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holymultiplefandomsbatman · 2 years ago

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ICWYHOMS Part 2: Used to Be

Loki x commoner Reader (they/them)

Summary: Now that you are talking to him again and you’re seeing each other almost every day, Loki can’t stop hoping that maybe there is still a chance for you to be together again. One night, he finally gets the chance to explain everything to you.

Words: 2.99k

Warnings: tw Odin, mentions of verbal and emotional abuse

Contains: mutual pining, fluff, kissing (the yearning is real in this one lol)

Song for this chapter: Used to Be by Arrows to Athens

series masterlist

After that conversation in the hallway, everything changed.

Loki found himself continuously running into you, no matter where he went. At some point he started wondering if you were doing this on purpose.

He would never complain though. Quite the opposite, actually.

Loki soon became used to seeing you every day, even starting to miss you if he didn’t run into you in the halls of Asgard. Your presence alone lit up every room you walked into. Your smile haunted his waking and sleeping hours.

Every time you crossed paths, you’d exchange some kind of banter.

Just a few days ago, you’d made fun of Loki when he ran past you, barely able to greet you properly. He was late to a meeting, as it often happened lately.

You watched him run towards you in the hallway and, with that smile that rivalled the sun in its brightness and warmth, called out to him.

“Don’t fall now, your highness! Wouldn’t want you landing on that royal ass!”

Loki forced himself to keep hurrying towards the meeting hall, even though your comment almost caused him to run head-first into one of the golden pillars lining the halls. He only allowed himself a glance in your direction – and immediately grinned at you even as he continued down the hallway.

He cursed himself for his weakness the rest of the way to his destination.

The smile you gave him in response still remained locked in his mind for days after the encounter, no matter how much he tried to forget it.

Loki was often late for meetings or any other obligations he had to fulfil as prince. He would get stuck thinking about you, daydreaming about your last interactions or something small you’d said that got stuck in his head. He got lost in his thoughts every time.

If he managed to rip himself out of his fantasies and ended up running through the halls to make sure he at least caught the last few minutes of the meeting he should’ve been present at from the beginning, it was only due to some mysterious godly luck. More often than not, he was ripped from his thoughts by Thor almost tearing his door down, asking if he was well and why he’d missed yet another gathering.

In especially dangerous dreams, Loki allowed himself to imagine a possible future with you. Those daydreams often picked the most romantic moments from when you’d still been together and combined them with recent interactions.

After one of those fantasies, Loki often had to sit still for a while to process what he’d seen. It took time to fight the ache in his chest, to calm the yearning in his bones that kept on drawing him towards you.

He did his best to remind himself that all of his wishful thinking was futile in the end. Odin would never allow a union between a prince and a commoner.

Despite his efforts to banish those ideas, Loki often thought about courting you – officially. He could barely think about anything else. Especially since the two of you now spoke daily whenever you met.

The thought was always nagging at the back of his mind, making sure he never had a moment of peace.

It was truly infuriating.

Even Thor commented on Loki’s relationship with you from time to time – and if even the god of obliviousness noticed that something was off, the situation had to be dire.

Loki was currently on his way back from one of the maddening dinners with royal ambassadors from a neighboring realm. The formal robes he’d been forced to wear had been tailored to fit his body perfectly – and then they’d been made a size smaller. At least it appeared to be that way. The stiff collar almost choked him and the seams on his shirt sleeves threatened to burst from even the smallest movement.

Loki growled under his breath, pulling at the shirt collar to somehow stretch the fabric. He didn’t even care anymore if he ended up ripping the expensive material apart.

“Am I making you breathless that easily, my prince?”

Loki’s head shot up, the fast motion leaving him dizzy.

His eyes quickly found you leaning against a pillar, your arms crossed casually in front of your chest. You were dressed in your usual robes, the sleeves pushed up to your elbows. That, combined with the teasing smirk on your face, brought back this undeniable force that pulled him towards you every time you crossed paths.

Loki found he was now out of breath for an entirely different reason.

“Your presence never fails to bewitch me, darling,” he heard himself say, slightly impressed by how calm his voice sounded, “but this time I fear this ridiculous shirt is the reason for my unruly appearance.”

You chuckled, casually pushing yourself into a standing position where you were no longer leaning against the golden pillar. Rolling your eyes in amusement at his flattery, you stepped towards him, eyeing the shirt collar he’d been fussing with before.

Your amused reaction made Loki wonder if you even took him seriously, or if you merely saw his gestures of appreciation as empty words, like so many others had.

Did you maybe believe them to be just niceties he threw around out of a sense of duty?

Or did you see them for what they truly were? Did you recognize the affection hidden behind his careless compliments?

Did you know how deep his feelings were for you? Even now, after all this time?

You were still laughing under your breath when you stopped right in front of Loki. You gestured towards the cursed shirt, your head tilted questioningly to the side.

“Maybe I can help with the collar, I wouldn’t want you fainting in public. May I assist you, your highness?”

A grin spread over your face.

Loki fought to keep his expression neutral as he rolled his eyes. He nodded in agreement to your question.

After all, it didn’t matter how bright your eyes were shining in the low light of the setting sun. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted to just pull you into his arms and never let you go – Odin be damned.

A union between a prince and a commoner would never be met with approval from the court, Loki reminded himself.

He repeated it like a mantra, hoping to silence the nagging little voice that constantly reminded him of days long gone where he’d been able to call you his. Where he’d been yours.

Sooner or later, someone would find out how much control you held over him and then use that knowledge against him, Loki mused darkly.

Your light-hearted words still made him smile despite the grim thoughts. Of course they would…

Your hands carefully touched his shirt collar. “Is this too much?”

Loki almost laughed out loud.

Yes… but for different reasons than you would’ve guessed.

He took a deep breath and shook his head, giving you permission to do whatever you wanted to help him.

Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you fiddled with the expensive fabric in your hands. Loki couldn’t see what you were doing and he didn’t really care either. Being this close to you was enough to make his head spin.

Every time your fingertips faintly brushed against his skin, Loki’s breath hitched. He balled his hands into fists by his sides to regain some control over his treacherous body.

He couldn’t help looking up and down the hallway from time to time. This passage was usually very busy, after all. Displaying your… relationship this openly was dangerous.

Then again; if anyone asked, Loki would probably be able to just wave it off as some random passerby assisting the prince.

He swallowed against the scoff rising in his throat.

You carefully stepped back, looking your work over once more before you eyed Loki expectantly.

“Is it better now?”

Loki took a breath, paused, then tried again. It yielded the same result every time.

The cursed collar didn’t restrain his breathing anymore…

“Yes, it is,” he admitted, frowning in surprise. “How did you do that?”

You just shrugged. “I guess having to mend your own clothes will do that to you.”

Your words were accompanied by a wink.

Loki chuckled and shook his head. Every single retort he came up with would have led to embarrassment on his part, so he chose the second option instead: honesty.

“Thank you,” he said gently.

You smiled at him, the same soft smile that never failed to turn Loki’s knees into pudding. Without breaking eye contact, you curtseyed elegantly.

“You’re welcome… darling.”

You were already halfway down the hall when Loki finally managed to recover from the shock of hearing the endearment coming out of your mouth.

Loki didn’t know why he ended up on the balcony. After tossing and turning for hours, he’d decided to get up. For some reason, he found himself almost being pulled outside to this balcony by an unknown force.

Loki leaned against the balustrade. He looked up at the night sky, following the stars with his eyes.

They were so far away…

A weight settled on his shoulders, slowly pressing him down until he spun around, abruptly turning his back towards the balustrade. His chest ached again.

Someone gently cleared their throat.

Loki’s head shot up towards the doorway, his melancholic feelings forgotten as his eyes found the one person he wanted to avoid right now.

“Y/n,” he said slowly, bowing in greeting.

You rolled your eyes and stepped out onto the balcony. Your arms rested on the balustrade as you looked ahead at Asgard where it silently lay far beneath your feet. A few torches lit up the empty streets.

Loki turned towards the balustrade as well. He tried to watch the stars again but soon gave up because his eyes wouldn’t stop wandering back to you.

He just couldn’t look away from you. The soft starlight reflected in your eyes as you stared into the night with a wistful expression on your face.

Gods, you were beautiful…

Silence weighed heavily on Loki’s shoulders. Words piled behind his closed lips until he had to clench his jaw to stop himself from blurting out the thoughts he’d bottled up for so long.

He looked down at his hands where they had gripped the balustrade in an effort to keep himself under control.

“Why did you do it?” you asked in a low voice.

Loki frowned. So many responses flashed through his mind in the fraction of a second, ranging from anger to begging for your forgiveness until his voice broke.

He exhaled slowly and focused on the air leaving his lungs to drown out the overwhelming thoughts.

“Odin forced me to leave you,” Loki finally said, still staring at his hands.

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t look up to see if you wanted to say something. The dam was finally breaking and even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet anymore.

“Odin didn’t agree with my choice from the beginning. I was forced to defend our relationship every single time we sat down for dinner. Whenever royals from other realms visited, Odin would assign me to take care of their heir as a lousy attempt to instigate a marriage. Of course I refused,” Loki added, “but it didn’t stop him.”

He took a deep breath and glanced at you out of the corner of his eye to find you staring at the balustrade. Your own eyes had grown wide.

“Odin wasn’t the only one who had opinions about our relationship and thought he had the right to police my life.”

You slowly turned towards him, your mouth falling open in shock.

“What?” you asked. Your voice was barely audible.

Loki nodded sadly. His hands gripped the balustrade once again, otherwise he would have pulled you into his arms and held you close until the pain disappeared from your eyes.

“Lady Sif and the other warriors also threw jabs repeatedly. One even went as far as to insinuate you were using me to gain prestige and climb the ranks.”

Loki’s chest grew tight as he remembered the altercation.

“And that you had chosen me since I was the easiest option.” he whispered, fighting the tears that burned behind his eyes.

Your fingers closed around his forearm, holding on gently.

Loki still refused to look at you. He needed to explain everything first, needed to make sure you understood what had really happened.

“Odin wouldn’t stop his attempts to use me as a means to secure Asgard’s future. One day I found out that he was already in the middle of negotiations to marry me off to some prince I’d never even met before. I… I screamed at him and told him I –“

Loki tried to keep his breathing steady. The first tears spilled from his eyes. He squeezed them shut as he fought against the memories that threatened to overwhelm him.

Your thumb stroked back and forth over the fabric of his sleeve, giving him a repetitive motion to focus on. Nothing calmed him down as effectively as your touch.

“I told the Allfather that I wouldn’t leave you,” Loki continued, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “He just… watched me while I yelled at him until I had no more air left. Then he told me I had a choice to make.”

Loki didn’t have any energy left to fight back the tears. The dam within him finally broke as he confessed why he’d left you on that cursed night after the festivities.

“I could choose to leave you and agree to a marriage that would sustain the bloodline…” he took a deep breath, gathering his courage one last time, “or I would be banished from Asgard for eternity.”

Tears were shining in your eyes when Loki finally looked at you. The sad expression on your face was so similar to the one he’d seen on that fateful evening when he’d left you behind in the throne room.

He reached out, gently holding your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed your tears away but new ones would always spill immediately, making his efforts useless.

Loki didn’t care. Now that he could finally hold you again, he vowed silently that nothing and no one would ever keep him from you again.

Not even Odin.

“I haven’t spent a single day since then not regretting my decision,” Loki whispered. His voice almost broke. “So many sleepless nights… always thinking, I should have said no. I should have –”

You placed your hand over his mouth, silencing his desperate rambling.

When you were sure he wouldn’t start again, your palm slowly moved upwards until it rested against his cheek.

Loki leaned into your hand. His eyes closed as he savored how familiar and natural your touch still felt, even after such a long time. As if his body had memorized every brush of your hand, no matter how faint.

Loki slowly opened his eyes again, torn between wanting to remain in the comfort of your touch and needing to see your face.

What he saw left him breathless.

You looked at him with that deep expression that always made his heart swell with so many emotions. The expression he had spent so many nights remembering when he couldn’t see light anymore.

You were looking at him as if he was the most beautiful being in the universe.

A soft smile appeared on your lips, your thumb gently stroking his skin. “I understand now. Thank you for telling me.”

Loki couldn’t hide the shiver running up his spine as he listened to the sound of your voice.

Loving someone this much surely couldn’t be wise…

When you pushed a strand of hair away that had fallen into his face, your fingers so tender as they caressed his skin, Loki decided he didn’t care. Even if it ended up driving him insane, he would stay by your side.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat. They weighed heavily on his tongue as he tried to make you understand how much you meant to him. How much he truly cared for you.

Tears spilled freely from your eyes again as you listened to his words.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe, no foe in this universe that I wouldn’t fight… even if it kills me.”

