#Life of Concrete Anchors

[bakuhve]

our love through the lives

reincarnated bakugou katsuki x reader

the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was steady but weak, a fragile hourglass marking the dwindling moments of his life. the evening light spilled through the blinds in soft, golden slants, illuminating the deep lines etched into his weathered face. his once wild blonde hair had thinned and turned silver with time, but his grip- though weak- was still warm in your hand.

a news broadcast played on the small television mounted in the corner, the words barely registering.

“retired pro hero dynamight has not been seen in public for weeks, sparking concern among-”

you barely heard the rest. it didn’t matter. the world could wait.

katsuki let out a slow exhale, his chest rising and falling beneath the thin hospital blanket. his crimson eyes, once blazing with untamed energy, now carried the weight of decades, softened by time but still sharp as they met yours. a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips- fainter than before, but still undeniably his.

“you’re starin’ at me like i’m already dead,” he muttered, his voice rough with age but tinged with dry amusement.

you huffed a quiet laugh, squeezing his hand, the cool metal of his wedding band felt beneath your fingers. “maybe i’m just admiring you, old man.”

his thumb brushed faintly over your knuckles. he sighed, eyes growing heavier. “never thought i’d get this far, y’know? always figured i’d go out with a bang.”

“you did,” you murmured, shifting closer. “you just took your time with it.”

his smirk widened, but only slightly. his hand tightened around yours, as if grounding himself in your presence. “guess i did…” his voice grew softer, barely above a whisper. “and i got to spend it with you. that’s all that ever mattered.”

his hand, once strong enough to tear through concrete, now rested in yours with a fragile kind of warmth. the years had stolen his strength but not his fire- not the stubborn, unyielding spirit that had burned so brightly through every battle, every hardship, every damn thing life threw at him.

he had survived it all. and now, here he was, at the very end of the road with you.

katsuki let out a slow breath, his eyes half-lidded but still gazing at you, as if afraid to blink. “you’re still here,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

your fingers tightened around his, anchoring him to the moment. “of course, always will be.”

“dumbass… ‘course you are.” his eyes drifted to the window, where the sun hung low, painting the sky in soft oranges and golds. “y’know… i always hated sunsets. meant the day was over. meant time was runnin’ out.”

your throat tightened. “katsuki-”

“but,” he cut in, his thumb once again brushing lazily over your skin, “you liked ‘em. so i started watching ‘em too.” his voice grew quieter, raspier. “guess they ain’t so bad.”

you blinked back the sting of tears. you wouldn’t cry. not yet. not when he was still here, still holding on.

“you always had to be difficult,” you murmured, forcing a small smile.

he let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “yeah… but you loved me anyway.”

the words settled between you, warm and final.

the heart monitor beeped- steady, but slower. his fingers twitched in your grasp, his breaths growing shallow. his gaze softened, his body sinking further into the bed, into the pull of sleep that he wouldn’t wake from.

“katsuki,” you whispered, leaning in close, pressing your forehead to his. “i love you.”

his lips parted slightly, his next breath barely there. “love you too.” his voice was nothing but air, slipping through your fingers like the last rays of sunlight.

and then-

the monitor gave one last, drawn-out beep before falling silent.

the world outside kept moving. the news kept playing. the sun kept setting. but in this moment, in this room, time stood still.

you stayed there, holding his hand. as the sky faded to night.

because love like this- like yours- didn’t end.

not really.

it would find it’s way back again. it always did.

—

the sun hung high in the sky, casting golden light over the endless grassy plain. the wind rolled through the tall grass in gentle waves, carrying the scent of earth and wildflowers. you had been walking for hours, wandering. the weight of countless lifetimes pressed against your chest, when you spotted him.

a lone figure moved across the horizon, his silhouette cutting sharply across the distance.

even from a distance, you knew.

bakugou katsuki.

your breath caught. he was different in this life- wilder, untamed. his blonde hair was slightly longer, messily tousled by the wind. a crimson cloak was slung over his shoulders, multiple necklaces consisting of fangs hung from his neck. his furs and leathers were worn from battle, dusted with the remnants of his travels. a sword hung at his hip, his posture relaxed yet ready, like a predator always on edge.

he hadn’t seen you yet.

you should’ve kept walking. should’ve turned away before he noticed. but after waiting for so long, of remembering what he has forgotten- how could you?

and then his gaze snapped to you.

you barely had time to think before he was striding toward you, footsteps firm and unwavering. his crimson eyes burned with suspicion, scanning you like a threat.

“the hell are you doin’ out here?” his voice was rough, sandpaper and steel- just as you remembered.

you swallowed, steadying yourself. “i’m just a traveler.”

his scowl deepened. “tch. yeah? then you’re a dumbass traveler.” his gaze flicked over you, sharp and assessing. “ain’t safe out here. bandits, beasts- you’re either lost or stupid.”

you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

a dry, bitter laugh almost slipped from your lips. if only he knew how many lives you had spent trying to find him again.

but he didn’t. not yet.

you met his gaze, steady. “i can handle myself.”

he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “that so?” a smirk ghosted over his lips, dangerous and intrigued. “doubt you can keep up.”

and just like that, you were whisked away into your next adventure with your beloved. the journey that followed was nothing short of relentless.

at first, bakugou had no intention of letting you travel with him. he was a warrior, a king, and he didn’t have time to babysit some wandering traveler who didn’t know better than to walk alone through dangerous lands. but you were persistent, keeping up with him despite the grueling pace he set. he tried to shake you off, throwing warnings over his shoulder about the beasts that lurked in the forests and the mercenaries who would gut you for a single gold piece. you didn’t waver.

and so, begrudgingly, he let you stay.

your journey took you across endless grasslands and through thick, mist-covered woods. you met many people, most of which resembled your friends from previous lifetimes. a short, green-haired boy who was devoted to his knightly training. a sweet mage who used her powers to heal and make things float, a prince who could control ice and fire.

you camped beneath starlit skies, listening to the distant howls of wolves while the fire crackled between you. bakugou was guarded at first- gruff and distant, keeping conversations short, always watching you like you were hiding something.

but with time, the walls between you began to crack.

there was the time when you fought side by side against a pack of beasts, creatures with blackened fangs and glowing eyes. he had been wary of your skill, but when he saw you hold your own, his usual scowl shifted- just slightly- into something like approval.

then there was the moment you caught him staring into the fire one night, lost in thought. he never spoke of his past, but there was something in that expression that was painfully familiar- the weight of expectations, the burden of leadership. even without his memories of your past lives, he was still the same katsuki.

and slowly, something changed.

he started waiting for you before setting off in the mornings. tossing you extra rations without a word. grumbling about how you were too soft-hearted when you insisted on helping a lost child in a ruined village, only to turn around and build the kid a fire himself.

and when you collapsed after days of travel without rest, he had cursed under his breath, scooping you up into his arms without hesitation.

“dumbass,” he muttered, adjusting his arm around you as he carried you, his grip firm and warm against your skin. “you don’t know when to quit, huh?” but his voice was softer now, no longer the harsh growl it used to be.

you found yourself looking at him differently. his gruff demeanor, the way he carried himself like a lone wolf had always intrigued you, but now it felt different- like the walls between you were slowly crumbling with every shared glance, every quiet night spent together.

one afternoon, as you traveled through the thick and dark forest at the edge of a kingdom, you were ambushed by a group of bandits. they came from the trees, their swords drawn, but bakugou was ready.

with a roar, he lunged into action, taking down the first two with brutal efficiency that you had come to expect from him. but then, one of the bandits turned toward you, his blade aimed at your chest. you barely had time to react, your own sword drawn, but before you could strike, bakugou was there- his fist slamming into the bandit’s face with a force that sent him flying into a tree.

“you okay?” his voice was low, the familiar scowl back on his face, but there was something else in his eyes- something deeper, protective.

“i’m fine, thank you,” you said, though your pulse still raced. “but you’re reckless.”

that night, as you sat beside the fire, you couldn’t help but notice how close he had gotten. not just physically, but emotionally. the long silences that had once stretched were now filled with casual teasing, shared laughter, and the occasional quiet conversation that stretched into the night.

he started to ask you more about your past, though never prying too deep. when you mentioned your travels, he listened intently, his usual bravado replaced by something softer, more curious.

one evening, you found yourselves at the edge of a cliff, watching the sunset paint the sky in streaks of orange and purple. bakugou stood next to you, arms crossed, but this time, he didn’t seem so distant.

“you ever stop to think about what you’re doing here?” he asked, his voice quiet.

you glanced to him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. “what do you mean?”

“i mean… why are you still here? with me, i mean. not everyone’s cut out for this kind of life. it’s not easy.” he shifted slightly, his gaze faraway.

you smiled softly, the memories of your past life flickering at the edges of your thoughts. “i think i’m exactly where i need to be.”

his eyes flickered to you, narrowing slightly as though trying to decipher your meaning. but then, without a word, he reached over, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

you froze, feeling the connection between you stir once more, and you didn’t pull away. neither of you said anything, but in that quiet moment, it felt like the world had shifted.

and with every passing day, the distance between you- the one he had built, the one you had tried so hard to bridge- was slowly disappearing.

he had started to remember, in the smallest ways.

you were sitting by the fire, cleaning your sword after another skirmish with a band of raiders. bakugou was sharpening his blade beside you, his usual scowl etched across his face, but there was something different in his eyes- something far away.

“oi,” he muttered, breaking the silence. “you ever feel like… like this isn’t the first time we’ve done this?”

you paused mid-motion, your fingers tightening around the hilt of your sword. you glanced up at him, trying to hide the flutter of your heart.

“what do you mean?” you asked, though you already knew.

He shifted. “i dunno. it’s just… every time we fight together, or when we get quiet like this, it feels… familiar. like i’ve known ya longer than the past year.”

you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. “maybe you just got used to traveling with me.”

but deep down, you knew the truth.

it wasn’t just the time he had spent with you. it was something deeper- something he was starting to sense, like the lingering pull of a forgotten memory.

a few days passed, and the feeling seemed to grow stronger. every so often, you’d catch him staring at you, like he was seeing something more than just the person beside him. one evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountains, bakugou spoke, his voice unusually quiet. his eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line as if he were grappling with something just beyond his reach. “i’ve seen you before… but where?”

that night, as you both lay beneath the stars, the fire crackling softly, bakugou’s sleep was fitful. he tossed and turned, his brow furrowed in frustration.

when he woke the next morning, he didn’t immediately look at you. he sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“i had a dream,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “a dream about… us. it felt real. like we’ve been through so many things together before.”

your heart raced. you remained still, waiting for him to continue.

“it wasn’t just some damn dream. it was real. i don’t remember everything, but i know… i know i’ve been with you before, haven’t i?”

you could feel the weight of his words, the hesitation, the confusion in his voice. and yet, despite the uncertainty, there was something else- something that made you know that he was starting to remember.

for the first time since meeting him in this life, you reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm. his muscles tensed at your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“yes,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “we’ve been together before. more times than either of us can count.”

bakugou turned to face you then, his eyes wide and the usual fire dimming in them for a moment. “why can’t i remember? why does it feel like i’m losing my mind?”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. “maybe it’s not time for you to remember completely yet. but it will be, eventually. i promise.”

for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. he simply stared at you, as if searching for something in your eyes- something that would make sense of the chaos inside of him.

and then, without a word, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tentative at first, unsure. but as you kissed him back, something shifted. the connection between you, long buried beneath layers of forgotten lives, began to resurface, like a flood of memories fighting to break free.

when he pulled back, his breath was uneven, and his hands trembled slightly as they hovered at your sides.

“i remember you,” he whispered, his voice raw. “i remember you… even if i can’t remember everything.”

you smiled, feeling the weight of years of love and loss that led to this moment. “it’s okay. you don’t have to remember everything right now. we have all the time we need.”

years passed, and the world around you both seemed to change, even though the battles and struggles never truly stopped. the two of you, side by side, had seen countless faces come and go, witnessed victories and losses alike.

the bond between you and bakugou had only deepened, but time, as it always did, wore on. you both had grown, in ways both subtle and grand, shaped by everything you’d endured together. bakugou was still the warrior he had always been, strong and fierce, but the fire that once burned so brightly within him was now tempered by the passing of the years.

one evening, as the sky painted itself in shades of pink and purple, you stood together at the edge of the very same cliff from years ago, overlooking a valley. the winds had settled, and there was nothing but the hum of the earth, as if everything had come full circle. bakugou stood beside you, his posture strong, but the weight of the years was beginning to show.

“do you ever think… that maybe we’re finally done with all of this?” he asked, his voice quiet but carrying the years of uncertainty and battles fought. his gaze was distant, looking at the horizon, but his words were for you alone.

you took a deep breath, feeling the wind sweep across your face, tasting the salt of the distant sea. “maybe. but i think we’ll always find something else. something worth fighting for.”

he chuckled softly, though it was laced with an edge of something unreadable. “always you, huh?” he muttered under his breath.

you smiled softly, turning to face him. “always you, too.”

and so, you and the barbarian king looked out across the vast horizon, and you knew that although this life might be winding down, the end of this era was just another beginning waiting to unfold.

—

the blaring sun in the sky casted it’s golden glow over the vast expanse of the ocean as your ship sliced through the waves. your crew worked in rhythm, their shouts and laughter carried by the salty breeze as they adjusted sails and checked the rigging. you stood at the helm, your fingers gripping the wheel with practiced ease, eyes scanning the horizon.

you’d been sailing for days now, the winds favorable and the sea calm. it wasn’t until the sun dipped lower that you saw it. a ripple in the water, far off in the distance but growing closer. at first, you thought it was perhaps some large fish breaching the surface. but then, you saw him.

a flash of pale golden hair broke through the waves, followed by the sleek and powerful form of a merman. he was a striking contrast to the dark water, with glistening crimson scales that shimmered like polished gemstones. his tail flicked in the sea, the sharp movement sending waves against the ship’s hull.

but it wasn’t the sheer power of the creature that caught your attention. it was the way he moved, the way he looked at you. his eyes locked onto yours, and your heart swelled knowing that you had finally come across your love yet again in this life. your katsuki.

the merman’s lips curled into a smirk as he swam closer, the water parting as if he owned the sea himself. his muscular form stopped just short of the ship, hovering in the water as he regarded you with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

“so you’re the captain of the crimson tempest, huh?” his voice was deep and rough, carrying the weight of the ocean itself. he eyed you with a critical gaze. “i’ve been hearing rumors about ya. thought i’d come see for myself.”

you felt the familiar rush of recognition, but you knew better than to show too much. he didn’t remember yet- as usual. the bond between you that transcended time, that only you knew, was still buried deep within him. but here, in this new life, you had to tread carefully.

you leaned against the ship’s wheel, matching his gaze with calm confidence, despite the racing pulse in your chest. “what’s it to you, merman?” you asked, keeping your voice steady despite the longing that you felt deep inside. “i don’t know what rumors you’ve heard, but they’re just that- rumors.”

he didn’t falter, though something flickered in his intense red eyes. it was there, something beneath the surface that he couldn’t quite grasp, but you could feel it. you could always feel it when he was near.

“you don’t look like the kind of captain i’d expect,” he said, his smirk widening into something dangerous. “but i guess you don’t need to look the part to be effective, right?”

you chuckled darkly, a small smirk of your own pulling at your lips. “i’m plenty effective, merman. you’d do well to remember that.”

you saw a flicker of recognition, a glimmer of something you both had shared before. but it vanished quickly, swallowed by the vastness of the sea between you.

“maybe i will,” he muttered, though the words seemed to hold a different meaning. his lips parted, as if to say more, but instead, he just gave you a short nod.

then, without another word, bakugou dove beneath the water, his powerful form disappearing into the depths, leaving only the gentle ripples of the sea in his wake.

a few days later, you steered the crimson tempest into a small, sheltered cove. the crew had already begun preparations to unload. the ship finally came to a halt against the dock, and after doing your part of the unloading you made your way off the ship and onto the sandy beach of the cove.

and then you heard the sound of water splashing, too rhythmic to be a simple wave. your instincts kicked in and you turned just in time to see a flash of pale blonde hair rising from the water’s surface.

his presence was commanding as usual, and for the briefest of moments, you forgot about all of your responsibilities as captain. all that mattered was him- the katsuki you had fallen in love with over and over again.

he pulled himself onto a nearby rock, water dripping off his body. his gaze never left you, intense and unreadable. the usual cocky smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and you could feel the pull of his presence like an invisible thread between you both.

“you seem to be everywhere i go, captain,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “figured i’d find you here too.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his words, but beneath the teasing tone, there was something more- an underlying tension, an unspoken understanding that had been brewing ever since your first meeting. it was as if he was beginning to recognize something too, even if he didn’t have the words for it yet. even if he didn’t remember.

“you’ve been following me,” you replied, your voice calm but with a hint of amusement. “what is it you want, merman?”

“what i want?” he let out a low chuckle, his voice like the rolling waves. “i’m not sure yet. maybe i just like seeing if i can catch your attention.”

“well,” you said, your tone steady but not without a trace of amusement, “it looks like you’ve caught it.” you will always have it.

you took a step closer, the air between you crackling with an undeniable tension, as if the universe itself were drawing you together again. the warmth of the sun on your skin and the distant sound of your crew working on the ship felt like a distant hum compared to the pulse of energy between you and the merman. it was magnetic, powerful, and for a brief moment, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

he studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he held your gaze that made your heart race. “you’re different,” he said finally, his voice almost quiet. “can’t put my finger on it.”

you almost laughed at the irony, knowing all too well what that something was. you weren’t just another face to him. you were the one he had always come back to, again and again, in every lifetime.

“i think we’ll figure it out,” you replied softly, the undertone of promise hanging in the air.

and then, as if he had just come to a silent conclusion, his smirk returned, but this time it wasn’t teasing. it was real. a promise.

“alright then, captain” he said, his voice low and steady. “i think i’ll stick around. for a while.”

and so, the tide carried on, as it always had, bringing you together once more, just as it always would.

—

the city stretched out before you like a jagged labyrinth of glowing neon signs and towering skyscrapers, the horizon obscured by the haze of pollution and constant movement. neo-musutafu, a city that never slept, pulsed with the rhythm of the future, its streets crawling with the lost, the desperate, and the dangerous. high above, the hum of drones filled the air, ensuring that no one forgot who controlled the night.

you stood at the edge of the rooftop, your gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the flashing lights. the winds howled, carrying the smells of the city- oil, rain, and something darker. below, the streets were alive with a mixture of humans and aliens, some here to live, some here to fight. your job? to ensure the latter didn’t survive.

you were a hunter, part of a covert division tasked with eradicating alien threats before they had a chance to invade. but unlike the other hunters, you didn’t follow the company line blindly. your methods were efficient, precise, and without mercy- traits that had earned you respect, but also enemies. the company you worked for was one of many, and all had their own way of dealing with the extraterrestrial threats. your company? a well-oiled machine, protecting humanity at all costs.

it wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary.

as you adjusted the grip on your weapons, the sharp hiss of your comm device broke the silence. “hunter 19, we have a target. a class-4 alien near the central district. immediate extraction is required.”

you didn’t need to be told twice. in this line of work, hesitation was a luxury no one could afford. strapping your weapons securely, you made your way down the building to the streets below. your mind was already working through the logistics where the alien would strike, how to contain the threat, and the quickest route to the rendezvous point.

this life had worn down both your heart and mind. though the memories of your past lives with your beloved lingered, the countless alien lives you had taken- the blood spilled in the name of duty- had slowly suffocated your spirit, leaving a shadow over your thoughts that you couldn’t shake. for once, you did not go out of your way to find bakugou. he was a dear, but faraway memory. a memory that was too good for someone like you.

you arrived at the outskirts of the central district, the city’s neon lights flickering in the distance like the heartbeat of a restless giant. the alien was close now. the familiar thump of your combat boots on the cold asphalt was a stark contrast to the chaos that simmered just beyond the horizon. you didn’t have to be told twice. every instinct you had honed in your years as a hunter kicked into gear.

the silence stretched, heavy and thick. then, without warning, the alien struck, it’s massive form tearing through the shadows. a blur of movement, its skin slick and black as it lunged toward you. your reflexes took over, but as you dodged, something about the alien’s speed and strength unsettled you. this wasn’t a typical battle.

the alien wasn’t going to make this easy.

the alien roared as it stumbled back, its claws slicing through the air just inches from your skin. you had barely managed to evade its strike, your weapon raised, ready to retaliate when the sudden sound of footsteps broke through the silence.

a shadow darted into your peripheral vision. a figure, hooded and cloaked in dark attire, lunged toward the alien with lightning speed, and in a series of fluid movements, the creature was brought to the ground.

you froze for a moment, startled by the intruder’s sudden appearance. before you could react, the hooded figure twisted, driving a sharp blade straight through the alien’s chest. it let out one last guttural screech before its body went limp.

the hooded figure stood still, chest rising and falling with steady breaths, the alien’s blood dripping from his blade. the streetlights above flickered briefly as if even the city itself had taken a collective breath.

you snapped out of your shock, clenching your fists. your voice rang out, sharp and scathing as you strode toward him. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

the hooded man didn’t flinch at your approach, but his back remained to you, his posture tense. you could tell he wasn’t afraid, and that pissed you off even more. your tone was cold, but there was an edge of frustration you couldn’t hide.

“you think you can just waltz in and kill like that?” your voice grew louder, shaking with the weight of your own guilt. “you’ve got a life on your hands now, a soul you’ve taken. is that really what you want?”

the anger bubbled up inside you, a mix of protectiveness and the instinct to save others from the same burden you carried. your gaze narrowed at the man’s back. “you don’t know what it’s like to have blood stain your hands, do you? to have to live with it, knowing you’ve taken a life… i don’t want that for you. i don’t want you to feel the same damn thing i do.”

the hooded man stood motionless for a long moment, before he slowly lowered the blade and turned toward you, his posture stiff. you couldn’t see his face- just the dark outline beneath the hood- but there was something in his presence, something familiar. it made your stomach twist, a feeling you couldn’t place.

and then, he slowly removed his hood.

the world seemed to stop for a beat, the neon lights casting a glow as your eyes locked onto his face.

those same eyes.

“…(y/n).”

your name. he had said it.

he had never remembered you first before; it was always you who had to find him. but now, the man you had loved through countless lives, the one you had adored over and over again, stood before you.

and you were a monster. he had found you, but at what cost?

you did not reach out to hold him, you did not run into his embrace. instead, you averted your gaze, shielding your eyes from him.

“i’m sorry,” you said, fists clenching by your sides. “i’m not the one you once loved.”

bakugou’s expression twisted, his jaw tightening as if the words stung more than they should have. his eyes, fierce and unwavering, bore into yours as he took a step closer.

“don’t say that,” he growled, his voice low, almost dangerous. “i remember you. from the moment i was born in this life, i remembered all of our past lives. every damn moment of them. i’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

he paused, his chest rising with each breath as if trying to steady the storm building inside him. his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a force that made you flinch, pulling you toward him.

“i don’t give a shit about what you’ve done. none of that matters. it will always be you. it’s always been you, no matter how many lives we’ve lived.” his eyes softened, but the intensity remained. “you’re mine, and no way in hell am i letting you go.”

tears streamed down your face as you struggled in his grip, desperate to break free. “you don’t understand,” your voice cracked, raw with pain. “i have a trail of blood behind me, lives i’ve destroyed… everywhere i go, i carry their ghosts. i’ve hurt so many, katsuki! i’m not the same person!”

katsuki’s grip softened, but only for a moment before he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly. you felt the heat of his body, the steadiness of his heartbeat, and for a second, it grounded you in a way nothing else could. his voice was low but firm, holding an edge of desperation.

“don’t tell me you’re not the same person,” he murmured into your hair. “i’ll fall in love with you every damn time, no matter what you’ve done or how many lives you’ve taken. you’re still the one i’m meant to be with. always have been.”

he pulled back slightly, enough to look you in the eyes. “you can carry your burdens all you want, but you don’t have to carry them alone. i’m right here, and i’m not going anywhere.”

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them crashing down on you like a wave. the tears continued to fall, but this time, they weren’t just from pain- they were from a relief so deep, it left you breathless. you slowly lifted your gaze to his, meeting the intensity of his eyes, and for the first time in this life, the past ones, everything seemed to fall into place.

the countless lives, the struggles, the distance between you- it had all led you here, to this moment. and no matter what had happened before, no matter the paths you had walked, there was one undeniable truth that echoed through the core of your being: you were meant to be together.

you trembled as you cupped his face with shaking hands, your voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything you’d felt across all lifetimes.

“katsuki,” you breathed, your heart pounding. “i… i love you. i always have, and i always will.”

his thumb traced the tear stains on your cheeks before lifting your chin, his gaze softening, but the passion in his eyes was unmistakable.

