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electricgg · 2 months ago

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Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 1: I Could Be The Eye Of The Storm

Masterlist Chapter 1 (Here!) / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 /

It has been said that when a person is on the verge of death, their brain shows various memories of their life for seven minutes. Seven minutes of beautiful, happy memories that marked your life.

From the moment you gave the wailing, shocking cry as the cold air of the outside world hit your wrinkly, red skin, fresh out of the womb, until the very last few moments, you keep on fighting to keep air down your lungs, and your heart slowly stops pumping blood into your veins.

A way of welcoming the end of your life peacefully, if you can see it that way.

Most people become cynical when it comes to the end of the cycle of life. Either for loss of faith or not wanting to think about what comes after it.

It’s probably because of fear.

No, it’s definitely because of fear.

Everyone is afraid of what happens when you cross to the other side. That’s a fact. A human fact.

That’s why the seven minutes are such a comforting idea. Seeing all the good things you have lived before going away into a black abyss of uncertainty.

A last ray of warm light.

(Y/N) Wayne doesn’t get her seven minutes.

Well, not her own seven minutes.

From the moment her body sank to the bottom of the water, Wayne knew her seven minutes would not be of warm, happy memories.

They would be of dark, cold hallways. Empty chairs on her birthday table. Short excuses and empty apologies for any type of tournament they didn’t assist. Cold shoulders and annoyed stares whenever she spoke or made ‘dumb’ questions.

Her dad’s empty silence. Dick’s soft avoidance. Jason’s burning anger. Tim’s sharp cut-offs. Damian’s freezing hatred.

Perhaps Death would allow her to have Alfred’s warming smiles and compassion. Maybe even the sweet melody of her mother’s humming voice as she laid on that small bed in the asylum.

Instead, she gets seven minutes of a complete acid trip.

A small town with overly nice people.

A woman and a man who are completely in love with one another. A house that changes from black and white to color, the furniture changing with the decades.

Two babies, twins, a girl and a boy.

The rush of the wind against her skin as she runs in a complete sugar rush with a man with silver hair and then the woman saying ‘if she was to break the sound barrier, she would take her brother with her’.

A huge fight with blows of red and purple and guns ending in with a warm family hug with the twins, a scarlet witch, and an android with a soul.

A good night scene, the woman kissing each of them on the forehead before turning the lights off.

The boy crawling into the girl’s bed and both of them holding to each other tightly as their world crumbles around them in a red dome.

‘Good night,---’

‘Good night, Billy.’

That name gets stuck in her brain as life slips away from her lungs. It echoes in a gentle, childish voice as it grows farther and farther away. Just like the air bubbles escaping from her mouth and nose.

‘A twin,’ a final thought muses.

‘I always wanted a twin.’

‘Please, let me have that life next time.’

‘Please, let it be–’

•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•

“Billy!”

Those are the words (Y/N) Maximoff tried to say as her mouth graggled and vomited all the water from inside her lungs once she fought to remain afloat in the deep, dark water. The left side of her head throbbed like hell, making her dizzy and tired while swimming in a puppy-like style on her right side to finally reach the edge of the nasty pool she woke up in.

Climbing it was another gigantic chore, but she refused to remain on the murky (read as definitely contaminated) water any longer.

Coughing up her guts and wheezing for air while drenched in nasty water and bleeding wound on the head was so going to the ‘Situations I Never Wish To Repeat Ever in My Life’ list.

It would be the only one on it, but with the way things are looking at the moment, she is pretty sure that list is only going to keep growing.

She lay on her right side once she no longer felt like she was choking. Or maybe because her adrenaline finally crashed and her strength just gave up.

Taking deep breaths, the situation began to sink in.

She was supposed to be dead. Gone. Kaput!

Or at least that’s what she thought. All that she remembers is Billy.

Half of her, never too far away. Always together. It’s how it is supposed to be.

Billy is not here. She is alone.

Alone. Cold. Wet. Hurt.

Did she mention being wet? She hates being wet. She hates how heavy it makes her clothes (a uniform, from what she could see?). She hates how cold it makes her skin. She hates how it reminds her of the empty floating space she was held in before Billy brought her back.

Took him long enough! Billy knows how much she hates empty dark places.

With a groan, she sits up on the cold concrete, her wet figure leaving an imprint of water forming her silhouette as if it were a murder scene. All that was left was the white tape, the thought of it making her snort.

She came to regret it once the wound on her head gave a sharp ping of pain, almost as if her body was punishing her for thinking such morbid things.

Wincing as her hand went up to touch where the wound was throbbing. The groan that was about to come out turned into a rough cough once her fingers came up bloody.

Her fingertips rubbed the clogged blood between them, eyes moving from them to look around her.

It was an abandoned place. By the looks of it, back in its former glory, it would have been a public pool. The sun chairs were all broken, rusted, and twisted in ways that left the tubes looking like some abstract sculpture. Some umbrellas were scattered around; either closed, open, or broken in various degrees.

The pool was still filled with water, if you call it that. It was a deep green that switched between brown and black depending on which angle you looked from.

A wired fence surrounded the place, some noticeable holes that indicated people would sneak in to do graffiti, drink or smoke if the clear signs on the walls and scattered around the floor weren’t enough.

A wave of nausea came over her as she looked back againg at the pool. She scattered on her knees as quick as possible to empty her stomach once again on a overgrown bush by the fence.

She clung to the fence, finally gathering the strength to stand up on her feet. Shivers went down her spine at the feeling of her socks squashing water on her pretty much ruined school shoes. Her head hanged for a few moments, head ringing from all that transpired in the last few minutes.

Billy. She needed to find Billy.

He has all the answers. She was a hundred percent sure he was the one that put her here. Not sure why he left her on her own and hurt and drowning in a pool that pretty much looks like the dark plague made in a liquid, but he would explain. He has an answer for everything. Always. And he will probably know where M–...

Her head suddenly went blank. As if it where a clean slate that left her in a dazed state. Once it was over, a groan of pain was heard from her, a splitting headache forming behind her eye balls.

…Wait. What was she thinking?

…

Billy. She has to find Billy.

She clung to that name, scrunching down a hole on the fence big enough for her to slip out. A few loose wires scraping against her uniform and legs. One even managed to snag at her skirt once she stood up fully on the other side.

Grumbling under her breath, taking the now broken cloth and finishing ripping it off.

‘Now she has an improvised bandage!’ A very animated thought came to her mind making her smile pleasantly.

Thankfully, the blood stopped flowing a while back so wiping the residue wasn’t that bad. She was a little bit hesitant to use it as bandage due to it being soaked with the water of the pool but she had no other choice.

Either get an infection or walk around looking like a murder victim.

“Infection it is,” she muttered while moving her hair away from her left temple and wrapping the cloth around her head.

She probably looked like Rambo if he was a pathetic wet child.

“Now, which way should I go?” she wondered out loud as she looked around the alley way. The building walls were too tall to see beyond them, and the sky was already turning pretty dark.

Walking carefully as she used the bricked wall as support, the next thing that came to view was a busy street.

People going from side to side, not even giving a spare glance at others. Some on their phones scrolling or on calls. Others simply walking while staring at a destination but never at another person. Men, women, kids, teens, of all ages.

Nobody spared a glance at her.

Which is honestly the best scenario from her point of view. No time to delay on her search.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a gruff voice asked from her side.

Busted!

She moved her head to the side to look at the man. Tall, a bit round but more like a dad bod. Greying brown hair on the sides along with a mustache. Old fashioned glasses and a thick coat with a insignia on the left side.

A police insignia.

‘Stand down!’ ‘Handle the military, I’ll be right back!’ ‘Nice tricks.’ ‘Like yours too’-

Voices scattered around her head in flashes. She didn’t see who were saying them, only blurry silhouettes of color moving around before she was brought back to the present moment.

She took a step back. The man frowned. Not in anger but it looked like worry.

His gaze moved over her, checking her until he reached her face. Then he looked almost shocked for a moment.

Or was I something else?

“Wayne? What are you doing all the way down here? And alone?” He began tossing questions as he took another step closer and grasping her shoulder gently but firmly.

‘So it was a worried expression, got it.’

“What happened? You’re soaked to the bone!” He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. It was way bigger on her but she couldn’t complain over the warmth it brought her. She hadn’t realized how cold she actually was.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it, dear girl. But you haven’t answered my question, Wayne.” His voice turned a bit firm.

Damn. What was she supposed to say? And who the hell was Wayne?!

“Um, I don’t remember?” She lifted her shoulders with an awkward smile.

Best thing to do when you get caught by the police is too always act dumb. Or pretend amnesia. Which isn’t that far away from the truth, but hey, A win is win!

The man frowned, rubbing his temples as his glasses knocked up to his head with a sigh. An exasperated one. Then he took a deep breath and began to move her by the shoulders and start walking.

“You obviously got a wound on the head, so it could be a concussion. I’m driving you to the station so the Doc can check on you, alright?”

He asks as if she had a choice, which she clearly didn’t.

But, she let him walk her to the patrol car. Weighing her options, this was the better choice. Her main plan was asking around for Billy and maybe even climbing into the ceiling of a building and yell for him…

She wasn’t the best at planning. Sue her.

Now, she has better options. At the police station, she could get a change of clothes (maybe even get a quick shower if she begs?), get her wound checked out and also find information on where Billy is. All of that before they find out she is not whoever this Wayne person is.

Three birds in one shot! (Hopefully four birds. She stinks like a sewer rat.)

“Can I sound the alarm?!” She asks as soon as both of them get in the car.

He looks a bit startled at the sudden excitement. Even a bit off putting. But he just shakes his head with a quiet laugh and shows her the switch.

“Just wait until we get to-“

The alarm started blasting at full volume along with manical squealing.

•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•

“Yes, thank you so much for the call. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

The old phone clicks the end of the call, a moment of silence interrupted with a sigh from Alfred as he walks away to gather his coat and keys of the car. He is grateful the call came in just as he finished seasoning the dinner for the night.

The boys are grown enough to know where the utensils and plates are to serve themselves. He doesn’t know how long this would take and traffic in Gotham is a living nightmare.

But before leaving, he made a quick detour through the manor. His destination; the master’s office. He had to be informed about this.

Even if it has been years since he actually made an effort for Lady (Y/N).

The young lady of the house has always been deemed as a quiet presence by the members of the family. Keeping her thoughts and opinions to herself. Polite and well mannered. Willing to do any type of chore if it meant having at least someone to notice her.

A greeting word, a gentle touch or even a warm hug. But all of that were for nothing.

She wasn't deemed loud enough amongst her peers to matter.

But to Alfred, she was the loudest presence to ever set foot in the Wayne Manor. It was almost sad how deaf the rest of the family was when it came to (Y/N).

Three sharp knocks on the door were enough for Master Bruce to let him enter the office. The curtains were already closed, almost giving a dark atmosphere if it weren't for the warm light lamps on his desk and by the corners of the room.

Master Bruce didn't even lift his head from the documents he was revewing.

"Is something wrong, Alfred?" his deep tired voice rumbling in the air as he switched documents. Sounds of papers being moved around made Alfred frown for a second.

Always a messy man when it comes to papers, that's why he does everything in that blasted computer in the cave.

"Yes, Master Wayne," he cleared his throat before continuing.

"Dinner is ready but hasn't been served. The young masters can serve themselves while I go to the police station to pick up the young mistress."

Silence.

"...The police station?"

His tone remained the same. As if talking about the weather. It irked Alfred how his master didn't seem to react accordingly to the situation.

"Yes. Chief Gordon was the one to call. Said he found Lady (Y/N) wandering around by herself by Grant Park. Completely drenched and out of it. He mentioned she was getting checked by their doctor in case she got a concussion."

Master Bruce took a few moments to finally lift his gaze from the papers. Alfred had spent many years besides Bruce, but sometimes he couldn't place what his masters nonverbal actions meant.

Just like right now.

"...Bring her. I'll talk to her later." his gaze turned down once again.

Alfred nodded and left the office without another word until her reached the car. Once he closed the driver's door, he let out a very deep and exhausted sigh.

He could feel the disappointment flowing up inside. It felt almost like failure. Failure for not being able to drag Bruce by the ear and make him drive to the station. For not having the audacity to scream at him for how he acts towards his own flesh and blood.

Anger at himself for not being able to do more for his young mistress.

As Alfred began to drive through the gates of the manor, he took notice of how the sky had turned already dark.

But what stood out was the quick flash of green and silver striking in between the black clouds. It was gone in just a second, the loud rumbling of thunder almost making the car windows shake.

He couldn't help but feel like it was omen.

Good or bad, that was to be determined.

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Author's note: First chapter done! Please reblog and like. Do let me know what you guys think of it and what theories come up to mind with all the hints I left around the chapter! Hopefully, next chapter will be up next sunday if college doesn't kick my ass lol. Lots of love! GG✨

Bonus Memes:

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peacheeeliz · 3 months ago

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HEY EMO BOY

SYNOPSIS ⤏ could there be anything that could make your shift at the local coffee shop better? there is! and it's the hottest emo boy you'll ever find.

