#not even getting into characters with trauma

[kerink]

ford's lifetime of objectification is so important to me.

when you first watch the show, you don't really see it in tots. just taking the show in isolation, stan's experience is much easier to latch on to: stan is being neglected by his parents and the education system, and he compensates for it by becoming useful to (and therefore needed by) ford. the codependency and abuse are the themes that stand out.

which makes sense, since we've been following stan so long by this point we're bought into his character arc. alex has even said that ford was built to be someone who would explain stan's trauma response. we are meant to be looking at stan for these reasons and because ford lies to us (by omission) during his story. yes stan lies too, but only in the narration; we are shown the truth. ford's story is a lie both in narration and in visuals.

but as the show goes on and as the books come out, we are directed to start looking more and more at ford's experience.

when you read journal 3 standard edition, what stands out is bill's manipulation and how ford fails to grasp the lifelines fate throws him. we see ford transform from a man wanting recognition and connection to being isolated and unable to trust.

but then you read journal 3 blacklight edition, you realize it wasn't just bill: fiddleford was hurting him too. when fiddleford first presents the memory gun to ford, ford tells him that it's dangerous with a high risk for misuse, and to destroy it. not only does fiddleford lie about agreeing with ford and lie about destroying it, he also turns around and starts routinely, non-consensually using it on ford. whenever fiddleford wants to do something he knows ford will disagree with or be upset by? zap zap! conflict averted, no compromising or debating necessary. (and then, of course, he starts stalking ford to ensure nothing happens to him that fiddleford deems deleteable.)

and then we get tbob and watch bill hijack and mutilate his body, rewire his brain, and threaten his life. his value reduced down to a pair of eyeballs bill is more than happy to pluck out to use as keys if ford won't deactivate the retinal lock.

with this new insight, it makes ford's experience in tots significantly easier to see. filbrick didn't care about what happened to ford, he cared about what he lost. yes stan probably did care about what happened to ford, but not enough to tell him about the accident with time enough to fix it. not enough to let him be angry, let him grieve, let him figure out alternative college solutions. it was just right back to what stan wanted: sailing away together. for the entire scene, ford's opinion weren't asked for, his emotions not given a platform, until they were useful for what stan wanted: not having him kicked out. ford's experience of the event was so unimportant, he'd gone to his bedroom while filbrick and stan fought. he was no longer needed.

neither bill, nor fiddleford, nor filbrick, nor stanley see ford as a fully realized human being with wants and goals and dreams and aspirations of his own. at least, they see him as a fully realized human being only up until what he wants conflicts with what they want. after j3 blacklight it starts to become obvious that ford is a tool, a concept, to the people ford thinks are his closest allies.

to bill, ford is an escape (with just the show and j3 we think only into our world, but after tbob we learn that this is both literal and metaphorical). to fiddleford, ford is freedom (from his marriage, from societal expectations, from the pressure of being more than his roots). to filbrick, ford was stability (i refuse to believe it was just about the money, but more about what the money represented. filbrick and caryn wouldn't have to worry about making ends meet, wouldn't have to worry about their children's future; all reasonable desires for parents to have but inappropriate responsibilities to place on a teenager. not to mention how the lasting impact of the holocaust combined with the rise of holocaust denialism in the 1970s would influence filbrick's perspectives). to stan, ford was everything (he was willing to throw away his life on shore, both what he had and what he might have, to sail with ford, just the two of them, forever. and he did throw away his life bringing ford home: he murdered stanley pines and sacrificed 30 years in exchange for his brother. stan believes he is only one half of a dynamic duo, that without ford there is no him).

in a way, ford was a portal for all of them. something they could use to get a better, happier, fuller life. ford is fought for, someone hard decisions are made for, someone people do terrible things for. but not for him, but for the opportunity to keep him, to control him. hell, even his doctor said they want to kidnap him.

because keeping stanford pines is extremely difficult. he's hard to get close to, but once you're close he loves fully, trusts implicitly. but if he's wronged, he's vindictive, he holds a grudge, he pushes you away and he runs.

princess unattainabelle indeed.

doesn't it make sense, then, after all of this, ford would grow into someone who insists upon his own agency? that he was forced to become self-confident, self-assured, a man of action. that he would become an avid journaler so that his wants and goals and dreams and aspirations would become concrete, would become tangible. that he would become someone who lies about his past in order to have control over how he is perceived, how his life is remembered?

because after what fiddleford and bill did to him, wouldn't it make sense he would become someone anxious about his reality, his memories, his sense of self? how much of who he thinks he is and what he believes and what he knows and what he can do is because of changes they made to his mind?

does he even have himself?

for the entire duration of gravity falls, every character, at some point, to some degree, is chasing ford: his journals, his inventions, his knowledge, his identity, what he is able to give them, do for them.

but how many of them are chasing ford.

edit: just want to add this disclaimer for clarity. i intentionally left out other characters' nuance. if this reads uncharitable, that's not an accident and also i know there's a more nuanced perspective. that was just not the point of this.

[tellluzaboutit]

I mean it depends how it written. If they hurt innocents I think it's should have address the fact that the villain is still a perpetrator. A victim turn perpetrator who continue the cycle of abuse because they didn't get the help they need for whatever reason. Ignoring the hurts they bought to others feel icky. Your trauma shouldn't excuse you from inflicting harm to others. That what you do is still wrong but it's okay because you are gonna better yourself and atone for your mistakes and you would have help along the way.

I also think people specially the one the villain hurt doubting their redemption shouldn't be framed as irrational. So many redemption story treat characters like satan for being cautious or disliking the villain still after their (most of the time sudden) redemption. Like I'm sorry I didn't trust your ass that you changing when you literally try to kill my children a month ago/s.

Also, coping mechanism and habits are hard to change and you sometimes relapse. I think it's also need to be addressed because this unhealthy habits hurt both You and/or Innocent people. Would be good if you could get help to find a healthier coping mechanism instead just ignoring it or God forbid romanticize it (That one crk fic about why self harm is good actually still haunts me even after I mute the author. Wtf was that).

While I usually just gonna drop original media that do these icky, for fanfic writer I suggest to write prevention fic where the villain get help before they spiraling if you not yet ready to address the baggage.

Of course, this is just advice and it's up to you to take it or not I'm just stating my opinion.

not to post even more Villains Discourse on main but it really bugs me how people read giving villains tragic backstories as inherently excusing their actions and/or demonizing trauma survivors.

the actual message of Tragic Villains is (almost) always “people who are never taught or given any healthy, constructive outlets for their emotions will often find unhealthy, destructive outlets.” it’s that people who are traumatized and never learn how to cope with that trauma can become a danger to themselves and others. the message isn’t “trauma makes you evil!!!!” or “genocide is okay if you��ve been sad before!!!!” it’s “people need compassion and help to recover from trauma instead of becoming increasingly angry and harming themselves and others in the process.”

this site takes an alarmingly behaviorist and punitive approach to everything and it’s literally the most annoying thing. y’all have this concept that “if we just punish people hard enough, if we just scare them enough, if we just make them feel guilty enough.” that people just Do Bad Things Because They Do Bad Things, I Guess, and Because We Didn’t Threaten Them And Shame Them Enough. but humans are an innately social species. at our very core, we need compassion and kindness. we need healthy relationships with other humans.

you can keep looking at traumatized villains and being like “haha this dumb pathetic sadboi thinks murder is okay because his parents died” but as a survivor myself, unaddressed/untreated trauma absolutely can make you ragey and destructive. i was lucky enough to have support and eventually get the treatment i needed. but it’s not hard at all for me to imagine how, if that hadn’t been the case, that could’ve been me. obviously not on a movie-villain scale like murder or war crimes, but it’s so irritating as someone whose trauma has always manifested as anger to watch people on this site be like “this is just bad writing!!! real survivors/good survivors don’t end up like that the writers just hate survivors and want the audience to condone murder!”

[rafesteddy]

dilf!rafe x milf!reader au where reader and her eldest daughter have a love island obsession. And Rafe can’t stand it for the life of him

😂😂 I love this. And it’s not just Win and reader. It’s Max too 😋

600 words c/w: none

Rafe’s fully settled—slippered feet kicked up, Clemson game on, remote secure in his hand. He doesn’t even hear them coming until it’s too late.

You walk in first, still laughing from something Max said in the kitchen. Winnie trails behind, sipping from a Stanley cup while Max munches on chips, leaving a trail of crumbs in his wake—enough to earn a signature Rafe side-eye.

“Scoot over, baby,” you hum, already climbing onto the couch, tucking yourself into his big arms.

“Wait. What—Hey, what are you—”

“Thanks, Dad,” Winnie cuts him off, plucking the remote from his hand with that syrupy sweet voice that always gets her her way.

Max flops down on the other side, already wrist-deep in the chip bag. “We’re watching Love Island.”

Rafe’s brow furrows, nose wrinkling in disgust. “We were watching Clemson…”

He glances at the screen, narrowing his eyes as the music blares. Couples strut across the villa—drinks in hand, thong bikinis, abs and tattoos, yanking each other away for chats.

“What the hell is this?” He mutters.

“You’ll love it,” Winnie lies without hesitation, eyes glued to the screen as Huda and Jeremiah get into it.

“‘Cause that’s not bullshit, Jeremiah,” Max scoffs, flicking a crumb at the TV. Rafe snaps his head toward him, scandalized.

“You too?”

“Spare me the judgment,” Max sighs. “I was you once… hotter. But you nonetheless. Just wait—”

“They’re doing a kissing challenge,” Winnie announces, already grinning.

“They’re what?” Rafe clutches his invisible pearls, staring at the screen as one of the women goes down the line of guys like it’s speed dating with tongue.

“Damn… That’s a lot of tongue,” you mumble—not with enough disgust for his liking.

“How can you watch this?” He scolds you. “What the hell kind of show is this?”

Everyone just laughs. Max chucks a pillow at him. “Lighten up, old man.”

Two weeks later

Rafe’s home from a business trip, finally. He’s back on the couch, watching the news, twins down for the night, peace restored.

You, Max, and Winnie barge in like it’s choreography.

Max bats his lashes, throwing his voice an octave higher just to be annoying. “I’m a mommy.”

“Mommy?” Winnie echoes, stealing the remote from Rafe with no resistance.

“I’m a mom,” Max insists.

“Mamacita,” you and Winnie say in unison, making Rafe scowl.

“No, like—I’m a mommy,” Max hums, flipping imaginary hair.

“A mom of what? A dog?” Winnie asks, lifting the Yorkie in the air like Simba.

“I have a daughter,” Max says simply, dropping onto the couch and popping open a new bag of chips.

They laugh. Rafe rolls his eyes, scoops Teddy under one arm like a football, and scratches her head—like maybe that’ll undo the trauma of being raised in this household.

You snuggle back into him. “Wait… you’re not gonna fight us for the TV?”

Rafe blinks. “What, me? Do I have a say?”

“Naur,” Max answers, mouth full. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

Four notifications light up Rafe’s phone. Everyone freezes.

Winnie’s eyes slide sideways. She gasps. “No way. Was that—was that a Love Island alert?”

Silence.

“Enough,” Rafe mumbles.

Max leans in, dramatic. “…Dad.”

“I said enough,” Rafe mutters again, red creeping up his neck.

“You downloaded the app?!” Winnie whisper-yells, eyes wide.

Max wheezes. “Stop roasting him, you’re gonna scare him off!”

Rafe clears his notifications in a huff, grumbling, “You people are unbelievable.”

Winnie tilts her head. “Wait. Did you… vote in the recoupling?”

The room goes dead quiet and you bury your face in his chest, trying not to let him know you’re about to bust out laughing.

Rafe doesn’t move; doesn’t blink. Just stares at the screen like he can will it to start faster.

“Earth to Dad—”

“I voted based on character,” he snaps, finally. Defensive. Red-faced. Completely busted.

You snort into his shirt. Max loses it.

“My father is a Love Island baddie,” Winnie declares.

Rafe sighs, grabs the remote… but doesn’t change the channel.

He just turns up the volume.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “It’s Casa Amor week.”

[forkshighschooler]

Can you do how the wolf pack reacts to the reader calling their full name trend.

Twilight Wolf Pack Reacts to You Using Their Full Name (TikTok Trend)

The setup: You pull out your phone, hit record, and casually call out their full names like you’re a disappointed teacher. Chaos (and a little panic) follows.

⸻

🐺 Sam Uley

You: “Samuel Uley, come here.”

Sam, mid-sentence, freezes like a statue. Slowly turns his head toward you with that alpha glare.

“Why does that sound like I’m about to get a verbal beatdown?”

You: “Just wanted to talk.”

Sam: “Yeah, okay. Next time lead with a soft ‘hey babe,’ not ‘Samuel Uley’ like you’re my lawyer reading me my charges.”

He seriously thinks he’s in trouble until you laugh.

Sam: “Unbelievable. I was two seconds away from writing you an apology I didn’t even understand.”

⸻

🐺 Paul Lahote

You: “Paul Lahote. Come here.”

Paul instantly whips around like a soldier reporting for duty.

“Why are you using my full name like I just crashed your car?”

You grin, holding back laughter. “I just wanted to show you this meme.”

Paul stares at you, then your phone, then you again. “I thought I cheated in a dream or something. You almost gave me an aneurysm.”

Mumbles under his breath: “Don’t full-name me unless you’re planning a funeral—mine.”

⸻

🐺 Jacob Black

You: “Jacob Black, get over here!”

Jake walks in chewing something, squints suspiciously. “Who died?”

You: “No one.”

Jake: “Oh, then why are you summoning me like I’m in trouble with the council?”

He snatches your phone and immediately sees the camera on.

“Oh, we’re doing trends now? Cool cool cool. Just say you’re trying to shave years off my life next time.”

Later? He calls you “F/N L/N” dramatically for days.

⸻

🐺 Embry Call

You: “Embry Call. Don’t even think about it.”

Embry immediately stops what he’s doing and looks around like, “What did I break?”

You: “I just said your name.”

Embry: “You said it like you caught me stealing your Netflix password. I got scared.”

When you tell him it’s for TikTok, he groans and throws himself on the couch.

“You almost made me confess to something I didn’t even do.”

⸻

🐺 Quil Ateara

You: “Quil Ateara, stop eating all the fries.”

Quil (mouth full): “You sound like my grandma. You tryna fight or something?”

You: “It’s just your name.”

Quil: “No one uses my full name unless I’m about to get hit with a chancla.”

Immediately plays it up and fake gasps, holding his chest. “Ow. My feelings. You wounded me with legal documentation.”

Starts calling you “Madam Y/N” for the rest of the day.

⸻

🐺 Jared Cameron

You: “Jared Cameron, seriously?”

Jared stops what he’s doing. “Wait. Why does it sound like I’m about to get dumped?”

You: “You’re not.”

Jared: “Oh thank god—because I was just mentally drafting a goodbye letter to the boys.”

You burst out laughing, and he realizes he’s been pranked.

He just smirks and says, “Alright. That’s cool. Just wait till I hit you with your full name in front of your mom.”

⸻

🐺 Leah Clearwater

You: “Leah Clearwater, pass me the remote.”

Leah doesn’t move. Just looks at you like you slapped her with a parking ticket.

“Absolutely not. Try that again—with respect.”

You: “It’s for TikTok—”

Leah: “Don’t care if it’s for a joke. That name combo has trauma in it.”

Still tosses you the remote but mutters, “You better not post that unless I look hot.”

⸻

🐺 Seth Clearwater

You: “Seth Clearwater, what did you do?”

Seth: freezes

“…I don’t know, but I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it! Just tell me what it is!”

You: “You didn’t do anything.”

Seth: “Then why’d you full-name me like I broke your heart?”

You: “It’s for a TikTok.”

Seth puts a hand on his chest. “Girl, I almost cried on camera.”

Then adds: “But I do kinda like the way it sounds when you say it.”

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[sorin-sunchild]

I don't know if it's just a media literacy thing or what. I genuinely think some people are incapable of understanding that a cast of characters does not have to include one who is secretly mean/evil. I've seen this behaviour twice now, which isn't a lot, but it is getting on my nerves. No that character isn't secretly a bitch because she has real feelings. No that character isn't secretly evil because he's a bit odd and it comes off creepy sometimes. Sometimes a character is just complex and every part of them is genuine.

Like OP said, a realistic nice person isn't one who never had a bad or mean thought, who never gets angry because they live on Cloud 9 and nothing ever bothers them. People like that don't really exist. A realistic nice person knows when they need to apologise, and when their mean thoughts aren't valid and don't need to be expressed. A realistic nice person chooses to be kind even when they don't feel kind.

If you tell me you've never had a slightly mean thought about someone or something or gotten annoyed and just kept it to yourself I just don't believe you. But I do believe you think you have to be like that to be truly good and that's sad.

I think some of y'all want Ragatha to be secretly mean for your own strange and shallow reasons but your logic is rooted in bad character analysis skills.

And you bet every real ND person (which I bring up because her behaviour is absolutely influenced by at the very least psychological/emotional abuse she has trauma about) is watching how you're acting like a fawning response because of trauma, not being able to express emotions openly due to fear of people hating you, being a people pleaser because that's all you know about making friends etc means that person is 'fake' and 'manipulative' and 'annoying' and just as bad, somehow, as someone who chooses to indulge every hurtful thought and action they have.

This isn't about the character at this point, this is just disappointment that you're affirming the worst anxiety of every ND person that people will hate them for expressing themselves and actually they're a fake bitch for not being perfect and committing thought crimes (I know someone whose moral OCD has been set off by this flame war bs).

bro gangle's tiny smile when ragatha apologizes for what she said to her last episode 😭

[gimmethatagustd]

what the fire gave us | jjk

You were born with a Gift that the world wanted to turn into a weapon. All Jungkook wanted to do was show you that you could find love, even in the dark.

Relationship: Shadow Elemental Jungkook x Water Elemental Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence (someone you love is gonna die I'm so sorry)

Tags: Dystopia, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Character Death, Murder, Human Experimentation, War, Jungkook is a precious baby boy but he’ll also kill you, Elemental Magic, Shadow Elemental Jungkook, Fire Elemental Yoongi, Loss of Virginity, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Outdoor Sex

Word Count: 25,983

A/N: Fun fact, Taehyung’s character is based off of Jeff Goldblum. Part of a spring offering collab.

Soundtrack: cyberpunk - ateez

moodboard credit: @btscontentenjoyer

3 MONTHS

Lookout duty is hard on you. When it’s your turn to camp out on the roof and watch for potential threats, you complain that staying awake all night is hard. Most of the other runaways are night owls, but you aren’t. You need your beauty sleep, you joke. You can’t get comfortable on the roof, even if there’s a flat landing with pillows and blankets to keep you warm. 

These are a few of your excuses, but you can’t bring yourself to tell the others the truth: you are scared. 

It’s close to midnight when you hear the creak of the trapdoor opening. The likelihood of it being anyone other than the group of Gifted runaways you live with is low, but you can’t trust that the impossible wouldn’t happen. You’ve seen the impossible happen far too often.  

Hopping down from the old milk crate you’d been sitting on, you crouch behind a giant bean bag with your bow and arrow ready. The harness you wear strapped around your torso holds your spare arrows. It digs hard enough into your shoulder that you form blisters if you don’t wear a thick enough shirt. 

The fluffy pink hair poking out of the trapdoor makes you sigh in relief. 

“Hey, kid,” the pink-haired man whispers. 

He gently closes the trapdoor and walks with a hunched back toward you, careful not to expose too much of his body beyond the roof’s railing. The abandoned warehouse you live in is on the city’s outskirts, with nothing for miles but empty concrete parking lots and overgrown plots of land. 

Still, you never know who might be out there. Although the Red Pins have only inflicted pain from within their research facilities, all the runaway Gifteds know that the government employs more than one type of evil to hunt them down. 

You try not to think about them, those scientists in long white coats that fall to their thighs and blood-red nametags pinned to their labels with names you often see painted on the walls of your nightmares. Lately, the frequency of the nightmares has lessened. It doesn’t feel like it, though, when you often wake in the middle of the night to your friends screaming in their sleep while they suffer through their own trauma. You wish the knowledge that the pain of being government lab rats is something you all share could be comforting. But, instead, it only makes you hurt more.  

“Yoongi,” you huff, returning to your perch on the milk crate. Now your hands are all sweaty. “You should be sleeping.” 

“Hi, Yoongi; nice to see you too! Thanks for coming to hang out with me!” Yoongi mocks your voice, clearly stating what he thinks you should have said. “Oh, no problem, Y/N. I just wanted to see how you were doing and hang out with my favorite kiddo.” 

You scrunch your nose at kiddo. 

“I’m not a kid.” 

Yoongi leans over to rub his knuckles into your head. “Nah, you definitely are.” 

Despite the lack of lighting outside, Yoongi practically glows. That’s always how it is with fire elementals. It’s like they absorb all the light and let it buzz inside them. Like fireflies, you’d once told Yoongi. He hadn’t found it cute to be compared to a bug. 

“If I’m a firefly, then you’re a fucking fish,” he’d teased. You’d promptly summoned water from a nearby puddle to throw in his face. 

For as long as you can remember, that’s how it has been between the two of you: fire and water. A push and pull. So different that you need each other to be whole. 

You watch Yoongi get comfortable in the bean bag, his skinny limbs spreading like a starfish and his eyes lifting to the sky. In quiet moments like this, you would give anything to hold him. And not out of fear like you had when the scary men came to take you away from your parents. And not out of anger like you had to when you stopped him from blowing up the research facility they’d held you in. 

No, you want to hold him and for it to be gentle, soft, and peaceful. 

Like now, when the world is silent except for the crickets calling to each other in the weeds and the rustle of wind in the trees. 

But he thinks you’re just a kid. 

You’re not that much younger than him. But, if you put in the effort to look at your relationship objectively, you’d see that Yoongi’s paternal nature comes out with you and the other runaway Gifteds. He cares for you as an older brother would. 

It’s not enough for you, though. It will never be enough.  

“Is everyone else asleep?” You rest your elbows on your knees and hold your chin in your hand. When you speak, you look out at the empty field. 

“Hobi sneezed and blasted a hole through the bathroom wall,” Yoongi says with a low chuckle. “So me and Joon found some supplies to patch it up the best we could. I think they’re all asleep now, though.” 

“How is it Hobi’s the one breaking shit and Namjoon’s fixing it?” You press your hand against your mouth to muffle the ugly snort bursting from you. There’s very little to find funny in this life, so you cherish how your chest burns with fond warmth. 

“The world’s all backwards.” Yoongi’s gummy smile lights up the night and tears into your heart. 

The two of you fall silent once again. Moving slowly, you reach out to hook your pinky finger with Yoongi’s, a small smile forming when you feel his pinky wrap tightly around yours. 

“Where are we gonna go, Yoong?” 

He watches you with eyes heavy with sleep, determined to stay up with you even though he doesn’t need to. Initially, you thought it was because he wanted to keep you company. Now, you often wonder if it’s because Yoongi is afraid to sleep, too. He never speaks about his experience at the Labs; the other runaways have learned the hard way not to ask. Singed eyebrows don’t look good on anyone. 

“I don’t know.” 

You already knew this would be the answer, but it scares you anyway. Yoongi always knows everything. 

Yoongi lets go of your hand to sit up in the bean bag. 

“Hey, kid,” he whispers. He gently presses his palm to your jaw, cupping your face. You hope he doesn’t hear your breath hitch in your throat. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?” 

You stare at him for a long time, searching the bags under his eyes and the worry lines on his forehead. 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

3 MONTHS, 1 WEEK

There’s a stream that cuts through the overgrown fields behind the warehouse. It’s man-made, flowing from a sewer tunnel beneath the cracked parking lot - and likely from somewhere else, perhaps connected to a lake beyond the woods at the property’s edge. The separation between industrialization and the natural world of the unknown hurts your heart. You’d never felt longing until you found yourself inside a cage of cinderblock walls and concrete floors. 

A rope of water whips across your face, drawing you from your thoughts of the woods. It’s muddy and makes your skin and clothes smell sour. 

Though the air is still crisp and bites at the tip of your nose, spring came early this year. It takes minimal effort for Namjoon to draw more water from the soiled stream as it’s not frozen over like it should be. With a flick of his wrist, another rope of water hits you, this time across your chest. 

“Aghh!” 

“Pay attention.” 

You lift your arm in enough time to block his next assault. The liquid rope freezes in the air before shattering into a thousand glimmering pieces, scattering jagged ice across the pale yellow grass. 

“I’m tired of this, Grandpa.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes at the pop culture reference; you’re pleased he understood. Posed to speak, mouth already opening, he barely gets a sound out before another voice bellows across the field. 

“WELL, THAT’S TOO DAMN BAD!” 

Hoseok isn’t afraid to be loud. He smiles, all teeth and pink tongue, and throws his head back as he cackles. Everywhere he goes, he carries the smell of spring with him - cherry blossoms and morning dew that makes newly-grown pieces of grass stick wet against ankles. 

You close your eyes and let spring overpower the sour smell of sewer water Namjoon has thrown at you for the past hour. It lets you forget how your skin aches with welts and bruises. 

As Hoseok bounds toward you and Namjoon, a dark tornado spins beside him. When he gets closer, you can see Hoseok occasionally blowing a small gust of air toward the tornado. It appears to be made of smoke, a gradient of grays and blacks. 

“Look at this,” your friend announces with a mischievous grin. “Me and JK learned a new trick.” 

With a quick snap of Hoseok’s fingers, you and Namjoon watch in patient silence as the tornado begins to slow its speed. Almost gently, the smoke curls tighter and tighter until the darkness turns into a solid mass. 

Jungkook stumbles a few times as he attempts to get his footing. His limbs continue to propel his body into a small spin. 

Hoseok quickly reaches out to grab the younger man. Secure hands squeeze his shoulders, and then it’s only Jungkook’s head lolling about. 

“Cool, right?” Jungkook’s voice is gruff, but his lips curl into a weak smile. 

Namjoon lets out a long sigh. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Although Namjoon is right, Jungkook does look like the effort of his little party trick took a toll on his body; you can’t help but match his smile. Especially when his eyes flick toward yours. You told his gaze for half a second before Jungkook quickly looks away. His cheeks flush pink, but you’re sure it’s from the exertion of all that spinning. 

“I think it’s really cool,” you praise the two while elbowing Namjoon in the ribs. With a grumble, your sparring partner returns to his previous stance a few feet away. 

“We should go again. Just for a little while longer.” 

Every muscle in your body feels stiff when you turn away from Hoseok and Jungkook. 

“I hurt all over, Joonie.” 

“Let her rest!” Hoseok adds to your whining. “All we ever do is practice fighting.” 

“Sparring.” 

Hoseok waves a dismissive hand at the younger man. “Whatever you want to call it. I find it to be fri-” 

You stifle a laugh by pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as Hoseok is tackled to the ground by Jungkook. The two men roll around, all arms and legs, kicking up dead grass and dirt. A lot of howling and teasing laughter rings through the open air. 

It isn’t until Jungkook is launched into the sky by a gust of wind you know comes from Hoseok, and lands roughly on his back, that the playful fight ceases. How Jungkook lands knocks all the air out of his chest, but he laughs once his lungs start working again. 

“Ridiculous, all of you.” Hoseok brushes grass from his clothes. It’s futile; they’re dirty and ragged anyway. Try as you and Namjoon might to use your Gifts to clean the clothes; water does little when there’s no soap. 

“I let you win,” Jungkook teases.

Still, he stands a bit further from Hoseok than he had previously. Not far enough for anyone to notice, aside from you. You notice although you don’t mean to. It’s hard not to when Jungkook keeps stealing glances, only to look away when you try to return his gaze. 

“You did not.” 

“Did, too.” His insistence makes you giggle. 

“And how did that work out for you? Hmm? How does your back feel? I know you landed on that rock.” 

“I-It, it doesn’t hurt.” Jungkook glances your way. His cheeks are still pink. “Would take more than that to hurt me.” 

“Jungkook is impossible to beat.” 

You startle at the gentle voice, spinning on your heels to see Yoongi approaching the group. He’s got a leather satchel strapped across his chest and resting at his hip. It bulges with what you assume are plants and fruits scavenged from the woods. 

“Boy Scouts” is what Yoongi offered when you asked how he knew so much about surviving in nature. It was peculiar; nothing about Yoongi seemed like the type. He’s tougher, more steel than wood or earth. A bulletproof shield, you think. Broad and strong. 

“Impossible?” 

Your question is meant to be a tease, but Yoongi’s face remains stoic. Such a severe look only reveals itself when he assumes his position as your misfit group’s leader. It would be extremely attractive if it didn’t scare you.   

“How can you fight shadows?” Yoongi deadpans. He stares into your eyes long enough to make your face feel hot, but you don’t look away. 

“I…” 

Yoongi hums at your lack of an answer. Suddenly, you feel unbelievably small. 

“It’s not impossible,” Jungkook whispers. His head hangs low, long bangs hiding his face. The rest of his hair is tied into a bun at the nape of his neck. “I’m just as beatable as you, hyung.” 

Something about Yoongi’s expression softens at the honorific. Formalities died long ago, along with many other traditions that once made Korea what it was. So many things died during the war - tangible and cultural - lives and ways of being. Now, the Republic is something you know your friends no longer recognize. Although it is not your home country, your heart aches for what it once was - something you will never have the privilege to experience because you arrived during the Restoration of the Republic - a fallacy of an era since the country was never restored to how it was. 

That may be best. It is easier to mourn the loss of something you never knew.

In moments like this, you feel terribly inadequate - when you speak with broken Korean or struggle to understand the foreign politics behind why Gifteds are hunted, no matter how many times Namjoon patiently attempts to teach you. All you know is that, at least here, to be Gifted is not a death sentence, per se. Other countries’ governments have been far less lenient with their mutant population. 

You’re simply seen as a science experiment to be tested on, poked and prodded, pushed until you’re driven mad, and then warped into whatever shape the government has the need for. 

“You have no match,” Yoongi smiles softly at Jungkook with a shake of his head. “I do.” 

Holding out his hand, a small flame appears in the center of Yoongi’s palm. It floats just above the skin, though he isn’t burned. You’ve seen Yoongi summon fire a million times from the heat of the air around him, and he never ceases to amaze you.

With a nod in Namjoon’s direction, Yoongi waits for a small rope of dirty water to splash against his hand. Namjoon is much kinder in his attack against Yoongi, only summoning enough water to extinguish the flame. 

“Water will always win against me,” Yoongi admits. This time, he holds your gaze when he speaks. “It is my match.” 

You feel something stir in your belly that migrates up your chest until it eventually threatens to suffocate you, nearly getting lodged in your throat. 

“You would do well to continue sparring with Namjoon,” he says after a moment before turning to Hoseok and Jungkook, who have otherwise been silent. 

It’s an order, even if Yoongi is gentle with his words. 

With a sigh, you turn back to Namjoon. It’s difficult to stamp down the heat Yoongi always manages to trigger inside of you. You would compare him to fire even if it didn’t already run in his veins. 

Drawing from the murky stream, you weave a ball of water between your palms.

“Let’s go again.” 

While you spar with Namjoon, Yoongi leads Hoseok and Jungkook to the other end of the field.

You and Namjoon spar as though you are dancing. It’s a push and pull, your rhythms falling into harmony, even when one of you performs a surprise attack or a new move that hasn’t been practiced before. Perhaps it is because you both fight with water. There is a fluidity to it that the others don’t possess. 

Occasionally, your eyes stray to where Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook have begun to spar. The three men do not dance. Instead, they are a fury of elements intertwining in chaos. The wind snuffs fire, Yoongi and Hoseok blasting each other incessantly. Shadows allow Jungkook to disappear before being hit by an attack, only to reappear right behind his opponent to go in for the kill. 

And it would be a kill if this was real. You know Jungkook keeps a rather terrifying knife strapped to his thigh. You all carry weapons, though you don’t really need them. Even Jungkook, with a Gift that’s misunderstood and exceptionally rare, is never found without his weapon. 

Out of all the Gifteds you’ve met on your way to safety, you have never encountered another who can manipulate shadows. So, there is truth to Yoongi’s statement. 

Jungkook is terrifying, even with the wide, starry eyes he always seems to stare at you with. He’s quiet and shy, typically sticking to Hoseok. You assume it’s likely because you found the two of them together. Both were kept in the same room at the research facility in Busan. As unassuming as Jungkook may be, you’ve seen him manipulate shadows to wrap around a Red Pin’s neck. Those shadows twisted and tightened until the man crumpled. 

You didn’t need to have the Gift of blood manipulation to know when his heart stopped. 

It was one of the scariest moments of your life, even beyond the suffering you’d endured having lived in the research facilities since you were a teen. Before then, you’d never seen someone die. Even when Yoongi and Namjoon helped you escape, they shielded you from the worst of it. It wasn’t until the three of you came upon the newest facility that such horrors were unleashed. 

Jungkook hates himself for it. You know he does; you typically make your bed beside his, and he cries in his sleep. Self-defense protects the body in the moment, but harms the mind and heart long-term. 

You probably would have done the same. 

For as tragic as his story is - or what little you know of it - Jungkook has an undeniably beautiful soul. Those horrors have yet to turn him cruel or his heart black. Even when he spars, you can tell that he’s being gentle. He holds back and doesn’t reach his full potential out of fear of hurting others, you’re sure. You can see it in how he bounces on the balls of his feet to keep his movements light and how his back muscles ripple beneath his shirt as it clings to his skin. A bead of sweat runs along his neck, over the vein that bulges from his exerting effort. 

Something prickles under your skin. When you look up, it’s into those wide eyes full of galaxies you’ll never understand, are somehow okay with not understanding if it means you can continue to gaze upon them. 

A small smile pulls the corners of Jungkook’s mouth up. His expression is short-lived, though, quickly falling as a bright orange flame licks at his ankles. 

“Don’t let my words get to your head, Jeon,” Yoongi teases. “Impossible to beat, but easy to hurt.” 

This time, you catch Yoongi’s eye. You duck your head when he winks at you, just in time to block another blast of water from Namjoon. 

“Why is everyone so off today?” Namjoon grumbles to himself. You haven’t managed to successfully hit him even once. 

“I’m tired,” you whine again, dropping a ball of water to the ground. Dead grass quickly soaks it up once it splashes. “We should check on Jessi.” 

Your group’s sixth and final member is tucked away in the corner of the warehouse on the top floor. It’s dark up there, though Yoongi’s everlasting fire, paired with the windows Jessi managed to open, gives enough light for her to work. 

She has black grease smudged on her left cheek and across her forehead. Her long, thick hair is tied back into a ponytail, though strands have fallen out to frame her face. When you step closer, you hear her muttering, but you can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s not for you. She speaks, facing the black box placed in front of where she kneels on the floor. The floor can’t feel good on her knees with its bits of broken concrete and dirt. Everything hurts in this life; it hardly matters as long as you’re here and not there. 

“This piece of shit,” Jessi hisses, running her hands across her face. It smears more grease onto her skin, but she doesn’t care. 

“Not working?” 

“Beep beep boop beeping all over the fucking place, then static. White noise and shit. Like it’s telling me to fuck off even though I’m the one fixing it.” 

You hum, crouching down to stare at the box. It’s an old radio meant to transport messages back and forth. Perhaps left behind by the military after it had occupied this land while it bulldozed the vigilantes seeking to save Gifteds from the fate you all ended up sharing anyway. 

Jessi tweaks a few exposed wires. Every time they spark, you flinch. Mini white lightning, it’s deadly for anyone but Jessi. She grumbles and continues her work with deft fingers calloused from toiling away at the stupid thing for months. 

“I’m normally so fucking good at this, I swear to God.” 

Frustration colors her tone, even if her expression and cursing didn’t already give her feelings away. 

You don’t doubt her, though, and you tell her as much. Still, you know firsthand that it sucks when your powers don’t work how you want them to. As a technopath, fixing the radio should be easy work for her.

“There must be something wrong with it… Maybe the Red Pins did something to it?” 

You don’t know anything about technology. Even with the phone you’d stolen off one of the Red Pins, all you’d gotten to do was look at TikTok and try to find out where your parents were before Yoongi made you destroy the device. The government had ways to track you. Technology was as much your friend as a stranger on the street. 

With a sigh, Jessi leans back until she’s sitting flat on the grimy floor. 

“Maybe? Fuck if I know. I think I’m getting close, though. I’m getting some frequency when I concentrate really hard, but I wanna fix it so it’ll work even without me.” 

Your friend whispers the end of her statement. It goes without saying; each one of you knows the fragility of life on the run. 