“i know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “i love you too, always. every lifetime, i find you. and i’ll keep finding you.”

in that moment, everything that had ever separated you- every pain, every fight, every lifetime- faded away. the world around you disappeared as you stood together, hearts in sync.

the universe had tried to pull you apart, had tried to erase the love you shared, but it had failed. you were soulmates- bound together in ways beyond time and death. no matter what came next, nothing would keep you apart.

you both leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips finding his in a kiss that sealed your fate. the kiss was not just a promise for this life, but for every life that had come before and every one that would follow.

and as the kiss deepened, as his arms tightened around you, you both knew- the story wasn’t over. it had never truly ended. it had only just begun.

—

this whole thing is based off the song would you fall in love with me again by jorge rivera-herrans, especially the last part of it. (no seriously. listened exactly 26 times while writing)

i’d love to write more about these universes! inbox is open.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

*Brusts in* I’m on a John Walker high right now!! May I request a fic with him where they’re dating and reader gets badly hurt on a mission and the whole team is freaking out, especially John, man is going BRUTAL on the people who hurt reader. They get her back to the med bay and she ends up fine in the end, and John is so relived and grabs her face, kissing her all passionately and messily. Please and thank you!!

yw!

And You Came Back to Me | Pairing: John Walker x Reader

You don’t answer on comms.

Not for thirty full seconds. Not after the explosion. Not after the static crackles and goes dead.

“[Y/N],” John says sharply, tapping his earpiece like that’ll fix anything. “Come in. Come in, now.”

Nothing.

“Where is she?” he barks at Yelena, who’s ducked behind a busted concrete column.

“She was on the north side—warehouse perimeter—right before the blast—”

John’s already moving. Not thinking. Not strategizing.

Just moving.

Gunshots crack overhead. Debris rains. Someone calls his name, but it’s muffled, unimportant. The second he kicks the steel door open and sees the blood on the concrete — your blood — his chest cracks open.

You’re not there. Just the trail. Like they dragged you.

His eyes go white-hot.

“They took her,” he growls. “They fucking took her.”

Ten minutes later, the warehouse is a bloodbath.

John’s fists are stained to the elbows. One guy’s nose is caved in; another’s on the ground screaming, clutching what used to be his kneecaps. The one who actually took you? He’s pinned against a wall with a rebar spike through his shoulder and John snarling inches from his face.

“Where is she.”

“I—I don’t know, I just followed orders, I—”

“Wrong answer.”

He shoves the metal deeper and the guy shrieks.

Blood. Fire. Smoke.

And finally—finally—a voice in his earpiece: “Got eyes on her! Med bay’s prepped, evac in one minute—”

They pull you from a locked chamber, unconscious, limp in Bucky’s arms. There’s blood everywhere—your shirt soaked, your skin pale, lips slack.

“Vitals faint,” someone says. “Pulse thready.”

John’s already kneeling beside the stretcher.

“Let me—get off—let me fucking see her!”

They try to hold him back, but he won’t be stopped. He pushes past, drops to his knees, and grabs your hand — bloodied, scraped — pressing it to his chest like it’ll anchor you.

“Hey, hey, come on,” he murmurs, voice shaking now. “You’re okay. You’re alright. We’ve got you.”

Your lashes twitch. It’s barely a flicker, but it’s enough.

Back at base, med team works fast. Bullet grazed your ribs. Broken wrist. Mild concussion. A lot of blood loss, but nothing fatal. The second they stabilize you, John doesn’t wait for clearance. He’s in the room, peeling gloves off with shaking hands, sitting beside the cot like a man who’s been drowning for hours.

You stir. “...John?”

He exhales like he’s just come back to life. Leans forward, touches your cheek with his shaking fingers. You blink up at him, dazed and soft and alive. And that’s when he breaks.

His hands cup your face. His mouth crashes against yours — hot, desperate, wet with tears and blood and relief. He kisses you like you’re air and fire and salvation all at once. His lips part yours and he groans, forehead pressed against yours when he finally pulls away.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he says, voice cracking. “Don’t you ever leave me like that.”

“I didn’t plan on it,” you croak weakly, smiling a little.

He lets out a broken laugh. Kisses you again, gentler this time, thumb brushing the dried blood from your temple.

“I thought I lost you.”

“You didn’t,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed. “You found me.”

He kisses your forehead. “I always will.”

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i'd choose you and me...religiously

♡ a/n — for my new childhood friends to lovers series :)

♡ word count — 2.3k

♡ content — karasu tabito x fem! reader, fem! reader, childhood friends to lovers, reader is very normal and quiet, goes through 3rd grade to the U-20 vs Blue Lock game, reader doesn't understand soccer, cuddling, kissing, some cussing

♡ synopsis — Karasu Tabito has always been moved by the ordinary things in life. Your love, your laugh, just you, so ordinary because you just...fit in his life so perfectly.

Tabito Karasu had always been moved by ordinary things. The way rain left trails on windows, the sound of soccer cleats tapping against pavement, the smell of freshly cut grass on the field. Ordinary moments stayed with him long after they’d passed, as if they were somehow more precious than the extraordinary ones.

And then, there was you.

He noticed you before he ever talked to you, always quiet and off to the side, a book or sketchpad in your hands while the other kids played and shouted around you. You weren’t like the rest of them—you weren’t loud, flashy, or attention-seeking. To most, you might have seemed unremarkable.

But to Tabito, you were something special.

He just didn’t realize it until the day he saw you crying.

The afternoon sun was bright and unforgiving, casting sharp shadows on the concrete playground. Tabito was sitting on a bench, juggling a soccer ball between his feet, when he noticed the commotion.

A group of kids stood in a semi-circle around you, taunting you about being “too quiet” and “weird.” You didn’t say anything in return, but your teary eyes and the way you hugged your knees gave everything away.

Before he could think twice, Tabito was on his feet, marching over.

“Hey!” he barked, startling the group. He planted himself between you and them, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he glared them down. “Why don’t you piss off and leave her alone?”

The kids hesitated, their bravado faltering under his sharp gaze. Eventually, one muttered something under their breath before they all dispersed.

He turned back to you, his face softening. “You okay?”

You nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks...”

He grinned, crouching beside you. “No problem. But you owe me big time. The teacher’s totally gonna yell at me for this one.”

Sure enough, he was called out for his language later, but he didn’t care. By then, the two of you had already cemented an unspoken bond.

From that day on, Tabito Karasu became your first—and only—friend.

By the time junior high rolled around, Tabito had become a name everyone knew. He was a rising soccer star, his talent and charisma drawing people to him like moths to a flame. But no matter how busy his life got, he always made time for you.

You, on the other hand, stayed much the same. You kept to yourself, stayed out of the spotlight, and quietly supported him from the sidelines. Every game he played, you were there, clapping and cheering along with the crowd—even if you didn’t fully understand the rules.

“You seriously don’t get it?” Tabito asked one evening, his breath visible in the crisp autumn air as the two of you walked home.

He had just finished explaining the mechanics of offside for the fifth time.

“I mean... I get that the ball should go in the net,” you said hesitantly. “But everything else is... kind of fuzzy.”

Tabito groaned dramatically, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s not that hard! Okay, think of it like chess—”

“Tabito, I don’t know how to play chess.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at you with exaggerated disbelief. “You’re kidding me. You’ve been watching my games for years, and you don’t even know what’s happening?”

“I know you’re good,” you offered, laughing. “That’s all that matters, right?”

He sighed, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.”

By high school, Tabito had become your anchor, and you had become his.

No matter how many people surrounded him or how many girls vied for his attention, he always found his way back to you. He walked you to your classes, saved you a spot at lunch, and invited you over to his house whenever your parents were working late.

One night, after a particularly heavy rainstorm, you ended up staying at his place again. His mom gave you a pillow and blanket for the floor in his room, but when you lay down, the hardwood felt unbearably cold.

“You seriously gonna sleep there?” Tabito asked from his bed, leaning over the edge to look at you.

“Where else would I sleep?”

He rolled his eyes. “Here. Come on.”

“Tabito, your mom said—”

“The floor’s freezing. Just get up here.”

You hesitated, but the warmth in his voice and the ease of his grin convinced you. Moments later, you were lying beside him, your head resting on his chest and his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

“This is too close,” you muttered, though you made no effort to move even though there was plenty of room on his bed.

“Shut up,” he replied, laughing softly.

After a long silence, you spoke again. “Someone asked me what my name was today. We’ve been going to school together since junior high, and they didn’t know my name.”

Tabito’s hand slipped under your shirt, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back. “That’s their loss,” he murmured. “You’re unforgettable.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your heart beating faster than it should have. “Tabito—”

Before you could ask what he meant, his lips were on yours.

When he pulled back, you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off, his voice low and steady.

“I don’t care what happened. I’d never forget your name.” He kissed you again. “Your face.” Another kiss. “Your goddamn voice.”

You stared at him, your cheeks burning, and he grinned. “You’re mine, okay? Have been for a while.”

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window as Tabito’s mom opened the door. She froze, her eyes widening at the sight of the two of you curled up together in his bed.

“Tabito Karasu!”

Breakfast was... awkward. Over toast and eggs, you and Tabito sheepishly explained your newly minted relationship, only to be rewarded with an impromptu birds-and-the-bees talk.

Tabito groaned, hiding his face in his hands while you tried—and failed—not to laugh.

The letter came during your senior year.

You sat under a tree in the park, the letter in your lap as Tabito leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky.

“This is it,” he said softly. “This is how I make it big.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m proud of you.”

His grin faltered when he looked at you. “You don’t look proud.”

“I am,” you insisted, forcing a smile. “I just... I’ll miss you.”

“Hey,” he said, reaching over to take your hand. “It’s not forever. Just until I make it. Then I’m coming back for you.”

You knew he would, because when Karasu set his mind on something, he would get to it, no matter what it took.

You just wished that he wouldn't have to leave for an uncertain amount of time, but you wouldn't say that. He was still yours, always would be, no matter how long you were apart.

When Tabito left for Blue Lock, he packed light—just the essentials. But tucked carefully at the bottom of his bag was something that wasn’t on any checklist: a collection of your letters.

Some were filled with words of encouragement, like the time you’d written after his first big loss, telling him that failure didn’t define him and that he’d always be a winner in your eyes. Others were playful, teasing him about his ego while reminding him to eat properly and not slack off during training. And then there were the ones you wrote late at night, when the ache of missing him felt too heavy to ignore. Those letters carried lipstick marks on the edges, small imprints of your love pressed onto the paper as if they could somehow close the distance between you.

He read those letters often. Whenever the loneliness crept in or the pressure of Blue Lock’s brutal competition threatened to overwhelm him, he would pull one out, smoothing the creases and letting your words fill the silence. Your voice, even through ink and paper, was his anchor.

One day, during a rare quiet moment in the dorms, Otoya noticed one of the letters poking out of Tabito’s duffel bag. Curiosity piqued, he reached over and grabbed one, holding it up with a mischievous grin. “What’s this?”

Tabito, who had been lounging on his bed, immediately sat up. His sharp glare shot across the room like a warning. “Put it down, Otoya.”

But Otoya, ever the instigator, was already opening it. “Aw, come on, don’t be so uptight—” His eyes scanned the first few lines before he froze, his smirk widening. “Oh-ho, what’s this? A girlfriend?”

Tabito was on his feet in an instant, snatching the letter back with a scowl. “None of your business.”

Otoya leaned back, hands raised in mock surrender, but his laughter rang out, echoing in the small dorm room. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Karasu. You’ve got that whole ‘too cool for relationships’ vibe going on, but here you are, all sentimental. Lipstick marks, too? Damn, she’s really got you wrapped around her finger, huh?”

Tabito stuffed the letter into his bag, his jaw tight. He didn’t bother responding to the teasing; it wasn’t worth his energy. Instead, he turned his back to Otoya, muttering under his breath, “Shut up.”

But as Otoya’s laughter died down, Tabito’s fingers brushed the edges of the letter. He could feel the faint ridges of your handwriting beneath the paper, the weight of your love in every stroke of the pen.

A small smile tugged at his lips, one he didn’t let Otoya see.

Because Otoya was wrong about one thing: you didn’t have him wrapped around your finger. No, it was deeper than that. You were his lifeline, his reminder of everything waiting for him back home.

The teasing didn’t matter. The competition didn’t matter. What mattered was the thought of you—always cheering him on, always believing in him.

One day, he promised himself. One day, he’d read those letters with you sitting beside him, not miles apart. And when that day came, he’d show you just how much your words, your love, had carried him through.

For now, though, he folded the letter and placed it carefully back in his bag, ready to fight his way to that future.

Watching the Blue Lock team play against the U-20 team almost put you into an early grave, you swear, Blue Lock won, of course. ( You totally weren't praying on some of the U-20 team's downfall during the game...not at all)

The crowd’s roar was deafening, a wave of cheers and chants reverberating through the stadium. You stood on the sidelines, heart pounding as the Blue Lock team celebrated their hard-fought victory on the field.

You had come all this way to watch him, to see for yourself just how much he’d grown. And yet, even after all these years of supporting him, nothing had prepared you for this moment.

Your eyes darted across the players, searching, until—suddenly—you felt arms wrap tightly around your waist. Your feet left the ground as you were spun around, a loud gasp escaping your lips.

“Tabito!” you exclaimed, laughter bubbling out of you.

When he finally set you back down, you turned to see his grinning face, his hair damp with sweat and a few stray blades of grass stuck to his jersey. He looked different—stronger, sharper, more determined—but when his eyes met yours, the warmth in them hadn’t changed one bit.

“You did it!” you said, reaching out to touch his face as if to make sure he was real. “You actually did it.”

“Of course I did,” he replied, his tone cocky, but his grin softened when his hand came up to cup yours. “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes as pride swelled in your chest. But before you could say anything else, the words you’d been holding back for years tumbled out:

“Tabito, I finally got it today!”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Got what?”

“Soccer!” you blurted, your voice trembling with excitement. “I mean, okay, maybe not all of it, but at the kickoff, I just... I got it! I understood why you love it so much. I felt it. When the game started, I was so excited I almost screamed! And when you got close to the goal, I was on the edge of my seat. I wanted you to score so badly.”

His eyes widened in surprise before his expression melted into something softer, something that made your heart ache in the best way. “You... really mean that?”

“Yes!” you said, gripping the front of his jersey like you’d never let him go. “I finally understood why you’ve worked so hard, why this means so much to you. It’s amazing, Tabito. You’re amazing.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his mouth slightly open as if he couldn’t find the words. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he pulled you into another spin, your laughter echoing above the noise of the crowd.

When he set you down again, he didn’t hesitate—his lips found yours, and the world fell away.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re the one who’s amazing,” he whispered. “And you know what? That was the only goal I needed today—hearing you say that.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you wiped away a stray tear. “You’re so cheesy.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” you admitted, your voice barely audible over the roar of the stadium.

He glanced around, the chaos of victory still unfolding behind him, but all his focus was on you. “Hey,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “Will you follow me? No matter where this takes me?”

You didn’t even have to think about it. “Anywhere. Always.”

His grin returned, wider than ever, and he kissed you again, as if sealing a promise. And as the stadium lights bathed you both in a golden glow, you knew you’d never stop cheering for him—on the field or off.

Karasu Tabito has always been moved by the ordinary things in life. Your love, your laugh, just you, so ordinary because you just...fit in his life so perfectly.

i take him to my pent house and i FREAK IT

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

[chrolloswrld]

DEVILS ADVOCATE , chrollo lucilfer

authors note. this is inspired by something @ddarker-dreams said about chrollo giving insane hot takes just because he loves to debate with reader. i thought the concept was great and wanted to write about it. ignore the title, this is my first post and i couldn’t think of anything remotely creative ( edit : title change bc i got the idea from a reblog )

warnings. implied kidnapping, references to murder, yandere chrollo?? idk he’s a good a man savanah!!!

wc. 1.1k

THE TELEVISION HAD been murmuring in the background for a quite a while now, a steady intrusion against the sterile quiet of the penthouse’s white concrete interior. The noise was constant but idle, like an insect tapping against glass. It chipped away at the silence that had settled across the gold-veined marble floor—silence that felt less like peace and something more similar to mold. One no amount of diluted bleach or thieved luxury could cleanse.

Book in hand, you’d long since stopped paying attention to whatever the flatscreen was spewing. Well, ever since the news segment had started. The screen had started whispering names you sourly recognized. Names Chrollo had unforgivingly erased.

Chrollo’s victims didn’t stay gone—not really. They resurfaced on the news ticker, in black-and-white photos, in interviews with the families left behind. The television, in all its flickering dullness, had become a confessional. Sometimes it felt like it was absolving you—just a little—by reminding you hadn’t pulled the trigger. You’d just stood nearby and let the gun fire.

And speaking of killers—

Chrollo sat across the room, legs tucked beneath him like a monk in prayer, except monks didn’t shamelessly read over their victim’s shoulder or wear silk robes bought from dead men’s riches. He read without apology, eyes snapping between the lines with a speed and precision that made you read faster. In all honesty, he was probably ten pages ahead.

“You dog-ear your pages,” Chrollo observed casually, treating your everyday actions like you were a never-before-seen specimen. Funnily enough, he sounded slightly peeved. You could see him as one of those people who thought bending in pages was a crime against all books. Maybe it should’ve scared you. He’d probably slit throats for less.

Then the news anchor’s voice sharpened, gaining weight. Not emotion exactly—just the strain of someone trying not to show it. You reached for the remote, ready to change the channel, maybe turn the television off completely. And save yourself the emotion turmoil that was brought upon seeing the victims names and faces

Instead, when the screen cut to footage of a man walking through prison gates, you turned the volume up.

The older man squinted against the sun like it was an alien force, blinking into a world that had moved on without him. Bold words took over the screen:

[ WRONGFULLY CONVICTED

DEATH ROW ]

The anchor spoke: “Leon Fitz spent nearly fifteen years on death row for a crime he didn’t commit. Today, newly uncovered DNA evidence proved his innocence, leading to his release.” The image shifted—his photo, broadcast again. Eyes worn down by time, a life stolen. 

You frowned, not out of pity, but out of anger. Frustration. Even understanding, though you knew better than to equate gilded captivity with iron walls. Still, both were cages. Just different brands.

“That’s so stupid. They need to get rid of the death penalty.” You muttered, to no one in particular, but regret stewed in your gut when he turned.

Chrollo moved with the slow grace of someone who’d been waiting for an opening. Like a predator picking up the scent of something interesting.

“Why is that?” he asked, too casually. The question was innocent enough, but the amusement in his eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t curious. He was entertained.

You glared at him. “Because an innocent man almost died. That’s reason enough.”

“But he didn’t die,” Chrollo said, leaning his cheek into his palm. “So the system worked, didn’t it?”

You sighed. “Are you really going to play devil’s advocate on this?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “I’ve worn worse titles.”

“It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

You set down the book; you’ll find out the cliffhanger tomorrow. “Do you have any idea how many people get wrongly convicted? And not all of them get lucky like this guy. Some do die. There is no room for error when the punishment is death.”

Chrollo drummed his fingers on the velvet armrest. “And what about people like me? The ones who aren’t innocent. Surely you’d rather see me executed than fed three meals a day in a comfortable prison?”

You stared at him. “This isn’t about you.”

“No?” He smiled faintly. “You’ve wished me dead before.”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

“Because I’m not the state. I don’t get to decide who lives and dies—and I shouldn’t.”

Chrollo tilted his head. “But someone has to. That’s what justice is, isn’t it? People making choices. Judgments. Consequences. Collateral.”

“Satisfaction is not justice,” you snapped. “You want revenge? Fine. But don’t package it as morality. If you kill someone and call it ‘justice,’ that makes you… well, you.”

He gave an exaggerated wince. “Ouch.”

You ignored him. “Besides, human lives shouldn’t be deemed as collateral. If we have the option to avoid it, we should. And putting life-and-death decisions into the hands of imperfect people? Elected officials and emotionally charged juries? It’s corrupt by design.”

Chrollo considered that for a moment, “What about closure for the victims’ families?”

You narrowed your eyes. “As if you care about victims.”

“I don’t,” he agreed easily. His lack of hesitation sickened you. “But that doesn’t make the question invalid.”

“Maybe it brings relief,” you conceded, “but is that relief worth executing someone who didn’t do it? Because it happens. More than it should. And the fact that we accept that risk? That we normalize it? That’s barbaric.”

“Then what about deterrence?” he asked smoothly, without missing a beat. “Doesn’t the death penalty stop future crimes?”

“There’s no evidence to back that. Most killings are emotional, impulsive. People don’t stop mid-homicide and think, ‘Wait—what are the sentencing guidelines in this state?’”

“I do,” Chrollo argued.

You gave him an unimpressed look. Chrollo leaned back, watching you with open amusement.

Then he laughed—a soft, delighted sound. That to you, sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “You’re so passionate when you argue. Your devotion to your ideals is downright charming.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored the compliment. “So you agree with me. Half your points were hypocritical,”

“Hmm,” he murmured, dodging the question. He leaned forward, voice low and intimate in way that was unnerving. “I just like watching you fight for something. It’s… refreshing.”

You didn’t reply. Partly because you were tired of debating, and partly because that look in his eyes—the one that mixed mischief and composure—always left you with the sense that he already knew how this argument ended.

Then, with a slow, almost affectionate motion, Chrollo reached out and tugged you closer, one hand curling around your wrist as he rose to meet your gaze.

“Let’s save this for tomorrow,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’d hate to waste a good debate when we’ve got all the time in the world.”

And just like that, the conversation ended. Not with a conclusion. But with control, hidden beneath a velvet smile.

“Whatever.”

[meadowfics]

high on the clouds

stoner!kang dae-ho x f!reader

synopsis: smoking with your stoner fiancé <3

warnings: weed, suggestive and spicy content, established relationship. 18+

distant car horns ring in the distance as you sit up here on the balcony.

it’s just you and daeho feeling the cool air on the warm july night.

the air is crisp, tinged with the faint chill of summer nights. you lean against the railing, the metal cool under your palms while watching the skyline, from seoul in the far distance, glitter like it’s trying to compete with the stars.

beside you, daeho lounges in one of the mismatched thrifted chairs you’d dragged out here months ago. the man's long legs sprawled out, one arm slung lazily over the armrest.

your man's dark hair, reaching just past his shoulders, catches the faint glow of the streetlights below. daeho's cheekbones, sharp enough to cut glass, seem to carve shadows into his face as he tilts his head back, exhaling a slow, curling plume of smoke.

the joint glows faintly between his fingers, the cherry flaring red as he takes another hit.

the scent of weed, earthy and slightly sweet, drifts toward you, mingling with the city air that smelled like gas and greasy food.

it’s familiar, comforting in its own way, its what you've known for last four years of your life with daeho.

you weren’t always into smoking weed, not like daeho, who could roll a joint with the kind of effortless precision that made it look like an art form.

back when you first met, you’d wrinkle your nose at the smell, teasing him about his “hippie habits.”

daeho, with his easy grin and that low, rumbling laugh, had a way of pulling you into his orbit.

one shared hit turned into two, then three.

before you knew it, you were hooked...not just on the weed, but on him.

“are you starin’ at the city, or at me?” daeho’s voice breaks through your thoughts, low and teasing, with that lazy drawl that always makes your stomach flip.

he’s looking at you now, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he holds the joint loosely between his lips, the smoke curling around his face like a halo.

daeho's hair is loose tonight, framing his face in soft waves, and you can’t help but think he looks like some kind of rockstar poet.

you smirk, leaning back against the railing, crossing your arms.

“the city’s prettier,” you say, but your eyes are locked on his.

the way his lips twitch tells you he knows you’re lying.

“oh okay,” he says sarcastic, while chuckling as he takes another drag. the smoke spills from his mouth in a slow, deliberate stream.

he holds it for a moment, then exhales, his gaze never leaving yours.

“c’mere.”

you hesitate, just for a second, because you know where this is going.

you don’t smoke as much as he does...never have.

daeho’s the kind of guy who can go through half a joint and still be sharp enough to speak clearly or fix the sink when it inevitably clogs.

you, on the other hand, get floaty after a couple hits, your thoughts softening at the edges, your body sinking into a warm, hazy glow.

tonight, with the city sprawling out below and the quiet intimacy of the balcony wrapping around you both, you want it.

you want the high, the closeness, the way daeho looks at you when you’re both a little buzzed, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

you push off the railing and walk over to him, your bare feet soft against the cool concrete of the balcony floor.

he pats his thigh, an invitation, and you don’t bother pretending you’re not going to take it.

you settle onto his lap, straddling him, your knees pressing into the cushion of the chair on either side of his hips.

daeho's free hand finds your waist immediately, fingers slipping under the hem of the oversized sweater...his sweater, technically, stolen from his side of the closet months ago.

daeho's touch is warm, possessive, but gentle, like he’s anchoring you to him.

