synopsis: After losing his men in a failed mission, Sergeant Yeonghu is consumed by guilt until Y/N reminds him he still has a reason to fight.
type: kdrama, sweet home, oneshot
paring: kim yeonghu X fem!reader (3rd pov)
word count: 1804
There was a plan. One Yeonghu had no choice but to follow. If he could, or if he had been brave enough, he would have ended everything right then and there. he would have ended himself.
He was mourning.
He had lost everyone. His mission had failed, a mission he had been so certain of, one he wished he had never even conceived.
He hated to admit it, but he never should have gone looking for Yongseok. He should have accepted the worst and left it alone. Instead, he had led every one of his men straight into the lion's den with no path left to return.
Now it was just him.
He wanted to ask God why he was the only one still alive. It should have been Seokchan. Seojin. yongseok. Anyone but him.
Yet he was the only one who had survived.
The only one still breathing.
And he was not proud of it.
He should have died.
They should have survived.
Instead, they had all become sacrifices for him. Ever since he had returned, every step of the journey toward his current destination had been haunted by the same unbearable thought.
How unfair it was that he was breathing while his men were not.
How unfair it was that he could still talk, walk, and think while they had become nothing more than cold corpses.
Of course he blamed himself.
How could he not?
He was the reason the mission had failed.
If only he had been more vigilant. If only he had never ordered them to split up. If only he had never decided to go on that mission. Then maybe, just maybe, they would still be here.
Still breathing.
Still talking.
Still walking.
Still thinking-
Warm.
A violent shiver raced down his spine. seokchan…
his cold hand, cold body- cold stare. the nothingness in his eyes.. his dead, empty eyes.
He had been Yeonghu's closest friend. His only true companion.
Now he was gone.
a weak shudder escaped him. It's all my fault.
His head hung low. There was no one around, yet he was still too ashamed to lift his gaze.
What if one of the soldiers saw him returning alone? What would they think? How weak he was? How selfish? That he had valued his own life over those of the men beneath his command?
A harsher tremble tore through him as a single tear slid down the bridge of his nose before falling silently onto the floor.
he should be making up for it all by at least remaining alert, by sticking to the plan, by watching out for the cameras that are watching over him, but he was weak- too damn weak to even think straight.
He just knew where he had to go.
And so he walked, Through the hallway he had crossed a thousand times before. The hallway whose every corner and shadow he knew of like he knew the back of his hand. Toward the only place that ever accepted him, whether he carried aching wounds, shallow cuts that barely bled, or a heart shattered beyond repair.
To Y/N. To her lab.
To the place he escaped to whenever the world became too heavy to bear. To the place where someone tended not only to his injuries, but to his soul. To the place where someone held him close and loved him despite every flaw, every scar, every imperfection he carried.
To Y/N.
His hand pushed against the door. Before he even realized it, the door swung open with enough force to throw him off balance. He collapsed onto his knees with a heavy thud, his body weighed down by grief too immense to carry any longer. He was so trapped inside his own thoughts that he could not even bring himself to look up at the figure who had hurried toward him.
He was cold. So unbearably cold, And he only realized it when soft warmth gently cradled his face.
"Baby?"
The voice was quiet. Gentle. It wrapped around him like a lullaby.
His eyes slipped shut as the feeling of safety settled over him.
"Baby... what's wrong?"
Her voice came again, barely above a whisper as she tilted his face upward, her thumb stroking his cheek with endless tenderness.
Yeonghu was in a trance.
His entire life had been spent alert, cautious, forever prepared for danger. He had never been someone who allowed his guard to fall, not even in the safest place on earth.
But today... He could not be the one doing the saving.
Today, he needed to be saved.
He needed someone to wrap their arms around him and care for him like he was no longer capable of standing on his own.
He needed someone to kiss his forehead and cradle him until the weight crushing his chest finally eased.
For once...
He needed someone else to be strong for him.
a strong and lovely aroma filled his nose and his senses were back to normal again. His vision cleared and the untidy lab came back into focus. He could smell the comforting scent that belonged only to her. He could taste the metallic bitterness of blood lingering in his mouth. And he could feel her warm embrace pulling him into the hug he had needed more than anything else.
Almost on instinct, his arms tightened around her, much tighter, the same way they had countless times before.
"Yeonghu, baby... please tell me what's wrong."
She gently pushed against his chest just enough to look at him. Her hands naturally returned to his cheeks, cupping them with the same care she always had.
"Y/N..."
His voice was weak. Broken. His face carried exhaustion and pain, His entire body was rigid beneath her touch. He looked like a man who had crawled through hell itself and she had never seen him like this.
