#Beautiful even full of scars and mistakes

[blueclearcloud]

It's genuinely fucked we live in a time where fanfic movies are supposedly everywhere and ppl love complaining about the the scurge of fanfic but all of them are the worst white cis het things ive ever seen in my life.

And weirdly passively rich. Like these characters will live in a hipsters mcmansion or beach houses and never acknowledge it.

[ahqkas]

♯ TOO SWEET ; mattheo riddle

❛ i take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at 3, you’re too sweet for me ❜

PAIRING! mattheo riddle x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! in which mattheo recalled the two times you were too sweet for him (based on this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! consummation of alcohol, lovesick mattheo, fluff, angst, a lot of my hcs for mattheo’s past (i wrote him the way i see him), lmk if i missed smth !!

NOTES! this is purely my view on mattheo’s character bc the hc i wrote suit him sm 😿😿 reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated <3

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

ONCE A MAN FALLS IN LOVE, he finds himself drawn to not just the physical beauty of his muse, but for the essence of who the person truly is - their quirks, intelligence, kindness, and their unique way of seeing the world. Every interaction, every shared experience, every memory he brings, adds another layer to his adoration towards the love of his life.

His love for them is evident in the little things - the way he watches them when they aren't looking, the small gestures of thoughtfulness, the silent support during their dark moments of life. It's in the way he listens, truly listens, to the hopes and dreams, fears and frustrations, always eager to offer his thoughts and ideas. This love manifests in his desire to be their anchor in times of storm, their cheerleader in moments of triumph, and their person in all the in-betweens. It is a love that values their independence and individuality, recognizing that they are their own person with their own journey, and yet, he longs to be a part of that journey, to walk alongside them and share in their joys and sorrows of life.

Mattheo Riddle was no different.

He marvels at your kindness, your sweetness, and the light you bring into his life. You are his muse, his inspiration, a spark of the goodness that stands in stark contrast to his own perceived flaws and insecurities he feels deep inside himself. He sees you as an angel, a pure and radiant being who somehow chose to share your life with him, despite his own imperfections and inner demons.

He sees you as an angel in a human form, who chose to live among the devils, just so he could feel the heavenly touch for the first and last time in all eternity.

He often wonders how he, with all his rough edges, hidden scars, and a past life without a happy memory, could be worthy of your love. He feels like a monster, haunted by past mistakes and burdened by the weight of his own fears and failings. You, on the other hand, are everything he aspires to be - kind, compassionate, and endlessly forgiving. Your presence in his life is a constant reminder of the beauty and grace that he lacks, and yet, your love makes him strive to be better, to rise above his darkness and become someone worthy of your affection.

In his heart, he knows that your love is transforming him, helping him to heal and grow. Your existence is a light that dispels his inner darkness, a reminder for him to cherish that even monsters like him can be loved. He clings to this, that your love is making him a better man, one day at a time.

01. THE PARTY

The Slytherin common room was full of shadows and flickering lights, transformed into a wild moment of freedom for the night. The music, a thundering beat that echoed off the stone walls, could be heard from miles away, yet no professor or ghost visited the common room to cancel the party. It was as if the ancient castle itself had granted this one night of freedom to its most cunning and ambitious students. The rhythmic thrum of bass notes and the infectious melody of the latest wizarding hits filled the air, blending with the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses.

Bodies moved in a hypnotic dance, swaying in sync with the music. The students had discarded their usual aloof demeanors and uniforms, lost in the euphoria and joy of the moment. Green and silver decorations adorned every surface, shimmering under the enchanted lights that hung from the ceiling like glowing jewels. Laughter rang out, high and clear, mingling with the deep, resonant hum of conversation.

In one corner, a group of seventh years huddled together, their heads bent close in a whisper, before erupting into loud laughter. Nearby, a couple twirled around each other, their bodies intertwining like dark waves, eyes locked in their private world amidst the chaos around them. The fireplace, usually a place of quiet contemplation, was now surrounded by students perched on its stone ledge, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the night and alcohol.

Long tables filled with food and drink stretched along one wall, bearing the weight of a feast other students could be jealous of. Platters of magical meals, charmed to stay warm, smelled of aromas that mingled with the scent of butterbeer and stronger beverages. Bottles of firewhisky and elf-made wine were passed from hand to hand, each sip fueling the atmosphere more and more as drunken the students got. The alcohol flowed freely, loosening tongues, transforming even the shyest students into party animals of the night.

The Slytherin common room had never felt so alive. Tonight, they were not just the students of Hogwarts; they were a family, united by their house and their understanding of what it meant to be a Slytherin.

Mattheo Riddle was one of those students who were enjoying themselves tonight. His breathing features were illuminated by the green lights as he leaned casually against a stone wall, a cup of firewhisky filled to the brim in his hand. The amber liquid sloshed perilously close to the edge with each of his slowed gestures, but Mattheo seemed unconcerned, clearly lost in the haze of alcohol. His dark curls, usually styled in the way that made uncountable amount of girls fall on their knees, now fell loose around his face as you watched from a close distance.

He was engaged in a drunken conversation with Theodore Nott, whose tall, lanky frame was the opposite to Mattheo's more athletic build. Theo's typically serious demeanor had softened, his features relaxed into a rare, genuine smile as he listened to Mattheo's ramblings with a giggle threatening to spill out from his lips. The two of them, often seen together, now looked like true brothers. It was almost scary how much they resembled family when they were drunk.

Mattheo's voice, rich and slightly slurred, carried over the music as he recounted a particularly outrageous story from his recent fight. Theodore threw his head back and laughed. It was clear to anyone how close those two boys were, drunk or sober.

"Can you believe he actually thought I was serious?" Mattheo snickered with a big grin stretching across his face, taking a swig from his cup, the whiskey burning a warm path down his throat. "I mean, I barely managed to keep a straight face!"

Theodore laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're a menace, Riddle. One of these days, you're going to get expelled."

"Ah, but tonight isn't that night, mate," Mattheo replied with a slow wink, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To living dangerously and laughing in the face of consequences!"

They clinked their cups together, the sound barely audible over the throbbing beat of the music and you thought now was the best time to approach your boyfriend. 

Mattheo's brown irises scanned the crowd, catching a look of you as you pushed your way through the crowd of dancing bodies. The sight of you instantly brightened his expression and a genuine smile spread across his face. He felt a rush of emotions that the whiskey in his hand only intensified, each beat of his heart echoing with the certainty that what he held for you was pure love. The Slytherin straightened up, his posture shifting from the casual slouch of a carefree boy to the attentive stance of a man. Theodore noticed the change and a knowing smirk made its appearance on his lips as he stepped aside, giving the two of you a moment of privacy. 

"[Name]," your boyfriend called out, his voice full of warmth. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours as you came closer. "There you are, love."

You beamed up at him, your eyes reflecting the party's enchanted lights, making them look like twin stars. "Having fun, are we?" you teased and the tone of your voice carried a playful match that always managed to make his heart skip a beat. 

"Only now that you're here," he replied. The world around you seemed to blur as he gazed down at you, all the noise and chaos fading into the background. "You make everything better."

Drunk on both the whiskey and his overwhelming affection, the boy's usual reservations melted away. He held you close, his hands resting on your waist as if anchoring himself to your presence. When he was sober or feeling down at heart, his love for you was often hidden beneath layers of stoicism and insecurity, but now, in this moment of happy drunkenness, it shone through. 

He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips, enjoying the sweetness of the contact. "I'm so lucky to have you," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't deserve you, but I'm going to spend every day trying to be worthy of your love."

 “You have no idea what you mean to me. I look at you and . . . it’s like you’re the sun and I’m just a planet orbiting around you, soaking up your light,” he continued without a break. The boy wanted to get every one of his words out as fast as humanly possible. To show you his hidden feelings he wasn't able to tell you before. “You’re my everything, [Name]. I don’t know how I got so lucky. You’re so kind, so . . . good. And me? I’m just . . . I’m a mess, you know? A monster sometimes.” 

You shook your head lightly and took his hands into your own, enveloping him with your warmth. He was starting to get emotional, and you didn't need to have your boyfriend drunkenly mopping around. His mood changed like weather when alcohol got involved. “You’re not a monster, Mattheo. You’re human. We all have our demons.”

“But you,” he didn't allow you to finish your sentence before he spoke up again, his voice raw with sincerity, “you make me want to be better. For you. I see you, and I just want to be the man you deserve. I’m not always good at it, but I try. I try because you’re worth it.” 

You could see the glazed look in his eyes as he swayed slightly on the spot. He was rough around the edges, you couldn't deny the truth, but he was the sweetest boy when he managed to fall in love. Which wasn't exactly difficult, Mattheo fell in love easily. But when he did, it was worth everything. Mattheo was your sweet boy. “Love,” you said softly to him, your voice filled with gentle concern to the brim, “you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Maybe it’s time to slow down a little, okay?”

Mattheo blinked, giving you a lopsided grin, his expression a mix of boyish charm and pure happiness. “But I’m fine, [nickname]. I feel great. Better than great, actually. With you here, everything’s perfect.”

“I know you’re having a good time, but I don’t want you to feel terrible tomorrow. Let’s take a break from the firewhisky for now, alright?”

He pouted slightly, his shoulders slumping as he realized you were actually serious. “You’re probably right,” he admitted, a hint of reluctance in his voice. “But only because you’re asking me.” You chuckled softly at his behavior, threading your fingers through his and gently leading him away from the dancing crowd. You navigated through the common room, moving towards a quieter corner of the space where a plush couch sat, inviting you both in with open arms. The room’s enchantments cast soft shadows on the walls, the flickering lights creating a soothing atmosphere.

“Here, sit down,” you instructed as you guided him to sit on the couch. Mattheo obeyed, sinking into the cushions with a contented sigh. You sat beside him, your hand never leaving his. You took the half-empty cup of whiskey from his hold, reaching for a glass of water on the table nearby instead and handing it to him. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Mattheo took the glass, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. He took a long sip, the cool water a welcome relief from the heat of the alcohol he consumed. “You really do take good care of me, don’t you?” he murmured, his head resting against the back of the couch as he looked at you with a mixture of admiration and exhaustion.

“Someone has to,” you replied playfully, brushing a stray curl of hair from his forehead. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else to have the job.”

As the night wore on, Mattheo felt a warmth spreading through him that was only partly due to the whiskey. It was the warmth of belonging, of being surrounded by friends who understood and accepted him, flaws and all. Despite his often rough exterior, he was deeply grateful for these moments, these stolen hours of joy in the corners of the Slytherin common room.

02 - THE MARK

The past has a profound power to shape a man, especially when that past is influenced by suffering at the hands of a father. 

For Mattheo Riddle, his family history was the darkest shadow of all the shadows that clung to him, a reminder of the pain and fear that had molded his entire life. Raised in a home devoid of warmth, where love was a foreign concept and cruelty was a daily reality, Mattheo had learned to build tall and thick walls around his heart. A shield to protect him from more hurt that would come his way. 

The orphanage was a harsh place, stripped of the luxuries the boy had unknowingly been born into. It was a world of strict discipline and a poor form of affection. The caretakers, overwhelmed and underfunded, had little patience for a child with such a notorious legacy. Mattheo grew up under the weight of whispers and sideways glances, the infamous name "Riddle" ensuring he was never just another child. The women of the orphanage knew his father, having taken care of him when he was around the same age as his son. What a wicked child Tom was. Mattheo was different because of that, marked, and this awareness shaped his formative years in ways he could barely comprehend.

As he grew older, the whispers about his family name became more pronounced. The children at the orphanage were cruel. “Monster,” they called him, creating the very fears that nested within his own heart. He began to internalize these taunts, seeing himself through the lens of his father's sins. The idea that he could be worthy of love seemed more and more distant, more of a fantasy that had no place in his reality. But the same idea of letting someone see past his defenses, of allowing someone to love him despite his flaws, seemed not only impossible but dangerous. For how could anyone love a monster, especially one crafted by his own father?

Despite this, Mattheo yearned for something more. He longed for the kind of love he had never known, a love that was gentle and kind, that saw past his scars and accepted him for who he was. But every time he felt himself getting close to someone, the fear surged up, a wave of doubt and self-loathing washed over him and forced him to retreat behind his walls again. It was a never-ending cycle.

Hogwarts had saved him. 

Mattheo Riddle’s first steps into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were met with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and apprehension. For the other students, he was a figure of whispered rumors, his infamous last name carrying with it a weight of fear and fascination. They had heard the stories of his father’s dark acts, of the legacy that haunted the halls of the castle like a ghost. But for Mattheo himself, Hogwarts represented a new beginning, a chance to escape the personal hell he called the orphanage and create his own path. The boy was no longer just another orphan. Here, he could be anything he wanted to be.

He wasn't deaf. The young boy could feel the weight of his father’s name bearing down on him like an invisible burden. And he wasn't blind either. He saw the way the other students looked at him, their eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and suspicion. They didn’t openly taunt him as the children in the orphanage had done, but he could sense the whispers and the wary glances that followed him wherever he went. For Mattheo, however, their fear was a source of power. He reveled in the attention, in the way his presence commanded respect, even if it was tinged with fear. He was finally someone. 

He excelled in his classes, his natural talent and restless ambition setting him apart from his peers. But it was on the Quidditch pitch that Mattheo truly came into his own. Flying high above the castle grounds, he felt a sense of freedom unlike anything he had ever known. With every twist and turn of his broomstick, he left behind the weight of his past and embraced the thrill of the present, making him feel like a bird. 

Six years had passed since Mattheo Riddle first walked through the grand doors of Hogwarts, a hopeful and determined young wizard with dreams of greatness he was so sure he'd achieve. But now, as he entered his sixth year at the renowned school of magic, the world around him had shifted irrevocably. The return of Lord Voldemort two years prior had plunged the wizarding world into chaos, and with it, Mattheo’s life had been destroyed once again.

Even among his fellow Slytherins, Mattheo felt like an outsider, a traitor to his own house and everything it stood for. He had once prided himself on his ambition and cunning, on his unwavering determination to succeed at any cost. But it didn't matter anymore. 

Mattheo sat alone in the quiet atmosphere of the Astronomy Tower, his gaze fixed on the night sky that sparkled with millions of stars. Each twinkling light seemed to mock him, making fun of the darkness that now stained his soul even more than before. His fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket tightly, as if seeking some comfort in the fabric, but finding none.  

 On his left forearm, the Dark Mark burned like a brand upon his skin. It was a mark of shame, of betrayal, and every time he looked upon it, he felt a sickening sense of disgust and self-loathing. He had thought that by aligning himself with the Dark Lord, his father, he would finally be able to escape the shadows of his past, to prove himself worthy of the name Riddle and his father's presence. But now, he realized that he had only succeeded in plunging himself deeper into the deep hole. Even the orphanage was better than this. 

The footsteps behind him shattered the sweet silence, echoing off the stone walls of the tower. Mattheo tensed, his heart racing as he turned to face the intruder, steeling himself for whatever judgment or punishment awaited him. But as he turned, he was met not with the accusing glare of Filch or the triumphant sneer of a rival, but with the concerned gaze of a familiar face. It was you, with your eyes filled with worry as you approached him slowly, as if he'd disappear if you were a bit louder. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Are you alright?”

No, he wasn't alright. But he would be caught dead sooner than having you worry about him like that and more. 

He forced a tight-lipped smile, attempting to mask the emotions raging within him. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining the facade. “Just . . . thinking.”

You stepped closer, taking a seat on the ground beside him. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Mattheo. I know something’s been troubling you lately. You can talk to me.”

You were his angel, full of that purity and light he adored about you in a world darkened by his own sins. He longed to confide in you, to unburden himself of the guilt and shame that had consumed him since he had received the Dark Mark. But the fear of your rejection, of you seeing him for the monster he believed himself to be, held him back. It would shatter his heart, to see the pained expression on your face. 

“I . . .” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the words, "there's something I need to show you." With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Mattheo finally mustered the courage to reveal the truth to you. For months, he had carried the burden of the dark secret alone, pushing you out and shutting you down in an attempt to shield and protect you from the darkness that was his father. But now, as he sat before you, his heart and his soul laid bare, he knew that he could no longer hide from the truth. The boy reached for the sleeve of his jacket, his fingers fumbling as he pushed the fabric up to reveal the twisted lines of the Dark Mark etched upon his skin. The sight of it made him recoil, a wave of shame washing over him as he exposed his deepest, darkest secret to the one person he had sworn to protect.

Your eyes widened in shock as you took in the mark, your palm flying to your mouth in disbelief. For a long moment, there was silence between the two of you, broken only by the sound of your shallow breathing and the distant hum of the night owls. 

“I received this a few weeks ago," Mattheo confessed, his eyes avoiding yours. "When he decided I was good enough for him."

He felt your gaze on him, eyes searching his face for answers. He could see the confusion and concern written in your expression, but beneath it all, he saw something else - a flicker of understanding and acceptance that filled him with both hope and fear. How can someone be so good to someone like him? "I've been living with the Malfoys ever since," he continued, the words tumbling out in a rush as he struggled to explain himself. "But it's not what you think, [Name]. I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a part of his plans, to be branded as one of his followers. But I had no choice. He made me do it."   

Tears welled in his eyes as he spoke, and he felt a desperate plea for forgiveness in his chest. He needed you to understand, to see past the mistakes that consumed him and into the depths of his soul where his love for you burned bright and true. The thought of losing you hurt him more than the Cruciatus curse ever could. 

“Forgive me. For shutting you out, for pushing you away. I was scared, I was ashamed . . . but I can't bear to keep this secret from you any longer. You deserve to know the truth, even if it means losing you forever." 

Your heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of sorrow as you gazed upon Mattheo, your sweet boy, sitting there before you with tears in his eyes and the weight of the world upon his shoulders. In that moment, all you wanted was to wrap him in your arms and shield him from the pain and darkness that threatened to consume him. With shaky hands, you reached out to him, fingers brushing against the mark of his father's followers etched upon his skin. The sight of it filled you with a fit of fierce anger, but beneath it all, you saw the boy you so dearly loved - a boy who had been shaped by his past but who was so much more than the picture of his scars. 

"Love," you whispered into the dark, taking his face into your hands and wiping away those tears that managed to escape his control, "there's nothing to forgive. Nothing in this world could ever tear us apart, not even your father or that mark."

In that moment, Mattheo knew that he would do anything for you, that he would move heaven and earth to ensure your happiness and safety. You were his light in the darkness, his angel in a world filled with demons, and he would cherish that for the time being his heart swelled at the thought of you. You were simply too sweet for him and you knew that Mattheo’s struggles were far from over, but for tonight, that was enough.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

Click here for your link to heaven (aka seperate Gojo Satoru Masterlist)

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Dying ray on sunshine pt. ll After searching for your former boyfriend Suguru for 10 years, he finally shows himself again at the Night Parade. You try your best to convince him back into your open arms, but it seems like the man you love is gone forever.

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(y/n) gifting Geto sweets against the bad taste of curses Being used to the fact that nobody seems to care about how awful curses taste, Suguru Geto is absolutely blown away when you start noticing and bringing him candy after each and every mission.

Getting back home drunk after an argument with Suguru Geto You always supressed the pain in your heart when your boyfriend dumps you for his best friend again. Until one day you've had enough. Until you get uncontrollably drunk to forget your fight.

Should have told her While being secretely in love with you since joining Jujutsu High, Nanami never admitted his feelings to you. Only after you nearly die in a fight and are on the brink of death, he begins to realize how much you really mean to him

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Nanami losing it completely when (y/n) gets severely injured at Shibuya After receiving a message with your location, Nanami rushes to your side, showing no mercy with the man who laid his hands on you.

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Haruta seeking revenge on Nanami's heavy pregnant wife When Haruta hears about Nanami's wife, he is more than delighted to search and kill her. He didn't think about (y/n)'s very own abilities and her furious husband though.

Nanami fearing rejection from his wife and daughter after Shibuya left him seriously wounded Even though he survived Shibuya, Kento Nanami dies from the inside just by the thought of losing you and his precious little daughter due to his severe wounds and scarred skin. But despite his great fear, your reaction turns out completely different than expected.

Nanami's girlfriend watching him being in full dad-mode with Yuji After finally coming back home from a mission far away, all you want to do is seeing your precious boyfriend Kento again. But instead of a afternoon of cuddling him, you get to see him act like a real dad towards a new student.

Nanami's reaction to his daughter wearing a jumper saying "I love daddy" After the incidents of Shibuya and his wife getting severely injured, Nanami is relieved to know his new family safe and sound. A little suprise from his precious wife seems to be enough to make a grown man cry in joy though...

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Nanami Kento raising his voice at you (apparentely yellow text is gone wtf) He had no other choice but to scream at you in the middle of a fight, snapping at you like he never did before. It took both of you a few weeks to realize that you can't be with each other...

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Luck in misfortune After you get seriously injured by a cursed and saved by Megumi, he begins to develop feelings for you he never imagined could exist.

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Toji Fushiguro coming back to live to save (y/n) at Shibuya No words needed

Geto's little sister melting like butter in Toji's hands When your brother and Satoru arrive at Jujutsu High with the star plasma vessel, things start to get heated. But instead of running away like you're told to, you follow your brother. Only to be alone with a certain someone...

Choso with injured (y/n) who has blood phobia no words needed

Gojo's little sister seducing Choso at Shibuya no words needed

Gojo's little sister seducing Choso at Shibuya pt. ll After getting back on track of saving her big brother, (y/n) catches Mahito's attention. Choso has to decide if he continues searching for Yuji or rushed to her aid before she gets killed.

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Choso getting hopelessly seduced by another blood manipulator It seemed so easy at first: find Itadori Yuji, kill him, take revenge. Only until you showed up and captivated Choso Kamo, only until you showed him what you can...

Megumi's little sister falling head over heels for Yuji (and maybe Sukuna?) pt. l After being set on a mission with your crush Yuji, your big brother and Nobara, things don't go as planned as all and force Yuji to sacrifice himself before you have the chance to tell him how you feel. Until Sukuna appears...

Sukuna coming for Megumi's little sister at Shibuya (pt. ll) After the incident of Yuji almost losing his life and Megumi's little sister confessing her feelings to him, they finally live in peace. But then Shibuya comes around as well as suppressed Sukuna who takes interest in you...

Sukuna coming for Megumi's little sister at Shibuya (pt. lll) After promising Sukuna to do everything he wants in exchange for him sparing your friends, you find yourself in a bitter fight with Jogo. While you feel like dying, Sukuna enjoys teasing the hell out of you...

Sukuna coming for Megumi's little sister at Shibuya (pt. lV) Sukuna enjoys every second with you by his side. But when Yuji slowly but surely begins to fight back, Sukuna has to act quickly. A sweet innocent kiss before he has to go, before Yuji Itadori gains back his body...

(y/n)'s deal with the devil to save Nobara's life (pt. V) You've been through so much at Shibuya, seeing the love of you get taken over by Sukuna and finally getting him back. But this time, it will be you who begs on her knees for the king of curses to arrive in order to save your best friend's life...

You being made from Yuji's and Megumi's big booty dreams Personality counts, but a big ass does as well

Telling Sukuna you're pregnant after not seeing him for 500 years For more than 1.500 years, you found yourself in a love and hate relationship with none other than Ryomen Sukuna. But when he began to ignore you for more than 500 years, you decide to bind him to you forever - with the help of a pregnancy that shouldn't be possible...

Part 2 After dropping the bomb of getting yourself pregnant from him despite not seeing each other for 500 years, Sukuna can't contain his temper. But you're too strong, you are too hot to resist you any longer...

Yuji taking you on an ice-skating date You never went ice-skating in your entire life, but when Yuji asks you out...Who are you to say no to your secret crush?

Sukuna comforting you after a breakup short lil comfort for whoever needs it

Ryomen Sukuna getting on his knees for his wife For more than 500 years, you waited for your husband's return. When he finally shows himself again in Shibuya, he can't help but worship his wife the way she deserves it

Being held hostage by Ryomen Sukuna How you ended up in Sukuna's prison instead of getting killed in an instant? You don't know. What you do know however that the king of curse has more to offer than what you ever imagined...

Yuta going nuts when finding out you've got severely injured at Shibuya When the news of Shibuya begin to flood in, Yuta almost loses his mind over you. Without thinking twice he pays you, the secret love of his life, a visit.

We're just friends...right? You told it yourself over and over while you whimpered against his neck. You are nothing but friends, no one has to know about him and you. Until Yuta ignores your presence the next day, until you realize that you don't want him like a best friend...

Yuta saving your ass in Shibuya You have enough. After fighting for multiple hours in Shibuya, you are the brink of giving up your life, of giving up the pondering about a future with Yuta. Little do you know he's already on his way to Shibuya...

Comforting Toge Inumaki after he lost his arm in Shibuya yup that's basically it

How JJK men react to other girls flirting with them/reader getting insulted ft. Gojo, Megumi and Yuta

JJK men sharing a bed with reader ft. Megumi, Nanami and Yuta

JJK men sharing a bed with reader part lll ft. Toji, Geto, Haibara and Choso

How JJK men act when they're jealous ft. Megumi and Gojo

JJK men turning the usual confident reader shy ft. Yuta, Geto and Megumi

Shibuya arc scenarios that live in my head rent free part l ft. getting sealed along with Gojo, Geto awakening by the sound of your voice

How JJK men react when (y/n) gets injured ft. Nanami, Megumi, Toji and Geto

JJK men in and after a fight ft. Goto, Megumi and Nanami

JJK men in and after a fight pt. ll ft. Geto, Choso and Yuji

JJK men with drunk reader ft. Choso and Nanami

JJK men with drunk reader pt. ll ft. Geto, Megumi and Gojo

JJK men meeting you for the first time (aka Megumi catching you buying condoms) ft. Gojo, Nanami and Megumi

JJK men after hurting (y/n) ft. Choso and Gojo

How JJK men react when you fall asleep on top of them ft. Nanami, Gojo and Inumaki

How JJK men react to different insecurities Part 1 ft. Nanami (gn!reader's facial scars), Megumi (fem!reader with small breasts) and Sukuna (gn!reader with acne)

How JJK men react to different insecurities Part 2 ft. Nanami (reader doesn't want kids), Gojo (reader who gained weight), Megumi (reader with hooked nose)

How JJK men react to different insecurities Part 3 ft. Nanami (overweight reader), Choso (reader with big breasts), Yuji/Todo (tall/curvy reader)

How JJK men act when you can't sleep ft. Gojo, Inumaki and Megumi

JJK men with a small-chested reader ft. Toji, Gojo, Choso, Nanami, Sukuna and Geto

JJK men with a big-chested reader ft. Nanami, Geto, Yuji/Sukuna and Gojo

Stitching JJK men up or at least trying to ft. Gojo, Toji and Yuta

Doing the ribbon around biceps trend with JJK men ft. Gojo, Nanami, Toji and Sukuna

Making JJK men realize what love is ft. Geto, Sukuna and Toji

Click here for a full list of shorts and drabbles!

[candyhartes]

sweet nothing

s: you & sanji share an intimate moment after skypiea

cw: none; fluff

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the tiny bathroom was designed to hold no more than more person yet sanji sat on the sink counter using it as his personal ash tray with you standing directly between his legs where he comfortably rests his thighs against your hips, one hand lazily gripping your waist. a slightly battered cigarette laying between his chapped and scabbed lips, using his free hand to occasionally hold his cigarette.

the sound of the strong waves crashing against the going merry, the creaking caused by the wood shifting against each other and the buzzing from the small lamp above sanji’s head is heard inside the quiet room. nami had stated that the strong winds and rain were nothing to be alarmed of, however even in the grand line nothing was for certain so she volunteered for first watch in case things got too unsettling.

sanji’s shirt thrown across the closed toilet seat with his chest exposed fully covered in bandages as you begin to carefully remove them. your fingers delicately sliding across his back and careful not to disturb the burns that litter his skin. anytime you accidentally graze them sanji tenses and uses it as an opportunity to take a hit from his cigarette, masking his pain through sharp inhales as a way to distract you from his pain he’d hate to see his lover worry over his own mistakes.

the balm chopper made is to be applied twice a day so the burns won’t scar and relieve him of any lingering pain. you scoop some in your hand, glancing up at sanji with an apologetic expression, “i’m sorry, this might sting a little.”

