#Magic and Miracles and Beyond

[shmowder]

I'll forever be thankful to the person who introduced me to Björk music on here; it completely changed the way I view and interact with music, I can't comprehend the possibility of going my whole life without having discovered her music just living in my limited bubble for eternity

[hoyotunes]

Want Something SHINY? from Beyond the Stars Raven Rossignol, HOYO-MiX

[monstersholygrail]

very classic but summoning a demon to fuck you and he gets a little obsessed 🙏

Imagine Himbo Demon was one day just casually going about his business, torturing a mortal with the agonizing act of small talk when suddenly a flash of white explodes across his vision. The next thing he knows he’s standing in a magical circle of your own design and he can’t get out.

You ask if he’s an incubus and that’s when he notices the book in your hand, ‘How to Summon Incubi With Your Friends: The Party Guide.’ He also looks you over and notices how painstakingly pretty you are and thinks… he could be an incubus.

That night he has what he claims as the best sex of his eternal life, no doubt about it. The way your body moved as you rode him within an inch of his life made him swear he was being taken back to heaven. The way you tasted sweeter than the finest nectar till it burned permanently into his senses. Every last bit of you was addicting.

When the summoning spell’s time was coming to a close, the demon actually felt an ache at the idea of leaving you and your sweet, sweet holes. He tried to reach for you once more but with a flash of white he was back in hell. His heart and his cock aching for you.

The minute he can he’s scouring hell’s library for the book he saw in your grasp. He reads it like a man possessed, ironically, looking for the spell you must’ve used.

As he’s reading the book, an Incubus just so happens to look over at him. Sensing eyes on him he looks up and their gazes meet. The Incubus reads the cover of the book he has and his eyes widen. He begins slowly inching away from Himbo Demon before turning and quickly rushing off.

Himbo Demon tilts his head, curious as to why the Incubus gave such a reaction. But after a moment of brief confusion, he goes back to reading the book. His eyes brightening as he finds the spell.

That night he clumsily performs the spell. His mind foggy with lust. His cock red, angry, and dripping with precum as he thinks about drowning in your holes, lapping up your essence like it’s the only food he’ll ever need and then fucking you until you’re raw and swollen, only to soothe any pain with his tongue.

Himbo demon growls, reaching down and lazily stroking his cock with one hand and performing the spell with the other. Somehow by a true miracle, it works. He appears back in the same fading circle he appeared in last time. His eyes ignite with feral need and his gaze flickers around the low-lit room before a door opens and you come waltzing in wearing nothing but a towel.

“Miss me, baby?” He snarls in excitement, knowing now he has a way to keep coming back to you.

You yelp, jerking back against the wall in surprise. Not expecting the demon to be here again but you’re not exactly upset about it either. Himbo Demon smiles wickedly, but in truth he’s just so happy to see you! He moves at the speed of lightning and he’s on you in an instant. His tall lithe body caging you in against the wall. You exhale shakily, your body tingling with need and your belly churning with arousal as you glance down at his fat cock bobbing and dribbling with his own arousal.

The scent of you floods Himbo Demon’s senses and he growls, fangs flashing in the moonlight that peaks in from the window. Feeling beyond thrilled that the spell worked. That he can go to you whenever he feels like it now. So long as you keep the summoning circle up, that is. But he’s too focused on your new easy access to even try and realize that.

“Don’t worry, sweet human. I’ve found my way back to you and your glorious body. From now on we shall never be parted and I can properly fuck your weak mortal shell ragged as much as I desire. And there is much… much desire,” Himbo Demon rasps heatedly, looking down at you with a fire in his eyes.

Before you can even think to respond, the demon is shredding your towel into two, revealing your body to him in all its glory. He barely takes the time to appreciate the view and suddenly he’s pressing into, rubbing his length along the height of your belly.

And you know this is the start of a wild adventure. One you’re sure is bound to last more than another night.

[skyrigel]

Break-up

Characters : Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini. Pancy Parkinson ( background )

How Slytherin boys will react when you ask them for break up.

Warning : might be toxic, alcoholism, possesive and obsessive behaviour, Reader feels they are too much ( in Blaise Zabini hc, you can skip that )

@skyrigel note: I love them <33

Mattheo Riddle

He's not going to listen a word so don't even bother.

He will shut you up real quick in more than one way, speaking too loud, cutting you mid, changing topics and rushing to classes that don't even exist and his most favourite, kissing you.

He would kiss you so hard that every thought inside your head would evaporate in fuzzy vapour, the bubbles in your head popping with each moan that would escape your throat.

“You were saying something?” He would ask so wickedly, amused with the dumb look you have plastered on your face and relishing while your fumble within words.

“ I don't think it's important." He would take your hand, kissing the inside of your palm, his sweet words vibrating through your skin.

“ yeah, not important.”

Draco Malfoy

Ofcourse he would be a nonchalant bastard about it, despite the brimming tears at the inside of his eyes.

“ oh, fancy potter now, don't you ? ” he would snarl, accusingly, his voice harsh and contempt choking him.

Draco would do everything wrong, say the wrong things, do even more.

He would start by parading Pancy around, so desperate that he would also accept Miss Greengrass's date invite.

But he would also cry, as soon as the facade will crumble, he would grip the sink till his knuckles went white, face wet and red with tears that wouldn't stop.

Then a word with his mother would do the miracle and the next thing you know would be a very drunk Draco howling and sobbing his undying love for you, refusing to leave and would make everyone listen how much he loves you, and how you belong with him.

“ Draco.” you winced at the grimness left behind after dries tears, softening.

“ Go back to your dorm.”

“ kiss me night and i'll go.” Draco slurred, you were pretty sure you smiled as soon as he said 'fight' instead of night.

“No.”

“ Yes!” He would lean down at you, pouting, and how much you loved this boy, all his tantrums, all his shenanigans. Your pretty, smart and silly boyfriend.

“Okay.” you breathed, pecking his cheek, tasting his tears and how much you hated it.

“ I'll be good...good for you.” he will be, you thought.

Tom Riddle

“ You decided that yourself ? ” Tom would whisper ever so dangerously, pressing closer, you could hear the pitch silence outside the tapestry.

“ It's not... It's not working Tom.” you knew he loved you but he was gone half the time, half the time with books that were too bold and dark, of magic that was malicious beyond your wits.

“ yeah ? ” He would smear his thumb across your face, kneading your cheek and you tried your best to stay quiet but the arousal that lurched inside you, just by his mere touch, sometimes just the way he looked at you, like he was part of your soul.

Tom would smirk, delighted when you moaned for him like that, he wasn't accepting at first how you drived his crazy just by existing. He wouldn't let you go, never ever.

“ I want to bury my soul into you.” His nose mapping your neck, taking your scent.

“ oh.” you trembled when his hands worked their way inside your shirt, cold rings blazing in your warm flesh.

“ But it will take time my darling.” his disappointment flushed when he looked up at you, breathless and hot under him.

“ so for now...” his mouth twitched, Head boy Tom Riddle, sinking to his knees, eyes glinting so bright. Oh how much he wishes to mingle your souls together, how much.

Theodore Nott

He's going to sensible, furrowing hard but listen when you tell him all the reasons how it could'nt work , he's considerate enough to pat your back, soothing you, when you break down in between.

“ If you need time baby, then I'll be patient.” he would say, kissing your forehead.

He wouldn't sit next to you in classes despite his soul wanting to crawl out of his body and embrace you.

Theo only sometimes snuggled next to you in armchair, you couldn't even blame him for it was too cold

He was on his best behaviour ignoring the totally 'accidental' beat ups of guys who were going to ask you or almost did, but in either way they never showed up.

“ I see you aren't dating anyone.” He would make no attempt to get up from your lap, discarding your homework with a swish of his wand.

“ shut up, or i will pour this ink pot on you.” you would bristle like a cat, it was inevitable not to card your fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp, he relaxed into your touch, chuckling.

“ It wasn't me.”

You sighed, looking at the bruised knuckles because your baby wasn't even trying to be subtle. He could have used his wand, phew.

“ c'mon, now can we please date again ? ” He would look up with puppy eyes, sticking out his lower lip to look extra cute. Shit, you shouldn't have told him that.

“ You guys stopped dating ? ” Draco asked, brow raised in question.

“ hey.” His fingers reached to trace your jaw, arching a little as you gaped a soft, ‘Theo’

“ Please, please, please.” He pleaded, his chin raised, as if he could claim your lips just like that.

“ Get yourself a room ! ” Pancy snapped, Theo only sneered while you looked away flushed pink.

“ Theo, stop.” you whined, when he got up, hawling you up in his arms as you wacked him repeatedly.

“ I've been a good boy.” he would mouth, smiling when you would hide your blush in the crook of his neck.

“ The only thing I am interested in breaking with you,” a pause, “ is my bed.”

Blaise Zabini

“ What did I do wrong ? ” that's his first question and you're already guilty.

“ It's just everything is so messy Zab, it's too much for me.”

He couldn't say anything more, the lump in his throat strangling each sound that passed between his cartilage.

“ Blaise...” you whispered when his whole face, that shined brighter than the whole sky withered away.

“ Hey...” you cooed and nudged him lightly and it was enough to break free the sob that grasped his chest, his whole heart. He hiccuped before large tears streamed down his coppery skin, gleaming in the basking glow of midnight.

“ Don't... please..d.. don't ” he sobbed harder, his whole body shaking.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer till your heart were crossed.

“ I am too much Blaise... Like a black hole.” you could never take away his glisten, never.

“ I love you.” he said, wrapping himself around you, closing his eyes as tear escaped and brushed against your clothes, love lorned and love sick.

“ I love you too.” because how could you not say it back ? When he loved you like you were the most precious one to him.

You will try, try your best and let him shine, protect him from your drakness, you have to try your best.

New Mattheo fic - Don't blame me

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[janecafe]

SELF-EMPOWERMENT PAC: how does it feel to be in love with you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𝘶𝘯𝘰 - 𝘥𝘰𝘴 - 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴

paid reading is available here

masterlist

~ if you can, leave a little tip here on the gratuity jar for me to rent a comfortable and safe place for my pop-up coffee shop. your small amount of donations can make huge changes to someone else's business 🤓

©janecafe 2025

₊˚ʚ 𝐔𝐍𝐎 🦢 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

it feels very tempting and convincing. if this is a game of gambling then they are willing to bet all of their heart even though the chances are unpredictable. if love was a war they are willing to be a soldier. if love was a prison they are willing to be in jail. if love was means sacrifices they're willing to do for everything. if love makes you better then they're willing to change. that's how love being felt with you, a person who is interested in you is gonna sense the belong, constant and satisfaction.

if you are someone's interest, falling for you was a hard phase because you are giving out an extra ordinary of an "mystic" person. it also means taking yourself at a "risk" and get yourself out in vulnerability.

it's a blessing to be in love with you. safe, maturity and gracious love. you are a dream that cannot escape, a voyage you wanted to repeat again and again and paradox of milk and honey. it's a story about how you love them and how they love you too, it's a very obvious thing but except for these two people.

★ check the previous pac

₊˚ʚ 𝐃𝐎𝐒 🦢 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

i felt like i was in a dreamy and deep romantic atmosphere. god i love this pile two people 😌🤌🏻🩷

to be in love with your presence is a feeling of miracle, it's like even words aren't enough to describe you although a song and certain lyrics can be a poetic way to project your aura. it can also exude your whole existence on earth.

even cosmic is beyond explanation—something extraordinary. they can't even compare your divinity to others, it's like they are expressing how deeply they are in awe with your love. while, looking into their eyes brings a sense of something sacred and life-changing.

your love has given a sense of purpose and salvation. it's like a feeling of the friday for having an end of a rough long week that brings joy and relief to individuals. to be loved by you is a wish for the time to stop- so your person can spend more time to show their affection much longer and unbroken and don't want to waste any single moment.

your love compares to an exclusive theater performance where every second is precious and fleeting, making it even more valuable.

this person is worshipping you for real.

★ check the previous pac

₊˚ʚ 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒 🦢 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

loving you is like being carried by powerful and unpredictable waves. anyone who would fall for you is gonna be mesmerized by your untamable and wild nature.

although, wild waves cannot be tamed, your person could watch in awe and adore you dangerously. that's how love feels with you.

this can be the sweetest and sad story. loving you was giving the feeling of longing and being captivated. it was the best moment, admiring your beauty despite the hours they might spend. challenges and magic can be felt with your presence. like a beautiful piece of art in a museum, you wanted to stay and explore more but you know you can't have it because of it's values and historic importance.

all you can do is admires it. you are seraphic and everyone are willing to fight just to look in your eyes.

★ check the previous pac

˚⊱🍀⊰˚

[ms-demeanor]

Hi, I share your strong pro-medicine, pro-vaccines, anti-woo beliefs. I also have chronic digestive issues and insurance that won’t cover the useful specialists. The gastroenterologists I’ve encountered are helpful for making sure my insides look okay but they don’t seem to have much training around nutrition and food science. Nutritionists are unlicensed and I find them about as trustworthy as chiropractors, and I can’t get insurance to cover a registered dietician. The internet is saturated with pseudoscience junk and “miracle cures”, and in moments of desperation I’ve fallen for some of them. Luckily I haven’t been harmed by anything so far, but I don’t think they helped much either.

I was wondering if you or your followers have any resources on IBS and/or GERD that are scientifically sound and written for a general audience? Or advice for identifying when pop-sci-style “food science” articles are a scam?

I deeply regret to inform you that I was so annoyed by this exact problem that I literally went back to school to start working on getting a degree in nutrition and got two and a half years into a second bachelor's degree before realizing I wouldn't be able to get into any programs in my area that I could afford because the local state schools aren't accepting second bachelor's applicants. (Cal State Chico, I love you and you are too far away, it's not meant to be)

Nutrition information online is completely infested with woo and I am hesitant to point people toward one of the good resources I used to reference because it is politically batshit.

If you are looking at a food science article on the internet and are trying to figure out if it's a scam the big red flags to look out for are:

anything claiming to be a silver bullet; there are no silver bullets, no magical treatments, no one weird food that will fix the problem or one weird supplement that will make everything better.

Over-emphasis on a specific type of diet (diet as in "all the food that a person consumes" not as in "weight loss tool") for a general population. It's irresponsible to recommend a rigorous, restricted diet to a wide variety of people because people are so different that one diet that works for one person (say a vegan diet) might be unhealthy or difficult to manage for another person who would thrive on a different diet (low fat, low carb).

Anyone who tells you to cut out an entire food group or macronutrient is a liar who is trying to get your money. Unless it is your personal medical doctor who is saying "you need to stop eating grains" you do not need to stop eating grains and should not stop eating grains. You also do not need to stop eating fat, or eat only protein, or cut all fruit out of your diet. (caveat: there are some conditions that require a very low fiber diet, but even on that diet there are some fruits you can eat)

Beyond that, what you can do to make sure you're getting the best information possible is:

look up the author of any article you're looking at and see what else they've written; check what their qualifications are. See the people they interact with or have collaborated with. If they work heavily with people who are, say, antivax or proponents of raw milk, you should not trust their work.

If you see something that claims to treat your condition or help with nutrition, search "[subject] research study" or "[subject] scholarly research" and see what comes up. Read at least a few papers on the subject and see if there's a consensus or if there are broad disagreements. Get into the habit of looking up the impact scores of journals and researching the history of the journals.

Learn to recognize the woo keywords with your particular illness. For celiac that's "leaky gut," and any article I come across that discusses "leaky gut" gets extra scrutiny because sometimes there are legitimate reasons to describe a "leaky gut" but more often there are woo nonsense reasons. One really good way to figure out what the woo keywords for your illness are is to search "[your illness] + [woo huckster]", so "celiac + joseph mercola" or "celiac + the food babe." (those are good starting places to see what woo is popular around anything nutrition based, really; nothing those two say is trustworthy) you can also try "[your condition] + [specific type of medical woo]" with, like, "chiropractic" and "homeopathic" and "holistic" in the second box.

Be wary of positive assertions without evidence. If someone is making an affirmative statement and they aren't providing a citation, be suspicious.

Anyway. Good luck. It sucks out there.

[igwb]

Blue & Grey.

"where is my angel? the end of a tiring day, someone come and save me, please."

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (depressed!jk x editor!oc)

genre: established relationship au, angst

summary: when you met jeon jungkook, he never hid his depression from you. he wore it like a shadow, heavy and constant, and somehow, you felt the need to help him, to take on his burdens as if they were your own. but in the process, you realized something. love isn’t a miracle—it can’t magically erase someone’s pain. you wished that it could, but the truth was, the only one who could truly heal him was himself.

word count: 24K (one shot)

warnings: angst, fem!reader, fight against depression, mentions of; self-harm, self-degrading, suicide talk, bad mental health, blood, jungkook is suffering, having to see your loved one struggling, mentions of; sexual contents (no actual smut!), road to learn how to love yourself & mesuring the importance of your own life♡

playlist: i always wanna die (sometimes), uncomfortable, heavy, shot glass of tears and blue & grey

Neither you nor Jungkook can pinpoint exactly when or why it happened. However, you remember vividly the moment he revealed his feelings to you, about the demons he’s been struggling with since childhood.

At that time, you were both in university, and your relationship was still new. For you, it wasn’t anything too serious—just the warmth he offered. His head rested in your lap as you ran your fingers through his soft, dark hair, and that’s when he opened up.

“I’ve been diagnosed with depression for four years,” he said. Your hand froze, and your eyes widened. It wasn’t at all what you were expecting. The night had been going so well—you were laughing, kissing, and slowly exploring each other’s bodies without any rush.

At first, you didn’t know how to respond or what he expected from you. You’d never been in this position before. Of course, you’d heard of depression, and as a literature student, you’d read about it—it was a recurring theme for many authors.

But reading about it didn’t mean you truly understood it, especially now that it felt so real. So close.

When Jungkook felt your hand freeze, he immediately sat up and looked at you with wide, chocolate eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on the tiny mole beneath his lip, because if you looked into his eyes now, you were certain you would burst into tears. You’d always been a romantic, always searching for beauty even in the most difficult moments, and always absorbing the weight of emotions when someone close to you seemed so vulnerable.

“I—” you began, your breath catching in your throat. “It’s not like that, it’s just—”

Jungkook let out a soft chuckle and gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. He felt the need to see your face, to make sure you weren’t hiding behind your hair as if you didn’t know him anymore. He hadn’t meant to scare you, not at all. He just wanted to confess because he felt safe enough with you to do so.

“I really like you,” he began, his voice soft and sincere. “And I feel like this is something I wanted you to know before I ask you out for real,” he confessed, his gaze drifting to anything but you, a shy smile playing on his lips.

Your cheeks flushed at his sudden confession, and you couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your face. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t just some fleeting warmth you sought on some days and not others. Maybe he meant something more, because you could already feel your heart stuttering in your chest.

“It won’t change anything then,” you said softly, finally meeting his deep, boba-like eyes.

Maybe you should’ve learned more before diving headfirst into what Jungkook had implied.

Maybe you should’ve taken the time to understand depression, to go beyond what you found on the internet or the romanticized portrayals in the books you read.

Because now, standing in front of it, you didn’t know what to say or do. Your mind felt completely blank, and in that moment, you felt like the most useless person alive. There you were, watching your boyfriend of seven months—someone you cared deeply for—slapping himself roughly across the chest. His sobs echoed through the dorm room, his hair tangled from the way he had been pulling at it before you arrived. His face was flushed, red from the tears and the screams, and you had no idea how to help him.

“Kook,” you said softly, unsure if he even heard you over the intensity of his sobs. “Baby—” you repeated, trying again as you knelt in front of him, but he immediately shoved you away, shouting for you to leave him alone.

It had been two weeks since he started acting differently. In the beginning, your relationship had been perfect. He was nothing but caring, gentle, and loving. After that night at your apartment, he hadn’t talked about his depression because, honestly, he was feeling good—he felt like he was in a better place.

But he had been fighting this battle for four years, and even longer before the diagnosis. If he thought that life could be like one of those romance novels you loved, that somehow, with a miracle—you, his demons, and the dark thoughts would just disappear, he was wrong. So deeply wrong.

Because now, here he was—sitting on the cold tiles of his bathroom, his chest bare and exposed, falling apart in front of the one person he wanted to protect from his pain.

From an outside perspective, Jungkook might seem terrifying right now. Violent, even. His eyes were dark, wild, as if he were ready to lash out at anything that dared to come too close.

But for you? For you, he was the guy you fell in love with. He was the guy who held your hand while walking, always choosing the side closest to the road to protect you. He was the guy who brought you chocolate every month on the date you officially became a couple. Because he said your anniversary shouldn’t be just once a year—it should be celebrated every month, because he was so grateful to have you in his life as his girlfriend, even after just seven months together.

He was the boy you held at night when his body tensed in his sleep, as if haunted by nightmares he never spoke about. And in the morning, you pretended not to notice the dried tears on his cheeks, too afraid of the truth—afraid that when the time came, you wouldn’t be ready to face it.

But the time had come. And you had to be there. Right now.

“Come on, Kook,” you murmured, reaching for him again. You shifted, setting your bag on the cold floor so you could use both hands to hold him. “I’m here.”

His mind was a blur, his ears suffocated by the voices screaming at him—telling him he was broken, unlovable, incapable of love. That he was everything and nothing. That he didn’t deserve happiness.

And worst of all, they told him he would hurt you.

He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t pretend he was okay while those words poisoned his thoughts. That’s why he ran to the shower, hoping the water would wash them away. But it did nothing.

And then suddenly, you were there. Crawling in front of him, your shaky hands settling on his bare shoulders, whispering in that soft voice only you had, telling him you were there.

And the voices stopped.

Because he heard three words. A raw confession. Vulnerable. A moment that would be etched into his memory forever.

“I love you, Jungkook,” you sobbed, holding him tighter, as if letting go wasn’t even an option.

Since that day, you never wanted to be far from him again. The sight of him breaking down had shattered your heart, and some nights, when you were alone in your apartment while Jungkook was in his, his sobs still echoed in your mind.

You even found yourself wandering through the medical university’s library, pacing between shelves, searching for anything that could help you understand him—help him better.

You left with five different books on depression, mental health, and other topics that felt too overwhelming to even think about.

It had been a month since Jungkook’s first outburst, yet somehow, you still felt like you hadn’t done anything to truly help him. And you hated that feeling. The next time it happened, you wanted to be ready. You wanted to do things right.

When you saw him approaching, his eyes immediately found yours as he pulled out one of his AirPods. He almost ran to you, a playful, childish smile on his lips—the one you fell in love with. The one that made him look like a soft bunny you just wanted to kiss.

But suddenly, the weight in your arms felt unbearable. You were scared to admit why you were really there, scared that he’d feel like some kind of psychological case you were trying to study. Guilt crept in as you clutched the books tightly against your chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice the bold black letters on the cover: How to Understand Depression?

“Baby,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your side carefully so he wouldn’t crush the books you were holding. So considerate. “What are you doing here?” His gaze flickered to the medical building behind you, curiosity lacing his tone.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he added, raising his eyebrows in a way that made him look so silly—yet so adorable that you swore your heart might burst.

It wasn’t unusual for you to visit him at his faculty whenever you had a break, but it was unusual for you to show up unannounced.

“Surprise—” you offered weakly, forcing a semblance of a smile.

He didn’t question your odd behavior, but when he tried to peek at the books in your arms, he immediately held his hands out.

“They must be heavy, give them to me,” he said without hesitation. You instantly refused, tightening your grip. “Why not?” he scoffed, frowning.

“I’m an independent woman, I can handle it,” you blurted, quickly finding the perfect excuse to ease the tension.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes but let it slide, falling into step beside you. After a moment of silence—filled with him insisting on walking you to your faculty—he finally asked,

“What are you reading that made you go all the way to the medical library?” His voice was casual, but you could hear the underlying curiosity.

He walked a little behind you, clearly annoyed that both your hands were full—because it meant he couldn’t hold yours.

“Some… stuff,” you muttered, swallowing hard, your throat tightening around the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say—depression, mental health, coping mechanisms. Anything would have been better than the lie that left your lips next.

“I have to write a poem,” you added hastily, grimacing at how terrible it sounded. “And I thought… medical stuff could help.”

Jungkook’s brows lifted in amusement. “You could’ve just asked me,” he said, his hands settling on your shoulders as he pulled you closer. If he couldn’t hold your hand, he’d at least keep you near somehow. “Your wonderful boyfriend studies psychology, and you didn’t think to ask him?”

His smirk was dangerous—the kind where the right side of his lips lifted just slightly more than the left. The kind that made you feel like if you looked at him too long, you’d spill the entire truth.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” you mumbled, eyes dropping to the ground.

A terrible decision.

Because the moment you did, a cyclist came speeding toward you. You barely registered the rush of wind before you stumbled back, losing your footing. The books tumbled to the ground, and you followed right after them, landing hard on the pavement.

“Hey!” Jungkook’s voice was sharp as he immediately knelt beside you, glaring after the cyclist. “Watch where you’re going, idiot!” His tone was filled with irritation, muttering curses under his breath. “Stupid guy…”

But then his attention snapped back to you. His gaze softened as he saw you wince, your hand gripping your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “I swear, if I see that guy again—”

He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes flickered downward, locking onto one of the fallen books.

And that’s when he saw it.

The bold, black title staring back at him.

A strange chuckle escaped Jungkook’s lips, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes—like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“What is that?” he asked, his voice eerily calm as he pointed at the books scattered across the pavement.

Panic surged through you. Without thinking, you rushed to gather them back into your arms, clutching them tightly against your chest.

“Nothing,” you blurted out, suddenly deciding that the slight pain in your shoulder wasn’t worth acknowledging anymore.

Jungkook sighed, saying your name in that warning tone—the one that made your heart clench. His soft eyes searched yours, silently pleading with you not to lie to him.