Loki leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. You remained this way for a while, relishing in each other’s comforting presence; the feeling of coming home.

Loki wasn’t sure who leaned in first. He supposed it might have been you, but didn’t really matter either way.

He only remembered the gentle brush of your lips against his own and his arms wrapping around your body as he finally, finally held you again. Everything else faded away as Loki lost himself in your embrace, memories of your shared past blurring with the present.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

“I love you too.” you whispered against his lips, barely withdrawing long enough to get the words out.

Loki only deepened the kiss. His fingers shook as he lifted one hand to the back of your neck, holding you gently while his lips moved against yours. Only when the lack of air threatened to suffocate him did he pull away from you.

Loki stared at you without saying a word, far too overwhelmed by the realization that you still cared for him. That Odin’s actions hadn’t been enough to drive you away.

Nothing would be able to keep him away from you, he vowed silently.

Loki’s hands gently held your face as he kissed your forehead, whispering another declaration of love against your skin.

You smiled at him when he pulled away, drawing him in for another kiss.

Here it is! I’m so happy that I can finally post this second chapter. I got distracted by so many other things (mainly uni), but now it’s here.

Honestly, I don’t know what happened because this turned a lot more angsty than planned. I guess I had a lot of feelings lol.

I hope you enjoyed it!

ICWYHOMS: @lokisgoodgirl @xorpsbane @imalovernotahater @mischief2sarawr @mochie85

Loki Taglist: @muddyorbsblr @thedistractedagglomeration @lokischambermaid @loopsisloops @fictive-sl0th @thomase1 @vbecker10 @michelleleewise @holdmytesseract @sarahscribbles @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @lokikissesmyforehead @wheredafandomat @gigglingtigger @animnerd

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latetaektalk · 3 years ago

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a lover’s bond | jjk

“what’s jungkook supposed to do when he loses you, but go beg the god of the dead and king of the underworld to give you back?

or a retelling of the greek myth of orpheus and eurydice, a tragic love story.”

— genre: greek mythology! AU, orpheus and eurydice! AU, implied smut/light sexual themes, fluff, heavy angst

— pairing: jungkook x female reader

— word count: 18.766

— warnings: major character death, cursing, light alcohol consumption, themes of grief

— playlist: click here

— a/n: this fic is inspired by this post and this reel! there are also probably a few influences from song of achilles by madeline miller because i looked at it a lot when writing this! also!! you can find a collection of posts/quotes i looked at while writing here! and, of course, huge thank you to both lira @koocycle and mala @subways-stuff for helping me with this one!! ily!!

Jungkook falls in love with you the moment he sees you.

He’s playing the lyre in the local tavern like he does every now and then, seated on a table with half of the town crammed around him while the other half is huddled outside, his voice carried through the air to them.

It’s then that he sees you in the crowd, off to the side, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed.

It’s love at first sight.

It’s funny in a way how quickly he falls for you. He doesn’t even have a choice in it, plummeting into the dark the moment his eyes meet yours and he sees that smile of yours on your lips. (Two things he’ll become all too familiar with and learn to love more than anything else.) It’s like Eros shot an arrow straight at him, the tip ripping through skin and flesh and muscle, tearing into his chest, before boring into his heart. The spark is instant.

And when the corners of your lips curl up, he almost stops singing. His fingers begin to shake, the strings slipping his fingertips—something that’s never happened to him before. After all, this—playing the lyre, singing, performing for people—is something he was born to do, a god-given talent. His father, Apollo, taught him. But looking at you, the delicate instrument feels fragile and almost strange in his hands. He can barely focus, his heart beating in his chest like it wants to jump out and walk over to you.

And so when he finishes the song and after thanking everyone for the applause and praise that rains down on him instantly, he does just that. He walks over to you, jumping off the table and hurrying to you, almost as if you would maybe run away from him, disappear into the distance and leave him. But you don’t.

“Hello,” he says with his lyre tucked under his arm and just a little out of breath. “I’m Jungkook.”

You grin when he stretches out his hand for you to take, finding amusement in the entire situation.

“Hello,” you return, head tilting to the side. “Y/L/N Y/N.”

Your last name rings a bell in his mind. Jungkook places it quickly where he’s heard it before. The move of the Y/L/N family to Thrace! it was all he heard about the last few weeks. Understandable since your family consisted of a long line of physicians and academics, running in the same circles with Socrates and Hippocrates. Such a prominent and influential family moving from Athens to Thrace excited many.

“A Y/L/N,” he says. “What an honour.”

You laugh then. “You’re one to talk, son of Apollo and Calliope.”

That makes Jungkook laugh in turn. He isn’t surprised that you know of his parents. Most people do. The tales of them, especially his divine father, and childhood have always preceded him. Fame came quickly and instantly. Ever since he could think, people have flocked to him, like moths drawn to a flame.

It’s not hard to understand why. As a demigod, Jungkook is intriguing. Especially with the talent of song and melody. But even when he isn’t singing or playing the lyre, letting everyone in on his divine gift, he naturally draws attention to himself. He is tall, towering over everyone. (It’s always been like this. Even when Jungkook was a little boy. It’s something he learned to take pride in.) And once he started maturing, puberty blessed him with muscular arms and legs instead of blemishes and overly long limbs. His strong physique makes him look like he was born to yield a sword like Achilles rather than a lyre. With time, Jungkook also grew into his features, his face taking up sharpness and softness where it needs. His face that many used to describe as cute and adorable became handsome and stunning, and his smile that used to elicit grins now made hearts beat faster and breaths hitch. Puberty treated him nicely, just like life always did.

“Ah, please. I’m merely a singer,” Jungkook says, shaking his head, feigning humility and modesty.

You raise a brow.

“We both know you’re more than that,” you say. “Look around. They are all here for you.”

He does as you say, noticing how everyone was glancing your way. But you don’t seem to be bothered by it at all. He grins.

“Please, they’re not here for me-”

Your laugh interrupts him. Normally, he wouldn’t allow it.

“Oh, please. Who are you trying to fool here?” you hum, and Jungkook likes the way you grin. “We both know that you relish in the attention, son of Apollo and Calliope.”

There’s something playful in your eyes, a twinkle that he identifies as mischief, just a little tamer and nicer. And there’s something almost dangerous and threatening in the way you call him the son of Apollo and Calliope. You’ve sharpened the syllables like the edge of a knife, digging the blade against the pulse of his throat.

“You’re making a lot of assumptions about me right now,” he hums. “And we’ve just met.”

“Well—” You kick yourself off the wall, and when you stand straight, you’re a lot closer to him, the tips of your shoes brushing his. He itches to pull you towards him, and when you go on your toes, your mouth just right next to his ear, he stops to breathe. “—am I wrong?”

Jungkook’s speechless, and it isn’t just because you are spot on—he d oes love the attention, reveling in how everyone always came rushing to hear him sing and play the lyre. But because right in that moment, he knows he’s met his match. You’re challenging him, playing push and pull with him. Something no one has ever dared to do. There’s a certain level of respect and awe that people offer him, a package deal with being a demigod. But there’s neither of those things to be found with you. Jungkook should be offended, his pride and ego bruised and hurt. And yet, all he is is speechless. It steals his breath, your courage, your boldness, your shamelessness. Things he didn’t expect from you when he first laid eyes on you.

He loves it.

“Got nothing to say?” you hum and linger there for a moment before leaning back, a smile on your lips. It looks kind and nice, but Jungkook realises that in the corners there’s more.

He tongues his cheek and holds onto his lyre tighter. You’ve won this.

“You got me,” he admits quietly, and even though he’s known to be a sore loser among his friends and family (has always been ever since he was little), he doesn’t mind. Somehow, there’s no bitterness drilling into his chest as he acknowledges his defeat. Maybe it’s the grin that spreads on your lips when he declares you the winner. It softens the blow significantly, reduces it to nothing.

“Of course, I do,” you say, the corners of your lips curling up even more. “I know people like you.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “Do you?”

“Grew up with someone like you,” you tell him.

“Someone like me?” he repeats. “What do you mean by that?”

You give him a look and push yourself off the wall. His hand itches for you, to wrap around your waist and hold you there. He thinks you’re going to whisper something into his ear, send a shiver down his spine once more and steal his pulse and breath. But you just brush past him, and it makes him freeze.

When he snaps out of it and turns, you’re already pushing the door open. Jungkook knows you can feel his gaze on you, that you’re aware that he’s waiting for you to look at him one last time. But you play the game well, the game of push and pull, cat and mouse.

You don’t give him that last glance.

And when you walk out of the tavern, he knows you’re walking out with a lot more than when you came in.

The shelf is curved from all of the ceramic jars its holding, the dip blatantly obvious. It’s going to break at any point now, he’s sure. Curiosity gets the best of Jungkook and he dares to grab the lid of one of the jars, about to peek inside when-

“I wouldn’t touch that.”

He almost drops it, his heart giving out, before he turns and meets your eyes. You’ve got an almost stern look on your face. It brings an apologetic smile on his lips.

“Sorry,” he quickly tells you, carefully putting it back. He wipes his hands on his tunic. “I was just curious. Wanted to know what it is.”

“Ointment,” you tell him, gesturing for him to sit on the examination bed he had first been pointed to when he came in. He should have stayed seated. “You shouldn’t touch anything in here.”

And even though Jungkook isn’t one to let other people tell him what to do, he agrees with you, nodding. It makes you smile. You sit down in front of him.

“What brings you in today, son of-”

“Jungkook.”

You still.

“Call me Jungkook, not son of Apollo and Calliope,” he explains. “I’m more than my parents.”

You try to hide it but he sees it, that flicker of surprise in your eyes. He knows you thought he’d love it if you emphasised his parents, the divine half of him. He almost starts grinning.

You purse your lips and nod. “Okay, Jungkook.”

And instantly, he’s already in love with the way you say his name. It sounds prettier on your tongue.

“What brings you in then, Jungkook?”

He loves it so much.

Clearing his throat, he speaks, reciting what he’s practised to say all this time in his head, “My pulse has been going painfully fast and my chest has been hurting too.”

He places his hand above his heart, and you hum, your mind already going over every possible illness that could cause his symptoms.

“Can you describe the pain a little more?”

“It’s dull. It doesn’t hurt too much, but it’s noticeable.”

Your brows pinch together. You can’t think of an answer to his symptoms, especially not when Jungkook looks perfectly healthy and when there’s divine blood flowing through his veins. It should make him practically immune to most illnesses.

“When did you begin noticing the symptoms?”

“A couple days ago.” He pauses. “Now that I think about it, the first time I began experiencing the symptoms was the same day we met.”

You still.

“I’ve gone to Hippocrates about it,” Jungkook says and he can no longer hide the smile that’s wanted to form the entire time. “He diagnosed me with lovesickness, the reason for it supposedly being rejection.”

You’re silent as the purpose of this visit dawns on you.

“You went to Hippocrates?”

You arch a brow, knowing that he isn’t in Thrace right now from what your mother has told you.

“Of course,” Jungkook lies. Obviously, he hadn’t. He’s skilled in many ways, but he doesn’t even know where to begin to arrange a meeting with the most famed and concurrently busiest physician in all of Ancient Greece. “And he also told me how to fix it.”

“Did he?” You look a lot like you did in the tavern, leaned back in the chair and arms crossed. “Care to share?”

Jungkook’s grinning. “He told me to seek out the person responsible and ask them to please accept my love.”

You sigh, almost like you’re annoyed with him. But the fact that you don’t throw him out and tell him not to bother you (because you have the power to do just that. This is your place after all and not his.) lets him know that you’re feeling quite the opposite. And the hint of amusement in your voice confirms it.

“Why don’t you follow Hippocrates’ advice then? There’s no better physician than him.”

Jungkook leans forward, gesturing for you to do the same. You’re hesitant, but he’s insisting and stubborn, signaling to you he’ll only tell when you come closer. So you relent. Not without sighing deeply and rolling your eyes though. But he knows. It’s an act. He grins. Your knees touch.

Just like you had in the tavern a couple days ago, he leans in closer to you, his lips just right next to your ear. He holds onto the sides of your chair, subsequently caging you in. He thinks he can sense you stiffen, your breath hitching in your throat. And so there’s a grin on his lips as he speaks, voice low and quiet, words barely audible,

“What makes you think I’m not doing that right now?”

The idea for this comes to Jungkook a day after your meeting when he relayed the events to Seokjin, seeking advice from his older friend. He suggested it casually, mostly as a joke—You say she is a Y/L/N? Just book an appointment. Complain of lovesickness and ask her to heal you. And so he does expect a certain reaction from you—warmth creeping up your neck, quickening of your breath and pulse, eyes averting, voice lost and gone. He wants it. Craves it. His ego and pride fills his chest at the mere thought of it. It would satisfy a need in him, however childish and immature it might be. He’s humble in many ways, and in many ways he is not. It’s the divine blood, the godly half of him. It comes with a certain self-image and expectations, expectations of what an effect he should have on others, especially on mere mortals like you. His father is to blame.