“it’s nothing i can’t handle,” he smiles softly giving your waist a squeeze of reassurance. the second your hand meets his chest he’s quick to bring the cigarette back to his lips inhaling sharply. you look back at him feeling incredibly useless but he’s looking away from you, his eyes flickering from the door to the wall before he exhales the smoke above your head so you aren’t breathing it in.

you return your gaze to his chest finding choppers balm amazing as it’s been slowly causing his burns to disappear. you smile to yourself before remembering just exactly how he got in this situation. eneru mercilessly striking both usopp and sanji more than once rendering them almost completely useless, and once again striking sanji with full force after saving nami from his ship.

your movements had unconsciously slowed which peaked sanji’s interest, your eyes matched the storms of outside; dark and brewing. your soft features that he absolutely adored turned sharp and frightening yet even your anger had a hinge of sadness as your lips downturned into a pout, quivering slightly at whatever thoughts your mind is forming.

before he could ask what’s wrong, you’re already turning to look up at him his heart dropping at what he recognized as anger turning out to be grief, the familiar shine in your eyes as you attempt to blink away the tears that you’re so frantically keeping back. he’s quick to throw out his cigarette and placing both of his hands on your cheeks with concern, his thumbs running soothing circles to calm you down. “hey, what’s wrong sweet girl?”

“i’m sorry!” through your choked sobs, quivering lip, and the horrible lump in your throat you’re finally able to speak up. you want nothing more than lean into his chest and apologize over and over again for being nowhere near him during his fight with eneru. if only you hadn’t run along with robin, you could’ve helped sanji and usopp. you were far from the strongest but you’re still able to hold your own. you push yourself back but sanji’s stubborn grip prevents you from slipping away from him, instead he’s wiping your tears away and stroking your hair. “i should’ve been there. i could’ve helped you.”

“hey-“ he pulls you back so you’re looking at him, his eyes are hard and disappointed not at you rather himself for letting someone as beautiful as yourself to worry over someone like him. he gives you a soft smile, “you did everything and more with robin. stop worrying your pretty little head over meat heads like us.”

“but-“

“and who knows, maybe i got hurt so i can keep you all to myself,” sanji hums, his hand slowly moving back down to you cheek. his cold fingers stroking your cheek lightly with a dazed expression; lovesick eyes as he flickers from your eyes to your lips. zoro would have laughed and insulted his dopey face with how ridiculous he looks but he didn’t care and neither did you. he leans in slightly, “who else would strip me naked to rub balm on me? i’m in heaven.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his words, the atmosphere brightening almost instantly. his words of reassurance going straight to your heart. rather than playing into his tease, you lean into his hand planting a small kiss on his palm. “i’m sure chopper wouldn’t mind helping you but you really shouldn’t hurt yourself, who else would feed us?”

“blind and deaf with one or two arms, ill always make sure to give you everything you deserve,” sanji claims, his eyes turning into hearts at your actions, ignoring the mention of chopper rubbing the balm on him. the sound of your soft laughter and his attempts of stealing kisses from you ring throughout the hallway of the going merry, replacing what was once quiet.

note. truth be told, i’ve been avoiding my homework by writing which explains two post in less than a week. i should probably focus on school … also i really love skypiea and couldn’t help myself. p.p.s taylor’s sweet nothing really set the mood for this which is why it’s so short.

[lilirari]

happy halloween !

𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. summary : the one in which you're helping oscar with his face painting for halloween.

𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. pairing : oscar piastri x fem! reader

𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. genre : fluff

𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. word count : 0.8k words

𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. author's note : i wanted to write something special for halloween but i didn't get the time to do so T_T this is pretty rushed & quite short too with a terribly written ending & it's not really proofread either but i hope it'll still make up for the lack of content 😞

" oscar, stop moving around! you're going to mess up your face painting! " you exclaimed, landing a light slap on his right arm in hopes that he'll stop squirming as the said male let out a soft chuckle in response.

" hey, it's not my fault! the ends of the brush are just very soft.. i feel a bit ticklish. " oscar replied back, trying to defend himself. he did stop moving his head around though and had tried to stay still as you were seated on his lap, painting some scars on his face.

the two of you had decided to go as pirates this year, something which you thought would've been funny and at the same time, a sort of a genius moment because your boyfriend already had that thick aussie accent so it wouldn't be too hard for him to get the "arr !!"'s in.

" are you not done yet? i feel like you've been painting on my face for an hour now. " oscar remarked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you.

" pfft.. it hasn't even been 30 minutes, silly. i'm almost done though, don't worry. just a few more touches and you'll be the best-looking pirate with the nastiest and most realistic scar out there. " you replied back, gently rubbing the brush across his cheek, your tongue sticking out slightly as you had your full concentration on finishing that scar.

as he noticed how focused and serious you were with painting on scars on his face, oscar couldn't help but smile as he looked at you in admiration. the way you sticked your tongue out, the way you squinted your eyes when you were painting the little details, the way you bit your lower lip whenever you made a slight mistake and the feeling of your thumb rubbing the excess paint off from his face all attracted him and made him feel euphoric. the aussie remained quiet throughout the rest of the process, as he stared at your features, admiring your beauty with the most love-struck eyes ever.

" ah, there you go! it's all done now! " you finally exclaimed after a few minutes, a look of satisfaction on your face as you grab the mirror laying on the table next to you. " what do you think? "

" whoa, i didn't expect it to look this realistic.. you did a great job, y/n. " your boyfriend commented, letting out a low whistle as he looked at the painted scar across his face.

" hehe, i know. i'm such a great artist, aren't i? " you asked, placing the brush behind your ear. you straightened your back and placed your hands on your hips as you striked an cartoonic pose, a wide and proud grin plastered on your face.

oscar could almost see stars sparkling around you as you striked your pose. he let out another chuckle and looked up at you once more, a smile decorating his features and not a word escaping from his lips.

" .. what? what's wrong? why are you staring at me like that? " you asked, tilting your head in confusion once you noticed the male simply staring at you and not uttering a word.

" hmm.. nothing. you just look really adorable when you're being all smug and proud of yourself. " he replied back, his smile turning into a grin as he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

your eyes widened slightly when you felt his arms around your waist as oscar wasn't someone who showed his affection through physical touch. but you did notice that he had started being more comfortable around you lately and would even be the first one to intertwine your fingers when you walk together or wrap his arm around your shoulders when you're just sitting and casually talking to someone else.

a giggle escaped your lips when you heard him call you 'adorable' as he leaned in closer to you until your foreheads were touching and you were staring into each other's eyes.

" you're so cute.. so pretty.. you're my pretty girl. " oscar whispered, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

your face immediately flushed at both his words and his actions, which didn't go unnoticed by him. the mclaren driver let out a hearty laugh after noticing your red cheeks, his lips tugging upwards into a smirk.

" so, i assume you like the nickname, pretty girl? " he asked, gently poking your sides to tease you.

" maybe.. well, if i'm your pretty girl, then that makes you my pretty boy. " you replied back, running a hand through his hair.

" your pretty boy, huh? .. doesn't sound too bad. " oscar commented, resting his chin on top of your head, his arms now engulfing you into a hug. a small sigh of satisfaction escaped his lips as he felt you melting into his touch. it was the small and intimate moments like this which made him feel truly happy and he never wanted to let you go.

" oscar? " you muttered, leaning your head onto his chest as you heard the soft beating of his heart.

" yeah? "

" i love you. "

you could hear his heart beat a little more rapidly after you said those three simple, yet powerful, words. his hold on you loosened for a second as he looked down at you before pressing his lips on your forehead.

" i love you too, my pretty girl. "

© LILIRARI, 2023 ★

[butwhyduh]

Locker Room

Summary: Post workout locker rooms are like their own world. Especially Titan’s tower.

Warning: smut. Don’t do this irl

“Good job, everybody,” Nightwing said with a grin. He has barely had a glean of sweat to show he was even working out. “Practice your individual skills or hit the showers.”

Half the people walked out and the other found their own niche. You were laying on your back on the cool mat just trying to not die. A shadow stood over you.

“Need help,” said a soft male voice above you before offering a hand. Tall and built like a brick, there was a lot to be intimidated of the Red Hood. But wearing gym shorts and a sleeveless hoodie that had headphone strings sticking out made him seem so normal.

He pulled you up to stand. He was so pretty with wavy black hair with just a tuff of white. You’d watched him plenty but rarely interacted with him.

“Will I ever get used to this,” you asked with a huff of laughter. You tried to ignore the way his sweaty hoodie stuck to his skin in certain places.

“No? Yes? I can’t take Goldie seriously but,” he shrugged. “Maybe you should drink your water next time?” He offered while tossing you the bottle. You chugged it like you had been walking in a desert for a month. “Wow,” he said, watching the water messily fall on your shirt that was already drenched. If you wouldn’t have to clean it up, you’d probably pour the water on your head.

Realizing you had an audience to your gremlin behavior, you tried to wipe the water from your mouth but it wasn’t exactly helpful as you were soaking wet.

“Yeah maybe more inside than out. I’ve got hit the showers,” he said, bemused.

“Same,” you replied.

The showers were more like a locker room with little stalls with paltry curtains that were only a little more private than just open stalls but everyone used them as if normal. Most people understood the unspoken rules but there had been more than one time where you’d seen kori brushing her hair in the nude by a mirror completely oblivious to the social norms.

You didn’t even bother with the hot water but relaxed into the cold water finally cooling your overheated skin. It didn’t take much for you to relax into the shower and forget about the outside world. A full 30 minutes later you were pruny and decided to climb out of the water.

Forgoing the bra and sweatpants, you just slid into your oversized tee shirt like dress. You were just going to your room where you would veg and watch Netflix. Most people had already left to go do whatever they needed and you could finally see the mirror to brush your own hair.

“‘Scuse me,” said a man to your right and you scooted over as the Red Hood slid up to the sink with a shave kit. You didn’t even know what to call him outside of work. And his pretty blue eyes kept your attention longer than you’d admit.

“I’ve never seen you without a mask,” you said. He shrugged.

“Seems like a shower would be a safe spot. It’s just my eyes I cover anyways,” he added.

You couldn’t just stare into his eyes so you looked down and boy was that a mistake. He had a huge y shaped scar that you didn’t even want to know how he got but you couldn’t help but notice how insanely fit he was. He definitely had visible muscle but it was also clear the boy could put some food away.

You tried to focus on your own stuff while he shaved. He wasn’t meat to stare at.

“I don’t even know your real name or what else to call you besides Red Hood,” you added.

“Oh… you can call me Jason,” he replied softly. He stretched his neck to better reach a spot and you looked at the cord of muscle that moved. Did he know he was beautiful??

“You missed a spot,” you said when it looked like he was going to rinse his face, not that you had been watching. He looked in the mirror but it was on the underside of his jaw. “No, here,” you said pointing to the spot. He turned and missed it with the razor.

“Here?”

“No, can I?” You asked and he handed you his razor. You gently turned his face to run the razor along the underside of his jaw. Your skin heated up as he watched you shave his face. Somehow you had slid between him and the sink to get at the spot. “It’s on both sides,” you said and he willingly turned his neck the opposite direction.

He smelled nice like a mint soap and you could see the dampness of his skin being this close. Your own lack of clothing felt obvious at this point. He could probably see your nipples if he wanted to. What did this look like?

“Got it?” He asked and you just nodded and handed him to razor. He sat it behind you and grabbed the towel on your other side to wipe his face. He had caged you in but you didn’t mind. In fact your heart was hammering in your chest.

His eyes looked down at you and down your clothing, stopping for a few seconds at your chest before returning to your eyes. You looked down at his mouth. He leaned down until he was just a breath from your lips.

It took just a tilt of your head to press your lips to his. He gripped the sink as you kissed. You slid a hand up behind his neck to pull him closer. He took it as an invitation to push you up on the counter. You gasped and wrapped both arms around his neck.

One arm held your hip as the other did its best to thread in your hair. His tongue swiped across your lip and you opened your mouth with a little moan. Fuck. You never imagined you’d do this. You pulled back just enough to bite his lip and he groaned while placing his hand on your thigh.

Barely controlling himself, he pulled his lips back only to rest his forehead on yours.

“Not here,” he breathed and you weren’t sure if he meant to tell you or himself.

“No one is here,” you said pulling him even closer with your legs around his waist. His lips instantly met yours with a desperation that wasn’t there a minute before. He pushed you back with his kisses and your back pressed against the mirror while your shirt did little to hide your underwear with your thighs open.

“Fuck,” he breathed when you began kissing your way down his neck. One of your hands slid down his chests, feeling the muscles move with each breath, each side of your hand down. His hand gripped your thigh tightly as if to control himself. But as you slid your fingers along the crotch of his gym shorts, he seemed to lose control. His hand slid up your thigh to cup your pussy through your panties and you could feel a pulse in your clit.

He was growing hard in your hands as you massaged and stroked him. He pulled back from kissing to nip at your collarbone and down your chest. Only his other hand behind your back kept you from falling over as he bent to take your peaked nipple in his mouth. You arched into his touch as his mouth teased your breast while his fingers slid along your slit through your panties.

You pressed your fingers through the band of his pants to grip him properly. “Fuck,” he gasped and you grinned. He pushed your panties to the side to properly finger you. You almost arched off the counter as he slid two fingers inside you. You both just enjoyed the sensation for a minute of pleasuring each other.

“Want you,” you breathed in his ear and he whined. You shoved his pants down and his hood pushed forward until you could feel his tip next to your core.

“You sure,” he asked as if it took every part of him to remain calm.

“Fuck me,” you replied and that’s all it took for him to push in. He pulled your shirt off before starting to thrust. One hand held your hip tightly and his lips desperately kissed you.

The door to the locker room opened and Jason just growled, “get the fuck out,” but didn’t stop. The door closed suddenly. You knew in the future you be mortified but right now the only thing you cared about was making him keep doing the things he was doing to you.

It took just a few runs of his thumb across your clit to have you clenching around him while gasping his name. He thrust through your high before pulling out to cum on your stomach. You both panted and stared at each other.

“Fuck,” Jason said while giving you a towel to clean off with. You sat up awkwardly. Did he regret it already? “I didn’t mean- shit- I was trying to ask you out,” he huffed out with an awkward laugh. “Not this.”

“I mean- you still can,” you replied while pulling your shirt on.

“Do you wanna-“

“Thought you’d never ask. There’s this restaurant I’ve been wanting to try,” you replied before he could even ask. He huffed a laugh.

“Sure. Sounds great.”

Banging on the locker room door made you jump. “If you hoes are done, I need a shower! Don’t forget to clean up!” Called a recognizable voice from outside the door.

“Go away Roy,” Jason called.

“Congrats bro! Finally! But hurry up!”

You flushed and you both laughed. “Finally?”

“Don’t ask.”

[halsteadlover]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

*Gif and pic not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: your life is amazing. You have everything you wished for, a caring and beautiful husband, a satisfying job, an amazing house. What if in a matter of seconds, your incredible fairy tale is about to take a tragic twist?

• Warnings: angst, mention of car crash, blood, wounds, curse words, death.

• Word count: 7580.

• A/N: Please don’t kill me. Y’ALL BETTER EAT THIS FIC UP BECAUSE I PUT MY BLOOD AND SWEAT AND TEARS (always pretty please). I hope you’ll like this piece I know I was heartbroken writing it. Drop a like, a comment and reblog if you want, it’d be amazing and so helpful. I apologize for any mistake or grammar error. Thank you so much as always for your support, looking forward for your opinion. ❤️

“Baby!”.

“Y/n!”.

“You hear me? Please answer me”.

“Please hold on, everything will be okay I promise. Please… Don't leave me.”

What was going on?

Why did you feel so weak?

Where was Spencer?

Your breathing was heavy, cold shivers ran through your body but despite this you couldn't move a single muscle even if you could feel your body waving to an unknown motion, like you were floating.

Am I moving?

You felt your eyelids fighting not to stay closed even if you tried with every fiber of your body to fight against that tiredness that wanted so badly to suck you into the darkness.

You were so afraid.

You managed to slightly open your eyes, only for a fraction of a second, and all you saw was a blinding white light that forced you to close your eyes right after. It was so strong you couldn't open them again.

What it was?

Was it heaven?

Were you dead?

“Please baby hold on, if you hear me please fight, I know you’re so strong. I’m begging you… Stay with me…”

Spencer?

Yes, there was no doubt that it was him even if his voice carried in the distance, each word fading further and further. You wanted so badly to answer him, to shout you were okay, that you could hear him, that you were there with him.

But were you really okay?

No, I’m not.

And the more you fought against the darkness, the more it sucked you into its heavy vortex.

You fought, you really tried, but you didn't have the strength. You were too weak, too tired.

You just wanted to rest for a bit.

God please let me okay.

You eventually gave up, stopped fighting and let yourself be lulled by that darkness.

It was so peaceful.

There wasn’t any more pain. Any suffering.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

Five hours earlier

“I really don't feel like going to work this morning,” your husband kept complaining. You were both still in your bedroom, you were sitting while Spencer was lying next to you, his arm around your hips and his head on your lap.

“Hotch will kill you if you take a day off without warning,” you giggled, running your fingers through his fluffy hair. “I also wish you could stay here love, I feel so lonely here without you. But unfortunately you can’t.”

Spencer huffed, holding you even tighter. “I know I'm so sorry baby, I hate leaving you alone. I'm always so worried.”

“Oh yeah I know, the three thousand texts you send me always asking me if I'm okay prove it.” You teased him and even though you couldn't see him you knew full well he rolled his eyes.

“Ah, ah, keep making fun of me,” he retorted. “Is it really weird I want to keep you safe?”.

“No baby, I was joking. You know very well I love you're so protective of me and besides, I’m okay, you don’t have to worry about me.”

He kept caressing your side, leaving a kiss on it at the level of your scar, a gesture that made your heart melt. He looked up at you and smiled before propping himself up on his elbows, resting his free hand on your face and pressing his lips on yours. A flock of butterflies exploded in your stomach.

It didn't matter how long you two were together, you felt the same butterflies, the same feeling as in the early days, he still managed to make your heart skip a beat with just a kiss.

God I love this man so much.

“What will I do without you?” Spencer pouted, already missing you before he even got out of bed and got dressed. “I just hope we won’t have any case.”

Spencer had left for work, but not before recommending you to call and text him if you needed anything. You reassured him, telling him not to worry, that everything would be fine and of course you wouldn't hesitate to call him.

You settled on the couch and spent the morning watching episodes of your favorite TV show which, although you loved it, was getting tiresome.

Three weeks earlier you had been injured on duty while chasing a serial killer who had shot you as he tried to escape.

You were fine but Spencer, being his overprotective self, refused to let you do anything that involved physical effort and prevented you in any way from returning back to work before the five weeks of rest recommended by the doctor. And it didn't help that Hotch agreed with him.

Spencer did nothing but text you all morning when he could, asking how you were as if you were in a hospital bed. You reassured him, sending him selfies of you lying on the couch, asking him how things were going at the unit.

You loved Spencer so much, you loved the way he always protected you, the way he was so thoughtful of you, the way he always put you first in any moment and situation.

The morning was rather boring so you decided to keep yourself busy with cooking something for lunch, that you wanted to bring to Spencer too since you missed him and didn't want to wait until the evening to see him again. But you also wanted to see the rest of the team again. You hated to say it, but you missed those assholes.

As you packed your and Spencer's lunch, your phone vibrated on the table.

From: Spence 💍, 12.47 AM Is it weird I miss you so terribly? I'll never get used to not seeing you here.

You smiled like an idiot, knowing how much Spencer wasn't a fan of technology but despite this being committed to use it since you couldn't live without it.

To: Spence 💍, 12:50 AM Have I ever told you I’m so madly in love with you Doctor Reid? I miss you so much more xx

You placed your phone on the table and continued putting away your lunch. When you finished, you grabbed some clean cutlery and paper napkins and then looked at your phone, noticing he didn’t answer your text yet.

You left the house after making sure you locked the door, you went to your car, pulling your phone out of your purse to send an audio message to Spencer.

“Baby don’t eat anything because I'm coming with your favorite food. It's a little burnt I have to admit, but in my defense I was distracted watching TV,” you let out a small laugh. “If you know what's best for you, you'll better say it's delicious or you'll sleep on the couch tonight. I love you so much, see you soon!”.

You got into your car and placed the two lunch boxes on the passenger seat. While driving, you were careful not to brake suddenly to avoid all the food spilling into your car.

You stopped at a red light and you took you phone to see if Spencer had texted you back but he didn’t.

The light turned green after almost thirty seconds and you placed your phone in your purse again before starting to drive again. You were at an intersection and you just drove few meters before your saw out of the corner of your eye a car speeding towards you.

You turned your head towards it and tried to brake but you weren't very fast.

Everything happened quickly.

A sudden, deafening thud made your ears ring and time seemed to stop for an instant.

You didn't have time to react, to even let out a scream or do anything else before that car hit you full force on the side.

If someone had asked you to describe what had happened in that moment, you wouldn’t have been able to do it because you didn’t even know what had happened in the first place, having lost consciousness before you could realize you had just been involved in a car crash.

Spencer was unaware in the meantime his whole life was about to undergo something he’d never, ever want to face, something he continually lived in fear of happening.

He and the rest of the team were in the meeting room, investigating on a case of a serial killer that the police in a nearby town had asked for help with. It was a simple case, so it wasn't even necessary for the whole team to go there.

“Reid focus.” Hotch had warned him several times when during the morning he caught him on his cell phone, the small smile shadowed his lips making it obvious who he was talking to. So he had put his cell phone in his pocket although his mind always went towards you.

He wondered what you were doing although knowing you, you were probably watching some TV show and the thought of you lying on the sofa, curled up under the blanket made him smile, earning you a small pat on the back of the head from Morgan.

“Focus pretty boy, I know you miss your beautiful wife but we have a case to solve.”

This had started a series of jokes and teasing towards Reid who in response would gave everyone the middle finger.

The truth was that he missed you deeply, he missed looking up and seeing you sitting at your desk filling out some case report with your pen between your lips and the wedding ring shining on your finger, he missed flirting with you in a not-so-subtle way and being made fun of by the whole team, even Hotch. He missed traveling from city to city and working with you to catch ruthless killers, he missed seeing you sitting in your chair around the meeting room table.

He couldn't wait for those two more weeks to pass, although the worry you still hadn't fully recovered didn't leave his mind.

His phone suddenly started ringing and he muttered an 'excuse me' before taking it out of his pocket and reading your name on the screen.

He moved away from the others so he could answer the call.

“Hi baby! What...-” He started but stopped immediately after when a voice that didn't belong to you interrupted him, making the smile he had on his lips instantly disappear.

“Do you happen to know Y/n Y/Ln? We found this number among the emergency contacts.”

Spencer frowned, his heart already eating wildly and anxiety twisting his guts. “Y-yes. She’s my wife… What's going on? Who am I talking to? Where’s she? Is she okay?”.

“I'm sorry to inform you that your wife was involved in a car accident, she’s in serious conditions…”

Spencer froze in place, the man's words echoing in his head while he couldn't process them.

What the fuck?

“C-can you repeat that?” He stammered, hoping it was just a misunderstanding, that the man had gotten the wrong person. “There must be a mistake m-my wife… She’s… She’s at home…”

“I’m very sorry sir…”

Spencer Reid, who had always been a quiet, calm and collected person, completely lost his mind.

After getting the address of the car crash site he ran at lightning speed out of the unit, ignoring the voices of Derek and the rest of the team who called him worriedly.

His mind wasn't focused on anyone else but you and as he sped through the streets he couldn't help but think about what the hell had happened.

You were supposed to be home, on the couch watching TV. Why did you went out? Why didn't you text him?

His stomach clenched with anxiety, an emotion he wasn't familiar with but since he'd met you he often seemed to feel because of the constant and devastating fear something bad might happen to you.

He wasn't good with feelings, everyone knew it, but thanks to you he had learned to give voice to what he felt, he had learned to embrace those sensations and emotions he struggled to show from an early age and that for so long he wanted to suppress.

A lump kept pressing on his throat, almost suffocating him. He continued to murmur and hope you were okay but when he arrived at the scene his heart almost stopped again.

The car crash scene was a disaster.

Various passers-by had gathered in shock from a distance to watch curiously as the fire fighters and paramedics worked on those piles of scrap metal that were the cars.

They were completely destroyed and no one believed the two drivers had made it given the catastrophic impact.

Various emotions had passed through Reid, emotions that he could group into one word: dying. That’s how he felt, dying.

He pushed through the crowd of people, pushing them aside and ignoring those who complained in response. After identifying himself with the cops he ran towards the wreckage where the rescuers and firefighters had just pulled you out of the destroyed car.

“Let me go! That's my wife right there!” He continued to exclaim loudly while two cops struggled to restrain him. His gaze was fixed on you, on your unconscious body while the rescuers carried you on the stretcher.

“Sir you need to let the paramedics do their job! I know it's a horrible situation but this will only hinder them!”.

Spencer was a guy who didn't like conflicts but at that precise moment he was willing to kill those cops with his bare hands.

He snorted loudly, pulling out his badge. “I'm an FBI agent and if you don't let me go to my wife right now I will make your life a living hell and have your badges on my desk before tomorrow.”

It only happened very few times he’d threatened someone, and most of them were to extort information or to make a killer to confess, but the way his wild and desperate eyes were glaring at the two cops, made them understand he wasn't bluffing at all.

They eventually let him pass and he ran towards you.

You lay unconscious on the stretcher, your body covered in your own blood. You had an oxygen mask on your face, a collar around your neck to stabilize it and Spencer had to rely on all the strength he had in his body not to collapse there in front of everyone.

He couldn't believe it, he couldn't believe it was true.

He grabbed your hand with his, the diamond of your ring pressing against his palm. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, not wanting to let his emotions overwhelm him. He couldn't be weak, not now, not when you needed him.

“Baby!”.

He called your name, desperation clear in his voice. His eyes scanned your face, always beautiful as the sun even if dotted with scratches and bruises.

“Y/n!”.

He called your name again, with even more urgency and desperation, hoping that hearing his voice would wake you up.

“You hear me? Please answer me.”

“Sir we have to go to the hospital immediately. We have no time to waste.” The paramedic's voice brought him back to reality and Spencer nodded, never taking his eyes off you.

“Please hold on, everything will be okay I promise. Please… Don’t leave me,” he whispered to you before turning to the paramedics. “I’m coming with you.”

The journey to the hospital was the longest and most painful ride Reid had ever made in his entire life.

He never let go of your hand, occasionally kissing your knuckles as he carefully watched every little movement the paramedics made.

At a certain point his heart rekindled with hope when he saw your eyelids move and open slightly.

“Y/n baby! Can you hear me? Y/n!” He exclaimed but his hope faded when he saw your eyelids close a second later and you lose consciousness again.

“Please baby hold on, if you hear me please fight,” His eyes filled with tears but he tried to fight them back, this wasn’t the time to cry. “I know you’re so strong, I’m begging you… Stay with me… I'm here, I'm here, and I’m not leaving you. Everything will be fine, you’ll be okay.”

You had a cardiac arrest on the way to the hospital but they managed to revive you and needless to say, this freaked out Spencer even more than he already was.

You died in front of him.