“Are you sure it’s nothing?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “And not you… trying to study my terrible condition?”

You dropped your head in defeat, your gaze landing on one of the books—The Five Stages of Depression.

One of them was anger.

And that was the last thing you wanted Jungkook to feel toward you.

“Jungkook—” you started, ready to fall to your knees and beg him to forget about it, to tell him you were sorry for being intrusive. But before you could even utter another word, he pulled you into his arms, his embrace firm, his head burying into your shoulder. His soft hair tickled your neck, and you felt the warmth of him seep into you.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost fragile. “But I don’t want you to overthink this. You being here is enough.”

His warm breath ghosted over your skin before he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. Then, he pulled back slightly, his fingers tilting your chin up, his eyes serious now.

“Or,” he said more firmly, “you could just ask me—instead of reading stupid stuff like that.”

You couldn’t admit you were scared—because admitting it would mean acknowledging that, in that moment, Jungkook had scared you. And you never wanted him to think he was capable of hurting you in any way.

So you just nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile.

“I will,” you murmured.

One day.

One day, when the thought of your boyfriend shifting between light and dark no longer unsettled you. When you finally accepted that this was just a part of him—something you had to learn to hold without letting it slip through your fingers. Something you had to handle on your own.

Jungkook could pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with you. It happened long before you even acknowledged his existence.

There was something about you that drew people in—he could see it in the way boys looked at you, admiration laced in their gaze, and in the way girls gravitated toward you, eager to talk, to compliment, to be near you.

For someone like Jungkook, who had spent most of his life blending into the shadows, erasing himself so others wouldn’t notice the weight he carried, it was impossible not to be drawn to someone like you—someone who seemed to shine effortlessly. Someone who had light in places he never thought to look for in himself.

And yet, it was ridiculous how the moment he truly fell for you wasn’t during some grand event or breathtaking scene—it was on an ordinary day. A simple moment.

You had come to the medical faculty, apparently looking for a friend. The sun hit your face at just the right angle, making your round brown eyes squint slightly against the light. And for a second, Jungkook could swear it wasn’t just the sun making you glow—it was you.

He watched as you wandered through the campus, searching desperately for whatever—or whoever—you were looking for. And he just stood there, too shy, too caught up in his own darkness to even think about stepping into your light.

He swore he wasn’t some creep, but it was almost pitiful how consumed he had become by thoughts of you since that day. It wasn’t just a passing attraction—it was something deeper. He learned that you were often on campus, meeting friends, and all he could do was watch from afar, unable to tear his gaze away as you smiled. Your white teeth gleamed, and your laughter rang out, deep and genuine. Your entire being seemed to radiate pure happiness.

And there he was, stuck in the shadows, unable to even imagine what it would feel like to be a part of that world you lived in.

Jungkook could only dream about it—about you.

And yet, somehow, your paths crossed.

Jungkook sat quietly, as usual, engrossed in a psychology book that made him chuckle under his breath. Sometimes he thought he was a masochist for choosing a major like that, especially when he couldn’t even fully understand himself. But there was something about it—the need to understand why he was the way he was—that drew him in.

He was reading when he heard the familiar sound of giggles nearby—one of them unmistakably yours, and the other from someone he didn’t care enough to acknowledge. He glanced to his left and saw you, standing with one of your friend. The girl—who wasn’t you—immediately turned away, her cheeks flushed, playfully nudging you before disappearing.

Before he could even process what was happening, you were standing right in front of him. He instinctively started to close his book, preparing for his usual retreat, but then you spoke, and he froze.

“Jeon Jungkook, right?”

It was the first time he had ever heard your voice up close, and in that moment, he realized he had been right all along—it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

He didn’t even ask how or why you knew his name; before he could, you answered for him.

“My friend over there,” you said, pointing to the girl who was now hiding her face behind her hands, “really likes you.”

Jungkook’s heart dropped straight into his shoes. It wasn’t what he had hoped for—not even close.

You looked at him with a playful smile on your plump lips, your eyes locked onto his as you batted your long eyelashes.

Jungkook knew he wasn’t always the best at handling things delicately, and before he could even think, he blurted out, “Not me.”

Your smile immediately faded, and you raised your brows at him, clearly taken aback by his bluntness.

Later, you’d admit to him that you didn’t even know how your friend could like someone like him when your first impression of him had been so off-putting.

But right now, Jungkook found himself asking the same thing. How could someone like you—someone so full of light and warmth—ever care for someone like him?

Jungkook watched you from afar as you spoke with some of your colleagues about the book that had just been released, and how you were the one editing it for the first time. They congratulated you, hugged you, and the sight warmed his heart. It had been a long time since he had seen you smile that genuinely.

Not because he was the one who caused it, but because it was simple colleagues—literal strangers to Jungkook, people he didn’t even know the names of—who made you smile like that. People you’d met only five months ago when you found your job at the editing firm.

And it stung. Not even your boyfriend of five years could make you smile that way anymore.

Jungkook set the champagne glass on the table as he saw you walking toward him. The moment you were no longer surrounded by your colleagues, your smile faded, and he couldn’t help but notice the distance between you.

He reached out his hands, asking if you were ready to leave. You nodded without a word, walking in front of him, ignoring his hand completely.

You entered the car silently, letting Jungkook settle into the driver’s seat. He started the car without saying anything, and the silence between you two was deafening.

It had been like this for a couple of years now—everything you did had become mechanical. It wasn’t the same as it had been before, and both of you were aware that this shift was expected after so many years together, living in the same space and spending every day side by side.

But it hurt. It hurt so much because you could see it—the way Jungkook had slowly sunk deeper into his own dark thoughts, day by day. And you couldn’t reach him anymore. He wasn’t pushing you away on purpose; it wasn’t that he didn’t want things to improve—it was that he simply didn’t have the strength to fight for it anymore.

And it was breaking you, because you knew him. You saw how he was disappearing, and you could do nothing to pull him back.

It all started two years ago when Jungkook decided to drop his psychology studies. You tried to convince him not to, but he was determined, as he always was. He just wanted to let everything go, except for you—somehow, you were the one thing he held onto.

Then, it was the way he started falling asleep at odd hours, like 5 AM, and waking up only at 2 PM, as if the world had no place for him.

And the most noticeable change—he stopped leaving the house. He just stayed there, letting the days slip by, waiting for time to pass him by without any real intention.

You knew it was bad again, but this time, it was worse. He wasn’t even trying anymore. He had given up, and you felt it in every quiet moment between you.

It almost felt like a miracle that he agreed to come to the small party your colleagues had thrown for you. But he came, even though you could tell his heart wasn’t really there. You could feel it in the way he distanced himself, sinking into the background, staying silent and observing from a distance. He wasn’t participating, just existing in the space, a shadow of the person he used to be when he’d engage and enjoy those moments with you. The gap between you both grew with every passing minute, and you could feel the distance pulling at your chest.

“Jungkook,” you said softly, your voice heavy as you stared out the window at the passing scenery. “What if you start therapy again?”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles going white at the suggestion. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with you for trying.

“I’m scared,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his voice flat. “It’s always the same shit over and over again. I’m done fighting.”

Hearing those words felt like a blow to your chest. It was the first time the truth between you both had been laid bare, no beating around the bush anymore. It should’ve been said long ago, but you never had the strength to bring it up, and he… he didn’t have the strength for anything anymore. The weight of his words broke you in a way you didn’t expect.

Over the five years you spent with Jungkook, you slowly learned how to navigate his world. You became attuned to when you could step into his thoughts and when it was better to hold back. You discovered the delicate art of helping him through his darkest moments, though it never made it easier. Every time he suffered, every time the world seemed to crush him, the images of him hurting himself lingered in your mind, haunting you like scars that wouldn’t fade.

But what once terrified you, no longer did. You’d learned how to steel yourself when it all came crashing down. When the despair crept in, you stood firm, your posture a silent promise to him that you wouldn’t waver. You’d keep your chin up, your voice steady, and you’d be the one to remind him that you were there—that you weren’t going anywhere. You would repeat it like a mantra: The voices in your head aren’t true. You’re not broken. You’re wonderful. You’re worthy of love. You’d hold him through the pain, speaking the truth of how deeply you loved him, of how glad you were to have him in your life.

And somehow, after those words, things would get better. For a while, at least. For a few weeks, you’d see a glimpse of the Jungkook you loved, the one who smiled without a weight in his eyes. But it always came back. The darkness would return, the cycle would repeat, and you would find yourself standing tall once more, trying to carry him through it again.

It was a dark, endless loop he had thrown himself into each day, a loop that had become so familiar he no longer fought it as he once did. At first, you fought with him, trying to help him escape the suffocating grasp of his thoughts, but as time went on, you found yourself fighting for both of you. He had stopped trying, worn down by the years of battling with something he felt would be a part of him forever.

For Jungkook, it started at thirteen. He didn’t know why it began, but he couldn’t remember a time when the thoughts hadn’t been there. In the beginning, it was small—denying himself food, punishing his body just to feel something, anything, that would distract him from the noise in his head. As he grew older, the need to escape deepened. He would lock himself in his room, choking himself, holding his breath until the world blurred and the silence in his head was enough to make him forget—if only for a few moments—what was clawing at him. Afterward, he would slip out to join his family for dinner, pretending everything was normal, pretending he wasn’t just on the verge of losing himself entirely.

Then came the sharp objects. He had never meant for it to get so far, but it was like the sharpness against his skin provided a release, a temporary relief from the pressure. And soon, it was a constant cycle, one he couldn’t break free from. The loop tightened around him, and he found himself circling through the same actions, day in and day out, unable to stop. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was that he didn’t know how to anymore.

Jungkook had never felt at peace like this before, not in the way he did when he met you. At first, it was as if your light was something he could hold onto, something he could follow with an innocent smile that hid the darkness he had carried for years. It was a brief reprieve, a fleeting illusion that maybe, just maybe, he could escape the spiral that had consumed him for so long. But the peace was always temporary. The thoughts—of dying, of hurting himself—always found their way back, lurking in the shadows just when he thought they were gone.

Your suggestion pulled him from his thoughts, your voice soft, yet hopeful as you looked at him. “What if we go there together?” You asked, your gaze meeting his. You had noticed his hand resting on the gear shift, your fingers brushing over his, and you offered him a way out, a way to face this together.

He hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought over your words. Therapy had always been something he did alone. He’d been going since he was sixteen, ever since his parents found him unconscious in their bathroom, blood staining his arms from a wound too deep for him to remember. They had been terrified, worried enough to send him to a therapist. Since then, he’d kept it to himself, thinking that no one could understand the things that ran through his mind. Not anyone, at least, who wasn’t a professional.

But with you… you made him feel safe in a way no one else ever had. He felt comfortable with you, like maybe—just maybe—he could open up, share the darkness that still clung to him.

“I—” His voice faltered for a moment as he squeezed your hand around the gear shift. “I don’t want you to be hurt by what you might hear,” he admitted softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. The last thing he wanted was to drag you into his mind, to expose you to the pain he carried.

You had never pushed him about his therapy sessions. He’d always told you that it wasn’t worth talking about, that right now, all he wanted was to be with you. The intimacy you shared, the quiet moments together, had been enough for you to respect his space, to let the subject fade away when you were lost in each other. A kiss on your lips, making love to you—it was all enough to make you forget about the weight that hung over him.

But now, as you sat in the car, waiting for him to answer, you realized that maybe it was time for you to step into the shadows with him, not as someone who could fix him, but as someone who could walk beside him through it all.

Jungkook kept his eyes on the road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly, but his mind was elsewhere. He could feel your gaze on him, could sense the vulnerability in your voice, yet he still couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. The weight of your words hung in the air, and despite the walls he had built around himself, there was a crack, a small but noticeable shift inside him.

“I have to,” you reassured him, your voice soft but firm, your eyes never leaving his profile. “I know that those thoughts do not define the man I’m in love with. It won’t hurt me, Jungkook.”

The words settled into his chest, lingering there, something tender and almost fragile stirring in him. His heart skipped, and for the briefest moment, he allowed himself to believe it. He stole a subtle glance at you, the gentle curve of your lips, the sincerity in your eyes, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Your words always had a way of reaching him, cutting through the armor he’d built around himself.

Sometimes, he couldn’t understand why you were still here with him, why you stayed when you could have someone else. Someone who could give you more than the broken, bruised version of him.

But you were here. You were still here. And when you whispered those words, so simple yet so profound, it was as though you were offering him a lifeline.

“I love you, Kook,” you said, your voice cracking just a little as your eyes watered. It made his heart tighten, a pang of guilt and gratitude flooding him. You’d always been sensitive when it came to your feelings for him. It reminded him of the first time you had told him you loved him—when he was at his lowest, when everything felt like it was slipping away.

“And I want you to let me truly in,” you continued, your voice quieter now, but no less determined.

He could feel the weight of your love in those words, the unwavering support you were offering him. He wanted to tell you everything, to open up, to let you in fully, but the fear—of burdening you, of dragging you into his darkness—held him back.

But you were already there, weren’t you? You had been all along.

With a deep breath, Jungkook reached over, his hand gently finding yours, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He squeezed your hand softly, as though trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. Maybe it wasn’t the grand confession he thought he needed, but it was the beginning of something. Something that might take time, something that might hurt, but something worth fighting for.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned your hand in his, intertwining your fingers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Jungkook allowed himself to feel just a little bit of peace.

You tried to convince yourself you were ready for this moment, that hearing whatever Jungkook would say in that room wouldn’t break you, but deep down, you knew the truth. You weren’t.

You took the whole day off, determined to be there for him, to support him in a way you hoped would help. Jungkook told you not to, insisted you didn’t have to come, but you couldn’t let him face it alone. With a soft smile, he kissed your cheek, and that was enough to make you feel like everything would be okay.

Walking through the long, sterile corridor, you felt the heaviness of the walls closing in on you. Everything was white—too white, too clean, too impersonal. Jungkook seemed almost at ease in this space, his steps unhurried as if this place, these cold rooms, had been a part of him for years. And that thought tore at you. He had been coming here for so long, battling his demons alone, trying to make sense of a world that felt too harsh to belong to. You wanted to stop his pain. You wanted to erase it completely, to make it go away, but all you could do was follow him, offering the only comfort you had: your presence.

In the waiting room, you clung to Jungkook’s hand, your fingers interlaced tightly. You read everything on the walls to distract yourself from the sinking feeling in your chest. Messages about caring for your loved ones, numbers to call if the thoughts became overwhelming, tips to prevent the darkest moments from swallowing you whole. But nothing held your gaze like one particular poster.

Every life is precious, even yours.

The words were bold, bright, and so painfully raw. Right beside it was a suicide hotline number, and you could feel your heart freeze. The thought of losing him—of losing Jungkook—was unbearable. The idea that this number was a lifeline for someone who might not be able to see the worth in themselves was too much to bear.

You squeezed Jungkook’s hand tighter, trying to ground yourself, but it didn’t help. Your throat tightened, and the lump in your chest felt like it was suffocating you. You didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to imagine a world where he wasn’t in it. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep ignoring the fact that he had been on the edge for so long. And the fear of him slipping away from you gnawed at your insides.

Jungkook must have known exactly where your mind had gone, because without a word, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your hair. You felt his warmth, his love, and it was both a comfort and a torment. He was here, right here with you, but you were scared—scared of what he might say in that room, scared of what might happen after.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft, yet full of meaning. It was simple, but it was everything.

And in that moment, you realized that despite all the fears, all the doubts, and all the pain, you were willing to face this—whatever it was—together. You were ready to hear him. Ready to be there for him, even if it meant facing the parts of him that terrified you the most. Because you loved him, and in the end, that was enough to hold on to.

You had never imagined this moment would feel so heavy. Everything about the room felt foreign—the warmth, the soft lighting, the gentle atmosphere. Dr. Kim’s office was nothing like the sterile, clinical space you had envisioned for a therapy session. There were no white coats, no cold stares, no judgements. He wore simple, comfortable clothes and smiled with kindness that seemed to erase any tension in the air. His eyes, warm and welcoming, never once made you feel out of place.

Dr. Kim had greeted you with genuine interest, his voice filled with warmth as he asked, “Are you the one Jungkook always speaks about?”

You smiled nervously, a little surprised by his openness. Jungkook had spoken about you to him? He’d told his therapist how much he appreciated you, how grateful he was for you. Dr. Kim even told you about the photos Jungkook had shared, and in that moment, you felt like maybe you were the one who didn’t deserve the love he so freely gave.

The session began smoothly, with Dr. Kim and Jungkook discussing everything from his current emotional state to his recent activities. There were small, easy conversations at first—how his days were going, what made him feel good or bad, how he was coping with his darker thoughts. But then, suddenly, the conversation shifted. Dr. Kim asked a question that seemed so simple but carried so much weight.

“Have you tried anything to hurt yourself? To…,” Dr. Kim hesitated, noticing the sudden tightness in your body, before continuing with a softer tone, “To kill yourself?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and everything inside you went cold. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick and heavy. You weren’t prepared for this. You hadn’t expected the conversation to go in this direction so suddenly, and the words felt like a punch to your gut. You squeezed Jungkook’s hand under the table, your fingers interlocked tightly with his, a silent plea for him to be okay.

You looked at him, hoping, praying that he would say something to reassure you, to make this feel less real. But as your eyes met his, your heart sank. His gaze was soft, almost distant, as if he was ashamed of what was about to be said. His hair fell into his eyes, and he didn’t meet your gaze for long. He was already retreating into himself.

You felt your pulse race in your ears. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t focus.

“Yeah,” Jungkook’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. But those two syllables felt like the heaviest weight. His words hung in the air, suffocating you.

Everything seemed to freeze around you. The realization of what he had just said hit you with a force you weren’t prepared for. He had tried—he had tried to end it all. The thought of it, of him hurting himself, overwhelmed you completely.

You held on to his hand tighter, as if that physical connection could keep both of you grounded in the moment. You wanted to speak, to scream, to ask why, to fix it, but your throat was tight, your words caught somewhere between your chest and your lips.

You never wanted to hear those words. Not from him. Not from the love of your life. The person who you thought was just… so much more than his pain.

But you couldn’t look away. Because he was still here, with you, trying, and that was enough.

Even if it hurt more than anything.

You couldn’t forgive yourself for not seeing it sooner. He admitted he had tried two weeks ago, and the realization hit you like a wave. It had been so close, yet you hadn’t noticed a thing. You felt a deep, bitter sting of guilt, wanting to slap yourself for being so blind—so naïve about his struggles.

Your boyfriend had tried to take his own life, in your shared apartment, probably in your bedroom or the bathroom. Dr. Kim asked him how and why, his questions clinical but jarring. You hated how necessary they were, even if it was part of the process. They felt like a violation, a raw intrusion into a pain you hadn’t even fully understood.

Jungkook hesitated, unsure if he should say more, especially seeing how still you were, your face pale, and your eyes wide in disbelief. He couldn’t feel your breath beside him, just the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, his voice quiet and concerned as his hand found its way to your knee.

The question nearly broke you. How could he ask if you were okay? You were the one sitting there, shattered, while he was the one who had tried to end everything. His tenderness towards you, so selfless, made the weight of it all feel even heavier. You wished he could see how much he was worth, how much he deserved to love himself the way you loved him.

Tears began to pour down your cheeks, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the overwhelming pain rise in your chest. You reached for him, pulling him into you, desperate to hold him, to somehow fix everything.

“I just wish you would’ve told me,” you whispered into his neck, your words a jumbled mess as your sobs came quicker, harder. But through it all, Jungkook heard every word, felt every ounce of your pain as you clung to him.

Jungkook felt his chest tighten as you wept in front of him. His heart shattered into pieces, each of your sobs echoing in his mind, louder than any words he could say. He had never wanted to see you like this—broken, distressed, helpless—and yet, here you were, crying because of him, because of something he thought he could keep hidden.

His hand moved from your knee to the back of your head, gently pulling you closer into his chest, his heartbeat racing with every tremor of your body. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, as if he could somehow absorb your pain, even though he knew he couldn’t. Not completely.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t want you to find out like this…”

But the words were too late. You were already drowning in the realization of it all, and the weight of the secret he had been carrying was now too heavy to ignore. You wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to make him understand how much you would have fought for him. How you would’ve done anything to help him, to take the burden from his shoulders. But you couldn’t, and it made everything worse.

“I just… I just don’t understand,” you cried, lifting your face to meet his, your voice strained with confusion and anguish. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you try to do it alone?”

Jungkook couldn’t meet your gaze. He looked down at his lap, as if trying to shrink into himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of you seeing him like this, so vulnerable and broken. He didn’t want you to see the ugly parts of him, the darkness that he could never escape.

“I thought… I thought it would be easier for you if I kept it to myself,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want to burden you.”

You shook your head, pulling away slightly, but still holding on to him, your grip desperate as if afraid he might slip away. “Jungkook, you are my burden. But you’re also my love. My life. You’re everything to me. You’re never a burden. I want to help you, not carry this alone… but I can’t do that if you don’t let me in.”

Your voice cracked, and the words you had been too scared to say for so long finally came pouring out. You had always been there for him, always done your best to be the strong one when he needed it, but now, in the middle of this storm, you needed him to let you be strong for both of you.

“I love you,” you whispered, tears still flowing freely. “Please, let me help you. Let me carry this with you.”

Jungkook felt a knot tighten in his throat as he looked down at you. His eyes were filled with guilt, shame, and love all at once. How could he let you love him when he could barely love himself?

But the tenderness in your eyes, the desperate need for him to trust you, finally broke through the wall he had built so high around his heart. His fingers traced the back of your hand, intertwining with yours, his touch barely a whisper against your skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, his voice trembling as he pulled you back to his chest. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just… I don’t know how to handle this sometimes.”

You wrapped your arms around him, not wanting to let go, not wanting to lose him to the dark thoughts that had controlled his life for so long.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered into his chest. “I’m here. Always.”

Dr. Kim watched the interaction between you and Jungkook with a scrutinizing gaze, his heart filled with a mixture of admiration and caution. He couldn’t deny that it was a beautiful thing to witness—how you cared for him, how you were there for him in a way that seemed unwavering. It was clear to him that Jungkook had found someone truly special, someone willing to help him pick up the broken pieces that had been there long before you came into his life. The way you loved him, with such purity and patience, felt almost like a dream—an idealized version of what healing could look like.

But Dr. Kim was a professional. He had seen enough cases over the years to know that hope could be a dangerous thing. He couldn’t allow himself to be swept up by the tender scene unfolding in front of him, no matter how deeply it touched him. He had learned long ago that love wasn’t always enough to heal the deepest scars, and that sometimes, when one person relied too much on another to save them, it could lead to devastation.

What worried Dr. Kim, what unsettled him deeply, was the certainty in your voice, in the way you held onto Jungkook like he was your lifeline. He couldn’t help but be terrified that, someday, that light you carried so brightly would be too blinding for Jungkook, making him believe that he was fine, that he was whole, when in reality, the darkness inside him was still there, waiting to resurface.

He had known Jungkook for years—since he was sixteen. Dr. Kim had watched him grow, slowly spiraling deeper into himself, becoming more fragile and withdrawn with each passing year. Jungkook was sensitive, vulnerable, and far more complicated than anyone could see on the surface. His lifeline had become you, but Dr. Kim feared that the way Jungkook’s world revolved around you could become an unhealthy attachment, one that wouldn’t allow him to truly heal.

In the end, Jungkook wouldn’t be able to fully heal if he didn’t learn to love himself first. His life couldn’t continue to revolve around someone else, not in this way. He needed to find the strength within himself to stand on his own before he could fully give his love to anyone else. Dr. Kim couldn’t shake the fear that if this lifeline—this beautiful bond between you and Jungkook—wasn’t grounded in something stronger, something more stable, it could break. And when it did, he feared Jungkook might never open his eyes again.

Jungkook seemed to be doing okay, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe. But who were you to be so certain when you hadn’t even seen the moment he tried to take his own life? You couldn’t ignore the lingering doubt that perhaps you didn’t really know the full extent of his struggles, no matter how hard you tried to be there for him.

Still, those two months after the therapy sessions felt like a fresh start—like the beginning of your relationship all over again. There was something tender about it, as if you both were learning each other anew, slowly rediscovering what it meant to be together.

If Jungkook felt that you were being too suffocating, too invasive, he didn’t say anything. The silence between you both seemed more comfortable now, but it also felt like there was an unspoken understanding. He didn’t push you away, not like before. Maybe it was because he missed you, needed you more than ever, especially since you had been working a lot lately. Even when you mentioned taking some months off to focus on what truly mattered, he didn’t argue. He simply accepted it.

You told him about all the things you wanted to do during your time together, and as you spoke, he didn’t always catch every word. But that didn’t matter, because what he remembered most was how safe and content he felt in those moments, with his arms around your naked body and your fingers drawing invisible hearts on his bare chest as you spoke.

You talked about getting a dog, going on a trip to the mountains, doing body painting, sleeping under the stars—things that felt so simple, so hopeful, so full of life. And as you spoke, you could tell he was slipping into sleep, his breath steady and warm against your skin. But what he didn’t hear—what he had fallen asleep before you could finish telling him—was that you also dreamed of getting married.

In July, you both went to a shelter, your hands tightly intertwined as you walked through the rows of cages. The day felt full of hope, like it was the start of something simple but profound. When you left, you had a small Doberman by your side, its leash firmly held in Jungkook’s hand, the other still wrapped around yours.

Jungkook was surprisingly taken with the little puppy, his eyes lighting up as he playfully interacted with the dog. It was impossible not to smile at how genuine his excitement was, so pure and unguarded. He was practically glowing with joy, and you couldn’t help but let him choose the name for the dog. He was so animated, so childlike in the best way, that it felt like a moment worth letting him have.