“want some?” he asks, holding up the joint, the smoke still curling from the tip.

daeho's voice is softer, replaced by something more intimate. your man's bright eyes search yours, and you can see the care there, the way he’s checking in.

he always does this. he loves to makes sure you’re good, that you’re not pushing yourself too far.

it’s one of the things you love most about him, the way he takes care of you without making you feel fragile.

even though he's fragile.

you nod, and he brings the joint to your lips, his fingers brushing against your mouth as he holds it for you.

you inhale, slow and steady, letting the smoke fill your lungs.

it’s smooth, not too harsh, and you hold it for a moment before exhaling, watching the cloud drift up into the night.

the familiar warmth starts to spread through you, loosening your limbs, softening the edges of the world.

you lean forward slightly, your hands resting on his shoulders, and he watches you with that half-lidded gaze that always makes your heart race.

“good?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that you can feel in your chest.

daeho's hand on your waist tightens slightly, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin.

“mmhm,” you hum, already feeling the high kicking in.

your head is light but not spinning yet. you tilt your head, smiling down at him.

“you’re too good at this, you know that?”

he grins, all sharp cheekbones and lazy confidence, and takes another hit himself before setting the joint in the ashtray on the table beside you.

“what, smoking or taking care of you?”

“both,” you say, and your voice comes out softer than you mean it to.

your emotions are heavy with the weight of four years of moments like this...nights spent tangled together, laughing over nothing, sharing secrets in the dark.

you slide your hands up to his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the high curve of his cheekbones.

daeho's hair falls over your knuckles, soft and a little tangled, and you can’t resist threading your fingers through it, tugging lightly.

he lets out a low hum, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer until your chest is pressed against his.

“you’re getting all soft on me,” he murmurs, but there’s no mockery in it. it is just warmth, and something deeper that makes your throat tight, “you good, baby?”

“yeah,” you whisper, and it’s true.

you’re more than good, sitting here with him while the weed softens the edges of everything. you lean in, resting your forehead against his, your noses brushing.

“I love you,” you say, the words slipping out like they always do when you’re unguarded and a little high.

“I love you too,” he says and his voice is rough, like he’s been smoking too much, but it’s also so damn sincere it makes your chest ache.

daeho's hands slide up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones, mirroring the way you’re touching him.

for a moment, you just stay like that, breathing each other in, the air between you charged with something electric.

after a few seconds, he kisses you.

it’s slow at first, almost lazy, his lips brushing against yours like he’s savoring every second.

when he tilts his head, deepening it, and it’s like a switch flips.

daeho's tongue slides against yours and you can taste the weed on him, earthy and sharp. you kiss him back just as hard, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer.

he groans into your mouth, a low, rumbling sound that sends heat pooling low in your belly. daeho's hands slide down to your ass, gripping you tightly.

you shift in his lap, pressing yourself closer until there’s no space left between you.

“fuck,” he mutters against your lips, his voice rough and needy.

you giggle, breathless, and nip at his bottom lip.

“you’re the one who started this,” you say, your voice teasing.

your hands slide down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his t-shirt, the steady beat of his heart under your palm.

he kisses you again, harder this time. one hand is tangling in your hair, the other slipping under your sweater to rest against the bare skin of your lower back.

daeho's touch is possessive, but there’s a tenderness to it, too, like he’s reminding himself to be careful with you, even now.

you arch into him, your body responding instinctively. he lets out a low curse, pulling back just enough to look at you.

daeho's eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and his lips are red and swollen from kissing you. the man's hair is a mess from your hands, falling over his shoulders in loose waves, and he looks so damn good it’s almost unfair.

“you’re too much,” he says with that lopsided grin that always makes your heart skip, “you sure you’re good? not too high?”

you shake your head, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“i’m perfect,” you say, and you mean it, "you always take care of me.”

“yes I do,” he says.

daeho pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your jaw, your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, “I always will take care of my pretty girl.”

you tilt your head back, giving him better access, and he takes it.

daeho's mouth hot against your skin, kissing and nipping in a way that makes you shiver. your hands slide under his shirt, tracing the lines of his ribs, the lean muscle of his stomach, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“careful,” he murmurs, but there’s no real warning in it, “you keep touching me like that, and we’re not staying on this balcony.”

you laugh, low and breathless, and tug at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

it lands somewhere on the balcony floor, forgotten, and you take a moment to just look at him. daeho's skin is warm under your hands, his chest rising and falling with each breath, and those cheekbones catch the light in a way that makes him look almost otherworldly.

you lean in, kissing him again, and this time it’s slower, deeper, a kiss that feels like a promise.

he groans softly, his hands sliding up your sides, pushing your sweater up as he goes.

“you’re wearing my clothes again,” he says, his voice muffled against your lips, “looks better on you.”

“you say that every time,” you tease, but your voice is shaky.

your body hums with the combination of the high and his touch. you pull back just enough to tug the sweater off, letting it fall beside his shirt, and his eyes darken as he takes you in, his hands settling on your bare waist and your boobs.

you had no bra on, so the outside air makes your nipples harden just right.

“fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, cupping your underboobs with both hands.

the way he says it like it’s a fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, makes your heart ache.

he pulls you closer, kissing you again, and this time it’s messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue and heat.

you grind against him, feeling his cock harden beneath you, and he curses under his breath, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks.

“daeho,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

he hears you, because of course he does.

he always does.

“i got you,” he says, and his voice is rough but so damn soft, like he’s promising you the world.

he shifts, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat of him, the way his body fits perfectly against yours.

daeho's lips find your neck again, kissing and sucking, and you tilt your head back, letting the sensation wash over you as you wimple softly.

you lose track of time after that. daeho's hands are everywhere, mapping your body like he’s memorizing it again. you’re just as greedy, your fingers tracing every line of him, committing him to memory all over again.

the joint sits forgotten in the ashtray, but the high lingers, wrapping you both in a warm cocoon.

eventually, you end up curled against his chest, his arms wrapped around you, your head tucked under his chin.

the city is still alive below, but it feels far away now, like it can’t touch you.

daeho’s hand strokes your bare back, slow and you can feel his heartbeat under your cheek.

“you good?” he asks again, and you can hear the smile in it.

“mmhm,” you hum, nuzzling closer.

“you?”

he laughs, a low rumble that vibrates through you.

“i'm the best guy in the world right now,” he says, and you can feel the truth of it in the way he holds you, like you’re something precious, something he’d never let go of.

masterlist

hehe

[austinbutlerslovers]

Poor Judgement

Label Mature 18+

Summary Drawn in by the temptation that is Hank Thompson, you keep finding excuses to keep him in your life, under the guise of it being more than just a fling.

🔗Masterlist

⚠️ Hardcore Smut ⚠️ Hank dom• bad decisions • heavy make outs • necking • constant physical touch• size kink •crawl to me• body worship • oral on male • oral on female • nipple play • clit play• ride me• girl on top • male bucking/ up thrusting • simultaneous orgasms • creampie • after care 

*Heavily based on the trailer ✨Inspo multiple asks 💕 dms 💕 comments💕

Poor Judgement

The neon glow of the bar’s sign buzzes above you, casting a green hue over the locked glass door of a dive bar tucked into a gritty corner of New York’s Lower East Side.

 It’s 1:17 a.m. and the city night is filled with the sounds of distant sirens and the occasional stumble of late-night stragglers. 

You’re leaning against the window, your breath fogging the glass, heart jumping as you peer inside. 

Hank Thompson, all six feet of him, is stacking barstools, his San Francisco Giants cap low over his blue eyes, his sandy blonde hair peeking out in soft curls at the nape of his neck. 

His broad shoulders strain against his fitted black T-shirt, and his muscles flex with each barstool he stacks. Hank is all power and presence, and you’re utterly gone for him.

You knock on the glass lightly, and his head snaps up. Those sharp blue eyes lock onto yours, and a slow, teasing smirk forms on  his full lips. 

He strides over, all confidence, and presses his big palm against the glass right to yours, his voice, muffled but clear cuts through the window. “Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

You tilt your head, batting your lashes, playing coy despite the heat rising in your core for him. “Let’s go back to your place so you can take advantage of my poor judgment.” you tease.

Hank’s smirk deepens, eyes glinting with intent. “I depend on your poor judgment.” He confirms his voice low, like he’s already imagining what’s next. 

He holds your gaze a beat longer, then gestures with a tilt of his chin. “Meet me out back.”

You’re around the corner in seconds, pulse racing. The alley is narrow, smelling of damp concrete and stale beer, but when Hank steps out, locking the bar’s back door, the world narrows to just him. 

He flips his cap backward to see his hands lock up under the alleyway light, exposing more of that tousled sandy blonde hair, and when finished, he walks toward you, all heat and promise. 

You’re on him before he can say a word, your hands sliding up his firm chest, feeling the hard ridges of his pecs. He chuckles, deep and warm, catching your wrist in one big hand.

“So eager for me,” he teases, but his free hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up. “We have all night,” he whispers, his full lips pressing onto yours, heavy and demanding. 

Your mouths slide together in a hard, hungry kiss, and your already lost in his taste—whiskey and mint, all heat and control. His tongue sweeps against yours, and you press so close you can feel the steady beat of his heart under your palms.

You barely make the block to his apartment, stopping every few steps to make out like teenagers. At one point, he backs you against a brick wall, his massive frame caging you in, one hand braced above your head. “You’re gonna wreck me before we even get there,” he says, nipping your lower lip, but his grin says he’s loving every second. 

By the time you reach his building, he’s fumbling with his keys, and you’re pressed against his back, hands slipping under his shirt to trace the tight muscles of his abs. 

He groans softly once he opens the door, and turns to pin you against the entry wall, kissing you so fiercely your knees buckle. His cap’s still backward, blonde curls spilling out, and you clutch at them, anchoring yourself as you lean into his kisses, earning a low groan from his chest. 

You’re a mess, hands sliding down to his firm biceps, practically climbing him as his hands roam your hips, squeezing hard enough to make you moan as he grinds his hard cock against you. Your mouths devour each other, heads tilting, lips and tongues clashing with reckless hunger

You’re whimpering into his mouth, when a door creaks open and an elderly woman in a bathrobe steps out, clutching a trash bag. 

“Come on kids get a room” she snaps, eyeing you both with unamused disapproval.

Hank pulls back, trying not to flash a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Ms. Kitty.” He says lowering you down and tugging you toward his door, unlocking it with a quick twist as you both step inside.

His apartment is small but quaint, a shrine to baseball, Giants pennants pinned to the walls, a New York borough map framed above the couch, empty beer cans on the coffee table. 

The air smells faintly of his cologne and something warm and unmistakably him.

You’re barely inside before he’s on you again, kicking the door shut and pulling you close. His hands are everywhere, roaming and possessive, sliding under your shirt to grip your waist. 

You feel tiny against him, fragile but cherished, like he could easily break you but he never would.

“Bedroom,” he says, his voice rough, and you nod, too caught up to speak. He leads you down a short hall, his hands guiding you with a firm grip on your hips.

The bedroom’s dimly lit by a warm amber glow from a small bedside lamp, casting soft shadows across the bed. You pause, heart pounding, as you turn to him. “I’ve got a surprise for you, Hank.”

His brows lift, intrigued, as you step back, to the bed pulling off your top and lowering your skirt to reveal the orange lingerie in Giants colors beneath. It’s a lacy bra and panty set that hugs your curves just right and Hank’s eyes darken with desire as his jaw tightens taking you in.

“You’re a goddamn dream, you know that?” he says, his voice low and thick, utterly enraptured as his blue eyes lock on to yours. 

He places his hat on the bed as he begins  undressing too, kicking off his Puma sneakers and pulling his black shirt off over his head, revealing the hard lines of his chest and abs. 

You bite your bottom lip, arousal surging as your eyes rake over his strong chiseled form, your eyes filling with lust by how impossibly hot he looks.

His sun-kissed skin is ripped with muscle, his thick arms flexing as he slides out of his jeans. His white boxers cling to his thighs, the outline of his large cock straining against the fabric with a faint trail of blonde hair leading down from his navel.

You’re practically drooling with want, but he just smirks, picking up his cap and settling it back on his head.

“Wearin’ my Giants colors,” he says, his voice low and husky, blue eyes glinting with pride. “Gonna make you my MVP tonight.” he says, and you grin, loving his claim.

He gestures you to him with his hand, a dark, seductive look in his blue eyes. “Crawl to me,” he says, his voice low and commanding, and your heart races at the possessive edge in his tone.

You climb onto the bed, crawling slowly, your eyes locked on him as he watches the way your hips sway, your breasts framed perfectly by the lacy bra. 

When you reach him he lowers one big hand, and you rest your chin in his palm, gazing up at him with lust-filled eyes.

He pulls his lower lip in with a slow bite, arousal written all over his face. “Good girl,” he praises, his voice filled with promise, and you ache for him.

He leans down, lips brushing your ear. “You want me so badly, don’t you?” He says, his voice a seductive tease, and you nod, breathless, as he straightens back to his full height.

“Show me how much,” he says, his hand lowering to his boxers and releasing his thick, heavy cock, its size daunting as your eyes widen with desire.

You look up at him, eager to please, your lips parting wide as you take him into your mouth. His hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you with just enough roughness to make you moan around him. 

He slides his cock in and out, as far as it will go, and you’re lost to him, eyes watering, loving his taste, how he takes control, how he makes you want to be his.

The sounds become lewd, a loud sloshing noise as you whimper around him, your core clenching, your panties soaking through. Your eyelashes flutter as he guides you faster, your cheeks hollowing as you suck harder.

He groans, the sound heavy with approval, his blue eyes glinting with dark satisfaction as he watches you. “That’s it, keep that mouth working for me,” he says, his voice low and controlling with a teasing edge cutting through. “You’re trying so hard to please me, aren’t you? Fuck, I love seeing you desperate like this.”

You’re beyond aroused now as you press your thighs together, desperate for friction, and your mind numbs from the sensation as he fucks your mouth, your moans vibrating around his cock, aching for release.

He suddenly pulls out, a loud slick sound, as you gasp for breath, chest heaving. “Fuck, you suck my cock so good,” he says, his voice rough with approval, “But I’m not ready to come yet, I want more of you,” He says, as his hand returns to your jaw, pulling you up to him. 

His lips crash into yours, full and demanding, tongues tangling in a heated in a desperate kiss, your mouths moving together in raw passionate need. His hands slide up your waist as you pull back from the kiss to stare at him. 

“Hank…I can’t get enough of you,” you confess, your voice filled with lust as your fingers trail along the brim of his cap. He looks at you with reverence, his blue eyes darkening. “I want you in every fucking way,” he confesses, his voice low and ravenous.

He tilts his head and kisses you again, your mouths sliding together with an all consuming need.  He pulls off his cap, tossing it aside, his blonde hair falling loose, framing his face. 

He’s stunning, his broad shoulders rolling as he slides your soaked panties down your legs, the fabric clinging to your slickness. 

You step out of them, and his hands trail up your thighs, gripping the backs to brace you as he trails kisses down your stomach. “Gonna eat you out until come for me,” he says, his voice heavy with promise.

You nod eagerly standing on the edge of his bed, the perfect height difference for him as he settles between your legs. 

His mouth meets your pussy, and his tongue slides in hot and relentless teasing your sensitive folds as you moan desperately, your head tipping back as chills roll up your spine feeling Hank eat you out.

You’re soaked as his tongue rolls expertly over your clit, teasing and sucking it with pleasure. “Oh, Hank… so good,” you moan, incoherent praises spilling from your lips. 

Your hands thread through his sandy blonde hair as he rubs his mouth between your legs, grazing your sensitive skin. He starts flicking his tongue in quick, precise circles, as his fingers slide in spreading you open, making faint cries fall from your lips. 

The pleasure throbs in your core, his rapid licks and gentle nips at your clit enough, to make you clench inside as his fingers coax you to the edge, and your body trembles as you suddenly come with a soft cry escaping your lips. 

You’re lightly headed and breathless as he easily guides you onto his lap. He settles on the edge of the bed as you sit on his thighs, his large hands sliding up to the back of your neck, pulling you into another heated kiss. 

Your tongues clash, breaths mingling desperate and needy as his lips claim yours with unrelenting hunger. His rough hand strokes his cock already thick and ready. “Ride me,” he whispers, his voice firm. “My cock is so fucking hard for you.”

You nod, arousal consuming you, your mind a void of bliss, lost in the heat of his words.

You straddle him, the tip of his cock hot and thick as you sink down slowly, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as he fills you and stretches you at the same time. 

His hand holds the back of your neck guiding you, as his other hand lowers to flick the clasp of your bra and sliding  it off. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good on me,” he breathes kissing your neck before leaning in for more, his tongue swirling over your nipple.

Your back arcs pushing your chest to his face and he sucks your nipple into his mouth, sending tingles down your body. 

“Hank, please,” you gasp, desperate, your pussy so wet as you roll your hips, your barely able to focus. 

“Keep going, your riding me so perfect” he praises, sliding his mouth to your other breast. His warm breath fans over your skin before he pulls your nipple into his mouth and the wet suction makes your core clench as your moans turn soft, breathy, almost angelic.

“I know that sound so well,” he says, voice low and hushed. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” You nod, lost in him, and his hands grip your hips, guiding you to sink deeper onto his cock. 

“Let me feel you,” he whispers, and the sensation of sliding up and down on his cock is so good that your thighs tremble feeling the how achingly deep he reaches in your core. 

“So fuckin’ good,” he groans, staring into your eyes, his pleasure evident in the way he tilts his hips, angling his cock perfectly as you slide up and down on it, his full lips parted, his blue eyes hazy with lust.

You’re a whimpering mess, chasing the rhythm he sets his hands guiding your hips as he watches you with an intense, ravenous gaze. 

His cock is hitting so deep it’s overwhelming, and your core throbs in pleasure. His fingers glide around your clit until a slick mess coats the base of his cock then he flicks and pinches it, until you’re begging breathless. “Hank, please fuck,” gasping for breath.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, widening his thighs and angling his cock up into you. Your eyes roll back, hands sliding to his neck as you feel up thrust up. You bounce on him, trying hard to keep balance as he pistons you up and down in his lap, his pelvis smacking up against yours.

“Fuck, you feel so good on my cock,” he praises, his voice rough, and his words send you spiraling, a loud moan escaping as your arousal peaks.

The sounds of his thrusting become loud, almost obscene, and he groans deeply with each one, his abs flexing, until his thrusts are so fast and hard you begin to climax.

Your pussy throbs, a wet smacking sound filling the air as you moan his name and you start to orgasm.

“That’s it come for me” He says and you tilt your head back, too lost in pleasure to even form words. Your body arches, hips grinding down hard, taking his cock deeper as your thighs quake, the pleasure making you rhythmically squeeze around him, chasing every last moment of ecstasy.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he groans, his eyes closing, his entire body flushing pink. “Fuck, I’m done for,” he rasps, his voice raw with pleasure.

He starts to come deep inside of you, his cock pulsing fiercely. “Fuck yes,” he groans, his voice raw and triumphant, guiding your movements to milk every last drop as he throbs spilling more.

When you both finish, shuddering and breathless, he pulls you up into his arms, his cock slowly slipping out of you with a slick, wet sound, leaving a sudden ache of emptiness. Your chest heaves as you breathe against his ear, feeling the loss of his warmth.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat as he guides you to the middle of the bed laying down to rest you against his broad chest. 

His fingers stroke your shoulder, his blue eyes softening as he gazes into yours. 

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he says, trailing his fingers along your temple, his thick bicep flexing.

You glow under the praise, but there’s also an ache…your heart wants more. You already know you’re desperately in love with Hank.

“Your something else too” you reply softly your fingers sliding over his chest. 

Your eyes are filled with want as you look deep into his, desperate for him to make it official, to claim you as his. 

He doesn’t say it, instead he just nestles you a little closer and you give in to the overwhelming exhaustion of your body.

As you drift off to sleep, his lips softly kiss your forehead, and you think, maybe, just maybe, Hank is in love with you too.

END 🧢 

🔗Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me 

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mani-pedro @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika@feralgodmothers @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @unicoo @thejoywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2 @skulliecadaver-blog @jjubilee-fluff @laurenmcquilty @louisejoy86 @butlerrizz @kulturalismellektermek  @pookie3bear3000

[aspenmissing]

hiiiii hii hi hi ummm could you do jinx (anyone, but mainly jinx pls) with a reader just as clingy as her? not so much chaotic as her but they both always share that “pls don’t leave me” energy and bond over it, idk do whatever u want ofc, thank you !!

ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ? || 5226 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ? ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ (ᴏɴ ʏ/ɴ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ, ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JINX

The moment Jinx first laid eyes on you, something shifted inside her—a subtle spark that said you were different. Not in the “I can fix you” kind of way—she never wanted to be fixed—but in a way that quietly filled the emptiness, like discovering a mirror that reflected more than just her own loneliness.

It wasn’t long before you realized that the connection was mutual. You found yourself drawn to her erratic energy and vulnerability, clinging to her as fiercely as she clung to you. In your shared silences, in the unspoken assurances between hesitant touches, you both found a solace that the chaotic world around you never provided.

One chilly evening atop a worn rooftop in Zaun—where the city’s harsh neon glow danced against the dark sky—Jinx broke the silence. With her legs dangling over the edge, she mused, “Y’know, most people get all weird about this whole attachment thing.” Her eyes, alight with mischief and a hint of fear, searched yours for understanding.

You settled beside her on the crumbling ledge, drawing your knees close and resting your head lightly against her shoulder. “Like we care what most people think,” you replied, your voice soft but resolute.

A crooked smile spread across her face as she nudged your forehead with hers. “Exactly! That’s what I like about ya.” There was a quiet intimacy in that moment—a shared defiance against a world that always seemed intent on leaving you both behind.

For both of you, the bond was born of the same desperate energy: the need for someone to anchor you when everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. You never thought she was too much, even on nights when she clung to you after a terror-filled dream, or when she demanded you stay close while she lost herself tinkering with unpredictable explosives. And in return, she never questioned the way you’d reach for her hand when the uncertainty of life in Zaun grew overwhelming, or how you always made sure to be by her side when the world fell into a heavy, uneasy quiet.

Some might call this attachment unhealthy, but you both knew it was more—a lifeline amid chaos. Because in a city where every moment was a struggle to hold on, you only ever wanted one thing: to never be alone.

=

Then, one night as rain slicked the metal and concrete around you, she asked, almost in a whisper, “Where are you gonna go?” Her fingers toyed with one of her cherished bullets—a ritual of sorts whenever fear crept in.

“What do you mean?” you asked, genuine curiosity mingling with concern.

She paused, her eyes reflecting the harsh blue lights of Zaun. “Y’know… if everything goes to shit. If Zaun burns, if Piltover clamps down even harder, if—if everything falls apart.” The words hung in the air like a question with no easy answer.

A small frown creased your brow. “That’s a dumb question,” you said, though your tone betrayed the worry beneath your words.

Jinx’s fingers froze on the cold metal. “Oh?” she challenged softly, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

Slowly, you turned your head, allowing the scattered light of Zaun to dance in your eyes as you gave her a look that said, without words, you idiot—I've got you. “If everything falls apart,” you murmured, “I’ll still be here.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady patter of rain against the metal. Then, almost imperceptibly, Jinx extended her pinky toward you. Before she could even fully process it, you responded in kind, interlocking your pinky with hers in a timeless gesture of promise. She stared at that small, tangible commitment—afraid, hopeful—and then gripped your hand a little tighter, as if anchoring herself to a lifeline.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper yet filled with unwavering certainty, “I promise.”

In that simple act, the weight of a thousand unspoken fears eased just a little. It was a fragile promise in a world where nothing was certain, but it was enough. Because even if the streets of Zaun burned and the chaos of Piltover seeped into every corner of your lives, you knew that as long as you had each other, there was a chance to weather the storm.

JAYCE

The warm glow of Piltover’s streetlights bathed the city in a golden hue as you walked side by side with Jayce, your fingers loosely hooked around his arm. The night carried the scent of metal and oil from the nearby workshops, mixed with the faint aroma of fresh bread from a late-night bakery down the road. Despite the cool breeze brushing against your skin, the warmth radiating from Jayce’s body kept you comfortably snug, and as always, you couldn’t help but press yourself just a little closer.

Jayce let out a soft chuckle, his deep voice laced with amusement as he glanced down at you. “Y/N, you’re practically glued to me.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, nuzzling your head against his shoulder as your grip tightened around his bicep. “That’s because I missed you today.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “We were only apart for a few hours.”

