#bc it’s never ‘this isn’t working out’ but it’s more ‘the kind of person you are isn’t good enough to be my friend anymore’

[libidinous-weeb]

no, i think i get it now

through no fault of his own, gojo was so busy becoming “the strongest” that he didn’t realize he wasn’t there for geto when geto needed it the most.

when geto said “are you gojo satoru because you’re the strongest? or are you the strongest because you’re gojo satoru?” he was intentially trying to hurt gojo. the context and the subtext is important.

gojo was BORN to be the strongest, whether he wanted to be or not. some people are born with blue eyes, some with brown. and some people are born the strongest. that’s what gojo’s strength is like to himself. it’s a part of him, but it’s not who he is. when he was friends with geto, they were close despite that fact. it’s one of the first times someone stood side by side with gojo and didn’t really care if he was the strongest or not.

throughout his life, everyone else hates gojo for something he didn’t ask for. something that he can’t change or give up but something that he was born as. they all stare at him like some kind of circus freak, either in disgust, or in awe.

and geto just says “it’s because you’re too strong.” but they BOTH know that’s a lie. what geto is actually saying is “i’ve decided that you aren’t gojo satoru, the person i’ve loved and lost and fought with side by side anymore. i’ve decided i don’t want you in my life anymore. i’m saying the words that hurt you the most, because i hate you.”

and gojo is angry because his best friend, someone he loves, has just decided to have nothing to do with gojo anymore. it was like a sudden break up because he didn’t give a reason. he gave his reason for leaving jujutsu society but not why he didn’t tell gojo any of it.

tldr: gojo is asking “why didn’t you rely on me? aren’t we friends? why did you choose to go through this all on your own? why didn’t you tell me anything? i thought we were friends!”

and geto is saying “i hate you, just like everyone else. you’re the strongest. you’re not my friend. you’re barely even human. you wouldn’t understand.”

and geto’s saying that because gojo was practicing and training and getting stronger and wasn’t there when geto needed him to be there. and it wasn’t gojo’s fault, he was doing what he was supposed to be doing. gojo wanted to be there but geto chose to shut him out

[readychilledwine]

hii!! i’m in love w your writing!!❤️❤️❤️ can i please request one where it’s azriel x reader. Feyre sees azriel wearing a ring on his left finger and asks,

” i’ve seen you wear that ring forever azriel, what does it mean? ”

” it’s my wedding ring ”

and her jaw drops bc she didn’t know he even had a lover.

” who is she? do i know her? what is she like? ”

he smiles faintly and says

” her name is y/n, she’s my mate and wife and she isn’t a warrior like us, she works at a library downtown. you don’t know her, only rhys and cassian do. we have a house in the outskirts in velaris. she is very sweet and i love her more than anything, our daughter is- ”

” YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER ????? ”

he nods and tells them all about her, he asks if feyre wants to meet reader and their daughter and feyre smiles and nods. He asks reader in the mating bond if it’s okay to bring her, nyx, rhys and cassian to dinner. reader says yes and azriel tells feyre he’ll pick them all up tonight before leaving to help his wife prepare. Reader meets feyre and become friends instantly, nyx and their daughter become friends aswell.

” how did i not know this?? this makes so much sense now. How he never sleeps here and he’s gone for days sometimes but not on missions. ” feyre asks rhysand.

”don’t worry i didn’t know for a long time either, Az is a very private person, he is extremely protective of his family. i’m glad he told me at all. either way he’s still a mystery sometimes, i learn new things about him all the time and i’ve known him for over 500 years” rhys says and laughs knowing your perfect for his brother 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️😭🥹😍

Haven

Warnings - none

A/n - I played with this for a while, rewrote it several times, and then made something that met in the middle of what came to mind, but still stuck with the request. Hopefully, you love it, dear 💜

Feyre had been in Velaris for 5 years. 5 long years and she had yet to figure out why Azriel kept a simple black band on his left ring finger at all times.

The two of them were on the couch, Rhys across from them, as they looked over maps of a few of the Illyrian Camps that had been recently renovated. The new cabins, mess halls, and dorms were a huge success, and figuring out the same layout for the remaining few was a huge topic of interest for the three smaller camps.

She glanced at the ring one more time before tapping it. Rhys and Azriel both looked at her, brows raised. "So, not magic," she muttered to herself. She tried spell cleaving it, "And not a ward or shield."

Azriel blinked at her, brows knit in silent question. Rhys had his hand over his mouth, hiding his amusement. Leave it to his wife to provide entertainment without knowing it was needed. "I-" she sighed. "You wear this ring all the time. I'm trying to figure out why."

Both of the males chuckled. "Probably the same reason you wear your wedding ring, Feyre Darling."

The High Lady made face, tapping the ring again. "Don't be ridiculous, Rhys. I would know if Azriel was married."

"Evidently not, my love."

Feyre and Azriel held eye contact, the male then going back to the maps. "Since I have extensive time in Steppes Peak, I think it would be easiest to move the mess hall here, at the base of the mountain, maintain the warroom in the carved out cave, and build better dorms here," he pointed to an empty part of the map.

Rhys nodded, drawing it out on the empty map he had. "I'm sure y/n will agree with whatever you say."

"Okay, stop." Feyre crossed her arms, pouting slightly at the two of them. "Azriel isn't married, and making up some name to make me feel stupid isn't kind."

Azriel sighed. He leaned back while dropping the scent ward he kept on himself at all times. He watched as her face fell. He knew his scent, chilled air and cedar, was the predominant one in the mateship, but now a soft floral scent, something like lavender and warm honey clung there softly.

"I've been married for longer than you have been alive, Fey." Azriel patted her hand. "I have a daughter older than you and another younger than Nyx."

He watched as her face fell, a small amount of hurt flashing across it. "Why didn't you tell me?" She paused, looking at the sleeping heir in his craddle. "We could be having play dates. I could have a friend who understands."

Guilt settled into his face as he pulled her into him. "I torture people for living, sweet sister. I execute people on your orders. I imprison people with a flick of your wrist." He tilted Feyre's head up. "Y/n has no combat training and refused to learn. She likes to sit at home writing poetry, baking, and cuddling our children. I do not bring her around or introduce them to anyone to keep them safe." His face held the ghost of a rare smile. "I think I've brought her to meet Rhys and Cassian once."

Rhys nodded. "I've met her once here and several times behind your back in town. Especially after my first niece was born."

Feyre kept her gaze on Nyx. "He could have a friend," her voice was distant.

Azriel stood, placing a kiss on her forehead as he did. "I'll be right back." Rhysand's smile grew wide. Folding the maps and putting them away. He moved to the liquor cabinet, bringing down one of his more expensive wines.

Azriel reappeared with you and both daughters in tow. Your oldest ran to Rhys, jumping on him and holding him tightly, her wings fluttering with joy as she did. "Hello, Amara," he nuzzled into her hair. "Missed you so much, baby girl. Cassian is on his way."

He walked with her in his arms to the table, setting the wine down and then carried her over to Feyre. "Would you like to meet your aunt?" She allowed Rhys to set her down and turned toward Feyre.

There was little question she was Azriel's. She was the beautiful artists dreamed of painting. Soft classic features framed with inky black hair that fell in gorgeous curls. "Feyre, this is our niece Amara. She's 56. She was my favorite suprise when I got home from the mountain."

She smiled shyly, keeping close to Rhysand. "Hi."

"Hi," Feyre didn't know what came over her, pulling the Illyrian female close to her and holding her. "I'm so excited to meet you."

Amara wrapped her arms around Feyre, returning the gesture. "Me too. Mom and I have been BEGGING dad for a while. But you know how the bats are."

The door slammed open, rushed loud footsteps and a panting filling the hall. "Where's my baby?!"

Amara pulled away from Feyre, smiling softly before moving away from all of them. She was rushed by Cassian, lifted up into his arms as he spun her.

Feyre looked to her side, noticing Azriel next to her, holding a swaddled bundle. "This is Iris. She's a month younger than Nyx." Azriel wouldn't look away from his daughter and her peaceful sleeping face. "I fear the day she loses her chipmunk cheeks."

Feyre looked around the room, trying to find the reason this was happening and felt her heart shift when she saw you, arm wrapped around Rhysand's bicep, looking at Nyx.

You were wingless, long dark hair braided back. Soft leggings and a sweater that was a few sizes too big covering your frame. Cassian had moved next to you, bumping you with his arm and smiling down at you. "He's so beautiful," your voice was a melody, a soft echo that brought calm to the room. "And so sweet. Look at those rosy cheeks."

Rhysand pulled you away, moving you back to Feyre. He handed you to Azriel, arms out expectedly. "Don't make me command it."

The shadowsinger placed his youngest in Rhysand's arms, hands shaking despite the trust between them, "Be careful with her. Please." Rhys nodded, moving over to Cassian. "Feyre, this is y/n, my wife and mat-"

Feyre didn't allow him to finish, hugging you instantly, tears lining her eyes as she did. "Please tell me we can be friends and cry about our babies together."

"I didn't realize that would even be a question. Of course we will be friends, and of course we will cry about all of the things. Our mates don't get it. Cassian, though, Cassian will join us."

The warlord stuck one finger in your direction. "Let me love them in peace, y/n."

You leaned into Feyre, "Has he cried while holding Nyx yet?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah. Big illyrian baby."

"The worst, aren't they? Rhysand, did you want me to make dinner?"

The High lord looked at Azriel, a small look of guilt on his face, "Please."

You squeezed Feyre's arm, kissing Azriel as you moved towards the kitchen. "You know where to find me if she needs me." He nodded.

Azriel moved to Cassian, watching like a hawk as the general snuggled the small babe in his arms. Amara was sitting by Nyx a look of love and adoration on her face as she sighed.

"She's perfect for Azriel in every way," Rhys stroked Feyre's hand. "I was nervous at first too when he brought her home. I was even more nervous when his fears manifested in the form of being deeply private with her. But she is perfect for him."

Feyre nodded, watching as Azriel glared as Cassian due to the loud squeak his baby had just let out.

"His girls are beautiful." Rhys hummed in agreement. "Y/n is beautiful."

Feyre moved to Amara's side, sitting next to her and smiling as her niece started asking questions.

She didn't realize it until now, but this was the missing piece. The part of the puzzle that had sat empty despite every thing around it being done. You and your girls were that lost center.

Now she just had to convince Azriel to keep bringing you around.

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers

[diordeer]

౨ৎ FALSE GOD

“we might just get away with it, the altar is my hips, even if it's a false god. we'd still worship this love” - taylor swift (smau)

contains: charlie bushnell x fem!reader, where they both play in the false god music video

description: kind of obsessed with the band ‘sorry’ rn which is crazy bc its totally not my kind of music

requested by: anon!

Liked by gracieabrams, blakelively and others

taylorswift dont miss false god, coming out tonight 12AM EST

View all comments.

user1 I already love it… the colour scheme!!

user2 ok but WHO is in it because i know for a fact that isn’t taylor swifts hair

blakelively cant wait!! 🩷

user3 WE’D STILL WORSHIP THIS LOVEE

user4 i dont think i will be able to handle this

user5 whooos hands are thessee 👀

↳ user6 ikrr 🤭

gracieabrams ahhh this is so excitinggg!!

user7 i can already feel the vision

comments:

user1 CHARLIE AND YN CHARLIE AND YN CHARLIE AND YN

↳ user2 THEY ARE SO PERFECT

user3 taylor NEVER misses!

user4 this is changing lives

↳ user2 not only is it changing lives, its bringing people back from the dead!!

user5 the SECOND i saw charlie i dropped to my KNEES

↳ user4 on my knees for Charlie AND yn, literally a sexuality nightmare

↳ user5 SERIOUSLY

user6 how do i make this mv my personality

↳ user7 my exact thoughts

user8 yn looks GORGEOUS in this literally ethereal

↳ user7 she makes me wonder things about myself i never thought i would

user9 worshipping this mv

Liked by taylorswift, iamcharliebushnell and others

yn.ln go watch false god… RN!

tagged iamcharliebushnell, taylorswift

View all comments.

user1 if u havent already rewatched it atleast thirteen times what are you doing with ur life

↳ yn.ln i vouch to this

user2 taylor is so cute!

user3 u were MAJESTIC in this

iamcharliebushnell had so much fun with uu

↳ yn.ln ur the besssttt!!! Cant wait to see u again soon!!!

user5 charlie and yn have such good on screen chemistry i actually cant get over it

↳ user3 BEGGING they r like that irl together

↳ user5 IMAGINE IF THEY WERE DATING

dior.n.goodjohn i feel like there should be context to the last pic

↳ yn.ln it was a live reaction of me finding out i had to make out with charlie 🤢🤢

↳ iamcharliebushnell oh because it was SOO horrible?

↳ user4 WHAT DO U MEAN CHARLIE

↳ yn.ln WOW WOW WOW NOT NECESSARY

↳ user6 i see a little smile in that photo 🤨

↳ user7 u cant say theres nothing going on between them

Liked by yn.ln, dior.n.goodjohn and others

iamcharliebushnell had the best time working on this music video with everyone!!

tagged yn.ln, taylorswift

View all comments.

user1 him in the last photo… LAWD HAVE MERCCYYY

↳ user5 OMG IKRRR

↳ yn.ln its so the shirt

↳ user1 u agree then? 🤨🤨

↳ iamcharliebushnell guess i should wear it more then

walker.scobell you were great!

↳ iamcharliebushnell this seems very passive aggressive

user2 can we talk ab the outfits in this tho?! Like so so gorgeous

↳ user7 PREACH! THE DRESSES?! THE SHIRTS?!

user3 working with “everyone”… we all know hes talking about working with yn

↳ yn.ln im just so amazing and loveable🤷‍♀️

user4 tell me theres nothing going on between them… I DARE

dior.n.goodjohn i cant believe YOU get to be in a taylor swift music video

↳ iamcharliebushnell i cant tell if this is a compliment or not

↳ yn.ln just take it as a compliment babe, dont question it 🥰

↳ user6 BABE?!

taglist: @lostinhisworld @lizziesfirstwife @auttumnsayshi @silkenthusiasts @taygrls @kidkrowk @kanojous @niktwazny303 @m00ng4z3r @highfidelities

[luveline]

HI MLLLL! I absolutely loved your fainting fic with James! Can you write like a part a part 2 or like a follow up where reader starts realizing that James isn’t as bad as she thought and she falls for him as he takes care of her bc he’s really worried? I love them sm 🥹

James takes care of you when you faint

James is acting weirder than usual… sort of… nice? fem, 1.2k

The days after you faint are just as hot, but you come into work. You can’t afford to miss it, and it’s not as though you’ll make the same mistake twice. 

The memory of what happened is hazy at the start. James had just opened the window, the breeze that filtered in cooling your hot skin. You’d felt sick, you’d tried to stand, and your head had gone blank. 

You woke with your face in James’ hand. You can remember it if you think about it enough, his head tilted down toward you, the sunshine on his skin, his soft smile. He’d felt like a different person. 

You’d felt different. 

“Can you send me that information from the lab, please?” 

You glance away from your computer, eyes tired. “Sorry?” 

“For the, uh, Mr. Nguyen?” James asks. “You didn’t send them to me. I can’t do them if you don’t send them.” 

“Right.” You blink away the phantom of his hand on your cheek. “Okay.” 

“Are you feeling alright?” 

That’s all he asks. Every day since you passed out, at various times and in various ways. Are you okay? Are you alright? Is it too hot in here? Do you want to swap desks with me? That last one had been a little patronising. You’d told him to leave you alone. Your desk is right next to the radiator in winter, it’s prime real estate, and you’re not giving it up just because you got a bit hot. 

“I’m fine,” you murmur, turning back to your computer to open outlook. “Just thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“About you not talking to me.” 

“Funny.” 

You drag and drop the paperwork for the tests he’d wanted. It’s easy to render an invoice but you hate doing it because it involves a lot of talking back and forth with clients. James, on the other hand, loves to talk. 

“There, sent it,” you say.

“Thank you.” 

Awkward. You pretend to be busier than you are for a few minutes, stealing company time without remorse. James types up an email beside you, the click of his keys quick and loud in your ears. 

Remus pops a pen lid across the way, scribbling onto a post it note that he sticks on his monitor. You know what time it is from the sounds alone. A half a minute later, Sirius slinks up from the front of the office to wrap his arm around Remus’ shoulders, sing-songing, “You’re coming with me, handsome.” 

“Are you coming?” Remus asks James. 

There’s a lapse of quiet. You stare at your computer, aware of a silent conversation, but not privy to its content. “I think I’ll stay,” James says eventually. 

“Okie dokie. Y/N, do you want to come, lovely?” Remus asks. “It’s not too hot.” 

“I’m fine,” you say, “thanks. Thank you.” 

You don’t feel like yourself since you fainted. You’d hoped it would go away once you had a better night’s sleep, flooded your system with cold water and good food, but you can’t kick it. You have no energy, no want to do more than turn up for work and go home again, and you know what it is that’s making you feel this way, but you can’t admit it to yourself. It crops up in your mind unbidden and you push it back down. 

“Sirius never used to act like that.” 

“What?” 

“Sirius. He was never like that when we were growing up. Love makes him pathetic.” 

Love is a tender touch. Sirius had laid his arm over Remus’ shoulder without any hug or kiss, but it was as loving as either. To touch someone like they need a kind hand. 

Like James had held your face. His arm behind your back as he led you to the break room. 

“Do you wanna come with me?” James asks. 

You hold in a second confused, What? He’s standing now, you hadn’t noticed him moving, his water bottle in hand as he pushes his chair back under the desk. 

“Don’t wanna leave you here and have you smash your head in when there’s no one around. Imagine the clean up.” 

You get up on impulse. You grab your drink, and the back of your chair, and you stand there wondering if you’re about to be dizzy again. Your chest feels tight, but that weight of unconsciousness doesn’t come. 

“Hey,” James says. “Seriously, are you okay? You’re not like you today.” 

There’s a softness in his voice you can’t believe. “Can I eat lunch with you?” 

You wish that you said it to avoid the question. James wrinkles his nose, your heart drops into the pit of your stomach, but then he says, “I just invited you first.” 

“I… have to get my stuff from the fridge.”

“Me too.”

You walk slowly, worried it’s a joke, another stupid joke, but James comes up behind you and his hand graces your shoulder with the barest pressure. You can smell something sweet and warm on him, like jojoba oil. Maybe argan. “Sure you’re okay? You look peaky. Is it the heat?” he murmurs.

“It’s supposed to rain tonight.” 

“You can’t answer anything, can you?” James laughs with a vocal fry that goes straight to your chest. “I could ask you how many fingers you’d have and you’d tell me you have two hands.” 

James walks with you to the kitchen, where you gather your food and warm it in the microwave. He leads you to the break room, and makes sure to choose a table with enough space for you, even while people he’s friendly with beckon him forward. They look at you with unashamed curiosity, but James pretends not to notice so you do too. 

You’re expecting a joke. Aw, look, we’re finally on a date. Or Wow, you know how to use a spoon, I had no idea you were so dexterous. 

“Did you see they’re making a new movie about those aliens? The ones who can hear you everywhere you go?” 

You squeeze your spoon. “Uh, no, I didn’t see it.” 

“It looks awesome. I’ll show you the trailer on my computer after lunch, it looks just as good as the first two. That actress, the one with the really nice eyes is in it.” 

You have no idea who he means. James talks to you like a friend. He offers you some of his papris and he passes you a napkin from his pocket when you get food on your hands. James Potter might actually be a really nice guy. All it took was for you to garner his pity for him to show it. How pathetic you must seem to need it. 

“How do you feel now?” he asks as you clip the lid back onto your Tupperware. “You look better. Do you feel better?” 

“I’m fine, James.” 

“You frown so much I can’t tell.” He butts his knee against yours. “Alright, batten the hatches, I’m gonna carry you back to your desk.” 

“Why?” you ask in a rush. 

“Can’t fall if you don’t walk.” 

“James, don’t try it. I’m serious.” 

“You don’t sound serious. You sound like you want me to carry you.” 

“I’ll report you to Human Resources.” 

“For what? Being helpful?” 

“Harassment.” 