PARING ⤏ emo!jisung x down bad!fem reader

GENRE ⤏ smau, rom-com, cafe au, honestly crack au, she's so insanely down bad, but so is he, mutual pining, slow burn, forbidden?? love, mark is just really protective

FEATURING ⤏ nct dream, mingi from atz, matthew from zb1, manon from katseye, tsuki from billlie, ningning from aespa, and sohee from riize

FACECLAIM ⤏ faceclaim for y/n purely for picture purposes!! (@ leedainlee on ig)

WARNINGS ⤏ swearing, kms/kys & nsfw jokes, suggestive, pls ignore timestamps 💔

STARTED ⤏ 3/6/2025

STATUS ⤏ completed ♡

NOTE ⤏ i love making preppy characters obsessed with emos 😋😋

PROFILES & CHAPTERS

ground up cafe | nightmares

prologue. why r emos hot

001. I NEED HIM

002. hi hyuck's cousin 👋☺️

003. but emos r hot 😥

004. chenle that's chocolate milk

005. decrepit

006. THOSE glasses

007. work environment enrichment

008. HIM

009. THIS CAN'T BE

010. code red

011. pls do not pull ur dogs out

012. let me at him

013. does y/n have a type

014. i can handle him

015. DOWN BOY DOWN

016. she don't want you (770 wc)

017. u lost me at stop hating men 💔

018. ABORT MISSION

019. aww ☺️☺️ oh... 😳😳

020. bcs ur short 😃

APRIL FOOL'S DAY SPECIAL 😋

special 1. baby

special 2. yuck

special 3. singles inferno

☆©peacheeeliz, 2024

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist is closed!

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop smau #kpop social media au #kpop fanfic #nct #nct social media au #nct imagines #nct smau #nct scenarios #jisung #jisung smau #jisung au #jisung fanfic

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mazetail · 2 years ago

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Earth Pony Snow

Here are Sunny and Hitch's designs from the new Make Your Mark Chapter 6!!! (made some art) Spoiler!!!

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darkstaria · 2 months ago

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Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul animal Au.

Chapter 8:

Summary: You awake in the manor, to the horror of yourself and the delight of others. What will happen to you now..?

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7.

Happy April fools!!! The joke is my writing schedule!

----

You were surrounded by a cloud. Soft, fluffy sheets swarmed you in its embrace, tugged you down into a gentle slumber.

You could barely make out a few words under the haze of a fever

“..... our… mate…!” One voice whispered, a trace of devotion in its words.

“Calm… vitals………to….okay.” This voice was grounded, trying to comfort.

In comparison to theirs, your own voice was weak, muffled. But you tried anyway.

“What…?” You muttered. The faces turned towards you. You squinted.

“Who…?”

One of the faces reached out. A hand rested on your cheek, stroking it, before moving to touch your forehead.

“Increase…dose.” Was the last you heard.

----

You woke up in a daze. Everything was hazy, and it took you what felt like several minutes to regain any sense of what had happened, let alone where you were. A subtle warmth nested close to your body, like that of a teddy bear. You pulled it closer.

Your head felt like it had been stuffed full with marshmallows. It was a weird mental image, but all you could think of. You reached out, feeling the texture of bandages around your head.

Well. You thought to yourself. That's not good. Your eyes snapped open.

Swiftly, you shoved the sheets off yourself, inspecting for injuries. The only bandage on you rested on your leg. You decided to leave it alone. There seemed to be some cuts and scrapes, which was expected. They were all treated though, which was not expected.

What was even less expected though, was the teen lying next to you on your bed. Strong features were softened by the pull of sleep, from whom you could only guess was Damian Wayne. The both of you were seemingly surrounded by bats and birds. They were all there, all six of them. Wait.. six? Didn't you have seven soulmates? You turned around in confusion, and made direct eye contact with the bat that rested on a nearby desk.

Ah. So that’s where Batman’s soul form went.

You froze, unsure of what to do with this new development. The bat just stared, watching.

You didn't run. You didn't hide. It was paralyzing, that stare, freezing you down to your very bones. What could you do in the face of eyes that saw all?

In the end you decided to gently tug yourself out of Damian Wayne’s clinging arms, inch by inch. It took longer than you wanted, but the method worked. You didn't look at the bat anymore, it scared you.

Done with your self inspection, you turned forward, finding yourself in an ornate room, about twice as big as the room you lived in at home, and triple as expensive. You slowly stood up, beginning to gaze around the room.

Shelves were lined with your hobbies, your favorite books lined the shelves, hell, they were even collector editions. You picked up a plushie that was lying on your bed. You twisted it around some.

“What the…?” You whispered.

It was completely identical to the one you had at home. Every mark was identical, down to the stitches and stuffing. How did they make them the same? …Were they the same plushie?

The worst part of it all was… the room felt like you. It felt familiar, as if it was you that had put it together, that you had designed it. Every detail, down to the colour of paint, felt like it had been designed by you. Just 100 percent more expensive. Well, except for one detail.

There were golden bars on the window.

They were the darkness in the familiar light that was your room. Out of place, as unnatural as the teen resting on your- The Bed. A part of you urged to investigate, the other wary of who you were rooming with. In the end, you came to a simple conclusion. It’d be better to leave the room.

You slowly slunked over to the opulent door, inch by inch, step by step. Your heart began to hammer, increasing its beat with every decrease of distance to your salvation.

You didn't look back. There was no point.

It was only when your hand rested on the handle, ready to pull it down and escape that you relaxed. Muscles unclenching, breathing deeper.

“You’re awake.”

Only to tense right back up. You turned around.

Damian Wayne was awake.

And… so were the soul animals. Or maybe they were already awake, just watching, staring.

His stare was piercing, hiding an emotion you couldn't quite comprehend. He wanted something, something you weren't sure you could give to him.

There was only one thing you could do, at that point.

The door slammed open. Short tight breaths kept you company as you escaped, deep into the darkness that is Wayne Manor.

----

Wayne Manor was a maze. It was a giant, sprawling beast, lined with corridor after corridor, hall after hall. You'd suck into one room to check if there were any escape routes, only to find more barred windows. The next room gave the same result.

These efforts began to tire you, the adrenaline fading out, leaving you alone with the aches and sores developed by the past few days. You blinked away the sleepiness. You couldn't stop now.

Or… Maybe you could actually, as you opened the door and came face to face with what could only be Wayne Manor’s butler.

“Good Evening.” He stated, giving no reaction whatsoever to your disheveled appearance, nor your horrified face. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I am the Wayne family’s butler.”

Ah… You paused for a moment. Well that confirmed it, didn't it. Batman was Bruce Wayne. Or at the very least closely tied. For him to be telling you this…Batman must think you'll never get a chance to reveal his identity. You weren't a threat.

You're in too deep. The shallow water you were born in has finally started to drag you down.

You're sinking.

You struggle to focus on what the butler is saying, but you remember some of it. Something about lunch..?

“I.. um, actually Alfred.” You pause, thinking of the right words.

He pauses too, taking a moment to observe you. “Yes? What is it?”

“I was wondering actually, if you wouldn't mind showing me to the exit? I don't think I should be here.” You fake a laugh, as if you could just wave the situation away.

“Ah. I do think that is something you'll have to talk to Master Bruce about yourself. If you'd like, I'd be happy to show you to his office.”

His office?

“Haha….” You smile. It feels as fake as you feel. “No thanks, I'd rather just go to.. um, lunch, was it? I wouldn't want to bother him anyways.”

“I rather suspect he’ll be coming down to see you anyways, now that you're awake.” The butler replied, matter-of-factly.

“...Actually I'm not hungry.”

The butler just raised an eyebrow.

You gave an awkward smile, turning away just as an awful stomping sound rang out, and a body collided with yours.

Your name was shouted, in such a gleeful tone, arms tightening around your waist in a collapsing hug.

“You’re awake!” The face of who could only be Dick Grayson greeted you, his soul animal fluttered down to your shoulder and rubbing its face against your cheek, just as clingy as its owner was.

“Ah. Hi.” You attempted. Oh god.

“I'm so happy to see you!” You attempted to grapple out of his grip, but it was like wrestling with an octopus, he perfectly countered every attempt you made with a grin, until he managed to pin both your arms to your back with a single hand.

“I was so worried for you! You’ve always been an expert at avoiding attention, but even the Joker isn't just someone you can avoid. You aren't still hurt anywhere, are you?” Grayson maneuvered you around a bit, checking you over in all different places. Even the robin was contributing, peering deeply to look for any ‘injuries’. You put a stop to it once he attempted to lift your shirt.

“Excuse me!” You protested. “Can you please stop pawing at me, we just met! And mind you, shouldn't you be aware of any injuries given that I've been treated for them here?!”

He paused, staring at you. You continued.

“Look, I'm sorry for shouting, but I've had a really bad night, and I'd greatly appreciate it if I could just go home.” The end of your sentence turned into a sort of a plea, desperation you were loath to reveal sneaking through.

If you played your cards right, perhaps they'd let you go home. Maybe with extra security or some nonsense, but you could still remain disconnected from this hellish family. That was what you hoped.

“Oh, little one, I'm sorry.” Dick Grayson replied, even more concern seeping into his face. “But you don't have to worry any more. After all…You are home.”

You stared at him for a moment.

“Haha.” You stated.

“You meant I am at your home, right?” You were breaking down. Denial was all you had left.

“No silly!” He replied.

“This is where you belong, where you've always belonged. You were always going to be with us, just as you should be. Otherwise, why would we have your soul animal?”

He smiled. It was a brilliant, searing sun.

It burned.

You teared up. You sniffled.

“Awww, baby.” He cooed, warmly stroking your cheek. “Don't worry. You'll always be with us now. Now and forever.” Soft condescension was reflected in his eyes. You couldn't bear it.

He rested his head on yours, eyes closed with a warm grin. His hug was tight.

The bandage on your leg throbbed.

----

You were not enjoying lunch. Oh sure the food was delicious and the view inside the manor was immaculate but that wasn't that problem.

It was the company.

‘I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home.’ You silently chanted in your mind, feeling sweat go down your cheek.

You had just barely managed to extract Grayson from you, as a matter of fact he was currently sitting right next to you, chair far too close to comfort with a beaming grin.

The atmosphere was very awkward, at least you would say so, as you were currently being stared down by some very eager faces. To your relief, not everyone had shown up yet (although if the butler was to be believed they would all be arriving very eagerly for dinner).

At the table was obviously Dick Grayson, but also Bruce Wayne, and… Tim Drake.

You didn't want to look at him, to face his betrayal, so you kept looking away, although that didn't stop his insistent gaze. Unfortunately your own turning away came with a caveat that was instead locking eyes with Bruce Wayne, which was somehow even worse. You silently wondered how noticeable your shaking was. Grayson’s hand sneakily grabbing your hand from under the table told you that it was very.

You managed to dodge any questions by simply pointing to your food whenever you were asked, an effort that the butler supported you in. It wasn't polite to talk with your mouth full, thank god.

You barely managed to eat enough of the food, it's delicious flavours landing like lead in your stomach.

“I’m finished. Can I be excused? I need to use the bathroom?” And hopefully find the nearest window to launch myself out of, you silently added.

“I’ll take you!” The joint voices of both Grayson and Drake called out, to their own surprise and subsequent glares.

‘Oh boy.’ You silently thought.

“Boys, boys.” The rich voice of Wayne called out, disrupting what was the beginning of an argument. “We can all go, I'm sure it's about time we take them to their room anyways.” Great, you officially had your own room. At least that meant you'd have some expectation of privacy… right?

The walk was just about as enjoyable as lunch.

So it was horrible.

Wayne Manor was an abyss, a dark void that stretched on and on and on. How any of the residents navigated it on any consistent basis was a complete mystery to you.

What was worse was Grayson’s insistent questions and rambles, often countered by Drake’s own questions and counters. It felt less like a conversation and more like a tug of war. It even became a literal tug of war for a bit, as Grayson’s tugging at your hand prompted Drake to do the same to your other.

Thankfully, you arrived at The Room before things got too out of hand.

You stared at it. It was right beside the room you woke up in the morning. That was not a good sign.

Grayson flung open the doors, shouting out a joyous “Welcome home!” that you tried your best to ignore.

The Room was beautiful, was your first thought.

It was like some sort of bird paradise. Countless places for birds to land, pillows lining the room. In the very middle lay a gigantic bed, lined with what looked to be the softest cushions you had ever seen in your entire life.

But the windows were still lined with golden bars. Just like the room you awoke in.

And beside that bed, was Damian Wayne. But for once, a Wayne family member’s attention wasn't fixated on you, instead, it was on his arm, where a little, fluffy, bird rested.

It was a dove.

----

Reader's soul animal reveal AYOOOOO yes I planned it to be a dove from the start, isn't that cool, also the bars on the windows are golden because reader is quite literally a bird in a gilded cage, please clap.

