#Icarus Falls!AU

[cecilscribbles]

sneak peak at the fic :3c

[floralcrematorium]

Arthur Kirkland || HWS England

Character Playlist | 21 songs | 1hr 15 min

• Dearly Departed - Marianas Trench • Savior - Rise Against • Semi-Charmed Life - Third Eye Blind • Don't Believe A Word - Third Eye Blind • Viva La Vida - Coldplay • Do Better - Say Anything • Cat's In The Cradle - The Relentless • ABSINTHE - MOTHICA • 18 - Anarbor • Rhinestone Eyes - Gorillaz • Eleanor Rigby - The Beatles • I'm Still Standing - Elton John • Scarborough Fair/Canticle - Simon & Garfunkel • Ship in a Bottle - fin • 505 - Arctic Monkeys • Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High - Arctic Monkeys • He Who Flees the Light - Calabrese • Just One Yesterday - Fall Out Boy • The Beast of Pirate's Bay - Aurelio Voltaire • Absinthe - I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME • icarus - luvbug

Spotify | Youtube

[jacky-rubou]

watch this music video and tell me Ford wouldn't identify pretty heavily with the main character and become emotional watching it, I dare you. I literally can't stop being reminded of him when I see it.

like, it's about a little girl born with an anomaly in the form of wings who faces extreme bullying over it and feels the need to hide/destroy that part of herself. if that's not what Ford went through in his childhood then idk what is.

Ford would cry upon seeing this video, no doubt in my mind about it.

[serenanymph]

Hello, happy STS! If you had to transform your story into a different genre, which one would you pick and what would it look like?

Happy STS! Oh boy you have no idea what you've just set off. Brace yourself avalanche incoming

Okay SO I actually have a looooot of aus for beast because who doesn't like to daydream and write au snippets for their wip to run from their responsibilities. Most of these are specific fandom aus but I have thought about a sci fi au of beast, so, sci fi it is.

This would honestly change a lot of the tone and turn it into kind of a different story, but I do have a lot of fun thinking about how it would work!! In the sci fi au Beasts are a new line of android soldiers Kosei are experimenting with to keep the peace, with a bunch of fancy abilities such as flying!! Or shooting fireballs from their hands!!! It's all smooth sailing until news breaks that some of the androids' codes have malfunctioned, and they've broken out from their facilities. Naturally the government comes out and apologizes, promises they'll get this solved soon, places bounties and creates a special task force to catch them, etc etc.

Anyway, Crys is just a normal mechanic, about as far removed from this situation as any other citizen, up to the point where a boy with metal wings crash lands in his dumpster. He's about to call the hotline and send up an alert to any bounty hunters and authorities nearby - until he notices one teeny tiny problem, which is: the boy is bleeding. Like, real, red, human blood. So oops. Looks like Kosei has been messing around with human experimentation.

Anyway I went a bit insane over this au so have a tiny snippet :D

All in all, Crys’s day goes pretty normally up to the point where the boy with metal wings crash lands into his dumpster. Well, not his dumpster, per se – just the one of the dumpsters behind his apartment, in a narrow alleyway off from the main street. It’s barely wide enough to fit a hoverbike in sideways, and the red-bricked walls are dirtied with soot and grit. The sky overhead is a watery strip of blue, empty of hovercrafts. The few rows of windows looking down on him, all darkened with grime, are closed as usual – trash collection is only once a week, and the fumes are awful. At any rate, he’s lugging a sack of broken parts behind him, holding his breath, when the boy falls out of the sky. It’s fast, and it happens quite literally – there’s a shadow, overhead, the sound of something tearing through the wind, and then a speeding blur slams straight into one of the bins with a thunderous crash. It’s the one for organic waste, which is why there isn’t a sickening crunch of bone against metal, but it still sounds like it hurts. There’s the glint of sunlight against metal, the silent hum of machinery, of gears whirring and clicking. Crys tenses. All he has is a pocketknife. And then – a groan, and a curse. The figure heaves themself over the lip of the dumpster, and Crys thinks, oh. It’s a boy around his age, or at least, he looks like a boy, because there are metal wings on his back. They’re beautiful – sleek and streamlined and gigantic – but also crooked and missing chunks of plating and spitting sparks. Some of the black paint has been scratched off, showing the silver underneath. Crys knows what they’re supposed to look like because he’s been seeing it all over the city, on wanted posters plastered on every street corner and every shop window, in the pamphlets sent out to every citizen in Kosei. Crows are one of the easiest to spot. The boy in front of him is a Beast. Which means he is not a boy at all, but an android. He is also covered in wounds leaking bright red blood. Crys feels the world slip out from under him. “Ah,” the boy says, meeting Crys’s gaze. His hair is a bird’s nest, dark and wild and sticking up every which way. His eyes are the color of obsidian. There’s a weak, wobbling grin on his face, his face pale with blood loss, which shouldn’t be possible. But you don’t have to be a mechanic to know that androids don’t bleed. Which means that, though the boy in front of him is a Beast, he is not an android at all. “Any chance,” the boy manages, “you can pretend you didn’t see me?” There’s a moment’s pause. The world holds its breath. Crys hesitates, hand halfway to his hologlass. The boy topples over the edge of the dumpster and passes out.

beast taglist: @sapphos-scientist @allianaavelinjackson @arctic-oceans @space-writes @reneesbooks

[dawn-t0-dusk]

#62: Theseus fell

When the myths speak of falls and ignorance           They refer to Icarus           But he was not the only-                      Not even close.                      There with many who meet their demise,                       To their own mistakes and lies.           Icarus had fallen but before- he flew.                                           -Its true.

Theseus was different,           And there was no glory in his fall. Theseus fell because of pride           Because he was content to be ignorant           Because his sins were selfish and deliberate

Theseus fell because of a trick           Athena’s gamble which paid off Theseus fell for greed, not freedom           Because Icarus was a dreamer           And Theseus was a hero  

When the myths speak of heroes-           They will refer to Theseus                       (the hero)           Not Icarus-                       (the dreamer)           Of quests and battles won           Not of creation and desperation. That’s alright-           We know the truth                      You and i           Icarus fell, (flew) yes-                       But Theseus fell, too

[miirohs]

écoute chérie [c.l.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Assistant!Reader wc: 3.2k cw: assult, possesive behavior (standard for a mob au at this point), bro straight up kills someone, dubcon (again icarus?), shitty french an: i absolutely cannot write but anyways if this flops i'm deleting it and then crying!!! also do you guys ever just write y/n and put her in predicaments and then go womp womp as if you didn't just do that to her? yeah.

It was fairly obvious from the subtle twitch in his jaw, to the shadow cast over his eyes by strands of his hair falling in front, that he wasn’t happy. From the moment you both had left the guarded gates of his mansion, his face has been set in a stony silence.

You’d seen him glance over at you multiple times during the length of the car ride, and it was becoming harder to ignore his erratic behavior.

Just as he looked away you reached for him, startling him from his distracted state as you moved to fix his suit, readjusting his crooked tie and straightening out the collar of his suit. Immediately you snapped back up to him looking at you, a curious look on his face.

“You should be more careful with your suits.” You chastised softly, snapping back to your seat as the heat rose to your face. “Tossing and turning around like that will probably make it wrinkle up.”

He nodded in agreement, giving you the smallest smile he could muster. You could still see the upset in his eyes as he looked at you, and you came to a slow realization of what might’ve been upsetting him.

“Are you mad with me for coming along with you?”

His smile faded a little, the frustration in his eyes visible. He never wanted this for you, but he knew he couldn’t stop you from coming along, so he resorted to simply reminding you why he didn’t want to bring you.

“Mon coeur, I’m not mad at you at all. I'm just hesitant because I know what my people are like.”

You sighed, readjusting the straps of your dress as you looked at him. “Yes Charles, you’ve made that exceptionally clear but i don’t think you quite had a choice. Carlos didn’t even want to talk about going with you.” 

He winced at your tone, tilting his head at you as he bent his own head down to your level. “I know I keep saying this, but you don’t know them like I do. I don't want you leaving my side, not to anywhere I cannot see you chérie. Do you understand?”

You took one of his hands in yours, nodding along to keep his anxiety in check. “Fine, I wasn’t planning on going just anywhere, I came with you because that's my job.”

“And your job is?”

“To be with you, twenty-four seven, whenever you need me.” You said teasingly as a cheeky smile graced his face once again, slightly more genuine than the last.

The car came to a stop, and you looked at each other, turning to the door of the car. 

“Ladies first.”

You rolled your eyes at him, obliging to climb out first as the door opened.

Your jaw dropped as you looked up to the entrance of the building. You didn’t think you were quite aware this level of grandeur could be possible, and you were honestly expecting something more inconspicuous.

Linking up his arm in yours, Charles bent down a little as you started walking, whispering into your ear.

“You look surprised. I bet you weren’t expecting this, huh?”

“Surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s gorgeous.”

“Wait till you see the inside.”

You continued with him, eyes growing wider at the inside.

Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, intricate detailing all over the grand foyer as you surveyed the walls.

Charles walked with you through corridors, once again tensing up, evident in the tightness of his grip on your arm. You could see an ornate set of doors at the end of the hall, approaching them slower and slower.

You paused at the door, looking up to him as he inhaled deeply.

“Are you-”

“Ready? Of course I am.” He didn’t look at you, but you gave no further thought to his words as the doors opened, the crowds of people gathered visible from the mezzanine you both stood on. The ballroom almost glittered, light bouncing off almost every corner of the room.

“Char, if i had known this was going to be fancy, i would’ve dressed up better.” You said, aghast as he shook his head, looking at you with a hint of affection in his smile.

“You’re dazzling no matter what, mon coeur. There’s no need to worry, you’ll be just fine.”

“I- Alright.” You agreed hesitantly, arm slipping from his as you followed him down the stairs.

There were so many bodies on the floor you had a hard time following him, resorting to holding onto his sleeves to navigate through the crowds. He greeted people, and you did the same in his stead, unsure where exactly you were headed. Suddenly, Charles came to a stop in front of you, and you slammed into him, stumbling back slightly. 

“Charles, what just happened, I...” You paused as he stood motionless, stepping to peer from behind him.

Another man stood there, head tilted as you curiously as you moved to Charles side. He wore all black, jacket embroidered with flowers and a necklace that resembled a thorn necklace. He seemed fancy, but something about the way he looked at you made it feel like you were being microanalyzed by him.

“Lewis.”

“Charles. A pleasure seeing you again.”

He nodded, relaxing slightly as the man took his hand, shaking it firmly.

“And who might this be?”

You waved, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I’m-”

“She’s my assistant.”

“Char, calm down.” You chided, ignoring how his tone almost instantly seemed to become sharp, nose flaring slightly. Clearly Lewis noticed as well, raising his eyebrow at how his tone seemed to change so suddenly.

“I’m sorry, my name is Y/n. I’m his assistant, as he mentioned before.” He took your hand, offering you a kiss to the knuckles with a smile.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/n. Are you new or…?”

“This is her first social event with me.” Charles butt in, arms crossed over as Lewis grinned at him. “Hm, I figured half as much. I haven’t seen much of her around, you should bring her more often. She seems pleasant.”

“Wonderful. Now is there anything else you want?” Charles answered, tone short and clipped as you frowned at his sudden defensiveness. Lewis hummed knowingly, sparing you a glance before he went back to talking to Charles.

“The negotiations are upstairs. We were just waiting for you to start, and I think Carlos got here maybe twenty minutes before you?”

He nodded curtly in response, taking your hand as he started moving.

Lewis looked down at him though as he shook his head, pointing to your hands.

“Sorry to break it to you mate, but she can’t come with us.”

“Why not?” Charles snapped, clearly annoyed by his sudden announcement.

“It’d be better for the both of you. I doubt you want her in on the grizzly details, it would only put her at risk, more so than working for you. Leave one of your guards with her if you want to, although I promise she’ll be just fine here.” He knew he couldn’t argue with that, it was apparent in the way his face fell at the realization.

“I have to go now, but we'll be waiting for you upstairs.” Lewis said as he waved goodbye to you, turning on his heel to leave the both of you alone to the side.

Charles sighed, glowering at the man's back as he turned to you.

“Écoute chérie (listen darling), it seems like Lewis has a point.” He started, reluctance written all over his expression. “So I'm leaving you here with one of the guards. I don't want you to put yourself in any unnecessary danger, so please keep them with you and talk instantly if anything happens.”

You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t disappointed, but it did make sense to you. "I understand, Char, I'll be here when you come back."

He visibly relaxed, though there was still a hint of concern in his eyes. "Thank you, chérie. I promise I won't be long."

You gave him a small smile. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

With a short squeeze of your hand, Charles reluctantly left your side, disappearing into the crowd once more. 

Left alone with the guard that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, you took a deep breath, turning around to him.

"Looks like it's just you and me for now," you said, trying to break the ice with the bodyguard, who simply blinked at you.

“Not one to talk much, huh?” He cleared his throat, bashfully turning his eyes away from you.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but i'm pretty sure Mr. Leclerc wouldn’t like me looking at you.” You stifled a sigh, simply flashing a smile at him.