After some back and forth, you both quickly agreed on the name: Bam. It felt right, fitting for the little guy. Jungkook explained it with a little chuckle, saying that the name was a reflection of what he wanted to escape—night, darkness, all the things that haunted him. He said that if something as pure and innocent as this dog could carry such a name, then maybe he could start seeing his own struggles differently. Perhaps he could find a way to paint them with something a little softer, a little cuter, just like the brown Doberman that was now bouncing happily at his feet.

And so, Bam it was. The name wasn’t just a label for the dog; it was Jungkook’s small, hopeful way of reclaiming the darkness. A step forward in the way he was learning to face his own battles.

You watched them both from your spot in the garden, the book you had started reading now forgotten in your lap. The sight before you—Jungkook sitting on the grass with Bam, laughing as the puppy showered him with affection—was far more captivating than any story in your book. The reality was better than anything you could’ve imagined, and it made your heart swell in ways you hadn’t expected.

“Are you really planning on teaching him tricks?” you asked, a playful smile tugging at your lips. Jungkook was on his bottom, his hands full of puppy fur as Bam licked his face. The dog was way more affectionate with Jungkook than with you, but you couldn’t blame him. You were just as smitten by those big round eyes, eyes that seemed to hold the whole universe in them.

Lately, you had been seeing those stars in Jungkook’s eyes more often than before. They made your heart ache with a love so deep, it felt as if it might overflow. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“I know he can do it,” Jungkook said confidently, turning his attention back to Bam. “Bam! Pow!” He pointed his finger in a playful gun gesture, trying to get the puppy to follow along.

You couldn’t help but smile as you stood up, walking over to them. Gently, you patted Bam’s head, your hand lingering on his soft fur for a moment. “Maybe you could start with the basics first,” you suggested lightly. “Like, ‘sit down’?”

Jungkook shook his head, laughing. “Too boring,” he said, his voice filled with determination. “I want my son to be a smart boy.” He pointed again, shouting “Pow! Pow! Pow!” over and over, but Bam was far too excited, wagging his tail and bouncing around, clearly too distracted to learn any trick.

“If your son is anything like his dad,” you teased with a grin, “then he’ll definitely be very stubborn.” You leaned down to kiss him softly on the lips, then quickly pulled away, running off before he had a chance to catch you.

“Hey! Wait up!” Jungkook called after you, laughing as he scrambled to get to his feet. Bam, of course, was right behind him, barking happily as they both chased after you.

It didn’t take long before Jungkook caught up to you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his slender waist, the proximity so comforting, your heart racing as Bam’s playful licks tickled your feet. But honestly, the whole situation was just a perfect excuse for you to be as close to him as possible.

“He’s truly like his father,” Jungkook chuckled softly, shifting his grip on your legs so you could lift your feet higher to keep them out of Bam’s reach. The playful gesture had you both laughing.

“You’re disgusting,” you teased with a mock glare, squirming a little in his hold. “I’m never letting you near my feet. It’s a Bam privilege.” You glanced up at him, your head settling comfortably on his shoulder as you let out a small, content sigh.

Jungkook’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle. “How I wish I was Bam right now,” he whispered, his voice full of affection and admiration. The thought of being the one to receive all your love, to be the one you held so close, made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

As your laughter echoed softly against his chest, he thought to himself that if being alive was like this—wrapped in warmth and love with you—he’d be ready to live not one but three lifetimes. One for each moment shared with you, one for every moment of joy, of feeling alive, of building a future together. With you. Always with you.

“You know,” his voice dropped an octave lower as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head, his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary. “I remember that night you said you wanted to try body painting.”

Your face immediately heated up as you hid it against his shoulder, a quiet groan of embarrassment escaping you. “I really thought you were sleeping that night,” you mumbled, a shy smile still tugging at your lips.

Jungkook chuckled, shifting slightly so he could look at you better. “I hear everything you say, you know that,” he teased, his fingers tracing mindless patterns on your back.

He laid you down carefully on the soft grass, his gaze never once leaving yours. The sight of you beneath him, surrounded by wildflowers and bathed in the warm golden light of the late afternoon, made his heart stutter. If there was such a thing as heaven, he was convinced nothing could come close to this moment right now.

Bam wiggled his tail excitedly near you, trying to nuzzle into your side, but Jungkook held up a warning finger. “Bam, not now,” he said, furrowing his brows.

The serious expression on his face made you burst into laughter. His round cheeks puffed out, lips slightly pursed, and big doe eyes attempting to look stern—it was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.

“Look at you, ditching your son like that,” you teased, rolling your eyes before cooing at Bam, scratching gently behind his ears. “You have a terrible father, right?”

Jungkook opened his mouth to protest, but the words never came. Instead, he just stared at you—his mind drifting elsewhere, to places he never used to allow himself to go.

Father.

The word had never been something he imagined for himself. It never felt like a possibility, not when he spent so long unable to picture any future at all. But now, watching you with Bam, your touch so gentle, your voice so full of love—it didn’t seem like such an impossible thought. The idea of something made from the both of you, something so pure and full of love, was oddly comforting.

But would he even be enough?

Before his thoughts could spiral too deep, he leaned in, pressing his lips to the curve of your neck. He felt the way your breath hitched, your body instinctively arching under him when he found that soft spot behind your ear.

“You said you—” Your voice broke off, a sharp inhale replacing your words as Jungkook rolled his hips into yours, his hands firm on your waist.

The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, your fingers tangling into his hair as you pulled him closer, losing yourself in the warmth of his touch.

It had been a long time since you’d felt him this close, since his unpredictable sleeping schedule always kept you apart, since exhaustion weighed down on him so heavily that he barely had the energy to do anything but rest. And you never blamed him for it. You never needed physical intimacy to feel close to him. But now that he was here, fully present with you, touching you, holding you, loving you—it made you feel just like the first time.

That first time had been messy, full of nervous laughter and whispered reassurances, both of you scared of doing something wrong. But even in its clumsiness, it was perfect. Because it was him. Because it was love. And love, no matter how imperfect, was the most beautiful thing you had ever known.

That day, he made love to you with a tenderness that left you breathless, his gaze locked onto yours like he was afraid to look away, afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he did. The only time he closed his eyes was when he got lost in the overwhelming pleasure, his lips parting to release quiet, breathless moans.

Between whispered confessions of love and gratitude, he moved against you with growing desperation—his thrusts deepening, his hands gripping you tighter, as if trying to merge himself with you completely. As if he could disappear inside you, drown in your warmth, and become something whole. One soul. One body. One mind—only yours. Because his own still felt like a dangerous place to be.

He wasn’t sure if he was truly getting better. Some days, he felt stable. Other days, he felt like he was standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff, barely holding on. But with you beneath him, surrounding him, whispering his name like a prayer, he let himself believe—just for a moment—that he was safe.

But if he ever voiced his thoughts out loud—the desperate wish to erase himself, to exist only as a shadow behind your bright light—you would be quick to shake your head, a stubborn crease forming between your brows. Because your love would never be complete without him. Without his pain, his dark thoughts, his flaws, and the jagged edges of his soul.

You had never loved him in pieces. You had always loved him whole.

You may not have done body painting the way you originally imagined—the playful strokes of color across each other’s skin, the laughter, the mess—but in a way, that night became its own kind of art.

The way he kissed your body like it was a canvas, the way your nails traced over his back—not deep enough to hurt, but just enough to leave something of yourself on him, something softer than the scars he had given himself. Marks of love, not pain. It was as if, little by little, you were painting over something broken, turning a dark stain into something beautiful—not by covering it, but by making it a part of the masterpiece.

And when he finally released himself inside you, trembling against you, it felt just like the first stroke of a brush on a blank canvas—a moment of pure creation, something intimate, something new.

It wasn’t the body painting you had planned.

It was something much better.

When Jungkook felt your breath even out against his chest and your body relax completely, he knew you had fallen asleep. Moving carefully, he slipped out of bed, making sure not to disturb you. You looked so peaceful, and he didn’t want to take that away.

Standing beside the bed, he let his eyes linger on you—your body sprawled across the sheets, hair still slightly damp from the shower, strands sticking to your cheek. You were wrapped in one of his old shirts, the same one he had given you back when you were still in university. You had never stopped wearing it.

The sight of you like this did something to his heart—something deep, overwhelming, and impossible to put into words. He wished he could carve this moment into his memory, etch it into his skin, so that even when he closed his eyes, you would still be there. And if they were ever to close forever, he thinks he would be okay if this was the last thing he saw.

Yet, beneath the warmth in his chest, something unsettling lurked—a weight, an ache, a feeling he couldn’t quite name.

He quietly stepped out of the room, careful not to make a sound, and slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Jungkook watches his own reflection, his breath unsteady, his fingers gripping the edge of the sink as if it’s the only thing keeping him from collapsing. Just moments ago, he had felt weightless—like he was floating, lifted by you, by your love, by the warmth of your body pressed against his. But now, staring at himself under the harsh bathroom light, he feels like he’s sinking.

His feet are stuck in the mud, his knees buried deeper and deeper, as if the very earth beneath him is swallowing him whole.

The contrast is suffocating.

He blinks at his own reflection, at the tired eyes, the shadows beneath them, the slight redness at the tips of his ears from the heat of your shared moment. He should still feel warm. He should still feel safe. But instead, that old, familiar heaviness presses down on him, curling around his chest, whispering things he doesn’t want to hear.

It’s never enough. You’re never enough. She deserves better.

Jungkook clenches his jaw, shaking his head as if he can physically reject the thoughts. He grips the sink tighter, his knuckles turning white. His heart is still racing from being with you, but now it’s for a different reason.

The high never lasts.

He knows this feeling too well—the way joy is something temporary, something borrowed, and how reality always comes crashing down eventually. How no matter how much love you pour into him, it can’t stop the way his mind works, the way it twists things, turns them into something painful.

His breathing grows uneven, and for a second, he considers waking you up—because you always know what to say, because your voice is the only thing that cuts through the noise.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he sinks to the floor, his back against the cold bathroom tiles, and exhales shakily. He doesn’t want to wake you. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.

Not again.

When his eyes met his reflection again, he couldn’t stand the sight. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, as if it didn’t belong to him but to the demons wrapping themselves around his organs, his mind, his muscles—suffocating him. He felt ugly. Disgusting.

His hand lifted to his cheek. He had never liked them—too round, too soft. The only time he tolerated them was when you kissed them or pinched them playfully, adoring them in a way he could never understand. His fingers pressed against them now, as if he could tear them away, reshape them into something else.

Then, his fingers traced over his lips. He hated them too. Hated the words that came from them, hated how they always failed him. He could never seem to say what he truly wanted, never find the right way to express what was clawing at his chest.

His touch traveled to his eyes, and the urge to dig his nails into them, to rip them out, crept up his spine. He despised the way they always looked so full of pain, so childlike, so weak. The thought made him snap. He slapped himself—hard—wishing he could wake up as someone else. Anyone else. Someone stronger, someone more put together, someone worthy of your love.

Because how could you love him when all he saw in himself was filth? How could you look at him with such warmth when the voices in his head screamed that he was unworthy?

The only time he ever felt beautiful was when he saw his reflection in your wide, adoring eyes. The version of him that lived there always seemed better than the one staring back at him now.

He slaps himself again. And again. Until his cheeks burn red, until his breathing turns ragged, until his eyes fall onto something else he despises—his body.

His scars.

They run across his arms, his stomach, his thighs—everywhere. A map of every moment he tried to escape, every time he sought relief through pain. When you truly want to disappear, you find every inch of your body willing to suffer.

Even now, the ghost of your lips lingers on those scars, reminders of the way you tried to love them away. But tonight, even that isn’t enough.

His fingers claw at his arms, nails digging into the flesh, desperate to tear it away—this skin, this body, this evidence of all the times he failed to leave.

He scratches and scratches, until the pain dulls, until it isn’t enough anymore. He needs something more—something deeper, something that cuts through the noise in his head.

And then, his mind goes blank.

That’s when the demons take over. When his body moves without him, when he becomes a passenger in his own skin.

He looks at himself again.

His eyes seem darker, less round, less soft. His chest appears broader, his scars less like wounds and more like the marks of someone who has survived. The voice in his head purrs, telling him he looks better like this—stronger when he surrenders to them.

He teeters between disgust and admiration, caught between fear of the reflection and the temptation to let it consume him.

“Fuck!”

The scream rips from his throat as his fist slams into the mirror, shattering his own image, breaking his skin. Blood drips from his knuckles, seeping into the cracks of the fractured glass.

In a daze, he crawls toward the shards of broken glass scattered across the floor. His fingers tremble as they close around a jagged piece, gripping it so tightly that it bites into his palm, splitting skin, drawing blood. The sharp sting barely registers—almost welcome, almost grounding.

Against the door, he hears Bam barking. The puppy isn’t stupid; he knows something is wrong. He can sense the suffocating weight in the air, the darkness creeping in. Whatever is happening inside that bathroom—it isn’t good.

It’s Bam’s desperate barking that wakes you.

Your eyes flutter open, and immediately, you feel it—the cold emptiness beside you, the absence of his warmth. Your heart lurches. Sleep is forgotten as you throw off the covers and rush toward the sound, toward Bam, who stands anxiously in front of the locked bathroom door.

You try to open it, but it won’t budge. Your breath catches as you press your ear against the wood, straining to hear.

Then it hits you—his ragged sobs, his muffled shouts, the agony spilling from him in broken cries.

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces.

He’s lost to the voices again.

“Jungkook?” You call again, your voice fragile, barely audible, but laced with desperation. The fear that you might do something wrong, say the wrong thing, sends a tremor through you. You can’t bear the thought of losing him, not like this. “Kook, it’s me, can you open the door, please?” You bang your fist against it, your heart thundering in your chest.

On the other side, Jungkook can’t hear you. The voices—so loud, so demanding—drown everything else out. His mind is a chaotic storm, each voice fighting against the others, battling for control. The noise is deafening, unbearable. His hands, trembling, press against his ears, trying to block out the sounds, the pain, but it’s no use.

He slaps his hands against his ears, but it only intensifies the agony. A piercing, shrill sound claws its way through his skull, making his head throb with such force that he collapses onto the floor. The broken glass beneath him cuts into his skin, but he doesn’t feel it. The pain is a distant echo, overwhelmed by the torment inside his mind.

Frantically, you glance around, your mind racing, trying to find anything that could help you get inside. Your hands tremble as you search the hallway. You spot the spare key to the bathroom, hidden on the shelf above the coat rack. It’s meant for emergencies, but never did you imagine you’d be using it for something like this.

You rush over and grab the key, your pulse racing, a desperate need to get to him consuming every part of you. You push the key into the lock, but your hands are shaking so violently it takes a couple of tries before the door finally clicks open.

With a deep breath, you push the door open, your heart in your throat. The sight that greets you makes your breath catch—Jungkook, collapsed on the floor, surrounded by shards of broken glass, his hands bloodied, his body shaking uncontrollably. He’s not aware of you yet. His eyes are wide, but lost in the chaos of his mind.

You ignored the sharp sting of the glass cutting into your feet, your focus entirely on him—on Jungkook. His cries echoed in the room, and the sight of him trembling, lost in his own chaos, tore you apart. You reached out to him, your hands trembling but determined as you cupped his face, making him look at you.

“Jungkook!” You rush to him—ignoring the sharp sting of the glass cutting into your feet, your focus entirely on him—kneeling beside him, your hands trembling as you gently try to lift him up, wiping away the glass from his skin. You speak his name again, louder this time, your voice full of panic but laced with love. “Please, Kook, I’m here. I’m here. Look at me.”

Your heart breaks seeing him like this, seeing the darkness that still clings to him. You hold him, your arms around him, whispering over and over again, trying to bring him back, trying to remind him that he’s not alone.

You pressed your forehead against his, your hands gently moving to cradle him, holding him as if you could protect him from all the pain and demons that still haunted him. He didn’t react at first, his body still shaking violently, his eyes distant as he clung to his own broken thoughts. But you held on, refusing to let go, even as the blood from your feet mixed with the tears that streamed down your face.

“I love you, Jungkook. I love you, please… let me help you,” you murmured through the pain, trying to hold him steady, trying to remind him of the love that surrounded him, that always surrounded him. The love that was still strong, even through all of this.

After what felt like an eternity, sitting together amidst the broken glass, Jungkook slowly came to his senses, his head pressed into your chest. You held him tightly, your fingers gently running through his hair, brushing away the tears from his cheeks.

“My baby,” you whispered, your chin resting on the top of his head. “If only I could take all your pain away.” Your own eyes brimmed with tears, and they fell silently onto his hair as you buried your face into it, trying to hide the ache in your chest.

The sound of your sobs mixed together as you felt his hand slide to your waist, his body inching closer to yours, as if he needed to be even nearer.

“Why are you staying?” His voice cracked, hoarse from the weight of his sobs, barely audible—but you heard him. You always would.

“Because I don’t think I could breathe without you,” you replied, your voice steady and certain, no doubt in your words. You cupped his face gently, gazing into his eyes. The sight hurt you, but it was still your Jungkook. The love of your life. “And because I love you so much that I can’t imagine a world without you in it,” you continued, brushing your thumbs over his eyes, pushing his hair back so you could see them clearly. “And because you are worthy of everything I can give, I would give you my whole life without hesitation, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s body shudders against you as your words settle into the quiet space between you. He inhales shakily, and despite the rawness of his emotion, there’s a sense of calm that begins to settle over him just from the warmth of your presence, the sincerity of your love.

“I don’t deserve that…” he whispers, his voice a broken whisper that only you can hear. His hand reaches for yours, gripping it like he’s afraid you might slip away.

“Jungkook, don’t say that,” you reply softly, cupping his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are still red, still full of pain, but now they search yours desperately, like he’s trying to find something—anything—to hold on to. “You are worth everything, all the love in the world. You’ve always been. I don’t care about the scars, the pain. You’re worth every single thing, Jungkook.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his, your breaths mingling as you share the silent comfort of the moment. “We’ll get through this, together,” you murmur.

“But how long? What if I never get better?” he whispered into your shoulder, his voice breaking with uncertainty. “I won’t blame you if you decide—”

You tightened your arms around his back, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Jeon,” you murmured, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the heavy, suffocating weight of the atmosphere. You wanted to ease his pain, if only a little. “One day, you’ll see yourself the way I see you. One day, you’ll love yourself as much as you love me. I’ll make sure of it.”

Carefully, you helped him up, your body pressing against the shards of glass, the pain digging into your thighs and bottom as blood began to trickle out, but you ignored it. His well-being was all that mattered now.

“But you have to trust me, okay? Whatever I decide, it’s for your own good.” Your voice wavered as you spoke, though you tried to keep it steady, like you had everything under control. But deep down, there was a thought buried in your chest, one that you had locked away and refused to let surface—something you weren’t sure you could ever say aloud. But what if that was the answer? What if that was what Jungkook needed? The catalyst that would finally push him toward healing, to love himself without needing to love you first?

What if your light was preventing him from finding his own?

If that were the case, you wouldn’t let it continue, even if it meant letting him go.

When you saw Dr. Kim again, you weren’t with Jungkook. You gripped your bag tighter, steeling yourself before you could chicken out and run away. Your eyes fixed on the damn poster on the wall.

Every life is precious, even yours.

Why couldn’t Jungkook see that? If only you could show him.

“Mr. Jeon, it’s your—” Dr. Kim’s voice faltered when he saw not the man he was expecting, but you. His expression shifted from surprise to something softer, more understanding. He didn’t question why it was you standing there instead of Jungkook, just opened the door and gestured for you to enter.

“Come in,” he said gently, his voice welcoming.

You sat down in the chair, unsure of why you were there in the first place. Just that morning, you’d told Jungkook you wouldn’t be long, lying through your teeth when you said you needed to go to work to verify some things. You had kissed his cheek, told him to keep sleeping, and assured him you were fine on your own when he asked if he should come with you.

“I’m guessing you want to talk about Jungkook, right?” Dr. Kim asked, twirling his pen between his fingers, his tone calm and patient.

You nodded quickly, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. His eyes softened, a small understanding smile forming on his lips, dimples appearing as his expression turned empathetic. “How is he?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat thickening before you spoke. “Bad,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You knew there was no point in lying about his condition now. “Yesterday night he had an outburst.”

You went on to explain everything that had happened, the broken glass, his sobs, and the overwhelming pain he was carrying. Dr. Kim listened intently, writing everything down in his notebook without interrupting.

Dr. Kim’s gaze didn’t waver. His eyes were steady and gentle, yet intense, as if he was pulling something from deep within you that you hadn’t even realized was there.

“And how are you?” he repeated, his voice steady but carrying a weight that made your heart skip a beat. His hands were crossed on the desk, but his presence felt much larger, almost like he was trying to see into the very core of you. It made you feel exposed, vulnerable.

“I—” you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly unsure how to answer. How were you? It felt like such a loaded question, one that you didn’t know how to untangle. What you did know for sure was that you wanted Jungkook to get better, and you were willing to do anything to help him with that. “I’m trying to hold on, but it’s nothing compared to Jung—”

Before you could finish, Dr. Kim cut you off gently but firmly, “No. I’m not asking about Jungkook right now. I’m asking about you.”

Your eyes drifted, avoiding his gaze for a moment as you fumbled with your thoughts. He noticed your discomfort, and with a small sigh, he leaned forward slightly, his voice softening as he tried to clarify his question. “You know that when you spend many years with someone suffering from depression, you don’t realize how it can get under your skin too. You might start carrying some of their weight without even noticing.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach as his words hung in the air. It was like a sudden revelation that you hadn’t fully considered. Could it be? Were you carrying the burden too?

“I don’t see Jungkook as a burden,” you assert, your voice firm, “I want to help him because I love him so much.”

Dr. Kim watched your expression soften as you spoke about Jungkook. Without even realizing it, and without him prompting you further, you began to recount the story of how you first met him, how he asked you out, and the journey that followed. You shared how he never kept his depression hidden from you, and how, despite the pain, it made you love him even more deeply.

The therapist gave a small smile as he listened, but the curiosity in his eyes didn’t fade. He leaned in slightly, his tone gentle but probing. “So, why are you here today? What made you feel the need to come and talk to me?”

He dug deeper, not leaving any stone unturned, until you could feel the weight of his question pressing on your chest, forcing the truth to finally come out.

You paused, your thoughts swirling for a moment as Dr. Kim’s question lingered in the air. It wasn’t easy to put into words what had brought you here. You’d been focused on Jungkook for so long, trying to be strong for him, trying to help him heal, but now, in this room, with Dr. Kim’s calm but piercing eyes on you, the weight of your own feelings became undeniable.

You shifted in your seat, feeling the weight of your words before they even left your mouth. “I’m scared that I’m suffocating him, like maybe he’ll never truly see his own worth because he’s too focused on loving me,” you confessed quickly, wanting to get the burden off your chest.

“And I’m scared that I can’t help him the way I think I can. I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that I’m not constantly on edge, holding my breath, waiting for the next thing. When he has those episodes, it feels like I’m losing him, and when he’s better, I try to be strong for him, but… it’s getting harder. I’m scared, Dr. Kim.”

You took a shaky breath, your heart heavy as you finally admitted what you had been too afraid to say. “I don’t think I can be the one to save him. I think it’s something only he can do.”

Dr. Kim nodded slowly, giving you the space to let the emotions flow. He could see the depth of your care for Jungkook. “I’m glad you’re aware of it,” he said softly, his voice reassuring. “It shows how much you love him, and that’s what matters. Jungkook is lucky to have someone like you.”

You buried your face in your hands, overwhelmed with the weight of it all. “But I—” you choked on the words, the sobs breaking free before you could finish your sentence, “I don’t want him to think I’m abandoning him. But why does it feel like it?”

The sight of you in so much pain tugged at Dr. Kim’s heart. Even though he had witnessed similar situations countless times, it didn’t make it any less heartbreaking. He took a deep breath, his tone gentle as he handed you a tissue, his eyes filled with empathy. You took it with a grateful smile, trying to regain some composure.

“If anything,” he said, his voice steady and calm, “you’re not abandoning Jungkook if you want him to focus on himself first. It might feel like you’re stepping back, but that’s what he needs right now—space to heal on his own.”

He paused for a moment, ensuring you understood, and then continued. “Jungkook has always struggled with his self-worth. He’s never truly learned to like himself. That’s the root of his pain. He’s projected the love he couldn’t give himself onto others, and that’s where the cycle of self-doubt and self-destruction comes from.”

Dr. Kim then went into the medical side of things, explaining Jungkook’s depression and self-destructive tendencies with more technical terms, while making sure you understood it clearly.

“He has what we call dysthymia, which is a long-term, chronic form of depression that causes persistent low mood. It’s not always obvious to others because he’s learned to mask it, but it takes a serious toll over time. His tendency to push people away or retreat into himself when he’s struggling comes from a place of deep insecurity. Jungkook’s also dealing with self-destructive tendencies, which means he might turn his pain inward, sometimes even in harmful ways, as a way to cope with the emotional turmoil he feels.”

He looked at you, his eyes softening. “But this isn’t about you not being enough for him. It’s about Jungkook learning to feel worthy of love, and that’s something only he can work on, no matter how much you wish you could fix it for him.”

The weight of Dr. Kim’s words hung heavily in the air, and despite your best efforts to absorb everything, your chest tightened with the painful realization that Jungkook’s journey to healing was something only he could walk alone. You thought about how much you longed to comfort him, to hold him, to take away his pain, but now you knew the truth—no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t be the one to fix it for him. Not unless he found a way to heal himself first.