Where was Damian during the whole lunch? Keeping Dove Reader company as well as the other birds. Bruce didn't want to overwhelm and Damian is always particularly concerned with the welfare of animals, so it's like getting two birds with one stone (okay that's admittedly an odd metaphor in this context).

Heyyyyy. So uh, I guess I took a while?

Okay I'm sorry.

I have three excuses. I'm very recently dealing with very unfortunate family matters that sucks. Also, I kinda just fell out of the fandom for a bit because I got sucked into a different one (dude why does Zelda have so many fanfics). And finally I just had writers block, I invested so much time into thinking about the journey of getting kidnapped forever that I just didn't think too much about the aftermath haha.

But! I did write other short Batfam stuff! And I really wanted to post that, but I felt it wouldnt be what everyone wants, so I held off. Now that I've updated, I'm free to! So you hopefully that's fun.

And I think I'll make a short separate post for this, but I'm not going to add any more people to the taglist. It's very difficult for me to manage, and I'll shortly be sorting out my ao3 so people can get update notifications without any faff.

Thank you to everyone who reached out, I am in fact okay, and very happy I managed to write this chapter.

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0 @jailbimbo @yandereheros @sxftiebee @i-have-three-feelings @toast-on-dandelioms @lyl-3 @sitepathos @pato-spoiler-27 @ghostdoodlen @phoenixgurl030 @problematicreblogger

@sociallyakwardpanda @imaginarydreams @zanzie @yuyuzi-ling @soriansick @f1lover4ever @kiikkey @elizzsush @raincxtter @luoyi85 @yune1337 @erikasurfer @thekingofsimps @chaosbeanuwu @snowy-violets @nommingonfood @yandere-enthusiast @nb-babygirl @demonqueen-1 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @winter67890-blog

#yandere batman #yandere batfam #platonic yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #soul animal au #darkstaria #yandere bruce wayne #yandere nightwing #yandere dick grayson #yandere tim drake #yandere red robin #yandere robin #yandere damian wayne #my writing #my writings

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jirsungs · 11 months ago

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DRUM ME, STUPID! ☆ p.js

pairing: drummer!jisung x fem!reader

drum me, stupid! synopsis: a story about a college student enjoying her life in school perfectly fine, until one of her friends drags the group along to watch their school's band perform. little did she know that day would be marked as the day her whole world turned upside down because of a particular, nonchalant, and difficult drummer boy. a drummer boy who spilled his entire drink on her brand new outfit at a party and never came back.

genre: college au, social media au (some chapters will be written though!), music band au, slight enemies to lovers, unrequited love (for a bit), whole bunch of fluff, angst, mutual pining, silly humor

warnings: explicit language, college partying, alcohol consumption, A LOT of banter between characters including sexual/kys/death jokes of the sort, reader's kind of an ass (in the beginning), jisung ends up being a lover boy once the "nonchalant" wears off, yeonjun flirts like 24/7, overwhelming feelings that the characters can't handle

author's note: hi! since i've always enjoyed reading smaus and always get writers block with full on stories, i decided to make my own :] please excuse my bad knowledge on any of these majors or experiences and none of this reflects the real lives of the kpop idols! this was written solely for entertainment and fun! enjoy!!<3

comment if you wish to be tagged for the story's updates!

profiles #1 ☆ profiles #2

chapters will be added once they're posted!

episode 1: i did NOT agree to this gc name!

episode 2: costumers of ningcreates?!

episode 3: the universe is out to get me

episode 4: p.y.t (pretty young thing) (written)

episode 5: jisung's a coward, we all say in unison

episode 6: the latte lounge incident (written)

episode 7: hating each other era

episode 8: future uncles and aunt

episode 9: apologies & new beginnings

episode 10: what a lover boy!

episode 11: love like the movies (written)

episode 12: super obvious, but still not a confession

episode 13: my wonderwall, at least i hope so (written)

episode 14: she's going ghost mode on me

episode 15: ain't no way a girl got you like this

episode 16: i missed you

episode 17: i missed you (too) (written)

episode 18: finally mine!

episode 19: ningcreates (expanded) fan club

episode 20: she fr got him liking musicals

episode 21: drummer's girlfriend duties

episode 22: i fear yeonjun's loyalty to latte lounge finally paid off

episode 23: first mistake: letting y/n out of your sight wtf

episode 24: you maam caller

episode 25: wym drummer boy has a driver's license??

episode 26: only losers make wishes at 11:11

episode 27: pussy boy stand up

episode 28: no girls allowed at rockway rehearsals! (written)

episode 29: crashed ynsung's date lol

episode 30: ning bag that shit

episode 31: drummed her stupid!

END! started: 06.23.24 finished: 09.03.24

BONUS CHAPTERS:

#1: close to you (written) tba. . .

#2: the not-so-silly apple or orange juice debate tba. . .

#3: finally meeting the parents? tba. . .

© JIRSUNGS. ANY TRANSLATIONS/REPOSTS/PUBLISHES OF MY WORKS ON ANY PLATFORM ARE STRICTLY PROHIBITED! ALL COMMENTS, REBLOGS, LIKES, & FEEDBACK ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I LOVE YOU, MWA! <3

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tacoguacamole · 8 days ago

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ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 7

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst, Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance, Slowburn, Hospital Mentions, Childbirth De@th, Alcoholism]

[Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Secretary Taehyung, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Chapter Word Count: 10.9k+]

[Note: HEAVY REMINDER: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, or actual events is purely coincidental. It is not intended to harm, defame, or offend any individual or group. // Part 7 revolves around a lot of flashbacks, flashback within a flashback, time jumps. I highly recommend taking your time to read each setting, timeline or parts to avoid being overwhelmed. Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading. Keep sharing your comments/theories. Those who've reblogged long essays, love to you all! I read every one of them. I'm always grateful for each one of you. Enjoy Part 7! 💜]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

Maybe it wasn’t love—not at first. That’s what Jeongguk told himself, back then. A quiet lie tucked inside a quieter life.

But it felt like peace. And peace was easy to mistake for love. Peace didn’t ask questions. Peace didn’t cry when he came home late. Peace didn’t carry the weight of Ha-yun’s name in every corner of the house.

Peace came in soft silences, in someone else’s apartment, in someone else’s office, in a version of himself he didn’t have to explain.

But peace was never supposed to be permanent. Especially for someone who had caused so much pain and disappointments.

And maybe that’s why the sound of your voice that night still stayed with him.

The kind of voice you remember long after the argument ends. Not because it was loud, but because it was careful. The kind of careful that came after too many cracks had already formed.

“Tomorrow’s the contract signing for the Tuan partnership. Hope you can be there. Eomma’s expecting you too.”

Your voice was soft, almost routine, from across the room—but Jeongguk noticed the tremble in your hands as you wiped off your makeup. Like mentioning the partnership had become something risky. Like you’d practiced the words, bracing for the answer you didn’t want.

When once upon a time, you never had to ask.

Jeongguk used to say yes before you even finished the sentence. No second-guessing. Just pride in the fire you carried, in the way you dreamed bigger than both of you. Now, you spoke like you were afraid to be a burden.

And that—more than anything—dug under his skin.

Jeongguk turned to the bathroom light, as if it could chase away the darkness inside him.

He meant to say, “I haven’t forgotten.” Because he hadn’t. He remembered everything—the late nights you spent drafting proposals, consulting your mother to make sure nothing was missed, the way your eyes lit up the first time Tuan Elegante called you back.

But what came out instead was clipped, distant, “It’s just a contract signing.”

He heard your breath hitch. Your home had been quiet for so long now that you could hear everything—even the things that went unsaid.

Jeongguk wanted to take it back. Tell you he planned to come. That you didn’t even have to ask. He’d even bought a tie. Deep purple to match your dress.

But the words had already landed, and the guilt settled too heavily to shake. Jeongguk knew he didn’t deserve to stand beside you tomorrow—not after where he’d been just two hours earlier, not after what he’d done.

Not after the kiss that started it all.

Jiwoo’s apartment—the quiet place where work blurred into something else after hours. It was supposed to be just a late-night wrap-up for a project due tomorrow. But then came the drinks, and after that, the confessions.

Jeongguk told her how broken he felt. How tired. How he couldn’t breathe in his own house anymore.

And then – he kissed her. In that moment, he convinced himself maybe – just maybe – this was okay.

She kissed him back.

And for a fleeting second, it felt like warmth. Like the kind of intimacy that didn’t ask anything of him. It felt like a version of love he could survive. Jiwoo didn’t expect. She didn’t look at him like he was falling apart. She just let him exist – quietly.

And it felt good to exist like that. To not be needed. To not be loved in a way that held weight.

But then she moaned his name. Another woman – who wasn’t you – had moaned his name.

And that’s when it hit him.

This wasn’t love. This wasn’t peace. This was an escape. An excuse that can never be justified.

Jeongguk had pulled away. Too slow. Too late. Muttered something about needing air. About you.

He hadn’t told you. Not about the kiss. Not about the matching tie he hid in his office drawer. Not about how he hated himself for both.

“It’s not just another event, Gguk.” Your voice cracked in that small, breaking way he hated. And when you begged, “I want you there.” It felt like a knife twisting in his chest repeatedly.

Still, he didn’t turn to you.

“And do what exactly?” he said, pulling the towel from the hook, holding it like a lifeline. “Play the perfect husband? Show off a perfect a marriage? Smile for the cameras so they have more to gossip about?”

The words came out harsher than he meant. Meaner. Jeongguk couldn’t claw them back anymore.

He’d read the online comments. He always did. Headlines with your name. Accusations that you were exploiting tragedy to climb the ladder faster. Voices calling you cold, ambitious beyond reason – someone who put career before family. Harsh whispers claiming you were indifferent to grief, that your drive was hollow, a façade to hide pain.

No one ever mentioned the baby by name. Not Ha-yun. If they did, Jeongguk knew he’d lose control—too angry to hold back, furious that anyone would use her name like that.

Jeongguk had tried to fight for you – calls made behind closed doors to people who owed him favors, people who could nudge stories off the headlines or tone down the harshness before they went live. More calls late into the night, asking for deletions, retractions – anything to keep those cruel words away from you.

But the media was relentless. No matter how hard he pushed, the stories kept multiplying, each one sharper and heavier than the last.

He wanted to protect you from it all. To be the shield you deserved.

But every headline he failed to erase echoed a deeper failure – how much he had already let you down long before the stories started.

Jeongguk’s throat burned, the words lodged somewhere between apology and anger, guilt and frustration. He wasn’t proud of how sharp he’d become, but the pressure had been building too long — the helplessness, the failures, the mounting distance between you both.

"Could've just said no," you whispered, but it was enough to break through the room. "I would've understood. No need to be such a dick about it."

“I did say no. More than once,” he threw the towel onto the floor harder than necessary, feeling the weight of everything he wished he could say but never dared. “You just never fucking listen.”

He saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes. But the damage’s already been done.

“Maybe I was hoping.” Your voice trembled with a mix of anger and pain. “Hoping that you’d still care enough to show up. That you’d still want to stand by me.”

Jeongguk let out a bitter laugh. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so cruel—but his tone always seemed to betray him first. “You really think standing next to you in a room full of strangers will fix this?”

He knew he didn’t deserve to stand beside you. Not after he’d spent the past months abandoning you when you needed him, especially not after he had looked at another woman just to feel like less of a failure.

“This isn’t about fixing anything!” Your voice cracked, raw and desperate. “This is about you showing up! Being there for once, instead of finding another excuse to stay away!”

He clenched his jaw, the anger barely masking the deeper pain twisting inside him.

“You’re not even supposed to be working yet,” his voice sharp and uneven. “Dr. Min told you to rest. Told you not to push yourself. But no, you’re back at it again, throwing yourself into work like it’ll patch up everything you lost.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them—echoes of the cruel headlines he’d fought to erase. Guilt knotted in his chest. He’d failed to protect you, and now he was adding to the pain.

Your chest rose and fell with a harsh breath. “Don’t,” you whispered, voice fragile but fierce. “Don’t you dare put that on me.”

“You never knew when to stop. Even when it meant risking everything.”

Your next words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Losing Ha-yun wasn’t on me,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “You had a choice that night. Be a father, or stay my husband. You chose.”

Jeongguk went still, the silence rushing in like a tide. It felt like blame, like truth, like a wound pressed open—and he reached for the only thing sharp enough to throw back.

“If you had just—” he started, voice rising despite himself, then broke off, choking on the air. “If you had just looked after yourself better—”

“Say it,” you snapped, fists trembling at your sides. “Say it. Say you blame me.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing—because some cruel, broken part of him did, and that was the part he hated.

Your trembling words barely cut through the thick quiet. “If you regret it that much, then maybe you should have let me go that night.”

Jeongguk’s eyes darkened, and for a long, terrible moment, he stared at you, searching for something—redemption, forgiveness, a way back.

