as you got ready for what was most likely the last battle you’d ever enter. You had just witnessed the best Scouts get absolutely demolished by the Beast Titan, torn to shreds by the boulders he threw with no mercy, and you were only saved from that early demise due to Erwin asking you to fight elsewhere with Levi and the new recruits. Now, here you all were, scared out of your minds under the flimsy cover of buildings as pieces of rock threatened to pummel you at any second. Meanwhile, you were too busy dealing with this fucking cape that you couldn’t fucking button because your fucking nerves—

“Take a breath, brat.”

Your anger was immediately quelled by the sound of Levi’s calm voice as you felt his nimble fingers make quick work of the closure. His steel eyes were boring into your own and if it were any other time, you’d look away shyly, but your lives were about to expire and there was no way you’d want to focus on anything but the man in front of you.

“I can feel your heart pounding through your cape. You need to relax.”

His words were stern but you knew the concern that lay behind them. The captain still hadn’t pulled his hands away from your body after helping you out, opting to hold you close in the only way he knew how. You and Levi had made your affections for each other known a few months back after many years of friendship but agreed that it wasn’t the time for romance of any sort so you found yourselves locked in a relationship that was a mix of platonic and whatever a step beyond that was. Right now you wanted nothing more than to give him the deepest, most passionate kiss you had in you but you were all too aware that you dedicated your heart to the Scouts and betterment of humanity, not just to the famed captain so you couldn’t take your mind off the task at hand—keeping your cadets alive for as long as possible.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you told him, regret oozing from your mouth. You weren’t apologizing for only today, but for all your past mistakes. He deserved to know you took accountability for all your transgressions, both professional and personal. If only you knew then what you knew now… you would’ve made countless different choices to lead you and your soldiers to victory rather than sitting in a clump waiting to die. You could’ve been at home, content in the arms of the man you loved rather than participating in the macabre game of seeing whose light in their eyes goes out first.

“No regrets. We made our choices and there’s no going back. We have to look forward.”

You nodded in agreement and he reluctantly pulled his hand from the worn fabric, you immediately missing the warmth of his touch. Levi left to talk with Erwin on what to do next while you tried to calm the new recruits.

Was Levi scared?

That’s a loaded question.

Technically speaking? No. There was nothing fearful about an overpowered, loud, ugly, shitty excuse of a monkey, even if said monkey was making quick work killing the Survey Corps. Levi knew he could kill him. It would take speed and finesse, traits he utilized in every mission, so no, Levi wasn’t scared of that.

Levi was scared to lose you.

He had seen too many of his comrades fall, his loved ones fade away from existence. With every death he found a way to keep moving, carrying their fighting spirit with him, but if you died?

That would be a major blow to his morale.

That was why he was currently debating with Erwin, desperate to find an escape route for you and the recruits. He could beat the Beast Titan in a fight, that he was sure of, but the sacrifice of Erwin, you, and the rest of the cadets would be a devastating waste of lives. Would it be worth it to kill the Beast Titan now instead of letting everyone retreat? Would it be worth the loss of his two closest friends?

The loss of the love of his life?

As a captain in the Survey Corps, it was your duty to give your heart for the survival of humanity. Why was it so damn hard for Levi to see you do just that?

“Give up on that dream and die. Lead the captain and those new recruits into hell. And I will take down the Beast Titan.”

You anxiously awaited word from Levi and Erwin on what the plan was going to be. More buildings had collapsed and it was only a matter of time before all your shelter was gone and it would be a full on massacre. You hoped they were about to bring good news. Erwin stood proud in front of the recruits while Levi took his place next to you, wearing a somber expression and you knew that spelled disaster.

“There was no other way,” he said, confusing you until Erwin began explaining his strategy to the group. When you heard you were going to be riding straight into your death, you were struck with a million different emotions. Fear, anger, and grief were the ones you felt the strongest until Levi’s face entered your peripheral and finally you settled on relief. You had been fighting your entire life for peace for your loved ones and this was no time to turn your back on gaining the opportunity for humanity’s survival. Besides, a quick, meaningful death was being served to you on a platter in this situation which was all you could ask for. After Erwin’s rousing speech, you felt even more secure in your position as a distraction to help Levi eradicate the Beast Titan. Levi was deathly quiet throughout the whole ordeal and you couldn’t get a read on how he was feeling.

