#they’re basically my ocs at this point

[gesturesweirdly]

*t4ts your kakagai*

[madastrologist]

“you believe that i’m in pain, help me disassociate”

been really obsessed with drawing fem varigo recently, so here’s some fem varigo 🫃

(ASK for permission before using, CREDIT while using!)

[nami-moittli]

I think you like Leah

…A little

[yokiamine]

Asareze p2: more delusional than ever

P1

[arolesbianism]

Finally got around to finishing the second nugget batch, this time featuring several favorite children and the absolute least favorite child <3

[cursezoroark]

In the red sky, all Mona could see was smoke. The heat of ozone smothered their face as the S.S Paradise bellowed a far, wounded cry to the sea. If it could even be called a sea.

There was no reflection to look at when they looked down. Only the simple, red sludge.

In the silence that enveloped them, they remained lost, a bit forlorn, staring into the nothing. That’s why they didn’t at first notice Melia approach them, hands folded on the railings of the balcony.

“Hey.” She greeted, short. “How are you feeling?”

Mona shrugged.

“Have you eaten?” Another shrug. “Kenneth found some more rations, stashed inbetween the barrels. Which, by the way was a lot. Here.”

The smell of potatoes and jerky faintly wafted into Mona’s notice, catching their gaze. Partially mashed, partially cut potatoes were spread messily on a carved wooden plate, decorated with slices of Tauros Jerky. At a somewhat miserable attempt as a garnish, there was a slice of lemon sitting in the middle.

“Mosely wanted to make it, quote unquote ‘Fancy and Fresh’.” The blonde let out a soft giggle, as if lost in the memory. “And then Amber complained that if it was fancy, the potatoes had to be mashed, but Mosely likes them ‘unmushed’. I think they compromised pretty well!”

“…The lemon?” Mona muttered.

“Scurvy.” Melia deadpanned.

Nothing was to be said as Mona gingerly took the plate and handed utensils in their hands, and began to eat. Robotically, slowly, almost methodically. A careful demonstration to prove their gratitude to Melia, even if their stomach rolled with displeasure. She continued to stare at Mona, gently pleased with their appetite.

But wait. “Did you eat?”

“Some here and there.” Melia shrugged. “I wasn’t really feeling well, maybe I’m a bit seasick.”

The lie was drowned purposely by the rolling waves below, as the teenagers held their stares steadily at each other. Yet, Mona continued to eat: Meat, potatoes, meat, mush, meat, potatoes.

Finally, the garnish was left. Mona picked it up, gingerly, and gestured to Melia. “Here.”

Melia’s eyebrows scrunched. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I don’t like lemons.” Mona pushed the lemon towards her face, insistently near but never at her mouth. “And I don’t want you to get sick either.”

“Well,” She placed her hand on top of Mona’s, firmly pushing it back, an uneasy smile rising. “That makes the two of us.”

It was quickly becoming a struggle between the two, an almost comical fight at ship deck, pathetically shoving a single lemon slice back and forward. Quickly, Melia leaned back, letting the momentum of Mona’s catch them by surprise, and turned to run. Only for her arm to be caught by their hand, sticky with lemon juice, yanking her backward, both of them squawking in tandem. Yet, playfully, she twisted her arm out of their grip in an attempt to flee once again.

The chase continued, yet a pattern had emerged. It went something like this: In their struggle of strength, Mona’s arms pushed back against Melia’s, before she would slip through their grasp, letting go, running. They would circle each other, denials spouting from each’s mouth in the insistence of each other, before Mona would catch her arm, and start holding the lemon out.

However, like every pattern out in the universe, it had to break eventually.

A wrong misstep, and what caught Mona’s hand was not Melia’s arm, but the wooden boards below. Their foot had slipped, buckling ever so slightly before they caught themselves on their knees. Consequently, the lemon slid out of their hands, into the tar below. In turn, Melia’s face, which was almost gleeful, quickly morphed into fragile concern. She kneeled beside Mona, assessing them as she caught her breath.

“Are you Ok?”

Mona’s gaze didn’t turn to her, rather, they followed the trail of lemon juice off board. “…Are we both going to get sick?” They rasped.

Melia wheezed, amused, before arranging herself to sit down. “I hope not, but we’ve got more than enough lemons. Actually, there’s more than the meat and potatoes combined.”

“…I don’t think that’ll serve Kenneth well in the future.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get home soon, remember?”

“Will we?” Mona replied, and the air instantly thickened with doubt. The question hung in the air, an unsteady base of whys and hows, dangerously teetering on the edge of something.

When Melia stayed silent, Mona’s gaze turned to meet hers, searching for that something in her pained look, her paled face, her trembling lips. And yet….