A soft ache blossomed in your heart as you thought about how desperately you wanted to run home to him, wrap him in your arms, and just hold him tight, feeling his heartbeat against yours. But deep down, you knew that no amount of physical closeness could change what needed to happen inside him. You had told him countless times that he was worthy of love, but he had to believe it for himself. If he didn’t, those words would remain just that—words—falling on ears that couldn’t yet hear them.

“Jungkook needs to find a way to love himself,” Dr. Kim’s voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. “Before he can truly give love to someone else, he has to learn how to give it to himself first. He needs to find what makes his heart beat when you’re not there, and learn to be okay on his own, so he doesn’t rely on others to fill that void.”

The pain was still there, the ache in your chest growing stronger as you thought about letting go of him, even if just for a while, to give him the space to heal. It felt like a cruel paradox. You loved him more than anything, but you knew that if you didn’t let him go, he’d never be able to fully heal. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you wanted him to be happy, even if it meant not being by his side through every step.

Dr. Kim’s words seemed to settle into the deepest parts of you. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” he continued gently, sensing the internal struggle in your silence. “But Jungkook needs to focus on himself first, before he can fully give himself to you. He can’t truly love you if he doesn’t love himself.”

You nodded slowly, trying to let the words sink in, feeling the weight of them. It was hard, but you knew deep down that you couldn’t force him to heal. As much as you wanted to be his everything, you couldn’t be the one to save him. He needed to save himself.

Even if it meant letting him go. Even if it meant stepping back and allowing him to find himself before you could truly be together the way you both deserved.

Your heart ached at the thought of it, but you knew this was the only way forward, for both of you. Jungkook needed to find peace within himself, and you had to learn to give him the space to do that, no matter how much it hurt.

“And if you’re worried about him,” he continued softly, his hand resting gently on yours, “I’ll make sure to be there for him—not just as a therapist, but as a friend. You’re strong. Not everyone could make the decision you’ve made. To give up something you love for the sake of the other’s well-being… that’s a kind of strength not many possess.”

His words seemed to linger in the air, and for a brief moment, you almost felt like you weren’t alone in this, that someone else understood the weight of what you were going through. It didn’t completely erase the pain, but it gave you the reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

“When the time is right, you and Jungkook can find happiness again. I promise you that,” Dr. Kim added, his voice steady and sincere.

You nodded, the tears that had been threatening to fall slowly subsiding, though a faint, fragile hope flickered within you. Maybe things weren’t as broken as you thought. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for everything to be okay again. A small part of you believed it—believed that, despite the hurt, there was a path forward. And even if it was a long road ahead, you knew now that you wouldn’t have to walk it alone.

Talking to Jungkook about the decision you felt was best for both of you was one of the hardest things you’d ever done.

Tears streamed down both of your faces as he clung to you, whispering that he couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving, that he loved you more than anything. You whispered the same in return, trying to be strong, though inside, you were just as shattered as he was.

“Promise me you’ll wait for me,” he whispered into your shoulder, his warm breath brushing against your neck, his tears soaking into your skin.

Without a second of hesitation, you nodded fiercely. “I promise, I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes,” you said, taking his face into your hands, making sure he could see your sincerity. “I don’t want to love anyone else. You’re the one I want. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Jungkook.” Your eyes locked onto his, willing him to believe every word.

Jungkook didn’t need any more reassurance. The way you held him, the way you looked at him, told him everything he needed to know. But still, he asked, “And promise me, if I can’t heal, you’ll be happy too.”

That was a promise you couldn’t make. The thought of a world without Jungkook was unimaginable to you. You couldn’t even remember who you were before him; every part of your life had become intertwined with his.

“Baby,” he whispered, lowering his head so he could look into your eyes, his hands gently gripping your cheeks. “Please, I need you to say you’ll be happy,” he pleaded, his forehead resting against yours. “Use your words.”

As much as it hurt, as much as it tore you apart to even think about it, you managed to say, “I will be happy, Kook. I promise.”

Jungkook’s grip on your cheeks tightened, as if he was trying to hold onto this moment, to the love and the promise you made. His eyes searched yours, his expression softening as he processed your words, and though you could see the vulnerability and pain in them, there was something else too—trust.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as more tears fell. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

The rawness of his emotions tore at your heart, but you did your best to comfort him, your hands caressing his face as you held him tightly. You felt his pain, his fear of losing you, and yet, you also understood the importance of this space. This was something he needed to do for himself, even if it broke your heart to say goodbye, even for a little while.

“I know, Kook,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to lose you either, but I need you to heal. I need you to find yourself again… and when you’re ready, we’ll be together.”

Jungkook pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky as he whispered, “I’ll never stop loving you. No matter what.”

And in that moment, you believed him. As much as it hurt to part ways, you both knew that love couldn’t just fix everything. It couldn’t heal wounds that were deeper than either of you could touch, but it could be the foundation to help rebuild. You knew that no matter what happened next, your love for each other would always be there, even if you had to find it again in different ways, at different times.

You both decided that you would be the one to leave the apartment. It felt right, especially because you didn’t want to shake Jungkook up any more than he already was. You couldn’t bear the thought of telling him to leave his own home.

You also agreed that Bam would stay with him. It never crossed your mind that you would take the dog from him. Bam had always been more attached to Jungkook than to you, and Jungkook loved him so much. Taking him away would’ve been selfish, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. That small happiness was something you couldn’t take from him.

As you packed your things, Jungkook helped, always asking if you were sure you had everything. There were no angry words, no shouting—just understanding. That’s what your relationship with him had always been, and in some ways, it made leaving feel just a little bit easier.

But as you stood there, packing up your life, you had no idea where you would go next. Where would you live for the next month, year, or even longer? It felt like you were being thrown back into independence again, but this time, it was different.

“Wait!” he shouted from the hallway just as you were about to turn around. You froze, heart racing.

“I love you,” he said, his voice raw from all the emotions that had been building up.

He stepped closer, and without a word, he cupped your face in his hands, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss started soft, tentative, but soon deepened, passion overtaking both of you. Your tongues tangled, your teeth clashing as you both fought to hold on to each other, not wanting to let go.

You had no idea how you’d live without him. You’d never imagined this moment, and you weren’t sure you were ready to face it. But maybe, deep down, you knew it was what was best for both of you. You’d lost yourself in the process of trying to save him, and now, perhaps, it was time to find yourself again.

For both your sakes, maybe it was for the best.

Jungkook wouldn’t lie, the first five months without you had been nothing but tears, therapy sessions, and him pouring his heart out to Bam, as if the dog could somehow respond with the answers he desperately needed.

But the dog, in his own silent way, seemed to understand. Bam would always settle close to him, resting his head on Jungkook’s lap or licking his face gently, offering what little comfort he could. Jungkook would laugh every time Bam did it, the sound bittersweet. He couldn’t help but remember how you used to say it was gross, but now, in the absence of your teasing, he welcomed it, even if just for the comfort it gave him in that moment.

Honestly, Jungkook hadn’t made much progress. If anything, he felt like he was regressing. He thought about calling you often, his thumbs hovering over your number, knowing that you’d pick up right away. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not like this. He knew that if he reached out, it would only make things worse, so he told himself he’d wait until he was fully healed, ready to love you again, even though a part of him knew he’d never stopped.

“What about finding something to do?” Namjoon suggested, breaking the silence in the apartment as he sat on the sofa. Over the past five months, Dr. Kim had become more than just a therapist to Jungkook. He had slowly, but surely, become his friend—his only one. And though it didn’t fill the hole in Jungkook’s chest, it did ease his loneliness, just a little.

Jungkook thought about it for a moment, his mind heavy with uncertainty. It had been so long since he did anything other than wait for the days to pass, simply surviving. Since he dropped out of university, he’d felt lost, not knowing what he was supposed to do. If it wasn’t you, then what? Maybe Bam could fill that emptiness, but even that felt uncertain.

His eyes wandered to his dog, who was nestled beside him, gently purring as Jungkook absentmindedly ran his hand through his fur. And suddenly, Namjoon’s voice cut through the silence.

“What about working in that shelter?”

Namjoon shifted on the sofa, his excitement bubbling over like he’d just stumbled upon the solution to everything. Jungkook looked up, and for the first time in a long while, his eyes sparkled. Something about the idea clicked—maybe it was because it involved something tangible, something he could care for without feeling lost in his own head.

He hadn’t realized it until that moment, but it felt like a possibility, a way forward.

“Yeah… Yeah, I could try that,” Jungkook murmured, his voice gaining strength. For the first time in a while, it felt like he was stepping towards something instead of just existing. Maybe this could be the beginning of figuring things out.

The next morning, Jungkook took a little extra time to prepare himself. The usual dark hoodie he’d worn so often lately felt too familiar, too comfortable in a way that made him feel stagnant, stuck in his own thoughts. He switched it for something a bit more presentable—a white shirt you’d bought him for his birthday, paired with some jeans. You used to tell him how handsome he looked when he wore that, and for a moment, the memory of you saying those words made his chest tighten. He could almost feel your arms around him again, the way you straddled him that night after the restaurant, kissing him like you meant every word.

That birthday had been the best one of his life, and the memory of it brought a bittersweet warmth. But he pushed those thoughts aside, not wanting to get lost in them now. He couldn’t afford to get distracted, not today.

He knelt in front of Bam, scratching behind his ears as the dog lay at his feet. “Daddy will leave for a bit,” he murmured softly, his fingers stilling when Bam rolled onto his back, showing his stomach. Jungkook couldn’t help himself; he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Bam’s belly. “Be a good boy,” he whispered before standing up, taking a deep breath. He was about to leave the apartment, the first step towards something new, something unknown, but maybe, just maybe, it could be the beginning of healing.

With a final glance at the apartment, Jungkook stepped outside, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, but with a tiny spark of hope in his heart.

The moment Jungkook stepped out of the house, he couldn’t remember the last time he had done anything outside of his routine—whether it was running errands or heading to his usual therapy sessions with Namjoon. It all felt foreign, but as soon as the sun began kissing his golden skin, a warmth spread through him. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sunlight wash over him, and for the first time in a while, he felt something close to peace.

He walked steadily towards the shelter, his heart picking up pace with every step. Each one brought him closer to something he wasn’t quite sure about yet, but there was a strange pull, a feeling that maybe this was the right thing to do.

It wasn’t long before he saw the sign: Hope Shelter. It was a small, humble building, but something about it felt right. As he pushed open the door, the soft jingle of a bell echoed in the room, signaling his arrival.

Almost immediately, a familiar face appeared. The boy he had met when Bam first came into his life—his energetic smile wide on his heart-shaped lips.

“Hi!” the boy greeted with a sing-song voice, quickly wiping his hands on his jeans. His eyes locked onto Jungkook, and it took only a second for recognition to hit.

“Wait—” he paused, holding up his finger as if trying to place where he had seen him before. “Bam, isn’t it? The cute Doberman?”

Jungkook’s heart did a small leap at the mention of Bam’s name. He nodded quickly, feeling the tension in his chest start to ease. “Yeah, Bam. That’s my dog,” he said, his voice a little lighter now. The familiar name had broken through the knot of anxiety inside him, making it easier to breathe.

Hoseok’s face twisted with concern, his eyes widening. “Wait— is he okay?” he asked, and Jungkook quickly reassured him that Bam was perfectly fine, his tail wagging happily at home.

“Oh, thank god,” Hoseok sighed in relief. “I was a little worried there.” He paused for a beat, his tone shifting into something more casual. “I’m Hoseok, by the way. I think I forgot to mention my name when you came with your girlfriend.”

Jungkook’s eyes dropped to the floor at the mention of you, the weight of the words hitting him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. His chest tightened, but before he could get lost in the sea of thoughts that suddenly flooded him, Hoseok continued talking.

“Anyway, why’d you come by today? You look like you have something on your mind,” Hoseok asked, his voice kind but direct.

Jungkook hesitated for a second, but something about the easygoing way Hoseok spoke made it easier to open up. “I… I wanted to work here,” he said before he could second-guess himself. “I think I can help.”

Hoseok’s eyes went wide, and his mouth formed a surprised ‘o’. “For real?” he said, a grin quickly spreading across his face. “Wow, it’s like you’re some kind of miracle! I could really use a hand around here,” he added, before stopping himself with a chuckle. “Especially some strong hands.”

The light-heartedness in Hoseok’s voice made Jungkook smile. He hadn’t expected this interaction to be so easy, so natural. It felt good, like he could finally exhale, the weight of the past few months loosening its grip on him just a little bit. The thought of working here, doing something with purpose, felt like a step in the right direction.

“Thanks,” Jungkook said softly, a bit more at ease now. “I think I could do it.”

Hoseok showed Jungkook around the shelter, explaining everything with patience and enthusiasm. He made sure to cover every detail, from feeding schedules to cleaning routines, and Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how easy it was to talk to him. There was something about Hoseok’s energy—he was genuine and approachable, never rushing, always making sure Jungkook understood what he needed to know.

At one point, Hoseok casually mentioned that there were two people working there. “My former assistant left a few months ago,” Hoseok said with a smile, “He followed his dream of becoming a guitarist. Pretty cool, right?” Jungkook didn’t ask too many questions about that. He didn’t want to pry into someone else’s life, especially not when it came to personal decisions. But the fact that Hoseok was willing to share a little bit made Jungkook feel more comfortable, like maybe he wasn’t just an outsider here.

After some time, the conversation shifted to something Jungkook didn’t expect: dogs and their tricks. Hoseok mentioned how much he enjoyed teaching dogs new tricks, and it sparked something in Jungkook. He hesitated for a second before admitting, “I’ve tried to teach Bam some tricks, but… I don’t know. He never really seems to get them.”

Hoseok laughed, a soft and comforting sound, before jumping into teaching mode. “It’s all about patience and knowing how each dog learns. Bam’s a smart dog, I bet you just need to find the right way to communicate with him.” He explained a few simple techniques and gave Jungkook advice on how to approach training. It felt like a small step in the right direction, not just for Bam, but for Jungkook himself.

And then, out of nowhere, the conversation shifted again—this time to you.

“So,” Hoseok started, almost as if he was tiptoeing around the subject, “How’s your girlfriend doing? She still helping you with Bam, or…?”

Jungkook froze for a moment. The mention of you caught him off guard, like a sudden shift in the air. He wasn’t expecting to talk about you, not yet, not in this setting. His stomach tightened, but he didn’t want to seem too distant or closed off, so he forced a small, neutral smile.

“She’s… doing good,” Jungkook replied, though his voice sounded a little more distant than he intended. “We’re not… together anymore.” He caught Hoseok’s eye, not sure how the other man would react.

Hoseok, ever the easygoing presence, didn’t press further. He just gave Jungkook a small, understanding nod, as if he could see the weight of the words without needing an explanation. “It’s tough, man. Breakups suck, but sometimes, it’s what’s best for both people.”

Jungkook let out a slow breath, feeling a little lighter somehow. It was strange, talking about you like this, but it also felt good to say it aloud, to let someone else know what he was going through.

He was about to open his mouth, to argue that it wasn’t exactly a breakup like most people would think, that it wasn’t as simple as that, but something in him told him to keep it in. Maybe, it wasn’t the right time to go into all of that. It felt like it was a conversation for another day, another moment when he wasn’t still sorting out his feelings.

Seeing the way Jungkook’s gaze dropped again, Hoseok quickly tried to shift the atmosphere. “Hey,” he said, a light tone in his voice, “Maybe next time you bring Bam here, we could work together on those tricks you want him to learn? I bet he’s got it in him. Plus, I think a little extra practice might help you too.”

Jungkook felt a small, grateful smile tug at his lips. It wasn’t much, but Hoseok’s attempt to lighten the mood worked. The conversation shifted, the air feeling a little easier to breathe. It was like a fresh start for him, a new focus on something simple, something manageable.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, nodding slowly, “That sounds like a good idea. Maybe Bam will listen to you more than me.”

Hoseok chuckled, a bright, genuine laugh. “I doubt it. But we’ll see,” he said, giving Jungkook an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

For the first time in a long while, Jungkook didn’t feel the weight of his past dragging him down. Maybe this was just what he needed—a small step forward, one trick at a time.

Jungkook settled into the rhythm of the shelter quickly. It had been a month since he started working there, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself genuinely enjoying his days. He wasn’t great with words or socializing with people, but with the dogs, it was different. They didn’t need much from him—just patience, love, and consistency. Those were things he could give without hesitation, and they responded in kind.

Bam, his loyal dog, also adapted slowly but surely. At first, Bam stayed close to him, too shy to socialize with the other dogs, but as the days passed, he began to trust the others. He became more playful, even learning some new tricks. Jungkook smiled as he watched Bam roll over on command.

“Bam!” he called, holding his hands out in the shape of a gun, and said with a grin, “Pow! Pow! Pow!” His fingers mimicked gunshots, and Bam immediately rolled onto his back, playing dead as if he’d been shot.

Jungkook laughed softly, bending down to pet Bam’s soft fur. “We will have to show mommy that you finally learned it,” he murmured, his lips curling into a deep, fond smile. His heart ached a little as he said it, the familiar words slipping out without thought. He knew, deep down, he would always want to share these moments with you.

Hoseok, who had been observing from a distance, saw the exchange and didn’t ask any questions. He understood now, after a month of working closely with Jungkook, that despite everything, Jungkook spoke about you often. It was clear that whatever had happened between the two of you, it wasn’t the end. Hoseok could tell that there was still so much love there, even if Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it.

So, Hoseok just smiled. There was no rush, no pressure to fix anything. He had learned that sometimes people just needed time to figure things out, and maybe, just maybe, this shelter, these dogs, and the bond between Jungkook and Bam were the first steps on his path toward healing.

Jungkook had learned a lot about himself—things he never even thought to explore before. One of those discoveries was his surprising talent for painting.

“What does it represent?” Kim Taehyung asked, tilting his head as he studied the canvas in front of them. His boxy grin was ever-present, but his eyes held genuine curiosity.

Jungkook met Taehyung at the shelter a few months ago. The guy had been looking for a Pomeranian, and Jungkook introduced him to Yeontan. That day, Taehyung found not only his “dream dog,” as he excitedly called him, but also two unexpected friendships.

The bond between Jungkook, Taehyung, and Hoseok had formed naturally. At first, it revolved around their shared love for dogs, but soon, their conversations stretched beyond that. They talked about everything—music, movies, life. Jungkook never really knew what it felt like to have friends, not like this. Of course, Namjoon was close to him, but their relationship was different. Namjoon knew him too well—sometimes better than Jungkook knew himself. He knew about the depression, the struggles, the darkest parts of him.

But Taehyung and Hoseok didn’t. If they noticed his scars, they never said anything. Maybe they assumed it was something he had struggled with but was overcoming. And in a way, they were right.

Because Jungkook was healing. He realized it when he counted the days—two months since he last hurt himself. Two months clean. It was a long time. It meant he was getting closer. Closer to healing, closer to loving himself, closer to you.

It had been seven months now since he last saw you. Of course, he still thought about you every day. But it wasn’t painful anymore. It wasn’t an aching wound—more like a quiet presence, something that gave him strength rather than pulling him under. He didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to reach for you anymore.

Not yet.

Because he knew he wasn’t fully ready. But one day, when the time was right—he would be.

Jungkook tilted his head, studying his painting as if shifting his perspective might help him understand what his hands had created. He rarely painted with intention—his heart spoke louder than his mind when he held a brush. Sometimes, that meant beauty. Other times, it meant something much darker.

Like this one.

Before him stood a black shadow, its form ambiguous but undeniably human. The face, if it could even be called that, had a wide-open mouth, round eyes, a soft nose, and puffed cheeks. The more Jungkook stared, the more it began to resemble… himself. The shadow looked like it was screaming, dark tendrils spilling from its mouth, like it was vomiting out something toxic. It was abstract, eerie, yet painfully familiar.

It was exactly how he felt.

Taehyung, who had been watching quietly, placed a steady hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. He didn’t ask for an explanation anymore. As a professional painter himself, he knew that sometimes art didn’t need words. And if it did, those words belonged to the artist alone.

So he didn’t press.

“You’re really talented at that,” Taehyung said simply before refocusing on his own painting.

Jungkook didn’t respond, just hummed in acknowledgment as he continued adding strokes to his canvas. While they painted, they shared bits and pieces about themselves—small things, nothing too deep. Jungkook preferred it that way. He listened more than he spoke, occasionally answering or adding a comment, but never giving too much away. It felt good, light, easy.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder—how had he found the courage to tell you about his depression so quickly? There must have been something about you, something that made him feel safe enough to spill the parts of himself he usually kept hidden. And when he really thought about it, he almost couldn’t believe he had done that. He had handed you his darkness and somehow still wished you would love him despite it.

And you did.

That was something Jungkook still couldn’t quite understand. Because if the roles had been reversed—if he had been the one hearing all of that from someone else—he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have been afraid.

After saying goodbye to Taehyung and his small dog, Jungkook left, already looking forward to their next meet-up. It made him smile—he was filling his days with things that gave him purpose. His work at the shelter with Hoseok, his painting sessions with Taehyung, and now, his weekly meetings with Namjoon.

It felt strange, in a good way. For someone who once spent his days just waiting for them to end, waiting to get closer to nothingness, he now had things to look forward to. And that realization made him smile.

He didn’t even think of these meetings as therapy sessions anymore. At some point, they had shifted from Namjoon’s office to more casual settings—sometimes a walk in the park, sometimes at Jungkook’s home, and today, a coffee shop.

As he walked in, he spotted Namjoon right away, sitting by a booth with a cup in front of him. His dimples showed as he smiled, watching Jungkook over the rim of his glasses.

“Your banana milk is on the way,” Namjoon said as Jungkook settled into his seat. Jungkook thanked him, a small warmth spreading in his chest. There was something comforting in the fact that people around him knew his preferences—what he liked, what he didn’t. It made him feel seen, like he was no longer just drifting through life. He was someone with his own tastes, his own choices, slowly shaping the world around him rather than just moving through it.

“So, how was your day?” Namjoon asked, his dimples showing as he smiled. Just seeing Jungkook sitting across from him, breathing and present, was enough to fill him with quiet relief. He had known him since he was sixteen, had watched him struggle, fall, and fight his way back up. To see him getting better, little by little, made Namjoon’s chest feel lighter.

“It was good. I spent time with Taehyung—we painted,” Jungkook said before lowering his gaze as the waiter placed his banana milkshake in front of him. He stirred it absentmindedly before continuing, “I painted something kind of dark… but it felt good, you know?”

Namjoon nodded, stirring his coffee as he listened. “That’s the thing about art,” he said. “It doesn’t always have to be pretty to be meaningful. Sometimes, the darkest things we create are the ones that help us the most.”

Jungkook hummed, taking a sip of his banana milkshake. It was sweet, familiar. He felt the corners of his lips twitch up slightly. “Yeah… It was weird. I didn’t even know what I was painting until I was almost done. But when I looked at it, I just… understood.”

Namjoon smiled knowingly. “That’s progress, Jungkook.”

Jungkook tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “How?”

“Because you’re expressing instead of suppressing,” Namjoon said simply, setting his cup down. “Before, you used to bottle things up until they consumed you. Now, you’re letting them out—through work, through painting, through friendships. You’re finding outlets instead of drowning in them.”

Jungkook let the words sink in, stirring his drink absentmindedly. He hadn’t thought of it like that, but Namjoon was right. He was living now, not just existing.

After an hour of conversation—mostly about his feelings, but also lighter topics—Jungkook left the café, feeling the pull to return home to Bam. Socializing was still something he was getting used to, and he found that he needed time to himself afterward. But unlike before, being alone with his thoughts didn’t scare him as much anymore.

Namjoon watched him go, a small smile on his lips as he pulled out his phone and quickly dialed your number. The moment you answered, he spoke.

“Hey,” he greeted softly.

At the sound of his voice, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“I just saw him. He’s doing good,” Namjoon reassured you, smiling at the way he could practically hear your relief through the phone.

Because what Jungkook didn’t know was that Namjoon wasn’t just close to him—he had also grown close to you. Before you left, you had insisted on getting updates about Jungkook, checking in on him even from a distance. At first, Namjoon wasn’t sure if it was the right thing for you, but after seeing how much it mattered to you—after hearing you beg—he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

You thanked Namjoon before saying goodbye, finally releasing the breath you had been holding. A small smile crept onto your lips. Even if you didn’t know the details of Jungkook’s progress—how he was healing or what had changed—just hearing from Namjoon that he was doing well was enough for now. You didn’t need explanations yet. You would hear it all from Jungkook when the time was right, when he was ready to tell you himself. And more than anything, you wanted to hear his voice as he shared everything he had discovered while you were apart.

You were preparing yourself for whatever came next—if you ever saw Jungkook again. Because as much as you longed for that moment, a small, nagging fear remained. What if, once he truly learned to love himself, he no longer felt the need to love you? And as much as you wanted him to reach that place of healing, the thought of him moving on from you made your stomach twist.

Then there was another fear, one more grounded in reality—what if, in his journey of healing, he met someone else? What if he found a girl or a boy who fit into his new life, someone who didn’t remind him of his darkest days? What if you became nothing more than a distant memory, a part of his past he no longer needed?

And yet, strangely, you felt ready to accept that possibility. Because if Jungkook was happy—whether it was with you or without you—you knew you could never be angry. You had loved him enough to let him go, and if this was what he needed to heal, then you would find a way to be at peace with it too.

Jungkook didn’t expect to face his depression again—not like this. It wasn’t triggered by his own reflection in the mirror or by the weight of his past pressing down on him. No, this time, it came from someone else.

A man walked into the shelter, his dark hair falling over his forehead, sharp cat-like eyes scanning the room. He carried a guitar case slung over his shoulder and asked for Hoseok. Jungkook could tell immediately—this must have been the former assistant, the one who had left to chase his dreams. There was a familiarity in the way he moved, like he had never really left.

But Jungkook’s attention wasn’t on his face or the way he spoke. It was on his arms. The faint but unmistakable scars running along his skin. Scars just like Jungkook’s.