“Would you like to have a drink with me then…?”

“Ollie.” He finished, even more bashful than before as scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “And I'm sorry ma’am. I don’t think I'm allowed to drink on the job, Mr. Leclerc would kill me if something happened to you.”

Awkward silence filled the air as you sighed, looking around the ballroom.

You didn’t think there was anyone you could talk to other than him, so you were stuck with him for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t half bad either, but he followed you quite closely, almost as if carefully noting every single thing you were doing. Even as you made minor convos, he stood beside you, too close for it to be comfortable for either of you. He took his job seriously, a little too seriously, you thought.

At some point, you paused, turning around to him with your hands crossed over your chest.

"Ollie, do you have orders to stand so close? It's making me feel a bit claustrophobic."

He blinked, obviously taken aback by your directness. "I'm sorry miss. I was just told to keep an eye on you, Mr. Leclerc's orders."

You nodded, slight frustration rising up as he mentioned Charles' name. "I appreciate your dedication, but I promise I won't just wander off.”

He hesitated, yet still nodded to your request. "Is there anything I can do then?"

A lightbulb seemed to go off in your head as he asked, a grin stretching across your face as you looked at him.

"I think I'll go get a drink. Would you mind keeping an eye on things here until I come back?"

he relented with a nod, albeit with a hint of concern in his eyes.

"Alright, but please don't wander too far. I'll be right here waiting for you to get back."

You nodded sweetly, yet as soon as you left his field of vision, you grabbed a glass off a tray, pushing gently through the crowds.

You weren’t a lightweight by any means, but there was rarely ever a time where you drank because of your job.

Before you knew it, you’d finished off the glass, abandoning it on the buffet table and grabbing another one as you made your way back into the crowd.

At some point you saw Ollie again, distracted as he talked to two other boys of his same age. You decided not to interrupt, walking past them and slipping through the open doors on the opposite end of the hall.

The air was cool, fragrant from all the flowers planted around the place. As you wandered along the winding paths, you observed the little statues and carefully trimmed hedges, detailing meticulously crafted to fit the vibes of the garden.

But your peace was short-lived, as the unmistakable sound of footsteps grew louder. Turning around, you were met with the leering faces of a group of men, their laughter echoing through the night air as they drunkenly stumbled through the hedges. They were creating a ruckus loud enough to attract a crowd.

You froze, not a sound escaping your lips as you looked at them.

Clearly they hadn’t noticed you, so you took a step back, hoping to get away.

Something snapped under your heel and they all stopped acting buck wild, turning to you with wide eyes.

“Ouh, Qui est cette femme, juste là (ooh, who's that woman right there)?”

Shock ran through your veins as the one who spoke pointed to you, eyes turning towards you in a moment. A couple laughed, one of them whistled, all of them looking you up and down like a piece of meat.

“I think she might be one of those escort people they hire at parties y’know… you think we should greet her?”

Their leering gazes made your skin crawl. 

Quickly you turned on your heel, heading in the opposite direction, hoping to lose them quickly as you attempted to get back. Your heart pounded in your chest as you continued, their drunken roasts getting farther from you. You still felt paranoid, but you were pretty sure you had lost them.

As you turned around, a hand shot out from the darkness, grabbing hold of your wrist harshly. You were whirled around to face your assailant, one of the men from the group you’d seen earlier, one of the ones who had whistled at you.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?" he sneered, drunken breath hot against your face as he sneered at you, a wicked grin on his face. 

He had you cornered against one of the hedges, and you had nowhere to run as he got closer, trying to grab your other hand.

“You’re cute, you think the boss would like it if we sent him back a little present like you-”

You panicked, kicking wildly until you landed a kick to his nuts, breaking free from his grip around your wrists as he staggered back in pain.

“You bitch-!”

The sound of a warning shot silenced his swears of pain, the only thing you could hear now being the buzzing in your ear.

You turned your head, Charles saying something, but you couldn’t exactly hear it as he approached, an angry yet relieved loon on his face.

“Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you?!”

You didn’t respond and he knew why, turning to look across from you at the man who glared at the both of you in anger.

"We'll discuss this later," he said, tone softer this time as he turned his attention back to you, helping you up onto a cold stone bench.

“You. Get lost. Don’t let me see you here ever again.”

"Or what?" The man spat, voice dripping with contempt at Charles' order. "You think you can scare me off with your empty threats?"

“I don’t think it’ll be so empty if i-,” He pulled out his gun from the waistband of his pants, aiming it at the mans groin, then moving to his head, “-happen to give you a demonstration of what exactly happens when you fuck with something of mine.”

The color drained from the man's face. Maybe he had just come to realize who he was fucking with.

“She was yours? I’m sorry, I didn't know!” 

“Save it.” He hissed, cocking the gun and aiming it directly at his head. “I’ll make sure that you les fils de putes never see the light of day again.”

It was over in the blink of an eye, with just the sound of a gun being fired, followed by the thumping of a body.

You hadn’t even realized it when he came to you, wrapping his jacket around you as he picked you up, allowing to you bury your face in his neck.

"I've got you," he whispered. "You'll be fine now."

As he turned to exit, Lewis had finally shown up, standing at the entrance with an eyebrow raised at the dead body then you.

“Do i get to ask-”

“No.” Charles answered stonily. voice clearly agitated as he responded to Lewis. “Make sure those creeps get taken care of. I already had the pleasure of taking care of one of them.”

“Duly noted. It was nice seeing you, and you must be busy with… her, so I’ll be off to take care of the others then.” He said, as he signaled to his bodyguards to comb through the area. 

“Thank you.” He said begrudgingly as he lifted you up once again.

You could feel him retracing his steps, motion blurred until you stopped at the entrance once more, in front of his car.

Gently, he set you down and you still clung to him, shaking slightly as you climbed into the seat. 

He followed after you, directing the man in french as he put an arm around you, pulling you somewhat closer.

“Wh.. what happened to Ollie?”

The look of concern turned to a look of slight annoyance, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

“Even now you’re thinking of someone else, mon coeur. What am i going to do with you?”

You stumbled over your words, yet you were resolute in what you wanted to say.

“Please don’t punish him, i was the one who left him.”

“Don’t worry, no one is getting punished. But you, however-”

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the barrelage of words to hit you, yet nothing did. Instead, one of his hands came up to hold your face, thumb gently stroking your jaw.

“Mon petit coeur, m'écoutes-tu parfois (sweetheart, do you ever listen to me)?”

You opened your eyes, looking at him.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was? That I thought another man took you from me? I warned you what would happen, and yet you still came. See what happened?” His grip on your jaw tightened slightly, tilting your head upwards so you were looking him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"You have nothing to apologize for, mon coeur. In fact, it should be me who apologizes." he murmured, his voice soothing compared to his actions.

“But then why…?”

“Je t'aime (I love you). It’s because I love you, I want you. More than anything.”

Charles's lips met yours in a kiss, overpowering the adrenaline in your veins as he titled his head, pushing deeper into the kiss. You could feel his overwhelming warmth as he pulled you closer, body to body in the back of the car.

As you broke it off, the heat rose to your face at the string of saliva connecting you both. You tried to pull away but he only seemed to get closer, eye to eye with you.

"Charles?" you breathed, longing erupting like your heart, beating against the cage of your ribs.

“Listen to me chérie, I should’ve never let you go like that. You’re going to be mine now, that way I can keep you safe, Is that clear?” He murmured against your lips, voice dark yet pleading. You couldn’t help but look into his eyes, lovesick and blinded by adoration.

With a soft sigh, you leaned into him, forehead against his as you let yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his embrace.

There was no escaping him. You were his as he was yours. You could never escape, now that he had you like this.

[aris-ink]

this is really fucked up but can you write something like your step brother fucking you in front of your parents? 💀

yes. yes I can. 💁‍♀️💕

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!siblings au

warnings: mentions of violence (not towards the reader), pseudo incest, hints of exhibitionism, risky/sneaky sex, choking, dirty talk, praise, degradation, daddy kink, creampie

edited.

"You have no shame."

The words were murmured right into your ear as Jungkook pressed himself into your back. One, little drunken mistake has led to another, and before you knew it you were trapped. Icarus thought he could feel the warmth of the sun and bask in its light without falling. How silly it was of him to dream the wax holding his wings together could withstand the burning heat. How silly it was of you to dream the same the first time Jungkook kissed you.

The flames scorched you, and you landed deep in the possessive arms of the ocean, never to be released. Never to walk on land again, where other people could take your love and attention away from him. As your lips sealed, so was your fate. You belonged to him. His ocean would keep you warm, sated, its floor filled with treasures and gold just for you. You never had to fear its storms or turbulent waters.

Unlike anyone who'd ever hurt you, or try to touch you the way he did. These poor souls were doomed to drown and stay damned forever, their bones serving as a warning and a reminder not to go near the treacherous waters.

His hands felt warm under the blanket, exploring your skin with a loving selfishness. Gentle waves rocking you back and forth.

"Absolutely no shame," he whispered.

His thrusts were smooth, reaching so deep inside you. You couldn't stop clenching around him, wet and hot, making his cock twitch as he fucked you. Panting softly into your ear, he kept one hand wrapped tightly around your neck to help you stay quiet. The couch creaked under you, the movie playing in the background serving as your only saving grace.

Jungkook was tired of sneaking around. Tired of pretending he didn't need you, tired of not being able to put his hands on you whenever he wanted. His mother was right around the corner; her soft humming and the clattering of dishes easily reaching the living room, because the doors weren't even closed. Your father was asleep in the armchair just across from you.

Jungkook couldn't care less.

He lay behind you and grinded into you while you held on to your blanket for dear life. You tried so hard to resist, but the moment he pushed his hips into your ass to hump you, you were a goner.

"Zero consideration for your poor father," he muttered mockingly.

The old man would probably have a heart attack if he witnessed his little girl being defiled, by her step brother no less. Jungkook heard a whimper leave your throat, his movements slowing slightly. He released your neck and kissed your cheek.

"Are you embarrassed?" He whispered again. "Don't- shit. Don't be- mm, fuck. We both know who your real daddy is here, yeah?"

The next clench he felt made him hiss, provided him with all the answers he needed and the motivation to resume his pace. He slipped two tattooed fingers into your mouth and pounded into you faster, the couch too narrow to allow him to pull all the way out. The tip of his thick cock rubbed all the right places inside you, his balls tightening when he felt you suck on his fingers.

"Yeaaah," he groaned softly. "Take it all like a good girl, you naughty fucking slut."

You shivered and moaned, the sound coming out muffled, but not muffled enough. Jungkook shoved his fingers deeper down your throat, instantly shutting you up. His pants were becoming harsher, his breath heavy and hot on your ear.

"F-fuck," he gritted. "Gonna come with me, baby?"

You nodded frantically, your legs tensing, your chest rising and falling unsteadily. Under the blanket, Jungkook tightened his free hand on your abused tit, trying so hard not to forget how easy it would be to get caught. But it was next to impossible when he was fucking you and it felt so good, so good that he just wanted to let go.

"I'm gonna come," he moaned lowly, his lips pressed into your ear. "I'm gonna come, fuck-"

His cock throbbed inside you, your walls squeezing it so tightly he could barely control himself as he filled you up, his cum shooting straight into your twitching cunt. He could feel your thighs shake, your teeth biting down on his fingers. Quiet, raspy ahhhs flowed out of his mouth, higher in pitch for a moment before lowering to something like a grunt.

He stilled behind you, exhausted, pulling his fingers out of your wet, swollen lips. They came out wet as well, glistening with your spit. Jungkook let his head fall down on the couch, his cock still pulsing blissfully inside you.

"Shit," he breathed after a moment. He lifted his head again to press a warm, soft kiss into your lips. "You okay, baby?"

"Yeah," you whispered.

Tenderly, he brushed your hair away from your face. Your beauty never failed to astound him, whether you were dressed up for a night out or just out of the shower. And he couldn't get enough of you, yet it was for many reasons; one of them being the closeness and connection he felt when he was inside you. Safety and pleasure, no storms brewing on the horizon.

It killed him not to be able to show you off. If he could, he'd strangle whoever married your parents. Or one of them.

Ah, so many decisions to make.

He settled behind you comfortably and wrapped an arm around your waist, keen ears quickly picking up on his mother's footsteps.

She peeked inside the living room.

"Dinner is ready! Get your father up, please, I still need to set the table."

Jungkook nodded, lifting himself up on one arm.

"Okay, mum."

She smiled at you both before exiting the room. Jungkook's cock twitched inside you.

"I got them a reservation at a restaurant for tomorrow," he muttered, brushing his lips across your cheek. "Daddy's gonna fuck you all night, reward you for being so fucking good. Yeah? You want that?"

You clenched again, making his breath hitch.

"Yes, daddy," you breathed.

Jungkook bit down on his lip. What his baby wants, his baby gets. It was that simple.

💌 taglist: @wonyuknow @baalsgurl1913 @glowunderthemoon @imnotlauriane @era-genius @silv3rswirls @bucketofhiros @osakis-gf @iceprincessviviane @httpsbts

[babystrcandy]

the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )  

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . . 

But . . . 