“We will.” She carefully took Mona’s hands into her own, cold, sticky, and clammy. “We will both return, and…and we will be ok and everything will be just fine if we stick together. Our friends will be back to normal, and we can solve everything. Don’t give up, ok? Please believe me.”

Mona’s gaze continued to burn through her, almost tearing her apart-

“Please.”

A steady sigh, before Mona’s gaze turned back to the Crimson Sea. Their face had betrayed nothing in this exchange, in this search, but only now showing the faintest of cracks. The fragile quiver of their mouth.

“Do you miss your dad?”

The question blindsided Melia, a gut punch. Denial, anger, grief, love, happiness rolled into her mind, intangible from what she could possibly decipher into proper words. But before she could answer-

“I miss my mom.”

Tears rose in Mona’s eyes.

“I really miss my mom, and she said the same thing you said. And-“ A sniffle broke out, and Melia’s heart cracked. In the distance of the Crimson Sea, she could almost visualize the scene of Nancy’s cold body, still and bloody. Madame X, once staring back, was now on board with them, a bitter truce. A stark reminder of her fulfilled promise, and fulfilled failures.

“Don’t lie to me. Melia. Don’t lie.”

Cold, damp arms wrapped around Mona’s kneeling figure, and Melia rested her head on their back. The two rocked back and forward with the ships movements, steady. The scent of lemons wrapped around Mona, sour and pungent.

“I’m sorry Mona. I’m so sorry.”

The waves continued to roll forward.

[peachy-snacks]

Mimi and Rosie for the soul <3

[lowcallyfruity]

Y’all don’t even know my trailblazer lore……

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

Join the party is such a bop. I found a animation too that just is so cool to me. The chorus reminds me of my new crew

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you want to turn back the clock and jungkook wants you to stay.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / angst, fluff / word count: 5.8k

content/warnings: mistreatment of service workers / oc felt inappropriately touched by a customer (only mentioned in passing) / (oc works part-time in a restaurant) (then quits) / another dive into oc’s lore / allusion to death / grief grief grief / lots of crying :( / jk wants to move in together :") / mention of s*x (24/7=heaven?) / mention of period blood (they’re in diff contexts js to be clear lol) / u will get pissed and cry and laugh it’s fun <3

playlist! knees - iu ; chinese satellite - phoebe bridgers ; love wins all - iu

> in which masterlist

note: contains lil flashblacks from the giving up drabbles ^^ can be found in the timeline masterlist above this incase u haven’t read them and want to ^^ listen to love wins all when jungkook tells oc to wear their seatbelt (trust me). tried to encapsulate the epiphany of oh. everything’s going to be okay because i am loved when i’m at my lowest. as always reblogs & feedback are appreciated :") come chat!!

—

the rusty swing-set creaks as you unsteadily swing back and forth, staring lifelessly at your white socks and shoes stained with burnt orange. you look up to the sky but the moon and the stars are shrouded by the clouds. not even your favorite snack can poison your sadness with optimism. mouthful of bungeoppang, but you taste nothing, and every swallow only adds to the heaviness weighing on your chest.

your shift should be ending by now, which means you probably should be heading home, but your limbs have given up and refuses to move.

jungkook’s special ringtone ceaselessly disrupts the night scene’s quiet, but there’s no point in answering his calls when you know no words would come out of you.

“are you an imbecile?! you can’t understand basic instructions?!”

“ma’am, i’m so sorry. i’ll take it back and give you the right ord-”

“we’re fucking starving! move faster!”

you flinch as the bowl collides with the tiled floor, producing an ear-splitting sound that reverberates throughout the entire restaurant. you want to give the woman the benefit of the doubt and believe that she just shoved the bowl a little too harshly due to her frustration, but you have a hand over your mouth not due to shock, but the inexplicable pain of having your skin burnt by the piping hot soup… and she’s just… there.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry! please understand. she’s just in a bad mood. she’s not- she’s not usually like this.”

you stand on your spot, frozen and speechless, as her husband profusely apologizes. you’re only jolted out from trance when you feel him wiping your legs with crumpled tissue papers, a little too farther up for your comfort. a fleeting tug-of-war ensues when you forcefully rip them away from his hands. you thank him despite not meaning it.

you grip the edge of your skirt as you sit on your heels, picking up the broken shards of glass scattered across the floor. a concerned co-worker swoops in with a broom and you instantly jump the opportunity to save yourself from the mortifying stares, mumbling another thank you as you take your leave.

“you said table six.”

“____, i’m sorry. that was a fault on my part.”

your manager observes your current state. his stare lingers at your feet.

“but they don’t know that! she literally burnt me!”