“I was upset at the plan at first,” you told Levi as recruits were rushing around you, mounting horses and dodging rocks, “but I get it. It’s what we signed up to do. I just hate that I’m leaving you so early.”

He didn’t say anything as he received horse reigns from a frenzied soldier, studying your face and committing everything to memory. If this was the last time he’d see you, he wanted to make sure he’d never forget it.

“Titan got your tongue, Captain?” you joked, shooting Levi a soft smile and gripping your own horse’s reigns in a white knuckle grip. Levi reached out, his free hand ghosting over your tense hold.

“I thought I told you to relax. And I know my own shitty voice, I want to remember yours.”

“I love you so much, Levi,” you suddenly blurted out. “Don’t let these words become a curse or a burden, I just need you to know that my feelings were real. You can take them with you or leave them here in this graveyard if that’s where they belong but I couldn’t die without telling you.”

Levi was quiet again.

You started to mount your horse, ready to give your all in your final battle before eternal rest. Before you could swing your leg up, you felt a fist connect to your chest.

“You’ve dedicated your heart,” said Levi, his eyes unnaturally wet as he looked steadfastly at you one last time, “to the cause, to the Scouts… to me. I won’t let you down. Your death won’t be in vain. And when I die, whenever that may be, I look forward to seeing you again.”

You felt tears ready to drop but you refused to let them fall.

You extended your pinky. “You promise you’ll take down that shitty monkey?”

Levi copied the motion and you trembled at the skin on skin contact.

“I swear on my life. This is my promise to you, y/n.”

You released the intertwined pinkies and touched your own hand to his chest, letting it rest above his fast beating heart. “It’s been an honor, Captain.”

“Same to you, Captain.”

You smiled and relinquished your limb from his body, swinging your leg over your horse and waiting for the command from Erwin. You saw Levi mount his horse and in that moment, you understood the full extent of why the public viewed him as a humanity’s strongest soldier. His unyielding conviction and resolute attitude in the face of impossible decisions was truly exemplary. The regal way he sat atop his horse was nothing less than extraordinary and the way he handled his blades with such ease and grace was absolutely swoon worthy. You considered yourself the luckiest person in the world to have known him as well as you did. You gave each other one last head nod before his horse galloped away, ready to ambush the Beast Titan. Your job just got even more important. You weren’t going to fail him. You weren’t going to let him die.

Blood. Pain. The smell of smoke signals.

These were all things that filled your senses to the brim as you charged forward, screaming until your throat burned and your lungs gave out. The first bombardment had left you dazed, a large piece of rock whizzing by your head and hitting you just enough to make you nauseous and almost fall off your horse. You pressed on, not giving up so soon. The only way you’d let yourself die is when you feel like you accomplished what you set out to do. Levi needed more time, more distractions, and so, you weren’t finished yet. You loaded more smoke shells into your gun and fired off more rounds, the deafening cries of fallen soldiers filling your ears. The Beast Titan had picked up another handful of boulders and you knew your time was running out. You rode as fast as you could, feeling sorry for the inevitable end your horse was going to meet as well, but your sacrifices were going to help the next generations grow up in a better world.

Another bombardment was on its way.

Shrapnel and boulders began showering over you. You yanked on your horse’s reigns and you narrowly missed a chunk of rock. More smoke signals left your gun as you twisted your body around to see who was still standing. Just you and three others.

It was the end for you.

You wished you could’ve survived long enough to see Levi kick the monkey’s ass, but fate was cruel as the Beast took up one last handful of soon-to-be-projectiles. Your horse’s legs kicked up dirt clods in a frenzy at the speed you were going and you were hoping she was having a good time running free like this, unaware of the death she was about to face. The Beast Titan’s arm threw itself forward and you released the last smoke shell in your gun. As the rocks rained down on you and the last of your soldiers, you could’ve sworn you saw Levi’s silhouette through the smoke. Your horse got struck by the last of the boulder pieces and you flew off, striking the ground with a large thump. The last thing you saw before everything went black was a memory of Levi smiling at some stupid shit joke you made in the dining hall one evening.

