#like. they (my in-laws) haven't once mentioned the fact that I finally finally finally had my last exam and passed and will be getting my

[running-in-the-dark]

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[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN | JK

"You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying."

→ Pairing brother in law!Jungkook × widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut

→ W.C 17. 32k

→ Warnings unrequited love :(, oc is in love with his older brother, early character death of the said older brother who is haunting the narrative, cute childhood sweethearts who are doomed by me, mentions of dealing with grief and acceptance, mention of cancer, a minor scene where harassment is attempted,emotionally troubled! oc, emotionally troubled and detached! jk, simp jk, pathetic man in love, he's so so lovesick, ceo! jk, protective jk, yearning, pining, loads of angst, fluff if you squint, breif yoongi mention, namjin yay!!,rich people party, mentions of anxiety,sexual tension,slow burnish,smut (omg everyone look away), kissing, unprotected sex (raw and deep, next question),dirty talking, oc is insecure,hickies,oral (f! Receiving), he cums in his pants,big dick jk, soft Dom Jungkook, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, praise, cuddles if you squint again

→ Playlist Guilty as sin, control, killing me softly with his song, do I wanna know?

→ A/N the idea of this one shot came to me at 1 am when I was supposed to be studying for a test that probably my future depends upon and after much much complementing I'm finally posting it. To me, its very experimental and I was just trying to explore my writing style and writing things that I haven't before, like smut 🫠 so please please bear that in mind!! I hope you enjoy reading and if you did please comment!! It makes my whole day 🥰💕💕

P.S: cross posted on wattpad.

It is a believed fact that it takes three to four short months to fall in love. 

For you, it took one summer. The summer spent watching him sketch galaxies in the dirt with a twig, summer spent learning the way his laughter sounded after stealing popsicles from the freezer, summer spent holding his hand as they made paper planes under the blazing sun. It was the kind of love that grew roots so deep, you couldn’t separate where he ended and you began.

That summer, you met Minho. The boy next door with a mind as wild as his curls and a heart so warm it seemed to shine blindingly bright. He showed you how to climb trees, told stories he'd crafted all by himself, convincing you that the universe could be held in the palm of your hand. He shared his world with you, and you fell in love with it.

You kissed his cheek on the porch of your house one late July evening, bold and brimming with the kind of confidence only childhood summers could bring. “Now you’re gonna have to marry me, Min Min,” you teased, hands behind your back, your toes curling against the wooden floorboards.

He blushed, a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, but his grin mirrored yours.

The porch of your house was a witness to many things. Your first steps, held your first scraped knees, your first dog and Minho's new brother; your new friend.

A boy of your age, younger than Minho had appeared from right behind him, his hands clutching onto Minho's flannel, his watchful eyes going everywhere all at once. The kind of boy who never spoke unless he had to, the kind who was more familiar with loss than comfort, lingering on the edges of things, unsure if he belonged.

Jungkook.

Now, Jeon Jungkook.

You and his brother had taken it upon themselves to bring him into your fold, turning your duo into a trio. With time, he laughed with you both, trusted you both, became one of you both.

The three of you were inseparable— in the backyard of your house, in elementary school, in high school. How could you not be? You had tied the promise in the form of handmade friendship bracelets around the wrist of both boys.

Even though what you wanted with minho was far from friendship. A bold dreamer, you always have been. But not so much when you turned sixteen. Sixteen; what a awkward age.

An age of overthinking haircuts, dreams, and the lives your peers are gonna live all at once. Visits to the school councilor are doubled. Relationships happen; Friends part.

But you only grew closer with Jungkook. He didn’t seemed interested in making a move on the timid, short haired girl who passed him notes in chemistry class, neither did he talk much about the future. When you asked him what he wanted to do, he’d shrug and say something like, “Whatever makes sense at the time.” He wasn’t aimless, exactly—just grounded in a way that made you think he didn’t feel the need to plan everything out.

Minho, though, was spiraling.

He now spent more time with the councilor that he spent with you both. Had this bitter look on his face every morning you saw him on the bus stop that will have you sharing a knowing look with Jungkook—Minho had been having a lot of fights with his dad, had been overthinking a lot more because the world seemed so much bigger than he had imagined.

Maybe for the eldest son and heir to a family that ran a company as old as the town itself, the world really was big. But to you, he was just a hopeful boy with all the colors in his eyes. The colors that you loved. The colors that didn't belong in a office, crunching numbers.

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. At sixteen, nobody has the answers.

Seventeen is a different story. It's a starlight dream. It's you acing the college entrance test. It's Minho surfacing back. It's Minho kissing you on that very same porch, promising, “One day, we’ll have our own porch, and I’ll kiss you there every day.”

And he was one to keep his promises.

You married him at twenty-five, in crisp autumn. To your family and friends, it was "About time." To you, it was nothing short of a dream as you walked to promise forever to the man you love, a vision in white. It was nothing big, just a dreamy intimate affair with soft twinkling string lights. Something you both agreed on. Because you were content with what you had, overjoyed actually after picking out a quite cozy apartment for the both of you and landing a job as a humanities professor in a university that wasn't too far from the said apartment. Minho was too and while things weren't the same with his father now, he did what he loved. Ever the artist at heart.

It was like everything you ever wrote in your middle school diary, everything you wished for was now laid under your feet like a carpet unfolding.

You were given a good time before it started pulling away from your feet.

At first, it was subtle. A missed dinner here, a canceled hangout there. Then he told you both he’d taken up an opportunity abroad to manage the family business, something Minho had no interest in, just on the night of your wedding after he had fulfilled his role of the groom's best man, watched you walk down the aisle.

You hadn’t seen the decision coming—not that night, not like this—but you couldn’t deny it either. Jungkook had seemed restless here, especially after finishing college.Conversations with him in those days had been brief, distracted, his eyes darting to the distance even as he smiled at you. It felt as you were trying to talk to the Jungkook who had appeared on your porch the first time. He hadn’t asked for understanding, and you hadn’t known how to offer it. His reasons were vague, more like placeholders for something unsaid. And so he left, quietly, with little fanfare, and though Minho seemed sad to see him go, you could tell he understood.

“It’s good for him,” Minho had said. “He deserves something for himself.”

Relationship happened; Friends parted.

You weren't sure if you understood. While you agreed with Minho, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of a friend now that his calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether. One day, he was simply gone, leaving behind only the memory of the boy who had once trusted you with his rare, precious smiles.

"You’d laugh if you saw me right now. I tried to fix the leaky sink in the kitchen, and now the entire floor is flooded. Minho’s being no help—just standing there laughing."

"Hey, stranger. Our anniversary is next weekend. We’re just doing a small dinner. You should come. Seriously, koo, don’t make me guilt-trip you."

"Saved you a slice of cake, but Minho ate it. You’d better show up next year, or I’ll stop saving you anything."

"Hey, Koo. Just checking in. Hope you're healthy and happy. Would love to hear from you"

You'd text him timely, in hopes that he still knows how to use a phone. But apparently, not.

Still, you had Minho. Your husband, your best friend.

Until you didn't.

Until the carpet was at last, snatched right down from your feet.

The diagnosis came in the spring. It started with a faint weakness in his voice. A shortness of breath he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just tired,” he’d say, smiling that same easy smile. But tired turned into tests. Tests turned into results. And results turned into a diagnosis that was oh so cruel.

Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.

The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatments, and quiet nights where you held him as he cried. You tried to be strong, for him, for both of you. Told him what the doctor in the sterile white office will tell you. "They've caught it early so we're not at a great risk here." You'd reassure him. "You have yet to get away from me, min min." You'd try making him laugh but he had always been better at that.

Now, suddenly he wasn't. The next two years, your life was just the slow, agonizing process of watching the man you loved fade away, losing every bit of his lively soul to the cancer, holding his hand when he was too weak to hold yours back.

Perhaps it wasn't only Minho who was chipping away. It was you too.

You turned into the woman who knew exactly how to track medication schedules, who could list every side effect of his treatment in order of severity, who spoke with doctors as if reciting a memorized script. You learned how to bite back the frustration when he snapped at you because he was in pain, and how to smile when all you wanted was to scream at the unfairness of it all.

You started to measure time not in days or months but in cycles of chemotherapy, in percentages of remission and relapse. Life was divided into hours spent in sterile hospital rooms, waiting for results that were never as hopeful as you needed them to be, and hours spent at home trying to pretend those results didn’t exist.

You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.

Grief doesn’t wait for death— or so you've realized as you often found yourself grieving the life you had built together, the one you knew would never be the same. You grieved the sound of his laugh, which became quieter as the months passed. You grieved the way he used to tease you about your love for terrible reality shows, You grieved the mornings spent tangled together, talking about everything and nothing.

By the time the end came, you had already lost so much of him that you thought you might be prepared.

You weren’t.

And then he was gone.

With an, "I'm sorry. I love you." He was gone.

The house was too quiet without him, the days too long. You withdrew, not just from the world but from yourself, letting grief shape the edges of your existence.

The world moved on, even if you didn’t. They tell you how long it takes to fall in love but not how long it takes to get over it.

2 years, 240 days. And you're still counting.

Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.

Your family, Minho’s family, even well-meaning friends—none of them knew what to do with the mess you’d become, so they did what people often did. They tried to fix it. To fix you.

Blind dates were their answer, little nudges toward what they called healing. The word had been said so many times it began to lose its meaning. Healing. As if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.

You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, so you let them dress you up, hand you phone numbers, and convince you that this—whatever this was—was what you needed.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Because as the man sat in front of you in the dimly lit bar continued to talk about how his ex couldn't handle his success, the trials of being a man with ambition, you really couldn't even bother to pretend you were interested. He was nice enough—tall, well dressed (consdering the dingy bar) with a confident smile but your thoughts kept drifting, as they often did.

2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.

2 years, 240 days of waking up alone in your bed, his side untouched.

2 years, 240 days of trying to find your way back to the woman you used to be.

“Hey,” the man interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward with an eager grin. “I feel like I’m talking too much. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun?”

You forced a smile, your stomach twisting. “I paint. It’s... therapeutic.”

“That’s nice,” he said, reaching across the table to touch your hand. You pulled back instinctively, your stool scraping against the floor. His brows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but his tone was tighter now. He leaned back, shrugging as if trying to dismiss the moment. “You know, you should loosen up a little. You’ll never find anyone if you keep acting like you’re still married.”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you struggled to process the audacity of his statement. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “you should give people a chance. I mean, you’re here, right?” He smirked and stood, coming around the table. “Let me take you home. We can—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, rising to your feet.

But he didn’t listen. His hand reached for your arm, his grip firm.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he was gone.

The man stumbled backward, a hand jerking him by the collar. The force was so swift, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to register what had happened.

And then you saw him.

“..Jungkook?” The name caught in your throat as you turned.

You took in the man standing before you, taller and broader than you remembered, the years etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on the man who had dared to touch you, glinting coldly.

His voice was low, dangerous. “She said stop. I suggest you listen.”

For a moment, the world tilted.

You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.

You were standing at the edge of a memory—the first time you’d ever seen Jungkook, the quiet boy who clung to Minho’s shadow.

And the last.

The last time you’d seen him, a looming figure in an ocean of black suits. A barely recognizable shadow among the mourners at your husband's funeral.

Now, standing before you, he was real, tangible—and so was the flood of emotions crashing over you.

It was so loud, you could barely hear as the the man stammered out an excuse, something about a misunderstanding.

“Leave.” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut and bring you back to the moment.

The man hesitated, his mouth opening as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at Jungkook’s expression and he decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stalked out, muttering something under his breath that neither of you caught.

Silence followed.

Only then did you felt his gaze on you. His presence was larger than life, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how much had changed. How much he had changed. You hadn’t registered that at the funeral. Now, you didn't know what to say, you could hardly manage to look at him. While he wasn't Minho's real brother, didn't share any resemblance with him, it still hurt you, sucked you back into those times when it was the three of you, when it wasn't.

He too didn't reply right away, his gaze searching your face, as though he was also trying to piece together the version of you he remembered with the one standing before him now. When it landed on the arm you were clutching, the arm that dipshit had grabbed, you saw his eyes glint again.

"Did he hurt you?" It sounded more like a demand rather than a question but you couldn't even deciper the words, too focused on how his boyish tone had turned sharper, harder.

"W-What?" You fumble out like a fool.

"Did he hurt you, y/n?" This time, you heard him.

Letting your hand fall, embarrassed, you shook your head, finally managing to utter something sensible out. “No—yeah. I’m fine.”

He glanced back at the door that man had fled from before looking back at you. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and quiet.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

You blinked. “My phone?” You don't remember getting a call from anyone but then you realize your battery had died down as you looked down to see your dead device laying flat. "Oh. I didn't realis—"

“Mom said you’d been gone a while. Told me where you were.” He interrupted. There was an edge to his voice now, faint but undeniable.

You feel more embarrassed now that you know it's because of your mother in law's anxious nature that he is here. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your purse, desperate for something to do, something to hold onto as he speaks again. "Are you ready to leave?"

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I can get a cab.”

His brows furrowed, just slightly, and you noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s late,” he said simply.

"So?”

“So,” he echoed, his tone calm but unyielding, “I’ll take you.”

You hesitated, your pride and your exhaustion warring within you. Finally, you exhaled out in defeat, reaching for your coat. It's just a thirty minute ride. You reassured yourself. It'll be fine.

The cool night air wrapped around you and so did your coat as you stepped outside, and the streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked toward his car. He opened the passenger door for you, his movements deliberate, and waited for you to slide in before closing it softly behind you.

The drive started in silence.

It wasn’t the silence of old friends, the kind that felt easy and safe. This was different—fraught, taut, like a thread stretched too tight.

You stole a glance at him as he started the engine, too aware of the small space you were packed in with him.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said finally, your statement sounding more accusatory that you or he would have liked.

“Just for a little while,” he replied, his tone ofcourse, unfazed. “Business.”

Buisness. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the word. If someone could look like that word, you thought, it'd be the man in the fine tailored suit with eyes fixed on the road ahead and a rolex that didn't look any more cheaper than the car he was driving and you wondered.

Wondered if the lines of his palms—the callouses from late-night basketball games, the way they had felt solid and familiar when he held yours to steady you on the wobbly bike Minho had convinced you to ride—had changed too.

Had they turned forigen, unyielding? Had time eroded their familiarity?

When the car slowed, you glanced out the window, expecting to see the acquinated sight of your apartment building. But instead, the streetlights gave way to a quieter, darker road. You frowned, turning to him.

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

“I know,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. "You're coming with me."

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening as unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Jungkook,” you started, the word heavy with protest.

"Y/N." He ends, sparing you a glance that has you sinking back into your seat, arms folded across your chest like a petulant child that you could swear made his lips twitch at the corner, you could swear you saw your old friend who had grown a sassy tounge at the age of fourteen that'd earn smacks at the head from his older brother for a fleeting cruel second there. But that was it. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, summoning the return of the silence that felt like its own living thing.

The house was still the same.

That was the first thing you noticed as the car slowed down in front of the building that loomed at the end of the road like a memory waiting to consume you.

The overhead lights still flickered faintly, casting shadows across the steps where you and Minho had once sat, daring each other to stay outside until the stars disappeared. Even the smell was the same—faintly woody, with the comforting hint of whatever candle Jungkook’s mom always lit in the hallway.

You hesitated in the doorway, the memories rushing in too fast, too loud. It's not like you haven't been here in ages but since the year you celebrated your first marriage anniversary with Minho here, it felt like you have lived a thousand lives.

Lives that haunted you still, made you randomly pause in the grocery aisle and now before this house until you felt Jungkook’s presence press behind you as if silently urging you on.

Clearing your throat, you slipped out of your heels that have been as much as pain as the man you had been on a date with. The floor creaked softly beneath your feet as you stepped inside, the sound jarring. The same hardwood floors, polished to a faint sheen. The same floral wallpaper lining the hallway. The same photo frames arranged along the wall—a collection of childhoods captured and frozen in time.

But as you glanced toward the corner of the living room where the three of you used to pile up pillows and blankets for makeshift forts. The corner was bare now, save for an old armchair, but in your mind, you saw it vividly: Minho’s determined grin as he shuffled the pillows, Jungkook, always following the lead but never quite competing for it. You would snuggle a pillow to your lap, nestled between the two brothers, peeking from behind your fingers and giggling at the the way Minho’s face would light up in triumph when he won another round of rock-paper-scissors.

A type of smugness that came from knowing he’d get to flick Jungkook’s forehead next. But your smile would fade as soon as you would realize that it's your turn next. “Wait, wait!” you’d plead, wide-eyed, deploying the best puppy-dog look you could muster. It was the same look that had, on occasion, earned you extra TV time with your dad. Jungkook would glance at you and chuckle. Relent like your father would and sheild your forehead with his palm that'd have Minho pouting. "Hey! That's not how you do it!"

"Y/N?" A well recognized voice pulled you back to the where you were supposed to be, back from the fort of pillows and blankets.

You turned around and instantly found yourself wrapped up in a tight hug. You managed a small smile, letting your arms wrap around the warm frame of your mother in law, the scent of her jasmine oil and apprehensive energy pulling you in. "Mom." You greeted back.

Mrs Jeon hadn't always been this.. overbearing. Though after the passing of your husband, she had teamed up with your mother and been on a determined mission to make sure you are well and on a road to healing.

The next few minutes, she did what she had been doing best—fussed over you, asking how you’d been, if you’d eaten, if you were warm enough. In that time being, Jungkook had resigned to wherever his room was.

You planned to do the same, especially now that you could see on her face how she is on the brink of asking about the disaster tonight. You showed some obvious sign of weariness, in hopes she'd let it go for the night and tell you where you're supposed to go to bed for.

"Third on the left, my dear. And I'm gonna need you to stay for breakfast, okay?" You wondered if stubbornness was a running streak in this family.

Hours later, sleep had yet to come.

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint grooves in the plaster as if they could somehow lull you into rest. The trick didn't work. It hadn’t worked in your own apartment either—the one you and Minho had picked out together, picked the colors of the walls together, and argued over where the bookshelf should be. Yet, it was still your space. You could control how you faced the memories there, pacing them, deciding when and how to confront them.

There, at least, you’d managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Here? In this house that held so much of him, so much of them, you weren’t sure you’d manage even one.

The room you were led to was neat and welcoming, the kind of space that had been carefully prepared for guests. But there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge that two doors down lay Minho’s childhood room, untouched, a shrine to a boy who grew up into the man you loved and lost.

At some point, you gave up.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you padded quietly downstairs. The house was silent as you made your way downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the indistinct glow from the kitchen spilling into the dimness. You didn’t expect to find anyone there, but as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Jungkook stood by the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his other resting on the marble surface. His jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere, leaving him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Tattoos.

They sprawled across his skin, intricate designs etched into muscle and sinew, that you didn't think you'd ever see on him.

Perhaps you thought wrong. Perhaps you never knew. Never knew him.

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours that looked just as caught off guard as yours did. For a moment, you didn't feel comfortable moving from your spot until he eventually spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head, stepping into the kitchen. “Needed some water.” You said and opened a cabinet, finding the glasses exactly where you remembered, and filled one with water.

Behind you, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his presence impossible to ignore. Funny, how he always preferred to blend in the background as a child, now his mere cologne—earthy and warm—demanded attention, filled the room before he had even entered.

“Do you… do you drink often now?” you asked hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder, at the way his fingers curled around the glass, the tattoos on his hand shifting as he tilted it.

“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.

If things were anything like before between you two or anything like before at all, maybe you'd have pushed further, asked him if this was growing to be a unhealthy habit.

Now, it didn’t seem right when there was an ocean between you—a chasm of time. Felt intrusive. And you know it would only sound hypocritical from your mouth—talking about unhealthy mechanisms. Hah.

You ended up only nodding and put the washed glass back so you could go back to counting the grooves in the plaster. Resume your restless attempt at sleep.

But Jungkook spoke again.

"How long have you been going on.." He started suddenly, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His voice was calm, but the muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. "These dates?"

You blinked at him, taken aback by the question. "Uh—for a while now, I guess?"

“Are you willing, or are they forcing you?”

The question, the way he asked it—sharp, direct—left you off balance. So did the way he was looking at you now, his eyes no longer holding the casualty as they once did when he had the glass of alcohol in his hand.

“I—” You faltered. “They just want to help. They think it’s time.”

“And what do you want?”

To go back to your room. To ask him what did it even matter to him, after all this time.

But what came out was forthright honesty. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

He stepped closer, his feet padding softly against the kitchen floor—a contrast to his rigid frame that now towered just close enough. Close enough to see how his chest rose and fell with every breath. Close enough to see how his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to unravel something he didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to do anything for them or anyone,” he said, his voice soft but no less rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to deflect, to do something, but his gaze held you in place, tracing down from the dark circles that weighted your eyes to your parted lips. All you could feel was his gaze burning on you and hear your own pulse in your ears.

“Jungkook…” His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible.

He lingered for a beat longer, his eyes searching yours, then he stepped back, his jaw just as tight. “Get some rest.” He clipped out before he turned and walked away, leaving you alone again.

You didn't got any sleep that night.

8:00'o clock. The time's a etched number in your brain ever since you started your job at the university.

It's a routine that needs no alarm clock. It's a number you keep waiting for as you blink at the time passing. And you're more than eager when the morning comes softly along with smaller needle stopping at 8, sunlight slipping through the curtains in streaks too gentle to match the weight in your chest.

With Minho, you were the one to wake up first but here you find that the house was awake before you.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room. Breakfast was warm and lively, much like your mother in law. She greeted you with a brightness that almost made you feel guilty for your somber disposition.

“Good morning!” she said with a smile that could have been plucked from a painting. Reaching for a plate of toast, setting it down in front of the empty seat beside her.

“Good morning.” you murmured, sliding into a chair.

Across the table, your father in law sat at his usual spot, his attention fixed on his phone, only looking up to give you a nod of acknowledgment. You had never fully understood him, not as Minho’s father, not as a man.

Perhaps, It had always been because of the sore spot between him and your husband, the way his father disapproved of his wishes—choosing art over business, passion over practicality. You remembered the arguments you thought would never hear after the age of sixteen, the way Minho would come home, his face tight with frustration. “He doesn’t get it,” he’d say. “He never will.” You saw the way it wore on him, the way he carried the weight of his father’s disapproval like it was stitched into his very skin.

Even now, as you sat across from him, you wondered if he ever regretted it—if he ever wished he had spoken softer, loved louder. But his face was as impassive as ever, his thoughts a mystery.

“Jungkook left early this morning,” his mother said, breaking the silence. “Something about a meeting downtown.”

You nodded, relief washing over you in a way that felt almost shameful. You hadn’t realized how much you were dreading seeing him until you knew you wouldn’t have to.

“Busy as always,” you said lightly, reaching for your coffee.

The conversation drifted into familiar topics—neighbors, extended family, stories you half-listened to with polite nods. The table felt both too full and too empty, the gazes of all the people that sat there never straying to the right one in the left corner, just right beside yours.

The older woman turned to you, her tone bright with enthusiasm.

“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, her smile widening. “Just a small gathering with some friends and business partners. It would be lovely if you came with us.”

The suggestion made you squirm uncomfortably in your chair. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“It’ll be good for you,” she interrupted gently, her gaze soft but insistent. “Everyone would love to see you.”