“look, we don’t have to take this too far. it couldn’t have been that hot. we can see you’re still walking.” his condescending tone makes you feel so small, but it fuels the anger inside of you. “you don’t have to pay for the damages, so let’s just put this behind us.”

you gasp in disbelief, and it borders on a laugh. you feel crazy. you can’t believe this is actually happening to you. he can’t be fucking serious.

the workers in the kitchen remain quiet as tension arises, minds a tornado of thoughts but mouths remaining shut in fear of getting on the bad side of their superior.

“well you…” you hastily strip off your apron, bunching it up into one big ball. “don’t have to pay me anymore, because i fucking quit! i hope this place burns down!”

and you ensure that it hits him on the face before you turn around to march out of the kitchen. on the way out of the restaurant, you nonchalantly grab a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting off the cap as you push the door open. you leave a wet trail behind your steps as you pour the cold water over your feet, a poor attempt to soothe the sharp pain of the injury.

you know it will be alright eventually; you will heal, but this… this is leaving a permanent scar on your dignity.

with a vexed groan, you retrieve your vibrating phone from your pocket.

LAST EVICTION NOTICE— you do not even bother reading the rest of the words that come after that.

“fuck!” you scream, throwing the bottle at the nearest wall, hands coming up to your hair to roughly pull in frustration. the heels of your palm dig into your eyes and your knees give way to the ground. “this is a nightmare.”

it dawns on you that you’ve finally arrived at a surface on the rock bottom that you so awfully dread. you find yourself standing here— infront of the atm machine, staring blankly at the large number displayed on the screen. this money isn’t yours. this didn’t come from your blood, sweat, and tears. it’s an amount that you’re supposed to accept as a payment for the eulogies you had to deliver. you swore you would never do this, but desperate times come when you’re forced to swallow your pride and allow it to rot you from the inside.

you’re once again faced with the ugly difference between surviving and living.

you grab the cash, hastily pushing them inside the pocket of your jacket as if you’re being burnt by them. you feel so nauseous; if only emptying your stomach would untangle its knots.

you don’t need anything from anyone. this is the first and the last time, you swear to yourself in place of your defeated oath.

you don’t want jungkook to see you like this, helpless and hollow, the antonym of the sun he willingly flew too close to. you look pathetic seeking for solace in an abandoned playground, unfortunate soul stuck at fifteen, in denial of the passage of time.

but there goes your lover running towards you, calling out your name, and you begin praying for yourself to disappear into thin air.

much to your disappointment, no wiser being grants your plea, and now you have a man tucking you in his safe embrace, uncaring of his knees being bruised by the ground.

does he need to surprise you when you least anticipate his presence?

“i’ve been looking everywhere for you! i went to pick you up at the restaurant but they told me that you quit! what happened?”

he pulls away, tenderly cupping your cheeks in his warm hands.

“was it your boss again? it’s him, isn’t it? what did he do?”

jungkook dies a little inside. your glassy eyes study his face, a clear picture of distress and concern, but at the same time, they seem so far away… like you’re not certain if you’re truly here.

you unconsciously squirm— your feet retract themselves, escaping underneath the swing; and your ankles twist, and twist, one hiding behind the other.

this doesn’t feel like being stripped naked.

you feel like you’re being turned inside out.

“what’s wrong? baby…” he utters sadly as tears drip from your lashes—one by one— even they are lost and hesitant.

your distant stare remains.

he doesn’t know if you’re even aware that you’re crying. it’s a frightening sight and he doesn’t know what else to do. he holds you in his arms but you feel too stiff for this to be comfortable. the time passes, and he lets it do so in silence.

he waits for you to come back to him.

he waits, and waits, and waits.

“jungkook… i want to go home.”

“okay. i’ll bring you home, baby.” he strokes your hair, breathing out in relief. “yours? or mine?”

only for his world to crumble into pieces.

“my mom…” you whisper, breathless, releasing yourself from his embrace. “i want to be with my mom.”

and only then does he see traces of emotions written on your face.

“i miss my mom so much.”

the crack of your voice gives him an opening to catch a glimpse of your heart, that is but a mosaic of broken parts. pain, grief, longing… the past two years haven’t been enough to make him well-acquainted with the anatomy of your afflictions. he has only witnessed you speak of your family with a proud and affectionate beam; old stories that spark the agent of joy. and despite knowing that you must’ve been battling your pain all these years all alone, he couldn’t bring himself to meddle with how you handled your grief. however, if he’s going to be completely truthful, he was terrified of this— of seeing you so unmoored and broken. his pain is no comparison. quite frankly, it is an insult to yours.