“Never said I regretted it,” he finally muttered. He wished those words could erase everything he’d shattered – all the mistakes he’d made. Jeongguk wanted to reach out, to say the words you needed to hear, the ones he truly meant – but he knew they wouldn’t change a thing.

“Yet you can’t even look at me like you love me anymore.”

Jeongguk couldn’t bear to hold your gaze after that. Because if he looked at you any longer, he was afraid you’d see it – that he did still love you.

He just didn’t know how to be the man you needed anymore.

So instead, he turned. His voice came low and flat, like gravel scraping pavement. “I’m going out.”

No warmth. No glance back. Just movement—a grab for his wallet and keys, a quiet exit.

Jeongguk drove aimlessly, the city blurring into a stream of tail lights and neon signs. The windows were up, yet he still felt cold. When he finally stopped by the river, the engine ticking softly in the quiet, he leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

What was he even doing anymore?

The fight replayed in his head in ugly, fractured pieces. Your voice — tired, trembling, angry — still rang in his ears.

He messaged Jiwoo. She replied right away. Told her to meet him at some late-night spot near Itaewon. When they met, she didn’t ask how he was. Didn’t even bring up the kiss. She simply let it dissolve into silence as if it had never happened.

She poured him a drink. Let him talk. About anything. Everything. She kept quiet, looked at him with soft, understanding eyes and brushed his hand when he paused too long.

It felt good. No expectations, no reminders of the hospital or the way you used to hold your stomach like you were already in love with someone you never got to meet.

Jiwoo didn’t ask him to explain. She let him forget.

When Jeongguk came home, you pretended nothing had happened. Didn’t even ask where he’d been the whole night, though he’d seen the hurt in your eyes, the questions you wanted to ask because for the first time, he didn’t return to you.

Still, you let him be.

And maybe that was the real fracture. Not the fight, not the words exchanged.

But the fact that he hadn’t waited for you to make it better.

The distance between him and you only grew—until even the silence felt like punishment. In that space, Jiwoo stayed steady. Always close. Always easy. Never demanding. Never asking.

Maybe that’s why Jeongguk started to linger a little longer in her office. Started texting her things that had nothing to do with work.

Small things like a link to a song he heard on the radio that reminded him of simpler days. A photo of the sunrise from the parking lot, captioned ‘didn’t expect the sky to look like this’. An offhand complaint about the vending machine. Sometimes, dumb memes she’d probably seen already.

Nothing serious. Nothing wrong. But it was more than Jeongguk had offered you.

One morning, he sat by the counter, laptop open, emails flooding in faster than he could delete them. Deadlines stacked, client revisions overdue, a campaign pitch moved up last-minute. His team needing direction. Jeongguk sat there, motionless – cursor blinking on a half-finished reply, mind nowhere near the screen.

Then, without a word, you’d placed a cup of coffee beside him – black, just the way he liked it. In that same mug he’d always use, the one chipped near the handle. It reminded him when you’d steal sips from his cup even though you preferred yours with almond milk. Mornings when you’d always make sure he had his cup of coffee first even though you were already running late.

You didn’t say anything else. Just turned away and moved to the sink, rinsing something quietly.

The coffee was good. Jeongguk hated that it was good. That it still tasted the same. That you still made it the same as if nothing had changed between you.

By night, Jeongguk decided to go to Jiwoo’s office. Told himself it was about work even though she had nothing to do with the projects he was currently buried with.

She looked up when he knocked. “Didn’t expect you.”

“Just needed a breather,” he said, stepping inside like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jiwoo leaned back in her chair, studying him. “Rough day?”

He gave a tight nod, eyes flicking to her window. “Deadlines. Meetings. Nothing new.”

She didn’t offer comfort. Just silence. It made him want to stay.

“Do you prefer the day or the night?”

Jiwoo wasn’t sure where that question had come from but she answered him anyway. “Night.”

“It’s full of darkness.” Jeongguk squinted at her, trying to understand.

“That’s why I like it,” She smiled faintly, eyes drifting toward the window as if she could already see the stars blooming behind the glass. “It’s honest. The day hides everything in light – noise, movement, expectations. But the night… the night strips things down. You see what’s really there.”

Jeongguk tilted his head, listening.

She went on, softer now. “And the moon doesn’t ask to shine. It just reflects whatever light it can find. Even when it's a sliver, even when it's fading… it still tries.”

There was a quiet moment. Then, “The stars too. They’re so far away, but they still show up. Quiet and constant. I think there's something comforting in that.”

Jiwoo glanced at him, noticing the serious look settling on his face. She smirked slightly. “Let’s cut this philosophy shit. You come here to hear preachings or –?”

Jeongguk raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I literally just asked about the day and night. You’re the one who went sappy.”

“Fuck off, dude.” Jiwoo laughed, stood up, then went to the coffee machine. “Want one?”

“I’m fine,” he said, even though he was far from it.

Still, she brewed him a cup. Set it down anyway. This time, Jeongguk took it without hesitation. And for the first time that day, he didn’t feel like the air was getting sucked out of him.

It became a pattern after that.

Jeongguk would find his way to Jiwoo’s office pretending it was for a break or a file that needed a second look—anything but the truth.

She never asked. Never begged for an explanation. She just gave him her notes, brought him food when he skipped meals, and made space for him beside her desk.

All with the quiet he needed, the quiet that was enough to be an escape and the quiet that didn’t remind him of anything.

Days bled into weeks. Then more months. And before he knew it, the date crept up on him – the one circled in silence, not calendars.

Ha-yun’s first death anniversary.

The memorial hadn’t changed.

It was still the same quiet resting place, tucked away in a corner of the columbarium – a small glass-front niche lit softly by candlelight.

Inside were a few precious things you had chosen together; a tiny stuffed bunny, a folded blanket with your family name stitched in one corner, and a slender silver bracelet Jeongguk had made, engraved with your daughter’s name. Silent reminders of a life that never got to grow.

The granite plaque below bore only her name—Jeon Ha-yun—and a single date, her birth and death sharing the same line, separated by nothing but a hyphen.

You had knelt first, gently brushing away the dust and some stray flowers that had fallen from nearby. Placed the purple tulips in the empty slot on the plaque.

Jeongguk stood beside you, hands clenched deep in his coat pockets, the weight of the day pressing down heavier than he could carry. His eyes flicked to his watch again.

“I’ve got a meeting soon,” he said, not quite looking at you. “How much longer are we going to stay?”

You didn’t answer him right away. Just adjusted the flowers you had bought, your voice soft when it came. “It’s okay. You can go if you want. I can take a cab.”

He hesitated. Wanted to say I can stay—but didn’t. Couldn’t.

“Let me know when you’re done,” he said instead, already backing away.

The meeting didn’t exist. Jeongguk didn’t go to the office. Didn’t go anywhere in particular. Just kept driving past familiar streets that didn’t feel like home anymore. Past cafés where laughter spilled out, past parks full of strangers who didn’t look like they’d ever lost anything.

That night, long after the sun had set and the city was quiet, he went back to the memorial. The cold air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. Standing before the niche, he whispered into the silence—a confession made to no one but the shadows.

“I miss you. I’m sorry.”

Time passed, the way it always did. Seasons changed and, in the space, where grief once screamed, silence took root. The kind that stayed in walls, in half-finished conversations, in the empty side of the bed left untouched.

Your birthday had arrived in the heart of summer, all sun-drenched mornings and slow, golden afternoons. The wedding anniversary, too – tied to the same day, once so full of meaning. Once a date marked by surprise breakfasts and handwritten notes, by plans you both made just to spend time, even if it was just watching old movies on the living room floor.

Jeongguk had spotted the calendar earlier in that week, on the night stand while you were asleep, turned away from him, the bedside lamp casting a pale light on you. The date wasn’t labeled with words, just enclosed in a purple heart and that was more than enough to deepen the pain he’d been carrying.

He had stared at that heart for a long time. Knew you were looking forward to that day. And he did too.

The suit you made for him – one of the many – stayed where it always did, on the left side of the closet, next to the shirts you used to button for him in the mornings. Jeongguk took it out more than once that week. Hung it out. Smoothed out the lapels. Put it back in. Repeat. Like if he had practiced enough, he’d be able to face you.

But he didn’t face you.

Instead, somewhere in his car in the middle of nowhere, he deleted the address to the place you had texted him – where he was supposed to meet you, then followed it with a text of his own, cold, empty. ‘Happy Anniversary. Happy Birthday’.

Jeongguk felt like he couldn’t celebrate the way you both used to – not when so much of him was unrecognizable. He was far too gone, weighed down by everything he’d done and everything he hadn’t said.

Showing up would only mean more lies. And with lies came pretending. Pretending he was still the man you were in love with. He just couldn’t do it.

By early evening of the day that used to mean everything, Jeongguk found himself at the bottom of a bottle he didn’t remember opening, bitter on the tongue and heavier in the chest. He welcomed the burn – let it blur the parts of himself he didn’t know what to do with.

At some point, between his second bottle of whiskey and some expired chips he’d found in his glove compartment, Jeongguk picked up his phone. Almost messaged you with a pathetic crying and pleading emoji, hundreds of them along with an apology drafted in his Notes app.

But he couldn’t send it. Couldn’t turn grief into a sentence, or guilt into a message that might sound like it was only about tonight when it was really about everything.

So he backed out of the message thread. Closed the app. Hovered over Jiwoo’s name on his contact list instead.

She answered barely five seconds in when he called her. Jeongguk sat there with the phone pressed to his temple, breathing too loud and spitting out anything that came to his mind.

“She booked a restaurant,” he slurred, barely holding the phone steady. “Sent me the address and everything. Texted me twice.”

A sharp breath came out. Then a laugh that’s more of a sob. “She must’ve picked it a month ago. Bet she made sure they had the wine we loved. Probably asked them to put a candle on the table too. Not for her birthday. Just…for the mood, you know?”

He presses the bottle to his forehead, eyes shut tight. “She always thought of everything.”

There’s a pause, thick with whatever pain’s stuck in his chest.

“I deleted the address.” The confession slips out quieter than the rest, like it hurt him to say it out loud. “Fucking erased it, like that made it easier. Thought I could pretend tonight didn’t exist.”

Jeongguk’s voice started to crack. “She probably has this pretty dress on right now,” he mumbled, voice thick with alcohol and emotion. “Knowing her, she tried on like twenty. Maybe thirty. Even asked her mom. Or Hobi Hyung. Or—hell, maybe even that saleslady at that boutique she loves. She must’ve picked a really pretty one.”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over his face, knocking over something in the car. The clatter echoes. “Oh fuck, her hair. She must’ve done her hair all soft and down just how I like it. Wore that necklace I gave her on our first anniversary when we were just dating. Fuck, I spent my whole first paycheck on that necklace.”

A dry chuckle escapes. Jeongguk was spiraling. “She’s probably still waiting, Jiwoo-yah. At that stupid table. Maybe already ordered for the both of us. Must be looking at the door every time it opened, thinking it’d be me. That’s so like her.”

He leans back in the seat, the headrest catching the full weight of his shame. “I used to be someone she was proud to sit across from. Now I’m the guy who texts greetings like I’m her fucking dentist.”

A sound rustled; the unmistakable creek of a bottle being lifted again. “I’m such a piece of shit,” he mumbles, barely audible now. “She deserves champagne and kisses and a man who shows up, not a failure like me.”

Another shaky breath, and then, quieter than ever, “She always gets cheesecake. On her birthday. It’s her favorite. Says it tastes like being loved.”

Jeongguk’s voice faded into a quiet whimper, then stillness. When he speaks again, it’s softer. Younger. “I hope she still got it. I hope she still let herself feel loved… she deserves that.”

Time kept moving. Jeongguk kept missing things.

Chuseok came and went. He’d sent another text – Sorry, can’t make it. A sick ritual by now. Then turned his phone off. Spent the evening in his car, parked two blocks from home, engine running but going nowhere. Watched the house where both your families had been helping you with dinner trays and folding chairs, the laughter spilling through the windows like it used to.

Jeongguk never got out of the car. Not once. Didn’t want to face your families with how horrible of a person he’d become.

Then Christmas. He left a note in the kitchen. Will be back late. Don’t wait up.

That day, he bought a gift. Picked out something small, a scarf you once mentioned in passing months ago. But he never wrapped it. Never gave it. Just left it in the backseat of Taehyung’s car. Still there. Still untouched. As if a pathetic gift could reverse everything.

New Year’s Eve came quietly.

That morning, over burnt toast and barely sipped coffee – the first breakfast you two shared in months, silence pressed like a third person in the room – when you asked.

“Just us this year,” you said softly. “Namsan Tower… if you’re up for it.”

Jeongguk didn’t plan to say yes. But the words left him anyway. Maybe it was the coffee or your awful attempt at cooking again, cutting the toasts in funny shapes like you’ve always done or how your smile was soft, hopeful.

It made him hope too. Made him wanted to try.

He got a haircut. Dyed his hair black again – washed out the silver like it would rinse the past with it. Bought you a simple bracelet. Nothing flashy. Just something that matched his. A quiet gesture that maybe he could still find his way back. That maybe he could still find his way to you. Meet you.