“Fine, but I’m not gonna catch you this time.” 

[anzulvr]

What do you think Karma would be like with a calm/chill reader who's easygoing and effortlessly charming personality sometimes turns completely 180 when they feel strong emotions? Like they can go from sweetly comforting Nagisa to yelling oddly detailed threats at Terasaka while chasing him with a metal bottle for eating her food. (Maybe mix in some passive aggressive sarcastic sass when Korosensei's being annoying?)

Karma x Chill(..but actually really passive aggressive) reader 🤗🤗 Ty for the request!! (Sorry took long)

— You don’t argue often and you are also very good at listening to everyones perspective and ideas even if they’re different from you. People view you as very understanding so seeing you actually getting into a heated fight it’s surprising at first.

— Karma is so surprised when he sees you angry for the first time like he didn’t know you had it in you to say the things you did.

— He TRIES to get you pissed off just to see you react, since you know he’s kidding and dating him gives you a soft spot for him it’s basically just him failing to annoy you.

— This one time Karma scribbled over your paper to bother you and all you did was frown for a second and erase / re do anything he messed up. (He felt bad and helped you when he realized you weren’t going to fight 😭)

— then in a group project with Yoshida (also Isogai and Rinka) Yoshida scribbled a little bit on your notes (not nearly as much damage as Karma made) but it pissed you off so badly you grabbed a marker and started scribbling on his face

“I’ve been working on those notes for days you actual dumbass”

“Hey- I’m sorry!! I’ll rewrite them— get off me your using permanent marker it’ll be hard to take off!!”

“GOOD.”

— “Damn [name] that mad?” When you hear Karma mention how you reacted you stop so fast

“I wasn’t actually mad. We we’re just playing right Yoshida?”

Only out of fear he agrees “Right..”

— You’re tolerance for everything is way higher for Karma because you like him too much to get mad, that doesn’t mean you never get mad at him it just takes a little more to.

— Some of the things you respond with are shady in the way people expect Karma and it’s just so confusing cause it feels so out of character for you.

— but it’s definitely one of the things Karma likes the most about you because 1. It’s funny 2. Hes glad to see you stand up for yourself once in a while because he’s usually the one telling people off for you.

— passive aggressiveness would come whenever Korosensei or really E class is too pushy about certain topics.

For example before Karma confessed to you theyd push you to do it first and come up with crazy plans to make things happen.

— they full on locked you in a room together and instead of waiting it out you found a way to break the doorknob (together #romanceisreal)

Angry you and happy Karma is a mix end class fears because he’ll be constantly hyping it up😭

Like you’ll be be hitting Terasaka with a notebook because he said something stupid and Karma will go:

“[Name] wait— Use this one it’s way thicker!!”

(took inspo for ur original request lollol)

Karma will support anything you try and honestly rile you up more to see what you do

Angry you and Angry Karma is definitely the worst mix of all

hell on earth

! but it hardly happens since you usually reel each other in

Just tell him to chill tf out😭

Having strong emotions isn’t all bad, you’re empathetic, kind and care for everyone in class— even Terasaka no matter how much of a pain he can be.

mom friend-ish?? (Awe yeah Mom friend definitely)

They don’t actually mind it and are grateful for the times you stand up for them bc they know you love them

Especially Karma even though you’re prone to getting into arguments like all couples do it’ll work out fine because you both care to much about eachother.

If you’re the type to remind people you love them after arguing it’s another thing he loves about you, since he himself has trouble saying he’s wrong first it’s helped him swallow his pride and apologize faster.

(Literally so cute my fave relationship dynamic)

[stylespresleyhearted]

THE MAJOR’S WIFE

warnings: mentions of miscarriage, adultery, nsfw, marital problems, oral (m! receiving), spanking, being turned on even when your brain isn’t in it, bucky in 1x04, bucky married pre-war, slight age gap bc reader can come off slightly immature (i think?) angst, historical inaccuracies, new mediocre writer be nice

summary: John Egan gets to know his wife again

word count: 9.7k

notes: i’m not sure where this came from i wrote it all today and got no part of my research paper done. there’s really no point to it and also irl john egan was actually really close to his mother so i emphasized that here. he wrote to her so much. no disrespect to any of the real people, this is based on the show/show timeline as well.

Lila gets the call on the 2nd of October and her dreams come true.

Not entirely, no. The real dream would be having him home safe and the tragic war being over but she knows how fortunate she is to have the next best thing happen. Her husband’s been granted a few days leave and Colonel Harding believed it would do Major Egan some good to have his sweet, young wife join him during those days overseas. For the good of John’s mental health the Colonel or the President - or whoever was in charge, Lila really had no idea - had agreed to pay for her ticket and their hotel. There was only one thing they asked for in return and although it wasn’t explicitly said, Lila caught their drift: sort your husband out.

Lila knows it would do her no good to sit and wonder how horribly John must be doing in order for them to declare an all expenses paid trip for his spouse. All she does is worry for him anyhow so she forces herself to focus on the one good thing of the entire ordeal - she’s going to see her man.

There’d been letters, although not as many as she liked and she tried not to let it show how it hurt as every other wife received more than one letter at a time. Her John wasn’t the sort, she knew that when she married him. He was the kind of person who needed endless skies and land to maintain his sense of stability. Having him cooped up would do him no good and she partly wondered how much of what he was struggling with was the trauma he witnessed in the air and how much of it was feeling caged on base. At least his plane, good ol’ Mugwump (he wrote about her quite often) offered him the opportunity to head anywhere he wanted.

The only person he wrote consistently and readily to was his mother. It was rare if a week went by and she received no letter. During these instances it was more times than not an issue with the postal service.

Be that as it may, Lila knew who she married and it made her love him no less so she tried not to let it get to her. His mother was a saint. Firm and strong and loving all the same. Lila would have never survived sending John off if his mother wasn’t who and how she was. She held Lila at night when her cries woke her and she let Lila sleep in his old childhood bed. She kept food on their table and ensured everyone got their work done through the worry.

When John first left and Lila was sick to her stomach and vomiting multiple times of the day it was his mother who consoled her through the night when her sheets turned a crimson red and any ideals of having their baby through the war was lost.

Frances Egan was the glue holding them together. All of them, even her son who was an entire ocean way - so no. Lila would not be angry that she was John’s preferred pen-pal.

“You fix him right up,” Mama Egan had said in lieu of goodbye when leaving her at the airport, “you give him the loving he needs as his wife and the smacks he needs from me to get on the straight and narrow before sending him off to continue saving the world. You do it for him, not for any of them war bastards. You hear me?”

All Lila could do was nod. Dropping her bags on the floor and clutching her pseudo mother tightly. She was excited as she was frightened.

They had only gotten two months together before he had been pulled away. She didn’t want to complain, loads of women had gotten less time at all while others had only ever been left with the promise.

But her two months as Mrs. Egan? They’d been a dream. Her man was a romancer. He hadn’t hesitated in introducing her as the newly (and younger) Mrs. Egan, always resulting in an arm slap from his mother, he held open doors and he never stopped courting her; however she thinks the best times were when he was teaching her how to act married.

In their bed, at a home he had spent a year building for them. Using any extra pennies he had to pay off younger boys to help him hurry it along. Giving her the wrap-around porch she had always envisioned.

He showed her how to kiss. How to undress him. He had laid her underneath him, using his large frame to cover her completely, protecting her from the cold as he threw the sheets off them and making her feel tiny compared to him. She had never felt safer.

It had hurt the first time but he had held her through it. Never allowing any inches of space between their bodies; as if telling her they were in it together. She’d always known he was large, everything about him was large in general, but she never thought how much it would hurt to have all of him fit inside her. Lila hadn't wanted to disappoint him so she tried to muffle her tears and whimpers but he had swallowed her cries and gone slow, soft.

“If this is it, it’ll be enough,” he had promised, only about half way inside her and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. As a thank you she had taken that calloused thumb into her mouth and sucked. He allowed her; hiding his face in her neck and pressing wet kisses along there.

And for the first few times that had been it. She couldn’t take all of him and his thrusts couldn’t get too deep so he would only slip inside until her tight hole resisted and pulsed and he’d hump against that spot until reaching his pleasure.

“Do other girls take all of it?” She had asked a couple days later, trying to wrap her head around it.

She was no idiot. John Egan was no virgin.

“Yes.” Lila could always count on him to be honest. At least there was that. Meanwhile she couldn’t even fully pleasure him. She was failing as a wife. “Hey,” he lay facing her and she lay on her back. He tapped her cheek until she turned her face. “You’re my wife. That’s what makes this feel better.”

And she had beamed at his reassurance even though she didn’t feel much better. She knew John would never push her, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry, so if she ever wanted to learn to be a good wife she would have to take it upon herself.

So that’s what she did.

He was always on top and she was always on her back. That’s the first thing she had to change. From her understanding of it, from her talks with friends that always ended in giggles and blushing cheeks and from what she learned from John, it could be done in many different ways.

“I prefer to be in charge,” her school friend, Linda, had admitted to her. “Not like that -” she clarified, cheeks pink, “Just - if I’m gonna take it, I’d rather do it at my pace. Be on top. Some husbands are good like that. They’ll allow it.”

And knowing her husband wasn’t just good, he was great, she knew he would hold no qualms about it. The next time they lay in bed kissing it was easy to turn him over and straddle him. Move her wetness against his belly to let him know there was still more she just needed him to accept it.

Except he thought she was asking him to do it so he flipped her on her back again. And without breaking their kiss, she turned him over again.

It was more like they were wrestling.

Lila pulls away from his mouth, reluctantly, noticing his lips were wet and red and swollen and wondering if hers were much the same. They had been kissing for so long her mouth felt raw.

She loved it.

Straddling him, she reached behind her, feeling him standing straight and hard against her backside in between her cheeks. Sticky.

He gasped, bucking into her fist with a loud, guttural groan. It was so manly she rocked against his stomach again in need.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, “what’re you doing?”

“I want to try it like this,” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his mouth, her tiny hand still wrapped around him and lining her up to her hole. “I want it all.” Lila clarified.

And John allowed it, like she knew he would. Let her take control and go at her pace. Let her swivel her hips on the way down to help with the tightness of being stretched so wide and thick.

Nothing but curses and promises of love leaving his lips. Gasping mine, mine, mine and my perfect fucking wife and I’m gonna fuck you forever.

He felt large inside of her, like if she was being split in two but it felt so good as the tip of him repeatedly hit a spongy part inside that had her coming with no contact to her clit for the first time.

She was beautiful, red splotches appearing on her body from the heat of their love-making, her hair tangled in his fists, her mouth falling open as she threw her head back - all of it was too much. He was flipping her over and pounding into her trying to chase his peak and a second one from her, their headboard banging against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.

Things changed from then on. Sexually, that is. Becoming aware of how badly she needed to feel like she was pleasing him, John was not above using it against her. Like letting him lick at her.

“Good wives allow their husbands everything,” he would say, lips wide in a smile and eyes bright at the prospect of getting his way but Lila always knew the choice was really hers. He would respect what she wanted.

He was just too damn addicting. She couldn’t stand to tell him no.

His favorite times were when she allowed him to sit her over his face and let him feast. It drowned the outside world for him and he kept at it even after she had reached multiple orgasms and was pulling on his hair and the only thing keeping her up was his forearms locking around her thighs.

Her favorite was when he allowed her to taste him at the same time he was licking her. It was a tie between those times and when he held her down until all of him was in her mouth and she was spluttering, choking, gagging. Knowing she made a filthy vision and he adored it did something to her.

Now she was in London, closer to him than she had been in years, and all their intimacies were within reach. She could almost taste him, feel him petting back her hair and settling a hand at the low of her back. She still remembers the smell of his after shave and sweat, how he’d come into the kitchen asking for some of her homemade lemonade to help with the heat.

Jack Kidd was tasked with picking up Mrs. Egan from the airport and having her arrive at base with him. She remembers meeting him a couple of times before John shipped out early. Originally she was meant to wait for John at their hotel but there had been an issue when planning her flight and she arrived sooner than intended.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, placing a friendly kiss on her cheeks and taking her bags from her. “Bucky’s gonna be happy as hell to see your face.”

The tone in his voice - relief? alleviation? - had some of her happy wife's facade crumbling. How badly was her Johnny hurting that everyone was looking at her at his only chance to remain sane or alive?

Stop it. Maybe everyone’s just aware Johnny misses you. You’re his wife.

“Not as happy as me, I wager,” she returned with a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, Jack. Glad to see you still kicking.”

His shrug didn’t soothe her worry but she saw him try to mask it with a smile.

“All we boys can do is pray.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gathering his attention. “You boys have got the prayers of our entire country protecting you.”

Jack simply nodded in response.

For the most part the ride to base was quiet. Her bags would be kept in the trunk until her and John were ready to drive out to London in a couple of hours and until then, she’d be his surprise at the officer’s club. Silver Wings, Jack called it. Where all the boys gathered and had drinks and celebrated accomplishments. And where some chose to mourn, too.

Her stomach was turning as she neared the hut, following Jack’s footsteps. There was so much that could go wrong and although this was meant to be a surprise, the U.S Army showing their gratitude towards a brave Major, she suddenly wished she would have called John and told him. She wished he knew so that she wouldn’t have to walk in feeling alone and unwanted.

Not that Lila thought John would turn her away, she simply wanted to have him hold her hand as she walked through the threshold.

“Stick close by,” Jack murmured, being respectful of where he touched her before deciding to lead her by her shoulder. “It gets crowded but I’ll take ya to him.”

As she walked through different groups, she felt the offending eyes of men and women alike. Wondering who she was. With a pang in her heart she realized she had met John’s squadrons before but all these crews were new. The boys she met, most of them at least from what she could tell, hadn’t made it. John never wrote about who passed away (except to inform her of Curt) ; most of their letters were him expressing his love and how he missed her so and asking what she got up to.

Having walked around the roundabout bar in the center of the room, her stomach in knots and fingers tangled in front of her - she caught sight of her husband smack middle in the dance floor. Pressed against a beautiful brunette.

Lila caught sight of him before even Jack did. That’s how connected she was to her husband. Jack whistled from beside her to gain Gale’s attention who was resting against the bar holding his signature ginger ale, also watching John Egan chat up the woman he was swaying with with something like disapproval in his eyes.

His large hands were occupying most of the space of her waist, keeping her body tethered to his as she laughed.

“Lila,” he gasped, eyes wide. He was smart enough to not turn and look at his buddy. To act as if nothing was amiss and she expected nothing less from Gale Cleven, “damn it all to hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Egan.”

Because he was close to John, he didn’t hesitate in wrapping her up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to her tinted cheeks. He knew John wouldn’t mind.

When he pulled back she patted his chubby cheek in return, “You still shame the rest of us with your good looks, Gale,” she laughed. “I’ll let Marge know when I see her next.”

Lila also knew she would share with Marge that while Gale was being loyal, standing off to the side her husband was exchanging oxygen with a woman on the dance floor.

His cheeks tinted at the mention of his girl. Buck and Bucky were both aware Lila and Marge wrote to one another and visited each other whenever time made it possible.

“Colonel Harding said Major Egan was in need of something from home,” she said, studying his reaction to see what she could read but Gale had always been aloof, cold. He wasn’t close to her like he was with Marge and John.

Gale thought back to a few moments earlier when John had disrespected their Colonel and all his actions before that too - disrespecting superiors, drinking more consistently, becoming angry - hopelessness in his eyes.

“He’s in need of you Lila,” Gale clarified and it wasn’t lost on either one of them that he they were referring to was currently on the floor wooing another woman.

“Holy shit! It’s Mrs. Egan!” Hambone animatedly announced and suddenly it felt like the eyes of everyone in there were on her. Her cheeks tinted pink, never having been one for the spotlight like her husband.

She was greeted with welcoming cheers and hugs.

John, for his part, disentangled from the woman he was holding at the mention of his missus. He was sober enough to appear sheepish and guilty, but in the next second it was gone as he stalked towards her. Determined. Quick. His smile growing the more he neared like he was becoming more aware she was really there and it wasn’t a fucked up scenario in his head.

“God, Lila,” she managed to hear him say before she was elevated in the air, his arms tight around her waist and lifting her high so they were at face level and he could kiss her. Channeling his love and exuberance and aggression into kissing his wife. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you,” he was saying in between smooches, “I missed you. So fucking much, doll.”

Basking in his love she didn’t feel the need to mention the woman that was so kindly keeping him preoccupied before she entered.

She couldn’t help the first tear from falling or the rest from following. It was like the tightness in her chest unlocked as she finally got to hold him and feel his heat surround her. He still smelled of after shave and the same hair gel that was kept in their bathroom at home but he tasted strongly of whiskey and cigarettes and strawberry lipstick.

John tucked his face into her neck, setting her down and bending to her level. Sniffling in there as he continued to hold her.

“None of that,” she did her best to stop her voice from wobbling or breaking, “we’re together. That’s all that matters.” She drew his face out from where he had hidden to pepper him with a few more kisses.

None of it was enough.

The rest of the guys were kind enough to return to the dance floor and act like they couldn’t see them.

“Who? What - why? How?” He was obviously having trouble forming coherent thoughts in between the kisses he continued stealing from her.

She was crying and laughing and trying to return all his touches. It was a terribly difficult ordeal but she had never been happier.

“Colonel Harding called and said you had a weekend leave. He said he talked to some of the higher ups but they couldn’t allow you a leave home so this was the next best thing,” she explained, cupping his cheek as she rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. He had minor scars that weren’t there before.

She wanted to kiss every single one of them.

He was still bent towards her height, taking her in as she was taking him in.

She forgot how blue his eyes were.

He was whole. Complete. Hers.

“You’re here for the entire weekend?” He asked to confirm and she nodded, laughing when he lifted her again with a loud whoop to celebrate. That got a few of the guys to join in although they had no idea what their Major was celebrating.

“I need you,” his voice suddenly dropped, setting her down as he turned to the door. “Let’s go.” He was buckling up her coat to make sure she was protected from the freezing London air. She was lucky he was too far gone to scold her for arriving with it unbuckled in the first place - she could get sick.

“John, John - relax, my sweet man,” she laughed, cupping his cheek to get his attention. “We can stay for a while. We don’t have to go yet.”

It’s why she was at the officer’s club in the first place. She had arrived early.

John turned stiff in her hold, straightening to his full height as he suddenly loomed over her. “I’ve got you in my arms for the first time and you want to stay here?” His voice was tight. His face stern.

“Yes - no, I -” she was unsure of where she went wrong or how to fix it. She clasped his hands in hers but he didn’t allow her to thread their fingers together so it was just her holding on. “I just meant we’ve got time, John.”

The way he was looking at her made her want to cry. She felt her lower lip quivering.

She felt ashamed, whispering, trying to get him to keep his cool.

“Time? Time?” He laughed loudly. She was mildly aware of Gale breaking away from a group of guys to near them, worried but she was mostly focused on John. The tense lines on his face even as he laughed and the quirked eyebrow even though she found no amusement in their situation. “You think I’ve got time? You have no idea what it’s like up there.”

She shook her head but didn’t try to verbally explain herself. She wasn’t sure she could manage a few words before breaking into tears.

“Come on, Bucky,” that was Gale stepping in to save the day. Perhaps the only person who could get John to listen. “When have you ever left before dancing with your girl? You gotta show these rookies how it’s properly done right?”

With Gale slapping a hand to John’s shoulders, he seemed to snap out of it. Releasing a deep breath and seemingly all the tightness in body with it.

He leaned down again, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping a hand around her neck so she wouldn’t pull her head back. As their eyes locked she felt a tear fall again and this one wasn’t happy. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. It’s this place. It’s fucking with my head.”

And she chose to believe him, nodding her head in understanding and trying not to think about how she wasn’t his preferred person to write letters to or the one who could clear his head.

Maybe the Colonel should have allowed a weekend pass for Gale and John.

Lila swallowed the thought, allowing John to pull her to the dance floor as he lost all anger and aggression and became charming and loving all over again.

“Everyone, this is my wife!” He bellowed and everyone cheered in response. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and -” he hiccuped and she realized he was drunker than she thought, “and I bet we can out dance any couples here tonight!”