“i miss her so, so, so much. what do i do? i…” you sobs become uncontrollable, overcome by the weight of the world crashing down on you.

how is it possible that you feel nothing and too much at the same time? is what you would often ask before, but today you realize that your pain simply goes beyond what any of your human parts is able to fathom.

“this is too hard… it’s too tiring. i can’t- i can’t. i don’t want to be here anymore. i’m always so scared. i don’t know what i’m doing anym-”

“shh, shhh, baby- baby, breathe for me-”

“how did my life end up like this? i don’t understand! the world- it’s so cruel- i can’t stand it.”

jungkook wipes away your tears, but it’s no use. once you break down, it becomes impossible to remedy. nonetheless, that doesn’t deter your boyfriend from trying. he gathers your weeping and trembling vessel in an attempt to glue you back together, and in while doing so, he also wills himself to be strong for you.

“why did she have to go after them and leave me all alone here? am i not her child too?”

the obtuse questions you’ve been too afraid to ask out loud are being brought out in the open, spilling out from the torn seams of your soul as they’ve become too agonizing to annihilate over and over and over again.

you know the answer. you know she didn’t want to leave.

but you can’t help but to be angry at the fact that her heart gave up. you don’t understand why it had to happen and why you’re being grinded in the mouth of the world.

“i’m tired, i’m so tired. it’s so unfair… i need her with me too…”

jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, gently rocking your tangled bodies — a defense mechanism. you’re succumbing to defeat as if it’s been long overdue; even your voice is giving up on you.

if he had to imagine, the earth must have shared his current dread when it witnessed a solar eclipse for the first time, wired to assume the worst of perpetual darkness.

“jungkook…”

your weak fists desperately grasping at the fabric of his hoodie— the final thread you are hanging on. your words break into stutters and hiccups, salty tears slipping past your lips and stirring their bitter taste.

“i just want to go and be my mom’s child again.”

and he would truly fucking hate to try and get into the implication of your words, but if jungkook is going to be completely truthful— he is terrified beyond words can say. of this; of witnessing you slip away from everything you’ve ever known; of losing you. maybe he’s being selfish, but whatever it takes, he will make you stay.

he swallows the lump in his throat, hurriedly drying his eyes with his sleeve before facing you.

“listen to me, okay…?” his voice isn’t enough to pull your head from underwater; he lightly taps your cheek, even though it breaks his heart. “hey, hey, hey. look at me, baby- look at me.”

he searches for your eyes, begging them to focus on him. and it’s silly, what he does next, pressing a kiss to your lips as if this is a fairytale. but then it works— you tilt your head to subtly nuzzle your cheek against his palm— and he has to quickly recover from being taken aback. you effortlessly make a slave out of his heart.

“you never stopped being her child. and that will never happen! because even with them being gone, you haven’t stopped trying your best to be a good child and older sibling to them. i… i’m a witness to that. every single day. are you hearing me?”

can he get some sort of sign whether he is doing this right or wrong?

“you’re not alone here because you have me. you do know that, right?”

and you want to believe him… you do. but just like how you’re clinging onto him right now for dear life, you can’t forget how you had to beg him to stay.

“so stop working all these jobs! please, i’m begging you! it must also break your mom’s heart to see you torturing yourself like this. it’s not healthy! just focus on studying and let me take away your burdens, please?”

you stop breathing; your features soften like you’ve made it out of a nightmare.

“jungkook…”

“let’s live together, baby.” he sounds sure; he sounds steady, but the waver of his eyes beseeches you. “you’ve been so good to me, even when i didn’t deserve it. please… let me love you in my own way too.”

“stop. i told you… i’m still thinking about it.” you say meekly, avoiding his intense gaze. “i mean, let’s be honest. what would your family even think of me? your aunt already hates me. what if she uses this to prove that she was right about me and-”

“fuck what everyone else thinks. i couldn’t care less.”

the reminder of the disrespect you were subjected to because of him has him seething all over again. his jaw clenches in anger, and he feels obligated to take a deep breath so he can keep himself composed. growing up, he was always taught to be the bigger person, but he simply can’t implore himself to do that if it means turning a blind eye to your hurt.

“i won’t let her get away with that type of bullshit so don’t even bother thinking about her anymore. i’ll take care of it. we can’t let that get into our heads. right, baby? we said that?” his thumb caresses your cheek softly, and you hold on to his wrist, silent as you try to understand him through the thick haze clouding your mind. “i want to be with the person i love. how could that be so wrong?”

you slowly shake your head in response, a little hesitant.

“i won’t leave again. no matter how hard you push me away, i will stay within your reach.”

and here he is, kneeling infront of you, seeking to make true of what he solemnly vowed to you.

are you going to take this away from him? after everything you’ve gone through together?

he is the only thing you have left to lose.