You hesitated, the thought of mingling with people, of putting on a brave face for strangers already making you want to go back to bed. “I’m not sure I’d be good company,” You glanced towards your father in law, half-hoping he might say something to discourage the idea, but he couldn't be any less bothered.

“Nonsense!” she pressed. “You don’t even have to stay long. But it would mean so much to us.”

There was no malice in her persistence, no attempt to guilt you, just a genuine desire to include you in their lives. You couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Wonderful. Jungkook will pick you up and bring you there. That way, you don’t have to worry about driving.”

You froze, cup midway to your mouth. "There's no need for that, mom."

"Oh hush." she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’ll be coming from the office, so it’s no trouble.”

You nodded slowly, your appetite not too great or you just wanted to get out of here.

8'30. You glanced at the rose gold wrist watch, your first anniversary gift. Your first class is due in an hour, the perfect excuse wrapped around your wrist which you use to excuse yourself from the suffocating walls that always feel like they are closing in on you.

You have come to prefer the morning buzz of the university more—the hum of young adults chatting in the hallways, the scrape of chairs against tiled floors.It was a rhythm you found comforting, predictable in its own way. Here, you were just a professor, the one who explained history and philosophy with hands that only shook sometimes.

The teenage year you would have thought predictable as boring but you— a woman gone through a dubious sets of events found a fellow feeling in it.

Found the task of grading thesis, making power point presentation better than you would have ever imagined.

But Gods, your students need to realize that they can't dump about their toxic ex in every essay. A woman can only take so much.

You were sorting through the said papers in your office when the door creaked open, and a woman peeked her head in, the light from the outside catching in her curly locks.

“You busy?” she asked, her voice light and familiar.

You looked up to see Mira, the economics professor and one of your closest colleagues, walking toward you with her usual warm smile. Mira was more than just a coworker though—being practically family, the wife of Minho’s dark haired cousin who didn’t talk much in family gatherings, and over the years, she had become a friend you could rely on and share lunch with.

“Not for you,” you said, smiling as you waved her in.

She dropped into the chair across from you, setting her bag on the floor. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Was it that obvious?

“I didn’t,” you admitted, sighing softly. “I stayed at the Jeons’ last night.”

Her eyebrows rose, but there was something in her eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made you look away for a second. “How’d that go?”

You hesitated, picking at the edge of a notebook on your desk. “It was… fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Jungkook’s back,” you said, and her eyes widened slightly, the topic seeming to catch her attention.

“Really? I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Neither did I, until yesterday.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Just for a while, though. Business stuff, y'know?”

Mira tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And how’s that going?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on you, curious. “I mean, it’s been years, hasn’t it?"

“Yeah,” you said slowly. "It's fine, I suppose. We didn't talk much."

“Hmm.” Mira hummed thoughtfully as if tasting the question she was gonna ask on her tounge. “Are you okay with him being back?”

Were you okay with him behind back? Okay with him stepping in your vicinity after years of acting like you were not even family, let alone a friend?

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “It’s strange seeing him again after all this time. But he’s been… kind. Quiet, mostly.”

Mira didn’t press further, but there was something in her expression that made you uneasy, as if she knew something you didn’t.

You cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “There’s a party this weekend. His mom invited me. Please tell me you’re going.”

Mira winced, her smile apologetic. “Date night with the husband. Non-negotiable.”

"Oh." You tried not to show the dejection on your face but it was there. "Lucky you."

She studied you for a moment, her expression gentle. “Are you okay with going?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything for them. Not if you’re not ready.”

If only he understood how much easier it was to do things for others than to face yourself.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can text me. I’ll make up some excuse to get you out of there.”

You smiled, grateful for her before bidding bye to her for her next class and focusing back on the pending work spread across your desk while simultaneously going through your closet in your mind.

Minho had always said red made the brown of your eyes excel more.

And you have really tried to believe it, looking at yourself from above your shoulder, from the side of your arm in the mirror but perhaps it's not only this red, off shoulder dress that's not doing your eyes justice. It's every color you have once known, once loved.

It's like, it's you that's not doing them justice.

As you stared into the mirror, your eyes flitting from one detail to the next—the slightly uneven tuck of fabric, the exposed skin of your collarbone—it felt wrong.

The little things were missing—his hands fixing the clasp of your necklace, his voice telling you not to overthink it, that you looked beautiful. That it didn’t matter what you wore, because it was you who wore it.

But he wasn’t here.

With a sigh, you adjusted the necklace you had chosen yourself, a simple silver chain that rested delicately against your collarbone. The mirror wasn’t forgiving, but you looked anyway, searching for something familiar in your own reflection. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, told yourself this was just another party, and dodged the doubts of this being a mistake.

The knock at your door came too soon, sharp and punctual, like everything Jungkook had become.

You felt your stomach clench, nerves twisting with something else you couldn’t name. Smoothing your dress one last time, you crossed the small space of your apartment, pausing just before the door.

When you opened it, Jungkook was standing right before you.

He had stood on the edge of cliffs where oceans met skies too, in countless countries at that, walked through streets that droned with history. Scrawled through the wonders of the world—the kind that made poets immortalize them in verse—but nothing—nothing—would ever measure up to this.

To you.

You, standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the hall light, your hair falling in waves that he had memorized long ago.

His chest tightened, the memory of another doorway bleeding into the moment as gaily as if it had just happened. He had been in the room meant for waiting, where your parents had sat moments before, your mother sniffling into a tissue, your father pacing in his polished shoes. Now it had been his turn.

The thought alone of being the second person to see you before you walked away from him for good had made his tie that he had been trying to get the hang off felt too stressed around his neck, his palms clammy despite the air conditioning. He rubbed them on his pants, glancing at the small clock on the mantle every few seconds. The minutes dragged, each one seemed longer than the other.

What would you look like?

The thought ran circles in his mind, only for a creak of the door to startle him back.

Footsteps had echoed in the quiet, minimizing the distance until he could practically feel the nervous energy of a bride bounce against his. "Okay. You can turn around now." He had heard you speak, had seen the skittish smile on your face before he even turned around.

And when he did, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

The dress hugged you like it had been designed with only you in mind, its soft fabric flowing as if in defiance of gravity. Your veil cascaded behind you, catching the light, and your smile was small, almost shy, as you looked up at him, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you prompted, turning slightly, your hands brushing the fabric at your sides. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought the universe was wicked for allowing him to witness this and still expect him to let you go.

He had swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady when he finally said, “You look—” His tongue had faltered over every adjective that came to mind. Beautiful wasn’t enough. Breathtaking felt like a cliché. “Perfect.”

You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.

You—who weren’t his to look at this way.

He feels his breath catch, his hands clenching at his sides to keep himself from reaching for you.

Because while that version of you had been a dream, this version—worn, weathered, but still so unmistakably you—was real. And the reality of you had always been what he wanted most.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t have agreed to pick you up, shouldn’t have stepped into this space, should have kept the distance he had spent years bridging.

But he has always found himself hopeless and running back to wherever you were concerned, hopeless in a way that had him studying for a test he didn’t even have to keep you company or show up.. here. Content to be near you in whatever capacity he could. He told himself it was enough. That it would be enough to watch you from the sidelines, to sit across from you at family dinners.

It wasn’t.

Because Jungkook wasn't a virtuous man. He never had been.

Virtue belonged to his brother—the one who could weave dreams out of thin air, who saw the world in colors Jungkook had never learned to name. His brother—Minho—who had been the light, the warmth that people, he gravitated toward. He had admired Minho, even envied him, resented him in ways he never admitted aloud and kept it in shadows.

When Minho died, the shadow became a man. And that man had spent years running.

Running into work, into unfamiliar cities, into the kind of purpose that left no room for thought. No room for the times when everything was right, when he tasted family and friendship for the first time ever, no room for the last time he tasted it when you walked down the aisle to his brother looking at him like he was the sun and how it burned, how he had burned with nails biting into his palms.

And only men with no integrity burn. Men who are cowards, restless, afraid of thier own greed try to run, in hopes that the distance would save them.

But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.

Because here he was again, standing before you, the fire still smoldering.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back, creating a doubt in his belief.

“Hi,” he replied, his own tounge feeling heavy in his mouth.

“You’re early,” you said, your tone carefully light.

He cleared his throat, his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to keep them to themselves. “Traffic was lighter than I expected. Are you ready to leave?"

You nodded and he stepped back, revealing his sleek Mercedes benz parked just right in front. He let you walk before him, watching how your movements were hesitant, as if the ground beneath your feet wasn’t entirely steady. He wanted to ask you if you were okay. He wanted to tell you it was okay if you weren't.

He settled for opening the car door for you.

“Thanks for this,” you said, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do.”

His grip tightened against the leather of the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles ache. There was a rancorous way that you spoke to him, carefully restrained, that he couldn't even blame you for.

"It's not." He gritted out. "It's not a problem."

He had earned every inch of this gap between you, had spent years building it brick by brick, mile by mile. He's all to blame for. For carving the space between you with every ignored call, every excuse he made to avoid family dinners where you’d inevitably be.

For the leaving the wreckage in his wake—yours, his, theirs.

It wasn’t fair to hate the consequences of his own choices.

But hell, if he didn't outright loathed feeling like he was staring at a wall of frosted glass when he looked at you—where he could see the outline of you, but the details were blurred, distant. Like he had lost the privilge of knowing you from one glance, lost the privilge of having you speak up to him whenever you wanted, call him out, intoxicate him with your laughter that lightened up a room he wasn't even aware was dark. Found it fucking unbearable.

So much that he felt relief washing over him when the venue of the gathering came in view. A grand mansion, framed by manicured gardens and sprawling oaks that seemed to whisper old secrets to one another. It had a timeless elegance that made you wonder how many lives it had seen pass through its doors.

Small gathering, she said. You scoffed internally at rich people and their definition of small.

“Nice place,” you murmured as you walked beside him, your steps careful on the stone path after the car was eased into a parking spot.

“It’s the Kim's family home,” Jungkook said. You nodded, though the name didn’t spark much recognition. The Kims had been mentioned here and there at family dinners—names dropped in passing between sips of wine and shared laughter. You had barely paid attention then, too busy suppressing laughs at the jokes that Minho whispered near.

The front doors were open, the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne wafting out to greet you. Inside, the space was as opulent as expected—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished floors that gleamed under the soft light, and clusters of well-dressed guests milling about with drinks in hand.

A tall man stood near the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp jawline making him impossible to miss. Beside him, another man stood with a softer air, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into the first man’s side.

The taller of the two men turned, his expression lighting up as he spotted Jungkook. “There he is,” He said, his deep voice carrying effortlessly.

"Hyung." Jungkook softened, clasping hands in a firm shake before pulling each other into a brief hug, the kind that spoke of collaboration and respect.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse as you wondered whether to step back and leave him to his conversation or stay and risk being out of place.Would it be rude if you chose the former?

You were saved from your uncertainty when the two of them pulled away from Jungkook and took you in, a gleam of recognition passing through their face. Recognition, shock, then pity. You know how it went.

“You must be Y/N,” the taller one said, his gaze shifting to you with a warm smile.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct attention. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Kim Namjoon ” he said, offering his hand. “And this is Seokjin, my partner.” You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the hand of the charming one in the beige suit. “It’s nice to meet you, both. This is a beautiful venue.” You assume that they're the hosts of the party. The Kims that this house belonged to.

“Thank my father for that,” Namjoon said with a chuckle. “Sixty years old and still insists on hosting the most extravagant parties. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”

“Extravagant is an understatement,” Seokjin chimed in, his tone playful as he glanced at Namjoon. “I’m pretty sure half the flowers in the city ended up here.”

You smiled again, but it faltered when Seokjin's expression changed in a beat.

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he said gently, his gaze dipping briefly to Jungkook before meeting yours again.

You tilted your head, curiosity flashing across your face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Namjoon assured you. “Your family is well-regarded, and we-we're sorry about Minho. He was brilliant in every sense of the world. We can't even imagin—"

“Thank you,” you said softly, trying really hard to not let the tightening of your throat strain your voice. “He was.”

Jungkook watched as your smile faltered, just slightly, at the mention of Minho. He decided to steer the conversation away but you recovered quickly, offering a polite nod and beat him to it.

There was a brief, loaded pause before you glanced at Jungkook. “I should find mom. She asked me to join her earlier.”

"Yeah, right.” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the way his chest tightened again when he looked at you.

You walked by Jungkook, brushing close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest, the faintest hint of your vanilla perfume that was so maddeningly you lingered in the air. He tensed, his breath catching before he could stop it. His fingers twitched at his sides, an almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough.

Subtle as he tried to be, he caught himself leaning slightly, his chest rising with a quiet inhale as though he could take the ghost of your scent and keep it for himself.

"Not as subtle as you think." Seokjin snickered by his boyfriend's side who also raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing and somewhat giving away his discomfort. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Shit.

Jungkook straightened, his jaw clenching as he avoided their eyes, fixing the collar of his shirt hoping they won't catch on the heat creeping up on his neck too. “Don’t.” he said quietly, his tone low and edged with warning.

"Maybe you don't sniff her like a dog in public? Maybe you have some decorum?" Seokjin judged, proud and loud.

"I have plenty, hyung." The younger male side eyed the older one, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his ears already crimson red like he was a boy caught watching porn for the very first time.

Namjoon sighed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let him be, honey.”

But the look he gave Jungkook was far from dismissive. It was the kind of look that saw too much, that peeled back layers Jungkook wasn’t ready to confront. Gods, he needed new friends.

He turned his attention back to the crowd where you disappeared.

The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses followed you as you weaved through the grand hall, your eyes scanning for your mother-in-law’s familiar figure. The air in the mansion was heavier than it had been when you arrived, the brush of silk against silk, the way every movement seemed calculated, observed, and weighed.

You navigated through the crowd like a ghost in a gallery, your steps measured and slow, eyes flicking to the floor more than once to avoid the speculative stares. With rich circles came dirty gossip—whispered words disguised as laughter, false smiles that hid daggers. You’d learned to let them roll off your back, like rain on stone.

The Jeon matriarch had mentioned being near the back, closer to where the banquet tables were set. You followed the direction she’d gestured toward earlier, passing servers who moved seamlessly with trays of sparkling champagne.

Halfway through the journey, your steps faltered as your gaze landed on the centerpiece of one table—a chocolate fountain. Warm, rich, and cascading like liquid satin, it stood surrounded by an array of treats. Strawberries gleamed like rubies in the low light, their surfaces polished and inviting.

You hesitated, glanced around as if expecting someone to berate you for indulging in something so ordinary, but eventually, you plucked a strawberry and dipped it into the cascading chocolate.

You let the sweetness settle on your tongue, closing your eyes for a brief moment. For the first time all evening, you found this place somewhat tolerable.

Free food always making things better.

“Excuse me, miss.” a small voice piped up beside you, tugging on the flowy end of your dress.

A boy, no older than six or seven, stood by your side, his wide eyes flicking between you and the fountain. He looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury children’s catalog, his little suit tailored perfectly, his bow tie slightly askew. “Can you grab one for me? I’m not allowed to reach it by myself.” he asked, pointing at the fountain. His voice was polite, but there was a hopeful edge to it, as if he wasn’t used to asking for things twice.

“Of course, love.” you said, your lips curving into a small smile. You picked another strawberry, dipping it with care before crouching slightly to hand it to him. "There you go."

“Thank you!” he chirped, grinning immediate and radiant, the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.

"What's your name?" You asked him, crouching down to his level.

“Do-yun!” came a sharp voice, the kind that turned your stomach before your brain even processed it.

Who you assumed was the boy's mother stepped forward, her elegance severe, her lips painted in a red that matched the strawberries. She took her son’s hand but not before her eyes raked over you, head to toe, with an expression that left no room for interpretation.

"What did I tell you about bothering strangers?” she scolded do-yun who stared at the skewer in his hand apologetically.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” you said gently, straightening up and having the woman’s eyes flicker to you again, assessing.

“He just wanted a treat.”

Her eyes flicked to the chocolate fountain, then back to you, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “how kind of you.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no hint of gratitude. Just a faintly dismissive air. And with that, she turned, her child in tow, leaving you with the faint scent of something floral and the taste of bitterness on your tongue.

You'd learned better than to expect warmth from people bound by history.

You'd learned not to mind it. To overlook it. To not pay attention to them at all.

"That's her, isn't she?"

“Such a shame, losing her husband so young.”

“Yes, but you know, they weren’t exactly power players, were they? He was an artist, wasn’t he?”

The words hung in the air like cigarette smoke, acrid and inescapable.

A laugh, soft and cruel. “I suppose she’s lucky the Jeons still keep her close. Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.”

You stopped in your tracks. The sharp sting of their voices cut through the party’s hum, louder than the music, louder than your own heartbeat.

You could feel your palms start to get sweaty, eyes suddenly unable to meet anyone's.

Breathe. You reminded yourself.

One: Find your breath.

Two: Focus on something neutral—the fountain, the floor, the chandelier above.

Three: Remind yourself: They don’t know you. Their words are weightless.

But weightless wasn’t the right word.

“Though, you’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly… widow-appropriate, is it?”

You tried to focus on your numbers but you lost it.

You turned, your fists clenched, your lips thinned, the polite demeanor cracking away from your face under the weight of your frustration.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Was there something you wanted to say to my face?”

The women froze, their eyes widening in surprise. One of them, a younger woman with a nervous smile, tried to backpedal. “Oh, no, we didn’t mean—”

“Because if you have an issue with me or my dress, feel free to say it outright,” you continued, your voice clear despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. “I’d hate for you to waste any more time whispering behind my back.”

The group exchanged glances, communicating in a language of their own, you couldn’t care less about. Atleast not in this moment.

“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of them muttered, her tone brittle.

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could I possibly take offense to strangers dissecting my life as if it’s some dinner party entertainment?”

Stupid old hags with no life of their own!

You kept that to yourself.

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

The chandeliers above blurred as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

You weren’t looking for anything specific—just distance, just air that wasn’t thick with judgment and whispers. A bathroom, maybe, though you weren’t going to ask for directions not when your voice felt like it would crack the moment you opened your mouth.

People brushed past you, their scents of expensive perfumes swirling in the air, their muted voices blending into a hum you couldn’t quite focus on. One or two bumped into your shoulder, but you didn’t apologize, didn’t bother looking back.

You just needed to get away—you just needed out of here.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing you, a firm hand of another one of a frame you jerked into, closed around your wrist, halting your momentum.

You looked up, brows scrunched, eyes glossy and mouth parting, ready to snap but then you were met with a amicable pair of dark eyes.

A crease of his own wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at you. "Is something wrong?" He asked and you almost wanted to laugh mockingly.

Instead, you did what you initially wanted to do. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “Let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, tounge poking his cheek, grip on your hand loosening but not releasing entirely. "What's wrong, y/n?"

“I said, let me go,” you repeated, your voice firm, frangible at the edges before you pulled your hand away from him and pushed past to walk away without another word.

The next random hallway you stumbled into was quieter, emptier, and for that, you were grateful, stretched ahead like an endless corridor of polished wood and muted gold accents. The noise of the party faded into the background, muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to roam around mindlessly any further. This should be good enough, you told yourself and leaned against one of the walls, your forehead pressing against the cool surface as you tried to breathe through the wave of vehemence emotions that crashed through you.

One: Inhale.

Two: Exhale.

Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.

But they echoed, persistent and savage, circling in your mind like vultures.

Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.

You’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly widow-appropriate, is it?

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your hands clutching at your dress as if the fabric could somehow hold you together. But nothing could, nothing had. You had tried and tried and tried.. and fuck you didn't wanted to do it anymore.

Turning around, your head tipped back against the wall, the ceiling swimming in and out of focus as your vision blurred.

You shouldn’t have come here.

You should have stayed home, buried yourself in the comfort of your quiet apartment where no one whispered behind your back or looked at you with pity thinly disguised as deference.

Why did they care? Why did it matter to them how you dressed, how you existed, how you grieved?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Your hands gripped your clutch tightly, the edges digging into your palms, and for a moment, you considered throwing it—hurling it across the hall just to feel something break.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because even here, in this quiet, empty hallway, you felt the silent expectation that you hold yourself together, that you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep existing in a way that made other people comfortable.

You hated this. You hated being you. You hated being the one who was left behind. And God you hated being alone. No Minho to make a quiet joke about the ridiculousness of it all and pull you toward something fun and irreverent.

Just you.

It will be always be just you. You've never admitted that to yourself but now that you did, you feel such panic rise in your chest that you don't hear him at first. Not until his voice broke through the haze.

“Y/N.”

It was soft, tentative, but it still cut through the silence like a blade.

You flinched, your head snapping toward the source of the voice. Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression shadowed with concern.

He had followed you.

“I told you to leave me alone,” you managed, your voice trembling as you turned away, willing him to disappear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, his footsteps growing louder as he moved closer with a cautiousness that made you feel like a wounded animal. “Talk to me.” He added, the pleading in his voice almost running free.

"I mean it, Jungkook.. go away." You tried putting distance between the both of you again but far too quick for your slowed senses, he was now standing right in front of you, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with him while also knowing.

"And I told you, I'm not leaving." His tone had coarsened and your dam had broke.

“Why now?” you cried, stepping closer to him, your fists balling at your sides. “Why do you want to stay now? You’ve spent years acting like a stranger, Jungkook. Years acting like I didn’t exist. And now—”

You shoved at his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him, but he didn’t move.

“Now you want to act like you care?” you yelled, your voice cracking as you hit him again. “Now you want to be here? Why?”

Jungkook stood still, his arms at his sides, his chest solid and unyielding beneath your fists. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t even try to stop you. He just let you hit him, let you pour out everything.His silence infuriated you, and yet it steadied you in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why do you care now?" you repeated, your voice cracking, trembling like your hands as they hit his chest incessantly. Each word felt like it scraped raw against your throat. "Where were you, Jungkook? When everything fell apart, when I—when I needed someone. Where were you?"

“I don’t need you now!” you snapped, your tears falling freely now. “I don’t need you to come here and act like you care, like you’ve always cared, because we both know that’s not true."

“Because you left!" your voice cracked, the words laced with betrayal. The hurt from the breach of faith weakening you and your punches on his chest until they finally stilled, your hands trembling still as they curled into the fabric of his shirt. Jungkook caught your wrists, his hold firm but gentle, and for a moment, you fought him, your breaths coming in sharp and ragged. But when he didn’t let go, when he didn’t flinch or step back, the fight drained out of you.

Your knees buckled, and his arms came around you slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid you might push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were too tired now. Empty hands that had been holding onto something for as long as you could remember were too tired, have forgotten the feeling of what it felt like to be held instead.

You allowed to let yourself feel that. You allowed yourself to feel someone else other than the woman you couldn’t even recognize in a mirror as you sagged against him, your head pressing against his shoulder as your tears soaked into his shirt, body shaking and shivering from the quiet sobs that you let out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, angel." You heard him say those words like a mantra against your hair, arms tightening around you, nestling you close against his chest.

For a moment, you heard pain there, raw and unfiltered, pain that felt similiar to your own in ways you hadn’t expected. You clutched his shirt tighter. You didn't wanted to be alone and Jungkook felt and smelled of times when you weren't. Earthy and Warm. Like that one time when he pulled you in to him after the death of milo- your first dog, and didn’t even mind your snort.