But you surprise Jungkook, just like you had in the tavern, reacting the opposite of what he expects and desperately wants you to. You meet his gaze, no signs of nervosity as you do. There’s a quiet confidence surrounding you, and Jungkook realises then just how far your shamelessness and courage reaches.

He will lose this.

“I broke your heart?” you ask, quirking a brow. Your faces still impossibly close, words whispered between each other.

Jungkook grips the chair tighter, the skin stretched white and thin over his knuckles. It almost offends him that it’s his heart that’s beating as fast as it is. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. And yet, he can’t pull away from you, drawn in, practically brought to his knees.

“How did I do that—” He anticipates the end of your question. He knows it will be his name. And he also knows that you’re aware of how desperately he loves to hear those two syllables spilling from your lips. He’s almost sure you won’t give him the satisfaction, until you do, finally, thankfully. “—Jungkook?”

He wants to shake his head, scoff at the innocence you’re feigning, the act you’re presenting him with—eyelashes batting, head tilted to the side, a smile quirked up on your mouth. A part of him is almost infuriated by how you have him hanging on your lips.

“You left me,” Jungkook reminds you, staring into your eyes and he thinks he’s going to get lost in them. “Remember?”

“Oh, did I?” you gasp, and it makes him tongue his cheek. You’re playing this well. “I did, didn’t I?”

You wait a beat, and he knows what you’re going to ask before you even do.

“Did that hurt your pride?”

Jungkook takes his time to answer your question, letting you mull in silence. Partially to see if you’d grow uncomfortable, and partially because he isn’t sure if he wants to admit to it or not. It would be another hit to his ego and pride. But when he remembers the way you smiled when he declared you the winner and gave in, the choice is easy.

“You know it did.”

The answer satisfies you, your mouth splitting into a grin.

“And why’s that?”

When he meets your gaze, he can’t believe it’s his face that flushes, his breath that hitches, his pulse that triples, his voice that dies in his throat. That, even though Jungkook came prepared, you’re the one in power after all.

He exhales a quiet scoff and shakes his head. “You know why.”

The small laugh you let out then should probably offend him. And yet, all he can think about is how beautiful it is, how melodic and delicate. It’s ingrained in him already, replaying in his mind.

“What now?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. “How do you want me to fix it, hm?” You put your hand on his chest, right above his heart. He stills. He’s sure you can feel the way it beats and thumps in there, loud and fast. “That broken heart of yours?”

This game you’re playing, the dance you’re dancing, he’s bad at it. You’re winning this without even trying. It was foolish, he realises, to have thought that coming here might allow him to even out the fields, score a point himself. You’re running circles around him without even running.

“Have dinner with me,” he whispers, unable to speak louder than this.

You tilt your head to the side. “You think that will help?”

“I think—” The words come out slowly. “—it will do a lot to mend my heart.”

If anyone was to see him now, he’d be the talk of the town. Jungkook, son of Apollo and Calliope, a demigod, crumbling in front of you, a mere mortal. Your gaze and presence and everything else about you doing things to him they surely shouldn’t be able to.

Your smile widens and you lean back. Even though this could be interpreted as a defeat on your part—you needing distance from him—it’s certainly anything but that. Your decision to move feels like you’re showing mercy to him because you know all too well what effect you’re having on him with your knees pressed against his, your face mere inches away from his, your smile plastered on your face, your voice low and quiet. You know all too well the pride and ego in his chest won’t allow him to back away. You give him space to breathe.

So it doesn’t feel like a victory when you agree.

“Come back around sunset.”

And when Jungkook is standing at the doorway, he can’t help but look over his shoulder, glance at you one last time. You’re too busy placing back the chair to notice, but he doesn’t mind, appreciating this moment he gets to look at you.

You’re beautiful.

“It’s nice here,” you say, looking around the tavern like this wasn’t where you first met.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jungkook smiles, playing along. “I just recently heard of this place.”

“Oh, did you?” You feign surprise.

Jungkook leans his arms on the table and shifts forward, head tilting to the side. “I did. Made sure to ask everyone for the best place to take you to.”

You meet his gaze, mirroring his position. There’s courage and confidence as you face him, leaning in as well.

“Put in a lot of effort, didn’t you?”

“For you, of course,” he mumbles. “The best of the best.”

And that makes you smile, the corners of your lips lifting at his admission. Neither of you break eye contact even though Jungkook does want to look away, his heart slowly rising into his throat. It’s a competition, a battle. Like it always is with you. Something he learned quickly. And so far, the scoreboard was tilted in one particular direction.

But before a winner can be determined (who was most likely going to be you), your food is served. Jungkook stopped by earlier and asked for the best table as well as the food to be ready for you once you arrived, so it doesn’t surprise him when it comes this quickly. You, on the other hand, startle a little, head snapping around as if you had still been on high alert even when you were staring at each other, your surroundings not slipping you.

Your features soften quickly once you realise it’s only your meal. Your mouth splits open as you take in what’s being presented in front of you—freshly baked bread, warm from the oven, fish still sizzling from the oil it was being cooked in, thinly sliced carrots and cucumbers and, of course, olives and wine on the side.

“Thank you,” Jungkook mutters to the women who served you and you echo him.

His eyes find yours once you’re alone again, a satisfied smile curled on his lips. You laugh when you meet his gaze, shaking your head.

“The best of the best,” he repeats quietly, and that makes you roll your eyes at him.

“Shall we eat?” he asks you with a hum, and grabs a piece of bread. It’s warm and soft. You do the same.

Dinner passes quickly, filled with playful jabs and jokes. In other words, it’s the usual program. And by the time you walk out of the tavern, you both don’t only feel drunk (well, tipsy) on wine but on the food too.

“You’re a good listener,” you say, and Jungkook looks at you. Your eyes are narrowed, lips pursed. You’re seizing him up. It makes him frown and smile at the same time.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

You hum and turn away, crossing your arms behind your back as you seem to think about his question. And when you face him again, your nose is slightly scrunched.

Jungkook can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the late hour or the heavy food or the hours you spent together, eating, drinking, laughing, or maybe it’s all of it, but you seem less on guard, your words not hitting quite as sharp as they usually do. He’s seeing another side of you. He likes that, to get to know you more.

“It’s because I am.”

“You’re surprised I know how to listen?”

You give him a smile. “I mean no ill.”

“What-”

He stops when you suddenly do, your feet coming to an abrupt halt, eyes squinting as you see something in the distance. He watches you as you go off the trail and step into the bushes, uncaring of how your tunic gets tangled up and dirty, the twigs digging into the soft flesh of your calves. You reach up into the branches and pick something from the branches. He laughs when you thank the tree.

“Sorry,” you tell him when you come back, brushing the dirt off your tunic, handing him what you’ve picked. A fig. “They were ripe, so I had to.”

“You’ve got a good eye,” he laughs, the fig soft and still warm from your touch. “Well, thank you.”

You smile at him.

“I love figs-”

“How’d you know I adore figs-”

There’s surprise on your faces, your lips slightly parted as you realised what either of you had wanted to say. Your eyes light up.

“Look at that. Something we have in common,” you laugh, and your shoulder softly knocks into his.

You take a bite from your fig. He grins, quick to do the same. You really did have a good eye, the flesh sweet and tender when his teeth dig into it. The juices explode in his mouth, the seeds soft on his tongue.

Looking at you, Jungkook thinks to himself how he could get used to this—having dinner together, walking around, sharing figs, talking and listening to all of the things you have to say.

He hopes you feel the same. He prays you do.

Jungkook’s prayers are heard.

He doesn’t know if he’s just that desperate and the gods take pity on him, or if you’re the one taking pity on him, but you spend more and more time with each other.

Jungkook shows you Thrace, taking you around town. It’s nice, blissful. And it doesn’t take long for people to recognise the two of you as a couple. It was ironic because you hadn’t even kissed or held hands yet. And though he denies it when you’re with him, he lets the comments and looks slip when he’s alone, just wanting to relish in the fantasy of him being yours and you being his for that moment. It’s stupid, but he’s unable to bring himself to correct others. He wonders if you maybe do the same when you’re alone, if maybe he and you could possibly be more. He wants to ask, but he refrains, settling for showing Thrace to you instead, taking what you’ll give to him for now.

Today, he takes you to his favourite spot in all of Thrace: the coastline where the sand is soft and—just like the water— always warm from the sun. Close by, there’s green too, vibrant and full. It’s right there where land meets water, the waves far enough to be of no bother but still within reach, enough to plunge into whenever the heart desires to as well, that he finds peace. And so he shares it with you.

You’re leaned against a piece of driftwood, the two of you choosing to be closer to the land than sea.

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook mumbles. The wind blows through your hair. He tucks a strand behind your ear. Your eyes travel to him at his touch.

“Do you want to go?” you ask, and Jungkook could swear, you lean into his palm. Maybe he’s imagining it, stupidly hopeful and desperate, wanting any sign you might reciprocate his feelings. He can’t tell. He doesn’t want to.

“No, no, of course not,” he quickly says, shaking his head too. “I just wonder what your father and mother will say. I don’t want them to worry or blame me-”

“Oh, please,” you laugh. “They love you. You could do no wrong in their eyes.”

And even though it wasn’t news to Jungkook at all—it was obvious your parents have taken a liking to him, your mother always inviting him to dinner and gifting him baskets of figs, and your father always pulling him aside to ask if he and you were together yet, nervously waiting for it to finally happen—it still makes him grin like an idiot and pride swell in his chest to hear you say it.

You shove at his shoulder. He laughs.

“I just don’t want that to change,” he says.

“Trust me, you have nothing to worry about it,” you say with a click of your tongue, and you watch the sea ahead of you again. He follows your gaze, but his eyes wander to you soon enough.

Everything about you glows from the warm sunlight, the rays bringing out your features and dipping them into a golden glimmer. He can’t help but think how he’d give everything to memorise this, have this moment go on and on until eternity. Just looking at you is enough for him. But he knows this will end soon. The sun will disappear and it will grow cold and the waves will become harsher and it will be time for you to head home. And so when he looks at his lyre that he brought that’s been lying beside him, untouched all this time, he knows to pick it up.

The song Jungkook begins to play is new, same for the words that spill from his lips, syllables rolling off his tongue easily. And just like when you first met, his eyes find yours. He can’t look away, not that he wants to anyway.

The melody is sweet and quiet, accompanied by the soft sounds of the waves. His voice adds warmth to the strings, doing things to your heart you can’t even begin to understand. And as he continues on, everything begins to still. Birds come down from the sky, perching themselves on the driftwood to listen. The trees freeze, the rustling of their branches fading away. The sea grows calm, the waves slowing, brushing ashore. Even the sun stops, halting her descent to linger, unmoving in the sky, spellbound.

Jungkook doesn’t know what he’s singing until halfway through—it’s a confession. He didn’t plan it. He sings to you and tells you just all of the things you do to him when you smile at him and roll your eyes and laugh and shake your head. He shares all of it with you, leaves out no detail, speaks even of how his heart grows heavy and warm when you’re with him and how it longs for you when you’re apart.

It’s a lovesick confession, sticky and sweet.

Song has always been the easiest way of communication for him, allowing him to express himself more eloquently than simple words could. Something about singing makes it easier to be vulnerable and open. But when you don’t say anything after the last note has rung out, your face unreadable to him, Jungkook begins to grow nervous, panicked.

“I’m sorry-”

You pull him close by his tunic, grabbing the soft cloth. His body stumbles forward, his lyre slipping from his grasp, landing face down in the sand. He should turn it around and care for it—it’s a delicate instrument after all, one his father had given to him—but when you kiss him, he forgets all about it.

He’s imagined what it would be like to kiss you, thought about it every night since he first saw you. But his mind didn’t prepare him for just how soft your lips are. How warmth spreads through him the moment your mouths connect, blossoming from his chest. How his soul comes to life. How an urge shots through his body. More. He’s greedy.

Jungkook places one hand on your waist and the other one on your cheek. He leans into you, desperate to be closer and closer to you. You hold him by his face, tilting your head to let him deepen the kiss. It makes him smile. You want this as much as he does, maybe even more.

When you part, the both of you panting, he realises you’re lying in the soft sand and he’s on top of you. It makes you laugh. He joins you, eyes closing shut as he keeps his forehead pressed to yours.

“Y/N,” Jungkook mumbles, his lips ghosting over yours, voice sounding strange, hoarse. “I-”

He loves you so much, but he can’t bring the words to form, his tongue clumsy in his mouth. The words are new and strange to him. He’s never felt like this for anyone. He wants to pick up a lyre and sing, but he stops himself and wills himself to say it, taking a deep breath,

“Be my love, please?”