“i love you.” you whisper, initiating the hug this time.

you’re holding him tight, like you don’t ever want to let go, and it brings jungkook to the brink of tears once more.

“i love you so much.”

he sweetly kisses your cheek, but when you pull away to give him that look, a wordless command for more, his lips finally meet yours for the first time in forty-eight hours. they slowly curve into a smile, not at all surprised that he’s tasting sugar. he’d go through hell and back to experience this kind of kiss one time, only to do it all over again.

“let’s go home?”

you blink at him cluelessly. you don’t know why he’s wearing a dimpled smile out of the blue, neither do you know which home he is referring to. nevertheless, you intertwine your fingers with his, choosing to save yourself from this forlorn neverland.

there’s just… one teeny… tiny problem…

“shit,” you mutter to yourself, freezing on your tracks.

“what’s wrong?”

you awkwardly glance down at your shoes, the origin of the squeaky sound that was impossible to be missed by your ears. after inspecting you from head to toe, a worried expression morphs on his face, and you can only show him a shy wince in response.

“i don’t want to make your car dirty.”

“baby…”

his chest feels so much heavier. he is nearly blinded with red. he wants to scream and be infuriated. what the fuck happened back there?

you merely shrug, sending him a forced smile. “do you still have those extra slippers?”

—

“jungkook, i can do it myself.”

he clicks his tongue, his hand around your calf gripping. “stay still!”

you watch him from the passenger seat, your legs dangling from the edge as he carefully takes off your shoes and socks, yet again kneeling on the ground.

“does it hurt a lot?”

“not… a lot.” you answer through gritted teeth.

perhaps the stinging never did quell; it was just pushed to the back of your mind when more painful things surfaced succeeding it.

“who did this to you, huh? i need to go back there and make them pay! what kind of decent human being would do that?!”

“a miserable woman in a miserable marriage.”

in her eyes, you may be naive and she, the decades old wiser— but who is the one with a lover who would wash not their dirty hands, but their feet that have walked a million miles?

“i feel bad for her.” you comment absentmindedly.

you’re too far deep in awe watching jungkook gingerly clean your bare feet with his hands and a bottle of cool water, doing what you were meant to do earlier, if only granted that you weren’t erupting with rage.

“____, you’re too nice.”

“you’re too nice.” you argue. “also, those shoes are hopeless. just throw them away.”

he glances at you with fondness, shaking his head as he softly pats you dry with a clean towel. you stifle a gasp. it’s no longer as bad as before, but your skin still feels warm and raw. this wasn’t in the job description. you decide that you can practice empathy, as well as your strong belief in karma, at the same time. at this moment, you hope that the universe is already crafting tricks up its sleeve, because you’re in a world of fucking pain.

“there you go. wait until we get off the car before you wear the slippers, alright? and you’re not allowed to wear tight shoes.”

he rises to his feet, not wasting the opportunity to steal a kiss.

“yeah, it was wildly uncomfortable.” you mumble against his lips, tugging at his collar to properly respond to his display of affection. “thank you.”

“wear your seatbelt.” his eyes shines with a glint of with uncontainable excitement. “we’re going home.”

—

you stir as jungkook gently shakes your body awake, his muffled voice gradually becoming clearer as you gain your consciousness.

“wake up, baby. we’re here.”

you tiredly rub off the sleep from your swollen eyes, discovering your boyfriend waiting for you where the door of the passenger seat should be.

“let’s get you some more rest.” he places a chaste kiss on your forehead, before standing aside to make way for you, offering his hand as a gentleman.

you must still be dreaming. you assumed he would bring you to his apartment, but you do not recognize this place. this is a different parking space, a different parking lot.

“um… t-this is…” you stumble on your words, feeling lost. “where are we?”

“home,” he smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and turn them into little crescent moons.

you must still be dreaming. the clock attached to a nearby pillar strikes midnight, and unbeknownst to you, a brand new day awaits beyond the dark and empty sky.

you were so thoroughly convinced that you’ve been living a life past the point of salvation… but life stands before you overflowing with hope and glowing with ardor.

you take his hand and allow him to whisk you away to another world.

—

this is beginning to feel real, jungkook thinks as he presses the elevator button. earlier’s excitement becomes interweaved with nervousness. he’s a little dizzy as the giant box ascends. if you feel his hand’s growing clamminess, you don’t show it, your clasp still as firm as before.