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to. 

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless). 

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him. 

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . . 

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic. 

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS. 

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn. 

Actually . . . 

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket. 

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm. 

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was. 

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest. 

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug. 

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought.  “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar. 

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . . 

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face. 

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice. 

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts. 

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . . 

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief. 

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed. 

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again. 

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar. 

Did you like it? 

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“ 

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you. 

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“ 

But he was already gone. 

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look. 

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be? 

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . . 

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight. 

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone. 

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him. 

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care. 

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then. 

It seemed he always was . . . 

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki. 

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care. 

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent? 

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . . 

A beat of silence. 

In it more relief. 

Beat.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality. 

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him. 

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to. 

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you. 

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words. 

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“ 

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat. 

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before. 

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . .  in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . . 

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism. 

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped. 

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing. 

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other. 

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . . 

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence. 

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat. 

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.” 

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart? 

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin. 

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason. 

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become. 

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything. 

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done. 

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too. 

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves. 

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it. 

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you? 

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?” 

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face. 

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . . 

Wait . . . 

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near. 

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean? 

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No. 

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . . 

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn��t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you. 

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would. 

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just— 

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going. 

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . . 

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory. 

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now. 

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed. 

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . . 

But . . . 

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing. 

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried. 

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia. 

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . . 

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more. 

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . . 

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too. 

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring. 

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh. 

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear. 

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . . 

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life. 

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help. 

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers. 

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books? 

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent. 

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now. 

Not here. 

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now. 

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . . 

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt. 

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page. 

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now. 

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then? 

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway? 

. . . 

Whatever. 

It didn’t mean much, right? 

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . . 

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air. 

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?” 

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . . 

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward. 

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived. 

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it. 

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true. 

Whatever . . .  it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . . 

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . . 

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge. 

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?). 

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been. 

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it. 

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future. 

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought. 

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . . 

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . . 

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . . 

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles.  “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words. 

OK, he nodded. 

OK, he smiled. 

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles. 

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault. 

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant. 

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself. 

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash. 

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . . 

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams. 

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him. 

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . . 

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . . 

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . . 

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you. 

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds. 

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other. 

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . . 

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in. 

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . . 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once. 

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features. 

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch. 

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . . 

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes. 

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes. 

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

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[vagabond-umlaut]

mine? yes, mine.

▸ each fic in this series is connected, but can be read as a stand-alone too! :)) ▸ please don't spam like and reblog! enjoy reading! <3 ▸ masterlist

⁕ six seeds, like rubies... ... and the flowers find themselves blooming in decay... (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; inspired by hades & persephone)

⁕ tryst, too tempest Icarus fell for loving the Sun. You will, for loving your lover. (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; inspired by 'hades & persephone' and 'fall of icarus')

⁕ affaire de cœur Plucking one's heart from their chest and devouring it is all 'affairs of the heart' meant to the King of Curses— until his Queen walked onto the stage of his life, that is. (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; gallons of domestic fluff; hints of spicy times)

⁕ l'heure bleue Ferocious, fearsome, infallible. The King Of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, has never fought a war he hasn't won. But, does that mean he'll taste success in this battle of beliefs, raging against no one but his Queen, as well? (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff & humor; spoiler alert— would-be-dad!sukuna x would-be-mom!reader)

⁕ ruby, one baker's dozen Winter mornings are meant to be whiled away in the silent comfort of one's blankets— a rule the feared King of Curses knows and follows— or must one say, he knows and desperately wishes to follow, but alas! (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; SLEEPY LOVING & CUDDLING; you & 'kuna have two adorable menaces as your twin babies)

⁕ cauterize; cicatrize Wounds left by love are funny little things. Sometimes, they close by themselves. Sometimes, they close when singed by rejection. Other times, they heal when you scar once again, falling in love once again. (ryomen sukuna x fem!reader; reincarnation au; sukuna has been reawakened in the modern era but he has no vessel; reader was sukuna's wife in her previous life; fluff & angst & humor; grumpy!sukuna; flirty!reader)

[valyrfia]

i want to start reading more f1 rpf other than lestappen but idk where to start is there any way you could recommend some fics pretty please?????????????? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

sure thing anon! below is just a selection of my favourite fics that aren't straight forward Charles/Max:

melepathic. or something. by Anonymous – Lando/Oscar, 8k, snappy and funny FWB, rated M

somebody else by piastrism - Charles/Max/Oscar, 31k, FWB and addictive on and off again situationships, rated E

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat by prettyrotten – George/Alex, 40k, pining exes to pining FWB, rated E

icarus falls by tiredgayloser - Charles/Carlos (main) and Charles/Max (endgame), 24k, complicated relationships and character study, situationships vs. relationships, rated E

on the faultline by limabima – Lewis/Nico, 47k, dual timeline, FWB and Internalised Homophobia vs. healing and facing your past, rated E

win or lose (it's how you play the game) by chiliconcarlos – Charles/Carlos, 18k, ridiculous bets and consequences thereof, gay chicken, rated E

matchstick people by ecorone – Lewis/Max, 60k, magical realism and folk horror, rated E

translation theory by linearity - Charles/Carlos, 9k, rancid vibes, a hunger to hold an upper hand and wanting what you're denying you'll lose anyway, rated E

the heartbeat is a hunger by withfeathers - Lewis/Seb and Lewis/Nico, 40k, soulmates and trope inversion, falling in love after losing the love of your life, rated E

even a Mouse by ficster28 - No Romatic Relationships (Charles and Max centered though), 20k, Dæmon AU exploring the concept of sacrifice in motorsport, rated T

Hide All Our Sins From the Daylight by kolyarostov - Carlos/Lando, 60k, secret relationship and the implications of being implied queer in the public spotlight, rated E

[jungkookschin]

demigod trials: icarus falls | three

synopsis: you met jungkook at camp half-blood when you were 10 years old. since then, your fates have been infinitely intertwined.

word count: 7k

pairing: son of ares!jungkook x daughter of hephaestus!reader

genre: camp half blood au, percy jackson au, demigod au, childhood friends to lovers, exes to lovers , enemies to lovers, jungkook is sooo in love

warnings: multiple mentions of deaths, dangerous quests, QUESTS TO TARTARUS, violence, killing, monsters, ANGST, this chapter is fluffy tho, nct mark as a son of hephaestus, enhypen jungwon as son of ares, broken friendships

demigod trials masterlist

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter 3.5 | chapter four

With a gulp, Jennie addresses the assembly through the microphone. “Hades, my father, has lost his reign over the Underworld. The primordial god Tartarus has plunged the Underworld into chaos and is plotting to ascend to the surface, aiming to annihilate both demigods and gods.”

Her gaze shifts towards you and Jungkook. "He has somehow taken control of my body, sending me vivid and disturbing dreams. He's furious and demands a sacrifice – a sacrifice of the demigods who once intruded into Tartarus six years ago. If we don't comply, he threatens to rise to Earth through the surface of Camp Jupiter, annihilating Camp Jupiter completely upon his return."

-

Every single eye in the room flickers towards you and Jungkook.

At that moment, incomprehensible dread permeates your system. Like a broken cassette player, memories of your little vacation to Tartarus rewind in your head: drinking from the river of fire, the child eating demon Lamia, Damasen the friendly giant, and so much sheer terror you wouldn’t have survived without Jungkook’s protection.

However, the anxiety, the dread- it’s bearable.

Your window of tolerance has extended to Mount Olympus after narrowly escaping the clutches of death multiple times.

“So what?” Jungkook responds, “You gathered the whole assembly here to announce that you’re sacrificing Y/N and I? A heads up would’ve been nice,” His features are hardened, and the glare he sends Mina and Mingyu, the Praetors of the Roman Legion, is terrifying, resembling his father Ares.

“Jungkook,” Mina seethes, “Do you know how many people live here in Camp Jupiter? There are thousands of children, elderly, and innocent people who live on these grounds. We must publicize the threat and ensure that it is taken care of, for the safety of the camp.”

“And how do you think Camp Half-Blood will feel?” Namjoon intervenes, “You think they’re going to be happy that you sacrificed two of their head counselors? I guarantee you. You don’t want to fuck with us.”

Mina narrows her eyes at Namjoon. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning,” Taehyung immediately steps in, rigidly serious aura clouding his eyes, “We’re not letting you touch Y/N or Jungkook. Camp Half-Blood will go to war over this.”

“Okay everyone chill,” Mingyu arbitrates, his booming voice echoing off the walls, “If there’s a way we can resolve this without sacrificing Y/N and Jungkook, we’ll take that way. 1000%. That’s why we’ve gathered: to discuss.”

Eunwoo, son of the Roman god Mars, clears his throat. “My wife is pregnant. We need to do everything we can to negate this threat. Look, I’m not comfortable putting lives on the line so what about evacuation? We can evacuate the entire city and rebuild somewhere else.”

“No,” Jennie cuts in, a tremor running through her body. “He’ll follow us- wherever we go- he’ll ascend to the surface and kill us all.”

Mina tilts her head, “Any other ideas?”

“Oh fuck you,” Rose scoffs, “You’ve lost yourself. Completely. Being Praetor doesn’t mean rejecting all your morals. You called an entire assembly here to announce you were going to kill two of your best friends? You sure Venus is your parent and not Narcissus?” Rose cocks her head to the left, raising her eyebrows in anticipation for Mina’s response.

“You-”

Mina doesn’t get a word in because Jennie’s body falls onto the concrete with a thud. Immediately, her eyes and mouth emit a red glow. The glow rapidly intensifies, transforming into a blazing red glow from her eyes and mouth.

Like a possessed spirit she ascends into the air and to middle of the Senate House. Her mouth begins to move, and Tartarus himself begins speaking through Jennie.

“Demigods, behold," the resounding voice sends shivers down your spine.

"I have at last arisen from my slumber, seizing dominion over the Underworld," an ominous cackle reverberates through the walls. "The offspring of Hades have been severely weakened, now feeble and enfeebled. You are next. Offer the children of Ares and Hephaestus, who dared encroach upon my realm, as sacrifices, and I shall spare your lives, permitting you to become my slaves after I claim dominion over the world. Refuse, and face your demise."

The red glow disappears from Jennie’s face and she plummets back to the ground before Mingyu catches her.

Mina’s features harden. “Jungkook, Y/N! You have the rest of the day to bid goodbye to your families and friends. At midnight, we will personally arrest you to prepare a sacrifice to Tartarus. That is the best we can do for now. Meeting dismissed!” She roars, before marching out the Senate House.

Mingyu shoots you an empathetic look before following Mina’s lead.

Annd to think, you didn’t get one word in before it was decided that you were to be thrown on the altar as a sacrifice.

-

Immediately proceeding the meeting, you take the portal from Camp Jupiter to Camp Half-Blood.

You, Taehyung, Namjoon, Rose, and Jungkook skirt through the sides of strawberry fields, past the pegasi stables, until you reach the cabins. The sun sets beyond the horizon and the sky is arrayed with hues of purple, orange, and pink.

Your fingers are intertwined with Rose’s, and she is seething in disdain over Mina’s behavior. You’re the one who wields fire manipulation, but you’re a little scared she’ll burst into flames.

“Gods, when did she turn into such a bitch?” Rose seethes, squeezing your hand hard enough for your bones to crack.

“Rosie, it’s okay,” you offer, “I died once. Who cares if I die again, right?”

At that, the three men in front of you stop in their tracks, whirling around to blink at you incredulously.

“Y/N, you’re not funny,” Taehyung frowns.

“I’m not trying to be funny,” you deadpan in return, “Isn’t it true? It’s not like I’m going to the Fields of Punishment. I’ll be in Elysium and we’ll eventually reunite there-“

“Okay,” Jungkook intervenes, “Then kill yourself right now.”

“What-“

“If your life doesn’t matter, then kill yourself right now,” Jungkook repeats, unsheathing his Celestial Bronze knife- the very knife you forged when you were ten- before offering it to you.

You remain still, and Jungkook re-sheathes his knife. “Exactly.” His voice is stern, but delicately infused with the right amount of warmth. “Y/N, there are people who love you. There are people who need you here, so don’t take your life so lightly. Okay?” His features soften and he turns back around, “Now let’s head to the Hades cabin.”

Jungkook surges forward and Rosie has to tug you in his direction to get your feet moving.

She side eyes you, verbal communication not necessary when her eyes tell all, full of pure skepticism. You shake your head, following Jungkook’s lead towards the Hades cabin.

Upon arrival, Namjoon knocks on the door to no avail. The Hades cabin has an eerie and somber appearance, constructed completely from dark stone. Skulls adorn the door frame, and an even larger skull embellishes the cabin above the entrance.

After its initial construction, the cabin’s somber presence sent chills down your spine. Now, everyone seems largely unfazed as Namjoon persistently bangs on the entrance, impervious to its eerie aura.

“Okay, fuck it,” Namjoon grumbles before kicking down the door. You and Rosie yelp, flinching at the thud before entering the cabin.

To your surprise, an eerie emptiness greets you — not a single soul is there.