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He had always known there were others like him, others who carried the same marks of pain, but he had never met one. Never seen someone else wearing their past the way he did.

“He—” Jungkook started, his voice slightly shaky as he forced himself to look away. He didn’t want to seem intrusive. He knew how it felt to have people stare like you were something broken, something they didn’t understand. He didn’t want to make this guy feel that way. “He isn’t here right now. Can I get your name so I can let him know you stopped by?”

He reached for a pen, quickly scribbling the name down, but in the process, his sleeve shifted, just enough for his own scars to peek through. The man’s sharp eyes caught it immediately.

Jungkook froze. Their gazes met.

For a second, he felt exposed. Vulnerable. But then, instead of pity or shock, the man simply smiled—a quiet, knowing smile. A smile of understanding.

“Min Yoongi,” he said.

And just like that, another friendship was born. One built on shared hardships. On survival. On the quiet, unspoken understanding of two people who had made it through the darkness.

Min Yoongi fit into their little group with ease. He already knew Hoseok, so getting to know Taehyung and Jungkook wasn’t difficult. But with Jungkook, it was different. It wasn’t just about introductions or casual conversations—it was like they already understood each other without needing to say much.

Jungkook admired Yoongi. He carried himself with confidence, never hiding his scars, wearing short sleeves like they were nothing. Jungkook, on the other hand, was still learning to accept his own. He was starting to love them, to see them as proof of his survival, but he still kept them hidden beneath baggy clothes and long sleeves.

“You’ll get there,” Yoongi said, casually sipping his drink.

Hoseok and Taehyung had left them alone at the table, off at the bar ordering another round. It hadn’t been easy for Jungkook to agree to come here tonight, but Hoseok had insisted—pouty lips, pleading eyes, impossible to refuse. Jungkook still wasn’t sure how he felt about bars. The last time he had been in one, it was with you. He had been anxious, uncomfortable, but you had held his hand the entire time, grounding him. Making it lighter.

Now, he realized with a small smile, he didn’t need your hand.

He finally turned to Yoongi, meeting his steady gaze.

“It took me years before I could show them,” Yoongi admitted, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

It was the first time they had ever talked about it. Their scars. Their past. The silent war they had both fought.

Jungkook nodded, his fingers tightening around his glass, but his eyes softened. He understood. He knew that his time would come, just like Yoongi’s had. It wouldn’t happen overnight, but he had enough hope now to be patient, to wait for the day when he could let go of the shame and embrace what made him who he was.

Jungkook kept track of the days, and today marked one year since he last saw you. He never thought he’d make it this far, but now, a year later, he was proud of how far he’d come. He was better, and with each passing day, he felt himself getting closer to you again.

There were moments when doubts crept in, when he wondered if you’d even want him in your life after everything he’d put you through. But you promised. What he knew for certain, though, was that he still wanted you in his life. He dreamed of the day he’d see you again. He wondered if your hair was still the same, if you still wore that floral perfume, if you still loved fried chicken, and if you were still obsessed with books. He hoped, more than anything, that you were still that same smiling girl he fell in love with.

He was beginning to drift into those thoughts again when a sharp punch to his face snapped him back to reality. “Yah!” a voice shouted. “Jeon, you were daydreaming again,” said the boy with the blonde hair, grinning at him.

Jungkook shook off the daze, now fully aware of his surroundings. He was at the gym, a place he frequented often, having developed a newfound love for boxing and sports.

“Sorry, Jimin,” he muttered, holding his gloves up to his face, ready to get back into it.

It was Namjoon who had introduced him to boxing, suggesting it as a way to channel his anger into something productive. With a little courage, Jungkook had given it a try—and now, it was one of the things that helped him keep going.

Jimin took off his gloves and walked over to the bench, dropping onto it with a loud sigh. Jungkook followed, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long sip.

“What had you so distracted?” Jimin asked, a teasing grin playing on his lips—one that could probably make anyone spill their secrets.

“Nothing,” Jungkook replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. He had been thinking about you, and that reaction felt natural.

Jimin raised his eyebrows playfully. “Is it a girl?”

Jungkook scoffed, punching Jimin’s shoulder lightly before shaking his head, trying to hide the way his cheeks were heating up.

“Shit, I didn’t know you were in love,” Jimin laughed. “I shouldn’t have told my friend you were available.”

Jungkook turned to him, eyes wide. “What?”

“A friend of mine asked for your number,” Jimin explained with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “She said you were the hottest guy she’s ever seen.”

Jungkook felt his heart clench at that. He never thought of himself as someone who could attract that kind of attention. He never saw himself as “hot” or particularly handsome. The only time he ever felt beautiful was when you told him so. But now, knowing that someone else could be drawn to him, his heart pounded louder than he expected.

“I doubt that,” Jungkook said, trying to brush it off, though the confession had shaken him more than he expected. He hadn’t meant for it to affect him, but it did. And it felt wrong. Because he was still waiting for you—because he was going to be there for you. The thought of someone else making his heart react like this felt like a betrayal.

“No, for real,” Jimin insisted, turning his body toward him. “You just have that kind of look that draws people in.” He whistled playfully, flashing a teasing grin. He was like that—lighthearted, fun. Jungkook was always laughing with him when they weren’t throwing punches at each other. “So? What do you say?”

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek. He had no idea how to answer that. He didn’t think he could ever give his trust to another girl—to open up, to give himself, his body, and everything that came with it.

“I can’t,” he admitted, staring at his fingers.

“Why not?”

“I have someone,” Jungkook said, then immediately regretted how it sounded. “Well—I mean, not right now, not here, but…” He sighed, struggling to explain the situation without sounding like a madman waiting for someone who might never come back. Without diving into everything that had led him to this moment.

Jimin clapped a hand on his shoulder, his expression softer now. “It’s okay. There’s someone else. I get it.” Then, with a knowing smile, he put his gloves back on, signaling that the conversation was over.

But the thought kept circling in Jungkook’s mind all day. Even as he wandered through the grocery store, scanning the shelves, his mind was elsewhere.

Because now, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what would happen between the two of you.

What if you didn’t want him anymore? What if you had found someone else?

The thought made his chest ache. His grip tightened around the basket handle. He had spent so much time healing, convincing himself that when the time was right, he’d find his way back to you. But what if you had already moved on?

If only he could have some kind of sign. Some news about you. Something to hold onto.

And that’s when he heard it—your giggles.

His favorite sound. The one he could recognize anywhere, the one that used to make his world feel lighter.

But it wasn’t just your laugh. It was that loud, terrible, over-the-top laughter that followed. A man’s laugh. One that was far too comfortable, too close.

Jungkook hated it.

Because what could he—whoever he was—have said to make you laugh like that? The kind of laugh that made your eyes crinkle, the kind that used to be his to hear.

His first instinct was to turn around, to leave before you could see him. To run.

But then—

“Jungkook?”

His feet stopped dead in their tracks, his body frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

And when he finally turned, his gaze didn’t land on you.

It landed on him.

The man standing beside you.

Same height as Jungkook. Same dark hair. But somehow, he seemed… better. His features were sharper, his posture effortless, his presence so at ease beside you.

Jungkook had never felt this small before. And it wasn’t because the man had broader shoulders or a stronger stance.

It was because—

He had you.

“Jungkook?”

The guy said his name like he was tasting it, like he recognized it but wasn’t quite sure yet. Then, realization flickered across his face.

“Wait, the Jung—”

Before he could finish, you shoved your basket into his hands so fast he barely had time to react. And then you were running.

Straight to Jungkook.

He barely had time to process before your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your face buried against his chest. He felt the warmth of your body, the familiar way you fit against him.

And he knew that with your ear pressed right there against his chest, you could hear how fast his heart was racing.

But Jungkook’s eyes weren’t on you.

They were still on him. The other man. The one who had been standing next to you just seconds ago.

He was watching the scene unfold, but strangely, he didn’t seem all that surprised. Not angry. Not even uncomfortable. Just… there. Observing.

And that only made Jungkook’s stomach churn harder.

Because if that guy was your boyfriend—if you were his—then he was a terrible one.

Because if it were Jungkook, if he had you, if he loved you the way he still did—he could never just stand there and watch while you ran into another man’s arms like this.

His hands hesitated before they found their way into your hair, fingers gently pressing against the back of your head. His body was still frozen, his mind scrambling to catch up.

But one thing was clear.

He had missed you. More than he even knew was possible.

Jungkook’s mouth worked faster than his brain. “Your boyfriend is watching.”

The second the words left him, he wanted to slap himself because you immediately pulled back to look at him, confusion flashing across your face before you burst into giggles. That same sound he knew by heart, the one that had haunted him for months.

“My what?” You turned, pointing at the guy who was now laughing too—the same obnoxiously loud laugh Jungkook had heard from the other aisle. “Seokjin? He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Jungkook let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding. And without thinking, his hands found your arms again, tugging you back into him.

This time, he didn’t hesitate. He hugged you properly, arms wrapping tightly around your frame, holding you like he’d never let go.

“Fuck, you scared me,” he murmured into your hair, eyes squeezing shut as he breathed you in.

There was so much to say. So many things left unsaid. So much time lost between you. But none of it mattered right now.

Because he was here. And so were you.

You didn’t want to think about the past, about the pain or the time apart—not when he was this close, not when he felt so different.

You leaned back slightly, taking him in properly for the first time. His hair was longer now, curling slightly at the ends. His chest looked broader, stronger. But what caught your attention the most were his arms.

Bare.

Out for the whole world to see. Not hidden behind layers of clothing. Not hidden at all.

Your fingers reached out before you could stop them, tracing the muscle of his forearm, the skin that had once been covered in sleeves no matter the season.

“I promise I was waiting for you,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Jungkook swallowed hard, his grip tightening around you, as if grounding himself.

“Me too.”

You left the grocery store together, Seokjin trailing behind—his arms full of shopping bags, huffing dramatically about being ignored. But you barely noticed.

Jungkook was right beside you. That was all that mattered.

As you walked, he learned more about Seokjin—the man he had been so quick to despise in the span of a few minutes. He was your roommate, your colleague. The one who had taken you in when you left. The one who made sure you were okay.

Jungkook immediately bowed to him in gratitude, his chest tight with something unspoken. Because you were safe, and it was thanks to him. He almost felt bad for wanting to punch the guy’s too-perfect face. Almost.

Still, he couldn’t believe this was real. That you were here, walking beside him, chatting like no time had passed at all.

You mostly talked about lighthearted things—Seokjin’s habit of screaming too loud while playing video games, how you had to bang on his door at night to make him shut up.

Jungkook listened as you and Seokjin bickered over who was actually the loudest, letting the familiar sound of your laughter sink into his bones.

And finally, he let himself look at you properly.

All the questions that had haunted him for months—answered in an instant.

Your hair was different. Lighter. And longer too—a quiet reminder of the time you had spent apart. Your cheeks were rounder, fuller. You looked healthy. Happy.

And as the sunlight hit your face just right, illuminating your bright, shining eyes—Jungkook felt something shift.

Because he remembered the exact moment he had fallen in love with you.

And somehow, standing beside you now…

It felt just the same.

You weren’t sure how long you spent getting ready. It had been a while since you took this much time to make yourself look pretty.

Finding the perfect outfit wasn’t easy either. You kept changing, staring at yourself in the mirror, second-guessing every little detail. And maybe you were more anxious than you thought you’d be.

Because tonight, you were meeting Jungkook. And your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the moment you said yes.

“Is this a date, or just an excuse to see your dog?” Seokjin asked, lounging on your bed, watching you pace around the room.

It had been two weeks now of him laughing at you, teasing you endlessly about Jungkook. Ever since the grocery store, you hadn’t stopped talking about him.

You shot him a glare, smacking his shoulder as you crouched to put on your heels.

“I really do miss my dog,” you huffed, even as you swapped your sneakers for heels at the last second. Because heels made it feel like a date, didn’t they?

Technically, neither of you had called it a date. Jungkook had just texted: hi! bam wants to show you the tricks he learned! :) And how could you not say yes?

You had jumped on the opportunity, replying almost immediately that you couldn’t wait to see Bam. (And Jungkook too. But you hadn’t told him that part.)

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “The dog or the owner?”

You glared at him. And yet, you didn’t answer.

Seokjin sprawled out on your bed like he owned the place—well, technically, he did. But still, it was your bed.

“I can’t wait for you to finally go back to your loverboy,” he said, smirking devilishly to himself.

You huffed, throwing a t-shirt at his face. “Shut up and close your eyes, I’m changing again.”

“Again?” he groaned but obeyed, covering his face with a dramatic sigh.

You turned back to your wardrobe, sifting through your options with a frown. “Maybe nothing will happen,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore.”

Seokjin let out a sharp laugh. “Uh, he was literally glaring at me at the grocery store the other day.”

You told him he could open his eyes, and when he saw what you had settled on—a plain white tee—he scoffed.

“For real? After all that? Just a boring white shirt?”

You sighed, sitting down beside him on the bed. “I don’t want to get my hopes up. I just… I want to play it safe. And I don’t want to pressure him into anything either.”

For once, Seokjin didn’t have a joke ready. Instead, he nudged your shoulder.

“You’re overthinking,” he said simply. “Just go see him.”

As you knocked on the door that was once your home, you clutched your bag tighter against your side. When Jungkook didn’t answer right away, you seriously considered running away and sending a terrible last-minute excuse about why you couldn’t make it.

But just as you were about to turn, the door swung open.

Jungkook stood there, breath slightly uneven, his hair messily tousled. His shirt was buttoned all wrong, and the sight made you chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, only to be shoved aside by a blur of brown fur as Bam bolted toward you.

You barely had time to react before the large dog was on you, his tail wagging excitedly as you crouched down to pet him.

“That little traitor,” Jungkook grumbled, crossing his arms as he pointed at Bam, who was soaking up all your affection. “He threw up at the last minute, and I had to clean up everything. Because of him, I didn’t have—”

“Kook,” you interrupted with a smile, looking up at him from your spot on the floor. “It’s okay.” Then, turning your attention back to the dog, you cooed, “You gave Dad a hard time, Bam?”

Your voice was soft, affectionate—the kind only Bam was lucky enough to receive. And for some ridiculous reason, Jungkook felt jealous of his own dog.

“He was probably excited to see you,” Jungkook murmured, more to himself than to the dog.

“I’m sure he was,” you replied with a playful smile, rising to your feet. “I was, too.”

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed a little, and he stepped aside, holding the door open wider for you to enter. His gaze lingered on you as you walked in slowly, taking in the apartment. It felt so right to have you back there, even after all this time. You’d always belonged in this space with him.

Although the place had changed, Jungkook had felt the need to make a fresh start, switching out the furniture and changing things up so he wouldn’t associate it all with the past. Still, a part of him worried you might not like all the changes.

“You did a great job,” you commented, sitting down on the new dark leather couch and gently bouncing on it as if testing its comfort. “I didn’t know you had an eye for interior design.”

Jungkook smiled softly, though there was something more behind his expression. “Yeah, I guess… I had a lot of help. A friend of mine gave me a hand with it, even though his taste can be a little… unconventional. But it worked out.” He talked about how Taehyung helped him pick out the new furniture for the apartment.

At the mention of his friend, a small smile tugged at your lips. It was the first time Jungkook had spoken about anyone close to him, and hearing him mention Taehyung made you curious. You suddenly wanted to know more about his life, how much he had changed, how his world had shifted while you’d been apart. The little glimpses Namjoon gave you were just the beginning, and you wanted the whole story now.

You laughed as Bam jumped onto you, nearly knocking you back into the couch. You scratched behind his ears, and then turned to Jungkook with a playful glint in your eye. “So, this friend of yours. How did you meet him?”

Jungkook hadn’t expected you to dive right into that, but he didn’t mind. The quicker he told you about everything—from his work at the shelter to his new friends and hobbies—the quicker you’d understand the changes in his life. And maybe, just maybe, he could be yours again. If you still wanted that.

“We met at the shelter a while ago,” he began, sitting down on the couch as Bam quickly shifted from you to him. Some things never changed—Bam still preferred his dad. “He’s kind of… quirky sometimes, but he’s a good guy, you know?” Jungkook smiled at Bam, scratching his head absentmindedly.

“Oh yeah,” he continues, “You remember the shelter we got Bam from?”

You nodded immediately. Of course, you remembered—Jungkook had been smiling so brightly that day, something you didn’t see often, so it stuck with you.

Jungkook’s smile widened, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, well, I actually work there now. It’s pretty cool,” he continued, his tone casual but there was a warmth in his voice. “Bam comes with me most days.”

Seeing the smile on his face as he talked about his job, how much he enjoyed it because it allowed him to avoid too much socializing, you felt relieved that you had let him take Bam. He clearly thrived in the environment, and it was good to see him happy.

He continued talking, sharing more about his friends and how they had helped him discover what he truly liked and didn’t like. He seemed genuinely happy to have a group of people who cared about him. It made your heart lighter knowing he wasn’t alone anymore.

Then he mentioned his new hobby of hitting the gym, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he showed off some boxing moves he’d learned. You had to admit, he was impressive. You tried to calm your heart as it raced, especially when he casually said you should try boxing with him next time. Next time—that meant he still wanted to see you, and for a moment, everything else faded.

After a long, quiet minute of exchanging shy glances and soft smiles, you finally found the courage to ask, “How are you feeling now?”

At that, Jungkook froze for a moment, clearly thrown off guard by the question. But you knew it was one that needed to be asked, and he knew it too.

“Let’s just say… I want to keep doing what I’m doing,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

And in that simple answer, everything was clear. He wanted to continue, to keep living, to keep moving forward. He was happy with where he was now, and that was all you needed to know.

The night unfolded just as you had hoped—laughter, playful teasing, and those light touches that both of you were too shy to take further. Your hands brushed against each other, and yet, it was enough to send your heart racing. Every moment felt like it was building towards something, something you couldn’t wait for.

But you both knew it was important to take things slow. There was no need to rush. Step by step, you’d rebuild what was once lost. You were certain of one thing now—you would be together again, and it would happen soon enough.

As you walked back to your home, a sudden realization hit you, making you gasp. You had completely forgotten about the one thing Jungkook had promised to show you—what Bam had learned.

You smiled to yourself, shaking your head a little. You were so caught up in the moment, that you hadn’t even thought about it.

“Come on, punch!” Jungkook commands, holding his hands out in front of you. After a month of seeing each other, you finally agreed to join him for one of his boxing sessions. Now, here you are, gloves on, feeling a little silly as you throw punches into his palms.

“Yeah,” he nods, clearly proud of how well you’re doing. “Just like that,” he encourages, and you can’t help but laugh because you’re so happy to be there with him, doing something he loves.

“Don’t lose focus!” he calls out, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you burst out laughing. “Bab—” he catches himself mid-sentence, quickly swallowing his words. “I mean—don’t laugh! I’m trying here,” he says, looking at you as you collapse onto the floor, exhausted from his rigorous training.

“I know,” you whine, pulling off your gloves. “You’re a great teacher, it’s just… you’re so cute,” you admit with a soft smile.

“How am I cute?” he asks, genuinely confused, sitting cross-legged beside you. “That’s because you still haven’t seen me throw punches and dodge them—I look really cool doing it, you know?” he says with a playful raise of his eyebrows.

You turn your head to him, letting your eyes roam over his face. He looked so beautiful, more than you remembered. You had always thought Jungkook was the most handsome man you knew, but seeing him so happy made him even more stunning. In that moment, you wished time would freeze so you could stay like this forever.

But Jungkook had other plans. He quickly stood up and held his hand out to you.

“It’s not over, come on, stand up,” he said, his voice full of determination.

You shake your head, whining because it had been two hours of non-stop training, and you definitely didn’t have his stamina.

“Please, wait a second, The Rock,” you groan, closing your eyes, exhausted.

Jungkook finally dropped his teacher mode, chuckling at your words. His laughter rang out, and it was so perfect to your ears, you couldn’t help but smile.

And so, it went on like that for a month—the two of you rediscovering each other, starting fresh, but with the comfort of old memories woven into the new ones. The feelings had never really gone away, they had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface, so undeniable and raw that neither of you needed to say a word. Jungkook felt it too, the unspoken connection between you, as if time had paused and everything was falling back into place without effort.

Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling of selfishness creeping in, a longing that deepened with every passing day. He wanted you, completely—your presence, your touch, your love. He wanted you to come back home, to him and to Bam, to kiss you, to hold your hand, to just be by your side, always. And in that moment, he knew it was time. He wanted to ask you out.

The timing might not have been perfect, but watching you talk to his friends—whom you’d just met tonight, but somehow fit in like you’d known them forever—he couldn’t help but feel a warmth spreading through him. His heart lightened, and without thinking, he reached for your hand under the table, his fingers brushing yours gently. You didn’t say anything, just accepted it, and in that simple, unspoken exchange, he knew you felt the same.

As you both walked to your home, hand in hand, it felt like the world had stopped. Jungkook hadn’t let go of your hand since he took it, and the weight of the moment felt like something precious. Finally, with a nervous but hopeful tone, he asked, “I don’t want to be pushy, but… when will you come back home?”

You smiled, trying to hide the grin spreading across your face, and turned your head away slightly. “I was waiting for you to ask,” you said softly. “You know I will always wait for you.”

Jungkook froze in his tracks, and you stopped with him, turning to face him. His hands found both of yours again, pulling them gently to his chest. ���I’m ready,” he whispered your name, his voice low and full of sincerity. “I want you back.”

Looking into his eyes, those doe eyes full of vulnerability and love, you nodded eagerly, feeling your heart race. And before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours—soft, then urgent, then full of passion. His hands found the back of your neck, pulling you closer until it felt like you were melting together.

But with two hearts and two minds. Not just yours, because now Jungkook didn’t feel the need to hide himself anymore.

He wanted to be beside you, walk with you, live with you—not just through you, but as equals, as two people who had found their way back to each other.

an: hiii!! tysm for reading, it really means a lot to me and pls dont hesitate to let me know what you think! :) and always remember that you are loved, no matter what ♡ take care xx

[sozhuo]

　　 　　　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　 forget the haters.

ok, shut up and listen. maybe that was a bit mean, sorry . . . not! grab your drink, grab your blankets, sit down, and listen. the haters, the anti-shifters, whatever you want to call them—literally whatever your heart desires. you are the only one who lets them hold you back. it's regurgitated, it's not original, but it's true. why pay attention to the ones who have a completely different way of living their lives. they do not affect you. they spew their own word-vomit ideas, much like my own, and they hope and believe and pray that those ideas will hook onto one of us. that they will sink their soft, kitty-cat claws into our skin and rip the intent and will from our beings with their dull k-9 fangs. they're soft, they want belonging. routine. complicity. it is up to you and only you to give them that satisfaction.

to steal temporarily from one of my favorite books of all time ("sophie's world" by jostein gaarder—also, my namesake!), we can look at the universe and the existence of, well, everything, as the magic act of pulling a rabbit out of a hat. of course, the magician, the hat, and the rabbit have always existed, and they have known of their own existence. but we are going to go beyond that, to the microscopic level. to the real nitty-gritty.

"to summarize briefly:" there's a rabbit, pulled from a hat. it's been happening for billions of years. now, gaarder says that mortals are all born at the tip of the rabbit's fur. where we are in the perfect position to wonder at the impossibility of the trick (in this case, the possibility of the multiverse, the metaphysical, take your pick!). essentially, we are born at the edge of its fur, blinking, saying: what the hell is this? some of us mortals, the haters, begin to work themselves deeper and deeper into the rabbit's fur. some of us keep asking; some of us sink into the fur and stop looking. they refuse to believe anything that those at the tip of the fur say. 'we literally live on a floating rock!' we say, 'there's a multitude of different universes!' but most of the people down there do not care. and it isn't their fault, it's not that any one person is right or wrong.

they say shifting isn't real. they say, 'it's delusion.' 'it's fantasy.' but, here's the catch. they are so deep within the rabbit's fur, that they have stopped noticing the trick. they've stopped wondering. they forget that their existence is a miracle. they mistake fur for fact, skin for certainty.

but the truth? you can scream down at the root of the rabbit's fur until your voice splinters and rips—they won't hear you. they don't want to. hopping into a different analogy, the butterfly can beg the fly to come to the flower. tell it how sweet the nectar is; how bright the sun feels; how soft the petal is beneath its feet. but the fly loves the rot. the fly chooses the filth. but, maybe, it doesn't necessarily have to be evil. maybe it's just . . . nature. but it’s not your nature—you’re meant for more. you were always going to climb; to crawl to the tip of the fur; to look up; to leap. no one can follow you if they won’t even look. so, forget the haters. let the flies buzz. you’ve got lives to fall into. (i warn you: don't do this out of spite, but with the cosmic energy of someone who is simply . . . detached. center yourself and your path forward).

and that's the difference, really. some of us stay buried, warm and complacent and unmoved—like arthur dent or the society of a dystopian novel. but, some of us look up. we claw and grind and fight, tooth and nail, our way up to the light at the tip of the fur. we say, 'this cannot be all.' and we do the most incredible thing. we jump.

we jump off the rabbit's back. into the hat. into the void. into hands of the magician. whatever that means.

and maybe that's the whole point. not to be right, not to prove anything. just to believe that the trick is still happening—and that we might be part of it.

so forget the haters. stay at the tip of the fur. jump.

[matt-murdockk]

L word

spencer reid x gn!reader | 800 words | Spencer being extremely, painfully, in love with the reader, that is literally the entire plot | fluff

Dr. Spencer Reid's Dissertation on the Groundbreaking Discovery of a Fifth Fundamental Force

It's basic physics that gravity is the weakest of the fundamental forces, but responsible for the attraction between objects with mass. Electromagnetism governs the interactions between electrically charged particles. Nuclear forces are the strongest of the fundamental forces, responsible for holding the nucleus of an atom together. 