“Thank you for working so hard.” Even in the dim lighting, you can see her watery eyes shine. It hurts your heart, but all you can offer is a light squeeze of her shoulder. 

Jessi shrugs. “It’s as much for me as it is for you.” 

You watch her stand and brush the dirt from her butt, her joints cracking from sitting down too long. When you first joined this mutant crew, you would have followed behind Jessi to comfort her. But, after months of running and fighting, you’ve learned that sometimes solitude is the best healing method. 

4 MONTHS, 2 DAYS

“What makes you think you’re ready? That any of us are ready?” 

Yoongi watches you with catlike eyes from where he sits at the kitchen table. The chairs circled around the battered wooden table are mismatched and in varying stages of deterioration from being abandoned for so long. The one Yoongi sits in is metal, and he leans on its two back legs, his right foot pressed to the floor to keep himself steady and his arms crossed against his chest. 

Although Yoongi isn’t raising his voice - he never does - you still feel like you’re being scolded. 

“I know we are,” you challenge him. Your voice is steady even as your fingers tremble. To stop them from shaking, you squeeze your hands into a fist, nails biting at the skin of your palms. 

You should sit down, but holding your energy in is hard. Instead, you pace the kitchen while Yoongi’s cat eyes and Jessi’s wide ones follow you. You feel like a lion looping its cage, the desire to run restricted and confined. 

“How?” 

“We can’t stay here, Yoong! We can’t. I can’t.” 

The front legs of Yoongi’s chair slam into the concrete floor. He allows the momentum to pull him forward, landing his elbows on the table’s surface. 

Looking at Yoongi hurts. You can tell from his face that the next thing he says won’t be pleasant. His lips are pressed into a fine line that curves downward slightly. It’s cute how he can pull off a straight-lipped frown, but not when it’s directed at you. 

It’s been at least an hour of back and forth between the three of you. Jessi tapped out a long time ago, resolved to watch the tennis match of an argument between you and Yoongi rather than exert energy on a fight she isn’t committed to. Yoongi and Jessi have the final say in all group decisions as the group’s elders. It’s another reminder of how you think Yoongi sees you as someone to take care of rather than an equal. 

“Have you ever killed someone before, Y/N?” 

You pause your pacing to stand in front of the table. Yoongi is an exceptional cook, managing to create delicious meals out of what little you all have to work with from the forest. But now, at this moment, you feel like you’re going to be sick from the food churning in your stomach. 

“No.”  

“No,” Yoongi repeats. He speaks slowly, like he’s mulling your answer over, letting it twist around his tongue until he’s satisfied enough with its taste to swallow it down. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi presses his palms against the table’s surface. He spreads his fingers and stares at them. The two of you seem to trace over the scars that line his skin, little nicks, and slices that healed light pink or blazing white. You’ve never seen Yoongi naked, but you have seen a good expanse of his body when you’ve used your Gift to help the others get clean. From what you’ve seen, you know Yoongi’s entire body is littered with battle scars. 

“I have,” he admits what you already knew, and the gravelly sound of his voice makes you shudder. “Jungkook has.” 

You wince at the mention of the younger man, but Yoongi doesn’t give you a chance to speak. 

“Do you want to ask him what it’s like to squeeze the life out of another man? He may have done it with shadows, but I guarantee he still felt it in his hands.” 

Yoongi lifts his eyes to yours when the first tear rolls down your cheek. Concern wrinkles his forehead. 

“Yoongi,” you start, but the pink-haired man shakes his head. 

“I don’t mean to upset you, kiddo.” The pet name twists your gut tighter with frustration - even though Yoongi’s voice is filled with gentle adoration when he calls out to you. “But I’ll be damned if I let us walk into that forest without knowing where we’re going or whose claws we’re running into. The Gifted Commune is, at best, a rumor. At worst - a trap.”

You want to tell him that falling for a rumor or getting caught by the government is better than sitting in a concrete cage. The prospect of finding a community of other Gifted runaways who have managed to create a society safe from the evils you’ve grown up with means more to you than the fear of the unknown. 

There’s no use, though. Jessi is nodding along to Yoongi’s words; the blank expression she wears when she’s upset already masks her face.

“I will not put you in a situation where you must kill or be killed, Y/N. I won’t fucking do it.” Yoongi clears his throat suddenly, and he looks away from you. You’re unsure, but think he might be blinking back unshed tears.

You’re still pissed, but now your anger is mixed quite prettily with debilitating guilt. You’ve never seen Yoongi cry, and you realize with a sinking feeling that you really don’t want to. 

“It’s too fucking risky,” Jessi finally speaks. She presses her fingers against her forehead, massaging it slowly as she, too, looks for words. “The radio is almost fixed; I can feel that it’s close. Then we will have a clearer line of communication with the Commune. It doesn’t guarantee anything, obviously, but it’s better than going in without fucking knowing anything.” 

There’s nothing else to say. Yoongi doesn’t look at you or Jessi, instead staring at something in the opposite corner of the room.

Jessi gives you what you think is a smile laced with pity - or at least an apology. 

How can everyone be so content to stay in the warehouse? You’re a bunch of sitting ducks, hiding out in the same location for months, practically waiting for the government to send their agents to either corral you into laboratories again or exterminate you. You don’t understand how becoming a moving target is a bad thing. 

But, ultimately, you don’t understand why Yoongi can’t just trust you. 

With a frustrated huff, you twist around to hurry out of the kitchen. As you cross the threshold, Namjoon appears in the doorway. 

“Oh, I need to ask you-” 

You don’t mean to shove Namjoon with your shoulder as hard as you do, but you don’t have the patience to comply with whatever he expects you to do for him. Probably more sparring and training. 

On the one hand, sharing your identity as a water elemental with someone else in the group is an affirming experience. On the other, it’s infuriating because Namjoon sees your potential and pushes you toward it - even when you fight against him. 

Namjoon sputters something, and you hear Jessi convince him to drop it. Whatever else they have to say is lost on you; you’re no longer interested in entertaining the conversations of the “leaders” of the group. Part of you wants to find Hoseok or Jungkook to force them to commiserate with you, but something about dumping your sludge of emotions onto them feels wrong. 

So you do what you’ve always done best: you repress. 

It isn’t until a few hours later when you’re lounging on your makeshift bed with the only tattered book you kept from your facility (Fahrenheit 451, how fitting), that you give yourself over to the gnawing need to interact with other humans. 

Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet, items that you can’t make out pressed against his chest. 

“Will you cut my hair for me, noona?” 

The out-of-use honorific flusters you, making your face burn under Jungkook’s attentive gaze. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me,” you insist, embarrassment ravaging your twisted stomach and fluttering chest. Something about the attention Jungkook gives you makes you feel nervous and giddy. 

“It’s not very formal, really. It’s… respectful? I just… You are, it means,” Jungkook lets out a huff. He blows his bangs out of his face as his cheeks turn pink. “You are special to me.” 

You duck your head, shocked by Jungkook’s honesty. It warms you in a way you’re not sure you understand, letting the feeling sit inside your chest rather than exploring it any further. 

“Where I come from, we don’t have words like that.” 

Jungkook gives you a shrug. Neither of you mentions that in Korea, those words don’t really exist anymore, either. 

“But, okay,” you relent softly. 

Jungkook stands beside the mess of blankets that make up your bed, holding a pair of scissors and electric clippers Jessi enhanced to operate on their own. Jungkook nicked them from a Red Pin on their way out of the research facility he’d grown up in. Hairstyling tools didn’t seem high on your list of items to steal, but they’d come in handy. Like now, with Jungkook’s bangs falling entirely into his eyes and his hair sweeping across his shoulders. 

The pout Jungkook wears lessens slightly. He holds out the tools with an expectant look on his face. It’s cute how his bottom lip juts out, pink and chapped from nervously chewing on it. You’d overheard Namjoon scolding him for something earlier that morning before you went outside to patrol the grounds with Hoseok and Jessi.

Taking the items from Jungkook, you lead him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. The lights sputter briefly before they fully brighten the small room. Jessi was excited to learn that her Gift extended to electricity as a whole, not just that within technology like computers and radios. With all your Gifts combined, the warehouse is liveable, almost comfortable. 

Jungkook sits on the closed lid of the toilet, making you tower over him. He parts his legs slightly so you can stand between them as you run your fingers through his hair. 

You spread your fingers and sweep his bangs up, exposing his forehead. It opens up his face more and makes him look older. Jungkook is handsome; there’s no denying that. You’re sure in another life, he could have been a regular college kid with a sweet girlfriend and a bright future. 

“What would you like me to do?” 

“Hmm?” Jungkook hums with his eyes closed, and his head tilted back slightly. 

You don’t miss how he leans into your touch, completely pliable in your hands, as you massage his scalp and continue to play with his hair. It’s thick and soft, even without the proper haircare products to maintain the health of the follicles. 

“How do you want me to cut it, silly?” 

You reach for the hairbrush you keep tucked away in the bathroom cabinet. It takes a few more moments of silence while you brush out Jungkook’s waves before he finally speaks. 

“Short. Cut it all off, please? It’s too hard to take care of now, and it gets in my face.” 

“Don’t get mad at me if it comes out bad.” 

Jungkook lets out a frustrated sound. “You always do a great job. You gave Yoongi hyung an undercut. It looks so good!” 

At the mention of Yoongi, you feel your heart drop. Somehow you know Jungkook is here to make you feel better even if he hasn’t said anything about the argument, and he’s the one seeking your help, not the other way around. He’s a distraction - one you wonder if Yoongi sent himself. 

It isn’t that Yoongi won’t apologize; you just never give him a chance to before you run off to lick your wounds on your own. 

It’s the healing quality of solitude, you think as you prepare to cut Jungkook’s hair. However, this time, you’re not alone. 

You can’t help but smile when Jungkook starts singing a song of his own creation as chunks of his hair fall to the floor. His song drowns out the static that buzzes in your brain like the fuzziness Jessi’s broken radio emits when anyone but her fiddles with it. 

“This way,” you speak softly, not wanting to disrupt his singing as you press your fingertips against his jaw and under his chin to lift his face toward you. Your finger presses against the little mole just below Jungkook’s bottom lip. The angle gives you a better view of your work so far. 

A small smile flickers on Jungkook’s face as though he’s trying to keep it down, but the corners of his mouth won’t listen to him. 

“It feels nice. We don’t touch.”

You hum and nod your head, but Jungkook’s eyes are still closed. It’s true; kind touches are rare. Hoseok is really the only one who gives out hugs. Everything is tough all the time. There’s little room for gentleness, even amongst friends. 

So you understand when Jungkook’s smile wins out, and he finally surrenders to the happiness your light touches along his jaw bring him. 

4 MONTHS, 5 DAYS

It takes Yoongi three days to apologize. 

Perhaps you should have apologized first, but you struggle to see how you could have done anything that warrants an apology. Yes, you feel bad for upsetting Yoongi, but his attitude toward you lately has rubbed you the wrong way. 

During the three days it takes him to apologize to you, he seems to do his best to avoid you. 

On the days you’re assigned to go on patrol with Yoongi, Jungkook accompanies you instead. You don’t mind having Jungkook by your side, you discover, even though you’re upset that Yoongi is behaving so childishly. 

Neither Jungkook nor Yoongi talks much, but you learn that their silence feels different. Whereas Yoongi’s silence stems from feeling confident and content with not needing to fill the air with incessant babbling, Jungkook’s silence is awkward and heavy. He fiddles with the loose strings of his shirt, his reddened cuticles, and everything else. You don’t mind the awkwardness, though. It’s nice to comb through the woods with someone as powerful as Jungkook; you know there’s nothing to fear with him around. 

The only weapon Jungkook carries is the knife strapped to his thigh. You, on the other hand, stay heavily armed. Your fingers tighten around your bow. When you twist your torso, the harness that holds your arrows digs into your shoulder. You also have a knife, though you are honestly afraid of close combat. A gun would be even better, but ammo is difficult to come by. It��s easier to collect your arrows after you’ve shot them, although you haven’t needed to yet. Since finding refuge at the warehouse, no one has discovered your group. 

Apparently, all your friends are willing to keep testing fate. You aren’t interested in pushing your luck. Jungkook doesn’t comment on the group’s plans for moving forward - or lack thereof. Something tells you that he’ll do whatever Yoongi and Jessi tell him to do. 

Still, going on patrol with Jungkook does a decent job of preventing your thoughts from straying toward your argument with Yoongi. Your hands brushed together a few times as you walked side by side, and you could practically feel Jungkook’s brain shortcircuit from the contact. 

Part of you thinks he has a crush on you, but the more logical part of you knows he’s probably shy. The kid has gone through a lot in life. Not everything is always about you; you try to remind yourself. Yoongi doesn’t even want you. Why would Jungkook?

On the third day, bright doe eyes don’t greet you at the edge of the woods, just as the sun is kissing the sky for the first time. Instead, sharp cat eyes hold your gaze when you lightly jog over. 

“Good morning, kiddo.” 

Yoongi wears dark shorts with tattered edges cut from a pair of old jeans and a plain t-shirt the color of the forest in spring. It’s not warm enough to wear what he’s wearing, but fire elementals run hot like you run cold. 

“Hi,” you say, voice a bit stunted as you hold your jacket tighter to your body. 

You’ve foregone your bow and arrows today; you may or may not have snapped your bow in a fit of frustration that may or may not have anything to do with Yoongi ignoring you at dinner the night before. A knife and your Gift will have to do, but you feel it is enough. Namjoon insists on learning how to use your Gifts and weapons in tandem. For double the defense, or so he says. 

Carrying a knife seems ridiculous when you know how to choke someone with their own spit without touching them. 

Once you’re within arm’s reach, Yoongi offers his hand to you. He holds it as though he’s going in for a handshake. Yellow-orange fire licks at his palm and swirls in tendrils around his fingers and wrist. 

After a few seconds of silence, he makes a slight grunting sound and wiggles his fingers, beckoning you. 

It’s impossible not to cave. A prickly feeling tingles down your arm, beginning somewhere in your chest and eventually settling in your fingertips. A tiny hurricane of water stolen from the moisture in the air circles around your hand just as the fire does Yoongi’s. 

He lets out a pleased sound when your palms glide across each other. You hook your thumbs together, using the momentum to spin your hands around until your fingers are interlaced and pressed into your palms. You both squeeze your hands once, twice, three times in a heartbeat before pulling away. By the end, the fire and water have disappeared. 

When you meet Yoongi’s eyes, the warmth of the fire in his palm has transferred to his gaze. There is an apology in how you release each other’s hands. The handshake holds secret words of friendship and reassurance between you. 

The two of you stand in silence for a bit until Yoongi tilts his head in the direction of the woods. You nod in response and follow Yoongi along one of the many patrol paths your group has established. 

There’s never anything in the woods besides small animals like squirrels and rabbits, but everyone feels better knowing there is a consistent patrol of the area, just in case. 

“So,” When you look at Yoongi, his lips twist into a light smirk you absolutely do not like. “You and Jungkook.” 

“Me and Jungkook what?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Just seems like you two been hanging out a lot.” 

“Yeah, because you were fucking ignoring me all week.” 

His smirk drops into a stern frown, but Yoongi continues following the path. He walks slightly ahead of you with his hands clasped behind his back. It feels like he’s taking a leisurely stroll through a garden rather than going on patrol in the woods for government assassins. 

“It was immature and irresponsible of me, and I’m sorry for that.” 

Forgiving Yoongi is too easy. It’s the way the morning sun shines through the canopy of trees above you, casting streaks of light against his fading pink hair. The way he carries himself with confidence is gentle and comforting rather than arrogant or misplaced. It’s how he looks at you; you know he would do anything for you.

“It’s okay,” you finally concede. You scramble a bit to fall in line with Yoongi again. “I was being dramatic.” 

“Life is one big drama, isn’t it?” Yoongi muses with a chuckle. It’s a question he doesn’t expect an answer to, which is good, considering you’ve got something else buzzing around in your head. 

Well, fuck it. You’re just gonna say it.  

Heart pounding, you eventually find it in you to say, “I still think you’re wrong.” 

After a moment, Yoongi hums in acknowledgment of your admission but doesn’t offer anything else. It’s better than nothing, so you tell yourself to be content with all that he offers. 

“Anyway…” You don’t want to drop the subject, but Yoongi’s question is nagging in the back of your brain now - a nagging question you now have a gnawing desire to know the meaning behind. “Me and Jungkook can hang out without it meaning-” 

Before you can finish your statement, Yoongi slaps his hand against your mouth. The calluses on his palms are rough against your chapped lips, and his skin is sweaty. His free arm comes around to the front of your chest near your collarbones. He draws you against his chest so tightly you can’t move. 

“Don’t talk.” His breath is hot against your face, and his voice is almost indiscernible. 

You give a tiny nod before locking your body completely still. You hold your breath, straining to hear what Yoongi might hear or see what he might see. There’s nothing, just the usual sound of life in the woods - birds chirping, small animals scurrying in the brush. You don’t see anything either. 

You can only focus on the frantic pounding of your heart and the calm beat of Yoongi’s against your back. How he can be so relaxed when he thinks there might be danger in the woods that you can’t even see is unreal.

Slowly, Yoongi takes a step back away from you. He holds a finger to his lips and silently mouths for you to stay where you are. Everything inside you screams to disobey as you watch Yoongi disappear further into the woods, the thick trees swallowing him whole. 

But you don’t. You stay put, fear rooting you to the ground even though your body desperately wants to follow. 

What lies beyond the thicket of trees? What is dangerous enough that Yoongi wants you to stay put but not so dangerous that he believes he can take it on alone? 

Just when your resolve is about to crumble, something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. Barely breathing, you turn your head to watch a dark spot glide across the forest floor. It’s two-dimensional, not an object but a presence creeping along the ground.

Suddenly, the spot grows. It spreads, turning its shape from a flat, uneven circle to a thing with tendrils sticking out of it, each new tendril moving independently. You gasp when one of the tendrils creeps up your leg. Despite being two-dimensional, you can feel the darkness. It’s firm and cold, like a snake slithering up your body. 

Every inch of you trembles as the strange darkness slowly spreads across your body. You squeeze your eyes and hold your breath. Perhaps this is the thing that Yoongi saw, a phantom stalking the trees. But now you’re left behind to be absorbed into its darkness, eaten alive. 

You’re startled when the cold disappears; instead, strong arms pull you against a firm chest. Warmth envelopes you, and when you open your eyes, you see familiar ones looking back at you.

“I got you,” Jungkook murmurs. He has you tucked under his chin, and he tilts his head down when he speaks to you. You shiver as his lips lightly brush against your forehead. 

“Where did you-”  

“Shhh.” 

Jungkook’s heart isn’t steady like Yoongi’s had been. On the contrary, it’s beating rather furiously. You can hear him attempting to regulate his emotions, taking in mindful breaths and exhaling in a way that tickles your skin.

You don’t know how long you stand there pulled against Jungkook’s chest. After a while, your breathing matches his until you fall into a gentle rhythm that makes you sleepy. The adrenaline is making you crash, your body hardly strong enough to hold yourself up after panicking so severely - still panicking. Luckily, when you lean into Jungkook, his hold on you tightens. 

In another situation, pressing your fronts together would have flooded your body with heat. You can feel all of Jungkook like this, from the bulging muscles of his chest to his thigh pressed slightly between your legs from how he holds you up. But fear of the unknown and Jungkook’s clearly distressed state prevent those other thoughts from materializing. 

Jungkook’s body doesn’t relax until Yoongi appears around the corner of a large tree. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, and for a second, Yoongi looks around at the clearing you’re in as though he can’t see you. 

It isn’t until Jungkook lets go of you that recognition flashes in Yoongi’s eyes. 

“There you are,” Yoongi murmurs to the two of you. He looks like he rolled around on the ground, little pieces of leaves and sticks caught in his hair and stuck to his clothes. His left knee is bleeding from a few superficial scrapes. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” 

Yoongi looks at Jungkook before he answers your question, which irritates you. “I tripped when I rushed in, but it was nothing. Just a large fox I heard making noise back there.” 

A fox is likely the largest animal in the woods, with no bears or wolves in the area. Still, you don’t trust Yoongi. You can pick up on the charred smell coming off of him. He smells like a barbecue, which means only one thing… 

“Have you been practicing turning yourself invisible?” 

Jungkook ducks his head down but no longer has long bangs to hide his face. It takes a second for your brain to process Yoongi’s question - and the change in the topic - but Jungkook is already answering him by the time you figure it out. 

“It’s not really invisibility,” he says softly. “It’s more like… an illusion.”

Yoongi hums and motions for the two of you to start walking. You’re returning to the warehouse, you realize, even though you only just started the patrol route. 

“Yeah, I can… adjust the lighting, I guess? To make it seem like you can’t see me. Or, us, this time.” 

Jungkook gives you a small smile when you whip around to look at him.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook repeats. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and wiggles it like he has more to say but doesn’t want to let it out just yet. 

The three of you walk in silence until you reach the warehouse. When Yoongi walks ahead of you, you can tell he’s limping, even as he does his best to walk normally. 

“He’s okay.” 

Jungkook stands beside you in the field behind the warehouse, watching Yoongi reach the backdoor. 

“He’s bleeding.” 

Jungkook’s ears are pink when he responds, “He’ll be okay.”

“He’s lying to us.” 

Jungkook absentmindedly runs his fingers along his bottom lip. It droops as he speaks through a pout. “Maybe. But I trust him, even if he is.” 

It’s a strange thing to trust someone who is lying. 

All you can do is nod. All you can do is accept that the people around you are doing what’s right because, aside from them, there is no one and nothing you can trust in the world. 

As you approach the warehouse, Jungkook curls his fingers around your wrist to stop you. He watches you with the same wide-eyed look he gives everyone, though something about this time feels different. His expression is more open and vulnerable. He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to hurt him. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he apologizes softly. 

“But you didn’t?” 

Your eyebrows crease your forehead, trying to recall what you may have done to make Jungkook feel like you feared him. Sure, his sudden appearance in the woods was startling, but he’d brought you a feeling of comfort and safety - not fear. 

Jungkook doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets go of your wrist as shame warms his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away from you. The timidness is still there. You can see it in how he chews on his bottom lip. Still, his eyes take on a more guarded, hardened expression for a split second, and then… 

He’s gone. 

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself. 

Now that you’ve seen the darkness before, your eyes quickly notice the spot on the ground that creeps and grows into odd shapes, slinking along the grass before taking form up your legs, curling around your arms. 

It’s Jungkook. You knew it in the woods, somewhere deep down. Your fear for Yoongi’s safety - and your own - prevented you from processing the situation. But now, as the darkness envelopes you again, you know what to expect when you close your eyes and open them to see Jungkook’s broad chest as he crushes you against him. 

“You never showed me before.” 

Maybe it’s weird that you’re still clinging to each other, but Jungkook is warm and solid, and his heartbeat guides yours into a slower rhythm. 

“That’s because it’s creepy.” 

“Well, I think it’s cool. Even though, yeah, you kinda scared the shit outta me.” 

Jungkook lets out an embarrassed whine and squeezes you tighter. You knew he could command shadows but hadn’t realized he could become one or move within them. Sure, the tornado trick he’d done a few times with Hoseok had been cool, but you’d always thought he was merely swirling the darkness around himself. You hadn’t realized he was the darkness. 

Honestly, it made him all the more terrifying and equally as endearing. 

“I just had this… feeling something bad was happening…” Jungkook whispers into your hair. “I needed to check.”

“Good thing it was only a fox.”

Jungkook nods in agreement; you know he believes it more than you do. 

“I’m just happy you’re safe.” You can feel his cheek press against the top of your head for a moment before he finally releases you. 

There’s a feeling there as Jungkook leads you to the warehouse. He laces his fingers with yours, and you can’t help but hear Yoongi’s question on a loop in your head. 

You and Jungkook? 

4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS

“What if they think we’re the feds and feed us false information?” 

“We’re too stupid to be the feds. It would be obvious.”

“I don’t know… we all escaped the government, so they must be pretty stupid.” 

“What if they’re the feds?” 

“Shit, I never thought about that.”

“They’re not the fucking feds.” 

“How do you know that?!” 

“Can all of you please just shut the fuck up?” 

The six of you crowd around the radio on the kitchen table. Jessi shows you how to operate it, which flip to switch to activate the microphone, and how to adjust the volume. You’re all muted for now. When Hoseok goes to flip the switch, Jessi smacks his hand out of the way. 

“Listen to me,” she says sternly, turning in her seat to get a good look at all of you. “No one talks.” 

“But-” 

“No one talks.” 

Five heads nod at her command, including Yoongi, which feels very satisfying to you for some reason. 

Details of the Gifted Commune somewhere beyond the woods traveled by word of mouth. Coordinates and radio frequencies were exchanged in hushed tones between the Gifteds who dared dream of a life beyond the Labs. You’re sad to admit that you were never one of those Gifteds. It wasn’t until Yoongi helped you escape that you even realized escaping was an option, so brainwashed into thinking the Labs were all you had. You were in a new country, stumbling through an unfamiliar language, taken from your family. Sure, you’d learned enough to get by over time - but missing your adolescent years made you feel hopeless. 

Jessi is the only one who had communicated with the Commune leaders in the past when she and another Gifted managed to break into a control room in the Labs she came from. 

That’s why she’s the one to speak into the radio that you find operates much like a long-distance walkie-talkie. You’re glad it’s not you. She introduces herself, her whereabouts, and her credentials with an even voice you know you could never replicate. 

Despite the distrust you’re all afraid of, Jessi’s previous connection to the Commune makes it easy for her to request to speak to the Commune leader, a healer named Kim Taehyung. 

Sitting with your fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly your knuckles are beginning to ache, you lean forward as though you can get closer to the gentle voice that floats from the radio’s speakers. 

Taehyung doesn’t sound anything like you’d imagined, though you aren’t sure what you were expecting, to be honest. Maybe someone with a rougher voice made harsh by the trials of life as a fugitive of the Republic. Instead, he’s soft as he asks Jessi how many there are of you and what your coordinates are. This man, already larger than life even though none of you knows what he looks like, is patient as he gives Jessi instructions on how to reach the Commune. 

“I can assure you,” Taehyung speaks, and you don’t know what he’s about to say, but you find yourself already believing him, “You will be safe here. It won’t be a short trip.” That makes your gut twist, but you focus on his following words. “But there are abandoned shelters along the route to find refuge in. The nights get terribly cold.” 

Namjoon scribbles some notes down on a worn piece of paper. It’s been written on and erased to add more notes over the months you’ve been at the warehouse since there are only a few pieces of paper between the six of you. There’s a small hole in the middle of the page where someone erased too hard - or too many times, you suppose. 

“Thank you, Taehyung-ssi.” 

The line is quiet for a moment. Jessi’s gaze shoots up to glare at Jungkook’s interruption, but Taehyung speaks before she can chastise the younger man. 

“Anything for my dongsaeng,” the man on the other side of the radio states. 

You don’t know him, so there is no way to tell if the subtle lilt to his voice indicates affection, but it seems like it as the two men use polite terms no one ever uses anymore. It’s old-fashioned and reminiscent of a time lost to all of you. 

Jessi steers the conversation back to planning the group’s journey to the Commune. Excitement makes you jittery as you skip out of the kitchen, the men - aside from Yoongi - following after you. The boring stuff is what follows, and you’re all content to let the leaders discuss that stuff. 

“Do you think we’ll be able to do it?” Hoseok clasps his hands together, occasionally squeezing them. When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on the closed kitchen door. 

Namjoon shrugs at the same time you respond, “We have to.” 

5 MONTHS

Later, when you look back on this time in your life, you’ll see that everything that transpired during those precious months at the warehouse led up to this. 

At the moment, though, you don’t see anything but the beginnings of spring attempting to sprout from the hard winter earth. 

You sit on the roof atop the old milkcrate with your elbows on your knees. Your eyes follow a small butterfly floating through the light breeze. It’s quiet, just like any other day. 

Yoongi, Jessi, and Namjoon are inside, preparing for the trip you all will make through the woods to the Commune. Hoseok and Jungkook are somewhere at the perimeter of the woods, gathering whatever they can as food for the trip. 

You’ve learned that there is a runaway at the Commune whose Gift allows them to disguise the Commune, similar to Jungkook’s Gift of optical illusion through shadows. Except this Gifted can alter reality, bend the shape of time and space to make the Commune simply…. disappear to anyone they don’t want to find it. 

It sounds otherworldly, something you can hardly wrap your head around, but you must remind yourself that before your Gift had revealed itself to you, you had never believed in the supernatural or fantasy. Now you were everything a younger version of you couldn’t have begun to believe. 

A tiny part of you had been worried that you would get nervous, but you find you can’t sit still from the enthusiasm building up energy in your body to the point you might explode. It’s exciting, the knowledge that in a few short days, you won’t have to sit on top of this roof with your bow and fear that has seemed to make its home deep inside your chest. 

Soon you’ll be safe. 

You hold your breath as the butterfly gently flutters toward you. With a slight dip in its flight, the beautiful insect descends until it rests on your shoe. You’re pretty sure you learned somewhere that butterflies shouldn’t be touched, but you want to run your finger along its wings so badly. 

Just before you can touch it, a scream rings out, echoing against the warehouse and reverberating across the industrial park’s empty fields and parking lots. Crows take off into the sky, their cawing harmonizing with the shouts coming from behind you. 

With your heart beating in your throat, you stand and run to the other side of the roof toward the woods. 

“RUN! Y/N, FUCKING RUN!” 

You just barely catch a glimpse of Jungkook’s face as he sprints out of the woods before suddenly disappearing. Your blood becomes ice, piercing your veins as it glides through your body. Jungkook is a shadow now, you tell yourself. He didn’t really disappear.  

Hoseok stumbles out of the woods behind Jungkook, the wind at his feet enabling him to run across the field faster than an average human. 

At first, you think they’re just playing some silly game. Jungkook and Hoseok always mess around, pranking each other and playfighting. This seems like some elaborate joke until you watch Hoseok use his Gift to lift a giant chunk of concrete from the ground near the warehouse and throw it toward the woods. 

You watch with wide eyes as multiple masked men, wearing all black except for the blood-red insignia of the Republic on their chests, crash through the woods like a spring flood. 

Red Pin agents. 

They’re armed with guns, some still on their hips while others are holding them out in front of them as they swarm the warehouse’s perimeter. 

One of the men tilts his head up, his dark eyes locking with yours before you drop to your knees to hide behind the protective barrier around the roof. 

You throw your bow over your arm and head so it rests across your chest and back and crawl as quickly as you can toward the trapdoor. 

Your limbs tremble so terribly that you miss the last few rungs of the ladder and fall flat on your back, knocking the wind out of you. With a gasp, you touch the back of your head and try to blink away the stars swarming your eyes. When you bring your hand back, your fingers are coated red. 

“Shit! Get up, Y/N. Get the fuck up!” 

A pair of strong hands squeeze your biceps, and once your vision clears, you see that it’s Jessi hauling you to your feet. There are grease streaks on her face. You wonder if they’re from…

“The radio,” you croak, your lungs still struggling to work properly. 

“It was fucking rigged,” she spits, “I don’t know how I couldn’t sense it. But it was.”

And now they are here to collect you - or kill you, you aren’t sure. 

Maybe they would spare Jungkook. He has a Rare Gift; they would be stupid to harm him. The rest of you, though? Common Gifts - although Jessi’s is Uncommon, but certainly not Rare.

You feel lightheaded, likely from the fall and blood loss as it trickles down the back of your neck. It’s thick and wet. The smell of iron floods your nostrils and makes your stomach curl inward. It doesn’t matter, though. Jessi throws your arm around her shoulders and practically drags you through the warehouse. 

Inside is a tornado. Namjoon and Hoseok are scrambling to gather as many supplies as they can. Luckily, many of the essential items are already packed, though Jessi quickly tosses out the radio from the duffle bag she flings over her shoulder. 

“Stupid piece of fucking military bullshit,” she grumbles, giving the item a harsh kick with her steel-toed boots. “Gonna get us all fucking killed.” 

Hoseok lets out a whine. “Please don’t say that.” 

His face is bright pink, and his hands shake while he shoves clothes, random notes, and anything else he can find into his duffle bag. 

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Jessi growls in response. Her tone has Namjoon and Hoseok picking up the pace. 

Somewhere below you, likely on the first floor, you hear the sound of glass breaking. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon hisses. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before, and in any other situation, you would have giggled. But right now, he looks so grim it makes all the hairs on your arms stand. “They’re inside.” 

The sound of shouting and boots slapping against the concrete floors gets louder the longer the four of you stare at each other. Even Jessi, with her commanding presence, seems to stand frozen in place. The shouting becomes easier to understand as death threats if your group refuses to cooperate and willingly turn yourselves in to the government. 

As if any of you would actually go back to the Labs. At least, not without a fight. 

“If we stand here, we are going to die.” Your voice trembles just barely above a whisper. It’s enough, though. 

Namjoon gives a curt nod and looks around the room you’re in - the room that was once your bedroom. Your little nest of blankets is in the corner, along with Jungkook’s and Jessi’s. The beds have been rifled through, likely by Namjoon and Hoseok collecting the warmest blankest to bring on the trip. 

“The window,” Hoseok finally says with a quiet hiss. The warehouse is relatively large, so it will take some time for the Red Pin agents to figure out which room you’re in. 

The four of you rush to the window and peer out of it. From what you can tell, there aren’t any Red Pin agents below. Even if there are, it would be a smaller number than is currently bulldozing through the warehouse. 

It’s a long drop, though. You’re on the third floor. 

“I’ll ease you down,” Hoseok insists. He props open the window and rests his hip against the wall. “Sit on the edge, with your feet out like that.” His fingers are delicate but firm as he positions Namjoon the way he needs him to be. Sweet Namjoon, willing to put his life in Hoseok’s hands and go first in case something terrible happens. 

Hoseok’s hands shake as he uses his Gift to slow Namjoon’s fall when the other man finally jumps from the window. 

Tears burn the corners of your eyes as you watch Jessi do the same as Namjoon. The two land on the ground roughly but without injury. Hoseok looks exhausted, likely from the pressure of not fucking up and less because of the exertion. 

“Come on,” he urges you as the Red Pin agents’ shouting gets louder. “They’re close.” 

You climb into the window, letting your legs dangle out the other side. Before Hoseok conjures a gentle breeze between his hands, you grab onto his wrist. Something is tugging at your chest; it has been since the moment you saw Hoseok and Jungkook escape from the woods. 

“Hobi,” you hope he hears the plead in your voice. “Where is Yoongi?” 

The way he grimaces shoots anxiety through you so severely that you feel your entire body jolt. 

“He and Jungkook are down there.”

“Down there…”

“Figh-”

Hoseok cuts himself off by letting out a shrill shriek when Jungkook suddenly materializes beside you. He has a deep gash on his cheek, blood pouring from the wound, coating his chin and neck deep red. His hair is matted and stands up on end, and there’s more blood all over his clothes, enough that you can’t tell if the blood is from him or someone else. 

“Get out,” he wheezes. When he grabs Hoseok’s arm, he leaves blotches of blood on his skin. “Hyung’s gonna blow it up.”

“Blow it up?” You hiss, twisting around to stare at Jungkook. 

It’s a mistake. 

His irises are dark and wide, so vast that his eyes are almost entirely black. It gives him a crazed look, like a wild animal backed into a corner with its teeth bared. 

What’s worse, it’s not just his eyes that are black. The veins in his neck are black like dark spiderwebs climbing up his throat and spreading down so far that it reaches the raised veins in the backs of his hands. He looks like he’s possessed, like the darkness of his Gift is consuming him whole. 

“Get out.” 

Before you can argue further, you feel Jungkook’s palm press between your shoulder blades, and suddenly you’re falling out of the window. 

When you open your eyes, you’re on the ground. Your upper body is propped up by Namjoon. His arms are wrapped around your torso, your back pulled against his chest to stabilize you. His chest rapidly raises and falls against you, but you hardly notice this. All you can focus on are the eyes staring back at you. 

“You okay, kid?”

Yoongi looks much like Jungkook. Blood is splattered across his face and staining his clothes. His faded pink hair is plastered to his sweat-drenched skin. He crouches beside you and Namjoon, one hand pressed into the grass to keep himself steady. 

From behind Yoongi, you can hear gunshots and screaming echoing through the warehouse. If Hell had a sound, you were sure it would be this. 

You try to turn to look at the building you’d just jumped from, but Yoongi grabs your chin. 