So for the next hour she found herself being twirled around the dance floor by her husband. She almost forgot their prior negative interaction; his love and energy was so infectious. For the slow songs he would hold her close and she would rest her head against his chest, letting it lull her to a relaxing state. He was alive and she was with him. That had to be enough. For the more upbeat songs, he was challenging any couple beside them. Asking those sitting who were better dancers? Who could perform certain dance moves better?

And all throughout, he was like he used to be back home. Loud and happy and the center of attention, keeping everyone entertained. He kept announcing to his boys that his beautiful wife was there and then he’d place a wet kiss on her mouth that had their cheeks (and hers) turning red but all he would do is smile and continue on.

She was finally able to disentangle herself from him when Crosby pulled him in for a conversation. Lila wonders if her state of disheveled hair and panting breaths made him want to aid her in allowing her to sit and grab a refresher.

Once she accepts Crosby’s hug and cheek kiss, she excuses herself to go grab a drink. John only pulls her back once to steal a kiss before she gets too far.

Her lips might be bruised by the time they leave if he kept it up.

She orders a cup of ice water from the man tending the bar, looking back out at her husband as she waits. He’d always been tall and strong, but she notices the change in his posture. The bulges in his arms as he twirled her around and lifted her in the air. His eyes were only bright when he forced it. They had lost their shine and she wishes she brought the picture from back home. Where he looks young and full of life and joyful. Even when he smiles he seems hollow; hopeless.

She’s there but he doesn’t really care because in his head he’s already thinking of when she leaves again.

She wasn’t used to that. Her John only lived in the moment.

“He keepin’ you busy?”

Gale settles up behind her and pushes the glass water towards her. She didn’t even notice when it was put down.

“Dizzy, more like,” she jokes and gets him to crack a smile. She thinks to when she walked in and seen Gale, how he’d been watching the scene unfold but with a disapproving look in his eyes. How he didn’t try to hide the scene from her or excuse it. He let it be. And she knows John has never shied away from attention. He’s always been handsome and charming and girls always swarmed but Lila wasn’t aware she had to be around to keep him loyal. She thought he just was. And she knows it’s not too long before they leave now so she decides to be direct with him. “So, does that happen often?”

She sees Gale’s expression split for a second, like he debates playing dumb before deciding against it and she respects him even more for it.

“I think you should talk to John about it.” He decides on.

“Is it something that needs to be mentioned?” She doesn’t like playing this game with him but she knows at the first words of cheating and adultery Gale is going to excuse himself and her chance will be lost.

She can’t be simple and ask: Does my husband cheat on me?

“Another ginger ale, Marty,” Gale raises two fingers to grab the man’s attention and mutters a thanks as his drink is immediately refilled. He turns his attention back to Lila. “He still loves you, Lila. It’s just - hard. Being out here.”

“You seem to be coping fine.”

She feels bitter. Crazy. There’s a sob she has to choke back.

Lila’s too embarrassed to meet Gale’s gaze. Ashamed that everyone knows what’s been going on and she was the ditzy woman being twirled on the dance floor.

“I think I was used to loneliness. He isn’t.”

And he says nothing else as he leaves her behind heading back to his boys. It’s just Lila and her shattering heart and her husband calling to beckon her back to the dance floor.

Luckily they didn’t stay much longer. She walked over to Bucky but he wasn’t able to pull her back out for a dance - it’s my song, Lila! - because Jack Kidd was approaching, letting them know it was time to leave them at the train station.

Lila waited in the car while Bucky ran into his quarters to pack his bag. He didn’t have many things to take, he would be stuck wearing his uniform anyway. Gale walks him back out to the car and despite the earlier conversation Lila exits the safety of the interior to say her goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, Major,” she squeezes him, “I need you to stick around after this weekend to look after my man.”

“It’s a hard job but I try,” he replies, both of them ignoring Bucky’s protests.

Besides that, Bucky’s quiet on the ride to the train station. He carries her bag on board but he’s quiet for the duration of the train ride. Lila doesn’t disturb him; he might be tired or hungover or both.

And if she’s honest she’s scared of him snapping at her like the night before.

Instead she takes the time to take him in. He’s handsome in his suit. Tall and big and strong, his sharp jaw and powerful mouth, his eyes blue like a sunny day and his curls coming undone from the gel after all the dancing he did.

Lila doesn’t allow her mind to wander down this path too often but suddenly she can’t help it. Would their baby have looked like him or like her? She wishes more than anything they would have had his ears. She wishes they would have had his heart and his strength - but her loyalty. Her faith in them.

It’s crazy when she stops to think she was nineteen when she married him and now she’s twenty-one. She’s loved him for more than she’s been allowed to have him. She has changed without him like he has without her and it’s frightening to think neither of them could be accepting of those changes. Whatever they may be.

Lila shuts those thoughts out, closing the distance between them to sit on his lap. Passerby’s and his horrible mood and what scares her could be damned to hell - all she wants is her man.

John doesn’t deny her; she admits she was a little scared he would.

“I love you,” she tells him, catching his eyes.

“I know.”

He doesn’t return the words as they continue staring at one another but she refuses to let it get her down. This is her husband. She has the rest of her life to get to know him; new or old habits, she doesn’t care.

So instead, Lila plasters a smile onto her face. “What’re you gonna show me first in London, Major?”

“Well I really wanna show you our hotel room,” he plays along, allowing her to trace the edges of his mustache. She lets out a knowing chortle. “And I really want to show you -” he cuts himself off to look around, making sure no one was near them as he leans in to whisper, “- my cock, Mrs. Egan.”

She turns a bright red, trying to sputter out a proper response for that but all she can do is indignantly scold him. “John Clarence! If your mom were here -” and they both break out in loud laughter at the many possibilities of what his mother would exactly do to him if she heard his wicked mouth.

“Wanna grab some grub first?” He asks instead, knowing she hadn’t eaten at the officers club and before then she had been stuck on a plane. “I know a few places.”

Lila nods happily, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His lips are warm and as plump as she remembers them. His mustache tickles her.

“Let me feed you first, woman!” He groans, trying to be a gentleman. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She puckers her lips to think about it and that’s the only answer he needs: food is definitely first.

When they arrive at the hotel John enters to check them in but he slips a few bills into the bell boy’s hand with strict instructions to leave the bags in their room before pulling her back out to the London streets.

Lila felt underdressed surrounded by women in diamonds and fancy hats, and it didn’t help that John was beside her in his uniform looking dapper and catching the eye of many. They were stopped multiple times on the way to the diner; men wanting to shake his hand and show their gratitude while the women introduced themselves, uncaring of Lila under his right arm.

As long as he wasn’t ignoring or dismissing her she realized she didn’t really care. It wasn’t much different back home; everyone knew and loved John Egan.

The diner he chose was small and cozy and his legs were too long to fit under their table so his boot and his knee kept bumping into her own and she adored it. She wanted to feel close to him and since sitting on his lap currently wasn’t an option she figured this would have to do.

He tells her many stories but none of them are sad or tragic. He only shares the happy ones. He talks about how he convinced the Colonel to allow Buck, Curt, and himself a London weekend pass one time and they had shoved Gale into a haberdashery where he tried on a multitude of top hats worth more money any of them would ever see combined. But because they were soldiers and majors at that, the owner allowed it. There’s a museum nearby he talks about wanting to take her too, it showcases art from as early as the 1400s and he says he’s gotten lost in there plenty of times and it was lovely.

All the while, she listens without hearing him. Choosing to take him in and letting her mind wander to how it would be if things were different. It pains her to think how much older he looks since she last saw him. Looking more like it was ten years instead of the measly two. John’s always been one to smile freely but the wrinkles by his mouth, eyes, and forehead aren’t from smiling or laughing too much.

Lila knows they’re from worrying and stressing and being scared and she hates that she can’t understand him or be there for him. No matter how hard he tries.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes when a sob breaks free. She curls in over the table and John’s reaching over to rub her shoulders. She grabs a hold of her hand in his. “I just missed you so much.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t think I know how to not miss you.”

John doesn’t say anything but he motions a server over to settle the bill and once that’s done, he’s taking her hand and pulling her out the chair.

“You got enough food in you?”

All she can do is nod.

Her body feels electric on the short walk back to the hotel. He doesn’t do more than hold her hand and she thinks that is what has her nerves jittery, his palm in her hand sets her alight. She can feel his rough skin and the calluses on his fingers and the fingertips he runs over her skin and she bites back a moan.

Moaning in the middle of a bustling London street? She’d be thrown into an asylum she’s sure.

Beside her he’s quiet but his steps are quick. She has to lightly jog to keep up with long strides. He pulls on her hand to help her keep pace. It makes her think he’s as impatient for it as she is so she was surprised when upon closing the hotel room behind him he stays by the door. Not nearing or touching or kissing.

Just - nothing.

Her throat becomes tight again as she remembers the girl from the night before and her conversation with Gale. Is that the reason why?

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says before she can spiral any further. Approaching her and bringing their lips together in a searing kiss, wasting no time in sliding his tongue alongside hers.

“I love you,” she responds and once again he doesn’t say it back. She figured he wouldn’t but she wanted to try. He takes her mouth in his again.

She gets irrationally angry, suddenly feeling the need to claim him so she bites at his bottom lip. He pulls back to press a finger to his lip, wiping the blood there.

Lila pulls on his belt, dropping to her knees right there in the middle of the room.

Mine. He’s mine.

“Make me your wife again,” she’s not sure but it sounds like she’s begging as she manages to unbuckle his belt and pull them around his strong thighs.

“God,” he breathed, “fuck. Look at you.”

Swollen lips parted for him to put to use. John wrapped his fist around her long hair to maintain a good grip, allowing the tip of his cock to hit the back of her throat. There was no resistance, no gag, her body remembering how it was taught to take all of him even though time had passed. John loved that fucking mouth and he found himself angry as thoughts entered his mind - if anyone had fucked her mouth while he’d been away - and he jerks his hips more forcefully. Rough.

This time Lila does gag. Her hand goes to push against his hip but he doesn’t allow her to pull away.

“Did anyone else do this?”

She splutters, eyes on him and confused with a mouthful of cock, unable to talk.

“Did you suck someone else’s cock? This is mine, Lila. Mine.”

He holds her down for a couple of more seconds before allowing her reprieve. She sputters and coughs, looking at him the entire time.

His dick is still hard and long, standing to attention, and he’s not sure whether he should apologize before she’s taking his bobbing dick back into her mouth. To the back of her throat and gulping and fondling his balls. Her nose kissing the coarse hairs on his belly trail and although it feels fucking amazing - he can feel the anger too. Her anger.

How dare he accuse her.

When she pulls off there’s a strand of saliva connecting his prick to her tongue. She has half a mind to go back for more but he’s pulling her back by her hair.

“I’m so lucky to have a wife who’s cock hungry,” he groans, pulling her to her feet by her hair and connecting their mouths in a rough kiss. Their teeths crash and tongues wrestly and he feels fucking crazy that she tastes like him. Simultaneously ripping each other’s clothes off.

Lila didn’t have any warning. One second she was kissing him and ripping open his shirt and the next she was bent over the bed with her ass in the air. John ran a finger over the wet patch on her underwear. The bite on her cheek was also unexpected and she clawed at the sheets, sure she could come from the feeling alone.

“This is mine, Lila,” he leaned in close, burying his face in her underwear. “Mine.”

All she could do was whimper and agree.

John smacked her ass so hard it jiggled. Lila yelled and after the pain ceded, time seemed to stop. Nothing but their rough breathing filling the room. John had never done that before.

She wasn’t sobbing but there were tears escaping. She was sure he didn’t know. He was waiting for a reaction.

Lila wasn’t sure where this side of her husband came from. Had he held back those two months? Did he learn it in Europe? Was that why there was another woman - because she couldn’t satisfy him?

She can’t lose him.

“Please,” she begs, hiding tears in the duvet, “do it again.”

Lies. It was all lies but John believes her and he strikes again. She yelps, fisiting the sheets. He believes it’s in pleasure.

Ten slaps. That’s how many she endures before he begins shushing and petting her again. He runs his fingers through her folds and although she didn’t enjoy the punishment mentally - she did nothing wrong, he was the liar - her body certainly did. She’s sopping wet, she’s gonna have to throw out her underwear because they’re destroyed.

“Did you enjoy that?” He grabs a fistful of her hair to sit her up, her back against his sweaty, matter chest. “You like being spanked, baby?”

“Yes.” It’s only half of a lie.

“Now - now, I’m going to fuck you. Nice and hard, just how you like it,” she wants to scream at him. She wants to hit him. When did she ever like it hard? When was hard ever nice? Who was he thinking about because it wasn’t her.

But at the same time she rocks back against him to feel his cock hard between her cheeks. She can’t say she doesn’t want it. Him. This.

He pushes her back down at her teasing, using his now free hands to spread her cheeks and show her tight asshole. Untouched and pure. He presses the tip of his cock against it but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t move.

She jerks at the pressure. Drools on the mattress as she tries to bite down to temper her screams.

Do it.

No, don’t.

“One day,” he promises, pressing deeper so her hole opens but not deep enough to push. “But today, today I want this.” And without any prepping like she’s used to, without any more warning, he’s sliding down and pushing into her. Hard. Deep.

She screams, can’t help it, claws at the mattress in an attempt to crawl away.

It hurt but it felt so good.

Who was she?

“You think you can go be with other men? Let them use the holes I trained? The ones that belong to me?” He pumps into her deep. Once, twice. She’s so wet the noises filling the room are pornographic, her yelling and his panting and her sopping wet vagina smacking against his thighs and taking his cock so well. “You like it like this, Lila? Like when I fucking own you?”

“Yes, yes,” she swears and this time she isn’t lying. It’s all she can manage; she thinks she’s gone cock dumb. There are no words, no feelings, just the feeling of him filling her.

She clenches tight when he slides out. She wants him inside her forever.

He releases his hold of her hair, stepping away. He’s tired of muffling her moans and words. He’s tired of not being able to see her beautiful face.

John’s favorite face in the entire world.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Lila kneels on wobbly legs as she turns over, having little to no energy and bouncing as her body lands with no grace on the mattress. John grabs one of her jiggling breasts in his large hand, squeezing tightly.

“I fucking missed these.” He takes one in his mouth, biting down on her nipple hard. She shrieks but holds his head to pull him closer.

Her thighs are forced open by his hand and then he’s taking hold of himself and thrusting in deep again. Releasing her breasts from his mouth in order to look at her mouth. Lila’s face when he’s fucking her is as close to heaven as he thinks he’ll ever get. She’s incoherent but she’s begging for more - that much he can make out. She manages to gather the strength to grab hold of him and pull him down, clawing at his back.

He hisses at the pain and bites on her collarbone to reciprocate it.

When she grabs the nape of his neck, the cool touch of her wedding ring against his skin, it gives him pause. This was his wife. His wife.

John has been gone so long he thinks he forgot he was married.

“I love you,” he finally says it, pressing his forehead against hers as he slows down. He sniffles then, leaning down to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against hers and swallow her moans. John can’t believe he forgot he had this; can’t believe he forgot for a minute how lucky he was. She’s gorgeous (and not just externally) and he’s quite sure he somehow managed to dream her up. “I love you,” he swears again.

This time she’s the one who doesn’t say it.

She clutches at neck and pulls him down to take a boob in his mouth. Looking him in the eye hurts too damn much. Why did he have to do this now? She was lost in the pain; she had been taking her punishment.

Lila squeezed her eyes shut, moaning loudly as she thrashed around the bed. Her orgasm taking over her body. She wrapped both legs tighter around John, squeezing and pulsing around him and dragging him to the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck,” he roared, “so damn tight. Yes, Lila. My perfect wife.”

For a couple of seconds, they lay in the aftermath. Lila could feel the heat of John’s breath against her neck. She counted how many breaths they shared in between one another as they recuperated.

Forty-seven that’s how many breaths they shared as they stayed connected.

Forty-eight that’s when John managed to lift his head and place a peck against her mouth. One she didn’t return.

Forty-nine that’s when John pulled back in concern. Lila was so still.

Fifty. That’s the breath she used to say, “you cheated on me,” looking him right in the eyes as she broke out in uncontrollable sobs.

She cried and cried underneath him. Unable to move because her legs felt like jello and they held no power. Unable to push him off because she didn’t want to let him go. Unable to speak because she was suffocating in her heartbreak.

John watched her until he couldn’t, until he was afraid she was going to choke on her own tears and then he was sitting her up, trying to ignore the way she fought against his touch.

I’m sorry, I’m here, he kept saying.

I hate you, she thought but didn’t say.

Until finally, “don’t touch me!” She yelled when he got too close and made to wrap her up in a hug. “Get away from me, John. Stay away.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and curled herself into a tiny ball. Aware she was fully naked and he was still leaking out of her but she couldn’t find it in herself to do anything except cry.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t open her lungs and get any air in. She slapped at the headboard, aware that she was having a panic attack as suddenly everything hit her all at once. It was entirely consuming and she couldn’t do anything to fight against it except cry. All the feelings rushed her at once.

This was going to be it. The weekend of two lovers reunited was the weekend from hell and this was going to be it. She was going to return home in a day and he would stay in Europe and continue to fight the war and seek out other girls and when he returned she wouldn’t be his wife anymore.

Lila would be scornful and full of resentment and miserable and he would leave her. This last time was going to be all she had and she hated him for ruining it.

Why couldn’t he hide his affairs better?

Why did she have to surprise him?

She was perfectly happy not knowing. She was worried and stressed to hell and crying every night missing him but, oh God, all that was better than this.

Lila isn’t sure how long it’s been since she last took a breath but she feels herself fading. She’s shivering and naked in their bed and she can only slightly take in that John’s wrapping her up in the duvet and curling himself around her to warm her up. She’s trying to tell him she can’t breathe, she’s suffocating, at the same time he’s blowing air in her face.

She’s fading when she feels it. A sting on the left side of her face. Hard and sharp and enough to have her gasping for a deep breath.

“Baby, please, wake up,” he’s crying over her, his head on her chest, “wake up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her chest aches. She coughs.

He whips his head up so fast she almost laughs. Almost.

“Lila,” he holds her against his chest, rocking them back and forth on the bed as she takes in her surroundings. She isn’t sure how long she was out or how long she was panicking for. Had the sun been setting while she lost her shit? It was dark outside now. “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me. Please.”

She taps at his arms to get him to release. She doesn’t think she can talk.

John allows her the space but he doesn’t remove himself from the bed. He stays kneeling, watching her. His hands keep twitching like he wants to reach out and touch her but he’s trying to respect her wishes of not being touched.

She doesn’t lay back down, she stays resting against the headboard. Breathing hurts. She’s scared of suffocating once more. Her left cheek begins burning and she wishes she had the strength to go look in the mirror. Did he mark her? She hopes he did.

Lila’s glad he made it hurt.

“You need to go,” she finally manages to say, ignoring the way he’s already shaking his head in defiance. “Leave me here, John. I want you to go. Get another room.” Find another woman. “I leave in a day.” She wishes she never came to stupid London. She wishes she could forget this entire trip.

“Lila it’s the war,” he starts, shaking in his own tears. “It’s all the shit I see, baby. None of it was because of you okay? None. You don’t fucking know what it’s like up there for us but I stay alive in hopes of coming home to you.” He promises.

She shakes her head, fighting back any more tears. How the hell could she still have any tears left?

“But Gale didn’t cheat,” it bursts out of her before she can stop it and she knows it’s the wrong thing to say entirely.

John stops his apologies, clearing his throat as he gets up and begins dressing into his suit. She doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t take back any of what she said. She gets tired of sitting so she lays on her side, staring out the window and noticing London doesn’t have many stars. Is that why it’s so horrible here? Because there were no stars to wish upon.

She could hear his boots stomping on the ground as he reached the door. “Maybe you should have married Gale fucking Cleven then.” And the door slams shut behind him.

She wonders if he’s angry enough to find a girl and sleep with her. Her eyes blur. The time on the clock is six p.m and London’s already dark. She realizes she hasn’t slept since her plane ride. About 19 hours awake - her and John.

Lila allows her eyes to close, hoping when she wakes everything will be better.