He parted his lips. Nothing came out. His mouth closed again. Still, he tried. Like he always did with her. She had always told him that burdens became lighter when they were carried by two people instead of one. That no one should climb the mountain of life alone. So he tried once more. A weak breath. Almost a wheeze.
"I..."
But he never had to force the words out. Her embrace offered him exactly what he needed. Silence. Warmth. Safety.
Y/N could tell this was difficult. Whatever had happened, she would rather learn about it later than force him to relive it before he was ready. So she simply held him. Just as she always had whenever he needed her most. Whenever he wanted to cry but was too ashamed to let anyone see. She held him through every quiet sniffle. Every silent tear. Every violent tremble that shook his exhausted body. She held him until he finally found enough strength to speak.
"They're all dead..." The words broke apart between ragged sobs as he buried his face into her shoulder. "They're all dead because of me." His voice cracked. "The mission failed... and I failed my men." Another painful breath.
"They all died for me."
His arms slowly loosened. He needed to face it. He needed to see disappointment written across her face. Needed to watch disgust replace the love in her eyes. Needed to witness her finally realize what a failure he truly was.
Instead…
He found nothing but sorrow. Her eyes moved carefully between his own, searching every broken piece of him. Her expression was filled only with heartbreak and worry for the man she loved.
He was breathing hard.
Tears.
Sweat.
Blood.
Everything mixed together across his battered skin. Dried blood clung to his clothes while fresh wounds marked his face.
He looked broken beyond recognition.
But he was still her darling. The man she loved more than life itself. No failed mission, No mistake, No tragedy- Nothing could erase the love she carried for him.
A sad smile softened her face as she wiped away his tears then her palm brushed gently across the sweat on his forehead before she leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss against the center of it.
"You did your best," she whispered. "You always do."
"You did everything you possibly could. The mission didn't fail because you're a failure." Her eyes wandered across every bruise, every cut, every stain of blood covering him while her hands continued to caress his face with impossible gentleness.
He looked so hurt that it shattered her heart.
If she did not need to stay strong for him, she would have broken down right there beside him.
The wounds scattered across his face, The blood soaking through his clothes, None of it hurt nearly as much as his eyes.
They looked so hopeless.
So empty.
She could almost feel her own heart physically tightening inside her chest.
"You gave everything you had," she whispered, her eyes turning glossy with restrained tears. "How could you have known what would happen?"
She took a slow breath before speaking again.
"You can still redeem yourself." She gave a small, reassuring nod before continuing, "So many people are still here. They're scared. They're helpless. They need someone- They need you."
"Your soldiers need you. The men who died... they died so you could continue protecting everyone inside this stadium."
A trembling smile found its way onto her face as she looked at the sergeant she had fallen hopelessly in love with.
She would never forget the day they first met. The day he had placed his own life on the line to keep hers safe. "Remember who you are."
"You are the man who always puts others before himself. You are the man who would gladly die if it meant saving someone innocent. You are the man who saved me when I thought there was no escape, and I love you because of who you are. What happened cannot be changed. But we still need you, Sergeant."
"So lead us."
That was it.
That was exactly what he needed to hear.
His face was still soaked with tears. His breathing was still uneven. His body still trembled beneath the weight of everything he had lost. Yet she remained beside him- Patiently, Lovingly.
Finding a way to breathe life back into the soul that had nearly given up.
With every word she spoke, he felt his strength slowly returning.
With every word, he remembered who he was.
What he stood for. What he still had left to fight for.
His mission had failed. But his fight was not over. He had to keep moving forward. For himself. For his people. For his fallen soldiers. For the friends he could never bring back. And most of all...
For the woman who had become a core reason for him to continue breathing and living.
max has a dilf (toto), a talented pretty boy (charles), a world famous dj (martin) and a buff boxer (rico) on permanent speed dial along with a whole host of other men on his roster. i call him an it girl.
⁺ type kpop zerobaseone oneshot
⁺ paring jiwoong X fem!reader 2nd pov
⁺ warning vulgar language blood
⁺ word count 1200
⁺ note you can find this on my wattpad
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷
⋮ snowbound
The bitter wind whipped mercilessly against your face as you hurried down the deserted street, cursing the late hour that kept you out in such unforgiving conditions. Snowflakes danced chaotically in the air, the swirling gusts forcing you to tighten the scarf around your neck and quicken your pace. The pristine beauty of winter had long lost its charm as the biting cold set in. You muttered under your breath, frustration bubbling over.
"When I wished for a white winter," you began to think wryly, your internal monologue cut short as your foot caught on something solid.