You smile and press your lips to the corner of his mouth. “I’d be my pleasure to.”

Jungkook kisses you again.

Jimin visited from Athens for the first time two months after your move here, a month after Jungkook and you shared your first kiss.

From the moment he sees him, Jungkook hates him.

Jimin does everything wrong—he stands too close, laughs too loud, smiles too big, dresses too well, tries too hard, lingers too long, gazes at you too much. It’s all wrong, no things a mere childhood friend should be doing.

By the end of his visit, Jungkook knows Jimin harbours more for you than he should.

When Jimin returns just less than a month later with gifts this time for you and your family—new ceramic jars, pristine plates, bottles of expensive wine—Jungkook despises him.

The hate is petty, coming from the mere fact that he can’t compete. As capturing and mesmerising as his talents were, they don’t bring Jungkook much wealth. He lives simple considering his divine heritage. His life’s still better than most people’s, blessed with adoration from everyone, but monetary wise he isn’t as well off as some might just believe.

Jimin, on the other hand, dons tunics and capes, dyed in rich purples, and rings made of the finest gold, the kind that shimmers even in the dark. And worst of all, he sings too, showing off his talents one night after you’ve all had a little too much wine. Jungkook’s voice is better than his, proving this shortly after Jimin’s performance with one of his own, his talent on the lyre already enough to beat out the older man, but his heart’s still bitter, the victory not feeling like one.

Maybe he wouldn’t loathe Jimin as much as he did if you didn’t seem so unaware of it all. You laugh at his jokes, delight yourself when your mother invites him for dinner, show him Thrace like Jungkook had when you first moved here. But worst of all, you say his name like you do Jungkook’s. You put this ring to it, your tongue rolling out the syllables perfectly. It’s like you want to irritate him.

Maybe then his feelings of unworthiness wouldn’t have grown as much as they had.

Maybe then Jungkook wouldn’t have felt like he didn’t deserve you, like he was stopping you from achieving a future with someone who could give you everything the world had to offer and your heart could possibly desire.

Maybe then Jungkook wouldn’t have thought that Jimin could be your true happiness and he was merely in the way.

The thoughts plague him every time Jimin’s in Thrace, and even though they tug and pull on his heart, steal his last bit of mind and peace, he can’t bring himself to tell you about them. Seokjin urges him he to, but he doesn’t. His ego and pride won’t allow Jungkook. Foolish, he knows. But that’s him, a fool.

It all boils over when Jimin visits again a few months later.

Jealousy is ugly, even on Jungkook. It brings out a knit between his brows that will remain there permanently if it stays too long, forces his mouth into a thin line that’s hard and stiff, kills the spark and glimmers in his big brown doe eyes.

“Jungkook!” you call out when you see him in the doorway, catching sight of him only now. He snaps out of his trance, having completely forgotten about the reason for why he was here when he saw Jimin and you sitting there together in the living area—you.

He tries to soothe the grimace, schooling his face into something more neutral as he walks up to you. It’s hard, but when you reach out to him, your hand in the air for him to grasp, it gets easier. He takes it and slips into the seat next to you, wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling you closer there, his grasp firm around your waist. You’re his.

Jungkook can’t tell if Jimin is truly unbothered by it, or if he’s just that in control of his features, or if maybe he’s blind and simply can’t see it, but his face doesn’t falter. He wishes it would.

“Back so soon?” he presses, offering a smile with teeth and edge. Jimin smirks.

“Ah, not soon enough, I believe.”

“Wasn’t your last visit just recently?”

“I wouldn’t say three months to be recent.”

Jungkook quirks a brow. “Someone’s keeping count, huh?”

“Well, of course,” he looks at you, “I’m counting every day I’m forced apart from Y/N.”

If he didn’t have his arm wrapped around you already, Jungkook would do so now. Jimin doesn’t care for it though, and it makes Jungkook boil with rage because he doesn’t know what else to do, how else to make it known that you and he are something.

You sputter. “Jimin!”

He only laughs and shakes his head. “I’m joking.”

He’s most definitely not, but you fail to realise it. Jimin gives Jungkook a look, and he wishes you’d just see it, open your eyes and see it.

“This reminds me,” Jimin leans back and grabs a small trunk that’s been tucked under his feet, “to make up for all of the time we had to spend apart, I brought gifts.”

When he lifts the top, jealousy twists Jungkook’s features again. There are small golden mirrors, a handful of bottles of perfume, bracelets and earrings with jewels and gems, and beautiful gold and silver rings, shimmering in the light, big emeralds and pearls embellishing them. The sight makes Jungkook’s head spin. Even though he’ll fight for you without a beat of hesitation, yield a sword and bleed for you, he cannot fight this, wealth and luxury. He can’t compete, no matter how much he wants and would for you.

“Jimin!” you gasp.

He grins at your exclamation. Your eyes are big as you stare at everything presented in front of you, mouth wide open. Jimin laughs and takes one of the gold rings, the biggest one out of them all, beautiful and expensive green gems lined around the band, and grabs your left hand, sliding it onto your finger.

Your eyes bulge and though you try to resist, Jimin insists.

“Please,” he says. “I bought this one just for you. I want to see it on you.”

And with those few words, you let him, giving up the fight.

All while Jungkook sits there, his heart breaking into a million pieces in his chest. Because it’s then, with that ring on your finger, beautiful and perfect, he can see your future in front of his eyes; expensive jewellery dangling from your neck and hands and wrists and ears, your hair twisted with dyed purple ribbons, matching your tunic, the same gold ring on your left hand. You’ll be beautiful, living in wealth, everything brought to you at a mere finger snap. It’s the life he wishes for you. He wants you to live well. And it’s a life he can’t afford to offer to you.

“It fits perfectly,” Jimin observes, and slowly, Jungkook’s arm slips off your waist. “You look beautiful with it.”

You really do.

Jungkook wonders if he can die from lovesickness.

“Jimin, I can’t-”

“Y/N, don’t be modest.”

It’s a scold, but you take it with a smile.

“I really can’t,” you repeat, but you’re staring at the ring around your finger, in love with it. “This is all- you’re too generous, Jimin.”

And something about the way you say his name, the way you repeat it over and over again like you want to hurt him, stings. It drives Jungkook almost insane right then and there.

He clears his throat, and you look at him. “I’m going to go.”

You blink. “What?”

“I just remembered Seokjin asked me to help him with… something.” It’s a terrible lie, but under your gaze, he can’t do more. You raise a brow, suspicion reflecting in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You reach out to him, wanting to hold him back and question him, but Jungkook twists out of your grasp and stands up, bidding you farewell. He refuses to acknowledge Jimin as he walks out, not wanting to see the smile on his lips. His steps are quick—he’s fleeing—allowing you no time to interject.

Once again, Jungkook has lost.

In hindsight, he maybe shouldn’t have come here.

In hindsight, he maybe should have gone to Seokjin, hidden there, but his legs had simply brought him to the coast. Because maybe then, you wouldn’t have found him so quickly and he wouldn’t have to deal with you right now when his head’s still so full and spinning and his heart’s bitter and hurting.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, and he can hear you stop at his voice, hesitate.

You sit down next to him. He wants to tell you not to. The sand’s wet from the rain earlier today and your beautiful tunic will be ruined, your calves and heels scratched up by the shore. It’s all not worth it.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you say with a laugh, trying and failing to lighten the air around you. “How’d you know it was me?”

Jungkook looks at you, catching a glance of your hand. You’re not wearing the ring. He was almost sure you would. He averts his gaze, an ironic smile on his lips, and his head lowers as he pretends to rub the sand off his hands.

“Oh, please,” Jungkook laughs, scoffing, and you wince. “I know you.”

He shakes his head.

“I know you by the way you walk and the way you breathe. I could recognise you by the smallest gestures, by the way air lightens when you’re around.” His eyes lock with yours. “You can’t surprise me.”

You don’t say anything to that, unable to even begin to speak. He looks away again.

“How did you know I’m here?”

You smile, but he doesn’t see it. “I know you the same way you know me. You can’t surprise me either.”

Jungkook hums, lowering his gaze. You know each other too well, would do so blind and deaf.

It’s harsher today, windier, the waves washing ashore with more force and upset. You shiver involuntarily.

“It’s cold,” Jungkook mumbles. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t be here then either,” you counter, and he can hear the edge in your voice, your patience wearing thin. There are unspoken words hanging between you, and it’s only a matter of time until they’re said out loud. He feigns ignorance.

“That’s different. You should go,” Jungkook repeats, and he wishes you would listen to him for once, not fight him on this. But it’s you, and you’ll always fight.

“How so?

Sighing, he shakes his head. This conversation is futile. You won’t go, so he will.

“I’m leaving,” he tells you, standing up, but this time, you catch on quick enough, rising to your feet and blocking his way.

He looks at you. There’s irritation flaring in your eyes. It’s bright and hot, your jaw flexed. You press the words through gritted teeth.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, demanding answers. “Why are you behaving like this?”

Jungkook forces his eyes away. He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the reason for all of your frustrations and anger. He still hates it, even if he knows he is. He doesn’t want that. He never wants to elicit these emotions in you.

“It’s nothing-”

“Jungkook!”

And when his name spills from your lips this time, his heart hurts and aches in his chest. Because upset and exasperation swing with your voice as you say it. Two things that have never accompanied his name.

“Tell me! What’s going on?”

You move closer to him, trying to meet his gaze, but he avoids it like if he doesn’t, he’ll turn to stone. And the longer he refuses to look at you, the more it hurts you, frustrates you. Your hands clench into fists at your side as you wait, hoping he’ll give in, but he doesn’t.

“Jungkook!” you say, grabbing him by his tunic. “Look at me- talk to me!”

He does neither. It spares him of seeing your face crumble, of watching your anger subside and morph into something sadder, of realising your eyes are beginning to fill with tears.

You let go and move away, your hands returning to your side.

The silence is suffocating.

“Please—” It comes out quiet, broken. And once he hears the quiver in your voice, the fragility, he has to look at you. “—just tell me. What’s wrong?”

He knows he’s defeated. You’re pleading with him, the words soft and gentle. He realises he’d rather have you scream and yell at him, demand an answer, than stand in front of him, tears in your eyes.

“What did I do wrong, Jungkook?”

And like he’s been bitten by a snake, struck by lightning, Jungkook rushes to you, shaking his head, cupping your face into his hands.

“No, no, no,” he whispers. “You did no wrong, my love. You could never do anything wrong. It’s me. It’s only and purely me.”

He wipes the tears for you. You’re never one to let others see you cry, he recalls your father telling him once.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you whisper, swallowing. “Please.”

Jungkook closes his eyes.

Telling you would mean sending you in Jimin’s open arms, opening your eyes to the truth, to the bright future that awaits you, a future without him. He’ll have to watch you grow happy with Jimin, kiss him, love him, marry him.

“Because you and I can’t be,” Jungkook whispers and holds you close to him, pressing his forehead to yours, one last time. “You shouldn’t be with me.”

His heart breaks as the words slip, everything in him dearly yearning for the opposite, but it’s futile, wishful and foolish thinking. There’s no you and him. Not when Jimin could offer you so much more.

“You should be with Jimin.”

“Jungkook-”

You stop when he shakes his head.

It’s hard to speak, the words refusing to form on his tongue. But he forces them out, knowing that by the end, you’ll be happier.

“Jimin can offer you so much. He can offer you all of the gold and jewellery in the world- everything your heart desires. I can’t, my love. I can’t give you the life you want- the one you deserve. But Jimin can. With him, you’ll live easy and happy and-”

You push him away. Jungkook barely stumbles backwards. You’re weak and exhausted, but your push is still enough to jolt him. He looks at you in shock. There’s anger in your eyes again. But it’s tamer this time, softer. It borders on something else. He just can’t place it.

“You’re foolish, Jungkook,” you hiss, wiping the tears that roll down your cheeks when you blink. “You’re foolish and preposterous!”

He blinks at you, speechless.

“What are you talking about?” you laugh, and it’s bitter and empty. You look like you want to strangle and kiss him at the same time. “What’s going on in that head of yours that makes you think I should be with Jimin? That makes you think that Jimin is who I want?”

He opens his mouth, wanting to tell you that he could see it, how beautiful you’ll be covered in purple and gold and green. Your future that will be awaiting you with Jimin—you’ll thrive. But nothing leaves him, not when you’re standing in front of him like that with your tunic tangled around your ankles, dirty from the wet sand, your cheeks damp with tears, your hair wild from the wind, your chest rising heavy from everything you’re feeling.

“Do you believe jewellery and gold and wealth is what my heart desires?”

Jungkook wants to let out an empty and bitter laugh now. The answer is obvious to him. He doesn’t know why you ask this.