Shadows over her eyelids wake her up. Lila finds she hasn’t moved. She’s in the same position facing the window. Facing London, only now bombs are dropping over it. The prettiest colors burst forward in the window but she knows it's truly only tragedy and loss. Murder.

She recognizes John sitting in the arm chair and she wonders when he got back. He isn’t facing her, he’s watching bomb after bomb drop and land no more than mere miles away from them. He’s holding a whiskey on ice, twirling the ice so it hits against the glass.

Lila wonders then if it was the shadows or the noise that woke her up.

“I must have punched in my card a long time ago,” his voice is strong in the dead of the night, seemingly even louder than when he’s singing in the pub. “It must be the reason for all of this. Karma.” He scoffs.

I deserve this, is what he’s trying to say.

Lila feels her stomach twist and spin and there’s bile sitting in her throat. She closes her eyes to stop herself from imagining John in a plane, dropping a bomb that lands on children. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the hurt sitting on his shoulders.

She remembers how angry she was when he first signed up. Before they were married. They had been dating for over a month, barely, and she already scribbled ‘Mrs. Egan’ over her notebooks. She’d heard it from his younger sister, Eileen, and she felt her world stop. She hadn’t hesitated to run to the stables he worked at and confront him in front of all the men.

“You’re leaving me,” she had accused him. “You’re gonna leave! I’ll never forgive you, John Egan.”

And in front of everyone he’d knelt down and produced a ring, the one his father had given his mother and said, “Marry me.” He didn’t ask because they both knew it wasn’t a question.

She was already his.

And he was hers.

Lila had forgiven him and promised to love, honor, and obey for the rest of her life.

She doesn’t have the strength to stand so even though her throat burns she speaks. “Lay with me,” she croaks. Her voice is raspy and broken and even clearing it aches.

John shakes his head. “You don’t want me to.”

“Lay with me,” she repeats, firm. “I just want to fall asleep with you.”

He looks at her like he's scared to believe. Trying to figure out whether she’s simply being cruel and going to kick him out in her next breath. Or more likely, he’s scared she’ll lose her shit being near him again.

John, hopeful and never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, sets his drink down and nears the bed. Lila keeps her eyes locked on his and he does the same. Their moves and tension resemble a game of chicken, one of them afraid any sudden change can have the other running off.

“Take off your uniform,” she says when he pushes back the covers while still fully dressed. He jerks his head in confusion and she bites her lip to contain a laugh at his dirty mind. Sex is the last thing on her mind. “I want to feel you, that’s all.”

John does as she asks, setting his cap down and shredding every layer before he’s naked and gorgeous and sliding in beside her. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it means when she immediately slides closer.

Lila’s the one to wrap her arms around him.

Lila’s the one to intertwine their legs.

John follows her lead, lifting an arm so she can raise her head and use it as a pillow. She scoots her face closer and she nuzzles into her armpit, smelling his deodorant and feeling his hairs poke at her nose. She moves further along, escaping the cocoon of his armpit to press her cheek against his chest. She clutches his dog tags in her palm, tight, so he can’t get up in the middle of the night.

“Can we fall asleep together?” She asks, but when she looks up John’s already there.

The next time Lila wakes up her palm aches. She releases what she’s gripping, remembering how she clung to John’s dog tags when he slid into bed beside her. She lifts her head and finds John already looking at her.

He’s got the saddest eyes she’s ever seen and she hates that she’s partly why.

“We should talk,” her voice is low and cracks from not being used. John nods his head but makes no move to begin.

Lila lays her head back on his chest, lightly picking at his matted, curly chest hair. She presses her lips to a freckle near his nipple and his intake of breath lets her know he felt it,

“I’m not the one you write the most letters too,” she starts, finding it easier to not have to look him in the eye. “You write the most to your mom. And I’m not the one who can calm you down when your anger gets the best of you,” she’s so tired of crying, “that’s Gale. “And I can’t even be here for you at the end of a mission to console you or kiss you or help you forget,” she chokes on a sob. “That’s whoever else.”

I couldn’t even keep our baby healthy, she leaves out.

“What’s your point with all this, Lila?”

Lila lifts her head from his chest, “My point is I’m a horrible wife. I - I don’t know if it was too soon or just not thought out but this - I- ” she can’t get the rest of the words out.

“Don’t say that,” John sits up against the headboard, forcing her up as well. He grabs both her wrists in one of his hands to pull her closer and grab her attention. “Don’t fucking tell me that, Lila.”

“I don’t make you happy,” she shakes her head.

“You do. Everything I do, everything I’m doing - it’s for you Lila.”

“I don’t want to marry Gale. Or someone like him. I love you. Only you. But I’m scared that I don’t make you happy. You deserve better.”

“Oh you dumbass,” John coos, suddenly finding the entire situation amusing. He pulls her in for a hug. “You’re my entire fucking heart, Lila Egan. You don’t think you make me happy? You’re the only thing in my life, in my head, that makes me happy.”

She pulls away to hold his face. “If you’re gonna leave me John you need to tell me now. I don’t care about the girls if all they are is to pass the time. And I don’t care that you write to your mom more than me and I don’t care that Gale is the one you listen to but I just need to be the one you love the most. I need to know I’m making you happy.”

His heart aches at the fact that he made her feel she was ever anything less than the most important person in his life. “Lila,” he presses a kiss to her lips, “Rose,” another kiss, “Egan,” another. “Are my only reason for staying alive.”

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer | jjk (07)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, mentions of oc's mother because we know girlie is hella traumatized, mentions of drinking, mentions of an almost physical fight, abandonment issues, jk forgets to practice safe driving for 2 seconds, and uhmmm kissing 🤫, anddd that cliffhanger? 👀 rating: 18+ (minors dni) word count: 10.8k note (1): this is the longest it has taken me to update obs and i do feel pretty guilty about that. but it's finally here now and this is one of the chapters that i'm the most nervous about posting. massive thanks to @daechwitatamic and @wintaerbaer for beta-ing this for me or else i would've screamed cried thrown up and scrapped the whole thing, and to @jeonwiixard for being a wonderful cheerleader as i was writing this, and to everyone in my beloved obs discord server for always being so sweet and kind and putting a smile on my smile every day since the server was created. also to my sunshine ☀︎ for introducing me to the song mentioned below bc HELLO is it not just one of the most obs coded songs ever. love you all my babies <3

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist join our OBS discord server ✨

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Somewhere in the multiverse There's a me and you that works We never fuck it up We're out there still in love Somewhere in the multiverse Maybe that's enough

multiverse - Maya Manuele ft. PEMRBOKE

Sometimes, whenever you look up at the moon at night, you wonder if Jungkook is doing the same thing.

Even when you fall out of love with someone, it still hurts. It hurts because you once loved them so much it felt like the sky would collapse if you couldn’t be with them. It hurts because the love wasn’t taken from you, but rather it started slipping away on its own, more and more each day until you realize you’re holding onto nothing when there once was everything.

You can’t say that you’re too familiar with that kind of hurt though. You’ve never fallen out of love before.

You don’t think Jungkook is too familiar with it either, at least not when he left you.

You wonder if he thinks about you from time to time and gets sad. You think he does, because you know that he loved you. Something ended for him too. The memories that you shared were his memories too.

You hope that it’s painful for him whenever thoughts of you cross his mind, because that would mean that he cares. That a part of him still cares.

And if he still cares, then he might come back.

Despite the front that you try to parade around, there is a part of you that will always leave your heart vacant for him, regardless of whether or not he would return. It’s a scary thought, one that you would rather avoid at all costs, one that says there will be no one that you love more than you loved Jungkook. Maybe there can’t be another person that you will love at all.

You can come back quietly, like the wind slipping through the crack I leave in the window at night; or you can announce your return resoundingly like a sudden downpour quenching the summer heat. I don’t care. I kept your side of the bed empty and warm, waiting for you to come back. Hoping that you would come home.

[08:47] Yoongi: sure you don’t want me to drive you there? [08:48] Yoongi: i can pick you up in 30 [08:52] You: positive 🤧 i told you i already booked the train. it’s only 4 hours away [08:53] You: i’ll survive, yoongs [08:55] Yoongi: did you not watch Train To Busan? [08:56] You: ? [08:57] Yoongi: what if there’s a zombie apocalypse [09:00] You: yoongi if there’s a zombie apocalypse, how is your CONVERTIBLE supposed to keep me safe [09:01] Yoongi: i’ll put the roof up [09:02] You: stop talking [09:02] You: please stop talking. [09:03] Yoongi: 😡😡😡 [09:03] You: 😇 [09:03] You: gotta get dressed now though. i’ll see u when i get back? :) [09:05] Yoongi: fine [09:06] Yoongi: safe travels. text me when you get there :)

You plop onto your bed with a sigh, glancing at the bag that’s already packed and sitting near your wardrobe, lonely. You stay like that for a while, contemplating whether or not you should bail at the very last minute.

It was not on your bingo card that you’d be here, agonizing over your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s wedding. Nope. Absolutely no one saw it coming.

For fuck’s sake, why would they invite you to a wedding? A celebration of love? It feels like you’re being forced onto a prank show, just waiting for someone to jump out and scream in your face.

You learned that the wedding was for close friends and family only, so it would be a relatively small event, which makes it even more confusing why you were also asked to join. Maybe the world is changing too rapidly and you’re just a little old-fashioned for it, but you really don’t understand why your ex-boyfriend’s family would want you there.

Taehyung and Jimin were invited too; they’re Jungkook’s best friends after all. They’re practically an extension of the family, Jungkook’s brothers by choice. But Taehyung doesn’t come back from his work trip until the day of the wedding, and Jimin… Well, he just doesn’t want to go to a Busan wedding in the middle of winter.

So why are you even going?

You could’ve declined. Said you couldn’t attend because the invitation came in so late. Made up a work trip or a family emergency. There’s a plethora of excuses you could’ve used.

Or you could’ve simply said no. That would’ve been perfectly fine too. No one would even need to ask why.

But maybe it was because his mother had customized the invite with her own handwriting in the back. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t spent hours meticulously studying the card like someone was going to quiz you. It wasn’t anything special - just We hope to see you there - but you think you’d feel really bad to decline after she’d made the extra effort to ask you to come.

When you told Yoongi that you would be attending Jungkook’s brother’s wedding, he didn’t seem upset. Still cool as a cucumber. Although if he was bothered by the announcement, you don’t think he would’ve let it show. It did take him a minute to take it in, but then he just pecked your cheek and asked if you could bring a plus-one. You both knew that you wouldn’t even if that was an option.

Pushing your body off the bed, you drag yourself to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. Then sunscreen. Then change into the clothes you’d already picked out last night. Your train doesn’t leave for another hour and fifteen minutes, but you want to be there at least twenty minutes early just in case. This is one of your only good habits.

You rub your eyes when you finally haul yourself outside, thinking you must still be dreaming because what is Jungkook’s car doing here?

You blink a few times, expecting the vehicle to disappear in a puff of white smoke.

Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.

The car is in front of you, but the man is nowhere to be found.

You stand there dumbfoundedly, contemplating whether you should wait it out for a little bit to see if he’s actually here. He comes running up to you a couple minutes later, holding two paper cups in his hands, one of them a chai latte. A memory you’d buried long ago comes rushing to the surface. It’s too early for you to be feeling.

“Hi,” he says, his warm breath coming out in a huff of smoke in the crisp morning air.

“Hi?” you mutter dumbly when he trades the bag in your hand for the drink. There’s a moment where you’re genuinely baffled, wondering if this is a memory reel playing right before your eyes. This is your Jungkook, wearing that same old smile whenever he used to come bounding up your dorm building so you could walk to the library together, where he would hang out with you during your shift if he didn’t have classes. “What are you doing here?”

You don’t remember telling him what time your train was, so he’d probably badgered it out of Taehyung or Jimin somehow.

“I thought I could drive us there,” he says. “I texted you about it.”

Well, that explains it. You don’t bother with his dozens of messages anymore. “Oh, uhm, I already booked the train.”

This doesn’t seem to faze him at all. “Free cancellation up to 15 minutes before departure.” Jungkook grins, clearly eager despite your obvious reluctance. It’s too early for this, whatever the hell this is.

When you told him that you had RSVP’d yes to the invitation, he was surprised that you even knew about the wedding. He even seemed nervous that day.

“What if I’d already left?” you ask.

He blinks, then stammers like a confused child. It’s cute, and you have to mentally slap yourself over the head for even thinking that.

“Then I’d go after you.”

How? you scoff internally. Unrealistic.

Regardless, not even an hour ago, you were declining Yoongi’s offer to drive you there. Now, you’re standing here, in front of your ex-boyfriend, contemplating whether or not you should go with him.

“Let’s go,” he says after a minute. “We don’t wanna be stuck in traffic.”

“I haven’t said yes.” Yet. “It’s a 4-hour drive.”

You don’t have to clarify what you mean. He understands it.

You both just stare at each other for a moment, the tension suddenly thickening with every passing second. Four hours on the road. Four hours alone in a car with Jungkook. That’s about two hundred minutes more than you think you can handle.

It’s like he can see right through you. “Don’t think about it,” he says, voice dropping lower. “It’s just a weekend. Everything will still be here for you to think about when we get back.”

In your head, it translates to: All of our shit will still be here when we get back. You can keep being mad at me then.

You hope that’s not true. You hope that when you get back, the things that keep you up at night will simply cease to exist. That in the two days you’ll be gone, a genie will materialize and solve all your problems for you.

Either way, it’s probably for the best that you aren’t mean to him this weekend. You’re stuck with him for the next 48 hours or so; it’ll only stress you out even more if you channel all of your energy into tormenting him. Besides, you’re already the ex girlfriend who has no place alongside his family. You don’t want to be the dark cloud raining on everyone’s parade too.

Maybe you’d already made up your mind when you let him take the bag from you.

For the first half of the drive, you were unconscious.

It’s a useless superpower that you have, the ability to fall asleep anywhere - literally anywhere, including in the passenger seat of your ex-boyfriend’s car while he escorts you to his hometown. Melatonin gummies manufacturers hate you.

You could’ve slept the whole drive, but around the second hour mark, you were startled awake when your body jostled forward, straining against your seatbelt uncomfortably. There was an arm trying to hold you back, despite the seatbelt having done its job well.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses before he turns toward you, worry written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You blink, still half asleep. “I’m okay,” you say. The minivan that Jungkook almost rear-ended continues on its merry way, carrying what seems to be a family of five. “What happened?”

He sighs, his outstretched arm retreating back to his side. “I got a bit distracted, that’s all.”

You take in your surroundings then. There’s barely any other cars in sight, no tacky billboard that sticks out like a sore thumb to catch your attention. There’s just the freeway, stretching on empty for all you can see.

“By what?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

See, you have the superpower of falling asleep anywhere and everywhere, but once you’ve been woken up, it’s not as easy to fall back asleep.

That, and the fact that you’re hungry as shit.

You open your mouth, about to say no, about to offer to drive the rest of the way if Jungkook is tired, but your stomach doesn’t let you get a word out. It growls, filling the space of the car, making you want to chuck yourself out the fucking window and run all the way back to the city. This wouldn’t have happened had you taken the train, because if you had, there would’ve been food services and no one would be subject to hearing your stomach sing like it’s chewing out a small puppy in there. Life is nothing but an endless pit of embarrassment and despair.

Your arms hold themselves tighter around your frame, practically squeezing into your abdomen as you will it to please, please, please be quiet. Jungkook stares at you, and you can tell by the teeny tiny quirk of his lips that he’s trying to bite back a smile. He’s relaxed, but there’s still something hesitant on his face. It takes him a minute before he finally throws the question out.

“Do you want to go to that guksu place that we used-” that we used to go to, “you know the place. The one that’s right off the freeway?”

The sun is out today. The sky unfolds endlessly just outside the window, coloring blue everything your eyes land on. There are strips of clouds scattered here and there, like delicate strokes of white paint on an azure canvas. Even the winter cold has to soften.You bite into your cheek. Don’t think, that’s what he had told you.

Not much about this quaint restaurant has changed. The quirky decorations are still where they used to be, the windows still the same unique stained glass that you never came across anywhere else. You remember the elderly woman who runs the place, even if she doesn’t have a single clue who you are. The golden retriever you used to fawn over every time you stopped by, sits quietly by the door and watches the cars pass by, his fur now graying as weariness begins to settle into those old bones.

You would’ve been displeased if the place had changed, because, well, you don’t like change. But then again, this familiarity is dangerous. It tricks you into thinking that everything is still the same, even you and him. Deludes you into believing that you’re still in love and that he’ll walk out of here holding your hand.

Regardless, the first spoonful has you biting back a smile.

“How is it?” Jungkook asks.

It makes you feel all warm inside, and then a little sad, nostalgic.

“Tastes just the same,” you tell him simply.

“Hmm.”

He lets you satisfy your hunger in peace. It’s the least he can do anyway.

There’s a wall near the back of the restaurant, where people could hang polaroids of themselves and cute handwritten notes. You think if you dig through the hundreds of photos scattered across the space, you might be able to find you and Jungkook there, if you two haven’t already been thrown out long ago to make room for new memories.

He pays for your food after you’re both finished, despite some protesting on your side. As you leave, you’re busy thinking that if you could have a moment to marvel at that far-back wall of memories, if you could find a photo of you and him there, you would probably sneak it into your coat pocket.

It’d be another thing to add to your pile of Jungkook memorabilia - the old clothes in the back of your closet, the stack of dusty polaroids at the bottom of your drawer. You wonder if he keeps anything of yours, maybe an old t-shirt that you forgot to take back. It’s probably unlikely, but a girl can hope.

You miss the way Jungkook glances back, thinking the exact same thing.

You survive the rest of the drive with more ease, probably because of the food. You spend most of the remaining 2 hours leaning against the window, humming to the radio, closing your eyes but not really sleeping. You even forget to be nervous about what is to come.

That is, until the car pulls up to the venue.

It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a lot bigger than you imagined - a modern beach house overlooking the waters. It’s not as extravagant as one would expect to see when they come to a wedding, but considering the small crowd in attendance, this is more than enough. You see people rush in and out of the place even from far away - planners, caterers, the bridesmaids and groomsmen, probably.

You feel a bit comforted just watching this. His family seems to be doing a lot better than before. It’s nice to know.

You barely make it out of the car before someone calls your name, and pulls you into a hug that knocks the wind out of you. Although, when you catch the scent of her hair, you instantly know who it is.

Parents usually have a scent that’s distinct to only their kids, a scent so cozy and homely that no perfume can ever mask. You can only describe your mom’s scent with a feeling, specifically the feeling of your chest tightening, tingling with a bittersweetness that you never found elsewhere. 

Strangely enough, Jungkook’s mother has always made you feel the opposite. She makes you feel relieved to be in her embrace, like she accepts you for who you are even if all you are to her, at the end of the day, is a stranger.

You hug her back awkwardly, hesitantly, in front of Jungkook’s dad, his brother Junghyun, and a girl you don’t know. You assume that she’s the bride-to-be, the main character whom this weekend revolves around. Sooji, you remember that was the name on the wedding invitation.

You get choked up suddenly, eyes turning glassy though you quickly blink it away. You’re not sure if you’ve had someone be so happy to see you. Bypassers might even think that you just found the cure for cancer.

For a second there, you wonder if your mere presence has ever made your mother this overjoyed.

You look at Jungkook for help, silently asking him to rescue you. Who else are you supposed to turn to if not him?

He understands that look. “Okay, mom,” he says, entangling her arms from you with ease, “Y/N’s tired from the drive. Let’s let her rest, yeah? I’ll show her the room.”

She ignores her son. “Honey,” she says, brushing your hair away from your face so she could see you better. “Thank you for coming.” She used to insist that you call her “mom”, or at least by her first name because “Mrs. Jeon” was too formal for someone she considered family.

You now have to opt for the latter, because “mom” isn’t an option for you anymore.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Jeon,” you tell her with a smile. You’re not really sure what else to say, but it makes you a little sad just calling her that.

She opens her mouth before closing it again, seemingly about to jokingly scold you for the formality before she recognizes the bittersweet look in your eyes. She just smiles at you then. There’s not much to be done about it.

