#contrast of brightness within a shot

[excusemyobsessions]

You're safe.

Sylus x MC/You

Genre:  One shot, angst but comfort?, fluff, gender neutral reader

Word count: 1200 words

Little note: Sylus comforts you after a nightmare about your past lives as per request of a lovely anon.

Warnings: mild gore?, blood, description of a nightmare, use of pet names (honey), teeth-rotting fluff

(Also posted on AO3)

Suffocating.

The air was suffocating.

Heavy smoke clouded your vision and made your eyes sting, tears forming in them.

Your hands were covered in blood, it dripped from your fingers heavily, pitter pattering on the scorched ground beneath your knees.

You could hear choking sounds inches away from you.

Through your tears you caught a glimpse of white hair, black iridescent scales.

“Sylus!” you whimpered.

Your dragon wheezed, choked, gurgling sounds echoing from his throat. There was a large sword sticking out of his ribcage. It was impaled all the way through.

It was you who had forced it through.

“No, no, no, no, Sylus,” you sobbed.

Trembling hands captured his cheeks, cradling his face with so much care. Blood smeared on his skin and you frantically tried to wipe it off, only making it worse.

Long claws circled your wrist.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” he whispered weakly.

Tears fell heavily down your cheeks, streaming down like a river, dripping onto his peaceful features.

“Please, please don’t leave me,” you begged of him.

“I will always be here,” he told you. “Always.”

The bright crimson in his eyes faded to a soulless maroon.

You screamed.

You were awakened by gentle but firm fingers, shaking your shoulders.

“Honey, hey.”

Sylus leaned over you, ruby eyes startled, widened with concern, little droplets of water dripping from his wet snowy hair. He'd turned on the lamp on the bedside table and its soft, yellow light outlined his sharp features. Images of your dream, of your shared past life, overlapped with the present, man and dragon flashing before your eyes before finally settling on the man inches away from you.

“Shhh, I'm right here,” he told you steadily.

Mind hazy with sleep, you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down onto you.

Sylus let out a little surprised groan. He caught himself just in time not to crush you under his weight, forearms coming to rest next to your head, on each side of the pillow. You buried your face in the curve of his neck, inhaling his scent, nuzzling your nose against the exposed skin. The scent of his expensive body wash contrasted with the smoke that still burned your throat.

“I came out of the shower and you were crying,” he explained. “It was just a nightmare, it’s okay.”

You gripped onto him so tight you were scared you’d choke him but you were shaking. Desperate to hold him now, like you couldn't do in your dream.

“There was so much smoke, my hands were covered in blood… It was your blood,” you began to tell him, tears welling up in your bleary eyes.

You felt your vocal chords tie themselves into a knot, the salt of your tears going down your throat.

“I pushed a sword into your chest,” you whimpered.

You heard him inhale sharply against your hair.

“I didn't-... I don't-... Sy…” you hiccuped into his neck.

His arms circled your frame and he rolled the two of you over onto your sides. His motion shifted you a bit lower, low enough to bury your face in his chest.

“I know, honey, I know,” he whispered against the top of your head.

Your hands came down to sprawl themselves over his chest, feeling the unscathed skin, the muscles, the tendons. He was warm under your fingers, soft, whole. There was no sword, no blood. You sobbed against his heart.

“Sy, it was awful,” you told him.

You felt the rumbling of a hum within his chest when that was all he could offer you in response.

Your arms circled his waist and you laid your head against his chest, ear pressed to his heart, to listen to its steady beat. And you wept, for him, for you, for a past long gone which you felt so deeply engraved in your chest.

Sylus held you close, long fingers cradling your head against his chest, his other hand on the small of your back.

“It's over now,” he told you, “We're safe and sound.”

Your grip tightened around him and so did his around you.

His hand traced over your shaking shoulders, massaging the tensed muscles, slid down your back soothingly. You held onto him like your life depended on it.

Encased within his embrace was where you wanted, no, needed to be.

He moved his hand away and shifted a little, and you held on to him tighter, afraid he'd slip between your fingers. Another sob ripped through your chest.

“Shh, I'm not going anywhere,” he told you reassuringly.

You realized then he was just tucking the covers over the both of you, cocooning you in warm silk sheets and his arms. When he dragged you even closer, you were able to slip your legs in between his. The sigh that escaped your lips was interrupted by little sobs but it was one of relief.

Sylus seemed to relax in your embrace. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and began to run his long fingers through your hair carefully. Occasionally, they would get caught up in a knot but he gently detangled it.

Slowly but surely, your sobs began to quiet down.

“You know, I'm glad you're no longer a sorceress,” he told you quietly, fingers slipping into your hair to massage your scalp.

Your head slowly leaned back into his hand and he supported the weight, shifting his position so he could look down at you now that your face was finally away from his chest.

“In this life, I can keep you here, just like this, safe and sound. And I’m no longer afraid you'll be taken away.”

His deep voice was mellow but serious, it resonated with your heart as if the sole sound of it could wrap it up in a tender hold.

The tears hadn't stopped yet. They blurred your vision but you could see his eyes gaze back at you steadily, so attentive.

“What if you're the one who's taken away from me?” you whispered up at him.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

His other hand lifted to catch the tears falling endlessly from your eyes with the knots of his fingers.

“Who would even dare?” he responded, confidence so palpable you found yourself agreeing with him.

You kissed the palm of his hand.

He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss against your forehead, resting his lips there for a long while. You let your eyes close, sinking into him.

So utterly tangled with him, you could feel the steady beat of his heart against yours, the rise and fall of his chest when he breathed, his warm breath against your skin.

Slowly but surely, the tears dried. He cleaned any remains with tender fingers, kissed each one of your swollen eyelids.

“You're safe,” he promised and you believed him.

“I'm tired,” you told him, snuggling further into him.

He wrapped his long arms around you again.

“You can sleep. I'm not going anywhere.”

And you knew he really wasn't because there was no purer love in this world than his.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Hey can you do a reader oneshot where the player ended up become heavily emaciated from enduring starvation for so long to collapsing in the cave where Doey found them and take them to the Safe Haven where they interact with the Toys( and getting some food to be fed )? Something dark yet ended up getting a good ending

You, the ex-employee, have spent days or perhaps weeks starving, a shell of your former self. Your body, once strong and capable, is now reduced to little more than skin and bones. The hunger gnaws at you from within, twisting your thoughts into a blur of desperation. The world around you feels distant, as though your senses are failing, and every step you take becomes more of a struggle. 

time seemed to pass so differently where the light reached nowhere, you left it awhile ago. falling into the cold and cadaverous crypts, you could truly feel the full force of the torment that went on for the experiments here.

"sonuva-" You curse, taking another ragged step. the shortness of your breath was not left unnoticed by you yourself, it felt as if you were a shot-down tail-spun plane. there was no love here, not for you. you shake your head, trying to vy for some unforgotten strength you didn't muster just yet.

however, it seemed that wasn't the case.

unfortunately.

Collapsing into the cold, damp embrace of a forgotten cave within the Playtime Co. facility, your body gives way to exhaustion. You lie there, barely conscious, drifting between the waking world and the comforting darkness of unconsciousness. The hunger, the cold, the pain—each one seems like an insurmountable force in itself, but you no longer have the strength to fight.

the human body could be and has been impressive, proven in many cases. able to take on pain like nothing else or just even react faster and quicker then the average species of planet earth.

though, your body was nothing short of that. it was just that, average as anything else. in fact, it was already impressive enough that you managed to muster the energy to continue going on after the sudden self-imposed train crash after you had incidentally freed poppy. something you began to regret doing.

back then, you had repeatedly questioned poppy. to which she had only said a few decent answers, pick and choose you suppose. some seemed to hit home deeply, leaving her to deflect those specific ones. however, it's not as if you had a choice in the matter anyway. having no where else to go but----forward.

forward.

how ironic.

even if you had dearly wished for the children of playtime, each and every victim to have justice for their strife. you just couldn't keep going, you were just a human. only a human, against all those wrapped in monster-skins and facades.

you let out a sigh, wondering what you have done in your life; or any past lives for that matter as you cast an agonizingly long glance despite the pain, at the cold and desolate corners and hallways. the lights that flicker, and the shadows that the monsters prowl from within. you just wished something, or someone had ended you already.

people lost lives to this damned facility, what's one more?

It is there, in the deepest shadows of your despair, that Doey finds you. The plump, clay-like creature, bright and colorful in contrast to the gloom, seems to appear from nowhere. His long, playful limbs extend towards you, lifting you carefully from the ground as if you're nothing more than a fragile doll. Despite his cheery appearance, there is a certain understanding in his movement—a deep empathy that shines through the usual cheerfulness. Doey knows the pain of being lost, of enduring torment. 

you let out a low groan as the strange toy had jostled you to a safe position within his arms, or something on his body, you couldn't tell.

"Why?" is all you ask your savior.

though he didn't respond---that was something you had often asked of anyone and everything, in the factory of Playtime, that was all you seemed to ask. Especially since that very question circulated with finally finding out the bigger bodies initiative had existed, you weren't a higher up, no way; so you had no knowledge of such a thing.

not up until now.

The faint hum of the factory’s empty halls echoed through the long-abandoned Playcare dome. Dust and neglect had taken hold of the once-vibrant space, but none of this phased you now. your hand clutched the tape you had found hidden deep in a forgotten cabinet. It wasn’t the regular assortment of old company VHS tapes. No, this one was different. Something about the way it was buried, shoved aside, felt off. 

you slipped it into the player, fingers trembling. The grainy images flickered to life on the screen, an old commercial featuring Poppy, the doll that haunted you in your nightmares. But as you watched, you realized that something was wrong. This wasn’t just a commercial. The footage had been tampered with, and a series of frantic scribbles beneath the screen flashed warnings—"The bigger bodies initiative... They've been watching... they're still here..."

The tape abruptly cut off, and you stood frozen, mind racing. The implications were horrifying. The factory had always been a place of mystery, but this? This was worse. This wasn’t just about the toys. They had known about them—about you. And what had happened to the others? The missing employees? They weren’t just gone. They were still here. The realization was a bitter pill lodged in your throat, one you couldn’t swallow.

you growled, low and guttural, as anger boiled in your veins. The truth was out. And they had been hiding it from you and everyone else at the time. The bigger bodies—what were they doing here? Why weren’t you told? your thoughts spiraled, the once-seemingly innocent world of Playcare now twisted by the weight of this new knowledge.

The factory—your former place of employment—had become a prison of shadows and manipulation, its walls now hiding dark secrets beneath every creaking floorboard. you couldn't shake the feeling that it had always been like this. The sinister undercurrent had always been there, but you had never been able to see it until now.

you could feel the fury building in your chest, breaths coming quicker and quicker as you paced back and forth in the empty hall. The VHS tape had given you more than answers—it had opened a door you weren't prepared for, but now you couldn’t just walk away from it. No, there was no turning back now. 

your mind raced with the consequences of this discovery. There had been whispers among the employees, hushed voices passing around rumors of experiments, of something far more sinister happening in the darkest corners of Playcare. But you never took them seriously. you thought they were just scared, or paranoid. 

But now… now you saw it all for what it really was.

you gripped the worn edges of the tape, squeezing it so hard your knuckles turned white. your body tensed, ready to take action. This wasn’t a place to get scared. No, this was the moment for revenge. The factory had betrayed them—you—and it was time to find out who was behind this horrific "bigger bodies initiative." Whoever they were, whatever they were planning, you were going to stop them.

you headed for the deepest part of the factory, the place where the truth always seemed to lurk, hidden beneath layers of deception. The bigger bodies—they would pay for what they had done. 

And you would make sure no one ever came back here again.

You don’t know how long you’ve been out of it, but when you open your eyes again, you're in a place far brighter, warmer. A safe haven. The walls are decorated with worn-out toys that had long sought refuge, old but somehow still exuding life. You feel a strange sense of comfort in this room, where light and color seem to welcome you rather than mock your exhaustion. Doey, ever kind and patient, places a small meal in front of you. It's simple, but it's enough. The warmth of food, the comforting presence of someone who cares, stirs something deep within you—a feeling you thought had long since withered away. 

"thank... you" you rasped, barely managing the words you so wished to say.

Doey nods, as if he was conflicted for a moment, but then returns your sentiment with a gentle smile; "don't worry, you just rest up. we'll talk later." He pauses for a moment, almost trying to think of something else to say. Maybe words of comfort.

but he doesn't, and instead says, "okay?"

you nod simply, leaving your mind to wonder about your allies poppy and kissy missy.

As you eat, the toys around you, though broken and tired, offer their own forms of solace. Some of them play quietly nearby, others rest, and a few approach to offer small gifts or gestures of comfort. Among them, Doey's eyes—those holes where his face should be—soften, as if trying to reassure you without words. You are no longer alone. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight of starvation, fear, and loss lifts. You don’t know what the future holds, but in this moment, you are safe. The darkness that once seemed suffocating begins to lift, and you realize, for the first time in a long while, that maybe—just maybe—there is still hope. The twisted factory and its horrors are far from over, but in this small corner of the world, you have found a sliver of peace.

Doey, ever the protector, watches over you as you rest, and though the path ahead may be fraught with danger and uncertainty, you are no longer alone. You have found the strength to carry on, even if just for another day. And in that, there is hope.

[grugruel]

hi, can you please write more of Arthur morgan😭I love your writing so much!🫶

Thank you!🫶 It makes me so happy to hear that you enjoy my writing, it really spurred on my motivation!😌 Still, I've been trying to write this for weeks, but ended up rewriting and starting over. Now im finally done, hope you enjoy this too!🥹

You've Kissed Me For Less

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: Arthur wants to teach you hunting. But as your effort proves fruitless and the weather fouls, Arthur needs to keep you warm in the cold hours of the night.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: forced proximity ish, pinv sex, sideways sex, cream-pie, petnames (sweetheart, girl, honey, darlin'), fingering, slight handjob, tension, flirting.

AN: The arrow misses. Not proofread!

Knock, draw . . . Hold . . . Aim, and . . .

"That's right . . . Atta girl."

Crack.

The furry beast jerked in surprise. Looking up, it's ears twitched and turned, attempting to determine the source of the sound. It's dark eyes alert and contrasting, standing out from the light snowfall filling the air.

She stood on unsteady feet, the broken twig beneath her boot throwing her off balance. "You're thinkin' to much, girl," he whispered, his warm breath caressing her neck, making her hair stand on end. "Release."

Siddled up to a tree, they were out of sight from their prey. A large pair of hands guided her arms, and a strong chest pressed firmly against her back. In the cold landscape they found themselves in, the reassurance from the heat of his body was duely welcomed.

She inhaled, holding it for steady aim. But restless and unfocused, she moved her weight from on foot to another–the snow crunched beneath her heel.

Her breath caught in her throat as the beast whipped in her direction, and their eyes met.

Release–the arrow pierced the air.

The gentle beast grunted and wheezed, fleeing as it bounced out of sight.

And where it had stood, her arrow struck bark. The shaft now coated in snow as the force of the blow shook the spruce and rid its branches of the bright, clamoring weight.

"Well," he began, attempting to hide the amusement from his tone. "It ain't easy . . . It's only your first."

She chuckled, her bow arm slumping to her side. "We've been at it all day, Arthur. Thats the fourth shot I've missed."

"Plenty of time to work on your trackin'."

She grunted, throwing her head back in frustration.

He'd wanted her to learn hunting so she could fend for herself if the need ever arose. But as long a she had him, it wouldn't. And if truth be told, she preffered it that way. Secretly sighing in relief each time the arrow missed it's target.

That day, they'd awoken with the sun, and been after the same deer all day. Poor bastard. He should really count his blessings, had Arthur been the one holding that bow they'd been heading back to camp within the first hour or so.

But the weather hadn't been a hassel. Soft clouds had sprinkled light snow all morning, only just coming to an end. But the air was clear and hellishly cold, enough so for the humidity in the air to freeze and glimmer as the mid-day sun shone upon them.

"Were in headwind." She shrugged. "And the poor thing darted off into the woods, we could continue tracking it from there," She said, and pointed toward the otherside of the lake. Surface frozen and snowed over, footing wouldn't be a problem.

"That so?"

"Well, yes-- what? What you grinning for?"

"Poor creature," he quoted, jerking his chin to the side. "You've been missin' on purpose."

She scoffed. "You think too highly of me, Arthur. I would gladly miss if I'd had the aim for it. But as it stands, I'm a poor shot with a bleeding heart."

"Nah, I think of you just right, sweetheart. But we needa eat." He pointed toward the treeline. "And the food just ran off."

She sighed heavily. He was right, but that didn't mean she'd be happy about it. "Well, let's go then. But I cant promise we'll be eating deer tonight ."

No," he began, a smirk spreading scross his lips. "But I can." He took the bow from her hand and the quiver from her back.

Alright, there were no more blessings to be counted.

"Your faith in me is lackluster, Arthur."

He scoffed and stepped onto the ice, nodding for her to follow. "First I think to highly of ya, 'n now its lackluster . . . Would you rather have me wither away . . . Starve to death?"

The ice sang beneath their feet as she thought about it, and her eyes automatically turned to his broad shoulders and thick arms. Her mind drifting to that hard chest and strong hands. "No . . . That'd be a damn shame," she said. "But I do have the basics down, would I really have to I could probably find myself some game."

Arthur chuckled, then stopped. "Tell you what . . . We passed a cabin, head back there and set up shelter," he said and looked toward the sky, the sun passing it's peak. "We're too far out, and probably won't be makin' it back to camp before dark. And I'll track down dinner."

"Really?"

Arthur kneeled down by the shore, examining the tracks. "Nah, don't want you to kill unnecessarily."

She was awed. That man possessed such kindness but was so careful with showing it, and she couldn't imagine why.

Her chest warmed and cheeks blushed, she hoped the cold could be played of as an excuse. "Thank you, Arthur. Truly," she smiled at him. But she wanted to convey her gratitude properly, for it was no small favour he did her.

"No need to thank me, honey. I understand."

But that wasnt enough, so- without thinking, she removed her glove and leaned down. Her hand found his jaw, and her lips his cheek. Gently, she pinched the sharp edge with the pads of her fingertips. And gently, she pecked his face with soft lips.

It was supposed to be a friendly gesture, but as her warm fingers met his cold skin and the stubble along the sharp edge tickled her lips–a trickle of longing brushed her insides.

She'd been sweet on him for a while, which woman wouldn't be? He could be soft and masculine, tough and sweet. He was a manly man, broad shouldered and handsome. He helped her lift heavy things, not because he assumed she couldnt do it, but because he wished to be of help.

She could not think of one thing she yearned for more.

So this touch, it must've been her subconscious. How many times she'd thought of brushing his cheek in gratitude, she could not remember. This time was no different.

As the sun shone on his face, and he'd done her this kindness, her mind must've gotten tired of all impulses stopped by her conscience and simply moved for her.

Now there they were, neither knowing what to do next.

Their eyes were locked on eachother, and Arthur's lips were parted as if he wished to say something but couldn't quite.

"I, I'll just-- I'm heading back, then. To that cabkn-" she began to gesture in the general direction, her mind keeping her tongue busy by rambling. "What am I saying, you can track me," she joked, awkwardly laughing, flustered by her own impromptu affection.

"I can . . . I'll find ya'." Was all he said, still kneeling and looking up at her.

Good, good good good. Before she knew it, she'd already turned around and began making her way back. Embaressment prickled her face, a thousand small needle points taunting her, and Arthur's reaction did nothing to ease her mind. She'd been a fool.

-

Night was closing in and the wind was picking up. Heavy snow began to fall, but thankfully, the cabin was abandoned and the roof was intact, protecting them from the weather, but not the cold. She managed to get a fire going in the old hearth, but it helped very little with warmth when the walls were ramshackle, allowing drafts and especially rough wind draw through.

Shivering down to her bone marrow, the girl hugged herself tightly. "Fuck me," she swore beneath her breath. "Ridiculous." The weather had changed within an hour, completley flipping the serene day into a hellish night. "Could think were in the damned arctics."

She'd endured 3 hours by her lonesome, thankfully forging for firewood before the storm set in.

But she couldn't help but worry for Arthur. He was a rugged man, but even he had limits. She kept thinking It'd all be alright once he got back there, to her side. But what could one man to about the weather?

With the cold came the hunger, and the regret not long thereafter. "Damn conscience," she muttered, her stumache growling.

She could barely see the trees surrounding the cabin, the snow doing more to sabotage her sight than the darkness. It was falling so thickly she could barely see between the flakes.

"Sorry for bein' late," announced a voice.

Startled, she turned toward it–the door opening had sounded like another howl from the wind. Trough the heavy curtain of snow, Arthur emerged, flakes swirling around him as he entered the cabin and the glow of the fire embraced him. "Damn tracks got muddled . . . blown over," he said, the overflow of irritation noticeable in his demeanor and tone. He looked weathered, clothes roughed up from the storm, hat collecting a nice layer of snow, cheeks and nose rosy. "Deer would've been too heavy in this shit," he gestured toward the snow and slammed the door shut behind him. "Got us some rabbits instead."

Wearing an incredulous expression, she had to laugh. She'd been worried about him being alone in this shit storm, fearing he might've frozen to death. But no, he brought rabbits, that's all.

"What's so funny," he asked, preparing the animals before placing them above the fire and taking a seat next to her.

She glanced at him. "That's all you got to say? You got some rabbits?"

"I already apologised to ya."

She scoffed, amazed by his resilience.

The annoyance began to melt from him, the heat thawing his mood. "What? I dont get a 'thank you' this time? You've kissed me for less."

She froze, narrowing her eyes on him. Those familiar needles pricking her skin again. "You didn't magically happen upon an extra blanket or so, did you?" She changed the topic, and as if to prove her point, a particularly violent shiver descended upon her.

Arthur shook his head, then removed his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. " 'Fraid not," he said, then handed her the cooked meat.

He wore another jacket beneath, but it was thin and unsufficient, in her opinion.

"Thank you," she whispered, and kissed his cheek once more. But there was no embaressment this time. Their eyes met, silently communicatingas mouths were to occupied with chewing. She suspected there'd been a lack of words even without the chewing. "I've kissed you for less," she agreed, then redirected her gaze into the fire.

-

They spent the next half hour in quiet as they ate, nothing but the howling wind and crackling fire to keep them company.

Eventually unrolling their bedrolls and attempting to sleep, a few short words for communication when needed. It proved difficult, however, for the night wore on and the temperature continued to drop.

She could hear her teeth clattering in her skull, even with Arthur's jacket on.

"You're still freezing."

"A-are you not?" She stuttered. The hearth was cramped with their bodies side by side. " 'M sorry if I w-woke you." She hated the idea of her body shivering so much it cost him his sleep.

"You'll get pneumonia, girl. We need to get you warm."

"H-how you figure t-that?"

"Well, I-- hell, let me warm you up."

She didn't stop to think before she spoke, proving a common theme. "Do it, Arthur p-please. Before my t-t-teeth shatter."

She heard a rustling behind her, and then she felt him slip into her bedroll. It was tight, but enough space for then to move around. "We needa get those off you," he murmured, voice gravelly.

She nodded profusely, feeling the familiar contours of his chest against her back. He removed both the jackets from her shoulders until there were nothing but the two thin fabrics of their shirts between their bodies.

She sighed, it felt like a radiator against her back. "F-Feels better already," she said, her dtutter subsiding and shivers calming.

"Good, you're alright, girl," he comforted, wrapping one arm around her waist as she propped her head on the other. He pulled her closer, leaving no space for the heat to escape.

Feeling his hand on her like this felt . . . Heavenly. As if his large hand was molded just to fit her curves. "I want more . . . Arthur. Warmer."

Without a word, he removed his shirt and got back into position. If freezing to death was all she had to do to achive this scenario, she would've done it earlier. Moving to do the same, she yearned for his heat to seep into her directly, skin to skin.

The body behind her stiffened, suddenly worried. "You don't have to, girl." He stopped her.

"I-I want to, Arthur. Im fine."

With her words of reassurance, he relaxed. His hands found hers, aiding her in the removal. She'd had no time to make it clear that there was no corset covering her since hunting didn't require one.

Arthur's breathing hitched at the revalation, prompting him to clear his throat. And his hands were simply hovering, uncertain where they belonged, where they were allowed.

"First time seeing a woman without a corset, Arthur?" She teased, uncertain where this sudden confidence came from, if it simply wasthe bizarre nature of the situation, or that it was only her bare back he could see.

He chuckled. "No, ma'am. 'S just . . . I dont wanna take any liberties."

"I don't mind, Arthur," she whispered. There's no liberties she wouldn't allow him to take, she thought.

Slowly, the hesitance melted away from him, and his fingers found her ribs. She sighed, content with their feeling. They burned, but pleasantly so. The reaction from her core was the only thing growing unbareable. Gaining confidence, his hand slid lower, following the length of her ribs. Fingers stopping just beneath the hill of her breast, hus thumb stroking small circles over her skin.

She hummed appreciatively, forgetting herself.

"Feelin' good?"

"Mmmh, warmer." She was finally relaxed enough to feel the low heat radiating from the fire, but with the numbness gone, the wind grew more noticeable. At times, a strong gust of wind would seep through the walls and graze her skin. Sending new shivers and goosebumps rippling across her body.

The retaliate and keep her heat up, she nudged herself closer to Arthur, tucking her hips and rear into his crotch. This gained her a low groan, and his fingertips sinking into the skin of her ribs like gentle claws.

"Better lay still now, girl," he warned, breathing onto her shoulder.

"Why's that?" She asked, but just as the words left her lips, she felt something slightly harden against her thigh. "Oh . . ." She gasped. Feeling it through both fabrics of their pants impressed her, salivated her.

" 'M sorry, sweetheart, 'm sorry." His thumb brushed back and forth, suddenly grazing the underside of her breast. She felt a twitch below the hips.

"Sorry, s-- I dont mean to," he breathed hard, leaning his forehead against her shoulder, attempting to focus.

"You can touch, Arthur."

"Now, honey . . . "

"I want you to," she assured him, knowing he might question the circumstances.

He shook his head hesitantly. "Dont wanna go takin' advantage of ya'."

You couldn't ever." She grabbed the hand that rested beneath her breast and guided it atop her, nipple already hard from anything and everything he does. "I want you to touch me."

He relented, andsqueezed her breast, releasing a grunt simultaneously. His lips found her neck, gently placing kisses on her skin.

She pushed back against him, grinding down on his crotch. "I want more than touching, Arthur . . ."

"I don't deserve you," he groaned, hand sliding over her chest to wrap his arm around her torso, bost breasts pressing firmly against his forearm.

The arm her head rested on reached down, brushing down her abdomen and beneath her pants. She gasped as his fingers found her clit. "All of you . . . Please." Her hand reach behind her, working to unbutton his pants as she turned her head over her shoulder, and their lips found eachother.

As the last button came undone and his length was free, her hands wrapped around it, gently stroking him and reveling in the pleased moans he breathed into her mouth.

"Hold on, hold on-" he stopped her. "I'll--" he swallowed, lips stalling against her own. "We only get one chance . . . tonight." He tried to clarify. " 'N I want ya' the right way." His hand momentarily left her chest to brush his fingers over the hand that held his member.

"I want that too," she whispered.

With her go-ahead, he pushed her pants below her ass and lined himself up with her entrance, her ass neatly tucked against his crotch, fitting together like piezes of a puzzle, perfectly matching. "Atta girl," he praised and pushed inside her.

They moaned simultaneously, lips reattaching. His hand were quickly back to work, breasts and clit stimulated by his expert hands all the while he thrusted in an out of her. "Feel so good."

She couldn't help but smile, panting between kisses as her body burned for him, every singel nerve flooding with electrical currents. "Harder, Arthur. I beg you. Im . . . G-Getting close. "

Arthur slowed his pace, arm leaving her clit to hold her torso, exchanging arms so he could hook her leg onto his arm for better leverage, reaching deep, hitting her core.

She cried out.

"C'mon, darlin'." He bit her lip. "Im right here."

"Mm, mhmm," she whimpered, the pressure in her core building, ready to topple over any second. Her vision grew blurry, chest heaving and breathing hard. And then- she came. Pleasure rolled over her, Arthur continuing to thrust into her as he prolonged her orgasm. "Breathe girl, you're alright," he comforted her. Fingers playing with her nipple. "Doin' so good."

She shook, she shivered, but the cold was no longer the reason, Arthur was. "Where-- where can I-"

"Anywhere," she moaned, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Too good to me, youre too good to me," he repeated. "Good girl." He grunted, finally toppling over himself, spilling his seed inside her. With a few final ruts, they collpased in eachothers embrace, sweat coating their skin.

"Is it hot in here or . . . ?"

Arthur chuckled and kissed her shoulder. "You're welcome, sweetheart." He wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Pretty girl."

"Thank you, Arthur," she said, and kissed his cheek.

"I get both now? A 'thank you' and a kiss? What's gotten into you?"

"Well," she held back a giggle. "You did."

"Funny," he said, a grinn on his lips, foolishly proud.

[little-diable]

The Lord of Gifts (smut)

@theanythingbuthuman has to endure my rambling about Annatar 24/7, so I needed to write something with him and I couldn’t wait for Kinktober to pass. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader seeks out Annatar’s company late at night as she fears that Sauron is close, robbing her of her sleep. Perhaps the lord of gifts can distract her for some moments.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), piv, semi public, lies because duh

Pairing: Annatar/Sauron x fem!reader (1.8k words)

“Please, (y/n), you don’t need to keep away.” His soft voice cozied her along, words dripping from his lips like the finest honey harvested in Eregion. Carefully, she stepped closer, eyes set on his handsome features, fully exposed due to the way he had made a bow out of his bright hair strands.

“Forgive me for disturbing you so late at night.” (Y/n) had to avert her gaze, fumbling with her fingers as she came to a halt close to Lord Annatar. She felt him shift closer, cold hand finding her warm chin to tilt her head up towards him. Heat buzzed through her at the touch, making the spot he touched tingle with excitement.

For the past days, she had found herself longing for some alone time with the being, the lord of gifts as he had been introduced by Master Celebrimbor. Something about him seemed to pull (y/n) in, something having a dark touch to it she couldn’t understand but feel fascinated about nevertheless.

“This is nothing to apologise for, I am always looking forward to your presence, (y/n).” The smile tugging on his lips had an addicting effect on her, unable to stop her grin from widening as he slowly let go of her - reluctantly almost. She had to stop herself from chasing the touch, forcing her feet to stay rooted to the ground while her eyes followed his frame.

Annatar sank down in one of the chairs, body hugged by his dark clothes, perfectly matching the fair contrast of his features and hair. He was truly beautiful, a distracting appearance hiding whatever he wanted to keep from curious eyes.

“What is it that keeps you up so late at night, (y/n)?” She watched him pour some wine before pointing towards the chair next to his, waiting for her to come sit. (Y/n)’s legs trembled as she walked closer, fingers interlocked in front of her before she sank down on the comfortable wooden chair.

“There is something lingering in the air, my lord. Something dark, something,” her breath hitched in her chest, wide eyes focusing on the dancing flames warming the workshop. Annatar had his eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted as he waited for her to keep on speaking. “Something dangerous, it is as if He has found me, speaking to me late at night to drive me towards my end. I feel as if I’m going insane.”

“Trust me, love, there is nothing you need to fear, not as long as I am with you. He can’t reach you within my grasp, that much I can promise.” She dared to look at him again, trying to decipher the emotions tugging on his features. His slender fingers found her trembling knee, placed on top of the fine fabric of her dress to keep close. Her heart skipped a beat at the unexpected touch, a touch calling for her to hold onto him, allowing her fingers to slowly find his.

“Have you ever met him?” The question rolled off her tongue without (y/n) being able to stop the words from hallowing through the empty workshop. His expression turned into something rather grim, as if he was plagued by thoughts and memories he had buried a long time ago. (Y/n) could see his jaw muscles clench and for a moment it seemed as if he was a completely different being, shape shifting into somebody else for just a fraction of a second.

“Let us not dim this night with memories dark and gruesome, (y/n). Let us cherish the quietness we have both been aching for.” The soft smile he shot her made (y/n) slightly relax in the chair. She could only nod her head, taking another sip of the wine as Annatar mimicked her movements.

“How do you pass your time when you’re not spending your time with Master Celebrimbor? Is your husband keeping you company?” A soft chuckle clawed through (y/n) at his question, followed by the shake of her head.

“If I were married I would not seek out your company this late at night, my lord.” Heat crawled up her spine, fuelled by the anticipation the smirk now widening on his lips made simmer deep inside of her. (Y/n) had to avert her gaze once again, wondering where she had found the confidence to speak words so teasing to a being this powerful.

Annatar rose to his feet, hand stretched out for (y/n) to take. A soft gasp left her as he pulled her against his chest, hand finding its way back to her chin, “Forgive my foolishness, but I couldn’t dare risk pushing you into a tangled web of misfortunes, (y/n).”

She got no time to overthink his words, pulled closer to let his lips ghost over hers. Her fingers found the fabrics covering his chest, fisting them in her trembling hands as he kissed her properly. Everything had stopped moving, time had lost its meaning, even the clouds no longer moved across the sky as Annatar kissed her breathless - at least that’s what it felt like to (y/n) and her racing mind.

Without breaking the kiss, (y/n) felt herself being pushed backwards, letting her smaller back press against the edge of a table. She was pushed onto the table, legs patted for the lord of gifts to rest between her thighs as he hungrily kissed her. Deep down, (y/n) found herself convinced that this was nothing but a dream, a play of her tired mind to pass its time, but the way his hands roughly grabbed her waist felt too real to be a mere dream, pulling her closer against him.

“I fear I don’t have the strength to hold back any longer, (y/n). The days in your closeness have been torturous as I was unable to touch you. Tell me, do you feel the same bond slumbering inside your chest?” The words were sweeter than any fruits she had ever eaten, any wine only the High King was fortunate enough to drink. Heat clung to every part of her body, forcing words to roll off her tongue while Annatar kissed his way down her throat.

“I do, my lord. I’m yours, I have been since the moment our paths were destined to cross.” It was all he needed to hear before he pushed her back down on the table. (Y/n) watched him push the fabric of her dress up to her waist, dipping his head down to kiss the insides of her thighs before his warm breath fanned over her heat.

“The night is short, our solitude will be disturbed, but soon we will find enough time to get lost in our longings, that much I can promise, love.” Her words got stuck in her throat the second his skilled tongue brushed over her folds, moaning at her taste. Gasps rolled off her tongue at the feeling of his fingers circling her pulsing bundle, touching her just like she had touched herself to the thought of him hours ago. He was eager, eating her out with an unfamiliar kind of urgency to push her towards the edge within a handful of seconds.

“Stars, this feels so good.” It wasn’t much she managed to speak, not many words that made it past her teeth, and yet they seemed to be enough to draw a chuckle out of the lord. His piercing eyes flickered up to meet hers, intently staring at (y/n) while he kept lapping at her folds, high on her taste.