According to Dr Reid, the most important (and quite frankly, the strongest) force that the human body can experience is actually a fifth one that's a combination of them all; it's responsible for attraction between bodies (specifically yours and his), it deals extensively with electrically charged particles (in other words, its what makes him feel like he is internally vibrating at a glass shattering frequency whenever you are around, how he can never seem to be anything other than at an excited state at just the thought of you), and most importantly, it's what holds the nucleus, the core, the crux (him) together.

Sure, whenever someone mentions in passing or as a joke that you were a force of nature, it was meant to be a figure of speech, a jibe, something to say just for the sake of it. But even without his PhDs, he knew better. No, to him, it was a fact that his world revolves around you. A normal, simple, everyday fact. The sun rises in the east. Nikola Tesla was born during a lightning storm. Casein in milk helps neutralise capsaicin, which is why raw milk helps with spicy food. Spencer Reid was deeply, irrevocably in love with you. Simple fact.

Close-up magic was cool, definitely, but he knew it was just perfectly timed misdirection and sleight of hand. Tricks. Illusions. White Lies. That's not to say he doesn't believe in magic or miracles, no, because that's all you could possibly be, right? A miracle? A blessing from a God he thought he didn't believe in, until you happened? Because what you do to him is nothing short of magic.

How the chaos of his mind fades into static white noise at a simple touch of your hand. How your eyes always look to find his in a room, no matter how crowded, and how you always smile like a kid who won a stuffed animal at a carnival when they finally do. How some part of you always stays and lingers around him every day, be it in your perfume that he can still smell on his clothes, remnants of the mark you've left on him, keys you've misplaced at his place, your mug next to his where the dishes are stacked, or in the little notes you leave for him to find throughout his day, reminding him that even with all the death, pain, and destruction in the world, perfection like you is possible.

People look at their lives in their own way. Most people quantify the time lived by looking at it in parts— childhood, teenage/adolescence, adulthood, and old age. For Spencer, though, there was only one other time in his life that mattered— Before you. He swears that everything he knows, everything he has ever learned, everything that he has been through, up until the point that he met you, happened specifically so that he could do just that— meet you.

If there's anything the BA in Philosophy helped him understand, it's this. Existentialists argue that life has no inherent meaning, and individuals must create their own meaning through their choices and actions. By that logic, his choices and actions, having subconsciously led him to you, must mean that you are the true meaning of life. Not an existentialist? Not a problem.

Plato believed that the meaning of life lies in attaining the highest form of knowledge, which is the Idea of the Good, from which all good and just things derive utility and value. Considering how Spencer's pursuit of this exact idea is what led him to you in the first place, this must prove beyond a reasonable doubt that you were the true meaning of life. At least to him.

Nihilism suggests that life is ultimately meaningless and that there is no objective value or purpose. Nihilists must have never encountered you, he concludes.

a/n: this is so not like my usual stuff, i am aware, but i am in my feels right now and my WIPs are still IP and like i said i am in my FEELS, so here is my unfiltered, unformatted, definitely not even a little bit proofread spencer reid ramble. this wasn't even in my drafts i just typed and clicked post now so i really am sorry if this is horseshit. tried my best to keep it gender neutral but like i too fuck up so apologies in advance.

[jamilelucato]

the punchline effect (fred weasley)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x [y/n] Warnings: This story leans more towards those above the age of 16 or a PG-13 rating. While there's no explicit sex, the themes and some of the dialogue suggest a level of maturity beyond a general PG rating. Summary: In the chaotic world of Hogwarts' seventh year, Fred Weasley's bad jokes become an unexpected distraction for the studious [y/n]. What begins as a test of patience evolves into something deeper as laughter intertwines with longing. Amidst the mayhem of magic and mischief, can they find a genuine connection, proving that sometimes the best punchlines lead to the most unexpected love stories? About [y/n]: I don't place her in any house, so you're absolutely free to choose. But outside of that, she's written as a girl (18-ish) and I think (I'm not 100% sure) I have mentioned she's white, or that she turns very pale (in shock, or something). Words: Almost 9k. A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this! I missed Fred, truly. This one was absolutely just for me. But if you liked it, please leave a comment!

The class wasn’t exactly quiet. They teetered on the edge of acceptable behaviour, holding it together solely because the handful of students up front had decided to pretend they cared. The rest were swapping gossip, chucking crumpled parchment like Quaffles, and giggling in a way that would make a banshee jealous.

Professor Flitwick was fully aware, of course. But there was only so much a man under four feet tall could do when every time he tried to scold someone, they immediately transformed into cherubic little angels. And whenever he reached for an airborne note, it mysteriously ceased to exist. The man was clever. The students, unfortunately, were cleverer.

To be fair, no one really expected much from seventh-years at this point. The entire faculty had collectively resigned themselves to the fact that these kids were emotionally, mentally, and spiritually done. Frankly, if anyone snapped and hexed the ceiling, they’d probably just let it slide.

Which made it exactly the right moment for Fred Weasley to strike up a conversation with [y/n]. He leaned in, red hair gloriously unruly, smirk already forming. “Can I tell you a joke?”

They didn’t sit together by chance. No, this was most of the Professors’ grand experiment: seat the most notorious troublemaker next to the school’s most reliable nerd, and maybe her good influence would rub off. It was the academic equivalent of putting a cat next to a bath and hoping it would become a fish. George, the slightly younger twin, was exiled to the other side of the room by direct order of the Headmaster. Nevertheless, separating the Weasley twins was like cutting a Niffler in half and expecting it to stop nicking your silverware.

[y/n] sighed, long-suffering. She knew Fred. She knew that tone. Likewise, she knew that whatever came next was going to be deeply, profoundly stupid. And yet, here she was — the only one in the class not actively contributing to the unravelling of society — and, against her better judgment, slightly curious.

“Go on, then,” she muttered, finally turning to look at him.

Fred’s eyes sparkled. 

“What’s the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman?” He leaned a little closer. 

There was a pause — five, six seconds of mental preparation — during which [y/n] considered pretending she didn’t hear him and diving face-first into her textbook. She also considered dying of secondhand embarrassment. But ultimately, she resigned herself to her fate.

“I don’t know,” she said flatly. “What?”

Fred grinned. “Snowballs.”

Exactly as predicted: idiotic.

She rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t detach. Fred stifled a laugh — poorly — just as Flitwick turned his tiny, deadly stare in his direction.

It wasn’t the first joke she’d heard from him. But this one had somehow done something. It was unclear what, exactly. Nothing obvious had shifted. The air was still thick with whispered gossip, Fred was still grinning like a boy who’d never known shame, and [y/n] was still trying to care about whatever Flitwick was scribbling on the board.

And yet — something had changed.

What it was, no one could say. Not yet.

While most Gryffindors complained bitterly about every single minute spent in the dungeons with Professor Snape, [y/n] had a particular vendetta against Transfiguration. Or rather, against Professor McGonagall herself.

It wasn’t that McGonagall had ever said anything cruel. That would’ve been easier. No, it was the look — that quiet, cat-like assessment that suggested she knew [y/n] could do better, but had already made peace with the fact that she probably wouldn’t. It was judgment and disappointment, wrapped in tartan and pinned together with a brooch.

Was it personal? Likely not. Did it feel personal? Absolutely.

Still, as Hogwarts kept pairing its brightest students with its biggest troublemakers in a grand attempt at character development, [y/n] had once again found herself seated next to Fred Weasley. The idea, no doubt, was that her bookishness might tame him, and his chaotic energy might “bring her out of her shell.”

Utter rot.

She didn’t need Fred Weasley to drag her out of anything. She was social. Just… not in McGonagall’s class. In that room, her entire personality narrowed to “avoid eye contact and copy everything from the board like your life depends on it.”

Unfortunately, Fred had not received the memo. Or he had, and shredded it for fun.

“How you doing?” he asked, with the kind of faux innocence that could only mean trouble.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t blink. Just channelled every ounce of her nerdy energy into ignoring him.

He tried again.“What’s six inches long and has two nuts at the end?”

Her quill froze. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and her expression dropped every other function but pure disbelief.

She turned to him slowly, like someone preparing to confront a boggart. “What did you just—? I can’t believe you— Why would you—?”

“Oi, can you let me finish?” he whispered, grinning. “Oops, that was… that was not the dirty joke.” He chuckled at his own brilliance. “I’ll start over. What’s six inches long and has two nuts at the end?”

“Stop saying that,” she hissed, now more horrified than outraged.

“Relax! It’s an Almond Joy,” he said smugly. “Honestly, the things going through your mind. Merlin.” He shook his head in mock disapproval.

“I don’t even know what an Almond Joy—”

She never got to finish. Her voice had risen — just enough to carry across the classroom.

“What’s going on there?”

Professor McGonagall was approaching, her robes billowing like an oncoming storm.

“Professor, I’m trying to pay attention, but she keeps—” One glare. That was all it took. Fred’s sentence withered on his tongue.

“It was nothing, Professor,” [y/n] said quickly, shrinking in her seat.

McGonagall lingered for a second, just long enough to make them both squirm, before returning to the blackboard.

[y/n] lowered her head and scrambled to look productive. Her handwriting was now panic-shaped.

“Blimey,” Fred leaned in again, his voice low and maddeningly amused. “Are you afraid of her?”

“No,” [y/n] muttered.

“Hm.” He crossed his arms and said nothing more. For once.

But even in the silence, [y/n] could feel him smiling.

This time — alright, fine — it was slightly [y/n]’s fault.

They weren’t even in class. She could’ve not come looking for him.

But then Samara handed her two Sickles for a bet. Then Ursula added six Knuts to the pile, and suddenly [y/n] was standing on the pitch with a pocket full of wizarding money and two friends staring at her like puppies left outside Honeydukes.

“Pleeeease!” they said.

It was an official Hogwarts Quidditch match — and as such, you could not miss the unmistakable presence of Fred and George Weasley, standing at the edge of the stands with an old wooden box and expressions that practically screamed entrepreneurial mischief.

As tradition dictated, if Gryffindor wasn’t playing, then the Gryffindor Beaters were definitely running the bets. And the turnout was impressive — even a few Professors had wandered suspiciously close to the betting box, dropping coins and pretending not to see anything.

“Ah, a customer,” George grinned when she approached. “Can you assist this fine young witch, brother?”

At this point, honestly, it had to be deliberate.

He turned to her with the wooden box, and as he flipped it open, [y/n] saw a scrap of parchment taped to the inside lid — names, numbers, and teams. She swallowed and held out the coins.

“Yeah, well,” she blinked. “Two Sickles from Samyra — for Hufflepuff. And six Knuts from Ursula — against Hufflepuff.”

“You’re not betting?” Fred asked, already taking the coins and scribbling down the numbers.

“Nope,” she said, flatly. Please Merlin, let that be the end of it.

But of course not. He looked up with that very specific brand of Weasley mischief — crooked smile, dangerous glint in his eye, and that posture that meant he was about to be the worst.

“Can I tell you a joke?”

“No,” she replied instantly, already turning on her heel.

But before she could escape, he gently touched her arm — not enough to stop her, but just enough to make her pause. She turned back, arms crossed, expression set to absolutely not in the mood.

“Please,” he said, already laughing. Which was never, ever a good sign.

She sighed like someone accepting their fate. “Fine. Go on,” after all, they weren’t in class, and she could, now, kick him in the shins depending on how terrible the joke was.

He took a second to compose himself, which only made her more suspicious.

“Are you a Slytherin?” he asked, voice low and weirdly serious.

She stared at him. Then down at her scarf. Then back at him. Deadpan.

He pretended not to notice the absurdity of the question.

“Because…” he took one last breath, “I really want to slither into your Chamber of Secrets.”

She immediately placed her hands to her face, in a full, dramatic palm drag. From hairline to chin, like she was trying to reset her entire operating system. It was the worst — a tragedy of a dirty joke. Or pick-up line, rather.

Was that a pick-up line?

She didn’t answer. She didn’t look at him. She simply turned and walked away before her brain had the chance to process anything further.

But if you’d been paying attention — and I do hope you have — you might’ve noticed that she hadn’t rolled her eyes. Not once.

That was new.

At this point, it’s probably worth saying again: no, [y/n] and Fred Weasley were not friends. Or, at least, they hadn’t been when the school year started. Now… well, now it was harder to define what they were.

Fred was popular — the kind of boy everyone knew, or at least recognised by reputation. [y/n] had known who he was long before he ever looked in her direction. But apparently, he had known her silhouette from across the Great Hall for some time now.

It was a Saturday in Hogsmeade. Normally, [y/n] didn’t care much for the trip — not since third year when the novelty wore off. But now, with N.E.W.Ts looming and her Hogwarts days numbered, every corridor and crooked alley seemed to shine a little brighter. Like the whole place knew it was her last chance to love it properly.

That morning, she’d gone with Ursula. Samara had mysteriously vanished with vague talk of “plans” and “being mysterious,” which usually meant snogging someone behind Honeydukes. So it was just the two of them, arms full of sugar quills and chocolate frogs, wandering toward the joke shop.

Zonko’s was packed, as usual. Not that she or Ursula had any business there — they weren’t exactly prank-pulling types. But there was something oddly comforting about wandering the aisles and pretending to care about exploding sweets or belching powder. Like it was part of the Hogwarts package, and skipping it now would be sacrilege.

Besides, the place was warm, smelled like cinnamon and fireworks, and Ursula was dragging her by the wrist with the determination of someone on a mission.

“Just five minutes,” Ursula had said, which of course meant until one of them got distracted or bumped into someone embarrassing.

It turned out to be both.

Without quite realising, [y/n] found herself gently steered toward the shelves of potions, where the bottles gleamed like promises and mistakes. There were the usual suspects — Nosebleed Nougat, Perpetual Itch Powder, and, of course, the potions: brightly coloured, questionably legal, and temptingly labelled with things like Instant Obsession or Regret in a Vial.

She picked up the Hate Potion and raised an eyebrow. “Side effects may include irritability, brooding, and chronic eyeliner use,” she read.

Then came the Love Potion, all glimmer and pink swirls. She turned it in her hands, inspecting the label. People always went on about magical benefits, but no one ever mentioned what happened if you were allergic. Or if the magic decided it wanted something back.

She was just about to put it back when—

“Feeling desperate, [y/n]?”

The voice was a smirk wearing a human costume. She didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

She very nearly groaned. Or broke the bottle. Or both.

“Oh, hi, Fred!” Ursula greeted the redhead with a friendly grin. [y/n] couldn’t say the same.

“Hello, Weasley.”

“Looking for a good potion, girls?” he asked, lounging like he owned the place. Which, judging by the amount of stuff he probably bought there over the years, he might as well have.

“Not really,” Ursula replied, abandoning the potion she’d been fiddling with. “But hey — you’d know. Where do they keep the plush puffskeins now? You’re basically their number one customer.”

Fred looked mildly offended, but only for dramatic effect. “Near the back, between the dancing fangs and the hiccup powder.”

With a wink, Ursula left, no hesitation, clearly happy to abandon her friend and go off searching for adorable, overpriced puffskeins.

As soon as she was out of earshot, [y/n] turned to him, arms folded, eyebrow raised in amusement. “And you? What are you looking for, exactly?”

Fred grinned, the corners of his mouth curling up like he’d just thought of something outrageous.

“Always looking for trouble,” he said smoothly, like it was a well-practised line. “But when I spotted you here, I stopped looking. Thought I’d found something better. Also… I’ve got another joke.”

[y/n] sighed theatrically but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “Go on, then. Let’s get it over with.”

She had learned early on that resistance was futile. One look at his ridiculous, lopsided grin—his puppy-that-fell-out-of-a-moving-cart face—and any no would crumple into a yes before it even left her mouth.

Fred cleared his throat with the gravity of a performer about to hit the punchline.

“Are your legs tired?”

She blinked. That one caught her off guard.

“A little, actually,” she answered honestly, forgetting that she was being set up. “But I haven’t had nearly enough of Hogsmeade yet. I’ll be walking loads today.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief as he quickly adjusted course. “Well, if they do get tired, let me know,” he said, tone low and maddeningly cheeky. “Because as long as I’ve got a face, you can always sit on it.”

For a split second, silence hung in the air like a suspended spell—and then [y/n] absolutely lost it.

A laugh burst out of her so violently that she doubled over, one hand clutching her stomach, the other grasping the shelf for support. It wasn’t a dainty chuckle; it was a full-bodied, gasp-for-air, shoulder-shaking sort of laugh—the kind that turned heads and drew stares.

Fred stood there, blinking, slightly stunned. He’d told a hundred of these lines—maybe more—and, typically, he got groans, eye-rolls, or in the case of his brother George, outright heckling. But laughter? Real, honest, undignified laughter?

That was new.

And she wasn’t laughing with the joke—she was laughing at it. At him. And oddly, instead of feeling mortified… he felt rather proud.

He started laughing too.

“You—where—where do you find these?” she gasped, wiping her eyes.

Fred lifted both hands. “I admit nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes, still grinning. “You definitely read them somewhere. Come on. Spill.”

He hesitated. His ears went red.

“Fred,” she said warningly, “if you don’t tell me, I’ll assume it’s your own original material. And then I will cry.”

He winced. “Fine. I found a book.”

“You should write to the author and let them know they’re a menace to society.” She leaned against the shelf, catching her breath. “Good Merlin, Weasley. That was absurd. Completely mental. What’s the name of the book?”

Fred’s laugh faltered. His throat clicked audibly as he swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape. His cheeks flushed so deeply they were nearly the same shade as his hair.

“What’s the name?” she repeated, still giggling, not yet clocking the shift in his expression.

He exhaled slowly. “101 Pick-Up Lines for People Who Like to Laugh,” he said. And then, after a pause: “…Over the Age of 18.”

Oh.

[y/n] straightened ever so slightly, eyebrows lifting. She tried very hard not to read too much into the title.

“Well, they won’t make anyone laugh,” she said, aiming for casual but not quite pulling it off. “Besides, who’s meant to enjoy the laughing—the one telling the joke or the poor soul forced to hear it?”

Fred’s smile faltered slightly. The pink in his cheeks began to fade as he studied her expression, looking for any hint of mockery. But she was still cordial, still calm, still… kind. Which, somehow, worsened it.

“We should all enjoy laughing,” he replied, voice a bit more serious now, less performative. “I suppose it’s for the one who reads the joke, right?” His shoulders dropped a fraction, relaxing into the moment.

“I haven’t got a clue. You’re the one with the book,” she replied. Then, after a pause, she smiled—not wide, not teasing, but something soft, something that barely touched the corners of her mouth and still said everything. “Though… I must admit, I ended up laughing.”

“At me,” Fred said quickly, a little too quickly, his voice jumping an octave higher with defensiveness. “Not at the joke.”

It should’ve stung. But somehow, it didn’t.

Around them, Zonko’s remained its usual mess of spinning trinkets and prank-infused chaos, but for a heartbeat—or maybe a little longer—it all blurred into the background. It was just two nearly grown kids standing far too close in a shop they’d probably never browse together again.

“Hm.” She tilted her head slightly, a tone light but final. “I should go rescue Ursula before she marries a puffskein.”

“Already too late,” Fred said, following her gaze toward the back of the shop. “She’s registered three of them under her last name. Ceremony’s at noon.”

“Oh no,” [y/n] giggled, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Then she nodded once, like she’d decided something, and turned to leave. “See you around, Weasley.”

And just like that, she was off, disappearing between shelves of enchanted stink pellets and screaming yo-yos. Fred stood there a moment longer, staring at the spot she’d been, one hand fiddling with the edge of his sleeve.

He still had the book in his pocket. But suddenly, it didn’t feel all that useful any more.

It wasn’t exactly warm, but after what felt like endless days of snow, the sun had finally come out to make a bit of an appearance. Most students with free classes had migrated to the fields surrounding the school, especially the clock tower courtyard. [y/n] was one of them, basking in the rare moment of sunshine.

She sat alone, her body stretched out on a multicolored, plaid towel she’d thrown onto the grass, eyes shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. She was perfectly content, just listening to the distant chatter of students and the wind rustling the leaves in the trees.

Then, unexpectedly, she felt the familiar weight of someone sitting down on her towel, the fabric shifting beneath her. The change in balance was subtle, but unmistakable. She knew exactly who it was, even with her eyes still closed.

“Hot day?” His voice—deep, casual, and annoyingly charming—cut through the ambient noise.

[y/n] opened just one eye, peeking up at Fred Weasley, who was grinning like he knew something she didn’t.

“Not as hot as you?” she shot back, the words practically tumbling out, expecting yet another one of his ridiculous jokes.

Fred’s smile widened, and he gave a small, pleased nod. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

She smirked and closed the eye she had opened. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she realized what she’d said, and it made her laugh—a quiet, breathy giggle that only came out as a puff of air through her nose. If only the Professors could hear them now…

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the kind where you didn’t have to say anything to enjoy the company. The sun bathed them both in a warm glow, the sound of students and distant laughter creating a peaceful backdrop. [y/n] kept her eyes closed, but she could hear his calm breathing beside her, steady and unhurried.

“No jokes for me today?” she broke the silence, her voice low and teasing. 

Fred shifted on the towel, his legs readjusting as he stretched out a bit more. She cracked open her eyes just in time to see him lay down, his head resting on the towel, even though she herself wasn’t with her head down. 

“I donated the book to my brother,” he said, almost offhandedly.

“George?” she asked, the first Weasley name that popped into her head.

“Ron, actually,” he corrected, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I think he’ll need it.”

“Is your little brother an aspiring comedian?” [y/n] couldn’t help but ask, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Fred laughed, the sound rich and warm. 

“No,” he said, the word almost too ridiculous to be taken seriously.

“Then what’s he going to need it for?” she continued, genuinely curious now. “To embarrass himself?”

Fred chuckled again, the laugh almost surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting her to know so much about the Weasley family. “He doesn’t need any help with that department,” Fred replied, still laughing softly.

“So what’s he going to do with this classic piece of wizarding literature?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Fred gave a nonchalant shrug, but she could tell he was amused by her genuine, almost naive curiosity.

Since her question had gone unanswered, [y/n] let it drift away and decided to test another current instead.

“I heard you and your twin want to start your own joke shop,” she said lightly, as if it didn’t matter either way. “Is that true?”

Fred turned his head to look at her. The sunlight caught in his lashes. “We hope so,” he replied, at last. “I don’t really think of us as academics, you know?”

“But you guys are smart,” she said, the words escaping before she could think twice. The moment they left her lips, she regretted it—not because they weren’t true, but because she already knew what he’d say next.

“How’d you know?”

Right on cue.

She bit the inside corner of her mouth, cornered by her honesty. “Well, we’re partners in most subjects and… you catch up. That’s more than most.”

“We don’t get good grades, though,” Fred tilted his head slightly, brow raised. 

“Right,” she nodded. “But grades aren’t everything.”

“They are to you,” he said, gently—not accusing, just perceptive.

She paused, drawing in a long breath, then letting it out slowly.

“No, not really,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I thought they were, or maybe I just wanted them to be. Now…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “Now, I wish I knew what I wanted to do with my life, like you and George.”

Fred didn’t interrupt.

“I’m just lost,” she said finally, pressing her lips together in a tight line before looking back up at the sky.

Fred didn’t offer a solution. He just lay there beside her on the chequered towel, quiet. The sun warmed her skin, but it was the closeness of him—his steady presence, the quiet understanding in his eyes—that made her feel less like she was drifting.

After a long moment, he spoke. “If it helps… even with a plan, everything still feels uncertain. We’re just pretending we know what we’re doing.”

She turned her head, finally meeting his eyes again. “You’re pretending?”

“All the time,” he said with a lopsided smile. “I just happen to be superb at it.”

She smiled—small, but real. It crept up slowly, tugging at her lips before she could stop it. And that was simply it. There was no need to say more.

Still, rather than let it drift too far into the future category (an area she wasn’t ready to unpack on a weekday afternoon), she nudged him playfully with her shoulder and asked, “Don’t you have any other jokes for me? I know you can conjure one with your mind.”

He turned his head toward the clouds again, lips twitching, voice mock-thoughtful. “Actually… you just made me remember one.”

“Please, go ahead,” she said, laying her head on the towel as well, next to his.

Honestly, she couldn’t believe she was the one begging for a Fred Weasley joke. Of all the things she thought she’d become by seventh year, “enthusiastic dirty-joke-enabler” hadn’t made the list.

“Do you have telekinetic powers?” he asked, his tone casual—too casual.

[y/n] narrowed her eyes suspiciously and turned her head to look at him. Fred turned toward her too, face close enough that she could see the faint freckles across his nose and the sunlight catching in his lashes. He looked like he was on the edge of laughing—and maybe on the edge of bailing out.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he chuckled nervously.

“What? No! Come on!” [y/n] opened her mouth. “I’m curious now!”

He exhaled in surrender, still chuckling. “Just remember—you asked for it.”

“Go on,” she nodded solemnly.

Fred cleared his throat like a performer warming up for a very questionable debut.

“Because you just lifted one of my body parts without touching it.”

There was a full second of silence—then she gasped in outrage.

“NO!” [y/n] shoved him hard in the arm—hm, strong forearm, her brain noted—and scrambled back an inch on the towel, looking both mortified and scandalised. “Fred Weasley! We’re lying next to each other in public! That’s absolutely foul!”

Fred doubled over in laughter, clutching his stomach. “You asked for it!”

“I was expecting a pun!” she wailed, face red, but her eyes sparkled. “A clever pun, not—you know—perversion!”

He was still laughing, and she was too, despite herself.

She flopped back down with a groan, shielding her face with her arm. “I can’t believe I encouraged you.”

He peeked at her from the side. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m scarred,” she corrected.