For a few moments your heart had stopped beating and the terror Spencer felt was a sensation he had never felt before. Maybe only when something happened to you during the job. He had always told you that you’d give him a heart attack sooner or later.

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, Spencer barely had time to say anything before the doctors rushed you to the OR, leaving him helpless.

He passed his hands on his face, then fingers in his hair as he tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.

He had heard the police say the driver that hit you had lost control of his car after feeling dizzy, failing to stop at the red light and hitting you while you had just started driving again after the green light.

You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It had all been a stupid twist of fate and now you had to fight to live.

Spencer didn't believe in fate, he didn't believe there was some superior being or entity, he believed in science, in empirical data, in theories proven by hypotheses and theses, but then why did this happen? Why was the love of his life fighting between life and death?

Why did it seem like someone or something wanted to snatch his happiness away when he was finally happy?

He walked back and forth across the floor of the waiting room for what seemed an infinite amount of time, almost digging a ditch in the wake of his footsteps.

He had called Hotch, told him about the car crash and that you were in surgery and he reassured him the whole team would be there in no time.

It wasn't until after you ended the call with Hotch that Spencer saw your last messages, including the audio text you'd sent him.

His fingers were shaking and he sat down, fearing his knees would give out sooner or later.

His eyes filled with tears again as they read the message and the chasm inside his heart opened even more. But it was when he listened to your audio message the air was completely sucked out of his lungs and it became difficult to continue breathing.

“Baby don’t eat anything because I'm coming with your favorite food. It's a little burnt I have to admit, but in my defense I was distracted watching TV,” He heard you giggle while in the background he heard the car door open and close shortly after, a sign that you had just gotten into the car. “If you know what's best for you, you'll better say it's delicious or you'll sleep on the couch tonight. I love you so much, see you soon!”.

Your audio cut out and Spencer only realized he was crying when tears fell from his eyes onto his phone screen.

He was completely devastated.

It was his fault.

You went out because you were going to bring him food.

He couldn't process what was happening, he couldn't conceive it.

How did you go from hugging in bed that morning to you in the OR? For what kind of fucked up reason did this happen to you? Among the many people who could’ve been at that damned intersection, why did it have to be you?

Spencer knew it wasn't right to hope it happened to someone else but he didn’t care, fuck, he wished it’d happened to himself.

For the first time in his whole life Spencer prayed.

He prayed with every fiber of his being to whoever was up there to make you survive, he prayed to be able to see you again, hug you, kiss you again. He prayed to hear your laugh again, your awful jokes, to see your smile and your eyes shining when you saw him, he prayed to be able to sleep with you again, to wake up in the morning and smell the scent of your skin and hair, of feeling your fingers run through his messy hair while you were watching a movie and he had his head resting on your lap.

He prayed to still have time with you. He prayed to start a family with you even though the thought of it terrified him because he had no idea how to be a parent, but at the same time knowing there was no other person he’d want to do it if not you. He begged to tease you when the first wrinkles would appear on your beautiful face but to console you at the same time saying you were still the most beautiful and breathtaking woman he had ever met in his life.

He prayed to see your hair turn white, to see your children have kids of their own, he prayed to hold your hand until the end of your days.

He couldn't imagine a place on the planet where you didn't exist, where you weren't with him.

You two just got married, you had just started your life together, it couldn't all just vanish like that, in the blink of an eye, it just couldn't end.

You were strong. This was one of the many qualities Spencer admired about you, you were much stronger than you wanted to show and if there was anyone who could overcome that obstacle it was you.

The rest of the BAU had arrived after about fifteen minutes, both with worried and heartbroken expressions on their faces except Penelope, who was crying almost as many tears as she had.

“Reid!”.

JJ's voice made Spencer snap his head up from his phone, not realizing he had been mesmerized by looking at the picture he had as his background. It was a photo of you he took during a picnic during one of your first dates after you got together, Spencer had told a horrible joke and you had burst out laughing.

Spencer was so hypnotized by you, by the sound of your laugh, by your smile, by the small wrinkles at the corners of your eyes that he couldn't resist taking a photo and since then it had become his wallpaper and one of his favorite photos of you ever.

Everyone could notice the swelling of Spencer's eyes, evidence of the crying.

“Come here pretty boy.”

Morgan was the first to approach Spencer, pulling him in a brotherly hug, squeezing him with all the strength he had in his body, as if wanting to convey to him some of that strength he knew he tremendously needed.

“She's gonna make it okay? We know Y/n, that woman is a force of nature. She’ll make it.” He whispered in his ear, trying to hold back his emotions.

Everyone tried to appear as strong as possible but the truth was they too felt a boulder pressing on their stomach. Before being Spencer's wife, his partner, you were a colleague, a friend to all of them.

Nobody said anything else.

There were no need for words, everyone knew it’d be of no use.

They all tried to comfort each other, Emily was holding Garcia's hand the entire time, JJ and Morgan were sitting next to Spencer while Hotch and Rossi were standing not far from the others, all silently praying for you wellbeing.

Reid's body was sitting in the waiting room, surrounded by his friends and colleagues, yet his mind was completely elsewhere. His thoughts ran and ran, without stopping, so fast he didn't know which ones to listen to first.

Spencer and the team spent hours sitting in the waiting room, waiting for some doctor to come and update them on your health. He hoped the longer they took it meant there was a better chance of you getting through the surgery.

When he saw a doctor approaching where they were sitting, it was as if a vision manifested in front of him. His heart was beating wildly, so loudly he thought everyone around him could hear it while anxiety twisted his stomach so much he feared he’d throw up on the doctor's feet.

“Are you Y/n Y/Ln's family?” the doctor asked.

“I'm her husband. How is she? Please tell me she's okay. When can I see her?” Spencer blathered once he jumped up and approached doctor - he read the card - Miller.

He looked skeptically at the rest of the team, and then Spencer spoke. “It’s okay, we’re all colleagues, a family. How is Y/n? She made it right?”.

Spencer observed the micro-expressions on Dr. Miller's face. He noticed how his eyebrows furrowed slightly, how his chest rose slightly and fell, how his lips pressed together, how his neck stiffened and his posture tensed.

He knew that expression, unfortunately he knew it too well because of the job he did. It was the same expression with which he looked at the victims’ families when he was about to give them the worst and most devastating news of their lives.

Spencer saw that but decided to ignore it, he decided not to listen to his guts.

“The patient suffered much more serious damage than we imagined…”

“And what are you doing here? Go help her!” Spencer exclaimed, abruptly interrupting the doctor.

“Due to the violent trauma and along with broken bones, the ruptured spleen, the liver damage as well as the amount of blood she lost, she had also suffered a dissection of the ascending aorta.”

Spencer's heart stopped.

“W-what? What does that mean doctor?” It was Penelope who asked.

“It’s the tearing of the aorta’s wall, the largest vessel in our body. It has weakened due to the trauma and it’s no longer able to pump blood towards the other blood vessels and consequently the entire body can’t receive enough blood. Trying to repair it’s practically impossible, as her heart has already stopped once, she’s too weak to face a surgery, and the dissection further aggravates the situation. She would die on the OR table before we can even get to the aorta,” Dr. Miller explained, trying to be as clear as possible.

“Dissection of the ascending aorta is unfortunately one of the most serious vascular conditions and… There is no easy way to say it, we have done everything we can but she does't have much time left. It's a matter of hours…”

A deafening silence fell in the waiting room.

Almost everyone put their hands to their mouths to try to cover the gasps and sobs, Hotch stared at his shoes while shaking his head in disbelief. No one could believe what they had just heard.

Spencer couldn't hear a word Dr. Miller said. His brain refused to process them, because it couldn't be true, there must have been some misunderstanding.

Maybe he had confused patient, maybe he had talked to the wrong family.

“No, no, no!” Spencer exclaimed loudly. Morgan put a hand on his shoulder but he shook it violently. “Don’t touch me!” Then he went on to point a finger at Dr. Miller.

“Say it again.”

“Sir…”

“Reid…” Rossi whispered.

“Say it again!” He shouted, his voice shaking. “Say it! Because there is no way on earth I just heard my wife is fucking dying! Say it again!”.

Spencer's voice cracked at the end and he burst into tears, bending to the ground as he felt his legs gave out.

Dr. Miller looked at Spencer with sadness while he was in the throes of disbelief and despair. Nobody dared to say anything, they too had to process that mourning, but they all knew that Spencer needed time more than anyone.

How do you react calmly when someone tells you that your partner, the love of your life, is about to die?

And it wasn't just any person, someone he just met, but you. You were dying.

Doctor Miller knelt in front of Spencer, placing a hand on his shoulder as he continued to cry all the tears he had in his body. “I'm so sorry, if there had been anything, anything we could’ve done to save her we would’ve done please trust me. I can't even imagine what you're going through right now but she's in the ICU now and she's awake, we gave her morphine so she doesn't feel any pain. Go and say goodbye to her, okay?”.

The world was collapsing on him, everything was disintegrating around him and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

How the fuck did this happen? How the fuck was that possible?

He couldn't believe it, he couldn't process what was happening.

It shouldn't have happened, not to you, you didn't deserve it.

He was terrified, more than he had ever been in his entire life, not even when he had been kidnapped and tortured by a ruthless killer.

Images after images of moments with you continued to flood his mind while a sense of anguish gripped his stomach, so strong he couldn't stop crying.

He cried.

Everyone cried with him in that waiting room, hugging each other.

All his dreams had been shattered, they had all vanished in the blink of an eye, flown away like a grain of sand in the sea.

Where did his ‘forever’ go?

His forever was in the ICU and was about to die. The only person he had ever loved, the only person who had ever understood him without trying to fix him, the only person who had ever made him happy, who had made him understand the meaning of the word love, who had made him believe that even if he came from a dysfunctional family that didn't mean the same fate would happen to him, the only person for whom he lived, breathed, for whom he committed himself every single day to fight his demons and ghosts was about to walk away forever.

How do you survive something like that?

What would he have done without you?

Spencer couldn't live without you.

He couldn't even imagine waking up in the morning and not finding you. He couldn't imagine coming home at night and knowing you’d be dead. He couldn’t imagine going in the kitchen and not smelling your food. He couldn’t imagine watch a romantic movie and not seeing you cry your eyes out.

No, no, no, fuck, that couldn't be true.

One by one they all came to you to say goodbye but no one spoke to each other. Spencer didn’t have the strength to walk into that room, he hoped till the last minute it was just a nightmare and he’d soon wake up.

There was only desperation and so many, many tears. Even Hotchner, always so serious and impeccable, couldn't stop the tears when he left your room, moving away from the others so as not to be seen.

The last one was him.

When it was Spencer's turn he was terrified.

His fingers trembled as they were about to open the door. He didn't have the courage to enter that room, look you in the eyes, say goodbye to his love.

With what strength would he have hugged you knowing it would be the last time? How would he be able to say goodbye? How would he be able to tell you he loved you knowing it was the last time? How could he let you go?

Every step he took was heavy, leaving a piece of his tormented soul behind each one.

Seeing you was like a punch in the stomach, like every time his eyes rested on you but that time what he felt wasn't happiness but only sadness, desperation, anguish and helplessness.

Oh my everlasting love. You didn't deserve all of this.

You lay in bed, a nasal cannula supplying you with oxygen, electrodes connecting your body to monitors that marked a low blood pressure and a below-normal heart rate.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to rely on what little strength he had to not collapse to the floor and burst into desperate tears again. But the shine of his eyes, their swelling and redness showed how intensely he had cried in the last few hours.

You looked at him and he felt breathless.

How will I live without those eyes?

“Hi baby.”

His voice trembled, smiling slightly as he moved closer to you. He couldn't conceive the idea that the last time he had seen you was that same morning and you were fine, while at that moment you were on a hospital bed dying.

He pulled up a chair and sat next to you. He took one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers and leaving a kiss on the back of it. All it took was for your skin to come in contact with his for him to burst into inconsolable and suffocating tears again.

He wrapped his arms around your hips, his head resting on your abdomen as you stroked his hair. It was a projection from that same morning but the difference was that this time would be the last.

He would no longer hug you, he would no longer be lulled by the warmth of your arms, feel your fingers run through his messy and tangled hair.

Silence reigned in the room, interrupted only by Spencer's sobs as he continued to cry desperately. He held you like he had never done before, as if in that way he hoped you would stay.

“It's okay…” you barely whispered, weakened and groggy from the morphine.

You felt… Apathetic.

You couldn't describe the emotions you felt at that moment, ever since the doctor told you didn’t have much time you felt anesthetized.

It was as if you were seeing everything from an external perspective, as if it wasn't really you lying on the bed, as if it wasn't you who was going to die in a few hours.

Not a tear had rolled down yours, not even when the rest of your team had come to say their final goodbyes.

You didn't want to feel like this, you didn't want to be apathetic, so numb. You wanted to feel anger, pain, helplessness, anguish, anxiety, anything, you wanted to cry, scream, but the more you tried, the more you couldn't.

“Don’t leave me please…” Spencer's sobs interrupted him. He continued to cling to you, to hold onto you as if his life depended on it.

“Baby, look at me.” Your voice was hoarse, thick with sleep and tiredness.

“No, no, no, I know what you want to tell me… No…” He held you even tighter than before. “You can't leave me…”

He turned his head towards you, his vision completely blurred with tears, his face wet. He brought his hands to your face, caressed your cheeks, your hair and tried as much as possible to imprint every detail of your skin in his memory.

“You're so beautiful baby,” he whispered, “It's not fair…”

“I know,” you whispered back weakly, “I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. But it's so unpredictable, isn't it?”.

“No, life sucks.”

You placed a hand on his still on your face, closing your eyes for a moment and enjoying the feeling of warmth that only he could give you.

“I know everything seems bad right now, I know you'll think this long after I'm gone but it's not like that love, life doesn't suck. It’s the most beautiful gift we could ever have...” you murmured with no small effort, your breathing heavy and difficult.

He shook his head. “Bullshit. You are my life, baby...” He cried. “I can't live without you. I can't... I can't go home and not find you there, I can't sleep without you next to me, I can't go to work and look up and not find you sitting there at your desk… I can’t…”

“Of course you can you’re the strongest person I know baby, even if you don't recognize it. You’ll be happy again...” You placed a hand on his cheek, drying with your fingers his tears that never stopped coming out. “Promise me one thing.”

“No, no, no, I can't, don't do this to me please… Don't make me promise something I can't keep baby…”

“Spencer, please. I can't leave knowing you won't be happy, please, I need to know you’ll at least try... Promise me...”

A solitary tear rolled down your face, even though you didn't even realize it at the time.

He shook his head, looking down as he continued to cry. He sat down on the bed next to you, pulling you into a hug you tried to return with the little strength you had left.

He left a long kiss on your head, inhaling deeply that beautiful scent he’d never be able to smell again in his life. He rested his cheek on you, letting your hair tickle his skin.

“I can't… I can't…” he repeated, feeling the air disappear more and more from his lungs. “You’re the first person who made me understand what it means to be happy baby… I don’t how to do it without you… D-don't… You can't ask me… I’m begging you…”

You slightly pulled away from him, cupping your hands on his face and smiling slightly through the tears you hadn't even realized you were shedding.

You were crying.

“I wouldn't ask you if I knew you couldn't Spence. I know it’ll be hard but life is beautiful baby, so damn beautiful and deserves to be lived to the full. Plus, I'm not really leaving okay? My body may no longer be here but my soul will always be with you, I’ll always be here when you need me, I will never leave you.” You spoke softly, your breathing heavy with each word. You placed a hand at his heart level which was beating wildly at that moment.

He shook his head again, still crying as desperation enveloped him more and more. “But I-I want you here…”

“Shh, listen to me love, please…” You stopped due to a cough. Spencer rushed to get you a glass of water from the bedside table, helping you drink and stroking your back in the meantime. “Thanks baby.”

Despite the morphine you still felt a weight on your chest, your lungs couldn't expand and everything hurt.

But it wasn't physical pain.

It was your soul that was hurting.

“Listen to me…” You started speaking feebly again, looking Spencer in his eyes, losing yourself in those two beautiful wells. “I need to know you’ll move on baby, that you’ll find someone you’ll love again and who will love you so deeply like I did, with whom you’ll build a beautiful family, with whom you’ll have children, a beautiful house and a dog if you want. This doesn’t mean you’ll forget about me, I’ll always be by your side at every step you take, I promise you, I’ll watch over you and if you need anything you just have to talk to me... Maybe not in front of other people or they’ll think you’re crazy.”

He chuckled through his tears and your heart skipped a beat. “That’s it. That’s the beautiful smile I always want to see, God you make me so happy.”

“There will be no one after you baby.”

“Spence please…-”

“No, no, you can't ask me that,” he murmured, his tone of voice so melancholy and sorrowful it made your gut wrench. “When I married you I never thought for a second there could be an ‘after you’, never, even though I knew the risks we both ran because of our jobs. There will never be anyone after you Y/n, there will never be anyone who can ever make me happy like you do, there will never be anyone I will ever love as much as I love you. It… It wouldn't be right...” He let out a deep sigh “It wouldn't be right for her, for... For the children because I wouldn't love them as much as I love you, because I would look at them and only think I could’ve had all that with you and I don't want that…”

He stroked your hair, looking at you with so much love it made your heart melt.

You didn’t want your time to end. You wanted to be with him, forever.

“Spencer… I-I'm terrified…” You managed to murmur before bursting into desperate, heartbreaking tears. Spencer hugged you while you sobbed into his sweater.

“I know… I know…”

Terrified didn't even come close to describing how you felt at that moment.

I'm dying.

Soon I won't be here anymore.

You couldn't conceive it, realize it, you couldn't accept it. But then again, how could you? Who would ever accept a death sentence?

You weren't ready.

You didn't want to leave Spencer, God, you had so many dreams to achieve together and it wasn't fucking right, it wasn't.

You just wanted to bring lunch and eat with your beloved husband, spend some time with him, why did this have to happen to you? What did you do wrong? You hadn't died from a bullet three weeks earlier but you were about to die for wanting to see your husband.

Why didn't you just stay home? If you had done it you would’ve been fine, you would’ve just had to wait for Spencer to come home that evening so you could hug him again. If you had done it you would’ve slept in the same bed, together that night, perhaps after making love, the next morning you would’ve woken up with his scent and his warmth, you would’ve had breakfast together.

You both cried until you couldn't breathe, holding on to each other as if you were both each other's lifelines.

You felt weak, every moment that passed breathing was like a punch in the stomach even though the oxygen flow had been turned up to maximum.

Hours passed and every minute that passed the fear paralyzed you more and more.

Spencer stayed next to you the entire time, hugging you and tightly holding your hand. You’d think he had shed all the tears he had in his body but instead he had never stopped, he continued to cling to you, to hold you in the hope that a miracle would happen.

He didn't believe in miracles, he thought there was a reason for everything, but in that moment he prayed for one to happen with every fiber of his being.

Your eyelids felt heavy and you struggled to keep your eyes open.

You were tired, so fucking tired, just wanting to rest for a bit but knowing if you definitely close your eyes you wouldn’t be able to open them again.

“Do you think heaven exists?” You whispered in a small, thin voice. Spencer kissed your forehead, continuing to stroke your hair as his salty tears kept running down his cheeks.

“Of course it exists, all the angels are just waiting for you. I'm pretty sure you’ll be the most beautiful angel of all, dressed in white and with the light surrounding you.”

You giggled, only to be interrupted by yet another cough. You were so grateful to have Spencer, that even though he didn't believe in an afterlife, in heaven, in angels, still tried to make you feel better.

“I'm so tired baby…” you murmured, closing your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.

He held you tighter, feeling more tears streak down his face. “I know my love, but you can rest, I’ll always be here I promise, I’ll never leave you.”

“Spencer, you are the greatest and most beautiful love I have ever had in life, you made me the happiest I've ever been and I want to thank you for everything, for everything you have done for me, for teaching me the truth meaning of love…” You took a deep breath. “I will love you forever, I hope you know that, in this world and wherever else I’ll go. I know we’ll meet again, even if not in this life, we’ll meet in next one.”

He shook his head in despair as he continued to sob and cry. He wasn't ready to say goodbye, he wasn't ready to let you go, but who he was kidding, he never would be.

“I love you so much my darling, I will always love you until my last breath.”

He kissed your forehead softly again, pressing his lips to your skin longer than expected as he tried to make the most of those last moments with you.

“You’re the best and most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. I love you, always and forever,” he kept whispered, hugging you. But you couldn't hug him back.

You had closed your eyes and fallen asleep, in the arms of the person you loved most in the world where you always wished your last moments would be.

The room was filled with sounds from the monitor connected to your heart, which had started to slow down.

Your heartbeat had slowed.

More and more.

Until it stopped and all that was left was a flat line.

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[jungkookstatts]

When She Loved Me

[Summary]: How does one live when life is bound to end? 

[Theme]: Terminally Ill Reader, Non Idol AU, CEO Jungkook AU, Engaged AU, Married AU

[Rating]: 18+ for sexual themes and innuendoes, a truly heart wrenching piece. Please read with caution and with full intent to break your own heart. 

[Word Count]: 11,265

[A/N]: I truly broke my soul with this one. If you really want to cry, listen to my muse for this piece: “When She Loved Me” by Sarah McClain (yes, the one from Toy Story) or "Stuff We Did" by Michael Gaicchino (from UP)

[Materialist]

It’s spring — your favorite time of year. The air is brisk, but the sun warms his skin despite the chill in the air.

He watches the cherry blossoms fall dramatically as the wind pushes through the branches of the trees. They flow through his hair, catching on his clothes and his skin. 

He thinks about you as they whirl around the city, wondering if you’re able to see the blossoms through your window.

Jungkook doesn’t have to check into the hospital anymore. He’s become a regular there. In fact, he’s come so often, he knows the names of all the nurses on your floor. Jungkook is a friendly guy, and he’s come to know each nurse quite well.

Your personal nurse, Nurse Sandy, greets him as he makes an appearance on the 4th floor. Jungkook gently wraps his hand around the knob to your room, just about to push it open until she speaks.

“You won’t find her in there, love,” she smiles. She finishes cleaning up an area on a movable cart before she officially turns his way. “She’s up on the roof,” she points to the door at the end of the hallway.

“Ah,” Jungkook shyly bows in thanks. His hand comes up to rub the hairs at the back of his neck. There’s a sense of slight slight awkwardness in the air from his mistake. 

“She’s been up there for a while,” she explains.

Jungkook simply nods before telling her that he’s going to join you. She lets him go, watching the grown man make his way towards you.

He catches you leaning against the metal bars encasing the rooftop. Your arms are folded against the railing, and your leg is crossed over the other as you stare out into the openness of the city. He can imagine your face — eyes closed and a content smile on your lips — as the breeze takes over your body.

You’re beautiful, even standing with your back faced to him; even with a cart of fluids attached to one side of your body, and an oxygen tank placed on the other. Nothing can take away from you.

“You can say something, you know,” you break the silence.

Jungkook feels his heart nearly leap out of his body. He didn’t know how long he had been standing there. Or how long you knew he was standing there. Embarrassment floods his cheeks as he clears his throat.

“S-Sorry,” he laughs. Jungkook makes his way over to you, leaning his arms against the metal just as you are.

“The weather is perfect, Kook,” you sigh in content. When he looks to you, his imagination is confirmed reality: your eyes are closed and your lips are lips pulled up in the most delicate way. A clear tube stretches across your cheeks, but it doesn’t take away from your beauty. You’re you, and he finds himself staring in admiration as the cherry blossoms flow around your delicate frame. It’s like they’re pulling you into the spring.

“Your cheeks are cold,” he observes. The redness of your nose and the red skin at the corners of your eye do little to hide from how the weather effects you body.

“Are they?” He watches you open your eyes, gently touching your cheeks with your fingertips. “Oh—I guess they are. I hadn’t noticed,” you smile. “Winter is still in the air, but I couldn’t just sit in that room and watch the blossoms fall from the window.”

“I got a scarf if you want,” he suggests.

You attempt to refuse, but he’s already pulling it out of his bag and gently wrapping it around your neck and shoulders. He’s careful with the cords, not wanting to damage or ruin anything as he wraps you in his clothes.

Once he has situated the scarf a few more times, he’s looking at you, a content smile on his face. He loves moments when you let him do this—when you let him engulf you with his warmth. It makes him feel special.

You’re leaning against his chest in the next few moments, wrapping your arms around his waist and sighing against his chest. You missed him. Even though you he visits you everyday, you miss him in every moment he is gone.

Jungkook rubs your back, one of his hands pressing your head into his chest as he places a kiss on top of your scalp.

“How long have you been out here?” He asks you.

“Since this morning.” His chest rises from your words. You stop him with your own, knowing what he was about to reprimand you for. Don’t worry, I ate,” you chuckle, poking his chest. You knew that was going to be his next question. “Nurse Sandy has been out here with me for most of the day, waiting for you to come and give her a break.”

Jungkook chuckles, holding you closer against him when a strong breeze blows against the two of you. He protects you from it, turning you gently so his back shields your body from the wind.

“I hate being in there,” you mumble. He almost doesn’t here it, but if it wasn’t for the small break in the wind he probably wouldn’t have. “I wish I could sleep next to you again.”

“I know,” he kisses your head again. “You’ll get out of here soon. I know it.”

You don’t say anything. Instead, you rest your chin on his chest, staring up at him with curious eyes.

“What?” He laughs, tucking your hair behind your ear. It’s become thin, the nutrients it had just a couple years ago has been completely sucked out. But Jungkook doesn’t mind. As long as you don’t mind, he’s alright. Everything about you is beautiful. You could be bald or patching or have the worst allergic reaction on your skin from some of the medications you take, but he wouldn’t care. Behind all that is you, and he loves your soul with all of his.

“Nothing,” you give a small smile. It seems forced, but Jungkook pays no mind. He knows not to expect too much—your mind has been haywire lately, thinking and thinking and thinking. He knows you’re stressed and exhausted.

It’s been two years since you got sick. He’s been there the entire way, watching you change and get angry at the world and try your best to just suck it up and wait to get better. But he knows how hard you’re trying to be positive. He knows it’s the hardest thing to harbor when you’ve been waiting so long for just some good news.

But he also knows you need a rock to lean on; hell, he’d turn into one physically if that’s really what you needed. He’s been there for you as a shoulder, as a weight to keep you grounded. Though you might have a hard time seeing any positive in the world, he would always see something positive in you.

“You wanna watch that new anime?” Jungkook breaks the silence. “The one on Netflix you saw the last time we were browsing through shows?”

“Yes!” You exclaim. “I’m so glad you brought that up because it’s taco night in the cafeteria and I was so excited to bring back an old tradition.”

You’re referring to your taco and Netflix nights a while back before all this happened. It used to be your thing to do with him. Your “date night”, one could say. It’s been hard to get permission to bring in outside food from the hospital, though. So you were nearly jumping out of your bones, your heart monitor going crazy, when Nurse Sandy told you about taco night.

“They’re probably not going to be ‘Maria’s Flaming Taco’s’ good, because it’s crappy hospital food, but I don’t even care,” you explain. “I just want to be with you.”

Jungkook smiles at your reaction, the butterflies in his tummy doing nothing to hide the way your happiness fuels his affection for you. 

“It’s a date, then,”  he nudges his nose against yours. He plants a small kiss on your lips afterwards, allowing himself to feel you on his skin.

A part of his head tells him to savor it, because he never knows when the last time might be that he gets to kiss you so. But the largest part of him, the part that’s been keeping him together during all of this, tells him that moments like this will come again. That hope is in the air as spring brings about new life.

You’re going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.

__________________

“How’s about this one?” Jungkook points to the shiny diamond below the clear casing. There’s a a collection of earrings, necklaces, and bracelets surrounding the specific jewel he points out.