You pouted up at him, exaggerating the expression just to see if it would get a reaction. “That’s a few hours too long.”

Jayce smirked, shaking his head again, though the fondness in his chocolate-brown eyes was unmistakable. He pulled his arm free for a second—just enough to sling it around your shoulders and tug you even closer against him. “You really are something else, you know that?” His voice was full of mirth, but there was an undeniable tenderness beneath it.

You grinned up at him, taking the opportunity to slip your arms around his waist as you both continued walking. The streets of Piltover were mostly quiet now, the usual bustle of inventors and enforcers settling down for the night. The two of you strolled along at a leisurely pace, Jayce’s thumb rubbing gentle circles against your shoulder.

“Do you ever get tired of this?” you mused, your cheek pressed against his chest as you matched his steps.

He arched a brow. “Of what?”

“Me clinging to you all the time.”

Jayce let out a low chuckle and pressed a kiss against the top of your head. “Not even for a second.” His voice was sincere, steady, like he meant every word. “If anything, I’d say I’m the lucky one.”

You felt your heart do a little flip at that, your arms tightening slightly around him. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

=

After a while, the two of you made it to his workshop, the familiar scent of parchment, oil, and metal filling the air as you stepped inside. The space was cluttered in a way that was undeniably Jayce—blueprints scattered across his desk, half-built contraptions lying around, and his signature hammer propped against the wall.

As soon as he sat down at his workbench, you wasted no time climbing onto his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jayce didn’t even flinch. If anything, he welcomed it, one of his hands automatically settling on your lower back as he reached for a pencil with the other.

“You know,” he murmured as he sketched, “if anyone else saw us like this, they’d probably think I’m completely whipped.”

“You are,” you teased, leaning in to nuzzle his cheek. “And you love it.”

Jayce exhaled a soft laugh, his free hand slipping up your spine to tangle in your hair. “Can’t even deny it,” he admitted, turning his head just enough to brush his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss.

You smiled triumphantly, feeling warm and utterly content. “Good answer.”

For a while, he actually tried to focus on his work, his pencil scratching against the paper as he murmured calculations under his breath. But every so often, you would shift in his lap, pressing a kiss to his jaw, tracing patterns along the back of his neck with your fingertips—little distractions that made him exhale in amusement, though he never once asked you to move.

“You’re gonna get distracted,” you murmured eventually, brushing your nose against his.

Jayce hummed, setting his pencil down and finally giving in, both of his arms wrapping tightly around you. “I already am,” he admitted, his voice softer this time. “But I don’t mind. Not when it’s you.”

A pleased hum left your lips as you melted into his embrace, pressing your forehead against his. His warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it was all so perfectly Jayce, and you never wanted to be anywhere else.

Jayce tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured, “I really do love how clingy you are, you know.”

“I know,” you whispered, grinning as you buried your face against his neck. “And you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured back, his arms tightening just a little more around you.

And just like that, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the warmth of his workshop.

VIKTOR

The familiar creak of the apartment door opening was nearly drowned out by the howling wind outside. The bitter chill of the night air followed Viktor as he stepped inside, his cane tapping softly against the wooden floor. He exhaled, his breath slow and measured, exhaustion seeping into his very bones. Another late night. Another long evening lost to the glow of blueprints, the sharp scent of metal, and the endless calculations that cluttered his mind.

As much as he was devoted to his work, as much as his mind thrived in the pursuit of progress, there was only one thing—one person—who could make him feel like all of it was worth it. The thought of her waiting at home, the warmth of her presence lingering even when she wasn’t beside him, was what had kept him going through the hours of grueling research.

He leaned his cane against the wall and sighed, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension settled deep in his muscles. The fatigue wasn’t just physical; it was mental, emotional—a weight that only lightened when he was home.

The apartment was quiet, bathed in the dim glow of candlelight from the bedroom, casting soft golden hues against the walls. His heart softened. She must have left it burning for him, just as she always did, a silent yet ever-present reminder that she was waiting.

He stepped forward, moving toward their shared bedroom, and the moment he pushed the door open, the sight before him made his tired heart ache.

She was curled up on his side of the bed, her small frame tucked beneath the thick blankets, her arms wrapped so tightly around his pillow that it might as well have been a lifeline. Her soft face was buried into the fabric, her lips slightly parted as she breathed steadily, the faintest trace of warmth lingering on the pillowcase where her breath had melted into it.

She looked so peaceful. So delicate in sleep, like a dream that would slip away if he made too much noise.

Viktor’s lips curled into a small, weary smile. He knew how much she craved his presence, how she always sought the warmth of his touch, the security of his embrace. She was clingy, some might say—always reaching for him, always resting her head against his shoulder, always finding little ways to touch him, whether it was intertwining her fingers with his or pressing herself into his side absentmindedly.

And he loved it.

It was grounding. She was grounding.

He had spent most of his life feeling distant—too absorbed in his work, too separated from those around him, too accustomed to being left behind. But not with her. No, never with her.

With her, he was not just Viktor the scientist, Viktor the co-creator of Hextech—he was simply Viktor. The man she loved. The man she waited for.

Carefully, he slipped out of his vest, letting the fabric fall away before loosening his tie and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. The night had been long, but this… this was what made it worth it.

Moving slowly, he approached the bed, sitting on the edge with careful precision, not wanting to disturb her. His fingers reached out, brushing against a few strands of her hair, gently tucking them behind her ear. The warmth of her skin lingered beneath his touch, and his chest tightened at the way she instinctively leaned into it, even in sleep.

She mumbled something incoherent, shifting slightly before clutching his pillow even tighter, her brows furrowing as though she felt the emptiness of the bed beside her.

Viktor let out a soft chuckle, quiet but full of warmth. Even in sleep, she missed him.

His body was heavy with exhaustion, but he wanted to be close to her. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the bed, moving slowly so as not to wake her too suddenly. The mattress dipped under his weight, the familiar creak of the frame filling the silence.

And then, as soon as his warmth settled next to hers—she stirred.

“…Vik?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, barely above a whisper.

“I am here, lásko,” he murmured, his accent soft, his voice full of quiet reassurance as his fingers ghosted over her cheek. (Love)

She hummed, barely opening her eyes before she let out a slow, sleepy sigh. Without hesitation, she released the pillow from her grasp—only to immediately replace it with him.

Her arms wrapped around him with surprising strength, her body shifting so she could mold herself against his. Her face pressed into his chest, nuzzling against the fabric of his half-unbuttoned shirt, her warmth sinking into him in a way that made the weight of exhaustion disappear, if only for a moment.

He let out a slow breath, a quiet chuckle humming against the top of her head. “You are clingy, even in your sleep, moje láska” (My love)

She only hummed, her fingers grasping at the fabric of his shirt as if making sure he stayed this time.

“I missed you…” she murmured, her words muffled against his chest, tinged with drowsiness.

His heart clenched at the softness of her voice. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, his lips warm against her skin.

“I am here now,” he whispered. “Sleep, moje láska.”

She exhaled slowly, her entire body melting into his like she had been waiting for this moment all night. Her breathing evened out again, her grip on him not loosening in the slightest.

And for the first time that day, Viktor felt at peace.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax, to breathe in the comfort that was her.

She was always within reach

JAYVIK

The lab was warm, filled with the gentle hum of Hextech cores and the rhythmic scratching of Viktor’s pen against parchment. The soft glow from various devices cast long shadows against the walls, flickering slightly as if alive. The faint scent of oil, parchment, and a lingering trace of Jayce’s cologne mixed in the air, comforting in its familiarity.

Jayce, sleeves rolled up and brow furrowed in concentration, leaned heavily over a blueprint sprawled across the worktable. His muscles tensed as he studied the schematics, fingers twitching slightly as if he were already assembling the mechanism in his mind. Every so often, he would mutter something under his breath, adjusting a measurement or making quick annotations.

Viktor, on the other hand, sat poised, a stark contrast to Jayce’s fidgeting. His pen danced effortlessly across the page, notes forming in neat, efficient strokes. His golden eyes flickered toward Jayce now and then, a quiet amusement lingering in them at his partner’s obvious frustration.

And then there was you—nestled between them, wrapped up comfortably in one of Jayce’s coats with Viktor’s scarf draped over your shoulders. The coat smelled like him, like home—an earthy warmth mixed with hints of metal and the faint traces of whatever cologne he had dabbed on that morning. Viktor’s scarf was softer than expected, well-worn and slightly frayed at the edges, but you liked it that way. It smelled like ink and faintly of copper, a reminder of just how much time he spent in the lab.

You always needed to be touching one of them. It wasn’t even a conscious thought—just an instinct, a tether grounding you to them. Whether it was the warmth of Jayce’s arm beneath your fingertips or the way Viktor’s knee occasionally bumped against yours as he shifted in his seat, the contact soothed you. It was as if their presence alone wasn’t enough; you needed to feel it, to confirm that they were real, that they were here.

At that moment, one hand rested lightly on Viktor’s arm, feeling the warmth beneath his sleeve, while the other absentmindedly played with the hem of Jayce’s shirt. The soft fabric slipped between your fingers, an idle motion, but it kept you connected to him.

Jayce let out a deep sigh and leaned back, dragging a hand through his already tousled hair. “I think I’ve been staring at this too long,” he grumbled, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“You have,” Viktor replied without looking up, adjusting his notes with careful precision. “Your handwriting is suffering.”

You giggled softly, shifting slightly to lean into Viktor’s side, careful of his cane propped against the table. “Told you so,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

Jayce cracked one eye open and shot you a playful glare. “Oh, so now you’re ganging up on me?”

You hummed in amusement, resting your head against Viktor’s shoulder. “Mhm. That’s what you get for not taking breaks.”

Viktor, ever the enabler of your clinginess, smirked and gave your knee a light pat. “She does have a point,” he mused.

Jayce groaned dramatically, stretching his arms above his head before reaching for you. Before you could react, he grabbed your waist and effortlessly pulled you onto his lap, securing you in place with a strong arm around your middle. You let out a small squeak of surprise, squirming slightly as he held you there.

“If you’re going to be so cuddly,” he murmured, voice deep and teasing against your ear, “at least distribute the affection evenly.”

You huffed but didn’t resist, letting yourself sink into his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. Even still, you stretched your arm out, fingers searching for Viktor’s. He didn’t hesitate, intertwining his fingers with yours in a quiet show of acceptance.

“Better?” you asked, peeking up at Viktor with a playful glint in your eyes.

He let out a soft, long-suffering sigh but squeezed your hand lightly. “You are insatiable,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, though the fondness in his expression betrayed him.

You grinned unabashedly, nuzzling against Jayce’s chest while still holding onto Viktor’s hand. “You love it,” you said, your voice muffled against the fabric of Jayce’s shirt.

Jayce chuckled, his free hand stroking lazily up and down your back. “We do,” he admitted, pressing a warm kiss to your temple.

Viktor hummed in agreement, though he shifted slightly, as if debating whether to pull away from the moment to return to his work. You weren’t about to let him. With an exaggerated sigh, you tugged at his hand, keeping him anchored to you.

“No more work,” you insisted, peeking up at him. “Just for a little while.”

He looked at you, eyes scanning your expression as if trying to argue, but in the end, he relented. With another shake of his head, he exhaled and leaned back slightly.

“You are a terrible influence,” he murmured, though he made no move to pull away.

You beamed at him, victorious, and snuggled further into Jayce’s embrace, feeling the comforting weight of Viktor’s hand still holding yours.

The work would still be there in an hour. But right now? Right now, none of you were in any hurry to move.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quiet tonight. A rare thing, considering the usual hustle and bustle of Zaun’s infamous bar. Normally, the air would be filled with the sounds of laughter, the clinking of glasses, the occasional scuffle breaking out in the corner. But tonight, it was different. The usual patrons had either stumbled home early or were deep in quiet conversations at their tables, leaving the bar unusually subdued. The dim lanterns above flickered, casting long, warm shadows across the wooden walls.

But none of that mattered to you.

Because he was here.

Vander.

Your Vander.

The sight of him alone was enough to pull you in. He sat at the counter, broad and sturdy as ever, nursing a tankard of ale in one hand while his other absentmindedly rested against the wood. His expression was unreadable, but you could tell—he was thinking about something. He always did that when things got too quiet. His brows would furrow just the slightest, his jaw would tense, and his fingers would flex as if grasping at something unseen.

You hated seeing that look on him. It wasn’t that you didn’t respect the weight he carried—how much he took on for everyone, how much he sacrificed—but you wished he didn’t feel like he had to do it alone.

So, naturally, you did what you always did.

With a soft sigh, you draped yourself over his shoulders from behind, arms winding around his thick frame, pressing your cheek against the worn fabric of his coat. He was solid and warm, the scent of smoke, leather, and a faint trace of ale filling your senses.

Vander let out a gruff chuckle, setting his drink down as he tilted his head just enough to acknowledge you. His thick, calloused fingers reached up, lazily brushing against your arm.

“Again, love?” His voice was low, rough in a way that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. But it was warm too, like embers glowing beneath the ash.

“Mhm.” You hummed, nuzzling into his shoulder, arms tightening around him like a lifeline. “You’re so comfy.”

He let out a deep sigh, one that might’ve sounded exasperated if not for the undeniable fondness laced through it. His broad chest rose and fell beneath you, steady and sure.

“Y’know, people are watchin’.” His voice held a teasing edge, but beneath it, there was something else. An unspoken question.

Are you sure you wanna be this close to me in front of everyone?

You barely hesitated.

“So?” you murmured, pressing a kiss against the rough stubble along his jaw. The scratchy texture made you smile. “They already know you’re mine.”

That got him.

Vander let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, the sound reverberating through his chest and into you. His shoulders shook slightly with it, the tension he’d been holding onto melting away like ice meeting warmth. He shook his head, but you could see it—the way his lips twitched, fighting a smile.

His hands, strong and scarred, slid up your wrists, prying you away just enough so he could turn on the barstool to face you. The moment he did, you climbed into his lap without hesitation, making yourself comfortable as if you belonged there. Because you did.

He let you settle, his large hands bracketing your waist, holding you against him like you might slip away if he let go. You could feel the heat of him through your clothes, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he murmured, his gaze flickering over your face like he was memorizing every inch of it.

You grinned, poking a finger against his chest. “Something you love.”

A beat passed. His expression softened, something unspoken lingering in his stormy blue eyes.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice lower now, rougher in a way that made your heart stutter. His grip on you tightened slightly, fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt as if anchoring himself. “Something I love.”

That was all you needed to hear.

You melted into him, resting your head against his broad chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He smelled like home—like smoke and steel, but beneath that, something distinctly him. Safe. Familiar. Yours.

His fingers moved, slow and absentminded, tracing circles against your lower back. The touch was warm, soothing, like he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding you.

“Y’know,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “you could just carry me everywhere. I wouldn’t mind.”

Vander let out another deep chuckle, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Mhm.”

He shook his head, but his arms didn’t move from around you. Instead, they tightened just a little, as if silently agreeing with your request.

“Spoiled little thing,” he muttered, though there was no bite to it—just adoration.

And, well—if he held you just a little tighter after that, neither of you mentioned it.

SILCO

The atmosphere in The Last Drop was thick with smoke and the murmurs of business, as always. Silco held his usual commanding presence, sharp-eyed and unreadable, every movement deliberate. He stood at the center of the room, a sharp contrast to the chaos surrounding him—where others drank, gambled, or plotted, he remained poised, a force of control amid the unpredictability of Zaun.

You stood beside him, posture composed, expression neutral, as though the act of restraint didn’t tear at you from the inside out. It was a battle you fought every time you were by his side in public. You knew better than to cling to him, knew that in the eyes of others, Silco was a man who demanded power, respect, and unwavering loyalty. He had cultivated an image, one that didn’t allow for softness, for indulgence, for anything that could be perceived as weakness.

But it was so hard.

Your fingers twitched at your side, aching to reach for him, to feel his warmth, to remind yourself that he was there, close enough to touch. But you held yourself back, forcing your hands to remain still, curling them into small fists to resist the urge. It was second nature to want to be near him—to press yourself against him, to let his presence ground you, to absorb his very essence. But out here, in front of everyone, that wasn’t allowed.

Still, he noticed.

While he discussed dealings with Finn, while Sevika hovered nearby with a drink in hand, his sharp gaze flicked toward you—once, twice—brief, calculating glances that told you he saw everything. The way your body tensed with effort, the way you stood rigidly in place, the way your lips pressed together in frustration.

And then, without a word, his gloved fingers brushed against yours.

It was so subtle, so fleeting, that you might have thought it accidental. But before you could dwell on it, his fingers deliberately laced with yours, pressing firm, solid, real.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding against your ribs.

It was small, barely noticeable, but to you, it was everything.

You held onto that touch for the rest of the evening, even after he withdrew his hand to return to business. It was enough to get you through, enough to keep you from crumbling beneath your own restraint. But every second that passed, every deal he struck, every hushed conversation he had, you counted down to the moment you could finally have him to yourself.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the two of you returned to the privacy of his office.

=

The second the door clicked shut, it was as though an invisible chain snapped. You surged forward, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing yourself into him as though you might melt into his very being. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his vest, clutching it like a lifeline as you buried your face into his chest. He smelled of cigars and expensive cologne, a familiar scent that wrapped around you like a blanket.

Silco let out a soft huff of amusement, though his arms came around you easily, pulling you flush against him. His grip was firm, his touch practiced, as though he expected this from you the moment the door closed.

"You," he murmured, voice tinged with amusement, "must you always act like you’ve been starved of affection?"

You nodded without hesitation, your cheek pressed against the warmth of his chest. "Yes."

He let out a low chuckle, his fingers stroking absentmindedly down your back, tracing small, slow circles. "You held back admirably."

"I hated it," you admitted, your voice muffled against his vest. "I just want to hold you all the time."

Silco sighed, tilting your chin up with a gentle touch, forcing you to meet his mismatched eyes. The red one gleamed in the dim light, sharp yet softened by something unreadable. "You do realize I am not going anywhere?"

"Don’t care," you muttered, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him. "Let me be clingy now."

His lips brushed over your temple, and this time, there was no teasing, no sharp amusement—only quiet understanding.

"Very well," he murmured, then took your hand and led you toward the worn leather couch near the fireplace.

He sat first, sinking into the cushions with the ease of a man who had lived a thousand battles, and you wasted no time following. You practically threw yourself onto him, arms winding around his torso as you half-climbed into his lap, tucking yourself against him like a puzzle piece meant to fit. Silco exhaled softly, one arm draping over your shoulders, the other hand resting idly against your hip as he leaned back into the couch.

For a man so guarded, so sharp and calculating, he had a way of holding you that made you feel like the most precious thing in the world. His touch was firm, grounding, as though even in these rare moments of stillness, he was unwilling to let you slip away.

You let out a deep, content sigh, shifting slightly to get even closer. "This is better."

Silco hummed in agreement, fingers threading lazily through your hair. "I imagine you'd suffocate me if given the chance."

"Probably," you admitted, voice drowsy with comfort. "Wouldn't even regret it."

His chest rumbled with amusement, but he didn't move away, didn't push you off. If anything, his arm tightened around you just slightly, just enough for you to feel it.

You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in the warmth of each other, away from the prying eyes of the world. Here, there was no restraint, no expectations—just the quiet understanding between two people who knew how cruel the world could be, but had found solace in one another.

And Silco, despite all his carefully cultivated power and distance, let you cling to him for as long as you needed.

[tacoguacamole]

ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 10

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, Major Fluff For This Chapter, Romance, Slowburn, Splice of Life]

[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. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Chapter Word Count: 10.4k+]

[Chapter Summary: Some moments settle without warning. Some feelings never really leave. And sometimes, the heart remembers before the mind is ready to follow.]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

It was one of those days in Seoul where the seasons made no sense.

The sun was high, almost harsh in its shine, but the wind bit like winter still had teeth. The sky had the color of summer — blue, clouds stretching thin like whispers at the edge of morning light but the air didn’t stick to your skin the way it usually did this time of year. It just… drifted.

Like everything was holding its breath.

And maybe you were, too.

You’d been floating for who knows how long.

Not metaphorically — though that would’ve fit.

No, you were literally drifting on the surface of the pool behind your mother’s house. Arms spread out. Face tipped to the sky. Head against the concrete edge. The silk of your pajama dress fanned out around you like petals in slow bloom.

The water was cool. Not cold enough to make you shiver, but enough to keep you awake. Enough to keep you anchored in your body, even while your mind wandered miles away.

Above you, the branches shifted in the breeze — skeletal, wiry, still bare despite the month. Wind whispered through them in spirals. Like the trees were trying to talk you out of your own head.

You didn’t remember how you got in. Just remembered the silence. And how loud it had been since.

Jeongguk had called. Once, the night that followed since, then twice on the night after. You let it ring both times.

The third time, this morning, your fingers hovered – wet and trembling – just above the screen. You stared at his name glowing, thumb hesitating over the green button. You could still hear his voice from those nights ago, rough and aching, filled with longing; you’re not sure.

“Baby.”

“You’re still you.”

But then the call went to voicemail, and the moment passed.

You didn’t mean to listen. Not really. But your finger slipped before you could think twice. And suddenly there he was — muffled, low, not as steady as he probably meant to sound.

“Hey… it’s me. I… uh—” You imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose like he always did when he was frustrated with himself. “It’s too early. I’m sorry if I’m pushy but I just…” Another pause. “Call me if you want to. Or… don’t. I just wanted to know if you’re okay.” Soft static. A throat-clearing. Then, “I miss our breakfast. That’s all. Bye.”

That was hours ago. You hadn’t listened again since.

You didn’t know what you wanted. Or maybe you did — and just weren’t ready to face what came after.

Jeongguk’s voice had stayed with you, even when you sank under the water. Even when you pressed your ears beneath the surface to block out the world.

You don’t hear the gate creak open – or maybe you do. Just don’t care. The water always gave you a kind of serenity, even back then. The water mutes everything. Even the sound of your name being called from the garden path.

“Yah. Yah. Are you serious right now?” It’s Hobi’s voice, and your body flinches like it’s been caught. You turn your head slightly, the cold breeze brushing your cheek. He’s standing by the pool, arms crossed, looking like he aged ten years since breakfast.

He sighs. “Your mom wasn’t exaggerating.”

“She called you?” Your voice is rough – barely recognizing it.

“Said you looked like you were somewhere else this morning. She said you went outside; never came back in.”

“I was just thinking.”

“In the pool. In your pajamas.”

You gesture vaguely at the sky. “It was sunny.”

“It’s eleven degrees.”

You shrug. “Felt warmer.”

Hobi exhales hard, then crouches by the poolside, mutters under his breath, grabs your wrist – not roughly, but firmly enough to mean it.

And when you don’t resist, he hauls you out like a wayward child. The chill in the air hits you like a wall. You shiver, and only then do you realize how numb your fingers are.

“Go change,” he’s already shoving you toward inside the house. “Then come back, sit your ass down. We’re having a talk.”

In your room, you tried taking your sweet time. Showered thrice. Did your skincare for at least ten times, already accepting the after effects would result into a disaster. Went through the closet for a bunch of outfits you knew you didn’t care about.

You could only do so much to stall; knew Hobi would come up and drag you for what’s waiting.

So you give it up, change into the first t-shirt you found and some loose jeans, pulled the first cardigan in your pile. The faint smell of detergent and lavender sticks to you.

Your limbs feel heavier now that you’re warm again. The stillness in your chest starts to ripple.

When you return to the patio, Hobi’s already made himself at home. He’s taken over the garden bench, two mugs of something steaming in his hands.

“You took your time,” he says, handing you the one with the chipped rim – your usual. “Figured you’d try to escape through the upstairs window.”

“Thought about it,” you admit. “But you’d find a way to bring me back here.”

He huffs a laugh, then jerks his chin toward the chair across from him. “Sit. And no sulking.”

You drop into the chair with a quiet groan. The mug warms your palms.

For a few seconds, it’s just the trees rustling around. A sparrow hopping across the grass. Then Hobi lifts his phone, squints at it, and taps the screen.

“You’re not dragging Jimin into this,” you protest weakly, already predicting what he was about to do.

“Oh, I absolutely am,” he says with glee, just as the FaceTime ring echoes.

It only takes two rings.

Jimin’s face appears on the screen — blurry, then clear — and he looks far too smug for someone who should be working. “Well, well, if it isn’t Seoul’s favorite mystery case.”

“I’m leaving,” you mutter.

“No, you’re not,” Hobi and Jimin say in unison.

“I swear to god—”

Jimin leans into the camera. “Tell me why Hobi Hyung just said you went for a swim in an eleven-degree weather. Are you training for triathlons now? Emotional Olympics?”