The cabin’s interior directly mirrors its exterior. It’s characterized by dim lighting, dark décor, and symbols associated with the Underworld.

While the Hades cabin is one of the least populated cabins in Camp Half-Blood, it’s unusual for none of the members to be present.

The five of you conduct a thorough investigation of the cabin, flipping over mattresses, looking under shelves- just to realize that there are no traces of anybody ever living in it. It’s like a ghost cabin.

You repeat the process with the 18+ Hades cabin to no avail. Both cabins are completely inhabited.

Taehyung settles on one of the mattresses and rests his head in his hands. “Fuck guys- these are kids we’re talking about- where did they go?”

As far as you know, there are only six kids in the Hades cabin: two in the 18+ cabin and four in the cabin for minors. Jennie and Soobin are the only adults, whereas Hyein, Ni-ki, Danielle, and Ricky inhabit the cabin for minors.

Tartarus said it himself: “The offspring of Hades have been severely weakened, now feeble and enfeebled”

Where could they possibly be? Without a shred of doubt, you know that there must be a quest: a quest to locate the children of Hades. Jennie’s current state- deteriorating weakness that rendered her unable to stand or exist without exasperating herself- was already a bad sign.

It hurts to think about what may have happened to the others.

The five of you exchange ominous looks before breaking to the Big House to discuss the present situation with Chiron.

-

“Chiron,” Taehyung cuts in, “Mina and Mingyu didn’t have any qualms about sacrificing Y/N and Jungkook. I think that’s enough to cut ties.”

You shrug, “I don’t know. Mingyu looked like he kinda felt bad.”

All eyes in the room flicker towards you incredulously. “Y/N. This is serious,” Namjoon scolds. “We lost you once and we’re not about to lose you again. Chiron, we must employ every defense mechanism to keep Y/N and Jungkook safe,” he implores.

“What matters more is finding those kids!” Rose interrupts, “How old is Hyein? She’s like 13. It’s our responsibility as older demigods to look out for them. We have to do whatever we can to find them.”

“Even if that means sacrificing Y/N and Jungkook?” Taehyung questions, “We have to find the sweet spot: saving the kids, preserving Camp Jupiter, and keeping Jungkook and Y/N safe,” he enunciates.

“Which is why we need to employ defense mechanisms,” Namjoon argues, “to at least buy us time so we can figure out where the Hades kids are. Then we can spring into action.”

“But that’ll just lead us to war,” you argue, “For the first time in a millenia, the Greeks and Romans have peaceful relations. We can’t do anything to jeopardize that-”

“Yea, well I care about you more,” Taehyung intercedes, “I care about you more than the Romans and more than the Hades kids, so I choose you. Fuck everybody else,” he shrugs, and you meet eyes with Namjoon, turning red at Taehyung’s words.

Greek heroes were known to have fatal flaws: a fundamental imperfection , vulnerability, or moral weakness that, despite the hero’s strength, ultimately contributed to their tragic fate. Jungkook already confessed to you that his fatal flaw is love.

With Taehyung, you already knew. His fatal flaw is his blind loyalty to his friends. He’d watch the world burn if it meant keeping his friends safe.

“While the chivalry is appreciated,” Chiron adds, “It is imperative to do the right thing, objectively. Ask yourself, is it moral to declare war on the Romans? Is it moral to abandon the children of Hades? Is it moral to sacrifice Y/N and Jungkook? Child of Apollo, what do you think? You are of Roman descent and are able to offer a unique perspective.”

All eyes flicker towards Rose, who accepts the challenge. “We can’t declare war on the Romans,” she argues, “Y/N is right. We all know what happens when Greeks and Romans go to war. People will die and the world will probably go up in flames. But that doesn’t mean we can’t trick the Romans,” a mischievous smile creeps onto her face and she bites her lip.

Jungkook speaks up. “I have a plan.”

You tilt your head at Jungkook. His features are hardened- rigidly serious at the prospect of what could be going on.

His brows are furrowed in angry little Nike swooshes and all you wanna do is run your thumb over his brow to ease its arch.

He turns his head to you, his right hand man, and his features soften, like he’s signaling to you that everything will be okay.

WIth a deep breath, he explains the plan definitively. The way he speaks, the way he commands the attention and obedience of everyone in the room makes it seem like you don’t have a choice but to follow this plan.

At that moment, Jungkook’s little brother Jungwon and your little brother Mark step into the Big House.

Within the past year, Jungwon seems to have skyrocketed in height. He looks so big, for lack of a better word- nearly the same stature and height as Jungkook.

Mark grins at you, his cute features beaming with a sense of readiness- to accept any and every challenge. “Hey sis, welcome back. How was Olympus?”

He envelopes you in a hug, and as happy as you are to see your brother, you can’t help but eye him with a hint of skepticism.

Suddenly you connect the dots and your face falls. “No,” you express grimly.

“Yes,” Jungwon cheekily responds, throwing an arm around you.

The kid is lightyears taller than you now, and you hate it.

What Jungkook proposed- you also hate it. It’s the worst plan in the history of the universe and you want to sew his pretty lips shut so he’ll never speak again.

Jungkook’s plan involves offering a sacrifice to Tartarus- and it won’t be either you or Jungkook.

He professes to sacrifice decoys- and at first you’re on board because you’re confident that you can engineer mechanical versions of yourselves- but when Mark and Jungwon make their entrance, the gears in your brain begin churning.

“Does it make sense for us to send our siblings as sacrifices? We ourselves might as well go to Tartarus. What difference does it make?” you argue, frowning deeply and glaring spathas into Jungkook’s face.

When it comes to you, Jungkook’s mind always automatically masks your anger in a dewy haze. All he sees is a pretty girl pouting at him, and he has to choke a smirk back so you don’t actually stab him with a spatha.

Jungwon smirks, “It makes all the difference. We all know that you and my brother are the best duo Camp Half-Blood’s seen. We need you to figure shit out while Mark and I distract Tartarus.”

Your jaw drops. There was no way the sweet, kind, polite Jungwon just cursed in front of Chiron.

You whip your head towards Mark. “I don’t feel comfortable with that,” you state, “I’m not sacrificing my little brother so I can be free. That’s pure cowardice.”

Mark shakes his head.

“It’s not,” he declares, “I wouldn’t be willing to sacrifice myself like this if I wasn’t capable of being a good distraction.”

With that, he fishes for something in his pocket before pulling out a remote. He presses a bright red button, causing mechanical wings to erect from his backpack as Mark starts flying around the Big House.

“See? I’m a pretty good distraction! And I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeve!” he grins.

Jungwon points to a flying Mark before shrugging smugly. “So Y/N, what do you think?”

“Guys, this isn’t a fucking joke,” you scold, turning more rigid by the second. “Tartarus.. it’s a horrifying place. And quite frankly, I don’t think either of you are capable of surviving his domain.”

Mark lands on the ground next to Jungwon, expression now shrouded with concern.

“Y/N,” Mark argues, “We’re prepared,” he claims.

“Since you came back from the dead- like Jesus or something- I’ve been studying your journals on Tartarus, and Y/N, we’re prepared. Jungwon is the strongest warrior of our generation- he and I are a good team. We can do it,” he finishes his declaration with a sweet smile, but you still shake your head.

“Y/N, what did you say to me when you first handed me this sword?” Jungwon asks, partially unsheathing Cataclysm. “You said I was the only demigod from my generation you deemed capable of wielding an enchanted weapon- and didn’t I prove myself? I soul linked with my weapon in days and slaughtered so many giants with this baby,” he animatedly offers, patting the scabbard of his sword.

You soften a bit but still shake your head.

“I just- look- I-” you trail off, rubbing your bicep as you shift your gaze apprehensively, “I strongly believe that Jungkook and I only survived Tartarus for a single reason,” you inhale deeply, momentarily shifting your gaze towards Jungkook who is observing you with furrowed brows. You inhale. “Love.”

“If he didn’t love me or if I didn’t love him, I really don’t think we would have made it,” you elaborate, “I mean- Tartarus sucks the soul out of you.”

You redirect your gaze towards Jungkook, whose jaw is clenched whilst he leans against the ping pong table. “Jungkook… what do you think?”

Your declaration is bold, and you can’t help but think you might be crossing the line- but it’s true. Simply being in Tartarus drains one’s celestial energy, and the only reason you and Jungkook survived was because you desperately wanted the other to live.

“You’re right,” he offers, lifting his gaze from the ground. “But that’s the thing: we were the first to do it and now we can share our knowledge with the next generation- so they can do it without love,” he explains, motioning towards Mark and Jungon.

“You and I, we need to figure things out above Tartarus. And we can only do that with love,” he smiles, and it sparks a flint hope within your system. You soften infinitely at his proclamation.

He looks at you with soft eyes, their warmth mirrored in the tender curve of his lips. In that moment, it feels as if the fates have conspired to weave this moment into their tapestries. The outside seems to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

“Besides,” Taehyung cuts in, “It’s not like these two don’t have a bromance going on, right?” At that, Jungwon and Mark fist bump each other.

Namjoon intervenes, pushing up his glasses. “Y/N, this plan makes sense. Jungwon and Jungkook emit the same energy. So do you and Mark. We can fool Tartarus with this,” he claims.

“I just- I don’t know I feel comfortable with sending my little brothers down there,” you sigh, rubbing your biceps like you can still feel Cheimarrhus’s frigid winds freezing you to the death..

“Oh? Am I a little brother too?” Jungwon teases, pulling you in for a side hug.

“We’ll be alright, sis. We can handle it. Just worry about figuring out how we’re going to kill another primordial god,” Mark offers, tweaking with the little remote in his hands.

Jungwon and Mark are like sunshine, and suddenly you’re warm.

“Okay.. fine,” you acquiesce “But that doesn’t mean that suddenly you look exactly like me,” you point out, “I mean- Jungkook and Jungwon look kinda similar, but Mina will know that it’s clearly not me,” you state, gesturing towards Mark.

Rose smiles, stepping in. Between her palms, specks of magical energy whirl from her fingertips, emitting a celestial pink glow.

So as it turns out, Rose has developed the ability to alter the Mist.

Mist is a magical veil that conceals the true nature of the world from mortal eyes. It is a form of magical manipulation that alters the perception of regular humans, making them see things differently from what they truly are.

A minotaur wreaking havoc downtown? The mortals will see a wild giraffe on the loose.

That’s the power of the Mist- and sometimes, if the wielder is powerful enough, it can coerce gods and demigods into perceiving illusions rather than reality.

And that’s what exactly Rose does. With a snap of her fingers, Mark and Jungwon turn into identical replications of you and Jungkook, perfectly resembling your features, statures, and movements.

The transformation is uncanny, making it nearly impossible to distinguish Mark and Jungwon from you and Jungkook

“Hi?” Mark giggles (mocking you), twirling a strand of hair around his pointer finger.

You blink at your brother Mark, who looks and sounds exactly like you. It’s like looking in a mirror.

Taehyung shakes his head. “No, you gotta do more of a-“ He pouts his lips into a duck face, theatrically tucking a strand of hair behind his hair.

You smack his arm before you hear Jugkook’s voice.

“That’s fucking crazy,” Jungkook murmurs in awe.

Jungwon and Jungkook stand side by side, and it’s like there’s a pair of identical twins standing together.

“Okay, now practice trying to be them,” Rose muses, and after a brief moment of silence, Mark and Jungwon pull out all the acting cards.

“Oh, Jungkook, kiss me!” Mark mocks in a high pitched voice (which wasn’t necessary because he already adopted your voice), facing Jungwon and jumping on him.

“Oh Y/N!” Jungwon mocks back, making his voice obnoxiously deep and baritone. “I still love you! I’m just too emotionally constipated to express my feelings!”

After pretending to make out with each other, Mark (you) pulls himself from Jungwon (Jungkook). He clears his throat.

“And scene.”

“That was perfect!” Rose squeals, clapping her hands as she jumps up and down in excitement.

Jungkook smiles to himself, shaking his head in disbelief while he rubs his palms over his face- but you certainly don’t miss the way his ears turn red.

You feel the same way, unable to control the crimson spreading through your cheeks.

-

After establishing that Mark and Jungwon would be sacrificed to Tartarus as decoys, you gather everyone at the 18+ Hephaestus cabin for further preparations.

As the cabin doors gracefully slide open, Mark steps inside, greeted by the hum of machinery. The automated system, recognizing him through a full-body scan, seamlessly grants access to the demigod.

The Hephaestus cabin is reminiscent of a palace, where celestial bronze embellishes every architectural detail, providing extra protection against monsters.Each room is the epitome of celestial innovation, featuring amenities catering to yours and Mark’s individual preferences.

The training arena, for example, has a chamber of fire, adjustable at temperatures above 300 degrees.

You sometimes just sit in there and build up your immunity to heat. It’s like your personal sauna.

You and your friends whiz past the lounge/entertainment area, which is equipped with the comfiest red sofa that can morph into a loveseat, lounge chair, or bed.

With a scan of your finger, a 127-inch flat screen TV can unfold from the walls, running entirely on celestial wi-fi.If you or Mark weren’t in the mood to watch TV, the holographic displays can project immersive gaming environments that respond to the player’s movements and actions.