“Hey,” he lightly squeezes your cheeks. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything. You remember that?” 

You nod once Yoongi drops his hand from your face. You try not to shiver when the air blows against your now wet skin; try not to think about how your skin is now stained with someone else’s blood. 

“Hyung!” 

Yoongi turns toward the warehouse. Now that he’s distracted, he can’t stop you from peering around him to get a look at the building that you’ve made your home for the past five months. 

What looks like black smoke furls around the building. From how the tendrils move like snakes through busted-out windows, you know it isn’t smoke but shadows. Through an open window, you watch one of the shadows slip around a Red Pin agent’s throat like a noose. It tightens and tightens, squeezing the man so hard his face turns purple and his eyes water. 

Before you can witness more, your view is again obscured by Yoongi. 

“Hyung!” 

Jungkook’s shout sounds more desperate than the first, and you feel your heart constrict at the pained edge of his tone. 

Yoongi must notice the desperation, as well, because he quickly grabs your hand. Fire swirls between his fingers as he presses his palm against yours. 

“Yoongi, please-”

“You need to listen to me.” 

He presses his hand against yours even harder, only letting up when you give in and summon little streams of water to intertwine with his fire. You don’t like how rushed your secret handshake feels.

“I need you to look after Jungkook. The kid’s stubborn as fuck, worse than you.”

“Why are you saying this?” 

Yoongi’s gives you a small smile, lifting his hand to swipe his thumb against your cheek. The blood there mixes with the tears you hadn’t realized you’re shedding. 

“Because it’s what I need you to do.” 

Taking your face in his hands, Yoongi pulls you close to kiss your forehead. You feel Namjoon lift you to your feet when Yoongi lets go. Hoseok had cushioned your fall from the window, but you’re weak from blood loss and the exhaustion that fear can instill in the bones. 

Before you can say anything more, Yoongi sprints toward the warehouse, disappearing through the backdoor and into the darkness that surrounds the building. 

“Namjoon, let me go!” You scream as your friend squeezes his arms around your waist to haul you toward the woods. Jessi and Hoseok wait for you there, hidden within the trees, as the sounds of fighting and death from the warehouse get louder. 

Your friend lets out a low grunt when you dig your heels into the ground, but he’s stronger than you, and the action only deters him for a moment. He lifts you a bit, practically carrying you. 

Namjoon only stops when a flash of bright red light turns the entire industrial park dark for a split second before a deafening crash rings through the air. Even though your feet aren’t on the ground, you can feel the ground shake with the explosion that busts all the windows out of the warehouse. The entire building bursts into flames, turning the walls black. Balls of fire fly out of the broken windows, igniting the grass below. 

You crumble to the ground once Namjoon reaches the woods.

“We have to go,” Hoseok pleads. When you look up at him, his cheeks are streaked with tear tracks, too. 

Turning back to the fiery scene across the field, you watch a dark spot slither from shadow to shadow in the grass until it merges with your own shadow beside you on the ground. You tremble when Jungkook wraps his arms around your shoulders. His body is still crawling with dark veins, and the whites of his eyes are now entirely black. 

“Where is he?”

You glare into Jungkook’s eyes and swallow down the fear they strike in your heart. Like black holes, ready to absorb anything unlucky enough to fall in their path. 

The frown Jungkook wears intensifies. 

“Jungkook. Where. Is. He.” 

Jungkook closes his eyes and shakes his head, jaw clamped shut so tightly you can see the muscles ripple under his skin. When he opens them again, black tears pour from his empty eyes.

It’s like all the air is sucked out of your lungs, like a punch to the throat. You’re breathing in as hard as you can, as fast as you can, but nothing’s staying. Everything is too cold. You can feel the blood crusting on your skin, the throb in the back of your head. Black ash falls from the sky, further obstructing your ability to breathe.

Everything is too much. 

“Get off of me.” 

You try wiggling out from Jungkook’s grasp, but he doesn’t let go. 

“We have to keep moving.” 

“Get the fuck off of me!” 

Jungkook lets you push him away. He leans back on his heels and watches you. Or, you think he is. It’s hard to tell where those black eyes look, but it doesn’t matter. 

“Yoongi,” you moan, sagging forward to dig your fingers into the ground. You rip tufts of grass until all that’s left is dirt. 

With closed fists, you beat into the now bare ground, over and over, until your knuckles split open, and Jungkook has to scoop you into his arms to stop you. Your fingers are raw and bloody, and you don’t feel any of it. Nothing at all. Just numb. Numbness spreads through your body like Jungkook’s black veins spread through his. 

None of this is real. 

“Jungkook,” you sob into the crook of his neck with your arms thrown around his shoulders. He holds you bridal style with one arm wrapped around your torso and the other under your legs. 

“I know.” 

“He’s coming back, right? How will he find us if we keep going?”

Jungkook tightens his hold on you, cradling you against his chest. You assume he’s following the group deeper into the woods, but your eyes are closed, and your face is buried in his neck. He smells like smoke and blood, but you all do now. 

“Jungkook, he’s coming back, right?”

A wet sob cuts through the otherwise quiet woods somewhere in front of you. You think it’s Hoseok, but you can’t tell. 

“This way,” Jessi whispers. 

There’s shuffling, then only the sound of feet crunching dead leaves and snapping twigs. Jungkook jostles you slightly to adjust his grip on you, murmuring gentle apologies every time he does. 

“How are you holding up?” This time it’s Namjoon. He sounds close, like he’s walking in line with Jungkook. 

“I can keep us hidden until we’re deeper in, but then I’ll have to stop,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth, as though he doesn’t want to admit what he must say next. “I’m exhausted.”

“Want me to carry-”

“No.”

Jungkook barks his response with an aggression you’ve never heard from him. He squeezes you, almost protectively close to his chest, as Namjoon assures him everything is fine. It’s hard to focus on the men’s hushed voices when you waver in and out of consciousness. 

Eventually, all you can see when your close your eyes is a flash of bright light, like fire engulfing your brain. 

And then everything goes black.

SHELTER #2

Hoseok’s hands shake as he holds the flint rock in one and the steel knife in the other. Twigs snap beneath his boots as he adjusts his squat. Each fidget draws your attention despite your desire to keep your eyes off the sight of Hoseok struggling. 

After three failed attempts at creating a spark, Jessi quickly snatches the items from Hoseok’s grasp and kneels beside the fire pit. 

“You’re gonna fucking stab yourself,” she grumbles, though she, too, struggles the first few tries. Eventually, the little pile of tinder ignites, filling the circle of rocks you’d gathered with a hot fire whose heat licks at your ankles. 

Namjoon fists your jacket sleeve and drags you backward, nearly toppling you over and making the wet grass stain the butt of your pants a dark green. 

It rained today. You can’t help but wonder if it washed away the blood and soot from the warehouse or if more Red Pin agents will show up and find evidence of what happened there.  

“You’re sitting too close.” 

“I’m cold.” 

“You’re too close, Y/N.” 

You glare at Namjoon, opening your mouth to retort that you’re an adult who can take care of yourself when a sob cuts through the tension between you. 

Hoseok shudders with each heave of his shoulders, nearly folding in on himself, with his elbows on his knees and his palms pressed against his eyes. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon calls out; his voice barely registers over Hoseok’s crying. 

“It makes me think of him.” It’s all Hoseok says, all he needs to say. 

Namjoon and Jessi’s expressions crumple like Hoseok’s body in the dirt. You watch them lock eyes with each other, something silent and private passing between them. You don’t know why, but it pisses you off. It shouldn’t, though. 

Something dark and sick is growing inside you, this angry mass doubling in size every time someone cries for Yoongi. He was your best friend. He found you, saved you, and helped you see that there was more to life. The rest of them don’t get it. Yoongi didn’t mean to them what he meant to you. 

Attempting to hoard grief all to yourself isn’t fair to you or the rest of your group, but you want to do it anyway. You want to be selfish because you feel you deserve the right to hurt the most. The rest of them don’t get it. 

Rather than voice your frustration, you bite your bottom lip and dig your fingers into the dirt, winding up your whole body into a tight fist that’s not quite ready to spring but prepared all the same. If you let yourself loose, you know you’ll say something you shouldn’t – something you know you don’t actually mean and that you’ll regret, if not tomorrow, then ten years from now. Assuming you survive that long. 

For now, survival should be the only thing on your mind. 

The fire sputters slightly. A section of the tinder is wet from the morning’s rain. You hold out your hand, palm facing the sky, and wait. 

Hoseok’s sobs have subsided by the time you’ve drawn the moisture out of the wet wood. It sits in a small pool of water in your palm. A reckless part of you wants to plunge your hand into the fire, but you spread your fingers apart instead. The water falls through your fingers and soaks into the grass. 

The fire’s crackling overpowers the silence that blankets the four of you. Each of you stares deep into its flames, streaks of orange burning in your eyes. You wonder if Jungkook’s invisibility shield (“Optical illusion, guys.”) is strong enough to hide the fire. You’d never thought to ask if he can maintain the shield when he’s not even around. 

Twigs snapping in the distance make you reach for the knife sticking out of the ground beside you. Hoseok doesn’t seem concerned by the sound, but his sense of smell as the air carries it to him may be compromised from all the crying. His nose has been running since your group left the warehouse. 

You haven’t cried since you woke up inside the first abandoned shelter Taehyung mentioned would be on your path to the Commune. Even if you wanted to cry, you wouldn’t be able to. The part of your chest where the sobs should come from just feels empty. 

The rustling in the woods increases until you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

Jungkook emerges from the darkness with a satchel – Yoongi’s satchel – thrown across his chest and a stone bowl in his arms.  

“Rabbit. I skinned them already. I thought you guys might not wanna see…” Jungkook trails off when his bright eyes fall on Hoseok’s tear-stained face. With a quiet sigh, he crouches beside the fire and slides the satchel off, handing it to Namjoon. 

“Fruits,” he mumbles, not looking in Namjoon’s direction once the older man takes the bag from him. Instead, and unsurprisingly, Jungkook’s eyes are on you. 

You look away. There’s too much in those eyes, full of constellations of stories you’re too weak to learn. Bending your knees, you draw your legs against your chest and hug them, returning your gaze to the fire while Jungkook prepares to cook the meat and Namjoon handles the other food. 

Yoongi asked you to look after Jungkook, but it’s he who has taken care of the group. Namjoon seems too busy fussing over Hoseok, and you know you aren’t any help. Jessi is the leader by default now that Yoongi isn’t here to take charge. She’s strong and has kept the group on a tight schedule. You know it’s her way of coping. There’s no time to lose herself in mourning if she charges ahead. Having an end goal gives her purpose. 

If only you knew what yours was. 

SHELTER #3

Your feet sink into the ground with each step you take. The sand feels soft between your toes as you wiggle them, watching the little black grains roll across your skin and make your toes disappear. Your steps halt just before you reach the water’s edge, where bright orange waves lap at the black shore. The shore stretches in both directions, a black stripe for as far as you can see. A ghost of a memory tickles your brain. Jack-o’-lanterns lit by tealight candles, and the smell of cinnamon. 

Suddenly, the orange waves kick up in speed, crashing against the shore more violently. The force causes black sand to spray into the air. You can taste it in your mouth, feel it gritty against your teeth and harsh on your tongue. 

You try to lift your hands to cover your face, but you find that you can’t. They’re trapped to your sides by long vines that wrap around your wrists and dive deep into the sand, rooting you in place. You try to pull out of the vines’ grasp. Thorns dig into your skin so deeply that black blood oozes from the jagged puncture wounds the thorns leave behind. 

“Don’t struggle.” 

The voice brings stillness to the whirlwind of sand and the crash of waves. 

You already know who it is, but your body still feels surprised when Yoongi takes slow steps toward you from the other end of the shore. He’s dressed in a flowy white shirt and loose white pants. When you look down, you realize you’re matching. 

“What do I do?” 

Yoongi ignores your question. His fingers run along your forearm, his index finger dipping into one of the holes in your wrist, still dripping black blood. It doesn’t hurt, even though you know it should. 

Dark cat eyes examine the black that stains his fingers. After another silent minute, Yoongi wipes your blood on the front of his shirt. You don’t know why you’re worried that he’ll ruin it. 

“Jungkookie is here.” 

“What?” 

Yoongi walks toward the orange ocean. You scramble to keep up, but the sand grabs your ankles and pulls you back every time you step forward. 

“Yoongi! Wait for me!” 

“You don’t need me anymore. This is a good thing.” 

Your friend nods his head before stepping into the water. The moment his foot touches the orange waves, the entire ocean bursts into flames. 

“Yoongi!” You shriek, running as fast as possible, but the sand won’t let you go. It sucks you down until you’re up to your knees in the soft grains trapped in the hold of the shore. Your brain knows it’s hopeless, but your body keeps struggling even though Yoongi told you not to. 

Suddenly, you feel rough hands grab your arms, and you’re being pulled into the sand, the grains filling your mouth and nose until your lungs are full and you can’t breathe.

“Hey, hey, shhh, it’s okay.” 

Fingers trail along your hairline, dragging down the length of your face and tracing your jaw. Rather than cold sand, you feel something solid and warm wrap around your body. 

“Breathe. In and out, okay? Inhale… exhale… I got you. It’s okay. I got you.” 

As your body returns to you, you realize your face is pressed against smooth skin. You can taste salt on your lips, but no sand. When you blink, your eyelids feel heavy and wet. 

You’re crying. Sobbing, actually. 

“I miss him, too. So fucking much.” 

Jungkook is crying, too. His voice remains steady, though. He’s always so steady now. The shy, fumbling boy of the warehouse is no more. In the time since the Red Pin attack, Jungkook changed. You all did, but he seems to have changed the most. His eyes still hold the stars, but the darkness seems… deeper now. His aura has lost its boyishness. 

The abandoned building where your group has taken refuge is dark, only lit by the moonlight filtering through the slotted windows. You think it may have once been a cabin for a couple or small family. 

Jungkook cradles you in his lap. The two of you are wrapped in thick blankets, cocooned away from the world. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Jessi is asleep in the corner of the room, while Namjoon and Hoseok have made their beds in the room across the hall. You’re all accustomed to loud noises at night. Nearly all of you have suffered from night terrors at some point. 

“It’s okay. You’ve had to listen to me cry in my sleep, too,” Jungkook points out with a small smile. 

It’s a breathtaking smile. Jungkook’s cheeks shine with fresh tears, but his bunny teeth poke out, and his eyes crease with the sincerity in that smile. It warms the empty parts of your chest – like hot tea poured into a cool mug. Perhaps the odd feeling in your stomach is similar to the bubble of water boiling. 

“You’re cute when you cry. I’m an ugly crier,” you sniff. It’s stupid to say, but you don’t want to think about how sad you all are. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. All the boogers and the dumb faces I make.” 

Jungkook shakes his head. His hair is getting long again. 

“I think you’re beautiful.” 

“Don’t lie,” you try to joke, but your voice comes out small and unsure rather than teasing. 

“I would never lie to you.” 

As if to seal the promise, Jungkook presses his lips against your forehead in a kiss. Your fingers ache from how tightly you squeeze the fabric of his shirt into your fists. 

Every day you trudge through the woods in search of the Commune, and every day you live in fear of the Red Pins finding you once again. But being in Jungkook’s lap, face nuzzling the crook of his neck, his strong arms holding you against his chest… It’s the only time you genuinely feel safe. 

SHELTER #4

“When was the last time,” Jungkook pauses to pull his shirt over his head, “you took a bath?” 

Your eyes roam the expanse of his broad chest, the dips and valleys of his abdomen, and the sparse dark hairs disappearing into the waistband of his pants. You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless before. It’s a treat every time, although you feel a twinge of guilt from looking now. Running along his ribcage is an extended cut, red with scabs. Jessi did her best to stitch Jungkook up with whatever she had in the supplies Namjoon and Hoseok snatched before you fled the warehouse. It’s a pretty nasty wound, but it seems to be healing well. Part of you wonders if exposing it to lake water is a good idea, but you keep the thought to yourself. Jungkook is tired of everyone babying him. He hasn’t told you as much, but you can tell.    

“I’m too ashamed to answer that question.” 

“You and me both,” Jungkook snorts. 

He removes the harness strapped around his thigh, taking the large knife off along with it. After the Red Pin attack, you now know how pointless it is to carry any weapon other than a gun. However, none of you have guns, though you still believe your Gifts are better than any human-made weaponry. 

“Too bad we don’t have, like, soap and shit,” you grumble, stomping a cluster of wild mushrooms growing along the bank of the lake you’d found. 

Jungkook’s tattooed fingers play with his belt buckle while his big, brown eyes flit up to meet yours. 

“Sorry!” You rush to apologize and turn your back to him. Heat creeps up your neck, spreading across your cheeks and biting at your ears’ tips. 

Your discomfort worsens when you hear a quiet chuckle rumble from Jungkook. There’s the rustle of clothes and, soon after, a light splash that tells you he has eased himself into the lake. 

“You’re good.” 

When you turn around, Jungkook isn’t facing you. He dips his head back to wet his hair, running his fingers through it a few times before righting himself again, still facing away from you. The water reaches his lower back when he’s standing, but you can tell he is crouching slightly because the gentle waves lap higher up on his back. It’s not dirty water since the lake has a fresh stream feeding it, which ensures that the water isn’t stagnant, but it’s murky enough from the plants growing at the bottom that you can’t make out the rest of Jungkook’s body. Not that you want to, considering he’s naked. 

Thankful for the privacy, you quickly strip out of your clothes and step into the water. You keep a respectful distance between you, choosing not to drift too far into deeper water. You much prefer to at least touch the sandy bottom with your tiptoes. 

Slipping deep enough that only your head remains above water, you watch Jungkook as he uses an old rag to scrub his arms. You’re both disgustingly grimy. 

“Lucky we found this place,” you think aloud as you begin to work on scrubbing down yourself, as well. 

“We are.” 

“Jungkook. You can look now.” 

His head snaps up, gaze locking with yours for a split second before he averts his eyes again. You’re close enough to see pink bloom across his face. 

You clear your throat to fill the silence when he says nothing. Part of you thought it might spur him to talk, but the tension between you remains. 

You’re not sure when it first developed. Part of you knows it has always been there, perhaps dormant or less noticeable. Much of it falls back on Jungkook’s behavior, you think as you watch him slide the rag down his chest. The tension has always lived in the dark expanse of his eyes and how he searches for you, always you, maybe without even realizing it himself. It’s gotten worse since you’ve started waking up every morning wrapped in his arms and nuzzling his neck. 

“What’s the first thing you want to do when we get to the Commune?” Jungkook finally speaks. When he does, you force yourself to drop your gaze, focusing intently on continuing to wash yourself to the best of your ability with the lack of soap.

“Eat food that isn’t rabbit, hopefully.” 

“Hey!” 

A giant splash of water hits you in the face. You gasp, rushing to wipe away the droplets clinging to your eyelashes. 

“F–fuck you!” You sputter. 

“It’s not my fault rabbits are the easiest things to catch around here. I’m doing my best!” 

Another splash slaps into you. It isn’t hard enough to sting, but it’s a splash all the same. 

“You’re real dumb if you think you can start a splashing war with someone who has a water Gift,” you challenge. 

“I’m not scared of you,” Jungkook sticks out his tongue after he challenges you. 

All it takes is a flick of your wrist and a wave higher than most nearby trees descend on Jungkook. It doesn’t ever reach him, though. The sheer panic that contorts his face is enough to warm your body with evil satisfaction. You gently let the wave descend into the lake, barely kicking up enough to splash Jungkook against the chest. 

“I showed you mercy. You’re welcome, young man.” 

Jungkook lets out a loud snort, eyes rolling into the back of his head in defiance. “You’re insane.” 

“You provoke me.” 

You don’t like how high his eyebrows arch, unable to decipher what an expression like that is supposed to mean. 

“I provoke you? In what way?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You literally did it just now.” 

Jungkook straightens up a little. The action makes more of his torso rise from the water. You can’t help but drop your eyes to the water level that has fallen so dangerously low on his hips. 

When your gaze finally returns to his face, Jungkook is wearing an exaggerated pout. 

“I’m innocent.” 

“Pfft,” you scoff. 

By this point, your fingers are starting to get wrinkly, and the position you’re standing in to ensure your whole body is covered in the water is becoming uncomfortable. You’re just about to tell Jungkook that you’re done playing games – that the two of you need to hurry up before the rest of your group gets worried about you being gone for too long – when the man disappears. 

“Oh my god, Jungkook-ah, why?” 

Your eyes dart around the lake, eyeing each shadow suspiciously. You don’t think you see Jungkook’s actual body underwater, so all you can guess is that he’s doing his creepy crawly shadow-walking just to bother you. 

“This is doing the exact opposite of proving that you’re innoce–” You interrupt yourself with a loud gasp when you feel fingers squeeze your bare hips. 

“Boo,” Jungkook deadpans, but his face quickly cracks into a smile. 

You want to laugh at yourself for being so easily startled, to match Jungkook’s joyfulness, but all you can focus on is the feeling of his fingertips pressing into your skin. 

“Jungkook…” 

“Hm?” 

He’s absentminded as his gaze drops down to stare at your lips. You automatically lick them, almost on instinct, unable to stop yourself. Jungkook follows your lead, though he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth instead of settling his face. If that action didn’t already make your stomach twist into a knot, the darkness of Jungkook’s gaze does. 

“I…” Jungkook rubs slow circles into your hips with his thumbs, following the curve of your hip bone and effectively interrupting your thoughts. 

You don’t know who leans in first, but it doesn’t really matter. The moment Jungkook’s lips connect with yours, it’s as though your brain completely empties. 

It’s a hesitant kiss, just a light press of Jungkook’s closed mouth against yours. He grows bolder when you don’t pull away, parting his lips slightly. He nibbles at your bottom lip, prompting you to part yours as well, allowing him to slot your lips together. 

You bring your hands up to squeeze Jungkook’s biceps, coaxing a slight whine from him when your nails lightly dig into his skin. The sound is gentle but needy, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. You’ve never heard Jungkook sound like that, never heard anyone sound like that. 

You’ve never even kissed anyone before. 

It’s not what you expected, though you haven’t spent much time thinking about physical intimacy. Being trapped in the Labs, it never seemed like something you’d have the privilege of exploring. Once you escaped, there was only one person you ever thought about being intimate with – and even then, it was far more wholesome than this, you now realize. This… is different. 

Jungkook trembles, and you feel his hands flex against your hips as he tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. 

A few times, the two of you fumble, noses bumping into each other and teeth nipping a bit too hard. It makes you wonder if this is Jungkook’s first kiss, too. You decide it doesn’t matter if it is. It’s warm and soft, and Jungkook tastes sweet, like the berries Hoseok picked earlier today. You’re dizzy; Jungkook stealing the air from your lungs. Your body screams for you to pull away, but you cling to him tighter.  

Something firm brushing against your inner thigh brings you back to reality. You nearly jump out of Jungkook’s grasp, chest heaving and fingers trembling beneath the water. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook hurries to speak before you do. 

Before you can say anything in return – though you’re not sure what you want to say – Jungkook is gone. All that’s left are his clothes still neatly folded on the grass beside the lake and a thrum of excitement beating through your body to the tune of guilt and shame. 

Kissing Jungkook felt good. And that is why it can never happen again.  

SHELTER #5

If you ever told Jessi that you see her as a mother figure, she would probably kill you. You consider this as she wields a machete, hacking away at the brush that blocks your path as you continue toward the Commune. The muscles in her bicep and shoulders flex with each swing. It’s sexy and terrifying, and you can only admire her strength when the rest of your group is floundering. 

The guys trail behind, practically dragging their feet. It’s Jungkook’s fault (and maybe yours, but you won’t think about that). 

Ever since the kiss, Jungkook has avoided you. You haven’t interacted with each other in days, aside from the cuddles you share at night when nightmares overtake you. 

Hoseok and Namjoon have also noticed the shift in his behavior, though they believe it’s grief causing him to distance himself from the group. They hang back, letting you and Jessi march forward, so they can talk and do whatever boys do to cheer each other up when the world is falling apart. 

You try not to think about it too much, but Jessi and her motherly instincts don’t let you know peace. 

“Yoongi wouldn’t want us to be so fucking sad all the time.” Jessi lets out a grunt as she hacks at a particularly thick tree branch blocking your path. “If he was here right now, he’d kick all of our asses with a quickness.” 

She’s right; it goes without saying. 

Letting her arm fall to her side, Jessi uses her free hand to wipe away the sweat that collects on her forehead and drips down the side of her face. She looks at you like she’s waiting for you to do something. The expression makes you feel uneasy. 

“What?”

“Did you even hear the shit I was saying?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay then, what’re you gonna do about it?”

You scrunch your eyebrows together. “About what?” 

Jessi lets out a frustrated huff and again brings the machete down on the tree branch. It splinters and breaks, providing enough weakness for Jessi to stomp down on it with a steel-toed boot. 

“Did you and Jungkook fuck?” 

“What?!” 

When you gasp, you’re sure you inhale a bug, sucking it right down your throat and probably into your fucking lungs for all you know. It sparks a terrible coughing fit that makes Jessi pause to slap you between the shoulder blades a few times. 

“Why–” you heave, tears in your eyes, “why would you think that?” 

Jessi pushes forward through the forest brush with a roll of her eyes. 

“It’s obvious there’s something going on. The poor boy’s moping around after you like a lovesick puppy. Even worse than usual.” 

If you weren’t already sweating your ass off, you would be heating up from Jessi’s astute observations. 

“I don’t know what you're–” 

“Aish, fucking save it, babe,” Jessi interrupts you with a wave of the hand that isn’t holding the machete. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s okay to feel good. Life is fucked as it is. Stop ruining good things for yourself and live as best as you can in the circumstances we got, alright?” 

She gives you a stern look from the side, a look that you quickly try to avoid by ducking your head down. Suddenly, the ground is fascinating. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Right, and I don’t have a fat ass.” 

“Really!” You insist. The desperation in your voice is pathetic and telling. 

“Yoongi would want you to live, hun. I know he would. And you wanna know how I know?”

There isn’t a need to say anything; once Jessi has her mind set on something, she sees it through until the end. 

“There wasn’t a fox in the woods. It was a Red Pin scout.” She gives you a pointed look. “But ignorance is bliss, and he wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to live without more fear, so he didn’t tell you. So do whatever you need to do to fix things with Jungkook and be fucking happy.” 

You fall behind as Jessi speeds up, the path much clearer now than it had been just a few feet before. The guys are still meandering further back, so you fall somewhere in the middle, close enough to see everyone at either end but far enough that you can be alone with your thoughts without interruption. 

Jessi is right, but it feels wrong to let yourself feel good. How can you be happy when Yoongi isn’t here? There is a bit of survivor’s guilt clutching at your heart, but most of your struggle is from the pain of simply not having Yoongi around. Being happy feels like it would be a betrayal of some kind. 

Yoongi would disagree. He would give you that gummy smile and poke you in the ribs until you cry, and then he would tell you that you’re being an idiot. 

With a sigh, you break into a light jog to catch up with Jessi, Yoongi’s voice echoing for the millionth time in your head. 

You and Jungkook.

COMFORT

You are ashamed to admit that you take longer to apologize to Jungkook than Yoongi took to apologize you to. 

In fact, you never apologize to Jungkook before your group makes it to the Commune. It never seemed like the right opportunity came. There was always someone else around, or Jungkook looked exceptionally sad, or you told yourself you would say something once he woke up but got caught up watching how beautiful he looks when he sleeps cuddled against you every night. 

It’s always tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. The thing about tomorrow is that it always comes until it doesn’t. 

And then suddenly, you’re all stumbling into a clearing in the woods that leads to what looks like a hole in the trees, and there is magic dancing in your bones that pulls your thoughts away from anything but the man who stands to greet you.

Kim Taehyung is not what you expected from the leader of a notorious Gifted runaway commune that has evaded the authorities for years. Admittedly, you had few expectations – too busy worrying about surviving the trek to think about what the man would look like when he finally greeted you. Still, it’s a lot to process. 

“Welcome, my little Gifts!” 

The lithe man stretches his long arms out as wide as his wingspan will let him. Your group exchanges looks when Taehyung doesn’t move, his eyebrows arched as he waits. 

The six of you stand at the Commune entrance, marked by two trees manipulated into forming a magical-looking arch. Large flower bushes and more trees flank the arch, hiding whatever may lie within the Commune. Try as you might, as you peer over Jessi’s shoulder, you can’t see through the thicket. 

Taehyung lets out a quiet sigh, but his arms don’t seem to tire. He wiggles his fingers as though he’s beckoning you into his arms. The movements, although small, make the numerous gold bracelets that line his wrists clink together like wind chimes. He wears loose slacks and an oversized white silk shirt. A knitted shawl with intricate patterns stitched into it in earth tones hangs over his broad shoulders. The tassels sway in the wind. You don’t know how, but he smells like summer. 

“Do you not seek comfort?”

A loud whimper erupts from the middle of your huddle, and suddenly Jungkook pushes past Jessi and Namjoon. He stumbles the few steps it takes to reach Taehyung. 

“Jungkook-ah,” Jessi whisper-yells, but it’s too late. Jungkook has his face buried in Taehyung’s chest, a sob tearing through his body. 

“Shhh, my little Gift, you are home.” 

Taehyung keeps his eyebrows arched, giving the rest of your group a pointed look. It takes hardly a second before Hoseok follows Jungkook, launching himself into Taehyung’s embrace with such power you’re shocked the Commune leader manages to stay upright. Hoseok’s cries harmonize with Jungkook’s until Namjoon eventually joins. 

Never one to open up about sadness, Jessi stares down the Commune leader with a challenging look that would make the bravest soldiers shit themselves – and yet Taehyung merely smiles the strangest, most charming smile you’ve ever seen. 

Before you know it, you’re standing alone because Jessi has a singular tear sliding down her round cheek, and Taehyung has one arm curling her against his chest, too. 

Comfort. 

It’s funny, isn’t it? Funny that we want it, crave it, even from a complete stranger. Comfort provides no solution to our problems and is even sometimes used to avoid problems altogether. You have known little comfort since Jungkook carried you away from the warehouse.  

Okay then, what’re you gonna do about it?

You meet Jessi’s gaze, and the realization hits you that this is the first time you’ve seen her cry. 

“Be happy, Y/N.” If Jessi speaks out loud, you can’t hear her but can read her mouth clearly. 

It’s like something shatters in your chest. It’s shocking; you were convinced nothing was left inside to break. But when Taehyung finally lowers both arms to wrap them around your group – yourself included – no pain or sadness plagues your heart. You feel strangely at peace. Taehyung’s summer scent envelopes you. It’s freshly-cut grass, sea salt, and cherry blossoms. Warmth spreads from the man, what you imagine it feels like to be a plant absorbing nutrients from the sun. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Taehyung speaks softly. “This is my Gift, and it makes my heart happy to share it with you today.” 

You remember that Taehyung is a healer Gifted when he gently extricates himself from what became a group hug that lasted for eternity. 

“Are we feeling better now?” 

You all find yourselves nodding. Taehyung beams at that. He claps his hands together, startling Hoseok into a small giggle. 

“Wonderful!” Taehyung turns on his heel, his shawl billowing out behind him as he swiftly crosses the archway. “Now, come with me. We have many things to take care of!” 

Your group hurries to keep up with the man who’s all legs. Beyond the arch, the Commune is more like a small village than whatever tent city you’d expected. Little houses similar to the abandoned ones your group found refuge in on the way here line the dirt paths – except these are full of life. Odd markings are painted on the brick and concrete buildings, all in the bright colors of summer: sunny yellows, healthy greens, and vibrant pinks. 

You notice that in the doorway of every building is a small basket, sometimes more than one, resting on the ground. Some are full of items you can’t quite make out because Taehyung is walking so quickly that you don’t have time to peek into any of them. 

“I can’t quite remember how many there are of us,” Taehyung says over his shoulder as he leads you down a road lined with shops. There’s clothing, produce, and other wares for sale. You feel embarrassed by how your mouth waters simply from seeing an apple. “I would say at least three hundred, but Seokjin hyung would know better. He’s the brains of all this. I’m merely the handsome face of the operation.” 

“Yah, I heard that, Kim Taehyung!” 

“Oh, so you heard me singing your praises, hyung?” 

Taehyung leads you to what you guess is the center of the Commune by the way the buildings form a half circle around a grassy quad. In the middle of the quad, there is a large pile of tinder – tree branches, dead grass and hay, planks of wood, and other items stacked on top of each other to build what will most likely be a giant bonfire from the looks of it. 

The man known as Seokjin approaches your group just to shove Taehyung’s shoulder with his own. “I am both the brains and the beauty, thank you very much. You can be second-best.” 

“You’re demoting me? In front of our new friends?” Taehyung pouts. 

Seokjin twists his broad torso to get a good look at your ragtag team of misfits. Facing this new man’s beauty head-on, you are quickly reminded of how disgusting you all probably look and smell, having fought through the woods for weeks without even a proper bath. 

Even though you all look like hell, Seokjin beams just as Taehyung had. 

“Oh good, you didn’t run away!” 

You feel Jessi tense beside you. “Why the fuck would we run away?” 

“Taehyung is insufferable, that’s why.” 

“Hey!” The leader shoves his friend much harder than his friend had shoved him. “You’re so grumpy. Do you need a hug?” 

Seokjin swats at Taehyung. “Don’t you have things to do? Summer is here soon. Go make daisy chains or something. Jimin and I will take care of our new friends.”

“Daisy chains?” You blurt out in question as Taehyung wiggles his fingers at your group in a goodbye. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowds of people going about their day in the Commune. You’ve never seen so many Gifteds, free and all together, in your life.  

Seokjin hums, beckoning your group to follow him deeper into the Commune. 

“In a few days, it will be the First of Summer. I assume you all have never celebrated Summer?” 

You find it odd that Seokjin speaks of the season as though it’s a holiday. When no one responds, he lets out a long sigh. 

“You’ve missed out on so much, trapped like lab rats.” He spits the end of his sentence. It’s in anger at the research facilities rather than a judgment of you, but it makes your heart sting just the same. You wish Taehyung was here. 

Leading you to a three-story building that looks similar to a warehouse or an office building, with plain concrete walls decorated with more colorful markings, Seokjin pauses to let your group enter the front door first. 

“This is my home,” Seokjin welcomes your group. “My husband and I sleep on the first floor, but there are a few empty guest rooms on the second and third. Newcomers tend to stay with us until we’ve built them their own homes.” 

“That’s so generous of you, Seokjin,” Hoseok speaks up for the first time. The crackle in his voice tells you he’s still on the verge of tears, but he smiles when you turn to look at him. 

“Please, call me hyung if you’d like.” Seokjin smiles. 

Taehyung and Seokjin’s use of honorifics warms your heart, even though you don’t have the same emotional attachment to the custom as the others. When you look out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook smile at the honorific, too. 

“We’ll get your rooms situated, but first, are you hungry?” 

“Fuck yes,” Jessi groans.

The group and Seokjin laugh when you ask, “Do you have anything besides rabbit?” 

In the kitchen, your group meets Seokjin’s husband, Jimin, a fire Gifted. When Jimin pulls you into a tight hug, tears prickle in the corners of your eyes because his body burns, and he smells faintly of smoke, just like Yoongi. 

While chomping away at fresh vegetables and meat that isn’t rabbit, you learn that Seokjin is the legendary cosmic Gifted you only half-heartedly believed to be real. His ability to bend time and space wipes the Commune off the radar, ensuring the Red Pins never find it. Despite his large personality, he seems too shy to demonstrate his Gift, even as Jimin pesters him. 

They’re cute, Seokjin and Jimin. They fuss over your group as though they are your parents, making sure that you each get a turn taking a shower and that you have enough blankets and pillows in your bedrooms. Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook share one, while you and Jessi share another. Jimin apologizes profusely about not being able to provide you with your own bedrooms, which you all dismiss. 

“We anticipate a few additional newcomers soon; I’m so sorry we don’t have enough room to spread out,” Jimin bemoans as he plays with his fingers. 

“Are you kidding?” Namjoon teases with a smile that crinkles his eyes. “We’ve been living in an abandoned warehouse for months.” 

“Sleeping on the floor gave me fucking arthritis, and I’m barely thirty,” Jessi chimes in.

“That’s not how that works.” 

“Fuck off, Jungkook-ah. Tell that to my broken back.” 

Jimin looks appalled by your previous living situation, making your group joke around more. Laugh through the pain, right? It’s a coping mechanism you’ve all done a decent job of perfecting. Sometimes being alive is enough to laugh about because, well, at least you’re alive. 