“It was barely a dip.”

“She was floating like a tragic koi fish,” Hobi supplies. “Wearing silk pajamas. I nearly had a stroke.”

Jimin cackles. “Of course she was. Drama. Always drama.”

You pull the cardigan tighter around yourself. “Okay, say what you need to say.”

“We want to know what’s going on,” Hobi says, gentler now. “You’ve been off. More than usual.”

Jimin nods. “It’s like you’re sleepwalking. But emotional.”

You hesitate. Then, very softly, “I kissed him.”

Silence. A bird chirps somewhere in the hedge.

Hobi blinks. “You—?”

“Kissed Jeongguk,” you clarify, staring into your mug. “A few nights ago. After Jin’s anniversary dinner.”

Jimin lets out a long, low whistle. “Damn.”

Hobi just stares. Then mutters, “That explains the existential pool moment.”

You sniff. “Fuck, this is so messed up.”

“Oh, babe,” Jimin sighs. “You’re exactly like this every time.”

Your brows knit. “Every time?”

Jimin leans back dramatically. “You were like this when he first tried to kiss you back in uni.”

Your head snaps up. “Chim.”

“No, let me say it,” Jimin grins, leaning forward towards the camera with the mischief of someone already savoring the story. “Remember after his third-year photo showcase? Kid won, got so excited, you were just there. He tried to kiss you after and you panicked so hard you knocked over his camera bag.”

Hobi nearly chokes, snorting into his drink as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “God, that day.”

“Then you ran,” Jimin continues, eyes wide with mock betrayal. “Vanished. Didn’t go back home to your shared apartment. Didn’t go to classes either.”

“Urgh, that was dramatic,” Hobi groans, slouching dramatically in his seat. “Crashed at my place for what—three whole days?”

“Just because she couldn’t face him. Because she was a chicken,” Jimin adds, jabbing a playful finger in your direction. “Gguk begged to stage a fake emergency just to get you to see him.”

“And we helped him for what?” Hobi throws his hands up, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“Because they were so cute back then,” Jimin sighs, placing a hand over his chest like the memory still haunts him. “Tiptoeing around each other, hiding their feelings—I wanted to run them over with my car.”

“I was nineteen!” you protest, pulling a cushion into your lap defensively. “What did I know about feelings?! He had a whole fan club going after him.”

“Yet you were the only one he gave his attention to,” Jimin counters, raising a brow.

“Because I was his best friend!” you exclaim, voice pitching.

“No,” Hobi interjects, pointing a spoon at you with conviction. “You had the emotional processing skills of a nine-year-old, not nineteen.”

Your jaw drops. “You can’t seriously be on his side.”

“I’m just saying what I remember,” Hobi shrugs, then leans back, arms folded. “Gguk had a crush on you way before that. You did know that, right?”

You blink, caught off guard. “No. Why do you think I was thrown off when he confessed in the middle of our apartment years after? You know that story.”

“Ahh, the magical confession that started it all,” Jimin sighs theatrically. “How could we forget. You mentioned he was planning to confess to someone. After the daily lessons you gave him, you spent every day at my apartment, finishing all my ramen.”

He adds. “When I came back from tour that year all I wanted was to binge watch my favorite series and eat some food that the company would sue me for, and what do you know—I come home to an empty cabinet instead.”

Hobi bursts into laughter, nearly tipping his cup. “If only she’d known it was her all along.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “You both are impossible.”

But the mood shifts when Jimin’s voice softens. “The only difference now is that it’s not an attempt and it’s not by Gguk. This is all you.”

You stay quiet, the cushion now clenched between your arms.

Hobi reaches across the table, fingers tapping lightly against your wrist. “You know I haven’t been his biggest fan over the past few years. I’m just worried. We’re just worried. You look like you want the earth to swallow you. Do you regret it?”

Your hands slowly fall into your lap. You stare at them for a moment, then whisper, “No regrets. I just…I don’t know. It felt real. But I don’t know what it means. And I’m scared it doesn’t mean the same thing to him. Heck it hasn’t been for a few years.”

Jimin tilts his head, brows furrowing. “Did he pull away?”

You shake your head. “No. He—he kissed me back.”

Hobi’s eyebrow arches, but he stays silent.

“He was… soft,” you say, voice quieter now. “Careful. He even said we were going to talk about it – about us.”

The words hang in the air like mist. Both your friends freeze slightly—just enough for you to notice.

“Oh,” Jimin murmurs, eyes gentling.

“You haven’t talked since then?” Hobi asks, eyes locked on yours like he’s trying to read between the silence.

You exhale, shoulders sagging as if the air leaving you carries too much weight. “Been dodging. In three years, this is the most normal we’ve ever been. It’s more than I can wish for—and I fucked it up.”

“How would you know?” Hobi’s voice sharpens just a little, not unkind. “You’ve been avoiding him.”

You throw him a tired look. “Why are you encouraging this?”

“Am not,” he says, lifting his palms in mock surrender. “It just sucks to see you drowning yourself—I mean almost literally if I hadn’t arrived.”

Jimin’s voice crackles through the speaker, softer now. “We’re just concerned, Sunshine. You’re not going to get answers to your what ifs if you keep running away from him.”

The sudden buzz of your phone cuts through the air, making you flinch. You grab it quickly, heart leaping—but it’s not his name that flashes across the screen. Just a calendar notification.

You try not to show your relief. “Got to go,” you stand, and brush the leaves that’s fallen on your pants. “Long day ahead.”

Jimin gasps dramatically on the call. “Come on! We’re not done here.”

You roll your eyes, smirking as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Well boohoo, I’ve got better things to do than sulk about my love life.” You turn to Hobi with a raised brow, slipping your phone into your pocket. “Mind driving me?”

He grins, already rising from his seat and grabbing his keys. “Yes! Lecture part two, let’s go.”

“Aww man, this isn’t fair!” Jimin wails, sticking his lower lip out and clutching dramatically at his chest on-screen.

Hobi snorts and taps the screen. “Okay, drama king, that’s enough.” He ends the call before Jimin can protest again, stuffing his phone into his back pocket with a chuckle. “He’s going to text us in all caps.”

“Deserved,” you mutter, lips twitching as you walk beside him.

The supermarket is quiet for a weekday, the kind of hush that only soft music and squeaky cart wheels dare to interrupt. You’re thankful Hobi doesn’t press anymore the whole time since you’ve left the house – already noticing your mood becoming brighter for the day that’s waiting ahead.

You're halfway through the produce aisle, holding a checklist and peering suspiciously at a box of clementines when Hobi hums beside you. "You always shop like you're about to enter battle."

You glance at him. "I am entering battle. With a hundred hyperactive children."

"Fair," he laughs, tossing a pack of juice boxes into the cart.

You’re scribbling something on your list when a flash of movement catches your eye—and your breath stops short.

Down the aisle, barely a few meters away, is Jeongguk. In all black. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, tattooed arm stretching to reach something on the top shelf. He hasn’t seen you yet.

You instinctively duck behind a shelf of rice crackers and kimchi jars.

Hobi pauses mid-step. “What the fu—”

“Shh!” you whisper harshly, gripping his jacket sleeve.

Hobi glances up, follows your gaze, and spots him. His lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. “Oh no, you don’t get to run this time.”

“Hobi—” you hiss, panicked.

Too late.

He raises his voice a few decibels too high, cheerful and fake. “Oh, Jeongguk-ah! Fancy seeing you here!”

You snap your eyes shut. “You traitor.”

Jeongguk looks up, eyes landing on Hobi. Before he can say anything, a glass jar clinks too loudly behind the kimchi display. His eyes shift, catching the familiar shape of your shoulders as you freeze in place.

His brows lift in surprise, then soften. “Hey.”

You straighten awkwardly, heat blooming in your cheeks. “Hi.”

Hobi, satisfied with his sabotage, checks his phone with dramatic flair. “Ah, look at the time. I actually have somewhere to be.”

You whirl around. “No, you don’t.”

“Do now,” he says, grinning unapologetically. “You’ve got company. Better company. Call me if you need anything.”

“Hobi—”

He grabs the cart handle and gently pushes it toward Jeongguk. “Have fun, you two,” he singsongs, already walking backwards. “Don’t forget the toothpaste!” And with a mock salute, he’s gone.

You’re left standing there, arms stiff at your sides, while Jeongguk looks at you with a mix of amusement and mild concern. “Hyung's not going to answer in case you call, is he?” he asks lightly.

You huff. “Probably already blocked me off for the rest of the day."

“Can I—help?”

You hesitate, then glance at the cart. It’s already half-full. You do need help carrying things. “Fine. But you’re just helping. No comments.”

“Got it.” He nods, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Silent mule at your service.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the small smile sneaking up on you either. “Let’s just finish this.”

The grocery store lights are too bright for your mood. Fluorescent rows hum above your head, flickering occasionally, as if to match the static in your chest.

You grip the cart like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Jeongguk walks beside you in silence, pushing the cart now without being asked. You hadn’t planned for him to be here. That part wasn’t in your to-do list. But the shopping still had to get done—for them.

The silence between you is strange. Not quite heavy, but too aware. It’s only broken by the occasional squeak of the cart wheel or the murmur of announcements over the speaker system.

He follows your lead quietly, as you start pulling toys and snacks from the shelves, loading them one by one. A pack of watercolor sets. Soft pastel bears. Fruit jellies and rice snacks. Colorful markers, even if they’ll end up dried out within a few days.

Jeongguk watches you – moving around, adding more things into the cart. You can feel the question fighting to come out when he finally speaks. “This isn’t for you, is it?”

“Nope.” You don’t explain further.

He doesn’t push.

At some point, you reach for a box on the top shelf—foam clay, pastel-colored. You stretch onto your toes, fingers grazing the edge.

But before you can tip it into your hand, an arm reaches past you. Jeongguk takes it down like it’s nothing. Hands it to you without meeting your eyes.

“Thanks,” you murmur, tucking your hair behind your ear.

He nods.

A few aisles later, you reach for the bulk box of milk packs and lift it with steady arms—manageable, nothing you haven’t done alone before.

Before you can set it in the cart, Jeongguk takes it from your hands, placing it down gently, like it’s second nature.

“Gguk,” you start, unsure what you mean to say. Maybe something like you don’t have to, or I didn’t mean to drag you, but neither sound right in your head.

“Please,” he says softly, like he’s heard the words anyway. “Let me.”

You stare at him for a second too long. He doesn’t look at you, but his fingers linger on the cart handle, tense for a moment before they loosen again.

By the time you reach checkout, the cart’s half-full with things you don’t even remember picking up. You pay before he can offer, brushing off his wallet with a shake of your head.

He doesn't argue.

Outside, the clouds have rolled in, softening the edges of the sun. The wind has picked up again.

He unlocks the car, lifts the bags into the trunk before you can protest. You give him the address with barely more than a murmur. No explanation. Just an area he hasn’t been to. He doesn’t ask questions.

The drive is quiet with music playing low—some instrumental track from his usual playlist. Something you both used to study to in college just to feel a sense of calm.

You stare out the window, hands folded over your lap, heart pacing a little faster than usual.

The car eventually slows down in front of the narrow gates, after hours of driving away from the city. Behind it stands a modest building, old but well kept. Faintly weathered walls, a sloped tiled roof, and ivy growing up one side—quiet signs that time has been kind here.

The sign out front reads nothing special—just the name of a children’s home, one Jeongguk doesn’t know about. No dedications. No fancy titles. Just quiet lettering on faded wood, like it never needed to call attention to itself.

Surrounding it are long stretches of countryside. The roads that led here thinned into gravel. There are no tall buildings, no passing cars. Just open skies, whispering trees, and the faint hum of wind moving through the hills.

It’s peaceful. Secluded. Like the world forgot this place existed—and maybe that’s what makes it sacred.

You reach for your seatbelt.

And he asks, “This is where you were going?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He looks at the building, then at you, something soft flickering in his gaze. “Do you come here often?”

You smile faintly. “Used to. Then didn’t for some time. But lately, more often.”

He doesn’t say anything else.

Jeongguk moves to help you carry the bags up the front steps, gentler than before. Like he knows without needing to be told that this place means something to you. And he doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask more.

Just walks beside you, like always.

The front door opens with a familiar creak, the kind you’d memorized during your earlier visits—when your footsteps felt heavier, when you were still learning how to breathe without aching.

The smell inside is soft, lived-in. A mix of baby powder, instant noodles, and laundry soap. Homey.

You step in first, setting the first few bags down by the wall just like you always did.

Jeongguk follows, does the same. He’s quiet but observant. His gaze traces the walls—drawings taped up with mismatched washi tape, a corkboard with birthday cards, and tiny handprints in paint.

There were some photos pinned too. Taken in different seasons. You and the staff, smiling softly as the golden light of autumn filtered through the trees behind you.

Another showed you kneeling beside a group of children bundled in bright scarves and mittens, rosy-cheeked from a crisp winter’s day spent building snowmen.

One captured a sunlit spring afternoon, you crouched in the garden, helping a little girl plant seeds, her hands muddy but her grin wide.

There was even a candid shot from a summer festival—strings of lanterns glowing overhead, children laughing as you handed out ice cream cones.

Each picture felt like a quiet story of care and moments lived fully, stitched together across the turning seasons.

“This is different,” Jeongguk says gently, still looking around. “Seems like you’ve been around for a while.”

You hum, crouching to adjust a bag of toys so it won’t tip over. “I started after… Well. It helped.”

He doesn’t push for more. Just nods, lips pressed into a quiet line.

A moment later, footsteps approach around the corner.

Ms. Han, one of the coordinators you’ve known since your first visit, appears in the hallway — eyes lighting up the moment they find yours. She’s as warm as ever, apron still dusted with flour, smile crinkling at the edges like it’s second nature.

“You’re here,” she says, already moving in for a brief hug. “The little ones will be thrilled. They’ve been waiting.”

You return the embrace, already feeling a huge weight lifted off your chest, one you didn’t realize was lingering around. “I can’t wait to see them. Hope this isn’t too much.”

Her eyes flick to the bags at your side, gives you a grateful wide smile, like she’s always done, then shifts to the man beside you. Her smile doesn’t falter, but it softens into something quietly curious.

“Oh,” she says, surprised, “And you’ve brought someone with you.”

Her eyes land on Jeongguk, taking him in — the careful way he carries a box, the silent attention in his posture, the quiet thread that seems to stretch between the two of you.

Then gently, with curiosity wrapped in fondness, she asks, “Your husband?”

You freeze for a heartbeat.

Then—instinctively—you glance at Jeongguk.

He doesn’t flinch. Just meets your eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small, barely-there smile. He nods once — gentle, like he’s saying, It’s okay. You decide. I’m here.

Your fingers tighten around the donation bag.

Then you turn back to Ms. Han, voice steady as you answer, “Yes.”

Ms. Han smiles like she’s known all along and steps aside to let you both in. “Come,” she says, with a fond wave of her hand. “The kids have been asking what time you’d be arriving today. They’ll be happy to see you’re here.”

You nod, offering a quiet thank you, and Jeongguk follows as you lead the way down the narrow hallway. His footsteps echo just behind yours — steady, unhurried.

The floor creaks beneath you in the same familiar spots. You’d memorized them without meaning to — like everything else here. The hallway walls are still that pale yellow the children helped paint one summer, uneven in places where small arms couldn’t quite reach, patches of lighter tones marked by smudged fingerprints no one had the heart to cover up.

Everything here is soft around the edges. Worn cushions on the benches. Hand-sewn curtains barely clinging to their rods. Corners padded with foam, sticker charts curling on the bulletin board. Nothing fancy. But everything lived-in. Loved.

Jeongguk says nothing, but you feel his eyes taking it all in. Watching the way your fingers drift along the wall like they’re retracing muscle memory. The way your steps slow near the corkboard filled with notes and crooked crayon drawings. The way something in your shoulders seems to loosen here.

And then—

“Unnie!”

The call comes from down the hall — high-pitched and gleeful — followed by the sound of small feet pattering on linoleum. You barely have time to turn before a blur of limbs barrels into you.

You laugh, arms catching the little girl mid-run as she clings tight to your neck. “Hey now—careful,” you murmur, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “You’re going to knock me over again.”

“But we missed you!”

The others come quickly after — their joy spilling around corners, all mismatched socks and wide, bright eyes.

“Noona!”

“She’s here!”

One of the older boys lingers near the edge of the crowd, wide-eyed as his gaze bounces between you and the man behind you. “Noona brought someone!” he says louder that the rest of the kids— and that’s all the cue the rest need.

A ripple of curiosity spreads.

A little girl gasps, her hands clapping over her mouth in mock-shock. “Is he your boyfriend?!”

Another child immediately joins in. “Do you and Unnie hold hands?”

“Does he bring you flowers?”

Jeongguk blinks — clearly not prepared for the sudden interrogation — but he handles it well, calm, letting the kids crowd him.

You watch, barely holding back a laugh as one particularly bold toddler barrels into him, wrapping pudgy arms around his legs like he’s known forever.

Jeongguk steadies himself, crouching with ease. “Flowers?” he says, gently loosening the toddler’s grip to keep them from falling. Holds them steady. “I bring her favorites. Huge purple ones she loves.”

The kids erupt in a chorus of delighted “ooohhh”s, like he just confirmed something scandalous. One little boy gasps dramatically and points between you both. “Do you kiss?!”

His ears tint the faintest pink. He glances over at you — and for a second, the tension that’s lingered between you dissolves into something softer. Lighter. Shared.

You shake your head, amused. “You all have way too much energy.”

“They’re just excited,” Ms. Han says, stepping in with a smile. “It’s the first time they’ve seen you bring anyone along.”

The kids swarm again, now pulling Jeongguk’s hand as much as yours.

“Come see our room!”

“We drew pictures last week! Wanna see?”

“There’s new snacks! Unnie brought snacks!”

Jeongguk lets one of the smallest children cling to his arm like a koala. He looks at you — half amused, half stunned — and you just smile, already leading the way down the hall.

The playroom is loud in the best way — fingerpaints, wooden blocks, stuffed animals in chaotic piles.

You’re barely two steps in before a crayon is shoved in your hand and three different voices are asking if you want to play house, draw dinosaurs, or help braid hair.

Jeongguk hovers near the doorway at first, watching as you settle onto a worn rug with three toddlers and a bucket of paintbrushes. It doesn’t take long before one of the older boys grabs his sleeve.

“Samchon, can you help me paint a train? Make paper planes too after?”

You see his brows lift — caught off guard by the nickname but a smile comes out anyway. “Of course,” he lowers himself to the child’s height. “What kind? Fast? Slow? Magical?”

“Fast and magical,” the boy decides instantly.

Jeongguk chuckles. “Best kind.”

You glance sideways, watching him ease into it. The way he kneels without hesitation. The way his fingers curl naturally around the paintbrush, guiding the little boy’s hand as they drag the first thick strokes of green and gold across the paper.

The sight squeezes something in your chest. You look away before it shows.

Your distraction costs you.

A giggle. Then—

“Oops!” One of the younger girls has dabbed a fat smudge of yellow paint across your cheek. Her hand hovers with the brush like she’s not sure if she’s about to be scolded.

You blink. Then smile. “You trying to turn me into sunshine?”

She grins wide. “You already are.”

You laugh, leaning in so she can add a second streak. Because, why not?

At some point, Jeongguk glances up from his drawing — and freezes.

Because now another toddler beside him has decided to join the chaos, sneakily dipping their brush and dabbing a bright red circle on the tip of his nose.

“Yah,” he says gently, pretending to scowl. “You’ve turned me into a button.”

The kids dissolve into laughter.

And so do you.

“Looks good on you,” you say, teasing as you reach across for a wet napkin from the counter.

“You’re one to talk.” He nods at your cheek. “You’ve got a whole sunset going on.”

You shake your head, amused, then press the napkin gently to your skin. Before you can reach the next streak, he’s already moving closer, wiping it for you — careful, tender, like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t say anything. Just offers a second napkin, flicking his eyes silly to the red on his nose. “I won’t survive the cuteness if more of them gang up on me.”

You grin, taking it. “Hold still.”

His eyes soften as you wipe off the paint. He doesn’t flinch. Just watches you — close, quiet — like he’s memorizing the shape of this moment. Like maybe, for a second, it feels like before.

You both stay there a moment longer, paint smudged and smiling under the hum of childhood.

The playroom noise fades behind you, replaced by the quiet of the nursery hallway. A soft children’s song plays faintly through the door, mixed with the steady hum of a white noise machine.

You pause just outside the doorway, your fingers gently gripping the frame.

“You okay?” Jeongguk asks behind you.

You nod, soft. “Could you grab the last bag? The one with the formula and wipes?”

He gives you a gentle nod and disappears down the hall without question.

Inside, the nursery glows with soft golden light and quiet warmth. Thick curtains mute the summer sun, and pastel mobiles slowly turn above each crib. The walls are covered with animals the kids painted years ago — a giraffe with uneven legs, an elephant with five flower-shaped ears. You remember painting with them, the scent of fruit snacks and finger paint still fresh in your mind.

A tired staff nurse is rocking a crying baby near the far crib, gently bouncing her, but the little one refuses to settle.

Her eyes lift when she sees you. “Sweetheart,” she says, visibly relieved. “She hasn’t stopped crying since after lunch.”

You smile softly and stretch out your arms. “Here, let me.”

The nurse hands her over without hesitation. You tuck the baby against your chest, your hand finding her back like instinct. Getting comfortable on the play mats, you rock without even realizing, movements small, heart steady.

“She just got changed,” the nurse explains. “Probably just wants comfort.”

“She’ll sleep soon,” you say, rubbing her back gently. “Just needs to hear a heartbeat.”

By the time Jeongguk returns, the baby’s cries have softened into sniffles, and your arms are full. “Got it,” he says, holding up the bag.

You motion with your chin. “Can you set it by the changing table?”

He follows, crosses to the far side of the nursery. But then pauses, spotting another infant in the corner bassinet, fussing as he kicks against his blanket.

The nurse sighs. “He’ll need a fresh change soon too.”

“I can do it,” Jeongguk offers before thinking.

Your arms instinctively tighten around the baby, but you keep soothing.

The nurse arches a brow. “You sure?”

He’s already rolling up his sleeves, a hint of a smile on his lips. “It’s been a while, but… I think I remember how.”

You watch as he gently lifts the baby from the bassinet, cradling the boy with practiced arms. He lays him on the changing mat nearby, his movements careful and steady.

He hums under his breath — a tune you recognize. Soft and slow, the same one he used to sing with his lips pressed to your belly, palm cradling your side, whenever a little ball of sunshine kicked up fuss from inside.

You shift slightly, settling the baby in your arms. She stirs, eyes catching the motion nearby. You look over at Jeongguk, following her gaze — or maybe she’s following yours.

He unsnaps the onesie with careful fingers. Talks to the baby like he’s listening. “You’re strong huh buddy? Gonna wiggle your way out of this one?”

The baby hiccups, waving his arms.

You breathe out a soft laugh, barely there. Jeongguk glances up, meets your eyes. There’s no teasing in his smile. Just warmth.

He finishes the change without fuss. Secures the new diaper, buttons the onesie with gentle thumbs. When he scoops the boy back into his arms, he’s settled and calm. He leans down and lays the little one gently back in the bassinet, giving the tiny chest a light pat. The boy settles with a soft noise, blinking up at the ceiling. Jeongguk lingers for a second, then straightens and returns to you.

“You still got it,” you murmur.

He shrugs slightly. “We did take those classes together for two weeks straight.”

You smile. “Pretty sure we bickered the whole time.”

He chuckles. “Only because you kept trying to correct the instructor.”

“She was wrong about the diaper fold.”

He holds up his hands, mock serious. “I wasn’t about to argue with either of you.”

You exhale. Not a sigh, not quite — more like a breath you’d forgotten you were holding.

He disappears again for a moment, returns quickly with a small tray – a rice ball, some warm soup, and cut fruit, set aside by the staff for visiting volunteers. He also has a folded blanket he carefully drapes over the little girl in your arms.

“Here,” he says, crouching beside you on the floor. “Lunch. You didn’t eat.”

You glance down at the sleeping baby. “She’ll wake up if I move.”

“I’ll hold her.”

You look at him. “Is that okay?”

He just smiles and shifts closer, waiting until you adjust your grip. Then he takes the baby into his arms like he remembers how it used to feel — like he remembers this weight, this stillness.

You rub your arms as the chill hits your skin.

He notices, glances down. “Hang on a sec.” Carefully, he shifts the baby in one arm to free the other, her tiny face scrunching as the movement jostles her.

She lets out a soft, uncertain noise — the kind that threatens to turn into a cry.

He dips his head, voice low and steady. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” His thumb strokes gently along her back, and she quiets again.