Her hands found his bright hair, tugging on the roots to keep herself somewhat grounded. It felt as if she had lost all strength to guide her body, letting her back arch off the table the moment her thighs began to tremble, feeling her orgasm climb up her body. But seconds before she could fall off the edge with a call of his name, he parted from her.

“Let us become one. Will you allow us to find comfort with our bodies united, (y/n)?” His voice dripped with something raspy, something dark that made goosebumps appear on her limbs. The conscious part of her brain could tell that there was more to his words than she managed to pick up on, something the needy part of her couldn’t care about at that very moment.

“Take me, I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.” Annatar dipped his head down to kiss her, letting their tongues fight for victory while he freed his cock. He aligned himself with her heat, and with their eyes holding contact again, he pushed into her. Another gasp rumbled through (y/n), robbing her of the last air lingering in her lungs as she desperately tried to adjust to his size.

“Breathe, love. Let yourself fall.” He began to move, slow at first, building a steady rhythm. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, keeping him close to feel as much of him as possible. Their lips found one another every few seconds, sharing kisses that matched the strength of his faster growing thrusts.

Moans clawed through the both of them, sounds that would forever ring in their minds as they thought back to this very moment. Annatar held onto her with a strong grip, spurred on by the feeling of her walls fluttering around him with every perfectly calculated thrust, pushing her further and further towards the edge once again.

She was sure that he was leaving bruises on her body, marking her for days to come - and yet (y/n) could only feel excitement at the thought of being marked by the lord of gifts. Her fingernails clawed at his skin, holding onto Annatar as her eyes fluttered close, tasting her close release on the tip of her tongue.

“Let go, let me hear the way you call out my name as lust drives you on.” Her mouth instantly followed his command, choking on Annatar’s name. (Y/n)’s orgasm clashed through her, buzzing through her veins while he kept snapping his hips against hers, following her down the edge seconds later. Another raspy moan left the lord, making a smile tug on her slightly swollen lips as she watched him come undone.

“I will have you until darkness rises again, until time loses all its meaning. Eternity will feel short in comparison to what our path ahead will look like, (y/n).”

[myloveismineallmine]

talking about james somerton's dogshit color grading

okay, i see people talking about how poorly james somerton's videos are lit and at first i was like "how does this dumbass not understand three point lighting, its like something you learn about within the first month of film school" but then someone on twitter pointed out he probably just didn't know how to properly grade footage and i was like ooooh my god how did i not realize?

so when you first shoot something, it will probably look fine on your camera, but when you import it to your computer it might look like dogshit on your monitor, like in the image on the left. this has to do with whether you shoot it in LOG or RAW. basically RAW= huge file size but no change in saturation/exposure/white balance, ect. LOG= smaller file size but really ugly, little saturation and contrast, etc.

when you take this footage into your color grading software, you have to put a LUT (look-up-table) matching the camera you shot on onto the LOG footage to restore it so it looks like the image on the right. After that, you can start grading (fixing the exposure, adding colors to the highlights or shadows, there's a million different things you can do when you color grade.)

but whoever edited these (I'm assuming it's James, who we can always count on to be extremely lazy in his "creative" endeavors) just skipped that crucial step and went straight into color grading the LOG footage. Which is a huge no-no.

that is the reason why shots like these look so weirdly lit. conversion to LOG literally drains the contrast and saturation from the footage. which is why it is STEP ONE to correct it in post. but this dude probably just went straight into applying filters and colors and just thought upping the exposure or brightness would fix the footage.

obviously i don't have access to these files personally, so i can't say this with 100% certainty, but it would explain why the footage looks so damn weird. in my personal opinion it's not a lighting mistake necessarily (though the choices of colored gels he uses for his lights are very questionable.)

[queenshelby]

A Little Help (One Shot)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Virgin Reader

Warning: Smut

The summer sun beats down on the white sandy beach, a stark contrast to the cool, crisp air inside the beach house.

You sit on the plush sofa, legs tucked under your body, nursing a cold beer, trying to calm the storm brewing within.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions, and now, being here at Max's family beach house, away from the comfort of your own home, the tension between you and Max feels even more palpable.

              You'd been so excited for this trip, imagining romantic walks on the beach, cozy movie nights, and finally, the perfect opportunity to take your relationship with Max to the next level. But now, as you sip your drink, you can't help but feel a sense of dread. The memory of the previous night's failed attempt at intimacy still stings.

              Max had been eager, his hands exploring your body with a sense of urgency that left little room for your pleasure. He'd tried to push past your barriers, both physical and emotional, and when the pain became too much, he'd pulled away, frustration evident on his face. "It's not me, it's you," he'd said, his voice laced with accusation. "There must be something wrong with you."

              Those words had cut deep, and now, as you sit in the beach house, you can't shake the feeling of embarrassment and hurt. You knew Max's family well, having been friends with him for years, but this new dynamic between you and Max was uncharted territory.

              Just as you take another sip, trying to gather your thoughts, the sound of the front door opening startles you. It's Cillian, Max's dad, returning from his morning jog. His lean figure fills the doorway, and his bright blue eyes scan the room until they land on you.

              "Hey, there you are," he says, his voice warm and inviting. "I thought I heard someone in here. How’s everything going?"

              You manage a weak smile, setting your drink down. "Oh, hi, Cillian. I'm okay, I guess. Just enjoying the peace before everyone wakes up."

              Cillian steps into the room, closing the door behind him. "Peace is good," he says, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies your face. "But something tells me there's more to it. You've been a bit quiet since you arrived. Is everything alright between you and Max?"

              You feel your cheeks warm under his gaze. How could Cillian sense the tension so easily? You clear your throat, looking down at your hands. "It's just... things are a bit weird at the moment. Max and I... we had a bit of a disagreement."

              "A disagreement, huh?" Cillian sits beside you, his casual demeanour making it easy to forget the age gap between you. "About what, if you don't mind me asking? I'm not one to pry, but I can't help but notice something's off."

              You take a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs. Here you were, about to confess your intimate struggles to Max's father. "It's... it's about sex," you blurt out, the words rushing out before you can stop them. You feel your face heat up, and you're certain your cheeks are now the colour of ripe tomatoes. You immediately regret what you had just said, and you have absolutely no intention to talk with your boyfriend’s father about intimacy.

Cillian, however, already knows about the problem. His son had mentioned something like this to him before and Cillian had given him a lecture to be more considerate,

              Thus, Cillian's eyebrows shoot up, but he remains composed. "Sex, huh? Well, that's... quite the topic,” he says, swallowing harshly before, reluctantly, adding  “I assume this is about your first time?"

              You nod, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment as you confess. "It's just not working. I mean, we've tried, but it hurts. A lot. And Max, he gets frustrated, and he said it's my fault, that I must have some kind of problem."

              "Oh Y/N. I am sorry," Cillian says, his voice gentle. "That's not right. Max should know better. It's not your fault. First times can be tricky, and it's not uncommon for it to be a little uncomfortable. But it should never be painful."

              His words are like a soothing balm to your wounded pride. You find yourself wanting to tell him everything, to seek his guidance and understanding. "It's not just the first time. We've tried a few times now, and it's always the same. I can't relax, and it just won't fit. I've even tried by myself, but it's no use."

              Cillian's eyes widen slightly as he takes a seat next to you and leans back, considering your words. "Max needs to learn some patience, that's for sure. And he should be doing more to make sure you're ready. It's not just about him, you know."

              You nod, feeling a surge of validation. "That's what I thought, too. But he just gets so... frustrated. And I feel like I'm letting him down."

              "Nonsense," Cillian says firmly. "Max is just young, and he's got a lot to learn at that age, but that’s no excuse and you need to know that it is never your job to please him at the expense of your own comfort."

              His words resonate with you, and you feel a weight lift from your shoulders. Cillian's understanding and support are like a breath of fresh air.

              "I wish I could talk to Max like this," you say, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice. "He just doesn't seem to get it."

              Cillian chuckles, a deep, warm sound. "Max is a good kid, but he's still learning. And sometimes, we all need a little guidance. I'd be happy to have a chat with him, if you'd like. Set him straight on a few things."

              You consider his offer, the thought of Cillian talking to Max about sex both amusing and comforting. "Oh god no… I mean, it's a bit awkward, isn't it?”

              "Yeah, maybe," Cillian agrees before thinking about something else. “But, look, why don't we do this? I'll have a word with Max, without mentioning our little talk and see if I can get through to him. In the meantime, why don't we work on helping you relax and enjoy yourself? No pressure, just some friendly guidance."

              You look at Cillian, his eyes sparkling with kindness, and you feel a surge of trust. "You mean, you and me, uhm…trying?” you stammer and Cillian nods reluctantly.

“Sure, I mean, I do have some experience. But no pressure, alright?” he says, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I'd do anything to help my son's girlfriend, especially one as lovely as you. And besides, I remember what it was like when I was his age. A little guidance would've gone a long way."

              The idea of Cillian helping you sends a shiver down your spine, but it's not an unpleasant sensation. You trust him, and the thought of learning from him, of being guided by his experience, is strangely enticing.

              "Alright," you agree, a sense of determination building within you. "I'd like that. I want to enjoy this, and I want Max to understand. Maybe then we can really make this work."

"I think we will be able to, although this needs to stay our little  secret, right?" Cillian says, his voice low and reassuring. "I won't tell Max, and you won't either."

You nod, agreeing to his terms. "Okay, I can do that. I just want this to work and I want to enjoy it."

Cillian smiles, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Good, good. So how about this? I will meet you at the guestroom tonight, at around 11?"  Cillian asks, standing up and stretching his lean, muscular frame. The setting sun casts a warm glow over his short grey hair, making him look even more approachable and kind.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. "Okay, that sounds good. I'll be ready."

Cillian smiles, a reassuring and gentle smile. "Great. And remember, no pressure. We'll take this at your pace. I just want you to feel comfortable and enjoy yourself."

You return his smile, feeling a sense of relief and anticipation. "Thank you, Cillian. I will see you tonight, " you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as you watch Cillian walk away, his shoulders and confident stride leaving you with a sense of security. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You know that tonight is going to be different, and you're ready to take this step.

At 11 o'clock on the dot , you make your way to the guestroom, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the floor.

Cillian is already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back straight and his eyes fixed on you as you enter. He's changed into a simple t-shirt and a pair of jeans that hug his muscular thighs. 

"Hey," he says, his voice low and gentle. "You ready for this?"

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I think so. I want to try, at least."

Cillian smiles encouragingly, patting the bed beside him. "Good. Come here, sit with me."

You walk over and sit down, your body tense and nervous. Cillian puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His touch is warm and comforting, and you can feel your muscles begin to relax.

"First thing we need to do is get you comfortable," Cillian says, his voice low and soothing. "We're not going to rush anything, alright? We'll take this slow."

You nod, leaning into his touch.

His arm around you feels natural, and you can't help but feel safe with him. Cillian's fingers gently stroke your shoulder, sending shivers down your spine.

"That's it, just relax," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "There's no rush. We've got all night."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Cillian's hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are soft and reassuring, and you feel a flutter in your stomach. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle kiss. It's soft and tender, a stark contrast to the urgency you've felt with Max.

Cillian's kiss is patient, his lips moving gently against yours, coaxing a response from you. You part your lips slightly, and his tongue slips inside, exploring your mouth with a slow, deliberate pace. You can taste the faint hint of mint on his breath, and it's strangely comforting.

His hand moves from your chin to your neck, his fingers gently caressing the sensitive skin. You can feel your heart racing, your breath coming in short gasps as his touch sends waves of heat through your body. Cillian pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When he finds none, he smiles softly and leans in again, this time deepening the kiss.

His tongue explores your mouth, dancing with yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. You can feel your body responding, your nipples hardening beneath your thin t-shirt. Cillian's hand moves from your neck to your breast, his thumb brushing against your hardened nipple through the fabric. You gasp into his mouth, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky with desire. You nod, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, it's okay. It's more than okay," you whimper. 

Encouraged, Cillian's hand moves to the hem of your shirt, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin just above your waistband.

You shiver at his touch, your body aching for more. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly lifts your shirt over your head, exposing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Absolutely fucking stunning."

You feel a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, but the heat in his eyes makes you feel desired, wanted. Cillian leans in, his mouth capturing one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. You gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure courses through you.

Cillian's mouth is hot and wet, his tongue flicking against your nipple, sending jolts of electricity straight to your clit. He takes his time, lavishing attention on one breast before moving to the other, his fingers gently teasing and pinching your neglected nipple.

"That feels nice," you whisper, your voice barely audible, as you arch your back, pushing your breasts further into his mouth. He smiles against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine.

"Good, I am glad,"  he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Now why don't you lie down for me,"  he instructs, his tone gentle but firm. He wants you to be comfortable, and he wants to see you sprawled out in front of him.

You do as he says, your heart pounding in your chest as you lie back on the soft bed, your body tense with anticipation. Cillian's eyes roam over your body, taking in every curve and line, and you can feel his gaze like a physical touch, sending shivers down your spine.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I want to taste every inch of you."

You shiver at his words, your body aching for his touch.

He leans down, his breath hot on your skin as he trails kisses down your stomach, his hands gently caressing your sides. You can feel his fingers tracing the waistband of your shorts, and you arch your back, silently begging for more.

Cillian hooks his fingers into your waistband, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly pulls them down, revealing your bare pussy to his hungry gaze. You can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but the heat in his eyes makes you feel desired, wanted.

"You have no idea how fucking beautiful you are," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "And I really want to taste you."

"Taste me?" you whisper, your voice barely audible as you look at Cillian. "I... I've never done that before."

Cillian smiles reassuringly, his fingers gently tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "It's okay. It will feel good. I promise." 

You nod, taking a deep breath as you try to relax. Cillian's touch is gentle yet firm, his fingers teasing your skin, sending waves of heat through your body.

"Now spread your legs for me, okay? Let me see that pretty little pussy of yours," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

You hesitate for a moment, feeling a rush of embarrassment, but the intensity in his eyes makes you feel safe. You slowly part your legs, exposing yourself to him fully. Cillian's gaze locks onto your most intimate area, and you can see the hunger in his eyes.

"Fuck, you’re gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "I could look at you all day."

You blush at his words, but the heat in his eyes makes you feel beautiful, desired. He leans in, his breath hot on your inner thigh, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, anticipation coursing through your veins.

He starts at your knee, his lips pressing soft, gentle kisses up your thigh, his stubble rough against your soft skin. You can feel your breath hitching in your throat, your body tensing with each kiss, each touch.

Cillian's lips are warm and wet, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He takes his time, exploring every inch of your inner thigh, his stubble rough against your soft skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

You can feel the heat building between your legs, your pussy aching with need. Cillian's eyes flick up to meet yours, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he sees the desire written all over your face. He leans in closer, his breath hot on your pussy, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, anticipation coursing through your veins.

Cillian's eyes meet yours, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he sees the desire written all over your face. He leans in, his tongue flicking out to taste your clit, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure courses through you.

"Ssh, it's okay , I got you" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. He takes his time, exploring every inch of your pussy, his tongue flicking against your clit, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. You can feel your body responding, your hips bucking against his mouth as he eats you out. 

Cillian's fingers gently part your folds, his tongue delving deeper, tasting your wetness. He looks up at you, his eyes locked on yours as he slides one finger inside you, his tongue continuing to work its magic on your clit.

"Is that okay?" he asks as he slides it in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. You nod, biting your lip as a soft moan escapes you. He adds another finger, stretching you gently, his tongue still working your clit in a relentless rhythm. You can feel your body responding, your hips bucking against his hand as he fingers you expertly.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "I love how your pussy tastes and you are so tight and warm. I could eat you out all night."

You moan, your body writhing beneath him as he continues to finger you, his tongue circling your clit with expert precision.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you gasping for air. You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as Cillian's fingers curl inside you, hitting that sweet spot that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"Cillian," you gasp, your voice barely recognizable as your own. "I'm close. I'm so close."

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "That's it, come for me, baby. Let me see that pretty little pussy come all over my fingers."

His words are filthy, obscene, and they send you spiralling over the edge.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you. Cillian's fingers are relentless, drawing out your orgasm until you're a trembling, gasping mess. He pulls his fingers out slowly, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"That was fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "But we're not done yet, are we?"

You shake your head, your body still trembling with the aftermath of your orgasm. "No, we're not," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You want more. You need more.

You need him. You need to feel him inside you, filling you, stretching you. You need to experience the raw, primal connection that you've been craving. 

"Alright," he says, his voice low and husky as he quickly undresses. "Let's take this slow, okay? I want to make sure you're comfortable every step of the way."

You nod, your breath coming in short gasps as you watch him, his cock springing free from his jeans. You can see the thick, hard length of him, the head glistening with a drop of pre-cum. Your eyes widen slightly, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. 

"I don't think it will fit. I have never been able to do it before" you say, your voice barely above a whisper. Cillian smiles softly, his eyes filled with reassurance.

"Trust me, we'll take it slow. I won't hurt you. I promise," he says. and you nod, taking a deep breath as you try to relax. 

"Are you on the pill ?" he asks, his voice low and husky as he climbs onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

You nod again, your voice barely a whisper. "Yes, I am," you say, causing him to smile.

"Good, because it will feel nicer for you  that way, and I really want to feel your wet pussy around me.

Cillian reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. "I'm going to go slow, okay? If it hurts, you tell me, and we'll stop. No pressure, no rush."

You nod, feeling a sense of relief and trust. "Okay, I trust you."

Cillian leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss. His tongue gently probes your mouth, and you open for him, letting him explore at his leisure.

His body is warm and hard against yours, and you can feel the thick length of his cock pressing against your thigh, hot and insistent. You reach down, tentative fingers wrapping around his shaft, and Cillian groans into your mouth, his hips jerking slightly at your touch.

His cock is thick and hard, the skin soft and velvety, and you can feel the pulse of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. You stroke him gently, your hand moving from the base to the tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that has gathered there. Cillian's breath hitches, and he pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire.

"Fuck, that feels good," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "But not as good as it's going to feel inside you."

You feel a rush of heat at his words, your body aching with need. You guide him towards your entrance, his cock hot and hard against your thigh. Cillian takes over, positioning himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours.

" Just relax, okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. "I promise I won't hurt you."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you feel the head of his cock press against you. He's big, and the sensation is intense, but the look in his eyes is one of pure tenderness and patience.

He starts to push in slowly, his hips moving in a gentle, rhythmic motion. 

"Is  that okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Are you alright?" You can feel him stretching you as part of him slides in, and you gasp, your eyes widening slightly. He stops, his body tense, waiting for your response. You nod, your breath coming in short gasps.

He could feel your barrier now and he knew he had to be careful. He whispered, "You are so fucking tight, I don't want to hurt you." He pulls back slightly, his cock still poised at your entrance, and you feel a rush of disappointment. But he's not stopping; he's just giving you a moment to adjust before slowly pushing the tip back in.

You feel the pressure, the stretch, and you can't help but tense up. Cillian notices immediately. He leans down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot on your face.

"Relax, baby. I promise, I won't hurt you. Just breathe. And if it gets too much, you tell me, okay?" he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves.

You nod, taking a deep breath and trying to relax your body. Cillian begins to move again, his hips gently pushing forward, inch by inch. You can feel him stretching you, filling you in a way you've never experienced before.

He pushed against your hymen now , a thin layer of skin that would soon be gone. He was taking his time, though, and he was being so gentle with you, that you found yourself relaxing, and pushing your hips forward, wanting more of him, wanting the pain to be over and done with.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp, your voice barely recognizable as your own. "You're so big, Cillian. It feels... it feels like a lot."

He pauses, his body tensed, his cock poised at your entrance, and you can see the concern in his eyes. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice strained with restraint. "We can stop if you need to. I don't want to hurt you."

You shake your head, your voice barely a whisper. "No, don't stop. I... I want this. I want you. Just go slow, okay?"

Cillian nods, a determined look in his eyes. "I promise, I'll go slow. Just relax and let me do the work. And if it hurts, we stop, no questions asked. Okay?"

You nod, taking a deep breath as you try to relax.

Cillian begins to move again, his hips pushing forward with a gentle, steady pressure. You can feel the head of his cock stretching you, the sensation intense and overwhelming. He pauses, his eyes locked on yours, waiting for your reaction.

"You're doing so well, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Just relax and let me in."

You take another deep breath, trying to relax your body, and he pushes a little further, the head of his cock slipping inside you. You gasp, the sensation of being filled so intensely sending a jolt of pain mixed with pleasure through your body.

"That's it," he whispers, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves as he slides in more until, finally, he pushed past your hymen, his cock now fully sheathed inside you. "Fuck, you feel so tight and warm, baby. So perfect."

You take a moment to adjust, your body tensing around him as you feel the full extent of his length and girth inside you. Cillian remains still, his eyes locked on yours, waiting for your signal to continue. You can feel the stretch, the burn, but there's also a deep, primal satisfaction in having him inside you, filling you completely.

"Okay," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "I'm ready. Go slow."

Cillian nods, a reassuring smile on his lips.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to move now, okay? Just tell me if it's too much."

You nod, your breath hitching in your throat as you feel him begin to move. He starts with slow, gentle thrusts, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm. You can feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you, the sensation intense and overwhelming. His eyes are locked on yours, watching your every reaction, ensuring your comfort and pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, his voice strained with restraint as you dug your nails into his back. "So tight and wet. I could stay like this forever."

You gasp, your body tensing as he pulls out slightly before pushing back in, his cock stretching you, filling you completely. The sensation is intense, a mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you breathless.

"More," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "I want more."

Cillian groans, his hips picking up speed, his cock sliding in and out of you with increasing intensity. You can feel every inch of him, the thick head of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

Cillian's hips move with a steady, relentless rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease now that you're so wet and ready for him.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he groans, his voice low and husky. "I can feel your pussy gripping my cock like a vice. It's so fucking good."

You moan, your body writhing beneath him as he continues to pound into you. You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as he hits that spot over and over again.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Let me feel that pretty little pussy come all over my cock," he says and his cock is relentless now until you come.

"Oh my god, yes!" you  cry out, your voice raw and desperate. "Don't stop, Cillian. Please, don't fucking stop."

Cillian's eyes flash with heat, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into you with a force that steals your breath. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a primal, obscene symphony that only serves to heighten your arousal.

Your orgasm hits you like  a tidal wave, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your inner muscles clench around Cillian's cock, milking him, urging him deeper until, finally, he too could not hold on any longer. 

He groans, a deep, primal sound that vibrates through his chest and into yours, as he begins to cum, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you with his hot, sticky seed. The sensation of him coming inside you sends you spiraling over the edge once more, your body convulsing as another orgasm tears through you.

"Fuck, yes," Cillian groans, his voice low and husky as he collapses onto you, his body slick with sweat, his cock still throbbing inside you. 

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breath hot on your neck as he pants, trying to catch his breath.

His cock is still hard inside you, pulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and you can feel his seed leaking out of you, coating your thighs. The sensation is filthy, obscene, and incredibly arousing.

"Fuck, that was... intense," Cillian murmurs, his voice low and husky as he finally pulls out of you, his cock glistening with your combined fluids. You feel a rush of emptiness, a longing for him to be back inside you, filling you completely.

He smiles down at you, his eyes soft and tender despite the raw, primal way he just took you. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice laced with concern.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips as you reach up to cup his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against your palm. "I'm more than okay. That was... amazing. Thank you, Cillian."

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss. "You're welcome, beautiful. I'm glad you enjoyed it. And I'm glad I could help you feel good."

Tags:

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[ms-snape]

Imagine.. reader is Sirius sister and she is in secret relationship with Severus (she is teacher in Hogwarts too). In Grimmauld place at order meeting Severus and Sirius are arguing again. She can’t take it anymore and starts screaming there on both of them and accidentally came out with her and Severus little secret. And everyone are like whaaat ? Dumbledore is like: I knew it all along.

Title: Secret Forbidden Love

Résumé : Severus Snape entretient une relation secrète avec la sœur de l'intimidateur de son école, que se passe-t-il lorsqu'il le découvre ?

Attention : angoisse, mais fin heureuse

nombre de mots : 2000+

liste maîtresse

---

The flickering candlelight danced on the stone walls of Severus Snape's private chambers, casting long shadows that intertwined like the tangled emotions within the room. YN Black, professor of herbology and Sirius Black's sister stood, by the small window, her silhouette framed against the night sky, her heart racing as she felt Severus’s presence behind her. The warmth of his breath brushed her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

“Are you sure this is wise?” he murmured, his voice low, laced with a hint of concern. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her skin.

“Wise? No,” she replied, turning to face him, her eyes bright with mischief. “But it feels right.” She stepped closer, the distance between them collapsing as she leaned into him. The world outside faded, leaving just the two of them, enveloped in the cocoon of secrecy that their love had woven amidst the chaos of the wizarding world.

Severus’s lips curled into a ghost of a smile, a rare sight that made YN’s heart swell. “You are a reckless woman,” he teased softly, but his voice betrayed the warmth he felt for her. She knew he would never admit it, but his heart was as entwined with hers as the roots of the mandrakes they tended to in Herbology class.

“Only for you,” she whispered, and then she closed the gap between them, tasting the bittersweet flavor of passion and danger on his lips. They melted into a kiss, a moment of stolen bliss that felt both electrifying and forbidden.

But as the summer sun began to rise, so did the reality that awaited them.

---

The stone walls of 12, Grimmauld Place echoed with the tension of the gathering Order members. Flickering candles cast dancing shadows across the room, illuminating the faces of those present, each marked by the weight of their shared burden. At the head of the table, Albus Dumbledore sat, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, while Sirius Black paced restlessly nearby, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Snape hasn’t changed, Albus,” Sirius insisted, his voice rising, a stark contrast to the calm ambiance. “He’s still a Death Eater at heart. We can’t trust him!”

“Enough, Black,” Severus Snape retorted, his voice low and edged with disdain. He leaned back in his chair, dark robes pooling around him like shadows. “I have proven my loyalty time and again. Your inability to see beyond your own prejudice is your weakness.”

“Prejudice? You call it prejudice when I refuse to trust a man who would sell his own soul for a chance at power?” Sirius shot back, fists clenching at his sides. “You are a coward and always will be, Snivellus!”

The tension in the room thickened, and Yn, seated quietly at the far end, felt her heart race. As a professor of Herbology, she had spent years cultivating patience and understanding, but the childish bickering between her brother and Severus was grating on her last nerve.

“Enough!” Yn’s voice rang out, firm and clear. She rose from her seat, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall, catching the candlelight. “This is not the time or place for your petty squabbles. We have far more important matters to discuss.”

Sirius shot her a glare, eyes narrowing. “You’re on his side now? You don’t even know what he is capable of!”

“Actually, I do.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and the room fell silent, a collective breath held in anticipation.

“What do you mean by that?” Sirius asked, voice low and dangerous.

With a sudden rush of courage—or perhaps foolishness—Yn took a step closer to Severus, her heart in her throat. “Because Severus and I are…dating.” The admission hung in the air like a spell that had gone wrong, the shock palpable.

Gasps echoed around the room. But Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow, as if he had expected this revelation. Sirius’s face twisted in disbelief, anger radiating off him in waves.

“You’re joking,” he breathed, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. “You cannot be serious, Yn. You’re dating him? That—”

“Is none of your business!” she snapped, feeling the heat of her brother’s gaze like a physical blow. “I’m not a child, Sirius. I can make my own choices.”

“This monster has hurt many people before, and you think he’s changed, what makes you think he won't hurt you just as well?” Sirius’s voice trembled with a mixture of fury and heartbreak. “I won’t allow it!”

“Allow it?” Yn’s voice cracked, her emotions spilling over. “Who do you think you are to dictate my life? To tell me who I can and cannot love?”

“Love? You call this love?” Sirius spat, his face pale with anger. “You’re putting yourself in danger. He’s playing you, Yn!”

“Enough!” Severus interjected, his voice colder than the winter winds. “This is between Yn and me. You will not speak to her as if she was a child.”

“The problem is you’re not just some charming suitor—” Sirius shot back, but Yn stepped in, her heart racing.

“He's right, I’m not a child, Sirius!” she yelled, tears brimming in her eyes. “I know you just wanna protect me, espicially after what happened to Regulus, but I can take care of myself!”

The mention of her lost brother struck a chord, and the room fell silent again, the weight of grief settling heavily upon them. Sirius’s eyes softened momentarily, but his anger flared back to life.

“You’re making a mistake! I won’t stand by and watch you ruin your life!”

“Ruin my life?” Yn’s voice cracked, the tears finally spilling down her cheeks. “You've spent most of your life in Azkaban because you chose revenge, you don’t know anything about me or what I want!”

With that, she turned on her heel, storming out of the room. Her footsteps echoed in the hall, a stark reminder of the conflict left unresolved.

Sirius stared after her, guilt gnawing at him. The last time he had seen his sister cry was when Regulus died, and the memory twisted in his chest like a knife. But pride held him back; he didn’t want to admit he was wrong.

“Leave her be, Sirius,” Dumbledore said softly, his voice filled with understanding. “She needs time.”

“Time? She’s with him!” Sirius snapped, gesturing toward Severus. “What if he hurts her? I won’t let that happen!”

Severus, who had remained silent through most of the confrontation, felt a flicker of something akin to guilt. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He hadn’t wanted to cause a rift between the siblings.

“I’ll speak to her,” he said, rising from his chair.

“Not without my permission,” Sirius warned, eyes fierce.

“Enough!” Dumbledore interjected, his voice commanding. “This is not a battlefield, gentlemen. We are fighting a war, and if you cannot set aside your differences for the sake of the mission, you will find yourselves at a greater loss.”

“And Sirius, you must know that we are often surprised by the paths others choose,” Dumbledore continue, his voice gentle but firm. “But it is not our place to judge the journey, only to trust that love—wherever it is found—brings with it the potential for great courage and even greater understanding.”

Sirius’s shoulders slumped, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface. He turned away, staring out the window at the darkening sky.

Yn leaned against her door, her heart racing, tears streaming down her face. How had it come to this? She had hoped that her relationship with Severus would be a source of strength, not a point of contention. She felt trapped between loyalty to her brother and her love for Severus, a tangled web of emotions that left her feeling breathless.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts, and she wiped her eyes hastily. “Go away,” she called, her voice thick with sadness.

“Yn?” Severus’s voice was low, almost tentative. “May I come in?”

She hesitated but finally opened the door. Severus stood there, his dark eyes searching hers, concern etched on his features.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stepping inside. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“It’s not your fault,” she replied, shaking her head. “It’s just…Sirius doesn’t understand. He’s hurting and he's doesn't see it.”

“I know.” Severus’s voice was gentle, a contrast to the sharpness that had characterized their earlier confrontation. “But I can’t change who I am. I can’t change how I feels. All I can do is be here for you.”

The sincerity in his voice warmed her, and she took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to choose between you two,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t,” he said firmly, crossing the room to stand before her. “You can be loyal to your brother and still love me. He’ll come around eventually.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” she whispered, looking up at him, searching for reassurance. “What if I lose him forever? I've already spent twelve years without him, Severus”

Severus reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then we will find a way to make it work. Together.”

His touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she leaned into him, the warmth of his body grounding her in the chaos of her thoughts.

Days passed, the tension palpable within Grimmauld Place. Sirius avoided her, and every time she caught a glimpse of him, guilt twisted in her stomach. She missed her brother, and the silence between them felt insurmountable.

One evening, as Yn prepared for bed, a soft knock broke through her thoughts. She opened the door to find Sirius standing there, his expression a mix of determination and regret.

“Can I come in?” he asked, voice softer than she’d ever heard.

“Of course,” she replied, stepping aside.

Sirius entered, shifting awkwardly in the small space, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I’ve been a right git,” he began, his voice low. “And I’m sorry. I just…” He hesitated, searching for the words. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. Not again.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she nodded, unable to speak.

“I know I can’t dictate your life,” he continued, his voice gaining strength. “But I’m your brother, and I care. I just—” He paused, taking a deep breath. “If you’re going to be with him, I need to know that he’s not going to hurt you.”

Yn crossed her arms, heart racing. “He won’t, Sirius. He’s different now. He’s changed.You just weren't here to see it”

Sirius studied her for a moment, the anger in his eyes fading, replaced by something softer. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy” she said firmly. “With him. I love him, Sirius.”

The confession hung in the air, and Sirius let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I hate that I can’t just accept this,” he muttered, pacing the room. “I just—he’s Snape. He’s always been Snape.”

“Maybe it’s time to let that go,” she said, her voice steady. “You have to let me make my own choices.”

Sirius stopped, turning to face her, vulnerability etched in every line of his face. “I just wish you’d chosen someone else, someone-”

“Someone safer?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to date someone you approve of? That’s not how love works, Sirius. It’s not just about safety; it’s also about connection and heart.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then closed it, the fight leaving him. “I don’t want to lose you,not after… Regulus” he admitted, his voice breaking.

“You won’t,” she promised, stepping closer, reaching for his hands. “I’ll always be your sister, no matter what.”

A silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, Sirius pulled her into a tight embrace, and she melted against him, feeling the warmth of family wrap around her.

“I just want you to be safe,” he murmured into her hair, and she felt the tremor in his voice.

“I will be,” she whispered back, her heart swelling with love for her brother. “I promise.”

The next day, as the sun broke through the clouds, casting light upon the darkened house, Yn found Severus in the garden, tending to the herbs she had planted. The vibrant greens and delicate blooms stood in stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of Grimmauld Place.

“Hey,” she said softly, approaching him.

Severus looked up, his expression softening at the sight of her. “How did your conversation with your brother go?”

“He’s…coming around,” she replied, a small smile breaking through her earlier worries. “He just needs time.”

“Time,” Severus echoed, a hint of skepticism in his tone. “That can be a double-edged sword.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, reaching out to touch a petal of a blooming herb. “But I think he’ll come to see that we’re not just some reckless fling. This is real between us.”

Severus stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers. “And what if he doesn’t? What if he never accepts this?”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” she said firmly, determination swirling within her. “I won’t let fear dictate my happiness.”

For a moment, Severus studied her, and then his lips curled into a rare smile. “You are far more stubborn than I anticipated.”

“Stubbornness is a family trait,” she teased, her heart swelling with affection. “But that doesn't stop me from loving you”

As they stood together, the sun casting a warm glow around them, Yn felt a sense of peace settle within her. The path ahead was uncertain, but her heart was anchored in the knowledge that love, no matter how complicated, was worth fighting for.

And as the winds of change swept through the garden, Yn knew she would stand strong—both for herself and for the love she had chosen, no matter who stood against her.

[yoonkinii]

Argument with Sukuna

Warning(s): cursing, heated arguments, name calling, insults, mentions of being depressed, self doubt. (If I am missing any, let me know ASAP) Requested by this request Requests open! (only for this AU) Masterlist (check for more AU content) Note(s): I am so sorry it took me literally forever to upload this. I got slammed with midterms and my new job so it took me a while to get around to editing this part.