There was a faint feeling of someone touching your neck and you didn’t know if you were in the afterlife or not. It was certainly bright enough to be the afterlife since the light was basically blinding you through your closed eyelids. You tried to move, speak, anything, but your body wasn’t cooperating. You tried moving toward the light, like what people say happens when you die, but you didn’t feel any different when you finally opened your eyes. In fact, you felt like absolute shit. You had a pounding headache and it was like every bone in your body was broken. You registered the hand on your neck again.

Probably feeling for a pulse.

“Levi?” you croaked out, “Levi? Is that… you?”

“Captain! Captain, can you hear me?”

“Levi?” you tried again. It didn’t sound like him but you weren’t sure of anything anymore.

“No, it’s Floch. Captain y/n, it’s Floch. We have to get out of here. You have to get up!”

Get up? You could barely open your eyes. And what the fuck was Floch doing here, sounding like he didn’t just experience the worst day of his life?

“Commander Erwin is still alive but he’s bleeding out. We have to get him to Levi to save him!”

Levi. Just his name put a smile to your face. Right. You have to save Erwin and see Levi. Two very agreeable missions to accomplish, in your opinion. You forced yourself to peel your eyelids apart and the sun burst in your retinas like a floodgate had opened. You ignored the burning and bruising sensations in the rest of your body as Floch helped you up. You definitely busted some ribs, suffered a major concussion, scraped open your face, and had a broken arm and ankle, but all things considering, that wasn’t the worst outcome. You were relieved that Levi survived the Beast Titan bout. The mental image of Levi severing the monkey’s head gave you a burst of energy and you were able to walk a little bit faster, Floch holding you up as you made your way to grab Erwin and find Levi. When you got to Erwin, you were exhausted and sat down while Floch shoddily bandaged up the commander.

“Can you walk on your own? I have to carry him or else he won’t survive.”

You nodded. “I’ll either do it or I won’t. If I fall, keep going to Levi and don’t worry about me.”

“Okay.”

You two started your treacherous trek into the walls. It was eerily quiet after the battle, the scent of blood filling your nostrils and you weren’t sure if it was your dead comrades’ or your own. You stumbled more times than you could count and there were a few moments where you thought you’d fall and die in the same spot, but before you knew it, you had come upon Eren, Mikasa, and a charred body…

“W-who is that?” you cried out, trying to keep from throwing up. It was the right size and build to be Levi but there was no way he got burned, right? That wouldn’t make sense at all but your delirious mind had been through too much to work properly.

“It’s Armin,” said an all too familiar voice.

“Levi!” You fell to your knees from fatigue, both physical and emotional. You were overjoyed that he was completely unharmed but on the other hand, you witnessed the burnt body of a wonderful young man with friends who tried to protect him with all their might. You felt strong arms grip your body as Levi moved you to a better spot on the roof, away from Armin and the other teens and leaned you up against the remnants of a chimney.

“I’m happy you’re alive,” you said wearily, ready to pass out.

“Same to you,” he said, frowning slightly, “but hey, don’t close your eyes. Stay awake for as long as you can. We’ll get you to a doctor soon.”

This time it was you who didn’t respond, your head lolling against the stone as your eyes shut.

“Y/n. Y/n.” Levi was shaking you by your shoulders and lightly tapping your face but there was no response. He located your pulse and it wasn’t scarily faint so he decided to leave you be for now while he dealt with a new, huge problem—deciding to continue with saving Armin or giving the serum to the freshly returned from the battlefront Erwin.

When you finally woke up again, you were greeted with Hange (minus one eye) staring at you like you were their newest titan experiment.

“Glad to have you back with us, y/n,” they said, clapping your shoulder gently. “I didn’t want to lose anyone else today.”

“Who did he choose?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

Hange stiffened ever so slightly. “Armin.”

“Good,” you replied, “Erwin had been through enough and met death in the most fitting manner for him. Armin and those other kids are our future. He made the right choice.”

“I agree.” They helped you sit up and your bones creaked in protest at the movement. You saw that you had a hastily arranged splint on your left ankle while your arm was in a sling made from part of someone’s shirt and sensed the pull of a bandage along your cheek and down your jaw. Levi heard you talking and quickly came over to fill you in on what was next.