With a startled gasp, you found yourself tumbling forward, landing face-first into a thick, cold mound of snow. Disoriented and stunned, you blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what had just happened. A jolt of indignation surged through you as you pushed yourself up, hastily brushing snow from your coat. But your irritation quickly gave way to alarm when you glanced back to identify the culprit of your fall.
Your heart skipped a beat when you realized it was not a hidden obstacle in the street, but a leg, a human leg.
"Dear God," you breathed, eyes wide as you scrambled to your feet, the cold now forgotten. You rushed to inspect the figure slumped against the brick wall behind a row of dumpsters, partially obscured by the shadows. The dim light from a distant streetlamp barely illuminated the scene, but it was enough for you to notice the crimson stain spreading beneath his hand, pressed tightly to his side.
A man, clearly injured. Blood oozed through his fingers, staining the already damp fabric of his coat. Your stomach churned at the sight, a mixture of shock and concern flooding your senses.
"Oh my God!" you gasped, dropping to your knees in front of him, hands trembling as you reached out. "Are you, are you alright?"
The man lifted his head slightly, his face partially obscured by the hood of his jacket. His expression was a mixture of pain and annoyance, his voice sharp as he responded, "Do I look alright?" His words were drenched in bitterness, each syllable strained, as if speaking itself was an exertion. "Just... leave me alone."
You recoiled at the hostility in his tone, but the sight of his wound was too alarming to heed his command. His pallor was ghostly, the blood loss unmistakable. Panic bubbled up in your chest, but you shoved it down, instincts kicking in.
"As if I'm going to just leave you here," you muttered under your breath, determination hardening your resolve. Without thinking twice, you unwound the thick woolen scarf from around your neck, hands fumbling slightly as you press it against his side to staunch the bleeding. He hissed in pain, his body tensing under your touch.
"Stop," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, but his protest lacked conviction. "I don't need your help. Just... go."
Ignoring his objection, you focused on wrapping the scarf around his wound as tightly as you could manage. You were no doctor, but you couldn't just walk away. Not when someone was clearly in danger.
"Shut up," you retorted, your voice steady despite the frantic pounding of your heart. You moved with purpose, more out of necessity than confidence. The man winced as you adjusted the makeshift bandage, but he didn't resist. Perhaps he was too weak to do so, or perhaps he had resigned himself to his fate.
You glanced at him, noticing the way his face was contorted in pain, yet something about his expression seemed off. He was assessing you with a mixture of disdain and something else, something unreadable. Before you could ponder it further, you slipped your arm around his back and hooked his arm over your shoulders, hoisting him to his feet.
"We need to get you to a hospital," you said firmly, half-dragging, half-guiding him toward the street. Your body strained under his weight, but you were surprised at how little resistance he offered.
His breath came out in short, shallow gasps, but beneath that labored rhythm, you heard him mutter, "Idiot."
It wasn't so much the word itself that gave you pause, but the faint smile that flickered across his lips as he spoke it. His expression, so sharp and angry just moments ago, softened into something almost... amused? It was a fleeting gesture, a ghost of a smile, but it caught you off guard nonetheless.
You didn't respond, though his unspoken thoughts echoed in the frigid air between you. There was something unspoken in the way he leaned against you, allowing you to bear his weight. It felt almost like surrender, an unspoken trust in a moment of dire need.
The snow continued to fall, silent and relentless, as you trudged forward, the world around you fading into a blur of white. But in that brief moment, despite the gravity of the situation, you couldn't help but wonder just who this man was and what had brought him to such a state.
While she imagined various scenarios that might have led to his injury, he contemplated how the mere mention of his name would likely send a shiver down her spine.
I need a David Coulthard and/or Susie Wolff historian, a lore keeper if you will, to give me context for these two pictures pls cause i don’t think I can go on without knowing the reason for these
If I had a nickel for every time I saw David Coulthard wearing a dress with a mic in his hand next to Susie Wolff I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice
I always find it fascinating how being an F1 driver was Nico Rosberg’s job. Not his identity. He accomplished what he set out to accomplish and then left because he had no reason to stay.
Like don’t get me wrong. He enjoyed his job (for the most part) and he was dedicated to it. But at the end of the day, it was a job. Those were his colleagues.
And said colleagues cannot relate. They cannot imagine walking away. Because like most professional athletes this is their whole identity from like 5 years old. Most drivers are forced out or retire on the downswing. He was at the height of his career. He could’ve driven for years after 2016.
But he didn’t need to be the best. His goal was to win. He played to win. He won. And then he went on his way. And now he commentates cause he enjoys it, on his terms.