Doubt- a creeping, insidious emotion that sinks its claws into your chest, digging deeper with each passing moment. It’s the very thing that has wrapped itself around you now, slowly consuming you from the inside out as you spiral deeper into the sluggish pit of overthinking. It gnaws at your thoughts, festering in your mind, even as you stand before the familiar doorway, dressed in a white dress, the soft fabric contrasting with the roughness of the leather jacket draped over your shoulders- his leather jacket.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, the screen’s bright glow illuminating your face as you bite your bottom lip, the sensation a poor distraction from the unease bubbling within you. Your eyes scan the messages again and again, searching for clarity in the words that now feel heavy with doubt. 

Nothing. Hours had passed since his lunch break, and still, there was no reply. Each time you texted, a small hope flickered, only to be extinguished by the silence that followed. With each unanswered message, the doubt that had been simmering beneath the surface grew stronger, tightening its grip on you. You knew the risk of being annoying, yet the gnawing feeling inside pushed you to  reach out again, and again- only to be met with more nothingness. 

With a sigh, you slipped your phone into your purse and rapped your knuckles against the door. Silence greeted you. Just as you raised your hand to knock again, the door cracked open, revealing a pair of familiar brown eyes. 

“Y/n! I didn’t know you were coming over,” he says cheerfully, his voice carrying the usual warmth. 

A sharp pain of anxiety hit you at his innocent comment, the unease twisting in your gut. “You didn’t?” you muttered, brow furrowing as Yuji leads you into the kitchen. 

A pang of anxiety shot through you at his innocent comment. Your brows narrow as Yuji leads you into the kitchen. “You didn’t?”

He shakes his head casually, already reaching into the fridge and pulling out a gallon of milk. Without hesitation, he uncapped it and took a long drink, oblivious to your growing concern. 

“Where’s Sukuna?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, though your mind was racing with a hundred different possibilities. The hope that Sukuna was just busy, still getting ready, lingered desperately. 

Yuji wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, waving off the question as he set the milk down. “He’s in his room, asleep. Came home all moody- said something about needing a nap and just shut himself in there. Hasn’t come out since,” he replied, nonchalant as he ranted about his uncle, completely unaware of the storm brewing in your chest. 

Your heart sank, a heavy weight settling in your chest as you swallowed hard. Offering Yuji a quiet thank you, you turned and followed the familiar path to Sukuna’s bedroom. Your mind was a whirlwind of disbelief and frustration, unable to comprehend that he’d actually do this- again. With each step, dread gnawed at you, but it was anger that simmered beneath the surface, flaring as you reached his door. 

You didn’t bother to be gentle. Swinging the door open, you flicked on the lights, flooding the room in a harsh, luminescent glow. Sukuna’s reaction was immediate.

“Fuckin’ hell, Yuji. I’m trying to sleep,” he groaned, his arm instinctively covering his eyes to block the sudden brightness. 

“Oh, I am so sorry to disturb your royal slumber, Lord Sukuna,” you snapped, sarcasm dripping from your words as your annoyance echoed in the room. 

Sukuna shifted, squinting past the light to get a look at you. The sight of you standing there, arms crossed and clearly fuming, made him sight deeply, frustration creeping into his voice. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand over his face.

“Are you kidding me, Sukuna?” you start, your voice rising with every word as you plant your hands firmly on your hips. “This is the third time you’ve blown me off. What is your deal?” You raised three fingers to punctuate your frustration, your tone sharp with irritation. 

He rolls his eyes, scoffing as he sits up. “It’s not a big deal, doll. We can hang out another time.”

“Not a big deal?” you repeat, your voice going up an octave as you stared at him in disbelief. “Not a big deal? Are you fucking serious? You’ve said that exact same thing the last three  times you’ve bailed.” You glare at him, anger radiating off of you. 

Sukuna met your glare with a harsher one, his expression hardening as if your anger was completely unjustified, as though you had no right to be upset.

“Oh my God, you are so damn needy,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “Sorry that I can’t drop everything for you. I have a job that’s more important than going on dates all the time. Damn, you’re such a nuisance.” His words were sharp, slicing through the air with a brutal finality as he stared you down from where he lay. 

The world stops for you. His words replaying in your mind over and over again. It’s not just his words anymore. The dam inside your mind finally breaks, your mind filling with the comments you’ve ignored so far. 

For a moment, the world seems to stop. His words echo in your mind, replaying like a broken record, growing louder and more painful with each repetition. But it wasn’t just his words now. It was every cruel comment, every sneer, and every judgment you had ignored until now. 

“Look at her. She’s just after his money.”

“What is she wearing? Doesn’t she know the attire is supposed to be business classy, not-hang-your-tits out.”

“It’s cute how she thinks Ryomen actually cares about her.”

“What a whore, can’t she survive for two seconds without clinging to him?”

The dam inside your mind broke. Every ounce of doubt, sadness, and frustration you’d suppressed surged forth all at once, overwhelming you. Tears of anger and hurt welled up, spilling from your eyes as your fists clench at your sides. 

“Fuck you, Ryomen.”

His last name, spoken with such finality, snapped his attention back to you. His eyes widened briefly at the sight of your tears, but his frown only deepened. 

“Seriously, you’re crying?” he scoffs, the corner of his mouth curling in disbelief, as though your emotions were an inconvenience to him. He sits up in the bed, the blanket falling to his wasit, exposing his tattooed chest. With his arms crossed, he tilted his head at you, the condescension in his gaze unmistakable.

“God…you’re insufferable sometimes. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Oh? Well, I’m sorry for wanting to spend time with my own damn  boyfriend,” you snap, your voice trembling with emotion. A white-hot anger flared inside you, making your chest burn as you pointed a trembling finger at him. “You are such a dick, Sukuna! I understand you’re busy, but you’re not even trying to see me.”

“I don’t fucking want to,” he growls, nostrils flaring as his anger matches your own. His gaze bore into you like you were insignificant, something beneath him. “I don’t want to spend every second with you. It’s suffocating. Don’t you get that?”

Your face falls, the fire in your chest extinguished in an instant, leaving only a hollow ache behind. The room seemed to freeze, thick with an eerie silence as the harsh lights threw long, jagged shadows across the walls. Your hands drop to your sides, nails digging into your palms. Trembling slightly, your eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. 

Noticing the shift in your demeanor, Sukuna lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair through his hair in frustration, “Y/n-”

But he doesn’t get the chance to finish. You turn on your heel and walk out of his room, the movement quick, decisive. Something inside him snapps at the sight of you leaving, and his voice erupts after you, echoing through the halls. “Fuck you then!”

Grumbling under his breath, Sukuna stands from his bed, the sudden absence of your presence unnerving him more than he’d care to admit. He stomped towards the door, grabbing the edge to slam it shut. But as he moved to close it, he froze.

Yuji stood at the end of the hallway, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Gone was the boy’s usual bright smile, replaced by a cold, unwavering gaze. 

“You’re a dick,” Yuji said, his voice calm, yet heavy with disappointment. 

Three simple words, but they hit Sukuna harder than he’d expect, cutting through his defenses like a blade. His lips curled into a snarl, masking the sharp sting of Yuji’s comment. With a sharp flick of his wrists, he slams the door, the sound reverberating through the room. 

Sukuna leaned his forehead against the door, relishing the cool touch of the wood against his heated skin. 

She doesn’t understand him at all. 

-

He doesn’t understand at all. 

Time has dragged on painfully these past few days, each second stretching into an eternity. The world around him seems muted, painted in dull shades of gray and blue. Nothing shines the way it used to; everything irritates him. People, places- everything feels wrong, like clothes that don’t fit. And he’s left grasping at an explanation, yet understanding nothing. 

In the dark of his bedroom, the only light comes from the dim glow of his phone screen, casting eerie shadows on his face. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and flashes of lightning briefly illuminate the room, breaking through the oppressive gloom. His eyes scan the messages on his screen- dozen of texts sent to you, one after another, each more desperate than the last. 

A week.

An entire week without your smile, your laugh, your touch, or your kiss. Time has slowed to a crawl without you, every minute dragging him further into the suffocating void of your absence. At first, he didn’t care that you were ignoring him. It was your issue for getting upset- at least that’s what he told himself. But as the days beld together, something shifts. The weight of what he’d lost settled into his bones, and he began to understand the hollowness you must’ve felt- the same emptiness now consuming him. 

It’s unbearable. Each second stretched out in the silence, thick with a loneliness he never noticed before you came into his life. Now, it’s all he can feel- this aching void. And he knows, deep down, he messed up. He sees it in the way Yuji looks at him, the silent judgment behind those eyes every time they cross paths. It cuts deeper than Sukuna thought possible, slicing him in two with each glance. 

Another flash of lightning, and he’s up. Without thinking, without even grabbing his jacket, he’s out of his bed, storming out of the house before the rational part of his mind could stop him. He can’t take it anymore- this hollow, gnawing ache that’s been clawing at him. He needs to see you. Now. 

-

The relentless patter of rain against your window muffles the found from you TV, the show playing fading into a distant hum. You can’t even remember the name of the program or what it was about. Your half-lidded eyes stare blankly at the flickering screen, knees pulled close to your chest. The cool night air slips through the slightly open window, chilling your skin and raising goosebump across every inch of you. The hoodie- his hoodie- offers little warmth, but you don’t care. The cold is the furthest thing from your mind.

These past few days, you haven’t been able to focus on anything- school, work, even the most mundane tasks seem distant and irrelevant. Your thoughts drift aimlessly during class as lectures drag on and on, or while you mindlessly restock shelves. Even Shokok noticed something was off. She poked your side during class, slipping you a note with a simple, loaded question

‘Are you okay?’

A question you still don’t know how to answer.

Sukuna’s words left a deep scar, one that feels impossible to heal simply by ignoring him. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cried, the sting of his voice and the cruel whispers of others replaying in your head like a vicious cycle. His name lights up your phone screen more than once, and every time you choose to ignore it. Call it petty, but you want him to feel some of the hurt you felt when he brushed you off like you didn’t matter. Yet as the days stretch on and your phone continues to vibrate, you begin to wonder if this silent war is worth it. 

Even now, your eyes sting from the tears you’ve shed. You know you shouldn’t be crying this much, that you should be stronger, more resilient like those girls who don’t care what others think. But you’re not like that- you care deeply, too much sometimes. Yes, you’re angry at Sukuna, but beneath that anger lies an overwhelming sadness you can’t seem to shake. 

The TV flashes as a commercial for some love-themed product plays, the word “love: glowing brightly on the screen. A bitter frown tugs at your lips- how ironic. You lean forward to grab the remote from the coffee table, ready to change the channel, when a knock echoes from the door. The student noise startles you, cutting through the rain and the murmur of the TV, sending a jolt of fear through your body. 

You freeze, eyes locked on the door, unsure if you’d actually heard anything. A second knock comes, more urgent this time, breaking the silence. Slowly, you make your way toward the door, hesitation pulling at every step. It’s late, the rain pounds against the windows, and you weren’t expecting anything. The thought of ignoring it crosses your mind, but the knock persists, louder, more frantic. 

With a sigh, you unlock the door and crack it open, only to swing it wide in shock at the sight before you. 

Sukuna stood there, drenched from head to toe. His soaked hair clung to his forehead, water dripping down his face as his chest heaves, clearly out of breath, like he had run all the way here. Judging by his disheveled appearance, he probably did. He was dressed in nothing but pajama pants and a white tank top, both utterly soaked, the thin fabric of his shirt sticking to his muscular frame like a second skin. 

Your heart stutters in your chest, wide eyes scanning him up and down, trying to comprehend why he was here- why now- when he was the one so furious with you. His presence felt surreal. Sukuna, your sharp-tongued, blunt boyfriend, looked utterly defeated. The usual fire in his eyes had dimmed, replaced with something distant and heavy. His brows were drawn together, casting faint lines across his forehead, and his mouth- so often curved in a smirk or scowl- was set in a hard, straight line, lips pressed tightly. His whole expression was steeped in sorrow, a quiet, aching weight that made him look so unlike himself. 

“Y/n…” He whispered your name as if it were the only thing holding him together, his voice laced with disbelief. 

You swallowed hard, biting the inside of your cheek as your mind raced. Before you could react, Sukuna moved, stepping inside and pulling you into a fierce embrace. His arms wrapped tightly around you, and though your body instinctively tensed at his touch, the warmth of his closeness stirred a whirlwind of emotions. 

“Please,” he murmured into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and desperate against your skin. “Be angry with me, hate me if you have to- but don’t stay away. I can’t do this anymore.” his voice cracked, raw with emotions, his large frame curling into you as though he could make himself smaller, more vulnerable. 

Shock ripples through you, his words shaking you to your core. Sukuna has never been like this. Harsh, yes. Guarded, certainly. But this? This openness, this need- this was something you’d never seen in him before. The façade he always wore, that untouchable exterior, had finally cracked, and you could see the raw, unguarded person beneath it. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, your hands found their way around his torso, returning the embrace. “You’re getting my floors all wet,” you teased softly, the tension easing so slightly from your chest as you spoke. 

He let out a low hum, tightening his hold on you. “Sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “I’m so sorry…for everything.” his words were muffled against your hair, but the weight of them hung heavily in the air. The sincerity in his apology palpable, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the tightness in your chest beginning to lift, if only just a little. 

-

Tendrils of steam drift from the bathroom as Sukuna emerges, a towel draped loosely over his shoulder, catching the last few drops of water from his damp hair. He grunts as he drops onto the couch, his presence immediately filling the room. 

From the kitchen, you eye him, raising a brow at his casual appearance. “You do know I gave you a shirt to wear, right?” you say, stepping closer and handing him a steaming cup of tea. His hands cradle the cup, his eyes fixating on the liquid inside as if it might hold the answers to his thoughts. 

“And you know I don’t like wearing shirts to bed,” he counters, a lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Humming, you lean your cheek on the back of the couch- your legs tucking themselves close to your chest again. 

You hum softly in response, resting your cheek against the back of the couch, your legs instinctively curling up to your chest. The silence between you grows heavy, and though his smile remains, you can’t shake the lingering weight of what had happened. 

“I’m still angry at you,” you say, your voice softer but firm. 

Sukuna’s eyes remain on the mug for a moment longer before he speaks, his voice low. “I know.”

“What you did,” you begin, your gaze fixed on him, “was really messed up, I can’t believe you spoke to me like that.”

He finally lifts his gaze, meeting yours. His lips pressed into a thin line, and there’s something in his eyes- something softer, almost regretful. “I know,” he repeats, the words filled with quiet acknowledgment. 

Your frown deepens, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Is that all you’re going to say?” you ask, irritation, creeping into your tone at his lack of explanation. 

Sukuna watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “There’s nothing I can say to undo what happened,” he begins, voice steady but laced with a rare vulnerability. “What I did- it was bad. Really bad. I didn’t understand why you were so upset.”

Your teeth clench at his choice of words, and you shoot him a sharp glare. “You’re terrible at apologizing,” you mutter through gritted teeth. 

He lets out a small, rueful laugh. “I know,” he admits, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek, the gesture almost tender. “I got angry because I didn’t understand. And I can’t say anything to excuse what I did. But I am…truly sorry.”

His voice softens at the end, the weight of his apology hanging in the air between you both. It isn’t perfect, but it’s honest, and for someone like Sukuna, that means more than words ever could. 

With a soft sigh, you inch closer to him. He tenses, casting you a wary glance as you lift his arm, guiding it over your shoulder. For a moment, his arm hovers in the air, unsure, before he slowly lowers it, wrapping it around you in a gesture that feels both hesitant and protective. 

“I appreciate the apology,” you murmur, your cheek suppressed against the warmth of his bare chest. His skin, always radiating heat, feels more like a personal heater. “But I don’t know if I can forgive you just yet.”

Without a word, he places the mug on the coffee table and shifts his position, pulling you down with him until you’re both lying on the couch, your body draped over his. He lets out a deep, content sigh, his arms tightening around you as if afraid you might slip away. On instinct, your legs entwine with his, the closeness both familiar and comforting. His voice, a low rumble, vibrates through his chest as he speaks. 

“That’s alright. I didn’t expect you to forgive me right away,” he says quietly, his breath stirring your hair. “But I’m going to do everything I can to earn it”

Propping your chin on his chest, your eyes meet his as a playful smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I’m going to make you work like a dog to get it back.”

A deep chuckle escapes him, the sound reverberating through his body. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” he replies, his eyes softening with affection. 

Bonus:

“Damn, my back’s killing me,” Sukuna grumbled as he dropped into one of the dining chairs, his face twisting with discomfort. 

Rolling your eyes, you set a plate of breakfast down in front of him. “That’s what you get for sleeping on the couch… and for being old.” 

He shoots a glare in your direction, stabbing his fork into the eggs with more force than necessary. “Ha-ha, hilarious.” 

You settle across from him, your own plate in hand, watching as he eats. The room was quiet except for the sound of clinking cutlery and his occasional grunt when a movement aggravated his back. You simply observed, a content silence falling over you as you ate your meal. 

He had hurt you, deeply, with his words. They’d cut through you like a blade, but right now, in this moment, it didn’t feel as heavy. You could set aside the hurtful comments whispered behind your back and deal with them later. What mattered was now- this quiet morning,watching your boyfriend clear his plate, his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet yours. 

“What?” His piercings caught the morning light, glinting as he gave you a curious look. 

“Sure,” he says with a suspicious glance, getting up and taking his plate to the sink. He rinses it off, the sound of running water filling the small space. “I’ll need to head back to my place soon.”

A pang of disappointment hits you, but you mask it with a short nod. “Okay. Your shirt should be dry now.”

“He glances over his shoulder. “Be ready when I come back later.”

You blink, caught off guard your fork pausing mid-bite. “Wait, why?”

His lips tug into a small smirk. “Didn’t you want to go to that stupid musical in town?”

Before you could stop yourself, you’re standing, hands pressed flat against the table. Excitement surging through you. “The one I mentioned weeks ago? About Odysseus? That musical?!”

Question after question tumbles from your mouth, your heart racing. Sukuna looks at you, brow arches, clearly confused by your outburst. “Yeah,” he drew out the word, eyes narrowing slightly, “that one. Why are you so worked up?”

With a squeal, you dart over to him, grabbing his cheeks between your hands and squishing them together. He scowls, his lips puckering in protest. “Thank you, Kuna!you exclaim, leaning in to press a sloppy kiss against his squished lips. He grunts but returns the kiss as soon as your lips meet his. 

Pulling away, he peels your hands off his face. “It’s the least I could do. You did say you wanted to go.”

You smile up at him, your heart still fluttering with excitement as he pulls you closer, his hands finding their place on your waist. “Yes, but I only mentioned it in passing. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

He shrugs, squeezing your hips lightly. “I listen sometimes.”

You hum, your arms lopping around his neck. “Yeah, sometimes.”

-

Taglist (open): @kalulakunundrum , @fushipurro , @sad-darksoul , @cupcaketeddybehr

[letstalkaboutshtufff]

Night on the town

Mandalorian x reader

Pairing: Din Djarin Mandalorian x reader

Warning: mentions of alcohol and some 18+ themes. No minors please!

Summary: Reader doesn’t listen to Mandos warnings about staying on the ship, then wakes up with something new and a bit troubling…

****************************************************

“Don’t leave the ship” those four words had been echoing in your head all week.

For months you’d never really minded following your Mandalorians orders, most planets he landed on for bounties were backwater scugholes whose inhabitants were low level creeps and criminals. You were perfectly fine staying within the safe compounds of the ship normally…but this planet was different.

Ceralis 3 was known for its bustling city full of high quality clothing stalls, the tastiest food establishments, musical performances, and oh how you couldn’t stop thinking about the renowned city square that’s lit up like starlight when the suns go down and everyone gathers to dance. You’d seen so many brochures advertising Ceralis 3 as a top vacation spot. And now you were finally here… stuck on a ship.

“Must be nice..” you mumble head resting flat on your arms watching the suns set from behind the glass of the ships viewport. The twinkling lights in the distant mocking you as if to say “here we are shining so bright and you’re stuck in a dark smelly cockpit”.

Ok so maybe that’s an exaggeration.. but still you were minutes away from going crazy with boredom.

“Don’t leave the ship” he said from the bottom of the ramp like he always does before leaving for a bounty.

Bounty hunting usually doesn’t take a week though… ugh

You lean up on your arms watching the twinkling lights of the city getting brighter. What was everyone doing now? Drinking? Dancing? Having 1000x more fun than you were right now??

You glance at the small data pad that Din gave you. When he was finished with a bounty he usually sent a quick message through.

You checked it again for the millionth time.

No new messages…

What if you just went for a quick look… no

No you couldn’t do that, din would be angry if he found out.

If he found out…

If…

You check the data pad again. Every time he sent a message it usually took him a decent amount of time to get back to the ship, he’d usually stop for supplies and whatnot.

So you had time even if he messaged you while you were out…

But could you break his trust so easily-

*pop pop pop*

Bright strands of fiery light shot up from the skyline in the shapes of flowers.

Well he didn’t need to know everything…

You sprung up practically jumping down the ladder to your small closet.

You smirked pulling out the one nice “out for a night on the town outfit” you owned. A stark contrast to the usual travel outfits you donned.

You applied some light makeup, grabbed your satchel and were off the ship in record time.

You took note of the pathway, and kept the data pad close to your hip in case that all to familiar beep sounded and you needed to rush back..

You gasped nearing a well lit archway taller than anything you’d seen before.

Giddy with excitement you ran in and were immediately overtaken by a rush of… well everything.

The streets were lit bright with lanterns, full of laughing and singing people.

The smells were making your mouth water wondering what on earth could smell so heavenly, and the buildings.. oh the absolutely breathtaking carvings. You didn’t know what to do first!

So you did the first thing that you saw, you ate from several stalls, bought a bunch of jewelry and souvenirs that you absolutely didn’t need, watched a few performances, drank some juice being served on a tray that you didn’t realize had alcohol… and then made your way to the famous square.

Oh and what a sight it was… like someone had the most dazzling dream and brought it to life. Everyone was jumping and dancing to live musicians. You wondered briefly if your Mandalorian could dance. Probably not.. but maybe if you really asked nicely he would.. or if you just dragged him..

You wished he was here.. you usually weren’t separated that long so it’s been a little lonely.

You sighed watching the couples dance and hold each other warmly. Some kissing some just gazing into each others eyes…

Ok more than a little lonely..

Maybe you should head back..

You sipped on your juice walking back in the direction of the ship.

What lovely juice, so sweet and spicy at the same time..

Mmm juicy juice so lovely

Hmm you peeked at a stall in passing, maybe you should get him something? Yeah that’s right, he wouldn’t be mad at you for leaving if you got him a gift!

Maybe you’d get some more juice while you shopped and then maybe——-

************************************************

Ugh why is my head pounding so bad…

You wince sitting up in the cot holding your head with a hand.

You blink slowly regaining your senses, the previous nights memories ending in a blur. You didn’t even remember coming back to the ship…

Ugh you were so stupid, the “juice” was alcohol and you’d had so many of them..

You panicked a bit not seeing your satchel on the hook but then calmed seeing it on the floor.

With a sigh you reached in pulling out the data pad and pressing the button.

*new message*

Oh kriff..

*Heading back. Shouldn’t take more than half a day.*

Half a day… wait when did he send that!?

The sky was so bright outside how long had you been asleep?? You looked down seeing you were still dressed up from last night.

I better change before he gets-

You stumble a bit feeling your leg let out a painful throb.

Oh no was I stupid and injured myself last night?

Quickly you pull up your clothing expecting a bruise or a cut or something but instead what awaited you was infinitely worse.

“Oh maker what have I done…”

You vaguely remember wanting to get something for Din but why on earth did your drunken state think that was a good idea!?!?

Kriff what did I do!?!?

You wobble quickly to the mirror to get a better look at the new addition to your outer thigh.

An abstract outline of your mandalorians helmet with his name cursively written under it.

Oh now you remembered.. bits and pieces as you stumbled into a tattoo stall and scribbled on a paper demanding it be the bestest bestie best tattoo ever, you even remember the guy asking if you wanted to wait until you were sober but then you cried until he did it.

Kill me now…

Ugh Why why why!? How was I going to explain this to Din!?

As if the universe was punishing you even more you heard a familiar beeping and gasped feeling the vibrations of the ships ramp moving.

Of kriffing course he would arrive now!

You quickly pull your clothing down and try to look as nonchalant as you can watching as Din walks up the ramp into the hull.

His bounty blocked your view of him but he was fighting and throwing some curses but Din is quick to throw him in the carbonite freezer.

You gulp as he finally turns around to regard you.

“Welcome back..” you tried to sound like your normal self. Key word being tried.

Din stood still for a moment then his helmet slowly shifted from your face down to your body then up again.

Oh yeah my outfit and makeup…

“You look…nice” he said a bit confused.

Maybe you could spin this…

“Oh well I um wanted to um surprise you… I really missed you Din..”

You hoped your nervousness would be taken as you just being embarrassed to dress up for him.

He tilted his helmet a bit, his stance relaxing ever so slightly and he took a couple steps in your direction.

“Yeah?”

Oh how easy men could be sometimes…

“Yeah” you smiled stepping forward too and wrapping your arms around him. “You were gone a while this time..”

He pulled back a bit to see you but his strong arms were still held firm around you.

“Yeah the bounty was more work than I originally anticipated, sorry you had to be alone so long.”

“It’s alright..you’re back now that’s all that matters…” you smile up into his visor knowing his eyes are deeply peering into yours just as lovingly.

His hands slide a bit and he grips you a bit tighter “if I knew you were gonna dress up just for me, I would’ve forgotten all about the bounty and rushed here..”

“Mm I’ll have to remember that for next time…” you lean up tilting your head to the side to kiss the bare skin just under his helmet. He breathes in, deep and crackley through the modulator.

Your hands reach up about to lift his helmet off when suddenly his head moves to the side.

“Din?” You frown a bit following his gaze then when you do your eyes widen a bit at what you see.

A beautifully beaded tote bag overflowing with items leaned against the wall, a strand of pearls strewn across it along with a shimmery scarf and a bottle of “juice”. Oh Kriff just how drunk did you get last night!?!?

“What’s that?”

“Oh um just some old stuff I pulled out when I was trying stuff on for you..”

He pulled away and you knew you had messed up.

“Din..?”

He approached the bag and knelt down. He picked up the bottle with one hand.

“And you just happened to have an alcohol that’s only produced on this planet in your storage?” His voice had completely shifted from gentle and loving to interrogative typical pre meeting me Mando.

“Well…”

He abruptly stood up with a sigh.

“You left the ship” he stated with a huff.

You bite your lip looking away from the intense stare.

“…”

“What’s the one thing I told you never to do?” You could tell he was angry but was trying to hold it back.

“…go against your orders..”

“Go against my orders and what did you do?”

“I left the ship… I’m sorry but I was so bored and lonely and I just…” maker could you sound any more pathetic and whiny.

He let out a huff of annoyance, “you put yourself in danger because you were bored?”

“Din..”

“You don’t know this planet, and I have a million enemies, I don’t tell you to stay on the ship for the hell of it” he bit out getting more frustrated.

“I… I know… I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking..”

You heard a sigh again and hesitantly looked up. His shoulder relaxed a bit his tone a bit softer but still plenty stern. “I can’t go after bounties and worry about you too..”

Well now you felt like absolutely shit

“Oh Din I’m so sorry, of course you can’t, shouldn’t actually. It was dumb and stupid and reckless and I promise I won’t leave again. No matter how tempting it is..”

He stood for a moment deciding you were sincere in your words, he held out a single arm motioning for you to come closer again,

You do and hug him muttering another apology.

“So you didn’t dress up for me huh..?”

Oh..

You peek up from his chest finding his gaze on yours,

“Well… not exactly but my first thought when I looked in the mirror was how I wished you were by my side to see me… does that count?”

He lets out a scoff and lowers his hands “No”

You pout

“But I know how you can make it up to me”.

His hands are back on you stroking your thighs kneeding them softly when all the sudden you yelp.

He pulls away shocked “what’s wrong?”

“Oh uh nothing just got caught up in the moment…”

His head tilts and boy for someone with a helmet on his expressions were clear as day.

“Wanna run that by me again?”

“I had a cramp?” You lamely ask.

Seconds of silence pass before his hands are reaching for the tips of your dress.

“Ah wait no!”

You jump back not ready now or ever for him to see your latest mistake.

He freezes, now that’s something you’d never done before.

“You hurt yourself didn’t you?” He crosses his arms.

“I did not..”

“Then what are you hiding?”

“….”

He sighs again loudly “you have three seconds to show me before I do it myself.”

Kriff…

You hesitate not knowing what to do.

“One”

Ugh what now!?

“Two”

Maybe you could lock yourself in the fresher…

“Three”

You make a dash for the open door but make it all of two steps before strong arms pull you back.

“Really?” He huffs annoyed.

“Din wait!”

“Just relax what’s the worst it could be?”

No way you couldn’t show him, you catch him off guard by fighting his hold.

“Hey stop that”

“Enough!” His bark cuts through you like a knife and you freeze.

He spins you around, his hands locked onto your arms.

“Din...” you plead but he won’t budge.

He maneuvers your hands into one of his while his other reaches for your dress. You can’t help but try one more time to evade him and use the one move he taught you in self defense,

Of course because he’s who he is all it buys you is three seconds before he has you sprawled over his knees.

How ironic… if only he knew how you’d fantasized about this exact position.

“You really wanna make things hard don’t you?”

“Din please you don’t understand! Just leave me alone-“ and just like that the delicate freshly tattooed skin was exposed to the cool air of the ship and his searing gaze.

Then it was silent..

“I-I didn’t mean to I got drunk by accident and then wanted to get you a gift and for some crazy reason I thought a tattoo would be a good idea and…and…and-“ your nervous ramblings continued until you suck in a sharp breath feeling soft fingers caress the area just around the tender area.

“You did this…for me?”

“W-well yeah…”

You try to turn your head to see him but it’s impossible in your condition.

He silently caresses the area around it as if he…wait no way!?

“Do… do you like it?” You asked hesitantly.

He let out a breath.

“Can’t say I hate it…”

Oh my maker

“R-really?” You question an eyebrow raised.

“Mm” you flinch a bit feeling his fingers trace over the sore area.

He pulled you up so you were straddling him facing his visor.

“Sorry I left the ship…” you say after a few moments of silence.

“Swear you won’t do that again..”

“I promise..”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Yes” he said without hesitation.

“Really? After all the trouble I went through getting you your gift” you smirk a bit wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

His hands gripped your thighs squeezing softly, “Yes…” you smiled knowing by his voice he was all talk. You already had him in the palm of your hand.

“Want me to make it up to you?” You whisper near the side of his helmet.

He makes some sort of hum through the helmet and you take that as a yes, you push him back a bit so the distance between you is closed, your core pressed against him deliciously.

His hands travelled around squeezing and caressing in the ways only he knew how you liked. You’re about to lift his helmet up so you could finally kiss him when he pauses his movements.

Ugh not again

“What’s wrong?”

“You were drunk…?”

Ah Kriff, why did I have to let that part slip out.

“Y-yes but just a bit…”

He looks at you in a no nonsense way,

“Ok maybe more than a bit but it really wasn’t my fault, I didn’t know the drinks had alcohol..”

He sighs

Man if I had a credit for everytime I made this man sigh…

“I know I know, it was dumb and reckless and I won’t do it again, can we go back to what we were doing please? Remember the tattoo I got for you?”

I push his helmet towards my thigh.

He lets out a little laugh, “alright alright I get it”

His thumb strokes it again, “it suits you”

You let out a laugh, “I think it suits you more…didn’t realize you were that type of guy…but honestly it’s growing on me too, he did a good job didn’t he?” You peer down admiring the details. Not realizing Dins fingers had froze.

“He?”

“….”

Oh Kriff

************************************************

I’ve been on a huge Mandalorian kick lately and had this little idea. Hope you enjoyed! Also please excuse the lazy editing❤️

[ilylovelyz]

⍣ ೋ Cupid's Chokehold.