After a whirlwind of a day getting settled into Seokjin and Jimin’s home, you can finally ease your bones into a real bed with a thick, fluffy mattress and clean sheets. Your tummy is full of delicious food, your body clean and well-moisturized thanks to Jimin’s homemade skincare products, and you finally allow yourself to sink into the one thing you’ve been scared to find: comfort. 

Just before sleep overtakes you, you hear a quiet, almost timid, knock at the door. You wrack your brain, thinking about who it could be and why they need you. It feels like too much effort to get out of bed when you’ve only just been able to relax, so you call out to the person on the other side of the door. 

“Hi.” 

Jungkook’s wide eyes peer at you through the dark, a sliver of moonlight peeking through the window blinds highlighting parts of his face. 

“Hi,” you say, pausing to quietly clear your throat. “What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Your heart feels like it will fly out of your chest when Jungkook hesitantly steps into your bedroom. You watch him eye Jessi’s sleeping form in the bed on the opposite side of the room, perhaps weighing the pros and cons of being in the room if she wakes up. 

Apparently accepting the risk, Jungkook scurries over to stand beside your bed. 

“Can I sleep with you?” 

It’s the most Jungkook has spoken to you since he fled the lake. His request shouldn’t make your stomach flip with nerves; you’ve cuddled together every night since your first nightmare about Yoongi. So it should be easy when you respond, 

“Of course.” 

You quickly scoot over to give Jungkook room when he slips beneath the sheets. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into the dark. 

Holding out your arms, you encourage Jungkook to curl against your side, a position you usually take, but something tells you that Jungkook needs this more than you do. Part of your assumption is due to the timid, gentle boy who entered your bedroom – a different person than the one you watched murder multiple Red Pins at the warehouse with frightening ease. 

He’s still the same, though, deep down, a lonely boy with nothing to his name, just like the rest of you. 

Jungkook stays quiet while you run your fingers through his hair. You’re reminded of the promise you were supposed to make to Yoongi, the one about taking care of Jungkook. It’s time for you to finally fulfill that promise, and you already know what the first step should be. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize softly. “I don’t like not talking to you.” 

And it hurts more than you realize. Saying it out loud makes it real, this scary uncertainty in your relationship that you’ve never experienced before. Jungkook has always been there – a steady comfort to fall back on, soft eyes to search for in moments tainted with fear and grief. Not having Jungkook in your life… It’s unfathomable. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook whispers into the crook of your neck.

You’re not sure what he’s sorry for, though you remind yourself that a relationship is a two-way street. The two of you should have talked rather than dance around each other. Even now, you’re not really talking. You want to bring it up – the kiss. What it means for him. What it means for you. Why it happened in the first place. If it’s… okay, okay to like how soft Jungkook’s lips had felt on yours and how sweet he’d tasted. Okay to feel an unfamiliar heat spread throughout your body, starting at his fingers gripping your waist. 

“I’m sorry I did it without asking first,” Jungkook elaborates after a few minutes of silence. 

Even though he doesn’t say what it is, you don’t need him to spell it out before you reply, “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not, though.” 

You shiver when Jungkook’s lips brush against your neck as he talks. His breath is cold, even though his body is warm. You wonder if it’s the darkness inside of him seeping out when he breathes. 

“I swear, it is. I forgive you. We both kinda went for it, right?” You say with an awkward laugh. 

“I’m not sorry about doing it.” Jungkook squeezes you tighter, but you’re already holding your breath. “I’d do it again.” 

His confession is whispered so quietly you likely wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t for the fact that his lips brush your neck just below your ear. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

Jungkook’s lips travel higher. You close your eyes and let out a shuddered breath when his lips brush against your earlobe. 

It’s getting harder to relax, your body completely rigid and your breathing on the verge of frantic as Jungkook drags his nose down the length of your neck. The touch sends tingling sensations across your body. A strange feeling, like your stomach is flipping around inside of you, consumes you. His nose on your skin tickles, but it’s somehow more than just a tickle. It feels… good. Makes your stomach tense and heat spread, chasing after the goosebumps. 

“Goodnight,” Jungkook finally whispers into the crook of your neck. 

It takes you a long time to fall asleep.

THE EVE 

Apparently, the First of Summer is something to celebrate at the Commune. It seems as though everyone has a task to complete on the Eve of the holiday to get all the preparations in order, even you and your misfit crew. 

“Our Gifts are at their strongest during the Summer; haven’t you noticed?” 

Jimin flutters around like a hummingbird, gracefully darting between about a dozen small baskets lined up in the grass beside his home. The fire Gifted places a variety of items in the baskets: flower bouquets, fruits and vegetables wrapped in protective cloths, and other little trinkets and handmade presents. 

“Is that so?” Namjoon perks up from where he’d been watching a line of ants march into a small anthill. He sits in the grass next to you and Jessi while Jungkook and Hoseok stand closer to where Jimin flits around. 

“Mhm. We are more in tune with the Seasons compared to humans.” 

Jessi scoffs, “We are humans.” 

Cradling a bouquet of tiger lilies in one hand, Jimin puts his other hand on his hip. It’s supposed to be sassy and, perhaps, stern, but he just comes off as adorable in your eyes. 

“We are not humans.” 

“Then what are we?” 

With a huff, Jimin gently places the flowers in a basket that’s nearly full. 

“We are Gifts from Nature. Don’t you feel it? The Earth flows through our veins, Jessi. She broke pieces off herself to gift to us; pieces of the Universe exist inside of us. Humans don’t have that.”

There mustn’t be a good comeback for such lofty talk because Jessi remains quiet after Jimin finishes speaking. You don’t blame her; the perspective Jimin offers isn’t one you’ve ever heard of before. Everyone talks about Gifteds as mutants, genetic abominations. It’s scientific and clinical, although no scientist has figured out how or why Gifteds exist. 

Jimin’s perspective sounds like… magic. You decide that you quite like the idea that some omnipresent entity chose to give up parts of herself to make you special, a lot more than believing you’re an unnatural freak. 

“What are these for?” Hoseok asks, bending at the waist to peer into one of the baskets. 

“They’re gifts,” Jimin says with a little giggle, likely at the tease around the word he uses. “It’s customary to give gifts on the First of Summer. You’re supposed to leave them on your neighbors’ doorsteps, though you could directly gift them during the Bonfire.” 

Brushing his hands onto his pants, Jimin straightens up and looks around at your group. In the few days you’ve known Jimin, you’ve noticed that his lips poke out when he’s thinking. It reminds you of a little beak on a baby bird. You’ve told Jungkook as much, and he agrees. 

Your eyes fall on Jungkook, hoping he’ll look your way. It doesn’t take long for him to tilt his head to the side and meet your gaze. Sometimes you wonder if Jungkook can sense you somehow. You don’t understand how his Gift works, but it seems mysterious enough to be capable of anything at this point. How else would he somehow know when you’re looking in his direction every time? 

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you subtly pucker your lips. 

Jungkook catches on quickly. His eyebrows shoot up, and a small smirk etches itself into his features. He pinches his lips into a pucker, too, and wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

You have to press your lips together to stop yourself from laughing. 

“Jungkook?” 

The younger man quickly straightens his posture and schools his face when Jimin calls out to him. 

“Yes, hyung?” 

“Want to help me finish up with some decorations? Jessi, too?” 

Jungkook nods hard enough that you worry he might give himself a headache. 

As Jessi pushes herself off the ground, Jimin turns to you, Namjoon, and Hoseok. 

“How about you all help Seokjin down at the quad with the Bonfire? He’s working on setting up the tables and food stalls for the Morning of Summer. We gather to have a breakfast feast and celebrate the first Morning together.” 

Hoseok beams at the idea, turning to you with his hands held out. You squeeze them and let him help haul you onto your feet. 

“It sounds so nice,” Hoseok chirps with excitement as the three of you make your way through the winding dirt road toward the quad, past rows of unique homes and community gardens scattered across what is essentially a makeshift neighborhood. 

“Having a community… I feel like I don’t know how to enjoy it,” Namjoon says softly. 

“What do you mean?” It seems odd to you; haven’t they all wanted something like this?

“I don’t remember how to be social. I was, I think, at some point. Before the Labs. And, of course, I feel comfortable with you all. But…” 

“Being around strangers is hard,” you offer. 

Namjoon nods in agreement. He isn’t sad, though, like you’d assumed he’d be. Namjoon wears a smile as Hoseok wraps his arms around his waist. 

“The good thing is we have all the time in the world to figure ourselves out, now. We get to be whatever we want to be, and exist however we want to exist. No more running, no more hiding, no more fighting,” Hoseok says with a grin, and it’s impossible to not believe him. 

The air Gifted nuzzles his face into Namjoon’s neck, and you swear there is light pink that mixes with the honey of Namjoon’s cheeks. 

Hoseok’s display of affection reminds you of your nights with Jungkook. They’ve become more frequent; nearly every night, he slips into your bed to cuddle with his lips dragging along your neck, just lightly enough to seem innocent but still present enough to make your body burn with an unfamiliar heat.  

You haven’t done anything more than cuddle, and you’re having a hard time telling yourself that you’re okay with that. 

Seokjin doesn’t give you time to ponder what you think is your budding love life. He gives you, Hoseok, and Namjoon a variety of tasks to complete throughout the day, from painting what you learn are ancient runes on the sides of buildings to helping the farmers harvest their produce to bring to the food stalls. Manual labor doesn’t bother the three of you; for months, you’ve all lived in a world where you work hard to survive, hunting and building your shelters. This work is easy in comparison and much more entertaining. 

At some point, Taehyung strolls through the busy quad to check on the outdoor dining space coming to fruition a safe distance from the large bonfire. He plops down on the bench at one of the tables, elbow on the table and chin resting in his hand as he watches you, Hoseok, and Namjoon take a break to munch on some snacks one of the farmers had given you. 

“Having fun, little Gifts?” 

Taehyung’s eyes sparkle in the late afternoon sun, and you can’t help but melt into the comfort that radiates from him. 

“I could stay here forever,” Hoseok mumbles around a large bite of an apple. 

“Oh?” The twinkling of Taehyung’s eyes morphs from adoration to teasing amusement. “I thought that was already the plan.” 

Hoseok nods, giving the leader a sheepish look. 

“That would be dope, yeah.”

“Then it is done.” 

The exchange makes you and Namjoon giggle, though the sweet sounds quickly die out when familiar figures jog down the dirt path toward where you sit. 

Jimin is beaming, his entire aura nearly glowing, though you know part of that is due to his Gift. Your gut twists from the memory of Yoongi, but the pain doesn’t cut as deeply as it used to. At first, you thought the lessening of the pain meant you were forgetting him or no longer caring about him, and you felt even more grief from that. But a late-night heart-to-heart with Hoseok taught you that this isn’t apathy; it’s healing. 

So you acknowledge the little prick of pain that sits in your chest but choose to use the memory of Yoongi to fuel your new love for Jimin, who you know Yoongi would have loved, too. 

“Jiminie!” Taehyung calls from his seat at the table. He holds his arms open, eagerly pulling the other man into a spine-crushing hug. 

The call of your own name draws your attention away from the men. You turn to see Jessi flashing you an uncharacteristically large grin. It makes you extremely suspicious. 

“What do you want?” You question her with narrowed eyes. 

“Oh, nothing. Jungkook wants something, though,” she says in a sing-songy voice before skipping - literally skipping - away to talk to Hoseok and Namjoon. 

Jungkook stands at the opposite end of the long wooden table. In his hands is a small wicker basket and he shuffles from foot to foot, staring at nothing in particular. 

“Jungkook-ah?”

He looks up at you with large, startled eyes. In a split second, he’s gone. The only evidence that the young man had even been there is the wicker basket now rocking from side to side in front of you on the table. 

You can’t help but giggle as dark shadows slither from table to table. 

“Do you think he can still hear me when he’s in his shadow form?” Jessi slides onto the bench beside you. She looks around at all the shadows, likely wondering which one is Jungkook. 

“I have no idea.” 

“Hey, Jungkook-ah!” Jessi looks over her shoulder to survey more of the quad. “You’re a fucking wimp!” 

Ignoring Jessi’s comment, you turn your attention to the basket. Inside is a small bouquet of white mugunghwa, a modern-looking pale pink jeogori, and a brand-new hard copy of Fahrenheit 451. Your heart pounds in your chest as you lift each item from the basket and gently place them on the table in front of you, inspecting them with soft eyes and careful fingers. 

“Where…?” 

“He picked the flowers himself and did odd jobs around the Commune and hunted some meat to trade for the jeogori and the book,” Jessi answers your unfinished question. 

You feel your eyes tingle at the corners, with tears threatening to burn your cheeks if you blink too hard. From what it sounds like, the Summer gifts are extremely meaningful - something you share with those you care about to wish them a fruitful year and good health. To think that Jungkook has spent the few days you’ve been here preparing such a gift for you warms your heart, so much so that you feel like you’re catching fire from the inside out. 

“This is very special,” Taehyung speaks as he caresses one of the flower’s petals. 

You’d almost forgotten about Seokjin, Taehyung, Jimin, and the rest of your group. 

“It is,” you agree. You carefully return the items to the basket to keep them safe. “I don’t have a gift for him, though. Is it fair to show up to the Bonfire empty-handed?” 

Jimin rests his chin on Taehyung’s head and hums as he thinks.

“Typically, we don’t give gifts to each other during the Bonfire. The gifts you bring to the Bonfire are offerings to Nature to ask for health and prosperity in the upcoming year. You’ll toss them into the fire and recite the offering prayer - but you don’t have to since you don’t know it yet.” 

You’re not sure you have anything to offer the Bonfire, either, but it seems Taehyung reads your mind. 

“There are other ways to give an offering to Nature, if not through the Bonfire,” Taehyung supplies with a small smirk. He looks mischievous and sneaky; the expression makes your skin tickle with goosebumps. 

“Yeah, you can fuck,” Seokjin adds with a smirk of his own. He looks too proud of himself when you choke on your next inhale of air. 

“You can what?” Hoseok nearly trips over his feet in his attempt to get closer to hear what Seokjin has to say. 

“It’s not an official part of the Summer celebration,” Jimin interjects with a roll of his eyes at his husband. 

“It’s a part my sweet Jiminie doesn’t mind partaking in.” 

“Seokjin!” 

Taehyung throws his head back in a loud cackle as Jimin’s face turns bright pink. The poor fire Gifted sputters as he tries to defend himself. 

“N-no! No! It’s, no!” 

Seokjin shrugs and stretches his arms over his head, leaning on each side long enough to make his joints pop. 

“Sex is part of Nature, is it not? It represents vitality, fertility, birth, new beginnings,” Seokjin points out. “Nature takes all that we give her with equal value.” 

If Jimin is uncomfortable, you’re downright mortified. You can’t help but look around at the quad as Jessi had, every shadow lurking around the corner more suspicious than the next. What does it mean that they mention sex, and your thought immediately turns to Jungkook? Shame burns at your cheeks, but you can’t get the image out of your mind. You know pretty much nothing about sex and can barely even imagine what it would be like, yet you latch onto the idea that Jungkook might be… 

Well…

You can’t say it. You can’t bring yourself to think about it. Shaking your head, you quickly stand and scoop the wicker basket into your arms. 

“I’m going to put this in my room,” you announce to no one and everyone. 

The group shouts teasing comments about your shy behavior as you do your best to walk calmly in the direction of Seokjin and Jimin’s house, avoiding everyone’s gaze and especially the shadows.

FIRE

You expected the Bonfire to hurt. Not physically, since there are plenty of fire Gifteds around to ensure the celebrations stay safe and under control. No, you expected the pain of the Bonfire to be internal, an emotional pain like the pain you’ve been failing to run from in the months since Yoongi left you. 

It has taken you a long time to let go of the anger you’ve let fester inside of you. Your anger verges on hatred, and hatred helps no one. Who is there to hate? Yoongi, for sacrificing himself to save his friends? The rest of your group for mourning your best friend just as profoundly as you have? The Red Pins for taking everything away from you? 

The Bonfire crackles and hums like it’s trying to speak to you, but its voice is drowned out by the singing and shouting of the Gifteds dancing in a circle around its flames. The flames reach nearly as high as the buildings surrounding it. Jimin and the other fire Gifteds occasionally pull out stray flames, letting them lick around their arms and bodies to entertain the children fascinated by Gifts they have yet to master within themselves. 

The performance is beautiful just as much as it hurts your heart to watch. You’re mesmerized by the dancing flames and swaddled by the heat of the Bonfire, so you don’t notice another Gifted approaching you until you’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Have you given your offering yet?” 

The fire reflects in Jungkook’s eyes like an orange light show, hues swirling and dancing to the tune of whatever ancient language the Gifteds sing in.

“Not yet,” you respond, turning to look at him. 

Jungkook’s gaze drops to take in the jeogori you’re wearing – the one he gifted you the day before. It fits you well, loose enough that you don’t feel restricted, but still cut in a way that compliments your body. You’re glad it’s short-sleeved, or you’d be sweating in the summer night air. 

“Me either.” 

“What did you bring?” 

Jungkook pats his thigh. When you look down, you see that he has his knife strapped to his leg. 

“The fire probably isn’t hot enough to melt it, but… I think it’s the thought that counts.” 

It’s a serious matter, what the two of you are discussing, but you can’t help but giggle as you crouch down to retrieve your offering from where it sits at your feet. 

“Your bow?” Jungkook whispers as though he’s scandalized. 

“And my arrows.”

“Are you sure you want to do that? You always–” 

You shake your head. “We’re giving our weapons up for the same reasons, aren’t we?”

Jungkook nibbles at his bottom lip for a few moments. He turns away from you, those big doe eyes focused again on the fire. 

“Yoongi gave them to us.” When Jungkook speaks, his voice quivers, but his cheeks remain dry. “And we’re done fighting.” 

“We’re done fighting…” 

You mull over the thought, let it roll around in your head, test out its taste on your tongue and see how it weighs in your heart. No more fighting, just like Hoseok said. In the place of fighting, you have a community, like Namjoon wanted. Like you all wanted, no matter how afraid you are to embrace it or admit that you aren’t sure how to join it. 

Yoongi never wanted any of you to have to fight.

“Yeah.” Jungkook’s shoulders sag. “I don’t think I could keep it up even if I had to. I’m… ready to be happy. Like the hyungs. They are so bright.” 

Your heart cracks with every word, nearly spilling out onto the floor when you watch Jimin sprint across the quad to launch himself into Seokjin’s arms. He wraps his legs around Seokjin’s waist as the two kiss, the fire illuminating their faces like angels’ halos. 

Reaching over, you squeeze Jungkook’s hand, lacing your fingers with his. You don’t need to speak; gently tugging his arm has him following you through the crowd toward the base of the Bonfire. The rest of your friends are somewhere around the Bonfire, but you aren’t interested in looking for them. 

“1… 2… 3.” 

When Jungkook stops counting, the two of you toss your weapons into the fire. Your hands are still intertwined, even if the heat makes your skin sweaty and stick together. You’re both willing to stand at the Bonfire for as long as you can, letting the flames burn your retinas as you try to follow the path the fire takes to eat away at the weapons you’ve surrendered to it. 

Letting go feels good, even if you’re letting go of something Yoongi gave you. In a way, he has given you far more than just a bow and some deadly arrows – or a knife and thigh harness. He gave you love, hope, and a second chance. He showed you what it means to love and be loved selflessly and unconditionally and taught you what it means to be a leader in the face of unbelievable hardship. 

You don’t think you could have been even half of the person Yoongi was. 

The press of fingers at the tip of your chin pulls you out of your melancholic thoughts. Jungkook cradles your face, swiping the pad of his thumb along your cheek once a few tears slip from your lash line. 

“Sorry, this is ridiculous,” you croak out. “This is supposed to be a happy celebration.” 

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow as a pout turns the corners of his lips downward. You think he’s about to scold you over apologizing for your feelings – which you know you shouldn’t do – but Jungkook is always full of surprises.  

“Can I take you somewhere?” 

Forests will likely always scare you. Too many unspeakable things have happened within the woods, too many sad souls wrapped around tree roots and branches. You’re unsure what the woods around the Commune have seen - or if they’re even real; Seokjin’s Gift confuses you. Are the woods here the same ones you traveled through to get here? Are they imaginary, crafted by Seokjin’s mind? Does any of this exist? 

The woods certainly feel different here than at the warehouse. Jungkook leads you by the hand down a winding path through trees decorated with brightly-colored garlands draped across their luscious green branches. You recognize the decorations as ones Jungkook, Jessi, and Jimin helped the children make while the rest of your group worked with Seokjin on the Bonfire. 

“I found this spot when I was looking for your gifts,” Jungkook murmurs. 

“With Jimin?” 

“Mhm. He said, I know a place. It was funny.” 

The sound of the Bonfire festivities is far in the distance, muted by the quiet rustling of life in the woods. Jungkook stops to brush a few vines away that hang from the trees. When he steps to the side to let you walk through the opening he created, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. 

Before you is a circular clearing littered with white and pink mugunghwa shrubs. The flowers nearly glow in the dark, and their sweet scent permeates the air. But what really tugs at your heart is the smattering of tiny fireflies that meander above your head, exploring the peaceful little world away from the chaos of the Commune. 

“Jimin hyung said he doesn’t think anyone else knows this place. He comes here to be alone. Or… with Seokjin,” Jungkook whispers, giving you a sheepish look with pink cheeks. “I think it’s supposed to be, umm, you know, for what the hyungs were talking about, but, I, uh, I’m not…” 

You suddenly feel hot, warmth prickling at your skin and making moisture collect along your hairline despite being far from the fire. What is Jungkook going on about? You have an idea but are too nervous to respond to his rambling. 

Jungkook nudges you with his shoulder before carefully weaving through the shrubs until he finds a more open spot to sit in the grass. 

You follow him, the two of you sitting face-to-face, your knees bumping into each other as you cross them. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you whisper. “And for the gifts. I didn’t get to talk to you about them…” 

There’s no need to speak so quietly, but something about this place makes you worry being too loud would disrupt the magic of it. 

“Of course,” Jungkook responds just as softly. “I wanted to show you something special because you are special to me.” 

Your stomach flips at the memory of Jungkook’s similar confession when you last cut his hair at the warehouse. His gentleness has been a saving grace for you in a world so dark, even when the darkness sometimes consumes him, too. 

“You’re special to me, too.” It’s easy to admit; it flows from your mouth as easily as water flows from your soul. 

“Thank you… I think we deserve something soft. Does that make sense?” 

You tell him that it does because even if you aren’t entirely sure what that means to him, you know that you desire softness in a life that has been so hard. 

Jungkook gives you a small smile. A shake of his head flips his bangs out of his eyes so he can look at you properly. It feels different, the way he looks at you. Darker, more intense, but not scary like you’ve seen him look at you before. There is the same power in his gaze, but it’s gentler. 

You don’t know what to make of it, so you don’t comment on it. Instead, you reach up to brush Jungkook’s bangs out of his eyes. 

“I need to cut your hair,” you muse, a small smirk pulling up the corner of your mouth. 

Your fingers linger on his face, migrating from his forehead to drag down the bridge of his nose. When you get to the tip, you mean to bop it lightly, but Jungkook tilts his head back. The adjustment makes your finger slip, and you end up pressing against his lips instead. 

Jungkook watches you with curious eyes as he puckers his lips slightly to kiss your finger. It’s a closed-mouth kiss, nothing scandalous, but you feel electricity shoot up your arm and spread through your body. 

“Oh,” you quietly gasp when Jungkook takes hold of your wrist. He kisses each of your other fingers, ending with a lingering one on your palm. 

“Can I tell you something?” He asks, bringing your hand down to hold in his lap. 

You silently nod because you’re afraid of what you might say or sound like if you open your mouth. 

Jungkook takes a deep breath, and his grip on your hand tightens slightly. Whatever it is he’s going to say seems like it’s taking a lot for him to sort through in his head from the way his breathing picks up and his eyebrows furrow. 

“Jungkook-ah, you don’t have to…” 

Jungkook shakes his head and takes your other hand, too. 

“No, I have to do this. It’s… we’re just, ahh.” He tilts his head back to stare at the starry sky. After a moment, he exhales loudly out of his nostrils and drops his gaze to yours again. “I’m in love with you. And for some reason, I feel like I shouldn’t tell you that ‘cause it seems selfish to dump this on you ‘cause everything is so… fucked up. It’s so fucked. I don’t know why I feel like I’m not allowed to… to be like this, to feel like this. But Jimin hyung said love is in our Nature and is never bad. And, yeah. I guess, yeah. I’m in love with you, and I think you need to know ‘cause I can’t keep pretending I’m not.” 

Out of breath from expelling his words as fast as he can, Jungkook clamps his mouth shut and waits silently. Waits. Waits for you to do something, to say something. 

He’s right. Everything is fucked up enough that you can relate to the guilt Jungkook feels for wanting to love, to be happy. He didn’t call it guilt, but you’ve felt it, so you know. It’s precisely what Jessi scolded you about – on numerous occasions. It’s what Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin and Jimin have shown you that you can overcome. 

Are you in love with Jungkook?

As you watch him bat his pretty eyelashes at you, those large eyes bearing his entire soul and the love and hurt inside, you think that maybe you aren’t in love with him, not right now. But you do love him. And you think, maybe one day, when your heart no longer hurts, you could be in love, too. 

So it feels right when you scoot closer to Jungkook and slide your hand against the side of his face to bring your lips to his. 

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach, like the fireflies above your head, when Jungkook’s lips move with yours. There’s a push and pull to your movements, a hesitant dance that reminds you of how Jungkook spars. His touches are light yet calculated, showing strength when he holds himself back. 

“It’s okay to be happy,” you whisper against Jungkook’s lips when you finally pull away – just barely because you want to cocoon yourself in the warmth of his body. 

“You make me happy,” he whispers back. 

It takes more kissing, the exchange of air and spit that would normally gross you out but somehow feels good before your brain finally lets go of the negativity you’ve been holding. 

Jungkook kisses away your shame and guilt as he squeezes your hips and pulls you into his lap. You settle on his thighs with your legs wrapped around his tiny waist and let him kiss you until you can’t breathe. And just when you feel like you’ll suffocate in the most pleasant way, he begins planting kisses along your jaw. 

Your hands find the hair at the back of Jungkook’s head, and you run your fingers through his hair to distract yourself from how your hands are trembling. Your entire body vibrates with a desperate feeling you’ve never had before as Jungkook sucks on the sensitive skin of your throat. The sensation makes you squirm.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans into the crook of your neck. He sounds pained to you, which makes you panic. 

“What? What’s wrong?” You feel like you’re blinking sleep out of your eyes from how dazed you are. Embarrassment creeps along your burning skin; how can you be so out of your mind that you start behaving like this? 

Jungkook presses his hands flat against your back, the pads of his fingers massaging your muscles while he lowers his touch, slowly and gently, until his hands find the curve of your ass. 

“Jungkook-ah,” you nearly scold him when he squeezes you. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses, encouraging you to grind against his crotch. 

It’s only then that you feel his erection in his pants. The knowledge that he’s reacting this way because of you makes the electricity in your veins spike through you even stronger. 

“Me either.” 

Jungkook finally lifts his head to look at you, and it’s a wonder how he manages to wear innocent doe eyes yet bite his kissed-pink bottom lip in an air of seduction that makes your body tingle. 

“I want to be good for you.” 

His words do something to you that you’re too scared to address, so you opt for humor when you reply, “Well, I don’t have anything to compare you to.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Jungkook brings trembling hands to the side of your jeogori where the strings are tied into a bow to keep the clothing in place. 

“Can I take this off?” 

“Please.” 

Getting naked in front of Jungkook is a lot less terrifying than you thought it would be – not that you’d ever thought of it before! Not like this, at least. The two of you have bathed together, but that’s different. It’s easier to hide in the water, and both of you are respectful enough not to take peeks. So it’s most likely the calming presence Jungkook holds that keeps you relaxed once you kneel naked in front of each other. In the moonlight, you both let your eyes wander each other’s figures, drinking in each other like you want to savor it. 

You let Jungkook’s hands wander, experimentally pinching your nipples to draw a moan out of you and tickling your stomach as his touches make their way down your body. He whispers gentle words of encouragement and proclamations of your beauty when you fall back in the grass and open your thighs for him. 

“I want to touch you,” Jungkook says into your chest. Your skin glistens from how his tongue explores where his hands just had, but you’re more focused on his fingers ghosting over your hips. “Please?” 

“Yes,” you whimper. 

You’re both shaking when Jungkook slips his fingers through your folds, his thumb lightly pressing against your clit while his fingers reach your entrance. It’s an odd sensation, but you’re quickly a moaning mess beneath him. Even if the rhythm of his fingers pumping in and out of you isn’t consistent, and he’s touching you almost too lightly as though he’s afraid of hurting you, it still feels good.

“Am I doing okay?” 

You can’t help but laugh. 

When he gives you a pout, you throw your arm around his shoulders and pull him down to kiss him. He hovers over you, spreading you open further because your thighs press against the outsides of his hips. You both notice when his cock – which you’d nervously ignored until now – brushes against the crease of your thigh. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook moans, and it’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard. “I want… I wanna, ah, fuck.” If you’d thought Jungkook’s usual flustered state was cute, this is downright deadly. 

“Me, too.” You guess what he’s trying to say – are confirmed when he lightly bites your shoulder and ruts against you.

“Are you sure?” 

It’s a valid question, and you surprise yourself when you say “yes” without hesitation. But you’ve wanted this for much longer than you can admit. Your desire for Jungkook has grown with every soft late-night cuddle and almost kiss. 

Jungkook rolls his hips, gliding his cock between your thighs, the motion wet and slippery. It takes some fumbling before he manages to line himself with your entrance and slowly sink inside you. 

Gentle, careful, he whispers that he’ll take care of you even though he has no experience. With each thrust, you promise him that it doesn’t hurt, speak praise into his ear that makes his entire body shiver. 

Your legs ache from your unusual position, and your sweat mixes with Jungkook’s in a way that’s honestly disgusting if you think about it. Still, you can’t deny how good the building pressure feels as it seems to start between your thighs and at your clit, slowly spreading like wildfire up your stomach and into somewhere deep inside of you. 

The only time you’ve heard anyone talk about sex is Jessi, and it was typically in a negative light. Something about men not knowing where the clit is or how to use their dicks. Jungkook seems like a natural; he’s the golden maknae for a reason. Maybe it’s not mind-blowing, but you’re both starting with nothing to guide you. 

Rather than a life-changing orgasm, you’re more interested in how Jungkook looks like he’d give his heart to you, no questions asked. Like he already has. 

You’re more interested in how softly he kisses you and holds your leg against his hip and caresses it like you’re something worth treating with care. 

You’re more interested in how he moans, “I love you, fuck, I love you so much,” and lets you bite his bottom lip because he knows you aren’t ready to say it back, and he’s okay with that. Because he’ll wait for you for as long as you need him to. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jungkook moans against your throat, where he’s sucked blossoms nearly as pretty as the mugunghwa. “But I’m gonna come, like, ahh, fuck, like right, fuck, shit, like right now.” 

From Jessi’s complaints, sex is supposed to end with this: Jungkook finding his release against your inner thighs because he has enough sense to pull out, and you’re left on your back, discarded and unsatisfied. 

So when Jungkook slides down until your thighs are propped open by his shoulders, you watch in confusion because you thought it was over. 

The flick of his tongue against your clit has you lifting off the ground from how sharply you arch your back. You frantically exhale a raspy chant of Jungkook’s name in time with each pump of his fingers he’s managed to slip inside you while you struggle to lie still. 

“Let me make you feel good,” he murmurs with shiny lips, and you see stars just from that image alone. 

Later, when you’re both sweaty and exhausted, you curl together under the protective barrier of Jungkook’s shadows. He hides you from the world and keeps you safe until morning when you’ll return to the Commune to bring in the First of Summer with a breakfast feast. 

But until then, you hold each other with promises of never letting go, forgiveness, and understanding. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” Jungkook whispers against your hair. 

“You just have to stick with me, right?” 

When he laughs, you feel it rumble through his chest. “By your side is the only place I wanna be.” 

You fall asleep among the mugunghwa shrubs and fireflies to the sound of Jungkook’s heartbeat. 

@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap

@iadelicacy @likecrazy22 @jaemayy @annyeongbitch7

[fizziepopangel]

A Fizziepop Take: Let's talk about little orphan Loona

What came over Loona in this newest Helluva Boss short? And why did the reaction of a mortal fluster her the way it did? You know the drill, let’s get into it with another Fizziepop take:

Ok, so we all know Loona as a generally angry, hurt them before they hurt you type of girl; the type who does her best to make sure she doesn’t get too attached because she views needing people as a sort of weakness on her part…. But as the show has gone on, we’ve slowly but surely gotten to see Loona evolve. Are the changes dramatic? Aside from the changes that came directly following the events of the episode “Mastermind”, no, they aren’t, but if you look at the reality of human nature, changes like the ones we see in Loona tend to be small and slow, and given the way the demon world Vivzie has created mirrors real world themes, that makes sense… But in this Loona-centric short, why was this the way that she was portrayed?

I wanna start by first looking at the way Loona was portrayed in the beginning of the series. In the beginning, Loona was mostly a background character that seemed to be just the hot, take-no-shit adult daughter of our protagonist Blitz; she was sarcastic, strong-willed, and deeply protective of herself against any outside affection. We eventually learn through Blitz’s flashbacks while helping Stolas deal with his own daughter running off with no explanation,that Loona’s guarded behavior was the result of likely being in and out of a broken foster/adoption system for roughly the first 18 years of her life, and more than likely being abused verbally and physically by not only the staff in the Pound meant to protect her, but the other hellhounds in her same situation, and we get confirmation of Loona being returned to the pound on at least one occasion during her interaction with a hellhound she apparently lived with before her final adoption when she’s at Queen Bee’s party. Given the fragmented story of her life BB (Before Blitz), Loona’s guarded and aggressive behavior makes sense as an adult; after years living her life in survival mode, that switch wouldn’t just flip off when she’s in a safe situation because years of “safe” situations becoming unsafe or unstable quicker than she could process would’ve taught her that there is no other way to live but to be in survival mode constantly, that she had to stay ready for things to uproot of for people she was comfortable with to turn on her so she didn’t have to scramble to get ready when it happened… So even after Blitz took her in, fed her, clothed her, gave her a safe space with him, and gave her a job so she was able to take care of herself in adulthood, we still get that angry, hurt them first type of mentality from her when we’re introduced to her in the show.

Now, the Loona we’re introduced to in the beginning isn’t the Loona we’re stuck with, and we get to see her tough exterior crack every once and a while throughout the show, with her biggest change coming in the episode “Mastermind” when her adoptive father is set to be executed in front of her. At this point in the show, I believe Loona has been said to have been with Blitz roughly 5 or so years, which is why we get to see those small shifts in her demeanor through the series, but I don’t think Loona ever really sees him as a father figure despite seeing him and acknowledging his place as her father. Why? Because I think Loona sees Blitz the way a lot of us in the fandom see Blitz: as a big kid.

While Blitz is said to be in his 30s, his free spirit, fun loving attitude, inability to maintain most adult interactions, and deep-seeded unresolved trauma give Blitz the vibe of someone closer to mid to late teens, or the “still a kid” version of early 20s. Does the man try to be a good father to her? Absolutely. Does he know how? Not really. Blitz, still recovering from his own fucked up childhood, doesn’t entirely know what a parent (more specifically a dad) should be, he just has a vague understanding of what he doesn’t want to be based off of how his own father was with him, and while I think he did a pretty kickass job considering what he was working with, it’s likely that Loona still sees him as too immature to really be a dad despite knowing that he by technicality is her dad… Which bring us to the newest short in the series, “Mission: Orphan Time”.

In “Mission: Orphan Time”, Blitz brings his daughter into the field to assassinate a children’s entertainer by the name of  Mr. Wrigglers who happen to be doing children's entertainment at a charity for dying orphans and injured puppies… While Blitz brought Loona out with him for this because he had planned for there to be a day of bonding, Loona couldn’t bring herself to actually go through with the job because the man they had been hired to off seemed like a genuinely nice, caring man, and although she would probably never admit to it, I think the man she saw was reminiscent of what she wanted in a parent growing up; especially after seeing the man say goodbye to all of his children… All of his adopted children….. His adopted children who were apparently kids that were labeled too troubled or too hard to adopt out…. His troubled, adopted children who he seems to love unconditionally…… and that is all that I think Loona really ever wanted.