“Hmm,” you hum, tucking your hair behind your ear as you stare down at the diamond. It’s huge — extremely dramatic in size and way too detailed. “I don’t think it represents us that well,” you candor.

“You’re right,” Jungkook sighs. He runs his hands though his hair in slight frustration.“I feel like we’ve been looking at these for forever.”

“I told you: I’m fine without an engagement ring, baby,” you coo. Your arms come to wrap around his own, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I know,” he groans. “But I wanted to do it properly. With a ring. On one knee. All that traditional sappy stuff.”

“Hey, I liked how you proposed,” you pout. “It was romantic.”

“We were in the shower, babe. I was like…2 seconds away from shoving my dick in you,” you fiancé mumbles the last part.

You laugh at that, softly clutching his arm before a certain ring catches your eye.

“Kook,” you gasp, pointing your finger at the gem. “Look at that one.”

Before he has time to respond, you’re already pulling him toward the ring. You point at it through the glass, gasping in awe at its beauty.

The ring represents your relationship with Jungkook perfectly. A small, plain band with a giant emerald-cut diamond paced at the center. It doesn’t have any of that extra stuff to it. Just a classic diamond on a classic band: a timeless ring that incorporates a little bit of you and a little bit of him.

“Are you looking to buy?” The clerk on the other side of the case asks.

Jungkook looks down to you, asking you with his eyes if you’re sure this is the one. You simply nod your head, a smile forming on your lips.

“Can we try it on?” He asks the clerk.

“Of course!”

The man unlocks the case, gently pulling the ring out onto the table.

“It’s a 4.20 carat,” he starts, pulling the diamond from the velvet floor it was ground to. “It comes in a range of 2 carat to 5 carat in case this one is a little high, or a little low for your intentions. Feel free to try it on and see what you think.”

Jungkook gently handles the diamond, putting his other hand out asking for your own. You place your fingertips on his, and your fiancé slides the diamond on your ring finger slowly.

He observes the ring on your hand. It’s a perfect look. Everything he was looking for and everything you wanted — a perfect mixture of the two of you in one object.

Jungkook nods, a small chuckle falling out of his lips when you shimmy the diamond around, catching the light as the diamond reflects it.

“Do I look like your fiancé?” You ask, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Fuck, yeah you do,” he laughs. “It’s perfect, Y/n.” Jungkook let’s go of your hand, instead choosing to hold your ring finger, examining it before he turns to the clerk. “We’ll take it.”

“Congratulations!” He exclaims. “Would you like this size? We can talk prices over here. Are you paying, sir?”

“We both—” you start. But Jungkook is quick to interrupt.

“I am, yes,” he says.

“Kook,” you scold him in a whisper. This ring is set at 65,000 dollars. There’s no way you’re letting him take care of this on his own.

“It’s alright,” he smiles down at you. “This was how it was supposed to go anyways. I buy the ring, you have no idea, then I propose, then you’re like: ‘Omg Kook! I can’t believe you chose such a beautiful amazing ring! You’re my hero!’,” he changes his voice to what you’d guess is a mocking of yours.

“Shut up,” you laugh at his interpretation.

“Seriously babe, I got it,” he kisses your forehead. “You’re marrying the CEO of the biggest software company in Korea. I got the extra cash.”

“Prick,” you pinch him. “Go talk sales. I’m gonna look around.”

Jungkook nods, letting you detach yourself from him as he follows the clerk behind the counter and into one of the rooms.

A very long a boring conversation goes on with the clerk for a while. Pamphlets and ordering arrangements, ring cases and polishes are given to Jungkook to choose from. He’s confident enough to make final decisions on it all. You already said yes, so he’s content in knowing that you’d definitely say yes when he does it all over again.

He’s inserted his blackcard into the machine when he hears sudden gasps and a yell for help from one of the employees outside of the room. 

“Oh no. A robbery?” The clerk looks out the door. He shakes his head in disappointment until someone shouts ‘call an ambulance’. 

Both the men are out of their seats and making their way to the main room in haste, eager to see what could be going wrong.

Jungkook looks for your face, and a panic settles in his stomach when he can’t find you. Quickly, he paces to the crowd, pushing through the people until he’s met face to face with yours on the ground, unconscious.

There’s blood leaking from your nostrils and one of your ears, the liquid dashing across your face as it continues to leak out of your body.

This can’t be happening. No way. Nooo way. You were just here, clutching onto his arm and laughing with him. What wen’t wrong?

“Get out!” He nearly screams at the people to move. The crowd moves, recognizing him as the man that was just with you a few minutes ago. Jungkook crouches next to you, placing a hand under your neck and another on your pulse.

“Y-Y/n, baby, can you hear me?” He asks.

Luckily, your heartbeat is there, but it’s very weak. Confusion and fearful adrenaline pumps through his veins when you don’t answer, just the dead weight of your head lulling while he gently holds it in his hand.

Before he can do anything else, there’s a paramedic crouching on the other side of you.

“Don’t worry,” she assures him. “We got her.”

There’s little time for him to respond, because two other paramedics push him out of the way, lifting your body as if it had no weight onto a movable bed. He follows after you and panics by your side until you’ve finally awoken in room 456 of the nearest hospital.

__________________

“Jungkook,” you whisper to him. It’s dark in your room. The sun has set and the lights were turned off long ago when Nurse Sandy brought in the projector for you two to use. You want to say your tacos were finished nearly two hours ago.

Now, your boyfriend rests, cuddled to your side on your small hospital bed, arms wrapped around you and head placed on your chest.

You two have been at it, watching “Way of the House Husband” since this afternoon. You’re almost certain he’s fallen asleep a few times, this being one of them.

“Love,” you gently shake him.

Jungkook stirs, his eyebrows crinkling and his hand clutching yours a little tighter.

“You have to wake up, Kook,” you kiss his head. “You’re not supposed to be here past 12.”

“Don’t care,” he mumbles against your skin. “I want to sleep next to you.”

“I want that, too,” you sigh. “But you know we can’t. I have treatment at 5am.”

At that, Jungkook sits up sleepily, crossing his legs on the spot he was laying. “They’re too harsh on you,” he says.

“What would you know, Dr. Jeon?” you laugh, poking his chest.

“5am is too early for chemicals and medicine and radiation and—”

“It’s okay,” you stop him. “I asked for that time slot, anyways. Get’s it done and over with so I can leave the rest of the day to spend with you.”

Jungkook smiles at that, but there’s a certain pang in his heart he doesn’t understand why he feels. His eye catches sight of your engagement ring on your finger, gulping at the memory as he holds it in his hand.

“Y/n,” he whispers your name, moving his thumb over your ring finger.

“Hm,” you hum.

“Do you think,” he starts. But the words are hard to get out. He doesn’t like flaunting his insecurities like this to you, especially about this matter. He should be strong, should be unwavering. But he can’t help it. “Do you think we’ll be able to live together again? To go back to it all. Like how it was before.”

You gulp at his words. You were worried about this question. Mainly because you don’t know the answer yourself. It’s something that pushes you forward everyday, something that gets you though the pain. Going back to your old life, marrying your best friend, starting a family and living life together. It’s everything you need to imagine to push yourself harder. To get better.

But recently, you haven’t been showing any progress. Your sickness is getting worse, and it’s something you refuse to tell Jungkook. Something that you’re hiding from him in hopes that if you keep it low, it will eventually smoothen out on its own. You’re just impatiently waiting for the day it does.

“I don’t know,” you candor. “But it’s all I think about. Memories of us before all this play in my mind constantly. I imagine our future all the time,” you squeeze his hand. “The both of us healthy and back to life.”

“I imagine it, too,” he sends a soft laugh. “I miss you, Y/n.”

There’s a lump in your throat at his confession.

It’s hard to live like this. So unbelievably hard.

Yes, you’re sick. And yes, it’s painful to go through the treatment process. But all of that is second to the pain your feel when you realize what you’ve done to him and all you s put him through.

You’re thankful your fiancé has made it nearly everyday to come to you while you stay cooped up in here. But you can’t help but feel selfish about it all. There have been times when you almost called off your relationship, the pain too much to imagine if he were to watch you pass or to watch you deteriorate until you do. How you know it would destroy him, how you know it already is.

It’s painful to see him clutch onto hope, to look at you as if it’s the last time he ever will. Though he thinks you cannot see it, you can. That look he gives you every once in a while, taking in your face, memorizing it when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s so hard to watch him go through all of this. He shouldn’t have to.

But Jungkook is relentless. He’s scared out of his wits about the possibilities of the future. But he knows you are, too. And he can’t leave you alone in your fear. He can’t abandon his love just because some pesky illness decided to create a little bump in the road.

“We should get married,” you confess.

“We are getting married,” Jungkook says.

“No, now. We should get married now, Jungkook,” you squeeze his hand again. This time, Jungkook looks at you differently. The soft glow of the moonlight shows your features to him, caressing your face with the light.

“I thought you wanted to wait until you got better,” he recalls.

“I don’t want to wait anymore, Kook. It’s been two years,” you gulp. “I want you as my husband.”

There’s a quiver in your lip when you utter the last sentence. The tears flood your eyes, and Jungkook is quick to pull you into his embrace.

“I want to be your wife, Jungkook,” you cry into his chest. “Before it’s too late.”

“No,” he sternly holds your shoulder. “Don’t say that, Y/n.”

“I’m scared,” you confess in a mutter.

Jungkook feels a soft drop from his own eye fall down his cheek. Fuck, if he wasn’t just as scared as you are. He’s terrified. But to hear you say it, he wants to protect you. He’d gladly take more fear, more terror and fright, if it meant you felt safe. If it meant you felt like everything was going to be okay.

“I know, baby,” he kisses your scalp. “But I’ve got you.”

__________________

“Ms. Y/l/n,” the doctor walks in.

Your mother is by your side, sitting on the chair. Jungkook is on the other, clutching your hand in his own at the sound of the doctor’s voice.

The doctor looks over at your mom, and then to Jungkook.

“Excuse me,” he starts, gently smiling at your fiancé. “This conversation has to be confined to family members. Please understand. It’s just conduct of the hospital.”

You gulp, looking up at Jungkook with a fear in your eyes. He gently smiles at you, though. Telling you it’s going to be okay, even without him there.

“I’ll be right out side,” he kisses your head. “Not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” you let out a shaky breath. Jungkook lets go of your hand, making his way out of the room. Your hand feels cold now that he’s gone, and you find yourself staring at the way he anxiously runs his hands through his hair when he exists the room.

He stands awkwardly as he waits for the conversation to be over. It’s been almost an hour of him pacing and sitting, and looking on his phone as thoughts consume his mind.

Everything happened so fast and so unexpectedly. What was just a happy day, the day you choose what form his promise would represent in a ring, turned unto a night full of fear. Not in a million years did he think the next few hours would be spent pacing, just as he is now, outside of a hospital room.

The door to your room opens, and the doctor steps out. The man gives Jungkook a tense smile before motioning his hand toward the room, telling him it’s okay to enter. Jungkook takes a deep breath, sitting up from his spot and appearing in the doorway.

He watches you from the door. Your mother has you in her embrace, her eyes closed as she holds you tight. He’s unable to make out her expression.

You’re muttering something to her, and she opens her eyes to meet with his. Your mom send a small smile his way until she’s back on you, telling you that he’s waiting for you.

You clear your throat, wiping at your face before you take a deep breath. You tell your mom it’s okay to let him in, and your mother nods at Jungkook, telling him he’s welcome.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you, gently sitting at the end of the bed.

Your eyes are red at the corners, and you lips are puffy in the way they always are when you cry. He feels a pang in his heart at your face. He’s never seen you in a state like this. It tempts him to let his own emotions flow, but this is not his time. You’re hurt, and he needs to be there for you.

“Yeah,” you nod, a small chuckle escaping your lips. “I’m just gonna have to stay here for a bit.”

Jungkook gulps at your words, trying to shoot the fear down.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“I’m just a little sick, is all,” you grab his hand, playing with his fingers. “I’ll be alright.”

“H-how sick?” he dares to ask. It’s a small question, but one that felt so heavy to say aloud.

“Sick enough to say that this room might be my home for a little while.”

__________________

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Nurse Sandy shakes her head. “But you have been cleared.”

“Really?!” you exclaim, nearly hopping out of your hospital bed. The IV in your arm prevents you from leaping into the woman’s arms, and you’re stuck to squealing on your mattress.

“Just for two months,” she says. “And you still have to carry your oxygen tank and do your treatments in the morning and make sure that you’re coming in for check-ups.”

“I will! I promise I will—oh my god,” you gasp. Your hands come to cover your mouth as you think about what these next two months hold for you. “How am I going to tell Jungkook?”

“Maybe you can start by meeting him at home?” Nurse Sandy suggests. “Make it a little surprise.”

“That’s perfect!” you say, taking the IV out of your arm and tearing the sheets off your body. “Oh god, I’m so excited. Do you have a change of clothes?”

“Of course,” she laughs.

Nurse Sandy turns away, probably going to where the spare clothes are. Meanwhile, you’re left alone in your room, a racing heart and a mind imagining just how you’re going to surprise your fiancé. You know you’re still not doing well, but you’ve asked the doctor, surgeons, and nurses if you could just have a month or two to get married. Just a month or two to be outside of here while you tie the knot with your best friend. Honestly, you didn’t think you’d get any approval at all. You’ve already started planning a hospital wedding. But today’s news shocked you. You’re beyond ecstatic. You don’t even know where to begin.

“Put these on and meet me downstairs. We’ve got a schedule for you and an entire two months of supplies for you to take home. Plus an on-call personal nurse you can call at any time you need one at home,” Nurse Sandy says. She hands you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that feel way too thin and large to keep any warmth in. But you’re happy to take them and get out of this stupid hospital gown for once.

“Okay,” you beam.

Nurse Sandy makes her way out, but you stop her before she has the chance to close the door.

“Nurse Sandy?” you call.

“Yes?” she stops, looking back at you from the doorway.

“Thank you,”

She gives you a smile, happy to see you cheer up.

“Of course,” she nods. “Next time I’ll see you, you’ll be Mrs. Jeon.”

You blush at the title.

“Hell yeah, I will.”

__________________

You feel the nerves shoot through your system when the hospital’s driver arrives at your apartment complex. It’s been two years since you’ve ventured in here. You wonder how much your home has changed. You wonder how Jungkook has been living in it all by himself.

It’s during the daytime, so Jungkook has probably left for work already. You feel excitement thinking about him again. You can’t wait to see his reaction.

The driver stops in front of the entrance, telling you that you’ve reached your destination. He comes around, pulling the door open for you and helping you pull out your oxygen tank.

“I’ll get the stuff in the back,” he says. You nod to him, your thumb harshly smoothing over the key fob Jungkook gave you about five years ago to his apartment.

With shaky hands, you press it to the inner door to the complex, and you sigh in relief when a positive beeping noise and the sound of doors unlocking rings in your ears. You press the handicapped button to the door for the driver, who carries a few extra oxygen tanks and bags of prescription medicines and other things you may need during your much needed time with your fiancé.

The driver thanks you, and you reply back to him before showing him the way to the elevator.

It’s a long ride up. 38 floors of apartments make the wait in the elevator all the more anticipating. You can’t wait to smell home again.

“It’s this one,” you say, nodding to room 3860 at the end of the hallway. Jungkook has a corner apartment, which mean’s it’s the biggest on the floor. You press the key fob to the lock, and it flashes a green light at you, telling you it’s been accepted.

The smell of home engulfs you. It’s just as you left it — everything organized and clean, the furniture and floors clear of clutter. There’s personal items on a few of the standing drawers, the ones you and Jungkook picked out together on vacations. You almost cry at the nostalgia. It’s hard to come here when it used to be so second nature to you.

You place your keys on your designated spot on the key holder on the wall. It’s right next to your fiancé’s name, and you smile thinking about him seeing your keys on your holder once again.

“You can just set them in this closet,” you point to the one near the door. It’s your’s and Jungkook’s coat closet. But given it’s late spring, you guess it hasn’t been put to much use lately.

The man leaves and makes his way out, telling you to be careful. You nod and tell him to thank Nurse Sandy one more time, to which he laughs and agrees.

The rest of the evening is spent exploring your home. It’s like you’re walking into one of your friend’s parents bedrooms when you were young. It feels like it’s wrong, feels weird because you’ve never explored that part of your friend’s home before. But there’s a familiarity to it anyways.

You sit on his side of the bed in your shared bedroom. You laugh because it appears as if he hasn’t touched your side at all. It’s made and the pillows are organized perfectly. The sheets are tucked in and the bedding is smoothed out as he’s been keeping it neat since the day you last ventured in here.

His side of the bed is unmade. The sheets are pulled from when he got up this morning, and the decorative pillows for his side are scattered on the floor.  

You take it all in, breathing in the smell of him that overpowers your bedroom. You miss this—waking up to hold him and going to sleep cuddled together. You wonder how he’s been going to sleep these days.

Your body starts to feel tired when you close your eyes, and Jungkook’s scent does nothing to help your weak body from falling into the depths of sleep. The bed has always been so comfortable, especially Jungkook’s side. It’s warm and curves into your body as you lay against the sheets. The smell of him wafting into your nostrils as you lay your head on his pillow.

It wasn’t you intention to fall asleep. No, you wanted to bake something sweet for him, put up some decorations or do something to make it special. But Nurse Sandy warned you about the effects of not being on IV constantly. Your body isn’t getting everything it needs to stay awake for long periods of time. But you were given a long list of to-do’s in order to keep your energy up. For right now, though, you forgo the list until you’re able to look it over and figure it all out with your fiancé.

__________________

Jungkook’s exhausted. He’s beat and he totally would have gone straight to you after work had he not been feeling completely gross. The plan is still to see you. But right now, he needs a shower.

His body is aching when he walks down the hallway to the 38th floor. All day he spent sitting in his desk, listening to sales pitches and hiring a few more people who he honestly could care less about. Needless to say, he needs a hot shower, a cup of coffee, and a dose of you in order to make his day feel right.

He takes a deep breath when he presses the key fob against the door. The briefcase in his hand swings when he pushes it open, immediately setting it down in the dip in the doorway. He almost closes his eyes when he enters his apartment, the darkness of the home from the set sun doing nothing to hide his need for sleep. But his heart leaps out of his chest when he sees a pair of familiar grey sneakers tucked in the corner of the entryway. His eyebrows knot together at the sight, his heart beating rapidly in his chest when he looks up to the key holder on the wall. There they are — your keys, placed simply on the hook with your name on it.

“Y/n?” he whispers. There’s a panic in his heart when he turns on the light. Why were you here? Is everything okay?

“Y/n?” he shouts. But there’s no answer.

Jungkook quickly rips off his jacket, his shoes messily thrown in the entry way as he runs into the kitchen. He shouts your name again, but there’s no answer.

Jungkook’s chest heaves, the silence and the lack of you anywhere makes his brain think of the worst possible outcome. Did you come here against the will of the doctor? Did you give up? Did you come here to greet him and it all go wrong? Did you collapse? Are you okay?

Jungkook pants heavily as he rips open the door to his bedroom. The lights are off and the lack of sunlight coming through his window makes things hard to make out. However, he quickly turns on the light, his lungs relaxing immediately when he sees your body softly tucked into his sheets.

“Y/n, baby,” he calls out your name softly. Jungkook kneels by his side of the bed, gently moving your tank in the process. He shakes you gently, and you stir at the feeling of his touch.

“Kook?” you groggily moan. Your eyes open in sight of him, a wave of disappointment flooding through you. “Fuck—I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep.”

“Are you okay? What’s going on? Why are you here?” he helps you sit up, his own body sitting next to your legs on the mattress.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you groan, your head falling into your palms.

“What surprise?” he tucks a chunk of your hair behind your ear. Your skin is hot, and he wonders if he should get the thermometer or take you right back to the hospital.

“Nurse Sandy let me go,” you explain.

“What?!” he gasps. “Why would she do that?”

“No,” you chuckle at his misunderstanding. “She let me go for two months. To be with you. To get married.”

“O-Oh,” he gulps. He can’t help the pulse in his heart that leaps at your words.

Fuck, is this a dream? Never in a million years did he think he’d get the chance to have you during your treatment. Hell, they’ve kept you under extremely strict rules for the past two years.

“I wanted to make it a surprise,” you whine. “But I came home and I smelled you and I just—I passed out. I’m sorry.”

Jungkook shakes his head, smiling at you while you groan in your mistake. He honestly is still processing it all. He wants to ask you to pinch him, to make sure this is actually happening before he wakes up from his dream and becomes upset.

“It’s okay, my love,” he kisses your forehead. “I’m honestly a little struck right now. Is this really happening?”

You nod your head, a content smile showing on your face as you speak. “I was just as shocked as you are. I mean, I’ve been asking for just a week or two to be out of there so that we can get married. But they’ve just given me the same answer every time, telling me that they’ll ‘see’ or that they’re not sure that it’s gonna be a possibility,” you hold his hand. “But when Nurse Sandy told me two whole months was approved…I knew I had to make it a surprise. It kinda backfired on me, though. Nurse Sandy told me I was going to be much more fatigued off IV, but I kinda took her words for granted. I was just so excited.”

“It’s okay,” he smiles, adjusting the clear tube across your cheeks. “We’ll take it slow.”

Jungkook holds your cheek, and you lean against at the feeling of his touch on your skin. 

You feel a little emotional. None of this was supposed to happen. Your sickness, the wait to get married, the pause in life. Everything was supposed to be normal, but now you find it all to be complicated and oh-so painful. You shouldn’t have to live like this. He shouldn’t have to live like this.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers. Jungkook’s thumb wipes at the tear that dares to fall from your eye. You hold his hand to your cheek, keeping his touch against you.

“We were so regular,” you laugh. “Just two normal people,” a few more tears stream from your eyes, and Jungkook pulls you into his chest, shielding you from the pain. “But now this happened. And you have to go to bed alone every night. You have to come home to emptiness. Have to make trips just to see me. To deal with all my bad days; days when I can barely talk to you because it hurts.”

“Stop it, Y/n,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d do it for the rest of my life if it means I still get to have you.”

“It shouldn’t have to be this way,” you sob. Jungkook rocks you in his hold, his arms tightening around your gentle body as you cry.

“But it is,” he says. “This is life. It’s just a bump in the road. A big bump, but thank god I’ve got a bunch of different cars to test out which one makes it over first.”

You laugh at his comment. You want to stab his ego a little, but his comment warms you to the extent to where you don’t think you have it in you to do so. 

“I’m gonna take care of you, Y/n,” he simmers. “In sickness and in health, no?”

“Till death do us part.”

__________________

“It’s terminal,” the doctor says.

He watches your mom shake her head, her pearl earrings whipping against her cheeks at his words.

“It can’t be,” she says. “She’s never had something like this in her life! We don’t even have a genetic history—”

“It happens to the best of us, unfortunately,” he interrupts her. You’re sure he hears things like this from mother’s all the time. But you don’t care. It’s true. You’ve been living your life healthy for as long as you remembered. You exercise, eat healthy foods, train your brain…you even have an air purifier in every room of your home. How can this happen?

“Your sickness is in it’s second stage. It’s a 50/50 chance it will get worse or better within the next few months. But regardless, I will just lay the facts out to you. The illness will more than likely be the cause of your death. However, given that it is in its second stage, we are able to slow it down and give you a few extra years,” the doctor explains. “We can put you on the transplant list, but unfortunately, since you are in the second stage, it puts you down as less of a priority compared to those who have a worse illness or who need it immediately.”

Your mother scoffs, her eyes wallowing with tears at the doctors information.

Meanwhile, all you can think about is Jungkook. How the hell are you going to tell him? Would it even be fair to tell him? You don’t want him to be any more worried than he already is. Not to mention how it would absolutely kill you if he were to look at you everyday not knowing if it would be the last.

The doctor’s words are drowned out as you think of how you want to go about this. There’s scenarios playing out in your head. The thought of dying does not even matter to you. All you can think about is how you’re going to protect your love from reality.

“Can we not tell anyone?” you ask your mother quietly.

“What?!” she exclaims. “Y/n, we need to raise awareness or something,” she holds your hand. “Don’t you want to at least tell Jungkook?”

“No,” you say sternly. “I can’t do that to him. I love him too much to destroy him like that.”

“Well,” your mom lets out a shaky breath. A part of you feels bad that you couldn’t shield her from it, either. But someone has to know. And you’re strict on only allowing her to. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll play along.”

A small tear falls from your eye, and your mother wipes them off your cheeks. She coos you, telling you that it’s okay. But her words mean nothing. How is this okay when you will be gone quicker than you thought you would be? When your time with Jungkook has been given a limit?

“Just don’t tell him, alright?” you cry. “Don’t destroy him like this.”

The doctor clears his throat, telling him he is going to leave the room. He asks you if it’s okay to let your fiancé in, and you nod, quickly wiping your tears.

Jungkook makes his way in the door way, his chest tightening at the sight of your mom holding you tight.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you, gently sitting at the end of the bed.

Your eyes are red at the corners, and you lips are puffy in the way they always are when you cry. He feels a pang in his heart at your face. He’s never seen you in a state like this. It tempts him to let his own emotions flow, but this is not his time. You’re hurt, and he needs to be there for you.

“Yeah,” you nod, a small chuckle escaping your lips.

__________________

Your wedding was beautiful.

It was everything you could want and more. Family and friends, the venue you wanted, the color scheme perfect for the summertime. It wasn’t too hot, either. Perfect weather for early August.

Originally, neither of you wanted a summer wedding. But you had to make do with the time you had, and it turned out to be everything you weren’t expecting, in all the right ways.

You even got to walk down the aisle without your tank. Just your face and you in your dress, walking to your man with the biggest smile. Yes, it was a tough walk. But the minute Jungkook took your hand, you felt strength.

You married Jungkook. It was the most rewarding feeling to have him as yours. To slip on his ring and him slip on yours. It felt right. You felt at peace. For the first time in two years, you didn’t think about your diagnosis. Your mind and heart was full of you and him, and that is all.

Your first dance with him as his wife was filled with emotion. Yes, you had to take it slow—the effects of your sickness made it hard to do anything exuberant. But Jungkook let you rest your head on his shoulder. He held your hand and your waist, guiding you through it all as your husband. He held you as the song played in your ears, memories of graduating college, your first date, the first word you spoke to him, the day he asked you to move in with him, the day he proposed. Everything came to you, and you held him tightly as he danced with you in the memories.

The ride home was filled with tiredness. Truthfully, all you had planned was to eat tacos and watch Netflix. But as you sat next to your husband on the ride home, you realized you wanted to do more. Memories of when you two used to be spicy, when you used to have sex nearly everyday, come back to you. How much that has changed. The two of you have become nearly entirely different people. But you want to try tonight. You want to feel him again, no matter the strain. No matter what might happen. You want to hold your husband.

“I feel wrong doing this,” Jungkook rambles below you. You’re sitting on his lap, both of you in pajamas as some anime show plays in the background. “You sure you can breathe okay? Is this too much?”

“Jungkook,” you let out a frustrated sigh. “We’ve only been kissing for two minutes.”

“I know, but I—”

“If you don’t feel right, then we don’t have to,” you cut him off.

“No—I. That’s not what I meant,” he re-quips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not, Kook,” you stop. A big part of you feels embarrassed. Has this really become an entirely new experience? You’re frustrated and you feel a blush on your cheeks for even trying. Maybe he doesn’t want this. “Look, if you don’t want to have sex with me, that’s fine. But tell me now, because I’m not about to put my all into it if you’re just going to be worried the whole time.”