Then, with practiced ease, he shrugs out of his hoodie and drapes it over your shoulders, all without missing a beat.

“You first,” he says, motioning to the tray.

You sit, legs curled under you, and pick up the spoon. One bite at a time. Jeongguk doesn’t speak, just watches the baby’s chest rise and fall, his thumb gently stroking the soft blanket.

“She likes warmth,” you say quietly. “Some of them won’t nap unless they can feel someone near.”

He nods, not taking his eyes off her. “I remember that from one of the classes.” There’s a long pause — not heavy, just full. Then he says, almost to himself, “You’ve been doing this all this time.”

You don’t answer. Don’t have to.

He looks at you, and you swear he sees it — all of it.

And still, he stays.

The halls are quiet now. Naptime has wrapped the orphanage in one of those rare, peaceful spells where every child sleeps at once.

You step out of the nursery just as Ms. Han appears around the corner. She doesn’t say anything at first — just watches as you tuck a sleeping baby more securely into your chest.

“I forget how natural you are with them,” she murmurs, voice gentle.

You give a faint smile, adjusting your grip. “They make it easy.”

She watches you for another moment, then glances toward the door at the end of the hallway. “Some of the adoption papers went through this morning. The Lee siblings will be picked up by the end of the week.”

Your arms tighten slightly. “I thought they were still waiting on approvals.”

“They were. But someone pulled a few strings.”

You let out a breath, smiling in quiet relief. “That’s good to hear.”

Ms. Han nods. “Thank you. You’ve helped make a lot of things happen here.”

You look away — not out of shame, but the ache that always comes with recognition. “They deserve it.”

“They do,” she agrees. “And so do you.”

She steps closer then, lowering her voice just a bit. “Is today your last visit?”

The question sits heavy, even though you’ve known the answer all day. You nod once.

“We’ll miss you,” she says, and for the first time, her voice wavers. “You’ve done so much without ever needing credit. Quietly. Fully. Like you were always trying to leave pieces of love behind.”

“I just wanted them to feel warm,” your throat tightens. “Even if just for a little while.”

“You gave them more than that,” she says. “You gave them a home.”

You and Jeongguk step out into the garden at the side of the orphanage, where a few of the older kids are lingering with chalk and paper airplanes, their voices softer now, the day tipping gently into late afternoon light.

One of the boys —the same one who’d called him Samchon earlier — wanders over, a piece of folded paper in his hand.

“Samchon,” the boy says, holding it out. “I made this one better. It’s faster now.”

Jeongguk takes it carefully, inspects the sharp folds. “You’ve got the wings even this time,” he says, impressed. “That’s gonna fly far.”

The boy grins, then pauses. “Will you come back next time?”

There’s a stillness in Jeongguk’s response. He glances at you, his expression unreadable for a moment — then softens. “I think…” he begins, crouching to the boy, “you and your friends are all headed somewhere new soon, right?”

The boy nods. “My new mom and dad are coming next week.”

Jeongguk smiles, and it’s warm — proud. “That’s amazing. You’ll teach them how to fold the best airplanes?”

“I will,” the boy promises, straightening his shoulders.

Jeongguk ruffles his hair gently. “Then you won’t even need me.”

The boy shrugs, playful. “Maybe not. But you’re still cool.” He darts off before either of you can say more.

You let out a quiet breath. The kind that stays in your throat. Jeongguk just watches the boy go, something distant flickering across his face.

Something like a quiet ache wrapped in fondness.

The road hums beneath the tires, a quiet pause between places. Neither of you speak at first—not for lack of words, but because the air still holds the weight of small feet, warm bottles, paint-smudged cheeks.

Eventually, Jeongguk gestures toward an upcoming exit. “Coffee?”

You glance at him. His voice is soft. Familiar. You nod. “Could use it.”

He pulls into the drive-thru of a small roadside café — one that’s had the same five drinks on the menu since before you both learned how to drive. He orders from memory; one iced americano, one mild latte with almond milk and extra foam.

You let out a quiet laugh. “These used to keep us up all night.”

Jeongguk smiles faintly, eyes still on the menu board. “And we’d show up to 7AMs looking half alive.”

“Why did we pick the earliest classes, again?”

“You and your cursed need for ‘structure,’” he says, and you mimic his voice in a teasing lilt. He scoffs keeping his eyes ahead.

The barista hands over the drinks. You pass them into the cup holders, fingers brushing briefly. The first sip warms your throat. The sweetness is just enough to settle you.

“Thanks,” you murmur — more than just for the drink.

He nods, pulling the car back onto the road.

Outside, the light has started to dim. The sun dips low behind the trees, casting long streaks of amber across the windshield. One by one, streetlights begin to blink on, softening the edges of approaching dusk.

Then, you notice the turn he takes.

The bend of the street.

The familiar lamppost that still flickers near the crosswalk.

The university gates, now worn with time.

The empty lot at the back of campus — the one where you used to wait for him after class. The one where he taught you to drive. The one that always felt like somewhere in between youth and becoming.

The car settles into a stop. The engine ticks once, then fades.

The lot is nearly empty, shadows stretching longer beneath the slanting afternoon sun. Everything here feels unchanged — and yet entirely different.

For a second, you think about asking what — why here, after all this time. But the question never leaves your lips.

Maybe you both need this.

The coffee cups sit between you now — lids soft with condensation, your fingers tracing circles near the rim of yours.

You’re parked beneath the same tree that used to shade Jeongguk’s car years ago, in the quiet lot just outside your old university’s art wing.

The wind moves through the branches, gentle and unbothered, as if this little corner has been left untouched by time.

You glance over. “Thanks… for today.”

He shifts slightly in his seat, coffee nestled in one hand, eyes already on you. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” you say, voice gentle. “For everything. The shopping, the snacks, the diaper duty…”

He chuckles softly. “You say that like I haven’t done it before.”

“I didn’t think you remembered how.”

“Didn’t think I did either.” His mouth quirks, but there’s a softness behind it. “But I’m glad the muscle memory stuck. Being with those kids… it felt good. Thank you for letting me stay.”

You smile at your cup. The breeze threads in through the cracked window. For a moment, there’s only the sound of the cardboard sleeve creaking between your fingers.

Then—

“Can I ask you something?”

You glance up. He’s watching you, serious but soft. Always soft now.

His mouth twitches when you nod. Takes your cue as permission. “How long have you been going there?”

You don’t look away. “A little over three years.”

“Since…?”

“Since Ha-yun,” you say quietly, not to wound, just to root the truth in time. “After everything settled, I found myself needing somewhere to go. Somewhere I could feel like… I still had something to give.”

Jeongguk doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.

“At first, it was just for an hour or two. Holding the babies, helping during meal prep. I wasn’t doing anything major. I just… needed to be near them. Kids who’d lost something too. Part of me was trying to stay close to what I lost.”

You glance away, out toward the walkway near the lecture halls. “I started donating when I could. Buying diapers, toys, blankets. It wasn’t some grand gesture. It just made sense. Like if I had that love in me and nowhere to put it, maybe this was a place that could hold it.”

Jeongguk’s fingers tighten around his coffee. But not out of guilt — not this time. Just quiet awe.

“I didn’t know,” he murmurs.

“You weren’t supposed to,” you say, meeting his eyes again. “I didn’t do it for anyone to know. I did it for her. For me.”

His jaw flexes, just barely. “I was thinking… maybe I wasn’t the kind of person who could carry her memory right.”

“There’s no right way to remember what we’ve lost — or to grieve,” you murmur. “It’s what makes us human. Some people spiral into their darkest moments, become someone they never imagined. Others carry their pain quietly. Or they channel that love into new places, where someone else can feel it.”

Your gaze softens as you glance his way. “We just carry it differently.”

He looks at you — unsure, still searching for something he can’t name.

“We were both in a bad place,” you continue, voice calm, steady. “But we chose different ways to survive it. That’s okay.”

Jeongguk breathes in slowly, like he’s finally letting that truth sit in his lungs for once.

You offer a faint smile. “If you let other people dictate how you’re supposed to grieve, you’d just be their puppet — not human.”

The silence that follows isn’t sharp. It just lingers — warm, full, like something shared finally found space between you.

Jeongguk’s the one to break it. His voice is quieter now. “Why didn’t you tell me? About the orphanage. About all of it.”

“Because I didn’t need you to know.” Your fingers curl gently around your coffee cup, condensation cooling your skin. “That place… those kids… it was how I kept breathing. And you — you had your own way of getting by.”

You glance down briefly, then lift your gaze again.

“We were both carrying a burden back then. And yeah, maybe as a married couple, we were supposed to share it. Be each other’s landing place. That would’ve been nice.”

You pause. Let the weight of the past breathe between you.

“Back then, I really hoped I could lean on the person I love. Hoped I could lean on you.”

The admission hangs there — not bitter, not demanding. Just soft and settled.

You take a breath, close your eyes briefly, as if pulling strength from the calm you’ve built within. “But time really does bring you peace. It wasn’t easy, but it came.”

Then, a breath lighter, you add, “And like I said, that’s what society expects — to grieve together, to do it properly. When did I ever give a shit about expectations?”

That earns a quiet laugh from him — one of those Jeongguk laughs, fond and half-exhaled. “You always had a way of turning things around. Always led with kindness.”

“Not always,” you say gently. “You just didn’t see me breaking when I did.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just watches you like his heart is trying to memorize the way you look when you say things that hurt and heal at once.

And then—he reaches for your hand. Not urgently. Not to fix anything. Just… enough.

Enough for your pinkies to meet where they rest on the console, side by side.

You let them stay there. Don’t thread your fingers through his. Don’t pull away either.

Outside, the sky deepens into burnished gold — slow, unhurried, the last warmth of the day clinging to the edges.

And for the first time in a long time, the weight in your chest feels different.

Less about what you lost.

More about what never left.

The silence lingers a little longer before you both quietly step out of the car. There’s no destination—just an unspoken agreement to keep walking.

Campus hasn’t changed much.

The hedges are trimmed the way they always were. The breeze still sweeps through the old courtyards like it’s carrying secrets from a decade ago. You pass the benches you used to sit on between classes, the path lined with cherry trees that bloomed too early every year.

Somewhere down the block, a familiar rusting gate catches your eye.

You glance over your shoulder. “Think the basketball court’s still open?”

Jeongguk raises a brow. “Doubt it.”

You start walking faster.

“Wait—” he says, already catching on.

You glance back with a grin, voice airy, teasing. “You’re the one who brought me here. Keep up.”

And then you’re off—dashing across the lot like gravity doesn’t apply. You reach the chain-link fence and tug at the side where the latch’s always been loose. It creaks open with a little resistance.

Jeongguk jogs after you, breath catching between laughter and disbelief. “Are you seriously breaking into a college court in your thirties?”

You swing the gate wider. “For old time’s sake.”

“You’ve gotten faster since uni.”

You smirk over your shoulder. “You’re just getting old.”

“We’re the same age!”

“Put that cardio you brag to use! I don’t even go to the gym anymore.”

You dodge past a crooked bench and duck under the gate, sneakers skidding to a stop on the cracked pavement of the court. Jeongguk follows, breath catching as he slows beside you, eyes sweeping the empty space.

“Wow,” he murmurs.

Inside, the court looks almost exactly the same—faded lines, one broken hoop, the faint scent of rubber and summer still lingering in the concrete.

You walk toward center court and spin slowly, like you’re trying to remember how it felt to exist without weight. To be nineteen. To be invincible.

Jeongguk watches you, quiet amusement dancing in his eyes. “Remember when you used to come here to watch me play?” he says.

“How could I forget the number of times you bet you could make a half-court shot blindfolded?”

His grin stretches. “I did.”

“You hit the janitor’s cart.”

“That’s called creative aiming.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You had the biggest ego for someone who missed every layup.”

“I was distracting the crowd with my charisma.”

“There was no crowd, Gguk.”

“There was you,” he says, without thinking.

You glance toward the far end of the court, where late sunlight slices across the paint like a memory you haven’t touched in years.

Your fingers brush the hem of your sleeve. The bracelet is still there.

Warm against your skin. But cold with questions, waiting.

And then, quietly, “Why did you send it?”

Jeongguk turns toward you slowly. The laughter from earlier fades from his lips, replaced by something quieter. Something only meant for moments like this.

“The bracelet,” you say, more gently this time. “You sent it without a note. Without a name. Just… showed up.”

His hand slips into his coat pocket, like it’s looking for something to hold onto. “I meant to give it to you before. A long time ago.”

Your eyes stay steady on his. “Why’d you get it in the first place?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifts, pushes his sleeve back just slightly — just enough for the edge of the silver to catch the light.

“You’ve seen mine, right?”

You nod. Quiet.

“I got it to always have a piece of you,” he says, voice low. “To keep you close. Tulips have always been a part of you. But there was this one moment that really hit.”

His gaze drops to the bracelet, a faint smile tugging at his mouth before he speaks again. “It was the morning after our wedding. You were still asleep. Curled around your bouquet — those damn tulips.” A soft breath of a laugh escapes him. “I couldn’t stop looking at you. Like if I blinked, you’d vanish.”

You smile. “How’d I end up with the bouquet again?”

“We were taking pictures with it before bed,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Somewhere between my dumb jokes and your yawns, you passed out hugging the whole thing. And it just... stayed with you.”

“That explains why there were petals all over the bed,” you murmur, grinning.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. But it was the best thing to wake up to. You—hair a mess, petals everywhere, clinging to something that meant everything. And I just stood there thinking, this is it. The first morning I got to call you my wife. And that from then on, every morning after, I’d get to call you mine.”

His eyes drop to his wrist. Thumb brushing over the tulip charm like second nature.

“So I went looking for something to hold that moment,” he says. “Had this made. Minimal, clean lines. Just like that morning. Quiet. Real.”

You squint at him, teasing. “And here I thought you wore it because of your classically bland taste.”

He gasps. “Bland?”

“Classically bland,” you amend, barely holding back your smile. “But yeah, I’ll give you points for sentiment.”

He rolls his eyes, but his shoulders drop a little — tension dissolving into warmth.

Then, after a moment; “When I had yours made,” he says, voice dipping low again, “I hoped maybe it could help me remember my love for you. That maybe it could lead me back to what mattered. That maybe… it could help me find my way back home.”

Your breath catches.

And before you can stop yourself, the question slips out. “Does that mean you actually forgot your love for me?”

His head lifts fast. “No,” he says instantly. “Fuck, no.”

There’s no waver. No doubt.

“I didn’t forget,” he says. “I buried it. Buried it under shame, guilt, fear. There were things that made me feel like I didn’t deserve your love anymore. Things I let consume me. I lost track of what mattered because I thought I couldn’t be forgiven.”

You say nothing. Just listen.

He glances down again—at the way your fingers now cradle the matching charm on your wrist.

“I wanted to give it to you back then,” he says. “God, I wanted to. But a bracelet wasn’t going to undo everything I broke. Couldn’t hand you a piece of silver and pretend it would fix the pain. I even did something after —“

You swallow. “That would’ve been a start,” you whisper.

He nods. “It would’ve. But I was a stranger to myself. Too far gone to recognize what love really looked like.”

You glance down at the charm again, feel the curve of the metal between your fingers.

“You said this was supposed to help you remember,” you say. “Help you find your way back.”

You pause — heart beating a little too hard. “And now you’ve given it to me. So… does that mean you’ve found your way back?”

When his eyes meet yours, they’re full of the softest kind of ache.

“I have,” he says. “For a while now.”

The breeze picks up as the last of the sun slips away, brushing over your skin like a memory.

You’re both quiet now, walking a slow, meandering circle back to the parking lot, the pavement still holding the day’s warmth.

Jeongguk glances at you once. Twice. Then finally, “Can I say something?”

You stop, turning to face him. “Of course.”

He doesn’t speak right away. Just stands there — hands in his pockets, brows slightly furrowed, like he’s sorting through pieces of something he’s never let himself fully hold.

His voice comes low. “There’s no excuse for how I hurt you.”

Before you can answer, he pushes forward — not rushed, but clear. Like he’s been waiting for this opening, this quiet, this you.

“Kept telling myself I didn’t mean to. That I was just… lost. But lost or not, I still left you alone. I made you carry everything on your own.”

Your chest tightens — not from pain, but from the honesty in his voice. The clarity you’d spent years waiting for.

“I shut down after we lost her,” he says. “Threw myself into work, into being anywhere but where it hurt. And you—” he swallows, gaze falling to the ground, “you were the only one who could’ve helped me remember what love even looked like. Who I really was.”

Your heart stumbles. You step a little closer — not much, just enough for your shoulder to brush his when the wind shifts again.

He doesn’t flinch.

“I kept trying to punish myself,” he says. “Pretended I didn’t care. Pretended you’d be better off if I stayed cold. But I knew what I was doing.”

He breathes in — shaky. Measured. “And then I did something unforgivable.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say the word. Doesn’t say a name. Doesn’t need to.

The silence that follows holds everything — the betrayal, the ache, the way your heart had shattered the day you found those papers. The ones that told you, in cruel black ink, that your future was slipping away.

He lifts his eyes. “I broke our vows,” he says quietly. “Broke you.”

You don’t step away. Just meet his gaze — steady, unwavering — even though your hands have gone still at your sides.

“You did,” you say – not cruel, just honest. “But I broke too. Gave up too easily when I found those papers.”

His jaw tightens. A breath catches in his throat. His gaze drops briefly, then lifts again — full of something heavier than guilt. More enduring than shame. “You had every right,” he murmurs. “The way I treated you—”

He breaks off, shakes his head. Then exhales, jaw working, eyes catching the last glint of fading light. “I would take it back if I could. Every second I let you feel unloved. Every moment I made you question your worth. I’m so—”

You look down at your hands, cut him off gently. “We can’t take back the things we’ve done. Can’t use time to reverse the mistakes.”

“I know that,” he says. “Can’t erase the ways I failed — as a husband, as a father. Even as your best friend who once promised to be there for you no matter what right here on this campus.”

He gestures vaguely around you both — at the parking lot, the lights beginning to flicker on one by one, the faint hum of cicadas in the trees.

Jeongguk continues, “I shouldn’t have left you alone the past three years. Can’t go back and rewrite that. I’ll have to live with it forever.” He moves closer, faces you now, “But I want to be the one who finally understands you now. No more running. No more hiding. No more shutting you out.”

Your throat tightens, but you stay silent — listening. Breathing.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” he says. “Know I don’t deserve it. If I were you, I wouldn’t forgive me either.”

Then, without rush, he reaches for your hand. Not desperate. Not begging. Just there — fingers threading gently between yours, brushing against the ring still resting at the base of your finger.

His voice dips. “But whatever part of me you still want — I’ll give it.”

A tear slips down your cheek. You barely feel it until Jeongguk reaches up, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye, his touch feather-light.

When he leans in — just a little — you can feel the warmth of his breath. The slight tremble in his hand as his fingers rest at your jaw. He doesn’t kiss you. The tip of his nose just grazes yours — soft, aching, familiar.

“I’m choosing you,” he says. “I’m here to stay.”

You let the words settle, let the quiet and peace finally find their way — not just in the space between you, but in the part of you that’s been waiting for him all along. The part that’s loved him since the beginning, and in between all the fuck-ups life threw at you, until now – still here, holding on.

Without warning, you blink, slow, wide-eyed. Blurt out, “Please don’t kiss me.”

Jeongguk lets out a breath, startled — halfway between a laugh and a choke. “I wasn’t…wait—what?”

“What?” You hide your face in his chest like the embarrassment might drown if you press hard enough. “Shit. Never mind. Fuck off."

His chuckles rumble beneath your cheek. “You’re the one who brought it up!”

You nudge his side with your elbow, trying not to smile. Failing.

“Now that you did,” he murmurs, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, “you gonna tell me why you avoided me like the plague?”

Your hands toy with the zipper of his hoodie. The fabric between your fingers grounds you as you try to form an answer.

“I didn’t know what to say,” you admit. “Thought I might’ve ruined things. That maybe… you’d drift away again. Thinking, you might now.”

He pulls you in, arms winding around your waist slowly, deliberately. Not with hunger, but with the kind of patience that promises he’s not letting go this time. “Did you not hear everything I said, woman?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Well, this wasn’t in the open back then. I didn’t have a manual for what comes after kissing your limboing husband in a rusted tram.”

He grins. “Fair point.” He pauses, follows with a quick question, voice steady. “Just one thing,” you peak up. “Why’d you kiss me that night?”

You draw in a breath, teeth grazing the inside of your cheek. “It was a really long day,” you say quietly. “Too much raining down on me at once. Everything felt so loud. I couldn’t breathe. And then—there you were.” A pause. “Guess you’re still the comfort I need. Still the comfort I want. Despite everything. I still want you. Not just the comfort. You know—that never changed. It’s scary and I’ve got so much to—“

With the tremble in your voice, Jeongguk traces a slow arc down your arm before they find your hand again. “Glad I could still be that person to you. Thank you for letting me still be. I’m not going anywhere this time. You have me.”

The silence that follows is gentle, whole. Like a held breath made of old memories and something new blooming quietly underneath.

You shrug, playful despite the warmth in your chest. “Don’t let what I said go to your head.”

He chuckles. “Won’t even.” Tucks a strand of your locks behind your ear. “Just happy you’re here.”

I’m happy you’re finally here. The words hover on the tip of your tongue, but instead, you let yourself lean into the moment – feeling his warmth and the quick beat of his heart.

Without thinking, your hands find their way into the front pocket of his hoodie—soft, comforting. He doesn’t flinch. If anything, he shifts closer, like he’d been waiting for it.

And then, you tilt your head. “Do you want to go home?”

Jeongguk looks at you, the sudden shift in the moment leaves him confused. “I mean… I’d love to spend more time with you. But if you’re tired, then yeah, I’ll drop you off—”

You laugh, light and breathy, finally letting it out. “No, I mean—” Your eyes on him are steady now, lips curled into a tight smile.

“Do you want to go home with me…to Busan?"

[izzih22]

Can you do like a part 2 of whose side are you on and it be Paige gets in a fight with either a teammate or a sibling and azzi is in the middle?

Blood and Anchor

Note: this was hard to write ngl so it’s short sorry also remember it’s just a story it’s not real

It’s supposed to be a chill weekend. Just family visiting from Minnesota, a few laughs, dinner, the usual awkwardness of siblings crashing into the life she’s built away from home.

Azzi even offered to leave give them space but Paige told her to stay. She wanted her there. She needed her there. Azzi is family.

What she didn’t expect was for it to go sideways this fast.

Her younger brother makes a joke something about how she’s “basically famous now,” how she “probably forgets about the rest of them,” and it’s harmless enough until it isn’t.

Until it turns into,

“You’ve changed. You’re not the same anymore.”

And then,

“Honestly, you’re kind of a jerk when you’re around us.”

And then finally—

“Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with basketball and that whole perfect image thing, you’d remember what it’s like to be part of a family.”

Paige hears it like a slap. It’s not even yelled, just dropped into the room like a grenade.

Azzi’s head snaps up from where she’s sitting on the edge of Paige’s bed. The silence that follows is sharp.

Paige tries to laugh it off, stiff and bitter. “Okay. Cool. Thanks.”

But her voice breaks on the “thanks.” And then she’s up, grabbing her jacket, pushing past her brother without looking back.

Azzi hesitates for half a second before rising, steady and calm. “I’ll go after her.”

She doesn’t wait for permission. She doesn’t need it.

⸻

She finds Paige in the stairwell.

Alone. Sitting on the cold concrete steps with her hands tangled in her hair, elbows on her knees, breathing like she’s trying to keep something in.

Azzi doesn’t say anything at first. She just walks over and sits next to her. Their shoulders touch.

It’s quiet.

And then—

“He thinks I don’t care about them.”

Paige’s voice is low. Raw.

“I give everything I have to this sport. To this school. To being someone they can be proud of. And he says that.”

Azzi watches her closely. “Do you believe him?”

“No,” Paige answers instantly, then quieter, “I don’t think so.”

Azzi reaches out, gently links their fingers. Paige holds on like she’s drowning.

“I’ve missed birthdays,” Paige whispers. “Holidays. I forget to call sometimes. And I know I’ve changed. I had to. I’m doing the best I can and it never feels like it’s enough for them.”

Azzi doesn’t rush to fix it. She just lets Paige talk.

“I already beat myself up for it,” Paige continues. “But hearing him say it… like I’m selfish or fake… it just…”

She stops.

Azzi squeezes her hand. “It hurts.”

Paige nods.

“Can I say something?” Azzi asks softly.

Paige nods again.

“You are different,” Azzi says. “You’ve grown. You’ve been through hell. You’ve had to figure out how to keep going even when it felt like your body and your mind were working against you.”