“Is it not what everyone’s heart-”

“Do you believe that by the end of time when my mind is old and body alike, jewellery and gold and wealth will bring me happiness? That when my deepest fears come back and it’s my time, those vapid and superficial things will soothe me? That a steady hand to hold won’t be what I’ll yearn for? A heart to confide in?”

He looks at you. He can’t speak. The silence kills you.

“It’s you!”

You’re yelling.

You close the distance and push both of your hands to his chest.

“It’s you I desire, Jungkook!”

And even though the words ring loud in his ears, unmistakeable, he doesn’t comprehend.

“You’re all I want, Jungkook,” you repeat. “You’re my love! You’re my world! You’re my everything! It’s you, Jungkook, and no one else—not Jimin or any other man! I do not care for gold or jewellery or wealth- I do not care for such things. I only care for you, Jungkook. Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I did!”

He’s dumbstruck and blinks. “You did?”

“Of course!” you cry out. “I cared so much I was scared you didn’t! I was scared that to you I’ll be just another conquest, another heart to break, another one to forget!”

You push him again. And once more, he just jolts backwards. You’re not strong enough to do more.

“You think I would have dined and shared figs with you and kissed you and spent every turn of day with you if I didn’t care for you from the beginning? If you didn’t mean everything to me from the moment I knew you?”

Push.

“I only want to be with you, Jungkook!”

Push.

“My heart is full of you. You’re all I’ll ever desire, today and tomorrow and even when my body hurts and my mind is gone and my days come to an end.”

Your voice grows quieter and quieter with each syllable, tears filling your throat and making it impossible for you to speak. The last words come out broken and slow.

Push. But you can’t muster up enough strength, and it ends with your hands pressed against his chest.

“It will always be you.”

And right then, Jungkook knows he’ll never let you go, ever. He’ll never let anyone or anything ever hurt you. He’ll always be there to tend for you, care for you, comfort you, listen to you, love you. He wraps his arms around you, heart aching in his chest. You’re right. He’s foolish. And his foolishness caused you to shed tears. Something he’ll never let happen ever again.

“Forgive me, my love,” Jungkook begs, whispering the words against the top of your head. “Forgive me, please. I’ve wronged you, my dear. I’m foolish. Forgive me, please, my love.”

“You’re stupid,” you mumble into his shoulder, your words lacking any bite and edge. You hug him back and Jungkook tightens his embrace, thankful you’re in his arms.

And when he sinks down to his knee, holding onto your left hand as he asks for your permission and you accept, he knows his heart is no longer his anymore. It hasn’t been for a very long time.

The entire wedding takes place over the course of three days.

On the first day, Jungkook and you make the sacrifices you’re supposed to make, the two of you paying the gods your respects. You thank Artemis for all of the years she’s protected you and Aphrodite, who you ask to take you under the wing from now on.

On the second day, you begin the morning with a bath, washing yourself with a loutrophoros, a water holder for special occasions. Afterwards, your mother and the women of your family help you get dressed. Jungkook in the meantime makes sacrifices to his parents, neither of which were a big part of his life once he was deemed old enough to take care of himself, residing on Mount Olympus instead with him in Thrace. Still, he’s grateful for the fame they provided him with, offering him a life he else wouldn’t have gotten.

By the time the sun is high in the sky, vibrant yellow against crystal clear blue, the gods blessing you, the wedding is in full swing.

Jungkook dons his best clothes, an intricate and detailed cloak hanging off his shoulders, a beautiful olive garland perched on top of his head. And while he’s beautiful, the focus is on you. Rightfully so because when he sees you for the first time while he’s standing next to the altar, his hands crossed in front of his body, his heart seizes to a stop and his breath hitches in his throat.

You’re stunning.

Jungkook has met princesses, nymphs, goddesses even during one of the few visits he’d be allowed as a child on Mount Olympus, and yet, none of them could compare to you.

You’re wearing a beautiful floor length white gown that cinches perfectly at your waist. The white veil, though it covers your face, isn’t enough to hide your beauty and the smile on your lips as you walk down arm in arm with your parents. Your garland’s made out of daisy, white and yellow, matching your gown.

And as he watches you walk down, with your family and friends gathered around, struggling to hold back tears, Jungkook falls in love with you all over again.

He’s truly the luckiest man in all of Ancient Greece.

“You’re beautiful, my love,” he whispers. You grin underneath your veil, something you shouldn’t be doing, but you don’t care.

“You too,” you whisper back and he takes your hands into his, rubbing his thumb back and forth on your knuckles.

He smiles and takes a deep breath, lifting your veil. His heart stops again in his chest.

“My love, my dear, my everything, my beloved Y/N,” Jungkook begins, speaking from his heart like how his mother taught him to, prose coming easy to him. “I still remember the first night I met you. You were leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, listening to me sing. I’ve yet to tell you—though I’m sure you know this by now—but from that very first moment when my eyes met yours, I was in awe with you.

“I’ve never been in awe with anything or anyone in my life ever. But you had me struck, wholly and completely. Mesmerised from the very first second. I couldn’t finish singing soon enough and greet you. It’s almost embarrassing now that I think about it, how desperate I must have seemed to you and others. But after all this time with you, I realise I do not care.

“Because in the end, I’m standing in front of you, marrying you. Words can’t even begin to describe just how lucky I feel, how incredibly blessed. I thank you for choosing me, my love. For deciding that someone like me, whose gifts only lay in melody and song, whose foolishness sometimes drives you insane, was worthy of you and your mind and your beauty and your affection.”

Your shoulders shake as you try not to cry, your hands tightening around Jungkook’s.

“And so I promise you that until the end of time, until the gods force us apart, I will spend every second I’m blessed with you only appreciating, cherishing, caring, protecting, providing and most importantly, loving you.”

You’re both grinning and crying at the same time, and though he hates nothing more than to see tears in your eyes, it does make him proud to know his words tug on your heartstrings.

“Jeon Jungkook,” you begin, a slight quiver to your voice from all of the tears you’ve swallowed. “I feel anxious as I stand before you and try to express just how much I feel for you. Unlike you, I’m far from gifted with words. More times than not, I don’t even know where to begin.”

He shakes his head, mouthing quiet ‘no’s. He wants to tell you that you’re more eloquent and well-spoken than he is and ever could be, but he refrains, knowing an interruption, even a well meant one, would anything but delight you.

“So I will try to keep this short in hopes not to embarrass myself too much. But please, Jungkook,” you take a step closer to him, your eyes glossing over, “know that my mind and heart is solely yours. That even if I might not say it enough, I cannot imagine being with anyone but you.

“I’ve never known a home to be anything but a house. It’s always scared me to think that one day I’ll be on my own, not surrounded by the familiar four walls I’ve always known. But ever since I’ve met you, I’ve learned that it’s not scary, that home can very well be a person.

“From the moment I looked at you, I knew you were my person, Jungkook. From the moment I dined with you and we shared figs, I knew you were the one I’ve been looking for, the piece and half of me that’s been missing this entire time.”

There’s not an eye left dry among your friends and family, not even Jimin can stop himself, who’s chosen to come though his heart’s bitter.

Jungkook’s garland almost slips as he captures your lips. His hand is on the small of your back while the other one cups your cheek. You hold onto him, pulling him down to you. You’re both grinning as you kiss each other, your love finally official.

Cheers and applause erupts. People congratulate you as you walk back down the aisle together.

Jungkook looks at you and all he can think about is how his heart has never been safer than in your hands.

He cannot await his future with you.

And he makes sure you know it when you go home together for the first time, pressing a path of kisses from your lips to your collarbone, down to your soft belly, whispering into your skin just how truly beautiful and wonderful and breathtaking you are as he does.

He sings to you, humming a melody, a song meant for you and only you.

You hold your breath, and he familiarises himself with the arch of your spine and the pitch of your voice when the relief finally arrives and the prayers you mumble into the air in between. It’s beautiful, you’re beautiful. Jungkook can’t get enough of it, and so rest comes only when the sky turns bright again.

On the third day, it’s tradition for the newlyweds to welcome friends and family into their new home and receive their gifts, with dances and meals set later in the day. And as great of a tradition as it is, Jungkook wishes it wouldn’t be one right now, hating the thought of your first morning cut short.

Slinging his arm tighter around your waist, he pulls you flush against his chest. You giggle. He presses a few kisses to the top of your shoulder.

“Hello, my love,” he mumbles, his nose brushing your neck. You place your hand on his, fingers interlacing. “Did you sleep well?”

You hum, closing your eyes and breathing in audibly. “Very well. Did you?”

“With you by my side?” He’s grinning. “The best.”

His words, as cliché as they are, make you laugh. But you shake and roll your eyes too. You turn to face him, the blanket twisting around you.

“They’re coming soon,” you say, lightly tracing his arm, up and down, up and down. “We should get dressed.”

But you stay there in Jungkook’s arms and make no effort to get up. So he takes your words with a shrug, dismissing them because there’s truly nothing important enough in this world to pull him away from your arms, from you, his wife, his beloved wife. He grins.

He presses kisses to your cheek and neck and ear and lips. You laugh and giggle. He does it again and again and again until you’re forced to twist yourself out of his grasp. But he holds you close, his hand sliding underneath the blanket.

“We can’t,” you reprimand, grabbing his wrist. “People are going to be here soon. Do you want them to see?”

“We are married, are we not? Husband and wife?” He speaks with a smile, still kissing every inch of your skin. “This shouldn’t be surprising.”

And when you lightly hit his arm and shove at his shoulder, he’s anything but surprised. You click your tongue at him and get up. He groans.

“Is it truly reprehensible for a husband to want to spend his morning with his wife?” he asks you, watching you slip into a tunic. It’s simpler than the one you wore yesterday, but you still look equally stunning. It’s not the garment but you, he realises.

“No, it’s not,” you say, not looking at him as you speak, busy dressing yourself. “But it is if you know guests are coming.”

There’s something almost childlike in the way Jungkook pouts and whines, upright in the bed now.

“Please don’t go,” he asks you once you’re fully dressed, reaching out for you. You, as much as you shouldn’t, slip into his grasp, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and squish his face to your body. The response is automatic, his arms your comfort and home. You can never resist.

“I don’t want you to go yet,” Jungkook tells you, and you thread through his hair, scratching his head. It makes him hum and close his eyes, his mouth curling into a satisfied smile. “I’m sure they’d understand if we stayed in bed-”

“It’s tradition.”

“I don’t care.”

You sigh, but it’s not ouf of annoyance. He can hear the smile on your lips. You relax in his grasp. Seeing his chance in your inattention, he pulls you down and switches positions with you, pinning you down. A yelp escapes you, and there’s almost something like exasperation in your eyes. It’s close to disbelief, but it’s quickly mixed with adoration too once you realise what he’s doing.

“Jungkook!” you reprimand, but it doesn’t sound like you’re trying (and you are not). “You can’t-”

The words die in your throat, quickly replaced by giggles when he presses his lips to yours. You don’t fight it, pulling him down to you and reciprocating the kiss. He smiles. He doesn’t think he could ever get enough of your lips. Kissing you is his favourite thing. When his hands begin to wander again, you stop it.

“I’m serious,” you whisper against his lips, breathless. “We can’t.”

Jungkook sighs and lets his head hang, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Fine.”

And that makes you cheer. He rolls over, allowing you to stand once more.

“Great, now get dressed please. People should arrive soon.”

You’re truly the only person who could give him orders and make him follow them. He sighs.

Jungkook is still in the middle of dressing when you return from the bathroom, your face damp. When you snake your arms around his middle from behind and press your cheek to his back, he believes, at first, you’re trying to make up for before. He stills when he realises you’re not.

“Are you drying your face on my-”

He doesn’t even bother to finish his sentence, sighing instead. He pats your hands, letting you do it. He could never tell you no. Especially not when you’re giggling the way you are right now. The sound weakens his heart.

“Thank you,” you say once you’re done, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He smiles.

“I’m going to go to the agora,” you say, market. “I need to get some ingredients.”

He hums and turns around, his hand snaking around your waist and pulling you close. “Or you could stay here-”

“Stop,” you whisper, and he pouts.

“I just don’t want you to go.”

You roll your eyes. “I have to,” you hum. “I’ll be back.”

He sighs and presses a kiss to your lips. “Be back quick”

You laugh and pull away, squeezing his hand. “I will. I promise.”

Looking back, Jungkook wonders if his reluctance to let you go all morning was maybe a sign, a sign from the gods, his father possibly, to stop you. He wonders if he tried a little harder, held onto you a little longer, insisted a little more, if things would have turned out differently. He wonders if he could have done anything to change the outcome. He wonders if he had the power to convince you to stay.

Because you don’t keep your promise.

By the time he's done setting up your home for the guests, you’re still not here. And when one of your aunts and uncles arrive, he begins to worry.