“Y/n,” he groans. Your husband runs his hand through his hair. Fuck, if he didn’t want to have sex with you. It’s be two years since he felt you like that. He misses holding you, feeling you around him as he makes love to you. But hell, he’s worried out of his wits. You can’t breathe like you used to. Not to mention the fragility of your body. What if he hurts you? He can’t imagine how bad he’d feel.

You let out a disappointed sigh. His expression telling you that he’s still considering it.

You begin to hop off his lap when his hands grip your hips, forcing you to stay.

“Y-You,” he starts, his thumbs rubbing circles on the skin of your hips. “You have to tell me if it’s too much. I’m being serious, Y/n. I’m worried and nothing is going to change that. But I want you...I miss you so much.”

You nod your head, a breath of relief flooding your lungs when he comes to kiss you again.

He’s gentle with his kisses, although much more sure than what it was just a few minutes ago. He holds your waist while his body gently falls forward. Your back hits the softness of the mattress, Jungkook’s body falling between your legs. You open them, inviting him in. 

He presses soft kisses on your cheek, trailing them down to your neck where he buries his head in the crevice of your skin. Hot hands push up your body. They take your shirt with it, his fingertips gently cascading over the swell of your breasts. You lift your chest up, allowing him to toss the fabric up over your head and onto the floor.

Jungkook’s breath stops in his chest. It’s been a long while since he’s seen you naked like this in front of him. Yes, he’s seen you naked countless times before, but he’s never seen you this thin. He’s never seen your skin so rough and patchy before. Thinking of all your hard times in the hospital, all the pain you went through, he kisses your skin with love as he admires you. 

Nothing could take away from how you make him feel. Not the redness of your irritated skin, not your ribs that poke out a little from the lack of nutrients, not the clear tubs that ties just below your chin and falls on your clavicle. No, you’re still you, and he holds you with care remembering just how much you’ve suffered. He wants to make you forget all of it.

Your cold hands startle him when they begin to push his own shirt up. Jungkook smiles down at you, giving you a kiss before he takes it off. Your eyes memorize his body, feeling his skin just as it was the last time you touched him like this. You sigh at the memories, how every one of them failed to recall just how it felt to touch him in real life. Nothing can compare to actually feeling him. Nothing can do justice to the velvet of his skin on your fingertips.

Jungkook gently leans himself back on his calves, sitting more upright as his fingers hook around the band of your pajama pants. He looks at you with permission, and you nod, giving it to him. 

The man slowly allows them to fall off your body, his eyes eating you up as you shiver from the cold.

He’s quick to warm you, though. After sliding off his own pants, he’s on top of you again, his arms holding you to his chest as he kisses the sweet spot on your neck.

“J-Jungkook,” you moan. Your husband simply hums at your arousal, his hips softly grinding onto yours when you wrap your legs around his hips. He still has his boxers on, the length of his cock straining against the fabric. It’s been too long since he’s felt you. Been too long since he’s made love to you. His dick is begging him to feel you again. 

“I need you,” you cry beneath him. 

Jungkook lifts his head from your neck, his forehead gently falling on yours while his lips cascade over your own. Your hands come to his jaw, holding him to your face as he closes his eyes. 

He’s memorizing your touch, memorizing how you feel and how you hold him. He’s memorizing the sound of your breath, low long you take between each one to inhale and exhale. The sound of your heartbeat and the sound of your fingers sliding over his skin. He takes you in as his heart wrenches in his chest.

Jungkook opens his eyes to be met with yours. They’re red around the edges and water begs to fall from your eyelids, but he kisses your cheek in attempt to tell you that he needs you, too.

He shimmy’s off his boxers, his cock springing free against his lower abdomen as he does so. It’s quick, and he’s back to your side the minute the fabric falls on the ground.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. “So much.”

You bite your lip, struggling to keep the tears in. He looks at you with so much love, so much adoration. You remind yourself that he is your husband, and a tear falls from your eye.

“Don’t cry,” he gulps. “I’ve got you.”

You nod against the palm that holds your jaw. He kisses your tear before he lines himself up with your entrance. You lock your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you as he slides himself in.

A gasp leaves your lips as he enters you. Although he’s slow, it’s been a long while since you felt the length of him. Your muscles aren’t like how they used to be, and you find it somewhat painful, even though he’s being gentle.

“Are you okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?” he pants in worry. You feel so good, so fucking tight, but that gasp you let out washed away any feeling he had down there for a second.

“Hurts a little, but I’ll be okay,” you smile. “J-Just—slow.”

Jungkook nods, the knob in this throat bobbing when he takes the base of his cock and guides it into you. He’s slow, just like you asked, and the slick of your arousal does a lot to make the second pump go much smoother.

“I-Is this a good pace?” he asks you once he delivers the fourth pump into you.

You sigh, your eyes closing as your head falls back. “Yes,” you pant. This is what you missed. You forgot how good it felt to have him inside you like this.

Jungkook nods before towering back over you. His forearms rest near your head as your legs wrap around his waist. He’s not harsh with you, just a medium pace and gentle thrusts in and out. The old him would have complained, would have needed something faster and more intense in order to get off. But the times have changed. It’s been so long, he honestly feels he could cum right now despite the low intensity. 

Jungkook rests his cheek against yours, his head leaning against your skin as he makes love to you. He feels overwhelmed, and his heart races at the thought of you. 

A tear falls from his eye when you run your hands through his hair, the hope in his heart nowhere to be seen when he feels the gentleness of your touch rake through his body. He sobs above you, that wall broken when you kiss his shoulder.

“Jungkook, baby,” you coo. “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook shakes his head, his arms closing in on your figure while his head buries itself in your neck. He thinks about you, about the first time he felt your touch, wondering if this is the last time he ever will. He lets the tears drop as his hand comes to hold the back of your head, the other sliding underneath your neck. He holds you close against his body, squeezing you tight in case you might escape if he didn’t hold you like this. 

The feeling of his dick in you does little as his heart breaks little by little at the thought of the worst. At the thought of this being the last time.

“I can’t lose you,” he croaks, his voice muffled between your skin and the sheets. “I love you too much to let you go.”

Your lips press together, that lump in your throat begging to rise.

“Come here,” you ask him softly. Jungkook slowly raises his head, his nose pressing against yours per your request.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you press a hand to his heart. “I’m gonna be here.”

Jungkook’s tears flow onto your face, and he can’t help but let out another whimper at the message you tell him. He wants to pretend you didn’t just say that. He wants to pretend you told him that you’re all better, that you’re not sick anymore. But he can’t help but clutch the hand that touches the skin over his heart.

“Y/n,” he breathes, his lips red and wet from all the emotion. “Let me see you, just for a little while.”

He refers to your tube, asking if he can take it off.

You nod to him, and Jungkook gently takes it off your face. The choked sob he lets loose at the sight of you breaks your heart. His lip quivers and his nose starts to run as he looks at you with pain in his eyes. He looks at you, memorizing you again and again. He looks at you as his wife, who has been there for him through everything, who has loved him through every stage of his life. He holds your cheeks, his head resting against your forehead as he rocks into you.

“I’ve got you,” you hold him.

Jungkook exhales, his nose rubbing against yours when you tell him so.

“I love you, Jungkook,” you promise. “You’re going to be okay.”

__________________

You passed in the spring.

The season took you in all its blossoms, engulfing your death with new life.

There were cherry blossoms at your funeral.

Nothing but trees and flowers engulfing the outdoors as he stood at the back of the ceremony. Nurse Sandy was there. He hated the way she looked at him as if she knew he would never be the same. 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Not when you couldn’t flash him a smile. Not when you wouldn’t wrap him in your warmth and tell him you love him. He couldn’t look at you with the hope he harbored throughout the entirety of your sickness. It was no longer here. You were no longer here. 

He took a trip not too long after. The new life of spring was too much for him to handle.

You were no longer there with him. That house he spent two years building in hope that you would one day move into it with him as his wife was too silent for him to stay in.

Every inch of him yearned for you. He went through every grieving stage with the roughest of emotions. Clutching the necklace that held a small amount of your ashes around his neck, his heart suffering in agony, his mind playing memories of you over and over and over again.

His pain went over what his body could handle, causing him to turn into someone he didn’t know.

He stayed in upper Russia for a while, embracing the cold. Then moved to Aruba in search for the summer.

Only on your birthday three years later did he return home.

He could almost smell you off the plane, the familiarity of home raking through his lungs violently.

The place he once had made for you has now been occupied by a family in their mid 40s — a couple with two children and a grandmother living together. He smiles, glad that the house has been to some use.

He’s been paying rent on his apartment since he left. You’re still in there, all your belongings and all of your scent still lives within the comfort of his old home. Everything you organized — from the way you folded the laundry to the way you placed the trinkets on your desk — was all still there.

Your smell is gone when he enters his home. It’s dusty and dark. All but welcoming when he enters. There’s a spot with your name on the key holder plastered against the wall, and he tries his best to ignore the way your keys hang there when he places his keys in his own slot.

He’s made plans to sell the apartment by the time of his next trip. You’re not here anymore, and he’s starting to find it difficult to pay rent when he’s spending so much on living as a non-citizen in another country.

He unfolds the cardboard moving boxes in his kitchen, using the masking tape to seal the ends before he starts going through it all.

He starts with the kitchen first.

He sifts through all the shelves and cabinets, placing spices and expired noodles and sugar and flour in the trash. He cleans the sink and counters before he moves onto the dinnerware. The box beside him labeled “Jungkook and Y/n” stares at him with grief when his hands touch the delicate wood of your shared cabinet.

The fine china dinnerware you got as a wedding gift, the “Spider-Man” “Spider-Woman” mugs, the shot glasses with “bride” and “groom”,  your favorite spoon he never understood why it was your favorite when it looked only slightly different than the rest, all go into the box.

The living room is next.

Blankets and cup holders and remotes all go into a different box. He’s got movers taking the couches and coffee table tomorrow, so he tries to clean them off the best he can before he sells them in an auction. Pictures of you and him scatter the walls, small trinkets and souvenirs he got with you or gave you as a gift all go into the box.

His fingers tremble when he realizes what is next: the bedroom. You two shared it, but from what he remembers, you completely took it over. Finishing touches and decorations and picture frames. All of it you insisted would add “hominess” to his rather plain apartment. And he finds that you’re correct when he enters it and turns on the lights.

It’s dusty, and the lights flicker a little when he turns them on. But there it is. Your side of the bed hitting him right in the face.

He gently walks over to it, his fingers brushing over the duvet where you used to lay. He imagines you’re still here with him, ready to burst through those doors and tell him that you’re here with tacos and a new Netflix series to watch. He imagines what you’d say, where you’d touch him, how gentle your embrace would be.

When it comes to be too much, he turns away, focusing his attention on your bedside table.

A picture of you and him flashes back at him, and he feels a pulse in his throat when his finger slowly brushes the dust off the glass surrounding your face. You’re in your graduation gown, hair falling over your shoulders as you’re jumping onto his back. Nothing but smiles and happiness on your face. He remembers this day like the back of his hand. University graduation — one of the happiest days of yours and his life’s—before everything happened.

This is how he remembers you. Sweet and healthy. Nothing but confidence and laughs as you slowly took his heart into your hands.

He places it in his own box, choosing to keep it close to him as he travels around the world. There’s a few digital things and a lamp he stores away before he’s opening your drawer.

He expects to find nothing, but instead sees a stack of cards, all a little dusty, wrapped in a blue ribbon.

When he pulls it out, he turns the stack around and sees that they’re all addressed to him.

Jungkook stops his rummaging, a heart beat in his his chest as he sits down on the bed, examining the large stack of envelopes in his hand.

He reads his name in your handwriting, a thumb gently tracing over the ink before it softly unties the blue ribbon holding them together. He stares at the first one labled: “The first: to Jungkook”. He tears the seal. The envelope reveals a small page filled with your writing. He takes a deep breath.

My husband,

Jungkook pauses, the back of his hand coming to his mouth as the heaviness in his heart sinks all the way down to his feet. 

I wondered when a day would come where I could give this to you. But the more life goes on, I’ve realized these words would be of most meaning when I am gone.

I’ve known for a while I would not continue living life with you. My sickness gets worse with every passing minute, and I’ve since found myself on borrowed time. However, I am so beyond thankful.

All I wanted out of life was spend it with you. Being with you has been the best blessing I’ve received since the day I was born. Marrying you was more than I asked for, and I can go on with no regrets knowing that I get to die with your promise to me.

To say I have no sadness is a hard lie to tell. The thing that consumes my mind the most these days is how you will be when I am gone. How you will come home and how you will continue to live.

You have always loved with everything you had. I felt it with every word you spoke, every breath you took, and every touch you gave. I can only hope you will continue to do so as you did for me since the day we met. That you will find it within you to return.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I have passed when you’ve decided to read this. But for all the things I will not have the chance to say during every hard time in your life, during every morning and every evening, during every achievement and every failure, I want to say them to you now. I want you to come back and read this when you need me. When you need what you know I’d say. What you know is true:

I love you.

I love you and will always continue to do so. My body may be gone, but my soul still holds yours. It holds yours with every stage of my life, with every stage we went through. It holds you knowing that you were there holding mine. I’ve come to return your favor. 

Your hope you gave to me I now give to you. 

I know you will strengthen. I know you will live and you will live with everything you have, just like you always did. You’re my Jungkook. My husband. And I can only hope you feel me walking next to you as you continue to live.

I lived loving you, and i died loving you.

I will always love you. No matter what form my soul takes, it will be there to walk next to yours, to hold it and love it until we meet again.

The paper is crumpled in his hand, clutched against his heart and necklace as he screams into the air. The tears follow in transit, curling his body as he holds your words to his heart. He’s hysterical, the dustiness in the room filling his lungs as he sobs on your side of the bed.

Three years of holding it in, three years of pretending you were still here with him, pretending that it was all just a dream, release out of him in a painful wail. He’s remembering you, your voice playing in his head as he reads your letter. He can hear you telling him.

He remembers that morning. The last one before it happened. How you clutched onto his arm, smiling at him as you picked out a ring. He remembers holding you on the rooftop of the hospital, going through every season with you as he protected you from the wind. He remembers how you held him when he made love to you on your wedding night, how you said “I do” at your wedding. He can see your smile, the sound of your laugh. All of it he can feel.

The stack of envelopes nearly falls out of his lap, but in his fit of sobs, he is able to hold them close. He sifts through them, trying to wipe his tears in order to read them. But his heart only shatters to dust when he reads that they’re all addressed to him, one for each year, for each anniversary, until the 70th one. A part of him laughs, unsure if he will even make it another 70 years as a 34 year old.

Regardless, he runs his finger over the one that stares up at him, and he feels himself begin to heal when he reads:

“Our first Anniversary: to my Jungkook.”

__________________

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

[sevsdollette]

Not So Sweet [Sevika x fem reader]

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49324864/chapters/137713357

content warning: trigger warning for violence against the reader. if mean men in bars freak you out, read with caution. other than that, alcohol, gambling, smoking, and smut (obviously). reader eats sevika out. fingering. sorry if you just want it to be sevika doing shit to the reader, but yk the woman has needs as well.

summary: You go out with Sevika as her gambling date. It’s a calm night at the Last Drop where everything should be fun and easy. But your beauty doesn’t just attract Sevika.

chapters:

1. Relaxing Night

2. A Long Night at Work

3. A Gamble of A Night

note: tell me why every chapter title has the word night in it. i’m back @-@. so yeah it’s been a minute. hope no one is too mad at me. this one maybe a bit shorter than the others? not entirely sure. also i know this ends with like a cliff hanger, but i promise the next chapter will leave no holes in the time line. you gays will get what you want. sorry if there’s spelling mistakes i wrote most of this on my phone. it’s not like i’m an AP english student or anything (i am :/) also sorry for the format being a bit different. tumblr is pissing me the fuck off right now. i don’t care to fix the spacing between the paragraphs. i’m tired.

————————————18+————————————

The glow of the Last Drops neon sign felt a bit more familiar than before. This time, more than a drink was waiting for you inside.

It was a clear, hot night with busy streets and crowded alleys, and you were wearing a black catsuit with long sleeves and shorts that hardly covered your ass. The zipper down the front was pulled so low the clothes were practically falling off of you.

This time, when you walked up to the bouncer, past the long, impatient line, you hardly had to open your mouth before he was opening the door and letting you in. The groans and hateful stares of the people waiting felt like a crown on your head. You were still scum, sure, but for the night you were important.

On that evening, the bar wasn’t full of screaming patrons and blasting music, but slow, cool jazz. It was their calmest night where the low lamps gave off an orange-red glow on the deep wooden walls, and every shadow seemed comforting. People sat calmly at their tables, passing cards and taking shots. The ceiling hung low with the smoke of cigars and cigarettes. A sweet smell of booze wafted through the room, making any nasty smell of the people buying the drinks.

In her normal corner booth, Sevika was sitting with four men, cigarette pressed between her lips and cards in her hands. She was laughing lightly as she passed a card into the center of the table. The candle in the middle of the room illuminated her face and curved around her features. Beautiful, you thought, staring at her vibrant eyes.

As you waded through the tables of the room, she noticed you approaching, glancing over as the conversation at her table continued. Keeping an eye on you. You kept your cool, only giving a small smile back as you approached. Men of the bar kept looking up at your figure as you walked by their tables, admiring the way the leather suit curved over your hips and hugged your thighs.

The other men at the table were just as harsh and brutish as Sevika, all with scars over their faces or hands, rugged clothes, and a mean glare. They were younger than her but older than you, and they didn’t seem too friendly when you came up to the table.

One of them, with white blonde hair and a blind eye, wrinkled her nose as he looked you up and down. With a toothpick in his mouth, he questioned, “Who’s that?”

Sevika cleared her throat, looking down at her cards as she drew another from the deck. “I hired her.”

You froze, brow furrowing as your upper lip curled. Your services didn’t involve simple company at a bar. You surely didn’t want to be here if she was going to pay you for it.

She chuckled under her breath, looking up at you. “I’m kidding, doll. Sit down.” She tapped the spot on the cushion next to her.

Apprehensive, you sat beside her slowly. If this night was just going to be her being a bitch, you weren’t going to get involved. You could go back to Babettes and earn your dinner like always. You didn’t need her free food. And her expensive rum. And her perfectly rolled clove cigarettes…

The more you looked around the table, the longer you wanted to stay. You’d seen her and her men around the bar before but never noticed how nice of a night they always had. Each man was sitting comfortably around the booth with either a cigar, cigarette, or drink, lounging as they waited for the game to start. The loud music was slightly muffled, making the table almost cozy and closed off.

They were just finishing a game as you got there, a pile of coins in front of Sevika and dwindling collections by the other players. They were settling bets and getting more drinks, idle conversation as everyone got ready for another round. Sevika shuffled the deck and delt you your own hand.

You were sitting close to her, but just far enough away so you didn’t touch. A distance she would have to choose to close if she really wanted to. Yes, you liked her and wanted her attention, but you weren’t going to devote yourself to her to get it. If she really liked you, she’d take what she wanted.

And it didn’t take her long. As she was puting your cards down in front of her, she smiled and met your eyes. Her gaze drifted down your neck, chest, and down to your lap. She was close, her broad figure looming beside you enough to block your view of three of the men.

Her eyebrows raised. “You’ve got something on your neck.”

A heat hit your face as you rubbed the skin under your chin. God, you couldn’t look decent just once. “What is it?”

“Something I left for you.”

Your hands dropped and you rolled your eyes. “Oh, fuck off.”

She smiled wider, shaking her head and sitting back. The tables was coming back together and everyone was picking up their cards as a waitress came around with more drinks. She had a glass for you and Sevika poured you some rum. The waitress smiled a bit too sweetly at Sevika when she said thank you, and it made you inch a bit closer to her.

You picked up your cards and sipped your drink. Rum was never your favorite, but in this setting, it felt right. Your deal wasn’t the worst, but you;d defitnety have to sit out for the round. You were trying to play your best.

At the brothel, you and your tolerable coworkers would play and gamble during slow hours all the time. Your room was the hot spot where everyone would crown around the coffee table, taking a smoke break, and having good fun. It was never that serious, everyone putting their earrings or hair clips in as prizes only to hand them back at the end of the game. But, there was a skill level that all of you developed.

And you were the best.

You all got through two games that Sevika won. She truly enjoyed it. A sly smile spread across her face as she collected everyone’s coins, only handing you a coy apology and running her hand up your though to make up for it. It didn’t matter to you. Your cards weren’t that good anyway.

Though, you liked the way she got when she was that happy. She was touchy. She would “accidentally” brush her hand over your tit, and she really liked to fiddle with that zipper that rested between your ribs. You’d push her away, saying something about how stupid she was being and how the alcohol was getting to her, and she’d give a boozy smile and turn to shuffle the cards again.

On the third game, you got a good hand. A really good hand. You kept your cool as you saw the empress and her court smiling up at your on the painted card. Every mention of a tell that your friends had mentioned to you ran through your head and you hid every sign. No one would know. You would win.

It took great thought to get through. Early on, Sevika noticed how much more focused you were, and it caused her to keep putting more money on the table. The men all had relatively bad hands except for one, but he backed out after a while, not trying to get in the middle of whatever mental battle you and Sevika were engaged in.

In the end, with the final turn of a card, you had won. With a huge pile of copper in teh middle fo the table, you whooped and bounced in your seat, grinning as you pulled all of the money towards yourself.

Sevika was angry. You could see it in the way she wouldn’t look at you adn how she stared into her empty glass. Her jaw was clamped tightly shut and she was thinking hard, still looking at the coins you’d taken from her. It wasn’t her fault. She hardly knew you, and she had expected you to be moer of an open book then your were. To be truthful, she dind’t know the half of who you were, and that was her fatal flaw.

Part of her still thougth of you as those prissy virgins she usually saw. It was hard for her to accept that she liked someone so similar to her own spiteful nature. She didn’t like it unless you two were naked, apparently.

She swallowed and shook her head. “I let you win.”

Your nose wrinkled. “Shut up.”

A fake laugh tossed itself from her lips and she held her hands in helplessness. “Just trying to be nice. If I beat you every time, you won’t enjoy it so much. There’s no way you can actually win.”

“Sevika—“ You scoffed, shaking your head at her as you wondered why she fucking bothered to say those things. “Whatever. I’m going to get a cocktail.”

She chuckled bitterly as you stood up. “Rum’s too strong?”

You held your middle finger up behind you as you stomped to the bar. Sevika muttered something else under her breath that you didn’t want to hear. The lively jazz that filled hte bar felt so suffocating now as you walked past a betting table thick with smoke. You didn’t need her pouting just because you won. It was supposed to be a fun night. Only a baby cried because they lost a stupid game.

You sat at the bar and ordered a drink. The bartender was a nice but nervous man who must’ve known who you were accompanying. He stuttered as he took your order and nearly dropped the vodka when he went to pour it. He was good at his job though adn your drinks as sweet with an after taste that stung your throat. You thanked him and made soem idle conversation, knowing that Sevika was watching you out of the corner of her eye.

You could feel the heat of her anger even from that far away. You planned on sitting at the bar for a little longer, let them play a game without you so she could get a win back under her belt. Maybe then she’d be nicer.

The bartender Thieram was a nice man who made you rlaugh once or twice as you sipped your drink. He was respectful. Most men either didn’t like you or liked you too much. It wasn’t often your found someone who treated you like a friend.

This fact was proven a few minutes later when a man steppe dup to the bar to order a beer. He was probably almost thirty with black hair graying on the sides and a long tattoo down her left forearm. He was ugly. But ugly in a way that some people found very attractive, though the second you stared at him for too long, he looked like an abstract painting.

You only glanced at him for a second before stirring your drink while waiting to talk to Thieram again. He had a deep, angry voice. After Thieram turned away, he stayed at the bar and leaned against it, turning to face you. “You alright, babe?”

You didn’t look up. “Who are you calling babe?”

“Just a pretty woman I see at the bar.” He chuckled. “I’m Leox.”

“And I’m not interested.”

None of your blatant signals got through to him. In fact, he stepped closer. Enough that you could smell the weed he’d been smoking. “Come on. You seemed kinda upset at your table. Why don’t you come and join mine? I’ll treat you real good.”

“Oh, will you?”

“Yes,” he sighed. He leaned in, brushing your hair off your forehead. “I will.”

“Hm,” you hummed, closing your eyes as you pretended to enjoy his flirting. “Well…”

You pushed him away. “I’m still not interested.”

You only did men if they paid you for it.

The firm hand you placed on his shoulder withdrew only slightly before he gripped your wrist in place. For a brief moment your breath caught as he tugged you off of your stool and you were stumbling into him.

He grabbed your jaw firmly and pulled your face up to look at him. “Why couldn’t you just be nice? I know you’re just some whore. I could’ve paid well too.”

You jerked from his grasp, trying to turn around to get free and run out of there. He smelt awful and his breath was hot in your face. His teeth were yellow.

You were able to jam your heel into his toes, making him flinch so you could wriggle free, but as you were getting away, his foot caught under you and you fell to the ground. Your palms took the blunt of the pain as you scrambled to get yourself up.

As you pulled yourself to your feet, a heavy set of footsteps was storming past you and towards the man. In your panic, and with the moment being so quick, you hardly heard what she was saying to him—yelling at him.

You spun around, uneasy on your feet, and only saw their final interaction: Her fist against his face.

Once such a strong, intimidating man crumbled into a heap on the floor. Sevika stood over him, shimmer coursing through her metal arm and heavy breaths moved her shoulders, flexing the muscle. She turned around and you only saw the faint glint of purple in her eyes before she passed you again and ordered her men to take the guy out back. Teach him a lesson, she said.

The bar was silent. The woman humming low jazz was standing shocked beside her accordion player, the other patrons were trying to keep their gazes down, and Thieram was standing helpless behind the bar, terrified. You felt your face get hot as you stepped back subconsciously, your arms crossing and hugging your ribs.

Sevika was done barking orders and came up to you, pulling you back into the private room of the bar. The familiar place almost brought back amusing memories if you weren’t so upset.

She pulled you into her arms, examining you and making sure you were alright. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, I’m fine. Shit like that happens all the time to me.”

She exhaled heavily through her nose and looked at the door. She must’ve been pondering whether to go help her men or not, but your hand on hip kept her there.

You two ended up sitting on the couch together sharing a cigarette. You were beside her with your legs rested across her lap and your head on her shoulder. She had her hand gripping your thigh and her metal arm wrapped over your shoulders.

You looked up at her face after a long drag and saw how tense her face was, how she didn’t seem to be moving an inch. Staring off into space with a firm furrow in her brow.

“Sev?” You frowned, brushing her stray hairs off her forehead. “Don’t be so upset. Everything’s okay.”

Sure, you were a bit shaken, but men were always like that to you. It wasn’t right, but it was something you had to get used to. She’d have to understand that if she were to be around you.

She pursed her lips. “It’ll be okay as long as he gets what he deserves.”

You ran your thumb over the muscles of her collar. “Just try to calm down.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

You sighed, understand the aggression wasn’t towards you. To be honest, you didn’t feel unsafe at all with her. Even though her eyes still sparkled violet when the lamplight caught it.

“Everything will be okay,” you assured. “I’m fine and he’s gonna get what’s coming to him. Relax, dear.”

Again you rubbed her collar and shoulder, your fingers trying to ease any tension she had. You leaned in to place a small kiss under her jaw, and as your lips brushed her skin, she held you tighter against her.

You kissed her neck again, lingering to drag your tongue over her in a way that made her sign and settle into the couch. The action spurred you on and you left another heavy kiss to her pulse point, making sure to leave proof that you did so.

You climbed into her lap and straddled on of her thighs, the right muscle fitting right against your clit. She let you tilt her head back so you could keep up your actions.

“What…”

A sly smile spread across your lips and you kissed below her ear. “Just trying to help you relax,” you cooed, a bit of mischief in your voice as one of your hands fiddled with the top button of her vest.