˚ · . mirio x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ love at first sight to unrequited love to mutual pining, mentions of character death, a lil angst, reader is a cunty brat, smut, this is more fluff and angst than smut, choking, overstimulation, riding, unprotected sex, cervix, fucking, creampie, multiple orgasms, belly bulge, implied breeding, implied size kink, reader is sir nighteye's daughter, this is all over the place

you walk in, and my heart beats different.

admiring you from afar, mirio had only thought the only way he could really be with you was caring of you in place of your father, sir nighteye.

the moment he had met you, he already knew you would be an important figure within his lifetime. he was practically in awe when sir nighteye had introduced you to him as his only daughter. whilst you were less than cold and almost unreciprocated his warm introductions and questions about you, he was persistent, shaking your hand with a stern yet gentle grip.

personality wise, you had taken after your father, for you had inherited your father's stoicism, almost wary of all. yet, you were rebellious, almost bratty. your father ended up admitting he had spoiled you a little too much, resulting from you being his only precious child.

it came to mirio quickly that you were a stark contrast compared to his more bright and optimistic outlook. nevertheless, later the night of the first time he had met you, he could not help but let out an awkward chuckle at the fact that he just might've fallen in love with you at first sight. he doesn't know whether it was your witty attitude, or if it was your soft and easy-on-the-eyes features, or maybe even just because you were his teacher's daughter.

all he knew, was that from the moment he met you, he had a hard and almost unquenchable longing for you.

whilst the the situation was more than unplanned and undesired, he couldn't decline when your dying father had asked him to take care of you in place of his soon to-be permanent absence. the moment those words please take care of my daughter had left his weak teacher's trembling mouth, he had to agree. he agreed and swore with his entire life, that he would take care of you until the end of time.

he understood when you had at first pushed him away, not taking it to heart when you condemned him to hell. you had just lost your father, you just wanted to be alone. you didn't want what you thought was mirio's pity or sad condolences. you just wanted your father back.

however, he did not see it as appropriate for you to be alone during such a dark time. while feeling almost empty at the loss of his own teacher, he knew what you were feeling was much more than the loss of a teacher. it was a horrible time, but he didn't recommend trying to stride it out by yourself. from what information sir nighteye had told him about you, your father was your only family.

so, he tried again. and again. and again. he tried many times to win over you over, either with promises of getting you a bite to eat or just simple questions about you, he didn't allow himself to feel defeat when you almost always cussed him out each attempt.

the day you had finally let your walls down was a little unexpected. he remembered walking throughout the U.A dorms at night, simply because he wanted to take a late night stroll to relieve some stress. he was surprised to see you on the couch of the shared public living room.

while you did not notice him, he thought you had fallen asleep on the couch as you were limp against the soft cushions, face hidden and leaned against the crevice of your elbow. he was about five feet away from you when he realized you were actually awake. awake, and crying, soft whimpers and sobs escaping despite being muffled by your elbow.

with a soft call of your name, you had shot your head up, face morphing into an expression of distaste when you had, once again, set your eyes upon a helpless mirio. before you could cuss him out once more, he had shushed you, taking place on the couch next to you.

you were about to storm off before mirio finally confessed his intentions. your father had asked me to take care of you. regardless, i'm here for you, and if you want to cuss at me or whatever, then go ahead, i'll be right here the entire time for you, and i'll be here the next time as well.

silence followed afterwards, the next few minutes you didn't even seemingly breathe. mirio so much as let out a relieved sigh when you started to cry even harder, body flopping sideways like a cat into his lap. while you mumbled out obscenities at him, hands coming up to lay weak punches against his thigh, you giving into his support was no doubt one of the best relieving things in the world.

following that, you seemed to have finally accepted his place within your life. at first, you were still begrudgingly giving him a forced smile, engaging in short conversations with him before you just ignored him after a few words. after a while, you began to give genuine smiles at him, eyes crinkling up into pretty crescents when he was able to make you laugh. he didn't know how addicting your sweet laugh was.

he had confessed his feelings for you the morning of a particularly dangerous battle you were assigned to. he was almost crying, feeling almost helpless and scared, unable to help because his stupid quirk was taken away. he babbled out little "i love you"s, and recounts of how he's supposed to be taking care of you. although he knew that your duty as a hero was important to you, he still wanted to declare his love for you before anything could happen, hoping maybe you'd stay behind for him.

but you didn't. it felt as if you confessing your love back was saying goodbye. why would you say goodbye if you planned on returning back to him?

the two days following your departure, he watched the news intently, almost no sign of sleep within him. he pestered his teachers for updates on the situation, clawing at his hair whenever a devastating explosion followed the battle-site. he could only pray when he saw little saw the familiar dark green illumination of your quirk, praying you'd return safe and healthy.

he remembers the high dopamine hit you gave him when he first saw you after your return. your hero costume was tattered, hair and body distressed with little debris and minor wounds, you looked as if you were ran over by a semi-truck. yet, he still considered you the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, running up to you and embracing you with a strong hug.

he was on cloud nine when you kissed him.

the next few months were absolute bliss. he never knew how happy someone could make him by just laughing. he spent his time playing around with you, annoying you for fun, holding your hand, or just simply lazying around in your dorm room.

he felt so lucky to be able to score someone as amazing and beautiful as you. you were so charming and witty, yet still a spoiled brat. he didn't mind giving into your little whines of "i want this," or "can we/or you get [ ]..," absolutely enjoying the satisfaction of you opening his gifts with haste and excitement, even if it came at the expense of an empty bank account.

not even batting an eye at your more tedious "flaws", not taking it to heart when you would, almost like a child, cry out or get angry when something didn't go your way. a chagrin on his face when he once again, despite being very sleepy himself, had to carry you up two floors to your dorm room after you had fallen asleep in the most random place ever.

rest assured, he'd do anything to keep you happy. even if he had to do the weirdest of things to do so.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

the obnoxious creaks of the bed springs echoed throughout the walls of your dorm room, accompanied by the soft pants, pleasurable moans and the lewd fapping of skin-on skin as you rode mirio for the nth time that night.

you whined out as you rode out your nth orgasm of the night, hips unfaltering with skill. you showed no signs of stopping, tight pussy walls clenching around mirio's thick cock. you were so blissed out in pleasure, focusing on relieving the angry stress that had you so mad earlier that you ended up just flopping onto the floor like a cat with defeat.

you were using mirio as if he was a high quality dildo, certainly too focused on yourself to care about the way his hands gripped at your hips with overstimulated pleasure and pain. "hah.. you feel so good.." you mewl out, hand coming down to rub at your clit.

a rough calloused hand travels up your warm belly, mirio lets out a choked breath as his hand continues upwards towards your perky breast, groping it as if it were dough within his hands. his cock twitches at the sight of you riding him like theres no tomorrow. he'd never thought a guy so simple looking would be chosen by a girl of the likes of you.

you're everything but normal, rather he considers you exotic in a way that has him fucking his hand at night. maybe it's the way your plump lips pout as you whine his name, leftover gloss giving an irresistible look to them. it could be the way your long pink acrylic nails scratch new cuts onto his forearm. his other hand moves up from your thigh to caress and worship your body, fingers making sure to not touch the pink glittery jewel of your pierced navel.

maybe that's what has him so addicted to you, so interested in your everyday moves, because you're so different to him it's fascinating.

you're practically fucking him like a bunny in heat, riding him so hard he can audibly hear the lewd impacts of his cock's tip hit your cervix. he's wondered how nobody has woken up to the sounds of your creamy cunt gushing or your loud moans. with the way the headboard slams into the wall, he's sure someone is bound to wake up eventually.

crap, that has his hands traveling back down to your ass, kneading the flesh with his hands while pulling your baby pink thong to the side so that way his cock can enter your cunt without your panties getting in the way. "you're riding me s-so good baby.. fuck. you want me to cum in this pussy again? fill you up nicely?" he gasps out, cursing out when you clench tightly around him again.

he's already came so many times tonight, his thighs are twitching and sore with overstimulation. but he can't bring himself to push you off and decline you. how could he say no to his precious girl? he promised to take care of you in any way after all.

ignoring the almost painful jolt that washes throughout his body, he brings himself to yet another orgasm. his thick seed fulls you up so deliciously for the nth time tonight. you feel so full, the soft of your belly bulging with his cum. your eyes flutter shut, lowly moaning, pussy milking him as another orgasm washes over you just with that.

but it's still not enough. not enough for a greedy girl like you. mirio gives a weak smile when you lean down to connect your lips with his, lazily intertwining your tongue with his. softly moaning into the kiss, his hands stay on your ass, softly massaging the flesh. your lips fit perfectly against his, like two puzzle pieces meant to be together.

your eyebrows furrow as you angle your head at an ungodly angle, almost digging your tongue down his throat. you silently groan at the lewd sounds of fucking face, thick saliva dripping down from mirio's chin.

you only pull away once the itch in your core once again tickles you uncomfortably. you look down at mirio with those puppy eyes of yours, though the heart eyes and darkness of them shows your true intent. "togata.." you mewl out, pedicured hand coming down to caress soothing touches against his hard sore abs as to win him over. "i want more.."

though, you already know his answer, only giving a sly smile when he tries his best to smile through the overstimulation, lightly tapping your thigh to urge you on. he can only try to focus on the pleasure and ignore the pain as you slowly begin to ride him once more.

how could he say no to you? he promised to take care of you after all.

please leave a like and repost with tags :)

[igwb]

Snow Flower.

"when the world turns beautifully white, i'll spread those fading colors with you."

pairing: kim taehyung x oc

genre: first love au; angst + fluff

summary: when we’re faced with the weight of a future that feels uncertain, we often try to grasp onto the past, wishing for what we once had, but the reality is—taehyung had no choice but to focus on the present. his time was slipping away, each moment feeling like it could be the last, and yet, he longed for nothing more than to share what little time he had left with you.

word count: 27K (one shot)

warnings: taehyung has a brain tumor, the pain of losing a loved one too soon, mentions of; illness, grief, loss, blood, emotionally cheating & sad ending (i keep torturing myself) and basically a lot of tears

playlist: snow flower, forever winter, the view between villages

The heat of the coffee spreads across your tongue, just on the edge of burning—hot enough to sting, yet comforting in a way that anchors you to the moment. Outside, the crisp autumn air stirs the golden leaves, sending them drifting from the branches like delicate fragments of time. You watch them fall, mesmerized. You’ve always loved this sight. It speaks of change, of renewal—of something ending so that something else, something beautiful, can begin.

Soon, the gentle chill of autumn will sharpen into the unforgiving cold of winter. Then, after what feels like an eternity, spring will return, as it always does. A cycle of endings and beginnings.

You lift your cup for another sip, seeking just a few more seconds of stillness—but before the warmth can reach your lips, the sharp beeping of your pager cuts through the quiet.

Reality pulls you back in. The sterile scent of antiseptic, the rhythmic hum of machines, the hurried footsteps in the hallways—all of it rushes back, reminding you where you are. There is no time to linger in fleeting moments. Duty calls.

You hastily wipe away the coffee that has seeped into the fabric of your blouse, sighing as you push open the door and step out of the quiet room. The moment your foot crosses the threshold, the world outside rushes back to meet you—chaotic, urgent, relentless.

People move past you in hurried strides, their faces painted with emotions too vast to contain. Some are crying, shoulders shaking with silent grief. Others are laughing, relief spilling from their lips in nervous bursts. And then there are those caught somewhere in between, laughter and tears intertwining as if unsure which one to lean into.

Hospitals are strange places—an intersection of every possible human emotion, all condensed within the same sterile walls. For every person receiving good news, another is hearing the worst. For every minor injury, there is a life-altering diagnosis. Some will walk out of here with nothing more than a cast and a prescription; others will never leave at all.

Each story is different. Each life, precious. And yet, in this space where time feels suspended between hope and despair, the world keeps moving forward.

The sound of your name pulls you back to the present, shaking you from your thoughts. You turn just as your colleague comes into view—dyed blond hair, though at this point, you wonder how it’s still holding on after so many bleach sessions. It always amuses you, how he manages to pull off such bright colors—sometimes pink, sometimes blue—in a place so often drenched in monotony.

Park Jimin is the kind of person who brings warmth into spaces like this, a reminder of why you do what you do. His presence alone makes the hospital feel a little less cold, a little less heavy. He is a contrast to the quiet suffering that lingers in the air, a reminder that your job is not just about science and medicine—it’s about hope. About making people believe, even when the odds are stacked against them. Some can be saved. Some can’t. But that doesn’t mean you stop trying.

“Time for my break,” he sighs, already shrugging off his blouse with the weariness of someone who has seen too much in too little time.

“Rough morning?” you ask, slipping your hands into your coat pockets, fingers fidgeting with the small objects inside—an unconscious habit.

Jimin plops himself onto a chair meant for patients, limbs sprawled out in a way that seems almost comical. It’s a funny sight—one of the best nurses you know, looking like he’s the one who needs saving. A quiet reminder that even the strongest among you sometimes need a moment to breathe.

“A kid came in because he didn’t want to go to school, so he broke his own ankle,” Jimin says, shaking his head. “Another one came just for diarrhea.”

You try not to laugh, biting down on your lip. Sometimes, it’s better to laugh—better to find humor in the little things, to let yourself breathe, even in a place like this.

But then, his voice shifts, quieter now, almost fragile.

“And…” He looks down at his white sterile sneakers, the brightness of them suddenly dull against the cold hospital floor. His blond bangs fall slightly over his eyes, shielding them from view. “A guy my age… diagnosed with a brain tumor.”

Your smile fades instantly. For the first time, you see him without the usual light in his expression. His normally vibrant presence feels dimmed, his bright hair no longer making his face pop like it usually does. Instead, it looks like a curtain he’s trying to hide behind.

Jimin isn’t the one suffering, and yet, he carries the weight of it. He’s the one who’s supposed to be strong, the one who’s supposed to bring comfort. But right now, in this moment, he’s just human. Just someone trying to process the unfairness of it all.

“How bad is it?” you ask, lowering yourself onto the same stiff beige chair, no longer caring that it was meant for patients.

Jimin sighs, running a shaky hand through his blond hair. “Like… three months? Five at best.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if the movement alone could push back the tears threatening to spill.

Your chest tightens. For the patient, yes—but also for Jimin. You know what kind of person he is, how deeply he feels. And of course, hearing that someone his age, someone with their whole life ahead of them, is now living on borrowed time… it’s enough to break even the coldest heart.

“That guy could be me,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Then he turns to you, eyes searching yours, grounding you before you can spiral too far into the cruel unpredictability of life.

“Hey.”

“Yeah, Jimin?”

He hesitates, his fingers gripping the fabric of his scrubs, knuckles white. Then, in a voice laced with shame—shame for something that shouldn’t even be shameful—he asks, “Would you mind if… I don’t know. If I transfer his file to you? It hurts so bad.”

And you understand.

For the first time in his career, Jimin needs to step back—not because he doesn’t care, but because he cares too much. Because this time, the weight of it is too personal, too raw. And though his request is spoken with hesitation, with guilt, you see it for what it is. Not weakness. Not failure.

Just humanity.

You nod without hesitation, hoping it will bring him even the smallest bit of relief. Hoping that, if nothing else, handing over the case will make his heart feel a little lighter—if only because he won’t have to see the patient’s face every day, won’t have to be reminded of how cruel fate can be.

“Of course, I will,” you say, placing a reassuring hand on his stiff shoulder. “Now go take your break, and don’t worry about me. I’ll do a good job, Park!” You try to sound lighthearted, playful even, slipping into the same role he so often takes—the one who makes things a little easier to bear.

Jimin finally stands, stretching before bouncing on his feet in an exaggerated motion. Then, just like that, he puts on his best smile—the one that makes his eyes crinkle shut, that turns his entire face into something radiant. For a moment, he looks like himself again.

“I owe you for this. What about drinks tonight?”

“I can’t tonight,” you reply with a small shake of your head, already bracing for his dramatic reaction. As expected, he groans, rolling his eyes in exaggerated annoyance.

“Wife duty,” you add, grinning as you raise your left hand slightly, letting the bright diamond on your ring finger catch the light. Shiny. New. Beautiful. A tangible reminder of the love you chose.

Jimin clicks his tongue but smiles anyway—because your happiness is real, undeniable, the kind that makes even cynics believe in love. “That bastard is lucky,” he says, though his voice holds no resentment, only fondness. Then, as if unable to help himself, he smirks. “Tell Minsu I said hi—and that he’ll have to lend me his wife sometime.” He winks before disappearing into the break room, a mischievous glint still lingering in his eyes.

And just like that, the moment of heaviness passes. At least for now.

You make your way to the counter, fingers tapping lightly against the surface as you wait for Ms. Han to hand over your patient list for the day. She shuffles through some files before passing you three thick sheets of paper.

“That’s all?” you ask, giving them a quick glance. Routine treatments. Checkups. Basic things. Things you can handle without much thought.

“Well…” She swallows, then lowers her voice. “The last one is a bit tough. Jimin didn’t—”

“The patient with the brain tumor?” you interrupt gently.

She nods, confirming what you already knew. Your eyes skim over the last page, taking in the details as quickly as possible. 27 years old. Diagnosed today.

“He doesn’t want treatment,” Jihyun murmurs, staring at the bouquet on the counter rather than meeting your eyes. The flowers are vibrant, a gift from her boyfriend, their colors standing out against the stark white of the hospital walls. You’ve always thought hospital hallways were too lifeless, too sterile. It makes you glad the flowers are there—small bursts of color in a place that so often feels drained of it.

“Okay,” you say, slipping the papers under your arm. “I’ll go see him. Thanks, Jihyun.”

She nods, but her expression remains troubled as you turn away. You understand why. A patient refusing treatment is never easy. But something tells you—this one will be even harder.

You move through your rounds smoothly, tending to the first two patients with quiet efficiency. Seeing them improve—even just a little—fills you with something warm, something close to pride. The relief in their eyes, the way they talk more freely about anything and everything, makes your heart feel lighter. You answer them with genuine enjoyment, hoping that even the smallest conversation can brighten their day. Hoping that, for just a moment, they forget where they are.

But now, it’s time for the last patient.

You glance down at the room number. 136.

The hallway suddenly feels longer, the earlier lightness fading with every step. It has always been difficult—this part. Facing someone whose fate has already been written in cruel, unchangeable ink. No matter how many times you’ve done this, no matter how many names and faces have passed through your hands, it never gets easier. Because at the end of it all, they’re not just patients. They’re people. Someone. Someone’s life.

As you reach the door, your eyes flick toward the glass window that looks into the room. The curtains are wide open. Unusual. Most patients in his position prefer to shut themselves away, closing the blinds so no one can see them—so no one can pity them.

Inside, a man sits with his back to the door, gazing out the window. His posture is relaxed, almost too still, as if he’s trying to commit the view to memory.

You take a deep breath, flexing your fingers before curling them into fists, willing them to stop trembling. Then, swallowing down the strange unease settling in your chest, you lift your hand and knock gently on the door.

“Come in,” a deep voice calls out, almost sing-song, light in a way that feels at odds with where you are.

You swallow, closing your fingers over the doorknob before pushing the door open. Don’t think too much. That’s what you tell yourself. He’s just a patient. A 27-year-old man in a hospital room. Someone you need to help. Not someone with death looming over him.

“Hi, I’m—” But the words die in your throat.

The man in front of you turns, and suddenly, the world tilts.

The same boxy grin. The same caramel skin. The same thick eyebrows framing big, soulful chocolate eyes—the kind that always smiled, even before his lips did. A sculpted smile. A face you could never mistake.

Your breath catches. “Taehyung?”

He doesn’t look surprised. If anything, his grin widens, eyes crinkling at the corners like he was expecting this. Like he’s been waiting.

And just like that, something shifts in your chest. Not from stress. Not from anticipation.

But from something older. Something that had been buried—forgotten, maybe.

Something only he could bring back.

You look down at the papers in your hands, desperate—begging—to see another name written there. Something different. Something that would make this less real.

But the letters blur together, your fingers trembling so violently that the pages crinkle under your grip. Focus. Read. Breathe. But your mind refuses to obey.

“Woah, so you really work here!”

His voice is light, almost amused, as he bounces slightly on the bed, letting out a small laugh.

You can’t mirror it. Can’t match his strange, detached ease. Because to you, this isn’t nothing. This is the world drowning you alive.

Your eyes dart around the room, searching—praying—for someone else to be here. The real patient. The real man with the brain tumor.

Because it can’t be Taehyung.

Not him.

“Where is he?” you breathe, your voice barely audible.

Taehyung tilts his head, confused. “Who?”

Your gaze lands on his backpack in the corner, and your stomach drops. The keychains. Bright, mismatched, a collection of weird little things that only he would own.

It is him.

“The…” You try to gesture with your hands, unable—unwilling—to say the words.

Taehyung hums in understanding, looking around the room as if following your frantic search. Then, without hesitation, he answers, his voice still so damn casual.

“The unlucky guy with a brain tumor?”

And then you look at him—really look at him. The boxy grin is still there, but now you see it for what it is. A mask. And beneath it, his eyes are hollow. His cheeks are damp.

He knows.

And in that moment, so do you.

“I am,” he says.

And your mind goes completely, utterly blank.

Spring had just begun, and everything felt alive.

The flowers blossomed on the trees, their bright colors dancing in the light breeze, and the air was soft against your bare arms. The sun, warm and gentle, kissed your skin just right, filling you with a sense of peace.

It was your favorite season—the start of something good. The fresh promise of a new beginning, just like the flowers that slowly unfurled their petals, reaching toward the sun.

Your hands were full of books—so many books, stacked high, pressing into your arms as you made your way down the path. Every sound was muffled by the music blasting through your earbuds, the rhythm of the song vibrating through your bones. Your parents always warned you about it, how the sound would damage your hearing and leave you deaf too young. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

But the greatest mistake you made that day wasn’t turning the volume up too high, or carrying too many books because you were too lazy to make multiple trips. It wasn’t even losing track of time as you let the music consume you.

It was stopping right there in the middle of the path.

You closed your eyes, lifted your face to the sun, and let it warm you completely. The moment was pure bliss. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the weight of the world melt away in that quiet, peaceful moment.

But as soon as you did, your foot caught on something, your body teetering for a second before you fell back, the books flying from your hands and joining you on the ground with a soft thud.

“Shit, are you okay?”

The first thing you see is the shadow of someone blocking the sun, and then you’re met with the face of a stranger. His wide eyes, hidden behind thick glasses, are filled with concern and something else—guilt, maybe? His mouth hangs open as though he’s already expecting to be yelled at, yet he quickly offers his hand without hesitation.

“I do,” you say, grabbing his hand. His fingers, slim and warm, wrap around yours, pulling you up gently. His movements are quick, almost frantic, as he crouches down to gather your scattered books.

“I’m really sorry,” he says in a rush, his voice bubbling with sincerity. “I was running late and I was running like an idiot.” His gaze darts between you and the floor. “I should have been more careful.”

You feel your cheeks flush, the heat creeping up as you watch him struggle to collect the books, his clumsy hands almost dropping them in the process. He asks where you’re headed, offering to walk with you as an apology.

“It’s my fault,” you admit, avoiding his gaze but not his words. “It wasn’t the best idea to stop in the middle of the hallway.”

He laughs softly, the sound light and carefree, almost childlike. “Guess we both have our faults in this!” he says, nearly dropping a book as he fumbles with the stack. You quickly catch it, your fingers brushing his.

“God, I’m clumsy,” he mutters, shaking his head with an embarrassed grin before focusing on following you down the hall.

The walk feels oddly natural, and before you know it, you find yourselves standing in front of your classroom. He hands back your books, his eyes slightly less frantic now, though still carrying a bit of that nervous energy.

“My name is Kim Taehyung, by the way,” he says, his voice a little quieter now, like he’s not sure if he should still be talking. “It’s my first day here.”

Before you can say anything, he’s already on his way, running off with his backpack swinging wildly behind him, the keychains clinking noisily with every step.

But the sound of them fading into the distance isn’t the only thing lingering in the air. You feel it too—your heart, hanging loosely, caught somewhere between surprise and something new.

And just like that, Kim Taehyung became spring to you. A new beginning. Something fresh. Something beautiful.

You feel terrible. Guilty.

Guilty for something that isn’t yours to control, for something you can’t even decide. But the guilt is there, eating at you from the inside out, because you had to run to the nearest bathroom to escape him. To escape yourself.

You’re shaking as you lean over the sink, and the contents of your stomach spill out violently, until there’s nothing left but bile, a sour reminder of everything you’ve been avoiding. The thought of facing him. Of being by his side during this. It churns in your stomach, makes it twist and burn. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe because the thought of it is suffocating.

The memories of him flood in—the way you used to walk beside him, holding his hand, kissing his cheek shyly in the hallways. It used to feel so natural. So right. So easy.

But now? You’re not sure if you can even look at him.

You take a shaky breath and lift your eyes to the mirror, staring at your reflection, and it’s a version of yourself you don’t recognize. The eyes staring back at you are dull, haunted, and the weight of everything feels like it’s pressing down on your chest.

You splash cold water on your face, the coolness doing little to erase the taste of vomit still lingering in your mouth. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Nothing can erase the deep ache in your heart.

You try to calm your racing thoughts, but the pain stays. It’s like a shadow, stretching over every part of you. A wound that just keeps growing.

You hear the soft knock on the door, followed by the sound you never thought you’d hear in this moment—his voice. It’s gentle, laced with concern, the same voice that once made you smile without thinking.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry I followed you—”

A pang of guilt hits you immediately.

“I’m okay. I’m okay, I swear,” you respond quickly, your voice muffled through the door, but firm enough to mask the cracks in it. It’s not his place to care now. Not when it’s him—him—the one who needs help. You should be the one to care, to hold it together for him. But this isn’t that simple. Not anymore.

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead against the cool tile, willing your heart to steady, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest.

Taehyung—the most caring, selfless person you’ve ever met, even when he’s the one with a stupid brain tumor, even when he’s the one who should be cared for, not the other way around. He’s the one standing outside the door, waiting for you to say everything’s fine, even when you know it isn’t.

Even when it never will be again.

You slip your white coat back on, pulling it tight around your shoulders as if the fabric could somehow shield you from everything that’s swirling in your mind. It feels like a silly thought, but you cling to it anyway. Maybe the coat will help you focus. Maybe it’ll give you back the sense of control you’re desperately seeking, even if just for a moment.

You take a deep breath, letting the cold, sterile air fill your lungs. Then, you step outside of the bathroom, your heart racing again as you make your way back to him.

“Sorry to have run off like that,” you say, your voice shaky but steady enough to sound convincing. “It was very unprofessional of me,” you add, and you don’t trust your own words—don’t believe them—but you push them out anyway. “Really needed to… pee.”

You can hear how forced it sounds, but you can’t stop yourself. You want him to believe it. You want him to believe that the reason you ran away wasn’t because of him—because you were scared.

If he notices your red eyes, your disheveled state, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t question you. Instead, he just smiles—childishly, like he always does—his eyes crinkling with that carefree joy that you’ve always loved about him. Even at 27, he still found humor in the smallest things, like this moment.

It’s a silly smile, but it works. It works because for a brief second, you’re reminded of everything that felt normal between you two. And somehow, despite the knot in your stomach, you manage to smile back.

You walk silently beside him, the sounds of your shoes echoing in the hallway. His words are light, almost playful, as he talks about his diagnosis in a way that doesn’t quite match the gravity of the situation. “It’s weird to see me there, right?” he asks with that typical, innocent smile of his. But his smile feels out of place now, like it’s masking something deeper.

You nod, not trusting your own voice to speak, afraid that if you say something wrong, it’ll all fall apart. You’re thankful when he continues, his words somehow more carefree than you know they should be.

“I never thought it would happen to me. Guess I’m unlucky!” he laughs, that laugh bouncing off the sterile walls. And you wonder—does he really understand? Does he know what he’s facing, what the doctor’s words meant when they told him three months, five if he’s lucky?

You don’t think he does, at least not in the way that you do. Not in the way that every part of you feels the weight of those words crushing down on you.

“Taehyung,” you stop in your tracks, a hand reaching out to grab the sleeve of his beige sweater. You can feel the tension in your chest, the tightness that’s been building up since you first saw him. “They told me you don’t want treatments,” you say, your voice shaky, but you push on. “Why?”

He pauses, glancing around at the other patients, the ones moving about in their own little world, all of them wrapped in their own battles. You see the way his eyes flit around, like he’s looking for an escape. He doesn’t want to say it, you can tell. But he does anyway, his voice quieter now.

“I want to live normally,” he says, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning. “Not like someone who…” He stumbles, his voice faltering for a second, but he pushes through. “If I have one year or less, I want to make the best of it. Not being dependent on stupid pills.”

His words hit you harder than you expect. You watch as his smile falters, the cracks in his bravado starting to show. He’s trying so hard to stay strong, to keep that carefree front, but you can see the rawness in his eyes.

You want to scream, tell him he’s wrong. That the treatments, even if they don’t work miracles, could give him more time. And you wonder, as you stand there, if there’s anything left you can do to save him.

“At least I know you,” Taehyung says with that smile of his—the kind that always seemed to light up any room. And for a moment, you almost forget. You almost forget what he’s really here for, what’s really happening to him, because in his smile, you can see all the memories of who he used to be. The carefree boy you once knew. The boy who made you laugh so hard your stomach ached, the boy who could always find the light, even in the darkest moments.

You want to protect that smile. You want to shield it from the reality that is creeping closer every day. But you can’t. You can’t hide from what’s real, and the truth is—you’ve never been more terrified.

But the fear is nothing compared to the weight of your decision. You take a deep breath, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat. You’re not just here to help him as a nurse, not just to monitor his condition or make sure his pain is controlled. You’re here because he needs someone to walk beside him through this.

The files that Jimin gave you, they weren’t just a piece of paper. They weren’t just cold, sterile facts about his condition. They were a sign. A sign that you were meant to be more than just the nurse in charge of his care. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was a twist of life’s cruel sense of humor. But whatever it was, you couldn’t walk away from it.

You couldn’t walk away from him.

“I don’t want to be alone in this,” he whispers, almost to himself. “I don’t think I could do it.”

His voice falters, softer now, a noticeable tremor threading through every word he speaks. His smile slowly fades away, replaced by an expression of raw fear and vulnerability that cuts deep into your heart. He knows what’s happening to him—he isn’t blind to the reality of his situation. He may be young, just a boy in the grand scheme of life, but he’s wise enough to see that this fight isn’t one he can win. He isn’t dumb, just a young man trying desperately to hold onto hope, hiding the weight of his pain behind the most beautiful, effortless smile that once filled the room with light.

“I’m so scared,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, and he tucks his face behind his dark, curly bangs, as though trying to disappear from it all. His words catch in his throat. “I don’t want to die.” The vulnerability in his voice cracks you wide open, and then, almost as if he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer, he breathes your name, followed by a quiet sob, sniffing back the tears that refuse to be contained.

In that instant, there’s no hesitation. Not a second of doubt. You don’t even have to think about it. Without a moment’s hesitation, you step forward, wrapping your arms around him as though it’s the only thing you know how to do. His body is trembling, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. The hallway feels distant and empty, but none of that matters right now. All that matters is him—his pain, his fear, and the promise you need to make.

“You’re not alone, Tae,” you murmur, your voice low and steady, just for him. “I’ll be with you. I promise.”

And as you hold him, the weight of the promise settles in. You realize that while you can’t change what’s happening, you can offer him something—your presence, your unwavering support, the kind of comfort that transcends words. This moment, fleeting as it may be, becomes a promise of solidarity, a bond neither time nor illness can sever.

You felt like a hypocrite. You, of all people, knew better than this. You were the one who always reminded your patients and their families to trust the doctors, to avoid searching for answers in random corners of the internet. And yet here you were, scrolling through endless websites, looking for some sort of comfort in articles that didn’t know the first thing about the reality of brain tumors. You were desperately seeking something—anything—that could make this nightmare feel less real. But all you found was more uncertainty, more fear, and the cruel reminder that there were no easy answers.

Frustrated, you threw your phone onto the sofa with a groan, feeling utterly helpless. You were a professional, you told yourself. You were supposed to be strong, level-headed, and yet tonight you felt like a fraud.

“What happened?” Minsu’s voice broke through your haze, his breath warm as he leaned over your shoulder, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. The weight of his presence was grounding, but it only made you feel worse. You hadn’t even looked at him since you came home. The night you’d planned, the night that was supposed to be just the two of you, had slipped away from you. The second you stepped through the door, Taehyung’s face had taken over your mind, and there was no room left for anything else. Not even your husband.

You sighed, deeply, feeling the guilt weigh heavily on your chest. You should’ve been present for Minsu. You should’ve been with him, but instead, you were consumed by Taehyung’s pain, his fear, and the crushing weight of your own helplessness.

“I had a rough day,” you finally admitted, the words slipping out without thinking. If you couldn’t share this with Minsu, who could you share it with? You knew he would understand. You knew he’d listen, even if he didn’t fully comprehend the depths of your emotions. But tonight, you needed someone who cared. You needed someone who could hold you, even if just for a moment, so you didn’t feel like you were drowning in this mess of conflicting emotions.

Minsu’s words hit you harder than you expected. “You always have rough days at the hospital. You sure you still love it?” It wasn’t that he meant any harm, but the way he phrased it, so casual and unthinking, made your heart ache. It felt like he was questioning your passion, your calling, and suddenly you were defensive, like he didn’t understand.

Could he think you didn’t love what you did? That you didn’t love being there, that you didn’t care for your patients with everything you had?

No, you loved it. Every minute of it. Even the difficult, gut-wrenching moments when you felt helpless and broken. You couldn’t imagine a life without it, without being a nurse, without being beside someone like Taehyung in his time of need.

You felt the words bubbling up inside you before you could stop them, and you spat out, “It happened. I would get through it.” The tone was sharper than you intended, and you immediately regretted it. But the words were out, and you couldn’t take them back.

Minsu’s expression softened, but the hurt in his eyes was clear. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Maybe we could go to the cinema tonight, right? Just the two of us. A little distraction?”

But you couldn’t accept it. Not tonight. Not when your mind was overwhelmed with everything. You were running on empty, emotionally drained, and you couldn’t fake your way through it. “I’m tired,” you muttered, not meeting his eyes, and walked toward the bedroom. You could feel the weight of your emotions beginning to overwhelm you—frustration, guilt, fear, everything swirling together in a messy cocktail you couldn’t push aside.

Your phone vibrated softly against the bedside table, breaking through the haze of your thoughts. You barely opened your eyes, the exhaustion weighing on you, yet sleep refused to come. You picked up your phone and saw an unknown number had sent a message. You furrowed your brows in confusion, but your heart skipped a beat when you saw the selfie that followed.

It was a close-up of his face. His eyes, deep brown and full of warmth, stared back at you from the screen. The mole on his nose caught your attention immediately, familiar and comforting. His face was messy, his hair slightly askew, but it was the perfect snapshot of him—messy, goofy, and utterly Taehyung.

You giggled softly, a schoolgirl-like giggle, at the silly selfie. It made your heart flutter, the warmth of his presence in the image feeling like a small glimpse of the past. But before you knew it, the smile faltered. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited, and soon you were a mess of silent sobs. The laughter that had bubbled up in you just moments ago was now replaced by an overwhelming ache deep in your chest.

You hadn’t wanted to think about it, about what lay ahead because it hurt too much. But how could you not? How could you not look at that goofy, happy face, the eyes that held so much life, and not think about the cruel reality?

His smile, his laugh, the way he lit up a room—how could you imagine a world without that?

Because even though you hadn’t seen him in years, you knew he was still out there, somewhere. Living his life, chasing his dreams, following the rhythm of his heart and the desires of his beautiful soul. And somehow, knowing that his heart was still beating, still full of life, even for someone else, was enough to soothe the ache that lingered in your chest.

It was better than imagining a world where that kind heart, the one that had always been so full of warmth, wasn’t beating at all.

Tonight, your dreams were only about him. The kind of dreams where everything felt so vivid—his laughter, his smile, the warmth in his eyes. He was alive, his heart still beating, and you both were together, just like you used to be.

But then, as the night deepened, the dreams twisted into something darker. His smile began to fade, his laughter drowned in an eerie silence. His eyes, once full of life, became hollow, and you couldn’t stop the feeling that time was running out.

And that’s when the nightmares started. The night felt endless, a cruel loop between the love you remembered and the loss you dreaded, as if your mind couldn’t decide whether to remember or to forget.

As you walked to the hospital, you tried to steel yourself a little more than yesterday, hoping for a better day. You knew it was all about taking it one step at a time, but the weight of everything still sat heavy on your chest. As you rounded the corner, your gaze caught something unexpected—Taehyung, sitting on the bench outside the hospital entrance.

Your breath caught for a second, and you couldn’t help but smile. He was bathed in sunlight, his caramel skin glowing under the morning rays. It was almost as if the sun always followed him, and you couldn’t help but think back to the first time you’d seen him—how it had always felt like a sign whenever the sun seemed to shine a little brighter around him. His attention was focused on the small notebook in his lap, and his pen moved gently, doodling patterns you couldn’t quite make out from this distance.

You took a breath, your heart lightening just by seeing him. It was strange how one person could do that. You checked your phone to make sure you had time before your shift started, and when you saw that you did, you made your way toward him without a second thought.

“What are you drawing, Van Gogh?” you asked with a teasing smile as you sat beside him, leaning over just enough to peer at the pages of his notebook.

He glanced up, his eyes bright, though his focus quickly returned to his sketch. “The trees,” he said, pointing to the large trees standing tall before you both. “They look majestic,” he added, as if he was in awe of their simple grandeur. Leaves were scattered around the ground, signaling that fall had begun to settle in.