Your robot on wheels, Reginald, whirs past your friends, holding champagne and water on a tray.

Taehyung and Namjoon stare at Reginald in awe, eyes following him as he rolls around and occasionally tidies up the cabin.

“Would you care for a drink?” Reginald asks, to which Jungkook (Jungwon), attempts to grab a glass of champagne.

You swat his hand. “Jungwon! You’re not of age.”

“How’d you know it was me and not Jungkook?” Jungwon questions in return.

You purse your lips, not answering his question. You know Jungkook so well that you can just tell- but some things don’t need to be verbally expressed.

“So when I asked for a pool in my cabin, you bitched about it for weeks-“ Taehyung begins.

Namjoon continues looking around the cabin. “Gods, this is crazy. Leave it to you guys to make your two-person cabin the most luxurious in camp.”

Mark shrugs, “It’s what we deserve after building all your cabins.”

It’s so weird watching Mark talk. He looks and talks exactly like you. A smile graces your lips as you walk past the arcade room, moving on to scan your finger on a fingerprint sensor.

The bookshelf rotates 180 degrees, unveiling an elevator as it completes a full 360-degree turn.

"Come on in, everyone," you invite, pressing the down button on the elevator.

As the elevator descends, the sound of muzak plays through space. Namjoon shoots you a glance that seems to question the necessity of the muzak. You shrug.

The elevator doors part, revealing Bunker 9, a secretive location known only to you and Mark.

Upon entry, dim lighting unveils a colossal workshop adorned with celestial bronze schematics and intricate blueprints. Automated crafting stations hum with activity, surrounded by shelves of rare materials and celestial artifacts.

Holographic displays flicker to life, projecting encrypted messages and strategic maps. The bunker features a secure communication hub, allowing demigods to coordinate covert missions and exchange vital information without detection.

“Welcome to Bunker 9,” Mark muses.

“Gods,” Rose expresses with awe, “Do you guys even need all this space? This place is huge.”

Mark shrugs, “Yea, but here’s where we do all our top secret Hephaestus kid work. We need space.”

From the end of the bunker, a mechanical murmur fills the air.

"Pulchra!" you exclaim joyfully, hurrying over to affectionately nuzzle your forehead against your mechanical dragon. She responds with a comforting purr, clearly missing you during your year on Mount Olympus.

Jungkook joins in, offering the dragon a warm hug as she continues to purr and emit contented mewls. “How’ve you been girl?” Jungkook teases, to which Pulchra mewls affectionately.

Namjoon toys with a gaming controller directly connected to a holographic display of Camp Half-Blood. Mark approaches him from behind.

"This," Mark explains, "controls a simulation for various emergency scenarios. Chimera attacks, minotaur invasions, even war with a god— it replicates the emergency plans we'd need to implement."

As Namjoon maneuvers the controller, the holographic display responds in real-time, projecting dynamic scenarios that demand strategic thinking and swift decision-making. “You guys should have called me down here years ago,” he expresses, “We could have accomplished so much together.”

In the lull that follows, you delve into an industrial cabinet, rummaging for something before retrieving two rings.

Hurrying to join the rest of the crew, you share, "These rings are equipped with sensors— not ordinary ones. They use a new prototype technology Mark and I are working on,” you exchange a somewhat embarrassed glance with Mark before continuing.

“We call it WhisperTech. They'll capture every sound in your vicinity and transmit it to us in text format. The rings use a discreet audio-sensing system that captures and transmits environmental sounds in text form while monitoring physiological indicators such as heart rate and nerve levels. Make sure to keep them on."

You slide the rings onto the fingers of Mark and Jungwon.

“Let’s test it out,” Mark suggests.

On the holographic display in front of you, Mark’s dialogue appears on the screen.

Mark:

Let's try it out.

Biometric Analysis:

Heart Rate: 78 bpm

Mood: Eager

Thoughts: “I’m hungry”

Stress Levels: Low

Location Data:

Current Location: Bunker 9

Longitude: 155.789° E

Latitude: 36.432° N

Environmental Analysis:

Ambient Temperature: 22°C

Oxygen Levels: Normal

Light Intensity: Dim

Activity Insights:

System Status:WhisperSyncRings: Online

Connectivity: Stable

Encryption Level: Secure

Recommendations:

Continue monitoring for real-time data.

Encourage interaction to gauge response.

Await further commands or inquiries.

“Holy Hera,” Jungkook muses, “There’s no way- so this thing can read someone’s mind?”

On cue, the ring catches onto the dialogue and updates in real time

Jungkook: Holy Hera! There's no way—so this thing can read someone's mind!

Mark's Thoughts: I'm hungry

Biometric Analysis:

Heart Rate: 82 bpm

Moods: Intrigued

Thoughts: Curious about the technology

Stress Levels: Moderate

Location Data:

Current Location: Bunker 9

Longitude: 155.789° E

Latitude: 36.432° N

Environmental Analysis:

Ambient Temperature: 22°C

Oxygen Levels: Normal

Light Intensity: Dim

Activity Insights:

Recent Movement: Stationary (within Bunker 9)

System Status:

WhisperSync Rings: Online

Connectivity: Stable

Encryption Level: Secure

Recommendations:

Continue monitoring for real-time data.

Address Mark's hunger to maintain optimal conditions.

Anticipate further inquiries or commands.

Namjoon tilts his head. “I wonder what the location data will read from Tartarus.”

“As long as I’ve programmed it right, it should read Tartarus as the location. I’m not sure about longitude and latitude, though.”

Taehyung reads the screen. “Address Mark’s hunger to maintain optimal conditions- that’s funny,” he laughs, to which you nod.

“See? The rings will be helpful. We’ll know everything that’s going on, and if something happens, we’ll run in after you,” you exclaim.

Jungwon cocks his head, somewhat unsure. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you guys knowing my thoughts all the time.”

“Yea,” Namjoon concurs, “but what if you guys are in a situation where you can’t speak or talk? We need to know what’s going on somehow.”

“Swear we won’t tell anyone all your little secrets,” Taehyung jokes.

Rose places a comforting hand on Jungwon’s shoulder and you nod your head, “I swear we won’t pry into your personal life. I can design an algorithm to immediately delete all your personal thoughts and keep records of thoughts related to the quest,.”

Jungwon seems more assured. “If it’s for the mission, it’s fine. It’s not like I have any explicit thoughts anyway.”

You meet eyes with Jungwon, and you kinda wish that you didn’t because he seems unreasonably paranoid.

“Y/N, make an extra one for me,” Taehyung asserts, “If I ever get married I’m gonna put one on my wife’s finger to make sure she’s not thinking about any other men.”

Namjoon scoffs amusedly at that, “I’ll be praying for her in advance.”

You pout at Taehyung and give him an oh so platonic pat on the back. “You’ll find her soon.”

Taehyung smiles. “Thanks inferno princess,” he teases, using Jungkook’s nickname for you, “Just make sure you take of your inferno prince for me.”

Jungkook lifts his head and wraps an arm around you, giving you a side squeeze. “Yea inferno princess, take care of me.”

-

After bidding goodbye to your friends at the portal to Camp Jupiter, Jungkook suggests that you indulge in something you both rarely have time to do: sleep.

The anxiety of sending Mark and Jungwon as your decoys is killing you, and you can’t help but to pace around Bunker 9 while Jungkook blinks at you from the sofa.

“Y/N, it’ll be okay,” he offers but you shake your head in disbelief.

The dim lighting of the bunker shines eerily above you, and you don’t even realize where you’re going until you walk right into an industrial filing cabinet.

“Ow!” you yelp, to which Jungkook sighs.

He gets up from his seat on the couch and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “Inferno princess, calm down. Everything will be fine. Just look at the screen,” he offers, pointing to the holographic display project Mark and Jungwon’s thoughts.

Taehyung: I’m thinking of going for a swim after they sacrifice you two.

Mark: Gee, thanks. That’s super comforting

Mark’s thoughts: I need to pee

“See?” Jungkook offers, “There’s nothing wrong. The kid needs to take a piss is all.”

You laugh, your shoulders relaxing a bit as you wrap your palms around Jungkook’s wrists. You stand there for a moment, reveling in the safety of Jungkook’s embrace.

Jungkook is your calm before the storm. He’s always there before you go on a potentially life ending quest , comforting you to reassure you that things will be okay.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” he whispers into your ear.

“Don’t know. ‘s been a while,” you mutter.

“Think you need to rest first. A nice long ten hours of rest before we do anything else,” he offers.

You hate the prospect of sleeping while your little brothers plummet into Tartarus because of you, but Jungkook’s right. You’re exhausted.

You wiggle out of his embrace and face him, placing your hands on his shoulders. Your eyes glaze over his face before you impulsively ask him a question. His eyes, nose, mouth- there’s a scar on his left cheek acquired during the two years where you were dead. You never had the chance to ask him what happened.

It’s been six years since your fiery dalliance, and the flame of your affections refuses to be extinguished.

You purse your lips.

“Jungkook, what are we?” you ask, features morphing into confusion as your eyes scan over his face.

He looks taken aback at that revelation. His pretty brown eyes widen, coupled with a slight parting of his lips. He doesn’t say anything so you take the chance to elaborate.

“Why are you wrapping your arms around me? Why are you entertaining our friends’ teasing? Are we- are we back again?”

A fleeting pause ensues- like a suspension in time- before he gathers his thoughts to respond.

“Y/N, you know how I feel about you,” is all he says, and his voice wraps around you like a familiar embrace, offering a comfort that no other sound can match. It's so familiar, and the sweetest things he says to you create a flutter of butterflies in your chest.

Warmth spreads through your veins and you suddenly feel like Icarus- the same Icarus who got high on the intoxication of flying and flew too close to the sun, plummeting to his demise when the sun’s rays melted the glue on his feathers.

Jungkook’s kinda like the sun. Last time you flew too close, you literally died.

Luckily, you’re immune to fire.

Jungkook continues, toying with his lip ring. “I’ve been holding back all this time, y’know. But if we’re going to die, do I really have to hold back? I want to be with you, Y/N.”

You face crumbles into disappointment before you actually laugh at the irony. The fates are cruel. “So is that how our stories go? We only get together when facing impending death?”

Jungkook says nothing.

This time, you’ll take the initiative.

Your features morph into desperation. “Jungkook, if we survive this, marry me. If we get rid of Tartarus for good and everything is okay, marry me. I’m sick of pretending that this isn’t real, like I don’t still love you. I want you, and I want you forever.”

Jungkook says nothing, just presses his lips against yours for a sweet and brief kiss- the first kiss you’ve shared since you were 19.

He withdraws, fingers playing with a bolt he had picked up from a nearby shelf. Then, lowering himself to one knee, he presents you with the bolt. “It’s whatever you want, inferno princess. Marry me.”

He slides the bolt on your ring finger before rising, strong arms around your waist before he kisses you again- for the second time in six years. You snake your arms around his neck, letting him take the lead as you literally have not kissed anyone since kissing Jungkook before you died.

In the trenches of your heart, you hate knowing that Jungkook has been with other people besides you. Nonetheless, you like letting him take the lead so you can be his pliant little inferno princess.

He pulls back a bit, his tattooed hand creeping up to smush your cheeks so your lips pout out. He laughs. “Gods, you’re cute. Now let’s get some rest, baby. We have more gods to kill.”

-

Finger intertwined and full of unnecessary giggles, Jungkook leads you to none other than the Hypnos cabin.

Hypnos is the god of sleep, a gentle and soothing presence in the realm of Greek mythology.He holds the unique responsibility of overseeing the tranquil moments when both gods and mortals find respite in the embrace of slumber.

Jungkook raps on the door several times, his fingers securely interlaced with yours as you both patiently wait.

No response.

Jungkook knocks again, and you can faintly hear the sounds of the locks turning before a very sleepy Sana opens the door.

Sana is the daughter of Hypnos and the head counselor of the Hypnos cabin. She rubs at her eyes, eyes barely open.

“Hello? Mommy?”

Jungkook purses his lips. “No Sana, it’s me and Y/N.”

At that, she forces one eye open. “Oh! Jungkook and Y/N! Long time no see! How was Olympus?” Though extremely groggy, she gets her words out before sleepily pulling you in for a hug.

You smile and return the hug. “It was great Sana. Is it okay if Jungkook and I come in to get some sleep?”

At that moment, a sudden surge of energy seems to rejuvenate Sana, and she perks up with newfound vitality. “Oh wow! You guys have never asked me to help you sleep! Come right in!”

You walk into the Hypnos cabin, where you’re greeted by two dozen more Hypnos kids dozing off in their beds.

Cabin #15 is often occupied by demigods with the ability to manipulate dreams and induce sleep. It’s a quiet place with dreamy, soothing colors.

The walls are adorned with calming murals depicting various dreamscapes. The beds are comfortable, and there’s a subtle scent of lavender in the air to enhance relaxation.

Sana leads you to a pair of guest beds before rumbling in a mini fridge for Hyponos’ Sleepy Milk. It’s a unique concoction made by the cabin members to help everyone relax and ease into a peaceful sleep.