You had clung to those memories but it felt better clinging to him. A small, desperate part of you wanting to drag him closer, to cling to what little you had left of the past. The rest of you wanted to push him away, to keep screaming at him for daring to come back after all this time, after all this distance.

The sobs subsided slowly, leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if it might shatter with the wrong word or movement. Jungkook didn’t push you away, didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulled you closer, as though he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your gaze searching his face. His eyes shadowed, a stupid perfect strand of his stupid perfect hair falling on his forehead with tension prominent in his jaw and you wondered if there was a time there wasn't.

You wondered if it would make you any more vulnerable that you are right now if you say the words that sit on the top of your tounge, sting in the tears that linger in the corner of your eyes.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They felt dangerous, like exposing a wound that had barely begun to scab over.

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath, and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

Your body stiffened at the confession, the world around you shrinking until it was just the two of you, his voice echoing in your ears.

Your first instinct was disbelief.

This can't mean what you think it does.

This can’t mean what you think it does!

The words replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to settle. Each repetition twisted something deeper, something buried in the hollow space that had once been you.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, needing space, needing air.

He didn’t move. His gaze followed you, his expression resolute, like he was determined to lay everything bare now that the first truth had slipped out.

But you didn’t even wanted to acknowledge it as something, let alone, a truth. “That’s not—” Your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to start again. "Are you drunk, Jungkook?" You found the thought so repulsing, you could only think of ways to brush this up, put all the blame on the champagne.

From the way his eyes narrowed and brow ridged, you could tell that it was not the champagne.

“Y/N.” he says with a warning. “I’m not fucking drunk.”

“Well, you sound like you are,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Because that—what you just said—sounds like something someone says when they’re not thinking clearly. You're not making any sense, Jungkook!"

“It makes sense,” he was starting to get frustated now. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”

And you were starting to get scared. You needed him to stop talking. Anything and everything he said made you physically want to recoil. You took another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the weight of unsaid words that are no longer so.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking, hands tempted to cover your ears like a child. His confession felt like a pin pulled from a grenade, and now the blast was unfurling within you. “Don’t do this. It's not fair. It's-It's not fair to him. Or me. Or you."

I know. He admits quietly to himself because he doesn't think anyone knows better than the man who was holding the jagged ends of a once delicate thread. And he hates himself for it because hating you was as unrealistic as the existence of a greater being to him. He had tried. Tried turning to salvation. Tried to despise you for being the one thing that has turned him the best and worst person he can be but he just can't. He prefers hating himself better.

He wants this punishment, that is you. He wants to whisper I'm sorry- I'm sorry for leaving- I'm sorry for coming back in every crook and nook of your body for the rest of his life so you'd feel his expression of regret that could only be a product of love so consuming embedding into you.

Because it's truth. It's his truth, has been for years and years, before he even knew what are the consequences of being a honest person. Now that he is seeing you in front of him—you with a revolting look, a stray tear rolling down your eyes that is nowhere near as angry as it had been before, he understands that it's not a consequence he can take.

He dares to step forward again and even if takes a whole lot of power in him not to pull you into him again, he doesn't and only raises a hand and catches the tear with his thumb.

“You don’t get to do this to me.” you repeat, your voice low and trembling.

And so does his. "I know."

Jungkook didn’t know what he expected you to say, what he hoped for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He wasn’t sure he deserved either.

Yet when you don't pull away, look back at him with the same daring he had stepped forward with, a silence understanding passes between the space that is separating you from him. And he's done being separated from you.

He tilted his head down, his breath stirring your hair when he inhaled deeply, his nose tracing a path down until it rubbed against yours—softly, deliberately—as if giving you time to move away. You didn't and his eyes fell on your inviting mouth again.

Fuck it.

Jungkook surged forward, his hands cupping your face, tipping your face up to him as his lips crashed against yours. The way he kissed you was nothing like the way he had touched you. It was rough, desperate with the way tounge and teeth clashed, filled with years of pent up desire and regret and emotions too tangled to name.

He kissed you like the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling in places too far from home, wondering if you’d be happier without him there to complicate things, wondering if things had been any different if he said something before. Will you have looked at him like the way you looked at his brother? Would that choice have saved you from years and years of tragedy? Would that have saved him from the weight of his guilt, his love—love that had been a silent, unwelcome presence in his life for so long that it felt like another organ, vital and inescapable?

When he felt you grip him again and kiss him back. Nothing else mattered. The world stopped spinning and he didn't wanted to run anymore.

His hands found your waist, gripping tightly. A low groan slipping from his mouth to yours at the feeling of how you melted against him when he deepened the kiss, tounge proding and exploring all that your sweet mouth had to offer. Gods, he was drunk now.

"Shit." He shuddered as the taste of you finally started to settle in, pulling you closer and closer, then pushing you back until your back met the wall of the hallway.

You should be scared, anxious and pushing him back. The mere thought of someone walking in on you kissing him, your supposed family. Should make you want to end this because you could only imagine the stake they'd pin you on. They'd be not wrong to.

This is traitorous—what you're doing, what you're allowing yourself. But so is a shameful part of you that had always reached for him. Something that whispered to you, so soft it felt like it came from inside your own chest.

It's not so bad. His lips feel good.

But oh, it is. It makes you sick from just thinking how bad it is. Anger, confusion, guilt—oh, the guilt—swirl together and make you so sick.

"W-We shouldn’t.." You gasp against him as your unpracticed lips suck on his in a contradiction.

"No, we shouldn't." He kisses you harder, his mouth only leaving yours to trail a train of kisses along the column of your accessible throat to him, making you whimper out loud that he takes as an sign to nibble and bite.

Your hands find their way to his shoulder and his to your hips. "Legs around me." He licks the length of your neck, narrowing your world down to the feeling of his provoking wet tounge on your skin, his calloused fingers squeezing your hips. It felt all too real now. And despite you being balant enough to start this in the first place, you're not sure if you're still feeling bold. What you are feeling is this sinful, unexplainable craving seeping into your bones, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breath and think. Or maybe it's him.

Whatever it is, you get yourself to pause his eager hands and hungry mouth and speak, your breath coming in short, hot puffs. "Jungkook.. I don't think-" He straightens up and the vulnerability in his voice and eyes is gone as he squeezes your hips tighter.

"Finally gave me that perfect mouth of yours and now you want to walk away? Do you like tormenting me, angel? Do you like knowing that I'd fuck my fist to only the thought of you when you do?" He growls against your ear and you feel yourself flush so hard you're sure he even feels the heat coming off you in ripples.

"Please, baby." He pleads unapologetically, fingers tugging you closer even when all of you is pressed against all of him. "I want you." So bad it hurts.

Gone is the man who had once been so armored, seemed so unreachable and untouchable. And left is Jeon Jungkook, who looks like he will crumble to the ground if you pull away now.

You wouldn't want that. But the words came anyway, right from where shame twisted in your stomach, tangling with the guilt that clawed at your throat. "Do you still want me even if I'm nothing like the woman I used to be?" It came out breakable and in segments, and the second they left your lips, you weren’t sure what to except as a answer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing.

You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes was almost unbearable, raw and unrelenting as they searched yours.

"Don't ever say that again." he bit out, every syllable heavy. "I want you always. I want you with my every breath. There's always been only you for me, understand?" He added with a brief grind of his hardened arousal against your front, making you mewl.

The words, though, hit you like a physical forcek, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself, the ones you’d convinced yourself were impenetrable.

Before you could respond, he moved.

His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.

You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.

When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.

Audacious, you were.

Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.

Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.

And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.

You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.

It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.

The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.

But he still wore it.

He still wore it.

Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.

And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.

"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."

The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.

You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.

You had missed that sound. You had missed him.

And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.

"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It had been so long.

Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.

You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.

"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.

A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.

"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."

You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.

You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.

Then again, he was all about surprising you today.

Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.

The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.

Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.

"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.

And so he did.

Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.

"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.

He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.

A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.

This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.

"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.

Oh.

Oh.

It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.

He would never be the same again.

That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.

It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.

"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.

A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.

"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.

Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.

"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.

You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.

He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.

How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?

How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?

You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.

"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.

"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.

It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.

He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.

Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.

Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.

"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.

"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.

"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.

But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.

"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.

But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.

"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.

He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.

It’s been so long.

The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.

"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.

An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.

His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.

Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.

Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.

And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.

And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.

“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."

All you could possibly do was feel him.

He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.

He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.

Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.

He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.

"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.

"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.

You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.

"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.

"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.

"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.

"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.

And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.

You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.

He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.

You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.

You were ruined by him.

There was no going back from this. You knew that.

What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.

You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.

Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.

Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."

You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."

It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.

[grapeyedmania]

♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎

Hello. This is a new account, created; I've had previous, but none were pursued to be fledged into Tumblr walls. Hence why I care little for people's assumptions on my authenticity.

Despite saying this, however, I am not an expert. I'm aware on how to reach people - through the use of reposts, tags, and pinned posts - but I' m not actively social. I skulk behind my screen and like what I favour, and ignore what doesn't appeal to me.

Anyway, onto the reason as to why this post has been published.

Yes, I shift realities. I have shifted, and will continue to.

I am a Law Of Assumption (L.O.A) user, and expectant Permashifter, who has been involved in the spiritual aspect of life since I was a child - though, I disconnected for a while and have recently found my way back onto the correct path.

But, why have I mentioned this?

Well, first and foremost, I would like to have mutuals. TikTok is up in the air at the moment, with the expected ban due in any day now, and ShiftTok was never really a.. comfortable place, shall we say. Don't even get me started on the bullshit 'shifting genetics' circulating right now. Nonetheless, this is an opportunity for myself, and others, to reach out.

Secondly, I would like to start building a platform. I see lots of people, shifters and non, on Tumblr and the communities they create through their posts. That's something of envy, for me; a connection to strive for through appreciation. If I had the opportunity for such experience (s) - which I do - then I will be embracing it.

Third, and final. Because I have been a member of the shifting community for now around five years (is it weird I feel old?..), I find it difficult to ignore the fact that reality shifting is still treated like an enemy, rather than something to befriend. This shouldn't be the case when shifting is a part of you; you are the missing piece to its puzzle. Have fun and thrive on that and, once it's done, you can stand up and see the full picture.

MY JOURNEY:

I discovered reality shifting in 2020, like most, during COVID-19; something which saved but simultaneously ruined my life. It was on TikTok, as expected, I came across a video of a girl claiming to have returned from 8 months at Hogwarts. Now naturally, I was confused and - albeit embarrassingly - assumed she'd stayed at the Universal Orlando Resort.. because, how else could she have been there? And despite me being spiritually inclined, I refused the idea of transcending the boundaries of reality. Now, this is where it gets a bit fuzzy.. I'm sure my brain has blocked out the process which occurred thereafter, as I cannot seem to remember anything beyond confirming that reality shifting was, in-fact, real. But, eventually, I seemed to accept that which didn't seem possible, and began my journey. I was fortunate to have friends - only a couple but they were friends all the same - involved along with me, and so together we helped, cried, and scripted our way through 2020 / 21.

Additionally, on my first try, I ended up partially shifting.

The last shift I experienced was around six months ago, when I shifted accidently to a parallel reality of my intended one. I haven't attempted since, but am now focusing on starting anew. I would really like to share my journey with y'all.

MY BLOG:

It has no direction. Of course, like I'd previously stated, there is maybe a little - reality shifting is a big part of my life. But I'd also like to engage in other areas ( w/ fandoms, moodboards, and writing). This isn't an N.S.F.W blog, but I'd prefer this to be aimed at 18+ as I am an adult.

D.N.I if you are an arsehole (anti-shifter, sexist, homophobic etc.).

❝ If you weren't ready you wouldn't have the opportunity; if you weren't capable, you wouldn't have the desire. ❞

Thank you for taking the time to read this post; even more thanks if any of y'all have interacted. Please feel free to comment, repost, or talk via my ask box.

I will be posting more content.

-- ᏖᏗᏝᏝᎥᏋ x

♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎ | ♉︎ ♌︎ ♏︎

[wildharesandboundteeth]

How Lord Ares feels to me

TW: mentions of a shitty legal system, abuse, mentions of death, mention of suicidal ideation, descriptions of starvation, ect.

Even if I've never been on an actual battlefield, even before He was a flicker in my mind, even before I formally met Him, my viscera knows Lord Ares well. Fight or flight. Wrath and restraint. Dogma and rebellion. Blood in teeth.

I recall it so clearly, and yet no matter how hard I try to put it into words, I can never do it justice.

The cold touch of the floor upon my skin. The gentle hands of Sleep soothing me, offerings of refuge both a mercy and a lethal temptation. Death hushing my rumbling stomach, His scythe carving away at my muscle and fat until my skin began to squeeze my bones.

After years of wishing for it, it seemed like I'd finally get my wish fulfilled.

My time was up. No more tricks, no more spells, no more wiles. No more running and hiding like a little mouse. No more twisting and slipping like a snake. No more snarling and biting like a dog. Couldn't even bat my eyes or roll over. Labelled as an animal, dying like one.

Above truth, above justice, above humanity. It's always been about appearances. Best ignore it. Let it die by itself. Let's not shatter the illusion, hm? So people don't know what they let happen. The law wouldn't save me- a truth I had beaten into me many, many times in childhood.

Though, it'd be wrong to refer to it as 'childhood' since I had been a child back when I first felt whispers death's merciful silence.

Yet even in the encroaching silence, I could could still hear my abuser's voice outside my prison. It was merry.

Carefree.

Even if my mind had finally grown as quiet as my body, I understood.

"I'm dying."

I wonder if it was Hermes that had called Him. He's been with me for years, even if I hadn't known it was Him guiding my hands as I learned His craft. I wonder if it was because He'd been there to drop off a delivery of dreams. Or if it was because it was because He was there to collect after Death had reaped. I wonder if He'd heard me on the phone as I begged my helpless sibling not to let me die. Did He hear their stifled sobs under my desperate ones? Does it haunt Him like it does me? Or perhaps He's seen it all before.

It only a mere few seconds, it was a thousand years.

A flicker.

"I want to live."

Even as my bones creaked in the absence of muscle and sinew.

"I want to live."

Even as my mind stayed blank as the static haze of fight and flight began boiling within my very soul.

"I want to live."

Even if the realisation was as quiet, it was as sure as my understanding of my end. A fact of life. Unseen yet just as real as the potential energy in a battery.

My heartbeat that had once slowed itself in resignation was beginning to beat like a war drum. All at once, steady and frantic.

Was it His twins that had sized my body, shaking it with terror and panic? Was it Them that shooed away starvation, that had asked Death for more time? Did the Sister of War and Discord choose to stay their gracious hands, waiting for my escape? It must be so, since I had somehow scrambled into the arms of Victory.

Even as lies and cunning weaved and twisted, I still wasn't thinking. Was it Hermes whispering in my ear? Or perhaps was it Ares running through the familiar channels of a weapon well honed. Maybe a little bit of both.

It's been years since that day. I still haven't recovered, and yet my viscera still sings the name of Lord Ares as loudly and familiarly as it has that day.

The Gods are old.

They have seen this exact story play out a thousand times and have seen a thousand different endings.

I know this and yet...

Whenever I reach out my scarred, bloody hands in prayer, I'm still so surprised when the Deimon of War itself does not flinch away. He does not offer empty pity. He does not offer dismissal.

He takes his own hands, a billion times more scarred and bloody than mine, and gently guides me along. Even when I fall and have to crawl back. Again and again, big gentle hands cradle mine as He pulls me up. The recovery after a battle, a war in and of itself.

And still, and still, and still, and still.

When the unwearying commander looks down upon me, I still cannot believe He is not disgusted or repulsed.

It is not the splendid laugh of darling Hermes, yet I am energised all the same. It is not the sustenance nor the tender love of pulchritudinous Mother Gaia, yet I am nourished all the same.

He just. Gets it.

Maybe it's because I've never had that deep, unflinching understanding before that point. Maybe it's because I'm still that dying animal in its death throes despite my efforts to cover it up. Maybe it's because I had never seen someone who bares so many wounds be so effortlessly gentle, wise, and kind.

Maybe it's because when I see Him, I start to wonder if I can be like that too.

Maybe it's because I'm starting to believe it when He says I've done well.

That He's proud of me.

That I'm someone to be proud of.

Maybe it's because He's just That Great.

But man, I love Lord Ares so goddamn fuckimg much.

[addictiedtocrimedrama]

26 Years Chapter 2- Chapter 1 - 2x01, Lost Souls

Summary: It's been almost a year since Clara rejoined the IRT and things are back to normal and the team still oblivious of her and Jack's relationship (or so they though).

(as the title suggests this is set before/during/a bit after the season 2 premier aka "Lost Souls")

Author's Notes: Sorry I haven't updated in months but school events and exams got the better of me and got be bussy/forget to work on this chapter.

Anyways, this is gonna be the start of the story. I will just let you guys know that this fic will include/mention characters from CSI: NY, FBI (TV 2018), and Law & Order. When the jet lands it's around 6:50 PM on a Saturday and Isa had a group call for a class at 7:20 PM since her school is in the Philippines, so it would be a Sunday if we're talking Philippine time, and she's also gonna be studying online. This fic takes place during season 2 because it feels like this is when Jack and Clara's relationship finally gets revealed. After all, there are so many times I feel like they couldn't keep hiding and tell the team. But I'll take my time with that. I should also let you guys know that the first two parts of this chapter takes place right before the season 2 premiere. The dialogue is mostly taken from the episode/s itself and I might skip a few lines here and there. Starting from this chapter onwards will quotes used at the start of every chapter which would be the bookend quotes from each episode. I'll also at bits of angst here and there throughout out the story, so beware. The characters at times may feel OOC, but it's fanfiction, so I don't care. Any and all mistakes are mine.

WARNING: I DON'T OWN CRIMINAL MINDS: BEYOND BORDERS, IT BELONGS TO ERICA MESNER AND CBS.

As usual gif credit goes to @shannyfishwriter bucause it's from their blog where I saved this gif. Also please consider this gif as a spoiler for what's gonna happen near the end of the chapter.

Little by little, a little becomes a lot. - Tanzanian proverb

Clara puts her mug in the cabinet and sighs. Another case is solved and she and the team are heading home. She's glad about that, especially since none of them's gotten a full night's sleep because they've been getting case after case since last week. She takes a seat on one the couch and sighs again. Then she hears someone approaching her.

"Though I might find you here." She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. She gave a small smile before replying "Can't really hide from you can I." she said turning to Jack.

To a normal person, it sounded like she was asking a question, but in reality, she was telling a statement. Jack chucked "Well I guess you're stuck with me SSA Seger or should I say SSA Seger-Garrett," he says taking a seat next to her. She gave a small laugh at that and slightly snuggled next to him.

They knew keeping their relationship a secret from the team was a bad idea, but neither of them ever dared to tell the team. They stayed like that in silence for a few minutes until Jack asked, "What's on your mind?" Clara gave a deep sigh and then said, "Nothing really, just ready to go home and finally get a full night's sleep." They once again stayed like that for a few more minutes until they both silently agreed to finish up the files on the table.

They worked in comfortable silence until they heard what sounded like Isa arguing with either Mae or Emma. When they came into view they realized that Isa was arguing with Mae about waking her up 25 minutes until the plane would land. Clara silently chuckled at the fact that Isa knows so much about aircrafts just by watching a TV series and that she makes a big deal that she's woken up 25 minutes before they land like it's that if she doesn't get into her seat 30 minutes before they land it's like she's gonna die. When the plane landed, the team packed up their bags and went home.

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When they get home, it was 6:50. Isa went to the room that she shares with Emma since her some of her classmates had a group call that was going to start, and Emma was with RJ working on their homework with a bit of help from Jack and Clara. After around 50 minutes, Emma and RJ are done with their homework, and they're talking about what they're going to have for dinner.

"What do you kids want for dinner?" Jack asks RJ and Emma. "I want to try this new restaurant I saw on the way home from school, I couldn't remember the name, but the sign had a chicken holding some kind of drink over the name of it," RJ said sadly. After a few beats, Emma spoke up "We passed by that restaurant on our way home right mom" she said enthusiastically "We did are you talking about this restaurant RJ?" Clara asked showing RJ a photo of the restaurant, "Yeah that's the one though it said that they're only serving take-out." Jack and Clara glanced it had been a while since they had take-out at home. "Okay we'll have JJ's tonight," Clara said, "Can either one of you two ask Isa what she wants for dinner?" she added.

"I'll do it, I need to head to my and Isa's room to grab my headsets anyway." Emma said "Okay Em but be quiet since I'm pretty sure that she's still in one of her classes" Jack replied after checking his watch. She nodded and headed to the room she shares with Isa.

She quietly opened the door, so Isa can't hear her and waves at Isa and mouths (grabbing my headsets) to her, and after she finds them, she asks Isa, who just removed her headphones "Hey mom and dad asked what you're gonna have for dinner since we're ordering take out from JJ's." Isa thought for a moment before saying, "Can you tell them I'll have the Adobo Flakes with the egg sunny side up and Sago't Gulaman." the only reply Isa got was "okay". Before she leaves, Emma asks her, "You guys already done or something? I saw you removing your headphones." Isa shakes her head and replies saying "Nah, we just took a quick break since this project's going to take longer than we expected." she simply replied "Okay, just curious" then she left.

A few minutes later, their order arrives. "Hey RJ can you give these to Isa," Clara asks, giving RJ a take-out box and cup with a straw and a spoon and fork. "Okay, mom" was the only reply RJ gave his mom. Later, when RJ comes back down, he eats with his family at the dinner table. After dinner, they cleared up the table, took a shower, and got ready to go to sleep, which Emma was relieved about. A few hours later Emma checks the clock in the living room to see it's a quarter to 11 which she knew was when Isa usually logs off and just does the rest of her homework in the morning. Emma enters her room to see Isa just about to shut down her laptop.

______________________________________________________________

The next day was a Sunday so Matt spent time with his family at the park, Mae and Monty were having brunch together, Isa was doing her homework, and Jack, Clara, Emma, and RJ went to mass. Later that day, the team got a case involving a Church group that went missing in Tanzania.

"We've got 23 missing Americans in Tanzania. They're members of the Brunswick Mission Church in Texas" Jack said as they boarded the jet. "They spent a week volunteering in villages before they disappeared. They were last seen en route to a rural retreat. Uh, the conductor had eyes on them about 2:30 in the morning, their time." Monty said giving them details about the church group and the case. "Well, That was 12 hours ago. A lot can happen between now and then." Simmons said, bringing up the time gap.

  "Have the local police searched the area where the train stopped?" Isa asked the question that was on all their minds. "That's the thing. They didn't stop." Monty replied. All of them were confused, how could 23 people vanish from a moving train. Clara decided to ask that question, "Well, you're... you're saying people vanished from a moving train?", "Yes, but all the employees insisted there were no stops, no commotion." Monty said in a matter-of-factly way.

"Then what's their explanation?" Mae asked, still not believing that 23 people disappeared from a moving train. "The Rapture." Jack said, reading from the case file in hand. All of them turned their heads towards Jack, shocked to hear the local's explanation. "Like... "plucked from the Earth and taken to Heaven" rapture?" Emma asked, not convinced it's the best explanation for how the Americans went missing. "The one and only." Jack confirming what she said.