“I think I want to be a tree in another life,” he mused, almost too casually, as he traced the lines of his doodles.

You burst into a laugh, the sound light and easy, filling the space between you. “A tree?” you repeated, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could stop them. “When you could be a tiger or a bear? Something cool like that?”

He gave a soft shake of his head, his curls tumbling over his forehead as his bangs swayed out of the way, revealing his deep brown eyes more clearly. “Definitely not a tiger,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “I’m more of a bear guy.” His voice dropped into a more playful tone, as if this was a deeply important decision. “But being a tree is just… so cool. You can live for thousands of years. You don’t have to plan everything because you have all the time in the world.”

His words hit you unexpectedly, the weight of them sinking deeper than you thought possible. It was such a simple statement, yet it left you thinking.

Taehyung smiled at you, his expression softening as though you’d understood a part of his mind that most people wouldn’t have even noticed. That was the thing about him: he had a way of seeing things from angles most people never considered. What others would call an ordinary tree, he saw as a symbol of calm, of timelessness. His mind always surprised you with how deeply he thought about even the simplest things.

“You’ve always had a way of seeing the world differently,” you added, feeling a quiet admiration for him. “It’s like you find meaning in everything.”

He shrugged casually, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I guess I just like to think there’s more to life than just what’s in front of us. You know?” He glanced up at you, his smile widening as he leaned back into the bench. “Plus, trees are cool. They don’t rush.”

He adds the final touches to his drawing, a soft smile playing on his lips as he studies the page. With a small sigh, he closes his notebook and glances over at you, his eyes shifting to your left hand.

“What’s his name, by the way?” he asks casually, as if the question is the most natural thing in the world, his attention now focused on the colorful stickers decorating his notebook. Some were peeling at the edges, faded from time, while others were bright and new, perfectly placed. It was clear—his notebook was more than just a tool for drawing; it was an extension of himself, filled with fragments of his heart, his mind, his life.

He nudges your hand slightly with his chin, his gaze falling on the ring again, and the question feels less like curiosity and more like a gentle reminder of something. “The one who managed to make you want to marry him,” he says with a soft chuckle, almost nostalgically. He remembers the days when you would laugh off any mention of weddings, teasing him about how you’d never buy into the whole marriage idea.

“Oh,” you respond, your gaze drifting down to the ring, momentarily lost in its reflection as the sun dances off the diamonds. But for some reason, it doesn’t shine as brightly as it used to. The way the light catches Taehyung’s skin seems to be a more dazzling sight, something far more captivating than the material in your hand.

You clear your throat, trying to pull yourself back into the conversation. “Choi Minsu,” you say quietly, your voice almost a whisper. “He’s my husband,” you add, but it’s as if the words are harder to say than they should be. You don’t understand why, but a sudden pang of guilt fills your chest, almost as though you’re betraying something you shouldn’t be, just by saying his name aloud.

There’s a long pause between you two as the words hang in the air. Taehyung’s eyes search your face, though he doesn’t press for more, sensing the tension you didn’t want to admit was there. Instead, he smiles softly, his usual lightheartedness fading just a bit.

“Choi Minsu,” he repeats the name, testing the way it feels on his tongue, but there’s no judgment, only acceptance. “He’s lucky. He gets to marry you.”

Taehyung’s chuckle fills the air, light and playful, but there’s a glimmer of something deeper in his eyes as he looks at your wedding ring. “You know, seeing that you work here wasn’t surprising at all, but seeing you with a wedding ring—now that caught me off guard,” he laughs, shaking his head.

You force a smile, but inside, it feels like a crack has formed. You and Taehyung had once shared an understanding, a deep connection that went beyond words. He had always been the one who understood you in a way that no one else did. Back then, you had never seen yourself walking down the aisle, wearing a ring, or subscribing to the traditional idea of love. Love, for you, had always been more than just a symbol. It was in the way you felt when you were with him, in the quiet moments, the laughter, the unspoken bond. A ring on your finger never felt necessary to prove how deeply you cared. Not when it was Taehyung—when it was him, no symbol could ever capture the depth of your feelings.

But now, here you were. Married. To someone else.

Shaking yourself from your thoughts, you try to deflect the tension and lighten the mood, offering a soft laugh as you glance at him. “And I’m surprised you don’t have a ring. You always used to love that stuff,” you tease, wanting to move past the uncomfortable space between you and to remind him of the carefree, dream-filled conversations you used to have.

He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, though it’s a little dimmer than it used to be. His smile doesn’t have the same carefree energy that once lit up his face. Instead, it’s tinged with something more somber, more reflective. “Yeah, maybe I did,” he says, his voice quieter now. He shifts his gaze downward, his finger absentmindedly tapping his pencil against his temple, the rhythm slow, almost as if he’s trying to process something inside his own mind. “But, you know… sometimes things just don’t turn out the way you expect. Guess I’m not the kind of guy who chases fairy tales after all.”

He shrugs lightly, but the heaviness in his words lingers in the air. His eyes flicker to the ground, and you follow his gaze, not wanting to see the vulnerability in his face. Then he taps his pencil again, this time with a slight irony. “I mean, look at me. I’m a ticking bomb,” he adds, the words blunt but wrapped in that dry humor of his, referring to his brain tumor without flinching.

You promised yourself you’d be stronger today. That you wouldn’t let it get to you. You take a deep breath, fighting to steady your voice as you speak. “I like to believe in fairy tales now,” you begin, your words soft, almost tentative. You force a small smile, the kind you know is only half genuine, but it’s all you can muster. “That everything will end perfectly,” you continue, but even as you say the words, you can hear the tremble in your voice. It betrays you, cracks the façade you’ve been desperately trying to hold up.

“I used to think that too,” he continues, his gaze moves beyond you, to the trees he had been drawing earlier. A gentle breeze stirs the branches, and for a brief moment, the world feels suspended in time. “I was always focused on the ending, thinking that if I just waited long enough, things would fall into place. But… maybe that’s not how it works.”

He takes a breath, his shoulders rising and falling slowly. His eyes flicker back to you, locking on with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “Maybe life isn’t about waiting for the perfect ending,” he adds quietly. “Maybe it’s about making the best of the time you have even when you know it’s limited.”

The words hang in the air, like the sound of wind through the trees—quiet, but undeniable. The weight of them presses into your heart. He was right, wasn’t he? Life wasn’t about waiting for everything to line up perfectly, for some happily-ever-after to fall into place. It was about being present in the here and now, embracing the fleeting moments, even when they were fragile, even when they were tainted by the harsh reality of time running out.

“I should go, work is calling me,” you say, breaking the silence. You feel the tug of duty, knowing that you can’t stay with him for long, even if you wanted to.

He immediately nods, the movement almost mechanical, like he’d been anticipating the moment you would have to leave. “I should go too,” he replies, the smile he offers barely reaching his eyes. “I have an appointment. I don’t know, they want to check something, like somehow it would change overnight,” he chuckles dryly. His words are a sad attempt to mask the reality of what he’s facing, the tests, the unknowns, the countdown ticking inside him.

You both stand up, your footsteps syncing as you make your way toward the hospital’s main entrance, the hallway ahead a familiar path. Same destination, but your roles have shifted in an unspoken way. He’s walking to an appointment, to the uncertainty of what the tests might reveal, and you’re walking toward your shift—your work, your patients, your responsibilities. But in that moment, despite the difference in where you were going, you both carried the same heavy burden.

“Can I ask you something?” Taehyung’s voice breaks the silence, unsure, hesitant, like he’s afraid to burden you with another question. “You can say no if you want, of course. I don’t even know why I’m asking—”

“Yes, Taehyung? Tell me,” you urge, offering him a reassuring smile, letting him know that it’s okay to speak his mind, to ask whatever it is that’s weighing on him. You can see the thoughts swirling behind his eyes, his mind already spiraling into “what ifs,” but you want him to know that you’re here, that you’re listening.

He takes a deep breath before continuing, his voice quieter now, tinged with vulnerability. “Would you mind being there during the appointment? I really don’t like all of that stuff,” he says, referring to the cold, sterile white hallways and the medical staff that often feel like strangers in their white coats. He makes a gesture with his hand, indicating the whole clinical environment—the place that has become so familiar, yet so alien to him.

You pause for a moment, looking into his eyes, seeing the uncertainty and fear beneath the humor he tried to hide behind. You don’t hesitate. You know your answer before he even finishes asking. “I will be there,” you confirm softly, the words carrying a promise, a sense of unwavering support.

He smiles, a little more genuine this time. He moves toward the patient chair and settles down, his posture stiff but trying to remain calm as you walk away to change into your scrubs.

You run through the hallways, each step echoing in the sterile silence, the long corridor seeming endless as you hurry toward Taehyung’s appointment. You hate how drawn out the walk feels, how it stretches your nerves taut as you try to make up for lost time.

Before leaving, you’d asked Jimin to cover for you, asking him to check on your patients without hesitation. He didn’t ask questions, only gave you that reassuring smile of his—something that, in this moment, felt like a lifeline. You couldn’t help but be brief with him when he asked about Taehyung. You spoke of him like any other patient, glossing over the things that made Taehyung different. The truth, the emotions, the weight of knowing him personally, all those things you couldn’t say out loud. If Jimin knew what had happened between you and Taehyung, that he was more than just a patient to you, that the lines between professionalism and personal connection had blurred, you knew he would feel guilty. He would question whether he had done the right thing by giving you Taehyung’s file, and you couldn’t let him carry that.

By the time you open the door to the room, you’re already out of breath. Your gaze immediately finds Dr. Jung, the best neurosurgeon in the city. You’re thankful it’s him handling Taehyung’s case.

As you enter, you try to force a professional smile, but it’s hard when the familiar face you want to see most is right in front of you. Taehyung’s eyes flicker toward you almost immediately, and his signature boxy grin spreads across his face. It’s the same grin that has always made your heart flutter, the same one that used to melt away all of your worries, even in the toughest of times. But now, it feels bittersweet, like a smile that’s hiding something deeper beneath.

You stand behind Dr. Jung’s chair, forcing yourself to focus, to remain calm and composed. You can’t let your emotions overwhelm you, not now. But as you glance at the screen in front of the doctor, a knot tightens in your stomach. You can see the results—Taehyung’s condition—and the numbers on the screen only confirm what you already know. The reality of his diagnosis is undeniable.

You clear your throat, trying to steady your breath as you look at Dr. Jung, then back at Taehyung, before focusing on the x-ray once more. The image of Taehyung’s brain, with those three ominous, small but present masses within it, seems to weigh down on your chest. Each of the balls on the scan felt like a ticking clock—something you couldn’t ignore, no matter how badly you wanted to.

“So, Mr. Kim,” Dr. Jung begins, his voice shaky but professional, trying his best to sound detached from the devastating reality you see in front of you. “The imaging results show a few noticeable masses in your brain, three lesions in total, which are consistent with a diagnosis of a form of brain cancer, aggressive, and unfortunately, given its location and size, it’s going to be challenging to treat.”

You glance quickly at Taehyung’s face, looking for some reaction, some sign that he’s not fully processing what you’re saying, that this isn’t real, that he’ll get better somehow. But his face has already shifted into something else—something resigned. His eyes, though still bright, seem distant, and you can see the subtle change in his demeanor as the words settle in.

Dr. Jung steps in to continue, his voice steady and calm, though you know he’s trying to gauge the situation with every word. “We’ll have to discuss treatment options soon, Mr. Kim. We could try a combination of surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy.” His tone is clinical, compassionate, but you can feel the weight of every word.

Taehyung shakes his head, exhaling through his nose before his gaze finds yours over Dr. Jung’s shoulder. He smiles—soft, warm, familiar. But right now, it only makes your chest tighten unbearably. You quickly avert your eyes, scanning the room as if the framed certificates on the wall or the stack of patient files could distract you from the sting of tears welling up, threatening to blur your vision.

His voice pulls you back. “How long?” he asks, shifting forward in his seat, his hands clasped together like he’s bracing himself. “I mean, how long do you even give me?” He lets out a hollow chuckle, shaking his head. “I’ve read five months if I’m lucky. Three if not. A year, if I feel like lying to myself. And—” he scoffs, his lips curling into something bitter, “some website even said two days.”

Your eyebrows knit together. You want to scold him for looking up his condition online, tell him how unreliable and terrifyingly misleading those sources can be—but you don’t. Because you did the same thing last night, didn’t you? Sat in the dark with your phone screen burning into your retinas, scrolling through every possible prognosis, searching for something—anything—that could contradict the truth you already knew.

Taehyung sighs, his fingers drumming restlessly against the edge of the desk. “So just tell me,” he says, his voice quieter now, like he’s tired. Like carrying this question has already drained him. “I don’t want to hear about treatments that’ll make me feel worse than I already do.”

And that—that—is what shatters you. The way he says it. Because you’ve spent so much time thinking about what he’s going through, about the medical facts, the test results, the harsh reality of it all. But hearing him admit it makes your heart drop to your stomach.

Dr. Jung hesitates. “It’s hard to say—”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Taehyung cuts in, sharper than before. There’s frustration there, anger even, but it fizzles out as fast as it came. His shoulders sink, his head falling into his hands like he’s lost a battle only he knew he was fighting.

You move instinctively, stepping behind him, your hands finding his shoulders. A grounding touch, a silent reassurance. I’m here.

“Mr. Kim,” you say, forcing your voice into something steady, professional, even though every part of you is crumbling inside. “Are you feeling okay?”

He doesn’t answer. And then, before anyone can say another word, a single drop of blood escapes his nose, staining the surface of Dr. Jung’s desk. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, as if it’s nothing. As if it doesn’t send a fresh wave of panic coursing through you.

His voice drops to something almost fragile. “Just tell me. Please.”

Dr. Jung sighs, his fingers tapping against the file in front of him before he straightens in his chair. He hands you a tissue without a word—an unspoken instruction to wipe away the blood. Then he meets Taehyung’s gaze, his own eyes heavy with something that almost resembles guilt.

“Three months,” he says finally. “That’s the best I can offer.”

Silence.

And then—Taehyung exhales, long and slow. His lips press together, his jaw tightening for a moment before he lets out a small, humorless laugh.

“Three months,” he repeats, rolling the words over his tongue. Like he’s trying to make sense of them. Like he’s testing their weight.

Your hands tighten slightly on his shoulders. Because three months isn’t enough. It’s not even close.

Taehyung tilts his head slightly, studying you with an expression that’s both expectant and uncertain. “That’s enough time to do a lot of things, right?” his voice is light, but his eyes—his eyes are searching, needing something from you. Agreement? Reassurance? Hope?

You nod, though the movement feels weak, hollow. You don’t trust yourself to speak because you know if you do, your voice might betray you.

He watches you for a second longer before turning back to Dr. Jung, inhaling deeply as he forces a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Alright then, Doc. Guess I should start making a bucket list.” His tone is playful, almost careless, but you hear the weight beneath it. The resignation.

Dr. Jung nods solemnly and begins explaining something—options, procedures, maybe just medical advice—but the words become nothing more than background noise. Your mind shuts down, the details slipping past you like water through your fingers.

Your focus is locked on the crumpled tissue in your hands, now stained dark red. Taehyung’s blood. A small, tangible piece of his suffering. A cruel, undeniable reminder of the war his body is waging against him.

You barely register the end of their conversation until Taehyung shifts beside you, rising to his feet. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll see you around,” he says, casual, as if he were just leaving a routine check-up instead of carrying the weight of an expiration date.

You move to follow him, your steps automatically falling in line with his, but Dr. Jung’s voice stops you in your tracks.

He calls your name gently, carefully. “Can we talk?”

You hesitate, glancing at Taehyung, but he only smiles, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll be by the coffee machines. Take your time.”

You nod, watching as he walks away, his figure disappearing down the too-bright hallway.

Then, slowly, you turn back to Dr. Jung, bracing yourself for whatever he’s about to say.

Dr. Jung leans back against his desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he studies you. “You know him, don’t you?”

You school your features into something neutral, something professional. “He’s my patient,” you answer, but he only scoffs, shaking his head.

“That’s not what I asked.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of knowing to it, like he’s already put the pieces together. “You know him personally. I can see it in the way you look at him, the way you’re here. Who is he to you, miss?”

The question makes you pause.

Who is Taehyung to you?

Once, the answer would have come easily, instinctively. He was everything. The love of your life. Your best friend. The person who made the world feel lighter, warmer. You would have said it with certainty, with the kind of reckless confidence only youth allows.

But now? Now, the words feel heavier, tangled in the years you’ve spent apart.

You exhale, settling on something simpler, something safer. “A friend,” you say, though it doesn’t feel like enough.

Dr. Jung watches you for a moment, like he’s deciding whether to push further, but then he nods. “Well, take care of your friend, then,” he says, walking back to his chair. His voice softens just slightly. “Be there for him. And I need you to be fully aware of his condition.”

You swallow hard, nodding, even as your heart sinks. “I will.”

With a quick bow, you leave Dr. Jung’s office, but the weight of his words lingers in your chest. You shake it off as best you can because right now, there’s only one thing you want—to see Taehyung. To make sure he’s still there.

As soon as you step into the hallway, your eyes search for him, and relief floods through you when you spot him standing by the coffee machines, two cups in his hands. His posture is relaxed, his expression unreadable, but there’s something oddly comforting about the sight of him waiting there.

“Coffee?” you tease, laughing as you approach.

He takes a small sip, his face immediately twisting in disgust.

“You don’t even like coffee, Tae,” you remind him, shaking your head as you accept the cup he offers you. The warmth seeps into your fingers, grounding you. The simple gesture, the familiarity of it, tugs at something deep inside you. A memory of him wrinkling his nose at the bitter smell, of him teasing you for your obsession with it, of endless conversations where he tried—and failed—to understand why you loved it so much.

Some things never change.

Taehyung lets out a dramatic groan, his whole body shuddering. “God, that’s awful. It tastes like pee and Red Bull mixed together.”

You burst out laughing, taking a long sip of your own cup. “And yet you’re still drinking it.”

He pulls a face, staring down at the offending drink like it personally betrayed him. “I don’t know. Just figured I should drink one before I die.”

Your smile falters. Just for a second. But Taehyung doesn’t seem to notice. He scoffs, shaking his head. “Wanted to see why you liked them so much.”

Your fingers tighten around the cup. There’s something lighthearted about his words, but beneath the teasing, there’s an unspoken truth, a quiet confession that hits deeper than it should.

You swallow past the lump in your throat, forcing your voice to stay steady. “And? Do you get it now?”

He makes a show of considering, rolling his lips together before taking another tentative sip. Immediately, his whole face scrunches up.

“Nope. Still disgusting,” he announces, sticking his tongue out in exaggerated distaste. “You have terrible taste, honestly.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his arm. “And yet you’re still drinking it.”

Taehyung shrugs, lifting the cup in a half-hearted toast before taking another reluctant sip. “Guess I just wanted to understand a piece of you again.”

The words settle between you, heavier than they should be. Your chest tightens.

A piece of you.

“You know, I haven’t changed much,” you say, hiding behind the rim of your cup as you take another sip, hoping the bitterness will drown out the emotions creeping up your throat.

Taehyung scoffs, tilting his head as he studies you. “You’re married,” he points out, raising an eyebrow like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s a pretty big change.”

You exhale, lowering your cup just enough to meet his gaze, but his expression is unreadable. He leans casually against the machine, but there’s a weight behind his words, something lingering between you both.

“And it’s been, what? Seven years since we’ve seen each other?” he continues, voice light, but there’s something else beneath it. “You had to change.”

You swallow, his words pressing against you like an unspoken truth you don’t know how to hold. Seven years. It sounds like a lifetime when he says it out loud.

You force a small smile, hoping to shift the mood, to steer the conversation somewhere safer. “Still the same as you can see. Same obsession with coffee,” you say, raising your cup as if it proves your point.

Taehyung huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Some things never change, huh?”

“Guess not.”

But even as you say it, you both know it’s not entirely true.

It was one of those afternoons where time seemed to stretch endlessly, the golden warmth of early autumn wrapping around you like a soft embrace. You sat across from Taehyung at the worn wooden picnic table outside your high school, watching as he sketched, lost in his own world.

His pencil moved effortlessly across the page, bringing to life the landscape around you—the towering trees swaying in the breeze, the distant outline of the school building, the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shadows on the ground. He had a way of seeing the world that fascinated you, capturing even the smallest details with an almost careless ease, as if it was second nature to him.

“You’re going to make a career out of this one day,” you murmured, resting your chin on your arms as you studied his work. “I can’t wait to buy your art.”

He didn’t look up, just let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his lips twitching into a small smile.

You’d known Taehyung for five months now—long enough to watch spring fade into summer, and summer melt into the crisp edges of autumn. Long enough to realize that, despite the depth in his art, he never thought too much about the future.

You were always planning ahead, certain of what you wanted—to be a nurse, to help people, to have a path laid out in front of you. Taehyung, on the other hand, seemed to exist purely in the present. He never worried about where he would be in five years. He’d just shrug and say, I don’t know. I’ll see when I get there.

Sometimes, you envied him for that.

“Come on, draw me,” you said suddenly, sitting up straighter. You lifted your chin, placing your hands delicately under it, gazing off into the distance as if you were deep in thought. “Like one of your French girls.”

Taehyung snorted, finally looking up at you. His blond hair—something that had shocked you when he first dyed it—peeked out from under his red backward cap. He had always been so particular about his hair, claiming he’d never dye it because he loved how healthy it was. But one day, without warning, he showed up blond, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And, of course, it suited him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head. “You know I don’t draw people. And quoting my favorite movie won’t work,” he says, raising an eyebrow at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

You pouted. “Why not? You’d do a great job.”

“I just don’t.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “That’s not a real answer.”

Taehyung hesitated for a moment, his pencil pausing against the page. He glanced down at his sketchbook, then back at you.

“Because I don’t want to get them wrong,” he said finally, his voice quiet but sincere. “Because my drawings won’t ever do justice to the human beauty,” he added, his gaze flickering toward you as he nodded gently. You felt your heart skip a beat, your cheeks flushing with heat. Did he just call you beautiful?

You immediately shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. He said human beauty, not you. But somewhere deep inside, you couldn’t help but want to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were included in that sweeping statement.

“I don’t want to capture one emotion in a single drawing. I hate having to put someone on hold, to freeze them in time,” he continued, his voice soft but resolute. Your mind clung to every word, drinking them in like water after a long drought.

His thoughts, the way he expressed them so effortlessly, were a masterpiece in themselves. You found yourself mesmerized, captivated by the depth of his mind, the sincerity in his voice. And the way the sun bathed him in a golden glow behind him, casting a halo around his figure—he looked like a fucking angel.

“Ugh,” you groan, dropping your head onto the table, wincing when it hits a little harder than you intended. The dull throb spreads through your skull, but you don’t care, trying to hide the way your heart feels heavier as the days go by. “Sometimes I wish I could stay young forever,” you mumble, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

You feel the lightness of his laugh before you even register it, the sound of him chuckling, unbothered by the casual way you let your mind spill out of your mouth. It’s like a weight off your chest, hearing him laugh.

“You’re missing out on everything if you stay seventeen your whole life,” he says, his voice warm and filled with that familiar playfulness, as he turns to the next page in his sketchbook, his pencil already in motion as his eyes find something new to capture.

“Missing on gray hair? Wrinkles?” you tease, lifting your head just enough to glance at him, a smirk tugging at your lips.

He shakes his head, tapping his pencil gently on the top of your head. “No, dummy,” he says softly, his voice still teasing but with something more sincere behind it. “You’re missing out on life, the beauty of it. The beauty of growing old. Some people don’t have that luck. I think it’s beautiful,” he says, lost in the simplicity of his thoughts, eyes focused on the butterfly he’s drawing.

You realize, in the silence that follows, that it’s at this exact moment you fall in love with him. No grand gesture, no dramatic declaration, just him, in all his simplicity, speaking with the quiet wisdom of someone who knows more about life than most people ever will.

Each memory hits you with the same quiet weight, much like how your coffee settles deep in your stomach, lingering longer than you’d like. Lately, your thoughts have been drifting back to the simpler times you shared with Taehyung before everything—before the illness, before the fear and the uncertainty. You long for those moments when being with him felt enough. When everything was uncomplicated, when laughter was endless, and love was just easy.

You catch sight of him in the hallway as you finish up your shift. He’s sitting in a chair, as usual, his sketchbook open in his lap. His pencil moves in fluid strokes as he sketches, lost in his own world. It’s strange, how quickly he’s become a fixture here at the hospital, his weekly visits now a regular part of your life. Three weeks have passed since Dr. Jung gave him that devastating news—the kind of news that you couldn’t bear to think about, but Taehyung? He takes it in stride. He remains unchanged, almost untouched by the gravity of it all. It’s like he’s found a way to make peace with the darkness, to see beauty in places where others would only see pain.

You make your way to him, tossing your empty coffee cup into the bin, exhaustion weighing on your shoulders, but the pull of being with him is stronger. No matter how long the day has been, no matter how heavy your thoughts are, you’re always ready to be with him.

“Hello, my dear Vante,” you say, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you approach him. You love that nickname, the one you created for him—a mix of his name and Van Gogh, because his art needed its own identity, something as unique as he was. Vante. It suited him, and you liked how it felt to call him that.

You lean over to peek into his sketchbook, but the moment you do, he quickly snaps it closed, his face flushing slightly as he clears his throat. It’s a small, fleeting moment, but the sudden defensiveness catches you off guard.

“Hey, can’t I see your masterpiece now?” you tease, putting a hand over your heart, pretending to be shocked, your mouth dropping open in playful disbelief.

The air between you shifts, a strange tension curling in your chest. You didn’t expect the feeling of disappointment to settle in, but it does. This small, insignificant thing—him not letting you see his drawing—is somehow more than that. It feels like a subtle wall being put up between you. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s just your imagination, but you can’t shake the feeling that this time, for some reason, he’s keeping something from you.

It makes you sad. Maybe more than you’d like to admit.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry,” Taehyung says quickly, trying to brush off the tension as he stuffs his sketchbook into his backpack, replacing it with a crumpled sheet of paper.

“Come on. Read this,” he adds, handing it to you with a nonchalant smile, though there’s an unmistakable flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

You take the sheet, your fingers brushing against the wrinkled edges, and you can’t help but feel the weight of it before even reading the words. You glance at the paper and see Taehyung’s messy handwriting scrawled across it: Kim Taehyung’s Bucket List!

Your heart tightens, a lump forming in your throat as you read the words. There’s a strange chill creeping over you as you realize what you’re holding. The list. His list. The one thing he had decided to write down for the future, the future he’d never thought he’d have to plan for. You see him chuckling quietly, clearly amused by your shock, but you can’t shake the feeling of heaviness settling in your chest.

For someone who used to scoff at the idea of planning, who always lived in the moment, who had no care for anything beyond what was right in front of him—Taehyung, this carefree soul, had made a list. A bucket list. And that fact alone made your heart ache.

He didn’t have a choice, did he?

The knowledge that time was no longer his ally.

“There’s some things I can do alone, but there are things I really want to do with you,” Taehyung admits, biting his lip slightly as he throws you that signature boxy grin.

You raise an eyebrow, glancing down at the paper again as you scoff. “Eating four jajangmyeon by yourself in one hour?” you read aloud, your voice laced with a mix of disbelief and amusement. Some of the items on the list were crossed out, others highlighted in bright neon, like they were top-tier priorities. “Seriously, Taehyung?”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “What? I want to try!” he defends himself, snatching the paper back from your hands. “It’s a challenge! Besides, I figured, if I’m going to do something wild before… you know… I should at least make it interesting.”

You shake your head, your heart aching in ways you can’t fully express. But before you can even comment further, he holds up the paper again, his face lighting up with excitement as he points to something else.

“Look, I wrote that too,” he says, his fingers tracing over the next line of the list.

Taehyung’s words spill out in a rush, his voice confident as he lists off his bucket list with such enthusiasm that you can barely keep up. He doesn’t give you any time to comment, his eyes flicking to the paper in his hands as he reads through everything in a blur. The speed at which he lists each item almost feels like a race—he’s determined to get it all out, as if the time to do it all is somehow slipping away faster than he can keep track.

You hear snippets, some simple, others daring. “A snow fight,” he says with a grin, clearly imagining the fun of it. “Start a flash mob in the middle of a crowded street,” he adds, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Learn how to crochet,” he continues, almost too casually as though he’s always wanted to make a blanket or something.

Then there are the bigger, wilder ones that make you blink in disbelief. “Bungee jumping,” he says, a playful tone in his voice, but you know there’s a part of him that’s dead serious. “Drink a liter of coffee in one sitting,” he smirks as if that might actually be a fun challenge, despite the obvious health risks. And then, almost like it’s nothing, “Climb Hallasan.”

You can’t help but laugh at the randomness of it all. But at the same time, your heart sinks a little, realizing that these are the things he wants to experience before time runs out. Things that, despite his usual carefree attitude, now carry so much weight.

You try to catch your breath, not sure whether to laugh or cry. He’s talking about living life to the fullest, but each word feels like a fleeting moment, something that’s both incredibly precious and terrifying.

He finishes his list with a flourish, his eyes still scanning the paper before looking back up at you with that infectious grin of his. You don’t have to say anything for him to know that his list has left you speechless.

“So, what do you think?” he asks, his grin widening as he waits for your response. He doesn’t seem to notice the tightness in your chest, or maybe he’s just pretending not to see it. Either way, it’s clear that he’s still the same Taehyung—bold, reckless, and impossibly charming.

“I can definitely help you check off a thing or two,” you confessed, your voice quiet but filled with a warmth that lingered despite the cool autumn air that pressed against your skin. October was slipping by quickly, and soon the first snowflakes would start to fall, marking the beginning of a harsh but beautiful season. The chill in the evening made you hug your arms tighter around your chest, but it wasn’t just the cold that had you pulling inward. Your heart ached, a familiar heaviness pressing down on your chest, and you fought the urge to let the tears that had been threatening to spill finally escape.

Taehyung, oblivious to your inner turmoil, grinned brightly. “Nice. Maybe we can start with jajangmyeon, then?” he suggested, his voice light, his eyes sparkling with a glimmer of hope.

You nodded, offering a weak smile in return, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, the familiar vibration of your phone broke the moment. You glanced down at the screen and immediately felt a pang of guilt. Minsu.

You hesitated before biting your lip, a familiar sense of unease creeping over you. But as if sensing the shift in your mood, Taehyung leaned closer, his curiosity piqued.

“Oh, is that him?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. Before you could even respond, he swiped the phone from your hand, his expression playful as he squinted at the screen. “Let me see him.”

You watched as Taehyung focused intently on the photo, and a small lump formed in your throat. It was a picture from your honeymoon, a candid moment where Minsu was sitting outside, the soft glow of the sunset casting a warm, golden light on his face. He looked peaceful, content. The kind of beauty that made you want to hold onto that moment forever, to keep it in your heart, preserved against the ever-changing tides of time.

Taehyung didn’t say anything right away, his eyes still on the photo, his face unreadable. You could feel the weight of his silence, the unspoken questions swirling between you two. But he didn’t press for answers, just nodded and handed the phone back, his eyes now fixed on the ground.

“It’s a nice picture,” he said quietly, a shift in his tone. He didn’t seem angry or jealous, but there was something in his voice that hinted at a deeper emotion, something he wasn’t saying.

“I should go home. On Thursdays, we usually watch movies and—” You cut yourself off, feeling a twinge of guilt as you realized how much you didn’t want to share the details of your evening with Minsu, not when Taehyung was standing right there. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of your life outside of him, but the weight of the unspoken history between you and Taehyung made it difficult to mention.

But Taehyung only nodded, his movements smooth as he folded the paper with the list of his dreams and tucked it into his back pocket. His smile was still there, but there was something else in his eyes—a quiet understanding, perhaps. “No, no. It’s fine, of course it’s fine. Another time then?” He said it with hope, a flicker of brightness in his voice, the kind of optimism that made your heart ache. Without thinking, you nodded and agreed.

You gave him a small wave, a half-hearted smile, before turning to walk away, the sound of your footsteps growing fainter as you put distance between yourself and Taehyung. Once you were far enough from him, away from the hospital’s bright lights and the weight of your emotions, you finally let go. The tears you had been holding in for so long fell freely, rolling down your cheeks as you tried to swallow the grief that was consuming you.

The sight of Taehyung, so hopeful and full of life, lingered in your mind, but what hurt most were the words from his bucket list.

Getting married.

The words stood out to you on the crumpled piece of paper, written in Taehyung’s messy handwriting. At first, they were crossed out, then rewritten, as if he was unsure of whether it was even a dream worth holding on to anymore. Yet, there it was, clear and undeniable. He wanted it—just not enough to let go of his doubts. And as you read those words, your stomach twisted with an ache you couldn’t quite name.

Marriage.

It was a word you had once despised. Something that felt suffocating, distant, and foreign to you. Yet it was something Taehyung had always talked about with a quiet longing, something he dreamed of. And now, you found yourself in the thick of it, married to Minsu. You had taken the step, and now it seemed impossible to untangle the truth of it all.

The irony didn’t escape you. You had lived the thing Taehyung had always wanted, and yet he was left with nothing but the idea of it—written in the corner of a bucket list that seemed too fragile to hold such a wish. But there was another sting, a deeper one, when you thought about it: marriage was once something you had imagined you’d only experience with Taehyung. He had always been the one you pictured standing at your side for such a commitment. It was his name that had been written in your mind long before Minsu’s, and it was his future you envisioned, entwined with yours.

But now, here you were—feeling the weight of the life you had chosen with someone else while Taehyung, the one person who had once been everything to you, was being left out of that equation entirely.

It was Saturday, and for once, you had a day off—a rare moment of respite that you had desperately needed. The past two weeks had felt like a blur of constant motion. Work had consumed you: the long hours at the hospital, the endless rounds with patients, and the seemingly never-ending responsibilities that came with being a nurse. In between, there was Taehyung. Every day, you found yourself with him, trying to balance the time you spent together, knowing that it was limited. And yet, there was Minsu—your husband—who deserved your attention too.

It wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong, at least not in your heart. You weren’t cheating. You would never cheat. But there was a certain feeling, a sense of guilt, that always clung to you whenever you left for Taehyung. The late nights, the rushed moments you spent with him, and the way your heart felt lighter every time you saw him—it all made you feel like you were betraying something, even if you weren’t.

As you were tying your shoes, ready to leave for another day with Taehyung, you heard Minsu’s voice from the living room. “Where are you going?” he asked, his tone casual, but you could feel the weight behind the question. He had asked it so many times before, but today, it felt different.

You froze, caught off guard by the question. You hated lying to Minsu, but the truth was something you couldn’t bear to explain—not yet, not in the way you would have to. Taehyung had sent you a picture of a dyed bottle, asking for help, and of course, you had agreed to go. But how could you explain that to Minsu without making it seem like something it wasn’t? How could you tell him that you were going to Taehyung’s house to help him with something that seemed so trivial in the grand scheme of things but meant everything to both of you?