As you pulled the button free, her hand on your thigh got ever so slightly tighter and you remembered the shimmer in her system.

“Come on, Sev, don’t be so upset. Don’t let him ruin the night.”

You dragged your kisses down her chest, letting more of her buttons become undone until she was helping you pull her arms out of the sleeves and you tossed her shirt onto the other side of the couch.

She looked magnificent, curving muscle winding down her stomach, scars lacing her skin, and her breasts dark and nipples pebbled from the cold.

As you took the moment to admire her, she grabbed your ass and nudged you to keep going. You’d never expect her to be so lenient on letting you have control, but maybe she was trusting you more. Or maybe she just really needed to let some stress out.

Your tongue slid across her chest, lips finding one of her breasts for you to suck on. You twirled your tongue around her nipple, sucking it into your mouth and rolling it around your teeth. She moaned, gripping you hair and letting you grind on her thigh. It was a perfect mixture of giving and receiving, all of her grains sending shockwaves to your core and you reveled in the taste of her.

You wanted to taste more.

As you slid onto the floor on your knees, you dragged you hands down her thighs and then up to undo her belt. She was breathing heavily as you kissed down her stomach, enjoying the sensation of her muscle against your lips. You pulled her pants down with her underwear, wrestling them over her boots and letting them be lost somewhere in the room.

Adrenaline led you to avidly kiss down her thighs, licking over every inch on the insides as you got closer and closer to her core. You could tell her was ready for you, her hand gripped the back of your head, waiting to hold your mouth against her. You moaned as she tugged at your hair lightly, trying to get you to start.

You left a long kiss on her inner thigh, just an inch from her pussy befor turning to begin. Only, you stopped to look up at her flushed face as smile.

“You’re so gorgeous, Sev.”

The compliment was not taken happily. “I swear to god—you and that fucking mouth of yours,” She breathed, her pupils blown as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, you don’t like the teasing when it’s the other way around?”

“Just eat,” she huffed, pushing your face into her core.

It was hot and dripping, so ready for you. You lifted one thigh into your shoulder and spread her folds with your fingers. Her hairs were well kept and trimmed, brushing your nose as you dragged your tongue through her, tasting her.

She moaned, pushing your face further into her as you found her clit, flattening your tongue and coaxing over the bud. As you worked her up, you slid your fingers down and circled her entrance slowly, teasing it lightly.

Another heavy groan fell from her as she tightened her legs around your head. You could hardly hear her due to the clamp her thighs had over your ears.

Everything was so intense, the scent of her, the taste, the pressure of her legs, and the ughh grip she had on your hair. All you could do was kiss and lick her clit, enjoying the moment. It was so overwhelming you completely forgot any else that had happened that night.

You flicked her bud with the tip of your tongue, sucking on it as you slid two fingers into her.

It made her tense up and her head fell back over the back of the couch. She was desperate, holding your face so close and gently rocking her hips against your tongue as you fucked your fingers into her.

“Fuck, baby, don’t stop,” she demanded. You could sense her stress waning as she breathed deep and relaxed into you. You circled your fingers against her walls every time you pushed them in, sucking and licking her clit as you did so.

With your other hand, you pulled down the zipper of your suit and reached under the leather to find yourself. All of her heaving and moaning was too much for you to handle. The taste of her alone made you drip. You slid your fingers between your lips, finding your eager, swollen bud and stroking it.

You moaned against her, the vibrations making her gasp and you quickened your pace on both her and you. She was desperate, fucking heralded on your face bc had while you moaned against her clit and sucked. Rapid, intelligible words fell from her lips as she reached her high, curses and praised to you crescendoing into muttering whines as she came.

The pressure of her legs and your fingers rubbing over your clit was enough to get yourself there too. You cried out into her folds, the stimulation making her jerk as she came down from her high with you.

The both of you were breathing heavily as you crawled back up to her lap. She held you, sliding her hands past the unzipped front of your catsuit so she could feel your hot skin.

Your lips met in a messy clash or desperation. She dragged her teeth over your bottom lip as she made her grind your pussy against hers, the overstimulation making you both shudder.

Just as easily as you’d fallen into her kiss, she was pulling away and moving you off her lap. She set you down on the couch as she stood up, grabbing her clothes off the floor and couch to put them back on.

You sat up, anger and panick setting in. Did you do something wrong? “What—where are you going?”

She began to button her vest up, a grin sliding over her lips. “I’m taking you home.”

[venusphoriia]

— Maybe In Another Life

;; ₍ # ₎ ⁀➷ Clarisse La Rue x Reader

─ she honestly would’ve loved you.

cw ཿ⠀ not proof-read, major character death, description of coping with losing a loved one, angst no comfort, (written with a female reader in mind, but honest no pronouns are used (I think??))

ପ a/n ; literally a quick dump (it’s been sitting in my drafts for about a month) because I’ve been super busy. I’m still working on Lovesick Denial Part 2 and another request, so one of those may be released next. Thank you so much for the support and I hope you enjoy! (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃♡︎

Clarisse stares blankly at the gravestone. The flower gently twirls in her hands mindlessly. The sun felt warm against her skin, the wind—a perfect breeze. The weather was calm, mellow like the calm after a storm.

The sky was bright, much too bright for Clarisse’s liking. Especially now, but she knew this weather is something you enjoy. Everything looked so alive, free—perhaps even a bit happy. She felt so out of place. Nothing felt right, like something was missing. She knew, but she wanted to deny it a bit longer.

She sinks deeper into her thoughts—memories that she treasures. For a moment, she allows them to completely consume her senses, reliving them as if they were the present. She can hear your heartfelt laughter from afar, drawing closer as you approach her.

You quickly quiet your movements, sneaking up on Clarisse from behind. She closes her eyes, pretending not to hear you (like she always does). She feels you creep closer, you hand slowly reaching out towards hers. A soft chill runs up her spine as your fingertips brush against her skin.

She waits quietly for the sound of your voice, but it never comes. Clarisse brow furrows softly, she closes her eyes tighter in concentration. Your hands slip into hers, but they aren’t as soft as they used to be. Still, she imagines your smile as you slowly trail your hand up her arm, carefully tracing her scars as you alway did, until your hand rests along her neck.

Again, she listens carefully for your soft laughter, but again, she’s left waiting. She feels your hand cup her face and again the touch feels odd. It’s warm, but so foreign. Even the way you held her felt so…different. She tries to correct the mistakes in her mind, wanting to indulge deeper into her fantasy.

Again, she waits. Yearning to hear your voice, she waits as her eyes desperately remain closed.

“Clarisse?” Again, she is left disappointed. She breaks away from her daydream, her eyes slowly opening. Tears slip past her eyes as she meets a look full of pity and concern, “…You alright?”

The question is hesitant as if scared to provoke Clarisse’s anger. Clarisse looks away, down at his hand that carefully holds hers. The flower in her hand was tight in her grip as if she was afraid to let go.

“I’m fine,” her tone is rough as she wipes away her tears, pulling away from Chris’ touch.

Chris Rodriguez, son of Hermes. Someone she had grown close to since—no, she doesn’t want to think about it. She places the flower among the many others on the gravestone. A beautiful Daffodil among the many others. Clarisse smiles softly to herself as she sees the gifts others have left behind in your memory. She knew you would appreciate them all.

Your greatest fear was being forgotten—or worse being remembered as someone who never did much with their life. It brings Clarisse a little comforting knowing that your anxieties would’ve been put to rest if you had realized how much you are truly loved.

Clarisse wipes away her tears again, clearing her throat before standing back up. She walks past Chris, not being able to find the strength within herself to even spare him a glance. He doesn’t comment on it, following behind her, but also being mindful to keep his distance.

She looks down at her hand, the ring feels rather tight around her finger. A wave of anger, hurt, and disappointment hit her as she swallows the bitterness in her throat. She looks away. She pretends it’s your ring, your engagement—that she’s your fiance.

She truly would’ve married you. If only you’d been able to stick around, maybe you would have said yes.

© venusphoriia 2024 — do not copy or repost any of my works on any other platform, please and thank you !! ( ˘ ³˘)♡

[phangneh]

Voice in the Abyss

[CHAPTER Ⅰ]

✨Manhwa : Into The Light Once Again

✨Elmir royal family x Fem!Reader

✨Warning : princess!reader, lost memory, yandere elements (both platonic and romantic), protect, ... (will add more)

📌Note: this is just a fanfic, there are many details unrelated to the original story line. English is not my native language, if I make grammatical mistakes or use incorrect words, please forgive me.

🎭Summary : You have a voice that is said to change the world, when you sing, your sweet voice makes people happy and all things flourish. One day, your kingdom was destroyed, you had to live with the pain of losing your family and being severely mistreated. But it seems that you will die in misery, there will be people who will come and take you out of the abyss.

[ Introduce ]

[ Chapter 1 ]

Looks like there's a noise on the ground, you think. But you're not really sure, is it really noise? Or are your ears just imagining for themselves?

It's been a long time, even a little warmth of sunlight you haven't even seen, two years of being confined to a dark underground prison, all your senses and body have been worn out. Dark, cold, snake centipede insects you are also used to.

When will you be freed?

Why aren't you dead yet?

Eventually, you find yourself lying on the moldy, slurping ground. A finger can't move now, is God taking you?

The noise doesn't go away, but at this moment you don't care about it anymore. When you close your eyes, it feels like you're leaning on your mother's lap, and she sings you lullabies. There is the voice of your mother, of your father, of your brothers and sisters, it seems that you are with them.

And then you don't feel anything anymore.

...

You wake up, light creeping into the corner of your eye. Brilliant, and uncomfortable. But it's also warm and comfortable. Your head is blank, strangely enough, you don't have any memories in your head. You can't think of anything, you're so strange around, you wonder where this is, there's a lot of mixed emotions, anxiety, fear, restlessness in you,... Suddenly the door of the room opens, a woman enters and is alarmed to realize you have woken up, she is so shocked that she almost dropped the tray in her hand.

"She's awake!"

She speaks something you don't understand. You're vague, weak, but still aware enough that two people came in later, they both looked in a hurry, and seemed surprised to see you open your eyes. Who's that? Do you know them?

"Are you okay? How are you feeling?" A soft voice that you can hear, she speaks a language that you understand, you want to answer, but your throat is too weak to say something.

The owner of the voice was a woman with a gentle and beautiful face, her eyes were like beautiful purple jewels.

She looked very worried... Why?

"Hurry up and call the priest here!" Another voice, but that of the younger girl, they were the same, they both had cloud-white hair, but she had blue eyes... It was like that lake, clear and shining. She was as beautiful as an angel.

"It's going to be fine, you're safe."

You are confused, why are you here, who they are, why are you like this, so many questions in your mind.

What happened?

...

You gaze silently out the light-filled window, your aimless eyes gazing into the distance. It's been two days since you woke up, Empress Iris – that beautiful purple-eyed woman said that you have been in a coma for almost 1 month since they found you.

"(Y/n) (L/n)"

The name crosses your mind, people say it's your name. You don't remember anything, your dark eyes look down at your bandaged hands, not an inch of flesh is healed right now, everywhere is full of wounds, some have become infected, some have become scars.

You are now in the Elmir Empire, a beautiful and prosperous Empire. Somehow you have been taken care of directly by the royal palace, everyone here is kind to you, even if you do not understand their language, but it seems that their words mean good. The only people you can hear are Empress Iris and Princess Aisha, who are by your side for two days today.

"(Y/n)"

The gentle voice wakes you up from the train of thought, Princess Aisha, she is looking at you with worried eyes.

"How are you feeling? Does it hurt anywhere?"

You shake your head slightly, then your tired eyes can see how relieved she is to see you're okay. Anytime you see anxiety on people's faces, you realize that you are the cause of that anxiety.

"Tell me if you're uncomfortable, please! I'll handle everything."  Aisha gave you a reassuring smile, hoping to get some reaction from you. For the past two days, the priests have taken turns treating you. Your condition has improved significantly, you can eat normally and move around more. Even so, you still look empty, like a lifeless doll. Aisha hopes that after you can walk, she will take you for a walk around the palace grounds. It will certainly be very quick, the divine power of the priests will help you recover quickly.

You really can't help but feel grateful for the care and concern of everyone in the Elmir royal family, from the Empress, Princess to the servants, they are truly good people. You were sure of it after only two days of interacting with them, there really was no one who could care for another person with such incredible enthusiasm.

However, for Aisha.

To this day, Aisha can't forget the moment you were taken back to the palace, you almost stopped breathing, disheveled... and couldn't have looked more horrible. They can't imagine what you've been through, your body is full of wounds big and small, sickness and skin diseases. Anyone who saw your condition was dumbfounded, there were no words that could describe you then. They wonder if the people who make you like this are still human.

So cruel.

So evil.

Why would they treat a human being like that?

Even if you don't know them, their hearts won't allow them to leave you alone. Luckily, they narrowly saved your life.

Aisha finishes her flashbacks, she looks up at you, seeing your eyes staring at her startles her.

"W-what's wrong?"

You look at her intently, after a while, you open your mouth slightly, but then you stop. You feel like you want to say something to her. But somehow, you want to say something. You become confused, struggling to find a way to express your thoughts.

"You want to say something?"

Seeing that she understood, you quickly nodded. Aisha thought, then quickly ran out of the room, you looked at her puzzledly, Aisha came back very quickly, in her hand were a few sheets of paper with a pen and ink.

"We can communicate this way, if you can't already speak" Princess Aisha certainly couldn't hide her joy knowing you wanted to talk, because probably from the moment you woke up, apart from nodding or shaking your head to express your best friend's thoughts, you didn't express anything that sounded like you wanted to talk. Aisha is really curious what you want to say to her.

When you pick up the paper and pen from Aisha, you pause for a moment, then start writing something. Your hands trembling, the black letters trembling on the paper, the Princess stares at you intently, waiting for what you are writing. After you stop, you slowly hold up the paper in front of her, Aisha narrows her eyes, trying to see your indistinct zigzag handwriting clearly.

"Thank you"

"For was... take care of you?" Aisha looked up at you, meeting your expectant gaze. When you nod, she knows she's read exactly what you want to say.

Before she could say anything more, Aisha saw you start writing on paper, looking urgent and hurried, as if you were afraid you'd miss the time to speak your mind.

"Once I'm well, I'll leave right away."

As she read those words, Aisha frowned slightly.

"Why? Where are you going?" She asks you, leaving you momentarily confused.

"Go Home"

Go home.

That's what you want, even if there is no memory of your so-called 'home' in your mind.

Aisha can't help but be surprised, because since you regained consciousness from that coma, no one has told you about your hometown, maybe 'home' is not something you would think about now. But now, you tell her you want to go home. How can Aisha tell you that your home is now a ruin?

"(Y/n), you can only stay in Elmir for now..."

When the Princess says that, you look confused, your eyes on her waiting for an explanation.

"Well... You see, your health is still unstable, right?"

"Staying in Elmir will give you time to recuperate, and I and everyone will take care of you."

So... For now, please rest assured to stay in Elmir, okay?

Continue to [ Chapter 2 ]

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

don't hold hands, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You're fucking your ex-boyfriend's ex-best friend. You also now own a condo with him and owning this condo has made you house-poor. Yeah, it's not the usual love story and it's not going to be one. Not until you paint the walls black, that is.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mostly conversations and feels tbh; minor smut (fem reader, marking / scratching, m-receiving oral, doggy, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU; guitarist!music producer!Yoongi x novelist!reader - fwb / roommates-to-lovers

just a story about two people who shouldn't fall in love falling in love, I have plenty of nasty smut so this is a different beat for ya lmao

--

“Is it fun being tortured?”

“Not really, no.”

It wasn’t fair to be this critical but, as long as you didn’t let these words travel outside this room, it was fine, right? At least, you kept telling yourself that. Delusion at its finest.

“It’s so stupid that people enjoy sticking their nose in drama that doesn’t involve them only because their lives are too boring to have any,” you sighed, tossing your phone across your desk, letting it skid into a pile of post-its covered in scrawled notes. “All because I deleted some photos.”

Notifications were now blocked.

“Some people mistake privilege with right.”

You glared at your phone even though the contents were the offender and not the device. Rolled your eyes, knowing you would be coming back to a shitstorm, but you couldn’t take it anymore. There had to be a limit. And the voice beside you had been telling you to put the damn thing down and stop deleting comments one by one, but the stubborn ram in you thought you could just headbutt through the bullshit.

And that imagery was gonna end there, thank you very much.

Your forehead found the palm of your hand and you sighed again, suddenly feeling the weight.

“I’m never doing that again.”

“You don’t have to.”

Minutes passed.

Silence never felt so serene.

Then it was cut through by steady, slow acoustic guitar, the notes drifting out from behind you. It almost made you feel more guilty. Almost. How fucked was that? You, sitting here right now, staring at nearly bare walls and a table covered in notes and your trusty laptop, almost feeling guilty for the guy that had backed out of the joint loan for this condo in the city that you didn’t even fuckin’ want, but you had been too far into the process to not lose a whole lotta money and too angry to let yourself lose.

How ironic, feeling guilty for the guy who cheated on you.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” was the guitar player’s response. “And you shouldn’t be either. For anything.”

You knew you shouldn’t apologize. It just felt like the thing to do, because you hadn’t been wholly right either and, even if you weren’t more in the wrong, you were still wrong, and wasn’t that fucked, putting levels of blame on a situation that, at the end of the day, was all said and done and left everybody bitter and full of scars.

The shitty part was everyone was on your case now and blaming you.

This was what you got for dating the lead singer of a punk band that skyrocketed to popularity on social media. Looked all elegant dark romance on TikTok and Instagram, just screaming and hate-fucking behind closed doors. Constant content to cover up the toxicity. And maybe it was your fault too, letting it get to your head that maybe you really were the beautiful, mysterious muse that the followers painted you out to be. You glossed over red flags – late nights, drugs and drinking, sleeping in rooms of girls that called themselves fans – all part of the industry. Nothing happened. Honest. But the greatest mistake was letting him tag you on Instagram. How cool was it that you were an author?

This bastard.

Not only had you given him some of your best quotes for his lyrics, but now you couldn’t publish those words as your own because this bastard would fuckin’ sue you for plagiarizing.

The guitar continued behind you, on the mattress on the floor.

So, not only were you getting crucified on social media at the moment because he had called you a backhanded bitch in his Instagram stories but also because you had deleted all photos of him on your profile and said fucking nothing. Silence to be polite and all that. He cheated on you, he was leaving you for some whore you had plenty of suspicions about, and, worst of all, he waited until you and him were finalizing the down payment for this expensive-ass-fuck high-rise condo – that money was out of your own pocket, not his, how convenient – and backed out of the loan for the mortgage. His reasoning?

You cheated on him first.

Hello?

With his former guitarist.

Hello?

Your ex-boyfriend had fired his former guitarist ages ago because you and him had gotten too friendly.

Alright, man.

You liked the guy, sure. Talked to him when he was in the studio and found you had a lot in common. Plus, he was crazy talented. Made most of the melodies, self-produced a lot of the songs for the band so they could save money, even contributed to lyric writing so they didn’t have to spend on that either. He even had a good voice, although sadly the band rarely used it. Your art of words paired with his knowledge of music made some viral hits. But then tensions rose between him and your ex when they started butting heads for no reason (there was a reason and it was ugly jealousy). Then arguments rose between you and your ex, but instead of breaking up, you buried yourself into writing your next novel to let the situation cool off.

Sigh, okay, call a spade a spade.

You were avoiding the confrontation.

He fired his guitarist and got a new one.

Then things were good.

Until they weren’t.

Of course, they weren’t. You didn’t solve shit, and he was fucking every girl that threw themselves at him behind your back. Good thing you had strict rules about condoms, otherwise you would probably have some lasting consequences right now. So, when the ground cracked and split apart from under you, what did you do?

Yup, this was the part that made you no better.

You found that former guitarist and fucked him.

Word travelled around. Word also travelled around that somehow you got someone to be part of that insane loan you got talked into. And, oh, shit, did things get messy once a certain someone knew who it was.

But here you were.

Feeling guilty.

You probably couldn’t publish for at least six months to a year because, harrowingly, your demographic was young adult – you had even relied on social media for self-marketing, fuck – and the half of a novel you had now had to be scrapped considering that so many of the quotes were now distressed in dark venues by the lips of an egomaniacal dick that you allowed into your pussy far too many times. Once was already too many.

Fuck.

You didn’t even want to live in the city.

It’ll be so much easier for me to get bigger opportunities. Don’t be a selfish bitch and only think about yourself.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to throw your laptop into the wall and break it into smithereens, but you didn’t because this piece of technology was currently your only chance of making money. Fuck. Me. Always talking about himself like he was only important member of the band, even though it was the other guys who wrote most of the music and lyrics. No one sided with you, obviously. This was their job and technically not their romance. They were sympathetic but not empathetic to the point of jeopardizing their jobs. Obviously, you hadn’t signed any contracts for royalties or credit. This was supposed to be your soulmate.

Soulmates weren’t so generous to give you pennies.

You’re being greedy and self-important. Oh, so you’re only in the relationship for the money? I’ll give you money once we make it big. Once we get it all, I’ll buy you everything you want. But you gotta help me out now. We’re starving artists, ya know?

You should have asked your parents for monetary help, but you didn’t. Your pride didn’t want to hear the told-you-so speeches for dating a guy they didn’t choose for you. You also didn’t want the arranged marriage appointments back in your life either.

So.

Trapped in white walls, post-its of false starts, and impending doom.

Dramatic, but you were a writer.

“Come here and sit down with me.”

Some part of you didn’t want to face him. It was really dumb. He was your new roommate now. You were fucking him when you were too sad to avoid it, and it was pretty obvious he knew. You were living off his money. Sure, he only paid for half the rent but then food mysteriously appeared in the fridge, bathroom necessities were stocked when they were running low, cleaning supplies neatly sorted into the closet, and all that other shit. None of that wholesale stuff either, but the nicer things normal households could afford.

It wasn’t an exaggeration that you cried into the soap during your shower last night.

All because you finally acknowledged it wasn’t one of those shitty bars that made skin feel like plastic but actually fragrant lathering liquid that you could put on the dense, not-falling-apart-in-one-use loofah that you hadn’t bought. You would have been satisfied with cutting coupons and living on the dregs of the bare minimum, but someone cared enough to not let you do that, and you currently couldn’t do anything to contribute and probably couldn’t for a while.

And that made you feel undeserving.

Maybe you were only fucking him because that was all you could offer.

Pathetic.

The guitarist called your name softly.

Like a beaten dog, you got up and sat down beside Min Yoongi.

He continued to play a melody you didn’t know on his black acoustic guitar. He hadn’t moved in all his instruments and equipment yet. You had told him he could have the whole living room for his studio. He had asked if you were sure and you responded that you were sure that you weren’t going to have anybody over ever so, unless he wanted a living room space, you didn’t want one.

“Shit always happens, you know,” the deep voice reminded you.

“This happening was of my own doing and now I’ve ruined my own life,” you muttered, bitter over a boy and hating that you were bitter over a boy.

A small chuckle. “You have to admit you had help.”

Stupid boy.

“Can’t be helped. Humans are animals of regret.”

It stung to regret.

The guitar playing stopped and now you were met with silence.

Don’t cry.

But it was so tiring to be angry. So easy to be sad. So easy to think, my fault, for being swept up in what he was but not who he was, for believing that you knew what was best when clearly it wasn’t, for being spiteful on purpose. For avoiding looking at Yoongi in the face because you were too ashamed to acknowledge what was going on here.

For being too afraid to ask what he thought of it.

“I regretted not stealing you from him sooner. Thought you were too fuckable for that loser from the first day we met.”

A strange feeling.

Skin prickling, glancing the that pale hand of graceful, callused fingers simply resting on the neck of that guitar, not looking at Yoongi’s face even though you knew it quite well in profile.

“That’s one way to make me feel better,” you replied.

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. Just being honest,” he replied, tapping his fingertips on the wood. “You are ten times too talented and a hundred times too pretty for a guy like that.”

You twitched. “Are you shitting on my standards?”

“Back then? Yeah, I am.” A calm hum, setting aside his guitar and placing his elbows on his sweatpants-covered knees, charcoal gray and worn. “Pretty clear you went full desperado for a guy that didn’t deserve it. Also, he ain’t hot shit like he thinks he is.”

Ow and what the fuck. “Fuck off.”

You felt movement and tracked his hand raising, spinning a finger around his temple. A brief glance and the details sank in. Long, windswept black waves, light cream skin, pointed gaze directed forward and not at you, pensive slight frown of pink lips. You looked away again, past his loose white t-shirt and to your hands.

You used to be proud of them.

They used to be able to type prose like no other.

Now they were twisted in an oversized, olive-green sweatshirt that you picked up from the sale bin of the convenience store for dirt cheap and they didn’t write jack shit.

You also hated olive-green.

Nothing personal. It just wasn’t your color.

“You’re a psycho bitch to put up with him,” Yoongi commented.

He wasn’t wrong. “I’m a psycho bitch all the time.”

“Yeah, and I don’t date crazy.”

You thought you would feel insulted, but you were past the point of caring. Also, there was something about the way his calm voice said it. Like he knew what he was doing. Huh. That was a silly thing to think. Of course, Yoongi knew what he was doing. He did it. He let you in his studio when you tracked it down and camped out until he showed up. He had listened to your psychobabble and didn’t back away when you pinned him to the wall.

This wasn’t dating.

“At least, I thought I didn’t,” Yoongi added, not touching you.

He fucked you too. He wasn’t a starfish in bed, that was for sure.

“I wanted to get back at him too, you know,” that deep, hazy voice murmured beside you. “That bastard turned my friends against me, stole my mixes, and cut out all my connections. Made me start from the ground up, alone.”

Yeah, you did know that. You helped badmouth Yoongi. In the name of love.

Shit.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

Ouch.

“And you shouldn’t be, ‘cause what’s done is done and being sorry isn’t going to change anything.”

You untwisted your hands from each other, realizing your knuckles were white from anxiousness, and relaxed them on your bare knees. Best you could, anyway.

“Yeah,” was the best response you had. This fucking boy ruined your life and stole your eloquence too, apparently. Motherfucker. “You’re right.”

Neither you or Yoongi said anything.

Minutes passed.

Another night in the condo and both of you were sitting on a mattress with a single blanket, deflated pillows, and a box of condoms on the floor.

You touched his forearm the same time his hand moved to grip your thigh.

And then it was the don’t-look-him-in-the-eyes challenge, and he was doing the exact same thing, eyes averted, black hair over them, lips grazing your jaw. Breath against your ear. Hot. His neck under your lips, flexed, fair skin with remnants of bruises, and your teeth sank in, making new ones, listening to his hiss and feeling his hands slide under your sweatshirt. Weighted palms and blunt nails. Digging in.

“Harder.”

He scratched you up as you climbed into his lap, tasting flesh.

Those firm hands gripped your hips and forced them down. Grinding. Softness to growing hardness, unhooking your bra, hands all over like you had lost your mind, your thighs squeezing his sides, yanking his shirt collar down and licking up his collarbone, dripping spit, shivering as you saw it glisten over his marred skin.

Clothes coming off, thrown aside. Guitar sliding to the hardwood floor as bodies tumbled. Your hands on his chest, your hard nipples pressed into the sheets as Yoongi slipped his hand into your hair and shoved your head down. Mouth open, tongue curling around. Moan striking the air, echoing in the nothingness.

Hard, hot, now wet.

Up, down, hitting the back of your throat, unable to choke in the adrenaline of lust, in need, in desire for pain, rubbing your tongue all over as Yoongi face-fucked you hard and fast, thick cock swelling in your mouth, your lips grazing the swollen head and making him shudder, saliva slipping down your chin that was smacking into his balls.