You don’t know if anyone else sees how the moment is weighed down. Probably not. Maybe it’s just you and her who share this sentiment.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for his mom anymore. Sons, typical. He wedges himself between the two of you like a bulldozer and leads you inside the house. 

Even though all you have is an overnight bag, Jungkook carries it for you all the way up to your room, which is only down the hall from his. Then he disappears pretty quickly afterward, saying something about his best man duties and putting out fires. He seems apologetic as he tells you this, but it’s not like you’re expecting him to babysit you all weekend.

You bore yourself to death in your room for a while, before you remember you have to text Yoongi to let him know you got here safely. Though, you stop short of telling him that it was Jungkook who drove you here. It’s trivial enough, right? You don’t want Yoongi to feel bad over nothing. You do, however, inform Taehyung and Jimin when you text them about it, to which Jimin only responds with a preemptively disapproving ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

When you get too stir-crazy, you wander outside, hoping to explore the beach before it gets dark and colder. You try to stay out of everyone’s way, because a good guest is a quiet guest. You seem to be doing a good job. No one notices you, not even Jungkook’s mom but that’s because she’s the person you actively want to avoid the most. You don’t know what you’d even say to her if she gets you alone.

Everything is hectic, as one can probably imagine when it comes to wedding preparations. You haven’t had anyone close to you get married yet, so it’s safe to say that you’re pretty much clueless about all of this. You wonder what it’ll be like when your big day comes around, if you even ever get married. You haven’t thought about it in a long time. Why would you? You don’t really have a reason to think about this. It’s much easier to picture Taehyung’s or Jimin’s wedding day than your own.

Your opinion on having kids still remains the same, and you were never one of those girls who daydreamed about having a big and extravagant wedding, but it’s not such a bad idea to ponder about. You still think marriage is a scary thing - it’s one of the biggest commitments a person could ever make - but you’re not entirely opposed to getting married. 

Why are you even mulling over this? Your time might never even come.

When you round the corner to get the steps that would lead you down to the beach, you run into Sooji and a woman holding a thick binder - must be a wedding planner. You give Jungkook’s future sister-in-law an awkward smile in greeting, which she returns much more gracefully before she tells the woman that she’ll be with her in a minute.

So now you’re stuck here, about to make small talk with a person you have never met before, and will likely never see again. Great. 

“Hi,” you say, extending a hand. “I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Sooji,” she replies warmly as she shakes your hand, and you have to stop yourself from being a little weirdo and thinking about how silky her hair looks up close. “You’re Jungkook’s… friend, right?”

You purse your lips before nodding with a chuckle. The pause tells you that she knows, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she’s uncomfortable having you here. 

“I’m sorry if this is weird. You probably don’t want a complete stranger at your wedding.”

Sooji shakes her head instantly, waving her hands around to dismiss your apology. “Please, it’s totally fine. Junghyun’s mom talked to me about it before we sent out the invites. I wouldn’t have agreed if I was really bothered. Don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“Why did you agree?” you ask, trying to sound as polite as possible. “You don’t know who I am.”

“I guess I was curious.” She shrugs, before laughing lightly as she says, “I used to think you weren’t real.”

“Huh?”

“She talks about you constantly. Never in front of Jungkook, of course. But she’s really fond of you, and you probably already know that doesn’t happen very often. She really does see you like a daughter. She made you sound too good to be true.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. His mom still thinks about you, still talks about you after all this time. You’re just his ex-girlfriend, but she considers you her family. You don’t know what to do with this information nor the way it pinches your heart.

“I-” You purse your lips, fumbling with the responses in your head. You settle on a light laugh, because Sooji can probably tell that you’re struggling with the words too. “I have to be honest. I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know that you’re still very much loved here.” She gives you a kind smile, and it looks like she wants to tell you something else but decides against it in the end. Sooji’s eyes land somewhere behind you before she points in that general direction. “I have to go take care of an issue with the flowers, but look, Jungkook is here. Why don’t you ask him to show you around?”

And then she’s already off. Overall, what a… strange interaction.

You turn around to see Jungkook standing near one of the entrances to the house. As you watch him talk to someone - a bridesmaid, you assume, or just one of the other guests - you try not to think about the fact that there’s a stirring sensation in your stomach, and that it only intensifies when she throws her head back in a pretty laugh, a perfectly manicured hand landing on his arm like he’s the most charming person she’s ever met. 

You don’t give it a name, don’t label it green in color even though you’re blue and he’s golden sunshine. You don’t acknowledge that it’s a feeling, because doing so would make it real and there are certain truths that you’d rather delude yourself into thinking are lies.

When Jungkook’s eyes catch yours and he cuts off the woman mid-sentence with a curt excuse me, you don’t acknowledge that feeling either, but it’s warm and it blooms in your chest as he makes his way to you. It’s something victorious, something that tickles your ribs.

He comes to you like you’re a destination he’s been waiting all his life to reach, and you certainly, adamantly don’t acknowledge the spectacularly dizzying feeling that swallows you whole when he places a gentle hand on your arm, his voice soft as he says, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

The familiarity, it’s catastrophic.

“I was just walking around,” you tell him. “There’s not a lot to do here. I was bored.”

“You have me,” he says. Probably not in that way, but you’d like to think that’s how he means it. “I don’t have any more fires to put out. What do you want to do now?”

You glance over your surroundings, still set on your original plans. You wanted to go alone, but you suppose you can let him accompany you. You check the time on your phone before asking, “Can we go down to the beach? I wanna see if we can catch the sunset.”

You used to do this whenever you came here to visit - walk along the beach, hand in hand, sunlight in your hair and the cool breeze holding you tight in the afterglow.

The keyword here is “used to”. Now, you have to stuff your hands in your pockets just so you don’t reach for him every time you shiver.

It’s late enough in the afternoon for you to see the moon faintly shine against a blue and orange backdrop. Sun and moon, together in the same frame. It feels symbolic somehow. You’re not really sure.

“The moon looks like an egg,” Jungkook observes astutely, taking casual strides next to you. It makes you burst into easy laughter, which makes him laugh with you too. You stop walking when you reach what you think is a good spot to watch the sky. 

“Let’s sit here for a bit,” you say. It’s not the greatest idea - sitting idly by would only make you colder - but you just want to stop and look at the sunset. Once you’re seated in the sand, you respond to his moon remark, “That’s true, y’know. NASA said so.”

“Yeah,” he says, settling down beside you, “you made me read that.”

You’d forgotten about it, and you didn’t think that he’d remember. It’s freezing cold and the moon looks like an egg, but you’re not thinking, and you feel safe. Nothing can hurt you here, or at least that’s what you’d like to tell yourself.

You wrap your arms around yourself to keep from shivering, but you still shiver anyways.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“A little,” you admit. “I should’ve worn a thicker sweater. But it’s o-”

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence, just smoothly takes off his jacket to put it around your shoulders.

You put your hands atop his to stop him. When you touch him, there’s an electric tingle that almost makes you flinch. He feels warm, still resembling a human furnace. 

“No, you don’t have t-”

“Take the jacket, Y/N,” he says. “It’s just a jacket.”

The jacket smells like him. It only makes you want to crawl further into the warmth.

He seems more self-assured here, that’s what you notice. More like the version of himself that he used to be. Confident, sometimes borderline cocky. Annoying but oddly endearing, you came to love that about him.

His relaxed demeanor is understandable. You’re merely a visitor here, while this is his homeground. 

“I’m curious about something,” he says after a while.

“Okay.”

“What’s the deal with Wednesdays?” he asks. 

“You know how they say bad things come in threes?” You purse your lips, thinking it over, feeling something bitter in your mouth as you recall the events that led to this. “My parents got divorced on a Wednesday. I moved out of mom’s house on a Wednesday. And…” You hold your knees close to your chest as you hesitate to utter this last part, “we broke up on a Wednesday.”

You see the exact moment Jungkook mentally slaps himself, paling a couple shades as he tongues his cheek, not expecting his question to inadvertently lead back to this. It wasn’t your intention to guilt trip him. It was true that he dumped you on a Wednesday, but you don’t want the mood to turn sour, to have to mull over this again. Like he said, it will still be there for you to worry about when you get back. You’re not looking forward to returning to a shitshow, but what you’d hate even more is to tarnish the memories of this place just because you can’t keep from being vindictive for not even a weekend.

“I was born on a Wednesday too, so I guess bad things come in fours sometimes,” you continue, chuckling to yourself humorlessly.

A frown appears on his face almost instantaneously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. Jungkook turns his body toward you, which makes you spare him a glance before you return your gaze to the horizon. His face is so serious that it’s almost funny. “Y/N,” he presses. “Why would you say that?”

“C’mon, it’s a joke. I was just being self-deprecating. Lighten up.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what? Contrary to popular belief, I don’t walk around with a thundercloud over my head all the time,” you laugh lightly. “I figured if there was a day to be nice to you, it should be today. And tomorrow, I guess.”

“This is you being nice?”

Funny how just a few weeks ago, you were fighting with him and calling him a hypocrite. Now, you’re sitting together, watching the sun set, trying not to be mean to him.

“I’m not picking a fight with you,” you say. “This is nice enough.”

“It’s not even my wedding.”

“Okay.” You glance at him again, letting words flow without a single thought. “I’ll be even nicer to you on your wedding day then.”

You don’t know where that even came from, but something aches the very second the words leave your mouth. The thought of him getting married one day makes you just nauseous, even though you always knew that it was a possibility. It might even be inevitable.

You clear your throat, waving the sullen feeling away. Your body shivers then, even after the added warmth of his jacket. Maybe you’re not shivering because of the cold anymore.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes linger on the side of your face. The both of you keep tiptoeing around an elephant that follows you wherever you go. 

You hug your knees close to your chest, watching the blue sky melt into the golden horizon, splattered with ribbons of cotton candy clouds.

You want to scooch closer to him and have him wrap his arm around your shoulders. This isn’t the spot where you used to draw your names in the sand, enveloped in a giant heart like two lovesick kids, but wouldn’t it be nice to imagine that it is?

“I was always really happy here,” you mumble to yourself.

You were, truly. This city was your pocket of hope, your piece of peace.

Being here brings back so many memories.

It’s the same feeling you get every time you pass by somewhere you used to live. The nostalgia of walking down the same road you used to walk every day until your shoes wore out. The familiarity of your surroundings. The bittersweetness of looking into a past you cannot hold anymore, of remembering the person you were at a certain period in your life, of knowing the things you do now that you didn’t back then.

You long for things you cannot change.

Nostalgia only grows stronger with time, you can always count on that.

He hums in agreement, before admitting quietly, “I miss you.” One pulls, the other pushes. The water wavers, like it’s touched by his words, simple but earnest. You’re touched too, somewhere in your heart, where you know you should be writing someone else’s name now.

Should?

“You’re pushing it,” you say softly.

“I know.”

You look at him. Maybe it’s because you’re back in the city that holds only good memories of you two. Maybe you’re hypnotized by the way the pink and purple hues kiss his side profile, making him feel like a fever dream and not someone you loved. Maybe it’s the cold, making you yearn for any source of warmth. But instead of returning his sentiment, you say, “It’ll pass.”

He meets your eyes. There’s something pleading in his gaze. All things pass eventually. Time moves forward, people move on. Bad things will pass sooner or later. Your worst heartbreak, your most arduous trials, your saddest moments, they will all pass.

And good things… good things will have to pass too, whether you like it or not.

Your fingers twitch from where they’re still holding onto your body. You itch to reach for his hand. You don’t tell him what he wants to hear, even though here’s a part of you that wants to say it back. In a better world, you would be telling him I love you too, instead of having to suppress an I miss you too.

“All things have to pass eventually. This will too.”

[20:05] Taebear 🐻: we could go to that bar near the gallery. Y/N likes the cocktails there [20:06] Mimi 🐥: kay kay [20:06] Mimi 🐥: soooooo next friday? [20:09] Mimi 🐥: why is y/n reading our messages. shouldn’t she be at dinner [20:09] You: i approve of the bar choice [20:11] You: if you didn’t want me reading your messages, you shouldn’t have sent them to the gc [20:11] You: and if you must know, i’m skipping dinner. i’m avoiding Jungkook’s mom [20:12] Mimi 🐥: understandable. i figured you would do that [20:13] Mimi 🐥: how’s it going? are we regretting going yet? i told you to just stay home and we could binge watch the office together [20:15] You: and EYE told you that you could be a good friend and go to this wedding with me but nooooo baby doesn’t like the cold [20:16] You: you could’ve visited your parents while you’re here you know. two birds with one stone [20:18] Mimi 🐥: babes my parents stayed with me for a whole month last month. i reached my quota for family face time  [20:19] You: son and friend of the year 👏 [20:20] Mimi 🐥: 😎😎😎😘

[20:22] Taebear 🐻: hey [20:23] You: uh oh. am i in trouble? why is this not in the gc? [20:25] Taebear 🐻: lol shut up [20:26] Taebear 🐻: you okay? [20:28] You: feels like that could’ve been a perfectly good question to ask in the gc [20:29] Taebear 🐻: because it’s a serious question and we both know Jimin can’t be serious for one minute to save his life [20:32] You: why does it have to be a serious question? 🤪 [20:32] Taebear 🐻: 😕 [20:33] You: stop pouting. i’m fine [20:35] Taebear 🐻: are you? [20:36] You: i am! you don’t have to go all mama bear on me [20:39] Taebear 🐻: ha ha ha. you’re so funny [20:40] Taebear 🐻: want me to call you? [20:42] You: i said i’m fiiiiiine 🙄 [20:43] You: but also no because i told everyone i was tired and i’m pretending to be asleep in my room right now [20:43] Taebear 🐻: okay [20:43] Taebear 🐻: did you eat something at least? [20:44] You: i have a cup ramen in my room [20:45] Taebear 🐻: okay [20:46] Taebear 🐻: how was today? did JK make you wanna strangle him? [20:48] You: okay Kim Taehyung at least act like you have some faith in your friend lol [20:50] You: but mmmmmm it was ok. he was mostly behaving himself [20:51] Taebear 🐻: mostly? [20:54] You: we were down at the beach and he just told me he missed me out of the blue [20:55] You: Mimi is asking why no one is replying to him  [20:57] Taebear 🐻: i can see that [20:58] Taebear 🐻: what did you tell JK? [21:01] You: i quoted fleabag to him [21:09] Taebear 🐻: i had to google that [21:10] Taebear 🐻: i still don’t know what that means [21:11] You: i know you don’t lol. you’re adorable [21:11] You: i’ll tell you when i get back.  [21:13] You: ok bye i have to sleep early or i’ll look like ass in the morning [21:14] Taebear 🐻: oh. okay [21:15] Taebear 🐻: sleep tight. remember not to gorge yourself on booze tomorrow [21:17] You: thanks for the reminder. love you mom 🙄💕 [21:17] Taebear 🐻: :) [21:20] Taebear 🐻: you won’t look like ass btw

You clocked out right after you told Taehyung that you would. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep though. The anxiety simmering in your belly woke you up a few times throughout the night. You don’t even know why you were anxious. It’s not like you were the one who was about to walk down the aisle.

When morning finally came and you managed to untangle yourself from the surprising comfort of your familiar bed, you practically dragged your feet for the subsequent two hours, trying to get ready. As if that would actually slow down the passage of time.

You had to compartmentalize the things you needed to do in a mental checklist. Makeup. Hair. Dress. Stare at yourself in the mirror for half an hour and internally freak out while waiting for Jungkook to come get you from your room.

Now you’re sitting in the wedding hall, watching people filter into the room. It’s not even a lot of people, but you’re still overwhelmed regardless.

You feel so exposed, even though he’s the only one looking at you in this room of strangers. He’s been looking at you like that ever since he first saw you this morning, in a dress that you got just days before the wedding. You still don’t know if it’s entirely appropriate for your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s wedding - maybe a bit revealing - but it was the only one you could find on such short notice.

When you tried on the dress for Taehyung and Jimin a few days ago, Taehyung said you looked beautiful. Jimin said you looked decent, “six point five out of ten,” which translated to “pretty nice” in Jimin-lingo. That would’ve been enough if you were going to any other wedding, not one where Jungkook would also be attending.

You had wanted him to see you and regret ever leaving you.

It was a silly thought, just a tad adolescent.

You had wanted him to see you in your dress and be consumed with thoughts of you until he couldn’t even see straight. To be the only thing on his mind, you didn’t think it was a lot to ask for.

That was before he told you not to think about it and you’d been convinced to just go with the flow just for two days. It was before he actually did see you earlier today in your dress - a simple midnight blue satin cowl neck with a slit in the thigh - but you were the one rendered helpless and speechless. He had stared at you for a minute when he came to walk you down from your room, then he’d said, all breathless even though both of you were just standing there, “You’re beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, not You look beautiful.

You don’t know why, but you appreciated it.

It made your cheeks burn underneath your artificial rosy blush. Stupid, you thought to yourself when you two made your way to the main hall. Stupid for letting yourself get dizzy because of a single compliment from him.

You’re seated with his parents, which makes sense because you don’t know anybody here except for them. Well, maybe you know one of his cousins whose kid you and Jungkook used to babysit whenever their family was in the city, but you doubt that he even remembers you anymore.

When the ceremony begins, your heart instantly feels like it’s about to drop to the pit of your stomach.

You can’t lie to yourself. It stings.

It stings just sitting here next to his parents like a daughter-in-law, like a member of their family, watching his brother solidify his happy ending.

It stings that Jungkook is standing up there, looking as handsome as ever, but his eyes aren’t on the couple. They keep flickering to you no matter how much you try to pretend that they don’t.

It stings that even though you don’t think about marriage often - or maybe you just don’t allow yourself to - you can’t deny that the thought does cross your mind from time to time. Any time that you’d wander the corridors inside your head, you’d pass the doors that you keep unopened on purpose but there’s always that one door marked with a bright red X that you can never sidestep.

You watch Junghyun and Sooji with their teary smiles and shaky hands, shaky but happy. There’s a sudden clarity that this could’ve been you and him in another life. Forever is a lie, but you would’ve perjured yourself a thousand times for him. I do - you would’ve meant it.

You imagine yourself in Sooji’s place, and Jungkook, standing right on the other side, holding both your hands in his. A beautiful and radiant bride terrified of the altar. A dashing groom with a smile that could rival the sun and shoulders weighing heavier than he lets on.

It would’ve looked clumsy, but it could’ve been right.

You wonder if he’s wondering the same thing. Maybe he is. You hope he is.

When the ceremony ends with a kiss shared between the newlyweds, you wipe away the tears that well up in your eyes. The people around you do the same thing, but they’re doing it for the right reason, out of genuine joy for the happy couple. You don’t think you can say the same for yourself.

Some of the bridesmaids fawn over him. It’s reasonable, you suppose. One tends to do that in the presence of Jeon Jungkook.

You watch as they come up to him one by one to ask him to dance, watch as he politely declines until they’re all stalking away with similar pouts on their faces. You watch him until his eyes lock on you, sitting at a table near the back, nursing a glass of champagne.

He weaves himself with ease through the people making their way to the dance floor. When he’s in front of you, he holds out a hand.

“Dance with me?” he asks, his doe eyes working overtime to lure you in with their sparkles, though you’d rather stay here where you can easily go unnoticed until the night ends. “One song?”

“I don’t know how,” you say, even as you’re taking his hand and standing up.

“I showed you how, remember?”

“That was a long time ago.”

He squeezes you reassuringly. “Just follow my lead,” he says, walking the both of you to the floor. “C’mon.”

Once the music starts, your heels stomp on his feet at least three times before you start finding the beat to move along to. Muscle memory, or whatever, is bullshit. You remember absolutely nothing of what he showed you.

You’re grateful that the song is slow, because it makes it easier for you to follow the beat with your two left feet. He takes one of your hands in his, the other settling on the small of your back, guiding you to move in a steady rhythm.

You feel his mother’s eyes on the two of you, because she must be somewhere nearby, watching you like a hawk. You feel his gaze on your face while you keep yours on the knot of his tie, just trying to keep your composure and to not step on his feet with your heels.