It wasn’t like you wanted to hide it from Minsu, but the reality of it—of everything—was crushing. The truth was too raw, too complicated. How could you explain that what you shared with Taehyung wasn’t something simple, that it wasn’t just about helping him with a project or passing the time? How could you explain that you needed him in your life, even if it was just in small moments like this, before it was too late?

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile as you stood up. “I’m just going to help a friend with something. It won’t take long,” you said, your voice a little too light, too casual, even to your own ears.

Minsu raised an eyebrow, clearly not entirely convinced. But instead of pressing further, he just nodded. “Okay, just don’t stay out too late,” he said, the concern in his voice unspoken, but clear.

You nodded quickly, slipping out the door, feeling the familiar pang of guilt in your chest as you left. The weight of your actions, the secret you were keeping, pressed down on you with every step you took towards Taehyung. But despite the guilt, there was something else, something far stronger, that kept you moving forward—something that told you, even if it wasn’t right, even if it didn’t make sense, you had to be there for him.

Taehyung’s text arrived with his address, and a mix of excitement and nerves twisted in your stomach. You’d been imagining this moment, picturing what his place would look like—the space he lived in, surrounded by the things he loved. Taehyung was never one for minimalism. He was a living canvas, always surrounded by chaos and color, with things that didn’t always seem to belong together but somehow made perfect sense when they were with him. You imagined his apartment would be a reflection of that—lively, colorful, and a bit wild.

You weren’t disappointed when you walked through the door. His apartment was everything you had envisioned and more. The clutter, the vibrancy, the artful chaos—it was all there. But there was something different. Something you weren’t expecting.

As you stepped inside, you noticed it right away. There were post-its scattered everywhere. Yellow ones, stuck on walls, on tables, on shelves. You didn’t think much of it at first, assuming it was just another one of his quirks. But as your eyes traced the notes, you realized there was something more to them. They weren’t just reminders of random things—shopping lists, to-do lists, or inspirational quotes. They were everywhere, carefully placed, almost as if he was trying to remind himself of something important.

The realization hit you. It wasn’t just the usual clutter Taehyung had always surrounded himself with. It wasn’t just his creative, free-spirited energy that filled the room. The post-its, the notes, were a reminder. A reminder that Taehyung was trying to hold onto something—anything—that could keep him grounded.

Each note you read was simple, but they spoke volumes. “Don’t forget to call Mom,” one said. “Remember to buy more paint,” another. But these weren’t just trivial things. They were his attempts at holding onto memories, things that had been slipping away. His need to remind himself of the little things that made up his world—things that could easily fade in the midst of everything else he was battling.

You felt your chest tighten. It hit you all at once—how real this was. How Taehyung was facing something you couldn’t even imagine. His mind, the one thing that had always been as vibrant as the world he lived in, was beginning to betray him. The tumor, the thing he had been fighting, was taking pieces of him away. And those post-its were his way of holding on, his way of trying to preserve the memories, the moments, the little things that made him, him.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of helplessness. There was nothing you could do to stop it, nothing you could do to protect him from losing himself to this illness. But as you looked around his apartment—his chaotic, beautiful space—you realized that Taehyung wasn’t giving up. He was fighting with everything he had, even in the small, simple ways. And you admired him for it.

Taehyung came back into the room, his hands full of supplies for his latest spontaneous project—dyeing his hair. He handed you a towel and a bottle of dye, and your eyes instantly widened as you looked at the color.

“Blue?” you almost exclaimed, unable to imagine Taehyung with such a bold hair color. But even though it seemed like such a drastic change, you knew he’d somehow make it work. He always did.

“I wanna have blue hair before I die,” he said with a shrug, flashing you that familiar grin. “I think it’ll look cool, and I don’t know, it feels like something I need to do.” He took the towel from your hands, wrapping it around his shoulders like he had done it a thousand times before. “Also, it’ll make me look less sad,” he added, chuckling softly.

You found yourself smiling at his attempt to make light of things, even though you knew that was just his way of coping. “You’re beautiful with dark hair, though,” you said, your hands already reaching for the gloves as you began to prepare.

“I can pull off every color,” he replied, cocky as ever, but there was a spark of humor in his voice. Then, he broke into one of his signature laughs. “I mean, come on, I am that beautiful.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you started mixing the dye. “I remember how you totally rocked that blonde look back in high school,” you said, your fingers working methodically. You could almost see it in your mind—his blonde hair, messy and wild, just like him.

He rolled his eyes, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “How could I forget? It was so ugly though. But I kinda liked it. It was like, what was I even thinking?” He laughed again, the sound light and carefree.

You smiled as you worked, focusing on the task at hand, but the conversation was familiar, comforting. It was one of those moments where everything felt right, even if you both knew there was something deeper at play.

“It haunts me for days now that I think about it,” Taehyung continues, his voice softer now, as if the memory was genuinely bothering him. “I had blonde hair when we first started dating, and those pictures… they traumatize me. How could you even say yes?” He scoffs, shaking his head, but the movement is small, careful, trying not to mess up the delicate process of you applying the dye to his hair.

You can’t help but smile at the memory. That moment, when Taehyung asked you out so unexpectedly. He had looked so silly, so shy, and you could see the nervous excitement in his eyes. How could you have said no? You wanted it for so long, and none of his hair changes—blonde, dark, or even blue—would have ever changed a thing. Taehyung was still Taehyung, the person you couldn’t help but fall for over and over again.

“You still have those pictures?” you ask, your voice light, teasing. You keep your eyes focused on his hair, but your mind drifts back to those early days—the awkwardness, the excitement, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, everything was finally falling into place.

“Of course I did,” he admits quietly, his gaze dropping to his hands resting in his lap as you apply the last bit of dye to his hair. “I always loved to live in the present, but somehow those memories of you, us… I couldn’t let them stay in the past,” he says, his voice soft but heavy with something unspoken.

You pause for a moment, your hands stilling as his words settle between you, heavy with nostalgia and something deeper. You glance up at him, noticing the way his fingers are absently fidgeting, a nervous energy in them despite the calmness of the moment.

You feel the weight of guilt pressing down on you. Because, even though you still remember those days with Taehyung—the laughter, the endless summer nights, the feeling that nothing could separate you—you couldn’t say the same. You couldn’t tell him that you still held onto those memories like treasures locked away in a chest.

When you moved in with Minsu, you threw it all away. The pictures, the notes, the small things that reminded you of Taehyung—those souvenirs from a love that once felt so real. It wasn’t an easy decision. You cried for hours after. You mourned the loss of what was, even as you tried to embrace the future. But you had to. You couldn’t continue living with the ghosts of someone else’s love while trying to build a life with Minsu. You couldn’t let the past have such a hold over you. It wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t fair to you.

The strangest part was that, despite everything, a part of you knew it wasn’t really over. Maybe it was always that lingering feeling before you met Minsu—that the story with Taehyung wasn’t finished. That somewhere, there was an unfinished chapter, one that had ended not with bitterness or shouting, but simply with two people parting ways, growing apart as life moved them in different directions. There had been no tragic ending, just distance. No finality, just time that stretched too long without either of you taking the steps to reunite.

But life went on, and so did you. You moved forward, and you convinced yourself that it was time to let go. It was only two years—two beautiful years that felt like a lifetime—and you had spent more time with Minsu than with Taehyung in the end. But somehow, no matter how many years had passed, a small part of you always wondered if Taehyung felt the same way. If he had ever thought about what you both had, or if he had moved on just as easily as you’d been forced to.

You could still feel the echo of him in your chest. Taehyung had never been just a fleeting part of your past. His absence left a gap that had never quite been filled.

“Come on, Tae, I want to see the results!” you shout, knocking repeatedly on the bathroom door, eager to see the result of his spontaneous decision to dye his hair. He insisted on keeping it a surprise, promising he’d handle the washing process himself. And now, you could hear the familiar sounds of him rushing, objects clattering, and his usual clumsiness filling the air.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” His voice comes from behind the door, hurried and full of excitement, just like it always is when he’s about to show off something new.

But as seconds turn into minutes, your excitement starts to shift into concern. “Is it that bad?” you ask, pressing your ear to the door, hoping for some sort of reassuring response.

“I—no…” His voice falters, quieter than before. A strange tightness forms in your chest, a sense of unease creeping in, and you can’t help but feel like something’s not right.

And then the door opens. Taehyung stands there, his usual grin absent, replaced by a pained expression. His hands are pressed against his nose, blood seeping between his fingers.

“Sorry, I—”

The sight of him immediately shifts your focus. Forget his hair. You can’t even see it clearly now, not when his hands are gripping his head so tightly, like he’s trying to hold it together. The playful, carefree Taehyung you know so well is gone, replaced by someone struggling with the weight of pain that’s too much to bear on his own. The worry that hits you is overwhelming, and your heart races as you move toward him without a second thought.

“Hey, hey, come here,” you whisper urgently, gripping his shoulders despite the blood that stains your t-shirt. The sight of him in pain makes your breath catch, but you don’t care. You guide him gently toward the sofa, sitting him down as carefully as you can.

“Let me help you,” you whisper, your hands steadying his head. It’s like his body’s trying to reject everything, but you’re not going to let him go through it alone.

Before you can even process what’s happening, everything around you starts to blur. Your mind, trained to keep calm in emergencies, starts to shut down, every instinct telling you to stay composed, but nothing feels real anymore. Everything you’ve learned during those years of study, to keep your head in the moment, to stay detached from emotion, feels like it’s slipping away.

Taehyung suddenly doubles over, his hands gripping his stomach. He doesn’t even have time to warn you. A loud, gasping sound escapes his lips, and before you can react, he throws up onto the carpet, the strain of the headache causing his body to betray him. His breathing is ragged, uneven, like each breath causes him more pain than the last. You want to reach out, to hold him, to somehow ease the agony that’s taking over his body, but it feels like nothing you do can help.

You feel helpless. Utterly useless.

If only you could take even a fraction of his pain, make it your own, so he wouldn’t have to feel it. You would bear it for him, without hesitation. Someone like Taehyung, someone who should always be the one to bring warmth and laughter into a room, shouldn’t have to experience this.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him this broken. The sight is almost unbearable. You knew, of course, about his condition. You knew about the tumor, but seeing it, feeling its weight on him so visibly, it’s an entirely different kind of heartbreak.

He struggles to open his mouth, to say anything, but his body betrays him. You can see it in his eyes, that desperate desire to apologize, to explain that he’s fine, that this isn’t his fault, even though you know deep down it’s not something he can control. He’s terrified, and yet he doesn’t even have the strength to voice it, his body trembling uncontrollably.

You don’t think. You just act. Instinct takes over as you grab his shoulders, guiding him into a fetal position, your hands steadying him as his body stays stiff, unresponsive. It’s as if his body has forgotten how to follow his commands. His limbs are limp, and for a split second, you feel a rush of panic—the feeling that maybe you won’t be able to help him. You’ve studied this. You’ve seen worse. But right now, everything feels so foreign.

You’re a good nurse. You know you are. But in that moment, all the procedures, all the steps you’ve memorized, all the rules you’ve been trained on—they slip away from you, leaving you in a haze of uncertainty. Why can’t you remember what to do? Why does it feel like you’re failing him when he needs you most?

But then, slowly, gradually, Taehyung’s body begins to relax. His breathing steadies, his shoulders lower as the tension releases, piece by piece. He closes his eyes, his face still pale but no longer contorted with pain. It’s a small relief, but it’s something.

“Taehyung… stay with me,” you whisper, your voice shaky, but firm. You need him to hear you, to stay conscious. “Focus on me, okay? Just breathe. You’re doing fine. I’m here, I’m right here.”

Your hands don’t leave his shoulders, feeling the slight tremors beneath his skin, holding him close, making sure he knows you’re there. It feels like a long time before he finally opens his eyes again, blinking slowly, but he’s with you. He’s fighting through it, and that’s all you need to know right now.

You lost track of time, the hours slipping by in a blur. Long enough to clean up the mess that had happened, long enough for the sun to sink lower in the sky, casting an orange glow through the windows. Taehyung was still asleep on the couch, his breathing shallow and quiet. You couldn’t help but check on him constantly, watching the rise and fall of his chest, unable to shake the feeling that something might change, something might happen in the next moment. It was almost compulsive, like if you didn’t keep an eye on him, if you didn’t pay attention to every little detail, something might go terribly wrong. If he could see you now, so frantic, he’d probably laugh at how anxious you were, but the thought was fleeting—he was too weak to care.

His head rested gently in your lap, the weight of it grounding you in this moment. You ran your fingers through his hair, the once-dark strands now an unexpected blue. It was a strange sight, but somehow it felt right, like this was part of him. His hair, his spirit, his essence. It made you smile despite the tears that kept streaming down your face. You had cried so much you thought you might never stop. You should’ve been strong, you should’ve been the one taking care of him, but instead, you felt helpless.

Your phone was buzzing incessantly, and you could guess who it was—Minsu. He was probably wondering where you were, if you were alright. But you didn’t know how to answer him. How could you explain where you were, how could you explain the turmoil inside you when you were so scared, when Taehyung needed you more than ever? You couldn’t leave him. Not now. Not when he was hurting this much.

Then, you heard his voice. It was faint, weak, but it cut through the silence like a knife. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, barely audible. You immediately wiped your tears, forcing a smile on your face even though your heart was breaking into pieces. You didn’t want him to feel guilty for what had happened, not when he was already in so much pain.

“It happens sometimes. It hurts so much,” he whispered, his words trembling. His eyes remained closed, his body barely able to move, his face too tired to turn toward you.

You swallowed hard, fighting back your own grief as you tried to keep your voice steady. “How often does it happen lately?” you asked, your voice sounding more confident than you felt, but you needed to know. You needed the answers, even though they made the situation feel even more real, even more overwhelming. Your mind, trained in medicine, was already processing what he was saying, trying to piece everything together to figure out just how bad things were.

“Thrice a week,” he answered with a dry laugh that held no humor, “Twice on a good one.”

His attempt to joke felt hollow, but you managed to smile, a tight, painful smile. The numbers lingered in your head. Three times a week. Twice on a good week. That wasn’t good. You knew that. The severity of the situation was undeniable.

You try to keep your voice steady, even though it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. “Medications can make it less painful,” you offer again, your words sounding hollow even to yourself.

But then, Taehyung shifts. Slowly, carefully, his body turning until his face is pressed against your lap, his eyes still closed. You can feel his breath, shallow but steady, as he tries to find comfort in your presence.

“It will kill me less slowly?” he asks, his voice laced with irony. There’s a bitter edge to his words, and it cuts straight through you. “I’ll die anyways. In two months precisely.” He exhales, the weight of his own reality settling between you both. His eyes close, hiding the tears that you know are there, but the tremble in his voice betrays him.

It hits you like a physical blow. You want to say no—you want to tell him that it’s not over, that he can fight, that maybe there’s still time, still hope. You want to convince him to keep pushing, to keep believing in a future.

But you can’t. You can’t betray him like that, not now. Not when you know the truth. As much as you want to offer him comfort, to wrap him in hope, you can’t give him something that isn’t real.

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do—sitting there, watching him cling to the little bit of strength he has left, and knowing that no matter how hard you wish for it, the clock is ticking.

You’re trained to help, to heal, to give people the best chance they have. But you also know when to stop pretending. You can’t lie to him, not as a nurse, not as his friend, and certainly not as the person who once shared his heart.

It’s terrible.

The silence between you both feels unbearable, like the world has paused, holding its breath. You want to reassure him, to tell him everything will be okay, that this is just a bump in the road. But those words, they’re false hope. And false hope would break him even more. It would shatter the last pieces of him that are still fighting.

You don’t say anything. You just sit there, hand gently running through his hair, trying to offer him comfort in the only way you can. You can’t lie, but maybe, just maybe, you can be there. Be there for him in these final moments, even if that’s all you can do.

“It’s my favorite time of the year,” he murmurs, his head resting comfortably on your lap as you both sit on the old wooden bench outside your high school.

The bench has seen better days—worn down by time, the changing seasons, and countless students who once sat where you are now. You’ve watched it transform through the years: vibrant and full of life in the spring, warm and familiar in the golden hues of autumn. But in winter, it’s something else entirely. The world around you is still, coated in soft white, making everything feel untouched, almost magical.

Your breath curls in the cold air as you tighten the thick scarf around your neck. Your cheeks are flushed from the biting wind, and your beanie is pulled low over your forehead, probably making you look ridiculous. But you don’t care—because Taehyung looks just the same.

His hair is back to black now, hidden beneath a white beanie that matches yours. His oversized coat engulfs him, making him look even cozier, and you remember how insistent he was about you both wearing matching outfits.

Taehyung has always been that kind of lover—not the kind who overdoes grand gestures, not the type to shout his feelings to the world, but someone who loves in quiet, meaningful ways. He doesn’t need the world to know, just you. Just the two of you, wrapped in the stillness of winter, in a moment that feels like it could last forever.

“I wish I could freeze the world in winter,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he closes his eyes. His breath comes out in soft puffs of white against the cold air, and you can’t help but smile at how peaceful he looks.

Without thinking, you bring your gloved hands to his cheeks, cupping his face gently to warm him. His skin is cold beneath your touch, but the moment he feels the heat from your palms, his lips curl into a lazy smile. His face, framed between your hands, makes him look impossibly soft—his sharp features melting into something almost childlike.

He giggles, the sound light and unguarded, and you can feel his breath against your fingers.

“You’re such a bear,” you tease, tilting your head as you watch him, the corners of your lips quirking up.

Taehyung scrunches his nose in response, nuzzling further into your warmth. “A cute one, right?” he asks, eyes flickering open to meet yours, playful and expectant.

You roll your eyes but let out a laugh, your thumbs unconsciously brushing against his skin. “The cutest,” you admit, and he grins like he just won the lottery.

As you look at him—his cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes gleaming under the soft winter sky—you realize that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to love winter as much as he did.

Because in moments like this, winter wasn’t just a season. It was the way Taehyung’s voice softened when he talked about the snow, the way he leaned into your touch without hesitation, the way time seemed to slow down whenever you were together.

For a moment, it was easy to forget.

To forget the looming uncertainty of what came after high school, the inevitable paths that would pull you in different directions. To forget that promises made under falling snow weren’t always ones that could be kept.

Right now, none of that mattered.

You force yourself out of your daze as you step inside the hospital, pushing away the memories threatening to consume you. Now wasn’t the time. You needed to focus, to keep your mind sharp. But ever since that day at Taehyung’s apartment—since seeing him again—it had been impossible not to think about the past. Your past with him.

A sudden shout jolts you back to reality.

“We need help! Someone!”

The urgency in the voice sends a chill down your spine. You barely have time to process before you see Jimin rushing past you, his expression tight with focus as he sprints down the hallway.

Your heart pounds in your chest. It was always intense to witness moments like this—to see the staff moving with practiced urgency, to feel the weight of life and death in the air. But there’s no room for hesitation.

Without a second thought, you rush forward, falling into step with the team. It doesn’t matter that your shift hasn’t started yet. Someone needs help, and that’s all that matters.

The first thing you see is a woman kneeling in front of someone, panic written all over her face. And then, just beyond her, a glimpse of blue hair sprawled across the floor.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Taehyung.

His body is shaking violently, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as a thin trail of bile glistens at the corner of his mouth. A seizure.

Your feet feel rooted to the ground. Your mind registers everything—the rapid movement of Jimin and the other staff members as they spring into action, the controlled chaos of the emergency response—but you can’t move.

You’ve seen patients in this state before, but this is different. This is Taehyung.

You hear Jimin shout your name, his voice sharp with urgency, but it feels like it’s coming from a distant place, muffled by the overwhelming panic in your chest. His eyes meet yours, and for a brief second, you see that same mix of concern and helplessness that you’ve seen too many times. It’s painful, seeing him this way, knowing he’s been trying to put distance between himself and Taehyung.

“Bring a saline perfusion!” Jimin orders, his voice steady despite the storm in his eyes. It snaps you back into action.

Without hesitation, you dart past him, your heart pounding in your throat as you rush to find the saline drip. Every second feels like an eternity, and even though you know Taehyung is in the best hands possible, you can’t shake the overwhelming sense of helplessness. You wish you could be there, right next to him, doing more than just grabbing medical supplies. But you know you’re needed here—your training, your experience, this is where you can help the most.

As you grab the saline, your fingers shaking slightly, you fight back the urge to look back at Taehyung. You don’t want to see him like this anymore. Not like this. But you know you’ll have to face it. You’ll have to face everything, because he’s not going anywhere.

As you return, the sight of Taehyung on the stretcher hits you like a punch to the gut. His body still trembles uncontrollably, his face pale, eyes shut tightly as if he’s trying to escape the pain. Jimin doesn’t waste a second, quickly grabbing the saline perfusion from your hands, expertly connecting it and ensuring there are no air bubbles. His movements are swift, practiced, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the worry that flickers in his eyes whenever he glances down at Taehyung.

Without saying a word, you instinctively move to the side of the stretcher, your hands trembling slightly as you take hold of it. You help guide Taehyung down the hallway, your mind racing. It’s like the world has narrowed down to this single, agonizing moment. Every breath he takes, every second that passes, feels heavier, and you try to steady yourself.

You lead the stretcher into a nearby room, carefully maneuvering it towards an empty bed. The usual hospital room smells and sounds blur around you—monitors beeping, doctors shouting orders—but you barely register them. All that matters right now is getting Taehyung stable.

Jimin stands by the side, his gaze never leaving Taehyung’s face as he adjusts the saline, checking his vitals. There’s a sense of urgency, but a quiet professionalism to Jimin’s movements. You can’t help but glance at Taehyung, the blue hair still sticking out under the hospital lighting, a cruel reminder of how quickly things can change.

“Stay with him,” Jimin says, not needing to ask. It’s a command wrapped in a request, and without a word, you nod.

Taehyung’s eyes flutter open slowly, his gaze confused as he takes in his surroundings. The sterile white walls, the beeping of machines in the background, the IV drip connected to his arm—everything is unfamiliar to him, disorienting. He blinks, trying to make sense of it all, his breath shallow as he scans the room.

It feels like the world is moving in slow motion, and for a second, time seems to freeze as you stand there, just watching him, waiting for any sign that he’s okay. His eyes finally land on you, and there’s a flicker of recognition. For a moment, his expression is one of bewilderment, but then it softens.

A quiet sigh escapes his lips as he exhales in relief, and you realize how much weight has been lifted from your chest. You hadn’t even known you were holding your breath until now. His gaze holds yours, and for a brief moment, it feels like you’re back in that small, quiet world you had with him before everything became complicated. Before the weight of reality set in.

You force a smile, though it feels like the weight of the world is pressing down on you. You try to make it look effortless, as if you’re holding yourself together for him—for Taehyung. But the truth is, you’re not. Inside, you’re trembling. Your heart is racing, and the last thing you want is for him to see you unravel.

The moment you glance over at Jimin through the glass doors, you feel a strange sense of relief, as if his familiar presence might anchor you, even if just for a moment. In the chaos of everything that’s happening with Taehyung, it was comforting to see someone who understood, someone you could rely on. You couldn’t shake the unease you felt when you were alone with Taehyung. Every word you wanted to say felt like it might break the delicate thread of control you were clinging to.

“I’ll be back,” you manage to say, your voice sounding steadier than it feels as you step away from the room.

Jimin, arms crossed tightly across his chest, stands by the glass, his gaze fixed on Taehyung. There’s a pause, and then he speaks, his voice a low whisper, almost as if admitting something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. “It was so scary.” The vulnerability in his voice takes you by surprise, and for a brief moment, you see that even someone as experienced as Jimin can feel fear in the face of uncertainty.

It’s easy for others to say that nurses need to be strong, that they need to stay composed at all times. But in that moment, you both knew the unspoken truth: it’s okay to be scared.

You place a hand on his shoulder, offering a quiet reassurance, though you’re just as shaken inside. “You did well, Jimin.” Your voice feels raw, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “I honestly couldn’t even move.”

Jimin shifts uncomfortably, his gaze falling to the floor before he looks back toward the room, almost unwilling to make eye contact. “Speaking of that…” His words trail off as he bites his lip, the silence stretching between you both. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything right away. He just holds you, his hand firm on your shoulder, his other arm wrapping around you when he sees the first tear slip down your cheek. You hate crying—especially here, especially now—but there’s something about the way Jimin asks, something about the way he looks at you that makes it impossible to keep it in any longer.

“What are you hiding from me?” he asks again, voice softer this time, like he already knows the answer but wants to hear it from you.

You try to steady yourself, inhaling deeply, but it doesn’t help. The weight in your chest has been sitting there for days, weeks even, ever since Taehyung walked back into your life. You don’t know why you fought so hard to keep it all in—to not talk to anyone about it, not even Minsu. Maybe because saying it out loud would make it all too real.

“I met him in high school,” you whisper, voice shaking despite your best efforts. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. “We fell in love. And we haven’t seen each other since.”

“And now he’s here,” he murmurs, finishing the thought for you.

You nod. “And now he’s here.” Dying. And you don’t know how to handle it.

Jimin sighs, running a hand through his hair, his expression conflicted. “God, you should’ve told me. I would—”

“Jimin,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “You don’t know how grateful I am to be beside him. It’s just… so hard. It hurts.”

You glance through the glass, your eyes finding Taehyung. He’s staring out the window, lost in thought. At least his room has a good view—the hospital park stretches out beyond the glass, and a tall tree stands right in front of it. You hope it brings him some kind of peace.

Jimin follows your gaze, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know how to say this, but… they might want to keep him here,” he says carefully. “Maybe even put him in a medically induced coma. Just so he won’t have to suffer through this if he stays conscious.”

You inhale sharply, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

“No one deserves to go like that,” Jimin adds, voice laced with pain. He looks back at Taehyung for a moment, then turns away, like the sight of him is too much to bear.

Neither of you say anything for a while. The weight of reality is suffocating.

“Maybe you should take care of him,” Jimin says suddenly. “Somewhere else. Anywhere but here.”

You frown, not understanding. “Jimin, what are you saying?”

He exhales sharply, frustration evident in the way he rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m just saying that… fuck, I don’t want that guy spending his last days in a hospital. He deserves more than this.” His voice is firmer now, conviction bleeding into every word.

You swallow hard, the weight of his suggestion settling into your chest. The thought of taking Taehyung away, of giving him a place where he could live—not just exist—feels impossible. And yet, the idea of him wasting away in a sterile room, surrounded by beeping machines and white walls, is unbearable.

Could you really do it? Could you give him that?

Jimin sees the hesitation in your eyes. “Just think about it,” he says, softer this time. “He deserves better.”

Minsu,

I’m so sorry for what I’m doing. Please believe me when I say this isn’t me giving up on us—on you. I never could. I never will. But I understand if you don’t see it that way right now, if you’re hurt or confused or even angry. I just need some time. Please, let me have that. When I come back, I’ll explain everything. And I hope you’ll understand.

I love you.

You stared at the note for a long time before finally placing it on the kitchen counter, the weight of your actions sinking into your chest like stones. It wasn’t enough. No piece of paper, no carefully chosen words could make up for the fact that you were leaving.

It wasn’t fair to Minsu. It wasn’t fair to you either.

But there was no time to dwell on that. No time to sit with the guilt. Because when your mind is pulled in every direction, when your heart is split between past and present, sometimes all you can do is act.

So you did.

The drive to the hospital was quiet, the silence thick with your own thoughts. Doubts crept in—was this really the right thing to do? Would Minsu forgive you? Would you forgive yourself?

But the moment you pulled up in front of the hospital and saw Taehyung sitting outside, all those questions faded into the background.

He looked small beneath the weight of his oversized hoodie, his blue hair catching the golden light of the setting sun. He shouldn’t have been outside in the cold, but there he was, waiting. And the instant he spotted your car, his face lit up.

Despite everything—despite the pain, despite the exhaustion dragging at his body—he smiled.

And in that moment, for the first time since making your decision, you felt something close to certainty.

You were exactly where you needed to be.

“Hey, Tae,” you call out, shutting the car door behind you and making your way toward him.

Taehyung looks up, a surprised grin spreading across his face as he takes a step closer. “No way. Since when do you drive?” He eyes your car like he’s some kind of automotive expert, tilting his head in mock curiosity. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not that surprising.”

“Trust me, it is,” he teases before his gaze flickers back to the hospital doors. “Didn’t know you were working today.”

“I’m not,” you reply simply, stepping past him and heading toward the entrance.

Taehyung follows without hesitation, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “So what, you just choose to be here? You must be a masochist, because if I had the choice, I’d be anywhere but this place.” His voice is light, laced with humor, but there’s an underlying exhaustion to it.

As you both walk through the corridors, he nods and smiles at a few passing nurses and patients. The sight of it makes your chest tighten. It’s not that Taehyung had friends here, not in the way that truly mattered. No, it was more like he had found people—fragments of companionship in a place where loneliness was inevitable.

That was just who he was. Even in the most difficult places, he found a way to connect, to weave himself into the world around him. It was a survival instinct, a way to keep himself from slipping too far into the darkness of his reality.

Since being hospitalized two weeks ago, he had latched onto whatever familiarity he could find. He exchanged jokes with nurses who had seen him at his worst, shared quiet conversations with patients who understood the unspoken weight of being sick. It was his way of pretending everything was okay.

But you could see through it. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, the way his movements were just a little slower than before. He was tired.

And yet, he still smiled.

You let out a quiet breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m here for you,” you say softly.

For the first time, Taehyung falters. His steps slow, and he turns to look at you fully, like he’s searching for something in your expression.

Then, after a beat, he exhales a small chuckle, the corners of his lips tugging upward. “Well, damn,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Guess that means I’m special.”

He says it playfully, but you both already know.

He always has been.

“And you’re leaving that place too,” you announce with a bright smile, watching as Taehyung’s chocolate-brown eyes widen in shock.

His lips part slightly, his breath catching. “I… I can’t,” he stammers. “They want to keep me there in case I have another seizure. They told me it could be fatal if I’m not at the hospital when it happens.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” you counter, your voice filled with conviction. Then, gripping his shoulders firmly, you make him look at you—really look at you. You want him to see the determination in your eyes, the certainty in your smile. If he can’t believe in himself, then at least he can believe in you.

“Guess what?” you continue, lifting a small folded sheet of paper between your fingers. “If you’re leaving, I’m leaving too.”

His jaw drops. His hands fly up to your shoulders, mirroring your own gesture, as if he needs to physically hold onto you to ground himself. “Wait, what?” His voice rises slightly, filled with disbelief. “Are you resigning?”

His expression is priceless—eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, making him look almost like a child who just heard the most unbelievable news.

You chuckle softly, nodding. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

For the first time in a long time, you see something shift in his eyes—not just surprise, but something deeper. Hope.

It wasn’t like you were resigning forever—no, you could never truly leave the hospital. It was more like taking a few months off, a pause, a stolen fragment of time just for you and Taehyung. A chance to be there, fully and completely, in a way that the sterile walls of the hospital would never allow.

You were relieved when your superiors didn’t argue, didn’t question your decision. They only nodded, offered you a small, understanding smile, and told you to focus on him. Because, in the end, everyone knew there was only one possible outcome.

One where, eventually, you would return to work.

And one where Taehyung would leave this world.

You just hoped—with everything in you—that when that time came, he would leave it happy.

“You still have that bucket list of yours?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

Taehyung grins. “Of course I do. It’s in my room,” he says, pointing upward as if his hospital room was floating right above you.

“Perfect. Go grab it, pack a bag, and meet me outside,” you say, the excitement bubbling in your chest as you watch him sprint toward the elevators.

As you turn toward the office to hand in your leave request, you run into Jimin. He’s standing in the hallway, arms crossed, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“When will you be back?” he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows the answer.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I hope not too soon.” Because leaving too soon would mean the inevitable was closer than you wanted it to be.

Jimin chuckles, but his eyes betray something deeper—understanding, sadness, maybe even a bit of hope. “Then I don’t ever want to see you here again.” His voice is light, but the weight of what he means lingers between you.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “He’s a nice guy, you know,” Jimin adds, his gaze flickering away for a moment, lost in thought. “We talked a little.”

“He is,” you agree. And for the first time in a long while, despite everything, you feel a little bit lighter.

As you walk toward your car, you spot Taehyung already waiting, his backpack slung over his shoulders, jingling slightly from the numerous keychains attached to it. His arms are stacked with notebooks, likely filled with memories, sketches, or maybe even unfinished dreams.

“Okay, where are we going?” he asks, his excitement barely contained. If he had the energy, you’re sure he’d be bouncing on his feet.

You smirk, nodding toward the passenger seat. “I don’t know. You tell me. What’s on your bucket list again?”

He throws his bag into the car and slides into his seat, flipping through one of his notebooks. “A lot. But with this weather…” His gaze drifts to the window, watching as the wind howls through the streets, shaking the bare trees. The sky is heavy, and soon, snow will start to fall.

You tap your fingers on the wheel, a playful glint in your eyes. “So? Have you never wanted to go to the beach in the snow?”

He turns to you, blinking, before his face lights up with pure, childlike joy. “Hell yeah! I want that!” He claps his hands together, his grin infectious, you feel warmth bloom in your chest.

You shift gears, pulling onto the road. “Then let’s go.”

Taehyung slept through the entire journey. At first, he had fought hard to stay awake, doing everything in his power to entertain you—spouting random facts, curating a playlist of songs that reminded him of you, and scribbling into his notebooks. Every time you tried to sneak a glance at what he was drawing, he would immediately pull it away, laughing as he insisted, “It’s not worthy enough for your eyes.”

But eventually, exhaustion won over, and his eyelids fluttered shut. His breathing evened out, his features soft and relaxed. You kept stealing glances at him, taking in the peacefulness of his face. Even if he looked tired, he hadn’t once complained. You could only hope that if he ever felt truly unwell, he’d tell you.

As you finally pull up in front of the beach, the waves stretching out endlessly before you, you hesitate for a few moments before reaching over to wake him.

“Taehyung?” you call softly, but he only shifts, turning his head further into the seat. You bite back a laugh.

“Kim Taehyung?” you try again, a teasing lilt in your voice. “There’s a cute Pomeranian running on the beach.”

His reaction is instant. His eyes snap open, head turning toward the window, scanning the shoreline for the tiny fluff ball. When he finds nothing, he rolls his eyes, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Such a liar,” he mutters, shaking his head. But he’s smiling as he unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car.

You let out a small breath of relief. He still loves Pomeranians. He still remembers that silly dream he once shared with you—that by the time he turned thirty, he’d own one because he believed it would make him look like a hot thirty-year-old man. You had laughed back then, nodding in agreement.

And now, watching him stand on the beach, hair tousled by the cold ocean breeze, you silently hope that by some miracle, he’ll get to have that dream come true.