Loona, a child of adoption who had been given up on by the system in her home ring of Hell, looked at this man and his soft, gentle parent demeanor and the way he requested to say goodbye to every last one of his children, and how each kid seemed to have the relationship with him that meant losing him seemed like a shot to the heart, and saw the type of parent she had always dreamed of; a parent who would love, accept, and support her unconditionally and without a second thought. I know a lot of you will read this and think I’m full of shit, because “Fizzie, Loona already has a parent who loves, accepts, and supports her unconditionally: Blitz”, and everyone saying that would be right, but I think one of the things that drew Loona to this mortal man was that not only does he have those loving qualities, but he has the maturity and stability that Blitz has never quite shown her with his antics over the years.

I think that this short, though less than 6 minutes, was a peek into Loona subconsciously realizing that she wanted something and someone like this; someone steady and dependable and soft. As much as Loona has changed over the course of the show, and as much as she loves her adoptive father, I think that she hasn’t quite gotten to see the changes she’s needed to see from Blitz for her to fully recognize him as a fully safe place, and I don’t think Blitz really understands why that softness and security  is so important to her, or how he can become what she needs…. Will the pair ever get to that point? Will Loona ever not feel that sort of insecurity with Blitz? How will a single mortal's reaction to the real her impact Loona's mental health now?

We may never fully know, but regardless, I’m excited for Vivzie to keep taking us on this ride to find out.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Leave the Light On

Robert Reynolds x Reader

Words: 6225

Summary: As Bob is learning to control his powers, his guilt comes to a breaking point when he sees something from your past. 

Notes: How could I not use one of my favorite hurt/comfort tropes with this fine, fine man? He has become one of my golden boys and I will protect him at all costs…except in my own writing.  Also, like with the Top Gun imagine, I might revisit this character arch. I think Blue Fire could be fun to work with. Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Abuse, trauma, anxiety, depression... about what you'd expect.

More Marvel imagines: HERE

-

He’d asked you once if you didn’t want to tell them because you were ashamed of it. Ashamed of him. It couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but once Bob got something in his head, it tended to burrow in and not come out for weeks. Now, every time you caught his eye from across the tower, he avoided you. 

“Who’s been using my goddamn toothbrush?” Walker’s voice boomed throughout the entire penthouse Valentina put you up in. 

You still didn’t feel right. Standing where they had stood. 

Just because she was calling you heroes didn’t make it true. 

“Why would any of us use your toothbrush?” Ava scoffed as Walker stormed into the main living space, holding the little bristled tool in hand. She didn’t even look up from her book. 

“Well, I definitely didn’t leave it lying face down on the counter so all of your disgusting bacteria could collect on it,” he snapped back. 

You rolled your eyes. 

So no. It wasn’t that you were ashamed. You weren’t ashamed of Bob or being with him or anything like that. 

You didn’t want to tell them because they were assholes. 

“Y/N? Was it you? Huh?” Walker waved the toothbrush in front of your face. 

You snatched it out of his super soldier grip and threw it as hard as you could across the room. It clattered somewhere behind the bar.

Across the living room, Bob snickered by the window.

“Oh, do you find that funny, Bob?” Walker whined. “You think Y/N is hilarious because she’s mutilating my things?” 

“You know I don’t like it when you get closer than three feet to me, Walker,” you said. 

“You don’t like it when I do this? Huh?” The former super-soldier loomed over you, pressing up against your chair. 

“God, you are such a dick,” you muttered, standing up and taking a swing. 

Walker caught your fist and wrenched your arm back. 

Damn serum. 

“Admit you’ve been messing with my stuff,” he said.

“I haven’t touched your fu- ahh!” He pushed harder on your arm, knowing he could break it if he really wanted to. 

A pair of bare feet and blue sweats appeared in your vision. You craned your neck to look up. Bob stood in front of you both. And his eyes were glowing. He didn’t have to say anything. Walker let you go.

“Stop messing with my stuff,” Walker muttered, stomping away like an angry little kid. 

Bob’s stare followed him. His fists clenched at his sides. 

You stretched your arm out to ease some of the soreness. Blocking the other’s view with your body, you covered Bob’s hand with yours, forcing his fingers to relax. 

“I’m fine,” you whispered. 

Slowly, his gaze returned to you, and his eyes went back to their dark, thoughtful blue. 

“Okay.” The word fell from his lips like a breath of relief, soft and spreading warmth through your cheeks. His fingers laced together with yours. “Okay.” He cleared his throat, ducking his head. “I’m gonna go. Yeah. I need to go… clean my room.” 

Even he found himself wincing at the awkwardness, but instead of backtracking, he hurried off, flexing his fingers at his sides to battle the lingering feeling of your touch. 

You watched him disappear down the hall and felt the others watching you, so you turned on your heel and walked the other way, deciding to get some air on the balcony.

Bucky, Yelena, and Alexi caught the tail end of the encounter, thankfully missing Walker’s hissy fit. They did, however, see you and Bob retreating in opposite directions. Yelena clicked her tongue and leaned over to the Winter Soldier. 

“How long do you think it’ll take them to realize we already know?” She whispered. 

Bucky thought for a second, crossing his metal arm over the other. “I think they’ll go for another week before they come clean.” 

She snorted. “Like they’ll keep it up that long.” 

Bucky raised a brow. 

“What? It isn’t like Mr. Shadow is great at subtlety and Y/N is trying so hard to hide it, she doesn’t even realize she’s giving away all her cards.”

“Showing her cards,” Bucky corrected. 

Yelena ignored him. “Should we let them know that we know?”

“Absolutely not.” 

Now it was her turn to raise her brows. 

Bucky frowned. “Do you have any idea how little entertainment I get?” He shook his head. “No. I want to see how this plays out.” 

The two watched you storm out onto the balcony and grip the railing like it was keeping you from going over. Oh yeah. You had it bad. 

“Twenty bucks says three days,” Yelena said. 

Bucky held out his good hand. “Deal.”

Alexi walked behind the bar to make himself a drink and bent down. “Hey, look, free toothbrush!” 

-

You retreated to your room when you couldn’t stand the sound of Walker and Alexi bickering over something you didn’t care enough to listen to. Yours was on the second level of the penthouse and gave you a view that faced the Hudson. 

“Are you ready for your swimming lesson?” 

You flinched and quickly looked away, drawing the curtain over the window and casting the room into shadow, including the far corner by your closet. 

“Hey.”

“Jesus Christ, Bob!”

You switched on your lamp, and he leaned forward so he was in the light, giving you a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry.” 

You sat on the edge of your bed and ran your fingers through your hair, wincing at the soreness still in your arm.

“Walker is such an asshole,” you muttered, rolling your shoulder to ease some of the ache. Walker’s grip had shifted your sleeve up. White-pink marks blared back at you against your skin. You tugged your shirt sleeve back down and kept stretching. “So are you talking to me now?” 

“I wasn’t,” he shrank back, “not talking to you.”

“Liar.” You shot him a teasing smirk. Pulling your arm across you, you felt your muscles ease a bit. “Do you see why now?”

Bob glanced down at his hands, fingers interlocking and releasing. “Not really.”

“Because they suck!” You exclaimed. Shifting to sit across from him, you reached out, pulling his hands to your lap, lacing your fingers through his instead. “Believe me, my hesitation has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the people we unfortunately call our friends.” 

Not to mention Valentina. You were not about to become a poster couple for her stupid campaign. She was insufferable enough as it was. You could see it now. Valentina’s Valentine Cards, featuring The New Avengers’ Blue Fire and… Bob. 

No. You’d spent enough of your life under a magnifying glass. You weren’t going to do that to the best thing that had happened to you in, well, ever. The thought alone made your hands tingle with the power that burned in your body. 

“Are you okay?” Bob asked softly. 

You calmed down and held his hands a little tighter. Your eyes met those deep blues, and you smiled. “Yeah. Always.” 

His fingers moved from yours to your wrists, tracing the skin up under your sleeves. Your breathing hitched, but you didn’t pull away. Bob stood, shifting so he was beside you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your middle. 

“I’m sorry Walker was an asshole.” 

You snorted. “It’s not your fault. I think they put it in the serum.” You embraced him in turn, curling your body into his. Sometimes it felt like the only place in the world where you fit. You felt his arms tighten a little around you. His lashes tickled your skin as he screwed his eyes shut. 

“Ren?” You pulled back just enough to get a look at him. “Ren, what’s wrong?”

“I’m trying,” he gasped out, “I can’t-” Those dark blue eyes met yours in panic and apology. 

And you both vanished. 

“Are you ready for your first swimming lesson?” 

Two hands came down hard on your back, knocking the wind out of you and pushing you into the frigid waters. Only it wasn’t you. You could still feel the harshness of his palms on your shoulder blades, but it wasn’t happening to you. At least, not you you. 

But the little girl in front of you, whose head went under the water and came up coughing, begging her daddy to help her, was you once. She had your hair, though shorter, your eyes, though less haunted. 

You flinched as your little arms splashed against the water, desperate to keep afloat. Gurgled screams echoed through your head. 

With your feet still planted on the dock, you stared at him, with his cold, calculating eyes. The hard set of his jaw and the tense, disappointed way he crossed his arms. 

Your father. 

“No,” you hissed under your breath and dove into the water. 

It was every bit as cold as you remembered, freezing your skin at first touch. You clenched your teeth to keep them from chattering. The muscles of your arms and legs seized up in the icy water, but you pushed on, eyes searching for that small, scared little girl. All you found, though, was the dark. 

A hand latched onto your wrist, keeping you from going any deeper. You fought against it, but it was stronger. He was stronger. 

Bob pulled you to him, and when you opened your eyes again, trying to blink back that terrible water, you were back in your room. His arms clung to you, but when he realized you were both back, he recoiled. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I try to stop-”

Still feeling like you were holding your breath, you held up a hand. “It’s okay.” 

“Y/N, I-”

“Ren, really.” You inhaled. You exhaled. “I’m fine.” You motioned to the room around you. “See? We’re back. We’re fine.”

“But what you saw…” He trailed off, grimacing.

You took his face in your hands. “It’s nothing I don’t see already, okay?” If your words couldn’t convince him, your lips might, pressing against his gently, reassuring. “You brought me back.” 

It was enough to make him smile, at least a little. 

“You brought yourself back,” he said. He kept kissing you anyway. 

It was one of the things that worried him the most about you. He could never get enough. The more time he spent with you, touching you, the more risk there was of his powers taking over. 

“I’m starving,” you said, resting your forehead against his. “Think you can fly us to a pizza place or something?” With your arms draped around his neck, you could feel his laugh even before you heard it.

“I don’t think Valentina would like that idea.”

“Well, Valentina is a bitch.” You pouted your lips and tilted your head. “Please please please please.”

“I will walk with you to the nearest place,” Bob said. 

You rolled your eyes. “Boring, but fine.” Drawing a finger over his cheek, you let your thumb land on his lips. “But only if we get extra cheese.” 

“I can live with that.” 

Bob drew you back to him for another long, sweet kiss. He let his hands settle at the small of your back, making sure to only touch the fabric of your sweatshirt. Still, he held you as close as he could without fear of hurting you. But in the back of his mind, he was thinking of you lost in that dark water, swimming after something you’d never catch. 

-

Bob didn’t consider himself to be a brave person. He was always scared all the time. Sure, back at the compound, he’d run after Valentina’s men so that the others could get away, but he didn’t consider that courage. 

Bravery and the willingness to die weren’t exactly the same thing. 

But he wondered if there wasn’t something to be said for doing something that scared him every single day. Did that make him brave? Because being with you scared him more than almost anything. 

He watched the light streaming through the window touch your skin. The sun glittered against your bare shoulder. His fingers hovered just over the spot, not quite touching you, not quite sure. 

How could something scare him so much and yet feel like the first right thing in his entire life?

You stirred, turning just enough that you bumped into his touch. 

Bob scurried away and screwed his eyes shut tight. 

You sighed out a tired sound. “Are you doing that thing where you pretend you weren’t watching me?” 

He opened one eye and found you smiling at him. “No.” 

You fully rolled over so you could lay your hand on his cheek. 

He opened the other eye too. 

“Morning,” he mumbled. 

“How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged. “Better.” 

He always slept better when he was next to you. You were like a dreamcatcher for whatever this thing inside him was. You caught it all and stored it away. He just worried about what it was doing to you instead. 

You tucked a brown wave behind his ear and kissed him slowly, sweetly. 

“Good.”

“What, um,” he stammered, “what about you? Did you, uh… sleep?”

You wondered if he could tell. Could he sense a nightmare even if he wasn’t part of it? That wasn’t entirely true, of course. He was there. Most of your nightmares involved him, locked away in your childhood home, hidden in a box by your father so he could use him as a weapon against the impending end of the world. 

Not far off from Valentina’s original plans, it seemed. 

“Like a rock,” you plastered a smile on your face and kissed him again. 

There, lying there while his arms wrapped around you and gently tugged you to his chest, that’s where you needed to be. That’s all you needed. 

You breathed him in, not realizing how much you were shaking against him. 

“Hey,” he said, “are you cold?” He pulled the blankets tighter around you and rubbed his hands up and down your arms.

“I’m fine, Ren.”

A little smile teased his lips the way it always did when you used his nickname. It was his turn to pull your lips to his, kissing both corners, then your jaw, then up to the spot by your ear. His giggle rumbled through you. 

“We have to get up.”

“Why? Do you have plans I don’t know about?”

You laughed, his hands falling to your hips, fingers tickling. “No. I’ve got a hot date with Bucky.” 

Bob nipped your ear. 

“Very funny.” 

“I’m serious.” You curled a light-brown strand around your finger. “I have a thing for super soldier serum, I guess. Walker is next on my list.” 

For a split second, that familiar little ring of cold circled his captivating blue irises. But only for a second. Then, your Bob was back, pouting. 

“It is too early for you to be this mean to me.” 

“I’m sorry,” you snickered. “Do you want me to kiss it to make it better?”

The gold returned in a circled sliver, accompanied by a fierce blush overtaking his cheeks. God, you couldn’t get enough of him. 

“I…um…” Flustered, he cleared his throat, which made him actually cough, which started a coughing fit that you could only laugh at. 

“I’m going to get some coffee,” you said, reaching for your clothes beside the bed.

 In the flicker of movement, Bob caught a glimpse of the scar on your arm, thigh, and back of the neck. You’d never told him what they were from. He never asked, of course, but he’d wondered. He knew self-harm. And he knew better than most what needle marks looked like. These weren’t either. He had a feeling. A bad one. 

“Stay a little longer?” He asked, his voice so sweet and tired that you had to look back with a smile. He tugged on your hand. 

“What’s up with you this morning?”

Bob shrugged. “I just like it when we stay in here. Nothing else can touch us in here.” 

Out there, he was always worried about doing the wrong thing or letting too much of his power loose. When he could lie here, holding you, it anchored him to this reality. You kept the shadows away, as well as the blinding light that came with the other side of him. Everyone saw him as split in two. The Sentry and The Void. Sometimes it felt like you were the only one who saw him. 

“Okay.” You layed back down, allowing him to quickly snuggle back beside you, tucking your head under his chin. 

It all felt so right. More right than he’d ever been. No matter what he’d done, he’d always been wrong. With his family, with the world, as The Sentry. But then you stepped into his shadows, and you saw him for all that he could be. Not in the way Valentina did, but in a way he wanted to aspire to. He wanted to be the person you saw in him. 

And isn’t that was love was?

“I love you,” Bob whispered.

You stiffened in his arms. 

“What?”

Gathering his confidence, he said it a little louder. “I love you, Y/N.”

Suddenly, his arms felt very hot, like he was holding onto a space heater. It wasn’t until he saw the slight blue glow that he released you. Your body lit up with the neon color, just like the weapons you’d described to him. 

Blue Flame.

He’d only seen it once before- when you were helping him escape the vault before Valentina burned you all away. Even then, you hadn’t looked this scared. 

“I think I should go,” you said, voice cracking. 

Bob’s face fell. 

You started toward the door.

“Y/N, wait,” he pleaded, reaching for you. When he grabbed your hand, it felt like he’d been struck by lightning. 

He couldn’t stop it after that. 

The two of you tumbled into the dark, but water wasn’t what you found. It was blood. 

You knew where you were before you heard the screaming. Before you saw the sad trail of blood leading to the table where your younger self tried to get free of your restraints. Your leg and arm were already opened up, small slits bleeding all over the floor. He’d tied you facedown to the table

“They figured it out,” your father muttered. “They know. They know and they’re trying to turn you against me.”

“Dad, please,” you begged. 

“I have to get the chip out. Then, things will go back to how they were.” He dug his scalpel into the back of your neck. 

Bob stood beside you in the corner of the room, watching you watching yourself. You were both frozen in place, whether by the force of your memory or the fear running like ice through your veins. All he could do was stand there.

He couldn't remember ever seeing you really cry before. Not like this.

Your face crumpled, and you had to bring a hand up to your lips to muffle your sob. 

When your father was finished, satisfied that there was nothing hiding beneath your skin, he turned to the other table.

“Leave him alone,” you growled, both in the past and as you stood there watching. 

Your little brother, barely eighteen, sat up, willing and waiting. He held out his arm. 

“Find it, Dad,” Cam said. The hard set of his jaw was betrayed by the welling terror in his eyes. “I believe you.”

Your father sneered back at your younger self, but you felt like he was staring right through you. It rattled you worse than any hit you’d taken. You wanted to hide or run, but there was nowhere to go. 

Bob almost reached for you, but he didn’t. 

You walked toward the tables. 

“I said, leave him alone!” Younger you shouted. 

The scalpel hovered over your brother’s wrist.

Brightness took over your vision, as blinding as it was in all of your nightmares. You could feel the terrible burn in your skin. It made your vision blur even more until all you could see was that light. The power forced into your veins with the technology that almost destroyed New York. 

You hit your knees as it faded. 

“Y/N,” Bob exclaimed, finally breaking himself out of his trance to rush to your side. 

“It works,” your father gasped. A wide, awful grin spread across his face. “It works!” 

The you of the past leveled your hard, glowing gaze on your father. You raised your hand. 

“Don’t!” Cam pleaded.

“Is this what you wanted, daddy?” You hissed. The blue intensified again, spreading across the lines of your palm and creeping up your veins. It settled in your eyes, turning them to ice. “Is this what you wanted!” 

Dad held up his hands in front of him, face softening to that false paternal smile that made your stomach roll. “Don’t you see, sweetheart? Don’t you see the power I’ve given you? They won’t be able to hurt us.” His voice faltered, trying to hide his fear. “Nothing will hurt you again.”

“No.” You let the power flow through you and launch itself forward. “Nothing will.” 

A beam of cerulean light rammed into your father’s chest. The smell of burning cloth and meat filled your lungs. 

You could still taste it in the air as you knelt on the lab floor. It choked you like thick, black smoke. You tried to breathe through it, but your throat constricted, your sobs warbling into gasps for air. 

The hole in your father’s chest might as well have been yours, leaving nothing but charred, emptiness. 

He slumped forward, face still watching you with a proud, grotesque smile. 

Cam struggled against his restraints, screaming. 

You stepped toward him. 

You reached for him from your place on the floor. 

He turned a burning glare on you. Not the you from the past, but you. The one crying on the ground, trying to breathe. 

“How could you?” He hissed. 

“Cam, please,” the younger you begged. You took another step and turned to dust. 

You watched yourself drift away into the dark and everything else blurred around you.

A hand landed on your shoulder and you were back in your bedroom. You were on the ground, shaking hands braced against the floor to keep yourself from crumbling completely. 

Five years. You’d gotten a second to grieve everything you’d lost while the rest of the world got five years to move on. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t touch me.” You recoiled from Bob’s touch. You could feel it rising in you again, the power. You worried what it would do to him if you didn’t get away. 

Bob knelt beside you and let his hands fall to his lap. He watched tears fall down your face and couldn’t stop his own from clouding his vision. He wiped them away quickly, but they kept coming. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly. 

Your eyes snapped to his. “What?”

Bob’s lip trembled and he reached for you again, only to let his hand linger there in the air between you. Forever held out to you. 

You didn’t take it. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated, voice cracking. 

You’d never told him- told anyone, really. The only one who had some semblance of an idea was Valentina and that was only because your father worked for her. She gave him the resources to make you what you were and you worked for her anyway.

“You don’t know,” you said in a low voice. The smoke and smell of your father’s burning heart still felt like they were wrapped around the inside of your throat, blocking any breath. “I killed him.”

“You were protecting your brother-”

“Who killed himself two years later!” You finally found your voice in a scream. It was all crashing down on you and the only way you could see out of it was anger. You scrambled to your feet and backed away, trying not to notice the brokenness in Bob’s eyes. “You don’t get it, Robert.”

His full name made him flinch. 

Your fists clenched at your sides. “Some of us didn’t sign up for this.” 

You stormed out of the room so you didn’t have to see the hurt settle in his face. You caught enough of a glimpse, though, that made your stomach ache, like you’d swallowed acid and it was eating you from the inside out. 

Bob sat on the floor where you’d both fallen, legs folded beneath him. He buried his face in his hands. He could feel it- the darkness. It seeped in from the corners of his mind. 

Did you hear her? You chose this. She’ll never forgive you.

“Stop it,” he cried, tugging his hair between his fingers. “Shut up. Shut up.”

You hurt her. You made it worse. You always make it worse. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Bob whispered. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”

-

Valentina didn’t like it when you climbed up on the roof, but all of you did anyway. She said her security team always lost track of you because the cameras tended to malfunction. What she didn’t know was that you and Walker had come up here when you first moved in and messed them up so you’d have a place she couldn't watch you. Any time she sent someone to fix them, one of you would break the lens or tape a picture of Iron Man or something like that, so eventually she just gave up. 

You sat with your legs hanging off the edge. The clouds were low tonight, heavy with rain. It made you feel like you were sitting in the middle of the storm. You sent a blue flash into the grey to mimic the lightning that hadn’t come quite yet. 

“Careful. Someone is going to think that’s a UFO.” Bucky’s heavy steps stomped across the concrete of the rooftop, his hair slicked back from a shower and his arm recently polished. 

“Good.” You glanced briefly back at him and turned back to the clouds. “Maybe that will give them something to talk about other than us.” You sent out another flash and he sat down next to you, metal fingers clinging against the edge. 

“Were you here?” He asked. You raised a brow, so he clarified. “During the attack on New York?” 

You flexed your hands out in front of you. Blue fizzled in between your fingertips. 

“I was on a school trip upstate. Senior year of high school,” you said. “My parents were here, though. My mom got killed.”

He nodded, eyes almost as blue as the power in your palm. “Is that what made your dad…”

“Turn into a mad scientist doomsday prepper who mutilated his children and turned one into a monster using the same weapons that killed his wife?” You finished for him. You shrugged, leaning back with your arms resting behind you. “I mean, he was always an asshole who thought he could prepare us for the big terrible world by being even bigger and more terrible, but… yeah. I’d say that was the last straw.” 

Bucky didn’t mutter any apologies or give you any pitiful glances, which you were grateful for. 

“You stayed with him all that time?” 

“Didn’t have a reason not to.” 

“But you had a reason to stay.” His question was clear. 

You kicked your leg out, then let it fall. Out and fall. Out and fall. “My kid brother idolized him. And when mom died… well, he really thought my dad was going to save the world by changing the two of us into something that couldn’t be taken from him.”

“He wanted to turn you into superheroes.” Bucky hummed thoughtfully. “Sounds familiar.” 

“Yeah and he screwed up. He didn’t make me a hero, he made me-” You cut yourself off, anger buzzing through you with a power not from earth. A power that once tried to destroy the city you sat over. “That sound familiar too?” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, but the look in his piercing eyes was enough for you to know he understood. He understood more than you needed to explain. He knew. You didn’t know how, but he did. 

“You know,” he inhaled sharply, “I really hated Valentina for a long time after she kind of forced us into a team.” 

“Really?” You scoffed. “None of us could tell.”

He nudged you with his metal elbow. “But after a while, I realized it was good. For all of us.” Those blue eyes softened. “We fit together. Don’t ask me how, but we do.” Bucky turned back to the skyline, breathing in the clouds. “Nobody fits better than the two of you.”

Your shoulders slumped forward, head angled down so you could just see the specks of people beneath you. 

“How am I supposed to let him see all of me?” You asked, voice barely a whisper. “When I still can’t look in the mirror for too long?” Holding your arm out in front of you, you stared at the scar where your father had dug a blade into your flesh, searching for something that would justify his paranoia. 

Bucky held his hand out beside yours. The silver glinted in the light next to your skin. He took your hand in a gentle, but firm grip.

“That’s the cost, isn’t it?” 

He let go, letting his arm fall back to his side. Yours stayed there, though, hovering in the air like you were reaching for something. Maybe you were. 

“Now, thanks to you, I owe Yelena twenty bucks,” he huffed, climbing back off of the ledge. 

“What were you-” You started, then it hit you. “Oh, you’re an asshole.”

Bucky just clicked his tongue and waved back to you as he left. 

Downstairs, Yelena felt the hallway growing dark, and a deep dread settled in her stomach. Her knock was light. She entered the room without waiting for a response. 

He was sitting on his bed, facing a wall, and the shadows of the room seemed to collect around him. 

“Hey, Bob,” she said, taking a step forward. “You feeling okay?”

“I can control it.” He tilted his head to acknowledge her presence, but he didn’t move. “I can. I promise.”

Yelena held up a hand, like she was approaching a frightened deer. “I know you can.” She eyed a particularly angry-looking dark spot. If dark spots could be angry. “But for the sake of curiosity, why are you going all, you know… scary dark shame loop?” 

“I didn’t- she hates me because I couldn’t- I scared her and now I-”

“Bob.” Her voice sharpened. It forced him to look up at her. “What happened?” 

-

You spent the rest of the afternoon walking. It didn’t matter where. It didn’t matter once the sky started to get dark. You walked around the city, looking at everything that, not so long ago, had been utterly destroyed. And it was all through the power that now haunted your veins like a virus that was slowly eating away from the inside out. 

Bucky’s words rang through your head for the entirety of your walk.

That’s the cost.

The elevator doors closed around you and the numbness faded. It was a wall you’d built around you since you came back from The Blip. What a stupid name for it. Too simple, too sweet. Half of the world vanished and when they came back, everything had changed. You’d lost everything and they told you that you were lucky to be back. 

You weren’t sure when you started crying, but once it started, you couldn't stop. Your whole body shook from the force of it, like it was breaking you apart piece by piece. The wall crumbled. 

That’s the cost.

When you reached the penthouse, you pulled yourself off the elevator floor, unsure of when you sank down to your knees. You knew you probably looked crazy. You stepped out anyway. 

The living room was empty and quiet. Someone had made coffee, despite the late hour. You breathed in the scent of it to ground yourself. 

Yelena emerged from the hallway. Trailing behind her was Bob, his eyes sullen and shoulders slumped. 

When he saw you, the guilt struck him all over again like a thousand bullets. You’d been crying. More than that, he could see the toll of everything in the way you held yourself, like the structure that held you up had crumbled. You were still crying. Tears pooled in your pretty eyes and rolled down your cheeks. He never meant to make you cry. He didn’t mean to-

His thoughts stopped when you bolted across the room and wrapped your arms around him. 

You knocked the air out of his chest and brought him back to himself, all of the shadows threatening to consume him chased away by your touch. You buried your face in his chest, your tears wetting his shirt but he didn’t care. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the fabric. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Y/N, I-” He started, but he didn’t know what to say, so he just kept apologizing. “I’m so sorry.”

You pulled back, looking up at him with more vulnerability than you thought you were capable anymore. His blue eyes softened you, melted you into someone you used to be. Someone you wanted to be again. 

“Can we talk?” 

Bob let his hands fall to the small of your back, pulling you as close as he could. He nodded, leaning down to nuzzle into your neck. 

“I’ll just…” Yelena didn’t finish, she just stalked off, giving the two of you one last glance before heading toward her room. 

You tugged Bob out onto the balcony. Years ago, Tony Stark fought a god on this balcony. Steve Rogers and Thor. Heroes. People you’d heard about your whole life, from your father trying to make you one of them, from the world that turned them into idols. Now, you couldn’t help but wonder if they were just people, too. 

“I know it wasn’t your fault,” you said, wanting to get that out of the way. “And I don’t blame you.” You paced in front of the glass barriers keeping you from tumbling over the edge. “I’m tired. I’m tired of being scared.”

“I know.” Bob shook his head, the guilt still lingering in his gaze. “I keep making you relive the worst parts of your life. The more I try to stop it, the more I keep hurting you and I don’t want to hurt you anymore-” 

“Bob, stop.” You took his face in your hands and took a deep breath. “I can face the worst of me because I am the best of myself when I’m with you.” Grasping his hand, you placed it over the scar on your arm. “I want to show you all of me. I want you to see the parts of myself that I could never face alone. Because I’m not alone anymore. Sometimes I just need to remember that.” Another breath. “I love you, Robert.” With those words, all of the air left your body. You had to say them again just to inhale. “I love you. And yes, that scares me because of- well everything to be honest and-”

It’s his turn to interrupt you, lips catching your words and breathing life back into you. His hand cups the back of your neck gently but his movements are steady and determined. You know without him breaking away that this is him saying it back. He does anyway.

“I love you too.” His fingers grazed the scar on your hip while his other hand tangled in your hair. “A-and I’m going to get better. I can control it. I am going to work every day to make sure you never have to go through something like that again.” 

“And I am going to remind you every day something bad happens, because it will, that it isn’t your fault,” you promised. His blue sweater was warm against your skin and the growing chill of the evening. “The point isn’t to make sure nothing happens, Bob. It’s to make sure we can go through it together.”

That’s the cost. 

You hated how right that old soldier was. 

“So…” Bob glanced at the windows to the balcony, where the entirety of your team was now standing. “Does this mean we’re okay telling everybody?” He shrank away from their stares, his sheepishness making you smile. 

“Yeah.” You turned his face back to yours. “I guess it does.” 

Looking at you made him forget all of it, the panic, the pain, the slight fear of Walker’s annoyed glare. You pulled his lips down to yours and it all went away. You knew it would still be there. All of that anguish lingering in both of you like a disease. But maybe it was a little easier to face together than alone. To have someone there, leaving the light on for when you were ready to come out of the darkness. 

Inside, Yelena held out her hand. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and passed her the cash.

[enjakey]

Chapter 0- prologue; the beginning of the end

THE CERTAIN ROMANCE OF WINGS AND WAR

next chapter- coming soon (6th July, 2025)

PAIRING: [DAD!JAKE SIM x FEM!READER]!MAFIA AU

TW/N: 13.4K- Mafia au | soulmates au | angel/devil wings au | childhood best friends au | frenemies au | I didn’t know I loved you until I lost you | eloping/running away | family friends au | found family au | cheating, blood, drugs, mentions of sex, alcohol, lots of cussing, mentions of murder, guns, therapy, trauma, abandoning children, adoption care, estranged families, physical abuse, anger issues, characters make terrible decisions, some characters have sexual relations but not romantic, mentions of a lot of fucking each other over (betrayal), can't trust anyone.

SUMMARY: in a world where people grow wings when they fall in love, Jake believed he’d found his perfect match- until the woman he trusted vanished, leaving betrayal in her wake and revealing love as merely a tactic in her game. He was head of his powerful mafia family, Jake leads alongside Sunghoon, with Jungwon and Niki as his loyal muscle, and remains tied legacy to Y/N’s family, co-founders of their criminal empire. But their seemingly unshakable world collapses when Jake’s misplaced trust ignites a hidden war, culminating in the death of a close member- a loss that fractures alliances and leaves scars stretching across cities and time. And amid the chaos, Jake is left raising his daughter alone.

SERIES MASTERLIST I MASTERLIST

“I don’t like this.”

It was probably the tenth, maybe hundredth time David had mumbled that under his breath that night. Whiskey in his hand, a knife stabbed on the table in front of him and a towering golden chandelier over his head- all his attention was on his oldest son sitting across from him, an uninterested expression on his face. He sat cross legged, fingers intertwined on his knee, staring back at him with raised brows, as if asking him “anything else?”

Jake was David’s adopted son- adopted, but still his son. He was the oldest of four- after him was Sunghoon, then Jungwon, then Niki, the youngest. David wasn’t sure how he and Helen came to the decision of adoption- perhaps it was the fact that they were getting old and conceiving was a risk, perhaps their family doctor advised against it, and perhaps it was because surrogacy involved trusting unknown people too closely.

David still remembered the day he brought Jake home from that godforsaken, rundown orphanage. He’d sulked all day because he was separated from his best friend, hugged onto a raggedy stuffed toy of a dog while Helen tried to feed him and refused to go to school for the first few months until David threatened to take away his stuffed dog until he went. He even introduced him to his best friend’s children, Y/N and Jay, but even they couldn’t properly get him out of his shell.

A year later, they adopted Jake’s best friend- Sunghoon. 

And with him, Jake had turned into the man he was now. A boy once so innocent grew up to be the man David chose to pass down the family business to. Over the years of watching him grow up, Jake had done plenty of stupid things- breaking ceramics as a toddler, vandalising school walls with Sunghoon at the brink of teenage rebellion and introducing alcohol to his younger brothers, Jungwon and Niki, who the family had adopted much later, to alcohol when they were just in middle school.

But this- this would be the first thing that would make David regret passing down his life’s work to Jake. The mafia, the mob, the one thing that kept their family afloat. 

And Jake was on the verge of botching everything- all over the wings attached to his back.

Jake Sim was many things- hot headed, impulsive perhaps, sharp-tongued and loyal. But above all that, he was stupidly, hopelessly and blindly in love with a girl he wasn’t supposed to be with.

“Just because you have wings, doesn’t mean she won’t fuck you over,” David continued. “Love doesn’t rule all. Especially not your Emily.”

“And how would you know that?” Jake challenged.

The black feathers on David’s wings ruffled and the whiskey in his hand rippled as he shook. “Your mom’s gonna be here soon,” he mumbled. “Watch your damn tongue.”

“At least she likes Emily,” Jake continued. “You didn’t even give her a chance.”

“You’ve known her a year, Jake,” David barked. “And you’ve already kicked your brothers out of the house because she wanted to live alone with you. You’ve followed her like a damn dog. And now you’ve gone and gotten her fucking pregnant, are you joking?”

“Like it or not, dad,” Jake’s tongue dripped with venom. “You’re gonna be a grandfather. And she’s gonna be family.”

“I think you forget who's in charge sometimes,” David was pointing fingers now, straight between Jake’s brows. But he didn’t move an inch, didn’t flinch. “She isn’t family until I say so.”

“You know, she’s upstairs, right?” Jake puffed air through his nostrils. “She can hear you.”

“Let her,” David dared. “You’re going to regret this, Jake.”

“She’s pregnant with my child, dad,” Jake’s confidence in Emily didn’t seem to waver. “I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”

As thunder cracked and the first few drops of rain of the night started to fall, the french windows of the dining room swung open and Helen came flying through it. Her expansive white wings folded behind her and David stood at the sight of her. His black wings spread open to embrace her and Jake simply watched their interaction- their wings a symbol of their love, their affection a sign of their devotion.

Jake and Emily had wings to match. Jake grew them in black; Emily in white. They, too, were a symbol of their unwavering love and loyalty for one another. And Jake believed it- because the world taught him to, and because his parents taught him to. They were the happiest couple he knew, the only lasting relationship he’d watched growing up.

So he couldn’t understand the resistance- how they failed to see what he saw, especially after love had already claimed them.

“I think you should listen to your dad, Jake,” as David returned to his previous seat, Helen sat beside him and reached over the table for Jake’s hands. He met her in the middle- out of instinct, out of respect. “We want what’s best for you.”

Despite the warmth in her voice and the softness in her voice, Jake retreated his hands and scoffed. “Are you not hearing me?” He was frustrated now, voice straining against his throat “She’s pregnant. She’s giving birth in a month. You sound insane.”

“You shouldn’t have let it come this far in the first place,” David spat. And he was about to continue, but Helen’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“But it has gotten this far,” Helen looked at Jake again. “Honey, I’m not saying I like what’s happening here-”

“But-”

“No,” Helen raised her hand- and it was enough for Jake to shut his mouth and sit back in his chair. All that he wanted to protest was clogged in his throat. “We’ve warned you, did everything we could. You’ve disappointed your family and your friends. And they’re still standing by you. So when something goes south- God forbid, if anything bad happens, all I can hope is that you’ll learn your lesson.”