"Yeah, well, we have to assume that it wasn't a miracle that took these people." Isa said, not believing that they were taken by the rapture. "How does an Unsub take 23 people?" Emma asked, still bewildered at this case, "Well, we can't figure out the how unless we know the who." Clara pointed out, "Who has the skills to pull this off?". "It'd have to be an organized group who's done this kind of thing before." Matt said, "And I bet they're heavily armed." Isa said trying to make sense of everything. "Well, criminal gangs and rebels have surged into Tanzania to escape their own unrest. I mean, travelers are easy prey." Clara said thinking that they could be looking at a criminal gang or rebels who took the Americans.

"Monty, any luck on getting us the passenger manifest?" Jack asked the analyst, "No, because most tickets were purchased in cash. However, I am trying to figure out how many more passengers there were on the train by going through the background in social media posts." Monty said to his boss. "The Americans posted these on their way to the retreat, before the cellphone service went out." he added, showing the team a video of the Americans having fun on the train. "Do all the missing have active social media accounts?" Mae asked, "No. About half of them. Why?" Monty replied, not sure where Mae was going on this, "Because their loved ones are gonna be expecting an update soon." She replied. "Yeah, we should get ahead of this, reach out to their families." Clara said, agreeing with Mae.

"Monty, we need to control what gets out, so it's best they come to you. That's a lot of people. Maybe the B.A.U. can help." Jack said, knowing that he might need help with the families. "Both governments have agreed to wait 24 hours before releasing a media statement. The clock starts when you land." Monty said, letting them know they have a day until the American and Tanzanian governments would release a statement. "Well, a day doesn't give us much time to find 'em." Clara said a bit grimly. "Well, let's hit the ground running. Local police have started a search, but the area is so vast, they need us to help narrow it down. These people were out to help others. I'm not about to let them get punished for it." Jack replied.

______________________________________________________________

"Some things to keep in mind... avoid touching people of the opposite sex since this could upset some people." Clara told them as they drove to the station where the train that the missing Americans rode is located. " And always keep your left hand to yourself, since it is considered dirty." she added. Almost all of them glanced at Isa who said jokingly, "Hey, I can only control myself, not how others respond to me. And before anyone asks, yes that was a direct quote from Criminal Minds: Beyond Borders: The Reboot episode Harvested where the team went to India." they all laughed at her since they all know how much she loves the show. For the rest of the drive, they talked about a lot of other things until they reached the station.

______________________________________________________________

When they got to the train, they saw a man they assumed was their liaison. They got out of the jeep and approached him. "Inspector Polino" the man introduced to them offering his hand to Jack. "Unit Chief Garrett. This is my team... Agents Simmons, Seger, Rubirosa, Jarvis, and Garcia." Jack said, introducing himself and the team. "Agents, please come this way." Inspector Polino gestured for them to follow him. "We saw no forced entry, and it looks like the belongings of the Americans are still on board." he relaid to them as they walked next to the train.

"We need to speak with the employees who discovered this." Jack said, "I hope you get more out of them than I did." Inspector Polino replied, "Are they cooperating?" Isa asked, silently hoping that they wouldn't give any of them trouble. "Yes, just insistent on their beliefs. But I believe there's someone responsible." was the reply of Inspector Polino, "Does this look like the work of any militias or rebels around here?" Clara asked, wondering if her theory on the jet was right. "There are legends out there... men who go beyond just stealing what they can and leaving tourists stranded, ones who want to punish." said Inspector Polino. "Can you lead us to these men?" Matt asked, "They are who they are because we cannot catch them. They attack and move on. They are the most dangerous ones." replied the Inspector. "We understand that, but right now, they're our best lead, so we need to track 'em down." Emma said, trying to figure out how to track them down.

"Clara, Emma and Mae, you start on victimology from what's left on the train." Jack said, "Simmons and Isa, the two of you should look at routes and talk to the conductor who found the empty car." he added. Turning to Inspector Polino he said "Inspector, I'd like to talk to the search party." the Inspector replied saying "They are gathering here soon. I also have officers searching the route, but they are overwhelmed. The train traveled overnight, no stations between. Where do we begin?" Jack, understanding they have a lot of area to cover, said, "Well, give us an hour. We'll have a starting point."

______________________________________________________________

Emma, Mae, and Clara got on the train and were going through what the victims left. "So the youngest is Nicholas... 7 years old. Son to single mom Rebecca." Clara said, while also going through some photos on a tablet, "That's brave to bring him all this way." Mae responded, "Well, yeah, but they were traveling with their church, so it's essentially an extended family." replied Emma from the far end of the train car they were in.

Mae looks around the train car and notices something "That's weird" she said. "What is?" Clara replied, looking up from the tablet in her hands. Mae looks around the train car again to make sure her suspicions were right "If this has anything to do with money, it's strange the UnSubs didn't take any of the valuables." she answered as Clara approached one of the seats "This attack was quick and efficient. They prioritized." she added to what Mae said.

"Maybe they were holding out for something more, like ransom." Emma suggested as she rejoined Mae and Clara. "Yeah" Mae said as she turned to face one of the seats and notices something. "Also forensic countermeasure" she added, then held up one of the phones to Clara and Emma. "There's no reason for us to track the GPS, since their phones are right here." Emma then checked one of the windows then said "And like the inspector said, there's no sign of forced entry."

As they continued to look around the train car, Mae notices something then proceeds to approach the door of the train car, "The only thing is this door." she said as she picks up a screwdriver that was on the floor near the train car door. "Maybe the UnSubs were on board." Clara said as she turns around and walks to Mae. "Yeah, but a jumping would have caused a lot of injuries" Mae countered, bringing up the fact there was a lack of a struggle. "Unless this is an inside job." Emma suggests as she looks out one of the windows. Mae and Clara walk towards Emma and also look out the window. "Yeah, this would make sense if one of the employees was in on it." Clara added, agreeing to what Emma was implying.

______________________________________________________________

While Emma, Mae, and Clara were going through what's left of the train, Matt and Isa along with Inspector Polino went to talk to the conductor who found the train and look at routes the train could have traveled.

When they approached the conductor, Inspector Polino spoke first saying something in Swahili neither Matt nor Isa could understand. "Yes, Gervas." the man replied. "And I speak English." he added. "Thank you for helping us. So were you the last one to see the Americans?" Matt asked. "I did rounds at 2:30. Everything was fine." Gervas replied. "And you arrived here at... at 6:30 this morning" Matt said. Gervas simply replied with a simple, "that's right". "So somewhere in the span of those four hours, the Americans disappeared. Do you know what happened?" at that question, Inspector Polino turns to look at Gervas while Isa carefully watches him.

"I think it was the Rapture." Gervas said simply. "They were delivered to Heaven." he added. Isa, who wasn't convinced, said "You think they were the chosen ones?". "I do." was his reply. "But you were not." Inspector Polino said equally, if not more, unconvinced than Isa. At that Gervas turned his head to look at Inspector Polino and said "It's okay. I have many responsibilities here. ". "Do you have children?" Matt asked. "Yes. Do you?" he replied. "Yeah." was Matt's reply, "And I keep thinking about those parents are going through back in the United States." at that Gervas walked to the side of the table separating him and Simmons and said, "They should be happy. Their loved ones are with God."

When Gervas said that Isa and Inspector Polino getting a little irritated which made Isa snap and say "You cannot prove that". At that, Gervas backs away a bit from Isa. Matt intervenes by stepping a little in between Gervas and Isa, then he turned to face Gervas and says "Listen... I can't do my job unless I look at all sides. The thing is, we do believe they were chosen, just not in the same way you believe in. And whoever took them was watching and waiting for them to be vulnerable. We think they're organized, and patient, we also believe that they needed help from the inside to pull this off." at that Inspector Polino was glancing between Matt and Garvas while Isa was giving him a mild glare. Though that glare might have been more intense than she was projecting since it was enough to scare him. "Now you're saying the train never stopped." Matt asked, hoping to finish this soon before Isa's temper gets the better of both herself and Gervas. "That's correct." was all he said.

Matt knew that the next question might be hard, but he knew he had to. "Well, forgive me for asking, but if someone were to threaten your family, would you do whatever it took to protect them?" to which Gervas simply replied "Of course". "Would you stop a train, so they could kidnap Americans?" Isa asked in a bit of a harsh tone, harsher than she was hoping for, if was being honest. At that Gervas backed away more then said "Listen, I swear on my children's lives that did not happen. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?" in a bit of a half panicked, half defensive tome. "Look, if I'm lying, my children will be damned to hell. Look, I had nothing to do with this. I swear to you, I did not do anything. Please..." he added.

Matt, trying to calm him down said "Okay, okay, okay." with that Gervas release a sigh. "Alright. I believe you. I need your help. You've worked this train for years, right?" Matt asked. Gervas simply replied a simple "yes". "Alright" Isa responded. Though she didn't mean it, her response came out a little sarcastic, which she internally winced about. Then everyone goes to the table where Matt asked Gervas "So there's 400 miles between when you last saw then and when you arrived here in Arusha." to which he simply nodded. "Can you us any terrain where you may have slowed down, even a little bit?" Matt asked. "Yeah, I can do that." Gervas replied, then proceeded to do as Matt asked.

______________________________________________________________

Jack was waiting for the search party to arrive when he saw Clara, Emma, and Mae getting off the train, "What did you guys find out?" he asked. Clara the first to get off said "Well the UnSubs were definitely on boar and like what the Inspector said there's no sign of forced entry. We... Aaahh" though she wasn't able to finish what she was saying because she lost her footing and trip. Thankfully, Jack was able to catch her before she fell flat on her face. "Better watch your step next time, Clara." he said, helping her straighten herself out. Clara rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah, yeah".

"There were also no signs of any resistance, so it could be an inside job." Mae said being a bit more careful as she got off the train. "If this was an inside job, was one of the employees in on it too?" Jack asked her. Emma was getting off shrugged then said, "We won't know until Isa and Matt get back. And there's no chance of us using GPS to track them, since they left their phones on the train". "I also noticed that the door was jammed from the inside with a screwdriver." Mae added, to which Jack nodded then said "That could strengthen your theory that it's an inside job". "Yeah, and the UnSubs also didn't take any valuables, which told us the attack was quick and efficient and that they also prioritized." Clara added. "Which mean they could be holding out for something like a ransom demand." Jack concluded.

Emma turned her head a little then exclaimed, "That's what I thought ". Just then the search part came, then Jack left to address them. Almost instinctively, Clara followed in suit.

______________________________________________________________

Jack quickly scanned the small group of people who had come to help them. "First, I want to thank you all for volunteering your time. We believe we're dealing with a specialized abduction, requiring many offenders. They're confident, organized, and have the means to hold 23 people hostage. They likely have access to encampments, vehicles, and weapons. We're narrowing down a starting point for the search and can begin to canvass as soon as we confirm. Thank you" then Clara who was standing to his right said "Asante tena (Thank you again)."Just then they saw Isa and Matt jogging up to them. "Hey guys, we got a possible point of attack." Isa said, slightly panting. Jack made a quick glance at Clara as he said, "Let's go."

______________________________________________________________

As they exited the vehicles they saw a trellis to which Matt pointed out saying "So the train slowed down here to get over this trellis." Jack added to this, saying, "This could be the snatch-and-grab point, but it's doubtful they kept them here". "There's not much around. They were definitely exposed." said Emma as she commented on the lack of vegetation. "And look over there." Clara said, pointing towards the hill right next to the trellis. "They must have come down that hill". "The footprints... they were all scattered." Inspector Polino said as he pointed to the many footprints on the ground. "It would have been chaos, but they gained control." Isa said.

There were a few seconds in between when Isa asked, "Which way did they go?" and Mae calling out saying, "Guys, I got something here." then gestured for them to come to where she was. Which they did, and she said, "It looks like one of the leaders... Jacob Ross". Jacob was covered in blood with what looked like multiple stab wounds to his abdomen, bloodied knuckles, and blunt force trauma to his skull just to name a few.

After a while, they seemed to notice that they were being watched. "They've got eyes on us, up on the ridge" Jack said, looking up to a camp at the top of the ridge, then asked Inspector Polino, "What do you know about those rebels?". "The flag is a Somali rebellion that's wreaked havoc all over the continent." he answered then added saying, "They are at odds with everyone". "If the Americans are held hostage inside that camp, I'll lead the negotiation. I'm not calling in armed forces. Their presence could inflame the situation." Jack said then Clara responded saying, "Yeah, but we do have one thing on our side." she elaborated on it by saying, "In Somali culture, there's something called "kobigana ukiketi" which roughly translates to "fighting while seated." Those at odds can be civil, unless they're on the battlefield". "Okay, then. Simmons, Polino, and I will approach. Clara, you, Isa, Mae, and Emma lead the search party. We found one body. There could be more." Jack said to Clara.

A while later...

"What did you find up there? Do they have the Americans?" Clara asked them as they rejoined the rest of the team. "Well, it wasn't those guys. I mean, they're horrible, but they haven't got the space to hide anyone there." Matt responded. "And they're not organized enough for a mass abduction." Jack added, then turned to Mae and asked, "What have you got?" to which she replied saying, "Looks like Jacob Ross suffered multiple contusions from multiple sources. Put up a hell of a fight. He has defensive wounds all over. The C.O.D. is still undetermined, since I can't properly examine the corpse out here, but right now, I'd say it's a tie between the blunt force trauma to his skull or the stab wounds in his abdomen".

After hearing what Mae said, Isa asked, "Overkill anyone?". "The UnSubs may have taken the whole group, but I think that the target of their rage was Jacob." Mae said, to which Emma responded saying, "Well, he and a handful of others has volunteered in Tanzania before. Maybe they made enemies". "We should look into their previous trips, see if there's any other conflicts." Jack said. "Well, they were organized enough to plan forensic countermeasure, like dumping Jacob's body near the Somali rebel camp." Isa said, trying to get into their UnSubs head. "Well, the overkill tells us there's a personal connection, and they want them to be punished. Killing Jacob is proof that they mean what they say." Matt added. "We should look for secure locations where they could keep 22 people." Inspector Polino suggested. Clara, however, was a little doubtful and said, "Yeah. Problem is, if they have vehicles, they could be long gone by now."

______________________________________________________________

"When we looked at the things left behind on the train, women were the only ones who had personal items. The men traveled light." Mae said as she joined everyone else. "That sound stereotypical." Matt replied. Just then Emma's phone ringed telling her she got a message, she pulled the device out and said "Except it gets weirder." as she read the text. "Monty said he's only been able to get a hold of the missing women's families because they all had social media accounts". "But none of the men had any social media presence at all." Clara added, "Zilch." Emma confirmed.

"Go ahead, Monty" Jack said with his phone on speaker with Monty on the other end. "So Jacob's estranged wife is here, and she got really anxious when I mentioned the church and, more specifically, Elijah Ward. She said that Jacob would follow Elijah anywhere, and actually referred to him as a "loyal subject."" Isa scrunched her eyebrows then said, "Well, that's an interesting choice of words". "So they're not the partners that we thought they were. Elijah's the leader." Mae said, a bit stunned. "And Jacob was killed by someone he knows." Clara added. "Let's focus on Elijah." Jack said, as they got to work on a profile.

______________________________________________________________

"Elijah started this devout group, initiated Jacob as his right hand, and then 11 more men joined over the next few years." Mae said as she circled Jacob, Elijah, and 11 other faces in a group picture. "Elijah and his 12 disciples" Jack commented. "And then he slowly recruited nine more women, including Rebecca Moore, who brought along her son." Clara added. " According to their loved ones, all these women struggled with abuse and were searching for help." Monty informed them over the phone. Then Emma realized something, then said, "Which would make them easier to manipulate." which in turn made Isa realize she's on to something. "You think these women were taken against their will?" She asked her. "Yeah, I mean, they were far from home, which gives Elijah the ultimate power and control over them. They'd be too afraid to revolt." she replied. "We were looking in the wrong direction. The UnSub's on the inside." Matt concluded. "This is a radical cult, and Elijah is their charismatic leader." Isa continued. "He groomed these women to trust him. He used their faith against them." Jack added, then he finished by saying, "We can't let him get away with this". "So... where would Elijah take them." Matt asked as he placed a map on the table they were using.

A while later...

Jack rejoined the team with Inspector Polino and said, "Our initial profile was correct. This is a mission-oriented group, but Elijah is their leader". "And it took years for him, years for him to plan this." Clara continued. "Everything he does, he does for a reason. He chose all of these villages." Isa added, pointing to different parts of the map, then asked, "Do they have any meaning to you?". "These spiritual leaders are extremists." Inspector Polino replied. "Probably recruited those men to help set up the commune." Emma suggested.

"Elijah suffers from a religious psychopathology referred to as a "Moses complex." He doesn't think he's God, but believes he speaks for Him." Jack said. "And he believes he was chosen by God to lead his people to the promise land." Clara added. Then Emma got a text from Monty, then she said, "Hey guys, Monty just sent this. "Elijah was born and raised by a delusional young couple" who believed that he could speak to God". "And they named him accordingly. Elijah was a Hebrew prophet in both books of Kings and in the Old Testament." Isa said trying to remember a lesson is her CLF class. "His parents were arrested "for severe abuse to their other children." All were taken away, but it was too late for Elijah." Emma said as she continued reading Monty's text. "He was driven to make his parent's belief his life's mission." Clara concluded.

"He wasn't afraid to kill for it. Jacob's murder unleashed a homicidal rage. And if he's showing signs of euphoric stress, it could fuel him to take more risks and hurt more people." Matt said. "What were his sibling's names?" Jack asked. "He was the youngest of eight. Kids were Ezekiel, Isaac, Ruth, Caleb, Miriam, Rachel and Samuel." Emma replied as she finished reading Monty's text. "Why" Inspector Polino asked. "All names from the Old Testament. It was drilled into his head. He planned the train ride to get them close to the Olduvai Gorge." Jack answered. "And historians believe that's the original Garden of Eden." Isa said remembering it from a one of show she watched. "I know a shortcut." Inspector Polino said promptly. Then they all swiftly left the room and quickly got on the road.

______________________________________________________________

As they arrived near the Olduvai Gorge, they all quickly got out of the jeeps all geared up, with a few people already having their guns out and with flashlights in hand. There they saw what looked like a school bus. Jack was about to check it out when Mae spoke up and said "Jack?" then motions to the path in front of them. "They'll be protective and convinced we're attacking. We don't want another Waco. We go as a peaceful negotiation." Jack said, addressing the team and the backup force they had. Then they slowly walk to the path which would lead them to Elijah and the other Americans were.

[in the building where Elijah and 21 other people are]

They slowly enter the building, with Jack taking the lead. Then they saw Elijah and the other people turn, almost as if on instinct. "Who are you?" Elijah asked. "My name is Jack Garrett. I'm with the FBI." Jack answered, which made Elijah sate flatly, "You don't belong here, Jack." to which Jack countered by saying, "Neither do these people". At that, Elijah turned to fully face them, and everyone who was armed drew their guns. "We are on our own path. It's not for you to judge." he said. "I'm not judging. I'm protecting those who didn't choose to be here." Jack answered to which Elijah reasoned saying, "Every choice they made has brought them to this very spot." then Jack took a few steps forward and said "Maybe that's true, but if anyone's here against their will, that's against the law".

At that, Elijah addressed the members of the church group and asked them, "Brethren, do you recognize Jack?" he continued on saying, "He is the serpent that wants us to deny our truth!" to which Jack replied saying," I'm only advocating free will. We both believe in that. Does anyone want to leave?" at that, everyone who had their guns drawn tighten. "No one is in danger here, but your souls will be if you run back to the life you know, to darkness, to demons! We can start over here. I have built a safe place for you. Remember why we left! This is our destiny! Don't let them scare you." Elijah said, trying to convince the church group members to not go to the IRT and local police. "God's work is to spread the light, not hide it away from the world." Jack said then added, "Why would you hide everyone away?" to which Elijah replied saying, "Because the world isn't safe. And It's my fate to help others".

Jack took a few more steps towards him and said, "I know how you feel. Sometimes, I... take a leap of faith. Other times, I deal with hard facts, like in this case. You tricked the women to join you here." to which Elijah said, "No, I'm saving them from the abuse they have suffered". "Have you told anyone what happened to Jacob Ross?" Jack asked. At that, everyone turned their heads to face Elijah. "He was brutally murdered. It's the way he was killed that told us the most. It was personal. He showed signs of fighting back... bloody knuckles, skin under his fingernails." Jack continued then asked Elijah "Who did that to your face?" then he responded "Why would I kill Jacob?". "He threatened your leadership, and you punished him for it. Then you sacrificed Jacob to lead the investigation away from your paradise." Jack said, then added, "You're a false prophet and a murderer". Jacob, getting a little defensive said, "How dare you come in here and spill those lies?" then Jack quickly countered saying "All you men are trusted disciples. How much longer before he kills you?"

"I'm scared." Nicolas said, then ran to Jack. Then one of the armed men nudged Rebecca to do the same, then both her and Nicolas ran to Clara, who guided them out. "Free will, right?" Jack asked. As soon as Jack said that, all the women from the church group ran towards them, with Mae telling them reassuringly, "Come on. This way. Okay. You're safe now. Come on, come on".

Then, when they thought they were able to talk Jacob down he grabbed one of the armed men's guns and points to Jack, at the same time he draws his own gun and points it to Elijah. "You've ruined everything." then Jack replied, saying, "Don't you see? This was their fate". At that Elijah points his gun to his head in response to this, Jack said, "See if that's yours." Elijah replied, saying, "My blood will be on your hands. You will have sinned".

Jack slowly walked towards Elijah to try and make him let go of the gun, as he did so he said, "All you ever wanted was power and control. You have that now. Now go ahead. Be a martyr. Killing yourself makes you a sinner in the eyes of your followers, and you don't want that. Elijah, give me the gun. Let go of the gun". At that, Elijah lets go of the gun and surrenders.

______________________________________________________________

The case was finish, and they were on the way back home, everyone was asleep except for two certain agents. Clara took a seat in her usual chair at the wooden table and release a heavy sigh, then said, "That was one hell of a case". Jack hands her a mug of tea then took a seat right next to her and replied saying "Yeah, I have to agree with you on that." Clara then releases another heavy sigh before she took a bug gulp from her tea, then said, "It's always the ones you don't expect." Jack responded half teasingly, and half lovingly said, "That would be you sweetheart".

At that, Clara chuckles then with a smile on her face said, "Same with me, the last person I expect to do something is always you." her smile however disappeared as she turned to look intro the dark pool of her tea then back to Jack and said, "Do you think we should tell them?" finally addressing the elephant in the room. "About us, I mean." she clarifies since Jack was looking at her questioningly then he asked, "Where'd you get that from?" to which Clara replied saying, "Well ever since the accident at the train station I was almost 10% certain Mae was eyeing us".

At that, Jack sighed then said, "I feel like we should since there're gonna find out sooner or later." Clara nodded in response then said, "Yeah, I also feel like our luck is running out and something's gonna happen that'll be a factor for us telling them". Soon after saying that, Jack chuckles, then asked her, "What are you now, a psychic?". Clara herself couldn't help but let a laugh out and somehow managed to nudge him then said, "Hey, I'm just saying..." she wasn't able to finish what she was saying because a yawn escaped her lips then said, "You know what, I gonna head to the bunks and get some sleep before we land. You coming?". At that Jack nodded and said, "Yeah, I think we both deserve it, especially after the case we just had." Clara quickly left to return the mug she used to the cabinet and quickly came back to see Jack still there. As they walked to the bunks, she felt his arm wrapping around her waist.