You take a deep breath as the cold wind sweeps over you, the soft crunch of sand beneath your boots reminding you of the rare stillness that’s enveloping this moment. Taehyung walks ahead, his figure almost swallowed by his oversized beige coat, his beanie pulling down low to cover his blue hair. From behind, even just the silhouette of him feels beautiful—like an abstract masterpiece, blending perfectly with the waves and the sky. He’s always been beautiful, but in this light, in this moment, there’s a peacefulness about him that makes your heart ache.

You shake your head, trying to snap yourself back to reality. But before you can fully catch your breath, the familiar vibration of your phone pulls you from your thoughts. You glance down at the screen to see Minsu’s name flashing across the display. A pang of guilt hits your chest, sharp and uncomfortable. You had left without saying more than a hasty note. You hadn’t explained why, or what had gotten into you. And it hurt, because part of you knew you owed him that much.

But another part of you—the selfish part, the one that craved these fleeting moments with Taehyung—wanted this to be just for the two of you. One last moment to remember how you used to be. One last memory of what you once had.

“You’re prince charming?” Taehyung’s voice breaks through your thoughts, soft and teasing. He glances at your phone with a knowing smile, and the way he looks at you isn’t full of jealousy or anger. No, it’s a little more complicated than that. There’s a gratitude in his expression, an understanding that you’re here with him now, and that’s all that matters.

“Yeah,” you respond quietly, your eyes focused on the waves crashing against the shore. The ocean roars, but to you, it sounds like nothing more than background noise, drowned out by the loud pounding of your own thoughts. The cold wind bites at your cheeks, but with Taehyung next to you, it doesn’t feel like anything more than a reminder that you’re alive. Together, in this moment.

“Does he know?” Taehyung asks, his voice laced with a quiet humor. “That you’re here with your ex?” He chuckles, and there’s no malice behind the words—only a touch of curiosity, and maybe a little bit of amusement.

You turn your head to face him, unsure how to answer. His chocolate eyes are watching you, warm despite the chill in the air. It’s hard to articulate the complicated mess inside you. “He doesn’t know,” you admit, voice soft, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him everything yet.”

He reaches out, brushing his fingers against yours, his touch a silent comfort. And for a moment, the future—the responsibilities, the unanswered questions, the pain of everything you’ve left behind—feels far away. It feels like it can wait. Just a little while longer.

Taehyung’s grip tightens around your hand as if he’s holding on to the very last thread of something beautiful amidst the chaos.

“I don’t think we would ever cross paths if it wasn’t for that,” he says again, his voice quieter this time. It’s not just a casual observation, but a confession of sorts—one that carries the weight of everything that has led to this moment. You understand him completely, more than you can express. Fate had a way of pulling the two of you together in the most twisted of ways, through pain, sickness, and heartache, but somehow, it had given you both this sliver of happiness.

You wish you could tell him you didn’t need the brain tumor to meet him. That you would’ve found each other no matter what. But it wouldn’t be true, would it? The thought lingers, unspoken, between you both.

“Don’t say that,” you mutter, voice almost defensive as you tighten your fingers around his, instinctively pulling him closer. The action feels right—like you were meant to hold him this way, not just for the moment, but for every moment you’ve missed.

His chuckle fades into something softer, something more sincere. “Why? Because you think I’ll jinx it?” he teases lightly, but there’s a trace of vulnerability in his eyes now, the playful smile failing to mask the exhaustion that lingers just beneath the surface.

You hesitate, then finally look up into his eyes. “Because it’s not just the tumor. It’s us. And I don’t want you to think that something so awful gave us the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

For a moment, you both just stand there, hands still entwined, the weight of your words hanging between you, mingling with the salty sea air.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything for a while, and you think maybe you’ve broken him a little with your honesty. But then, he lifts his head slightly, his smile reappearing—genuine and soft.

“You always know exactly what to say to make everything feel better,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your hand. “I guess that’s what you do to me… make everything feel a little bit lighter.”

You watch as Taehyung lowers himself onto the sand, his face contorting in a playful grimace as he rubs his legs. “Ugh, my legs are killing me,” he groans. “You know, walking too much really does a number on me.” You can’t help but smile at his exaggerated complaints, the way he never lets anything get to him, even when it’s clear he’s physically drained. It’s one of the things you love most about him.

“Wait, I’ve got an idea,” you say, your voice excited, a spark of inspiration lighting up your mind. Taehyung raises an eyebrow, intrigued, as he stretches out on the sand, sinking into the warmth. The weather may be chilly, and the beach almost entirely deserted, but none of that matters right now. It’s just the two of you, and that’s enough.

You bounce on your toes as you stand up, already plotting what you want to do. “Let me go grab something, I’ll be right back!” you call over your shoulder, already turning to sprint back to your car.

The wind bites at your face, but you ignore it, your focus entirely on the task at hand. You don’t care if you look silly, running across the beach with your arms flailing awkwardly, the sand sticking to your shoes.

As you reach your car, you pull open the door and rummage through the bags on the seat, your hands searching for the small surprise you had brought along, the one you thought would make today feel even more unforgettable. But as you shift things around, one of Taehyung’s notebooks slides off the passenger seat, hitting the floor with a soft thud. You bend down to pick it up, but as you open it to place it back inside, the pages fall open to a specific spot, and your breath catches in your throat.

There, spread across the page, are drawings. Taehyung’s drawings. But they’re not just any sketches. They’re of you. The way you smile when you laugh, the way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention. Each drawing feels like a secret he’s been keeping, tucked away in his notebook, just for himself.

Your eyes sting as they well with tears, the sight before you too overwhelming to process at first. You flick through the pages of the notebook, each one telling a story—some of you, some of his family, others of his friends. You can pick out his mother, his siblings—older now, their faces more mature than the last time you saw them, but still, Taehyung’s delicate strokes bring out a beauty in them that only he could capture. There are others, too—friends you recognize from high school, and others you don’t know. People who had come into his life after you, people who had clearly made an impact on him.

But what makes your heart tighten in your chest is the realization that Taehyung has done something he swore he’d never do—he’s drawn people. Taehyung never liked drawing people. He never had, not like this. He always said he hated it, that he didn’t want to trap a moment in time, to freeze someone on paper forever.

You close the notebook, reluctant but understanding. This was a part of Taehyung that he hadn’t shared with you yet, and you can’t bring yourself to pry any longer, not when you know there’s a deeper reason behind it all. If he wanted to share these drawings with you, he would. And when the time comes, you’ll ask him, but for now, you allow him that space, that quiet secret.

You reach into your bag for the small Polaroid camera, an old model, but still reliable. The weight of it feels grounding in your hands, as if this moment, too, needs to be captured, frozen in time—something tangible, just like the way Taehyung has chosen to preserve those around him.

As you make your way back to the beach, you glance over at him again. He’s still lying there on the sand, his eyes half-closed against the sun, a small, peaceful smile tugging at his lips. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore fills the space between you, the world quieter somehow, as if it too were holding its breath.

“You still have it? Is it the same one from high school?” Taehyung asks, opening one eye as he sits up, his curiosity piqued.

“It is,” you reply, smiling as you hand him the familiar old Polaroid.

He takes it, turning it over in his hands with a knowing grin. “You were always with that thing. I’m not surprised you still have it,” he says, the nostalgia evident in his voice.

You watch as he brings the camera up to his eye, the way he handles it so carefully, almost as if it’s a part of him too. He adjusts the focus, directing it toward you, making you laugh nervously.

“No! There’s not a lot of film left!” you protest, reaching your hand out to stop him, but he’s already pressing the button.

“Too late,” he grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “That one’s mine.” He watches as the picture slowly starts to develop in his hand, then slides it into his pocket, still smiling.

“Hey!” you laugh, trying to grab it back, but it’s no use. He’s already claimed it as his own, looking more pleased with himself than he should.

“Maybe I’ll let you see it later,” he teases, leaning back on the sand, clearly enjoying the way he’s gotten under your skin.

“You’re impossible,” you say, shaking your head, but inside, a warmth settles in your chest.

You take the Polaroid back in your hands, your fingers brushing against the smooth surface as you frame Taehyung in your lens. He’s lying there on the sand, his body relaxed, his eyes half-closed, looking like something straight out of a fashion magazine. It doesn’t matter that his cheeks are a little thinner now, or that there’s a shadow under his eyes, or that his skin is paler than it used to be. To you, none of that matters. He’s still Taehyung—the boy you fell in love with all those years ago—and he’s still the person you love now, just as deeply as ever. Your heart aches with it, in the best way, because you know you’ll keep loving him for as long as you have breath in your lungs.

“Looking just like a Vogue cover,” you say, your voice light and teasing, as you watch the image start to form in the Polaroid, slowly taking shape.

Taehyung chuckles softly, his arms behind his head, and you can hear the hint of self-doubt in his voice. “You’re only saying that because you’re being kind. I’m really ugly right now,” he says, his tone playful but with a hint of vulnerability.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you look at him. He might see the changes, the signs of exhaustion, but you couldn’t care less about that. He was still the same person to you, and you loved him just as much as you ever had.

“You could never be ugly,” you reply without hesitation, your words sincere. There’s no room for doubt in your voice, only the truth of what you feel.

He looks at you then, his eyes softening as if he wasn’t sure whether to believe you or not. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—maybe surprise, maybe relief—but it fades quickly into a lighthearted smile. “Well, I guess I’m lucky then,” he says, shaking his head with a small laugh.

He closes his eyes again, letting the sound of the crashing waves fill the silence between you. The horizon stretches out endlessly before you both, painted in shades of gray and blue, but your eyes can’t leave him. Not when the soft smile playing on his lips feels more meaningful than the entire view in front of you.

“I saw your drawings,” you say quietly, careful not to disturb the fragile peace surrounding you both, though the words hang heavy with curiosity and something more tender. “You always told me you’d never draw people.”

At that, his smile fades, like a candle blown out by a sudden gust. His expression softens into something unreadable, and for a moment, he just breathes. In. Out. The silence stretches again.

“I did say that,” he murmurs eventually, eyes still closed as if avoiding your gaze would make the truth easier to speak. “And I meant it. I hated drawing people.”

You hesitate for a moment, then shift closer, sitting cross-legged in the sand so you can watch his face better. “But you’re really good at it,” you say, your voice almost a whisper, gentle. “So why now? Why draw them?”

He finally opens his eyes, blinking slowly before turning his head to look at you. There’s something there—a mix of nostalgia, pain, and quiet acceptance. Something raw.

“Because I can’t forget the ones I love,” he says, his voice barely audible over the wind, trembling with emotion. “Their faces, their expressions… the way their eyes light up when they laugh. When I draw them, it’s like I can still smell their scent, hear their voices echoing, feel their presence beside me.”

A single tear slips down his cheek, carving a quiet path over his skin. He doesn’t wipe it away.

“I’m starting to forget things,” he admits, and that’s when your heart cracks. “One by one. Small details I thought would never leave me—they’re fading. Like a film rewinding too fast. I try to hold on, but they’re slipping away.”

His eyes finally meet yours, raw and filled with something too heavy for words. “I don’t want to forget them. I don’t want to forget you.”

The air around you thickens, heavy with everything he’s saying and all that he isn’t. So you don’t speak. You simply lean forward, resting your forehead gently against his, as if that closeness could anchor him here. As if your presence alone could keep the memories from vanishing.

“You won’t,” you whisper. “I promise, you won’t.”

His hands gently cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t even realize had fallen. His gaze is soft, but behind his watery eyes is a storm of emotion threatening to break.

“I could never forget you,” he whispers, voice cracking with the weight of it all. “Because I want you to be the last thing I see before I die.”

But then, like a sudden shift in the tide, his hands fall away from your face, retreating with something heavier. “But you?” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. “You’ll live. You’ll go on. What if one day… you forget me?”

“Taehyung,” you say, breathless, already shaking your head. The idea alone feels like a betrayal to everything you are—everything you’ve ever felt. You reach out, grasping his hands tightly between yours, grounding him. “How could I ever forget you?” your voice trembles with conviction. “You were my first love.”

“Was I?” he teases, the corner of his lips curling into that familiar boxy grin, the one that once made your heart skip beats in the middle of crowded hallways.

“You know you were,” you say through a quiet laugh, warmth spreading across your chest despite the chill of the sea breeze. You tilt your head, eyes locked with his. “You’ll always be.”

His gaze drops to your hand, to the simple ring that suddenly feels unbearably heavy. He doesn’t linger—just a glance, a flash of something in his eyes before he looks away with a soft, bitter smile and a quiet shake of his head.

“I really thought I’d be the one to marry you,” he says, voice gentle but aching with everything left unsaid.

You follow his eyes to the ring, your fingers instinctively moving to twist it around, searching for comfort in the motion, something steady to hold onto while your entire chest feels like it’s caving in. “I thought so too,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “But we were young. We didn’t know… we didn’t know how easy it was to drift apart.”

You try to convince yourself that it’s the truth—that time and distance were the only reasons. That maybe it wasn’t meant to be. But the ache in your heart tells you otherwise. Tells you it was more than just bad timing. Tells you it still is.

“Can I ask you something?” he says after a beat, turning his head toward you, his eyes full of quiet hope and restrained pain.

You nod slowly, bracing yourself.

“If things were different… if life gave us another chance and we somehow found our way back to each other—” he pauses, his voice more fragile than you’ve ever heard it— “would you give us another shot?”

Time seems to stop, the waves hush, the sky holds its breath. And all you can feel is the sound of your own heartbeat, pounding with a truth you’ve buried for too long.

“It’s scary how easy it would be for you to have me back,” you say, the words falling from your lips before you can stop them.

As soon as they’re out, a wave of shame crashes over you—thick and suffocating. Your chest tightens, your stomach knots, and the guilt creeps in like a shadow you can’t shake. You think of Minsu—kind, patient Minsu. The man who waited for you to come home, who trusted you even when your silence was too long, your explanations too thin.

And here you were, confessing—no, admitting—to another man that your heart, in all its flawed and fragile mess, still belonged to someone else.

To Taehyung.

The boy you fell in love with in high school. The boy who wrote himself into your past so deeply that no amount of time or change could erase him. And now, he was here again, like a skipped heartbeat, like muscle memory—achingly familiar.

You couldn’t meet his eyes right away, afraid of what he might see there: the truth, the conflict, the longing. But you didn’t take your words back either. Because as terrifying as it was to say it out loud… it was real. And it had always been.

One month slipped through your fingers like snow melting on skin. The roads were now blanketed in white, rooftops glistening under the soft winter sun. Your heads were tucked into oversized scarves and thick beanies, your cheeks stained pink from the biting cold. You still didn’t understand how winter could be Taehyung’s favorite season—it was harsh, relentless—but he somehow made it look magical. Even as his body grew thinner, more fragile, he looked ethereal under the winter sky.

You had crossed off a surprising number of things from his bucket list—some whimsical, some wild, some heartbreakingly simple. But it hadn’t all been laughter and dreams. There were bad days too. Days where his nose bled suddenly, where migraines made him wince in silence, clutching his head while pretending he was fine. He always reassured you, always smiled, always said, “I don’t want to go back yet.” And so you stayed on the road, giving him what little freedom time could still offer.

Now, you were standing at the foot of Hallasan, snow crunching beneath your boots as you pushed his wheelchair forward. The mountain towered in front of you, silent and ancient, blanketed in white. It was breathtaking.

“I can’t believe we’re in Hallasan during winter!” Taehyung said with a wide grin, his eyes sparkling like he wasn’t tired at all.

But he was. You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped slightly, the quiet wheeze in his breath, the way he leaned into the warmth of the blanket over his lap. His body wasn’t keeping up anymore. The days of walking freely had turned into hours in bed. His legs—once so steady, always dancing, always moving—had finally given up on him.

The wheelchair hadn’t been a choice. It had been a necessity.

Like always—like every time—it was just the two of you. Alone. Everyone else could afford to wait for the perfect weather, the right moment, a clearer sky. But you and Taehyung couldn’t wait. You didn’t have that luxury. Time was no longer a friend, but a constant ticking reminder of how little of it he had left. The urgency had stopped being subtle. It lived in every step, every breath, every plan made in half-rushed laughter.

“There’s no way we’re climbing that,” you said, staring up at Hallasan’s snow-draped silhouette with a mix of awe and exhaustion.

Taehyung turned toward you in mock surprise, eyes wide and playful. “Are you sure?”

“You’re not the one walking!” you laughed, throwing your head back as the cold air stung your lungs. “I’ve been pushing you around for weeks. My arms are basically ripped now.”

You laughed, because laughter kept the ache away. Crying was something reserved for the night, when Taehyung’s breathing would slow beside you, his face soft in sleep. That was when the tears came. Never during the day. Never where he could see.

“At least take me there,” he said, pointing to a quiet spot at the base of the mountain. There was a snow-covered bench, untouched and waiting, and he was already rummaging in his backpack with that boyish glint in his eyes. “You remember when you asked me to draw you like one of my French girls back in high school?”

You burst out laughing again, the memory hitting you like a snowball to the face. “Don’t you dare bring that up now.”

He just grinned, pulling out his old, worn notebook and flipping to a fresh page. “Too late. Today’s the day.”

You rolled your eyes but followed his direction anyway, brushing snow off the bench and sitting down.

“I’m not going naked,” you warned.

“What a shame,” he muttered with a smirk, already sketching the first lines. “Guess I’ll have to settle.”

You smiled, pulling your scarf closer to your face. “Just make sure you get my good side.”

“They’re all good,” he murmured without looking up, the pencil dancing between his fingers. “Just smile and be pretty.”

“Already am,” you teased.

“You’re right,” he said, and there was something soft, something heartbreakingly sincere in the way he said it—as if he were trying to memorize you, not just draw you.

And so, you sat there in the snow, smiling for the boy who once stole your heart—and never gave it back.

Within minutes, after a heavy, comforting silence filled only by the soft sound of his pencil gliding over paper and his quiet humming, Taehyung finally looked up and turned the notebook toward you.

“It’s messy,” he said, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You can see every stroke, every line. But I think… that’s what makes it beautiful.”

And it was. It was raw, unfiltered—his own eyes and hands had shaped you onto the paper. No filters, no polish. Just you, as he saw you. It made your chest tighten.

“I’m glad I can still do this,” he added softly, his voice barely above the breeze. “If my hands ever gave out on me… I think I’d die before the tumor ever got the chance.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything to ease the weight of those words—but you froze.

“Taehyung…” you whispered.

Blood.

A thin trail of it was slipping from his nose, and before you could even move, a few drops had already fallen onto the page—onto the sketch. Panic hit your chest like a punch as you rushed to him, grabbing his hands and fishing through his backpack for a tissue with shaky fingers.

“Shit—Taehyung—stay still,” you said, your voice breaking as you pressed the tissue to his face, gently, but firmly.

His hand instinctively went to his forehead, wincing from the sharp pain. “I’m fine,” he muttered, trying to help, but only smudging blood across his cheek and knuckles. He was trying to brush it off, like always, but the tremble in his hand told you otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” you breathed, wiping the blood from his upper lip, heart pounding in your ears. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend like this is nothing.”

The sketch lay forgotten on the bench beside you, stained with red, like the cruelest metaphor.

It became the last drawing Taehyung ever made. Not by choice, but because his body, little by little, started surrendering. His hands grew too weak to grip a pencil, his fingers trembling too much to trace even a line. Soon after, even holding his sketchbook on his lap became too much.

And then, one day, without warning—but somehow exactly as he knew it would—his heart stopped beating.

That messy, beautiful sketch was the last imprint of him in motion. A love letter in graphite.

Taehyung became a star in the sky, one that blinked into existence on a snowy day. The kind of snow that didn’t bite but fell gently, wrapping everything in a soft hush. As if the world knew it had to slow down for someone like him. As if the universe itself was bowing its head, just for a moment.

The journey back home was unbearable.

The seat next to you was empty. His scarf still smelled like him. His notebooks sat quiet in the backseat, as if mourning too. You didn’t cry, not at first. It was like your body refused to accept he was gone, as if you were just on your way to the next stop on the bucket list.

But then the silence got too loud. And your heart—your stupid, aching heart—started to break open, piece by piece. You had never felt pain like this. Not even when you first broke up. Not when you watched his body weaken.

This was different.

This was final.

You couldn’t face reality, not when those two months spent away from everything familiar—away from the life you once knew—were everything you had ever wanted and more. With Taehyung, you found comfort, laughter, and moments of beauty in the chaos, even though you knew deep down that it wouldn’t last. You had always known it wouldn’t.

Those two months were your favorites. But they were also the hardest. Because every sunrise with him felt like a blessing, but every sunset reminded you of the inevitable goodbye. And now, that goodbye was an unshakable weight you couldn’t lift from your chest.

You left your heart behind on the mountains. No, you left it with Taehyung, hidden in the snowy peaks where time stood still for just a moment, where you both could breathe easy. It was the only place your heart was truly safe—because, in truth, it belonged there, with him.

It wasn’t yours anymore. And, somehow, you didn’t want it back. Because as painful as it was, you knew it would always be his. Forever.

You kept everything that reminded you of him—each little piece a fragment of something once real, once whole. His keychains, his notebooks, his beanie. Every object felt sacred, as if holding onto them was the only way to keep him close. Because they once belonged to him, and for as long as you lived, they would be part of you.

You knew you could never return to the life you had before Taehyung came back into it. It was impossible. It wasn’t just about the days you spent with him, but about the way he had shifted everything inside you. The old life felt distant now, like a faded picture in the corner of a room you no longer visited. So you left. You drove, letting the miles stretch between you and the life you once knew, until all that was in front of you was a familiar neighborhood.

The high school, the benches where you once spent hours, his head resting in your lap, came into view. It was all so clear in your mind, like it had never left. His childhood home was there too. The same old car parked out front, the same street, the same world—but everything was different now. Inside that house, a family grieved the son who had been taken away five years ago.

But Taehyung could be gone for five years, ten years, or thirty, and his absence would always be felt. His presence, his smile, his laugh—none of it could be replaced. You realized that, no matter how many years passed, he would always be a part of you, woven into the fabric of your life, and nothing would ever fill that space. No one else could ever take his place.

Because even though the love story between you and Taehyung could be summarized in just two young hearts finding each other in high school, it was so much more than that. It wasn’t just a fleeting moment or a chapter in a book; it was a deep connection that shaped both of your souls, intertwining in ways words could never fully express.

Some love stories don’t last forever. They don��t stand the test of time in the way we wish they would. But that doesn’t mean they’re any less significant. Some love stories mark a soul forever, leaving an imprint that stays long after the final page has been turned.

And what you had with Taehyung was one of those stories. It was a love that lived, not in forever, but in every moment you shared, in every memory that will stay with you.

That’s just how life unfolds—the right person at the wrong time.

[onlinesuzie]

♡ looking after hamzah’s good boys ♡

words: 1.4k

genre : fluff

summary : Hamzah has been so busy filming with Martin for their YouTube channel that he desperately needs someone to look after his two kittens. When he discovers that Mandy’s friend can help, it’s definitely worth the shot.

note: this is my first fic, hold me guys im very nervous!! im aiming to make a part 2 of this soon which will be more smutty. i wanted to separate them just in case you’re wanting some fluff only!!

☆

Hamzah paced restlessly, his steps an obvious sign of his anxious anticipation to meet the girl Mandy has spoken so well of. Occasionally, he would pause to tenderly scratch behind Red's ear, while Blue, bounced around in front of the mirror, attempting to fight his own reflection. It had been a couple days since you had agreed to care for Hamzah’s kittens for a few hours. Your knowledge of Hamzah was extremely limited, you only knew that he played games and filmed videos with Mandy’s boyfriend. This unfamiliarity left you feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, similar to Hamzah's own awkwardness as he now sat beside Red, glancing at his phone, waiting for your message confirming you are now outside around 1 o'clock

As you neared his place, your heart quickened. It wasn’t a big deal, you had been around many cats and other people's pets, but this felt different. There was this almost magnetic pull, a sense of significance that you couldn't quite explain. Perhaps it was the mystery surrounding Hamzah, the possibility of discovering someone wonderful, or meeting someone who you wish you had not have. He lived alone, and without the comfort of an introduction from Mandy or Martin, you felt exposed and vulnerable. Yet, as you climbed the stairs, any second thoughts melted away. You sent a brief message: "I'm here," and stood outside, anticipation and hope swirling within you.

From within, you could hear clumsy, heavy footsteps approaching. A tall, curly-haired boy appeared on the other side of the glass-paned door. He quickly turned the knob and opened it inward, shuffling his feet to create a path into his home. Two ginger kittens immediately pushed past each other, darting straight towards you and nuzzling their heads against your feet and legs.`

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry about them. They don’t get many visitors,” the boy, who you presumed to be Hamzah, said swiftly in a deep voice, pushing his curls back from his forehead.

“No, no, don’t worry about them,” you replied with a light chuckle as you bent down to gently stroke one of the kittens. “It must be my plan of covering myself with catnip to make a good impression.”

“Yeah,” he laughed too. “I guess it’s working a little too well.” He knelt down to stroke Red’s belly as the kitten sprawled on the wooden step in front of the door.

"Fuck, sorry," he exclaimed, standing up abruptly and surprising Red enough to roll back onto his front. "You haven’t even had a chance to come in yet. Do you need any help getting up? I mean, you probably don’t need my help—" He extended his hand, and you took it, letting out a soft groan as you hoisted yourself up.

You let go of his hand first, readjusting your bag on your shoulder. His place was very bright, with stark white walls and a distinct lack of decorations. Beams of light streamed through the kitchen window, landing almost angelically on Hamzah as he swiftly looked away when you made eye contact. His eyes were a warm, inviting brown, a striking contrast to his demeanor, which was quite obviously nervous. This surprised you, as Mandy and Martin had described him as some talkative third wheel.

Clearing his throat, he said, "So, yeah, um, this is it! The home of me and my sons. Sorry about the mess—" There wasn’t really a mess, just a few taped-up boxes and many cat toys scattered on the floor, which he kicked aside to clear a walkway. "So, yeah, that was the kitchen, and this is my living room." He turned around, trying to gauge your reaction. Only then did you get to see those warm brown eyes again.

"Is this where the cats spend most of their time?" you asked with a small smile, breaking eye contact to admire the makeshift cat sanctuary scattered around the room, with mismatched cat towers and scratching posts lining the walls.

"Not really," he replied. "They prefer my room, but I'd rather have them out here. My room is just... I don't know, it’s just my space. So, while you're here, could you please stay out here?" You nodded in agreement.

He went over his house rules, none of which were surprising or new to you, having done similar favors for other friends. The only rule that stood out was his insistence on not entering his room, even if the cats scratched and pleaded to be let in. It didn’t bother you; you understood he had boundaries. Yet, as he explained the various ways to reach him if something happened, you found yourself distracted, noticing the flutter of his eyelashes as he spoke. His love for his kittens was evident in the way they cuddled up to him, purring loudly. You found it endearing how passionately and seriously he took the few hours he’d be away from them.

As he continued, you began to notice other sweet details about him. It wasn’t just his words, but the gentle way he interacted with the animals. His hair was beautiful, the kind that looked soft to touch, even calming to run your hands through. You felt a bit creepy thinking all these things about a stranger, especially one you were essentially babysitting for. But you told yourself it was just harmless thoughts.

Hamzah seemed to notice your distraction and paused, a shy smile playing on his lips. "Sorry if I'm going on too much," he said, his voice softer now. "I just really care about these little guys."

"No, it's fine," you reassured him, meeting his warm brown eyes again. "It's sweet how much you care."

A comfortable silence settled between you two, broken only by the soft purring of the kittens and the distant hum of city life outside. Hamzah cleared his throat again, as if trying to muster up the courage to say something more.

"So, uh," he began, rubbing the back of his neck, "I was thinking, only if you’re comfortable of course, maybe we could grab a coffee sometime? You know, to say thank you properly, I mean if you like keep them alive."

Your heart skipped a beat at his unexpected invitation. There was a sincerity in his eyes that made the idea appealing. "I'd like that," you replied, a genuine smile spreading across your face.

"Great," he said, looking both relieved and pleased. "I know this little place nearby. It’s quiet and has the best coffee."

As you both stood there, the awkwardness slowly melting away, you felt a sense of anticipation. Maybe this arrangement of Mandy’s wasn’t just about looking after his kittens; maybe it was the beginning of a something different.

Hamzah was getting ready to leave. As he picked up his keys, the sound caught the attention of the two kittens, who scampered over and nudged his leg just as they had done to you earlier.

"I'm sorry, guys. Please don’t make this harder than it already is. You’ll be fine," he said, opening the door and contorting his body to slide out without the kittens following him. Just before leaving, he popped his head back around the door and called out, "Look after my boys. Remember, you can text me anytime; you already have my number."

"I will. They’ll be good boys for me, won’t you?" you replied, cooing and scratching between Blue's ears. Before you could stop yourself, you added, "Be a good boy for me too, Hamzah!"

You cringed at your remark when you noticed Hamzah's eyes widen and his mouth slightly agape. "Yeah, haha, I'll, um, make you proud," he stammered before accidentally slamming the door. You heard his heavy footsteps quickly descending the steps.

As you settled in with the kittens, you couldn't help but replay the interaction in your mind. There was something undeniably charming about Hamzah, and the idea of getting to know him better was exciting. Red and Blue, sensing your calmness, snuggled up to you, their warmth a comforting presence.

You glanced around the room, taking in the little details of Hamzah’s life. The minimalist décor, the scattered cat toys, the way the light filtered through the windows—all of it told a story of someone who was caring, thoughtful, and perhaps a bit lonely.

As the day wore on, you found yourself looking forward to that coffee date, the possibility of discovering the person behind those warm brown eyes, and the gentle way he cared for his kittens.

[fairyofmomo]

Pillow Fights

Hirai Momo x F!reader

warnings: fluff:3, pillow fights… obviously

You and Momo had been living together for a few years now. One rainy afternoon, with plans canceled due to the rainy weather, you found yourselves lounging around the house with nothing to do. The rain pounded against the windows, creating a soothing yet monotonous backdrop.

Momo stretched out on the couch, letting out a sigh. “Well, this is a bummer. What do you want to do now?” you glanced over at her, a smile tugging at your lips. “How about we watch a movie? We’ve got plenty of time to kill”

Momo’s eyes lit up. “Alright. I’ll grab some blankets and snacks. You pick the movie” as Momo headed to the kitchen, you browsed through the movie options, eventually settling on a light-hearted comedy.

By the time Momo returned, the living room was transformed into a cozy nook, complete with a pile of blankets and a bowl of popcorn.

You both snuggled up on the couch, wrapped in cozy blankets and munching on popcorn. The rain outside created a soothing soundtrack, the rhythmic drumming against the windows blending with the soft hum of the television. The living room was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chilly, wet weather outside. The dim lighting from a few strategically placed lamps cast a soft glow, adding to the cozy ambiance.

As the movie played, you found yourself getting more comfortable, sinking deeper into the cushions. The scent of buttered popcorn filled the air. Every so often, you reached into the large bowl of popcorn on your lap, your fingers brushing against Momo’s as she did the same. Each accidental touch sent a small thrill through you.

As the movie ended, you stretched and yawned. You got up to stretch, arching your back and raising your arms above your head. “That was a good movie,” you said, turning to face Momo.

Momo nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. “Yeah, it was. Perfect for a rainy day”

Feeling a surge of playful energy, you grabbed a nearby pillow and swung it gently at Momo. “Gotcha!”

Caught off guard, Momo’s eyes widened in surprise before a mischievous grin spread across her face. “Oh, it’s on,” she declared, grabbing a pillow of her own.

What started as a playful exchange quickly escalated into a full-blown pillow fight. Pillows and feathers flew as they chased each other around the living room, laughing and dodging attacks. Momo, with her quick reflexes, managed to land a few solid hits, while you used clever tactics to evade and counter.

“You’re too slow!” Y/N teased, ducking behind the couch.

“Just you wait,” Momo retorted, launching a playful attack that sent feathers flying everywhere.

You darted around the room, knocking over cushions and sending the popcorn bowl tumbling. You leaped onto the couch, using it as a fortress, while Momo circled around, trying to find an opening.

“You think you’re safe there?” Momo taunted, swinging her pillow and narrowly missing your shoulder. “Safe enough!” you shot back, laughing as you scrambled to the other side.

In the kitchen, they took brief breaks to catch their breath and sip on cold drinks, only to resume the fight with renewed energy. Momo leaned against the counter, panting slightly as she took a gulp of water.

“You’re relentless,” she said with a grin, wiping her forehead.

“You love it,” you teased, taking a swig of yout own drink. Momo laughed, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe a little”

Just then, you had an idea. “Boo! Dobby! Come here!” you called, and within moments, the two playful dogs bounded into the kitchen, tails wagging and eyes bright with excitement.

“Oh no,” Momo said, eyeing the dogs warily. “Not reinforcements!”

“Get her!” Y/N commanded playfully, pointing at Momo.

Boo and Dobby barked happily, jumping around and adding to the chaos. They joined in the fun, playfully nipping at Momo’s feet and making her dance around to avoid them.

Momo laughed, trying to fend off the dogs while still holding her pillow. “Traitors! I thought we were friends!”

“Looks like they’re on my side,” you taunted, laughing as you swung their pillow at Momo.

The kitchen echoed with your laughter and the excited barks of the dogs. Feathers continued to fly as they moved back and forth.

“You think you can win with their help?” Momo challenged, managing to land a solid hit on your shoulder.

“I know I can!” you replied, evading another swing and giving the dogs an encouraging pat. “Go Boo, Dobby!”

Boo jumped up, pawing at Momo’s legs, while Dobby circled around, barking excitedly. Momo’s attempts to fend them off were met with playful growls and more laughter.

“You’re not making this easy!” Momo called out, though her smile never faded. “It’s a pillow fight, not a tea party!” you shot back, swinging your pillow and catching Momo off guard.

The fight culminated in the bedroom, where you collapsed onto the bed in a fit of laughter, surrounded by a cloud of feathers and disheveled pillows. As you lay there, breathless and exhilarated, you turned to Momo, eyes sparkling with joy.

“We’ve made a huge mess,” you said, glancing around at the feathers that had settled everywhere. Momo grinned, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. “Yeah, we did. But it was totally worth it”

You both lay there for a moment, enjoying the aftermath of your playful battle. Finally, you sighed and started to sit up. “Alright, we should probably start cleaning this up before it gets even worse”

Momo grabbed your hand, pulling you back down. “Wait, not so fast. I think you owe me something first” You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“A kiss,” Momo said with a mischievous smile. “Just one, before we tackle this mess”

You chuckled and leaned in, intending to give Momo a quick peck. But Momo had other plans. She pulled you onto her lap, wrapping her arms around you and deepening the kiss. It was long and tender, filled with the warmth and affection that had grown between you over the years.

As you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless and flushed. Eventually, you reluctantly stood up, pulling Momo with you. “Alright, now we really need to clean up,” you said, looking around at the feather-strewn room.