“If,” Jake corrected. “If anything goes south. And it won’t-”

“I can promise you,” David interjected. “It will. And you better clean everything up when it does. Because you’ve got a name to uphold, a business to keep and a village full of mouths to feed.”

Jake couldn’t say anything else.

He wanted to- he wanted to yell at his father, destroy his ego, remind him who was in charge of the business now despite everything. But he and his mother were out the door, an umbrella over their head and wings folded tightly behind their backs as they got in the car. And Jake listened as the car drove away- wheels against wet road and headlights circling the compound until they disappeared into the night.

Jake climbed upstairs, the black feathers of his wings ruffling against his back as he rolled his shoulders. 

The white of his bedroom door stared back at him- like it had something to say. Like it was reminding him of all the things he should be remembering and all the things he should be reminded of. Like it was warning him to not open it.

But he did anyway, of course he did. 

His pregnant fiance was waiting for him in his bed, her hair strewn across the pillow in a mess and her tired eye peeking out from under the duvet. 

The mere sight of her made him smile.

Jake waddled closer to her, guilt sinking in after all the crap his father had spewed about Emily just minutes ago. She must’ve heard it- all of it. It wasn’t like they’d been quiet. They’d screamed at each other until his mother had rushed in to split them apart.

Emily lay still on the bed, her long hair spread across the pillow, her hands resting over the curve of her stomach.

She didn’t move. But he could tell she was awake.

To her, Jake looked like a lost puppy- an odd sight, one only she ever got to see. This was a mobster. A man who had command over empires built on fear. A man with wings as dark as midnight, stretched and restless behind him. And yet, with her, he turned soft- fragile even.

He gave her access to a side of himself he didn’t let anyone, not even himself, look too closely at.

Emily didn’t know if she should be scared... or honoured.

"Did you hear everything?" Jake sighed, leaning his side against the headboard.

Emily exhaled too, eyes shutting for a moment like the sound exhausted her. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. He knew she had.

"I'm sorry about what he said," he mumbled, almost ashamed.

She only nodded, her white wings loosely wrapped around her like a shield. Moonlight caught in her opal eyes, turning them silver.

"He just doesn't get it," Jake muttered, frustration brewing. "This whole bullshit idea he has about us and our wings. I don’t get it," he growled, fingers dragging through his hair, his voice low and rough.

"It doesn't matter, Jake. It’s not like we chose for the world to be this way," Emily replied, her voice tired. She fought the urge to roll her eyes, to tell him to leave outright. All she wanted was silence- space to think. No one else’s opinion. No more emotions clouding hers.

"It does matter," he snapped back, noticing her tone but refusing to let go. When she groaned and turned away, her back facing him, Jake stilled.

"Jake, let it go," she pleaded, barely above a whisper.

He blinked, arms crossing slowly. He waited. But she didn’t say more.

She didn’t understand how something that slid off her like water seemed to sit on his skin like fire.

"Don’t you have plans with your brothers or something?" She asked, eyes still shut.

Jake nodded. "Yeah." He paused. "I should go then."

But he didn’t move. He stood there, head tilted toward her, dark wings lightly rustling behind him. He looked at her- her glowing face, her dark hair tangled in moonlight, her white wings curled protectively around the new life growing inside her.

She didn’t say anything. She knew why he hadn’t moved. She also knew she wouldn’t ask him to stay.

She just turned away. Let the moonlight wash her in quiet, and felt Jake breathe a heavy sigh.

"I’ll be back soon," he said softly.

Emily hummed in response- gentle, detached.

"I love you."

Then he left the room. And she didn’t say it back.

Pink, purple, and blue- those were the only colours Niki could see at that moment. They bled into each other like ink in water, soft and violent all at once. A blunt hung between his split lips, the taste of iron and ash mixing as white smoke coiled from the burning end. He pulled in a slow, greedy breath, lungs stretching with the bitter weight of burnt cannabis. His eyes drifted shut for a heartbeat, then fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

For a second, everything sharpened. Every sound, every flicker of movement, every shift of light surged into overdrive. It was like floating in the grey space between real and unreal- where nothing hurt, but everything hummed. That sweet, silent moment was what he’d been chasing all along.

Niki didn’t feel his lips curl into a fractured, almost psychotic smile. He didn’t feel the sharp sting of the gash running across his lower lip. For that single second, everything- pain, shame, noise- faded.

And then it all came crashing back.

So, he took another drag- desperate to escape again, desperate to fall back into that grey fog.

Across from him, Sunghoon sat slouched against a cracked wall, the dim light of his phone screen casting faint shadows over his tired features. He was half-scrolling, half-scowling- thumb moving, mind elsewhere. With a sigh, he rubbed his hand through his coarse, dark hair, and glanced up through heavy lashes at Niki.

He watched the way Niki’s lips twitched- up and down, up and down- unbothered by the raw tear that split them. The same tear he’d gotten just minutes earlier in a brawl with a bartender who told them to leave.

Sunghoon had known it was a bad idea the second Niki suggested sneaking into a basement of a rundown apartment in the middle of the night. Especially with less than six hours before they were due to meet Jake. He’d tried talking Niki out of it, had even dragged him by the arm. But Niki- reckless, relentless, numb- was too far gone to care.

Still, Sunghoon had bailed him out of the fight. A wad of cash and a flash of cold steel were enough to shut things down and enough to get Niki his fix.

He didn’t get it. None of it. He didn’t understand what it was that kept pulling Niki back to this- to smoke-stained walls and half-used blunts, to chemical highs and self-inflicted ruin. He especially didn’t understand how Jake kept enabling it. Letting him burn through stacks of money just to destroy himself.

Sunghoon wasn’t the only one who’d tried talking to Niki. Everyone had. Niki was a slow implosion, and he didn’t even see it happening. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

Niki always brushed it off. Said he just wanted to live a little, try new things, feel alive, have fun. He never called it what it really was- an addiction. And that was the problem.

In trying to outrun the feeling of failure, of being the brother who couldn’t be depended on, of being the one who kept letting his family down… Niki found drugs.

Or maybe, drugs found him.

You see, Niki wasn’t just hurt by the crushing sense that he was a train wreck- he was disappointed in himself for failing at even the simplest things expected of him. He couldn’t be there for his brother, Jungwon. He couldn’t be the anchor Jungwon needed, the one reason to feel like he had a purpose to keep living.

He was a fuck-up. A mistake in his family, to put it bluntly- and he kept proving himself right, over and over again. Sometimes he wondered if David ever regretted adopting him.

And sometimes, in the quieter moments when the high wore off, Niki thought maybe he was the one who should’ve gone to therapy… instead of Jungwon.

Y/N once told him that Jake wouldn’t have kept him around if he thought he was useless. As the heir to their legacy, Jake had to make choices that served the business- and he’d chosen to let Niki stay.

It made sense, for a while. Until Niki realised that Jake only kept him close out of pity. He kept him out of guilt, out of duty. Because they were all adopted into the same family, stitched together by circumstance and name, raised to believe that family loyalty trumped everything- even personal happiness.

Niki felt like a burden, an obligation people carried rather than someone they genuinely wanted in their lives. It gnawed at the rawest parts of him, whispering that he was nothing more than a placeholder, a charity case- someone tolerated because it would be cruel to cast him out.

The thought punched into his chest every time it surfaced, leaving a hollow ache in his ribs. His fingers tightened around the blunt in his hand, resin sticky against his skin, the acrid smell of burnt cannabis mixing with the faint copper tang of blood from his split lip.

Opposite him, Sunghoon watched with dark eyes sharp and shining under the flickering basement light. He couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes, or the way his jaw kept clenching, muscles jumping like electric currents beneath his skin. There was disappointment written all over him- etched into the tight lines around his mouth and the wide stare that seemed to plead, Who are you right now? This wasn’t the Niki he’d once skipped classes with, laughing in alleyways. This wasn’t the man who’d sat beside him during late-night stakeouts, steady and alert.

No- this was someone Sunghoon barely recognised.

Niki wasn’t sober- he hadn’t been for a really long time. Sunghoon knew it. And deep down, he knew he was screaming into a void trying to reach him like this.

“Niki,” his voice cracked around the name, thick with frustration and something heartbreakingly close to grief. A vein pulsed hard along his neck as he squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to swallow the anger boiling in his chest. When he opened them again, they glistened under the harsh fluorescent glare. “We should go now.”

“So soon?” Niki’s voice came out small, almost childlike- a five-year-old begging to stay at the park a few minutes longer. The sound of it made his own skin crawl with embarrassment. Yet seconds later, the child vanished, replaced by a sick grin twisting across his bruised face. His eyes locked onto Sunghoon’s, wide and desperate, silently pleading- just a little longer. Let me stay in this haze.

“No,” was all Sunghoon could force out. He moved suddenly, snatching the blunt from Niki’s fingers and flicking it to the concrete floor. Without hesitation, he crushed it under the heavy heel of his leather boot, grinding ash and ember into dust.

Niki swore violently, the words raw and bitter as he stared at the crumpled remains of the blunt. His brows knitted together in fury. He slammed both palms flat against the rickety table between them, leaning forward until his eyes were boring into Sunghoon’s. “What the hell? I wasn’t done with that!” Niki snapped, cocking his head to the side, neck straining against the tension coursing through him. His eyes were sharp and venomous, refusing to soften.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re stoned enough,” Sunghoon retorted, arms crossing over his chest. The thin fabric of his shirt pulled tight around his shoulders as his muscles tensed.

“I don’t give a shit,” Niki hissed, flinging his arms out in a theatrical gesture that nearly knocked over an empty bottle beside him. The look on Sunghoon’s face- tight-lipped, jaw clenched- only infuriated him further. “Why do you want to see Jake so fucking badly anyway?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, as though mocking the entire premise.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. He let out a huff that trembled with restrained anger. “We haven’t seen him in months,” he shot back, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world. His gaze swept over Niki from head to toe like he was trying to assess whether he was even worth arguing with. “And we all agreed to meet up tonight. He wants you there, too.”

Niki threw his head back and let out a harsh, barking laugh. It echoed off the concrete walls, sharp and hollow. His shoulders hunched toward his ears, neck veins taut as he squeezed his eyes shut in amusement. But behind the laughter, there was a darkness- an exhaustion that even he couldn’t quite laugh away.

Though he’d never said it out loud, Niki always knew that Sunghoon’s loyalty to Jake ran deeper than mere brotherhood. They liked to call themselves best friends, but Niki suspected that in the end, Sunghoon was Jake’s right-hand man- someone who would do the dirty work, who would bleed on command.

Jake always denied that dynamic, swearing they were equals. Only Sunghoon truly knew how much Jake cared beneath the layers of ruthless ambition and silent masks. They claimed they’d do anything for each other, and for a while, Niki had believed it- it was hard not to, given the bond they shared.

Only Jake and Sunghoon knew the full story of what they’d survived in the orphanage where they’d grown up. It was different from where Niki and Jungwon grew up. From the fragments they had managed to piece together, the place had been notorious for its violence and cruelty. Their so-called home was run by a warden who beat them for the smallest infractions, starved them until they passed out, and sometimes used them for his own twisted pleasure. Children died in those walls- unnoticed, unreported, discarded as if they’d never existed.

But Jake and Sunghoon never revealed the whole truth. Whatever horrors they’d endured, they’d sealed it away behind a vow of silence, keeping the worst of it just between them. Niki suspected that trauma was the glue binding them even now- two boys turned men, forged together in pain. Perhaps it was those scars that made them who they were- dangerous, secretive, and utterly loyal to each other above all else.

Years later, after being adopted by David and Helen, Jake and Sunghoon grew old enough- and powerful enough- to go back and take revenge. They returned to that orphanage and killed the people who’d tormented them. They’d freed the children still trapped inside and burned the building to ashes. The police never came, no news outlets reported the fire, the entire massacre was buried in silence, swept under the rug like so many things in this family’s world.

And to this day, it remained another secret in a life already built on them.

“Are you scared of him?” Niki leaned forward, voice quiet and tinged with accusation.

Sunghoon didn’t even blink. “I’m not in the mood to argue with you right now. You’re stoned. Let’s not ruin my night. Can we just go?” His voice was strained, eyes hardened with the kind of exhaustion born from caring for someone who kept choosing to self-destruct.

“I don’t get why you always try to save my ass and hide it behind all that anger,” Niki said, rolling his eyes, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

“Because I choose to,” Sunghoon snapped back, voice taut as piano wire. “And because my ego’s too fucking big to let you die in a basement.”

Niki sighed, shoulders sagging as he dragged a hand through his hair. His fingers began fidgeting, weaving around each other in restless patterns- a nervous habit he’d had since he was a kid.

His thumb found the familiar ridges of his tattoo, tracing the tiny swirls etched into the side of his index finger. The delicate lines formed the shape of a dove- small enough to hide, yet impossible to forget. Touching it always helped settle the roaring chaos inside him, a silent ritual he’d developed after years of bottling up his fury and fear.

“What’s the tattoo mean?” people always asked. Friends. Family. Strangers in line at coffee shops.

Niki never had the guts to admit the truth- to them or himself. Because he was afraid- of too many things, in fact. Afraid of what growing wings might mean, of love, of soulmates, of the idea that something so fragile could ruin him entirely.

“Are we getting Jungwon and Y/N on the way, too?” Niki asked quietly, eyes drifting to the ground as they finally left the dank basement.

Sunghoon gave him a curt nod and motioned toward the car waiting outside.

Sitting in a room bathed in stark white tube light, surrounded by shelves groaning under psychology books and the faint scent of sandalwood from an oil diffuser- that had become part of Jungwon’s routine. The same sterile white walls, the same plush therapy couch, the same soft, looping music drifting through hidden speakers. He sometimes joked to himself that he could practically earn a psychology degree after all the hours he’d logged in therapy.

Tonight, he perched on the edge of the couch, restless. His fingers twisted around each other, joints clicking softly while his mind shouted a thousand different accusations at him. He couldn’t find a comfortable way to sit, his posture hunched forward as though bracing for a punch. Across from him, Alice, his therapist- a young PhD graduate still finding her footing- watched him with patient eyes.

“You can’t possibly be that hard on yourself,” her voice was gentle but edged with exasperation. Her dark curls bounced as she stepped around her desk and hoisted herself up to sit on it, crossing her legs so that the white heels dangling from her feet hovered inches from Jungwon’s knees.

“I can’t help it,” Jungwon muttered, glancing up to meet her eyes- deep brown, warm as melted chocolate, eyes that always seemed to see straight through him. He watched the way she pulled her lips to the side, biting the inside of her cheek as though weighing her next words carefully.

“Do you have a reason for being so hard on yourself?” She asked, tilting her head slightly. Under the harsh lights, her toffee-colored skin glowed, her freckles standing out like constellations scattered across a night sky.

Jungwon bit his lower lip, tore his gaze away, then darted back to her face. Slowly, he shook his head, though the truth bubbled up in him anyway.

“Guilt, I guess,” his voice came out softer than he intended, eyes scanning the room as if hoping for a distraction.

He didn’t even need to think before answering. There was no point in sitting there in silence like so many people did during therapy. Alice had practically begged him to open up after he’d first explained his situation months ago. And maybe that’s why he kept coming back- because even when he felt utterly worthless, she still seemed to accept him. And that made him dangerously drawn to her.

“Guilt for what?” Alice pressed gently, shifting the hem of her sun-dress and letting her heels tap a staccato rhythm against the wooden desk.

“For not trusting Niki.” Jungwon let out a half-choked laugh, though the humor fell flat. His voice cracked with fatigue. “It sounds so stupid, I know. But I feel like… like I should trust him more.”

It was probably the hundredth time he’d uttered the same confession, trying to make her understand. But somehow, it felt like no one ever truly could.

Niki always expected Jungwon to confide in him- to spill every secret, every anxiety, every fear without hesitation. It was supposed to be simple, trusting someone you’d practically grown up with, someone who’d been a brother in everything but blood. But for Jungwon, it wasn’t simple at all.

Niki was always disappearing into whatever job Jake threw at him, and afterward, he’d vanish into warehouses and basements, getting stoned until his eyes turned glassy.

Jungwon tried, he really did. But it was hard when even Jake seemed to pity him, dismissing him as too gentle, too soft, too good for their world. His own self-isolation only made the chasm wider.

Maybe that was what had driven him to antidepressants.

“Jungwon, you don’t have to tell Niki everything happening in your life,” Alice said, her brow creasing as she tried again to break through his walls.

But Jungwon shook his head, just as he always did.

“He wants me to trust him,” he said, voice nearly a whisper. “He thinks the reason he’s… messing himself up is because we don’t trust him. He feels like he’s not trustworthy. And I just… I can’t stand watching him hate himself for it.”

Alice clicked her tongue in gentle sympathy, running her fingers through her curls. “Then you have to talk to him about this, too,” her eyes were wide, earnest, waiting for him to agree.

Jungwon slumped backward on the couch, arms crossing tightly over his chest. He seemed to fold in on himself, as though trying to shrink from the conversation. His eyes glinted under the fluorescent lights, hard and unyielding. “What are you getting at?”

“Things could get easier if you talked to him,” Alice said firmly, leaning forward as though trying to pull him closer by sheer willpower. She licked her lips, her voice softening.

Jungwon held her gaze for a long, silent beat. Then he let out a low chuckle, biting his lip as he recognized the frustration simmering beneath her kind eyes. He found himself almost amused by how she kept her cool- even after thirty minutes of running in circles with him.

It was the same conversation nearly every session. Same problem, same sentences bouncing back and forth. But a small part of Jungwon cherished how willing she was to repeat herself endlessly, as if sheer persistence might someday fix him. Perhaps that was what drew him so powerfully to her- her stubborn selflessness.

“I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?” Jungwon shot back, blinking rapidly as he tried to soften his words with a teasing smile.

Alice groaned, tipping her head back and covering her face with her hand. Jungwon knew she probably wanted to tell him how exhausting he was- but she never said it.

“I don’t get what answer you want from me,” he said after the silence stretched thin.

Alice lowered her hand, her eyes blazing with a mix of irritation and tenderness. “It’s not about the answer I want,” she said, gesturing animatedly as though trying to carve the truth into the air. “It’s about the answer you need to give yourself.”

Jungwon stared at her, chest rising and falling, and for a brief second, the message landed. What was the answer he needed to give himself? What did he need to accept?

He shook his head, exhaling heavily, a groan rattling in his throat. “What answer do I need to give myself?” He mumbled, though the question felt more like it was meant for the empty space between them than for her.

Alice opened her mouth, ready to answer, but stopped. Instead, she wrinkled her nose in a tiny smile, freckles disappearing into the lines of her expression before reappearing. “You have to figure that out on your own,” she said softly. “I’m just here to help you find the way.”

Classic, Jungwon thought bitterly. He’d been waiting for months to hear that inevitable line- the classic therapist mantra about self-discovery. It never comforted him. He wasn’t after self-discovery; he wanted a roadmap, an instruction manual, a quick fix. Anything but this endless ambiguity.

“I saw that coming,” he grumbled.

Alice rolled her eyes and continued her gentle interrogation, hiding her exasperation beneath genuine care. She’d learned it was impossible to treat Jungwon like any other client. Around him, she was different- and secretly, she liked that.

Throughout the session, Jungwon found himself staring at her curls, fascinated by how they bounced with even the slightest movement, the delicate sway of her sundress, the glint of her white heels, and her lips, full and soft, pressing together thoughtfully whenever words failed her.

Eventually, the clock crept toward midnight. Alice glanced at the time and sighed, knowing Jungwon had plans with his family tonight. She coaxed him to believe that seeing his family might help, might remind him that he mattered. But if only she’d known what would unfold tonight, she might have steered him far, far away instead.

At last, she guided Jungwon toward the door, hands resting gently on his shoulders, her warm smile softening the sting of the harsh fluorescent lights. She reminded him to take his medication if the evening became too overwhelming. She reminded him that he mattered- to his family, to his friends, and especially to her.

And when Jungwon caught the glow in her luminous brown eyes, he felt a foolish flutter in his chest and belly. He tried to suppress the grin spreading across his face, but it blossomed anyway, as bright and shy as a schoolboy’s.

Outside Alice’s office, Y/N sat slouched in a plastic chair, head bent low, thumbs flying over her phone screen. Her torn jeans bore the marks of restless fingers picking at the fabric, and she was so absorbed in whatever she was reading that she didn’t even notice Jungwon and Alice standing a few steps away, exchanging a smirk and an eye-roll.

“Shall we go?” Jungwon ventured softly.

Y/N lifted her head, blinking into the light, nose crinkling as recognition sparked in her eyes. A small laugh escaped her lips. She pushed herself up from the chair, slipped her phone into her back pocket, and rubbed her palms briskly against her thighs, trying to chase away the chill in the air.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she flashed a grin, then turned to Alice and shook her hand warmly. “See you next week.”

Without missing a beat, she slung an arm around Jungwon’s shoulders and guided him toward the building’s exit. As they stepped out into the cool night, Jungwon patted his pockets anxiously.

“Sunghoon has my meds in the car, right?” Jungwon asked, glancing sideways at Y/N- a girl who’d practically grown up in his house, who’d babysat him and Niki when Jake and Sunghoon couldn’t. Even after all these years, he still instinctively turned to her for small comforts and fixes- her and her brother.

“Yeah, he’s got them,” Y/N confirmed with a soft smile as they reached the sidewalk.

Sunghoon’s sleek convertible was already parked out front, engine idling like a restless animal. Niki sat slumped in the passenger seat, head bowed low, rubbing his nose repeatedly. When he caught sight of Jungwon and Y/N, he perked up, waving frantically.

“Come on, get in already! Let’s just get tonight over with!” Niki shouted through the open window.

Jungwon leaned in for a quick hug with Niki, earning a slap on the back from Sunghoon, who promptly handed him his bottle of antidepressants. Y/N got a swift kiss on the cheek from Sunghoon and a warm hug from Niki.

“You ready?” Niki whispered close to her ear, and Y/N shivered, partly from the cold night air, partly from the proximity. She pulled back and gave a nod, her eyes scanning his bloodshot eyes and bruised lips. He was definitely high- that much was obvious.

A flicker of worry crossed her face at the sight of his split lip, but not enough to make her ask what had happened. 

Tonight was supposed to be fun. Or at least, that’s what they kept telling themselves.

“God, I can’t wait to go home and crash,” Y/N groaned, squeezing into the back seat beside Jungwon as Sunghoon scolded her for not bothering to open the door first.

“I just wanna get drunk,” Niki said from the passenger seat, stretching his arms overhead.

Jungwon caught Niki’s eyes in the rearview mirror and gave him a disapproving shake of his head, but couldn’t hide a small smile.

“That’s one way to spend the night,” Y/N agreed, laughing softly.

“Or we could just mess with Jake and drive him crazy,” Niki added, grinning wickedly.

Jungwon’s eyes widened. “Oh god. Please don’t. He hasn’t seen us in months. Can’t we just have a normal night?”

Sunghoon let out a frustrated groan, turning halfway in his seat to glare at Niki. “Seriously? You’re seeing Jake after three months and your plan is to annoy the shit out of him?”

“Actually,” Niki chimed in, lifting a finger as though delivering a legal defense. “It was my plan. I just told Y/N, and she said yes.”

Y/N threw up her hands. “Don’t drag me into this. I said no to whatever you’re planning tonight.”

Niki gave her a solemn look. “Traitor.”

“It’s fine, Sunghoon,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like we’re gonna murder him or anything.”

Sunghoon scowled at the lot of them. “You’re gonna say something stupid and he’s gonna flip his shit.”

Y/N leaned forward, grinning wickedly. “That’s kind of the point, though, isn’t it?”

Sunghoon let out another groan, rolling his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. He started the car, the engine roaring to life as Niki cracked his neck from side to side.

“You think Jake’s already waiting for us?” Y/N asked, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“I hope so,” Niki muttered, shifting in his seat.

“Same. I just wanna get this over with and go home and sleep,” Jungwon sighed, rattling the bright orange pill bottle in his palm, the tablets clinking softly inside.

Y/N reached over to give his arm a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be fine,” she said, though a hint of uncertainty tugged at the corners of her smile.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes again, muttering under his breath about “the three idiots” he was stuck chauffeuring around.

A few blocks down the road, he glanced at Y/N in the rearview mirror. “Do we need to get Jay on the way?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nope, he’s already there. He flew ahead.”

Sunghoon grunted, shifting gears as they sped off into the night.

When Jake stepped into the bar, the humid press of bodies and the sharp bite of spilled alcohol closed around him like a vice, choking off his breath. The room pulsed with music and neon lights, a kaleidoscope of movement and color that only deepened the gnawing dread twisting through his gut. It felt as though a heavy shadow was perched atop his shoulders, pressing him forward even as every instinct screamed for him to turn back. Somewhere among these wooden tables, beneath the golden glow of overhead lamps and the sweet, acidic tang of whiskey, his reckoning waited for him.

He paused near the threshold, scanning the crowd with eyes that burned from too many sleepless nights. He searched for familiar figures- the lean frame of Sunghoon, who usually hovered near the poker tables; Niki’s mess of hair that bobbed and swayed in time with the dance floor’s rhythm; or the sight of Jungwon, head bent over a pool cue as his hair fell over dark, watchful eyes. But the faces around him were all strangers, laughing into their drinks, pressing close in the low haze of music and cigarette smoke.

A dull throb started in Jake’s temples as he forced himself deeper into the bar, past sticky tabletops and the bitter scent of stale beer. His senses were on high alert, each step deliberate, as if crossing a battlefield rather than a room meant for celebration. Yet even amid the chaos, one smell anchored him- the faint, comforting waft of his favorite beer drifting from somewhere ahead. He knew instantly where his brothers and friends were waiting for him. And the laughter rolling out from that dark corner- sharp, mocking- sliced right through him.

The sound was familiar, once a melody that meant belonging. But now, it made his stomach turn. Because a year ago, Jake would have slipped into that circle without a second thought. He would have poured his own drink, fired back his own biting jokes, and felt utterly at home. But tonight, he felt like an intruder approaching his own execution.

He moved toward the booth, shoulders squared, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his trench coat, fingers curled into fists as if he could hold himself together through sheer will.

It was Y/N who spotted him first.

Her eyes caught the shifting lights, glinting like shards of amber glass. For a fleeting instant, a softness sparked across her face, as though she was genuinely glad to see him- but it vanished in a blink, replaced by a slow, sharp smirk that curled the corners of her lips. Jake felt something squeeze painfully in his chest at the sight. Once, that smile had meant secrets and inside jokes. Now it promised war.

And he knew, with bone-deep certainty, that this night would not end well.

He braced himself.

“There you are!” Y/N crowed, voice bright as she threw both arms into the air, one hand wrapped tightly around the neck of a whiskey bottle. Her hair spilled across her shoulders in waves, dark as spilled ink under the neon glow. Jake winced at the sight of the bottle, at the telltale flush in her cheeks. Normally, he’d have scolded her, reminded her to slow down, to take care. But tonight, he didn’t say a word. He merely inclined his head, acknowledging her and the group with a curt nod, as the others greeted him in low, disjointed murmurs.

Jay sat close to Y/N, one arm slung protectively around his half-sister’s shoulders. His eyes were sharp, tracking Jake’s every move like a hawk waiting to strike or intervene- depending on how the night turned. The delicate gold pattern on his dark wings shimmering in the pulsing lights as he shifted

In the world they lived in, love left its mark not only on hearts but on bodies. When two people fell in love, they grew wings- a pair of white for one partner, and black for the other. Nobody seemed entirely certain what the colors signified- purity and darkness, perhaps, or simply a cosmic balance of opposites- but Jake knew one thing for certain- in his world, most men, himself included, ended up sprouting black wings.

But then there were the rare lovers, the fated pairs everyone secretly envied- soulmates whose wings blossomed not in plain color, but threaded with intricate veins and swirls of gold. Like a constellation woven into feathers, the gold marked them as a bond beyond ordinary love- a connection said to transcend lifetimes, anchored in something divine.

Jay and his wife, Chelsea, were one of those rare pairs.

It was such an extraordinary occurrence that local news outlets had practically camped outside the gates of their compound, desperate to run feature stories about the gold-winged couple. Tabloid headlines speculated about how their wings must look in flight, if the golden glow was visible even in the dark. Paparazzi tried snapping photos at impossible angles, eager to sell proof of their shimmering wings to gossip magazines.

But Jay and Chelsea refused it all.

They declined every interview, every offer for a glossy magazine spread, choosing instead to keep their story private. They belonged to a mob family, after all, and the risks were far too high. Gold wings didn’t just mark love- they painted a target on your back for rival factions eager to exploit your weakness or your happiness.

Jay and Chelsea’s story was almost storybook-perfect. They’d met in college, enrolled in the same economics class. From the very first day, there was a magnetic pull between them- lingering glances across the lecture hall, shared laughter over coffee outside the library. During a crowded house party one October night, their fingers brushed while reaching for the same beer bottle, and that tiny touch seemed to seal their fate. Within a week, they woke up to find gold beginning to shimmer along the curve of their shoulder blades. By the end of the month, full wings had unfurled, bearing matching golden markings so unique it was like they shared the same fingerprint.

In every sense, Jay and Chelsea were perfect. They moved in quiet synchronicity, understood each other’s moods with a glance, and made even the darkest parts of mob life seem manageable. To watch them was to glimpse something miraculous.

Yet even in a world where love could quite literally sprout wings, obsession bred bitterness. People broke off relationships simply because their wings came out plain white or black, unable to accept the absence of gold. There were forums online dedicated to decoding every tiny speck of color in new wings, hopeful posts from strangers praying their black feathers might still glow gold one day. Some lovers lingered together in misery, waiting for the gold that never came.

Jake had always thought that was foolish. A pair of wings didn’t dictate love- or so he’d told himself, especially after meeting Emily. When he fell for her, his own wings grew in black, feathered and sleek, the color of midnight oil. Hers were white, pale as frost. No hint of gold ever came, no divine stamp of soulmate-hood.

And Jake told himself it didn’t matter.

Even as he caught himself glancing enviously at Jay and Chelsea sometimes, watching the soft glint of gold move beneath their shirts as they laughed together, he clung to the belief that love didn’t need wings to prove itself.

But deep down, a quiet fear curled inside his ribs, whispering that maybe, just maybe, it did.

Jake’s eyes swept the rest of the booth. Sunghoon, perched beside Jay, rolled his eyes the moment their gazes met. He raised his beer in a silent toast- or maybe a warning- and shoved an empty chair out with his foot, the legs scraping a rough protest against the sticky floor. Jake hesitated for a fraction of a second before sinking into the seat, feeling every pair of eyes weigh down on him.

It wasn’t awkward silence that followed. It was anticipation. Like the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for the first crack to appear in the fragile facade holding all of them together.

But Jake’s attention snagged on Jungwon, who sat small and drawn beside Y/N. His hair hung forward like a curtain as he stared down into a tall glass of orange cocktail that trembled slightly in his grasp. His lips hovered near the rim but never touched it. A spear of protectiveness shot through Jake’s chest. He wanted to reach over, tilt Jungwon’s chin up, and ask if he’d remembered his meds tonight. But his throat closed around the words before they could escape.

And then he saw Niki. His brother leaned back against the cracked vinyl of the booth, eyes ringed in red and blown wide from whatever he’d taken earlier. A bruise split the delicate skin of his lower lip, purple blooming like ink beneath pale skin. Jake felt his own jaw tighten, heat pulsing up the sides of his neck. He wanted to demand who’d hurt his brother, he wanted to hit someone for leaving that mark. But even now, he held himself in check.

Because tonight wasn’t just about bruises. Tonight was about all the wounds they’d been pretending not to see.

“You’re like an hour late, bro,” Niki drawled, one eyebrow arched high, his grin a wicked crescent as he leaned closer over the table. His eyes were wide, expectant, as though daring his brother to tell the truth for once in his life.

Jungwon and Sunghoon both cringed, almost in sync, at Niki’s tone.

Jay and Y/N shared a quick glance, a silent communication honed over years. It was the kind of look that said brace yourself- because everyone knew what was about to unfold.

Jake’s jaw tightened visibly as he curled his fingers into the wood grain of the table, ignoring the sharp sting as his healing cuts stretched and split. His eyes turned flinty as they landed on Niki, staring him up and down like he was trying to calculate just how much trouble his little brother was ready to cause.

“I was running some errands,” Jake said finally, rolling his eyes, the lie slipping off his tongue as smoothly as air. He swept his gaze around the table, daring anyone to challenge him.

He was desperate to hold on to some shred of control, even as the walls pressed in closer around him.

“You’re lying,” Y/N cut in sharply, her voice slicing through the noise of the bar like a blade. It wasn’t even an accusation- it was simply the truth stated aloud, the truth Jake had no intention of admitting.

Jake’s first instinct was to snap back, to warn her to watch her mouth, to stay in her lane and not start a fight tonight. But the words never made it past his teeth. He didn’t have the right anymore- not after everything.

Besides, Jay was already leaning in to whisper in Y/N’s ear, murmuring for her not to push things too far. Y/N only shook her head, exhaling as though his caution exhausted her. Jay chuckled, though his gaze shifted back to Jake, dark and assessing. It was a look that made Jake’s stomach twist because it told him exactly how thoroughly he was seen. Then Jay’s mouth tilted into a smirk, and Y/N clicked her tongue against her teeth. Jake knew then there was no escape.

Y/N had always taken pleasure in pushing his buttons. It was practically a sport to her- one she’d perfected over years of knowing exactly where to press and how hard. She’d drag him right to the edge until something ugly burst out of him, and not even Jay’s gentle hands on her shoulders could ever fully hold her back.

She’d grown up around Jake. She knew every scar, every soft spot, every secret shame, and she wasn’t afraid to wield that knowledge like a weapon.

Once, they’d screamed at each other across rooms, volleying insults that could make grown men flinch. Jake used to warn her to drop it, used to hiss for her to shut up. But tonight, he didn’t even try.

Tonight was different.

Because tonight, Jake knew he deserved every blow she was about to land. He knew he’d fucked up. And there was a part of him that almost wanted her to say it all out loud, so he could stop carrying it in silence.

“One thing,” he heard her say in his memory, her voice cool and trembling with rage. “I asked you for one fucking thing. And you still did it.”

“You know I know Dad was with you, right? And so was Emily?” Niki interjected suddenly, his grin wicked and sharp, his eyes flicking between Jake and Sunghoon like a cat toying with a trapped bird.

Sunghoon flinched, surprise flashing over his face. His eyes flew wide, but he stayed silent, gripping his beer bottle tight enough that the glass creaked. He knew Jake needed to hear whatever was coming next- even if it ripped him open.

“I don’t get why you need to lie to us all the time,” Y/N chimed in, shaking her head, hair tumbling over her shoulders. She pursed her lips, the last traces of compassion draining out of her expression as she noticed Jake’s white-knuckled fist clenched against the table. “Want a drink?” She asked lightly, tilting her head, her eyes sparkling with false innocence. It was almost comical how gentle her tone was, considering she was about to skin him alive.

“Thanks,” Jake muttered, his voice rough, as Y/N slid Jay’s beer across the table toward him. He caught it just before it tipped off the edge, feeling the cold condensation bleeding into his heated palm.

“Now tell me,” Y/N continued, leaning back slightly, her whiskey swirling amber in the low light as Jay waved a waiter over for another round. Jake lifted his chin at her in silent challenge, signaling her to keep going. Sunghoon’s lips pressed into a hard line while Jungwon fidgeted, trying and failing to meet his brother’s eyes.

Y/N’s gaze was unwavering. She took another slow sip, savoring it, then lowered her glass to the table with a soft clink.

“How’s Emily?” She asked, voice casual, eyes glinting like sharpened glass. “The baby’s coming in… what, a few weeks? Did you decide on a name yet?”

Jake drew in a careful breath, chest tight as he tried to remind himself that this wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. People had babies every day. People asked about baby names every day- Y/N was going to be the aunt, after all. But somehow, in this moment, with every pair of eyes fixed on him like knives, it felt colossal.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low and slightly strained. He nodded, fingers drumming lightly on the neck of his beer bottle. “A few. Amber, Emma, Robin, Luna. She says Blue is her favourite.”

Y/N made a soft, thoughtful sound in the back of her throat, swirling her whiskey lazily. “Luna’s my favourite.”

Niki let out a sharp snort, tipping his chair back on two legs. “What kinda name is Blue?” He scoffed. “Emily’s always been stupid- honestly.”