She turns toward her. “But none of that made you cold. Or selfish. You love so hard, Paige. You carry everyone. And maybe they don’t always see it, but I do.”

Paige’s eyes finally meet hers, full of glass and hurt.

Azzi shifts closer, brushing her knuckles against Paige’s cheek.

“You don’t have to be perfect to be loved,” she says. “Not by them. Not by me.”

Paige exhales shakily. “Sometimes it feels like I have to be.”

Azzi presses a kiss to her forehead. “You never do with me.”

And that’s what cracks her.

Paige pulls Azzi into her arms, burying her face in her shoulder, shaking slightly from the quiet sobs that follow.

Azzi wraps around her without hesitation. Rubs soft circles into her back. Holds her like she’s piecing her back together.

“You’re home,” Azzi whispers into her hair. “Right here. Always.”

⸻

They sit there for a long time. Eventually, Paige calms, her breathing evening out, her grip on Azzi no less tight but more steady.

Azzi kisses her temple. “Want me to talk to him?”

Paige shakes her head. “No. I’ll handle it. I just… I needed you first.”

Azzi smiles, brushing hair from Paige’s face. “I’ll always be your first stop.”

And for the first time all day, Paige lets out a real breath.

“Thank God for you.”

[lazy-ahh]

HOME IS WHERE YOU ARE

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

the blood on his gloves isn't yours. the ache in his chest is. it's been there since the first time you kissed him - this relentless, terrifying need that claws at his ribs whenever he's away from you.

the city sprawled beneath him like a living thing—glistening with rain-slick streets and fractured neon reflections, breathing in the way only gotham could. the air smelled like exhaust and distant rain, the kind of chill that seeped into bones no matter how many layers you wore. jason perched on the edge of a rooftop, one knee drawn up, his helmet resting beside him like a discarded thought. the wind tugged at his hair, sharp and insistent, but he barely felt it.

his fingers flexed against the concrete ledge, rough beneath his gloves. he should be moving. should be working. but his mind was elsewhere, tangled up in the warmth of your sheets, the quiet hum of your voice, the way your breath hitched when he kissed that spot just below your ear—

god.

all he could think about was you.

the way your voice softened when you said his name, syllables curling around it like a secret. the way your hands always found his, fingers slotting together like they were made to fit, like you were afraid he’d vanish if you didn’t keep him anchored. the way you smiled at him—soft, fond, like he was something good, something whole, even when he knew the truth of what he was.

he exhaled, slow, watching his breath fog in the cold air.

he missed you.

it was stupid. ridiculous. he’d seen you barely a handful of hours ago, before he’d dragged himself out into the gotham night. you’d kissed him slow, lazy, like time itself had unraveled just for the two of you—like he was something worth savoring. (and you, stubborn as ever, would argue that time spent on him wasn’t wasted, not ever. "time with you," you’d say, voice all soft and sure, "is the only time that matters.") your hands had lingered on his chest, thumbs tracing the edge of his kevlar like you were memorizing the shape of him, and for one reckless, dizzying moment, he’d almost said fuck it and stayed. almost let the city burn if it meant another hour tangled in your sheets, in your warmth, in you.

and now here he was, heart aching like some lovesick idiot, like he hadn’t spent half his life pretending he didn’t need anything at all.

a shout echoed from the alley below, sharp and panicked. the sound snapped him back into his body, into the night, into the work waiting for him.

right.

work to do.

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

blood bloomed across his knuckles, dark and slick, painting the cracked leather of his gloves. the sharp snap of bone beneath his fists echoed in his ears, followed by a choked-off scream that dissolved into whimpers. the air was thick with it—the copper sting of blood, the acrid sweat of fear, the gunpowder clinging to his jacket like a second skin. this was easy. this was simple. this was the language he spoke fluently, the only one that ever made sense in the jagged edges of his world.

but then—

silence.

just for a breath. just long enough for his mind to turn traitor.

how could you love him? how could you look at him—really look—and not flinch away? he was a patchwork of scars and fury, all sharp edges and half-healed wounds, a weapon honed by pain and rage. he knew what he was. knew the weight of the blood on his hands, the ghosts that clung to his shadow.

and yet—

you touched him like he was something precious. like he wasn’t already ruined. your fingers traced the scars on his skin like they were something to cherish, your voice soft and steady even when he was anything but. you held him like he was fragile, like he’d break if you held him too tight, and that was the cruelest joke of all—because he was already broken, and you were the only thing holding him together.

he didn’t deserve you.

he didn’t deserve the way your laughter warmed him from the inside out, didn’t deserve the way you sighed his name like it was a prayer, didn’t deserve the way you looked at him like he was something good.

but christ, he wanted to.

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

the bike roared beneath him as he carved through gotham's veins, tires eating up asphalt as streetlights bled into golden streaks in his periphery. his body ached with the familiar symphony of bruises and cracked ribs, his mind weighed down by the night's violence, but none of it mattered because all he could think was you, you, you—the phantom memory of your hands in his hair, your laughter ringing in his ears, the way your breath hitched when he kissed you like he was starving for it.

the apartment was dark when he finally stumbled through the door, save for the flickering blue glow of some late-night infomercial playing to an empty room. there you were, sprawled across the couch like some domestic daydream, tangled in that godawful batman blanket alfred had gifted you as a joke (the one jason pretended to despise but secretly adored because it meant you were warm, because it meant you were here).

he leaned against the doorframe, just watching. memorizing the way your chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, the way your lashes fluttered with some dream he'd never know, the way your fingers twitched like they were searching for him even in sleep.

then you stirred, blinking up at him with sleep-heavy eyes, and your lips curled into that soft, drowsy smile that never failed to unravel him stitch by stitch.

"hey, red hood," you murmured, voice rough with sleep but laced with amusement. "save any kittens from trees tonight?"

he huffed a laugh, already shrugging off his jacket. "nah, just a few assholes from getting their teeth kicked in. you know, the usual community service."

you grinned, shifting to make room for him. "gotham's lucky to have you."

"gotham's a pain in my ass," he grumbled, but he was already sinking onto the couch beside you, his body gravitating toward yours like it was the only thing that made sense.

his chest tightened when you reached for him, fingers brushing the fresh cut on his cheekbone with a tenderness that threatened to undo him completely.

"missed you," you whispered, like it was a secret.

he leaned into your touch, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in—laundry detergent and that stupidly expensive shampoo you loved and something so inherently you it made his ribs ache. "missed you more."

you laughed, quiet and warm and his, pulling him close until there was no space left between you.

home wasn't four walls or a roof or a city that never slept.

home was you.

always you.

1.1k words, short and sweet, all just about how jason misses you every time he's away from you for longer than five minutes. like. chronically. pathetically. scrap that, three minutes. okay, scrap that too, he'd miss you if you weren't in his sight after five heartbeats- (this man is a 6'2" weapon of mass destruction who folds like a lawn chair the second you smile at him. i respect it and i NEED IT.)

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐈'𝐦 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞

virgin!sukuna x virgin!reader, modern delinquent au

request: can you write modern au!sukuna and fem reader taking each others virginity with a established relationship tags: fluff, fingering, penetration, petnames (princess, baby, babygirl), sukuna is a delinquent; @mangiswig notes: minors dni, sukuna is lowkey ooc wc: 2.0k

Despite spending a significant portion of his formative years behind bars, the weight of consequence failed to curb the rebellious spirit of Sukuna. Emerging from the confines of incarceration with a hardened demeanor and a penchant for defiance, he returned to the streets that had once ensnared him with a renewed sense of determination. To Sukuna, the rules of society were nothing more than shackles, constraining him from the freedom he craved and the life he believed he deserved.

Fuelled by a potent cocktail of resentment and bravado, Sukuna navigated the urban landscape with the swagger of someone who had stared into the abyss and refused to blink. From petty theft to brazen acts of vandalism, he left a trail of chaos in his wake, a testament to the indelible mark of his troubled past. For Sukuna, the cycle of delinquency was a familiar refrain, a symphony of defiance that echoed through the corridors of his consciousness, a reminder of the streets that had shaped him and the choices that had defined him.

Yet Sukuna found an unexpected beacon of light in the form of you, a college student whose innocence and sweetness stood in stark contrast to his own turbulent world. Your love was a fragile bloom in the midst of concrete, delicate yet resilient, defying the odds with each passing day. Drawn to your gentle spirit and unwavering kindness,Sukuna found himself navigating unfamiliar territory, his rough edges softened by the warmth of your affection.

For almost a year now, you have been the anchor in Sukuna's stormy sea, a steady presence amidst the chaos of his life. With your unwavering belief in his capacity for change and your steadfast support, you became his guiding star, illuminating the darkest corners of his soul with the light of your love. Despite the whispers of doubt that lingered in the recesses of his mind, Sukuna couldn't deny the profound impact you had on his life, your presence a balm to his weary heart.

Your love for Sukuna knew no bounds, transcending the boundaries of societal norms and expectations. Despite the whispers of caution that echoed through the halls of your mind, you refused to turn away from the tumultuous storm that raged within him. To you, Sukuna was more than just the sum of his mistakes; he was a complex tapestry of darkness and light, a flawed masterpiece in need of redemption.

While others cowered in fear at the mere mention of his name, you stood unwavering by his side, your love a shield against the slings and arrows of judgment. You understood the depths of his anger, the ferocity of his defiance, yet you chose to love him all the same. For you, love was not about changing someone into who they should be, but rather embracing them for who they were, scars and all.

The decision weighed heavily on your heart, a tender offering you longed to bestow upon Sukuna, a symbol of your unwavering commitment to your love. With trembling hands and a courage born of devotion, you found yourself standing before him, your heart laid bare in the flickering light of your shared intimacy. “I want you to take my virginity tonight, Sukuna. I’m yours, fully.”

As your words pierced the air, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over Sukuna. His heart quickened with excitement, the prospect of possessing you in such an intimate way igniting a primal fire within him. Yet, beneath the surface, a flicker of nervousness danced in the depths of his eyes, betraying the weight of responsibility he felt in this moment. There was something he never told you. Sukuna, the known and feared criminal, was a virgin himself. He didn’t have the chance to lose it since most of his teen years were spent in jail and he met you shortly after his release. Yet, Sukuna was sure that he would manage to not have to confess to his virginity. 

Yet his dominant nature surged forth, a primal instinct asserting its dominance over his senses. With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Sukunas demeanor shifted, his posture becoming more assertive, more commanding. He saw this as an opportunity to claim you, to mark you as his own in the most intimate way possible. “Get on the bed, baby”, and you followed his command.

With a magnetic pull, Sukuna led you to his bed, your eyes locked in a heated exchange of desire and anticipation. The air was charged with electricity, every touch igniting a wildfire of longing between you. As you sank into the soft embrace of the mattress, a primal hunger consumed you, driving you to explore each other with an urgency born of passion.

With a possessive grip, Sukuna claimed your lips in a searing kiss, his dominance asserting itself with every fervent movement. His hands traced the curves of your body with a possessive intensity, his touch igniting a feverish need within you. You yielded to him willingly, your own desire mingling with his in a potent cocktail of longing and surrender.

“You’re so pretty, baby. I love you so much.”

Your clothes became mere obstacles, discarded in a frenzy of desire as you bared yourselves to each other without reservation. With each caress, each whispered promise, you delved deeper into the depths of your desire, your bodies becoming one in a dance of carnal pleasure and primal need.

“You belong to me, baby. All of you. Only to me. I’ll be your first and your last.”

As your passion reached its zenith, you lost yourselves in each other, your moans of ecstasy filling the air as you surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm of your desire. In that moment, on Sukuna's bed, you were consumed by the flames of your passion, your love, a blazing inferno that burned brighter with every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise of forever.

With a possessive hunger burning in his eyes, Sukuna trailed his fingers along your trembling form, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence that bordered on worship. As he settled between your parted thighs, he felt your pulse quicken beneath his touch, your breath hitching in anticipation of the ecstasy to come.

“You’re already soaked, princess. Been waiting for this, huh?”

With a predatory grace, he teased you with feather-light caresses, his fingers dancing over your skin in a tantalizing rhythm. Your soft gasps filled the room as he explored your most intimate depths, his touch sending shivers of pleasure cascading through your body.

With each stroke, he felt you surrendering to him, your barriers crumbling in the face of his relentless desire. He relished in the power he held over you, reveling in the way you arched into his touch, your cries of pleasure music to his ears, the way your wet pussy clenched and pulsated around his slender fingers. With a primal hunger driving him forward, Sukuna delved deeper into you, his fingers becoming an extension of his own desire as he brought you to the brink of ecstasy again and again.

“Don’t cum yet, babygirl. You wanted something else inside you, remember? Do you still want it?”

“Y–yes…ahh…f–fuck, yes, please, Sukuna.”

As Sukuna's touch grew bolder, you surrendered completely to the sensations coursing through your body. With each deliberate stroke of his fingers, you melted further into submission, your moans filling the air as you abandoned yourself to the overwhelming pleasure he bestowed upon you.

Your body quivered with every skilled movement, each sensation amplified by the electric tension that crackled between you. Your  breath hitched with every caress, your heart racing as you surrendered to the blissful torment of his dominance.

With a possessive hunger burning in his eyes, Sukuna reveled in the sight of you laid bare before him, your submissive surrender stoking the flames of his desire to new heights. Your moans of pure lust were like a siren's song, drawing him deeper into the abyss of his own primal urges.

Driven by an insatiable hunger, Sukuna's touch grew more demanding, more possessive, his own arousal building with each intoxicating sound that escaped your lips. With each whimper of pleasure, he felt the intoxicating rush of power surging through his veins, his dominance asserting itself with an almost feral intensity.

“I think you’re ready, baby.”

Sukuna positioned himself above you, your submissive form trembling with anticipation beneath him. With a possessive grip, he guided himself to your entrance, the throbbing heat of his arousal pressing against your quivering flesh. As he poised himself at the threshold of your innocence, a fierce determination coursed through him, driving him forward with an urgency born of primal desire. With a forceful thrust, he pushed himself inside your pussy, the sensation of your tight warmth enveloping him like a velvet vice.

“Oh– Fuck…fuck, it’s tight. You feel so fucking good, baby.”

You gasped at the intrusion, your body tensing with a mixture of pleasure and pain. With each powerful thrust, Sukuna claimed you as his own, his dominant nature asserting itself with every primal movement. As you moved together in a primal dance of passion and possession, Sukuna felt a surge of ecstasy and lust coursing through him. You felt so good stretching around him, he could feel your heartbeat through your wet, tight cunt.

As your bodies intertwined in the fervor of your passion, Sukuna's arousal reached a crescendo, the intensity of the moment threatening to overwhelm him entirely. With each hard, deep thrust, he felt himself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, his primal instincts driving him ever closer to the brink. He pounded into you like a wild animal, feeling the undying urge to not only claim your soul as his but also your body.

“Oh fuck…oh fuck no.”

But then, in a sudden and unexpected rush, Sukuna's control slipped away, his body betraying him in the most primal of ways. With a gasp of disbelief, he felt his release wash over him, his climax crashing over him with a force that left him trembling in its wake.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Sukuna grappled with the intensity of his own pleasure, his body pulsing with the aftershocks of his release. And as he collapsed against you, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he realized with a sinking feeling that he had cum far sooner than he had anticipated.

“…’kuna?”, your eyes shot wide, feeling him release his hot cum inside you. Usually it takes you far longer to get him to finish with your mouth. 

In the hazy aftermath of their passion, Sukuna's heart raced with a mixture of embarrassment and shame, his mind reeling with the realization that he had revealed his virginity in the most humiliating of ways. And as he looked into your eyes, he saw the confusion and concern reflected in your gaze, knowing that he would have to find a way to explain himself, even as his own insecurities threatened to consume him. Slowly he pulled out and grabbed the box of tissues next to his bed to clean you up.

With a heavy heart, he knew that he couldn't keep his secret any longer, not from you, not from the woman he loved more than life itself.

Summoning every ounce of courage he possessed, Sukuna steeled himself for the confession that weighed heavily upon his soul. With slightly trembling hands and a voice thick with emotion, he reached out to you, his eyes searching yours for understanding and acceptance.

"Baby," he began, his words coming out in a rush as he struggled to find the right ones. "I need to tell you something...something I should have told you before."

As he spoke, Sukuna felt the weight of his secret lifting from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of vulnerability unlike anything he had ever known. With each word, he bared his soul to you, revealing the truth of his inexperience, his virginity laid bare for you to see.

To his surprise, your reaction was not one of judgment or scorn, but of compassion and understanding. With a gentle touch, you reached out to him, your eyes filled with love and acceptance.

"Sukuna," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't matter to me. What matters is us, and the love we share. I’m yours and you’re mine."

[cloakedpress]

10 Tips for Writing Better Setting Descriptions

Setting isn't just a backdrop—it's an active, breathing part of your story. When done right, it can anchor the reader, build tension, and even reveal your character's emotional state.

Whether you’re writing a sweeping fantasy, a gritty sci-fi, or a quiet character-driven story, strong setting description makes your world feel real.

Here are 10 tips to help you level up your setting descriptions:

---

1. Engage All Five Senses

Don’t just focus on what your world looks like. What does it smell like? What’s the texture underfoot? Is the air thick with humidity or dust?

*Pro Tip*: Close your eyes and imagine walking into the space. What hits you first?

---

2. Show, Don’t Tell

Instead of saying “It was a creepy house,” describe the sagging shutters, the overgrown lawn, the faint buzzing of flies. Let readers feel the mood through details.

---

3. Get Specific with Details

General descriptions fade quickly, but specific ones stick. “The alley was dark” is fine—but “a rusted fire escape groaned overhead” gives the reader a stronger visual.

Choose a few vivid, concrete details that spark the imagination.

---

4. Reflect Mood or Theme

Let your setting echo your character’s internal world. A storm might mirror chaos. A cluttered room could reflect a cluttered mind.

This helps your world feel emotionally resonant—not just physically real.

---

5. Weave Description into Action

Avoid stopping your story to deliver a paragraph of setting. Instead, reveal details as your character moves through the world:

> “She ducked beneath the low beam, brushing cobwebs from her jacket.”

Now you’ve got movement and mood in one sentence.

---

## 6. Use Metaphors and Similes (Sparingly)

A striking metaphor can make your setting unforgettable:

> “The hallway stretched like a throat waiting to swallow her.”

Just don’t overdo it—too many comparisons can feel forced or distracting.

---

7. Create Atmosphere, Not Just Location

Setting should make readers feel something. Ask yourself: Is this space tense, comforting, eerie, nostalgic?

Use language that matches the emotional tone of the scene.

---

8. Let the Setting Move

Make the environment dynamic. Let wind stir leaves, shadows shift, light change. Movement brings your world to life and keeps readers grounded in time.

---

9. Don’t Overload the Reader

You don’t need to describe every single thing in a room. Give just enough for the reader to imagine the rest. Let their mind fill in the gaps—that’s half the magic.

---

10. Filter Through Your Character’s POV

The same setting looks different through different eyes. A detective might notice bloodstains. A florist might notice wilting daisies.

Let your descriptions reflect what your character notices—and why.

---

Final Thoughts

Strong setting description isn’t about dumping a bunch of details—it’s about making your world feel alive, meaningful, and emotionally charged.

Next time you're writing a scene, don’t just ask what it looks like. Ask:

- What does it feel like?

- What’s moving?

- What would my character notice first?

Let your setting become a living part of the story.

[iidilio]

Day 19: Thunderstorm

— You’re afraid of thunderstorms. Sylus, even if he doesn’t show it, worries about you.

[ 🌸 ] wanted something cute for this man

characters: Sylus

warnings: none

More? Here

…

..

.

The roar of thunder seeped into your bones… but he was there.

Electricity crackled across the sky like someone trying to tear it open with their nails. Outside, the storm had broken out without warning—just like always in Zone N109, where even the weather seemed to be at war. Every lightning flash lit up the dark bedroom window, followed by a thunderclap that shook the reinforced concrete walls.

You were curled up in bed, your head resting on his chest, the sheets pulled up to your nose, your heart pounding too fast. You could face bullets, even walk through the most dangerous sectors of the city with Sylus as your shadow… but thunder. Those damned thunderclaps.

They were your Achilles’ heel.

And, as if the universe decided scaring you wasn’t enough, another bolt ripped the sky in two.

You didn’t want to wake him—though maybe he was already awake. Sylus’s voice came as if he’d just stirred… though you knew well he rarely ever slept completely.

“It’s raining like the world’s about to end again,” he murmured, not even asking if you were awake. He already knew. He knew you too well.

He went quiet for a moment, and you did your best to appear calm, though your fingers were gripping the fine silk robe he wore to bed like your life depended on it. You didn’t need to look up to feel his gaze on you—that mix of calculating calm and rare attention he gave only a select few.

“I’m guessing you’ve got that face like you wanna crawl under the mattress, kitten.”

The nickname that usually made you laugh now made your lips press together. Maybe you were embarrassed. You knew it didn’t make sense to fear the storm, but the noise… the crashing… every inch of your body tensed like a wire about to snap.

Sylus let out a sigh—barely audible—the kind he would never let slip in front of anyone else.

“Want me to turn the light on?” he asked, no teasing, no sarcasm. Just that low, rough tone he used when it was just the two of you.

“No… stay,” you whispered, almost inaudible.

He said nothing, of course, didn’t hug you right away. Sylus wasn’t that kind of man. He knew how to give you space—even when he needed you, too. But after a minute—and another thunderclap that made you flinch—he wrapped an arm around you.

“Come here,” he murmured near your ear. “I’m not gonna let anything touch you, alright?”

Your forehead pressed against his chest without thinking. His warmth was a refuge, and his scent—a mix of gunpowder, leather, and something softer you couldn’t quite place—anchored you to the present. Sylus rested his chin on top of your head in a gesture no one else in his life would ever see. Just you.

“I hate this,” you whispered. “It feels so stupid…”

“It’s not stupid.” His voice was lower than usual, just the right volume so only your ears would hear. “We’re all afraid of something. Yours just happens to be the storm…”

“And what’s yours?”

There was a pause.

“Losing you,” he said without hesitation, like someone dropping a bomb and walking away.

You went quiet.

Sylus rarely said things like that. He was a man of action, not words. But there, under the blanket, with the world falling apart outside, he gave you that truth—wrapped in velvet, sharp as a blade.

His fingers began to play with strands of your hair, almost absently.

“You’re gonna be okay, kitten.” His voice dropped another octave, almost like a soft purr, as if he were stroking you with it. “Even if the sky falls apart… as long as you’re with me, nothing’s gonna touch you. Not even the storm.”

Another thunderclap. This time, you didn’t flinch.

Sylus was there.

[cas-kingdom]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

A/N: Just a little something.

Title: Something Borrowed, Something Blue

Summary: Ten is back, and by God are you going to hold his hand so he never leaves again.

Words: 1220

He had registered it when it happened, of course. The feeling of warm, human skin—your warm, human skin—against his own, that familiar rapid pulse beneath his fingertips, was not something he could ever forget. And when it was this specific hand you were holding onto, attached to this specific arm leading to this specific face, he truly couldn’t blame you.

He guessed it had been a good hour. An hour since he’d regenerated, since you’d recognised his new-but-not-at-all-new face and your own face had lit up, utterly devoid of the dread you’d had before. And you’d hugged him, and he’d hugged you, and you’d latched onto his hand and hadn’t yet let go. Running around the TARDIS, landing her, holding Donna’s box, riding in the taxi, sneaking through the crash zone…your hands had been wrapped tightly around the other, each a constant, solid presence.

So, though he had registered it, the conscious recognition didn’t come until he yanked you towards him when he instinctively reached with that hand for the screwdriver. Balancing on your haunches beneath him, you stumbled a bit. An apology was on his lips until he glanced down and saw the white knuckles wrapped around his.

He looked up. Recovered from your little topple, you were staring straight at him.

“Y/N.” He said it softly, eyebrows raising, and you blinked. There was a deep concern in your bright eyes. Not visible on the surface, only he could see it, because he could always see through you.

He lifted his hand, the one attached to you, and the corner of his lips lifted slightly. “I need my hand back for a minute,” he said.

Your face seemed to visibly pale. You sat properly on the ground and slowly released your death grip, your fingers returning to their pinkness. You didn’t quite let go though, your gaze seeming anchored to your hands as though…as though it was the one thing keeping him there with you.

The Doctor hummed. “Hey, you.” You caught your bottom lip between your teeth and looked at him. He stretched out his free hand and tapped your nose. “It’s alright,” he promised you, offering a smile.

You nodded, hesitant at first, but more assured as you quickly dropped his hand and drew it back to your chest, holding it there with the other. “I know.”