Momo groaned playfully but nodded. “Yeah, yeah” As you looked around the chaotic room, the realization of the cleanup task ahead of them dawned. Feathers covered nearly every surface, and the pillows were in complete disarray.

“Well, someone’s got to clean this up,” you said, hands on your hips. Momo smirked, leaning against the wall. “And that someone should definitely be you since you started it” you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Me? You were the one who escalated it!”

“But you were the one who threw the first pillow,” Momo countered, a playful glint in her eye. You both stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Okay, how about this,” you suggested, still chuckling. “We do it together, but the person who picks up the least amount of feathers has to make dinner tonight” Momo nodded, agreeing to the terms. “Deal. But you better hope you’re quick”

After a quick comparison on which who picked up the least amount of the feathers—you lost, much to Momo’s delight

By the time you and Momo were done, the apartment was back in order, and both of you were a little tired but incredibly happy. You collapsed onto the couch once more, the dogs jumping up to join you.

You snuggled close to Momo, feeling utterly content. “I love you,” you murmured. Momo wrapped an arm around you, pulling you even closer. “I love you more”

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Parenthood

Joel Miller x wife/ pregnant/fem reader

Summary : After Y/N's water breaks unexpectedly at a grocery store, Joel rushes to her side. They navigate a whirlwind trip to the hospital where Y/N gives birth to their daughter, Sarah.

Y/N shuffled through the grocery store, her hand resting on her heavily pregnant belly. At nine months, she was ready to meet her baby any day now. She picked up a carton of milk, adding it to the assortment of items in her cart. Suddenly, a sharp pain surged through her abdomen, causing her to gasp and clutch the cart for support.

A gush of warm fluid followed, and she realized with a jolt that her water had broken. Heart pounding, she fumbled for her phone, dialing Joel’s number. He answered on the second ring, his deep voice filled with concern.

"Hey, darlin’. Everything alright?"

“Joel,” she panted, trying to steady her breath. “My water just broke. I’m at the grocery store.”

There was a brief silence before Joel’s voice came back, urgent and steady. “Stay right there, Y/N. I’m on my way. I’ll grab the hospital bag and be there in a few minutes. Just hang tight.”

Y/N nodded, even though he couldn’t see her, and ended the call. She leaned against the cart, taking deep breaths as another contraction hit her hard. Time seemed to stretch, each minute feeling like an eternity until she finally saw Joel rushing through the store entrance, his face a mix of worry and determination.

He reached her in record time, wrapping a supportive arm around her. “It’s going to be okay, darlin’. Just breathe.”

Y/N shot him a look, her eyes blazing with pain and frustration. “Easy for you to say,” she snapped, the intensity of her contractions making her irritable. Joel didn’t take it personally; he knew it was the pain talking.

They managed to get to the truck, Joel helping her in before grabbing the hospital bag from the backseat. He drove as fast as he dared, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting reassuringly on Y/N’s thigh.

The ride to the hospital was a blur of contractions and deep breaths. Joel kept glancing over at Y/N, his heart aching with every wince of pain she made. "Almost there," he kept murmuring, more to himself than to her.

At the hospital, nurses quickly whisked Y/N away, Joel by her side, his presence a calming anchor in the storm of her labor. The bright, sterile lights of the hospital room contrasted sharply with the chaos unfolding within Y/N’s body. Hours passed in a blur of pain and anticipation. Y/N gripped Joel’s hand tightly, her knuckles white.

“It’s going to be okay,” Joel whispered, brushing the damp hair from her forehead. He tried to keep his voice steady, though seeing her in so much pain was tearing him apart.

“It’s time to push,” the doctor finally announced, positioning herself at the end of the bed.

Joel leaned in close, his forehead touching Y/N’s. “You got this, darlin’. I’m right here.”

With a primal scream, Y/N bore down, pushing with every ounce of strength she had. Joel’s encouraging words washed over her, even as the pain seemed to reach an unbearable peak. Finally, a tiny wail pierced the room, and Y/N collapsed back onto the bed, tears streaming down her face.

The doctor held up their newborn, a perfect little girl, her cries filling the room with new life. “What should we name her?”

Joel and Y/N exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them. “Sarah,” they said in unison, both of them crying now.

The nurses cleaned Sarah up and placed her gently on Y/N’s chest. Y/N cradled her daughter, looking down at the tiny face with overwhelming love and relief. Joel kissed Y/N’s forehead, tears mingling with sweat and joy. “You did amazing, darlin’. She’s perfect.”

A little while later, with Y/N resting peacefully, Joel held Sarah against his bare chest, the warmth of her tiny body against his skin. He looked down at her, marveling at the miracle in his arms.

“Hey there, Sarah,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m your daddy. I love you so much, even though I just met you.”

He kissed the top of her head, tears falling freely down his cheeks. In that moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the profound connection between a father and his newborn daughter.

As he sat there, holding Sarah, Joel thought back to the moment he first found out he was going to be a father. The fear, the excitement, the overwhelming sense of responsibility it all seemed so distant now. Here, with Sarah in his arms, everything felt right. The future was uncertain, but for now, in this moment, he had everything he needed.

Joel sat there for hours, just holding Sarah, feeling the rise and fall of her tiny chest against his. He whispered promises to her, vows of love and protection. He told her about the world she was coming into, about the family that would always be there for her.

As dawn broke, casting a soft light into the hospital room, Y/N stirred and woke. She smiled at the sight of Joel with Sarah. “How is she?”

“She’s perfect,” Joel replied, his voice filled with awe. He handed Sarah back to Y/N, watching as mother and daughter shared a quiet moment.

“Thank you, Joel,” Y/N whispered, tears in her eyes. “For everything.”

“No, thank you,” Joel replied, leaning down to kiss her. “For giving me the greatest gift of all.”

Together, they sat in the early morning light, marveling at the tiny life they had brought into the world. It was the beginning of a new chapter, one filled with love, challenges, and countless precious moments. And as they looked down at Sarah, they knew they were ready for it all, as long as they were together.

Y/N shifted slightly, adjusting Sarah in her arms, and Joel couldn’t help but marvel at how natural she looked as a mother. The weariness from labor was still etched on her face, but it was overshadowed by the radiant glow of love and joy. Joel reached out, gently tracing a finger along Sarah’s cheek.

“She’s got your nose,” he remarked softly, smiling as Sarah’s tiny fingers wrapped around his.

Y/N chuckled, her laughter a soft, soothing sound. “And your eyes.”

Joel’s heart swelled with pride. “She’s got the best parts of both of us.”

The days that followed were a whirlwind of new experiences and sleepless nights. Joel and Y/N navigated the challenges of parenthood together, learning as they went. Joel’s hands, calloused and strong from years of work, became gentle and adept at changing diapers and soothing Sarah’s cries. Y/N, despite the exhaustion, found an inner strength she never knew she had, her instincts guiding her through the endless feedings and late-night cuddles.

One evening, a few weeks after Sarah’s birth, Joel sat in the nursery, rocking her to sleep. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a nightlight, casting gentle shadows on the walls decorated with hand painted stars and moons. Sarah’s breathing was steady and calm, her tiny body nestled against Joel’s chest.

He sang softly to her, a lullaby his mother used to sing to him. His voice, rough and deep, was filled with tenderness. As he sang, memories of his own childhood came flooding back memories of love and loss, of a life that had shaped him into the man he was today. Holding Sarah, he felt a sense of peace and purpose that he hadn’t known in years.

Y/N stood in the doorway, watching them with a soft smile. She stepped into the room, wrapping her arms around Joel from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“You’re a natural,” she whispered.

Joel shook his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “I’m just figuring it out as I go.”

“Aren’t we all,” Y/N replied, kissing his cheek. “But you’re doing an amazing job.”

Joel turned his head to kiss her, his lips brushing against hers. “We’re doing an amazing job. Together.”

Months passed, and Sarah grew, each day bringing new milestones and moments of wonder. Her first smile, her first laugh, the first time she rolled over each moment was a treasure, a memory etched into their hearts.

One warm afternoon, Joel took Sarah outside, cradling her in his arms as they walked through the garden. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle buzz of bees flitted around them. He sat down on a bench, holding Sarah up so she could see the world around her.

“See those flowers, Sarah?” he said, pointing to a patch of bright, colorful blooms. “Your mama planted those. She’s got a green thumb, that’s for sure.”

Sarah gurgled in response, her wide eyes taking in the vibrant colors and the fluttering butterflies. Joel laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the garden.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he said, bouncing her gently on his knee. “There’s so much beauty in this world, little one. So much for you to see and discover.”

He felt a deep sense of gratitude in that moment gratitude for the life he had, for the family he loved so fiercely. He thought back to the days before Sarah was born, when he and Y/N had dreamed about what their life would be like as parents. Now, living that dream, he realized it was even more beautiful and challenging than they had imagined.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the garden, Joel carried Sarah back inside. Y/N was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, and she smiled as they walked in.

“Did you two have a good time outside?” she asked, setting down a pot on the stove.

“Yeah, she loved it,” Joel replied, smiling. “She’s fascinated by the flowers.”

Y/N chuckled. “Just like her mama.”

Dinner was a cozy affair, the soft clinking of cutlery and the gentle hum of conversation filling the room. Sarah, now content and sleepy, rested in a bouncer by the table, her eyes growing heavy as she watched her parents.

After dinner, Joel and Y/N worked together to clean up, sharing quiet laughs and stolen kisses. With the kitchen tidy, they turned their attention to getting Sarah ready for bed. Joel ran a warm bath while Y/N gathered Sarah’s pajamas and a fresh diaper.

Sarah cooed happily as Joel gently bathed her, his large hands surprisingly tender as he washed her tiny body. Y/N stood by, watching with a smile as Joel wrapped Sarah in a soft towel, lifting her out of the bath and into his arms.

In the nursery, they dressed Sarah in her pajamas, the soft fabric enveloping her in warmth and comfort. Y/N rocked her gently in the chair, humming a lullaby as Joel stood beside them, his hand resting on Y/N’s shoulder. Sarah’s eyes fluttered closed, and she drifted off to sleep, safe and secure in her mother’s arms.

Joel and Y/N carefully laid Sarah down in her crib, tucking her in with a light blanket. They stood there for a moment, watching her sleep, the room filled with a sense of peace and fulfillment.

“Ready for some grown-up time?” Joel whispered, a twinkle in his eye.

Y/N nodded, smiling. “Absolutely.”

They made their way to the living room, where Joel retrieved a bottle of wine from the kitchen and two glasses. Y/N grabbed a cozy blanket and draped it over the couch, creating a little nest for them. They settled in, clinking their glasses together in a quiet toast.

“To us,” Joel said softly. “And to our beautiful family.”

“To us,” Y/N echoed, taking a sip of the wine. It was rich and full-bodied, the perfect accompaniment to their evening.

They turned on their favorite show, the familiar characters and storyline providing a comforting backdrop to their quiet time together. As the episodes played, they talked and laughed, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company.

As the night wore on, the wine bottle emptied, and the warmth of the evening settled around them. Y/N leaned her head on Joel’s shoulder, her eyes growing heavy. Joel wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.

“I love you, Joel,” Y/N murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

“I love you too, darlin’,” Joel replied, kissing the top of her head. “Always.”

With the soothing sounds of their show in the background, they both drifted off to sleep on the couch, wrapped in each other’s embrace. The night outside was quiet, the stars twinkling in the sky, a testament to the peaceful contentment that filled their home.

In the morning, they would wake to the sound of Sarah’s cries, ready to start another day as a family. But for now, they were together, wrapped in love and warmth, dreaming of the beautiful future that lay ahead.

[secretlyazombi3]

𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔. ❀ ⋆｡˚

leon kennedy x gn! reader

table of contents...

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count:  2.9k words ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SFW, 2nd person, cw for guns (obviously) + brief mention of blood

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: You're out practicing you aim at a shooting range while still trying to adjust to you new life - training under Leon was a drastically new lifestyle. You still manage to get closer to him while still dealing with the guilt of your past.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: this fic will also be on a03 once my account gets approved !!! i spent sm time writing this plss support this if u like this/my writing :3 /nf

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

CHAPTER ONE : FLASHBACKS AND FRAGMENTS.

Bright red lights flashed all around you as you tried to run, your legs wobbly as you dashed down the long hall you’ve been down hundreds, no, thousands of times. 

You have experienced this memory time and time again. No matter what you did, how hard you tried, the outcome never changed. You couldn't outrun the armed soldiers firing rounds at you. You couldn’t escape this. 

A shot ripped through your leg; your body hit the cold hard ground with a thud.

You couldn't outrun them. 

You reached for your gun with your freshly bloodied hand, it had only fallen a few feet away from where you were laying. You desperately pushed yourself off the ground and flung your arm forward.

Shoot them.

The thought repeated in your head like a mantra. You heard the soldiers command you, their loud yells cutting through the air as they commanded you to get up with your hands in the air.

Shoot them.

You desperately flailed your hand, your crimson fingertips barely brushing over the cold metal of your handgun until you heard another gunshot fire throughout the room, the bullet nearly piercing your hand. You couldn’t escape this. 

Your whole body trembled as you slowly moved back from the gun and lifted your hands into the air, pathetically surrendering. Giving up everything you’ve worked for. You’d spent years staying loyal to Umbrella - was this really how you were going to end things? No matter how many times you lived through this memory, the ending remained the same. 

Your eyes fluttered open as you were pushed back into reality, into the present. 

Gunshots rang out in the enclosed room, muffled by your headphones, echoing against the concrete walls that kept you trapped within the shooting range with your trainer.

You held up your pistol, arms mostly flat and somewhat parallel to the ground as you aimed at the paper target painted with a variety of different colors. The vibrant colors against the bright white target contrasted with the rest of the room - colorless, dull, lifeless. Hell, that description even applied to your trainer - it even applied to you. 

This was your life now. Everything you did revolved around the government the way planets revolved around the sun.

After a few more angry shots, you lowered your gun as you felt your sergeant place his cold hand on your shoulder. Smoke drifted out the tip of your gun as you moved your noise canceling headphones off your head and let them hang around your neck and on your shoulders as your trainer did the same.

"Your aim is off." you heard your trainer tell you as you looked back at the target. 

In the past, working for that corporation, you'd learned to get a decent aim with a few guns in case anything tried escaping its enclosure. You'd had to shoot creatures off of your employees a few times, but your aim with a pistol was still rather impaired.

You were used to bigger, more powerful guns - who was ever going to actually try and stunt an eight-foot-tall tyrant with a puny pistol?

You looked at the target and counted the ripped bullet holes on the center of the head, where you were supposed to be aiming. Two out of ten shots hit it. The rest hit the wall just behind it or the small ears to the side of where you were supposed to aim. 

Admittedly, though, you weren’t trying your best today. You were tired. Your posture was a bit slumped over, your back was stiff from a rock-hard mattress, and you weren’t holding your arms perfectly straight when aiming. You were also shaking a bit, which further fucked up your aim. 

Your arms were sore from working out, and what didn’t help was how Leon always insisted that you could lift heavier than you could. God, one day that man was surely going to push you over the edge. 

"I can see that, Kennedy." You replied, a hint of agitation in your voice. Your eyes dashed from where you were aiming right back to Leon. 

Leon was standing against the wall behind you, leaning against the cold concrete as he watched you, his loose workout shirt showing off his defined muscles as he kept his arms crossed. 

“Let me help-” Leon started. “Back up,” you grunted, cutting him off, your voice slightly quieter this time around as you glanced at his big hand resting upon your right shoulder. 

“You make it so hard for me to help you. I can’t train you like this.” Leon said, sounding a bit snappier than normal. Clearly neither of you were having a good day. Did either of you ever have one, though? Leon sighed. “Sorry.”

Leon removed his hand from your shoulder shortly after before he started staring at you with that look.

God, how you hated that look. 

His gaze was piercing as his face remained completely neutral, but you still felt slightly threatened with that look. His eyebrows knitted ever so slightly as he surveyed you as if analyzing you. His head was slightly tilted to the side like a little confused puppy. He looked at you like he could read you just by staring into your eyes long enough with his blue eyes, as sharp as daggers. Like he could tell that you were guilty, that you were hiding something. 

Sometimes you were scared that he really could read you that easily, that he knew what type of person you really were. The thought horrified you. Leon didn’t mean anything to you, you weren’t friends or anything, you didn’t care about his opinion, but you didn’t want to give him another reason to hate you. 

Tension between you two had been there since the day you met. You didn’t want to be here, training to take down bioweapons you played a part in making. And with Leon’s attitude, you presumed he didn’t want to be training you. 

The tension, like a flame, only grew stronger and more intense over time. You thought it was probably your fault that he seemed so cold towards you. 

You've always acted a bit snarky towards him, especially the day you met him. You had some lingering feelings of resentment towards him. You didn't actually hate him, per say, you hated the situation you were in; you hated what he represented in your mind.

 The government. Your loss of freedom. You were now bound to the government. This was your life now. 

It was childish to act this way to an innocent man, you knew that, but you didn’t know how to cope with the situation.

Your harboring grudge against him was likely what sparked the hostility between you two. You tried not to let out all your anger on him - you would be training under him for a while, after all, and couldn’t make life worse for yourself by making Leon hate you more - but you couldn't help but be snarky sometimes. Besides, you were somewhat sure he would have hated you anyways, regardless of how you treated him. He never smiled and always looked upset and grumpy. He probably didn’t willingly agree to train you, which likely just made him resent you more. 

If you hadn’t given him a reason to hate you, he would’ve found one.

"Don't keep your finger on the trigger when you're not aiming." Leon scolded you. 

You stared at Leon for a moment but shook your head but obeyed as you lifted your finger. 

Leon could tell you were annoyed by his scolding and tried defusing the situation, talking to you in a slightly gentler tone. But having a gentler tone than that of how Leon normally spoke to you was like being the tallest dwarf. It was hardly a noticeable improvement.

"I'm not trying to overly-criticize you or anything. It’s just trigger discipline. It's dangerous to be walking around with your finger on the trigger." Leon told you as he fixed your posture. 

You simply nodded and pulled the headphones back over your ears and moved to continue firing. Gunshots rang out. Again, and again and again. Angry, hatred filled shots. The type of gunshots you wish you had fired when you were caught. The type of shots you wished you fired when the government practically kidnapped you.

Regardless of your disdain for training, it was sometimes therapeutic. You liked being able to fire round after round into a still target. 

You paused to quickly reload your gun, tossing aside the empty magazine like trash. You went back to aiming before you felt Leon’s hands on your waist, causing you to freeze. “Let me help you.” Leon spoke as you tensed up. You could hardly hear him with your headphones on. 

Leon was always this invasive. You wanted to tell him to back off again, but this time, you didn’t. You didn’t want to act so pissy around him and give him an even tougher time anymore. It was clear that no matter how hostile you acted, this situation would surely never change. 

“Widen your stance a little and stand up straighter.” Leon said, his hands still gently gripping your sides. Once you obeyed, his hands moved up towards your arms. “Extend your arms forward a bit more.” Leon added before his hands went back to resting on your hips. 

“Good.” Leon said as you extended your arms out, making them completely parallel to the floor. 

“And aim a little bit higher than what you think, you’ve got to account for gravity.”

You stayed there for a moment after listening to everything Leon suggested before pulling the trigger. You were just a bit too far to the left. “You almost got it.” Leon said as he watched you readjust slightly before firing another round, this one landing almost perfectly in the center of the target’s head. 

“There you go.” Leon said as he backed up, releasing his hands from your hips and he finally gave you space, no longer uncomfortably close. You finally felt like you could breathe.

“See? I knew you’d get it one day.” Leon remarked. 

“You actually taught me something, huh?” You replied, pulling your headphones off so they’d rest on your shoulders.

“About time I did.” Leon replied, a small smirk tugging on the sides of his lips. “And about time you actually listened.”

He moved back further, giving you space after having intruded on you mere seconds ago. Your posture went back to its natural state as you looked back at Leon and gave him a small smirk back, gently nodding. Leon saying something lighthearted around you was definitely new. 

“You’ve been quiet and tense since I met you. Didn’t think I’d ever get a smile out of you.” Leon said, slightly teasing. 

You shook your head and looked back at the shooting range. “I didn’t smile.” You replied stubbornly. 

“Mhm.” Leon replied simply as he looked you up and down, watching you as you returned to firing at the still target. Your shots seemed to hit the target effortlessly now.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your room was dark and empty, you were exhausted from today’s training. You slumped over onto your stiff mattress, your wobbly knees giving away. The government couldn’t even spare you the comfort of having a semi-decent bed. 

Leon’s room was down the hall of the training center. You wondered if the mattress he was currently sleeping on was as shitty as yours. There was a chance his bed wasn’t, you’d noticed the government seemed to treat him like he was more special than others. Was there a reason for that? You weren’t sure. It’s not like you felt comfortable asking him. It was an odd question.

Your head hit your pillow. You knew you needed to get some sleep; tomorrow you had more work to do, more training. It was an endless cycle. Get up, train, sleep, then repeat the cycle, all while barely having any social life or anything that would keep you sane. 

You tried to sleep, but your mind never seemed to stabilize itself. Sometimes you wished you could just grab that voice in your head that’s constantly monologuing by the neck. 

You were lonely. You’d been isolated from everyone and everything you knew. Now the only person you knew and talked to regularly was Leon. You normally suppressed these feelings of loneliness during training, but after today, the feelings seemed to just creep right back up on you. It was a small gesture, but you were thinking about how Leon was treating you today. Like he wasn’t annoyed with you. Like you weren’t a burden he didn’t want to deal with.  Like you weren’t really a monster. 

He’d call you one if he knew. If he knew you used to help produce bioweapons to be sold off. 

Was this punishment for what happened? You really were a monster. 

Your mind kept reminding you of that day. That day you got chased down by a bunch of secret agents, about to be exiled for the things you’d done, the things you knew were wrong, but you did anyway. 

You shouldn’t have surrendered and thrown yourself over so easily, so pathetically. You had unashamedly been a coward. You always fantasized about rewriting what happened; you found yourself lost in daydreams during training. Daydreams where you managed to grab that gun and shoot at the soldiers. 

The more you fantasized about it, the more disillusioned with the idea you became. Realistically, you would have been shot the second you grabbed that gun and aimed. Even if you didn’t, your aim was shit. And the more you spent time around the government, the more corrupt you realized it was. 

You weren’t even entirely sure if you would’ve really got executed after being caught working for Umbrella. They probably would’ve made you do what you were doing now, only you wouldn’t have agreed to it. Not that you even did fully agree to this life when you surrendered. 

If you could somehow go back, you would. In a heartbeat. You wouldn’t have rolled over to the government so easily. 

Leon wouldn’t be able to understand how you felt. How could he? He wouldn’t understand how hard you yearned to be able to go back in the past and just… fix things. Help people instead of hurting them. You would’ve never worked for that corporation, not just because you didn’t want to be here, but because you didn’t want to be responsible for all the shit it caused. The destruction of cities and the massacres of innocent people.

He probably doesn’t know what it’s like to feel guilty for the death of so many - at least, that’s what you thought. You hardly knew anything about that man. About his past, or how he started working here, or literally anything at this point. He barely ever said much to you. 

He never seemed interested in wanting to help you train.

But deep down, you were yearning for some sort of relationship with someone. Just being friendly with Leon on a daily basis would make you feel so much better and less trapped in this hellhole. 

You’d occasionally have some conversations with passing agents from Leon’s department. Talking to anyone beside your cold, grumpy trainer was always a breath of fresh air. 

You rolled over onto your side, half of your face getting buried in your pillow. You stared at the plain white dry wall that you’d been staring at every night since you got here. You’d stared at it so much for so long most nights as you couldn’t manage to force yourself to get good sleep. You’d seen it so much; you could envision it perfectly whenever you shut your eyes. 

It was weird, but it gave you a little bit of comfort. Some sense of familiarity. The only other constant in your new life was being around Leon. Maybe that meant something. 

You’d heard people say, ‘everything always happens for a reason’, and the thought was always in the back of your mind. Maybe everything did happen the way it was supposed to. Maybe you were supposed to surrender to the government. Maybe you were meant to be here, being trained by Leon. 

You thought about that way Leon stared at you sometimes, that piercing gaze with his head angled slightly to the side. It was like he could read you with just his eyes. 

Could he actually understand you? Was there something about you that he could relate to? 

Would it be weird to admit that you kind of… liked being stared at like that? 

No, no…

 You clenched your eyes shut and shook your head. Were you really wanting to get closer to Leon, of all people?

He couldn’t understand you. You couldn’t understand him, either. At least, not now. You never told Leon anything about your life or your past, nor did he tell you anything that intimate either. That was how it’d stay; you’d accepted that relationship on day one. You two would always be ten feet apart emotionally. “Get a grip.” You mumbled to yourself as you threw your blankets over your cold body. 

Leon was your trainer; you shouldn’t be getting so attached to him. This wasn’t professional. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[ermmdoitforfun]

　　　　　　　　 𝑾𝒆 𝑴𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝑨𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏

— 𝑺𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔.

⋆☆　colby brock x ex!reader

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆　warning : cussing , mention of death , angst to fluff , Colby being an asshole in the past , etc. ( let me know if I miss anything, loll )

•❣•୨୧　wc : 2.2k

-ˋˏauthors note : hello! This is my first post! I don't mean any hate towards Malia, I love her she's such a beautiful soul and a loving person. I have nothing against this beautiful lady. This is all just a story. I'm so sorry if this is short! I hope you enjoy! DONT ASK FOR PT 2!!!!

"Happy birthday!!!!!" The sun bloomed in the room as Katrina pulled the curtains away from the window of Y/n's room, flooding the space with warm, golden light. Y/n squinted against the brightness, feeling the sudden rush of energy that came with the new day, but all she wanted was to sink deeper into her cozy white fluffy bedsheets. "Kat, close the curtains!" she groaned, annoyance creeping into her voice as she buried her head under the covers, hoping to escape the reality of her birthday for just a few more minutes. The cheerful chirping of birds outside contrasted sharply with her desire for peace, and she could hear Kat's laughter as she playfully teased her about the big plans they had for the day. "Come on, you have to get up! Your hair appointment is in 20 minutes, so get moving!" Kat said, striding over to the end of Y/n's bed, playfully yanking the covers off. "Ughhhh, what time is it?" Y/n mumbled, squinting her eyes against the harsh sunlight streaming through the window, trying to make sense of her surroundings. "It’s currently 2:30," Kat replied, a teasing smile on her face. "What!?!?! Already?" Panic set in as Y/n scrambled off her bed, her heart racing. She dashed into the bathroom, her mind racing with thoughts of how she was going to get ready in time. "How long have I been sleeping?" she shouted over her shoulder, toothbrush in hand, as she brushed her teeth furiously, the minty foam spilling slightly as she tried to multitask. "You didn't go to bed until like 5 in the morning because you were drunk," Kat laughed, stepping into the bathroom beside Y/n and starting to comb her hair with deft strokes. Y/n yelped, caught off guard by the sudden tug at a knot in her own hair. "Kat, ouch, that hurt!" she exclaimed, turning around to rub her head, her eyes wide with surprise. "Oh, stop being a baby," Kat shot back, a playful glare on her face that made Y/n roll her eyes. As Y/n turned back around to focus on her routine, she couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the morning’s chaos. "Okay I'm done, let's get going." She told Kat as she left the house with her pajamas on.

Fast Forward.

Arriving at the salon, Y/n settled into the chair, excitement bubbling within her as the stylist began to work on her hair. After what felt like both a fleeting moment and an eternity, her hair was finally done, now bursting with a new color. The highlights she had longed for were finally revealed after five months of waiting. "I love it so much, thank you, Vivian!" Y/n exclaimed, her smile wide as she paid and made her way out of the salon. After what seemed like hours, Kat and Y/n finally arrived back at their apartment, getting ready for Y/n's big 26th birthday party. "Does this look better or does this one?" Y/n asked, lifting up two stunning white dresses—one with a daring low cut and the other a stylish tube top with flares at the bottom. "I think you should go with the second one; it looks cute on you and really shows off your curves," Kat replied with a playful wink, causing both of them to burst into giggles. "Oh be quiet," Y/n rolls her eyes in a playful manner before continuing her duties. The two were talking, singing, dancing, laughing every moment of the way until Kat brought up something, Y/n wasn't expecting. "Colby is going to be there with Malia tonight." Y/n paused her laughing and looked at Kat. "Oh." Was all she responded with, Y/n looked down as she remembered the broken soul that was left alone to heal by Colby Brock himself.

"You know what, fuck you! Fuck you and your dead fucking parents!" Colby screamed, throwing a portrait of them onto the floor with a crash. "Colby, stop!" Y/n cried out in horror, her tears flowing as she begged him to calm down. "You're not making any sense!" She dropped to her knees, feeling the weight of the misunderstanding pressing down on her. Colby had come home filled with so much hatred and anger that it left Y/n completely confused. Why was he so upset? "You wanted to go online and talk shit about me to MY FUCKING FANS!??!?! HOW DOES THAT MAKE ME FEEL, Y/N! HOW DOES THAT MAKE ME FEEL!?!?!" Colby screeched, his voice echoing with pain. Y/n's heart sank as she finally understood. She recalled the live stream she had done the night before while Colby was away with Sam, Corey, and Jake. "Baby, it wasn't like that, I promise. Some of your fans just asked if I would ever cheat on you, and I said no. But then some mixed up my words, my love!" Y/n stood up, her tone now furious. She couldn't believe he would choose to believe them over her.

"Y/n?" Kat called out, breaking through Y/n's thoughts. "You're spacing out."Oh, sorry... I don't know if I wanna go anymore," Y/n whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. "Why? How come? It's just your birthday," Kat replied, concern lacing her tone. "I know... but seeing him... it just reminds me of the things he said in the past." Y/n fidgeted slowly, the memories swirling in her mind. They'd been broken up for two years now, but the hurt from his words still stung like it was yesterday. She knew Colby was dating a new girl now... one of her best friends, well, ex-best friends. After the breakup, Colby had gone online and spewed lies about her, tweeting that she had slept with someone and other nonsense. Y/n felt the pain wash over her again. She had received death threats, her address was leaked, her phone number, too, and even her childhood home was exposed to the public eye. It was terrifying; she was stalked and almost hurt by a crazy fan of his. Yet, somehow, Y/n chose to forgive him for his actions, but not for the hurtful words he had thrown at her. To protect herself, she blocked Colby and Malia. But after they got together, Malia started shaming Y/n publicly, calling her a two-faced runt when all Y/n ever did was support both of them. It felt like she could never get her point across to the world. She had to keep her mouth shut and watch the people she loved torment her through social media and society. "Let's get going, it's almost 9:30," Kat said, and Y/n just nodded, feeling distant. The whole car ride was a blur; she didn't say a single word until they arrived at the house she once lived in. As Kat parked the car and they stepped out, they walked through the front door, and a chorus of "Happy Birthday!" erupted around her. Y/n felt her lips curl into a smile, the warmth of their greetings washing over her. "Awe, thank you guys," she said, moving to hug everyone, even Colby and Malia, who were there too. Pushing past her traumas, she forced herself to embrace the moment. "Thank you, everyone, for coming and celebrating my 26th birthday!" she exclaimed, and the crowd cheered, "Let's party!" The house was alive with loud music, but it all faded when she noticed Colby approaching her, while Malia chatted with Kat and the other girls. "Y/n?" Colby spoke, and she turned to face him, the blue-eyed man she once adored. "Oh, hi Colby," she smiled, turning back to pour liquor into shot cups for everyone. "I wanted to apologize," Colby began, and Y/n felt her heart race. "Colby..." she stopped, feeling the weight of his words. "It was wrong of me to do the things I did to you after our breakup," he explained.

"There's no need, it's in the past, Colby. We're fine now, aren't we? You're happy again, and that's all that matters," Y/n said, lying through her teeth. "You're lying," Colby replied, and Y/n felt her heart sink. She stopped and looked down, knowing that Colby could see right through her. Of course he would know; they dated for four years, a relationship that had transformed into a series of complete misunderstandings. "I messed up and I know I did. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I shouldn't have spoke about you in general online even after our break up. I shouldn't have believe in the things that my Fandom were saying, I shouldn't have believed it from the start. I'm sorry that I caused you so much pain and agony." Colby apologized as Y/n sat there, tears streaming down her face. "I hate you," was all she could manage to say. "I hate you," she repeated, her voice trembling as she hiccuped, tears rapidly falling. "Y/n..." was all Colby could say in response, feeling helpless and unsure of how to comfort her. "I hate you, I hate Malia, I hate everyone because you ruined my life, Colby." The pain in her voice was palpable, each word cutting through the air like a knife, revealing the depth of her hurt and betrayal. "I had to deal with people leaking my house address, my phone number, even stalking me. I had to deal with the constant death threats from your fans. I had to deal with so much of you and Malia's bullshit when all I ever did was love both you guys and cherish you both. Hearing the news spread out that you got with Malia and Malia backstabbing me hurts. What even hurts more is the man I loved ruined my expectations on a man. You made me live in misery, you made me hate myself, you made me want to just jump in a ditch. What makes you think I would forgive your words?" Y/n continues to cry as she wipes her tears. Colby stood there, stunned. He couldn't believe that the girl he once loved had to deal with so much misery just because of him. So what makes it seem like he gets to be happy and you don't?

"I'm sorry," was all he could reply with. "I'm so sorry, Y/n. I'm the worst and I take full responsibility for my actions and the words I spoke to you." He apologized again. "What hurts more is what you said that night... it haunts me to this day knowing that you wished upon my parents' death. It hurts like hell. I loved you, I cherished you, I supported so much of your goals to the point I even went out of my way to come support you across the country." Y/n hiccuped, wiping her tears again. "Why did you do it?" she asked, looking up as Colby stood there watching her bloodshot, puffed eyes from the massive crying. "I was so mad. I was mad. I didn't understand it. I didn't understand the consequences that would set you and I here again. I hated you so bad because I believed every single word that my fandom spoke about you. I was just fuming at that moment. I'm sorry that I affected you in so many ways, baby." Colby said, and Y/n just shook her head. "You can't call me that, Colbs..." she responds, and Colby's heart broke when he heard the nickname that used to roll off her lips so easily. "Baby, I'm so sorry," he repeated, wrapping his arms around her. "Stop calling me that. Malia is going to get mad." Y/n wiped her tears again as she playfully yelled at him. "Baby." Colby attempted again, and she shot back, "Shut the fuck up. I'll shove something up your ass if you don't shut up." Y/n pulled away, and he winked, "You love me." She rolled her eyes just as Malia walked up. "Y/n, I'm sorry for what I said to you. I'm so sorry. Colby and I are so sorry." She kept repeating it, and Y/n just chuckled. "Malia, it's fine. I understand. Now let's stop being so ughh and let's have fun. It's my birthday; we can't be all so sappy!" Y/n screamed at Malia, who exchanged a smile with Colby. Maybe it was right after all. It was a reminder that even amidst the chaos, there was still joy to be found.