Jake’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “You’re gonna find an excuse to shit on her for everything?” His voice came out tight, barely controlled, like a stretched wire ready to snap.

Niki rolled his eyes, dropping his chair back onto all fours with a loud thump. “Are you just starting to learn that?” He shot back. “You act like this is new.” Jake’s lips parted to retort, but Niki was already pressing forward, sharp as a blade. “What’d Dad say, anyway?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Jake shot back, growling it before he could stop himself. He didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, but he was done waiting for the inevitable. He was just counting down the seconds until the accusations started flying, until they flayed him open in front of everyone.

He tightened his grip around his beer, glass biting into the tender cuts already splitting across his knuckles. His skin stretched painfully, stinging and raw, as if even his own body was punishing him for being here.

Y/N tilted her head, her mouth curling into a faint smirk as she studied him with glinting eyes. She looked, for a moment, almost… delighted. Because Jake, for the first time in a long time, looked cornered.

Jake Sim- who’d once made men twice his size tremble with a single stare- sat there looking like an animal bracing for the blow. And it wasn’t an enemy doing this to him. It was the people who knew him best.

It was humiliating.

He could feel his pulse hammering in his ears, loud enough that he barely noticed Sunghoon shifting beside him, subtle and restless. Even Sunghoon, for all his sighs and annoyed glances, wasn’t stepping in to save him.

Jake clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt. He was furious with himself- for letting them see how rattled he was. For letting himself be afraid of people who technically worked for him, who were supposed to follow his orders.

All of them worked under him. All of them owed him loyalty. Yet somehow, it felt like they held all the power now. And that scared Jake more than anything else.

“Fine, tell me then,” Y/N said, leaning forward on her elbows with a lopsided grin, eyes glittering like she was daring him to lie again.

“Anything to do with Emily does not concern you,” Jake snapped back, each word sharp enough to cut. He hated how his voice trembled at the edges, hated even more the cold pit that seemed to sink deeper into his stomach the longer this conversation went on. He knew they had a point. He just didn’t want them to be right.

“Technically, it does,” Jungwon piped up, his voice unexpectedly firm.

Every head at the table turned toward him. The clink of ice in drinks, the thump of bass from the dance floor, all seemed to fade for a second as silence fell.

Jungwon looked back at Jake, brow furrowed. “You only met her because of us,” he continued, sounding almost offended that nobody else was saying it. Y/N blinked at him, as if startled that Jungwon- usually the quietest one- was suddenly dropping truths like grenades.

“Still doesn’t mean you have to know everything,” Jake bit out, his glare searing a hole into Jungwon’s forehead, but he didn’t flinch.

“Jake,” Jay interjected calmly, folding his hands together on the table. “You met her ‘cause of them, or no?”

It wasn’t a demand, not quite. Jay had a way of asking things that cut through the bullshit without ever raising his voice. It was the same directness Y/N possessed, except softer around the edges.

“Yes.”

The word left Jake like a rock falling out of his chest. Saying it felt like slitting open his own ribs and laying bare the truth for them to pick over. He could feel blood rushing in his ears, felt his skin burning hot like his veins were on fire. His ears turned red. His jaw ached from clenching so hard. For a second, he thought his eyes might start bleeding if he didn’t breathe.

“Now was that so hard?” Y/N taunted, her mouth twisting into a smirk so familiar it made Jake’s teeth grind together. Her dark eyes sparkled with something suspicious and triumphant.

Yes. It was.

“Honestly, I don’t fucking get what your issue with Emily is!”

And just like that, the dam broke.

The ugly side of Jake came roaring out, slamming into the center of the table with the weight of years of secrets and resentments. His voice echoed over the music, harsh enough that nearby tables turned to look.

Jungwon blinked rapidly, eyes darting toward Sunghoon, who sat stiff as a board, looking caught between intervening and staying silent.

Jay stayed where he was, fingers interlaced, an awkward cough stuttering from his throat as he glanced toward Y/N. He half-expected her to flinch back from Jake’s outburst- but Aspen she straightened her spine and lifted her chin higher, her expression solid as stone.

Y/N and Niki, of course, were grinning like wolves. Cynical excitement glittered in their eyes, an energy electric enough to prickle along the skin of everyone at the table. Sunghoon, meanwhile, seemed to sink a little lower in his seat, pressing the heels of his hands into his temples like he was bracing for an explosion he’d seen coming miles away.

Niki had always hated Emily. From the very first day Y/N introduced her to them in university, he’d wanted nothing to do with her. That distaste only deepened after Y/N and Emily’s brutal falling out.

Back then, Y/N and Niki had spent entire semesters running interference, trying to keep Emily and Jake on different paths. They knew Emily’s type. They knew how slick her lies were, how her smiles were calculated, how she could tilt her chin and say exactly the right words to slip past a man’s defenses.

They hadn’t wanted anything to happen to Jake. But when had Jake ever cared about their concern?

All their worst fears had finally come true the day Emily managed to wrap Jake around her little finger. When she convinced him that no one else could handle him the way she could, that only she could soothe his volatility, his dark moods.

She’d whispered that she could help with business, too- because her family owned a weapons manufacturing company, with ties that could be useful.

Jake fell. Hard. Head over heels for her dark hair and ice-pale skin, for the cool glint in her pale eyes. He fell for her like a man starving for air.

And now, she was pregnant. And the baby was coming in a few weeks. And somehow, Jake still insisted none of it concerned anyone else.

“Ever since I met her, you lot just distanced yourselves from me. You were the ones who started acting differently around me,” Jake said, eyes hard and voice edged with bitterness. “Why?”

“I don’t know, Jake. Why don’t you ask yourself that?” Y/N scoffed, though she quickly turned and passed Jungwon a soft smile when she saw him cringe. Jungwon shook his head, mumbling something under his breath, and when Jake shot him a sharp look that asked, what the hell did you just say? Jungwon only turned away.

“The answer is right in front of you, Hyung. You just won’t accept it,” Niki snapped, his voice raw with frustration. He glared at his brother, fearless, stabbing his finger toward Jake like he was delivering a sentence. “You’re the one who shut us out. You’re the one who fell head over heels for someone we told you to stay away from!” He pointed sharply between himself, Y/N, and Jungwon. “You’re the one who kicked us out of the house because Emily wanted you all to herself!”

Jake’s mouth opened, then closed again. He didn’t know how to justify any of it. The silence that fell around the table was suffocating.

“You’ve been ignoring your brothers, Jake,” Y/N said quietly, voice like a blade sliding between his ribs. “Forget about me and Jay. They’re your brothers, and you pushed them away.” She pointed towards them- Sunghoon and Jungwon ducked their heads away from Jake’s gaze, Niki glared right back. 

“She’s got you wrapped around her fingers, don’t you see that?” Niki spat. “Your whole damn life revolves around her now. And you’ve changed. For God’s sake, you’ve become so fucking blind!” He threw his arms wide, the gesture almost theatrical, but the bitterness behind it was real.

Jake stayed silent for a long moment, staring down at the table as if the battered wood could offer him an answer. He ransacked his mind for some kind of snarky comeback, but nothing felt strong enough. Because the worst part was- they were right. Every single word. And the knowledge gnawed at his insides like acid.

“You’re serious, right?” Jake’s voice came out low and dangerous. “You’re jealous? Fucking jealous because I don’t pay attention to you?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Niki growled under his breath, shooting Jay an incredulous look across the table.

Jay let out a heavy sigh, mirroring Niki’s frustration.

“You think we’re jealous because you give Emily attention?” Y/N let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Please.”

“It’s not about jealousy,” Jungwon finally burst out, finishing off his third cocktail in a single gulp. Jake rolled his eyes at his younger brother’s sudden surge of confidence.

“Exactly! It’s not about that!” Y/N exclaimed, shaking her head so hard that her hair fell forward around her face. “It’s about you changing your priorities and turning a blind eye to the people who always had your back. Hell, you finally talked to your parents today after so long and it didn’t even end well! Do you not see what she’s doing to you?” Her eyes were wide and fierce, her arms flailing as she tried to drive the truth into his skull.

“You think she’s manipulating me?” Jake shot back, voice trembling with a mixture of rage and something dangerously close to fear.

“Finally! My god, I thought you’d gone illiterate too,” Niki sneered, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head. Sunghoon and Jay both reached over to smack him lightly on the arm, telling him to knock it off, while Jungwon and Y/N shook their heads in exasperation.

Jake growled low in his chest, the urge to punch Niki square in the face riding high on his nerves.

“Yes, Jake. She’s manipulating you,” Jay said wearily, dragging a hand through his hair as if this conversation physically drained him. His wings shifted behind him, the faint shimmer of gold threading through the black feathers, and Y/N whispered a soft thank you into his ear.

“You don’t know shit, Jay,” Jake shot back, voice brittle.

“Hey, I’m being the nicest one out of all these assholes, and you’re gonna say shit like that?” Jay snapped, his eyes blazing brighter against his skin.

“You think you know everything just because you and Chelsea fell in love and grew your soulmate wings,” Jake bit out, hoping the words would cut as deeply as they once might have. But he realized, with a cold sinking in his gut, that his insults didn’t seem to land anymore. Not with anyone at this table.

It was painfully clear how much he’d lost. How little he seemed to matter to the people who used to be his world.

“What the hell does Chelsea have to do with this?” Jay fired back, pushing himself up from his chair until he was looming over the table. His expression was thunderous, shoulders squared, wings fluttering, ready for a fight.

Jake mirrored his movements, leaning forward until their faces were only inches apart, his palms planted flat on the table as silent threats hung between them like charged electricity. His wings threatened to open. He darted his eyes briefly toward Y/N, desperate to see if he’d managed to scare her- but she just sat there coolly, clicking her tongue against her teeth.

The lack of fear in her gaze made Jake’s blood boil even hotter.

He’d always been jealous of Jay. Deep down, he couldn’t deny it. Jay hadn’t just fallen in love with a random woman- he’d fallen in love with his soulmate. The delicate golden patterns shimmering on both his and Chelsea’s wings were a permanent reminder of that fact.

Jake wanted that. Desperately. He wanted it with Emily. But even after all these years together- after professing their love for each other- their wings remained ordinary black and white. But he wasn’t complaining- he still loved her.

It felt like the universe was playing a sick joke on him. And instead of acknowledging all the red flags that had been flapping around him like warning signals, he’d chosen to keep lying to himself because it was easier. Because facing the truth meant facing the possibility that he’d wasted time on someone who was never loyal.

“No, I don’t think I’m an expert,” Jay said, voice finally leveling out. “But since you love being right so much, let me give you something to be mad about.” Jake clenched his jaw. Jay took a slow breath, then started counting on his fingers. “I know Emily is a shitty person. I know her family is shady. I know she doesn't care enough about love or wings to stay. And you are gonna regret ever trusting her.”

With each statement, Jay jabbed his finger into Jake’s chest. 

“She’s pregnant with my child. Where could she possibly be going now?” Jake spat, but even he sounded tired, defeated.

He didn’t even know why he was trying anymore. He’d already lost the fight long before it started.

“We’ve known Emily way longer than you have!” Y/N shot back. “Of course we know what we’re talking about. There’s a reason we tried to keep you away from her. But no- you just had to do the one thing we begged you not to do.” Her voice was shaking now, but with rage, not fear.

“You’re talking? You never do anything I tell you to do!” Jake shouted, flinging a hand in her direction. A round of dramatic gasps circled the table.

Jay lowered his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose, collapsing back into his chair just as Jake did the same.

“At least I didn’t blow up my relationship with my family in the process!” Y/N snapped. Jake lowered his head, though his jaw kept flexing like he was chewing rocks. “You’re a mobster, Jake. You’re supposed to be smart. Do you not see that she’s going to leave your blind ass!?” She practically screamed the last words. Niki let out a wicked grin, lifting his beer bottle and tipping it in Y/N’s direction in solidarity.

“Bullshit!” Jake shouted, his voice raw. “Can’t you see that I’m happier with her? Why can’t you just accept that? I’m about to start a family with her,” there was almost a note of pleading in his tone, buried under the anger.

“She doesn’t even want to marry you,” Niki deadpanned. “Until now, I thought you were just blind and illiterate. But you’re immature too. Huh. Guess we’re learning new things every day.” He took a long, mocking sip from his beer.

Jake slammed his fist into the table so hard the glasses rattled, the tips of his ears burning red, his eyes narrowed to furious slits. “Watch your fucking mouth!” he growled.

Niki just lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug, while Jungwon blinked rapidly and Sunghoon exhaled a ragged breath.

“No, Jake. You don’t have the right to say that to any of us anymore,” Y/N said firmly, folding her arms over her chest. “You lost that right when you shoved us all away for some girl from a shady-ass family. So come talk to us when you decide to actually listen to what we’re trying to tell you.” 

Her gaze was steely as she stared at him down, more powerful than any anger he’d ever seen in her eyes.

Niki stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, gentle but decisive. “We should go,” he said quietly, glancing at Jungwon. The two brothers exchanged a silent nod before Jungwon stood as well, grabbing Y/N’s hand as the three of them prepared to leave.

“We’re only telling you this because we care,” Y/N said, pausing as she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Jake’s with an intensity that felt like a knife. “But it’s pretty clear it’s worth nothing to you.” She gave Niki’s hand a squeeze. “You coming, Jay?”

Jay shook his head slightly. “Sunghoon’s supposed to drive me home. You know I’m a shit flyer when I’m drunk.”

“We’re taking a cab,” Y/N pressed her lips together, gave Sunghoon a silent nod, and turned to leave. And just like that, Y/N, Niki, and Jungwon walked out the bar doors- just as Jake had walked out of their lives.

The duvet was still cool against her pale skin as Emily twisted and turned in Jake’s bed, cold sweat pearling along her hairline and dripping down her temples. It had been at least two hours since Jake left the house, and sleep refused to come.

Warm jasmine tea, a movie on low volume, reading the same page over and over, even counting sheep- nothing helped. Instead, she lay there, teeth digging mercilessly into her bottom lip, one hand resting below her abdomen, above her swollen belly.

She hadn’t planned any of this. Not the way things escalated with Jake, not the web of lies she kept weaving, and certainly not the mess that was now unravelling faster than she could sew it back together.

She never meant to start a committed relationship. She never meant to lead Jake on this long. She never meant to risk ruining his life- or hers.

All she’d wanted was a good shag, maybe some perks on the side. But it had spun wildly out of control, dragging into love, pretending to care, pretending she could shoulder a responsibility she’d never wanted in the first place.

And somewhere along the way, she’d shattered her friendship with Y/N, shattered parts of herself, and was left curled up in Jake’s sheets while he wandered who-knew-where, probably still carrying that stupid, starry-eyed hope for her.

Sometimes, Emily hated herself. Hated the impulsive decisions, the way she always seemed to complicate everything she touched. Hated the secrets piling higher with every word she spoke, until it felt like the weight of them might crush her bones.

She just wanted to be normal.

Finally giving up, she rolled to the edge of the bed and reached for her phone on the nightstand. She stared at the screen for a moment, debating, then typed in a number so familiar her fingers moved on muscle memory alone.

It rang once, twice, three times. She was about to hang up when a voice answered.

“Hello?” Erwin’s voice was scratchy, edged with fatigue. But hearing her twin brother, even through the thin speaker, settled some tremor inside her chest. He always sounded a little like their father, especially when he was annoyed.

“Hi,” she said softly, voice small as she twisted a loose thread from the cuff of her sweater around her finger.

“You okay, sis?” Erwin chuckled, though she could hear the sharpness beneath the gentle tease. He could sense it- that tension in her breathing, the way each inhale rattled like a shaky apology.

“Yeah. I’m fine, just-” she trailed off, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as a clang of metal echoed faintly on the line. “Are you at the factory?” She asked, grasping for any mundane detail to distract her.

Erwin nodded before remembering she couldn’t see him, and winced at his own idiocy. “Yeah. Had some late work to finish up,” he said. “Lola’s here, too,” and Emily could practically hear the flutter of feathers from his wings at the mention of his girlfriend’s name.

Emily wanted to groan, maybe scream.

“Oh, great,” she managed, her laugh brittle, eyes darting over the pale skin of her legs and the distant stretch of the ceiling. “I can’t wait to come home,” she added, her words hanging in the silence like a prayer she hadn’t meant to say aloud.

She missed it- God, she missed it so much.

Her mother’s warm embrace, the house always smelling like cinnamon and gingerbread. Erwin’s dumb jokes, Lola’s loud, infectious giggle. The TV blaring trashy reality shows all day. Her old bedroom, small but familiar, where she could exist as herself rather than the character she’d invented for Jake’s world.

None of that lived in this house. Not in Jake’s silent, too-big rooms, not when most of his family could barely stand to look at her.

“Home?” Erwin repeated, his brow furrowing. The confusion in his voice punched a ripple of panic through her chest. “I thought Jake’s place was your home now?”

“God, I never wanted to stay here forever.”

“But you wanted to move in.”

“I didn’t think he’d actually take me seriously!” Emily shouted, yanking her fingers through the roots of her hair, clawing at her scalp until it stung. Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I made a mistake.”

She let her gaze drift around the room, suddenly feeling like the walls had grown farther apart, like the air was stretching thin and cold. Everything seemed bigger, emptier, lonelier than it had hours ago.

“You’re pregnant with his child, Em,” Erwin said flatly, no softness left in his voice.

“I don’t know how to fix it.” Her voice cracked, tears threatening.

“What did you do?”

“A lot.”

“You’ve done a lot of bullshit, Emily. What the fuck are you planning now?” Erwin’s voice grew harsher with every word, a gravelly rasp that made Emily wince.

“Stop being mad,” she whispered, trembling so lightly it felt like her bones were rattling inside her skin.

“Just tell me what you did.”

“I’m coming home soon.” Her voice was flat, decisive, but her eyes were glassy with fear. “Just… don’t ask any questions.”

Then, before Erwin could respond, she hit the red button and ended the call.

A sob twisted in her throat as she stared at the phone in her hand. Then rage overtook her trembling fingers, and she hurled it at the wall. It cracked, the screen exploding into spiderwebs of black glass, shards skittering across the floor.

Emily stared at the wreckage, her chest heaving, the silence in the room deafening as her secrets pressed in from all sides.

Sunghoon never planned to let Jake drive. Not when he was drunk, not when he was seething with the kind of rage that made his eyes shine like shards of glass. But no matter what he or Jay said, Jake insisted. It was his car, his rules, and nobody was going to touch the wheel but him.

Now they were barreling through the city under a canopy of neon lights, Jake’s foot crushing the accelerator as though the harder he pressed, the faster he could outrun the mess his life had become. Jay sat rigid in the passenger seat, jaw clenched so tight it ached, silently praying the seatbelt would be enough to save him if Jake sent them flying into a median.

Sunghoon sat hunched in the back, folding further into himself with every sudden swerve. His thumbs worried the edge of his shirt hem, head ducked low as though trying to disappear. He could feel Jake’s fury radiating off the driver’s seat like waves of furnace heat, and he knew that right now, Jake was angrier at him than at anyone else. Because he hadn’t spoken up. Because he’d let Y/N and the others have their say while he stood aside, quietly deciding Jake needed to hear every painful word of it.

“Fuck,” Jake spat the word out again, low and trembling as they tore around another bend. “Fuck me,” he kept muttering it under his breath like a broken mantra. “I don’t know which one of you to trust anymore,” his eyes never left the road, but the bitterness in his voice cut like a knife.

“What?” Sunghoon whispered, voice cracking from hours of silence, eyes flicking toward Jay for reassurance.

“You could’ve opened your mouth and said something- but you didn’t,” Jake’s voice came out hoarse, almost strangled, but laced with a venom that made Sunghoon flinch.

“Because they were right,” Sunghoon finally lifted his head, desperation flashing across his face. “You needed to hear that. And you know they’re right.”

“You can’t bitch about how they treated you and then bring this shit up again,” Jay cut in, voice sharp as he braced a hand on the dashboard, fingers digging into the leather.

“You’re even lucky you’re sitting in this car, Jay,” Jake snapped.

Jay rolled his eyes hard enough it felt like they might stick in the back of his skull. His wings shifted against his back, folding tighter as though trying to vanish.

“Fucking unbelievable,” Jake barked out a hollow laugh, eyes flaring as he weaved through a cluster of slower cars. “I expected so much from you guys- and look at where we fucking are,” his knuckles blanched white on the wheel, veins standing out in sharp relief as he jerked the car into the fast lane, barely missing a sedan that blared its horn.

Jay bit down the urge to scream. He could see it so clearly- Jake drowning in his own ego, clinging to victimhood like it might keep him afloat.

“Can you blame them for being like that?” Sunghoon whispered, voice trembling but firmer than before.

“No. This isn’t about them now,” Jake’s head twisted just slightly, eyes burning into Sunghoon’s reflection in the rear-view mirror. “It’s about you,” he lifted a hand off the wheel and stabbed a finger at Sunghoon, the silver of his ring catching the rolling streetlights like a flash of lightning.

“You can’t blame him for everything, man,” Jay shot back, his voice rising, the tension snapping in his throat.

“Who the fuck are you to tell me that?” Jake roared, voice booming in the confined space. His whole body vibrated with a rage so raw that it almost felt radioactive. He was a live wire, sparks flying, every second closer to snapping.

“I’m trying to help you, Jake!” Jay slammed his hand down on the dash. “But you won’t let us!”

“Oh, you’re trying to help me by ganging up on me? That’s rich,” Jake fired back, eyes briefly darting away from the highway as though he couldn’t stand looking at either of them.

“And you’re trying to help yourself by letting some chick manipulate you?” Jay shot back, his arms folding tight over his chest, fury radiating off him like heat.

“Shut your fucking mouth or I swear I’ll crash this car on purpose,” Jake snarled, and Jay felt the car lurch forward as Jake’s foot mashed the accelerator. Sunghoon yelped, clutching his seatbelt so hard his knuckles whitened.

“Was that a threat?” Jay hissed, glaring at him, half-expecting Jake to scoff or laugh it off. But all he got back was a lethal silence and eyes so dark they seemed bottomless.

“No. I fucking meant it.”

And then- all hell broke loose.

“Fucking asshole- ”

“- Stay in your limit- ”

“- Guys, calm down. Jake, you’re driving- ”

“- I’ll do as I fucking please- ”

“- Sunghoon, sit back- ”

“- No, let him fuck up my driving- ”

“- You’re seriously gonna kill all of us, just calm the fuck down- ”

Words blurred into noise, shouts overlapped, hands were flailing, grabbing, shoving. The car skidded between lanes as Jake took a wild swing, his fist flying toward Sunghoon’s jaw, connecting with a sickening crack that echoed in the cabin like a gunshot.

Jay barely had time to shout before blinding white light exploded across the windshield. Headlights- massive, searing- hurtled toward them, and the shriek of truck brakes split the night in two.

In a surge of pure adrenaline, Jay lunged for the wheel, grabbing it just as Jake did, both of them wrestling it sideways. The world tilted violently, tires screeching as rubber scorched asphalt.

But the truck kept coming- closer and closer.

Metal shrieked, glass exploded like diamonds around them, flames roared to life somewhere beneath the hood, and the last thing any of them saw was the rain of shattered glass catching firelight as the world went black.

Then, silence. A silence darker than the night itself.

[desvyn]

THREE'S A PROBLEM - EPISODE 01 | MODERN PODCAST!AU

SUMMARY: Three friends. Three mics. Zero self-control. Three’s a Problem is a modern podcast-style fic series following you, Gojo Satoru, and Geto Suguru as you host the most unhinged, low-budget, cult-favorite podcast on the internet. Every episode? A dangerous mix of oversharing, underthinking, and tension thick enough to go viral. From red flags and hookup horror stories to unsolicited thirst tweets, trauma-dumping in real time, and maybe-sorta falling in love on mic — it’s less of a podcast, more of a slow descent into situationship hell. You’re definitely not sleeping with your co-hosts. Probably. Maybe. Shut up.

CONTENT WARNING: 18+ jokes mdni, Crack fic, horny stuff, flirting, podcast style fic, sharing stories, and basically just you and them goofing

PAIRING: Gojo satoru x reader x Geto suguru

WC: 1.5k

A/N: I don't know how i'm gonna do this (ts is before writing the fic) but lets see. also since theres gonna be a lot of dialogue and people interrupting people i'll put the character name before the dialogue. NOT EDITED, i didn't have enough time to read through ts

EP01: “He Said WHAT After Head?”

Many asked you guys what the thought process behind this was but the reality is, there were no thoughts. It just kinda happened one day. 

It was you who brought up the idea of starting a podcast and gojo who was sprawled across your bed and geto who was too focused on the xbox turned towards you and nodded. 

Now here you are in one of gojo’s spare rooms in his penthouse, setting the place up. Full length windows surrounded nearly half the room. In the middle was a sofa and on either sides of it were 2 other sofas. In between them, an average sized circle table that held 3 mics and glasses of water stood. 

The room was set up very nicely, some dim neon lights, purple and blue with a gradient neon sign in the background that had “three’s a problem” written on it in cursive with the podcast logo on it. A couch. Yeah. don’t ask who’s idea that was. 

geto brought in 3 redbulls and set them up on the table for each one of you and plopped down on one of the couches. 

You’re seated in the middle, a pair of oversized headphones around your neck, lip gloss shining, sipping redbull while geto reiterates to gojo he can’t say anything that’ll get them cancelled or demonetized. 

To your left: Gojo Satoru — shirt half-unbuttoned, rings clinking against his mic, sunglasses on inside because "branding."

To your right: Geto Suguru — wearing black, calm as ever, arms crossed, with a look that screams “I’d rather die than be here” even though he showed up early and brought snacks.

The camera crew consist of ijichi who deals with the multiple cameras andshoko who is the editor and is also the director. She said she was willing to do that as long as she got some cut of the cash. She also brought 2 ring lights cause apparently the “lighting in this room sucks ass” 

The red “ON AIR” light flicks on. Gojo, geto and you get into role. 

“Welcome back people to Three’s a Problem, the podcast where we talk love, lust, and the psychological damage caused by people who say ‘im doing it, r u?’ unironically.”

“Back? Back from what?” geto interrupts your very well prepared intro. “Oh shit, you’re right. Lets redo that” you said to no one while the cameras kept rolling. 

“Welcome to the very first episode of Three’s a problem. A podcast with 3 extremely funny and sexy people who are your hosts. This is a very fresh and chill podcast where we talk about a whole lot of stuff, from trauma, heart break, horror to downbad people on twitter who just ruined their chances of getting into college. Let’s begin the first segment then, shall we?” 

You lean into the mic, smirking. Gojo immediately follows with a loud sip of his drink.

“And we’re three episodes from a restraining order.”

“Brother, we just started?” geto says, quirking a brow 

“Exactly.” You shoot him a look. He grins. That kind of grin that makes people fall in love and regret it.

The intro rolled along. 

“Today’s topic: post-nut dialogue. Aka, the wildest, dumbest, most unhinged thing someone’s ever said to you right after they came.”

Geto exhales through his nose. Gojo adjusts his mic, already vibrating with excitement.

Gojo: “can i start?” 

Geto: “no”

You: “yes” 

He leans forward, pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead. “Alright alright, so picture this, you just finished, laying on the bed, sweaty, out of breath, whatever. That’s me, I’m feeling like a god, obviously, and this girl, I swear to you, she sits up, slaps my thigh, and says ‘good work there, champ’ and then she got up and started getting dressed li—” gojo’s interrupted by geto laughing into his arm 

“Wait wait, so she says good word champ, calls it a day and leaves?” 

“BRO YES, im saying like whatthefuck? Cause i thought it was bouta be some sexy aftercare or you know some sensual talk but no, she acted like a coach at a soccer game after a kid scores” 

You’re covering your face trying not to laugh. 

“Okok, what the fuck satoru, did you hook up with a soccer mom or what”

“I did NOT!” 

Geto: “Yeah we believe that. Totally.” 

You: “alright ladies, back on topic, my turn”  You twirl your mic cord around your fingers, eyes narrowing.

“So basically, i gave a guy head and literally right after i swallo–”

“Ew dude you swallowed?” gojo interrupted, taking a sip of his redbull, making a disgusted face. geto just scoffed. 

“Yeah i did, shut up” you rolled your eyes “so i swallowed and literally right after, this man goes, ‘do you want cereal?’ Not like… the next morning. I mean immediately after. Didn’t even pull his pants back up.”

Gojo: “the million dollar question is.. What cereal?” 

Geto: “Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Has to be.”

Gojo: “fuck offff bro! Im saying lucky charms, those are goated” 

Geto: “hell fucking no? Lucky charms? What’re you, 5?” 

Gojo: “oh so a grown man can’t enjoy some colourful cereal–”

You: “guys, lets forget the cereal, lemme tell you what he said. He said, ‘i don’t have milk, is water okay?’”

Gojo: “Y/N! THATS A SERIAL KILLER”

You quirked a brow “pun intended?” 

Gojo: “NO!” 

Geto: “oh nahhh please tell me you ran away” 

You: “so you see… i only ate the cereal dry. It was cornflakes. He said and i quote, again ‘you like flakes’ how could i say no to that?” 

Geto: “by saying no, bitch, the fuck? I can’t with you” geto groaned, rubbing his temple. Gojo and his dramatic ass on the other hand had his head thrown back, acting like he was crying, wiping his tears. 

“Okay dramatic fuckers, it’s geto’s turn now” you giggled, face him. geto just sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“You know… i don’t really have any weird stories like that”

“Uh-huh, stop tryna dodge it motherfucker” gojo says pointing at geto like it’d make him continue

“Not weird but once i hooked up with a girl and after i finished she grabbed me and was like ‘can i take some pics of your dick, i’d love to post it on my only fans’ and so a word of advice, don’t hook up, period.” 

Gojo: “OH GET THE FUCK OUT! Did you do it?” 

Geto: “what the f- no man, obviously i didn’t” geto looked at him like he didn’t know who gojo was. You were sat their slurping your drink, staring at geto with raised brows 

You: “yeah we all know you’re packing a horse down there” 

Geto: “a horse–” 

Gojo: “yeah so am i, y/n, wanna see?”

You: “no.” 

Geto: “that wasn’t emotional damage, that wasn’t a critical hit, that was a finisher.”

“Nah cause you know what this made me think of, the other day i saw on TLC, an Only fans mom who makes her son take the pictures for her” gojo interrupted 

“OH EWW DUDE WHAT?” you gasped, staring at him with wide eyes “you’re lying” 

“Someone needs to lock that mom up” geto said, verbally laughing. 

“No cause the thing is, the son, obviously legal age, is willingly doing that and i find that fucking insane”  gojo said, before looking over at you. 

“Ya know, y/n, if you were an of model, i’d be your video maker anything” 

“Alright that’s enough” 

Geto: “i heavily think, out of us 3, satoru would be the only one who’d start an only fans”

Gojo: “would you take pics for me” 

Geto: “don’t piss me off” 

You: “wow, this is sensational” 

Gojo: “so fucking fake, i’d do it for you” 

Geto: “yeah and i’m not surprised, weirdo” he scoffs, adjusting the mic 

Gojo: “so you wouldn’t edit my nudes” 

Geto: “i would rather watch a nuclear bomb explode in front of me and blind me” 

Geto: “plus, you can just set up a tripod and set a timer, dumbass” 

Gojo: “i’ll show you my trip–”

“ALRIGHTY THEN! That’s all for todays episode of three’s a problem, join us on sunday for the next one. Hopefully that was a fun hour of entertainment. And uhh- subscribe or if you’re listening on spotify, do something, i don’t know” 

“We can do something, y/n” gojo smirks, getting off the couch and sitting beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulder

“Thanks for listening to Three’s a Problem, where the only thing worse than our trauma is our taste in people— cut the fucking cameras” 

TOP COMMENTS: 

“The sexual tension is so thick I can hear it.” “What tf did bro mean by ‘ill show you my tripod’” “Yeah they’re definitely hooking up off camera

A/N: this is probably gna flop, js thought it was funny and haven't seen anyone do anything like this, so yea. Thank you ari for helping me stylize this (@anglbunny)

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐕𝐘𝐍 | Don't try to be me, you can't.

[cameoamalthea]

Right? @hollowistheworld

I was like:

I can't believe they killed off Captain Hossein! He was the BEST character! And Lieutenant Kulleruu was evil the whole time? I did not see that coming! (Maybe I should have…) And yes, evil, I do not believe for a second that Nav Bot 337 Alt 66 killed him. NO! They loved each other. Then Lieutenant Kulleruu did something, some malware that forced Nav Bot 337 Alt 66 to kill Captain Hossein. He thought he could just wipe it's memories of everything so that it couldn't tell anyone that it had been forced to do it! But you can't erase love! Or trauma!

And why did Lieutenant Kulleruu do it? Was he in love with Nav Bot 337 Alt 66 and did it out of jealousy or was it just ambition to get the captain's seat?

And now I'm sad cause Captain Hossein is gone and Nav Bot 337 Alt 66 is going to die. And poor Navigation Officer Hordööp-Sklanch has done nothing wrong in his life and does not deserve to be trapped in a wormhole for infinity!

I hope maybe, somehow, he can use his Navigation skills to get the ship out of there even without a navigation unit.

But then the person I was talking to suggested: They'll use the wormhole to rewind time and undo it!

And I was like: Omg! That would be amazing! I hope we learn why Kulleruu did it.

What if he hates bots and hates bot/human relationships.

So he kills Captain Hossein by making Nav Bot do it and Captain Hossein doesn’t know that it didn’t just betray and murder him. Then he forced Nav Bot to forget Captain Hossein. So cruel!

Like making Captain Hossein die by his bot beloveds own hand was punishment for him loving a bot.

That or he was in love with Captain Hossein and it’s a jealousy thing.

But the person I was talking to thought: It's going to be some super convoluted thing where he had stock in a competing bot company or something

BUT I still think it's because Kulleruu was in love with Hossein and couldn't understand why he wouldn't love him back and would choose a bot over him, and if Kulleruu couldn't have him no one could!

I can't believe I'm invested in Sanctuary Moon. Fuck this GrayCris stuff, does the Nav Bot kill Sklanch? Does the whole crew die? Is Captain Hossein really dead? Did Kullervv (sp?) arrange all this so he could be captain? Is he in league with Bookkeeper Bittenmark??? Murderbot is so right, this is a premium quality show, I'd like all 19 seasons please

[stlllle]

Squid game Season 2 as parents ---headcanons(part 2)

Characters:

Nam-gyu (124)

Min-su (125)

Recruiter (Ddakji man)

Hwang Jun-ho (the cop)

Total word count: Around 7,000 words(part 1 and 2)

Note: This is my personal interpretation of the characters based on the show + some headcanon freedom! Not official canon.

Requests: If you like this and want me to write for other characters or scenarios, my requests are open! Feel free to ask💌

Masterlist –[link]

Nam-gyu//Player 124

Nam-gyu as a dad is…

a mix of silence, fear, and love he doesn’t know how to handle.

He’s not the kind of dad who showers you with affection all day long…

He’ll mess up.

He’ll distance himself sometimes.

Disappear for a late-night smoke…

But he’ll always come back.

Always.

His problem was never not loving enough…

It’s loving too much… so much it terrifies him.

---

Dynamic with you (the reader):

You’re the thread keeping him grounded.

The reason he still tries to be a better person.

When you told him you were pregnant…

He froze.

Like… actually froze.

Staring at nothing… barely breathing.

It took him days to process…

But when he finally accepted it…

He hugged you like his life depended on it.

He’s scared.

Scared of not being enough.

Scared of failing the kid.

Scared of passing down his trauma.

But he tries.

Every single day.

---

Nam-gyu with a newborn:

Super clumsy at first.

His hands shake while holding the baby.

He’s like:

“Are they breathing okay? Am I holding them right? Are you sure?”

But the cutest part?

He’ll sit there for hours… just staring at the baby…

Trying to memorize every single detail.

He’s the dad lying awake at night…

Baby on his chest…

Listening to sad music… eyes watery.

And yeah… he cries.

In secret.

When no one’s looking.

---

Nam-gyu with a toddler (2-5 years old):

He’s the quiet dad…

Pretends he doesn’t know how to play…

But you’ll catch him on the floor… building Legos in complete silence… with the tiniest soft smile.

Struggles to say “I love you” out loud…

But shows it in little ways:

Making breakfast

Walking the kid to school on rainy days (umbrella for the kid, gets soaked himself)

Leaving sticky notes like: “Eat properly.” / “Cover up, it’s cold.”