“You’re grinning.”

“Only because I’m plotting revenge.”

Fred grinned at the sky again, satisfied. “That’s fair.”

The sun was still bright overhead, but the moment between them felt quieter now, the kind of quiet that comes when two people have laughed a little too loudly and are left with only the warmth of each other’s presence.

Neither of them said anything else. But neither of them moved.

And maybe that said more than anything ever could.

It was Quidditch match day again. The air buzzed with anticipation, banners flapped wildly in the wind, and students filled the stands in their house colours. However, that day there was no one orchestrating the underground betting ring or smugly redistributing galleons post-match. That was because the Weasley twins were both on the pitch, flying high on their broomsticks, darting through the air as they desperately tried to block Bludgers coming from all directions.

And somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about sports, [y/n] found herself once again in the stands, right in the thick of it.

“You’re drooling,” Ursula said dryly beside her, clearly enjoying herself. She was now very well-versed in her friend’s current obsession—mainly because [y/n] wouldn’t shut up about it.

“Piss off,” [y/n] replied without looking away from the field, showing a finger at her friend. Her eyes were locked on Fred, who had just zoomed across the pitch to block a Bludger headed straight for Harry Potter.

Gryffindor won—of course they did. Half the school seemed to be rooting for them. The crowd exploded into cheers as Harry caught the Snitch, and the players landed, brooms now in hand rather than between their legs. [y/n] left the stands, suddenly unsure what to do with herself.

Why was she going down there? Why was she following the surge of students onto the pitch like a Quidditch groupie?

Because she had a reason. Sort of.

Blending in with the crowd, she made her way closer, dodging hugs, backslaps, and the odd flying elbow. Fred was laughing, flushed from the match, surrounded by fans and teammates—but even in the sea of people, his eyes flicked toward her like he’d been expecting it.

When the crowd finally began to thin out, she jumped in front of him with a grin that could only mean trouble.

“I’ve got a joke for you,” she said, eyes sparkling.

Fred raised an eyebrow, grinning like a boy who’d just been handed a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved. “Oh, yeah?”

She nodded, taking a breath like she was about to cast a complicated spell.

“Do you know if I could become a broom?” she asked innocently, though the corners of her mouth were already twitching.

He tilted his head, very parrot-like. “Er… can’t say I do.”

“Because I’d love to stay between your legs for an hour or two.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she burst into laughter—half from nerves, half from sheer pride in herself. Her hand flew to her face as a blush bloomed furiously across her cheeks.

Fred blinked, clearly caught off guard. And then—he roared with laughter, clutching his side like she’d physically winded him.

“Bloody hell!” he wheezed between breaths. “You did not just say that!”

She turned away in mock shame, still giggling.

He leaned closer, voice low and full of that wicked, teasing tone she’d come to know too well. “If that was your way of joking, you just put every line I’ve ever used to shame.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “Yeah, well. I learn from the best.”

Fred grinned, eyes crinkling. “I’ll need a full recovery before I can match that energy. Give me a day or two. Or three.”

“Or forever,” she said, rolling her eyes, though her smile stayed stubbornly in place.

Their gazes lingered a second too long.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile held stubbornly, like it didn’t care if it gave everything away.

Their gazes lingered—just a moment too long to be casual. Just long enough to feel like something was changing. Around them, the pitch still buzzed with leftover chaos—shouts, chants, streamers tangled in the breeze. But in the bubble of that glance, it all faded into the background.

“Oi! Kiss already!” George shouted from a few metres away, his voice booming over the noise and absolutely on brand.

The remaining players and fans burst into laughter.

And just like that, [y/n] folded inward, embarrassment blooming red-hot across her face. Without thinking, she ducked into Fred’s chest, hiding herself from the entire universe. He smelled like cut grass, sweat, and something oddly warm, like worn cotton and adrenaline. And weirdly… she didn’t mind. She didn’t pull away.

Fred didn’t flinch or tease—he just wrapped his arms around her and let her hide there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Dumbass,” Fred muttered fondly, patting his twin on the head as George passed by, clearly proud of the chaos he’d caused.

Then Fred lowered his voice, leaning just enough for her to hear over the fading noise.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

She turned her head, cheek pulling away from his chest just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were sincere, still glinting with laughter, but quiet now. Waiting.

“Blimey, yes, please,” she breathed, a nervous giggle escaping her lips, fluttering like trapped butterflies.

Fred steered her through the thinning crowd with an easy confidence. His left hand clasped hers firmly, and before they knew it, they’d gone from a gentle stroll to a proper dash, legs pumping like they were kids again. Giggles bubbled up between them, that daft, happy sound only teenagers – or those utterly smitten – could manage.

Breathless and flushed, they found themselves a good distance from the echoing cheers of the Quidditch pitch. [y/n] watched, a touch of wonder in her eyes, as Fred’s gaze swept around, his mind clearly flicking through mental blueprints. He’d located a hidden area, a spot promising that much-desired privacy. And it had almost all four walls; one side was more of a charming archway. Still, it would absolutely do.

But it would serve the purpose of the moment.

Another tug on her hand – barely a moment of looseness this time – and he was guiding her towards the nook he knew from the legendary Marauder's Map (a perk from his less-than-angelic youth). Without so much as “Can I?” — as if he needed it at that point — he released her hand to cup her face, both palms warm against her skin, tilting her chin up to bridge their height difference.

A proper Weasley grin was playing on his lips as he finally leaned in for a kiss. [y/n] vaguely registered the fact that she was probably grinning herself, but that thought quickly faded into the background noise of pure sensation. The taste of him, the sheer pleasure of their lips meeting, the soft brush of his breath against her cheek. His lips, surprisingly cool at first, were then incredibly sweet, like a lick of Honeydukes best. Little details started to bloom in her awareness: the way she had to lean up slightly, the gentle caress of his fingers moving from her cheek to her nape, then tangling in her hair.

Given Fred’s reputation as the school’s prankster, this wasn’t exactly the snog she’d mentally rehearsed. Not that it was a bad thing, not at all! It was brilliant, actually, the kind of kiss that surely had fireworks popping off somewhere unseen. And judging by the way neither of them could stay away for more than a snatched breath, both were in complete agreement. They kept coming back for more, a silent conversation of lips and tongues.

Truth be told, his repertoire of dodgy jokes had led [y/n] to expect something a bit more… naughty. A bit spicier. This kiss, however, was pure, unadulterated romance, worthy of a movie — but a PG-rated one.

After so many dirty jokes, it was a bit of a surprise.   

But she wasn’t about to complain. Not one bit. She simply melted into him, her hands finding a comfortable spot on his shoulders, fingers twirling through the glorious, untamed mess of his red hair.    

Time seemed to blur and fade. Dear reader, between us, it was a good half an hour. They kept pulling each other in, with a proper longing hung in the air, a silent yearning for something more than just a kiss. Cor blimey.    

Eventually, though, the moment had to wind down, and they found themselves chuckling again, like a pair of right idiots. And that was sort of it.  For that day.

Perched on her bed, [y/n] was doing her best to hide the monumental disappointment bubbling inside as she answered Ursula’s interrogation.

“And how long has it been, exactly?” Ursula asked, referring to how many days had passed since the kiss [y/n] and Fred Weasley shared.

“Four days,” [y/n] replied, perhaps a tad too quickly. “Give or take,” she added, attempting a casualness that felt about as convincing as a Niffler denying a magpie.

As if she hadn’t been counting the hours, marking them off on an invisible calendar.

“Hm,” Ursula pursed her lips, stretching them out.  “A bit of a long time, that,” she declared, sounding like a right scientist analysing a particularly baffling test tube.

“A long time!” [y/n] exclaimed, indignation momentarily overriding her attempts at nonchalance. Then, she bared her teeth in a grimace that was more “agggh” than a smile, before returning to her best uncaring expression. “Not that I'm bothered, mind you.”

“You have nothing,” Ursula observed, like a post-it reminder.

“We have nothing,”[y/n] echoed, confirming the dire situation.

“Still, you’d think he'd have said something,” Ursula mused, tilting her head. “Has he even spoken to you?”

The question sent another wave of frustration through [y/n], who mentally flicked through the last few days, desperately searching for any sign of Fred acknowledging her existence beyond the bare minimum in their shared classes.

“He did… sort of. He went a bit like this,” she demonstrated, raising her eyebrows and giving a sort of half-hearted upturn of the lips that barely qualified as a smile. It wasn’t a great impression of Fred, admittedly, but it conveyed his lack of effort. “And then he said, ‘What up?’ Who says that?”

Ursula, witnessing her friend's building fury, had to agree, it was a bit rubbish.

“No cheeky jokes?”

“Not a single one,” [y/n] confirmed, her tone still laced with disbelief.

“Shocking,” Ursula declared, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Defeated, [y/n] flopped back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress.

“You were just another conquest,” Ursula offered, her tone taking on a slightly mournful note.

“Just another…” [y/n] started to agree, to wallow in the disappointment, but then she stopped herself.

She refused to let Fred Weasley off scot-free. If he’d wanted her to fall for him, well, now he had a girl properly smitten, and he’d better deal with it. Because if not, Merlin’s beard…

“This is not how it’s going to be,” [y/n] announced, suddenly leaping out of bed with a newfound determination. It was nearly eleven at night; everyone should be tucked up in bed (or at least pretending to be for curfew).

“What are you going to do?” Ursula asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

“I’m going to get what he owes me,” the girl stated, her eyes gleaming with purpose.

“And what exactly does he owe you?” Ursula asked, thoroughly bewildered, as if she’d missed a crucial plot twist. [y/n]’s sudden change of mood had left her slightly behind.

[y/n]’s expression hardened. “A punchline.”

It was not some sudden descent into full-blown stalker territory that had [y/n] knowing Fred’s whereabouts, mind you. Absolutely not. In fact, the cheeky git himself had let slip, the day before that disastrous Quidditch match that led to all this kerfuffle, that every Wednesday night he and his twin would sneak off to Hogsmeade.

“Where d’you reckon we get half our brilliant prank ingredients from?” he’d grinned, that familiar Weasley smirk plastered across his face. Zonko’s, naturally.

Well, now the tables had turned, hadn’t they?

Being a seventh-year, [y/n] and plenty of others were clued in on the secret passage to Hogsmeade. Still,[y/n] hadn’t exactly been using the clandestine route, not even for a bit of off-season shopping. But Fred must have been on his way back from the village just as she was legging it down the stairs and along the corridors to intercept him.

Reaching the hidden entrance, [y/n] stopped just shy of it, bathed in the rather dramatic light of a solitary chandelier halfway down the corridor.

She looked almost spectral, despite the fact her night robe was a rather fetching shade somewhere between purple and wine. A proper nightgown it was, tied snugly just under her bust. Not exactly see-through, but light enough. Still, no need to fret on that front, as she had her trusty pajama shorts and vest top underneath.

Leaning against the cool stone wall, she waited, patience wearing thin. Just as she was about to give up, she heard muffled noises, and her heart gave a little flutter. Did she actually have the nerve to go through with this?

Swallowing hard, she held her breath until he and his brother emerged from the passage, chuckling away with bags in their hands and that unmistakable waft of butterbeer clinging to them.

“Want to hear a joke, Weasley?” she called out, perhaps a tad too theatrically.

There were two Weasleys, however, both looking utterly bewildered at the ghostly figure illuminated in the dim light.

“Fred Weasley,” she clarified, clearing her throat and making it crystal clear which ginger menace she was after.

George didn’t hesitate for a second. He swiftly relieved Fred of the bags he was carrying and scarpered, a look on his face that suggested he either knew exactly what was going on — or at least, would soon understand; Fred would certainly tell him later. [y/n] could have sworn she even saw the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.

And then George was gone, vanishing with surprising speed, that [y/n] felt hazardous. But Fred, the remaining Weasley, didn’t look scared. More…confused.

He didn’t look guilty, either.

“Well,” he said, voice low and slightly hoarse, like he’d forgotten how to use it. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He took one cautious step in her direction — but there were still a solid five feet between them. A deliberate distance. “I want to hear the joke.”

[y/n], who was still mentally processing George’s Olympic-level retreat, blinked at him.

“Go on,” Fred coaxed. “Tell it.”

She didn't actually have a joke thoroughly prepared, not one bit. She was going to have to pull one out of thin air, cobble something together from the chaos in her brain because she refused to look like an idiot.

“Are you my homework?” she asked, miraculously managing to keep her voice steady.

Fred raised a single brow — and not the amused kind.

And suddenly, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He didn’t look amused. He didn’t look irritated. Fred just looked tired. Not the kind of tired that came from sneaking around with your twin in the middle of the night — no, this was deeper.

Realising this, she took a deep breath, all hope draining away. Resigned to her fate, she delivered the punchline, ready to turn tail and run:

“Because I should definitely be doing you.”

But she didn’t run.

Couldn’t. Not with his eyes on hers like that — fixed and unreadable, and yet… He wanted to laugh! Oh, it was written all over him: the way his mouth twitched at the corners, the faint scrunch of his nose, like he was physically restraining the chuckle. And yet — he didn’t.

And that’s what got her. That right there. The rational part.

Why was he being rational?

“What?” she asked, blinking, part bewildered, part boiling. “Say something, for Merlin’s sake.”

Still, he said nothing. He looked just as dazed as he had when he’d first spotted her in the corridor.

“Brilliant,” she muttered, a smile curling bitterly at her lips. “Leave me hanging, Weasley. Snog me in the middle of nowhere and then act like it was some shared hallucination.”

She laughed — sharply, dryly — and then, to her horror, kept going. “Better yet, don’t talk to me at all. I’ll do the honours for you, yeah?” She mimicked his voice — that low, cheeky drawl he used in the back of Potions class. “What up?”

She took a step toward him. Then another. Neither of them noticed the space between them shrinking — there was too much tension fizzing in the air, humming like a misfired spell.

Fred stuffed his hand into his front pocket — a small, nervous gesture she might’ve missed if she weren’t watching him like he held all the answers to her unfinished diary entries.

“I’ll tell you what’s up, Fred Weasley,” she declared, jabbing a finger in his direction with each word like she was reciting a particularly aggressive haiku. “I need to know where we went wrong. Was I just another name on the list? Another laugh between broomsticks?” She inhaled sharply. “If so, fine. Not ideal, but fine. I can handle that. But if you’re ignoring me because—”

Don’t say it, her brain whispered.

“Because I’m a terrible kisser,” she pushed on, her voice wobbling only a little, “then just tell me. Honestly. That’s all I’m asking for. I mean, if you were a terrible kisser, I’d have said something. Kindly, obviously. Maybe even offered a second chance. For improvement purposes.”

She was rambling now, properly spiralling, but she didn’t want to dare give him a chance to speak. 

“If my kiss didn’t set off your fireworks — pun intended — then fine. I’ll resume my day, quietly and gracefully. But, you know, we could keep with the dirty jokes, they are relatively funny, they’ve grown on me — pun not intended — and I…”

She trailed off only when she saw it — the tilt of his eyes, the almost-smile.

It wasn’t full-blown, not quite. But it was there, hovering.

Mouth still half-open, [y/n] froze like the sentence hadn’t quite finished leaving her lips. She glanced from Fred to the room, as if retracing her steps, searching for something she’d missed.

“You talk too much, you know that?” Fred said casually, hand still buried in his pocket.

She frowned. “I didn’t use to.”

That earned a real smile from him — quick, unguarded, boyish.

“No, you didn’t,” he agreed. “But then some genius professor had the bright idea of sitting the quiet ones next to the troublemakers. You know, to ‘balance each other out’.” He chuckled under his breath, gaze flicking away. “Seems it worked.”

“Oh, it did,” she shot back. “Now I’m the one who won’t shut up, and you’re quiet as a—”

“Uhm,” his brows perked up. “I think there was a joke in that book about flies.”

“What was it like?” she asked curiously, then scolded herself, scowling. “Well, I don’t want to know it,” she snapped. “Stop deflecting! Are you going to answer any of my actual questions?”

“They were more like wild guesses,” he said, smirking.

He had that look — smug, maddeningly attractive, and about five seconds from saying something entirely inappropriate.

“Stop smiling like that,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Honestly. It’s infuriating.”

“I’ll be serious then,” he said, drawing in a breath. And he was — all the mischief softened, replaced by something sincere.

“I didn’t like kissing you,” he paused. Dramatically. “I loved it.”

She blinked.

“But then,” he continued, “I got scared. Because the thoughts running through my head — during and after that kiss — were… a bit intense. And frankly, they’d been lurking long before we even kissed. Since the moment you laughed at one of my ridiculous pickup lines, something… grew.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Pun very much intended,” he informed, just like she had, before. Then he went on, “The lust definitely grew — along with, well… other things.”

Her eyes widened, and she asked, with a kind of horrified curiosity, “During the kiss?”

Fred had the nerve to grin, cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Also right now.”

“But we’re fighting…”

He leaned in slightly. “And I’ve never seen you look so hot.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, deadpan. “It’s making me want to keep arguing.”

“But I still don’t get it,” she pressed, exasperated. “And no, I’m not dragging this out for vanity’s sake, to keep looking hot. I genuinely hope to understand. If you were so… enthusiastic about me”—she waved vaguely toward his trousers—“then why did you ghost me?”

Fred let out a strange sort of laugh — rough and awkward, like it scraped up the back of his throat on the way out. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his face softening like he was about to deliver news of a lost pet.

“Because you’re a virgin,” he said, voice full of tragic respect. He even tilted his head forward a bit, as though observing a moment of silence. “I was trying to be decent. Give you time.”

She stared at his hand. Then at his pitying, chaste little face.

And burst out laughing. Not a giggle — a full-on guffaw that echoed off the stone corridor, wild and unstoppable.

“I’m not a—” she tried, choking on a sob of laughter.

Fred looked wounded.

“I’m not a virgin, you absolute melon,” she wheezed, wiping at her eyes, still grinning like mad.

“But…” his eyebrows crashed together. “You blush every time I make a more sexual joke.”

“Yes, because you say those things in class,” she snapped, still giggling. “With Professor Flitwick like two feet away.”

“Oh,” he said, blinking.

They stood in silence for a moment. [y/n] was catching her breath from laughing so hard, while Fred was… well, recovering whatever shred of ego he had left — after all, he’d called her a virgin when she wasn’t, and had apparently sworn himself to celibacy for no reason at all.

The castle stayed quiet, but the air had turned colder as the hour crept on.

“So,” she finally said, relaxing her shoulders, her voice calmer now, almost casual, “was that kiss of yours the PG version?”

Fred looked at her, head tilted.

“What would you have done,” she went on, “if you’d known I wasn’t… chaste?”

He didn’t quite smile, but something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Memory? Something just shy of dangerous.

“Why do you want to know?”

She gave a little shrug. “I don’t think I hate you anymore. Not now that things are cleared up — the confusion, the vanishing act, the… sexual urges.”

“I never explained my sexual urges to you,” he said, frowning slightly.

“Oh no?” she asked, dragging one finger in a casual path over his chest, then up his neck. Half-pointing, half-caressing. “So what was that Chamber of Secrets line about, then?”

He bit back a chuckle. “I don’t want to fuck you in the Chamber of Secrets.”

“That wasn’t the line,” she smirked. “You said you wanted to sneak in and crawl to me.”

“It wasn’t crawling either,” he stepped closer — close enough now that he had to tilt his head all the way down to meet her eyes.

“You're giving me a hard time, Fred Weasley,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “What’s a girl gotta do around here to earn a big reward?”

He exhaled slowly, as if the words had physically affected him.

“I think you’ve had enough puns for one night.”

She smiled — slow and wicked.

“Oh, but you know what I haven’t had enough of yet?”

Fred’s eyes searched hers, scanning for any sign of hesitation. There was none.

The half-light made her look ethereal — like she belonged to this strange hour of the castle, somewhere between dream and trouble. Her lips were parted, breath shallow but certain. Fred brought one hand to her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheek like he was memorizing the shape of her. Then, slower still, he dipped his head.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It didn’t slam into her like the last time, like something impatient. It unfolded. A murmur of heat passed between their lips as they met, warm and unhurried, the kind of kiss that asked, Are you sure? and answered, Yes, I am.

His other hand came to rest on her waist, drawing her into him. She responded with fingers curling into his shirt, tugging slightly — asking for more. Their bodies fell into place as if they'd done this a hundred times before. As if they were always meant to fit this way.

Fred pulled back for a breath, their foreheads touching. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like she was the beginning of a very good secret. And then he kissed her again — deeper this time, more urgent. His hands were moving now, one threading into her hair, the other pressing her closer until there was no air between them, just heat and want and years of almosts.

She gasped against his mouth when he backed her into the cold stone wall, and he laughed softly — not mocking, just amazed.

“I really didn’t plan to kiss you against a wall,” he whispered.

She tugged him forward by the collar. “Shut up, Weasley.”

They kissed again, and again, the world shrinking to the echo of their breaths in the corridor. She felt his fingertips graze beneath the hem of her shirt, just a brush, not daring more than the skin at her waist. But it made her shiver all the same. And Fred noticed.

“You’re cold,” he murmured against her lips.

“No,” she replied. “I’m on fire.”

He smiled, eyes half-lidded. “Good.”

They stayed pressed together like that for a while, as the castle held its breath around them — two people caught between recklessness and reverence, between the thrill of wanting and the sweetness of being wanted back.

[florawriting]

Headcanon: Weird random abilities that have nothing to do with being the champion of magic (#2)

Look, the Rock of Eternity is literally the center point of the multiverse, gateway to basically anywhere on earth and beyond. The only thing you need is a door or any equivalent that holds the same purpose and you're golden.

It isn't a stretch that the Shazamily has abused the hell out of this.

Geography project about volcano’s? Let's go see one right now! Little ritual to honor their patron gods? Let's go to Greece and do it at an old temple sight. Want to see a band but it's too expensive? Find the cheapest location where they are going to play and get tickets for that show!

Honestly, it is kind of a miracle that they haven't started some big international scandal with all the borders they "illegally" crossed.

And how they get the different currencies? Well, let's say that the exchange rates at the JL headquarters are zero and don't ask questions.

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

Part of the benefit of Calamity, Downfall, and now Divergence being miniseries with a set 3-4 episode runtime from the start is that they can use the level the PCs are playing at as a way to reflect the relationship they have with power.

The Ring of Brass was Level 14, well beyond the power level of the average Exandrian and even most adventurers, and kitted out with whatever magic items their players fancied. They were also persons in positions of privilege within one of the floating mage cites of the Age of Arcanum. They were both able to access the multiple magic items they carried on them and also were the sort of people who would amass the personal power to rise to prominent positions in a society were powerful mages in particular compose the upper classes. Over the course of the miniseries though, their magic items are largely stripped from them when the Tree of Names is sundered, signalling the end of the Age of Arcanum and the first moments of the Calamity. The PCs spend their (mostly) last moments using the power that they have to save as many people as possible. To paraphrase Laerryn: at the end they did their best for the world, finally.

The avatars of the gods in Downfall were all Level 20, the maximum possible for a player character in D&D, as is appropriate for the gods of this setting taking a mortal form, or in the case of the Emissary, a being specifically tasked by a god with this mission. And over the course of the miniseries the characters grow even more powerful, as the belief of Cassida and the patrons of the Ars Elysia allows Trist and SILAHA to enact miracles despite their mortal forms, and later, when the Latimus Princeps falls and the gods regain their full divinity and gain abilities and statblocks well beyond anything that can be achieved by mortals. But it also this power differential that causes the gods to resolve to step back from Exandria and create the Divine Gate, because as much as they love the world and their creations, they are too big for it and cannot help but hurt it.

And now with Divergence, while the series is still ongoing, it had the PCs all start as Level 0 commoners (with most having reached Level 1 by the end of episode 2). These are PCs who are ordinary people trying to survive in a world where there are powers far beyond them battling and effecting their lives by merely existing. The Stormlord's arrival at the end of Episode 1 saves them from dying of thirst, but puts them at risk of dying of exposure instead. When they go into battle against the soldiers of the Strife Emperor in Episode 2, it is as regular people who have decided they need to do something to try and improve the world around them. And it is this act of stepping up as regular people trying to create change that they (with the exception of Garen as of now) take their first step into being extraordinary as they gain a PC level.

[gazeofseer]

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍?

𓇼🐚☾☼🦪 🎀🫶🏻💌💓

••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°••....••

Texas, Australia, United States and California, You are a queer by soul who lives by their own even amongst the crowded room, seeking something as distant and indifferent to what seems the same after all, but subtle do you fear the idea behind crossing lines, edges that drew scars around your borderline of heart the reason you easily withdraw the click and connection with places and people, you feel everything should be new as each passing moment because anything that stay longer bored you because you feed in daydreams and expect teh same dosh to be served outside around you, but all you taste is something different but not you.

Guidance : You are looking for yourself from within by blocking all the external settings and invites believing the world to be a harm to your existence throughout your journey down the lane to changing seasons and places so far, now you are just tired and tormented wanting to settle but truly can't keeps you restless.

Leo sun, Aries Rising, 8, Saturn in 9th house, Silver accessories, Denim Jeans, You brought something last week still waiting to be worn.

I see you are not only brain fogging but also bloating with overwhelming thoughts and emotions at the same time because you want but you don't, you don't but you want so badly, you have been guided to not make any decision right now, and not to hang in either, changes kept happening, but you are holding something beyond it did. It could be a little picture or a memory too, let it go to where it belongs it will harm you in the long run. Stop sitting with disappointment, disgrace or insult. Let that find peace within you and embrace these changes as a chance for you to strike this fog with the sword of your consciousness on if the very next second you would die, what will you do in the given second of the moment? Chose what is right, and needed for now that is how you lead life always rightly despite the wrong being gifted.