______________________________________________________________

As Jack was headed towards the elevator, he saw his sister. Before he could ask what she was doing there, she said, "I saw the news. I thought you could use a hug sooner than later." then gave his a reassuring embrace with Jack simply saying "Thanks."and Karen replied saying, "Thank God you found them". As they parted, they saw Clara and Emma join them. Clara greets her with a smile and says, "Hey Karen." then said as they parted, You know, some of them didn't want to leave. They devoted their lives to that man." she responded, shaking her head, and said, "I have to believe they'll find a safer place to live".

When they heard footsteps, they turned to see who it was. They turned to see Ryan, who said, "I saw you guys landed. Great job." then patted Emma on the shoulder to snap her out of her 'trans'. At that, Emma smiled and looked up at her older brother and said, "Thanks". "Are you headed off?" Jack asked, to which Ryan simply said, "Yeah" at that Clara said, "Like father, like son". Ryan smiled at his mom's comment, then said, "I guess this case means R.J. doesn't stand a chance for his Dominican Republic trip." Karen turned to her nephew a little surprised then asked, "He hit you up, too?" to which he nodded then said,"Yeah. For what it's worth, he is way more driven than I was at his age, and he is a smart kid".  Jack nodded and said, "Yeah, I know. Guess I have, uh, have to have a little more faith that he'll be all right." the second she heard that, Clara turned to her husband and asked, "Is that a "yes"?" Jack replied saying, "He's brave. I'm the one who's scared, so I can't let that get in his way. ". "Nice, Dad. He's gonna be stoked." Ryan replied.

After a few beats, Karen looking questioningly at her brother and nephew asked, "Did you two make calls? You have connections in the Dominican Republic." as Jack responded simply saying "yeah" as the five of them entered the elevator, then added saying, "Well... we know a few guys." to which both Karen and Clara nodded as the elevator doors closed.

______________________________________________________________

IRT fam (without mom and dad)

11:57 p.m.

Mae: hey guys

Monty: wtf Mae it's almost 12 am

Isa: Sheesh Mae couldn't you chose anytime but you chose NOW

       when almost everyone in the gc is suppose to be sleeping and when I'm suppose to be reviewing.

Mae: melodramatic much

Isa: {Florida and Louisiana; woooooooow.gif}

Mae: uuuummmm sorry?

Emma: Mae why are you messaging in this gc when it's almost a quarter past 12 anyways?

Mae: oh hey Emma

Emma: don't

             what do you even want to talk about that is so urgent yet don't want dad and

Isa: Em what is she talking about?

Monty: Mae me and Isa are clueless about what you're talking about

Matt: uh guys why are you talking in this group chat at quarter part 12 in the morning

Isa: Oh hey Matt. To answer your answers, first Mae started this crap, second we have no freaking clue why she did or even what the heck she's talking about.

Emma: uuuummmm Mae?

Mae: yeah?

Emma: are you talking about what happened at the train station?

Mae: YES

Monty: uuuuhhh what are you guys talking about I'm clueless

Isa: Same but I have a feeling this happened while me and Matt were talking to the conductor

Matt: Mae just spill it so we don't have to play the guessing game

Mae: okay fine

            so as Isa guessed this happened while she and Matt were talking to the conductor and me, Emma, and Clara were getting off the train after we finished on victimology.

            Clara got of first and as she was taking the last step and trip

Matt: was she okay?

Emma: she's fine thankfully dad caught her before she could fall right on her face

Isa: Oh.My.Gulay is this why you're chatting us this late Mae?!

Mae: I would've asked how you mean that but I've known you long enough to know now

Monty: can we get back on track please? I really want to get this over with and go to sleep

Mae: sorry

            anyways to a normal person it wouldn't have seen more than a friend helping another friend

Isa: buuuut

but as a profiler you/I see more than that

Emma: WTF MAE

            ARE YOU IMPLYING THAT MY DAD AND AUNT CLARA ARE TOGETHER

Mae: uuuuuummmm yes???

Isa: Okay that's it I'm out. I don't wanna handle this crap anymore. I just wanna go to sleep.

Emma: same

Monty: yes please

Matt: yeah

Mae: ouch

Isa: MAE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF CHIKAHAN DON'T. WE CAN PICK THIS UP TOMORROW.

______________________________________________________________

Aaaaaaand that's the end of the chapter. I decided to add the group chat thing as I was supposed to finish editing this fic but I got inspired by the fic "Sibling Chats" by JWritesFanAccount on AO3 and decided instead of making it an entire other fic I decided to add it to the end of each chapter and have the rest of the team (Isa and Emma included) talk about Jack/Clara or as I'll start referring (maybe) to them Jara (I know bad but it's the only thing I got rn). As for why Emma addressed Clara as "aunt" and not just buy her first name or accidentally slip and say/type "mom" while talking with everyone (minus her parent) is because technically they're off-duty and that's all I'm gonna say.

I would also like to add that from now on I'd like you guys to know that updates will be irregular because I'm still a student.

[radfemcroatia]

My bad experience in a radfem Discord server - XY Cemetery by tomieradfem [2/5]

If you haven't read it, go to the first post (link below).

If you don't care, keep scrolling.

Where did we stop...

Oh, yeah. I got muted here. Plus, I was called a schizo.

At this point, and I'm embarrassed to admit this - I held back tears. If people weren't in the room with me I would have cried. Btw, I'm a person who cries like, once a year, and it's barely a tear, so this is a big deal.

Why did I cry? Because I have been lonely for many years, hopelessly searching for a place where I belong. I thought this was finally it. Radfems... I agree with them on many topics, I can talk to them about things that would make me a bullied social outcast anywhere else. If they won't accept me, who will?

I was VERY upset after being silenced. I had to speak - so, I chose the only other reasonable, non-hostile member of the conversation - Riri.

I admit, I didn't behave perfectly in the dms. I was very upset and on the verge of tears. Still though I disagree that I was rude to her. Annoying? Yes, but not malicious in the slightest.

She promised to tell them I meant no harm. Guess what happened next?

Defend your friends from what? From me defending myself? You're the only one who took it personally when you shouldn't have.

(Rea understands me. She even reached out to me and sent me a friend request, because she felt bad. I removed her after some time because we haven't talked since. I was open to a friendship though.)

I never acted out. I was reasonable and you didn't listen.

Tomieradfem will keep saying stuff like "believing things online", when me believing them would also count as "believing things online" 😭.

She reached out to the server and sent the screenshots of our conversation to her friends.

Don't care at this point. It never needed to become like this. We could have reached this conclusion respectfully.

ANDDD BEHOLD

Truly degenerate response.

I left the server.

After leaving, not gonna lie, I immediately regretted it. What if there was a chance of me being accepted back?

I left because why would I want to stay in a space that is so hostile towards me? Still, I had no clue what happened after I left. What if some of them felt bad because I was misunderstood? If there was a chance of me returning I would absolutely do it.

I created an alt account to join the server, just to see what the rest of the server said about me.

To do this, I faked some of my info, that being age and how long I've been a radfem. I wanted easy, quick, drama-free access to the server.

What did I come back to?

Nah I think I'm valid to think it's because of upskirting. I'm gonna need to see some serious proof to not believe that, words from some 20 year-olds on Discord aren't enough.

I might be wrong about the laws - that doesn't negate the rest of what I've said.

"what the HELL is her problem with riri??" OKAY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

"what did riri do??" NOTHING. I never said she did anything! I never attacked her! Why is everyone treating her as some victim? Btw I showed all the relevant screenshots, I didn't hide ANYTHING I said. I never attacked Riri in dms. I asked for help.

Who the heck said Japan is hell on Earth? Not me! I just said a fact I learned!

Even celine who lived in Korea was unsure lol.

Never said Japan is a hellscape. Remember:

"why japan in particular gets called out"...because, my friend:

Literally how many times will I have to repeat this?

Wow poor Riri, I feel so bad for her :((( how I victimized her like a...wait what? Mentions of racism?? Hmm I wonder what they will say next.

Note for my 75 followers (damn thanks y'all, never expected I would have that many): My secret life mission is to make everyone hate Japan. Don't tell anyone.

I'm gonna have to start writing down insults. There's gonna be so much more.

Never mentioned anything about the West. I'm not even from the West you clown.

I didn't "lose it" I defended and continued to defend myself. Because that's the type of person I am. Someone who doesn't let others walk over her, even if their name is tomieradfem.

That was my introduction to the server. I felt like the server was gonna be a great place to connect. Guess not.

"curious how it came to happen that japan is taking all-"

Also I'm officially a racist.

My heart bleeds for Riri I am actually crying. How I victimized her is so horrible...

Japan is full of creeps yes, fucking deal with it.

I dmed Riri so she could help me. That's the ONLY reason.

Never said they were liars, she's making this up.

This has nothing to do with someone correcting you on your native language loser (literally in their name). And tomieradfem is the one who needs to lower her ego. I never displayed my ego unlike her.

So what if Riri is from Japan? I should blindly trust her? I don't even know that woman. Also this is actually dangerous. If a woman from Iran said that women don't get attacked for not wearing hijab in Iran (which might be the case sometimes) am I not allowed to disagree just because she lives there, despite all the proof that suggests otherwise I see on the Internet?

Again, I joined that server not even 5 days before. had no idea who Riri and really anyone else was - they were nothing but strangers. And I'm supposed to blindly agree with them despite the fact that all the evidence is against them? Couldn't even have a discussion without being accused of attacking Japan and spreading harmful misinformation smh.

She literally muted me for no reason without a warning and I'm the one who needs thick skin? So basically everyone who doesn't wanna be bullied by discord mods is just too sensitive.

Showing my true colors in dms? What do you mean? If anything, the dms showed that I meant no harm.

I can't handle heat and you can't handle someone "disagreeing" with you (looking back, I didn't even disagree with Riri's statement, mostly).

Go to the third post. We're almost done.

[phoenixyfriend]

[rotates a fic concept based on a Frozen fic I read years ago]

(I'll link the fic and explain the premise a the bottom of the post. If you've read Ghost on the Wire, that's my inspo. If you haven't, check the bottom for the summary.) Easy option for the AU in question is Domino twins because [gestures at Echo], buuuuuuuuuuuut I think it would be interesting with Anakin as the kidnapped experiment sibling and Obi-Wan finding him years later.

Consider:

Ahsoka, age 12, is the padawan to Obi-Wan Kenobi, who lost his first padawan seven years ago and has been in mourning and self-doubt since; everyone thinks it's a miracle that he took her on, and she tries not to rock the boat because what if he decides he's not ready for another kid after all?

She's got a weird friend online that… well, if she complains about a senator or a mission, this person hunts down files pointing to questionable behavior by said senators and then dumps them in the Jedi's evidence box.

Since they're anonymously provided, the Jedi can legally use them to gain warrants, etc, because even if the law was broken to achieve it, they didn't do anything illegal, pay anyone to do anything illegal, or encourage anyone to do the illegal thing.

Obi-Wan takes a bit longer than he should to catch on to Ahsoka having a definitely criminal online friend, but decides to allow it so long as she lets him monitor interactions with this one specific person. He realizes that Ahsoka's random mentions of details coincide with certain infodumps, which Ahsoka wouldn't know because she's not privy to the fact that said data dumps happened at all.

War breaks out. Obi-Wan is frequently in a panic, because he already had one underage padawan die under his watch, and he's terrified of it happening again.

Various shenanigans, Ahsoka keeps up correspondence with her friend but it's much more heavily monitored now, in case of security violations. The friend still gives her heads up about suspected Separatist activity based on algorithmic analysis of shipping patterns and the like.

The friend tells Ahsoka he's in trouble. He needs help. Given the amount of information he's been giving the Jedi, they can consider him a confidential criminal informant that needs extraction and could continue being useful (important so they can justify using military resources when the Senate asks about budget expenditures).

They find Anakin, in a very similar setup to S7 Echo

Obi-Wan is. Not okay.

Ahsoka is freaked out by Anakin's physical state but fuck it! Friend! He needs medical help and he's really not exactly cognizant of the world around him.

Get him back to the ship. Get back to the Temple. Get him some medical help.

Figure out what the fuck is going on.

Turns out Anakin was captured on Sidious's orders when he was like... IDK ten. And then underwent experiments under the supervision of the Sith Lord. He still doesn't know who the Sith is, because Sidious saw his chatting with Ahsoka and only allowed it for as long as it wasn't anything too damaging, which means it was all either something that benefited Sidious, or something Anakin only barely managed to hide inside larger data packets (including his final request for help; he's gotten much better at cyber security on his own brain over the years).

But Sidious never did let Anakin know what his real identity is.

IDK where this goes but I do know Anakin is incredibly insistent on helping Ahsoka and the Jedi, and also that Obi-Wan cries on Anakin a lot.

He definitely would NOT be allowed out in the field, into battle, because the amount of physical therapy he needs. Immense. But he's probably with the 501st and 212th as their main data analyst/strategic dude? In this situation, the 501st doesn't technically have a Jedi, they're just a legion under the larger command of Obi-Wan and Cody, with their direct CO being Yularen, but Ahsoka's paired up with them regularly and she is honorary Jedi for the legion and everyone expects to get her officially once she's knighted, if the war lasts that long.

I do know that he chose Ahsoka to befriend because he had a vision of her becoming Obi-Wan's padawan a few years before it happened and went OH. BABY SISTER.

Any fic on this topic would have a heavy focus on Anakin's experiences with disability and recovery.

I feel like, while he can recover from a lot of the muscle atrophy etc, he probably has permanent damage to his bones and general health. He needs mobility aids, maybe a service animal to keep an eye on his physical state. Possibly epilepsy, since there was so much done to him neurologically. He definitely sleeps more than most people, has a very specific dietary plan, and relies a lot on the Force for things like getting things off of shelves.

A lot of this fic would by necessity happen with Anakin in a medical pod, communicating either in chat format or with a speaker. Possibly projected as a hologram approximation of himself despite the real body being in the pod.

Especially early on, he really is just text chat, before the war starts.

I think for the first few months of the war, when Anakin is still just a criminal internet friend Ahsoka happens to have, there are a lot of instances of him slicing into her comm during a mission and offering directions or information while she's like. Three quarters of a mile into a sewage system infil.

He's been on mute this entire time, but someone asks if the others remember which way to go, and he just pops up with "turn left."

It's the first time Ahsoka's ever heard his voice (or rather, an approximation of what he thinks he'd sound like at this age using some synthesizers normally used for waiter droids,) and it scares the crap out of her.

He wants to tease his baby sister! Sure she doesn't know she's his baby sister yet. But it's his obligation as a big brother.

They spend most of those months thinking he's some super cool slicer in a basement lair with eight screens and a bottle of orange soda and, basically, they're imagining Hardison from Leverage.

It's uhhhhh not quite that.

I think Ahsoka's a little betrayed at first that Anakin didn't tell her who he was, but she gets over it in favor of THIS IS MY FAVORITE PERSON LOOK HOW COOL HE IS pretty quickly

"It's my older brother's birthday and if everybody doesn't clap for him I'm going to blow up this entire ship."

Ahsoka: I'm gonna rob a BANK and Skyguy's gonna help! Obi-Wan: Ahsoka please he's still reco-- Anakin: DAMN RIGHT I AM where are we going

A whole lot of the emotional core would be the development for Anakin and Obi-Wan in a context where one's been mourning the other for so many years, and feels guilt for accepting his death instead of searching for him, even though he had evidence of Anakin's death (like "Sidious used Anakin's DNA to feign an accurate corpse burnt to a crisp" levels of evidence).

Obviously, there needs to be a heavy plot regarding figuring who took Anakin, why they did what they did, and whether there's any way to find them again.

I think the Domino twins steal Anakin for shenanigans of their own regularly, in part because they were usually the two with Ahsoka when Anakin popped up and started offering advice unasked.

IDK how I want to do the Rex&Anakin dynamic. That part's still percolating.

I do think Obi-Wan is very… delicate with him? He fusses. Anakin appreciates the part where Obi-Wan regularly tells him he's proud and loves him, but he's quickly very irritated by Obi-Wan treating him like he's made of glass.

Obi-Wan, however, is much more emotionally delicate than in canon, because he lost his master and his padawan within two or so years of each other, and blames himself for both. Part of him is convinced that Anakin also blames him.

(And part of Anakin… does.)

(For giving up on him, instead of searching for him even after evidence of his death came up.)

(Even though he knows, from conversations with Ahsoka before he revealed his identity, that Obi-Wan mourned him for years upon years before he took another student)

There's probably a specific medic whose job is at least 25% "Skywalker stuff."

I feel like it's easy to assign Kix to be Anakin's primary medic (there's a Jedi back at the Temple that's in constant contact) BUT I think it would make sense for there to be someone on hand as an assistant for the day to day, since he's on a military vessel and most of it isn't built in a way that's easy for him to navigate, especially with the Force, so I think it would be interesting to have Dogma assigned as Anakin's temporary care aide.

He's definitely someone who'd thrive on having a detailed list of Things That Need Doing, for a Jedi that has trouble remembering to take the medication that Kix said he needed, or to eat, or what have you.

And Anakin would. Probably have Dogma help him break many laws and regulations. Could be good for him.

Anakin: I want some hot chocolate. Dogma: That's not on the list Kix gave me. Anakin: But I want it. Dogma: ... Anakin: [starts levitating ingredients] Dogma, vibrating and maybe tearing up a bit: SIR PLEASE--

(Obi-Wan can be convinced to give him the hot chocolate. His brain is just going Baby Boy. Baby.)

Dogma makes so many calls to Kix for help keeping Skywalker alive.

Someone suggested he get an exoskeleton-style aid (think Rhodey post-CACW), but I think he does prefer more mundane mobility aids. Like, he's been forcibly teched up for… eight years? It's nice to have something that's just. Not that.

It's a chair with a motor. It's crutches with special padding. It's the Force, sometimes. Yeah he could take a shot at complex external support, but... he'd rather stick with the basics.

It's also like. A separation thing? He still uses his neurological hookup to do data analysis and slicing for the GAR and the Jedi (even though he was told MANY times that he doesn't have to and everyone would like it very much if he just stayed home at the Temple and focused on recovering), but he'd like to be able to ditch the complex tech stuff by choice when he's not at work.

I think Anakin puts a lot of stock in his ability to be useful. He'd want to 'detox' from it, so to speak, for a few months at a time very year or so. Just get out somewhere rural with lots of nature and a manageable number of people, and minimal tech. Regular missions with AgriCorps, maybe.

But he'd still think that, now that he has these skills and connections, it's irresponsible to not use them to help people.

I do not have the energy to write this out as an entire epic, which it probably deserves, but. Concept.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The Frozen fic was ghost on the wire.

Cyberpunk AU. Major element is that some people get neurological hook-ups to the internet and slowly get addicted to it to the point where they lose themselves to it (think the dream addicts in Inception, I guess?) The parents had died early on, and the sisters had been split up Anna made friends with a weirdo online, used this friendship to investigate the suspicious deaths of the parents. Weirdo is an insanely good hacker. Goes on a Recovery mission for the weirdo. Turns out the weirdo is actually Elsa, who was forcibly hooked up to the internet as a weapon? Ish? IDK she's a mega-useful hacker but she's been trapped in a medical pod thing for the past however many years and can't walk. Can barely talk, and regularly gets back inside a medical pod due to the lack of motor function and medical instability, and she needs to speak clearly to plan Cool Heists for the conspiracy investigation.

[white-poppie]

Domestic Bliss

Character: Illumi Zoldyck x AFAB reader Anime- HxH Genre: Fluff Warnings: mentions of having kids, the reader being scared, the reader knows how to use nen Writer: @white-poppie

You got married only because Silva decided that you were the perfect one for his son, so of course, Illumi didn't have a choice. He complied with his father's wishes without holding grudges against anyone. He was indifferent and nonchalant throughout and after.

You were living in the Zoldyck mansion with Silva, Kikyo and Milluki. You continued living your life generally like any person would and returned home after work; you were glad your in-laws had no issues with that. Illumi was always out, it had been two months since you were married, yet you almost never saw him. You two were far too intertwined in your own worlds once could say.

You rarely ever talked, it was mostly you making an effort to converse and you always received half-hearted replies so you stopped trying to make an effort.

Illumi wasn't bad, he had his own ways of showing concern...most of them were just wishing you good morning and good night, but that's not the point.

So it was Kikyo's birthday, you were gathered together having dinner like a normal family...even Killua and Alluka were there. Alluka had developed a sense of familiarity with you and you felt warm about it.

It was a very normal dinner until Kikyo opened her mouth...

"I am so glad to be having dinner with my entire family and my daughter," you thought that she was talking about Alluka, but instead she was talking about you. Your heart clenched at the smile drop on Alluka's face.

"The pleasure is mine, mother," you replied giving Alluka a soft smile.

You finally dug into your food, relishing it until Kikyo spoke again.

"So, Illu, when are you and Y/N having kids?" she spoke.

You choked on your food looking like a fish until Killua jabbed you in the stomach and handed you a glass of water. You didn't fail to notice the Cheshire grin on Killua's face.

"We haven't thought about it yet," he replied.

"Ah...I would love to have grandchildren soon!" she said.

'Aren't you and Silva already having enough babies?', you thought.

"We shall be going now," Illumi said dragging you out.

"But...but the sweet-dish-" you stuttered and then slapped yourself for saying something so stupid.

"I apologize, I will get you some later," he said with the straightest face possible causing you to snort.

"Is something the matter?"

"No, it's nothing," you said, "what have you been up to these days?"

"Just here and there," he replied. You would be lying if you said that you did not feel bad about the fact that just talking to your husband felt like such a chore.

"I see..." you said looking down at your feet.

You suddenly felt a strong aura, it was distant but not very. Something you had felt before.

"Illumi-" you stopped yourself before speaking further, Illumi's aura had woven itself into something...sinister. You were a strong nen user, but Illumi's aura was overwhelming now. You bit your lip to stop it from trembling and moved quite a distance away from him.

"Hisoka!" Illumi shouted, "what are you doing here?"

Hisoka...yes he was one of the guests at the wedding. He was an acquaintance of Illumi you believed, that is why the guard must have let him in.

"Come one now, do you really have to be so uptight~," he said presenting himself, "you are scaring Mrs Illumi Zodyck here," he cooed.

"Hisoka the magician," he bowed, "glad to formally meet you Mrs Zoldyck."

"Likewise and please call me Y/N."

"Y/n..." he said as if relishing the sound of your name, "do you mind if I borrow your husband for some time? Don't worry I won't steal him from you," he winked. Oh, boy was he interesting.

"Not at all, I will be in my room call me if you need anything," you said to Illumi

About an hour later you were woken up by a rap on your door. You were greeted with Illumi holding out a bouquet of peonies.

"What's this for?" you said

"You don't like them?"

"No I...love them but what is the occasion?"

"Nothing, I just want a new start," he said, "I will not run away from my responsibilities now."

I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO BADLY WRITTEN- I have a lot of schoolwork so I am trying to be as regular as possible.

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Taglist: @denkis111, @jazzylove, @kristaline2dmensimp, @cloudsgathering, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @ikin-y0u, @rintaroubby, @nanaseishiro, @dislownini, @goreb1tez, @cleaning-fairy-levi

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Please like and reblog it if you find it nice. The following content is written by me and please do not plagiarize my work. If you find anyone copying this, please inform me ASAP. (Requests are open)

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[zorosq]

comfort ; trafalgar d. water law

↻ fluff, hurt/comfort, possible ooc law, soft law <3

↻ pairing ↬ law x gn!reader!