When the kid gets sick?

He panics.

Stays up all night…

Dark circles under his eyes…

Watching over them like a hawk.

---

Nam-gyu and the trauma:

He carries so much weight.

Comes from abandonment… pain… loss.

Many nights…

He sits on the floor…

Head in his hands…

Asking himself:

“Can I really do this? Do I deserve this?”

But the way the kid runs to hug him…

Smiles when he gets home…

Calls him “daddy” with so much love…

That’s what keeps him going.

---

His soft side (that he’ll never admit):

Learns to braid hair (if it’s a girl) just to see them happy

Sings softly at bedtime (with that low, broken voice of his)

Keeps every single drawing the kid makes

Looks at old baby photos late at night

Whispers “I love you” when the kid’s already asleep… just so they won’t hear

---

Summary of Nam-gyu as a dad:

Quiet

Traumatized

Insecure

Cares way more than he shows

Loves silently

Lives in constant fear of messing up… but never gives up

A broken man… but fights like hell for his kid

The true definition of “soft, sad boy who just wanted to get it right” 😭

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

Park Min‑su//Player 125

Min-su as a dad is a “shy, anxious, insecure man terrified of messing up, but who loves with every bit of his heart—even if he doesn’t know how to show it.”

He’s the kind of man who, despite the fear, pushes himself to be enough for his family.

---

Dynamic with you (the reader):

You’re his emotional anchor.

He lives in his head, wondering if he’s protecting you and the kid enough.

When you told him you were pregnant… he froze.

Looked at you wide‑eyed, not sure if he should laugh or cry.

After a moment, he whispered:

“I… I’m going to try to be strong for you both.”

He spent the whole pregnancy reading every article, watching every video… just so he wouldn’t fail.

---

Min‑su with a newborn:

He holds the baby so gingerly it’s almost obsessive.

Every breath, every stir—you see him monitoring it all.

If the baby stirs at night?

Lights up and checks immediately:

“Are they okay? Breathing right?”

He logs diaper changes, feeding times… always a head above the fear of missing something.

---

Min‑su with a toddler (2‑5 years old):

He’s still watching over you obsessively.

Asks questions at school-call nights.

Checks lunches like a hawk.

If the kid falls, he freezes in panic, then scoops them up gently like they’re made of glass.

Words are hard for him—“I love you” isn’t often said, but:

He slips notes in the lunchbox: “Eat well, stay warm.”

Buys that toy they mentioned even if it’s a stretch financially.

He wants to show love but fears he won’t be enough.

---

Min‑su and the trauma:

His cowardice rides on real fear—not cruelty.

He hides behind insecurity.

But when the kid calls “Daddy” in that soft voice…

He almost disappears on the inside.

Stands still, but his heart breaks open.

When he slips up, he punishes himself for days…

You remind him:

“It’s okay. You’re doing your best. I see you.”

He breaks down quietly…and then tries again.

---

Soft and real moments:

Lunchbox codes: “Daddy loves you,” in tiny writing

Trying to learn to fly a kite, even if he has no clue

Falling asleep to the baby’s breathing—afraid to miss it

A nickname just for you two—like “my sunshine”

---

Summary of Min‑su as a dad:

Shy, insecure

Overthinker with endless care

Loves deeply, even if quietly

Needs reassurance

Does everything with true affection

A real, vulnerable dad who fails but never stops trying

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

Hwang Jun-ho

Jun-ho is the kind of dad who seems like he can handle the whole world, but really just wants to keep his world (his family) safe and whole.

He’s not much for words, but every gesture speaks louder than any speech.

---

Dynamic with you (the reader):

You’re his safe harbor, the calm in the storm.

When he found out you were having a kid, he got tense but decided he’d be the best dad ever — even if he had to learn on the way.

He’s overprotective, sometimes too much, and gets defensive when anything threatens you.

---

Jun-ho with a newborn:

He melts when caring for the baby.

Spends hours just watching, paying attention to every move.

Not very talkative but never misses a chance to cuddle and comfort the baby.

Always awake during the nights, checking if everything’s okay.

---

Jun-ho with a toddler (2-5 years old):

Teaches simple but important stuff — like riding a bike, caring for friends, and respecting rules.

He’s always there, watching closely, ready to protect and help.

A serious guy but the kid knows he can always count on him.

---

Jun-ho’s emotional side:

He carries a huge burden, like it’s his job to protect the whole world.

Sometimes it weighs on him, and he shuts down.

But with family, he opens up — quietly and shyly.

---

Jun-ho’s soft side:

Makes playlists to help the kid sleep

Cooks, even if he’s bad at it, just to see their smile

Radiates calm, even in chaos

Has a hug that can fix anything

---

Summary of Jun-ho as a dad:

Strong and protective

Reserved and serious

Extremely dedicated

Has a giant heart hidden behind the badge

A dad who would do anything for his family’s happiness

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

Recruiter//Ddakji Man

This man…

Literal definition of mystery + commercial smile + buried trauma + emotional manipulation + unresolved loneliness.

Him as a dad?

A guy trying so hard to hide feelings… but absolutely weak every time the kid smiles at him.

---

Dynamic with you (the reader):

At first… he pretended he was chill.

All that “emotional control”, “being a responsible adult”, “nothing shakes me” attitude.

But inside?

A full mental breakdown.

When you told him you were pregnant?

He froze.

Literally stared at the wall like recalculating his whole life.

Took him a few days…

Then showed up with that awkward smile:

“Let’s… do our best.”

(And you know… when he says that… he’s lowkey dying inside.)

---

Recruiter with a newborn:

King of pretending to be stoic…

But melts when holding the baby.

Pretends he’s not emotional… but you catch him staring at the baby sleeping with this dumb soft smile.

He’s the dad who:

Makes the baby sleep on his chest

Sings old songs softly

Panics every time the baby sneezes

If anyone tries to touch the baby?

That smile disappears instantly… replaced with pure murder eyes.

---

Recruiter with a toddler (2-5 years old):

The kid becomes a mini-him.

Walking around with tiny hands in pockets… trying to look all serious… then bursting into giggles.

Teaches them logic games…

Takes them on “strategic” outings (like aquariums and museums).

If the kid cries?

He panics… but masks it:

“It’s fine… everything’s under control… come here.”

(Then hugs them tight… smelling like expensive woodsy cologne.)

---

His secret fear:

That one day…

The kid will see his darker side.

Know the things he’s done.

Realize he’s not the hero he pretends to be.

So he tries extra hard to be present…

Even with guilt clawing at his chest.

---

His soft, hidden side:

Sleeps with the kid on his chest

Still keeps their first baby outfit

Always takes photos… never posts any

Plays with their hair while they sleep

Has that “God, I love this kid so much it physically hurts” expression almost daily

---

Summary of Recruiter as a dad:

Quiet

Overprotective

Way softer than he lets on

Guilt-ridden

Emotionally repressed

But loves with everything he’s got… and would do anything for that child

[croquettish]

Hey, I've already asked you lots of questions that you've answered, so thank you very much 🥺 but I love your analyses, especially character ones 💕 You did a whole analysis of Hans' character (amazing, I might add), I'd love to hear some similar deep down about Henry. And if not his whole character, then at least why he fell in love with Hans. I saw that it was already mentioned that Hans is a new joy in his life, as well as relief and peace. How much part of it did the constant responsibility for Hans and the need to protect him at all cost. But what (and when) exactly, apart from this sense of responsibility, charmed Henry so much about Hans. Which character traits? What traits make them such perfect foils for each other? I mean, who wouldn't fall in love with good boy golden retriever Henry XD so what was it about Hans' character that charmed Henry so much under the mask of this spoiled brat. Of course, for most people these things may be obvious, but you tell it so wisely and intelligent that I could read it all the time 🥰

You are so sweet, thank you so much for your kind words and this lovely ask!! 😭

So I brainstormed on this a bit and then consulted my in-house Henry expert for additional thoughts, and I came away from that conversation drowning in Hansry feelings.

You're of course completely correct that Henry is devilishly easy to fall in love with, but Hans absolutely isn't. And I do think that's actually part of it. Hans is someone who is capable himself but who still needs him all the same. Hans is someone he can protect and take care of in ways he couldn't protect or take care of his family. As a result, it allows him to regain a sense of control. (This, too, is a trauma response!) We know how much Henry cares about protecting those he loves so much so that it's a theme throughout the game. Just consider the threat that dream!Istvan levels at him about how he might inadvertently cause harm to the two people he cares about most, Hans and Sam.

And so Henry sees this very vulnerably person in Hans, like he's a fucking shelter dog who is a little violent because he's never been socialized right. And he's like, what will happen if I handle this poor shelter dog the way that he deserves to be handled?

He might get bitten in the process, but if he treats it just right, something beautiful comes out of that. He's a diamond in the rough, and Henry is nothing if not a talented craftsman. As @hallowedlore put it when we talked about this, it's like blacksmithing. You take a piece of rough, crude piece of metal that perhaps cuts you but not too deeply. And if you treat it right, you run it through fire but don't let it burn, it can become something truly beautiful. Henry knows that Hans will inevitably encounter fire and blow on it regardless. But what he can do is stop the fire when it's needed and control how many blows he takes.

Hans is also someone who doesn't see Henry's trauma as a large part of him. Henry treats Hans not like a noble, but like a person. In turn, Hans doesn't walk on eggshells around Henry even after finding out about what he went through. In fact, he often fucks up and puts his foot in his mouth, but then he reflects on it and apologizes. He never treats Henry like china, he just talks to him about the hard shit right away.

Every person that I know who has played KCD1 had the same reaction to a very particular scene. We all remember the fistfight. We all know and love the ways in which these boys finally come together and start seeing eye to eye. But the part that shocked everyone, me included, was the part where Hans instantly ate crow. He just apologizes to Henry right away the next morning. There's no way that didn't leave Henry shook as much as it left the rest of us shook.

Both of them are amazing at adapting. They both change each other and for each other and with each other.

This goes back too to another of my metas, the one about how Henry is the axle upon which the world turns. The weigh that places on Henry's shoulders is tremendous. And so many people look at him as this… tool to use. And Hans ofc also does that to a certain extent, but by the time KCD2 rolls around, he doesn't want to put Henry in that position anymore. He's willing to rescue Henry. In fact, he's desperate to be the one to rescue Henry and to get to be there to support him when he's suffering the most. He sees Henry shoulder everyone else's burdens and is desperate to take some of that weight.

"I don't want to add to that. But I'm this fucking idiot who sucks so much that I just do it by default. Henry can do better than me. So why is he here?"

This even parallels the carrying of the sacks. While Henry carries the burdens, Hans wants to carry the weight of those responsibilities for Henry. To support him as he's breaking his back for others. Even there, he insists that he do something for Henry in exchange, to help him with Mutt. It's not "I'm your lord, you'll do as I say," pretty much from the point when Henry comes for him after he's captured by the Cumans. That's when things really start changing.

And it's funny. At first I was going to say that it was when Henry offered to help him by enrolling in the tourney. But then I thought, no, it was even earlier. It was when Henry came to see him when no one else did while he was recovering after The Prey. And then I again thought no, it was earlier than that too. When he was willing to support him in walking home the entire way over several hours of slow, slow travel. These boys have gone through so much and their friendship truly went from 0 to 100 almost immediately as soon as Hans apologized.

And all of that still fits within Hans' idea of the nobility, in which he is still part of the peasantry as a protector, but not distinct from them.

Anyway, all that to say that I think there are a million reasons that Henry finds himself smitten with Hans. Hans is a nobleman who is willing to learn and adapt and grow from his mistakes. He cares about doing right by Henry. He's been socialized to act one way as per society's rules, and even then he defies that order for Henry's sake. Hans is someone who looks at Henry and sees the world. And for Henry, who has not only lost everything but feels responsible for losing everything, knowing that he can get this one thing right means the world as well.

And all of that before we even get into the part where Hans acts as not just joy, but acceptance for Henry! There's so much here. Because at the end of the day, they're just two boys who find connection with each other when they've either lost all connections (in Henry's case) or never had any that mattered (in Hans' case). They're each other's lifelines. I NEED TO STOP BEFORE I TEAR UP AGAIN 😭

[gamerwoo]

Bang Chan: The Girl Who Didn't Cry Wolf (Part Seven)

Characters: Bang Chan x fem reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, enemies-to-lovers-ish??, slowburn, werewolf/alpha!chan, (werewolf)hunter!reader, minor angst, fluff at the end, hurt/comfort-ish, alcohol consumption (reader gets kiiiinda drunk), trauma dumping, mentions of death, idk i probably missed some things [dialogue in bold is meant to be korean]

Word count: 3,951

Summary: You've learned to do whatever you can to protect yourself after an incident almost a decade ago had your father and brother dragging you to a new country to start all over even though they blamed you for what happened. After finding yourself stuck in a house of werewolves, you're forced to come to terms with your feelings over what happened back home when the alpha imprints on you and his pack claims they're keeping you prisoner. You know exactly how this will end if you give in, and yet you can't seem to get yourself to leave the sweet and charming werewolf who's willing to do anything to make you comfortable. You're just hoping that maybe there'll be a good end this time.

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a/n: hiiiiii friends!!! i know it's been a VERY long time since this was updated, or since i've even been active. life has been a bit difficult and busy to say the least. BUT i had the privilege to see skz at their new york stop of their tour and i VOWED that i would make some time to pick my writing back up no matter what. so here we are. im still going thru a few things (the biggest thing being my cc info getting stolen while in ny haaaaa 🙃) so idk how frequently i can update but i will do my best. anyway for those who sent asks saying they still check in on me and still reread my old stuff, i literally love you sooooo much i send you a very consensual and platonic kith on the forehead <3

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The next morning, you woke up to a sharp pain in your side. You gasped, jolting up only to hiss in pain. Strong hands quickly pinned your shoulders down, and you looked up to see Jeongin looking down at you with an awkward smile, “Sorry.”

“Please try not to move,” Hyunjin instructed from beside him, coming over to help hold you down now that you were awake.

Your instinct was to fight back from being pinned down, so you did, wanting to sit up to avoid the pain that would be caused to your side. A third pair of hands stalled your movements as Chan moved into view, concern creasing his features, “_____, stay still please. It’ll hurt more if you move.”

“Why am I pinned down?!” you demanded.

“We just want to look at the wound, _____.” Changbin explained where he was already reaching to peel the bloodied bandage away.

“Well why did you have to touch it?” you groaned, your head flopping down on the pillow like a child throwing a tantrum. “You woke me up and it hurt! If this is how it’s gonna be whenever I’m asleep, I–”

A large hand covered your mouth, and you already knew it was Chan’s before you even checked. You gave him a glare but he just stared at Changbin.

“Is it bad?” he wondered.

“It’s definitely...not...good,” he said, sucking in a breath between his teeth as he looked at your newly opened wound. “It might need draining tonight, but hopefully we’ll come up with something that puts her in less pain.”

You tried to say something but Chan kept your mouth covered. You bit his hand but he only smirked, making you roll your eyes.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” he teased.

“Can you stop being weird please?” Hyunjin asked in disgust. “There’s a child here.”

“I’m not even a child!” Jeongin frowned. “Sorry, not all of us have been stuck at the same age for 30 years, old man.”

“Can all of you stop for a second?” Changbin sighed. “I swear, Chan, she brings out the child in you. More so than usual.”

Then he glanced briefly at Jeongin, “And I take offense to that.”

“Just let me fix the wound, Binnie,” Chan offered, removing his hand from your mouth. The first thing you did with the freedom was stick your tongue out at him. “You go do whatever it is you need to get done.”

He sighed but stood and handed the ointment to Chan, “Don’t bicker with her.”

“That’s not my decision.”

“Right, it’s the real alpha’s,” Jeongin laughed, earning a pinched cheek from the alpha himself, but his laughing persisted as he left the room.

As the three wolves left, Chan rolled you to lay on your side before kneeling down beside the bed. He opened the tin and swiped some white cream onto his first two fingers, “Did you sleep okay?”

You nodded, “Yeah.”

“Did you…dream at all?” he pressed, but his eyes were focused on your side. You wouldn’t have ever suspected something was up.

“A little bit.”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. What did you dream about again? You knew you dreamed but you couldn’t remember what it was. But it must’ve been something amusing or important if Chan was bringing it up.

“What did I say?” you asked.

“‘No, Finley’,” he recalled in a murmur, eyes still trained on rubbing ointments into your wound.

Your cheeks felt hot. You knew why, too – or you at least suspected why – but you weren’t going to say anything to Chan.

“Y-yeah, Finn… He was my best friend back home,” you explained in a mumble.

Chan’s eyebrows knitted together curiously, “He didn’t come with you? I think most people fled from the Americas. Honestly, I was shocked you stayed up until a decade ago. There was that big war that drove everyone away.”

“Well, my dad fought in the war so we stayed. My mom didn’t want to leave him behind. Things were pretty bad for a while, but they got a little better when the war ended. It was slow, though.”

“So…what about Finley?”

Hearing him ask so bluntly even though his tone was casual made something click. Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him, “Are you jealous, Christopher?”

His golden eyes widened as he paused, looking into your eyes for the first time.

“Me? No,” he said, but you could tell by his tone he was lying. “Just curious. You’ve never mentioned a Finley until you were…telling him no last night.”

“Don’t be weird,” you scolded him. “Finn was just a friend.”

“But you’re still thinking about him, apparently,” he continued, going back to his work. “Saying his name in your sleep.”

You let out a sigh and rolled your eyes, “You’re just digging yourself a deeper hole, Chris.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Finn's dead now,” you stated plainly; numbly.

Again, Chan froze. His eyes, wide and apologetic, went to you, “O-oh… Shit, _____, I’m sorry, I was just messing around, I didn’t–”

You chuckled, “You’re fine. I just wanted you to feel like an ass for a second.”

He made a face at you before he went back to tending to your side, “You’re a sassy little thing, you know that?”

You just shrugged, “I’ve been told.”

-

“We’re back!” Felix announced, walking in along with Jeongin and Minho.

You were sitting on the couch in the living room with Changbin, Jisung, and Hyunjin while the three wolves were playing poker and betting their various snacks they kept hidden in their rooms. You just watched even though Changbin offered to deal you in, figuring you had nothing to offer since Chan had confiscated every weapon you had – and that was all you had when you had shown up.

As the group of wolves that had come back from the market walked into the living room, Felix raised a brow at the three wolves in their heated argument over if Changbin was cheating or not. Then he looked at you, and you just sighed softly and shook your head.

“They’ve been doing this since you left, and I don’t even really know what it’s about other than stealing or something,” you stated, making him laugh.

“Hey,” Chan entered the room, eyeing the bags that the wolves were carrying, “did you happen to find anything to help _____?”

“Yup,” Jeongin giggled before tossing a glass bottle full of honey-colored liquid to him.

Chan caught the bottle easily, turning it over and reading the label, “Whiskey?”

“Alcohol can numb anything,” was all Minho gave him for an explanation. 

“If you’re gonna be mad, be mad at him,” Jeongin stated, jabbing his thumb toward the older wolf who merely shrugged and looked away from the alpha, walking into the kitchen with the rest of the bags.

“I can handle the pain–”

“You think we want you to be in pain if you have to be?” Felix asked him. “We wanted something to save you both the pain.”

“It really was Minho’s idea,” Jeongin mentioned, Felix nodding along.

Chan didn’t show any emotion, just looked down at the bottle.

Then Felix looked at you with a chuckle, “How well do you handle your alcohol?”

You shrugged. It had been a while since you’d gone to any taverns for a drink, but you used to be more of a midweight, “It’ll take a few shots.”

“We can’t get her drunk!” Seungmin exclaimed as he entered the room. You assumed he was either in the kitchen or in his room and had overheard the conversation. “She’s already attacked at least two of us while sober!”

“Seungmin…” Chan’s tone was a warning as he stared at the younger wolf, “don’t start. If you’re here to fight, go back to wherever you came from.”

“If Channie can forgive you for attacking his mate, don’t you think you can forgive his mate for attacking you?” Jisung asked mindlessly from where he was sitting on the floor. Only when nobody said anything did he look up and realize he didn’t read the room well enough. That obviously wasn’t the only animosity the three of you had. “...Sorry…”

You spoke up, looking back over Hyunjin’s shoulder to check his cards. “Frankly, I couldn’t care less if Seungmin forgives me or even likes me. Actually, if I cared any less than I do currently, I’d be dead.”

“_____–”

You looked at Chan when he said your name but cut him off, “I’m not saying it to be an asshole, I’m saying it so everyone knows. I don’t care about anything he or Minho has to say to me; they’re the only ones ‘keeping me hostage’ so they’re the only two I don’t trust in the slightest.”

While your last comment did make Chan and the rest of the pack kind of happy that you verbally admitted to having some sort of trust with them, Chan still didn’t want you saying anything even remotely rude to Seungmin or Minho. He knew it would only cause more fighting, and he wanted to avoid it.

“Look, Seungmin,” Chan began, rubbing his hands over his face before looking at the taller wolf, “we’re not doing it until tonight when you’ll probably be asleep. You won’t have to deal with her.”

“Well, I’m staying up to witness this,” Jisung giggled, putting a card down before picking up a new one.

Jeongin nodded in agreement. “This, I gotta see.”

“Plus, free drinks,” Changbin shrugged.

Chan groaned, rolling his eyes at the younger wolf. “They’re not for you! Whiskey is for _____ only.”

“Ah, c’mon, Channie,” you grinned, using the nickname you’d noticed the pack always used with him, “don’t you wanna have a little bit of fun? Being drunk alone is the most boring thing in the world.”

“I’m going to have to babysit you,” he stated playfully, walking over to stand behind the couch by where your head was. “I just know you’ll be a handful.”

“Ooh, what kind of drunk are you, _____?” Felix wondered with wide, curious golden eyes.

You hummed as you thought it over, trying to remember how you were whenever you went out to the tavern, “I think it depends on who I’m with and the atmosphere.”

“So she’ll be an angry drunk.” Seungmin spat. “Lovely.”

-

Whiskey clutched in your hand, you stared at Jisung with doe-like eyes as he patched up your newly-drained wound and helped you sit upright. Felix couldn’t help but laugh at your drunken state, while Hyunjin, Changbin, and Jeongin seemed to be having a race to see who could get the drunkest the fastest with the little alcohol that they were allowed.

“This is for _____!” Jisung whined when Jeongin tried to make off with the bottle.

So now, there you were: drunk off your ass. You didn’t even take shots, you just chugged straight from the bottle. Chan chuckled at first at how eager you were to down the liquid that burned your throat and made your stomach feel warm, but when you were sufficiently drunk and kept at it, then he began to get concerned.

But since you were still starting to cry and scream at the pain, Changbin put the bottle to your lips to silence you, like you were a newborn and he was giving you a bottle. Now, it was just a sharp pinch that made you wince and cry out with “ow” whenever you moved wrong. For the most part, it was a lot more bearable than the first time.

“_____, do you feel okay?” Felix wondered once you were sitting up.

“Uhhh-huh!” you nodded happily.

All of the wolves in the room – which was everyone except Minho and Seungmin – stared at you while you looked around at all of them. You definitely just seemed...different. You weren’t hostile or sarcastic; you were easy-going and smiling at all of them, and it was clear you were very different when you were drunk. At least, different from the you they knew.

Then again, you said it had to do with who you were with, so someone must’ve made you feel chipper despite just having a knife cut through you.

Chan placed a hand on your head, smoothing your hair back. “Do you want to go to sleep now, _____?”

You looked up at the alpha, and a wide smile spread across your face, “Channie!”

That made all of the wolves break out into laughter.

“She sounds like us,” Hyunjin giggled.

He was surprised at how excited you seemed, and was trying to contain his giggles as he asked, “Yes?”

“Can we do something fun?” you asked before putting the bottle to your lips.

Chan quickly grabbed it and carefully took it from you with both hands, “Ah, I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

“I just wanna have some fun with my mate, is that too much to ask?” you pouted.

Chan laughed, his cheeks warming when you called him your mate, as he handed the bottle off to Felix for safe keeping, “When it involves you getting drunker than you already are, yes.”

Chan easily lifted you off of the desk, cradling you in his arms, “I’m gonna stay with her for a little bit in my room. I’ll try to keep her quiet.”

“I’ll…make an attempt to keep them quiet,” Jisung said unsurely, looking around at his three brothers who were joking and laughing, basically ignoring anything the alpha had said.

“Don’t worry,” Minho sighed as he walked into the room, “I’ve got the kids. Have a good night.”

The wolves chimed in with their goodnights after hearing Minho, so you waved to them and rested comfortably in Chan’s arms as he walked you back to his bedroom. You looked up at him the whole walk down the hall, studying every feature of his perfect face. You wondered how you got so lucky having such a good looking mate. You also wondered if Chan knew just how good looking he was, because if he didn’t, you wanted to tell him.

So you did.

“I like looking at you,” you blurted as soon as he shut the door to his bedroom.

Chan let out a laugh that vibrated his chest – you knew because you felt it against your arm and shoulder, “What?”

“You’re just so...pretty,” you repeated, reaching up to poke his cheek, right where his dimple was. “Hasn’t anyone told you you’re pretty, Christopher? Actually, no, not pretty. Maybe… I dunno, they don’t come up with a word good enough to describe you.”

He was still giggling as his cheeks and the tips of his ears turned red, “Who’s 'they'?”

“The people who make the words,” you said as he set you down on the bed.

“Right, of course. The council of word-makers. How silly of me,” he continued to giggle, playfully rolling his eyes. “Y’know, you’re rambling a lot. I think it’s time you sleep, _____.”

“No, I’m busy,” you huffed, sitting up against the headboard and curling your knees to your chest.

“No, you have to listen,” he told you softly but still firmly, going over to the door. “I’m going to turn the lights off and leave, and you’re going to go to sleep.”

“Noooo!” you whined, reaching out for him like a baby. It was loud and something he didn’t expect, so it startled him a bit. “You should stay with me!”

Another smile began to form on his face as he cocked his head to one side, “Are you sure you want that?”

“I always do!” you admitted, although drunk you didn’t know she shouldn’t be telling him that. “I always want you to stay. But I’m not supposed to want you to stay. Y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. We’re enemies,” he chuckled and nodded as he walked over to the bed after shutting off the lights. He climbed in beside you and promised, “We can still be enemies but hang out together. Don’t worry.”

You immediately scooted closer to him and took his arm, putting it around the back of your neck and over your shoulder before laying your head on his shoulder. He immediately melted into you, letting his thumb rub against the skin of your arm as he smiled to himself and closed his eyes.

“That’s how it was with Finn,” you admitted, not really paying much attention to your words because of how drunk you were.

All filters, cautions, and inhibitions were gone now. You were willing to tell Chan anything – you wanted to tell him everything. You were ready to blab all of your secrets and put all of your cards out on the table.

Hell, you were fully prepared to admit that maybe you loved him but only kept yourself from that because maybe a few teeny tiny inhibitions still lingered -- the sane part of your brain that warned you there were still some boundaries.

Chan’s eyes opened, his eyebrows furrowed, but he continued to rub your arm with the warm pad of his thumb, so you didn’t know anything was wrong, “What do you mean?”

“He was a werewolf, too,” you told him, and that was when Chan froze – including his movements. But you were still too out of it to realize. “The only difference was I didn’t know until he shifted. He kept it from me. And…I think I was...his…mate…”

Chan wasn’t sure what to do with this information, but he didn’t want to make you feel like you did anything wrong by telling him, so he tried to stay natural. But damn, you were already a werewolf’s mate? He honestly never would’ve guessed judging from how you acted. He never thought you would’ve been a lot more open to werewolves. Not that you were really un-open to him, but you certainly were holding back a lot.

But if you were a mate, why were you training to become a hunter? Unless…

That was why you weren’t really a hunter.

After a beat of silence, his short-circuiting brain came up with, “Y-you…think? What made you unsure?”

You let out a deep sigh and explained, “I…loved Finn. But I always did. I never felt any different. I never felt that feeling I did like when I first saw you. Y’know, how it just…hits you. But…the feelings are the same…”

You started to feel a lump in your throat, and your eyes were watering a little. Maybe it was the alcohol making you emotional, thinking about your feelings toward Finley being the same as the ones you felt toward Chan. Or maybe it was just because you were finally saying it out loud.

Basically admitting that you love Chan, but still feeling guilty because you felt like you were moving on from Finley.

Chan also caught what you said. ‘I loved Finn. … The feelings are the same’. Did you love him? He didn’t want to hear you say it to him drunk, but he was still flabbergasted and didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was getting so much information from you all at once and couldn’t process one thing without being bombarded with another. The poor guy was malfunctioning right beside you and you had no idea.

“_____,” he managed to speak up, clearing his throat, “you don’t have to talk about it right now. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

“I won’t have the courage to tell you tomorrow,” you sniffled. “Everything is hard to admit. It makes it more real…”

“I know,” he sighed, holding you a little tighter and going back to rubbing your shoulder. “But confronting and accepting your feelings will be better for you. We’ll figure everything out together, yeah? I promise.”

“‘Kay,” you sighed, too and just let yourself rest against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body radiate off of him.

There was a comfortable silence for a few moments, and Chan started to wonder if you were falling asleep. He wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to stay. Yes, you said you liked his company, but you were drunk. He couldn’t take your word when you weren’t sober. He knew a lot of people said a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts, but he wasn't going to count that as you giving him any sort of consent for anything.

“Can you teach me more Korean?” you suddenly asked him.

He let out a quiet chuckle, “Where did that come from?”

“Changbin made a comment before. I didn’t understand much but I recognized ‘Korean lessons’ or something, and I assumed it was about me,” you explained.

His eyebrows raised and he nodded approvingly at the little bit of Korean you said, “Not bad. What do you know how to say?”

“I can say hello, goodbye, thank you, introduce myself, and a lot of haggling phrases.”

He let out a loud laugh, “You haggle?”

You sucked in a breath, imitating the way the other people at the market spoke, “No, no, no, that price is too low. This is quality deer meat and sells for much, much higher than that fuck-ass price you’re offering. What are you, stupid?”

You went back to your normal talking voice while Chan burst into a fit of laughter, holding his stomach with his free arm and kicking his legs, “Followed by, like, a bunch of swear words and insults. I’m really good at calling people ‘fucking dickheads’.”

You were pretty sure you could hear loud laughter from down the hallway, but that might’ve just been the rest of the pack sharing the rest of the alcohol.

“Okay,” Chan breathed, still letting out little giggles as he wiped tears from his eyes and cleared his throat to try and calm himself down again, “okay. Yeah. Alright. Well, you clearly know all the fun stuff, so… Wait, okay, I’ve got a good one.”

You sat up straighter and turned to look at Chan, “Lay it on me!”

He sweetly sang a short phrase to you with a smile, and you repeated it back to him in the same tone, making him giggle some more. You noticed Chan was very much a giggler.

“What did I say?” you asked.

“Goodnight!” he grinned with a loud laugh. “Remember, it’s bedtime?”

Your eyebrows fell and you gave him the most unamused look you’d probably ever made in your life. All of the alcohol in your system was giving you a second wind that covered up any of the exhaustion you got from being sliced open, so you were less than thrilled about sleeping.

“No,” you stated plainly.

“It’s late, you’re drunk,” he listed as he began to lift the covers to tuck you in, “and you’ll heal better with as much rest as possible.”

You found yourself obeying him anyway, moving to lay down as you let Chan cover you with the blanket, “Are you sleeping in here?”

“...Do you want me to?”

“Duh.”

“Duh,” he imitated you, making a face as he moved to lay down beside you. “Go to bed.”

You rolled over to face him and closed your eyes, “Night.”

“G’night, _____. Sweet dreams,” he smiled down at you fondly.

After a few seconds went by and you didn’t feel him get any closer to you or drape his arm over you like you thought he would, you scooted closer to him, nuzzling into his chest. He just chuckled before lightly putting an arm around you, but you could feel the happy rumble deep in his chest.

Chan was pretty sure that was the quickest you’d ever fallen asleep since being at the house.

[breadwithpoprocks-fandom]

replies;

@skyeventide : no it's real tho. the manipulation especially. elthina substituting herself as a mother to him and filling the void of seb's actual mother in terms of praise and love

like if you think about it sebastian and leliana go through the same kind of arc in that sense except that sebastian has no chance to escape the trauma even a little bit and has direct targets to blame

tags;

@periwinkle-warden : #if only he got more screentime for those interesting elements to get fleshed out#he feels like an afterthought from beginning to end

@numerous-knives : #I quite like him actually#I want to break him out of his self-imposed prison of repression#like sir if you were truly so against unleashed mages and promiscuity you would not be hanging with this crew#you’re here cause vicariously you’re having a good time for once#I love pestering the poor guy with male mage Hawke

@kossithmercar : #despite andrastianism being so prevalent we get few and non mages that have been involved with the chantry in a highly suspect way#but Sebastian handled it soooo well#he has been manipulated has been left alone without family there is only one person he could trust#how could he see behind the mask if the mask is the only comfort he has had for years?

@kaldurrr : #the man is closeted but also no he’s not 💕#he knows what he’s about and has no idea what he’s doing

#i said what i said before#stop fucking that cop cullen and get with a real freak#he laughs at all my terrible jokes and has strange and violent ideas about revenge

@zoneofsmites : #sebestian is a very interesting character fr#i also just. do not like him on a personal level but man… objectively he should have everything going for him

@feralkwe : #don't get me started on how he would have been a beautiful narrative foil to anders#if bioware wasn't cowards#wasted opportunity#instead of making him a dlc

@faerun : #unfortunately it is all under the surface and implied bc bioware doesnt give a shit about him either#but if people put even half the work into humanizing and deepening his character that they do for other similarly shallow companions#than he ends up being a very complex and compelling character#idk idk i just love him and he was given so little to work with in canon that its easy to eexpand him in#literally any direction. i esp love darker takes on his character

@red-wardens : #i still wont let him kill anders in my canon but#i get it

@dungeons-and-dragon-age : #mmh i think a lot of people really sleep on his fucked up ness#he is just as messy and conflicted as all the others in the crew and i love him for it#i love listening to his dialogue its soooo.#he contradicts himself all the time he tries to convince himself of ''his'' values so so much and is in denial so bad and it is delightful

@curiouslavellan : #one of my favorite things about him is how he clearly wants to be a peace and love pacifist#but he REALLY enjoys all the fighting and daredevil shit Hawke brings him into

@deedeemactir : #there’s this comment that Sebastian can make to Hawke about disappointing his parents being the only way he’d know it was really them#that just UGH#he was a throw away child who rebelled for attention and originally hated the idea of going to the chantry#but then he found meaning and belonging there and while religion isn’t for everyone#and the chantry is deeply flawed#it gave him peace the same way that Leliana found peace there#I could also go on for ages about his relationship with Isabela#and Fenris for that matter#love him

Sebastian Vael is actually a very nuanced and complex character if you chew on him for more than five fucking seconds especially when considering his rakish behavior the family pressures and survivor’s guilt all culminating under the religious manipulation of the chantry in this essay I will—

[acidakerizo-47]

MISTER DWICKEEEYYY!!!

Did you ever had a thought that Mr. Dwicky and Pr. Membrane may have more in common than it seems at first glance?

Mr. Dwicky is really very useful character in a whole IZ project, thanks to him, Dib and Zim could have become great friends, and the conflict between Professor Membrane and his kids would have been smoothed out

Mr. Dwicky could have explained more to the Pr. Membrane about Dib's interests with his special psychological approach, and also helped Gaz with her anger due to obvious grievances and traumas towards her relatives

Mr. Dwicky could also normally explain and help to accept the fact that Zim is an alien and paranormal is real without any dangerous risks and for Zim and for Membranes too with some time after help in the Membranes family

what about the romance between Mr. Dwicky and Pr. Membrane I think it could have happened from mutual interest, as Dwicky had helped the Membrane and received a warm welcome and understanding, as Professor Membrane could turn to Dwicky with problems and doubts to get same warm welcome and understanding, as well as self-confidence and useful tips for building good relationships with his children

btw Zim would not accept Dwicky in the Membranes family at the first time and suspected him of bad intentions and things, which is why it took him some time to make sure that he was absolutely harmless and even good and also thanks to Dwicky finally make peace with Tak, besides helping with building a good relationship with Dib

but... how Mr. Dwicky return back on Earth? my headcanon consists that less than a year, the aliens returned him to his home planet because of a stupid mistake with coffee, which he accidently spilled on important equipment, thus ruining it and disappointed them xd

what do you think about it?