“I’ll look for her,” he tells them, apologising for the wait and asking them to make themselves at home in the meantime. They wave him off, telling him there’s no need to apologise. You’re family after all, but Jungkook doesn’t hear them, already rushing out and thinking about where you could have gone, his mind conjuring up every possible scenario that could explain your delay, each one getting worse and worse.

His head whips around as he looks for any signs of you, something that could give him a clue about where you’ve gone. He’s tempted to run back to the market, maybe you’re there. But something within tells him you’re close by. Jungkook can’t place what it is, but it’s strong enough to convince him.

He looks at the forest behind your house, and somehow, he knows, you went there.

Jungkook can feel his heart beating heavily in his chest as he runs, a sticky film of sweat forming on his skin. The sun’s beating down on him, hanging high in the sky, no cloud in sight. Under different circumstances, he would have taken the time to appreciate the weather, thank the gods for blessing you with it and keeping the rain away during your wedding. But now the sun feels like it’s mocking him, shining high and bright to punish him.

Buying a home away from the city and closer to the forest seemed like a great idea—Jungkook thought he and you could make it a tradition to take walks through it after dinner, thought later on, it’d be the perfect place for your future children to run around in and play. He imagined you and him teaching them of nature, which plants were edible and which weren’t and when to pick fruits—but he’s beginning to regret it now.

“Y/N!”

Jungkook feels crazy calling your name into the trees.

“Y/N! My love, where are you?”

The longer he looks for you and gains no response or sight of you, the more he thinks he’s going to lose his mind.

“Please, my love! You’re scaring me! Where are you?”

He comes to a stop when the trail splits into two, heaving, hands on his knee, sweat dripping down his temple. His eyes scan both paths—they look the same.

But when he looks closer, he sees fig trees in the distance down the left one. And the moment he realises, he also sees a bit of white in between the trees. It’s you, arms up in the branches, picking figs.

The air is knocked right out of his lungs, relief hitting Jungkook in the gut. His eyes fall shut, his hands pressing over his heart.

You’re fine. You’re safe. You’re well.

It brings him instant solace. His worries had been in vain.

“My love!” Jungkook calls out and there’s no more panic and fear swinging with his voice, only relief.

You whip your head around, your eyes finding his. And at his sight, that beautiful smile of yours curls on your lips. It warms his heart, quenches all of his worries.

“Where did you go? I was worried,” he tells you with a laugh, shaking his head.

He walks to you, and you do the same, slowly stepping out, trying not to rip your tunic on the bushes.

All is well.

“I just wanted to pick some figs for you-”

Until it’s not.

He freezes. He knows something’s wrong even before it happens.

You trip. Your bag slips off your shoulders and its content spills out. The bread, nuts and olives you bought roll out. The figs you so preciously picked for him explode on the dirty ground, red on brown.

You let out a yelp. His knees lock in place, his body frozen in something like fear. It isn’t until he sees it, wrapped around your ankle, that he snaps out of his trance and runs to you.

The snake bites down into that soft flesh around your ankle, teeth breaking skin and ripping into muscle.

It’s black and thin. You didn’t see it, stepping on it accidentally. Jungkook grabs it, crushing and removing it from your ankle. It goes limp in his grip. He throws it aside, not even looking where it lands, dead.

“My love,” he whispers, falling to his knees when he sees your blood soaked hands wrapped around your ankle, your face twisted in pain.

He was too late.

“No, no, no!” Jungkook cries out, putting his hands around your ankle too, trying to stop the bleeding, but it only gets worse, his fingers staining with your blood, the red continuously gushing out. It makes him sick.

“Oh god! No, my love, how- how do I stop this? What shall I do?” He breathes unevenly, chest rising and falling heavily. Panic is pooling in the pit of his stomach, his hands shaking. “I- I don’t know what to do! How-”

You place your hand on his and squeeze. The blood on your hand mixes with the blood on his.

“Jungkook.”

He looks at you, fear and hysteria in his eyes. Yours, however, are gentle, a soft smile curled on your lips.

He remembers when he first met you, how you had that sparkle of mischief in your pupils, of courage. Jungkook thinks about how his heart was yours from that very first second, how the last few months had been the best of his life. He thinks and wants to go back to your first night. Because your eyes are glossing over now, the spark darkening—that sign of you dying—and he doesn’t like that.

“It’s alright, Jungkook.”

The knowledge seizes his heart then, cold and suffocating. He shakes his head—no, no, no, no, no!—but that smile stays on your face, a calm and almost tranquil look he’s never seen on you before finding your features. He doesn’t like it, utterly despises it. He wants it gone. Your face shouldn’t be settled with such peace. It’s only reserved for the old and ill and frail, not for you. You, who’s still so full of life, so young, so vibrant.

“No! Tell me what to do, my love!” he begs, holding onto your ankle tighter, trying and failing to stop the bleeding. Your grip weakens, the venom spreading fast.

“It’s okay,” you repeat, and Jungkook wants to yell and curse and tell you the opposite, that you can’t be doing this right now! He wants to say so much, do so much, but he can’t. Not when you’re looking at him like that.

He cradles you in his arms, like you’re made of glass, delicate and precious and oh so fragile. He hugs you close to his chest, his knees scratching up on the dirty ground as he shifts and tries to not let the dirty ground touch you. His hands soil your tunic bloody. The red spreads fast. It’s a mess. You look like you’ve been in battle. The sight makes him dizzy.

“My love, please don’t!” Jungkook pleads, his voice breaking and cracking with every word. He shakes his head. “I need you!”

You squeeze his hand again. The blood staining your skin is drying. Your eyes are slowly falling shut.

“Please, look at me!”

You’re trying your best to.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice weak and strange. Jungkook wants to curse and yell.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” The words come out slow. “I just wanted to pick some figs. We would eat them.”

You shake your head and try to laugh. It’s humourless. It’s hard for you to speak.

“Like we did on our first-”

“I know,” he mumbles when your voice breaks. “I know. You don’t have to explain, my love. I know.”

You smile, squeezing his hand. You reach up with your other one. Blood stains his cheek when you brush away his tears. Jungkook didn’t even realise he’s crying. He chokes.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “There’s blood-”

“It’s okay,” he says, shaking his head and forcing a smile. “It’s alright. I don’t mind, my love.”

You nod and open your mouth to speak again, but life is slowly slipping further from you, your soul beginning to lift out of your body. Hades has come to claim you. You know. He knows.

“Rest, my love,” he tells you, quietly and broken. He hates the words spilling from his mouth. He hopes they offer you comfort. “All will be well. Just rest, my love.”

The corners of your lips lift up, and you grasp his hand with yours. He squeezes. Your smile, it makes his words seem true. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it will all be well. Maybe you’re more than a mortal. Your smile, it makes him want to believe himself.

“It’s alright, Jungkook,” you say. “Really, it’s alright, Jungkook.”

And Jungkook has never been more grateful to hear his name escape your lips. He truly loves it, the way it rolls off your tongue. Because for a moment, when he hears you say it, he’s reminded of your time together, how he feigned lovesickness to talk to you, the game you used to play, the glances he’d always steal from you and the glances you’d never give him. He’s reminded of a happier and simpler time. A time, where you didn’t lay in his arms, slipping further from him, where death didn’t seem possible.

You open your mouth, trying to speak. But you don’t have the voice for words anymore. It makes no difference. He understands perfectly.

“I love you too, my love,” Jungkook whispers, his smile breaking. A part of him dies as he tells you this, for the last time, he knows. “So much.”

You give him a smile, and he memorises it—the curve of your lips, the crinkle of your eyes, the scrunch of your nose; everything. He commits it all to his memory.

Jungkook kisses you. His eyes are squeezed shut. He wants to be blind to it all, for just a moment. He doesn’t want to see as you fade away from him, take your last breath. He can’t bear the thought. So he allows himself to think it’s all fine, lets his mind to believe that you’re not dying in his arms right now. It keeps him sane for that moment.

Jungkook had only ever had one conversation with his grandfather, Zeus, before. It was short, but he still remembers it vividly. He wanted to know if it was true what people said—if humanity was originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces and if he really did split them into two parts out of fear of humanity’s power, dooming them to look for their other half until the end of time.

To this day, Jungkook still remembers the way his grandfather looked at him, his eyes dark and old. It made him freeze with fear. He wanted to take back the question right then, apologise and tell him how foolish it was of him to ask. But he’s glad his younger self couldn’t find the courage to.

He’s glad he knows the answer.

He’s glad because Jungkook knew from the moment he locked eyes with you on that night all those months ago in the tavern, he found his other half, that he’d been looking for you and solely you all this time.

He’s glad he knows that there’s always been a connection between you and him—a lover’s bond.

It’s how he knows when he parts from you—before he’s even peeled his eyes open—that you’re gone.

Jungkook weeps as he holds you close to him, your body limp in his arms, eyes shut. Sobs tear through his throat, raw and painful. But it’s not enough to encapsulate the tremendous agony rippling through his body, the loss his heart and mind feels, the passing of you.

And as he holds you, rocking back and forth with you in his arms, he remembers how he naivelly asked his grandfather if separating them from their other half was enough to contain humanity.

He can still hear the chuckle his grandfather let out, the way his hair moved when he shook his head. “You’ll understand once you’re older.”

And he does now.

He finally understands as he holds your limp body close to him, his face buried in the crook of your neck, crying out for you.

It’s more than enough.

Jungkook has never buried anyone.

It’s a fate he’s never had to experience with his father a god and his mother a nymph. It’s a fate he never thought he would experience for a long time. When he imagined his future with you, he was always sure it would end with him first. You’d come after. It only made sense to him. So, he doesn’t even know how to begin. Arranging a funeral for anyone, he couldn’t do it. Arranging your funeral, the funeral of his wife, the love of his life, it tears his heart open.

But it has to be done.

You need a proper funeral and burial. It’s the only way to let your soul rest, and it’s what he wants, your peace. He doesn’t even want to imagine the opposite for you, the torture and agony you would go through as you’re left to wander earth, unable to rest.

But grief, he learns, is paralyising.

It chains Jungkook to his bed. It’s all he does, lie in bed, staring ahead of him, waiting. He can’t say what he’s waiting for, maybe it’s death or maybe it’s you, miraculously, awakened from the dead. Either way, it’s futile waiting. You won’t return and death won’t come, your family and Seokjin taking care of him, forcing him to eat and drink and rest. Days pass in a blur, and it’s at your funeral that he regains consciousness.

It’s the sight of you that awakens him.

You’re lying on a table, a soft white silk cloth underneath you. Flowers have been put around your body, vibrant and pretty and full of life. Simple but expensive gold jewellery hangs from you. And for once, Jungkook’s glad for Jimin’s existence in your life. You’ll be taken care of in the underworld. Your hands are neatly clasped in front of your stomach, and you’re donning a gown that he, on the first glance, mistakes for your wedding dress.

Looking at you right now, it’s easy to pretend that you’re merely in a very deep sleep. He wants to believe it, turn to your family and tell them it was all a big mistake. You couldn’t be dead. They should look at you! No one could possibly be this beautiful in death. You were simply sleeping a little longer than usual, exhausted from the wedding. That’s it. Nothing more. All of this is a grave mistake. But mistakes are fixable. You just need to be woken up, and you’ll tell everyone then. The funeral, it will make you laugh. You’ll tell your children of it later, how, for a moment, their dad thought he had lost the love of his life, his wife-

A hand seizes his shoulder.

Jungkook looks. It’s Seokjin. His friend’s face is pulled into something he can’t pinpoint. Tears are brimming Jungkook’s eyes, blurring his vision.

“I-”

“She’s gone,” Seokjin says quietly, squeezing his shoulder, and Jungkook looks at him, blinking a few times.

And even though he knows that deep down, of course, he does—he could feel life leaving you, the warmth seeping from your body. He could feel you dying in his arms—Seokjin stating it, you’re gone, no longer walking with him, by his side, breaks him.

Jungkook falls to his knees, his forehead touching the cold hard ground. The tears are hot as they roll down his cheeks. He bites his lip, trying to silence the sobs and cries that bang on his throat. It’s futile. They spill. His cries fill the room, the sounds escaping him primal. His lungs are crushed and crumpled up within him. Breathing is hard. He feels like he’s suffocating and choking.

Rising to his knees, he grasps your wrist. It’s cold. You’re cold. It scares Jungkook, makes a new wave of tears rush down his cheeks. He always thought that it would be you burying him one day. Your life just seemed so much more of value than his. You made a difference every day. He didn’t. He wants it to be him, lying on the table. It should be him! He promised to protect you. And he failed, miserably.

“Y/N, my love,” Jungkook whispers, shaking you lightly as if you’d maybe wake up from it. “I’m- I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, my love. I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect you.”