She throws you and Jungkook baby bottles of milk. “This will put you right to sleep. I’m so happy you two finally came for a visit!”

“Thanks Sana,” Jungkook smiles, before trailing off, rubbing his bicep, “but could we actually share one larger bed?”

Sana beams at that. “Oh absolutely! There’s the couple’s suite down the hall and to the right. Does that finally mean you two are together?-“ Sana cuts herself off, collapsing onto a nearby bed and drifting into a deep sleep the moment her head hits the pillow.

You and Jungkook look at each other, shrugging before going down the hall and to the right where the couples suite resides.

The couples' suite in the Hypnos cabin has a more intimate setting within the tranquil atmosphere. The color scheme includes soft hues like lavender and indigo, creating a soothing and romantic ambiance.

The bed is larger and adorned with dream-themed decor, such as elegant drapes and dreamcatchers. Subtle lighting in the form of fairy lights and dim lamps add to the dreamy atmosphere.

A large, cozy white comforter adorns the bed, and Jungkook pulls it over, throwing his shirt off and at you.

It hits you in the face.

“Aren’t those jeans tight? Just take off your clothes and wear my shirt. It’ll be more comfortable that way,” he suggests, sliding into the bed.

You owlishly blink at Jungkook.

Gods, there’s no way this man is real and that he chose you.

Jungkook is the epitome of a Greek god. The lines of his eight-pack are so clearly defined, and you instinctively turn away, mentally and physically weak.

And Jungkook- the man has the audacity to laugh. “What, inferno princess? Never seen a shirtless man before?” A teasing lip graces his lips.

Your mood does a complete 180, and your features morph into pure petulance and displeasure.

“Just because you’re used to being naked around women doesn’t mean that I am,” you enunciate, pointing your finger in his face before you whirl around, blazing into the restroom.

“Oh c’mon Y/N, it’s not like that,” you hear Jungkook’s unserious voice reverberate through the wooden door.

You know it’s irrational to suddenly care about Jungkook’s activities after asking him to marry you- but peering into the mirror, you realize that your eyes are glossy.

It's not that Jungkook explicitly shared everything he was up to during your time apart; rather, you only became privy to the truth when Taehyung inadvertently spilled the beans during a drunken night.

His hookups, one night stands, friends with benefits- you’re aware of it all.

That evening, you joined in the laughter, feigning nonchalance. But an overwhelming sense of dread seeped into your system whenever the thought of Jungkook with another woman crossed your mind. It’s nearly unfathomable.

You hurriedly wipe your eyes, undressing yourself before sloppily throwing on Jungkook’s shirt.

You swing the door open to find Jungkook propped up on his elbow, lying on his side, patiently awaiting your return to bed. He raises his brows inquisitively at you. “Jealous, inferno princess?”

He’s such an ass.

You scoff at him, casually settling your left knee on the bed. “Jeon Jungkook, you’re a slut,” you seethe through your teeth.

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ve heard worse, now come lay with me, baby.”

Your features harden, and you stoically grab a pillow before placing it in between you and Jungkook.

Your father Hephaestus crafted an actual net to physically catch his wife Aphrodite and her lover in the act. Of course you’re petty enough to pull the makeshift pillow barrier move.

“Oh c’mon Y/N,” Jungkook scoffs in amusement.

You narrow your eyes at him, sliding under the covers and turning on your side with your back facing Jungkook.

Slyly, Jungkook removes the pillow barrier and closes in on you, enveloping you in his arms. He sighs into your hair.

“Since we were ten, you’ve owned me,” he confesses, “every part of me belongs to you. No other woman will ever compare.”

A heaviness settles in your heart. You and Jungkook have endured so much, suffered through so much. Jungkook has done well.

Sensing your body slightly tremble and hearing a sniffle, he tenderly cups your cheeks and gently cranes your head towards him. “Got it?” he confirms,a smile playing on his lips as he notices the tip of your nose turning pink.

You exhale, and he uses his large palms to force a nod out of you. “Got it,” you respond softly, “It’s just- I haven’t been with anybody but you. I guess it makes me insecure knowing how many women you’ve been with.”

Jungkook’s eyes soften, and his eyes become so clear that you can perceive your reflection in his irises. “That’s my fault, baby. I guess I did anything I could to fill the void,” he explains, “But being here with you, our first time- nothing compares.”

You pout, lifting your gaze towards him. “Do you mean it?”

He places a kiss on your nose. “I’ve been in love with you this entire time. Of course I mean it.”

You soften, fluttering your eyes shut as you revel in the feeling of Jungkook peppering kisses all over your face.

“See how natural it is with us?” he continues, “The gods made you for me.”

You pout, throwing your arm around his torso as he pulls you closer. He lets you rest your head on his bicep, and you look into his eyes.

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel more secure with me, baby?” he offers with a kiss to your eyelid.

To Jungkook, it’s like your mind has gone blank, observing the contemplative pause as you search for an answer to his question.

“Hmmm… maybe just tell me you love me from time to time?” you suggest, to which Jungkook bursts into laughter at how adorable he thinks you are.

“Alright, I’ll do that,” he instantly agrees, entertaining your suggestions.

“What’s funny?” you ask, to which Jungkook dismisses it with a nonchalant wave.

He raises the arm that you're resting on, causing your head to gently nestle into the crook of his armpit. “Drink up,” he offers, placing the baby bottle of Hypnos Milk to your lips.

Pliantly, you sip on the bottle and seconds later, you’re out like a light.

-

That night, you don’t have any unusual dreams, granting you the best fourteen hours of sleep you've ever experienced. When you wake up, a sense of rejuvenation washes over you, but a quick scan of the room reveals that your man is not beside you. Your eyes rapidly dart around the room in search of his presence.

At that moment, Jungkook walks out of the restroom with a toothbrush in his mouth.

His eyes glaze over you, admiring how you look in his shirt, still beautiful with boogers in your eyes. He casually saunters over to you, extending a hand with an invitation card gracefully held between his fingers.

You are invited to our 2000th year anniversary party in Mount Olympus!

A +H

-

author’s note: aphrodite and hephaestus are a and h

ALSO TJE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE A DRABBLE FOR EITHER jungwon x reader or mark x reader,

and the fourth chapter will be a son of poseidon!taehyung x reader 😌😌 jk and y/n’s story will resume in chapter five when they go to aphrodite and hephaestus’s anniversary party

[bubvy]

Welcome to the SBI/QSMP Vocaloid AU!

Let's meet our Vocaloids!!

First up we have the one and only Miku Soot!! A world renowned star and a household name!

Who in this world does know Miku Soot, and if they don't, are they really living??

One can only imagine the stress he's under!

(Who knows if he can take it?)

Next up we have Theseus!! A Phoenix rising from the ashes! He is now Miku Soots first ever apprentice!

Will this duo last? Or will Theseus turn to Icarus and fall once again?

These two are sure to leave quite the splash!

Will this duo swim or sink? Find out more next time!

Next up we have the one, the only, Philza Minecraft! The OG who set the path for everyone to follow!

This Angel is sure to capture your heart!

After all! He has quite the fanclub!

Meet the presidents of the club! They can be found at most if not all of his performances!

And the one you all have most definitely been waiting for, THE BLOOD GOD HIMSELF!!

TECHNOBLADE!!

I wonder if we'll get anymore amazing tours with Philza anytime soon?

We all remember their tour "Taking over the world"!

Coming out of left field, we have the previously assumed retired, R800 returning!!

New friends? A new group? Or will they stay the path of a solo career for good??

Will these vocaloids thrive or fall into obscurity??

Will they be able to handle the pressure of tabloid after tabloid?

Follow to find out!

(Future parts will have Spanish translation)

[ladykailitha]

Hey, guys it's that lovely time again when I go through my permanent tag list and remove people that haven't interacted with my stories in awhile to clear the way for new people.

So here's the deal, you'll have two weeks to respond to this post. I will post it again every week so that hopefully if you don't see it the first time, maybe one of the others will.

NO JUDGMENT! I swear it. I just want to know if you're still interested so that if you're not, people who are can take your spot.

You can tell me if you want to be:

Removed from my permanent tag and all my stories

Removed from my permanent tag list but keep you on all my stories

Removed from my permanent tag list but only some of the stories (let me know which ones)

Stay on my permanent tag list but be removed from all my WIPs

Stay on my permanent tag list but be removed from some of my WIPs

Stay on my permanent tag list and all my WIPs.

My current WIPs so that you know what I'm currently working on:

Well Met By Moonlight: Steve is a werewolf, Eddie is a vampire and there are strange and horrible things going on in Hawkins. No Upside Down supernatural creatures AU.

Never Hold Back Your Step...: Boy With a Bat book 2. Sequel to Can Anybody See Me? Season 2 Au where Eddie picks up Steve as one of his lost sheep and him and Steve get together. Set immediately after book one, Steve has to get through high school and his new summer job. Only this is Hawkins and danger is always lurking around the corner. Featuring season 3 AU.

Icarus: Eddie makes it big with Corroded Coffin as Steve and Robin seemingly struggle with menial jobs. Only there is more than meets the eye with the up and coming metal band The Fallen as Eddie learns that the lead singer and Steve is one and the same. Now they have to manage three private lives with super stardom. The path to love never was smooth.

Sweet Home Indiana: Sweet Home Alabama fusion. Eddie and Steve get married when the first state makes gay marriage legal. But soon a rift forms between them and Eddie leaves. Now almost a decade later, Eddie's back in Hawkins looking for a divorce so he can marry his fiancee, Chrissy. But when he arrives, Hawkins starts feeling like home in a way he thought he lost long ago. Now he has to chose between his new life in Seattle and his old life in Hawkins. But not everything is as it seems and that makes things harder. For everyone.

Paper Hearts: Post Season 2 Valentine's day AU. Hawkins is doing a fund raiser for senior ball, people can buy paper hearts to give to their friends and lovers. Pink for friends and red for lovers. Steve doesn't have a girlfriend this year so he decides to get twenty pink hearts to give to girls that wouldn't normally get any. Cue Eddie finding that adorable and to do the same for Steve so he doesn't feel so lonely on Valentine's. They fall in love.

So here is the list of people that haven't liked, commented, or reblogged my stuff in about two months.

@danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @emly03

Also if you're on my list and want to be removed from certain stories, let me know here too!

[powderblueblood]

NO SLEEP TILL - a runaway eddie au

summary sticking around town after the queen of hawkins high dies in your trailer is a fool's game. anyone could tell you that. but eddie munson's making a point of it; shaving off the excess. a canon divergent season 4 runaway eddie au with elements from flight of icarus. word count 1.1k warnings none, only that this is mostly an experiment.

Can you shut up and tell the story already?

It starts with a shedding. 

A snip, snip, snip and all recognition falling away under the dinge of a green-lit gas station bathroom. The acrid smell of piss burns through the stall, the kind that’s baked in and gets curdled by the heat. No bleach can cut through it. The ghosts of more’n three shakes and you’re playin’ with yourself rise when it gets above a certain temperature.

And it’s hot. Uncharacteristically so, for spring break. 

Snip. The last curling rat tail falls to the floor and he releases his breath. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it. 

Looking at himself, shorn, his eyes water. Not from the smell. 

He cranes his neck to the left, to the right. Tufts of hair stick up from his skull like he’s just shoved a fork into a socket. 

He wishes he’d thought of that instead. But.

A sound chokes up the column of his throat as he grips the sink’s edge, ringed fingers slipping on grime. He allows himself to the count of ten. 

‘To the count of ten, and then we dust ourselves off and get back at ‘em!’ His mother’s voice. Embedded in the recesses of his brain, this high rasp he’s never stopped harkening back to. It’s almost fourteen years since he’s last heard it. ‘There’s always a good reason to keep going.’

True. There’s always a reason to keep going; it doesn’t even have to be good.

He doesn’t have time to get all vitriolic about what’s been snatched from him. Not yet, anyhow. 

He’s still all hot with panic, even though it’s been hours since he left the trailer park. Gained a little clarity since then. 

Not much, but enough to shoplift a pair of scissors.

He tosses the hair in the sink into the maw of the shitcaked cistern and tears open a pack of disposable razors with his teeth. 

—

The red line he draws on the map squiggles up and shoulders out. A straight shot from where he sits across the state of Pennsylvania to New York City, a bullet out the nose of a rifle. He intends to make it there just as fast. 

He couldn't sleep if he wanted to. 

Every time his eyes fall shut, it’s a clear vision of her. Suspended in midair, sneakers hovering above the stained rug of the trailer. The lights flipping out, making him wonder if he wasn’t tripping out. The snap of her jaw to a crude angle, one that it can’t come back from. 

He wasn’t tripping out. He knows what he saw. Her skull impacted on itself. The sound of her tongue squelching as she choked on it. 

Like something was inside her. Tearing her apart.

He knows what he saw.

Doesn’t he?

Eddie groans as his stomach lurches. His hands tighten on the wheel. He can’t afford to spit up any more bile, not tonight. 

No time. No sleep. 

A crumpled envelope sits on the dashboard of the van. 

A letter he never responded to, because it’s easier to forget people when they’re not right there, bumming rides from you. 