And he went. All the way to Namsan.

Cab dropped him near the entrance. He stepped out, hands tucked in his pockets, breath curling in the cold. Watched couples link arms, hands laced, eyes lit up with warmth and beginnings.

He stood there for ten minutes.

Then twenty.

Then told himself just a little longer.

But the longer he stood, the more people he saw wrapped in happiness, the more it sank in – that whatever version of him you had been waiting for was gone.

Jeongguk never made it past the gate. Never sent a message. The weight of everything he’d lost, every unspoken apology, all his mistakes, the missed chances – kept him frozen. So, he turned around and left, the bracelet still tucked away in his coat pocket.

He should’ve gone home. Should’ve pretended that sleep would dull the pain, even if only for a few hours.

But instead, he ended up in Jiwoo’s office. He didn’t know what he was looking for – only that he needed to escape the silence, the weight, the hurt. He wanted to bury the sorry excuse of a man he’d become – the disappointment as a husband, a father he couldn’t be.

In that quiet room, something finally broke.

The door had barely clicked shut before he leaned into her, breath ragged like he’d run there. He hadn’t. But it felt that way – like he’d been racing all night, all month, all year, just to feel something that wasn’t guilt.

Jiwoo didn’t question him. She never did. Maybe she knew better. Maybe she didn’t want to know.

Fingers tangled in fabric, lips grazed skin. His suit jacket hit the floor. Hers followed. It wasn’t rushed, not entirely. Just desperate. Heavy.

When she whispered his name, he didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when every part of him was pretending this wasn’t what it was.

When it ended, Jeongguk sat on the edge of the couch, shirt half-buttoned, staring at the floor like it might open up and take him.

Jiwoo offered a glass of water. He didn’t take it. Just sat there, breathing through the fog.

This wasn’t love. It wasn’t even connection.

But it was escape. And escape, these days, felt easier than facing the mess he'd made.

The next morning, Jeongguk didn’t return home.

Instead, he sat in the company parking lot, not caring about the dirt on his slacks. The sky was a dull gray, and the building behind him was quiet now. He hadn’t gone far after everything. Hadn’t slept. Just sat there, trying to make sense of what he’d done.

But there was no excuse waiting in the silence—only the sickening weight of it. The guilt didn’t hit all at once. It came slowly. Empty. Hollow.

By the time he did go home, you were asleep on the couch. The T.V. had gone quiet. One of the baby books you'd never packed away was still lying open beside you, your fingers curled softly around the edge of the page.

You looked peaceful. As if you'd been waiting for something gentle to return to you, even after being left alone on a night meant to start a new year.

Jeongguk almost broke, right there. Almost dropped to his knees and confessed everything.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he knelt beside you and quietly adjusted the blanket over your shoulders. Then disappeared into the bathroom and showered twice, as if that could erase anything.

Jiwoo didn’t text him. Not the next day. Not the day after. She wasn’t like that.

She’d drawn no lines, made no promises. She was quiet, steady, professional when he passed her in the hallway. Not cruel. Not warm. Just there.

And maybe that was what made it worse—how easy she made it to pretend it never happened. How nothing about her life had shifted while his had gone completely off-axis.

But he couldn’t stay away.

He told himself it was a mistake. One night. A moment.

But the following week, he showed up at her office again. No words. No apologies. No resistance.

And she let him in.

Jeongguk doesn’t remember how it became routine. It wasn’t every night—not even often. It only happened a few times, enough to count on one hand. Still, he knew that wasn’t an excuse. It still fucking happened.

Sometimes when the weight of home pressed against his chest, Jeongguk found himself moving without thinking – texting Jiwoo nothing more than a time, a place. No hearts. No names.

And she never asked for either.

One time it was the stairwell behind their office building. The lights were dim, flickering like they knew they shouldn’t be watching.

He kissed her like he needed to forget something.

She let him. No questions, no noise. Just the rustle of coats and the sound of his breath stuttering into her neck like it was the only place left he didn’t feel like a failure.

Another time it was the back seat of his car. Rain on the windows. Jiwoo’s makeup smudged from his grip on her jaw.

He didn’t ask her if she was okay. Didn’t ask himself, either.

Because here, in this hollow space of skin and distraction, he could pretend for a moment he wasn’t a man unraveling by the hour.

At home, Jeongguk had lost count of how many times he showered. Not to wash off sins he could no longer keep track of. No.

But because the scent left on his skin wasn’t familiar. It didn’t remind him of anything. Not her shampoo. Not the house. Not you.

And somehow, that made everything easier.

Jeongguk told himself it was never about love. It was survival. Escape. A quiet place where the noise inside could dim for a while.

But sometimes, late at night, when Jiwoo’s hand found his, or her breath brushed his skin, the line between need and something more fragile began to blur.

They rarely spoke about what this was. Words felt heavy, too honest, too dangerous.

Instead, their connection lived in small gestures – the way Jiwoo’s fingers lingered just a moment longer on his hand, or how her gaze held steady when his cracked.

He found himself craving those moments – not because he loved her, but because with her, the weight seemed just a little lighter.

Between, few kisses and whispered promises that meant nothing, Jeongguk caught himself wanting more – a fleeting thought of normalcy, or maybe just a break from the storm.

There were quieter moments too.

They’d go to Jiwoo’s favorite café near the office — small, sunlit, always playing old indie songs she claimed made her feel seventeen again. She liked the lemon cake there, tangy and too sweet.

Jeongguk hated lemon anything.

She pushed the plate toward him, fork already loaded. “Come on, one bite. It tastes like chaos and cavities.”

Jeongguk raised a brow. “Sounds deadly.”

She laughed. “You’re so dramatic. Open.”

He did, reluctantly. The lemon hit fast—sharp, sweet, wrong. He winced.

Jiwoo grinned, smug. “You hate it.”

“Told you I hate lemon,” he muttered, reaching for his coffee like it might save him.

“And yet, you let me feed it to you,” she teased, chin in hand.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk stared down at the plate, voice dropped. “I did.”

The next time they went, he ordered a slice without thinking. Maybe it was the routine. Maybe it was easier to pretend he was someone else in places she had always loved. Or maybe he was just tired of being someone he doesn’t recognize anymore.

Two mornings later, while Jeongguk slipped on his coat by the door, you held something out to him.

“Found this in your pocket,” you said, voice light. Just a folded receipt. “Didn’t know you liked lemon cake.”

He hesitated for half a breath, then took it from your hand. “Thought I’d try something new,” he said, stuffing the paper into his pocket. “Didn’t finish it though.”

You smiled faintly. “Okay.” Nothing more was said. Jeongguk walked to his car, you walked to yours and the day went on just like any other.

Jeongguk started wearing a new cologne Jiwoo had mentioned offhand in passing.

They’d been sitting in his car, her legs pulled up, a coffee cup balanced on her knee, when she reached into the glove compartment to grab tissues and found the travel-sized bottle tucked in with a pile of old receipts.

“Oh,” she’d said, amused. “This one’s nice. Remember it from a client’s shoot a while back.” She sprayed it lightly on her wrist, then offered it to him without looking too hard. “Try it. Might suit you.”

He didn’t think much of it then. Just leaned forward so she could mist it across his neck. Her fingers had brushed the edge of his jaw—cold and brief. She’d gone quiet after that. Rolled the window down. Changed the subject.

But later, when he made a dumb joke and leaned in to repeat it, she’d smiled like it meant something. Like he meant something. Something other than mistakes and disappointments.

It wasn’t the kind of scent he normally liked—too warm, too heavy. Amber and cedarwood. It clung to him like someone else's second skin.

But it made him forget the lavender that carried too much expectations and pain. And it was enough.

Jeongguk started wearing it after that.

The first time he wore it home, you paused in the hallway, one hand bracing the wall like you’d lost your balance for a second.

“That’s strong,” you said, half-laughing. “What is that? Smells like someone lit a forest on fire.”

Jeongguk smiled faintly, tugged at his collar. “Trainees thought it smelt good. Was messing around with some samples in the shoot. Kind of stuck.”

You nodded slowly. “Looks like it did.”

“I’ll probably switch back next week,” he said, voice soft. “It’s not really me.”

You didn’t answer. Just passed by him, close enough to breathe it in again, leaving him in the silence of your home like always.

It was raining when they slipped into the planetarium.

Jiwoo said she’d always wanted to come but never had the time. Jeongguk didn’t ask why she chose a place like this or why she wanted him there. He just asked Taehyung to book the tickets under his name and followed her plans when the day came.

Inside, the seats reclined. The dome above them flickered dark before filling with stars.

She glanced sideways at him when the simulated constellations came alive — her shoulder barely grazing his. “Penny for your thoughts?”

It was the first time she ever asked him for anything. Jeongguk didn’t know why. Only that she did – after he’d been staring too long at the Sun in the simulation.

“I don’t know what this is anymore…what I am anymore,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t know how to stop it. Don’t know how to come back.” His eyes were still fixed on the Sun — pixelated and sterile, orbiting nothing real.

Jiwoo didn’t speak right away. A comet traced across the dome in silence.

“You don’t have to name it,” she said finally. “No one’s asking you to.”

The stars faded, but the ache stayed — quieter now, like a shadow settling deeper into the edges of his days.

And somewhere beneath it all, the clock kept ticking, pulling him forward whether Jeongguk was ready or not.

The morning began quietly.

You moved softly through the kitchen, hands working without rush as you wrapped small sandwiches, cut fruit into soft wedges, and arranged snacks into a neatly packed basket. Nothing elaborate. Just enough for two. You checked the time on the oven clock once, then again, a little slower.

The house was still quiet upstairs.

Jeongguk stood halfway down the stairs, already dressed for work – pressed slacks, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his watch catching the low light. He stayed still, one hand resting gently on the banister.

Your voice drifted up from the kitchen, gentle but clear. The phone lay on speaker on the counter.

“I’ll be okay, Eomma. Just a quick visit.” You murmured.

“Jeongguk’s not going with you?” your mother had asked.

He waited for you to tell her the truth. Rat him out – call him selfish, careless, tell her how he let you down again.

Instead, you said, “Think he’s got an early shoot in Gangnam.” You reached for a napkin, folding it once, then again, before tucking it into the picnic basket.

Jeongguk didn’t move. His eyes lingered on the basket, then the slow curve of your shoulders as you stood over it.

Then, without saying a word, he turned and walked away. His shoes made no sound on the floor as he quietly slipped out the door.

Jeongguk didn’t go to the memorial.

Instead, he ended up parked outside the baby clothes store on the far side of the city. The same one you both had visited long ago, when you were full of dreams and plans. The sign’s color had changed, the windows were new – but inside, it still smelled faintly of baby powder and fresh cotton.

He drifted in slowly, like muscle memory.

Near the back, he spotted a small rack lined with tiny onesies. One in particular caught his eye — cream-colored with purple tulips and sun prints stitched into the fabric. Something about it felt soft and whole.

Jeongguk bought it without thinking.

For a brief moment, the idea flickered in his chest. Maybe he could still make it to the memorial. Maybe if he left now, brought this little onesie, maybe...

Then he saw them – a couple around his age. The woman laughed softly, holding a squirming baby girl in her arms. The man kissed her cheek, one arm slung around her shoulder. Their child was maybe two. Maybe close to what Ha-yun would’ve been. Alive. Growing.

“Say ‘Appa,’ sweetie,” the woman coaxed gently.

The baby’s tiny lips parted, forming a soft, uncertain sound— “Appa...”

The man’s eyes softened, his smile widening. “That’s right, little one. Appa.”

Jeongguk froze. Something cold gripped him from the inside. And in that moment, the weight of it all came crashing back.

He left without a word.

The day blurred after that. He threw himself into work, showed up at an offsite shoot, reviewed shots he wasn’t even scheduled to cover. His phone buzzed a few times — he didn’t check. Not even once.

Evening fell without mercy.

Down the office building, they waited for a cab. A crazy drunk stumbled past, spilling a drink right onto Jiwoo’s sleeve. “Shit, sorry!” the drunk slurred, swaying away.

She stared down at the wet fabric, annoyed. Jeongguk stepped closer, pulling off his jacket. “Here, take this.”

She hesitated but accepted it, slipping it on.

Jeongguk muttered under his breath, “Fucking assholes.”

“Don’t get worked up. Bet they smell like cheap whiskey and regret.”

He rolled his eyes, chuckled, said nothing after. Just watched the city lights coming on, slow and soft.

“I thought you’d run away for good today,” Jiwoo breaks the quiet.

He scoffed. “I tried.”

She bumped his arm lightly. “You suck at it.”

A breath of a laugh escaped him, short and tight. He looked at her — really looked — and that was all it took.

Jiwoo leaned in first, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was quiet and careful.

Jeongguk didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. He kissed her back, like a reflex, like he didn’t want to think about what it meant.

Then it ended, just as quickly. No promises. No questions. Not asking for more, not promising anything either.