The blur of white that you catch from the periphery of your vision makes you turn your head. Sooji and Junghyun are close by, swaying together slowly to the soft music, both of them glowing with happiness. She must sense your eyes on her, because she lifts her gaze up to meet yours. She smiles at the sight of you and Jungkook, and you smile back, because you don’t know how else to respond to that.

You don’t say it, but you do think it. Your fingers tighten around his hand ever so slightly.

Could that have been us?

If the answer is yes, then it would hurt.

If the answer is no, then it would hurt.

The point of your story is that it’s painful however you choose to look at it. There’s no other way to frame it. It’s just painful, because you’re never going to get any of it back.

You bite your lip, then turn away from the happy couple but you still don’t look at Jungkook. You look at your hand in his, and that’s when you see it.

“How’d you get that?” you ask, gently tracing the inch of slightly raised skin on his knuckles. You never noticed the scar until now.

“It was four years ago, I think? After Taehyung and I almost got into a fight, I went outside and… punched a wall,” he says, wincing as he recalls the memory.

His answer takes you aback. “You and Taehyung got into a fight?”

“Almost,” he corrects. “It was a long time ago. Didn’t they tell you?”

“No, they didn’t say anything. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“If it was really nothing, you wouldn’t have punched a wall.” You frown. It makes you miss a few beats, but the song isn’t what’s important now, even if Jungkook is still trying to steer you back into the dance. “Taehyung isn’t violent. You aren’t violent.”

“I’m serious,” he says finally. “It’s nothing. We were just drunk and stupid.”

You know there must be more to it, that something must have happened or been said to trigger such a reaction from both of them. But you also know that you won’t probably get anything out of Jungkook if he doesn’t want to tell you.

You give up, for now. “Fine. If you say so.”  You’ll just have to weasel it out of Jimin later.

The song comes to an end, before another one comes on. If Jungkook remembers that he only asked for one song, maybe he’s counting his blessings that you’re still here and dancing with him, because he doesn’t mention it.

For some reason, you pull your hand away from his, only to slide up his shoulder to lock both of your hands behind his neck. He seems surprised, but he does the same around your waist.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers to your lips briefly, then back to your eyes again. You find yourself doing the same and wonder what he tastes like after all the time you’ve been apart. Is he still as sweet as you remember? You used to tease that it was because of the excessive sugar he put in everything, but you knew it was really just him. The few inches between you are so inviting that it’s practically tempting you to close the gap. You could, easily in fact. Blame it on one too many glasses of champagne later if you want.

He looks younger like this, like the boy you loved, starry eyes and dimpled smile. His shoulders are always the most comfortable resting place, the crook of his neck your long lost home. This is nice, you think, to see him again even though it feels like a fever dream. Memories of your first date, your first kiss, come to life before your eyes so realistically that you could almost touch them.

Loved? That sounds funny to you.

The people you used to be, souls wrapped in innocence, when the world was nothing but the arms of the person you loved. You reach out, and the memories quickly fade from view. The only trace they leave behind is a speck of gold on your fingertips, a memento of charming naiveté for you to tuck neatly away in the corner of your mind, but also a reminder that ah, they only exist in the locket of your heart now. Because he has changed, and you think you must have too. Life, as they say, goes on.

“We made it. Kind of. That’s crazy,” you find yourself saying.

“Did we?”

“You don’t think so?” you chuckle. “We’re in a group chat with the Kim Seokjin who spams it with bad jokes on a daily basis. I’d call that a win.”

That makes him laugh. “If you put it like that, yeah, maybe. Sure.”

Other people might be fooled, but it doesn’t sound at all convincing to you. The light doesn’t really reach his eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking of how to translate the sudden poignant turn of the moment.

“It isn’t everything you hoped it’d be?” you ask.

His shoulders rise then fall quickly in a second-long shrug. “I thought it would make me feel more… fulfilled. But it doesn’t. Not really.”

The way he says it and the way he’s looking at you makes your heart dive. You understand what he means. You’re good at what you do, and you don’t need reassurance from anyone to recognize that. But sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Doesn’t feel like it’s real, like it’s validated.

When you landed your first big project, even before Yoongi, you were so proud of yourself. You were bursting with excitement but you weren’t happy, and you knew what the reason was. Something was missing that couldn’t be filled, not even with all your friends’ hundreds of messages of encouragement. 

It’s beyond stupid, this feeling like your wins amount to nothing at all just because of one person. You wanted him there to celebrate every achievement with you and he wasn’t, and the milestones seemed incomplete without the presence of him. It doesn’t feel like you’ve accomplished anything because this always used to be a dream you thought you’d make come true together.

“It’s lonely,” he concludes.

It sounds like he feels the same way, like he wanted you to be there too.

He suddenly holds you tighter than you think he needs to, like he’s afraid to let go of you. You imagine that he doesn’t want to let go of you, and it makes you feel better for a second. But it doesn’t change the fact that he still did in the end. And he will have to when this ends.

What was the point of this? Why did he bring this upon yourselves when he seems to be as hurt as you are? All of this time, all of these years, lost to what? You could’ve been happy together but instead, you were both lost and miserable.

When the music stops - you lost count of how many songs it’s been - you pull away from him. He looks disappointed, maybe even a little hurt for some reason.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you say, already turning away from him.

“Y/N-”

“I need some air.” Then you’re weaving through the dancing couples despite Jungkook calling your name. How did he manage it? How did he not look back when you called out for him?

You hastily grab your coat on the way out. It’s not going to keep you warm, but that’s not something you’re even remotely concerned with.

It’s everywhere, you feel it down to your bones.

The wind wraps itself tightly around you, intertwining in your hair, slipping through the cracks of your fingers, caressing your face in a chilling touch. You greet the cold like a long lost sister, shivering violently with nostalgia. It was there for you more than your own flesh and blood.

Is that why you like the sea at night? Because it reminds you of mom?

It’s dark out here, barely anything is visible except for a lighthouse sending out light in the quiet of the night. You can’t see much, but you can certainly hear it. You’re not sure if the music is coming from inside the venue, or if it’s still ringing in your ears. It’s probably the latter; you’re too far away to be able to catch the music anyway. But regardless, the tune is quickly drowned out by the sea.

The waves crash violently against the shore like it’s out for blood. There’s a magnetic pull, as if it’s calling out for you. You want to go to it, to reach out and feel the cold outside of your body for once, but you stay there despite your legs itching to stand up and run straight ahead. Into the water and down under.

You could lie down and close your eyes for a moment. The sound of the water, as sharp and brutal as it is, nurtures a part of you somehow.

You just want to be alone. You don’t want to talk to Taehyung, or Jimin, or even Yoongi.

Oh.

Yoongi.

It’s a terrible feeling, knowing that you’re going to hurt Yoongi. Knowing that you’re going to kill this even before it has a chance to truly begin.

Truth be told, you can’t envision a future with Yoongi. There isn’t anything wrong with him, because he’s not the problem here. Yoongi is fun, he’s considerate, he keeps things light on purpose for you, until you’re ready to initiate something more serious. He’s good for you, even Taehyung thinks so.

But you can’t love Yoongi, not in the way that he wants you to. Not more than you love Jungkook.

There you go. Ruining things again.

Did you ruin Jungkook? Is that what happened?

The layers on you are no match for the sea at night. The wind hisses relentlessly, biting at any part of your skin that’s exposed.

It takes you back to that night. Almost everything does, actually.

Maybe that’s why you never even stopped to consider starting anything with anyone, because it always ends. If there’s a beginning, then there will be an inevitable ending. Love isn’t made to last and you aren’t meant to carry love with you. You’ve been abandoned twice. If it happens a third time, it’s a pattern, and then your hypothesis will only be proven. That the problem here is you.

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered when it’ll finally be Taehyung’s turn to leave. He eventually will, right? That one’s gonna hurt.

Then, you’re startled when someone calls your name.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks. The wind and the waves masked the sound of his footsteps walking up to you. When you turn around to face him, his eyes grow worried, almost panicked. “Why are you crying?”

You breathe out irritatedly before you hastily wipe at your cheeks. You didn’t even realize that you’d been crying. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” you say, though you both know it’s a lie. “I’m just tired. I’m going up to my room.”

He catches your wrist in a firm grip when you try to walk away. You wish he’d just leave you alone, but you knew he wouldn’t drop it just like that.

“I said I’m fine,” you insist.

“You were crying,” he says. “Did I do something wrong?”

He didn’t, at least not tonight.

God, you really don’t want to do this right now.

“Jungkook,” you warn. “Let go of me.”

You try to free yourself from his grip, hoping that he’ll get the hint and back off for now. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, where you struggle to escape from his hold until you realize your efforts are futile. He takes the wind’s place, wound tightly around you, so tightly that it’s nearly impossible for you to move.

You hiss out his name, but he doesn’t budge. 

“Jungkook, can you just- Fuck!”

Damn him.

You realize he’s not giving up, which in turn makes you give up struggling, hoping that if you let this be a moment, then it’ll be something that can pass.

You’re just standing there, letting him hold you, letting yourself be held by the person who broke you in the first place. This feels exactly like where you’re supposed to be - in his arms, with your face hidden in the crook of his neck, his gentle fingers stroking your hair. There’s not a lot that you could do but lean into that feeling the same way you lean into him. One foot in the sand, one foot in the past. A hand on the doorknob of time, wondering if you should look back or look forward.

You want to be alone, but that never used to apply with him.

The wind stills, the sea calms. You remain unmoving too, locked in his embrace. You feel the faint rhythm of his heart, beating faster than you think it should. If you could, you would bottle this moment up and live there forever.

I miss you, you think.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

Then your arms are around him too. It only makes him hold you tighter, and all you can think about is how much you miss him, how painful it is to miss him, how you feel like you’re being pulled apart at the seams from the weight of missing him. 

Fuck.

Can you pretend that the last few years never happened? Is there a higher power that would allow you to go back to the night before that wretched Wednesday, when everything was still perfect? Hundreds of days of your life, can you pretend that it was just one long nightmare? When you wake up, you’ll be back in his humble apartment, tangled up together in his bed. Warm sunlight, your silken youth, and him. It was all you ever needed.

Again with the devastating familiarity. The city, the beach. His mother’s warmth that always made you reminisce about your own mother’s coldness. How Jungkook used to find you in moments like this and just stayed by your side until the dejection passed. He understood that he could never understand it the way you did.

You hear yourself sniffle, then you feel him press a kiss into your hair. Home is comforting.

Oh, you never want to leave.

You don’t want to leave, and that’s terrifying.

You allow yourself to stay there for one more second - one endless second - so you could commit to memory what it’s like to be with him. Back and forth. It’s always so easy to fall into him.

Jungkook releases you when he feels you loosen after a while, and you reluctantly meet his eyes as he tilts your head to face him.  His fingers cradling your jaw, how warm and delicate they feel on your skin.

You swallow thickly, your mind going blank. He’s the only person you see, the only one that matters. His eyes flicker south, and even then you don’t make any move to run away, despite his loose grip on your waist telling you that you can if you want to.

You told him that it would pass, and maybe for him, it will. For him, it’s the city and the moment, making him feel like he’s caught up in a page that he’s turned over a long time ago. He was fine with leaving, and he’s been fine without you. It will pass for him, as much as it hurts you to admit it.

But not for you. For you, there’s only him. There’s nobody else but him. It’s always been him, no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that there will be another person you can love as much as you love Jungkook. You might only be a page, perhaps even a chapter, in the story of his life, but he’s your entire book. He’s volume after volume after volume, until he takes up the whole shelf and leaves no room for anything else, not even for yourself.

And now here he is - at the biggest turn in your career.

He’s a bad blood cell you can’t ever get rid of.

You’ll never be able to truly let go of him. How could you? When you truly love someone, those feelings will carry on forever. They’ll always have a piece of your heart despite an ending. When you look back on a certain period in your life, you’ll think to yourself, You’ll always be a part of me. I loved you then.

But Jungkook is a force of nature. He has your whole heart.

Years and years from now, when you look back on your life, you know you’ll see him everywhere. Even when you’re old and gray, and when faces all just blur together in a mosaic of broken memories and long lost youth, you know you’ll still remember him - the person you loved, the one whom you let slip through your fingers. The great love of your life when you were young.

Sometimes, you regret that day. You can’t help feeling like it was your fault too. Maybe you should’ve tried harder to keep him. You should’ve fought harder, should’ve held onto him instead of standing there and watching him leave.

He lit the match, and you let the house burn. It takes two to tango, two to break a heart.

You’re quick to let people leave. Oh, how you wish it could be that easy to let them go too.

It isn’t until your eyes mimic the flicker of his gaze that he leans in. You meet him halfway. For the first time in years, you feel like you could breathe, truly breathe. It’s achingly slow, like neither of you can believe that this is happening. 

You sigh against his mouth when his tongue brushes your bottom lip, slips past the seal to devour you. It feels like a perfect dream. You could stay in this bubble with him forever, pretend that you’re the only two people who exist in the world and there’s nothing else, no one else, waiting for you in a city that seems so far away right now. The thought of him never left you, not even for a second. He’s always been with you everywhere you go, no matter what you do, always in the back of your mind.

He tastes like your youth, like remembrance. He kisses you like he’s still yours when deep down you know that you’re still his. The hand on your jaw is gentle but firm, and it makes you repeat a thought, I miss you.

Then a feeling, I love you.

Not then. Now.

I love you now.

I love you even when I shouldn’t. Even when it hurts. Even when you leave me. Even when you don’t love me more than I love you. If there comes a day where you love somebody else, I will still love you then. There will never be another person for me but you. My first and only love.

When he pulls away, you think it’s too quick, even though your lungs are grateful for the breath that you instantly inhale. You stare at his lips like you’re in a daze, mesmerized, wanting to chase them again. You don’t even know how you have it in yourself to utter these next words, but you hear your own voice saying them anyway.

You’re holding onto him now. Doesn’t that count?

“Let’s…” Your fingers tighten on the collar of his dress shirt. “Let’s go up to your room.”

note (2): so... what do we think?? will they?? won't they?? 😵 stay tuned for obs7.5 which will be dropping 29.09.2023! also i'm gonna pause obs muse asks for a little bit! 😬

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted september 24, 2023]

[harmonicakai]

I Bet on Losing Dogs

Pairing: Beomgyu x Reader

Summary: Your insecurities get the best of you and you abandon your relationship with Beomgyu in the worst way possible.

Tropes: friends with benefits, angst, college AU, band AU

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: mentions of sex (mdni), emotional unavailability, slut shaming, no happy ending :-(

A/N: This is SAD because I am currently sad and also I didn’t bother to edit it. Apologies in advance to the Beomgyu biased readers bc I know this is not what anybody asked for </3

“You disappeared Like a faint ghost I bury it in the air What am I to you?” —Ghosting, TXT

You’re a horrible person.

Really, you should’ve broken things off with Beomgyu before they even began. It’s never a good idea to be friends with benefits with somebody you actually like. 

You do your best to distract yourself from confessing your love to him by sleeping with other guys. What started bright and electric between the two of you has fizzled with each encounter, his touch now feeling dull and hollow on your skin.

So, when you wake up next to him after a movie night, your stomach drops when you see the marks he’s left on your neck. Everybody will know what you get up to, if they haven’t already been gossiping about it behind your back.

There’s a numbness to the way you slip out of his apartment without so much as a goodbye. If you had woken him up, he would’ve noticed the sad look on your face and canceled all of his plans to spend the day making you feel better.

You don’t deserve his friendship, let alone his love, although he's only confessed the latter when he thinks you’re asleep and can’t hear him. Or, sometimes Huening Kai will let it slip how much Beomgyu talks about you when they’re away.

The walk home is brutal. You’re even wearing the jacket he’s refused to let you give back to him, knowing that if you had left it behind, he’d surely know something was wrong.

When he notices you’re gone, he shoots you a text about Merriam-Webster’s word of the day. Beomgyu has never cared for linguistics, but he knows you’re a real nerd about this kind of stuff. You decide not to reply.

Things would be much easier if you could just disappear out of his life, but the two of you have become so intertwined that it’s impossible. All of your friends are his friends.

Before him, you were just some quiet girl who shrunk away in the back of the classroom. After getting paired up and reading the poetry you managed to dream up, Beomgyu knew he had to get to know you more.

For most guys, the way he acts with you would come off as desperate. But he’s so earnest in his admiration for you and your talent that there’s simply no way he could possibly be faking it.

The first time you had gotten together was an honest mistake. You had been dumped, again, and he was there for you. It seems like he always is every time another man decides you aren’t worth his time.

It’s not that you don't love him. You do, as much as you’re able to. But you know that if you actually took things to the next level and they didn’t work out, it would break you entirely.

Still, is ghosting him without any sort of reason or explanation any better?

With finals in full swing, you know you’ve got the perfect excuse to be distant for a while. It’s the summertime that you’re worried about. Beomgyu has made sure to include you in every plan of his that he thinks you’d like, sometimes even arranging entire days around you in between his band’s schedules.

Really, the easiest way out is to start dating someone else. It always makes Beomgyu shrink further away from you to know that you will consistently pick someone else over him, although he’s secretly satisfied when things inevitably go sour. He hates knowing that the only thing that drives you into his arms is being rejected by somebody else, but he wants you too much to care.

The two of you talk about everything except how you feel about him, and he knows that he isn’t entitled to any of your emotions. You’ve made it clear from the start that you’re never going to be able to reciprocate in the way that he’d like for you to.

You weren’t always like this. At the start of college, you came in with the idea that you’d fall in love and have your happily ever after. But years of being used for your body and consequently dumped without reason has ripped your heart off your sleeve.

The way Beomgyu worships the ground you walk on makes no sense. You hate yourself. Maybe he just wants something to fix, and once you finally open up to him, he’ll leave you just like everybody else.

The thought makes no sense knowing him, but it’s the driving force in never confessing how you actually feel. So, you offer up yourself physically in the hopes that it’s enough, but it always leaves you feeling empty inside afterward. No amount of kisses or compliments will probably ever change that.

Among his bandmates, you’re closest to Yeonjun. He’s the only one who knows that you love Beomgyu just as much, maybe even more, than he loves you. 

It was revealed through a drunken confession at a frat party the weekend Beomgyu went home for his mom’s birthday, where you immediately got embarrassed and proceeded to go home with the first guy who gave you any sort of attention.

Meaningless sex is really the only way you can get off these days, but the act always leaves you feeling worse than feeling nothing at all with Beomgyu. But if you’re never going to be good enough, pure enough, to truly deserve him, then what’s the harm in another hook up?

You know that every time he finds out you've been with somebody else, you’re breaking his heart. It’s just that there’s so much love from him to go around that it never actually makes a difference in how he treats you. He has the biggest heart you’ve ever seen and you don’t even have the decency to not trample all over it.

You wonder if everybody else also agrees that you’re not good enough for him. They’re so nice whenever you’re around, but you’ve seen men turn into monsters behind your back. For your sake, you try not to think about anybody else's opinion besides Beomgyu’s, but even those thoughts weigh heavy on your shoulders.

After a few days of not returning his texts, he finally musters up the courage to call you. Before you can pick up, your phone sends him to voicemail, and you know that’ll be enough of a sign for him to leave you alone.

It isn’t until you run into him dropping off your poetry final in the writing department’s office that he truly sees what’s become of you.

You haven’t slept properly in days, and you barely eat. Your eyes are constantly puffy from crying all the time, and today is no different. Seeing you like this devastates him.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice shaky and barely above a whisper. He’s got his hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you from running away. His demand for an explanation on where you’ve been and why is stuck inside his throat, and instead, only sobs come out of his mouth.

Beomgyu never cries, and watching as he tries to hide the tears running down his face reminds you that he must be hurting just as much as you are. You want so badly to hold him and apologize, but all you do is stare.

Eventually, he manages to collect himself as much as he can, taking in the irreparable damage you’ve caused one last time.

“Here,” he says, digging in his backpack and handing you a stapled stack of papers. It’s his final project. “I’ll go print another. I want you to read these. Please, promise me you’ll read them.”

You accept the papers, your eyes skimming over the lines of poetry on the first page. It's about you. You flip through the rest of the stack. They're all about you.

It takes everything in you not to start crying too, although you’re so exhausted that you don’t think anything would even come out at this point.