Netherland, Germany, Scotland, Denver & Amsterdam, there are eerie chills to your soul which plays chivilrious in the darkness and acts demure in the light, like a nasty kid you carry the flaws around the forest creeks but throw a elegant gaze the moment a eye flickers upon you, the mask of basking in solitude feels so enchanting enough to thrive through life beyond its hardship and pain, you take it as gift for the one who got none even sorrow becomes the only life present before.

Guidance : The ostracized child, who was not even a count nor in the quantity or quality leave the first and last of being a choice but never an part of any option to even begin with? I feel you started to heal enough that you understand the value of pain you received so far and treat it exactly right that it has become your that safe home which strengthens you instead to tame, instead of guidance your spirit guides have messages 'That, we really appreciate your pure heart and acknowledge your being of existence as of great as of the any other living, we are around you, when you believe you are lucky enough after seeing something weird l, quirky and unique because that is who you are and we show up there'

Fox teddy, bear, herbivores, cozy vibes, brown eyes, eyeglasses, Aquarius Venus, Capricorn Venus or sun, writing a novel or blog, secret lover.

Paris, France, Italy, London, Russia and South Korea, What beauty of it doesn't scares a bit right? It took you a trail blaze or ages to burn down and pave one path for you that fire runs through your body despite the sickness you feel in your heart and fatigue you carry on your soul, the more you get tested the more pure you mold into the miracles and become the magic itself, you accept the essence of love, that sets free, wild and at the arms of death where one can love so truly to the depths of each feels and moves of life.

Guidance : Okay, so this pile has been through a lot bodily or mentally the sickness which prolonged seems like a default, or your mistake or an accident which made you be on bed for rest and feel this helplessness from the echoes of the room and beyond the sky where slowly you discovered and connected to your soul and learned the ultimate truth of being all that you need to yourself exactly when you need yourself.

'Hey, sorry to interrupt I am just worried and kind off ..sorry again how are you? I hope you are doing well now, I promise I am on my way please, kindly don't give upon me, for that I have not yet arrived into your life, all the lovers you met were the lie you told yourself to hold yourself tight in your head, but let go the grudge and find me within your heart whenever you look into the mirror with those doe eyes, those two flicks of your hair curls around you ear I did kiss those cheeks with freckles and toughened skin, I did hold you like the witch who carries her wretched wand in her power and strength, I love you, can you hear that, I say that everyday before you sleep'

Well, that was tear jerking right? Give me a second.

Important Updated my services list do check (;

[etherfabric]

Why things will be easy now

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

more PACs

Pile 1

Queen of Swords, The Emperor

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Things will be easy now because you learned what works for you, and are confident to ditch the rest. Your intuition is razor sharp and wielding it is second nature to you now. Other's opinions don't sway you anymore. You know everyone has their own path, and them doing thing A has no influence on your thing B. You are a master now with drawing boundaries with others as well within your own thoughts - you know which ones are from your true, authentic, eternal, beautiful self, and which one are just silly downward spiraling habits you can opt out anytime. Those doubts are like fluffy clouds on a breezy summer day - superficial, fleeting, never able to stop the sun from reaching you. You know where to put your energy and your focus, and feel the results instantly. How come mood is now so easy? And the best part - it doesn't actually feel new. You remember how this was always at your disposal. How you just forgot about it. But it was always there. Memories of past successes are cut and dry proof of all the blessings to come. It feels powerful, it feels true, it feels good - it feels you. Like actually you.

Pile 2

The World, Page of Pentacles

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Things will be easy now because the minute somethings stops feeling satisfying, another perfect thing will pop up. Talking about divine orchestration, and this is your symphony. You enjoy every step of the journey - the idea, the initiation, the progress, the habit, the finish. You marvel at the infinite combinations of those currents through your perception, and the world is your oyster now. So many prospects that hold reliable promises! It's all up to you. Things that used to be dull and monotonous suddenly bring a sparkle to your eye again. Food tastes rich, water refreshes you with every sip, your body is a miracle you have access to every living second. The physical plane got its magic back. With the eyes of the eternal child, you feel abundant beyond limits. I get the feeling specifically of having beautiful interactions with nature, with an emphasis on animals. Spotting a rare bird, petting a cat, a butterfly landing right next to you. Serendipitous timing with weather - sun right when you want it, rain right when it adds to the athmosphere, a breeze caressing your back as encouragement on a stroll towards something exciting. Beautiful sunsets, stargazing, moonlight moments. You have everything you could ever want, and then some. This is what life is about, and it's so easy. And you know how to stay in it.

Pile 3

3 of Cups, 2 of Wands

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Things will be easy now because it finally clicked: You remembered how freaking likeable you are. Social interactions that used to confuse you now suddenly make sense - people are intimidated and nervous around you! They really want you to like them, and they can't fathom how you don't see that. Well, those times are over now. A calm and confident warmth emenates from within you now, and what used to be a source of anxiety and stress is now a constant uplift in your life - the people you meet, how they look at you, the words they say, just their body language from across the street are all surefire signs you can read like a children's book. They reflect what has finally once againrevealed itself to you: You are beautiful, impressive, radiant, capable, deserving, magical. This makes time by yourself like a serene island of recuperation and contemplation. Your dreams and plans with people are just as easily achievable as opening the door to your room. Mundane, easy, self explanatory, a given. Not ever a focus of your worries. Why worry about the doorknob? Why worry about things that are certain? Why worry about just the right people entering your life at just the right moment, with just the right circumstances, right words, right gifts, right intentions? That's right. As easy as the inhale and exhale. As sure as the next breath. Welcome to the truth.

Pile 4

5 of Cups, The Hierophant

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Things will be easy now because you know you don't have to fake anything to get what you want. Feel sad? Cry. You are still God's favorite and your blessings are on their way. The more authentic you are, the faster they will come. You have found comfort in what others would falsely read as "bad signs". There are no bad signs when you are set on the right path. There are only different stations all with their own rhythm, themes and energies. All parts of you are necessary and welcome. Your joy, your fear, your sadness, your frustrations - they are no longer being pushed away, but embraced. That's how they power your manifestations. The more you, the merrier. You can suddenly feel the beautiful relief and cleanse your tears bring, the empowering holy fire within your rage as it propels you forward towards what you deserve, the soothing hum of your tiredness replenishing every cell. No more thwarted sense of self that breaks you - you are perfect and sacred as you are. The less pressure, the more rewards are coming your way. Life flows through you, you are an expression of the divine, and carry yourself accordingly through all phases of life. You will suddenly see texts and teachings reflecting exactly that. You will feel validated in a way you never felt before, but it will feel just like home. Your true home of eternal love and possibilities.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Seal It With a Kiss (one-shot)

Synopsys: After a looting session goes wrong, Astarion and Reader have to face the music and confront their feelings. Whatever they might be.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: talks of blood, injuries, swearing, mentions of abuse, but nothing explicit

Word count: 3234

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

The light was too bright. And the ground was too hard. And the pillow too tough and lumpy. And why did Y/N feel so hot when it was literally snowing? And, actually, when had it started snowing? From bright blue skies, might she add?

Slowly, haziness dissipated from her eyes, and the world around came into sharp, painful focus. The light was too bright because half of her surroundings were on literal fire. The ground was too hard because she was half on rubble that once was a palace roof, and the tough, lumpy pillow was a rock her head had smashed against, while the snow was ashes flowing down, covering everything, including her, in a grey layer of soot, the sky peeking in from the hole above.

Although her sight was clearing, a sharp ringing pierced her ears. Or was it shouting?

A shadow crossed the sky, and above her, she could see their resident vampiric elf’s mouth moving.

“ – were you thinking?!” Finally, her ears started to clear as well. “You absolute imbecile! Why would you do that?!”

Y/N just groaned in response, as her memories came back in quick flashes. Everyone was arguing about where they should look for another magical artefact, Astarion shooting down what Gale had proposed, Wyll trying to make a sensible plan while Lae’Zel interrupted Shadowheart at any given moment. A deep rumble from the depths of the abandoned palace they were in silenced them all, Karlach throwing them a worried expression. And then the whole building exploded.

On instinct, Y/N had pushed Astarion as far away as she could before the ceiling came crashing down on top of her. It was nothing short of a miracle, she had managed to survive. Bruised, battered, no doubt with broken bones, but alive nonetheless. Maybe she’d have to thank a goddess or two. That was if Astarion didn’t rip her to pieces beforehand with how furious he looked.

Slowly Y/N tried to lift herself onto her forearms, and for all his admonishments, Astarion was quick to crouch down and help her, putting his arms under her pits and letting her rest against his chest.

“Oh dear,” she mumbled, noticing a large bannister lying across her leg. “That’s not good.”

“Not good?!” Astarion practically shrieked, his hands tightening around her ribs. “How hard did you hit your fucking head? This is so beyond not good I can’t even think of a level!”

Y/N winced at his tone. “Can you stop shouting, please? Gods, my head is splitting.”

“Oh, is it now? It would be quite the fucking miracle if it wasn’t, seeing as a whole fucking palace just toppled on you!”

“Quit being so dramatic and help get that thing off me! Where’re the rest?”

“Frankly, I don’t fucking care right now!” Astarion gently laid Y/N back down and went to the large boulder.

His arms strained as he lifted the piece of the pillar, her eyes widening at the display of strength.

She sometimes forgot how strong Astarion actually was, how easily he could snap her neck with just a twist of his hands if he so wished while Y/N allowed him to drink from her. But he was always gentle instead, with how he held her nape, fingers soothingly pressing into her scalp and knuckles brushing against her collarbones once he was done in a sweet gesture of thanks.

As quickly as she could, Y/N scooted from under the rubble, Astarion dropping the boulder back unceremoniously, and he was back by her side in a second, an arm wrapping around her waist, so she could lean on him.

“We have to find the others,” Y/N hissed as she stood. Her whole body screamed in pain, but they had to get out of the now-ruined palace, lest another explosion happen.

“They can find their own way out,” Astarion grunted, as he led them towards the exit.

“Astarion!”

“No!” He snapped his head to look at Y/N, and his scarlet eyes held such a desperate gaze in them, that she pinched her lips shut. “I will knock you out if I have to. I am not letting you get hurt again.”

“Astarion, they’re our friends,” Y/N’s voice was gentle. “We have to help them if we can.”

For a moment, Astarion truly looked like he might just throw her over his shoulder and march out of the place. But then he sighed, hanging his head in defeat before looking at her with pain distorting his features. “Why do you always have to be so good?”

Something tugged at her heart. That expression on his face, as if it physically put him in agony to lead them around the ruined palace in search of their companions, as he flinched and tightened his hold on her whenever something crackled, ready to throw his own body atop hers, in case something happened. It wasn’t selfishness, not one bit. Something deeper lay beneath Astarion’s reluctance.

It took them a while to find their party, but luckily no one was injured, and Y/N was the worst one off.  Shadowheart was by her side in an instant, giving her a healing potion.

“Should keep you set until we get back to camp.” She patted her shoulder. “I’ll heal you fully once we’re out of immediate danger.”

“Thank you.” Y/N smiled at the cleric.

She was just about to ask Astarion whether he was alright, but the vampire had already detached himself and was glaring at the ground, arms crossed over his chest ten feet away from her.

Y/N couldn’t deny – it stung. He’d been so worried just a few moments ago, yet now he couldn’t even look at her?

Her feet worked on their own accord, moving in his direction, but the way he turned his back to her, told her all she needed to know – he didn’t want to talk.

Pain shot through her heart, and it was definitely not because of the explosion, but Y/N respected his privacy, so she didn’t approach him any further, even though they always, always, walked next to one another.

“We should head back,” she spoke up, eyes remaining on Astarion’s taut back. “Maybe get some rest as well. We still have tomorrow anyway to search this place.”

When Astarion left the palace without even waiting to see if anyone was following, Y/N could do nothing but sigh and depart as well.

The walk to where they’d set up their camp was uncharacteristically quiet, especially from the pale elf’s side. He’d usually fill their travels with mindless talk and sarcastic quips, but this time around, he hung towards the back of their group and was as mum as a grave. He didn’t even comment on whatever Gale was saying, which made Y/N all the more uneasy.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around why he’d become so distant all of a sudden. What’d happened at the palace was nothing unusual. They risked their lives on the daily, saving others and themselves, so why in the world was Astarion so pissed about this, she had no clue.

Karlach leaned to the side, watching as the vampire entered his tent, closing the laces immediately. “Fangs is quite in a bad mood. Anything we should know about, soldier?”

Y/N huffed. “Probably broke a nail or something. In any case – nothing important enough to be acting the way he is.”

“Maybe I should go and – “

She put a palm on Karlach’s shoulder, stopping her, and giving her friend a wry smile. “I’ll talk to him. Better he’s angry at me and only me, not someone else as well. Apparently, I’ve pissed him off as is.”

“You sure?” the tiefling asked.

“Yeah.” Y/N nodded. “I think we need to have a talk anyway.”

With a “good luck” from Karlach, she sighed and steeled herself against whatever the vampire would throw her way. She unlaced the ties and lifted the flap to the side. With crossed arms, she entered Astarion’s tent, only to be greeted by his back as he stubbornly kept looking at a book in his hands, not even acknowledging her.

“Are you seriously pouting right now?” Y/N asked after a minute of silence.

“I’m not pouting, I’m brooding. There’s a difference.”

“Well, does brooding involve giving the silent treatment, or can we talk?”

Astarion threw a withering gaze over his shoulder. “What is there you want to talk about? Unless it’s an apology, I don’t want to hear it.”

Y/N let out an exasperated huff. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I won’t apologise for saving your life.”

“By putting your own life in danger?!” Astarion spun around, throwing the tome he’d been holding onto his bedroll.

“Comes with the territory.” She shrugged. “You should know how it is.”

“Letting a whole building collapse on top of you is very different to knocking a blade out of the way!”

“Why are you so angry with me?” Y/N raised her voice, matching Astarion’s furious tone. “I saved your life!

“I didn’t ask for you to!”

She let out a disbelieving scoff. “Well, sucks to be you then! Because I was not just going to let you get crushed underneath all that rubble! Your life is just as important as everyone else’s!”

“Not to me! Not when it comes to you!”

Now that shut her up completely, her lips pinched in a thin line, eyes wide in shock. She and Astarion were friends, at least Y/N would've liked to think so. She most definitely had developed deeper feelings than that, but would only admit to it over her own dead body. The thought of Astarion’s rejection made her want to crumple into a small heap, but his reaction put thoughts in her head that maybe, just maybe, her feelings weren’t one-sided.

“What do you suppose I would do if you – if – if,” he stumbled on his words. “If I had to go on without you? If you were no longer with us… with me…”

“Astarion…”

“Do you understand how it felt to see you go down?” He sighed, hanging his head. “When I saw the roof caving in and then felt you push me away before you vanished beneath rubble and dust and ash… I’ve never been more terrified in all of my life, two hundred years of which were spent under the rule of an absolute sadist, where horrors awaited around every corner.”

His eyes bore nothing but pain and despair he’d felt in that moment. “I heard everyone else screaming - Shadowheart calling out, Wyll and Karlach making sure Gale and Lae’Zel were alright but nothing… not a single whisper from your voice. You tell me I’m pouting, but all I can see when I close my eyes is you… how you would look… dead. Your eyes closed forever, your blood spilling out of your body and I… I have to stand and watch as I am unable to save you.

“But I’m alright.” Y/N stepped up to him, taking one of his palms in hers, and squeezing it. “Astarion, I’m alive, and I’m fine.”

“But you almost weren’t!” he hissed, pulling her closer, bringing their clasped hands to rest against his chest. “And all I would have been left to do was wait for the dust to settle and dig out your broken body. You would have condemned me to eternity without you… I just almost lost the person I love... and that fear is something I never wish to experience again.”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat at such an honest confession. “I umm I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” Friendship was one thing, but love? That threw her completely off balance.

“Feel? Felt? What does it matter anymore? Clearly, it’s not like it’s reciprocated.” He scoffed, back the mask of bravado and not caring, but Y/N wasn’t having any of it.

“It matters to me.” Her brows furrowed. “It matters a great deal to me. Why do you think I did what I did, exactly? Because it’s fun? Because I enjoy blocks of buildings dropping down on me? Because it’s such an absolute delight to realise - if I don’t push you out of the way, you will be in direct line of fire, and I might lose you?”

Astarion’s mouth opened and closed. “I didn’t – I –“

“No!” Y/N pointed an accusatory finger at him. Now she was angry. “You don’t get to play the "I'm in love with you" card and be angry with me. Not if you dare tell me how I feel without asking first!”

“You...” He shook his head, a crease to his brow. “You never indicated you held anything more than… friendly affections towards me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Yes, because I let everyone in this party use me as their personal snack each night. I’d say that should’ve been your first clue.”

“I’d say you’re a full-course meal, my darling, but I understand the sentiment.” And though back was his usual air of sarcasm, a deep vulnerability could be seen shining in his crimson eyes as he weaved a gentle hand to wrap around the small of her waist, brushing underneath her sleep tunic to rest against her skin.

Cold met warm, and Y/N gasped as a shiver ran down her spine. His slender fingers dug into her back as he pulled Y/N closer, their breaths mingling, and if they only moved just a couple of centimetres, lips would touch.

“I just – I cannot stand and watch you throw your life away for someone like me. The thought of your brightness being extinguished because of it… I couldn’t bear it.”

Y/N tilted her head to the side. “Someone like who exactly? Someone who I’ve grown to look at as my dearest confidant? Someone who I know will always tell me the truth and be there if I cannot handle it? Or someone who so deftly has stolen my heart, he cannot even comprehend it’s been his the whole time? Besides, even if it wasn’t reciprocated...” She played with the string of his shirt, “you can’t tell me to be more careful, to not save you when you do the exact same thing.”

“How can I not?” Astarion’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, and for once, he seemed to want the moment to reflect what truly lay in his soul. “You make my heart beat on its own. If I had to give up walking in the sun for the rest of my life, I would. As long as it meant you were safe and happy. I’d even gladly go back to Cazador if you were on the line. Without a second to spare.”

“Don’t you dare fucking say that!"

“But it’s true.”

“Not if I can help it,” Y/N grumbled, tightening her hold on his shirt by his hips, pulling him closer like she had to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. “He’s not ever going to get near you. I’ll level the whole of Baldur’s Gate if I have to.”

“And I am being honest when I say, if I had to choose between you being unhurt or me being imprisoned, being used as I was, I would always put you first.”

Y/N was on the verge of tears. “You listen to me you pompous blood-sucking elf – you will do no such thing. Whatever comes, we both will get through it. And Cazador will have his head ripped from his shoulders, but not before I gouge his eyes out, and do every single vile thing he did to you back onto him. I will skin him alive and then throw him in a tomb with nothing but cockroaches. Let him drink his own blood and see how he likes it.” She shuddered, taking in a deep breath. “Your life is not worth less than mine. Don’t you ever dare think that way.”

A watery chuckle escaped Astarion, and his eyes brimmed with silvery tears. “Can I kiss you?” He didn’t dare lift his gaze, focusing on their intertwined fingers, resting against where his heart no doubt would have been rattling a crazy rhythm if it still beat.

“If you want to.” Y/N’s reply was as quiet as his question had been, but there was no teasing in her tone.

His eyes flashed for a second, but she didn’t get a full grasp on what it was she saw. Maybe surprise. Maybe gratitude? She couldn’t tell really, all she knew was that the emotion caused a pang to ring to her very core. She’d kill Cazador with her own bloody hands.

“I want it.” He nodded. “More than anything.”

“More than my blood? That first night you almost drained me dry,” Y/N’s words, though true, held no malice, only gentle teasing.

“And how do you know that first time I wasn’t trying to wake up the sleeping princess with a magical true love’s kiss? The feeding just ended up being a bonus.” He brushed her nose with his, and couldn’t help the way his own lips turned up as Y/N smiled.

“Well, this sleeping princess would’ve punched you in the nose, had you awoken her for such silly things. Besides, you did miss my lips.”

Astarion chuckled, relishing the way her body pressed against his. “But I am allowed to awaken you to drink from you?”

“Well...” She nudged his nose with hers now. “Seeing as you become absolutely unbearable when hungry, I think for my own peace and everyone else’s, that does count as a vital reason to rouse me."

Gentle hands cupped her cheeks. “Allow me to demonstrate then how vital a kiss can be to one’s survival.”

And then their lips met.

She’d never admit it out loud, for his ego would surely grow larger than it already was, but it did feel like a magical kiss of life. Her whole body sang as his fingers slid against the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, almost like Astarion was afraid she’d pull back, but she could never. Not when he slipped his tongue past her lips, and her knees almost crumbled.

Y/N had to tighten her hold on his waist to not completely lose it, and she could feel the smirk growing on the vampire’s face, as he realised just how incapacitated his kiss had made her. He nipped at the bottom of her lip and relished in the small whimper he got to devour.

After what felt like ages, they pulled back, panting, but not going too far as Astarion rested his forehead against hers.

Y/N smiled. “True love’s kiss you say?”

“It feels like it,” he mumbled, allowing himself to indulge in the tender touch of her fingers skimming up and down his back. “Though I don’t know much about… love… I’d like to experience it with you. All of it. The good and the bad that might come with it.”

“I’ll be here,” Y/N promised. “As long as you want me to, I’m not going anywhere.”

“And if I ask for forever?”

She let out an over-exaggerated, dramatic sigh. “Forever’s quite a long time, don’t you think?”

“Not long enough,” Astarion replied, a smile tugging up his lips. “It’d never be long enough with you.”

Y/N quirked a brow. “Is that a challenge?”

He chuckled at that. “I’d say it’s more of a promise, if anything.”

“Seal it with a kiss?”

“Deal, my love.”

Tags:

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird

A/N: my tags are always open, so just drop a message if you want to be tagged :)

P.S. do not plagiarise my work or repost it on other platforms!!!

[bedoballoons]

Fontaine, Sumeru , Inazuma boys + Zhongli and Xiao with a GN! Darling that has Newts Briefcase from fantastic beasts

Your blog looks beautiful btw

Awwe thank you so much!! <3 I hope you enjoy!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃

{༻~Reader with a briefcase like Newts~༺}

CW: Fluffy and magical! (Pet names: Lyney: Mon amour)

(Includes: Lyney, Zhongli, Tighnari, Heizou, and Xiao!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney obviously didn't know every magic trick in Teyvat, that would be almost impossible, but he did know quite a few of them and he could usually figure out how others were done fairly quickly, but how your suitcase managed to hold a whole boar, crystalflies of every element, and tens more animals, some of which he'd never seen before, was beyond anything even he could imagine.

You'd left him speechless, mouth agape as he stared at you in awe, "Mon amour, how is this possible? How are you doing that?" You blushed slightly, seeing the way his eyes shun like that of child's when they see something magic for the first time, "I can't tell, it's a secret, but you're welcome to use it for one of your shows, just make sure to feed the scorpions, they get angry otherwise and they aren't very nice when they're angry."

𑁍༄Zhongli:

Zhongli stared at your happy face, your arms extended outwards, being used as a perch for at least 10 exotic birds...all of which had appeared from your suitcase. Originally he had assumed this was only possible because the work of an adepti, but upon closer inspection he saw no signs of adeptal power, infact it seemed completely foreign to him...which only made him more curious.

"You say it can hold as many animals as the forests of Liyue? That's certainly a incredible feat...may I asked how you've acquired such a unique and interesting treasure?" He smiled slightly at you, hoping you'd clear up the mysterious nature behind the briefcase, but you simply chuckled, "One day I'll tell you, but for now it would be far more fun to keep it a secret~"

𑁍༄Tighnari:

Tighnari was sitting in front of your suitcase with his eyes glued to it like at any moment it could actually explode, not because it was somehow holding more animals than he even knew of, but from the sheer amount power such a item would have to have. In all of his days of studying at the akademiya and traveling to other lands in search of new plant varieties, he'd never seen anything like it. "Does it contains exotic plants as well? Do each of the animals have their own ecosystems? If you shut the suitcase for to long does the oxygen run out or does the suit case somehow supply oxygen? Have you ever tried to go in the suit case?"

Your eyes widened at his many questions, more and more spilling from his lips before he could stop himself...frazzling you slightly. You hadn't expected him to get so excited about it, but even with his never ending questions, it was absolutely adorable to see him this way. It was like he'd found a miracle and he wanted to learn everything about it with you.

𑁍༄Heizou:

Heizou stuck his head into your suitcase, trying to find clues as to how it worked, but the detective was more than just stumped, he was simply baffled as to how something like it could even exist. "You weren't joking when you said you wanted to show me something beyond my imagination. I've seen Onis with horns fight beetles and gods who can make the air actually buzz with emotion, but I don't think I've ever seen anything that has come close to the mystery behind this. Do you think you could live in it?"

"I suppose you could, but I'm not exactly sure. You could be the test subject if you'd like." You winked at him teasingly and he smiled up at you, almost like he was actually considering it for moment, "I think I prefer the scenery in the outside world, but we could always take a romantic vacation together inside the suitcase~" Your cheeks turned a scarlett red as he giggled at you quietly, if you teased him, it was only fair he teased back.

𑁍༄Xiao:

Xiao kneeled down, softly scratching the underside of a mora weasels chin, unbothered by the fact the animal had just run out of your suitcase along side a fairly massive boar. You actually seemed more surprised by his reaction than he did of your suitcase, "So what do you think hmm?"

"I think,...it reminds of the teapots us adepti sometimes use. They appear normal on the outside, but on the inside it's a island specifically designed with our comfort in mind, I've never seen a suitcase version before though.." His eyes met yours and your heart skipped a beat, you responded without even thinking and it flustered you to no end, "Do you have a teapot? May I see it if you do?"

"...I...don't have one, maybe, one day...we can make one together?"

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◥(•̀￦•́)◤☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 ☾𖤓~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