Jiwoo blinked. Looked for a second longer than usual, then smiled softly. “Come on,” she said, gently tugging at his sleeve. “I want to show you something.”

The cab ride was short. They pulled into a quiet alley where an older shop stood, its weather sign still intact, “Daehan Camera & Film.”

Jeongguk recognized it the moment they stepped out. The air around it hadn’t changed. The soft chime of the door still rang the same way it did years ago, when you dragged him here one snowy evening after you both had successfully passed your final requirements for graduation.

You were both delirious – running on caffeine, instant ramen and the kind of snacks that should’ve fucked with your brains. But you both made it.

You had bought him a camera that night, just a little something to mark the end of the chaos and the beginning of whatever came next. A secondhand Canon AE-1, barely functional flash, light meter permanently stuck on the wrong setting. Knowing how much he was a sucker for anything old and worn, always choosing charm over convenience, history over precision.

“You’re going places, Gguk. I just know it.”

Jeongguk didn’t even know what to say back then. Just stood there while you grinned, cheeks red from the cold, and told the old man behind the counter, “He’s going to be brilliant.”

You had believed in him long before he knew how to.

Jeongguk stood there again now, the memory coiling around his chest, slow and thick.

Jiwoo stepped inside first, glancing around, then nodded to the older man behind the counter who’d given her a look like she didn’t belong in his store.

She ignored it. Focused on Jeongguk. Didn’t say much. Let him take his time.

“How did you even know this place?” he asked, voice low.

She shrugged. “I asked Taehyung. He said something about how much you loved coming here.” That was all. No added explanation. No weight in her tone.

Jeongguk turned toward the glass display, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. The cameras hadn’t changed. Dust along the edges. Faint scratches in the wood counter from years of elbows and fingerprints.

The weight in his chest didn’t lift.

It sank.

When it all ended, Jiwoo gave him a small wave from across the street before slipping into a cab. Jeongguk watched her go, then crossed to the station, not to board a train, but to sit. The bench was cold. The air sharper now. He stared into the nothing ahead, not moving, not thinking.

But his hands itched. Restless. As if the silence pressed too hard against his skin.

He didn’t know how long he sat before standing again, feeling pulled tight like a stretched thread.

The tattoo shop was just around the corner – small, almost hidden, with a faded sign and a door cracked open like an invitation.

Inside, the needle buzzed before words could form.

The artist glanced at his arm. “Covering up the old one?”

Jeongguk nodded. “Something like that.”

He barely looked at the design in the mirror, a crescent moon cradling a handful of stars.

Simple. Quiet. No noise. No movement. No expectations.

He winced as the needle bit into his skin, the pain sharp but steady, grounding him.

A punishment. A mark for running away. For choosing silence over love, again and again. A mark for guilt that made a home in him and never left. For turning his back when your hands were still reaching for him. A mark for all the mistakes he’s ever done. For everything he couldn’t face – then and now.

When the buzzing stopped, he touched the fresh ink with trembling fingers.

The moon and stars were there to stay.

The sun—yours—was gone, and he’d covered it himself.

The artist stepped away to clean up, leaving Jeongguk alone under the harsh glow of the overhead light.

He sat there a moment longer, sleeve rolled up, skin raw. His phone felt heavier than it should’ve in his palm.

No thinking. No pacing. Just a quiet inhale—then he pressed the number he’d taken from Taehyung earlier.

The line rang once. Then again. “Namjoon-ssi, can you please meet me?”

Namjoon didn’t ask why. He didn’t have to. When Taehyung had passed along the quiet request for help, and the moment Jeongguk stepped into the office – slumped shoulders, bloodshot eyes, a hollowness where pride used to sit – Namjoon already knew.

He began explaining — carefully, briefly — how things worked. What needed to be filed. What Jeongguk should expect.

But Jeongguk barely listened.

“Just want it fair,” he muttered after a long silence. “Everything we built… she deserves her half. Or more. I don’t care. Just get it done.”

Namjoon set his pen down. “You don’t have to do this angry. You should know at least what you’re walking away from.”

“I know exactly what I’m walking away from,” Jeongguk snapped. His voice cracked, then dropped. “A house that used to be a home. A bed that used to be filled with love. And a woman who still looks at me like I haven’t fucked up everything. I don’t fucking deserve that. She doesn’t deserve this version of me.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “And you think divorce is going to solve that?”

Jeongguk’s hands curled into fists, then loosened. The anger gave way to exhaustion. “She deserves better. I’ve already broken her. I don’t want to stay just to keep breaking her in smaller pieces.”

Namjoon tried again, voice quieter this time. “Walking away will just her hurt her more.”

“It’s a clean slate,” Jeongguk said. “Maybe for both of us. It won’t be waking up beside her and still feeling like I’m drowning. It won’t be watching her look at me like I’m someone else. And I won’t have to keep dragging her down this shithole I’ve dug for myself.”

Namjoon nodded slightly. He didn’t push more after that. Just took down the details Jeongguk gave him. The terms. The assets. The accounts. He worked in quiet rhythm, the pen moving steadily across paper.

“She’ll need to sign it too,” he said eventually.

“I know,” Jeongguk stared at the ceiling. “Just… not yet.” Silence passed. “I need to… break it to her gently. Figure out how.”

Days passed like slow echoes. Some nights, Jeongguk stayed late in the office, finishing edits no one asked for. Other evenings, he met Jiwoo for coffee or dinner, sometimes letting her distract him with things that made him laugh for a moment too long. But the weight stayed.

Then one morning, the envelope came. Sealed and clean, the final draft tucked inside.

It was waiting on his desk when he arrived—no fanfare, no message, just his name typed on the front in sterile black ink.

Jiwoo was already in the room, seated across from his desk, reviewing campaign drafts. She looked up when she heard him stop short. “That it?”

He nodded, already pulling a pen from the drawer. No pause. No ceremony.

She watched him sign. “You’re really doing it.”

Jeongguk didn’t look up. “Already did.” He capped the pen, slipped the papers into the bottom drawer of his desk and closed it quietly.

And he didn’t look at them again.

The papers stayed buried in his desk drawer, untouched and unsigned by anyone but him. Days turned over like pages—quiet, deliberate, unread. And in the hush between what was and what they couldn’t name anymore, time moved forward anyway.

The house remained the same – clean, lived-in, routine. The silence wasn’t new anymore. It had settled in long ago, worn down by time, no longer sharp or painful – just there, like faded wallpaper touched by the sun.

Conversations, when they happened, were brief and practical.

One morning, you placed the empty detergent bottle on the counter. “We’re out of detergent,” you’d said without looking at him.

“I’ll grab some tomorrow,” Jeongguk replied, barely glancing up from his phone.

Another time, while folding towels that still smelled faintly of rain, you spoke up again. “Water bill’s due Friday.”

“Okay.” He didn’t ask how much. You didn’t offer. The moment passed without ripples.

Sometimes, you left the house first. Sometimes, he did.

That morning, Jeongguk paused by the trash bin as you headed out. “Trash day’s tomorrow. Did you sort the bags?”

You stopped, rubbing your forehead. “It’s your turn to sort the trash.”

He gave a quiet, almost automatic nod.

You didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t ask for one.

You were slipping on your coat when he noticed – no keys in your hand. Just your phone, already pulled up to book a ride.

“You’re not driving?” Jeongguk asked, glancing up from the sink.

You shrugged lightly. “Car won’t start. Battery’s dead, I think.”

He wiped his hands on a dish towel. “I’ll take it to the shop after work. You can take mine.”

You mumbled a ‘thanks’. Left before he could say anything else.

There were no fights. No pointed silences. Just a kind of practiced cohabitation that neither strained nor healed. Like two people who had memorized the layout of the same house but stopped meeting in the same rooms.

It was the kind of evening that used to mean something.

The kind where candles would’ve flickered on the table, laughter echoing off the kitchen tiles, your arms looping around his neck as if the world outside your home didn’t exist. Where the scent of dinner wasn’t just food – it was love folded into small efforts.

But those days had long gone quiet. Faded slowly. Softly. Without a fight.

Jeongguk didn’t knock. Didn’t slide his key into the lock. Just stayed by the front steps, close enough to see through window, far enough that you wouldn’t notice him there.

The dining table was set for two. Silverware neatly placed; bowls of warm food left untouched on both sides. He knew the dishes right away – meals you used to make to remind him of home. Or maybe, to hold on to the hope that it still was home.

You were still dressed in something soft but presentable, like you hadn’t quite given up the idea of company. Your hair was pinned back the way you used to wear it for dinners, neat and plain, but still cared for.

Between rearranging the plates, he watched you pick up your phone, glance at it now and then, quietly waiting – not quite hopeful, but not yet giving up either.

You poured water into both glasses. Straightened the tablecloth’s edge. Sat down for a moment, then stood up again.

It was the waiting, Jeongguk realized, that undid him. Not the food or the setting or even the way you’d tried to make everything familiar – but the way you kept looking toward the door. Like maybe this would be the year he remembered. Like maybe you hadn’t stopped leaving room for him yet.

Jeongguk didn’t move. Didn’t give himself away.

And after some time, something in your posture shifted—too subtle for anyone else to notice, but not him.

You blew out the candle. Pushed in your chair. Started packing things up with the quiet, careful way you did now—like a shield around you.

No dramatic pause. No lingering. You just...let it go.

Jeongguk stayed in that moment a little longer. Let the silence draw a line between the man he was then and the one sitting here now.

He remembers the morning after the anniversary and your birthday, leaning against the headboard, the food tray with Makguksu and Samgyeopsal. He felt he didn’t deserve the small kindness and tried to ignore it, while the feeling of regret kept growing inside him.

Then there was Taehyung, the office, and the papers he’d kept hidden. Jeongguk remembers signing them without hesitation. How instead of being honest and ending things, he kept the agreement a secret. In that moment, fear and denial held him back – he had signed away his marriage, but didn’t have the courage to deal with what came next.

Jeongguk remembers the look on your face when you found them. No words, just a quiet, heavy stare—as if you finally saw everything you’d been avoiding. That look hurt him more than any fight, revealing the vulnerable man beneath his tough mask.

And when you asked him if he loved her, he was too scared to tell you the truth. That he didn’t. That it was just means of his escape. The mess he made was only a way to hide from the man he’d become.

Then Namjoon showed up with a new agreement and a list that felt more like a punishment back then. It felt like a burden. But over time, those things stopped feeling like chains and became a strange kind of guide.

Those times and the person he had turned to, used to haunt him. Sometimes it still pressed against his chest, sharp and shame-shaped. But the pain no longer ruled him. Instead, it had become a quiet reminder of how far he’d come—how much he’d survived and was now trying to find a way back to a place that once felt like home.

Jeongguk took a slow breath, trying to hold on to that fragile hope—of something better, something steadier.

Outside the car, Jiwoo waited quietly. Not rushing. Not pressing. Just waiting.

And in that moment, Jeongguk held onto the calm as best he could.

He stepped out, followed her down the street to a small café nearby. It was new, clean, quiet. Nothing fancy. Orders were placed – black coffee for him, green tea for her and some food he barely registered while she chatted with the server.

When it came, that’s when his attention dropped to the food she had ordered, a slice of lemon cake.

“Still?” Jeongguk asked with his brow raised.

Jiwoo gave a small, almost playful smile. “Moving to a new city doesn’t change my food choices.”

He doesn’t go along with the playful remark. Just jumps right in. “Do you remember when we started drifting apart?”

Jiwoo nodded. “After you got that tattoo.”

He chuckled dryly. “Funny how I got it because you said the moon and stars didn’t have expectations.”

She gave a small smile, not proud, not sad. Just knowing. “That was supposed to comfort you. Didn’t think you’d go ink it on your skin.”

“Thought it’d fix something,” Jeongguk admits. “Make it easier to carry. You know…the guilt. Everything else.”

Jiwoo fiddled with the cake. “It didn’t.”

“It didn’t,” he agreed. Silence stretched between them, then softly he asked, “Do you remember when we completely stopped?”

She nodded, looking down. “That café in Hapjeong. You told me she found the divorce papers. And the list she’s making you do.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything at first. His gaze drops to the rim of his coffee cup, and for a moment, the café around them fades.

To another café. To another day. Hapjeong.

“I don’t know if I’m a good person,” Jiwoo said quietly, her voice barely rising above the hum of the street outside. “Sometimes I think maybe I deserve to lose everything.”

Jeongguk looked at her then—really looked. “You didn’t make me love her less,” he said. “That’s on me. And you’re not losing anything. I’m here. I’m still here.”

Jiwoo swallowed, gaze darting to the window. “For how long?”

His gaze stayed stead, but something behind it softened. “As long as necessary,” he said. “To make sure you’re okay. To help you figure out whatever you need to do next.”

A brief silence followed, broken only by the gentle clink of a spoon from another table.

She didn’t look at him, but he caught the way her fingers curled around the hem of her sleeve.

Then, more quietly, he added, “After that, I’m going on with that list.”