“I promise,” you assure him, although neither of you know if you’re telling the truth.

—————-

Taglist: @orangesodafoam @deezbutz28 @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @iyeeeverydee @internet-folks @darlingz99 @foxyjun @stardustmooncakes @giaalorine @beomgyubabybear @niningtori @goquokka @csbenthusiast @moarmyjkhk @lizdevorak @sooberryworld @lonelybutterflytae @midnight-mochii @theresawtf @nowadays56 @jjklvr9 @baekberrie

P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist! I struggle to keep up with different lists for individual members, but if you really don't want to be tagged on all of my works, just let me know and I will do my best to make a note <3

[patrophthia]

theodore nott headcanons

these are just my personal characterisations of theodore nott and just me rambling about him bc i love him. please let me know some of your own head canons of him and let’s talk about it!!

this has no word counts, not beta read, just fueled by my love for theodore (be kind about it please)

let’s start of with some canon complaints ones!

from what we know theodore (physically) has dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin and was described as lanky/tall. based off of these, i think he definitely has a few girls outwardly crushing on him. like how can you not when he’s quiet and tall? honestly i get.

theodore, with his pale skin, would honestly get flustered very easily and you can tell by his ears!! HIS EARS THAT TURNS RED WHEN HE FEELS JUST SLIGHT EMBARRASSED AND ITS THE CUTEST THING EVER (im taking no arguments here) i said what i said. theo would def keep his hair longer to help mask this little quirk of his and it would work for the most part, if not for the red tips shining through his dark locks from time to time

with how tall he is, i think he’d be pretty clumsy and uncoordinated but it’s just that he has amazing luck that no one ever gets to see him fall flat on his face.

he’s smart, we know this, but i think he’d definitely be book smart rather than street smart (that’s why blaise is in the picture), he’d be pretty closed off and intimidating to anyone who wasn’t part of his friend group, def the type to glare at you if you looked at him wrong

never held hand romantically before, this man gives off straight up ‘no bitches 🤨’ vibes

always needs comforts/hugs or any kind of support but would isolate himself from anyone who tries to provide him any of that because he’s scared of being seen as vulnerable by them

so so hard to read when you first meet him, but the more you spend just literally sitting by his sides you start to able to differentiate between his hums and nods (that’s all you’ll get from him so long as he’s sober and not your boyfriend)

i personally think seventeen’s jeon wonwoo is so so fitting for theodore (or atleast the theodore i write) he has the very cold closed off ice prince thing going on but is such a cutie i love him

now for some romantic traits one

isn’t the biggest fan of PDA —that is if it’s not him initiating it, i feel theo is the type to hold your hand under your desk, or linked pinkies as you walked down the streets, he’s very subtle with his touches but he likes having you in his hands? (if that makes sense)

forehead kisses enthusiast!!!! he would leave a small little peck on your forehead whenever you’d separate for your own classes, he does it very quick —so quick that no one ever catches it and it’s just between you and him and it’s so sickeningly sweet

would have a hard time with impromptu dates, theodore is the type to go all out when it comes to date so when the slightest thing goes wrong he thinks the whole date is wrong and you’re going to break up with him (please reassure him that you aren’t)

has a pet of some sort, he’s such a loser there’s no way he doesn’t have one; convinced you to adopt a v chubby grey cat on your first anniversary, ernie is a very happy member of the family!

isn’t the biggest pet name user? i know i write theodore using princess a lot but it’s mostly to avoid using y/n. but truthfully i think theodore would mostly call you by your name, and on the rare occasions he uses a pet name it would be between baby or my love

lovveeees being called pet name though, call him sweetheart and watch him be at your beck and call

when he loves he loves hard, you can’t tell me theodore wouldn’t be obsessed with you when you’re together. when it’s in private it’s so obvious that he wants to just bask in your attention even though he never does anything (he thinks) is worthy of it, the type to pull away from a kiss with a dopey look and try but fail to hide a smile from you

you know that trope of A calling B clingy and B distance themself bc they’re upset? ITS SO THEODORE, he’s very averse to touch and maybe one day you’re just feeling a bit too upset and need comfort from him “why are you always so clingy?” slips out and everything just comes to pause.

he knows it before he even looks at you that you’re upset, the type that thinks ‘my gf is mad at me i wish i was dead’

doesn’t really know how to apologize to you but you seem pretty cool about it, you’re still going to bed with him and not banishing him to the couch, you won’t let him touch you though “something about it being too hot”

it’s the next day when you won’t even look in his direction let alone kiss him that makes him want to hire a hitman on himself, will buy you so many things as an apology it doesn’t really work

almost asked blaise for help but scratched that idea and asked for pansy’s help instead (still doesn’t really work)

at the end hired a chef and prep dinner in your shared apartment where he got onto his knees and apologize (yes he looked ridiculous, yes it was blaise’s idea, yes blaise told you the plans before hand and asked you for a photo of theodore begging for forgiveness, yes you did get one for him)

he’s possessive and wants you to himself but also knows his place, he knows when to step in and set healthy boundaries but always breaking them just to make you happy, tries to go above and beyond for you always

tried to talk more and communicate with you how he’s feeling because he does not want this relationship to end just because he doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings

such an act of service type of guy too? would run you a bath if you seemed down, learned to cook your favorite food for you despite having the money to always eat out at the best restaurant/hire a private chef to do it for you, knows your work/school schedule very well and made sure that his visits (if there were any) was well timed

big on quality time as well!!! he just likes to have your company no matter what it is you’re doing, he just likes being by your side

loves spoiling you!!! honestly it’s sick how he does it. i think theodore would be the type to buy you whatever you wanted without ever asking you if you wanted it, if the relationship gets more serious (we’re talking living together/sharing socks serious here) would hand you his v sleek black card if you were to tell him you were going out with your friends.

i could see you at one point having an argument with him about it like: “i’m your s/o theo, not your sugar baby.”

“why can’t you just be both?” this mf

—from bee: that’s all for my theodore related rambles, pls don’t be shy and send me ask about theodore so we can talk about him tgt!!!

[oddinary4bts]

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

☆☆☆☆☆

And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

                “You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

                The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

                The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

Taglist:

@btsborahaee

[luffyvace]

Akutagawa as your boyfriend ☀︎

Umm happy late b day Aku…😭 I’m totally super late for this I KNOW. But! I’m doing it anyway! >:3 late or not :P Plus I Just wanted to write for him since I really like this dude (〃ω〃) (Light blood, death and killing mentions but not in detail)

Akutagawa b day hcs first >;}

planning everything out and hiding it from him is kind of a task. 😅 the guy’s pretty stealthy himself so ya gotta make sure he doesn’t sneak up on you while your prepping things.

Buuut with the help of everyone from the port mafia (except Mori- joking! he does help but Elise does 90% of the work) you planned a mini party <3

Gin got the food! (Figs and tea enters chat)

Higuchi got the decorations! (streamers, balloons, tables, chairs)

Hirotsu keeps akutagawa busy (tea and chatting LOL)

Elise makes the banners (hints poorly drawn dead versions of everyone—extra blood for aku<3)

Kajii makes (lemon shaped) confetti poppers!!

Koyo hosted/recorded it all 💗

Chuuya brought wine and the cake (both were really expensive and tasty good job Chuuya)

Q brought lots of presents!! :3

Annnnd Tachihara! Brought some ~port mafia style~ party games (you played mafia LOL)

now general relationship things 😚

He treats you like how he does Gin, there is peace between the two of you and you have friendly interactions. (Romantic as well, for you) he will even go as far as to do favors for you but we’ll dabble in that more later ☆)

acts of service is his #1 love language. There’s no convincing me otherwise. When I say ‘he will do anything for you’ besides killing this is what I mean. You really don’t have to ask either. I talk about this some more later but, examples: done with your plate? He’ll take it. He remembers you said you needed xyz, he got it for you. You said you wanted to ____ but you fell asleep, so he did it.

hope you get along with Gin because to continue a relationship with him past 2 minutes, you need to. He will never choose friends over family. I stand on that.

honest man.

Its canon, of course this would apply to a relationship too :)

you never have to worry about him lying, thankfullly. the bad news is…this guy isn’t just honest..he’s brutally honest 😀

which he’s not dumb, but he’s also not one to pacify feelings. So say you created something and you’ve been working on this piece for a while now, (whether your an artist, writer, sculptor, something else—whatever), he takes a look at it and singlehandedly points out all the flaws 🧍‍♀️

not in a rude way-

just genuinely telling your mistakes. Which- I know can hurt because you spent a lot of time on it…..but as lest you can fix it now..? 🤷‍♀️

He respects you. Of course he does! How could you love someone you don’t respect?!

why I’m mentioning this then?? Because to him, respect is very important. There’s few that he respects personally and not because of his job.

like Dazai (sorta bc of his job but shh), Gin or Atsushi (somewhat)

And just to clear it up those he has respect for because of his job would be mori or hirotsu

so the fact that you have his respect is a mile stone!! 👯‍♀️💃💃

He’s loyal but it ain’t a fault 😋🤪

seriously tho this dude is still chasing Dazai even after he “disgraced the mafia’s name” and left to the ada

So for you?? This is simply proof that he ain’t neva leavin you, and you ain’t neva leavin him 😙 (I don’t make the rules)

even If he disagrees with your actions/opinions he will talk it out with you 😱

now he might sound a bit upset, and if your acting absolute bonkers rn and need some sense smacked into you- he might yell too. But that’s mostly if it’s for your well being.

other than that, yes the hotheaded Ryuu will calm down for you (that kinda rhymes ☝️🤓)

Bonus!:

living with the Akutagawa’s! ( ✌︎'ω')✌︎

going more into acts of service, you and Gin hardly ever have to worry about chores or errands

he doesn’t really do it for the purpose of your validation, and genuinely doesn’t expect a thank you either

”hm? Oh…it’s nothing.”

Is his response when you try to thank him

he does it because he’s responsible not for praise

although I will say, seeing as though he has a lot of respect for you, as I said earlier, you may get a semi flustered/shocked facial expression

not necessarily blushing, just a expression that shows it caught him off guard ;P

Its not uncommon to see him cleaning around the house and asking if you have any laundry

housewife Ryuunosuke LOL 😂

When goes out to get groceries he asks you and Gin if there’s anything specific you want him to buy and if yes, he’ll get it for you

just like in the anime with Gin, he doesn’t mind doing favors for you as well <3

if you decide you wanna clean up or go to the store yourself he won’t stop you and be like ‘nonono I got it you sit down 🥺’. I don’t mean this in a bad way but he’s not a gentleman on purpose

I feel he’s the type of guy to do things that you consider gentlemanly but he just considers it being polite

oh it’s fine he’s got the groceries 👌

got a order for pick up? Oh well he was going out anyway, he’ll get it 🤷

he’s got the door 👍

don’t worry about the bill he’ll pay it (restaurant or house bill 😉)

another thing…! ♡

sometimes when you and Gin wanna watch a movie but Ryuu’s still doing the dishes….

Rashomon!

do the dishes :3 (while he watches the movie with you guys)

I wasn’t gonna write these at first but I’m real glad I did! I love these and finally wrote for our guy Ryuunosuke!!

WHEN I TYPED DAZAI’S NAME IT AUTOCORRECTED FO DASANI AT FIRST HAHAHHAHA

[sapphicmsmarvel]

feysand x reader: the afterglow

set after getting together but you don't necessarily have to read that to understand this one!

under the cut bc its over 1K!

tw: a bit of anxiety

-After you guys officially mated, you knew the world was gonna take it weirdly. 

-There’s never been a triad bond that would be so well known. 

-To be honest, you were mostly nervous about how the inner circle would react. 

-You knew they loved the three of you dearly. But you also weren’t stupid and knew this was unconventional. You also knew you were freaking over nothing but alas, you were still anxious about it. 

-In the middle of the frenzy, Rhysand sent a message saying that you had accepted the triad bond and you three would be gone for a bit. 

-When you guys came back, it was a party. Mor had hung up a banner that said “congratulations!” There was a buffet table full of foods that Elain had clearly worked so hard over. 

-Cassian was…collecting coins from everyone?

“I bet that you’d be the first to make the first move.” He explained. 

Technically, he wasn’t wrong. It was you yelling at them that made the first move. 

“Did everyone know before we did?” you asked as he collected a few coins from Azriel. 

“Well, Rhysie isn’t subtle. Feyre was oblivious to your struggle just like she was to Rhysie-“

“Hey!” Feyre pouted. “You aren’t wrong, but hey!” 

You kissed her cheek. “And you!” Cassian pointed to you. “Are affectionate with everybody! Do you know how hard it was to convince Feyre and Rhysand that you actually liked them like that!” 

“I’m so sorry my reluctance to fuck our friends made your life harder.” You said dryly. 

He scoffed, “better be!” 

“Quit yelling at my wives, Cassian.” Rhysand said darkly, the alpha-asshole coming out. 

“Here we go.” Feyre muttered. 

“Made it two minutes this time.” Mor added. 

“Instead of two seconds.” Amren finished. 

Cassian gave you a smile that you had you wincing, because you knew what was coming. “Hey Y/N, want a ri-“ He didn’t get to finish because of the punch to his stomach from Rhys. 

“Welcome to the family.” Mor nudged you. “Even though you were already in.” 

“I’m just relieved I don't have to see Y/N pining anymore.” Nesta said from the doorframe. “Over twenty years of that bullshit.” 

You should’ve hit her harder when you were kids. 

Azriel, Lucien and Elain, like the sweethearts they were, just smiled without a sarcastic comment. 

-Your next worry was Nyx. How would you fit into his life? Would you be a stepmom or another mom? 

-You easily loved him more than anything, that was even before being mated to his parents. Now? Somehow you loved him more. 

-You were holding him one day when Rhysand sat down next to you on the porch swing. You were just enjoying the breeze with your-well it felt wrong to call him your son but you were his parents' wife? 

“How are two of my favorite living beings?” Rhysand said kissing you. 

“Good but what kind of greeting is that?” You chuckled. 

“I know he’s a person, but it’s weird to call him that. He’ll always be my baby.” He cooed and brushed back Nyx’s tuft of hair. 

Rhysand sat next to you, putting his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. You leaned as much as you felt comfortable with Nyx in your arms. You didn’t like not being on your guard when you were holding him. He was precious. 

Rhysand kissed your temple, you felt peace. You were just missing one vital part. Feyre usually came home from the studio around this time. Rhysand and you had accidentally made it a tradition to sit out on the porch and wait for her. 

“Do you want kids?” Rhysand asked. “You don't have to answer now.” 

“I mean, I kinda have one now. Kind of late to say no.” You giggled and gestured to Nyx. “He may not be biologically mine. And I can be a stepmom or stay Auntie. Whatever’s the most comfortable with you and Fey. I don't want to overstep.” 

“Would….would you be one of his moms?” Rhys asked, you could tell he was incredibly nervous. 

“I would be honored.” You whispered, your gaze never leaving the baby's sleeping face. 

You missed the look of utter adoration that Rhys shot your way. 

Pretty soon, Feyre joined you guys on the porch coming home in paint splattered overalls and a paint stained face. She was glowing, you could tell how happy that studio made her. It made you incredibly happy. 

She leaned down to kiss Nyx, then you, then Rhys who pouted about being last. But he was okay with it, he loved your family so incredibly much. It kind of scared him what he’d do to protect it. 

Later that night, Feyre came up behind you in the mirror as you got ready for bed. She pressed her head against yours. Your cheeks lined up perfectly and were smushed together. Her arms were wrapped around your waist. 

“You are his mother, if that’s what you want to be”. She whispered. “I may have birthed him, but I would be honored to share the mom spot with you.”

“Fey, I just did my skincare, you can’t make me cry like this.” You said, your voice wobbly. She squeezed you tighter in response, her nose scrunching with her closed mouth smile, her eyes half closed and lips scrunched slightly. She kissed your temple and went back to Rhys. 

That was that. Rhysand was dad/daddy, Feyre was mom/mommy and you were mama. 

-The next thing on your list was how the court would see it. The Inner Circle doesn’t give a shit (which was to be expected) but the Court of Nightmares? That’s where you were worried. 

They didn’t take to Feyre that well, then Nyx. Now you. 

Rhys called you out on your bullshit one night while all of you were getting ready for bed. 

“What’s up with you? You’re more nervous going to the Court of Nightmares than you were before.”

“Well, we weren’t mated then.” You said back, you tried to avoid being snippy but your stress levels were high. 

Clearly, he knew you were being snarky because he gave you a raised brow and held his hands up in surrender. You sighed. “Ugh, baby I’m sorry.” You said. You set down your hair brush and crawled into his arms. 

His chest shook with restrained laughter. “Love, you’re allowed to be nervous-“ He was cut off by Feyre coming into the room. 

“Ooh, are we snuggling?” Feyre said. And with the excitement of a five year old she catapulted into bed.  

The three of you bounced and laughed. “I’m nervous about going to the Court of Nightmares.” You admitted, playing with a string on the blanket to avoid looking at Feyre. You could avoid Rhys’ gaze easily since you were sitting with your head laid against his chest and in between his legs. 

“Why?” Feyre brushed your hair behind your ears. 

“Because…” You made a helpless gesture. “It's really scary.”

“You’ve been there before?” Feyre asked. 

“Yeah well I wasn’t fucking the High Lord and Lady.” You sighed. 

“Okay, you aren’t just fucking us.” Rhysand squeezed your hip. “You’re our wife. What label do you want them to know you as? Consort?-“ 

“I’ll rip your dick off.” You growled. “Consorts aren’t treated with the respect they deserve.”

“Agreed.” He said. 

“Do you want political power?” Feyre asked with zero judgment. 

“You know that’s not why I married you two.” You grumbled. 

“But would you want it?” Rhysand pushed. His hands roaming over your skin, he knew how much the contact helped your anxiety. 

You shrugged. “It’d be a massive adjustment. However….I’d love to help people and actually have the power to do so. But there’s…”

“Hm?” Feyre continued to stroke your palm. 

“This is gonna sound bad but I don't mean it to be.”

Feyre smiled and based on the pulsing down the bond, Rhys was too. So you continued. “There’s no room for me to help rule.”

“Who says?” Feyre challenged. 

You sputtered and Rhys decided to take you out of your misery. 

“You know, there also wasn’t such a thing as High Lady when Feyre came into our lives.” He stroked down your back, his hands ending at your hips. 

“And?” You asked. 

“I rewrote that rule, and I’ll rewrite it again for you to be in it. You are our equal in every way and I refuse to let you be reduced to a ‘consort’ that is, if you want to be a High Lady.”

And that was it. The next day, the day you were supposed to head to the Court of Nightmares, you delayed it. Much to the confusion of your Inner Circle. 

You were sworn in as a second High Lady. 

How the Inner Circle found out was quite funny. Az had a feeling, Nesta and the Valkyries were happy for you. Mor and Amren just looked at Rhys with a secret High Lady? Again! Cassian used it as an excuse to celebrate that night so the group could ditch their Court of Nightmares persona. 

When Azriel introduced you, he said, “Rise for your High Lord Rhysand, Highy Lady Feyre and High Lady Y/N.”

The three of you walked in, you in the middle, Rhysand and Feyre on either side of you. 

You felt beautiful, respected. Even though you knew Keir would be a problem. 

You were alright with those problems, as long as you had your family with you.

[sant-riley]

is it ok to request some headcannons with the team? if so, could you do a reader that’s covered in tattoos? like heavily tattooed. even their fingers. right? anyways, the reader is always covered during missions (like ghost level covered) and the team have subconsciously created this image of them under it all but haven’t really seen them until one day reader is wearing normal clothes and they’re like 🧍‍♀️ what? you have tattoos and like barely any skin 🧍‍♀️ IDK I JUST THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CUTE NVM THOUGH IF U DONT WANNA WRITE ❤️ NO ISSUE IF YOU DONT!

[Task force 141 and Laswell with reader who has a lot of tattoos)

A/N: I am not heavily tattooed yet but I did love this request sm soooo here this is :) Ty for the suggestion and I hope you enjoy!