“you bought another house…”

“hmm, but this one is a secret.” a confession that is yours truly. “this one is ours.”

your eyes wordlessly speak with each other. neither of you imagined following your hearts could materialize your future plans to the present time. what goes beyond dreaming of beautiful things is still foreign to the both of you, but jungkook is here, willing to free fall with you.

the elevator dings.

he guides you through a well-lit hallway, to a door, and you pay close attention as he punches in the passcode— another set of numbers you ought to have memorized alongside birthdays and anniversaries and id numbers.

your heart races but everything else moves in slow motion. the door opens and you get swallowed by the need to remember every moment so vividly as if you’re reliving it.

the first time you set foot into your own apartment,, the empty space daunted you despite its modest dimensions. however, right now, your head is tracing half of a circle, from left to right, just to study this large space in its entirety— and all you can think about are the endless possibilities forming intimate images of a sanctuary in your head— a place where fears and sadness can co-exist with tenderness and joy.

beside you, jungkook patiently holds your hand.

“this one is ours…” you repeat the words, more so to convince yourself, and they drip with disbelief.

you follow his lead as he walks to the other half of the room, bare feet sliding across the floor.

“this is the living room, and the other side is the kitchen.”

he faces you with a wide grin, the kind he wears when he wants to tell you something he is proud of.

“i was thinking that if we get a big television bolted on the wall…”

he gestures to the blank canvas, letting go of your hand to draw an invisible rectangle on the air with his arms fully outstretched.

“then we can easily watch even from the kitchen.”

he puffs up his chest, side-eyeing you expectantly.

“genius, right?”

“and greedy.” you blink. “i don’t think that’s safe to do while you’re cooking.”

“but i’ll be very, very careful!”

“that’s the bare minimum when you’re holding a knife.”

“okay! i look forward to arguing with you about that on a different day!”

his enthusiasm doesn’t waver. in fact, it is fueled. how could it not? when you’re starting to sound exactly like a couple who lives together?

he captures your wrist and tugs you towards the other side of the room, but you pull him back with a noise of protest.

“are we not going to address…” you hang on to your words, eyes wandering to the floor where there are signs of living. “whatever is going on here?”

a single mattress with a single pillow; a folded blanket neatly sitting on top of it. surrounding them are bottles of water, a laptop, a speaker, and a basket of what you assume are skincare products.

“i’ve been sleeping here lately…”

“i can see that.”

“i didn’t want to buy furnitures yet while you haven’t given me an answer… i just thought that if we’re living together, then we should decide on those things as a couple.”

…he dips down to kiss you. “it was hell without you…”

his teeth captures your bottom lip, nipping at the supple flesh.

“going to build a life with you. i’ll build furniture, and they’re going to be ours.”

jungkook feels your stare. oblivious of your thoughts reigning chaos, he tilts his head in question.

how long has he been planning this?

“you okay?”

you blink away the tears brimming your eyes. you shake your head, clinging to his arm. “where were you taking me?”

“this is the kitchen!”

a smile of contentment graces your lips. you’re guilty of admiring the pure, unadulterated joy on jungkook’s face instead of what he is passionately endorsing to you.

“this is the fridge!” he presents to you, swinging the door open. “but there’s nothing inside.”

“what are you saying? there is something.”

the two of you peer at the green can of soda, chilsung cider, left at a far corner. the refrigerator light casts over your curious faces.

“oh, that’s still there?”

the animated sound of your giggles prompts him to look at you, and he couldn’t be more glad to be laughing with you again, bellies aching at the same time.

“do you want it?”

“it’s not peach.”

“let’s move on then!”

there are cups of ramyeon and packs of dried seaweed on the countertop, the photo of his dinner that he sent last night still vivid in your memory. your hand daintily brushes across the white marble, stealing a feel as jungkook drags you to a new space.

“this is the second kitchen and laundry room!”

he waits for a reaction as you survey the room and its overhead cabinets.

“it’s not supposed to be the pantry…? eh, you know what? cooking and doing laundry are more of your thing so you can have them however you want.”

you turn on your heel to walk away, and jungkook follows behind you, celebrating his victory by punching the air and whisper-shouting a yeah!

“what’s here?”

you reach another hallway beside the living room.

“what’s here?” he zooms past you to open a door. “bathroom. there’s a bathtub! but i still need to install grip bars so no one will slip.”

he needs to stop saying things that make you want to make him your husband on the spot.

“and we have my favorite part! the master bedroom, of course!” he swings the door open on the other side. “where else would we spend the most time in?”

“wow, really? i thought you were also endorsing the living room as the bedroom.” you jokingly quirk an eyebrow.

“nonsense!” he cheekily chides you. “you deserve better than that.”

you take a step, peeking inside the empty room that you estimate to be as twice as larger than yours. you can’t say that you care so much about its size, because behind the white curtains, you reel at the prospect of the natural light shining over your face every time you wake up. your mornings have been gloomy since you arrived at seoul four years ago.

he sneaks his arms around your waist, your back resting against his chest, and your being feels so light you might just begin floating when he lets go.