A return address in Brooklyn. 

—

The moment the phone rings, she knows something is wrong. It gets yanked up in her gut, some feeling she’s tried to stamp down because she’s a grown up now and she can’t be caught mourning sandbox shit. 

The competitive pace of her life doesn’t allow for it. She doesn’t have room in her schedule for homesickness like that. Can’t cram it in between classes and looking for an internship at a law firm that can overlook her humble beginnings. 

This marks the second year she’s been away from home for spring break. It was harder to fill the gap the first time around, and to talk her grandmother down, but she made good use of being a country mouse in the big city. Found some bars and libraries and bookstores she’s kept as favorites. 

Tried not to think about how she was so bummed out that she was forced to enjoy them alone. And failed. 

She wrote a letter, a long one, in a dinky dyke bar on St Mark’s Place which was all strung up with Christmas lights. She’d obviously flinched when she heard it called a ‘dyke bar’--so open and proud like that. It wasn’t like when people flung the d-word around where she was from. It wasn’t derogatory; just a descriptor. Toothless, in the mouth of a chick with a shorn head that had told her so. Almost friendly. She told her that her name was Tina, too. 

“I knew a Tina,” she’d nervously said, plucking at the label of her beer bottle, “She was captain of the cheerleading squad. At my high school.”

Tina sniffed a laugh. “You’re a long way from home, ain’t ya?”

About a ten hour drive. 

She got an impulse to write after two Mai Tais and another beer and a half. Dug a copy of The Dark Tower out of her backpack and started tearing out the flyleaves.

Tina let her borrow a pen and she scrawled and scrawled away in that half-light, letter becoming more illegible the drunker she got. 

She remembered that she’d written this, in closing–

‘In closing, I think you’re a fucking piece of shit stubborn asshole. A naive moron who’d step on his own uncle’s neck for an opportunity that looked shiny enough. Fuck you, and fuck California, and I can’t believe you’d fucking do this to me after everything and not even call or anything. I think you’re just like your dad. 

If you ever need a place to stay, you can’t come here.

But if you show up, there’s nothing I can do about it, I guess.’

Weeks later, gripping onto a pole on a crowded subway train, she got a chill down the spine that she was sure meant the letter had made it to Indiana. 

He never wrote back. Probably for the better. 

The same chill pulls in her gut when the phone trills at 6:30 in the morning. The phantom umbilical cord. 

She’s up, because she’s become all regimented now. Riding on a scholarship will do that to you. 

She picks up the slippery seashell pink handset so as not to wake her roommates, because they hate her enough already. 

Though, she really nearly doesn’t. Because she’s scared.

Silence on the line.

“What happened?”

“Ronnie…”

“Wayne? What happened?”

“He’s gone.”

Her whole throat constricts, her body fighting against whatever those words mean. Thoughts start running at hyperspeed– absolutely not, there’s no way, no possible way, I would know. I would know. It’s not that. 

“Whaddayou mean, gone?”

“Can’t find him anywhere.” The beat Wayne leaves makes her realize there’s cold sweat icing her brow. “But I found something else. Something bad.”

Not gone as in dead. Gone as in missing.

—

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS KEEP THE FIC ALIVE. lmk if you enjoyed this because i may continue to write it extremely non-linearly! as an exercise in examining friendships, paranoia and hanging out with eddie and ronnie.

[whosthere54]

Hi chat! I’m on vacation but here’s some food!

I wanted to do a Royal AU fable SMP thing that was Brothers Centric, so I have that planned out a lil bit in my notes and that’s what inspired this little one shot!

Hope you enjoy reading about prison duo :3

———

Icarus was finally able to escape the incessant crowd. They don’t think they’ve ever talked to that many people in their life.

They sigh, leaning back against the wall with their arms crossed over their chest. They scan the ballroom, watching the people of their kingdom celebrate an agreement of peace between the Overworld and the End. If only they knew how much arguing and force it took to get there.

They run a shaky gloved hand through their hair and just breathe for a moment. Their jewelry seemed to have changed from bronze to gold- not that they were complaining- and the seems on their gloves changed from a matching black stitching to a gold thread.

Interesting choice by Quixis, but not an unwelcome one.

Their eyes fall on their brother, all bright purples and greens, and his partner hard not to spot in the crowd for being as tall as he was. He and Fenris seemed so happy together. They couldn’t help but be happy for them.

Fenris surprisingly wasn’t wearing any armor, only dressier black attire. His muscular build was different yet so similar to Centross’s. He was wearing a different mask than usual, this one made of black lace with gold and purple details, his hair pulled into a bun with purple ribbons hanging from it as a marking of his allegiance to the End Kingdom.

It was still Wolf though, that much stayed consistent.

Rae looked… nice.

He’s changed since they’ve last seen him. End markings now with deep lines of dark blue scarring similar almost to Athena’s scars from the wither sickness. An aftermath of the Skulk Sickness they assume. He seemed taller, which was odd. And he had an antler growing out of only one side of his head, decorated with gold chains and purple and green ribbons.

He was wearing a black dress, but it shimmered bright purples and greens when the light hit it. His hair was braided with blue orchids, all his jewelry having a matching orchid theme to them. His crown sat slightly askew atop his head, having been displaced since he’d gotten here. The purple and green jewels in it shined in the sunlight. He seemed so happy. Icarus couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen him that way.

It was nice to see him smile again.

Soon, Fenris traded Rae off for Centross. The two men laughing as Fenris spun them around. Centross wasn’t wearing his armor either, at request of fable, to make him more “non-threatening”. If you look around the citizens seem to be intimidated by him anyways, though the look dies down as time passes.

They all heard the stories. Some were true, some were not. The reputable assassin hired by Enderian herself to assassinate the prince, too much of a coward to finish the job. Some say he’s gotten soft, some say he’s a cold hearted killer, some say he’s just a man. The kingdom grew to respect him regardless. David Centross Mistvale. Their enemy turned best friend. Their assigned bodyguard. The person that is on their side no matter what.

Their idiot best friend.

He dressed nice, dark overworld greens contrasting with his purple scars. He looked like the end and the overworld mixed, black tinted hands and a tail only a bit different from the people of the end. And his wings. They had a structure similar to Rae’s dragon wings, though his were made of bone and whisps of purple the color of the void that faded out in a way so alike to ender particles. They were torn and burnt at the edges, but he was able to fly unaffected.

He had a mask shaped like the skull of a crow, black base with gold thread and green ribbon tying it to his head. They remember having to help him pick, him being so indecisive of what mask to have. Them picking out his earrings, dark metal feathers on gold chains, and giving him some other spare chains they had lying around to put on his mask.

They glanced around the room again, making eye contact for a moment with Rae. They gave him a soft smile and he nodded back, turning back to his partner as he switched off to dance with Rae again. They laughed, shaking their head slightly before turning their attention to their gloves.

They rubbed their eyes, trying to wake themselves up even slightly. Jumping when they feel a steady hand on their shoulder, looking up to find dark purple eyes looking back at them.

“Sorry, just me.” He offered them a lopsided smile.

“Yeah, sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” They laugh softly, leaning back against the wall.

“Hm that’s alright.” He leans with his side against the wall, almost creating a barrier between them and the crowd.

They just talk, just existing for a while. Centross settled to lean his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. They watched the crowd for a bit, Icarus pointing out any important figures that they’d had to talk to- or hadn’t yet but were of note. After a bit of silence, Icarus rested their head against his shoulder. It was where their eyes were just hidden, pressed tightly at the curve of his neck.

He leaned his head just slightly against the top of their head, not saying anything but not moving them.

“You’re exhausted, when’s the last time you’ve slept?”

“Uhh… maybe Three days ago?”

“Gods Icarus”

“Look I’ve been busy”

“Not busy enough to not sleep, what were you doing with all that time birdie?”

They shrug.

“Just… paperwork or somethin’ I dunno.”

He hums softly. “We have to be here for five more hours and you can barely keep your head up, I can sneak you out if you want?”

They laugh lightly, ”If my father wouldn’t kill me id say yes.”

He laughs softly and nods in understanding.

”You can at-least rest your eyes for a bit hm?”

They shrug. After a little bit of silence, Centross runs his fingers gently through to mess with their perfect hair just enough so it’s lightly disheveled. They tense a moment, before relaxing and leaning into the contact with a contented hum.

He murmurs some soft reassurances, just continuing to mess with their hair, eyes continuing to scan the crowd for any type of threat.

After a bit of silence, Centross had honestly thought they’d fallen asleep. Though they mumbled softly, barely able to be heard over the other noise.

“Thank you.”

“Always.”

-=+=-

Rae missed this.

He missed dancing with his partner for hours, he missed laughing with him.

He missed the freedom peace gave them.

And they have it now, and it’s wonderful, and it’s scary, and it’s… he couldn’t really describe what he felt if he was asked.

He’d try for Fenris though.

His partner, his partner. He got to call him that now. His partner. His best friend. His wolf.

They had stopped dancing a little while ago, leaning against the wall with drinks instead. It’s been so long since they were able to talk freely like this. It was nice.

He laughed at something Fenris had said, before Fenris stops.

“Wait, Rae look” He says, pointing at the opposite wall, towards the corner of the ballroom. There, Rae saw Centross leaning back against the wall. When he looked closer he also saw his brother… his brother?

He saw his brother, perfect prince Icarus Morningstar, face hidden where it was resting against Centross’s shoulder, crown slightly uneven on his head where Centross’s hand combed through their hair. Their wings were still pressed tightly to their back, tail resting lightly over their leg, but they weren’t stood up straight and their crown wasn’t perfectly placed over their stupidly perfect hair.

“Oh”

“Yeah! Aw look at them!” Fenris leaned his head on top of Rae’s, looking at the pair.

”Are they..?” Rae asks, tilting his head to the side just slightly. He hasn’t talked to his brother in so long, but he would’ve told him that right? Or Centross or Fenris would’ve…

“No- not yet. They should don’t you think?” Fenris’s voice brings him back, eyes finding Icarus again.

“Yeah… yeah I think so.” He murmurs after a moment.

“Look at them. Little losers.”

“They’re our losers.” Fenris hums softly leaning more against his partner.

“Yeah.” Rae leans back, Fenris nuzzling against his hair.

My brother.

Our losers.

[thefallennightmare]

Mercy-one

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Fallen Angel!OC

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, smut, mythological talk, violence.

Summary: "Blinded by a fear of feeling, these are the kings we chose. Lost and looking for the meaning, I've been searching high and low" It came crashing down on him. This is the story of the highest banished angel from where she came only to find home in the arms of a mortal man. This mortal realizing he'd face Lucifer himself to keep her.

Lethia: Archangelus Oneironaut also known as Archangel of Dream Walking. Across worlds and dimensions, she walks within. Uncovering dangerous secrets, leaving her cast out, isolated- that is until she begins to learn what it means to feel.

Authors Notes: Here we go! Now this is an AU but I will keep things true to life with Bad Omens and Noah as possible! Also, this is NOT a reader insert fic. I decided to create a character for this.

Tags[OPEN]: @thescarlettvvitch

LETHIA

The wind whipped widely through my hair, smacking me in the face, as my limbs thrashed around with such force I cringed in pain. I could see the clouds out of the corner of my eyes as I fell through them, with no sense of comfort protecting me. I choked on a sob when I noticed parts of my long, golden, hair was being singed from the rate of the fall. I held my hands in front of my face to watch in horror as the once short nails grew in length and darkness. 

“Wh-what?” 

How did it get like this? All because I chose to follow someone else instead of the almighty King? How was that fair? I’d been loyal since creation, one of his most loyal servants, but the second I thought of something different than the divine plan, He cast me away. 

“Leth, follow me to the ends of the darkness. For we can create our own Kingdom and rule.” 

My eyes screwed shut at the familiar voice as my throat burned with the thought of him. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was close by, surely he had to be. I was thrown from the Kingdom first, Lucifer not far behind. 

The air around me began to thicken, grasping around my throat with such force, that I clawed there with my newly fresh nails. Blood dripped from the wounds but none of that mattered to me; I simply stared up towards the sky where my former home disappeared through the clouds. I could try and climb my way back, as far as my wings would allow. But I knew, like Icarus, if I climbed too high to the sun, I’d fall into the unknown jungle below. 

Icarus was a fool. 

My ears rang loudly from the sudden change in altitude and I looked towards the left, almost crying out when I took in the most recent alter to my appearance. Bright wings that mirrored the colors of the clouds surrounding me were no longer pure. No, they were dark with the tellings of my betrayal. 

“My King, forgive me!” I cried out seconds before my body fell to the hard soil below; darkness overtaking my vision.

NOAH

Slamming the car door shut with a long sigh,  I walked from the street, up to my house. I took in the variety of cars, realizing that one of the guys must have invited a few people over tonight. Usually, I never minded when we had small get-togethers, but tonight I did mind. It wasn’t anything anyone in particular did, my mind was just filled with the same dream I’d had the last seven nights in a row. 

Black feathers. Even darker hair. Cream-colored skin. And vibrant red eyes. 

At first, I chalked it up to being a random dream but as the nights progressed, the dream continued with the same figure. 