The words soon morph into something unintelligible, losing their meaning and distorting into a cry. People turn away from him, averting their eyes, refusing to look. Not even Seokjin can bring him to watch, lowering his head too.

It’s a pitiful sight.

The anger and fury doesn’t come until a day after your funeral. It brews in him, along with the guilt. It quickly consumes him whole, eats away at his mind and body, steals his voice. His hands are bloody and soiled from banging the ground holding you, begging for you to just please, please, please come back to him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over. “Forgive me, my love.”

He touches your tomb, traces the letters of your name.

“I shouldn’t have let you go. I should have gone with you. I shouldn’t have let you go. I should have gone with you.”

He chokes.

“Please, my love, come back.”

He’s gone mad, people say. Jeon Jungkook, the beloved demigod with a divine voice, has fallen from grace. He’s lost himself.

But he doesn’t care, not when this world has wronged and taken you from him, closed the book on him and you before it could even begin, separated you two once more in life.

He’s a lover without someone to love. What else is he supposed to do but lose his mind?

Jungkook stays at your grave day and night, refusing to go. The house feels haunted by your absence, a hole in the world without you. But worst of all, he can’t bear the thought of you being here, alone, your ashes in the cold urn buried six feet under soil. It must be lonely and scary. He can’t leave you, stuck in a state of utter and complete loss.

“It’s not what she would have wanted,” Seokjin tells him. “You should rest. You need to eat something.”

“I can’t.”

The words come out quiet but cold. His voice, once beautiful and melodic, sounds rough and torn from all of the screaming and crying.

“Jungkook, you should go home-”

“Don’t you understand?” He whips around and Seokjin almost flinches. “Don’t you understand I can’t leave her? Don’t you understand there’s no such thing as home for me anymore?”

And if he wasn’t already kneeling in the dirt, next to your tomb, Jungkook would fall to his knees now. Seokjin doesn’t recognise his friend anymore. Jungkook’s face is twisted in desperation, eyes blown out wide and empty, nose and cheeks red from his hands dragging on his skin.

“Don’t you understand that she was my home?”

He chokes on the words, voice breaking the same way his heart is as he speaks. He doesn’t know what to do without you.

Seokjin closes his eyes, his mouth pressing into a line. He crouches down and hugs his friend, wrapping his arms around him. They hold each other. Jungkook weeps again.

His anger and fury soon turn against the gods.

He stops asking you to come back and instead demands the gods to bring you back. But the gods are stubborn. And so is Jungkook, the divine bit of him determined to receive an answer. He screams and screams, uncaring of the damage he’s doing to his voice.

“Cruel!” He repeats the word over and over again, like a prayer. “Cruel, that’s what the gods are! Selfish and cruel!”

And though rage is all he feels, there’s a tremendous amount of grief swinging with his voice.

“How dare you take her?” He stares into the distance like the gods are in front of him, his face twisting as he thinks about your last moments together. “How dare you separate me and her, again?”

His heart is heavy as he speaks. It hurts in his ribcage, like everything in his body does. He falls to his beaten up knees, purple and blue from all of the kneeling, bloody and scratched up by the ground.

“How dare you, pappos?” Jungkook spits, fingers curling around the dirt, the skin stretching thin and white around his knuckles, grandfather. “How dare you do this to me? To her?”

He wants to climb Mount Olympus and confront his grandfather. But he can’t leave you either. So he stays and yells instead.

“How could you be this cruel, pappos? Did you fear me and her?”

Silence.

“Why didn’t you take me?” The words are bitter and grief stricken. “Why did you take her? Why did you leave me on earth without her?”

Jungkook wants answers, but no matter how many times he asks and demands for a response, screams and yells into the air, he never receives anything. Not a word or a sign or anything. It never even rains, no clouds in sight. The sun is the only thing in the sky. He hates it.

You’d be able to handle yourself so much better if he was the one in the urn. He’s sure of it. You’d always been the stronger one between the two of you. He’d always admired you for it.

He doesn’t understand why he’s here, why it couldn’t have been him, bitten by the snake. He doesn’t understand because you helped people. You healed them. You brought comfort and assurance to the world. You should still be here. Not him.

Jungkook falls to the ground.

“Don’t you know she’s more worthy of living than me, pappos?”

Soon, his words lose their snark and bite.

Jungkook begins to plead instead, apologise profusely for his foolishness and all of his accusations, asking for forgiveness, hoping maybe in doing so, the gods, his grandfather, would be appeased and unify him and you again, grant him his wish. Maybe he’ll hear something from them then.

But he receives no answer.

So he grows silent, mute. He just sits there at your grave, waiting.

Until one day, when the sun is rising, the sky orange and warm and full of life, and he just begins to sing. It happens without a second thought. The words spill from his lips, quietly and soothingly. His voice, even though it’s raw and broken, still has melody to it. It’s still capturing and mesmerising. He doesn’t have his trusted instrument with him to accompany him—he’d usually never sing without it—but right now, he doesn’t care.

Everything stills the same way it did when he sang to you at the beach. The birds quiet their song to listen to him, the wind halting to not interrupt him. The sun lingers again, captured by his voice.

The melody and words are somber and sad, the notes and syllables carrying his grief and pain. He wouldn’t be singing this in the tavern. Or to you. This song isn’t for anyone but himself. For once, Jungkook doesn’t sing to impress or perform. For once, he sings because it’s in his nature and it’s the only thing he knows how to do anymore. Music, it’s all he has left in this world.

He sings of the guilt plaguing him, how he should be the one in the urn, how he should have gone with you and protected you. He tells of the pain of losing you, of being unable to help you, of seeing you suffering and not offering you the comfort you deserved in your last moments. He admits to his fears that one day he’ll forget the sound of your voice and the crinkle of your nose and the spark of your eyes, things he knows will slip his mind with time. Things he doesn’t want to lose but will, regardless of how desperately he holds onto them. He cries of the time he’s been robbed with you, how he hasn’t had his chance to make sure you’ll know you’re the only one he loves, has ever loved, and will ever love. Jungkook loves you more than anything in this world can love, and it hurts him to know you don’t even know.

And when the last words slip out, his cheeks are stained with tears and his hands shaking. He’s kneeling in front of your burial, knees bleeding from the stones digging into his flesh, tearing open old wounds.

It’s quiet around him. Even the birds aren’t singing anymore, fearful to follow his voice. The silence lingers, heavy and full.

“Yios.”

Son.

Jungkook hasn’t heard his voice in ages. It still holds the same vibrato as it did all the years ago.

He looks up. Even with tears brimming his eyes, he can see his father hasn’t aged much. It’s always been like that. His father blessed with seemingly eternal youth.

Jungkook doesn’t wipe away his tears. He doesn’t care to.

“Pater.”

Father.

Jungkook thought he’d be furious if one of the gods dared to speak to him. And if it was his grandfather, he’d fight until his death. But he just stares at his father.

He sits down next to him, dusting off his tunic and carefully placing his precious lyre on the ground. Jungkook feels filthy and dirty next to his father, aware of the soil and grime that stain his skin.

There’s a heavy silence around them, neither knowing how to begin. The last time they talked Jungkook was still a child. Now, he’s a widower.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looks at your tomb, eyes welling. He swallows and nods.

“She seemed like a nice and kind girl. Beautiful too-”

“She was a physician, pater,” Jungkook hisses. “She’s the nicest and kindest and smartest and most selfless person in all of Ancient Greece. Of course, she’s beautiful.”

His father lowers his head.

“I apologise.”

Jungkook closes his eyes and turns away. He doesn’t want his father here, his presence irritating and draining. He wants to be alone with you.

“I would have liked to meet-”

“Did you know?”

He turns to his father, face hardened, the tears gone, hands curling into fists. The anger is rising in him again.

“Did I know, what?”

He’s feigning ignorance. Jungkook might not know the man in front of him, but he still has eyes.

“Did you know it was going to end like this?” he asks slowly, his voice shaking. “Did you know it will come to this?”

His father turns away, averting his eyes from him and your tomb.

“Eleithyia made prophecies about your life.” The goddess of childbirth, overlooking in particular the births of demigods. “I remember her saying certain things would occur-”

“So you knew,” Jungkook spits, his eyes boring into his father’s face before he looks away, unable to stand the sight of the man in front of him, not when he doesn’t even try to deny it.

He feels sick.

“You knew what would happen,” Jungkook’s words are as bitter as his heart, pierced with pain and grief and anger, “and you did nothing to stop it. You-”

“Prophecies aren’t made to be stopped, yios.”

Jungkook snaps his gaze back to his father, jaw clenching painfully.

“Aren’t made to be stopped?” he repeats, hissing the words through his teeth. “Then what are they made for? What use do prophecies hold when you do not act on the gained knowledge? When you don’t try to prevent the pain and suffering that’s foretold?”

Jungkook stares at his father, waiting for some answer, a rebuttal, for him to tell him, like his grandfather did, he’d understand once he’s older-

“You’re right.”

The admission isn’t much. But it makes Jungkook’s anger and fury vanish.

He presses his lips together and looks at the ground. “Why are you here?”

“I heard you,” his father whispers. “I heard you sing. Everyone did.”

He means the other gods.

“Pappos too,” he continued, and Jungkook scoffed. “We’ve all been hearing you, even before you began singing.”

Jungkook doesn’t know how long it’s been exactly, but he’s been pleading and screaming for days at least. His father only came now. He’s truly despicable.

“Your singing has evolved beautifully-”

“Why are you here?” Jungkook asks again. “And do not dare to tell me you’re here to praise my singing. If so, I’d rather you leave.”

His father looks at him, tries to meet his gaze, but Jungkook refuses. The tension is thick and suffocating, but he doesn’t care for it. He wants his father to go, leave you and him alone. And when his father’s gaze turns to your tomb, he wants to tell him not to look. He knew of your death and didn’t try to prevent it. He’s not worthy of being near you.

“She meant a lot to you, didn’t she?”

“She’s my heart and mind,” Jungkook tells him, his words sharpened, cutting through the air. They hold weight, defy gravity, linger.

His father nods again.

“What would you be willing to do to have her return?”

“Anything.”

It comes quickly and without even a second of hesitation. His father nods again, it’s all he seems to know how to do.

“Did I ever tell you of my uncles?”

Jungkook says nothing. He doesn’t think there’s a need for him to. Their relationship is non-existent aside from the few lyre and singing lessons in his childhood. There was no time in between for conversations about family.

“Poseidon and Hades,” his father continues, and Jungkook just lets him speak, closing his eyes. Maybe he has something useful to say. He hopes this conversation ends soon. “God of the sea and God of the dead.”

He pauses, as if waiting to see if Jungkook had anything to add. He doesn’t.

“I’ve only talked to Hades a few times. He’s nicer than you would expect the God of the dead and lord of the underworld to be.”

There’s a chuckle, but it dies quickly.

“Persephone supposedly made him kinder.”

There seems to be no point to his words-

“More understanding of love.”

Jungkook looks at his father. There’s something in his eyes.

“If you’re lucky and plead your case with him,” he pauses, “maybe he’ll grant you mercy and release-”

“How?” Jungkook asks, straightening up. “How do-”

“Let me finish first.”

And like the god he is, his father clears his throat and lets Jungkook wait, hang on his lips.

“You have to know that it is true what people say. Hades rarely ever leaves the underworld. He doesn’t even at request.”

There’s something like a frown on his father’s face as he speaks. Jungkook has never seen it before.

“If you want to talk to Hades, you need to go to him. But-”

“How do-”

“You’re not listening, yios,” his father scolds and it marks the first time in Jungkook’s life, he’s been scolded by his father. “No mortal has ever gone into the underworld and come out alive-”

“I’m no mortal.”

“But you’re no god either,” his father reminds him, and Jungkook presses his lips into a line.

“I can’t ensure your return.”

Jungkook sits back down, lowering his head before his eyes lift to your tomb. Your name, it hurts him to see it carved in stone.

“But there’s a chance of hers?”

The realisation sets in with his father then, realisation that Jungkook isn’t going to hesitate, that he’s going to run and dive headfirst, blind and unarmed, into the underworld the moment he tells him how to. Your possible return, it’s all he hears, you by his side again, in his arms.

It’s true what people say.

Jungkook has gone mad.

He’s gone mad in a way only someone who’s truly loved and tragically lost can. He’s gone mad in the most human way possible. He’s gone mad loving and losing all too soon.

“I’ll pray for your success, yios.”

And when his father places his hand on his shoulder, Jungkook knows there’s no looking back.

“You know I could very well send you to Tautarus right now.”

Everything about Hades is frightening, from the way he’s leaned back in his throne, sounding bored as he makes his threat like he isn’t telling Jungkook he’s considering sending him to the realm of endless suffering. His voice, though it’s quiet, is unlike anything Jungkook has ever heard, holding no light or warmth. And though he speaks casually, Jungkook knows there’s weight to his words. Hades wouldn’t blink twice.