Was it shameful that you were good at it?

Sex solved nothing but you sure had a lot of it as if it did.

A sharp gasp and salty cum filled your throat, drinking, swallowing with effort and the burning sensation of your locked jaw, maintaining the soft tightness. Tongue tracing the contours, keeping him hard, hearing the rip of a foil packet above your head.

You hadn’t even realized that Yoongi had let go of your hair, letting you lick him all over at your own pace.

“What position?” Yoongi panted, husky and breathless in the mostly empty bedroom.

Mattress, chair, desk, laptop. Oh, and guitar.

Bodies on the floor.

You didn’t say anything.

You just turned around and slid down, elbows on the bed, knees spread, ass up.

“Alright then.”

You bit your lower lip.

You almost turned your head, almost looked back, just to check, right, just to check he was okay with it, and then strong hands gripped your hips, lifting them, sliding in, condom on and stretching you out right away, his knees pushing your knees apart and forcing you to arch your back for the angle.

No chance to look back.

You gasped, gripping the sheets, blinded by pleasure and the fading resonance of pain.

Hard.

Deep.

You pushing back, deep not deep enough, hitting your preferred depth and letting your eyelids flutter, veins burning with the repeated ecstasy. One of your hands lifted and reached back, squeezing his hand on your hip, and the grip became tighter, fingertips digging in, smacking his hips into your ass, and your body threatened to throw him back, carnal power meeting his every thrust, clenching around his hard length, and you could hear Yoongi growl your name, low and deep and voracious.

Somehow, his name fell from your lips too.

Rough and sinful, no better than an animal.

His nails dug into your back and dragged down, burning lines into your skin.

Your head tipped back and you moaned, a clear, shameless sound that would become familiar to this ceiling. Pooling wildfire, tightening muscles, wasted nectar sticky between joined thighs, surge after shivering surge of orgasmic apex stinging your veins as you barely registered Yoongi’s shudder and blissful groan, feeling the pulse inside you made than hearing the sound.

The rush of blood roaring in your ears was far too loud for you to hear anything.

Your face felt hot, so hot.

Gripping the sheets, twisting them, pulling them off the edge of the bed.

This moment.

Very few things were as intense and exigent as an orgasm. Fleeting, but a violently memorable. Pure nothingness of soaring high. You chased it. Again. And again. And again, your fingers tangled in Yoongi’s dark hair, pulling it over his face but he didn’t look at you anyway, eyes closed and teeth trapping his lower lip, breath trapped in his chest, driving his hips into yours again and again.

You both kept going until the limits were reached.

The darkness willingly swallowed you up.

-

Min Yoongi always considered himself a rational person, which was precisely why he found himself entangled in the break-up between his former best friend and the only woman he ever considered committing a felony for.

Yeah.

He also didn’t believe in love at first sight.

She was still way too hot for that idiot though.

His eyes could communicate well enough with his dick. The short skirt and exposed thighs didn’t really help either. Still, Yoongi had let it be. Respect was keeping his distance despite racing heartbeat and keeping calm despite shaking hands. He got used to it once the late-night talks about music and wordplay became a regular thing. Sometimes they talked about general life and were surprised on how well they aligned. Still, she never spoke poorly about her then-boyfriend even though there was plenty to talk about.

Scorched earth was their sacred ground.

It was painful to witness.

Yoongi regretted valuing the friendship, mostly because it didn’t mean jack shit at the end of the day. He regretted believing in the elegant, age-old saying.

Bros before hoes.

Tch.

But mostly, Yoongi regretted pretending like nothing was wrong.

He would see the pain in her expression and not say anything. Watch her pack it all away and greet him with warmth that he didn’t deserve because he had a racing heart and shaking hands every time they met. He would watch his former best friend disappear into hotel rooms without explanation and Yoongi knew damn well it wasn’t right, but he kept his mouth shut because he was a coward, something he figured out later.

He could have washed his hands clean of that shitshow, but instead his hands had held her shaking shoulders and watched her struggle not to cry on that cold night.

Yoongi considered himself a rational person, but never a good one.

Too many ways to judge, and her lips had already connected with his as soon as his shoulder blades hit the wall. He didn’t stop it. Maybe it was bitterness. Vengeance. Hate.

No, it wasn’t any of that, actually.

He didn’t know exactly what but, in that moment, Yoongi knew that he would murder that asshole if he saw his former best friend’s face right then, ready to commit a felony all because those beautiful eyes couldn’t look at him, closing instead to blink back the tears that bastard didn’t deserve.

That meant something, all right.

He knew it could take a long time. He knew it would almost certainly be hopeless. He knew he would probably end up with a broken heart and broke as hell. He knew it was a bad idea and he knew it was going to tear him up, this spiral, but when he found himself looking up to the ceilings of these mostly empty rooms, this condo he now half-owed with the woman that was formerly his best friend’s girlfriend, and Yoongi found he didn’t know and he didn’t care what the future held.

She had trouble sleeping.

Less trouble after exhausting themselves.

He had trouble sleeping too, but that was because he was staring at the ceiling and wondering just how rational he really was. One hand behind his head, under the pillow. The other resting on the blanket, on the curve of her hip, feeling the steady hum of her breathing.

She never cried in front of him.

He knew she did cry, because he heard her in the bathroom sometimes. But never in front of him. Showed anger, yes, but never acted helpless even though it was perfectly reasonable to feel that way after everything that happened. Living on the least for his sake, even to the point of skipping meals and spending all her time trying to write, trying to get back to her livelihood, trying to get past all the false starts. Personally, Yoongi felt that she should give up for now and heal herself, but he also knew how it felt to feel stubborn and useless.

Hah.

It was weird, being so close and yet so far away.

He felt it most in the nighttime, even though that was when he was closest to her.

He was never going to be the same. He knew that. He already wasn’t, surprising himself with his own recklessness, and for what? He didn’t even know what she was capable of reciprocating after receiving all those scars. Didn’t even know if he was the right one, if he was better or worse, if…

If he was believing in something that wasn’t there.

Yoongi closed his eyes and went to sleep.

-

Livid.

It was weird. Feeling it. In the past, you buried it, numb, and promptly lived in delusion. But now you could feel it. What was more, you let yourself feel it. There wasn’t anything to stop you except for the occasional mental peanut gallery of you’re a bad person if you feel jealousy, but anger could overtake anything if you let it.

You stared at the scene before you, several meters away.

Seething.

It felt good.

Mostly because it was honest.

It surprised you. You hadn’t expected to feel anything. Sad, maybe. You had already been cheated on, so naturally you assumed the cycle would begin anew, just with less promises and in the gray area of uncertainty. But, no, instead of being distraught and delusional, you felt maddeningly, viciously, nearly on-the-edge of making a fist and dislocating Min Yoongi’s jaw from his skull because he was speaking to a female-presenting human at the entrance of the building that housed his and others’ music studios.

Did you lack context? Yes.

Would that get you arrested? Yeah, probably.

Would that probably not get your laid anymore and label you as an unhinged psychopath? Without a doubt.

But would it feel good?

Don’t know.

You had never punched someone before, although maybe you should have practiced on your ex-boyfriend. He was probably a more deserving candidate. In any case, you remained frozen in perplexation at your willingness for violence because you were pretty sure your… relations… with Yoongi were nothing more than a lonely bitch and a spiteful silver tongue executing revenge, so the amount of fucks you should give about Yoongi speaking to any human being – other than the obvious health and safety precautions – should be zero.

None.

Basket of fucks empty.

And yet.

Clearly wasn’t since you were mentally calculating the angle and force for jaw dislocation while having zero experience in doing so. In any sort of non-virtual manner, that is.

Hm.

Your hands were firmly in the pockets of your black cargo pants. The hip ones, although you had plenty of choice. You kept them there for the safety of passerby or, maybe deep down, yourself. This caused your jacket to fall open, the outlines of the sew-on patches and thick, bunched-up black denim crowding the space between your forearm and waist, your black cropped tank exposed to the chill evening air. You used to wear a plethora of band t-shirts, but, well, those were probably in a landfill or rotting in a secondhand shop.

You figured you would be cold. Unsurprisingly, the anger kept you warm.

Huh.

You thought about turning around and just straight up leaving, petty and picturesque of course, and then Yoongi seemed to sense your projected violence, looking up from the conversation. Dark waves over his cheeks, striking body line, backing away, hiding his eyes for a moment, not that you could see them that well from this distance. You twitched.

The girl reached out.

Yoongi simply bowed, out of reach, and pushed the glass door open.

Honestly, her role in this moment was so miniscule that you completely ignored whatever she did or possibly could have said to Yoongi’s retreating back. Sharpened gaze, and then he crossed the street with the crowd, walking past oblivious bystanders who may or may not become the harrowed audience of the next thirty seconds.

He stopped before you. Bomber jacket, white shirt, black track pants. Monochrome elegance.

You looked up at him, saying nothing.

Over one shoulder was his usual guitar bag that held said instrument and his yellow notepad sticking out of the pocket. He used it to jot down whatever came to him. You almost said something. Almost. Then you remembered that if this, this between you and Min Yoongi, if this was supposed to be nothing, then weren’t you supposed to do nothing but voice your casual annoyance for making you wait rather than, well.

Admit insecurity?

You looked away quickly.

No, it did not matter how reasonable it was, you didn’t like knowing that somehow you had been weakened by an ex-boyfriend, barely a man, no, a mere locust at best, so it was better to not say anything and accept that this was–

“Sorry, I got caught up with the staff about ending my lease.”

Compromised.

You didn’t look at him. “What?”

“Gonna end my lease this month and move my studio stuff to the condo. I can’t afford both.”

He had told you this already. It had been your idea. You already knew you were overreacting to a situation that you created in your head rather than reality. And, yet, the best your mind would allow was uh huh, a plausible explanation, sarcasm included.

“Ah. Right,” was your sharp, mildly frigid reply.

“I can’t read your mind.”

Do you intend to be exhausting?

Your mental peanut gallery was super annoying.

You breathed in. Cool, crisp air. The sound of cars and people bustling in and out of stores. You breathed in again. Did you really intend to be exhausting, irrational, and, worst of all, dishonest? Really, after all that had happened? After getting here, standing here, arriving to pick up Yoongi at his request to do the grocery shopping together?

You turned back to look right into black-brown, piercing orbs.

“I just realized that I have the ability to be jealous,” you exhaled, draining your lungs. “It’s unpleasant and not nearly as delightfully pivotal as the media makes it out to be.”

Something fluttered in those orbs.

Or maybe it was the wind catching his bangs, drifting black strands over his eyes shadowed by dark circles.

Yoongi half-smiled.

“Makes for good songwriting material though.”

There was an air of helplessness to his words. A tone you couldn’t define, except for the understanding, which left you both baffled and with a sense of guilt. There were emotions in that barely-there smirk on those familiar lips. Relief. Maybe a slight bit of shame. A shadow of guilt too. You realized people were glancing at you and him as they walked past, wondering why you both were at a standstill on the sidewalk. Yoongi seemed to not notice them or care.

You pulled your hands out of your pockets.

“Come on. We should go before it gets dark.”

Before you noticed it, your hand was rising.

You pulled it back, but not fast enough.

Yoongi’s free hand reached out and grasped around yours, strong fingers enclosing. Sliding up, calluses on your palm. Your hand lowered, slowly, your eyes moving in the opposite direction. Lips parting. His hand was colder than yours.

You stared at Yoongi.

He looked back, expression unreadable.

“I don’t hold hands,” you said, suddenly breathless.

You tightened your grip.

“Neither do I,” Yoongi replied, taking a step, on the cusp of walking past you, his hand around yours. “I simply just don’t like the idea of yours getting cold when I can do something about it.”

Previously, when you held hands, it was always with a purpose of showing public affection. The look-how-real-this-is-because-there-are-clear-witnesses show. Front row tickets nobody asked for. But this.

This.

You blinked hard and the sting was inside.

The sting of wasted time.

Your name in that raspy, soft voice. Familiar. You looked up, not saying anything and hoping the eye contact was enough. All Yoongi did was smile lightly and tug your hand.

“Let’s get take-out and shop tomorrow. We have plenty of time to eat healthier.”

-

“You can cry in front of me.”

Min Yoongi heard her breath hitch and still.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by. It was the dead of night. Or maybe one could call it the time when honesty came to life, if the conditions were right. He knew this time well usually with a drink in his hand, but this time he was laying on his side with bruises of bites and carnal memories lingering on his fingertips.

“I wasn’t crying.”

Her voice was thick and strained from trying to keep it even. Her moment of jealousy had happened days ago. He had recognized it right away. Call it personal experience. He also recognized that she didn’t like to feel that way. It was obvious from her torn yet furious expression. It confirmed a lot of things for him. Still, she seemed pleased to help him move and set up his things in the bedroom. They found the living room to be a bit too echoey due to the large space so they switched the two, pulling the mattress to the living room and setting up his equipment in the center of what was formerly the bedroom.

He told her to paint the condo.

She had mentioned in passing that someday she would like to paint her entire living space black. Not this place, because he owned it too, and you probably think I’m crazy for wanting a dark space, huh, Yoongi? He asked her, why wait? No one lives forever. We’re just passing through.

She had given him a weird look.

We own this condo. Paint it.

There were cans of black paint waiting.

Yoongi had intended to go visit his family over the weekend. His parents and his brother who had recently been promoted to head chef at the classy restaurant he worked at. Someone in the family needed to have prestige. Well, that was his own personal feeling. Surprisingly at this point his parents had even up on telling him to get a higher-paying job. They told him to simply be happy.

And get married.

Yeah, about that.

He was still trying to get used to the music producer thing, for fuck’s sake.

“Are you afraid I won’t understand?” Yoongi let himself say, not turning around yet.

Sometimes, people didn’t want you to see them weak. He could understand that.

Call it personal experience.

A shuddering sigh. Deep breaths. Words bogged down, drained.

“I can only be so pathetic before I lose my mind recalling the past,” she mumbled. He felt her weight deepen on her side of the bed, as if she was trying to melt into the mattress. “I made things hard for myself. For you. It’s pointless to cry about it anyway. In the end, it only makes me look ungrateful.”

Yoongi thought about it.

“It’s true that you probably shouldn’t have involved me.”

He shifted, laying on his back now.

“But I’m not a good person either. I agreed, after all,” he murmured, his skin tingling with bruises and carnal memories. “Hm, to be honest, he was always a dick though, from high school till now. Always will be, I fear.”

“You’re easygoing enough not to be affected by his asshole behavior.”

“Not my job to change people. I leave that to parents and clueless fools.”

A pensive silence. Surprisingly not an irritated one. She seemed to accept it.

“Why did you become his friend?” she asked, staring at the ceiling with him.

“We just happened to like the same thing. Music.”

“I’m lucky you decided to become his friend.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “I’m lucky that somehow he managed to bamboozle a hot and clever girl, two things he’s obviously not.”

She almost laughed. Almost.

“Who the fuck uses the word bamboozle?”

“You had to admit you were bamboozled, because you sure as hell weren’t dick-drunk.”

“Oh? You think you’re that good, huh?”

“No, I just know he’s that much worse.”

The faintest of chuckles.

“You… You get better every time,” she admitted. “I think I just caught you off guard the first time.”

“Firstly, I don’t like wasting time and, secondly, I had given up for a while before…” I met you. “Romance seemed like an expensive, worthless distraction when I could be using that time and money trying to push the band forward,” he pivoted, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. “Then that went to shit.”

“Sorry.”

Automatic.

He chuckled darkly. “I’m confident I got the better deal.”

A trembling pause.

“Why do you think that?”

He reached over and placed his palm on the top of her head, lacing his fingers in her hair. Messing it up.

“Tell me the truth. Was he good at sex?”

A burst of laughter. “Really? Alright. No, he wasn’t. He sucked. Thought he was a piston of a muscle car instead of a human being. Oh, and once he fell asleep on top of me.”

He cocked an eyebrow. Turned his head and forced hers to turn as well.

She was smiling.

Yoongi found his chest tight and breath shallow.

“And you didn’t leave him then… why?” he pressed.

She winced, albeit playfully. “I yelled at him. A lot. I don’t know, maybe he was tired.”

“Not an excuse.”

“I know, I know…” Sigh. “I… I didn’t want to believe I made the wrong choice.” Her eyes shifted, but her body was still turned to face his. “I… It made my entire family angry, dating him. Especially my parents. They would never forgive me and hold it over my head forever. I had to make it work. I thought, if only I worked hard enough…” Another heavy breath, squeezing her eyes tightly. “I know it was pride, but I wanted to prove to them and myself that I could do anything. Bad choices? Maybe. But they were mine. I don’t want my life decided by what is best for me. If I suffer for it, those are my consequences.”

Her eyes opened, but barely.

Yoongi kept his hand on her head, running his fingers through her hair.

“I… I feel like shit because now you’re stuck in my mistakes,” she breathed.

He liked to touch her hair. It felt comforting.

“You know what your problem is?”

She glared under lashes and dared him.

Undeterred, he continued. “You blame yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened.”

A disapproving frown. “Hah?”

He tapped her forehead. “You think it’ll bother me if you cry, but what truly bothers me is that you cry alone.” Pushed back the strands, and now he was closer, sharing breath. “You think I’m stuck in your mistakes. Mistakes don’t inherently have only negative consequences. They almost always exist in a gray area.”

“I... I know that,” she grumbled, face against his chest.

“I did say you were clever.”

A drifting, drowsy silence.

“I’m not clever,” she whispered to his skin, pulling her body closer. “I just like you.”

Yoongi felt himself losing to sleep.

“I’ve always liked you, since the moment I saw you,” he muttered into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if he said it at all.

-

“Ah? Yes? Sorry about that. Oh, yes, uh, I’m painting. Everything. Yes, I’ll be sure the keep the windows open. Thank you.”

You closed the front door of the condo. Well. You had expected nervousness, but somehow the conversation between you and the downstairs neighbor had been very calm. Apparently, he worked from home and wasn’t expecting the loud crash of the ladder from your unit.

In your defense, you hadn’t expected it either.

Thankfully, you hadn’t been on the ladder, only trying to figure out how to set it up. It was one of those compact ones that saved space but required some innovative thinking to get the taller height you needed. One crash and a YouTube video later, the ladder was now secure, and then came the knock on the front door.

The thoughts flew by – I don’t belong here, I can’t do this alone, they’re going to scold me and I haven’t even done the upper half yet – but the guy just seemed curious and confused. Didn’t even comment on your awkward outfit of navy boys’ basketball shorts and ill-fitted gray sports bra. Both on super sale. You were still wearing your bra because of the incorrect size, so the gray blob was bordering on ugly-ass tank top.

Look.

Some people had clothing they didn’t care about to paint in and some people had to dive in sale bins because they left behind most of their wardrobe and, with the clothes, their bad memories.

That was the intent.

Things rarely go as intended.

For instance, you thought you were going to feel imposter syndrome for a neighbor knowing that you were painting your own goddamn walls. You turned away from the door after you locked it, frowning. That’s right. Like it or not, bad decisions and minus an ex-boyfriend later, these were your walls. You looked up, out the large, floor-to-ceiling living room windows, and saw the sunlight sparkle over the sprawling city, walls painted half-black and half white surrounding you, and you could say that you never wanted to be here, but.

It was a sick view.

We own this condo. Paint it.

Your muscles were sore from the repeated swiping motion of the paint roller, but there was still this inexplicable energy coursing through you.

“What if it doesn’t look good?” you had asked Yoongi.

He had shrugged. “Then we paint it again.”

“It’ll be dark.”

“Wow, really? I thought black was supposed to be bright and cheerful,” was the sarcastic quip. “Just believe you have good taste and paint the damn walls.”

This condo was an investment that made you poor.

That was the truth you needed to face.

You have good taste.

You scrunched your face slightly as you remembered Yoongi’s facial expression. Was he… praising you or himself? You squinted. This guy. Picked up the paint roller again and saturated it with ink black, making crispy crinkly sounds as you shuffled over the plastic. Good taste. Well, that was relative, wasn’t it? Everything was at the end of the day. You climbed onto the ladder and began the repetitive, monotone motion once more but at a higher elevation. You should have put your music back on. Your phone was on the plastic-covered mattress and you were not about to go back down until you finished this section or ran out of paint. This was going to be a long process, but you had several days and too much time as Yoongi had already left to visit his family.

Now you were alone with a lot of paint and mind-numbing fumes.

Shit, you should have opened the window.

You would have to paint a second coat anyway. Who cared if the first coat was shitty?

Sigh.

Climbing down and doing your due diligence before returning to your post.

You had forgotten once again to put your music back on. Hah. Well, that was fine; you had yourself. You didn’t mind being alone. Heh, sometimes it was better to be alone. You continued rolling away, hardworking in the consistent rhythm. Thinking about it now, this might have been the first time in a long time that you were okay with being alone. Before, you had felt guilty whenever you weren’t thinking about your relationship. Huh. Odd. Was it some kind of mental self-reassurance when you knew something was off? It was hard to tell, but possible.

Everything was off about that relationship. You just had too much pride to admit it.

You sighed, climbing back down to reload.

Wait a second. Was this why there was that wider step towards the top of the ladder? You poured some more paint in the tray and carried it up with you. Oh shit. Wow. Innovation. You coughed and went back to a different patch of wall. No one saw that. See, perks of being alone.

Well, you didn’t hate Yoongi being here.

You stopped painting.

You didn’t just think that.

You went back to painting. Shut up, nagging feeling. You furiously painted on, ignoring your soreness, telling that little voice in your head to shut up, because there were plenty of reasons not to think stuff like that. Firstly, you weren’t ready to think stuff like that. And what if it was only hopeful transference rather than genuine feeling? Asshole or not, your ex-boyfriend’s betrayal of trust was not something so easily overcome. It wasn’t fair to Yoongi either, pretending to like him if you weren’t sure.

You liked Yoongi before you broke up, too.

Wasn’t that fucked up?

You sighed and came back down, careful to scoot the ladder without spilling and causing a mess. Back up and at it. Of course, it was fucked up. And you knew it was, which might have been why you let it get that bad. Might? Was why you let it get that bad. Two hypocrites were meant for each other. You huffed, puffing your cheeks. It wasn’t enough to hold the ticking grenade; you had needed confirmation it was a, in fact, a bomb.

Maybe even hoping it would end you.

It didn’t.

For some reason, you thought Yoongi could see that in you.

Damn, he’s really living in your system, hm?

You frowned.

Your phone rang.

You almost jumped, startled at the sudden sound of an old song you used to enjoy. Back when you were a teenager, and the memories came back as you climbed down. A kid who just really liked rock’n’roll, and parents who did not, but that kid didn’t care, annoyingly setting it as her ringtone on her shitty flip phone. Couldn’t you be her again? Before you had time to ponder, you checked your hands for paint and picked up your phone, answering it.

“Hello?”

“Did you eat?”

You blinked, sitting down on the crinkly plastic upon hearing that deep, raspy voice. “Uh, no. I was gonna stop by the convenience store when the first coat was done.”

“No, you weren’t. You were gonna skip a meal,” Min Yoongi tutted. “Because you don’t want to be a nuisance and use the money I had left you.”

Damn. He knew you, all right.

“If I forget, I forget,” you grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, pick up the food order from the front desk when it comes. They told me about thirty minutes.”

“You don’t have to order food for me. I’m not a kid,” you hissed.

“It’s the pho spot you like and if I don’t put food in front of you, you won’t eat. You intend to do all that hard work without some fuel?” A pause. You made a disapproving noise. “And I know you’re not a kid. By the way, what’s your waist measurement?”

You remained a grump. “Why?”

“I’m here, so I’m going to buy you some clothes.”

“Don’t buy me clothes. Don’t spend money–”

“You need things,” Yoongi cut you off. “Unless you want to come with me? You don’t trust me?”

“That’s not it and you know it,” you snapped back. “It’s not worth–”

“Of course, it isn’t. It’s vain and silly and superficial. And I’m still going to buy you things, so tell me your waist measurement.”

“Yoongi, this is your hard-earned money,” you puffed out, exasperated.

“Yeah, and I make money to provide you with a good life because I think you are the most important person to me. So, do you want me to guess with my hands or are you going to meet me halfway?”

Dead silence.

He called your name, softly.

You told him in centimeters.

“Got it. Don’t forget to check the front desk in thirty minutes.”

-

“I love you.”

His hair was stuck to his face due to sweat. “What?”

“I said I love you,” she said, staring right at him, their chests shuddering from exertion.

Yoongi couldn’t believe it, but also he wasn’t surprised. The room still smelled faintly like paint. The windows still had no curtains or blinds. They were still fucking on the mattress in the center of the living room and he was holding the used condom when she said I love you.

The walls and ceiling were all black, covering them in darkness as the city below glimmered with light.

“I love you,” was his reply.

It startled him, the suddenness of his response. He knew he did. Of course, he did, and he turned away quickly, making his way to the kitchen and throwing away the condom, skin tingling, cheeks aflame, and he was startled by the feeling that remained. He hadn’t expected those words to come out of her mouth even though he was sure of his own feelings. Yoongi had resigned himself to not hear it from her lips. He also didn’t need to hear it to know that it was true.

He saw her head to the bathroom.

Time was funny sometimes.

Suddenly they were both staring at each other on the mattress, the usual ritual completed, and the moment suspended.

“You didn’t have to say it,” he finally said. “For my sake.”

“I didn’t.” Her hair curled over her shoulder, caressing her curves. “I said it for my sake.”

Blankets and pillows and questions.

“I wondered about the validity of it,” she admitted to him. “Been wrong before and all that. Might still be wrong. So, I said it just to see if I regretted it.”

“Ah.”

They stared into each other’s eyes.

“Do you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

He half-smiled. How very simple yet complicated. He understood. “All the paint fumes really got to your head, huh?”

She looked up at him and he realized with a start that she, too, was half-smiling.

He reached out, smoothing her hair.

“You have a pretty face, Yoongi,” she teased, eyes sparkling.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I thought it would be too cliché, you and me,” she continued and the tone was different now, softer and more serious. “I thought you would get tired.”

She meant, of me.

He had thought this was cliché too. Cliché didn’t mean worthless though. His hand fell, and rested over hers without a second thought. Warm and against the sheets. “If I felt that way, I would have stopped speaking to you long ago. You could take care of yourself too.” Not safely, but could. “Except for money.”

She smirked.

“So you’re saying I need a suga daddy.”

Yoongi twitched.

“Part of me wanted to sell the condo as soon as possible,” she went on, casually glossing over the comment. “But the realtor said it would be a bad idea. I wouldn’t have any buyers without a minimum of six months or a year. Too many superstitions. Part of me thought I should…”

She looked up to the ceiling.

It was a high-rise, after all.

“All the reasons to move here were his. More convenient, better opportunities, owning rather than renting for the investment… I believed in it, more than myself.”

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t because all those things had benefitted him already. He didn’t only agree to move in help her out. He was still a working music producer. But she didn’t seem to be saying it to condone him.

“I didn’t really think this place was mine until I painted the walls.”

Yoongi thought he should at least confess this part. “That’s why I told you to paint them.”

A small laugh. “You don’t like it, huh?”

“Don’t you remember the walls of the old studio were dark gray? That was my doing. I always resented the last place I rented because they didn’t let me paint the walls.”

“Ah… He painted over the gray.”

“I bet he did.”

They had fallen to the bed now, side by side.

“I didn’t think this would work out,” she breathed.

“I thought it might,” he hummed.

“Why?”

“You’re hot and clever and I wanted you from the first day I saw you.”

A warm chuckle. “Just like that?”

“Well, you had to give me a chance. Couldn’t make the first move due to the circumstances.”

“It was a convoluted and confusing one.”

“Eh, life’s unfair.”