One night they were sitting on the edge of my bed. The following night, they were perched on top of the roof of my house, watching the street below. Last night, the figure was in bed with me as my lips trailed over the curvaceous lumps of her breasts. 

I ran a hand over my face as I neared the front door, taking a deep and steady breath. I thought about asking my therapist about these dreams but now that they were getting more intimate, I decided against it.

“It's just a dream, Noah,” I told myself while my hand reached for the door. 

A groan halted my movements and I turned swiftly on my heels back towards the driveway. But all I heard was silence; besides the loud music coming from inside the house. 

Shrugging, I took one final step towards the threshold until a groan sounded again, only this time louder. It sounded as if a large bird fell from the tree hanging overhead, feathers fluttering in the air.  I dropped my bag on the front porch before taking the steps back down two at a time towards where I heard the groans of pain; in between Jesse’s and Orie’s cars parked in the driveway. 

“Fuck,” I cursed seeing the crumbled body. 

Head snapped to the side, dark tendrils of hair covering her face, and an arm draped over her midsection. I winced as I saw the contortment of it, knowing that it had to be broken. 

Where the hell did she come from? 

There was a sudden surge that spread from my heart to every vein inside of me; flowing through in shocking waves. I couldn’t place it but seeing this figure in front of me, there was something so familiar about it; her. A painful groan fell from her lips and I breathed in relief, almost forgetting to check if she was alive. I’d been so entranced in her familiarity. 

Gently scooping the body up into my arms, the dark hairs fell away from her face and I sucked in a breath when I noticed there were fresh cut marks along her cheek, and blood dripping from her ears. I rushed her inside, gaining stares from my roommates, who immediately stopped the music. 

“What the fuck?” Orie’s voice was raised. 

I shook my head while setting her on the couch in our living room. “I don’t know, man.”

Our house was packed with random faces; some I recognized, others I didn’t. I knew there was a party tonight but suddenly, I wanted everyone that didn’t live here out. 

Folio, who noticed my expression, waved a finger in the air. “Alright, I think it’s time to end this party. Thanks for coming, everyone!” 

Pretty quickly, everyone who didn’t live there or weren’t part of Bad Omens left the house. 

“Where did you find her?” Nick asked.

I hesitated. “That’s the thing. I found her lying broken in the driveway.”

“The driveway?” Jolly gasped. “How long had she been out there?” 

I shrugged while brushing away the stray hairs from her face, hearing a soft but painful breath falling from her dry, cracked lips. My eyes grazed down the line of her neck down to the swell of her breasts that were barely covered by the tattered black shirt; it looked as if it was burned off. I tossed a blanket over her to help cover her modesty. 

Something glinted in my vision and I looked back at her neck to see a golden chain hanging loosely between the valley of her breasts. My heart dropped to my stomach as the reality slammed into me. 

I’ve seen this chain before; in my dreams. My lips tasted that chain in my dreams. 

My hands shook at my side as a shaky breath escaped from my throat and Jolly called my name. 

“Hm, what?” I turned to look at him. 

He ran a hand through his hair. “Should we call the police? She looks like she’s been attacked.” 

“No,” I said a little too suddenly. “She just needs a place to rest. We don’t know what happened. I’ll ask when she wakes up.” 

I slowly sunk into the chair across from the couch, resting my elbows on my knees, watching the rise and fall of her chest to make sure she was still breathing. 

Jesse stared down at her from behind the couch and let out a low whistle. “It’s a miracle that she’s even breathing right now. We should probably wrap her arm. It could be broken.” 

Just then, Michael returned with our first aid kit and handed it to me. I took it with a small smile and started rummaging through it to look for the hydrogen peroxide and cotton balls. The least I could do while she slept was clean the wounds on her face. 

The softness of her face twisted as the sting of peroxide sunk deep within her wounds and when a whimper fell from her lips, my cock twitched in my jeans. Images of her lying spread wide in my bed for me flashed in my mind and I did my best to push them to the back of my brain. 

“How did she end up in the driveway? Looking like this?” Orie asked as he finished wrapping up her arm. 

“I don’t know,” I sighed while sitting back in my chair, eyes still trained on her. “With how I found her, it looks like she fell from somewhere.”

Jolly shook his head as he sat on the armrest of the couch, also watching the stranger. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

All seven of us stood around the body laying on the couch, wondering and watching to see if she would wake. 

“Maybe she’s an angel,” Jesse snorted, trying to ease the sudden tension. 

“Angels don’t exist,” my eyes snapped up towards him. 

Jesse held his hands up. “It’s a joke, Noah. But you have to admit it’s a little weird.” 

I ran a hand over my jaw and nodded. “I know. I couldn’t leave her out there, though. Once she wakes up, I’ll take her wherever she wants.”

“Luce,” the woman croaked out, head turning towards the side. 

Her voice rang out in song, echoing throughout the house, and my heart rose in my throat hearing how eternal it sounded. I barely knew anything about her but I couldn’t ignore the way my soul felt connected to her. Maybe it was because of seeing this form in my dreams or fate that I found her in my driveway, almost as if I was destined to help her. 

“What did she say?” Nick questioned. 

 Folio shrugged while leaning over her. “Luce? Maybe that’s her name?” 

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and with one swift movement, the woman had her legs wrapped around Folio’s midsection and him pinned to the ground. Her good forearm was pressed deep into his neck while he lay frozen underneath her.  All of us were on our feet but none made a move to stop her, not knowing if it would ultimately help or make things worse. 

“Who are you?” 

The venom in her voice was cold as ice. 

“Ni-Nick,” Folio choked out. 

The woman tilted her head towards him. “Where am I?” 

Taking a tentative step towards her, I placed a soft hand on her shoulder. “I found you outside.” 

It was as if my touch meant nothing to her, eyes still burning deep into Folio. It wasn’t until I spoke again that she finally noticed I was touching her. 

“You’re hurt. I brought you inside to help you.” 

Before I could register what happened, I felt myself being pinned up against the front door, fiery red eyes staring deep into my soul. With all the doubt that plagued my mind the last hour as I watched her sleep on the couch, I tried to tell myself that I didn’t know who she was. It was all a coincidence that parts of her reminded me of the figure I dreamed of.

But the moment I saw those bright red eyes, I knew that all the doubt was wrong. This was the same woman I dreamed of the last seven nights. 

LETHIA

With my nails digging into the fresh skin of the man in front of me, I assessed every inch of his face. The brown eyes widened in slight horror when my nails dug deeper and I took in the way his lips parted, breaths coming out broken. His long hair was held back by a clip but strands still fell into his face and I cocked my head to the side when I realized something drastic. 

Well, a few things. 

First, I couldn’t feel my hand around this man's throat. I squeezed harder, my face twitching in anger, when I still couldn’t feel his skin underneath my grasp. I expected to feel the erratic thrum of his pulse or his Adam's apple dip low as he swallowed. 

Instead, I felt nothing. 

No. It couldn’t be. 

I’ve heard tales of this happening to the Fallens but I never believed it to be true.  An old folks tale the other Archangels discussed over a cup of wine. 

My eyes blinked as I slowly removed my hand from the man’s throat, fingers shaking with the realization. The dark nails mocked me for my failure, scolding me for taking the darkness over the light. 

The second thing I realized? I’ve seen this face before. Moments before I fell, it flashed in my mind like a photograph, every fucking detail. The long brown hair, bright brown eyes to match, the freckles that littered over his nose and cheeks, the tattoo that wrapped around his throat where my fingers were moments before; a snake, apples, and hands. 

How metaphorical. 

“What’s going on with me?” I muttered bringing my hand to my chest, noticing it was wrapped in some kind of material. 

“You hurt your arm, we wrapped it for you,” a different voice spoke. 

My head snapped to the left, seeing another man slowly approach me. His voice sounded different than the others and I narrowed my eyes at him. 

“You’re not from around here,” I noted. 

A snort sounded from behind me causing me to whirl my body towards it, seeing yet another strange man staring at me. 

“Not from around here? Who talks like that?” 

Someone smacked him in the chest. “Michael, don’t be an asshole.” 

“I’m just saying, Nick. She wakes up in our home and attacks two of our friends. Are we supposed to allow that? We don’t even know her fucking name.” 

My tongue clicked against my teeth. “Lethia.” 

Various sets of eyes stared at me until the man who had an attitude spoke.; Michael. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“My name-,” I spoke slowly. “-Is Lethia.”

Michael snorted. “Well, Lethia, where the hell did you come from?” 

Giving him a wave of my hand, I decided it wasn’t worth answering that question only because none of these men deserve to know.

“Who’s Luce?” 

I snapped my eyes towards the man I had pinned against the door, heart stuttering in my chest. “Excuse me?” 

He rubbed at the fresh red marks on his neck. “You said it in your sleep.” 

Lucifer. 

I licked my lips, widely shaking my head. “I need to leave.” 

A soft voice called to me. “We can take you back home.”

This man had a buzzed head and a beard. “Although, you should get those injuries checked out.” 

“I’ll heal,” I answered honestly.

Lethia, come to me.

I gazed around the room to see if that voice belonged to any of the seven of them although I knew it didn’t. I knew exactly who uttered those words. 

“I have to go.” 

The man from my vision stood tall against the door, not allowing me to leave. My jaw ticked with anger and I motioned behind him. 

“Move.” 

His brow raised. “That’s a funny way of saying thank you for saving your life.” 

“Thank you?” I chuckled darkly. “You simply did nothing for me except keep me prisoner in this home.” 

“Prisoner?” It was his turn to chuckle. “I fucking found you in my driveway, broken and bruised. The least you can do is tell us what the hell happened!”

They’ll never understand. Mere mortals never did. 

I might not understand where I was but I knew mortals when I saw one. Their smell was different than angels; some were stronger than others. Except for the man blocking my way out. It was different, his aura, and I didn’t want to admit it but it drew me into him. There had to be a reason why I saw him mere seconds before I fell from the Kingdom. 

The two of us were unmoving, not wanting to break first, and one of the men must have felt the tension because one gently stepped between us; the one that sounded different from the rest.

“Noah, let her go.” 

Something fluttered in my stomach and I nearly shook with the unknown feeling. Never in my life had I felt something like this, even during my time with Lucifer. But with this mortal, Noah, it was entirely something new and it scared me to the depths of hell. 

Noah scrunched his face with anger but eventually stepped to the side, allowing me to leave. 

“Thank you,” I mocked with a slight curl to my lip; more like a snarl. 

After two steps toward the door, I froze when something caught my attention out of the corner of my eyes. Titling my head towards the glass, my reflection stared back at me and I gasped at what I saw. 

Short black hair, black ink covering almost every inch of skin across my shoulders and arms, my shirt barely hanging one by a thread, and what shocked me the most were my eyes; crimson red, not the vibrant violet. 

“No, it can’t be,” I brought my shaking hand to my mouth. 

Suddenly,  an ear-piercing ringing dug deep in my ears and I brought my hands to them, screwing my eyes shut. My head throbbed in pain as if someone was scratching their claws there. With one eye open, I noticed Michael held some kind of device in his hand. 

“Wh-what is that dreaded noise?” I stuttered. 

“A phone? Fuck, how hard did you hit your head?” 

A what? 

When the ringing stopped, I stood taller and for the first time, took in my surroundings. Everything in this home looked different than how we lived in the Kingdom. While we had advantaged technology, we simply didn’t have things of this nature. 

“None of this makes sense,” I whispered to myself before my eyes landed on a small device on a table. 

October 12, 2021. 

I nearly stumbled on my feet when everything began to click into place. Someone during my fall, I landed in a time that hadn’t existed yet. 

Noah could tell something was off because he turned towards me, a frown pulling at his lips. “Are you alright?” 

Without saying another word, I left in such haste, I hadn’t realized what I left behind in my wake. 

NOAH

My eyes stared at the space in front of me, the door wide open as it let in the cool night air. Those red eyes haunted me in Lethai’s wake and my skin crawled when an old dream crept back into my consciousness. 

I lay in my bed, bare for her to see, Lethia’s tongue traced down my chest and then stomach to brush across my navel. I gripped her dark hair, wrapping it around my fingers to guide her head farther down. My cock throbbed with such an ache, I was sure it wouldn’t last. Beads of precum slipped from the slit and Lethia’s tongue danced around it, tasting me. 

“Fuck,” I cursed as my eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy. 

“Look at me, Noah.” 

My eyes snapped open at Lethia’s firm tone and felt my heart stop dead in my chest; her eyes were glowing red. 

“Noah!” 

Breaking free from my trance, I gazed over to Orie. “Did you say something?” 

“We did all we could, man. There’s no use dwelling on it.” 

He patted my shoulder before they all dispersed into their sections of the house. But not me, I remained frozen in my spot, still staring at the vast darkness past the threshold. There was something just outside the realm of that darkness that caught my eye, it fluttered in the wind until it fell to the concrete just outside the door. 

With furrowed brows, I bent low to pick it up, analyzing it with curious eyes. It was a black feather, at least twelve inches in length, and the softness of it was something I’d never felt before. 

“Who are you, Lethia?” I murmured to myself, holding the feather close to my chest.