They can’t really be blamed for not knowing about the tattoos, y’all are all covered typically in heavy gear and clothing and weapons most of the time. And they don’t question it when you’re covered up even more than usual bc yk, Ghost exists walking around in a Halloween costume 365 days a year. They’re used to it so they won’t prod.

Most task force members have tattoos of their own, it’s not a strange concept but they just assume you have none, they see you covered up and that’s that.

But then one day, let’s say there’s a mission and you guys get fucking d r e n c h e d in water, and you’re in a cold climate so leaving your clothes on is not an option. They need to dry by the fire and you cannot catch hypothermia.

Whatever reason you cover up, you know it’s only logical so you shyly take off your gear, quickly going by the fire while the guys quietly stare at your figure, staring at the ink decorating your body. Yes you’re beautiful and yes it’s their first time seeing so much of your skin but is that a fucking narwhal on your arm-

You have to snap at them to quit their staring bc you think they’re only staring at your chest or at your underwear but soap just blurts out “YOU ‘AVE TATTOOS?” And everyone else nods.

~

Individual reactions:

Ghost:

Ghost fucking loves it so much, he could stare at your tattoos for hours on end. He rolls up his sleeves to show you the ones decorating his forearms, letting you trace your fingers over the skull and withholding a shudder.

He immediately brings his hand up and traces yours back, asking questions about them and how long they took with you sitting in the chair, grunting in response as he zones out.

Asks why you cover them up as often as you do but when you send him that look he quickly says never mind.

Soap:

He immediately asks you about the meaning (if you have any for them). He admires them and thinks they make you look beautiful and badass.

He also will take a marker and draw ones on your empty bits of skin and color any grayscale tattoos you have.

If you were to ever get one of his doodles or drawings tattooed he would probably tear up on the spot. Also maybe kiss you stupid bc wow you have something from him on your skin forever and he loves you sm.

Would design y’all matching pieces, in your line of work tomorrow isn’t guaranteed so if you’re down, he’ll make the appointment for you both.

Price:

I personally don’t think Price has tattoos or would ever get any bc he doesn't care for them but he has an appreciation for yours.

Everyone would think he would be the type to talk down on them but all he said to you was “do you like ‘em? You do? Then why the fuck would I care?”

In between breaks, he’ll casually ask if you got any new ones and that he’d like to see them.

Gaz:

Gaz doesn’t have any but that’s just because he can’t fully decide on what he’d get, he’s young like you and cannot handle the commitment.

Therefore he lives by you and eagerly encourages all your ink and will always go with you to your tattoo session if he’s free.

He’s the best kind of person to have come along esp for long sessions bc he’ll go get you food, drinks, etc while he sits with you.

He always says he’s gonna get one when he goes with but always said never mind lmao.

Bonus <3 Laswell:

Now she's no stranger to ink, she's not covered up but she does have a matching tattoos with her wife and a few small patches of her wedding flowers on her.

She absolutely adores your ink and will not hesitate to defend you and it if someone were to disrespect you bc of what you've done with YOUR body.

She's a mom what can I say, she knows her authority and won't be shy to use it.

Taglist:

@devilsfoodcake22 @simon-rileys-princess

@stupid-ninja @milkmily

@lune-la-chanson @tamayakii

@teacupcollector @sweet-as-an-angel

@perilous-pasta @ihatethisappsomuchitpains

@marsbar127xx @baddump

@xncasi @king-cookiex

@palomaxaxaxa @amatchasky @wolfyland07 @diejager

@hailstrum18 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @mzfandom @solarslushee @areislol

@cluelessyasmin @sesshomaruwaifu @chaos-unchecked @kalamataolivesssss @arunasmisfortune @tbrfic

[catscidr]

YANDERE DOTTORE X READER JAHEKWHZBAKNA

happy to see most dottore enjoyers sharing the same braincell. even happier to provide that good good dottore content (〃ﾉωﾉ) answering two asks in the same post bc it would be too repetitive if i made them separate agshfjns- next post will feature either childe or al haitham (depending on which one i finish first) (giving everyone a break from dottore for a hot sec) ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: yandere dottore (obvs), not quite proofread, dottore is named zandik in the mini-fic includes: gn!reader, dottore, his clones are kinda there, pierro and the tsaritsa are also mentionned. a handful of headcanons + a mini-fic wc: 1,8k

-ˋˏ Despite what most people might think, Dottore isn’t a sadistic man. He only hurts people if it’s necessary- if it helps with his research- and even then, it’s not like he enjoys inflicting pain, he enjoys the knowledge he gathers as a result of such experiments

-ˋˏ ...That doesn't apply with you though. He likes to see you squirm, to do things that make you react, whether positively or negatively. He’s that desperate and needy  

-ˋˏ He’s a man that doesn’t go out much because of his work. So how could you blame him for wanting your attention? 

-ˋˏ I think he’d be the type of yandere to just be incredibly obsessed with you. Always having someone checking in on you (his segments, of course) to report back to him so he knows what you’re doing at all times, probably the type to have an entire folder with your personal information in it as if you were one of his test subjects

-ˋˏ Not to mention he would be extremely manipulative, too. Dottore is the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing; a handsome face with dubious intentions. 

-ˋˏ He wants to have your attention 24/7, to never have you take your eyes off of him, but he can’t do that if he stays holed up in his lab. Unfortunately for him he's very clingy

-ˋˏ But Dottore is a patient man (he was able to create an artificial God y’know- that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight), so he takes his time with you- getting to know you, having his segments stalk you (he’s not the one doing it, so it’s fine, right?) 

-ˋˏ You’re just like a frog in a pot boiling water. If you put it in the pot immediately, it’ll jump out as soon as it makes contact with the hot water; but if you put it in room temperature water and boil it slowly…  

-ˋˏ The Harbinger knows your “relationship” isn’t an experiment, but at the same time it’s hard to say that he isn’t studying you. Having a mask that obscures his wandering eyes is definitely an advantage  

-ˋˏ It doesn’t matter who you are, he would bend his schedule just for you. He’s that thoughtful! Since he’s practically his own boss (aside from various deadlines and meetings) he can do whatever he wants. Who’s going to tell him off? Pierro and the Tsaritsa don’t care how he achieves results as long as he gets results. So, expect to “accidentally” run into him more times than a regular person would  

-ˋˏ You’re a fatui agent? Suddenly one of his experiments requires him to watch how soldiers (you) fight and train. You’re just a normal civilian? He’ll figure out where you work and find excuses to come see you just to chat 

-ˋˏ It’s even better if you work a customer service job. You work at a cute coffee shop? What a coincidence, he loves coffee! Now he’s a regular and you know his order by heart. (I like to think he actually hates coffee but powers through the bitter taste and energetic aftermath just because it gives him an excuse to bond with you) 

-ˋˏ You work at a grocery store? That’s perfect, he’ll start doing his groceries at your store from now on (you don’t point out how every week his groceries- without fail- consist of mozzarella sticks, a whole rotisserie chicken, cheap red wine, a pack of cigarettes and a singular loaf of whole wheat bread.)  

-ˋˏ If you’re not in the fatui, chances are you don’t know who he is (he doesn’t go out much, after all) so it’s easier for him to play up the “good guy” role (wolf in sheep’s clothing from before nudgenudge). He’s a very smooth talker 

-ˋˏ Of course, you’ve heard rumors about “the Doctor”, one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers, a feared man all across Teyvat. So it’s a good thing that your new friend’s name is Zandik and he’s just a normal surgeon that works in a private hospital! Nothing suspicious, 'course not

-ˋˏ Both of you engage in small talk whenever you cross paths. He’ll ask questions about you (even though he already knows the answer to them), all so that you can feel seen and heard- who cares about him, about what he does? This is about you. He wants you to tell him everything 

-ˋˏ The kind of person to use the excuse that he had a Ph.D. for a lot of things. You whine that your shoulders have been sore for longer than usual? He’ll get up from his seat and get behind you, sliding a hand just under the collar of your shirt to press and prod at your muscles to check if there’s anything wrong (good thing you can’t see his expression from behind you), saying he "knows best" whenever the (your) human body is brought up

-ˋˏ His patience isn’t endless, however. If he sees that this isn’t going anywhere, that you seem to be keeping him at arm’s length despite your “connection”, he’ll just take things into his own hands. And even though he doesn’t really get off from causing pain, he’s not afraid to make you squirm either

It wasn’t unusual for you to grab a bite to eat with the Doctor occasionally. Working at a local coffee shop had its perks; one of them being how you could make drinks for free and eat snacks at a discounted price. Though you never needed to worry about money since your friend would always tip you handsomely, basically paying you for the snacks you brought to the table. 

Closing shop was easy enough when you had someone to keep you company while you swept the floor and wiped counters clean. He sat at one of the booths, cup of coffee in hand (you started making it decaf when you noticed his nose scrunch one time when he drank his usual order), watching you work idly. 

“Rough day?” you ask with a gentle smile, looking over where Zandik sat. Being quite some distance away from him you couldn’t catch the twitch of the corner of his lips as he sighed, bringing one hand up to rub his face beneath his pointy mask. 

“You could say that” he grumbles, laying his arms on the table, holding his cup of coffee with both hands. The man tilts his head to the side, focusing on you rather than his pesky thoughts. You put the broom away and saunter over to his booth, sitting across from him with a plate of various pastries in hand. 

“What’s on your mind? Maybe I could give some advice and help! Or you’ll feel better if you just... talk about it,” you chuckle softly, taking a sip of your own drink. Zandik’s gaze never leaves your form, his gaze burning the sight of your lips into his mind. 

If he told you even a smidge of what he was thinking you would, without fail, run and never look back. Even the tamest of things he’s thought about you would drive you away. From him fantasizing about how your skin would taste, to how your heart would look like in a jar on his desk when he worked... he shudders, swallowing down the urge to do something impulsive. Zandik takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flickering from your lips to your wide, innocent eyes. 

“Thank you for offering,” he begins slowly, “but that’s alright. I wouldn’t want you to worry about it,” he says smoothly, losing the tension in his shoulders to seem more approachable. With the first two buttons of his shirt undone, hair lightly tousled, and overcoat thrown over the back of the booth chair, he looked nothing like the deadly Harbinger he was. Looked like an overworked businessman at most. 

You puff your cheeks, disappointed that he wouldn’t open up to you. You’ve been doing it this whole time, and yet he won’t talk about what was bothering him to you? It made your heart flutter- he was so considerate- but at the same time you couldn’t shake the idea that maybe he was hiding something. Inhaling slowly, you calm your nerves, deciding that today would be the day you confront him. After all, a good friendship is built on trust, and you can’t stay good friends with someone that hides things from you. 

Oh, how naïve you are. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” you say gently, placing one hand on his. The feel of his rough hand beneath yours made you shudder, almost instinctively- are surgeons’ hands supposed to be this rugged? 

“I want to be there for you in the same way you’ve been here for me...” you add, voice trailing off as your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I think you’re nice to be around. Don’t I owe you for the number of times I’ve complained about customers to you?” you say, chuckling lightly at the memory. 

Zandik doesn’t react, not at first. His eyes fix your face with an underlying threat, gaze hidden by his mask. Although you can’t see his eyes, a shudder runs up your spine at the feeling of being watched so intently. Where have you felt this before... 

“You’re right,” he responds quietly, voice hoarse. “You owe me.” 

His words caught you off guard. Owe him? That was a joke! You were trying to lighten his spirits, to take his mind off whatever was troubling him for even just a second. How come you felt your nerves screaming at you to get up? 

His free hand covers the hand you had laid on his, the grip on your skin becoming firmer the longer you two sat there. Your heart rammed against your ribcage, ears ringing from the sudden wave of adrenaline washing over you. 

“You said you wanted to help me, right?” Zandik says in a sickly-sweet tone, leaning forward to stare at you, gaze unrelenting behind his mask. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you nod dumbly, staring back at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He grins in response. 

Did he always have teeth this sharp? 

“Then you won’t make my life harder than it already is by resisting, right?” he adds. You could hear how heavy his breathing had become in just a few seconds, how his hands had a death grip on your own. His cup of coffee was long forgotten; how could he possibly focus on something as useless as that when you were giving yourself to him? 

The snow pelleted the windows harshly, essentially trapping you inside the coffee shop with him. Even the weather outside couldn’t compare to how cold your blood ran in the face of the Doctor; maybe if you had listened to your gut earlier you wouldn’t currently be skewered in the jaws of the shark that had been circling you for months. 

[raisedbythetv89]

excuse the ranting here but just had someone try and argue that a fully evil literally on the hunt for the Slayer (bc he’s stalking his PREY to fight and hopefully kill) Spike - finding Buffy attractive (according to an interview James gave where he talks about that moment and said he embodied the kinds of predatory men who literally are “on the hunt” for real life women in bars) as anywhere NEAR the same level of creepiness as a SOULFUL aka SUPPOSED TO BE GOOD angel stalking and falling in love at the sight of an innocent and crying 15 year old Buffy….

Anti spike/spuffy ppl always try and use that interview to make Spike out to be “just as creepy” as Angel which is always just so embarrassing to me that they don’t grasp the basic difference between one was the most evil and literally is a predator to her prey but buffy is also a predator to spike’s kind so there is even still a balance of power between them even then and he’s literally just explaining how he played the scene to get the attitude and body language right as a predator bc he understands that’s what Spike is to Buffy at that time (literally had zero clue he would ever be a love interest of Buffy’s). And the other who is not supposed to be a predator anymore…. hides his identity as a vampire AND hides the fact that he’s been watching her for over a year is still acting as a predator but instead of stalking an experienced slayer to attempt to fight and kill he is stalking a freshly called still weak and vulnerable slayer who he wants to sleep with aka corrupt.

Angel is supposed to be GOOD yet is still acting like a predator. Spike IS EVIL and so is simply acting as someone who has killed two slayers should 💀💀💀💀 the fact that soulless evil Spike and soulful “good” Angel’s behavior can be compared AT ALL is bad for angel and angel alone bc spike is supposed to be evil and treating buffy as someone he is hunting and as an opponent. Angel is supposed to be HELPING Buffy….

But regardless of all that the argument is James said Sarah is beautiful so of course he played up that angle as well so canonically Spike thinks a 16 year old Buffy is pretty and these people really don’t understand the difference between the two 😭😭

First of all I personally have heard Sarah call herself “not the prettiest” at least 10 times in 10 different interviews - how often do you think the people in her life heard her make jokes or comments about her appearance??? To me that always seemed like James just paying a compliment to his costar who doesn’t understand how literally fucking STUNNING she is by basically being like HAVE YOU SEEN HER OF COURSE MY CHARACTER THINKS SHE’S PRETTY LOOK AT HER!! James literally rizzed his way into a main character and love interest like of course he’s gonna be charming in real life by paying compliments to everyone he can every chance he gets. He had sex appeal and a dream AND IT WORKED 💀 and we also see him have chemistry with practically every person on the show that’s just who he is 😹😹😹

But I also just cannot emphasize how much of a difference there is between finding someone attractive or thinking they’re beautiful vs actually ACTING on it and ESPECIALLY acting on it when you call her friend of the same age “just a kid” and say over and over again how wrong it is and that she’s too young AND THEN DO IT ANYWAY. Like it’s a supernatural show with vampires who are 100 & 200+ years old if angel hadn’t constantly acted like her dad and treated Buffy like a kid and everything is season 3 didn’t happen there could be sooooooo much more leniency with angel and buffy’s age differences and I probably wouldn’t care bc applying irl rules to the supernatural doesn’t make a lot of sense but angel always treats her like a child and says over and over again how wrong it is and THAT is what makes it a problem within this supernatural show bc Spike never treats her like a child or like she isn’t his equal ever no matter what age she is

But unfortunately it makes sense people who like a character whose main personality trait is !catholic guilt! (when he’s got a soul) don’t understand the difference between thoughts and actions and how we should only be defining ourselves and other people by their actions. Because we are not every single thought we’ve ever had both good and bad. If you think to do good things but don’t that does not make you good and if you think to do bad things but don’t that does not make you bad.

So evil Spike thinking a beautiful Buffy dancing with her friends is hot at 16 is not even CLOSE to the same as a supposed to be good angel activity pursuing a relationship with her by breadcrumbing the absolute fuck out of her, manipulating her like crazy and lying to her about practically everything and flirting with her under false pretenses after falling in love at the sight of her looking like a child with her lollipop on the school steps at 15 and then watching her cry in the bathroom mirror as he watches her from the bushes with a smile on his face and hope in his eyes and if you don’t understand that there is literally nothing I can do or say to help you

[thesuperiorrobin]

I literally love the “crazy idea, let’s make out” it it very good!!! It is supper good!! Can I request the bat boys type? Thank you for your time! Please take care!

IM SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT. I had to read other peoples make out scene bc I honestly did not know how to write one. I think I did an okay job tho😭

Writing for Dick is so effing hard for some reason

Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson

I whole heartily believe he likes taller women. No doubt about it

But if you’re bit on the shorter side that’s fine too.

I feel like he wants someone who’s independent and doesn’t rely on others

Someone who wouldn’t mind him being away from days to months at a time because of work and all .

Wants someone who matches his energy.

For like a thirty something year old he does have a lot of energy.

He wants someone who can take a joke and doesn’t take it the wrong way. He wants someone to laugh with him and not get mad.

Definitely wants someone who’s laid back but not to laid back where it becomes a problem.

100% wants someone to cry with him when he watches a very sad drama.

I think it’s cannon that he’s on the more talkative side?

Idk but if he is he wants someone can he can talk with—hours on end and the conversation never get boring.

Would 100% date a superhero

Jason todd

Jason like chubby girls. 100% you can’t change my mind about it

I also feel like he has a thing for strong women too.

When It comes to Jason I think he has two types.

The first time is obviously the strong type

Someone he doesn’t take shit from know one

Is really just a badass person In general

Or type 2

Someone who’s really soft spoken

Someone who’s quiet but not to quiet where they don’t even bother to communicate. Like a shy person.

Said person who’s also very caring and kind.

Jason definitely wants someone who shares the same interests. Not all of them but the small ones like reading.

Headcannon: Jason prefers the book copies instead of the online ones. He likes the smell of new books fight me.

Jason also wants someone who deals with his shit better then he does honestly

This man has been through a lot no doubt about.

And he’s not great when he has to deal with his problems that are emotionally and mentally.

So someone who can help him and guide him (even if he does deny it at first) trust he will be grateful for it

He would not date someone who’s a hero or vigilante.

He tried but failed

Tim Drake

Definitely likes shorter women

I mean mans only like 5’4? “5’4?

So technically he’s tall but not that tall like the others 💀

He’s good at technology and really wants someone who’s interested in his hobbies. Most people don’t find them interesting. (But I mean cmon if he was able to tell the world he hacks things to get information on them for Batman—then that has them sold, but he can’t)

He gives me bad girl x Nerd boy vibe 😔

I’m kidding no I’m not

I feel like he would want someone who’s more on the quiet side and someone who’s willing able to lay down next to him for a long periods of time bc we all know this man can sleep anywhere at anytime if he felt like it.

So having someone who can just lay there while he sleeps are pointers.

This isn’t a preference but he 100% needs someone who can take care of him.

Because him not sleeping for long periods of time results in him not eating and only serving off coffee. Not good for him.

Tim seems like the kind to date someone who’s a superhero or whatever.

That way they can be closer.

Damian Wayne

Damian doesn’t have a preference.

I Don’t think he would care if your short, tall, Skinny or chubby.

Like Jason I also think he has two types.

The first type would someone who’s very mysterious. He likes that.

Someone who’s mature and calm during rough times or situations.

Like Dick, someone who is very independent.

Second type is quiet literately the opposite of what his personality is

Someone who’s kind and warm to others.

Bubbly kind of personality.

He doesn’t want someone who talks to much.

Like at all.

he wants someone who shares the same interest as him—Y’know fighting for animal right and what not.

Not a preference but I think Damian needs someone who can help him with the reality of the world and stuff

Because I believe Damian does not know how to act like a kid his age until he meets his partner who show him.

Would not date anyone who’s in the superhero gig.

Like at all. He hates the idea

He would rather date a civilian. They are less likely to get killed during a mission.

Writing for them is so much fun I might do more headcannons about them 😭🤚