The Doctor reached into his pocket for the screwdriver, eyes never once leaving you. You were distracting yourself from not physically feeling him, scratching at your head, twirling hair around your fingers, that leg shake you did whenever you felt restless. He couldn’t quite remember you being so anxious when he’d been him all those years ago. An inquisitive child, you’d followed him absolutely everywhere, but you hadn’t needed the assurance of his hand in yours to know he wasn’t going to leave you. But then, times had changed, and so had the both of you. He’d regenerated and regenerated and regenerated since, each one sucking a tiny bit more life from you than the one before. No wonder you’d grabbed the first hint of familiarity you’d received in fifteen years and not let go.

The Doctor stretched his legs out and rested his crossed ankles on a concrete block. He drew a box in the air with his sonic, a map of sorts, hoping to figure out what exactly the spaceship was and how he was expected to save little old Earth this time. Without looking down, he jerked his head a little to the side. “Space next to me,” he said.

A moment later you were beside him, crossing your legs beneath you, hands on your lap as though you had no clue what else to do with them. You watched as he fiddled with the sonic and sat in silence for a good ten seconds. Until he stopped. And he turned to look at you. And when your eyes met, his brows furrowed, and a smile, full of nostalgia and sadness, slowly spread across his face. He reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing the skin. Tears sprung to your eyes.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I know. Come here.”

He stretched his arm out, allowing you to move closer and all but bury yourself in his side. His arm wrapped around your back and the other went instinctively to your head, holding you close to his chest.

Your gentle sniffles weren’t hard to miss. He kissed the top of your head, lingering there for a bit, shutting his eyes. “I’m here now, Y/N. I’m here.”

“But for how long?”

He couldn’t answer that. Something was niggling in the back of his mind. This face was being borrowed for an undetermined amount of time, some cruel trick from the universe that by God he couldn’t help but be thankful for.

“Let’s not worry about that now,” he said. He removed the hand from your head and put it between you, feeling you grasp it. You held it tightly, that little hand, that hand he had watched grow, that sweet girl he had raised, and sent a silent prayer to whoever would bloody listen that he’d have longer than he dreaded this time.

“You look different, you know,” you spoke softly a moment later. You turned your head to rest your cheek against him.

The Doctor rose a brow, running his tongue along his teeth. “That so?”

“Still the same, but different.”

“Ah. You look different too, you know. From when this face last saw you, that is.”

 “I grew up.”

The Doctor frowned, subconsciously holding you that bit tighter. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, you did. Can you stop that, by the way? Growing up? I’m not the biggest fan, you know.”

You pretended to think about it wiping at your eyes with your free hand. “Don’t think so.”

“Big shame, that. Massive shame. Probably the biggest shame of all. I remember when you were little little, when I had to tie your shoelaces for you and peel your oranges.” The latter was still true now, come to think of it. “But you’re still that same little girl, aren’t you, hm?” He lifted his head a little to peer down at you, trying to catch your gaze. “Aren’t you, Y/N?” There was a point hidden in those words. A point he’d had to reiterate so many times before on so many different levels. No matter his face, no matter his personality, no matter anything, he was still the same. The same Doctor. The same alien. The same being who loved you with all of his hearts. And he needed to remind you of that, to prepare you, because if what he feared would happen happened, he wanted—he needed it to be easy. For your sake. As easy as it could be. In whatever way helped you. In whatever way gave you back that life he’d inadvertently had a hand in destroying.

You drew away from him to look him in the eyes. Your own eyes were glistening, but you sniffed and held them back. You smiled lightly, then rose on your knees to wrap your arms around his neck in a tight hug. The Doctor returned it without hesitation, shutting his eyes.

“‘Course I am,” you said quietly. “Just like you.”

“Just like me.”

Doctor Who Masterpost

[theosang3ls]

Tell me what you need

inspired by “Champagne Coast” by Blood Orange

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Female Reader

summary: Mattheo loves to tease you for being a “bookworm,” but beneath the smirks and your quiet deflections, something far more dangerous simmers—something neither of you can ignore the moment you find yourselves alone, just beyond the noise of the party.

warnings: smoking, mentions of weed, reader is under the influence of alcohol, suggestive implications (very slight though)

!all characters are over the age of 18!

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You were perched on the cold concrete floor of the balcony, tucked tightly into the corner where the stone wall met the railing. The chill from the castle’s ancient stone seeped through your clothes, but you didn’t mind it—it grounded you. Anchored you. The night air kissed your flushed cheeks and threaded through your hair, easing the alcohol in your system just enough to help you breathe again. You weren’t a heavy drinker, not usually. But when you did let loose, you made sure to drink enough to feel it—the warmth spreading through your veins, the pleasant fuzziness in your thoughts, the slight stumble in your step.

Tonight had been fun—more fun than you’d expected. You’d laughed too loudly, danced with abandon, and let yourself exist for a while outside the strict routine of your daily life. But eventually, the dizziness crept in. That nauseating kind of drunk that made the floor feel like it was shifting beneath your feet. Before you embarrassed yourself on the dance floor, you’d made a quick exit, murmuring something to your friends before slipping out to the balcony. The beat of the music still pulsed through the castle walls, muffled now, like a distant heartbeat.

The cigarette pack in your coat pocket was wrinkled, half-forgotten. You only ever touched it when you were drunk, and tonight was no exception. Instead of a cigarette, your fingers brushed against a joint—leftover from a previous night like this one. You pressed it to your lips, cupped your hand around the flame as you lit it, and took a long drag. Smoke filled your lungs, warm and heavy, mixing with the alcohol already pulsing through you. The combination grounded you. Slowed your racing thoughts. For a moment, you let yourself exist in stillness.

“Didn’t know you smoked, angel.”

The voice sliced through the silence, rough and familiar. You didn’t even have to look. That nickname alone told you exactly who it was.

Mattheo.

Of course it was him. It was always him.

He was the only person who dared to call you that—“angel”—with that infuriating mixture of amusement and mockery. It wasn’t even subtle. He said it like it was a joke only he was in on, like your existence in this world of chaos and rebellion was something precious, something too pure to touch. It drove you insane. Not only because it wasn’t true—you weren’t the angel he said—but because there was something in the way he said it that made you want it to be true, or false, or anything, as long as he kept noticing you, talking to you, even tease you. And god help you, he was so hot when he made fun of you—that playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips and that challenging glint in his eyes— it made your knees buckle. You hated it, because no one made you feel weak and you couldn’t admit that Mattheo was your weakness, even if it was true.

He teased you endlessly, like it was his favorite pastime. Snide remarks about your glasses. Your tidy handwriting. Your constant studying. The way you always tied your hair up, out of your face. He made fun of you like it was a game—but one he played too well, too often. And you? as attractive as found it, you pretended not to care. You never took the bait. You clung tighter to your books when he passed by. You rolled your eyes. You muttered a dry retort under your breath. But you never talked. Never gave him the satisfaction of a reaction. And that—he later admitted—only made it worse. Because there was something addictive about the dynamic you two had built.

A tension just under the surface.

A spark neither of you would light, but both of you felt.

You took another drag and exhaled slowly, lips curved into a small smirk. “Life’s full of surprises,” you murmured, finally tilting your head to look at him.

Mattheo stood in the doorway, his figure half-lit by the flickering party lights from behind him. His silhouette was sharp—shoulders relaxed, cigarette dangling between his fingers, that familiar look of mischief dancing in his eyes. When your eyes met his, something shifted. Just slightly. A flicker of surprise, maybe. Curiosity. Interest.

He moved closer, not saying a word, and lowered himself beside you. He sat just far enough to avoid touching, but close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him. Close enough to breathe in the scent of smoke, cologne, and something uniquely his. He held the cigarette between his lips, but didn’t light it. Instead, he just… looked at you.

You, in your drunk-and-high daze, hair down, glasses gone, makeup smudged and lipstick staining the joint like a signature. You weren’t the girl he saw in the library, scribbling notes and chewing on pen caps. You weren’t the one who muttered quick answers to professors and disappeared when the bell rang. Not tonight.

Tonight, you were someone else.

And Mattheo couldn’t stop staring.

That realization hit him like a punch to the chest, so he averted his gaze and lit his cigarette with a practiced flick.

The silence between you crackled with tension—comfortable, yet sharp. Like something electric lingered in the air, waiting to be ignited.

“You know I’m not a nerd, right?” you said suddenly, voice low, but steady. The alcohol gave you just enough courage to speak. To confront the label he’d playfully wrapped around you like a ribbon.

You didn’t look at him. Just kept your eyes fixed on the sky, where the stars blinked lazily above the castle towers. “I just wear glasses and put my hair up. Only when I’m studying. It gets in the way.”

Your laugh was soft, self-deprecating. “Guess that makes me a nerd by your standards.”

Mattheo glanced at you, brow raised, intrigued by the shift in your usual silence. This version of you—the one talking back—was unexpected. Different. And yet, he was drawn to it in the same way he’d always been drawn to the mystery of your quiet.

“No way that’s the only reason,” he said, smirking again. “You wear your hair up like you’re hiding something.”

Your laugh deepened, smoky and genuine. “Fine. I wear it up for… special occasions, too.” There was a flicker of something behind your voice. Something suggestive. And though it was subtle, Mattheo caught it. He felt it. But instead of reacting, he leaned into the smirk, playing it cool.

“So tonight’s not a special occasion?” You turned to look at him fully, your eyes glassy but sharp beneath the intoxication. You smiled—small, knowing, tired. “Not that kind of special,” you murmured and he just laughed, amused.

For several moments silence lingered in the night sky, the only sound you could hear was the inhaling and exhaling of smoke.

You didn’t say anything at first. You let the moment stretch thin and electric between you like a taut string—vibrating with something unspoken, something far more fragile than either of you were ready to name. It settled over you both like dust caught in moonlight: soft, silent, impossible to ignore.

Behind you, the party had all but disappeared into insignificance. The muted thump of the bass had faded into a low, irrelevant pulse, like a heartbeat you’d stopped syncing with. Laughter echoed faintly from behind the stone walls of the common room, but it was distant—like the memory of a world that didn’t quite belong to this version of the night. Out here, under the cold breath of the night air, time felt slow. Heavier. Like it belonged only to the two of you.

Mattheo took another drag from his cigarette, head tilted toward the stars, but his body betrayed him. His posture was too tense, too alert. Like his thoughts were turned inward, circling around something just beneath the surface of his skin—and whatever it was, it pointed straight at you. You could feel his restraint as something physical. A wall—not tall, but dense, built brick by brick from sarcasm, deflections, and half-hearted insults. You both had learned to lean against it instead of trying to climb it.

But tonight, that wall was beginning to crack.

You shifted, just slightly, your head resting back against the castle wall as you turned to glance at him—his profile shadowed, cigarette ember glowing like a dying star between his fingers. “You really thought I was that innocent?” you asked, voice light, curious. Almost teasing—but not quite. Mattheo didn’t look at you right away. He flicked ash from the edge of his cigarette, jaw tight, eyes still fixed somewhere up in the velvet sky. And when he did answer, it wasn’t with the smug tone he usually wielded like armor. “You are,” he said simply. Quietly. Like it was an objective fact. Like gravity. You scoffed under your breath, half-amused. “Because I read books and don’t make out in the common room?”

“No,” he said, and finally, finally turned his gaze to meet yours. “Because you don’t let people see you. Not really. Not the parts that matter.” That silenced you. Not because it was wrong—but because it was so unnervingly, uncomfortably right.

His eyes were darker now, less guarded, stripped of that teasing gleam he usually wore like a smirk stretched too wide. There was a quiet intensity in them that made your pulse flutter. Not out of fear. Out of recognition. Because somewhere beneath all the sarcasm and sharp comments, he saw you. And that was terrifying. Because you saw him too.

He looked at you like he wanted to say more. Like he wanted to lay it all down in the space between you—every messed-up thought, every too-soft feeling he didn’t know how to name. But the second the silence thickened into something dangerous, he veered away from it.

Like always.

“I mean,” he added, forcing his voice back into a drawl, “you did spend a whole semester blushing every time I said ‘wand.’”

You exhaled a sharp breath of disbelief, but the laugh escaped you anyway—soft, unwilling, real. “That’s because you always said it like it meant something else.”

“It did mean something else,” he said smugly.

And you laughed again, this time quieter. Something in your chest loosened with the sound. The tension didn’t vanish—but it changed shape. It folded itself into something more vulnerable, more intimate.

He watched you with a subtle kind of fascination—like he didn’t mean to be caught staring, but couldn’t stop himself. And it wasn’t the way he usually looked at you, not laced with flirtation or challenge. It was curious. Gentle. Like he was trying to memorize something he didn’t know he’d need later.

You turned your body towards him slightly, shoulder brushing his, your thigh close enough to his that the warmth bled through. He didn’t shift away. And that in itself said more than words.

“Why do you always do that?” you asked quietly. Mattheo blinked. “Do what?”“Push, tease, then pull away like it’s all a game.”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. His smirk didn’t reappear. He didn’t deflect.

He just looked at you—long enough for you to start counting the beats between your heart and his breath. Long enough for you to start wondering if this was the moment where everything unraveled.

“It’s exhausting,” you added, voice softer now. “Wanting to punch you or kiss you every time you open your mouth.”

He froze. Like the words had landed in a part of him that hadn’t been touched in a long time.bThe cigarette stilled between his fingers. He swallowed, hard.

“You don’t mean that,” he said finally—but it wasn’t said with confidence. It was spoken like a dare he didn’t want you to take.

You didn’t look away. “Don’t I?” That silence again. But this one was deeper. This was the silence that falls before a storm, before a kiss, before something irreversible.

Mattheo stared at you like you were a puzzle he’d already tried to solve too many times—and hated that he never could. Like he was mad at you for seeing through him. Like he was mad at himself for letting you.

Because he wanted to kiss you. Badly. Not just to taste you—but to know you. To see what you looked like without that composure, without the carefully drawn lines between propriety and desire. He wanted to mess you up. He wanted you.

And he hated that.

So he inhaled, tossed the cigarette over the balcony edge, and stood. Swift and silent. Like he was leaving before he did something he couldn’t take back. But you weren’t letting him off the hook tonight. “You always walk away when it gets real,” you said. He paused. The words hit him square in the back, stopping him like a physical hand pressed against his spine. His knuckles whitened against the stone frame of the doorway. “I don’t walk away,” he said, his voice taut, almost strangled. “Yes, you do,” you said again, more firmly. “You look at me like you want me. Like you’re thinking things you probably shouldn’t be. But the moment it starts to show—really show—you shut it down. You laugh, you tease, you run.”

He still didn’t turn. But his voice came back to you like a whip crack in the cold air. “And what if I am thinking about something I shouldn’t?” Your heart thundered. Not in fear. In anticipation. “Then maybe I am too,” you said. And that broke something in him. He turned. Not fast. Not sharp.

Like gravity pulled him toward you.

His gaze met yours—and for the first time, you didn’t see arrogance or amusement or restraint.

You saw hunger. Real. Raw. Unfiltered. It wasn’t just about lips or bodies or tension anymore. It was about recognition. About seeing yourself in someone who also didn’t know how to love gently, who didn’t trust good things to last, who used sharp words and reckless charm to keep people from getting too close. You were mirrors. But instead of reflecting fear back at each other, you reflected fire. And in that fire, something dangerous—and deeply beautiful—began to flicker to life.

He didn’t speak.

He just stood there, his entire frame still as stone, as though the air between you had thickened, become impossible to move through. His expression was unreadable—blank to anyone else, maybe. But not to you. You saw the flickers underneath—the hesitation, the want, the fear.

And something else too.

He looked at you like he couldn’t decide if you were the worst mistake he was about to make—or the only thing that had made sense in a long, long time.

You stayed exactly where you were, watching him. Not moving forward. Not pulling away. Just… standing in it. In all of it—that unbearable tension between honesty and collapse.

And then, quietly, Mattheo said, “You don’t understand what it’s like.”nYour brow furrowed. “What what’s like?”

“To want something,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “that makes you feel like you’re going to lose control. Like you’ll become someone else entirely if you touch it.” His eyes were on you again, and it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t a line. There was something wounded in it. Something so real you almost had to look away. But you didn’t. You stepped closer, until there was barely a breath between your bodies. His chest rose and fell unevenly, like your nearness had short-circuited him.

“You think I don’t understand that?” you whispered. He clenched his jaw. “I watch you, Mattheo,” you continued. “I see how hard you try to be unreadable. Like if no one really knows you, no one can ever hurt you. But you’re not unreadable. Not to me.” He flinched—just slightly.

“I see the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking. The way your hands twitch when I walk by like you’re barely stopping yourself from reaching out. I see how fast you look away when we lock eyes for too long. Like you’re scared of what I’ll see.”

He swallowed hard, and the motion was tight, like it hurt. “I’m not scared of what you’ll see,” he muttered, barely audible.“No?” you asked. “I’m scared of what I’ll do if you don’t look away,” he snapped. And there it was—laid bare in the cold night between you.

Not lust. Not flirtation. Fear.

Fear of losing the one thing he hadn’t meant to want this badly.

“You’re not going to break me,” you said, softer now. “You don’t have to protect me from this. From you.”

Mattheo looked at you like you’d just spoken a different language—one he’d never been allowed to hear before. His eyes searched your face, like he didn’t know where to land. Your eyes, your lips, your voice—all of it pulling him somewhere dangerous.

“I don’t want to ruin it,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I don’t want to ruin you.” You felt your chest tighten, not in pain—but in something deeper. Something like grief for all the versions of him who’d never been told he was allowed to want good things without breaking them.

“You won’t,” you said, and it wasn’t a promise. It was a knowing.

He closed his eyes. Just for a second. Like he was trying to ground himself. Or gather the pieces of him you’d just cracked wide open. And when he opened them again, he looked different. Stripped. Raw. Like there was nothing left to hide behind.

“You shouldn’t get close to people like me,” he said quietly. “We don’t know how to stay soft. We destroy things when we love them too much.”

You reached up then, slowly, gently, and touched his cheek. Just your fingertips—just enough for him to feel you. To know you weren’t afraid of his edges.

“I’m not asking you to be soft,” you whispered. “I’m asking you to be honest.” He stared at you. And for a moment, he looked like he might actually break. Not from weakness—but from the unbearable weight of finally being seen.

He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t move to.

But his hand—rough and uncertain—reached up slowly, like he was afraid you might vanish if he touched you too quickly. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, barely grazing your skin. It was the softest contact you’d ever felt, and somehow it lit you up more than anything else ever had.

His hand didn’t fall away.

Instead, his knuckles skimmed the side of your jaw, and then—like something magnetic pulled him forward—his forehead lowered until it rested against yours.

Not in the way people do when they’re about to kiss.

But in the way someone does when they’re trying to breathe.

You felt him exhale—one long, shaky breath—and you realized he wasn’t just touching you.

He was grounding himself.

Like the moment was too much. Like you were too much. Like everything he’d kept bottled, all the walls he’d carefully constructed to stay untouched, unbothered, unmoved—were caving in under the weight of you.

And still, neither of you moved.

Not even a fraction.

The silence between you was thick, heady—woven with the pulse of restraint, of everything screaming under the skin. You could feel his heartbeat where your chest almost brushed his, steady but hard, like he was fighting something deep and primal.

“I shouldn’t…” he whispered, but didn’t pull away.

“I know,” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed.

Because you shouldn’t either.

You shouldn’t crave the way his thumb was now absently grazing the curve of your cheekbone. You shouldn’t feel a whole universe stretching between your lips and his, begging to collapse. You shouldn’t be this drawn to someone who made your head spin and your heart ache in the same breath. And yet, here you were. Locked together in the kind of closeness that didn’t need a kiss to break you.

You tilted your face just slightly, and that tiny movement made his breath stutter. His nose brushed yours. A hair’s width from your lips. His hand was still on your jaw, firm now. Trembling.

“Why do you do this to me,” he said, voice hoarse—like it cost him something to ask it out loud.

You didn’t answer. Because the truth was—it wasn’t just him. It was you too. He was the chaos you hated to need. The storm you secretly longed to drown in.

And in this moment, with your forehead pressed against his, your breaths tangled together and his eyes locked on your mouth like it might undo him—you weren’t just on the edge of something dangerous.

You were already falling.

And you knew—when it finally happened, when one of you broke and the space between vanished—it wouldn’t be gentle.

It would be everything.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A/N: Ughhhh this felt so good to write! Don’t ask me why I got inspired to write this, listening to this certain song, I just did eheheh. Hope you liked it! I apologise for any mistakes, english is not my first language <3

!Reblogs and Likes are highly appreciated¡

…until next time lovelies 💋

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Joel Dealing with Fam: Pool Days

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: baby Ellie remembers how to swim.

- - - -

Ellie knows how to swim. She went to all the infant swim lessons and survival trainings just like Sarah did. You have no fear of Ellie's swimming capabilities.

But at some point over the winter, she forgot she knew, and developed a fear of water. The four of you took a trip to the local pool, where Sarah and Joel jumped right in. Even as Sarah was determined to take Joel down with all her might (to absolutely no sucess) Joel still had his arms stretched out ready to catch Ellie to jump in.

Ellie--bless her bitty chubby soul-- had no interest to jump in. She was almost two at this point. Bucket hat and fat floaties on her shoulders, she twirled her fingers anxiously, looking away from daddy with drawn browns.

"Its okay, baby, daddy is gonna catch you!" He encourages, curling his hands towards himself in come hither motion "You don't even have to swim!"

But she shakes her head, running back to you and clutching your legs for dear life.

"That's okay Ellie. We don't have to swim today. Do you wanna sit with me?"

She nods, her head buried between your knees.

So you and Ellie sat on the hot concrete and watches curiously ad ants lined up, grabbed crumbs of discarded food, and filed away to their cracks in the sidewalk. She pointed to them curiously, only occasionally glancing at the pool before shifting away and dedicating all her focus on the very dry ground.

The next day, you sat on the shallow edge of the stairs into the pool. It took some coaxing, but Ellie sat on the dry edge, and only managed to dip her large toes in at a time. Sarah continued to climb atop Joel like a tree, grunting and trying to pull his chest down knock him under water, but he just kept grabbing her and yeeting her 6 feet in the air to splash back into the pool.

Next day, Ellie's ankles kicked in the water, but she was still too afriad to get in any further.

"I dont get it. She knows how to swim," Joel complained. His biggest gripe is why he has to bring all these floaties day after day if neither Sarah nor Ellie were using them. He was also feeling a big dejected. You could tell he wanted Ellie to trust him with this. He was a great dad.

"Its a mental thing..." it really was. You didnt have any other explanation for it. You weren't gonna traumatize her by pushing her in and forcing her to fight or flight.

The four of you got close to the edge. Ellie saw the water and immediately retreated back towards the furthest fence, more content with swimming in the artificial grass.

"I figured she'd want to get in with me," he pouts. Joel saw it all going differently. That Ellie would feel more comfortable being around Joel, even if he carried her all day in the water. He'd swear never to let a drop get on her. But not even her favorite man was enough to sway her.

Joel miller is a great father. A great husband.

You....

You glances at Joel, who's walking closer to the edge of the pool than you.

The thought breezes through your mind, and you come to the conclusion that you are not as great a wife.

using all your strength, you shove him off balance and send him flying into the pool without warning.

He has no chance to get his anchor as he goes crashing into the water, elbow and head first.

On cue, Ellie screams and immediately forced her fat legs to run as fast as they can, straight to the water. Eithout a seconds hesitation that she's had all week, she launches herself at full speed, scrunches her legs in the air and cannon balls into the pool butt first.

You must be a really bad mom too because You didn't expect her to just jump in by herself!!!

But to your immediately relief, she bobs her head up and starts frantically kicking and paddling doggy style to reach Joel.

Joel resurfaces, standing tall as the water was only deep to his waist, and shakes his head annoyingly. He frowns at you before realizing there's a very fast moving worm coming towards him-

"daDDY!" She shouts concerningly. Even though everyone else can clearly tell Joel is in no harm whatsoever, she still pants hard as she pettles her way to him like his life depends on it.

Joel blinks away the chlorine in his eyes, in disbelief at her sudden determination. "ELLIE! You did it!"

He reaches out and grasps her into his arms.

"I save DADDY!" She exclaims.

"Ahh.. I mean you didn't really..."

He glances up at you with eyes that signal to him to shut the fuck up.

"you DID! You saved me from drowning."

"All by myself!" She coos excitedly. "Daddy I swim!"

After that Ellie was completely comfortable in the pool, with Joel remaining a 4 foot radius at all times (knowing he could drown at any moment again).

"I wanna push him in next!" Sarah protested.

Ellie screeches "NO!" And defensively clutched Joel's whole head as she sat atop his shoulders.

- - - -

Taglist

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