“You’re going to the top of Wall Maria with what’s left of the Scouts so you can get to Trost and recuperate. Hange, Mikasa, Eren, and I are going to the basement.”

“I can go, too.” You tried to shift position and stand but you were too weak, your body giving out on you as adrenaline was quickly draining. Levi rushed to your aid, letting you support yourself against his leg as you sat again.

“You can barely sit on your own, let alone walk to Eren’s house. You’re going to Trost, y/n, and that’s an order.”

You looked up and met his eyes; they were filled with concern and you were washed in shame at your lack of self awareness. Of course you couldn’t go, you’d only slow them down. Now was not the time to act rash in the name of selfish desires for answers. Levi borrowed Eren’s ODM gear to bring you to the top of Wall Maria since his own gear was out of gas and pretty busted up. You bid your goodbyes to Hange and the kids as Levi deftly scooped you into his arms, mindful of your numerous injuries, and began swinging through the ruins of Shiganshina.

“So, did you bring them with you?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“Bring what?”

“The words. The ones I told you before the battle. Did they die with our comrades or did you bring them with you?”

“I-” Levi faltered. “I… brought them with me. You mean a great deal to me, y/n. When I sent you out on the battleground I refused to let you die in vain, you’re worth too much for that. But I made a promise to you and Erwin that I’d kill that shitty Beast Titan and I failed. I’m sorry.”

“Levi,” you said, your hand finding purchase on his cheek, “it’s alright. You did your best and I’m proud of everything you accomplished today. We can try again and keep trying after that as many times as we need to, and we won’t give up. We can do this. Together.”

His lips were pressed in a firm line as you felt his grip on you tighten. You had almost scaled the wall when Levi spoke up.

“I had made peace with your death but now that you’re back with me, I won’t lose you again.”

You were now walking atop the wall and you spied Sasha and Conny from your position. Levi helped you hobble over, a firm and comforting grasp on your waist. When they greeted you both, Conny said the group was about to take off for Trost. Levi knew he couldn’t continue wasting time here but he had this ache gnawing inside him at the idea of someone other than himself taking care of your injuries. He didn’t want to leave you alone but you both had jobs to do—him to find answers in the kid’s basement, and you to rest up. He noticed your cape was undone and sliding off so he moved it back into place, ignoring the revolting squish of fresh blood under his fingers, and affixed the button to the loop. The action was the same as a few hours prior but the result would be much different. Instead of you marching to your death, you were heading to be healed. Instead of wrapping you in a body bag, he could try wrapping you in his arms.

Levi smiled internally at the thought.

“I’ll come see you as soon as I can,” he said, sincerity shining from his irises. “Listen to the doctors and don’t be stupid. You need to get stronger. Make sure you get plenty of rest and eat lots. Don’t get dehydrated, you have to keep your fluid intake up after injury. Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it, that’s what the staff is there for.”

“Okay, mom,” you teased. Levi scoffed and you just giggled.

“I’m looking out for you, brat, so take my advice.” His tone had gone soft, no bite behind his words whatsoever. You made the connection that this was his way of saying “I love you” and you let out a sigh of relief that he was returning the weighty phrase. You became aware that his hands were resting on the same junction of your cape’s button and clasp like before, not making an effort to pull away any time soon if he could help it. But he couldn’t help it since you were being called over to start your journey to Trost so his touch ceased from the heavy fabric as you gave him one last tender look.

“Take care of yourself, Captain.”

He reached over to ruffle your hair. “You too, Captain.”

You heard the zip of ODM gear and Levi was gone in a flash. Though you felt like a piece of you was missing without Levi by your side, you knew he’d be back with you in no time. As you limped along the wall with your hurt comrades, you felt a fire ignite deep within your soul.

The Beast Titan was going to pay.

[apas-75]

So last night I finished reading Rise of the Red Blade for TotE Vibes Research purposes and the two Inquisitor characters in it really illustrate exactly why I think Barriss is going to survive and escape them.