@yuu-chan05 asked: Hiya! May I request a Law x female reader where she hugs plushies as a stress relief/coping mechanism? Cause I have two plushies, one is a polar bear and the other is a penguin. They are my two favorite animals and I hug them whenever I feel sad. I hug them when feeling stressed it gives me sense of comfort. I wanted see how would Law would react when he sees her like that for the first time because he is always working late. And then she just tells him that she feels sad/depressed for no reason and Law ended up cuddling with her and her 2 plushies for the rest of the night while watching movies (it can be in modern world or the canon world)

a/n i dont think that i mentioned any gender or pronouns in this one so i hope its fine making it gender neutral :) p.s this is unintentionally short🚶‍♀️

As the day come to an end, you became more sad. At the thought of a new day is starting just makes you feel depressed. It was completely normal for a person to feel drained for once in a while. At times like these, you were glad that Law haven't ask to move in together with you. So before you had gotten together with Law, you had found a coping mechanism for yourself.

You were doing just find with cuddling your plushies that were sitting at the both of your sides. That is, until you were interrupted by a knock. You thought that if you just stay silent, whoever that was knocking at your door would go away. "Y/n-ya, I know you're in there,"

Ah... it was Law... but you still wanted him to go away at the moment. You don't want him to see your pathetic state. You're an adult, you should know how to get yourself together alone. But alas, you had forgotten about the fact that you gave him the spare key to your house. It was because he once had left some of his stuff when he spent the night over. Damn you for forgetting to tell Law not to come over for today. And damn him for ending his shift early.

It wasn't long for him to find you in the bedroom. All cuddled up with your plushies and a blanket covering you. He didn't know what to say when he saw you. He tried to crack his brain for answers on what he should do. He was only a smart man in the other things but emotions. Law finds himself moving towards your bed and climbed onto the bed to lay down beside you.

He removed one of your plushies and put it beside him instead and in return, he hugged you. The moment you felt the familiar warmth enveloping you, you burst out into tears. He knows it was stupid of him to ask, but he did anyway. "Are you okay? Can you tell me what's wrong?" He asked.

His face may have not show it but you can hear the genuine concern lacing his voice. "I-I'm fine. It's just one of those days," You said, desperately clinging onto him as if he would leave the moment you let go of him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked. You shook your head in response. "Can... Can we watch movies instead? I want to forget about it..."

He hummed before carrying you out of bed in bridal style. (And not forgetting your plushies.) When you and Law had finally settled down on the couch in living room, you cuddled up to his side, feeling addicted to his warmth. You watched the rom-com that Law had picked for the both of you. It made your heart lighten a bit, distracting you from earlier thoughts.

You can also see the small smile at the corner of his lips. "Mhmm... Law... thank you for coming here..." You thanked, nuzzling into his neck. His arm came around your waist and pulled you closer to his side. "Anytime,"

[im-in-love-with-pizza-bites]

Feeling faint

Tom Holland x Sister!Reader, Holland Family X Sister!Reader, Harrison Osterfeild X Platonic!reader

Summary: Your brothers comfort you after you faint at Tom's wedding.

Warnings: mentions blood, a concussion, fainting, fluff.

Reader's age: 15

Request: Anon

A/n: Thank you for the request! Also so sorry bought the name though 🤣 also like I just made the bride an OC so ya.

It was all going good, you were stood behind your brothers in a row, Harrison was the best man, your brothers were groomsmen and you had the honor of being a grooms woman. You were just behind Paddy, as you watched your soon-to-be sister-in-law come down the aisle. Once her dad was by his seat the officiant started.

"Thank you, please be seated. Today we gather to lift Tom Holland and Amelia Williams up in celebration of ever-lasting love. In the presence of their beloved family and friends, Tom Holland and Amelia Williams will pronounce their love through this ceremony and begin a lifelong journey together."

"On this day, we offer gratitude for the blessings that have been bestowed upon Amelia and Tom. In this fast-spinning, always-changing world they have at last found peace and comfort in one another." He continued, you started swaying slightly feeling faint. You subtly leaned forward putting a hand on Paddy's shoulder in an attempt to hold yourself up as you watched the ceremony.

The ceremony was just about over and you were still feeling faint, you were still leaning on your older brother as the officiant finished: "By the power vested in me by the Universal Life Church Ministries, before your families and your friends, I now pronounce you lawfully and spiritually united Please seal your marriage with your first wedded kiss." Once they pulled away from the kiss and were about to walk down the aisle a loud thud was heard along with Paddy exclaiming help. Everyone turn to looked seeing you laying there unconscious, Paddy was already down by your side. Harry and Sam moved quickly to come to your sides followed by Harrison, Tom, Amelia and your parents. Most of the crowd was standing but no one came much closer.

"She's breathing." Sam announced. After a few seconds, you were opening your eyes.

"W-what happened? Why does my head hurt so much?" You asked your family.

"You fainted your okay." Dom said. "Give her a bit of space.

"Oh... Sorry." You mumbled putting your hand up to your head where it hurt.

"It's okay." Your sister in law said softly. You moved you hand back to looked at it wide eyed.

"I don't think that's good." You said out of it.

"Yeah, that isn't." Your mom gently moved your hair out of the way to look at what happened. "We need towels over here." She said to which Harry hurried off to grab some.

"I don't feel so good." You mumbled eyes closing.

"Woah no Tom don't let her close her eyes." Dom said.

"Hey look at me." Tom said, your eyes opened slightly seeing Tom and Haz standing there.

"Oh hi. Did I ruin the wedding?" You said your words slurred a bit.

"Paddy go get her water please." Harrison asked.

"No you didn't ruin the wedding bun." Tom assured. "Just keep your eyes on us."

"Okay." You smiled, "did I ruin my dress? I wiked it." You slurred. Sam chuckled from behind you where he was standing with your mom and dad, while they looked at your head. "It wasn't a joke!"

"Your dress is fine. Sam don't be such div." Harry said handing your mom the cloth.

"Yeah don't be such div." You looked at your brother and stuck your tongue out. Paddy finally came back with the water bottle and passed it to Tom.

"Y/n drink this. Mum is she okay?"

"I'm gonna take her to the hospital I'll keep you posted don't worry." Nikki said. "Dom help me get her up."

You took a sip from your water and looked at your sister-in-law. "I'm sorry." You said once again.

"It's okay." Tom and Amelia answered.

"If you say so I guess." You mumbled eyes closing.

"Y/n look at me." Harrison said catching it immediately.

"What I'm tired." You said glaring at the man.

"You got to stay awake." Sam said as he and Harry got you to your feet, Nikki still holding the cloth to your head.

———

You were back from the hospital just into time for the reception. Tom was the first to greet you of course as he was quite worried, Sam and Paddy were close behind along with Harrison. Harry and Dom went along with you and Nikki. Harry was there to hold the towel and make sure you stayed awake. You were stitched up and had a bandage on your head but otherwise, you were fine. The doctors chalked your faint up to you not eating or drink enough that day. Once you got liquids and a snack you started to get back to yourself but you were feeling super embarrassed and bad about fainting and taking the attention off of the newly weds.

"How are you feeling?" Amelia asked when you came into the venue the reception was being held in.

"I'm fine, I'm sorry about early." You said giving an apologetic smile.

"It's fine stop apologizing." Tom interjected. "You couldn't avoid it."

"Yeah, I guess." You mumbled though you were still embarrassed.

"It really wasn't that big of a deal. Your fine." Amelia assured you once again. You shrugged, before turning around noticing your other two brothers and Harrison standing there.

"Are you okay?" Paddy asked.

"I'm fine.." You mumbled. You didn't like the attention, now normally you'd love it since you are usually over shadowed by your brothers but today was supposed to be about Tom and his wife then you faint. It was the one day that you didn't want any attention on you.

"That's good." Sam smiled. You shrugged rolling your eyes.

"She's fine look still as sassy as usual." Harrison teased. He was like a fifth brother to you so you two acted like siblings.

"Shudup." You grumbled.

"Okay what's wrong?" Tom asked you as his wife walked off to do something.

"Nothing... Just fainting in public is embarrassing.. And fainting at a wedding more so." You mumbled. "And I still feel bad about taking the attention off of you and Amelia." You added.

"Oh y/n. No one's mad at you for fainting at our wedding." Tom assured you once again.

"Everyone is just glad your okay." Sam added on smiling at you.

"I guess..."

"Are we not going to talk about the fact she was talking like she's fainted in public before?" Harry inquired.

"No we are not." You said simply.

"Okay. But really it was funny." Paddy said, "and explained why you were leaning on me the whole ceremony."

"It was kinda funny." Harrison said chuckling.

"Oh woah you found my pain funny." You said jokingly.

"There your back to yourself! Yes now we have a reception to get to come on." Tom said giving you a quick hug before leaving to find his wife.

"So when have you fainted before?"

A/n: How was it? I'm not good at comforting people so writing it is semi-hard for me. Also, I think I wrote the wedding well... Idk I haven't been to one since I was 3. And I don't remember anything about that except walking up to a guy who I honestly know if he was the groom or the groom's brother. (The groom is an identical twin)

[theodora3022]

Selfish Deeds (Yandere! Gojou Satoru)

Summary: Satoru just wants you to be free of danger. If you are so knowledgeable why can’t you understand that he only wish the best for you?

A/N: This is just one snippet of many out of a collection(haven't decide the name just yet)...Since I have not read the manga(anime-only for now) so I just got a vague impression of what Gojou has been through, but that does not stop me from writing him like the cocky bastard he is. Hopefully it is not too OOC(as if yandere variant itself is not OOC enough pfttt) The reader is a stubborn psycho because that is what I am :) Will there be some future pieces that involves nsfw elements? I got a few ideas but no promises.

I blame @popi-the-fatui for my Gojou brainrots. You got your revenge on me by making me attracted to this dubious man. Word count: 1.6k

Banner credit

Warnings: Female pronouns, Possessive behaviour, DELUSIONAL behaviour, non-consensual touching, power inbalance, general yandere content, slight mention of confinement and violence(This is not a healthy relationship dynamic!!!), reader is not a soft UWU girl, kthis is so self indulgent *buries myself into the bottomless pit of shame

It has been nearly fifteen minutes since the headquarter disconnected the call, yet you are still staring at your phone screen with disbelief.

You were supposed to travel to another city for a mission tomorrow, they had notified you of this mission a week ago.

You already got your luggage packed, and your theoretical research on the objective is thoroughly done. Then they dare to inform you: they have found a more suitable candidate! Right on the day before your departure too.

Your curse techniques have already limited you to more of a supporting role for most situations. There are not plenty of missions available for you to begin with. While you are content with educating the fresh blood of the community in classrooms the majority of the time, you still long for field actions every once in a while. It is an essential part of being a Jujutsu sorcerer after all.

Both you and the soft-spoken secretary who made the call know this is nonsense. The higher-ups recognize that you are one of, if not the best sorcerers available when it comes to reconnaissance and espionage.

Letting out a sigh of immeasurable frustration, you swore to yourself that you will find out who is the conductor of this humiliating turn of events. This is going to be difficult since you do not recall having any issues with any of the administration staff recently.

There is no reversing this misfortune, but at least you can be aware of who is responsible for such violation of conduct.

He is only doing this to protect you.

Gojou Satoru tells himself as such, at least.

He is aware of how unfair it is, to make someone less capable to take on the job. But he cannot risk your safety. The man has already got used to your company, and he is not willing to just let you disappear from his field of view for more than a week. Sure, you might have not admitted how much you like him yet, but it is just too endearing to see you flustered at his flirtatious words.

Although there have been some difficulties with rescheduling, he managed to use his connections to exclude you from that first-grade mission at last minute. On the bright side, the sorcerer cannot wait to lend you an ear to vent about how conservative and unfair the higher-ups can be. Maybe you will even say yes to a trip to the newest local bakery! You need some sweet treats to cheer yourself up, don’t you?

But Satoru has never thought about how you specialize in putting two and two together. (understandable since he never saw you in action before).

------------------

Strange, you are not near the usual area in the library.

Sensing his footsteps, you opened your office door before Satoru had a chance to knock.

“We need to talk, Gojou-san.” That expression is new. This is the first time he sees you genuinely angry, which is to be expected.

But somehow he got a bad feeling about this.

You did not even invite him to sit down, instead just standing next to the floor window, arm crossed, with your back turned to him.

“Why would you do such a thing?” You have to use up all of your self-control to prevent yourself from having a full blow-up right at Gojou Satoru. Maintain composure. But it is easier said then done.

Does he think this is funny? To sabotage someone else's sorcerer career like this? You knew you should have kept him out of your daily life, as he is nothing but trouble to you. But you made the mistake of choosing to tolerate him, and some superficial part of you might even enjoy his dallying words a bit too much.

To the extent, you overlooked some red flags. This is a grievous error indeed.

Shit, now that he vaguely remembers what role you play on missions.“(y/n)-chan, what are you saying-” He knows you always act in supporting positions, however, he has overlooked your actual abilities and curse techniques. You collect intel and spy on enemies, how could he forget that? “Don’t play dumb with me. You got your ways, I got mine. There is no use denying what you have done. I thought you out of all people would understand what it means to be a sorcerer.”

This is a violation of protocol, changing mission assignments at the last minute. However, you know this man would not be receiving any solid punishment should you decide to report this. They would say there is “no harm done” and you would just receive a pitiful apology. Suppose you cannot blame them though.

They need Gojou Satoru, the Jujutsu community needs his prowess to keep innocent people safe. He will remain in the system no matter what.

Why are you questioning his motives? Does he have to spell it out for you? Letter by letter?

“You are not a skilled combatant, (y/n)-chan. What if you got yourself hurt?” Or even worse, killed. It scares him to think that you could be gone one day, how he would walk by this office corridor and never sees you sitting behind the desk ever again.

Not much in this world could send Gojou Satoru a chill down his spine, yet the thought of you dying is now on the list. He knows how petty this is, you wouldn’t be the one doing the actual exorcising after all. But the if, the slight possibilty.

He cannot allow that to happen, not ever. Even that means angering you and getting yelled at.

“What am I, some normal lawful citizen? I am a sorcerer just like you, Gojou-san. Putting ourselves on the line for innocents is part of the deal.” You let out a few short, sarcastic giggles, narrowing your eyes at him with fury. “It’s funny that you, out of all people, fail to understand that. If I am needed I will do what I must. If this is some sort of sick joke, stop it already, not funny. ”

Blunt, unrelenting stubbornness. Not like that’s news for him, Satoru has lots of experience with that since the day your path crossed. Although he finds this quality to be adorable most of the time, it can pose major problems like the present.

Oh, he is not angry at you. Satoru is more outraged at himself, don’t you worry. On the contrary, he is rather intrigued by your sarcastic remarks! However…

Instead of walking towards where you stood near the window, the man decides to take a turn towards the door.

That flashing panic within your eyes did not escape his sight.

The illusion figure you were projecting near the window dissipated instantly once he got your left wrist in his hand. Concealing yourself and projecting illusions, a rare techique indeed.

“Clever tactic. Making yourself invisible, projecting a faux illusion to distract me, leaving the door open and staying close to the exit. Your curse techniques are impressive. I almost got fooled, job well-done (y/n)-chan.”

The grip on your wrist suddenly tightens, you have to bite your lip to hold back a hiss of pain. How can he still flash that casual, playful smile when committing such atrocity? Those damned cerulean blue eyes too, you are ashamed of how you tremble and (internally) swoon at it at the same time.

Efforts to get away would most likely be futile, but you have to try. “See, you underestimated your opponent. I do see why you are good with lurking in the shadows now. Do you have any idea what I am capable of though?” Such delicate hands, it would be a shame if they were to bruise.

It’s unnerving how easy it looks for him to maintain a solid grip on your wrist while you pull back with all of your might. You know Gojou Satoru is strong and all, but this simple demonstration of strength is devastatingly effective. “Let go of me, you bastard!”

To your surprise, he softens his grip and you finally distanced yourself from him, panting and guarded. “Who are you to decide what I should and what I should not do? I made it crystal clear on the first day that I do not like you for the slightest.”

You know the walls are thin and coworkers might heard you, but you will have to worry about it later. It is, sadly, a matter of fact that you are somehow attracted to him, but that does not give him the right to use it against you. You must not give in to the temptation.

“You are pretty slow on the uptake for someone so smart. I was thinking of doing this naturally, we can go on normal dates to coffee shops, amusement parks, or even the museum if that is what you wish for. But now I see you do not know how much you mean to me.” Do you think Gojou-san is only flirting with you for the fun of it? It might have been the case in the beginning, but that is not the case since...recently.

He did not stop you again when you turned away, giving him one last menacing look and disappeared from his sight, even if he could see the faint trace of your curse energy. You will return to him and apologize after you calm down, he is confident about that. You value your job way too much to quit.

Then he could finally pull you into his arms, saying he does not mind and forgive your childish tantrums. Satoru does not plan to lock you up in a cage or anything(yet)! The students adore you and they need your guidance. Your clan is insignificant compared to his, your influence? Does he even need to consider that?

Gojou Satoru would always achieve his goals by whatever means possible. You are no exception to this.

[xxatinyminionxx]

Someone Who Loves You - Part Two (Sunoo Day Special)

Summary: After you've left sweet, handwritten notes on Sunoo's doorstep every evening for a whole week, it's party time. If you haven't already, check out part one here!

Pairing: bestfriend!sunoo x secretadmirer!reader

Genre: Fluff, Imagine, Mini-Series, Best Friends to Lovers

Word Count: 935 words

Warnings: Mention of dragging the reader places, Sunoo calls the reader a 'dummy', I use his Korean age

Requested?: Nope, my idea!

A/N: Happy birthday to Enhypen + Engene's sunshine, Kim Sunoo!!! 💛💛💛 They're growing up so fast 😭

---

Today is the day that you will confess to Sunoo. To be honest, it feels like yesterday when you started writing those anonymous notes to the birthday boy. You were nervous for a lot of reasons as you walked to Sunoo's place, holding a gift at your side. Sunoo was going to be nineteen this year and even closer to being an adult. You couldn't believe it after years of being his best friend. 

The closer you get to his house, the louder the music coming from it gets. You clutch your present for him a little tighter as you continue on. "What if I didn't confess today? I mean I don't have to by law. It's not a crime." You ramble on talking nonsense. It helps you cope. 

Your heart beats fast as you think back to every single note you wrote for the teen. Then you consider the fact that he was almost always with you during the seven days, but you had held your feelings in. Finally, as you ascend the steps to the porch of his house, you remind yourself of the trips you've made up them for the past week to drop off your little messages. Now that you're at the top, there is one thing left for you to do. Ring the doorbell twice. 

Your heart beats even faster and you're more worried than ever. You keep asking yourself: 'What if I get rejected?' and 'Whatever happens, can we still be close?' Mustering up enough courage to wing it, you extend your arm to push the doorbell when the door swings open. Your best bestie in the whole wide world Kim Sunoo is on the other side. You freeze. 

He does the same, a shocked expression spreading onto his face at your arrival. "Y/N-- You're here!" His bright smile now shows itself as if nothing happened and he squeezes you tight in a warm hug. "I'm nineteeeen!!!" He cheers, bouncing on his feet. Of course you hug him back, unable to get enough of his cuteness. Not to mention he smells so good. 

Once you're done cheering with him and you two pull back, you make the impulse decision again to ring the doorbell twice. You have no idea what you're doing. And not even a second later, you hold out the gift you bought for him. "Happy birthday ddeonu, hehe..." 

Great. Now Sunoo's expression is unreadable for once. He kinda just looks at you, but then he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. You're nervous again. What does this mean? He brings you to the kitchen where it's quieter, placing your gift on the counter, and then you get a glimpse of his reddened face as he turns to you. "It was you the whole time?" He asks, his voice low. 

"Well...Yeah..." You respond in a timid tone, not being able to meet his eyes. "Look at me." You hear him say. When you look up, he cups your face with his hands and squishes your cheeks together a little bit. "Why didn't you just tell me? We video chat every night and say 'I love you' before we hang up." You can't believe it. He's scolding you. "I don't say it back just to say it back. I mean it, I love you and you can tell me anything. You don't have to wait." He adds, taking the weight off your shoulders little by little. "But I have to admit, you made my week the best week ever. I kept all of your notes under my pillow." You giggle together at his honesty. 

Sunoo drops his hands and grabs yours, starting to swing them. "Tell me everything." You take a deep breath, ready to let everything go. "We've been best friends forever. One day I started catching feelings and they developed so fast. Up until now I've shied away from telling you because I didn't want anything bad to happen." You glance at him. He's really listening to you - your heart flutters again. "That's really all there is to it." You brace yourself for his reply. 

"I like you too, can we try things out?" 

You look at him like he's speaking another language. "Sunoo what?" 

Sunoo playfully rolls his eyes. "Gosh Y/N do I have to kiss you to make you understand? I'll do it." 

"Um-- Only since you want to so badly-- Ha--" You try to tease him back, but clearly he has rendered you speechless. 

Sunoo leans in and kisses your cheek. The skin his lips touched starts to tingle. "Did it work?" He asks, hoping you understand the reality of the situation. You shake your head just to be difficult. "No, kiss me again." You say. 

"Y/N you're so extra." He leans in and gives your lips a sweet peck. You both giggle again and get shy at the lip to lip contact that happened in the heat of the silly moment. "Wow, you're a good kisser." You say jokingly only to receive a nudge from the blushing male. "That was nothing! Come on, the party's started already." He drags you out of the kitchen to join your friends. 

You end up kissing and hugging each other a fair amount during the party, your friends noticing and hyping you two up like there's no tomorrow. 

"So we're dating?" You ask Sunoo at your doorstep after making the walk home from the party with him. 

"Oh no, my standards are way up there... Of course we're dating, dummy. Now can I get a goodnight kiss from my new partner?"

---

©️ 2021 xxatinyminionxx. All Rights Reserved.

[camdentown-library]

The flames in your eyes || ENG ver. Ethan Torchio x reader

❝ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬. 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚. 

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠. ❞

Genre: Fluff ;; romantic ;; slowburn

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x fem!reader

Warning: English is not my native language, I may have made grammatical errors. do not hesitate to correct me

N / A: The facts told are purely the fruit of my imagination, it is not my intention to do any wrong to any person mentioned, and above all the character of Ethan could (surely) not reflect the person in reality.

Happy reading to you all!

CHAPTER 1

The first rays of July had cast on the roofs of the houses in Rome, giving the off-white plaster and rosy tiles a golden sheen that tasted like honey. The wisteria were in bloom, as was the medlar tree under Marlena's house; the scent of life in the full act of her cycle, always knocked on her dining room window, filling it with sweet fragrances.

The girl used to take her place at the table during the late morning hours, surrounded by books and tomes quite old and gnawed by the dust, with the good resolution that even that day she would read and study those very boring pages of that equally boring examination. of Egyptology. The university summer session had already begun, she had just taken a couple of exams last June and was now preparing two more that she would take in the first weeks of September.

That time could seem apparently short, Marlena didn't care that much, what could ever distract her from her work? She had no friends, and by now, even though she had crossed the threshold of 21 years in the autumn, the girl was now completely extinct her naive youth, as well as her desire to laze.