“let’s stay like this for a while.”

“okay,” he puts his chin on top of your shoulder, his soft smile becoming permanent.

the two of you stand at the bedroom’s doorway; the cusp of what could be your entire lives.

“what’s that other room?”

“which one?”

“i don’t know. i see it from the side of my eye.”

he cackles at your humorous nonchalance. “i have more to show you. there’s a guest room… if we decide it to be.”

“cute. i have somewhere else to sleep when i’m mad at you.”

“that’s fine,” he replies after a beat of silence. “at least i’d know where to find you.”

“don’t make me change my mind.”

he cries out your name childishly, burying his face by the crook of your neck. he hugs you tighter. he wants to sleep every night drowning in the sweet scent of your hair. if he had to choose, it would be the most peaceful way to go.

“we have a walk-in closet too!”

“i expected nothing less.” you giggle, not a stranger to his lifestyle. “what’s exciting is that we can finally have a big bed.”

“but i like our small beds.”

“cuddling isn’t all that fun during the summer. trust me, you’d eventually want space.”

“nuh-uh! that’s what aircons are for!”

you roll your eyes at his persistence. “then why did you choose such a huge apartment if you wanted a small bed?”

“so we can have all the space to slow-dance to love songs.”

jungkook, ever the charmer. the butterflies in your stomach come alive beneath his embrace.

“why are you suddenly quiet?” he laughs. “was that too cheesy?”

“no!”

“really?” he spins you around, and heat creeps to your cheeks when he leans in so close that you can perfectly distinguish the brown in his eyes. “so have you given it more thought?”

“given what more thought?”

“there’s nothing to be scared of. it’s only the two of us here, see?” he tells you like overeager puppy. “will you move in with me?”

if this is a dream, you wish to never wake up from it. to have a person care for you this deeply and unconditionally, you want to believe that you have done something right to deserve it.

“i just don’t think you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

his eyebrows knit together in defense. “what does that mean?”

“the thing is… yeah, sex 24/7 and cuddling and having first times together, that sounds amazing and all… but living with me would probably drive you crazy.”

a tired yawn almost interrupts the end of your sentence, and you cover your face out of courtesy. you sniffle and wipe your teary eyes with the back of your hand.

“i’ve lived on my own for so long. i’m messy and clumsy and i’m used to having everything my way… i mean… i’m willing to compromise, but i can’t promise i won’t be insufferable as hell about it.”

“ah, seriously! you scared me for nothing!” he exclaims, throwing his head back with a groan. “baby, i’ve been living with six other men for the past decade. you know that there was a time when we even slept together in one small room. can you imagine how that must’ve been like for a bunch of teenage boys…? you? messy? think about it again. living with you can’t possibly get worse than that. you don’t have to worry about me! really, i can take it! watch me!”

“but i bleed every month.”

“i’m a man. seeing a little blood doesn’t faze me.”

you make a face. “it’s actually a lot.”

“yah, why are you acting like we haven’t been together for two years?”

“it’s different living together!”

“it’s only natural! i don’t care!”

a noise of complaint bubbles in your throat when he shakes you by your shoulders, coaxing you with an whiny “please baby.”

your chest deflates in defeat. “sure, i guess… as long as we have the big bed, and the slow-dancing-”

“done!” he doesn’t waste his breath, not keen on wasting this opportunity. “anything you want, you have it!”

you narrow your eyes. “and i’ll keep my tutoring job.”

“will you punch the next guy that insists you study at his dorm for me?”

“or i can just keep saying no firmly, baby boy.”

and with that pet name, he instantly folds. “okay.”

“okay?”

“okay, since that’s the only one that you genuinely like.”

“you-” your teeth unconsciously finds your bottom lip to dig into, and you inhale sharply. “…you really love me, don’t you?”

suddenly, you’re raising your voice and waving your hands in the air. you’re feeling too many emotions at once; it’s like when you mix all the colors in a palette and end up creating black. you’re angry and happy and you may be fucking crying again.

“you were just picking up speakers one night and a pretty stranger offers you some boring food and now you want to be stuck with me forever?”

your fist throws a restrained punch to his chest, shoving him backwards.

“oh my god, you’re so stupid!”

jungkook finds this too amusing, tries to hide that he is enjoying this but a smirk is plastered on his face.

“you are loved by so many,” he brushes away the hair that has fallen over your eyes. he tucks them behind you ears and tenderly holds your face in his warm hands. “but i’m confident that i love you the most.”

you are the muse in his dreams. your perfume clings to his clothes. you make him the happiest man on the planet and your pain torments him. what is this, if not love?