Because the thing is that there are two kinds of Inquisitors! The ones who volunteered, and the ones who...didn’t. Iskat (RotRB’s focus character) perfectly exemplifies the first type: she had some traumatizing experiences at a young age, fell through a number of institutional cracks in the Order, had a really terrible master (meet me in the pit, Sember Vey), everyone was too busy to give her the follow-up they would under normal circumstances, Palpatine had an agent actively gathering information about her and pushing her to become Worse—she was a pre-selected candidate who was offered the choice to come quietly when Order 66 hit, and she took it. By that point all of her issues and doubts had been exacerbated to the point where it wasn’t hard for her to make herself hate the Jedi, and then she rationalized her way through any indication that her freedom was a lie and doubled her way down right into hell.

By contrast: Tualon, Iskat’s crechemate situationship guy. He had some issues but was not someone on Palpatine’s radar; Iskat left him to die in Order 66 and he survived getting shot by darksiding out about her betrayal. Because of that he was taken alive and they did some shit to him. When Iskat runs into him at the Inquisitor HQ after he’s freshly-inducted he can barely remember why he hates her, or anything else from before he was taken. He woke up in the room where you fight Trilla and they fully shattered him and glued a semblance of a person back together out of the wreckage, just COMPLETELY Winter Soldiered the guy, and the only way he had to cope with it is to lean into a weird codependent situationship with Iskat.

And that distinction’s always been there with the Inquisitors; you have the true believers who ended up hating the Jedi or wanted to go on a power trip (or had the kind of revenge plan only a 12 year old could come up with and then stick to for a decade, in one case) and didn’t need any additional coercion to volunteer, and you have the ones that they broke. In the former group you’ve got the Grand Inquisitor, Reva/Third, Lyn/Fourth*, Fifth, and Iskat/Thirteenth. For the most part they’re certified freaks, but they came by it naturally. (Reva’s a different flavor.) In the latter, you’ve got Trilla/Second, Seventh, Masana/Ninth, Tualon, and probably most of the others. They all got disassembled and reassembled without much care given to the process and are all Coping with it badly in different ways, whether by deciding it’s Empowering, Actually (Trilla & Seventh) or by becoming completely jaded about everything (Masana & Tualon).

(*We obviously don’t know a lot about Fourth yet, but the fact that she shows up to recruit Barriss while rocking yellow dark side eyes before ROTS is even over tells me she’s definitely a volunteer.)

All this is to say: The Grand Inquisitor is making a colossal mistake with Barriss from the drop, and it’s why I think she’s going to win their battle of wits and escape. Because he is treating her like she is an Iskat and she could not be any farther from it.

He sends Lyn to get her to come quietly! They actively withhold information from her about what happened to the Jedi and what her expected role in it is! That’s not how they recruit the ones they think will be a problem; if that were the case she would have been stunned out of hand and woken up on a rack.

Instead, he’s giving her special attention,, he’s training her—he doesn’t think they need to break her. She’s just got a few...pesky hang-ups from her time as a Jedi that need ironing out**. He’s projecting on her; he doesn’t just want an empty shell holding a lightsaber—he wants Barriss Offee, loyally kneeling at his side, fully believing in their mission. She’s his favorite.

(**That “mercy only breeds defeat” line isn’t just a generic darksidism; I’m pretty sure he’s directly critiquing how Barriss got caught because she showed mercy to Asajj Ventress.)

And surely that's something he can turn her into, right? Because she hates the Jedi, right? She attacked them, she outsmarted them, obviously she’d be down for wanting to wipe them out! He was there when she confessed and, like pretty much everyone else in the room save for Ahsoka, he didn’t hear a single word that she said—just what he wanted her to be saying. He’s got a deeply incorrect idea of her, and that idea is “she’s just like me for real.”

And he’s wrong, because the Inquisitorius is everything she feared the Jedi Order was becoming—literally, an army fighting for the dark side—and the Empire is everything she knew the Republic was becoming. She might be prone to despairing, it might in some hypothetical be possible to get her into the same resigned despair trap as Anakin, but she would never actually want to serve the Empire, and they don't think they'll have to try hard to convince her to.

She loves the Jedi, she loved being a Jedi, she wanted to save them. She wants to be one again more than anything even though right now she thinks she doesn’t deserve it, thinks that she’s already too broken to reclaim what she was. But I think being surrounded by actual fallen Jedi and being told over and over again that she’s like them is, in the end, going to be what reminds her that she never stopped being a Jedi in the first place.

And as long as she can make sure her captors don't realize that's true until it's too late, she'll be home free.