The silence that followed wasn’t surprised — it was quiet. Knowing.

Jiwoo’s voice was thin when it came. “You never loved her any less, did you?”

Jeongguk’s gaze held hers, steady but distant, as if weighing a truth he’d long avoided. “Guess I didn’t.” he said quietly. “Think I just lost my way. Lost who I’d become. Changed into someone I barely recognized.”

He swallowed, voice thick. “I didn’t know how to come back.”

Jiwoo’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What made you want to find your way back?”

Jeongguk’s eyes dropped to the table. “The way she still looked at me,” he said. “Like I wasn’t lost at all. It’s been that way all these years. Was just too blinded by all the pain, all the failures, all the disappointments. Let them take hold.”

He drew in a breath, slow and quiet. “I’m done with that. No more running. No more escaping. I’m going on with this list the right way. I’m going to mean it. No more lies. No more hurting her. No more going behind her back.”

Jiwoo’s eyes stay fixed on. “You think that’s going to make her forgive you?”

Jeongguk’s thumb traced the rim of his cup. “Not doing this for forgiveness. Accepted a long time ago that nothing I do will reverse everything I’ve done.”

She sighed softly. “You said the list is a set of conditions she made before finalizing the divorce. You do know that completing it means ending everything between you, right?”

“I know.” He swallowed down the nerves. “But until then, I’m going to try to love her the right way. I’ll just love her – no ‘what ifs,’ no ‘buts.’ And if she lets me go – then that’s just the consequence of every fucked-up choice I made.”

“You’re fucked up, Jeon.” Jiwoo let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Should’ve never started that divorce agreement. Should’ve owned up to your mistakes years ago.”

“Too late for that now.” Jeongguk gave a faint chuckle, low and a little worn. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I know one apology won’t fix anything, but… I’ll be around. If you need help with anything moving forward, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Jiwoo said softly. Then, after a pause, “Guess I should start looking for another company.”

“You want to leave?”

“Doesn’t feel right staying,” she said, meeting his eyes briefly. “Not if you’re going to try again with her.”

The days slipped by as Jeongguk helped Jiwoo navigate her transition. He made calls, pulled strings, even visited a couple of agencies on her behalf.

One evening, after finalizing some transfer logistics, they sat in silence at a convenience store bench.

“You look tired,” Jiwoo muttered without looking at him.

Jeongguk cracked a weak smile. “Have felt worst.”

“You don’t have to do all this.”

“Just let me help.”

She didn’t argue. Just nudged his knee with hers once—quiet thanks unspoken.

Jeongguk followed through with the Chuncheon firm. Quiet team, flexible direction—room for Jiwoo to breathe. He drove her up for the meeting, vouched for her, stepped out when needed. They made her an offer the same day.

On the ride back, Jiwoo turned to him, “You did more than I expected.”

“Good luck out there.” Jeongguk kept his eyes ahead as the city lights faded behind them.

Steam hissed softly nearby, mingling with murmurs and the occasional metallic clink. The rich aroma of fresh coffee wrapped around him, pulling Jeongguk back to the moment.

Jiwoo’s calm gaze met his across the café’s warm light. “You didn’t ask me to meet you to reminisce our era.”

“Don’t make it sound like some concert tour we’ve headlined.”

“Not me. Just you. Would’ve been a great idol.”

Jeongguk smirked. “What would my stage name be? ‘DJ Regret’?”

Jiwoo chuckled, shaking her head. “More like ‘The King of Sorrys.’ Your fan club would be huge.”

His smile faded, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Why’d you do it?”

“Not gonna ask when I did it?” Jiwoo shot back, a teasing edge in her voice.

“If you were gonna go through my phone, at least mess with the archive too,” he said calmly.

What happened next wasn’t a question of if, but when.

In the days that followed, Jeongguk had settled into a new rhythm—balancing work, the list, and the slow rebuilding of what was once lost. Meanwhile, Jiwoo adjusted to life in Chuncheon, facing fresh challenges with a quieter pace.

It was during a late afternoon in the office, sifting through the cabinet, making space for a new team’s mock-up, that Jeongguk stumbled across it – clean layout, pinned swatches, slipped sketches, a familiar signature on the corner. It was Jiwoo’s.

He tore out a notepad page, scribbled her name and phone number, taped it on the corner. Then sent out a text before returning to the rest of his day filled with back-to-back meetings.

Jeon: Found your old board. Front desk if you need it. Swamped.

Later that evening, Jiwoo stepped into the lobby. The receptionist, mid-call and juggling a delivery form, waved her through. “It’s in the corner, go ahead. Got to deal with a mix-up.”

She spotted the board exactly where she was told. Her name and number marked clearly on a note stuck at the top. As she peeled it off, another paper came loose beneath it – same notepad, different message.

Messy handwriting. A scribbled list. Restaurant names stacked one after the other, some crossed out, others with times rewritten, erased, replaced again. One had a smudged heart half-erased. Another with a small sun doodle at the end. A few notes scattered like Go early. Less crowded. Cheesecake out of stock. Pass.

Jiwoo paused, reading it twice. Didn’t take much to guess what it was. Or who was it for.

He still hadn’t said it.

Nearby, Jeongguk’s phone buzzed once on the front desk – forgotten, maybe dropped in the middle of another rushed hour.

She picked it up, tapped the camera roll, scrolled briefly. Found the clip—one from a late-night drive some time ago. Her voice in the background, laughing. Posted it to his story.

Then walked out with the board in hand. And just like that, it was done.

Jeongguk exhaled slowly, the weight of the past settling quietly as he looked at Jiwoo.

“Did you know she almost finalized the divorce that night?”

Jiwoo didn’t flinch. “Good. It shook her.”

“Was that what you meant to do? Some kind of revenge? Karma I deserved?”

“No, Jeon,” she said, calm but unyielding. “It was meant to shake both of you. I knew she’d see it. Knew you’d find it. You made this big declaration about wanting to love her again – and you still haven’t said it.”

“I was trying to make myself worthy enough before telling her.”

“And when will that be?” Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. “You’ve spent the last three years trying. Said it yourself – you got lost chasing the version of you she once loved. The one she still loves. And you’re still going in circles. When will you realize that no matter who you try to be, she’s going to love you anyway?”

Jeongguk’s face stayed still, but the silence between them grew heavy with unspoken words. “You weren’t part of this anymore. You had no right to get involved.”

“If I didn’t, would you have pushed yourself to try harder for her? To be there for her?”

Jeongguk leaned back slightly, jaw tense. “That wasn’t your choice to make.”

“But it was a choice that started to make things better for you, didn’t it?”

He remained quiet, the weight of her words pressed down on him.

Jiwoo started to gather her things. “Just be fucking honest for once. Love her like you used to. Or maybe even better,” she pauses briefly, then adds. “Stop wasting time. You won’t realize when time will run out and you’re left with regrets instead of love that should’ve been yours to hold.”

She left before he could say a word, the silence between them closing like the last page of a book.

Jeongguk swallowed hard, the truth in Jiwoo’s words hitting him like a sudden, cold wave. His phone buzzed, breaking the silence. The screen glowed with a photo of you, lips pressed softly to his cheek, eyes closed in a moment of pure tenderness.

He stared at it, breath steadying. A soft light began to grow inside him, like the first rays of a sunrise finally breaking through after a long wait.

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #bts fanfction #fanfic #bts jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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glimmette · 2 years ago

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[MLP: MYM CHAPTER 6 SPOILERS]

Two of the dragons seen in the teasers a few days ago.

(They all look feminine to an extent, but I feel like the ones without hair/crests could be boys.)

#my little pony #digitalart #mlp g5 #mlp dragon #dragon #aggie.io #reference #mlp make your mark #mlp make your mark chapter 6 #spoilers #macaroni #mac n cheese #cactus #forked tongue #my little pony make your mark #my little pony make your mark chapter 6 #reference image #cheese

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softlymellow · 9 days ago

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The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 11

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 3.6k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt and a bit of fluff !!!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

"He finally understood just how badly he had lost you."

Your helmet hung loosely under your arm, your boots scraping against the cruiser's floor, fidgeting. Clones began to move around you in practised order as their voices blended in with the hum of the engine.

You tried to shake off what Anakin had done to you. But you couldn’t ignore the pang in your heart.

As you waited for the LAAT gunship to depart, you couldn’t miss the way you saw Rex shifting closer to you, inch by inch.

Until he cleared his throat.

“You holding up okay, General?” he asked cautiously.

You blinked and offered him a tight smile. “I’m not a general,” you softly said, adjusting your gloves.

Rex rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. “You could’ve fooled me.” He said, in an attempt to make you feel better.

You offered a humorless laugh. “I’m just here to help.”

“And you’re doing more than that,” Rex said gratefully.

Across the deck, Anakin shifted.

There was a subtle roll of his shoulders, his head tilting ever so slightly as if he was pretending to study the map and not eavesdrop onto your conversation. You caught it without meaning to.

And just as fast as you noticed, you dropped your gaze. Focus on the mission. That’s all you had right now.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Eventually, the gunship roared as it broke the dry clouds of Saleucami, red dirt and dust flying as you descended.

You stood in the troop bay, your blaster slung across your chest and your palms sweaty. It would be a lie to admit that you’re not nervous. You had fought in battles worse than this but not without your lightsaber. It wasn’t even clipped to your belt right now.

You were a soldier now. Just like the clones. No Jedi robes, no cloak. INstead, you had armour padded fabric and tactical plates. As soon as the ship touched down, you moved.

Cody’s voice cracked through the comms.

“Rex, sweep through the pass. L/n, take the ridge and get eyes on the southern basin. There could be droids underground.”

“Copy that,” you muttered.

Once the hatch opened, the hot air hit you like a furnace. It hadn’t since you and Dev were there. Still the same dry clay pit.

Anakin wasn’t paired with you, of course he wasn’t. He hadn’t looked at you once. He with some of his own troops from the 501st, and you with some of his.

Dogma and Kix were by your back, “Keep low,” you whispered. “There might be thermal signatures by the rocks. Last time I was here, there were big cave pockets that tunnel out.”

Kix gave a low whistle, “guess you’ve been here more than us.”

You shrugged, crouching near some scorched stones and you raised your macrobinoculars. There was movement, subtly but there was movement.

“Something’s moving,” you said, marking it. “West quadrant. Might be droids.” You pulled out your rifle.

And then a separatist droid stumbled into view, sparking, dragging one leg.

You shot it clean through the processor.

And then more.

And more.

The first shots rang out faster than expected.

“L/n, cut off the canyon mouth!” Cody barked through the comms.

“Already on it,” You said with clenched teeth.

Blaster bolts sliced through the air around you. Droids were swarming.

Dogma rolled beside you, “Ridge is clear!”

You turned sharply to look and then a B2 battle droid breached through the rocks and opened fire.

Immediately, you and Dogma turned to duck under a stone, blaster bolts leaving marks on said rock.

You waited a couple seconds for the droid to automatically reload its bullets. As soon as you had the chance, you peered over and fired once –twice– at the centre of the droid. It collapsed onto the ground, dust flying as he fell.

Dogma turned to you, “I-thanks, Commander.” You nodded at him.

And then there was a flash of blue that tore through the smoke beside you.

Anakin.

It was hard to miss him, his saber blazing and his own armour now dusted red. His broad shoulders flexed with every movement. He effortlessly and confidently cut down droids in brutal strokes.

He moved by instinct. Memory. Muscle. He deflected bullets like they were nothing and his saber kept swinging and spinning its own rhythmic dance.

You couldn’t help but pause to watch. You hadn’t seen him fight like this since before Dev. And even then, you were beside him, not watching from the sidelines.

He had a careless kind of confident look on his face. His presence burned and it was impossible to not feel it.

A stray bullet flew past your head, your ears rang as you duck. It immediately broke you out of your trance, and without thinking, you covered his flank.

You continued this until the last droids began to fall. The tunnel network began to collapse itself under repeated pressure. You had watched both Anakin and Obi-wan sweep through the perimeter.

Everything was quiet now. Rex moved past you, his shoulders brushing yours slightly. “Good work, Commander.” He said casually, trying to keep it normal.

You shot him a small smile and a nod, “thanks.”

Cody knelt beside one of the wounded and talked quietly with him.

You swung your blaster across your back. You still felt exposed. Your belt felt empty. Weightless.

Cody then came up to you, his eyes measured but respectful. “I heard that the supply unit will move through this pass tomorrow now.” He nodded to you. “This mission’s a success.”

Sighing, you rubbed your eyes tiredly. “Good job, guys.” Your boots sunk in the hot Saleucami sand, leaving footprints behind.

And then a crackle came in through the comms.

“Everyone regroup at Point Bravo. Perimeter clear.” Anakin’s voice came out.

Rex and the rest of the clones marched towards the rally point. Everyone’s tired. The hot air only makes it worse. Your feet dragged behind you and every minute that passed you would try to stifle a yawn.

You could not wait to get out of this dreadful planet and scrub yourself clean.