The out of tune and unexpected sound of the intercom triggered her head bent over the books of the young woman, who after having heaved a sigh perhaps a little annoyed, she decided to get up from her chair, leave the dining room and cross the wide and not too long corridor in the shape of an "L" of his apartment, finally arriving at a brisk pace towards the device it had croaked in order to answer.

"Yes?" she asked quite firmly but not too cordially.

"I'm the postman, will you open me?" answered a stranger, as she pushed the button to open the gate.

Marlena therefore opened the heavy old door of her house, remaining patient to wait for the man to arrive at the door. Although she had lived in that condominium with her father for as long as she remembered it, she had not yet found a rational explanation for its lack of mailboxes. Was it because it was a palace built in the 1920s? Well that would explain the absence of an elevator as well, but a damn mailbox wouldn't be hard to add.

The man's gasping breath brought her back to reality as her eyes saw him peeking from the flight of stairs. Was he already that tired after not even crossing the second floor? The young woman wondered a little disappointed.

"Are you Madam Levavi?" the postman then asked, catching his breath and rummaging through her purse. Marlena wrinkled her nose instinctively.

"Ahm ... not madam, I'm her daughter" she replied shaking her head, what could that postman ever care if she was "miss" or "madam"? The girl lightly bit the inside of her cheek as a reproach.

"Here you are. How many floors are there still?" She asked the man wiping her sweaty forehead with a handkerchief after giving her the mail.

"Two more ..." Marlena replied disinterestedly as she closed the door, observing her letters.

Bills for electricity, water, the tax to be paid for the next university year and ... a letter?

Well, it certainly wasn't sent by her father...

The girl looked at the text of that letter once more, rereading it and rereading it several times, wrapped in a silence that was probably inherent in memories that clouded her common sense, while slowly after taking a few steps back, she gently placed her back to the wall.

"Dear Marlena,

I know perfectly well that it might have been easier to call you, but you know I've always enjoyed writing you letters.

Unfortunately I noticed that in the last few I sent you you didn't answer, I guess it's because the university keeps you very busy ...

However, I learned that your father is out of Italy on a business trip and he will be away until the end of August; It seemed only right to invite you to spend these last months of summer in our house outside the city.

I know that since your mom left, you haven't had the desire to visit us anymore, but I think it would do you good to change the air for a while. The place is quiet, there is the sea and also a large and extensive countryside with a pine forest and the locals are really friendly and helpful.

You can also bring Lapo if you want, I know you are very close.

Either way, let me know your verdict.

A strong hug.

Grandmother Agata.”

She had distant memories of that house, distant but still happy. He remembered when he woke up early in the morning with grandmother Agata and grandfather Laertes to be able to go to the sea and his little hands while looking for hermit crabs and shells on the shore, as he remembered the music in the square and the laughter echoing in the same way as the bells of the church on Sunday, everyone was happy ... and life seemed to be less unfair to those who deserved it less, it tasted like jam and fruit jellies, salt on the lips and bees flying.

Marlena's chest swelled with air, as if she had been holding her breath until then...perhaps because diving into one's childhood was like floundering in a stormy sea pretending to stay afloat.

The cheerful barking of her dog Lapo brought the young woman back to the present, who decided to place the letters on a window sill not far from the front door and set off together with the playful animal towards the kitchen. Lapo was a nice Bernese Mountain Dog, with a black, brown and white coat. It had been given to her five years ago, perhaps because her father had sensed that even his absence had created in the heart of his only daughter, a sense of distressing loneliness, which had consumed her to the bone making her totally apathetic for certain verses.

But Lapo, Lapo had saved her from her, with Lapo she spoke and shared gestures of affection, such as caresses and little licks between her fingers and hair. Sometimes Marlena fell asleep in her bed, with the bulky dog ​​on her, because feeling her warm and humid breath on her blankets reminded her in her sleep that she was not alone in the dark of the night. As long as Lapo's heart had beaten the young girl she was not afraid of having to wake up or sleep.

Although she tried to convince herself that staying in her comfort zone would be easier than answering "yes" to her grandmother's request, a part of her was again attracting her to that letter; her gaze was captured by the horizon of her mind, while in the distance she could almost hear the sounds and flavors of a place almost too fairytale to be part of the material world.

"I know I should answer..." she murmured as she was intent on washing the peel of a red apple in the kitchen sink. Meanwhile the dog sat up looking at her intensely while she wagged his tail waiting for her.

"...It's just that, that place...and then I should finish studying, I have an exam to take at the end of the summer, Lapo" but the dog tilted his head in disappointment and then got up and trotted out of the room, looking for of who knows what amusement, leaving Marlena to her thoughts, as she bit into the freshly dried fruit with the kitchen towel.

All of this would only be for a little over a month and a half, just a month and a half and then she would leave it all behind her again, as she did a long time ago.

“Hello grandma. I'm Marlena..."

Marlena after putting the letter back next to her bedside table, she grabbed the cell phone not far away and typed some numbers on the screen, not too convincingly, and then brought the object to her ear.

There were those ten seconds of waiting that seemed the stroke of half a century, until a voice said "Hello?".

Marlena had brought two large bags with her. One for clothes and the other full of junk such as: books, objects for the dog, tricks and everything that for her mind, not so familiar with travel, she considered indispensable. She was not so convinced that both of them would enter the trunk, but the exemplary ability to know how to adapt and make do with her grandfather always left her with amazement on the edge of her lips.

It took two days before grandfather Laerte's small and overly backward FIAT Punto made its peerless entrance next to the bottle-green gate of the small cloister of the Marlena palace.

The man had taken more or less ten minutes just to park, the niece had wondered how long it would take him to get there and start again.

The young woman was sitting in the back seats, together with Lapo. She held in her hands a small bunch of tulips that Laertes had brought her, made by herself. He said to her:

"I went for a walk in the countryside and tried to capture the most beautiful of all, like my granddaughter!" followed by a proud, croaking laugh. Laertes had always been a proud and incurable romantic, without ever giving up some of her drama, grandmother Agata did nothing but remind her of it in her letters.

Like when Marlena pointed out to him, that the steering wheel of the car was too damaged for the latter to be considered in accordance with the law, but he had always replied that a good soldier and partisan would appeal to his driving experience and a little 'of elbow grease, in order to be sure that the itinerary of the journey would be peaceful and without unpleasant hitches.

Lapo let out an enthusiastic bark when the croaking car left the endless concrete of the highway behind, and then took a narrow, winding, uphill road that would have led them to the small town.

Her gaze stared blankly at what was running, like tape in a movie camera, out the window; She saw the buildings of the city become less present, as well as the stench of smog, then there was a long stretch of highway, immersed in the wheat fields and every now and then some small farm or spare parts industry or other jobs would emerge.

In the car there would have been complete silence, had it not been for the old radio which played an entire disc of all of Lucio Dalla's masterpieces; Marlena's grandfather liked that singer, but not in the same way chatting while driving, because according to him it would have increased the chances of road accidents by 50%, and frankly, the granddaughter didn't mind at all this acknowledgment ... she didn't even know where she should have started and however much her relatives tried to make her feel at ease, she imagined herself as a stranger, a stranger, who had knocked on their door and was now just trying to learn and remember their common manners.

"If you look to the right you will see the sea, Marlena" Laertes informed her, while he struggled with the steering wheel at every bend, but he did not dare to make even a moan under stress. The girl decided to accept those words, and looking out (after rolling down the window) a crisp air of salt pervaded her nostrils like the balm of a mint. Her eyes tried to show as little as possible the defeat of an amazement that had overwhelmed her like a raging wave, making her heart pound.

The sea. Marlena loved the sea. And for a few moments she was wondering what she had forced her to shut up in the house all that time, but then her mind went back to static and clear. She knew why, and there was no other reason to get her back together, even if it was difficult.

Yet there seemed to be few people around the streets, perhaps because at that time anyone with a minimum of wit would have holed up in the cool four walls of their home, just to escape the scorching heat that did not yield until the stroke of five in the afternoon .

By now it was almost two in the afternoon when Laertes' car passed the threshold of the square of the small town, while the attentive (even if apparently lost) gaze of his granddaughter observed everything in detail.

Nothing seems to have changed in that place since the last one who went there. The street was always covered with the usual, old and coarse slabs of white stone and eroded by the weather, as well as the various shops that surrounded the square and the small houses side by side, glazed with a fresh off-white plaster and dark brown roofs, the fountain in the center, and the small restaurant with its balcony overlooking the long pine forest that extended at the foot of the modest hill that supported the town.

A jolt suddenly shook Marlena, when her grandfather decided to pull over and pull up the handbrake of his FIAT, thus causing a slight recoil unexpectedly enough to suddenly wake the girl from her thoughts. She cleared her throat, while she opened her door, so that Lapo could finally trot and wag his tail excitedly around, on the other hand she didn't blame him, it must have been hard for a dog to stay good in the car for so many hours.

"Here we are!" proclaimed the elderly man putting the car keys in his pocket and then ring the bell of the small house next to FIAT "Your grandmother will be so happy to see you, I bet she will have prepared ciambelle with red wine to celebrate your reunion" he added while he waited for the woman he mentioned to open to him, already anticipating on his lips the pungent and sweet taste of those sweets he loved so much.

"So I suppose you made at least thirty" commented the young woman ironically, as she dragged out the two bags with extreme difficulty, attracting the attention of Laertes who, hastily adjusting his frizzy white hair, hastened to reach his niece to give her your support.

“Ah don't worry, kid. I'll take care of it, maybe you can ring the door, your grandmother has now gone deaf as a bell...” he said as he gave a slight snort and then muttered something.

"C’mon, grandpa" Marlena replied then raising her eyes to the sky trying not to smile, how melodramatic could that man be?

After pressing her finger on the bell again, the girl waited for someone to answer and hearing the approach of some quick steps together with the rubbing of flip-flops on the floor, made her realize that Agata had finally heard their arrival. Marlena did not even have time to greet the elderly lady, who took her in her arms, wrapping her in an embrace that caught her unprepared and to which she did not respond immediately.

“Oh my love! I’m so happy to see you again! But look how you have grown! It seems only yesterday when you reached mid-thigh and now...” the hands a little gnarled, but from the soft fingertips of the woman, gently took the face of her niece like a cup, as if to feel if her presence was only fantasy or reality "...You are a woman to all intents and purposes" she whispered and then fussed with kisses all over her face, while Marlena whining pretending to be somehow annoyed.

After climbing a short flight of stairs that led to the house located on the upper floor, the girl's nostrils and consciousness were flooded with memories and sensations already savored. She observed the now old floor of the house, granite tiles that alternated with one hand painted and another not; Marlena rejoiced with a touch of amusement when she as a child she spent boring afternoons playing on them, jumping only on the decorated ones because according to her imagination those remains were made of incandescent lava.

The walls were always the same, covered with a light blue paint and slightly lumpy at times, she could feel it, when the index and middle fingers of her right hand absently brushed the surface.

The house of Marlena's grandparents was very simple and perhaps apparently a little cramped. Having opened the wooden entrance door, after having passed the landing and the stairs, she had in front of her a corridor that extended along to her right, thus marking the various doors of each room that the house gathered inside. Almost parallel to the entrance there was the kitchen door on the opposite wall, without doors, next to it the bathroom door, and then the door to the room of the two elderly spouses. At the end of the corridor there was a small balcony with the railing covered with hanging vases where, like a multicolored waterfall, a thick branching of coral red bucanville came out which, in addition to poetically letting itself fall from the small niche, climbed elegant and graceful on the handrail of the then hug the outside walls of the house.

Marlena took advantage of it, to be able to peep there, while she deeply breathed the fragrant and velvety scent of those petals, mixed with the sea breeze that came from beyond the pine forest that surrounded the town. She observed the small houses around her while if she winked she could distinguish the clear line of the flat and calm sea that merged in perfect alchemy with the clear sky on the horizon.

The young woman tried in every way to convince herself that that enchanted place, that little corner of paradise had never failed her...but she suddenly proclaimed herself foolish for having thought such a cynical thing in the least.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

[odetogyus]

wait

↳pairing/s: idol boyfriend!yugyeom x fem!reader

↳genre: angst (w/ a happy ending lol), idol!au

↳warnings: profanity, mentions of alcohol consumption, trust issues

↳song: wait by maroon 5

✎author's note: idk what I was going through when I wrote this but this was from my 2018 archive and I think this baby needs to see the light of day,, so here it is!

—

"The concert should be done now," you thought to yourself while staring at your phone.

Since your brother's wedding was in 2 days, you didn't have time to fly to Toronto to see your boyfriend and his group perform. You've been on a few tours with them– sometimes working as a stylist for Yugyeom and the whole team. JYP himself even sends you an extra ticket to every single country the boys go to just in case you wanted to come with, but this time however, you had to stay home to help out with your brother's wedding.

It's been almost 3 years since you started dating Yugyeom. What started out as a very unexpected interaction at a dance showcase, later bloomed into something so beautiful. Your relationship wasn't always pretty. In fact, it's true what they say about the first year; it definitely is the hardest.

You've seen them grow, not just as artists but as people, too. You've built such tight relationships with each and every one of them, even the staff members. GOT7 was a family and you were over the moon to be a part of it.

After a few hours of waiting, you decided to take a hot shower before taking a nap. It was a tiring day for you and your family. The wedding was in 2 days and there were a lot of things left to do. You also knew very well that the boys come out exhausted after every show, and so you fought back the slightest feeling of worry in your head and fell into a deep sleep.

–

You woke up to the sound of your phone going off.

BREAKING NEWS

MEMBERS OF THE KPOP GROUP– GOT7, WERE SEEN AT A CLUB IN TORONTO AFTER THEIR CONCERT. MEMBERS MARK TUAN, JACKSON WANG & KIM YUGYEOM WERE SPOTTED HEAVILY INTOXICATED WITH 3 UNKNOWN WOMEN JOINING THEM AT THEIR TABLE. NO OFFICIAL STATEMENTS REGARDING THE INCIDENT HAS BEEN RELEASED BY JYP ENTERTAINMENT.

People you knew and didn't know were tagging you everywhere. Every photograph, every article, they all had their eyes on Yugyeom, and they all had their eyes on you, too.

Your brother's fiancée barged into your room shortly after the news broke out. She was always there for you, and the relationship you shared was a very special one. You trusted her, and you never hid anything from her after the first time she saw you cry.

"Y/N," your almost sister-in-law cooed. You both knew that it was very unlikely of Yugyeom to act that way, but then again, the people surrounding them aren’t always angels. No one really is.

Just then, the name you've been waiting to see finally popped up on your screen, but this time, you weren't sure if you had the guts to answer him.

"Should I answer?" You asked, sounding miserable as ever. Tears escaped your eyes, glistening like broken glass when the sunlight hits the surface.

"You need to hear it from him, Y/N. I'll be in the kitchen, let me know if you need anything."

Accepting the call, you swallowed hard enough and prepared yourself for what could either be the most painful truth you had to hear, or the biggest lie ever you had to believe.

"Y/N.. hey, please let me explain," Yugyeom's voice was incredibly raspy and shaky, and you knew damn well that he was in tears. It's only been a few hours since the incident, so it was safe to say that he was still quite hungover. You knew they were well taken care of, but what happened cannot be rewritten again. What's done is done.

"Go ahead," you answered. Holding back your tears is always the hardest when you know that you have no choice but to endure the pain.

"We had a few drinks, and we had fun. We had so much fun. The boys and I, the staff. Me and Jackson hyung tried the hose thingy, it was so– cool– but, but I'm sorry babe, I'm so sorry–"

"Do you just.. wanna talk when you’re not like.. this, Yugyeom? Because if you're gonna keep doing this, I might as well just hang up and talk to my fucking wall–"

Oh, the theatrics of a brokenhearted beast.

"No.. stop, listen to me, I'm trying to explain!"

"Okay, then do it," you said angrily. The tears from your eyes were flowing down uncontrollably. It was so painful that you couldn't even hear anything else but the sound of his lies breaking you continuously.

"Mark hyung joined us, and we got so drunk, and next thing you know, these random girls sat with us at the table. I don't remember a lot but– I think one even bit my neck– it hurts, and she– I think she sat on my lap but I think I tried to push her off but I passed out. I don't really remember anything else–"

"You know, Gyeom? Sometimes, I wish you knew what it's like to be the one that patiently waits for you to come home, hoping that the worries in your head just disappear. How could you be so irresponsible? Man.. how could you do this to me? To us?"

"Y/N, you know I love you more than anything else but for fuck's sake, will you please believe me? My head hurts so much and you're acting up! Jesus!"

Yugyeom knew not to push your buttons, but in that state of his, he pushed it all, not missing one.

"Well, if that’s the case then I’m sorry. I’m sorry for caring too much, and for being all up in your business all the fucking time. Have fun remembering how you got that stupid hickey of yours, I’m done–"

"No, you are not hanging up on me, Y/N. It was a mistake, okay? God, my head is killing me and I just.. need you to believe me. I drank too much, and I know it’s bad, but I swear to fucking God, I didn’t do anything to hurt you. I would never hurt you. But you need.. to stop being difficult.. you’re making things worse here–"

The tension grew even more. You were both screaming your lungs out at each other, thousands of miles away from the other.

"Really now?" You spat bitterly. That was it for you. The last straw. "Well then, I know my brother invited you to the wedding, but don't bother showing up. I don't want to see you."

Your harsh words must've hurt Yugyeom so much, that his screams of anger just managed to slip out of his already worn out body.

"You're really throwing this all away– huh? Almost 3 years worth of memories? Just because I made a mistake, just because I don't remember everything that happened to me while I was intoxicated? You think I wanted those girls to come close to us? You're so– Y/N, you really think I wanted to hurt you, don't you? So now.. you do this? You're really breaking up with me? On the phone? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Trust, Yugyeom. Trust. You broke the most important thing we built. Do you know how hard it is to do this? To date someone like you? People send me death threats, Yugyeom. Just because I decided to be with you. Do you even know how I feel? Do you know how Mark's girlfriend feels? How Jackson's girlfriend feels? Because I do. We all fucking get it!"

"Okay, trust. But let me ask you Y/N, if things were so difficult, why are you still here? Why date me when you could've left? That's what you wanna do anyway, right? You wanna leave, you wanna be free, right?"

But it’s not freedom if it’s not with you.

The bitter taste of surprise was too much for you. It was never meant to hurt that much, but it did.

"Wanna know why I'm still here, Yugyeom?"

"Why," he spat coldly.

"Because I thought that– loving you, oh god, I thought that that was more than enough to believe that we'd make it. But at this point, maybe we're both just better off alone. Separate ways, Gyeom."

Yugyeom let out a faint laugh. The most painful laugh one could ever laugh. A laugh of defeat.

"You're really doing this, huh? This is what you want? You're really doing this to us–"

"You don't need to show up at the wedding.. I'll just, tell them about us after. We'll meet when we're both ready to talk. Be safe."

"Fuck this, Y/N. Fuck–"

And with that, you hung up.

Your heart was broken once again, not by the same person, but because of the same reason you kept your heart safe and hidden in the first place.

Trust.

Yugyeom was your true love. The man you believed to be was your person. The person you entrusted your fragile self to. The person you needed.

But maybe he doesn't need you.

Putting your phone on silent, you cried yourself to sleep, wishing you'd never wake up.

—

wedding day.

Your eyes were still tired and gloomy, but you were better. You haven't heard from him since the fight and although it hurt you too much to be that person to hang up and end things, you knew better than to mope all day and question your existence.

"You look so beautiful in that dress! I'm so happy you chose that style! It's just perfect," your brother's soon-to-be wife exclaimed. She was the one who held you tight when your heart broke for the wrong guy, and she was also the one who held you when Yugyeom couldn't. It's safe to say she's the sister you never had.

"Thanks, I'm happy to be here. I'm so excited for you and my brother. I don't know what you see in him but I'm thankful you stuck around."

The bride smiled with tears welling up in her eyes. "You stick around for the one you love, Y/N. Even when the storm hits and everything falls apart, wait it out, then love again."

The wedding venue was everything you imagined it to be. A beautiful pathway to the garden, red and white roses everywhere, and photographs of your brother and his soon-to-be wife hung from the stringed lights wrapped around the tall trees to create the most beautiful ambiance.

Your quick peek of the venue ended since it was almost time for the actual ceremony. You were one of the bridesmaids, and you had to be wherever the bride was.

From afar, a tall figure walked towards the venue in a red suit. His dark hair complemented his outfit, and his handsome face was the cherry on top of it all.

Yugyeom showed up to the wedding a few minutes before it actually started. He took his time exchanging words of happiness and support to your brother. Yugyeom's relationship with your brother started out like any other brother – boyfriend relationship, but the two ended up being very close friends. A few moments before announcing the beginning of the ceremony, Yugyeom found his way to his seat. He sat close to the front, but in the corner.

The ceremony began, and every second felt longer than it should have. Closing your eyes, you took slow, but steady, steps to the podium where your brother was. You both agreed to welcome the bride with your whole family present next to him.

dirty looks from your mother

never seen you in a dress that color, no

it's a special occasion

not invited but I'm glad I made it

He looked at you like it's the first time he's ever laid eyes on you. His heart thumped like crazy, seeing how your hair fell perfectly down the length of your spine, in a red dress that exposed most of your back. Yugyeom couldn't resist every urge to kiss you. Every thought of you possibly breaking up with him completely made the poor boy pale. He was madly in love with you, in every possible way, that losing you meant losing everything to him.

The moment you stood next to your brother, your eyes met his. The eyes you hated to look into, but missed the most. Yugyeom stared at you for a long time, before you both snapped out of the trance only you two were in. You saw him mouth a "wow" before facing the bride and giving her a hug.

Walking to your designated seat, your mind went crazy just imagining how hard it would be to keep your composure when Yugyeom would literally be inches away from you.

"Beautiful," Yugyeom said in awe as you sat next to him. "You're beautiful, Y/N."

Without looking at him, you extended your gratitude. "Thank you, Yugyeom," was all you could say.

You both tried so hard to focus on the wedding. For the most part, it felt like no one else was there. You were in the moment, and so was he.

The exchange of vows was definitely something. Every word your brother and his wife exchanged was pure love. And deep down, you prayed that the love you needed was Yugyeom's.

oh, let me apologize

i'll make up, make up, make up, make up for all those times

your love, I don't wanna lose

i'm begging, begging, begging, begging, I'm begging you

As if on cue, Yugyeom held your hand without looking at you. His hand was shaky, and so was yours, but you didn't pull away. You held onto him, too. You held onto him like your life depended on it, and you held onto the person that longs for you the most.

"I do," your brother speaks into the microphone, looking at his woman. Yugyeom holds your hand even tighter, saying the same words your brother said, loud enough for you to hear it. Only you.

I do.

The bride reciprocates, and tears immediately stream down your face as the rush of emotions take over you.

Not wanting to lose the love of your life ever again, you follow suit, and said the same words the bride said. Only for you and Yugyeom, it meant something else. Only something the two of you could understand.

I do.

You both stood firmly, not letting go of each other, when the officiator finally said the words everyone wanted to hear.

You may now kiss the bride.

Not wasting a precious second, Yugyeom pulled you into a tight embrace, holding your head against his chest. His lips planted kisses at the top of your head, and suddenly everything was right in the world.

The scent of his perfume was home to you, and it made you feel so much better.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so stupid, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," Yugyeom whispered, still keeping you in his arms.