-

“Your husband already paid.”

Your what?

“What?”

The cashier waved you away. You shuffled back, dazed, seeing Min Yoongi emerge from the bathroom in the corner of the restaurant, tucking a bit of his long black hair behind his ears and finding you in front of him.

“The cashier just called you my husband,” you declared.

He shrugged.

“Surprise.”

You blinked at him.

Patrons chatted and laughed as if this was a normal day. The music was horrendous covers of cheesy 2000’s pop. It was very strange, but the pho was good and well-priced, which was why Yoongi and you came here often after his meetings with music companies. Popular talent was in high demand.

He ticked his head to your outfit. “I know you like this dress I bought you, but you’ve left your coat at the table.”

“Oh, shit.”

“You’ve been scatterbrained ever since you started writing again.”

“Shut up.”

--

masterpost

[writersmess]

Ok, first of all

I LOVED the buck fanfic you wrote the other day, my heart...melting! So, I came back with a New idea! (If you want it, of course)

Now. Season 6 Was a rollercoaster of emotions, especially when buck got Hit by lighting. What if his fiance (from your other work) is by him day and night, being all calm and optimistic, knowing buck. And when he finally draws his first breath all alone, she just falls on her knees, crying and finally letting it all out what she held back all this time?

Now, if you don't want to do it, just simply skip 😊 no one forces you. Anyway! Have a great time and take Breaks, think about yourself.

COME BACK (TO REALITY) | EVAN BUCKLEY

Pairing: Evan Buckley x fem!reader

Summary: After being proposed to by Buck in the middle of the night, you didn’t expect an accident to change the course of your lives.

Warning: Mental breakdown, crying, hospital, mention of being struck by lightning.

Word count: 1.5k

a/n: oh my god, I didn’t think it would take me so long to get back. these months have been so crazy at work, I’ve been doing crazy shifts and I’m trying to get my social life back together again. I’ve missed writing for our troublemaker boy.

I hope you enjoy it!!! And I apologize if there’s any mistakes, English is not my first language.

It can be read as a sequel to Vivid Dream.

Masterlist

...........................................

“buck had an accident, we’re at the hospital”

All it took was one message to turn your life upside down.

It’s funny how life is a great well of irony. you spend half of your life by yourself, sometimes hoping to find your soulmate, sometimes not. and then you find them. and they’re everything you didn’t even know you were looking for.

It was amazing how you and buck matched but at the same time were so different. you were adorable. had the warmest and the most welcoming smiles and hugs, and the best advice anyone could ever need. and you were determined, you knew what you wanted for your future, ever since you were a kid. and buck, well, it was buck. the boy who ran away in the hope of finding himself and finding the true meaning of happiness.

which he didn’t imagine that it would be in those sparkling eyes of yours or in that sincere smile on your lips.

and you also didn’t expect to find it so soon in a man like buck. so spontaneous, with such a beautiful smile, and with such a traumatic past.

and that was your fiancé now.

after proposing at 4am in the middle of a shift. with no ring and definitely with no preparation, but with the greatest love that could fit inside of that heart full os scars of him.

“going on a call. love you”

The opened and unanswered message screamed in the car holder as you drove through the dark and empty streets of L.A.

you didn’t know what to expect, what could have happened. you took deep and long breathes, your hands shaking as you gripped the steering wheel, your heart pounding.

“He was struck by lightning”

you knew all the risks that this job entailed, but this was something totally beyond your imagination. it was something impossible to predict.

you paced back and forth in the corner of the waiting room, not wanting to see the looks of pity from your friends. buck would be fine soon, he would face this like he faced everything else.

Eddie without saying a word stopped in front of you and waited until you noticed his presence, so he could hug you. and that’s exactly what you needed at the moment.

“only one of you can go and see him now”

before the doctor had finished his sentence you were at his side, walking with him to the room where your best friend, your fiancé, was.

and he was there. sedated. intubated. It’s like your world was one step away from falling apart. You’d never felt like this before, like control was out of your hands. you had it all figured out, all the plans, the dreams, the next steps, everything was millimetrically planned. and suddenly it wasn’t anymore. your eyes were on Buck lying on the gurney, in such a deep sleep, his face was confused, his frown slightly furrowed, as if he was in an argument, or frustrated.

a few days has passed and Buck’s condition was stable. the days had been grayer, your apartment was empty and you didn’t feel like working, at all. but you woke up every day, put a smile on your face and tried to be optimistic, you had faith that he would get well, he needed to. he needed to come back to you.

You didn’t know it, but 118 commented about you, they thought you were in a state of shock. you didn’t cry, quite the opposite, you always had a smile on your face. when someone was worried about Buck’s situation, you would put your hand on their shoulder and tell them that everything would be fine, that he would be back soon. Eddie was very worried. he knew you, and he knew that you were going to fall apart at any moment, and he hoped to be around when it happened.

you were coming into Buck’s room when you saw Chris talking to your unconscious fiancé, and your eyes automatically filled with tears. you kept quiet and stood in the corner watching the scene and could see Eddie drying his tears, and your heart sank. you needed the love of your life back, Eddie needed his best friend back, Chris needed his playmate back. Buck needed to come back, he needed to fill in the gaps that were open in so many hearts.

“hey buddy, how was your conversation with Buck?” you made yourself noticed when Chris finished talking to him and he smiled when he saw you.

“is he going to be okay right?” Eddie could see you trying hard to hold back the tears, something he didn’t even bother to hide anymore.

“of course sweety, he’ll come back to us”

***

it was mid-afternoon, you were sitting in the chair next to his bed, trying to read a book, when your mind started to take you to places you didn’t want to go. everything started coming at you hard, all these feelings. it was an anxiety crisis. you felt your heart pounding, difficulty in drawing in air, and tears began to fall.

you approached the bed and held tightly onto the hand of the man lying in that bed.

“babe I can’t do it anymore. I can’t put a smile on my face and pretend that everything is fine when it isn’t. I need you here with me. I know you’ll be fine, I know it. but Chris, Eddie, damn it, everyone, needs you back, we need you, I need you, and I don’t know how to go on without you here, I don’t know. So i need you to fight for me, for us, fight and win this battle babe, win it for me and don’t leave me, please don’t leave me”

And you couldn’t imagine it, but the other end of the line that connected Buck to this plan was in you. He clung to that, he clung to you, to the thought of having you again, and for that he fought, for you he broke the glass that separated him between dream and reality, between life and death, it was for you that everything was worth it. Because of you he would come back.

And he did it.

You could feel a grip on your hand, it was light, but it was there. your eyes widened and your heart skipped a beat. this couldn’t be a reflex, you couldn’t believe it was. and it really wasn’t, your Buck was coming back, he was reacting.

As if he’d sensed it, Eddie appeared in the room with the coffee he’d gone to grab, at the exactly moment your knees failed, and he held you.

“I-Is he...?”

“Hey hey, calm down”

You couldn’t complete the sentence, and before your friend could question you, you heard a weak cough, it was Buck, he really was there. back to you.

You were holding Buck’s hand as if your life depended on it, and to be honest, it kind of did. you, who had never fallen in love in your life, were completely surrendered to those blue eyes that you had begged to see again.

You didn’t notice the moment Eddie left the room, but when your eyes met Buck’s, you burst into tears. He couldn’t say much, and you didn’t even need or want him to try, he was there, that’s all that mattered at the moment. you had your head resting on your intertwined hands on the bed, and the sobs coming from your lips left the words stuck in your throat and in your mind. Buck slowly and painfully raised his trembling hand, reaching your head and resting his hand there.

He waited until you calmed down, and his chest tightened at the way you looked at him. your lips trembling and your face wet from the tears that kept falling down your cheeks.

“you’re back”

“for you” his voice was weak and hoarse.

“I never thought I could love someone the way I love you, buck. please don’t do it again, I know I can’t take it one more time” your voice was low and trembling.

“I proposed to you, I had to come back to make sure it would happen,” he whispered with that little smile on his lips.

“You idiot, you made me a promise to love me for the rest of my days, I was going to pick you up wherever you were,” you replied in a whisper and placed a light kiss on his lips, afraid of hurting him.

“I love you, and i’m going to keep that promise” he said and you nodded your head.

that intimate moment between you lasted only a few minutes, then the nurses and doctor entered the room to check on Buck and as soon as they allowed his friends to come in, the mess was made. there was laughter and loud conversation, happy hugs and stories about the day of the accident, you could hear “too soon?” too many times in a short period of time and all you could do was laugh.

You could see the happiness in your fiancé’s eyes as everyone gathered around, and you finally felt your heart calm down. he was really there, he came back to you and you could finally live out your vivid dreams together.

[findmeinthefallair]

The contrast is so poignant when it comes to Belos isolating Hunter for years and instilling the fear of wild magic, versus Hunter's future in carving palismen to connect with nature and with others.

We have his signature gloves as part of all his outfits before he went to the human realm, representative of that isolation and fear: Belos wanting to keep 'Caleb' to himself, wanting to prevent Hunter from forging connections and thus finding freedom. The gloves come off once Hunter has room to create and experiment and explore.

During the many many months in between him beginning to learn the palismen-carving craft and us seeing him mastering it in the epilogue, there would've been many setbacks. Many cuts and splinters via mistakes (thus, more wounds and scars...small, but numerous) and bandages on his hands, like what happened with the sewing needle. Thus, many times when he was reminded of what happened with his best friend. I can imagine that on the more difficult days of learning under Dell, remorse and horrible memories eating into him, he'd be more at risk of leaving more cuts because it would be harder to focus. There would've been days where he got close to giving up.

In his arc, this changed everything:

He was found by a free-spirited, strong-willed palisman.

This was when things began to be truly dangerous:

but by then he gathered enough courage to finally question Belos directly.

What a high price to pay. Recovery from trauma is certainly that way in real life too. But it led him on that path towards transformation, towards what he truly wanted.

In his old life, he'd point a staff at others to intimidate, to instill fear, and be Belos's instrument in furthering a cause that Hunter didn't truly support.

In the future, he generously gives palismen to others from the heart, via new creations made with his own hands, to bring more love, connection and wonder into the world. Letting others live out their truth via the bonds forged with their new palismen, the same kind of truth he himself had to fight so hard for.

If we rewind back to what the Bat Queen said in Hunting Palismen:

contrast that with this point in Hunter's arc:

Still blocked and numbed out from fully experiencing the worst thing he had ever been through: being possessed and in that process, slaying Flapjack.

Willow and Gus had just began to reach that vulnerability within him, moving him with their love and support (which is why the anger he had for around 2/3 of For the Future began to subside).

But it wasn't enough.

In the finale, he gets some temporary respite and relief:

But I believe the real gruelling work was to begin beyond this exact point:

More vulnerability ahead, to pave the way for healing.

Putting the scene of him looking at the old Flyer Derby photo (in For the Future) next to the scene where the Bat Queen sums up what palismen are all about...it indicates to me how steep the climb would be to connect with the full range of his emotions and memories, which parallels his development under Dell's mentorship. To bring some beauty out of that horror he has endured. To bring about the conviction that yes, he deserved Flapjack's gift, from Flapjack's sacrifice.

It would've been years before he would confidently and effortlessly rest in the truth of who he really is, and who he would like to be (remember his "Even if I'm not who I'm supposed to be, I like who I am right now" in front of the mirror, right before getting possessed?).

Liberating himself from enmeshment with his violent abuser and that old life, a process he'd have to repeat again and again even beyond Belos's death. Changing that narrative of "supposed to":

into freely choosing the person he would like to become after Flapjack granted him love and literal life. We receive the one clue that he wanted to freely choose, as early as this scene:

When it comes to palismen, we have "emotion" and "conviction" and also the deepest wishes that witches have in their hearts.

For emotion to flow freely, there must be vulnerability, generosity and love: Hunter integrating even the most difficult emotions into his story.

For him to grow into acceptance of his future major role, it would have involved wrestling with many questions to reach that place of conviction.

[vivalarevolution]

𝓜𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵

Devil Aemond Targaryen x Witch Reader

Summary: She wanted power and control , and she was determined to do anything to get it. She knew exactly how far she had to go and what she had to sacrifice to make devil himself appear and turn her dreams into reality.

A/N: There was a lot of inspiration from novels and series with witchcraft and witches, so there may be darker askpets in this work, as well as a slight devil worship. So if you are not comfortable with that , you are forewarned. Nevertheless , I hope you all will like the idea and as usual you will enjoy reading it. Please remember that english is not my native language, mistakes may happen.

Work contains smut , minors do not interact.

He stood before her. A fallen angel. The dark lord. The devil himself.

He was tall and lean, but behind the layer of blood she could see the muscles that tightened with every breath he took. His long hair had been tainted with a scarlet substance, but she could still see their silvery whiteness. One of his eyes was violet while a sapphire stone glowed in the other. He had long face which was decorated with a scar, but it only made him more handsome in her eyes.

There was a darkness around his person , a feeling of danger.

But despite this, she stood before him , staring at him. She did not fall to her knees before him , she did not bow , she just stood , silently watching the former God's soldier , who stared at her just as intensely.

-You came - she whispered after a moment , approaching him slowly.

-You called - he replied , smiling smugly , when he noticed how the woman looked at him , how she fought to control the trembling of her body.

The man allowed her fingers to brush against his pale torso, where his heart was hidden, taking pleasure in her curiosity , which seemed to grow by the second, with each newly touched patch of his skin.

-How should I call you? - she asked , leveling her gaze with him.

Suddenly he grabbed her wrist , that was touching his human flesh.

-You have called me , and yet you do not know my name? - he said, pulling her close to him, so close that their lips were almost touching, and their breaths mingled.

-You have many names and many forms - she replied , resting her free hand on his shoulder to try and push him away , but in vain.

The devil took one last look at her before his attention shifted to the witch's wrist, the same one he held in an iron grip, the same one he kissed extremely tenderly, leaving an electrifying feeling behind.

-Aemond - he muttered after a brief moment , his mouth moving upward, kissing her blood-stained fingertips - You will call me Aemond , little witch.

-Aemond - she repeated, tasting his name on her tongue.

-Again - he growled , embracing her around the waist , making her black , lace dress slowly become covered in crimson.

-Aemond - she whispered , looking at him , but his attention was focused on her full , soft lips.

-Tell me my beautiful Y/n- he murmured , catching her chin between his fingers, pulling her towards him again ,letting her addictive scent delude his senses -Tell me what you desire , and I will give it to you.

-You know my name? - she asked, but there was no surprise nor intrigue, which made the white-haired devil even more crazy about mortal woman.

-How could I not know the name of the witch who sacrificed so many innocent lives so that I could come down to earth? -he remarked, smiling tauntingly, out of the corner of his eye looking at the window, reminding her of the bodies lying in the forest deep in the ground and the sea of blood that she shed - I'll aks you one more time, what is it that you want? -he repeated himself, sliding his thumb over her lower lip , staining it with blood.

-I want Salem, I want it all for myself - she confessed without a shadow of hesitation in her voice.

-I'll give you Salem. I'll give you a town from the edge of the world, and with it all the miserable lives that are in it - he said - But I won't do it for free - he confessed, and the woman widened her eyes in disbelief and irritation, which she did not manage to hide from the man before her.

-I called you on Black Sunday. I have performed the ritual. I shed the blood of the pure and innocent so that you can stand here before me in a body of flesh and bone. I gave you all I could give. What more do you want? - she wondered , furrowing her eyebrows in an act of displeasure, which amused the devil.

-You- replied Aemond , stroking her cheekbone with his thumb -I want you to become Queen of the Night. I want you to rule at my side in hell as my beloved and as my bride. I want...to have you.

-Why me? -she asked, pushing him away moments later-What is so compelling about me that the devil himself wants to have me?

The woman looked at him expectantly, but he remained silent for a long time, trying to get close to her again, which resulted in her slowly moving back with every step he took towards her, playing a game of cat and mouse with him.

-Everything my beautiful Y/n - announced the king of hell , still following her silhouette , almost like a predator followed after its prey -I know your thoughts , your dreams , and your goals. When you made a pact with me, you let me see the darkness you hid inside your soul. The darkness that made me crazy about you - he growled , grabbing her by her forearm, pulling her toward him to trap her in his strong arms once again.

The young woman looked into his violet eye before her gaze focused on his scar. Her hand involuntarily lifted upward the tips of her fingers touched the thickened tissue , tracing its path.

Her act seemed to have no deeper purpose, but this was not true. That scar and that sapphire hidden in his eye socket spoke of the fact that someone had once defeated him, leaving him crippled and betrayed. And she knew that the devil was as vengeful as he was powerful and that no one would go unpunished as long as he existed.

And the witch needed this , she needed her own black knight ready to kneel at her feet.

-If that's what I have to do to get what I want - she purred like a cat, bringing her face closer to his -Then make me your queen - she whispered into his mouth , brushing them gently with every word she spoke.

Aemond growled lowly at her words , clenching his large hands on her waist before he attacked her soft, pink lips.

His body was hot against hers, giving her the impression that she was being burned alive, but despite this she did not move away from him, entangling her fingers between strands of his white hair, pulling at them and drawing him closer as he tore her dress off her shoulders, leaving her only in a black velvet choker with an obsidian crystal hanging lazily in the middle.

-Now you belong to me - he said , grabbing her neck and pulling her away from him -Your body and soul are mine. For all eternity - he muttered into her swollen lips.

-Yours. All yours - woman declared quietly, trying to reunite their lips in a fiery, passionate kiss, only to have the man's rough fingers tighten on her throat.

Devil laughed as he observed her actions.

The witch in front of him seemed so cold, yet one touch from him was enough for lust to take over her mortal mind.

She was almost like an enigma to him , but it didn't frustrate him , oh no , on the contrary. He was pleased with this fact , pleased that his new toy wasn't so easily broken.

But he decided to try break her anyway.

He pushed her body against a nearby wall , hovering over her almost immediately. Still avoiding her sweet lips , which called out to him , he kissed her ample breasts , going lower and lower , marking every , possible patch of her firm skin , until his tongue found it's place between her swollen and wet folds.

He tasted her as if she were the sweetest of desserts, causing her to let out a loud, erotic and lustful moan. Her fingers once again found their way into his long hair as she w writhe in convulsions of pleasure that the devil himself was giving her. His movements were precise and bestial at the same time, making the knot of her lower abdomen burst pathetically fast and impossibly intense drenching his face with her juices, which only made him more feral.

Aemond joined their lips in a sensual kiss , placing his hands on her thighs , lifting her in one , sure movement , as if she weighed as much as the feather itself.

Laying her down on the soft mattress , he did not even for a moment move away from her addictive lips , which so soft and sweet stimulated his senses . His hands, soon after, began to roam over the witch's delicate body , exploring every inch of her immaculate flesh just as his lips had done moments ago.

-Please - she panted - Please don't make me wait any longer.

The man leveled his gaze with her. Her eyes were misty and her lips were slightly parted. Her hair scattered over the red satin was almost arranged in a halo giving her an angelic appearance.

-Even if God himself offered me the kingdom of heaven, I would not be able to refuse you, my beautiful Y/n - he replied, tearing the leather pants he wore.

The witch let out a loud, uncontrollable moan when she finally felt him inside her, filling her, warming her body like a fire , which instead of burning gave her nothing but pleasure. Their sweat quickly turned into one as he moved inside her and as their naked and bloody bodies rubbed against each other creating the smell of sex that was so intoxicating, the two lovers couldn't pull away from each other. His mouth practically devoured those of the mortal woman, pulling away only to breathe after their heavy, wet and hot caresses. As Aemond began to pound into her harder, deeper and faster, the young woman's legs involuntarily began to shake, betraying how close to the end she was , and her hands, as if having a mind of their own, went to his back, driving her nails into his milky skin.

They were unappeased , passionate and almost brutal in their movements , making their act a sweet torture that went on and on , never stoping. Not even as night turned into day , and day turned into night again. They remained in each other's embrace , becoming more and more addicted to each other.

[formulapai]

DIDN’T DESERVE IT

a Daniel Ricciardo angst

WORDS COUNT: 2000 ish

scenario: he’s treating his new girlfriend in ways he never treated you: with respect.

warning: major angst, daniel being an asshole in the past but owning up to his mistakes

pai’s words: heartbroken rn so bear with me

It’s not jealousy.

She’s ethereal, breathtakingly perfect, she has the brightest smile you’ve ever seen and eyes as clear as a summer day. Her voice is like angles sighing, a terribly sweet melody rings when she laughs. Her tears are as sublime as an enraged sea, violent in its beauty.

It’s not jealousy, no.

He holds her with a new confidence but still treats her as delicate porcelain, his whole being overflowing with gentleness. He’s her confident and her therapist, he’s battling her demons with a disarming smile and he’s wiping her eyes with fingers as dainty as possible.

It’s not jealousy, it’s never been.

It’s longing, it’s the inability to understand, it’s mourning.

He came to talk to you, after years of waiting, years of wishing. He knocked on your door, heart in his hand, a whole new person you haven’t met yet. He’s not your Daniel, not the Daniel you used to know. He’ll never be again.

It’s painful to let him in, it’s angering to notice the way he doesn’t treat your apartment like home anymore (but why would he?), it’s disconcerting to sit on the couch next to him, it’s relieving to finally talk.

“- You’re a different man, a different lover now. It’s what she deserves, it’s what you deserve too.

- It’s what you deserved and what I couldn’t give you. I’m sorry, Y/N, I truly am.”

You wouldn’t cry, you wouldn’t allow it. He doesn’t deserve any more of your tears, you’ve cried an ocean already.

“- Why didn’t you give it to me, then ? Why did you treat me like this ?

- I didn’t know how to love, you’ve taught me, years after years. I’m sorry that I’ve taught you how to hurt in the process, I’m sorry that I took so much and gave you so little.”

You can see a new tattoo, an intricate drawing on his forearm, next to the one he did when you were still together. It’s almost glowing, so different from the others with how obviously full of love it is. Did she draw that ?

“ - You gave me nothing except pain and regrets, Daniel. Wasn’t I worthy ? Am I not worthy ?

- You’re worthy of so, so much. You were worthy at the time, too, you were worthy as I was blind. You’re the best thing that happened to me, even now. You’ve made who I am today and I can’t be more grateful.

- You’ve made me who I am too, and I can’t be more deceived. It’s not fair, I never deserved it. I don’t deserve to be this full of fear and scars, I’m always so scared I’ll give my heart again, and get it back in pieces, again. It’s all scarred now that I’ve finally put it back together, I don’t think it can stomach another love.

- It’s healing, you’re healing. You’ve picked yourself up and you did amazing at stitching yourself up, all alone. I wasn’t there but I saw it all, how you grew despite the pain, how your smile never left. In the one that caused it, I know what I’m talking about, trust me. Your heart will love again and so will you, and it’ll be worthy again, and it’ll be easy, this time.”

You grew, yes. Maybe you grew too much, feeling alien in your body, in your home, in everyone’s life. You’re not who you were and you’ll never be again, you grew out of your happiness.

“- What if I can’t love anymore ? I always think about you, whenever someone approaches me, it’s your face I see. How can I love again when my heart is shaped for you, when my whole body grew around you ? How can I love anyone else when you’re the one who created my love in the first place. I didn’t even know what love was before you, I learned with you, too. I learned how to love because of you, not thanks to you, yet I never treated you like you treated me. You’re not the only one who didn’t know better.

- I know. You’re made for love, you’ve always been. It’s so natural for you, no one could ever tell it was your first time too, even I doubted it sometimes. Your whole being is made of love, full of it, spilling on everyone and everything. You love fully and with no mercy, you love discreetly, you love quietly sometimes but most of the time you love proudly. One thing’s sure, you always love. You love the people you should hate, you love the pain, you love the anger, you love the bee that stung you during our last summer together. You love your family and you love your friends, you love your customers. Y/N, you’ve surrounded yourself with so much love that you don’t even notice it anymore. You’ll be fine, you’ll love again and again.”

You do love that bee. You loved the sting, loved the trip to the ER when your swollen finger got stuck in your promise ring, loved how Daniel told you he’d wait for you at the house instead of coming with you, loved how he didn’t send any messages the whole time.

“- I can’t, not this kind of love. It’s only you, Daniel, I can only see you, imagine you. I don’t understand how you moved on and I’m still stuck there, I feel like I’m going crazy. I desperately wish that I could find someone new and change, the same way you did, but it’s always you. You’re haunting me, you’re haunting my heart and my mind, even after all this time. I tried so hard to forget you and meet new lovers, you don’t know how much I’ve tried to get over you and everything you’ve put me through. But when he tells me I’m beautiful, I wait for the part where he says I should change how I look. When he tells me he’s interested in my stories, I wait for the part where he tells me he’d rather be drunk than to listen to me. When he tells me he wants me, I wait for the part where he tells me I can’t even make him hard. When he tells me he wants me to meet his parents, I wait for the part where he tells me they’ll hate me anyway. When he wants to watch a movie with me, I wait for the part where he turns the TV off and tells me my movie choices are as dumb as me. It’s always because of you, I don’t know how to shut your voice up or how to ignore it. He’s the kindest soul I’ve ever met, he deserves so much more than what I’m able to give him right now, I won’t be able to give him what I gave you, not ever.

- You don’t have to give him what you gave me, Y/N. Each and every love is different, you know, you don’t love the same way ever again. I don’t love you how I love my girlfriend. I don’t love you how I’ve loved my first ex, or the second one. And you don’t love me like you’ve loved the boy you fell for in middle school. You won’t love him the same way you love me, and that’s the beauty in it, isn’t it ? You think you know love, you think you’ve seen love, but you discover love again and again, days after days, persons after persons. You won’t love him like you love me, you will love him better, because he’s treating you better, you’ll find a new love just for him, made for him, created mostly by him. He’ll teach you like you’ve taught me, like she’s teaching me right now. You were amazing at showing me love, but what she’s showing me is totally different, and that’s amazing. You take tiny things from each of your loves and create a new one with them, that’s how you grow, that’s how you learn. I’m sure he knows it, I’m sure he understands you.

- He’s your friend, he’s going to see how I love you. I’ll never not love you, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.

- And it’s fine, I love you too. It’s just different now, I’ve found a love that fitted me better. You’ve found it too, I know it. I see it. It’s platonic now, you’re just scared to admit it to yourself because it comforts you to think you’re in love with me still.

- I know, you’re right. Is it ok if I want to keep you in my life ? As a friend or as a stranger, I think I just need you in my life.

- As long as I can keep you in mine, it’s alright. She loves you, you know. She’s never met you but she’s heard so much from you, by me. She wants to meet you if you’re alright with it, you’ll love her too.”

It’s strange, isn’t it ? They should part ways and hate each other, that’s what exes do, no ? She should hate you and your whole existence just for the sake of being his ex, and you should hate her and their new relationship. It should have smashed his friendship with Max to pieces, it seems to strengthen it.

It’s a beautiful thing, really. How one bad person can grow into a good one, with efforts and trials. How one person can love, and love again, and never tire. How forgiveness can be as simple as hate, as despair.

“- Thank you Daniel, I mean it. Thank you for your apology, thank you for being there, thank you for what we’ve went through.

- Thank you for listening, thank you for forgiving me. You’re a beautiful person, you deserve a beautiful love story.”

He went like he came, confidently. When you door is closed, you fish out your phone out of the pocket of your pants, shakily pressing a finger on his call ID. You need to tell him.

“- Hey, darling, what’s up ?

- I love you.”

There’s a pause, a silence, almost insurmountable.

“- I know, don’t worry. I love you too, I promise.

- I’ll never love you like him, I’m sorry. But I love you like.. well, like you. I don’t know if it’s better, but it’s different, and it’s great. It’s going to work.

- I know it will.”

It’s not jealousy, it’s a love you thought you’ve lost.

It’s never been jealousy.