Obi-wan and Anakin were ahead now, chatting with Cody and Rex about the mission. You followed maybe ten paces behind them. Close enough that you could hear their boots shovelling against the ground but far enough that you would be forgotten.

“I assume we will have the brief the Senate after this,” Obi-wan said, trying to lighten the weight, his hand running through his hair.

Anakin nodded, “Padme was already pressing for details on the blockade before we left Coruscant.”

You felt yourself stiffen at the mention of Padme.

And then you felt something so small. Something nudging your sides. Something pulling you back. You stopped walking and your boot dragged along the sand.

Something was here. Something was wrong.

Biting your lip, you looked back at the craters formed during the battle. And then you turned your head towards the group that are now increasingly further away from you.

“I’m gonna quickly check something out,” you called out to Rex steadily, who now turned to look at you.

The squad slowed down and Obi-wan’s head lifted to look at you warily. Anakin straightened himself too, his hand instinctively brushed against his lightsaber, his eyebrows furrowed.

He didn’t say anything and lips tightened. His body shifted and his boots ever so slightly moved —as if he wanted to go after you.

Without a second thought, you turned your back on them and headed back to the ruins. Towards the force disturbance.

Your blaster was raised and ready for anything that came. Your eyes squinted as you moved towards the left, behind some of the destruction, out of sight from the rest.

You moved some more, allowing the Force to guide you. Further.

It was like walking through a storm where you couldn’t see, you could just feel. Feel that something was wrong.

Your heart was pounding against your chest and then—

Whrrrrrp

A hum of a lightsaber sliced out from the ruins and aimed for your head. You barely ducked as the crimson blade slashed the air where you had just been.

“Arrgh!” You hit the ground hard on instinct, rolling through dust and dirt.

And immediately you began to fire your blaster aimlessly, hoping that while you fell you landed a shot. The shots were deflected with little to no effort as the saber spinned through the smoke.

The attacker stepped into view, their body cloaked, but their face…

Master Sora Bulq.

Like he was twisted by the darkside.

Sora’s blade readied to hit you but you fired again.

One shot.

Two shots.

Three shots.

Four shots.

And without fail, each shot was deflected with casual precision. Without warning, he struck down onto you. You dove sideways, your shoulder slamming into a rock and you shrieked in pain.

You twisted, wanting to kick out his lightsaber from his hands without getting your arms impaled but he was faster, meaner. The hilt of his lightsaber slammed in your ribs sending you sprawling out on the floor, knocking the breath out of you.

You rolled and your blaster fell out of your hands, your hands scrambling through the dirt.

Pain flared sharply underneath your armour as you tried to get away from the crimson of the lightsaber.

Without a second thought, Master Bulq reached out with his hands and pushed you. The force flinging your body towards a boulder. Your head slammed against the rough surface.

Thud

You couldn’t scream in pain. Your voice hoarse and all air escaping from your lungs.

Your ears began to ring and the desert began to tilt. Light burst as your eyes rolled to the back of your head for a moment. You slumped. Gasping. The taste of blood in your mouth. And then something wet dripping down your forehead.

Your fingers scraped uselessly at the ground, wanting to push but you couldn’t. They had barely moved.

Your vision blurred and the force kept screaming at you. Your eyes fluttered, trying to keep them open.

Then there was a violent shift in the force. A snap. A fit of rage.

Without warning, two figures emerged from the dust with beams of light swinging with them. Anakin dove in, throwing his saber down with full force.

You couldn’t move and your ribs screamed in pain. Your mouth agape as you try to take in small breaths, your head lulling to the side.

Hits and more hits.

You couldn’t make out anything anymore.

Their figures were blurry and you couldn’t hear anything past the ringing in your skull. You tried your hardest to stay awake, your body falling in and out of consciousness in lapse.

There were clashes and screams of laser on laser. Obi-wan threw his own arm up, pulling Bulq to the floor. His lightsaber fell from his hands and his body slumped. Anakin surged through, his saber raised to finish it.

Something muffled. Like they were talking. Or screaming. You couldn’t hear anymore but Anakin was pulled back by Obi-wan.

You couldn’t feel your shoulders or your arms. It was all numb. You fell out of consciousness. And then fell in. And out. And in.

A figure rushed to your side, the weight of their feet made a crunchy sound on the ground.

“Hey — hey.” Their voice, closer than expected. Rougher.

He tried to lift you up without hurting you any further but you fell limp and tired. Your body fell forward and collapsed immediately onto his chest.

Anakin’s.

His strong arms immediately wrapped around you before you fell past him. You tried to speak but your mouth fell open. The goddamn ringing wouldn’t go away and everything felt tipsy and blurry.

“Got you,” he muttered, so soft that it could have just said it to reassure himself.

You let him carry you, lifting your body effortlessly and so tightly that he was scared you would slip past his hands. That you would leave him.

Anakin’s breaths came fast.

His eyes darted across your bruised lips and the trickle of blood that fell down your forehead. His gloved hands cradled the back of your head. Your skin was burning and your armour was streaked with dirt and ash.

“Y/n,” He said louder now, watching the way your eyes were looking at him but not seeing him. “Stay with me.” His throat was closing up and he could feel his eyes beginning to sting.

“Anakin!” Obi-wan called out. “We need to move her to the med-bay now-”

“She’s not breathing right.” Anakin’s voice shook.. His own chest heaving and stray strands of hair fell onto his face.

“She–she…her head…and..her ribs,” Anakin struggled to find the right words.

“We will lose her if we don’t move now.”

He couldn’t lose you. Not like he lost his mother. You were right here in his arms and he wouldn’t let you go away.

Anakin moved fast, faster than he had ever did before.

The hum of the ship faded into static. You weren’t sure what had happened. When the medics had begun to work on you, the cold bacta gel against your ribs. Or when Anakin had finally let go.

If he did at all.

The world blurred. And you found yourself being pulled in. Pulled into a flicker.

A moment straight from the force.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

You were seventeen again.

Right before the war had begun and you were just two padawans

Smiling into your pillow late at night. The temple humming with cool ambience.

Anakin had snuck into your quarters, again. You felt his hands combing through your hair, so gently. Sometimes he would braid little pieces, and they would fall out during missions.

You moved until your forehead pressed against his collarbone, your lips ghosting just above his skin.

“I wish we could be together. For real.” Your voice came out, barely a whisper.

“We are for real,” he murmured, fingers still threading through your locks.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, planting a kiss on his neck. Anakin felt a smile growing on his face, his fingers now moved to tuck the hair behind your ear. He then leaned forward, and kissed your temple once.

You didn’t say anything, pulling back enough just to see his eyes. His amber eyes that scanned your face in love, taking in every feature of yours, his fingers caressing the parts he just gazed at.

You missed this. Missed him.

Your body twitched.

And then your monitor spiked.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Eyes fluttering open against the blinding medbay lights, you groaned quietly. You felt your scalp tingling and your sore limbs on the bed.

There were bandages wrapped around your torso and some on your head. Your armour was gone and you were in a medical robe. It was hard to ignore just how useless you felt.

Your first mission back and you were already injured on the bed. You couldn’t blame yourself, really. You had a blaster and he had a lightsaber.

Beside you, on the chair, was Anakin. His chair was far too close than you liked. You were less than an arm's reach away from him. His clenched hands were wrapped around his body, his eyes closed with a tired but hard expression on his face.

You didn’t know what to say, if you should call out to him or ignore him.

But the force had other plans. It shifted the air in the room, causing Anakin to cautiously open his eyes, his gaze meeting yours.

Anakin’s mouth fell slightly agape, surprised that you had woken up. He cleared his throat, wanting to find the right words to say.

“I…” His voice came out low.

“How are you feeling?” He came up with.

You didn’t know what to say. There was a right between you and Anakin. Ever since the meeting, it had only gotten worse and the last person you wanted to wake up to was him.

“Fine.” You hoarsely said. Your voice clearly hasn’t been used for however long it was you were in here.

Anakin nodded, inhaling deeply to calm him down.

“You had a pretty bad concussion.” He revealed, “If he had pushed you any harder…you might not have made it.”

You stayed silent, letting the words settle in the room. Your hands absently minded rubbed the bandages, feeling the fabric in between your fingers.

“You were out for a day...Mast-” He cut himself off. “-Sora has already been handled by the council.”

You still said nothing. You didn’t want Anakin to be one to explain these things to you. You wanted Obi-wan maybe, or no one. Just not Anakin.

Anakin felt the tension in the room and gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing.

And then finally, like he was debating against it, he spoke up again.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

The words hung in the air, his voice rough and apologetic. Seeing you on the floor, your body exhausted and on the brink of death. Seeing someone's lightsaber aimed at you to kill you. It changed something inside of him. He wouldn't lose you like his mother. As he waited in the medbay for you to wake, he swore he wouldn't let himself get angry again at you. He swore he would apologise and try to fix your relationship with him.

He shifted awkwardly, his boots scuffing against the tiles.

“Back at the briefing,” his voice lowered. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I was hurt. I was angry and I didn’t mean to-”

“Angry about what?” You scoffed, a look of disbelief on your face. “You were the one who came arguing with me at the temple.”

Anakin was taken back by the sharpness in your voice.

“Dev told me.” His eyebrows furrowed.

You shook your head confused. “Told you what?”

“He told me that you listened to my messages.” Anakin said. “For the entire year.”

You flinched.

“And you didn’t respond.” Anakin’s voice grew louder but he tried to maintain his composure.

You laughed in disbelief, tears began to prick your eyes. He had no idea. He really had no faith in you that he believed you would not answer him. That you didn’t care.

“You really think I didn’t try?” Your voice broke, water began to visibly well up in your eyes that Anakin felt his stomach twist in guilt.

“I was trying, Anakin. The stupid device broke and I couldn’t relay any messages back.” Your voice cracked.

“Y/n…”

Your chest was screaming in protest under the bandages as you felt your back straighten, but you ignored it.

“You keep doing this, Anakin!” You said, your voice rising. “Over and over!” Tears began to stream down your face, blurring your vision. You couldn’t take it anymore. Even after all the shit you have been through, he had no faith. Even while you were in the med bay bed, there was no comfort. Nothing.

Anakin felt your words hit him harder than any wound he had taken in battle. He watched your body tremble under pure exhaustion and betrayal.

“Y/n, please.” Anakin extended his hand, trying to reach out to you but you jerked back like his touch was fire. And that broke something inside of him. He had hurt you to the point where you wouldn’t even let him touch you.

“And Padme?”

“Padme?” Anakin furrowed his eyebrows.

“You think it doesn’t hurt me when I see you close to her?” Your voice broke. “I used to come to you when we were together,” You pointed a finger at him. “I told you I was scared. I told you she liked you!”

Anakin’s mouth parted, stunned. “There’s nothing going on between me and Padme.” His voice was fast, not defensive but scared. Like he needed to say it before you could turn away.

You blinked. You didn’t trust him like you used to.

“You think I would’ve came running to you the second you fell?” Anakin’s throat began to close up. “I would have left your side as soon as I knew you were safe in the medbay. I would have left for the mission briefing like I was supposed to.”

He swallowed.

“It was always you.”

And then quieter.

“It’s still you.”

You weren’t crying about your injuries or the battle. You were crying because of him. Because of what he had done to you. And he hated watching you unfold like this in front of him.

Tears began to sting his own eyes —fast and hot.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I didn’t know you tried—”

“I did everything I could,” you sobbed. “I was so alone, Anakin.” Your voice cracked.

“And all i wanted —all i wanted— was for you to believe in me when I came back.” You choked out, the palm of your hands aggressively trying to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He looked down in guilt, his hair falling above his eyes, hiding them.

“I know I went too far! It’s just that–” his hands clenched, “-just something inside me — snapped.”

You shook your head, slow and exhausted. “Sometimes I don’t know who’s in there.”

“But Y/n—”

“I-I just…can’t do this anymore, Anakin.” You couldn’t stop crying now, your hands trembling.

Anakin pressed both his hands to his face and dragged them down. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. His mistakes crushing him from the inside.

“I’ll fix this,” he said. “I swear to the Force, I’ll fix it.”

“I don’t want you to fix this,” You gasped in another sob. “I just wanted you there.” You wanted him to help you, support you and comfort you all those times the Council spoke to you like you were nothing.

You didn’t want him to ignore you and in anger and rage.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. For all of it.”

Anakin didn’t speak again. He didn’t have anything else to say. He stood up to leave, his hands shaking and his heartbroken.

He finally understood just how badly he had lost you.

A/n: SRRY IT WAS A LITTLE LATE ive just been stuck with Uni labs all week </3 ALSOOO I REACHED 2K FOLLOWERS thxs so much yall im loving this little community on here genuinely i get so happy reading all ur asks and comments.

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms @hiphopdancer101universe @starfire21 @devotedlypaleluminary @miksxz @lacherrysouldy @lotushzl @biddycums @wandasblacknails @moonixlity @icanmeltanigloo @isntthatsweetiguessso

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