"I'm sorry, too, Gyeom," you answered, trying hard not to let the tears roll down your cheek and ruin your makeup.

Yugyeom finally kissed you.

He kissed you without stealing the spotlight from the newly weds. He kissed you softly, but it was clear that he longed for it. For you. He kissed you just the way you needed to be kissed, reminding you that he is yours in full surrender.

"I love you, Gyeom."

You finally meet his gaze. The prettiest eyes you've ever seen, and he really was the best thing that's ever happened to you.

"I love you, Y/N. I love you."

Wait it out, then love again.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 06 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.2 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (05)

Next part (07) ->

{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

Being Held

“I don't care what you think, you'll do what's best for (Y/N).” Keanu didn't want to be this rude with Mrs. Davis, but she's giving him a hard time. The doctors have already spoken to her and she agreed on not telling (Y/N) the truth since her health and the baby's depend on it. But still, seating on the first floor's balcony, as (Y/N) showers and changes after the morning walk, Lucia doesn't seem very happy about it.

“Of course not, Mr. Reeves. Or whatever you fancy people rather be called. But this isn't fair, and it isn't right. Do you plan to have this going on for how long?” She raises her voice, what makes Keanu's heart skips a beat. He looks over his shoulder, just to make sure (Y/N) isn't anywhere near. “My son is dead, but this is his child. You can't steal it from him.”

“Everything I'm doing is to keep her healthy.” He whisper-yells, both hands resting on the circular wooden table as he stands up, bending forward, trying to look as intimidating as he can. He doesn't give a damn if Lucia is her mother-in-law and the child's grandmother, he won't let her do anything that may put (Y/N) or the baby in danger. “You weren't here. You didn't see how desperate and lost she was, but I did. Breaking the news to her may lead to a miscarriage. Is this what you want? To lose your grandchild?” He spits the words out, tired of this stupid conversation. This woman is an idiot, he thinks, because he knows she had a meeting with both Dr. Wright and Dr. Harris about (Y/N)'s situation. But Keanu's last words make the woman sink a little, eyes softening, but he can still see some anger. Lucia Davis doesn't like him, that much is clear. “I'm not trying to steal anything from your late son, I'm just–”

“Keanu?” Her soft, low voice calls from the inside, cutting his words short. He takes a deep breath before turning around, watching as she shyly walks to the balcony, curious eyes already looking for Mrs. Davis, and she stops when her eyes find her. “Hi.”

“(Y/N), this is Lucia Davis. Your mother's friend.” He says, reaching out his hands, which she quickly takes, moving to stand next to him. “You were somewhat close.”

With a hand on the small of her back, Keanu listens to the small greetings, thinking if he should go away now, unsure if it's safe to let Lucia alone with (Y/N). But he quickly remembers that the first floor bathroom is close by, with high windows that will allow the conversation to reach his ears. He doesn't want to spy on them, but this is (Y/N)'s health, and he'll do whatever is necessary.

“I'll take a shower.” He tells her in a low voice, offering a small smile when she nods. Placing a kiss on her forehead, Keanu touches her belly gently, at the same time shooting a hard glance at Mrs. Davis. It's a warning, a reminder of what's at risk of she opens her mouth. Then, he leaves, heading to the bathroom after quickly grabbing some clothes, the low voices successfully making their way inside the bathroom.

You're bouncing your leg lightly, wondering how long Keanu will take. This woman is weird, she hasn't stopped asking about your husband, if he's taking good care of you. At first, you thought she was a fan, but now... There's anger in her eyes, like she's pissed off. Ten minutes into the conversation and you want Lucia to go already.

“Has he ever tried to... Force you?” She asks, leaning forward on the table, across from you.

“What do you mean?” Sighing, you play with a strand of hair, twisting it around your finger.

“Has Keanu tried to get intimate with you?” Lucia speaks faster now, grabbing your hand over the table. “Because that's not ok. Even if... Even if you're married–” She spits the last word as if it's something disgusting. “–you don't remember him, so he can't force you to do anything. Don't let him trick you into it.”

“Mrs. Davis, Keanu has been amazing.” You repeat, the conversation draining your strength. “He hasn't forced me into anything. I'm still sleeping in the guest room and so it'll be as long as I want. He's giving me all the space and time I'll need to get things together.” You really hope she can't see you blushing, because there's heat spreading through your face. You haven't thought about any on this yet, and you do hope it won't get into your head. “I assure you everything is great. He's taking good care of me.”

She sighs, shaking her head slightly. “If he ever does anything you're not comfortable with, you call me and I'll take you with me to Argentina.”

A laugh escapes your lips because you can't believe your ears. “I'm not going to leave my husband.” You tell her, crossing your arms over your chest. “I'm completely fine, you don't have to worry about me.” The headache that had just vanished is starting to come back, and you begin rubbing your temples.

“I'm just–”

“Headache?” Keanu speaks suddenly, startling you a little just before you're filled with relief.

“Yeah.” He knows you well. “I think I'll take another pill and get some rest.” Hoping Lucia will get the hint, you stand up, taking Keanu's hand.

“Mrs. Davis, I'm sorry, but I think you should go now. The doctor's said (Y/N) has to rest whenever the headaches get bad.” He says, and you nod, giving the woman a small smile and a wave before heading inside.

That was beyond awkward, and you don't think you'll want to meet with her anytime soon. Making your way to the bedroom, you sit on the bed, back resting on the headrest. It's terribly hot in here, and you jump back to your feet just to push the two windows open before going back to bed. You were expecting Keanu to come to check on you, but long fifteen minutes or so pass by before you listen to his heavy footsteps, and then it doesn't take much until he's opening your door. You're fanning yourself with your hands, the wind coming in not enough to push the heat away.

“I didn't like her.” It's the first thing you say. “And she doesn't like you one bit.”

“I noticed.” Keanu sits next to you, furrowing his eyebrows. “It's probably the age thing.”

“What age thing?” As you speak, you get irritated, pulling your hair off of your shoulders and pinning it above your head with both hands. “Damn it, why am I so hot?”

For some reason, it amuses Keanu, who smiles. “It's called a hot flash.” You were just about to snap at his smirk, but when he leans forward and blows on your neck, the fresh sensation makes you close your eyes and relax just a little bit.

“That's so good.” You mutter, closing your eyes. Then, an idea flashes through your head. “Oh! Go get some ice cubes.”

“Ice cubes?” He asks, quite uncertain.

“Yeah. I had an idea.” Playfully, you give his leg a light kick, smiling when he gives in and stands up.

A couple of minutes later your husband is back with a glass bowl full of ice. You're still fanning yourself and the moment he sits on the bed, you take two cubes, one in each hand, placing them on your neck. “Damn, this is good.” Giggling, you close your eyes to take in the cool sensation against your burning skin. “Help me out.” You ask him, eyes opening again to give him a look. “If you want of course.”

He hesitates a little, eyes lingering on you before he takes an ice cube too. “Where?”

“Uhm...” Thinking for a while, you sigh. “Here on my chest.” Pinching his eyebrows together, he hesitates again. “C'mon, I'm burning up.” With your hands slightly wet from the melting ice, you put the thin straps of your shirt down your shoulders a little. A smile comes to your lips when he finally gives in, softly brushing the cube on your skin, bellow the collarbones. “Thanks.” You mutter, feeling as the heat slowly starts to fade. “What was that you said before? The age thing?”

Keanu sighs, eyes on his current task as you run the cubes through your neck. “Some people are very judgmental about the age difference between us.” He starts, and you're sure he gets a little sad. “It got me thinking too, of course. You definitely should be with someone your age so–”

“Yeah, but here we are.” Deciding to cut him off, you stare at him even though he won't look at you. “I can't speak for myself before, but whoever I was, I married you. So it's probably everything you gotta know about it. And now...” Maybe you shouldn't say it, but you know it's true. And when his eyes meet yours, filled with doubt, and something you've never seen before, you know you have to say it. Keanu needs to know where you stand now because this is like a forced restart. “...I find it really hot.” Muttering, you feel a different kind of heat spreading through your body.

Keanu's lips break into a smile, and a soft giggle reaches your ears. You absolutely love the sound, it makes you want to kiss him. Wait, what? You knew that what Lucia said would somehow get into your head, but you never thought it would be that fast.

“You know what else is hot?” Keanu asks as you pull the ice cubes away, throwing them back in the bowl Keanu placed on the nightstand.

“What?” You inquire, wondering if there's a joke coming your way.

“This,” Keanu answers, tilting his chin slightly, pointing out at you. Now your burning again, cheeks red for sure, looking away from him.

“Don't tease the pregnant woman, Keanu.” You warn him, voice suddenly and unexpectedly weak. “Lucia also said that she'd take me to Argentina with her. As if.” You didn't want to bring her back into the conversation, but you're willing to talk about anything else, eager to calm yourself down and get rid of the thoughts of kissing Keanu.

“If you want to go, you know I won't stop you, right?” He puts the ice cube away, and you sigh, turning your attention back at him. “I'm sure she'd take good care of you.”

“I doubt that. She'd never rub ice cubs on me.” Taking his hand, you give it a little squeeze. “I'm happy, Ke. Living here with you is great. There's a lot to get used to and a lot of things to work on but... This is good. I feel good and safe with you around.”

The smile he has on it's amazing, beautiful. It's the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. “This makes me happy too.” He mutters, bringing his free hand to caress your cheek.

“So don't worry. As if I was going to leave the father of my child behind.” Changing to a joking tone, you place his hand on your belly. “I don't even speak Spanish.”

He giggles again, but soon enough Keanu gets all serious. “You have no idea how much it means to me that... That you're feeling fine. Happy...”

It's true that sometimes you even forget about the accident. It never lasts for more than a couple of minutes, but it means that you can move on from it. But you don't think the same happens with Keanu. You feel like the accident is everything he thinks about, and you hope that taking care of you isn't overwhelming to him. You wish there was something you could do to ease his burden.

“Ke, I... I really want us to work out. If I remember or if I don't, I want things to be completely, one hundred percent fine here.” Moving to sit on your legs, standing closer to him, you touch both his shoulders. “You worry too much. And I get it. My body is still recovering, and there's the baby too, but... I don't want it to become too much and... Ruin things.”

“You're not ruining anything, beautiful, I promise.” With his index finger under your chin, Keanu makes you look into his eyes. “I'm doing this because I love you. I worry because I love you. And nothing will change that. It's not too much, I can do this.”

“Alright, but... Share things with me, you know. Let me help as much as I can being... Well... Like this.” There's a lump in your throat, and you feel tears starting to form in your eyes.

“Hey, don't cry. Come here” Keanu gently pulls you into his arms, and you don't even try to fight it. You had planned this, you decided to fall for him again, but you didn't know your feelings would start to grow by themselves, without you having to force them. You want him, you want to be in his arms, so you don't think much before placing your legs over his, allowing him to hold you. This is everything you need right now, everything you want, to be held by him.

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

[ronsenburg]

Since you mentioned you were looking for drabble requests, if you haven't moved on from AA already, could I request something where Apollo or Klavier is struggling against pride/feeling that his problem isn't a big deal/some kind of internal roadblock to seek comfort from the other? Maybe they lost a case they don't think they should have lost, or it's the anniversary of something sad, or they just feel crappy physically or emotionally. Any reason is fine. Thanks for considering my request ^^

vorher:

It’s nearly six pm by the time Franziska finds him, tucked into a chair in the corner of some pretentious and probably ephemeral bar downtown.

It isn’t one of his usual haunts, but the staff seem to know who he is well enough, anyway. Though he is just barely twenty-three and his tab has been approaching the four figure mark for the past hour and a half, no one has bothered to card him or attempt cutting him off yet. Of course, that may have had more to do with the sizable tips slid to whatever staff member is closest in proximity rather than his rather notorious celebrity status, but Klavier’s ego has been rapidly ceasing to care about such things in recent months. What matters to him at this very moment is less the thrill of universal adoration and more the ability to nurse his wounded pride in pseudo-solitude with a vastly overpriced drink.

That solitude is shattered, however, by the arrival of Prosecutor Franziska Von Karma. The sound of her heels clicking firmly against the highly lacquered floors crescendos over whatever smooth jazz cover they’re piping through the hidden speakers as she makes her way directly over to him.

“Are you finished with your tantrum yet?” she asks, removing her dark sunglasses and placing them onto the surface of the bar beside him without any sort of invitation.

It takes a moment for the words to process; Klavier has spent so long playing the role of the ostentatious expat that his alcohol muddled brain can barely grasp the crisp and nearly foreign sounding syllables of her German.

By then, she has already removed her long leather gloves and cape, handing them off to an employee that floats near her elbow like a well trained dog on a leash. When she slides into the chair beside him and signals for the bartender, the scotch she orders for herself is nearly as expensive as Klavier’s own. If he weren’t so chagrined by her sudden interruption, he would likely be impressed.

“Since when is enjoying a drink after work considered a tantrum?” Klavier returns, finally, and also in German. He attempts to fire off one of his charming smiles as he speaks, but the words feel so clumsy and out of practice on his lips that the gesture falls short and sounds far more like the kind of sulk that directly proves the point she has made.

Franziska raises a perfectly arched eyebrow in reaction, though whether it is a response meant specifically for his faltering pronunciations or juvenile tone, Klavier can’t be at all sure. “Since someone recently made a complete fool of himself in a court of law.”

The words strike out like the lash of a whip; Klavier winces despite himself. Franziska is only two years older than him, but when she glances away with an air of disinterested disdain to take a sip from the tumbler placed in front of her, the gap seems far wider.

“You heard?”

“I saw,” she replies, glancing over to him again just long enough to offer a small, disparaging smirk. “It was quite the performance. Do people actually pay you money to see such foolishness on stage?”

The shame he’d been attempting to shove away for the past five hours flares up just below the surface of his thoughts then, hot and bright enough that he suddenly feels sick to his stomach.

“You are just as charming as they say, Fraulein,” Klavier smiles; the sarcasm tastes false and bitter on his tongue.

In truth, he had made a fool of himself.

Klavier has always prided himself on being meticulous in his pursuit of the truth, in perfectly balancing the demands of both his prosecutorial career and his life as a musician. And, most of the time, he’d succeeded so brilliantly that it had blinded him to the subtly advancing and yet still discreet signs that he might have been slipping.

There had been issues with the band’s latest album.

With the ink long since dried on the studio’s contract and their chosen title already heavily marketed, the pressure to produce something of value had been mounting. Every song he’d written since then had seemed increasingly vapid, words that fit a theme but lacked any sort of meaning, chords that sounded deliberately catchy but were devoid of anything new and surprising. They were going through the motions, but those motions were long since stale. There was nothing of the artistic fire that had skyrocketed them to success in their early years and that alone drained any last bit of excitement he might have derived from the process.

It was driving a neat wedge through the center of the band; Daryan called him a diva, so used to having things his own way that he fell to pieces at the idea of ever being told what to do. Take the money, release an album that was shallow but on brand. They could always switch it up next time when time was on their side. You’re the lawyer, he'd mocked, you should know exactly how much of our asses are on the line here.

Their arguments on the subject had become more and more frequent as the days passed, spilling from band practice to crime scenes and, finally, to the kitchen of Klavier’s apartment. This time, it was Daryan who had packed what few belongings he’d scattered throughout Klavier’s various shelves and drawers into an old duffle bag and left, slamming the door shut behind him with finality as he’d gone.

As Klavier’s luck would dictate, Daryan had been the lead detective on this last case. While they were both professional enough not to ignore each other completely during the proceedings, the type of communication necessary for a successful indictment had been… difficult, to say the least.

And so he’d been distracted in his investigation, enough that he’d overlooked a piece of evidence so decisive in the opposition’s favor that when it had been presented, he’d been left gaping in uncharacteristic surprise from his place at the bench.

Yes, he’d been slipping, unable to see the progression of his descent until he had been standing firmly at the bottom of a tall slope.

He was only lucky, he supposed, that this was not a murder trial.

Back at the bar, Klavier rolls his eyes softly, more an aversion of his gaze than a gesture for dramatic display. Franziska doesn’t seem to be paying him enough attention to notice such things, anyway.

“Well, you can consider me scolded. Your work is done.”

“And yet, that’s not why I’m here,” Franziska returns. Ignoring the eyebrow he raises toward her in obvious question, she instead tilts the tumbler back, swallowing the last centimeter of the amber drink. “I would not waste my time and energy searching the city to scold a fool who seems to be doing an admirable job of berating himself. No, despite your recent failures, there are people in this city who seem to care about your well being. It would be a shame if you were to drown in a pool of your own vomit.”

He cannot help his rather obvious flinch at her words, no matter how quickly he endeavors to mask it. “How very touching, ja? I was expecting more anger.”

Franziska pauses in the midst of extracting a matte black card from the small handbag she carries. When her steel grey eyes meet his, Klavier suddenly understands the fear the von Karma name had once inspired in courtrooms across the world.

“Oh, I am angry,” she smiles, wagging her finger in such a way that it is clear she is mocking him. “You allowed a criminal to walk free today. But he is guilty, I am certain of that. And now he will be cocky.”

Klavier is so stunned by her words that he barely registers that she has slid her card across the surface of the wooden bar, let alone has the presence of mind to argue.

“There will be more evidence to find and new charges to file,” she continues, unperturbed by his gaping. “I will assume that next time you will have your priorities in the correct order.”

With that, she stands and turns to the attendant who is still waiting nearby, ready to help her back into the dark, cashmere folds of her cloak. When the complex ritual of donning her long gloves and sunglasses is complete, she turns once again to face him.

“I will be driving you home. You may choose, now, whether you would like to accompany me willingly or if you will require Detective Gumshoe’s escort. You have until I reach the door to decide.”

It feels as though a whirlwind has swept through the room, appearing out of nowhere to disrupt his wallowing completely before disappearing as suddenly as she had come. Klavier is not stupid enough to doubt Franziska’s words, despite the fact that he is twenty-three and more than a bit inebriated. He wavers only slightly as he finds his own feet and follows her out onto the sun soaked sidewalk beyond the bar.

If she is smiling when she looks back towards him, it is the small, private smirk of victory. Klavier finds that he is too preoccupied with the act of placing one foot in front of the other along the uneven slabs of concrete to care. He stumbles gracelessly into the backseat of the car Franziska indicates, through a door held open by a man that Klavier can only assume is the Detective she had mentioned inside.

“Huh,” he comments before closing the door. “Somehow I thought you’d be taller, pal.”

A sharp stab of pain somewhere behind his left temple resonates brightly in response.

This is something he will certainly regret tomorrow.

nachher:

“Okay, spill,” Apollo demands, crossing his arms in a visible display of stubborn obstination that, at any other time, Klavier might find endlessly adorable.

Tonight, however, he has reached a new level of exhaustion, one that leaves him blinking back at Apollo in baffled surprise as he attempts to pivot his thoughts from their previous trajectory in order to make sense of the other’s sudden words. “Spill was?”

As his words indicate, the intended course adjustment doesn’t go very well at all.

“Whatever’s going on with you,” Apollo replies, huffing out a sigh of what sounds nearly like frustration. “You’ve been working late, you don’t eat, you haven’t been sleeping. Something’s up; I think you should tell me what it is.”

Though Apollo’s words and posture are combative, it is all for show. There is an uncertainty in his eyes and concern exposed in the way he bites at the inside of his lip in silence, waiting for Klavier to speak. The fact that Klavier has learned to recognize this expression through repeatedly causing it is a painful enough thing to shoulder; to admit to the reason behind his behavior when it will only bring them both all the more strife, however, would be far worse. Not because he doubts the limits of Apollo’s strength; it is his own resilience that is threatened by the thought of divulging the extent of his insecurities.

Klavier runs a hand through the strands of hair that have escaped the hasty braid he had tied earlier that evening and attempts an apologetic smile. “Ach, Liebling, there is nothing to tell. It is just work.”

“You’re lying.”

It is stated as a fact, nothing more. But while there is nothing accusatory in Apollo’s tone and his face is perfectly even as he says it, Klavier still feels the words as though they are the sting of an attack.

“Ja?” he responds. “And you promised there would be no bracelet inside the house, did you not?”

What he intends is for the words to sound facetious, a nod to the same kind of fond banter they had indulged in long before the intimacy of a romantic relationship. But Klavier is lying; it is not an offense often committed between them and certainly not one he has reveled in or perpetuated out of malice, now. Still, to be seen through so shifted his smile without meaning to. Klavier can feel it teetering on the edge of a sneer that feels both unfamiliar and familiar all at once.

What follows, then, is a long pause.

A lifted arm, a proffered bare wrist, is Apollo’s only response.

That gesture feels more devastating than the aftermath of an actual, physical fight. Klavier can feel the air exit his lungs in a sharp hiss of remorse, his posture on the plush sofa of their study crumbling as he leans forward to place his head into his waiting hands.

“That was uncalled for,” Klavier begins, though his voice is muffled by the skin of his palms pressed firmly against his speaking mouth. “I am sorry, Schatz, I—“

But his words are interrupted by the sudden creak of sofa springs, the cushions on either side of Klavier dipping under the newly applied weight of Apollo’s knees. There is the feeling of Apollo’s warm fingers wrapping around the skin of his wrists, gently pulling his hands away from his face.

“I know you, Klavier,” Apollo says softly; his voice is so uncharacteristically gentle that the words sound less like a statement and more the sweetest declaration of love. Maybe they are. After all, Klavier has been loved before. But being actually, truly known? He glances up into Apollo’s brown eyes, warm with determination and affection. “I don’t need the bracelet to see when you’re upset. If you don’t want to talk about it right now, I understand, but you don’t have to go around pretending everything is okay when it isn’t.”

“Bold words for someone who insists upon always being fine, ja?” Klavier murmurs, another half hearted attempt at humor that falls flat in what little space exists between them. 

Apollo still lifts the edge of his lips in a small, humored smile of concession. “In court, maybe. But not with you. We all need to be vulnerable, sometimes.”

The breath that Klavier exhales wavers under the strain of unspoken emotions, his eyes fluttering closed just as Apollo leans forward to place a featherlight kiss against the center of his forehead, against his cheekbone, against the corner of his downturned mouth. 

“You can trust me, Klavier,” he concludes. “I’ll always be here, whenever you’re ready, okay?” 

Klavier finds he does not have the words to respond, then, even as the sound of fabric rustling against fabric fills the air and the hands holding Klavier’s wrists retreat. Their absence is felt immediately in the lack of warmth as Apollo slides back off the couch and onto his feet. 

“Apollo?”

Apollo’s footsteps stall halfway through the door.

Klavier still finds he needs to clear his throat before he can continue to speak, swallowing back the sentiments that have collected there that he is otherwise unable to express. “Could you stay? Bitte. Just for a moment.”

This is a weakness Klavier should not afford himself. It is selfish to ask Apollo to comfort him when Klavier cannot even bring himself to explain precisely why he requires it. But Apollo’s eyes are soft when they find Klavier’s gaze once again, inexplicably fully of acceptance and, beyond that, what Klavier knows is love.

“Yeah,” he nods, “of course.”

Apollo stays far longer than a moment, his fingers combing through the strands of Klavier’s loose hair under the fading light that filters in though the slightly open window. They don’t speak, but the steady rhythm of Apollo’s breath in the otherwise silent room, the gentle pressure of his fingers, is enough to distract him from the tumultuous cascade of his own thoughts.