But Jungkook isn’t afraid. Punishment isn’t something he fears anymore. Not when he’s already been through the worst imaginable.

He straightens up. “I do.”

Jungkook holds Hades’ gaze, forcing himself to. He can’t waver even for once. If he does, his request won’t be heard.

“Tell me,” Hades tilts his head, eyes narrowed, “do you have a death wish?”

“I don’t. The opposite for a fact.”

The god raises his brow. He’s asking for an explanation.

“I had to come. I’m out of options.”

The words come out stable and even.

Hades looks at Persephone next to him, sitting beside him in her own throne. She hasn’t said anything so far, remaining quiet, observing.

Unlike her husband, she looks kind. She dons a long white gown, the complete opposite of his coal coloured tunic. The god of the dead and the goddess of spring. Love works in funny ways.

“What is it that you want here?” Hades asks.

“My wife,” Jungkook says, swallowing. “I’ve come for my wife.”

There’s no reaction.

“She must have come through recently,” he explains, pausing. It’s not that he wants to keep the gods waiting, but the words are heavy on his tongue. “She’s a physician. Her name’s Y/L/N Y/N.”

His voice wavers for the first time since he’s begun speaking, your name bringing tears to his eyes. A pain pierces his entire body, his throat closing. His hands tighten into fists by his side. He takes a deep breath.

“I’ve come to ask for her,” he says, swallowing.

The air is heavy around him, sitting like bricks on his shoulders and neck. They force Jungkook’s head down, but he fights it. He can’t look away. He can’t appear weak. He has to excude the same quiet confidence you always had around you.

“Bumptious of you to come here and make such a request wouldn’t you say?” Hades hums, raising a brow. “Insulting even. The underworld is no place to make wishes.”

“I’m not trying to be either of those things,” Jungkook says. “I’m merely here to beg for my wife’s life.”

“And yet you’re on your feet.”

Hades stares at Jungkook with that same stoic, almost bored, expression as before, lips pulled into a straight line. He’s looking for entertainment.

Jungkook sinks to his knees. The floor is cold and hard and it digs into his bones. Even though he does exactly what Hades asked him to, the god looks unimpressed. So he folds his hands to the floor and presses his forehead to them. Jungkook, demigod, son of Apollo and Calliope, most talented and famed musician in all of Ancient Greece, is begging on his knees and hands. There’s none of that pride and ego to be found within him anymore. He’s given that up a long time ago.

“Please,” he begins, “she’s been taken too soon-”

“I’ve had parents tell me the same thing about their children,” Hades interrupts. “Children who haven’t loved and laughed and eaten like she’s had. What makes her life more worthy than theirs?”

Jungkook looks up and quiets. He has no answer.

“Life and death are inseparable,” Hades continues. “You’re attempting to cheat death. How dare you ask me to grant her life when the Fates decided otherwise? Can’t you see how foolish and arrogant, impudent even, you are by being here?”

The words are disapproving and scolding. They dig into Jungkook’s wounded heart and gnaw on his confidence, make his reasons for coming seem inane and fatuous.

But when he looks down, on his knees, the image of you, lying in his arms, flashes in front of Jungkook’s eyes. And though you’re weak and frail, the light diminishing in your eyes, there’s a smile on your lips, and it haunts him. It haunts him that despite your warmth and beauty, you died. He misses you dearly.

“I’m no one,” Jungkook says quietly, meeting Hades’ gaze. “And maybe I’m being foolish and arrogant, impudent even, to you for making such a request, but I do not believe it to be true.”

Jungkook doesn’t see the smile that lifts on Persephone’s lips.

“I do not believe it to be foolish or arrogant or even impudent to want to share the joys and pleasures of life with her until the end of time.”

There's confidence as he speaks. It’s not his. It’s yours. You’ve taught him. You’re more him than he’s himself. He’s made of you.

“How can I be foolish or arrogant or impudent for loving her?”

He lets his words sink, thinks of you. You’re always on his mind. His heart aches. It’s been so long.

“It is the only wish I have. And I’d be willing to do anything for its fulfillment. Whether that be beg on my knees and give up my pride and the divinity within me and put shame to the names of my father and mother and be deemed foolish, arrogant, and impudent for asking, or fight and yield a sword until the very end. Her return is all I’ll ever long for.”

Jungkook pauses and looks straight at Hades, his gaze unwavering.

“Because she’s my heart and mind.”

Hades doesn’t turn to Persephone when she grasps his hands. But he interlocks his fingers with hers and squeezes.

It seemed simple enough. Jungkook can’t turn around and look at you or talk to you during the entire journey. It seems easy and nothing in comparison to the price, your return.

But Jungkook soon realises it’s anything but either of those things.

Fear begins to ingrain in him. Fear that he’s been tricked by Hades, made to return to Thrace just to look and see that it’s never been you, that no one at all was following him all this time. Because from the very beginning, he can’t hear you. While his steps echo back to him, loud and deafening, even his breathing ringing in his ears, he can’t hear you. Not your steps nor your breathing. It’s like you’re not there.

It makes him lose his mind all over again.

But what if Hades didn’t lie to him and is merely testing him? Maybe his father was right. Maybe Hades did become more understanding of love and he’ll be granted the greatest reward of all. What if, when he turns around and checks for you, you’re actually there and he’ll have to watch as he loses you once again?

Jungkook desperately wants to turn and look or ask you, hear your voice, gain the confirmation you’re right behind him. It kills him that he can’t do either.

And though he frantically tries to cling onto that hope that no one could be this cruel, not even the god of the dead and lord of the underworld, his steps begin to grow unsure. He wants to shake it, but trusting Hades starts to seem foolish and naive to him. But it’s the only thing he can do, have trust.

He holds onto it until he sees the first glimpse of light. It’s a fleck in the darkness, but it grows. Jungkook stops when he first sees it before leaping for it. His vision begins to swim, knees buckling as he sprints. He’ll know soon enough.

Maybe he’ll look back and realise what a fool he had been, or maybe he’ll look back and realise having trust is the right thing.

Either way, all will be well somehow.

Because he won’t give up if this turns out to be futile. He’ll climb Mount Olympus personally and demand his grandfather to act. It will be fine, somehow. Jungkook’s sure of-

It surges in him rapidly. The same way it did the first time. That feeling that something’s wrong before it even happens. He feels it deep within him, his heart dropping in his chest, his feet freezing to a halt, time slowing to a stop. He’s never felt like this for anyone before, never had a sixth sense for someone like he has for you. It’s that little something connecting him to you that alerts him, that part of him that will always look out for you, ensure your safety.

Jungkook doesn’t even realise what he’s doing until it’s too late. He has turned and caught you before you could fall.

He looks at you and you look at him.

Surprise flashes across your features, eyes wide, unblinking, your lips parted. The light illuminates your face, soft and gentle. It twinkles in your eyes, igniting the spark in them. You’re warm and vibrant. Life, he realises, is just within reach. And he’s just taken it all from you. You’ll begin to fade again.

Everything crashed back down on him. Regret comes instantly and knocks Jungkook in the gut, the air pressed out of his lungs in one exhale. The realisation of what a grave mistake he’s just made, of what he’s done to you, sets with him. It breaks him. He falls to the ground. It’s dark around him again. The doors to the surface have been closed.

“Oh, god!” Jungkook cries, and you kneel beside him. He can’t look at you and lowers his head. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry, my love. What have I just done? Please, forgive me. How can I ever-”

“Jungkook-”

“I didn’t mean to!” He lowers his head to the floor, begs. “I really didn’t mean to! I can’t explain what overcame me. I-I thought you tripped-”

“Jungkook-”

“I should have resisted! Please, do not abhor me. I’m weak and-”

“Jungkook!”

He stops when you cup his face and force his gaze to you. You wipe away the tears that spill. He hasn’t properly looked at you all this time, and now that he does, his heart breaks all over again in his chest. You’re as beautiful as he remembers you to be, your eyes full and bright. It’s also there, that smile of yours that he has committed to his mind. It holds that same soft and gentle edge as he remembers it to.

“It’s alright,” you tell him, and there’s no waver in your voice. “Do not cry please. It’s alright, Jungkook.”

And now that you’re in front of him, holding him, smiling at him, talking to him, looking at him, he realises just how much he’s missed you. Everything from the way you gaze at him to the way you hold him to how you say his name. He’s missed you so so so much. His heart aches in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook chokes out, and you press your forehead to his. He can feel you slipping again.

“It’s alright,” you repeat. “Truly.”

It’s hard to believe your words. He wants to, but he can’t. Not when he knows he’s the one who’s doomed you to death.

“Do not cry please,” you say, wiping away his tears. He nods.

“I-I won’t. I’ll stop.”

But he continues crying. He can’t help it. You take it with a smile.

“Thank you for coming for me, Jungkook,” you say, and he hiccups. “Thank you for loving me so much, Jungkook.”

He hugs you, closes his arms around you so tight as if all he’ll need to do is hold onto you enough, as if that will stop your soul from being claimed. He can’t and won’t let go.

“Thank you for looking and catching me in your arms, Jungkook.”

He weeps into your shoulder then, shaking uncontrollably.

And despite your smile, your eyes are glossed over. This hurts you too. You know how close you were, how within reach a future together was. But you’re not bitter at all. Your smile is genuine on your lips, just like your words. And how could you be possibly unhappy when you were so loved by your husband?

Jungkook loses you by loving you.

“I’ve never been loved like this,” you say. “No one has ever cared for me as much as you do. I’m glad you know me so well.”

A breeze blows past. It’s cold and haunting. Hades is close.

“I’ll come for you, my love,” Jungkook tells you, holding you even tighter. “I’ll come for you again. Nothing will stop me. I’ll always come for you, my love. I’m gonna walk every road to you. I’ll follow you until the end of-”

You shake your head.

“Please, do not do that, my dear. Don’t attempt this again, Jungkook,” you say, tilting your head to the side, looking at him so gently like he’d break any time in front of you. As if he hadn’t already. “The gods won’t be so kind the next time, I don’t think.”

“I do not care. I do not fear death or eternal punishment. Not-”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, and he’s still shaking when he looks at you and listens. You’re the complete opposite of him, grounded, calm. “It’s alright.”

You’re still smiling.

“Someone always has to go first,” you say, quietly. “It will always be like this. And I’m going first.”

He shakes his head. He wants it to be-

“Please live well after this,” you hum, brushing away his tears. “Live a full and happy life, Jungkook. Go on and continue to love someone else, bless them with your beautiful heart and mind. And don’t deprive the world of your singing, please. Never lose your talent. Live, and come back to me and tell me all about your beautiful, beautiful life. I’ll wait to listen to your stories, Jungkook.”

And your words make him weep again. You won’t be in the stories. None of them will be about him climbing Mount Olympus and confronting his grandfather.

“Promise me that, please?”

It’s hard to breathe.

“I will,” he whispers, chokes practically. “I promise you.”

Your smile morphs into a grin, your nose scrunching. He loves it so much, the happiness in your eyes, almost more than you.

You nod, and he cries into your skin. You pat his head, fingers carding through his hair.

“It’s alright.”

And when you say it this time, he has to close his eyes and hold you closer to him. You’re slipping further and further.

You kiss for the last time, lips finding each other. It feels like your first one. Jungkook still feels that same warmth growing in his chest as he did the first time, spreading throughout his body, reaching even the tips of his fingertips. And his heart beats loud and heavy in his ribcage, eyes screwed shut to block out everything.

But this one entails a goodbye, a see you later. Because Jungkook will see you again. He and you will be reunited once his time has come too. And you’ll be there to welcome him with open arms and he’ll leap into them. He’ll count the days until then.

Jungkook doesn’t open his eyes when you part. Because once more, he knows it before he even looks. You’re gone. And though he cries out for you, his other half, his most beloved, again and again, he knows he’ll survive this and go on.

Because he promised you.

It takes long.

But the day comes, years and years after yours did all that time ago. And when it does, Jungkook is prepared to let go and leave, does so with a smile on his lips. Because some things never change. His love for you hasn’t wavered a day.

You’re sitting along the shore, watching the waves. The wind blows through your hair, tugs on your tunic. He hasn’t even taken a step, only standing there, admiring you, when you suddenly turn. You know he’s here. You feel it.

Your eyes meet. He watches as your face breaks into a smile, crumbles into something so beautifully soft and gentle. Tears fill your eyes, just like his.

He leaps for you, throws his arms around you. You both fall back into the sand, your tunics soiled. His lips find yours, and he tastes the sweet figs on your tongue. As he kisses you, holds you, he feels the other half of him heal, a bond mending.

Your lover’s bond.

→ thanks for reading !! if you have any thoughts, id love to hear it!

#jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook fanfic #ficscafe #52hertz

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