“and if that makes me the stupid one? then so be it.”

“when did it become a competition?”

“since you got yourself a competitive boyfriend!”

“okay, fine! let’s make it my fault!”

you throw your arms around his neck, peppering kisses all over his face until he’s an uncontainable giggling mess.

“i’m drowning in kisses! nobody help!”

and you hope you’re hugging him close enough that he can feel the love and gratitude flowing through your veins. your eyes flutter shut, and you sigh— tranquility triumphs over chaos.

“are you falling asleep standing up again?”

“no!” you blatantly lie, drawing back with innocence masking your drowsiness. “we still need to go online shopping!”

“what are we buying?”

your face lights up. “appliances first?”

“appliances?” he cheerfully says. “sure! let’s get you new shoes too!”

as he gets dragged to the living room where his laptop is, he mumbles something with an enamored expression. “i should keep working hard.”

—

“yah, why are looking at me like that?” jungkook chuckles upon feeling your poorly concealed stare, diverting his attention away from the laptop over his stomach. “i’m the real deal. the tv is over there, on the screen.”

“just because…”

you snuggle closer to his side, heart fluttering when his arm that is your pillow moves to also hold you. you don’t really mind a small bed. this is the most favorable consequence a nuisance could have.

“i feel sorry.”

“sorry? for what?”

“because i made you sad, didn’t i? i hate that so much.” you sniffle, hand coming up to pat his cheek affectionately. “i know it must be hard for you too.”

“you’re the one who’s in a lot of pain.” he means to firmly speak, but the tremble of his voice rudely refuses to cooperate. “how could you even think of me feeling sad?”

“because i love you. of course i always think of you.” you argue, bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “i can’t do that now?”

he sighs. “you know that’s not what i meant.”

a kiss is planted on your forehead— tender and cherishing.

“let’s be happy, baby.”

the sharp edges of jungkook’s fears are eroded in a way. in a universe that relentlessly challenges you to be optimistic, your heart that is well-versed in loving continues to rise above it all.

you echo his words wistfully. “let’s be happy.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[galactic-magick]

A Collection of My Viktor x Reader Headcanons

Here’s the long list of headcanons I have about Viktor and my self-insert OC that’s been sitting in my notes app. Many of these will likely make their way into and be more fleshed out in my fics. I just have so much love for him and so many ideas that I had to post them.

Most are gender-neutral besides a couple. All the fics I’ve written in this AU so far are in my masterlist and in a series on my AO3.

Enjoy 😊

Drinks his coffee either black or with a shit ton of milk and sugar, no in between. You’ll catch him drinking the darkest roast in existence and then the next day he’ll be drinking a sweet milk Frappuccino or something

If you’re the same size or bigger than him, he likes to steal your clothes. Especially when it’s cold, he’ll layer a bunch of your sweaters, claiming yours are “warmer” than his

He loves when you play with his hair. It calms him down and soothes him like nothing else

Sometimes he feels bad he doesn’t have the arm strength to pick you up, so one time he asked Jayce if he could borrow his gauntlets

He can be very forgetful, but it’s never because he doesn’t care. Be patient with him his mind is a crazy place

He gets quite the ego boost when he realizes “talking nerdy to you” turns you on. He’ll purposefully start explaining science shit and get you embarrassingly flustered

He’s definitely a cat person. If you guys got one they would be basically attached to each other, to the point the cat would escape the house and follow him to work in the lab sometimes

Also likes to steal your hair and shower products. He loves all the scents and how soft they make his waves and skin

He can play the Viola, a skill his mother taught him when he was a kid. He’s very rusty but he’ll play for you occasionally

His favorite way to annoy you is poking you with his cane. He’s a little shit about it too, mainly doing it when you’re in the middle of something

When he works longer hours in the lab, you like to bring him snacks, only to find out Jayce is the one who eats most of them after you leave

He likes to see your face when you’re cuddling, so spooning isn’t really the go-to position. But if he does he’s not really partial to being the big or little spoon

He still has the toy boat he made as a kid. It sits on the mantle over your fireplace

He technically needs glasses, but his vision isn’t bad enough he has to wear them. He considers getting them only because you told him he’d look cute with them

If you’re afraid of bugs, he has no problem catching them and putting them back outside. He likes to let them crawl on him for a bit first though, he doesn’t mind them at all

If you ever get in a fight, he can be very stubborn in his opinions, and he often tries to fix the problem before understanding your side. Once he realizes that sometimes you just want him to listen to you, though, misunderstandings become much more infrequent

He loves food with lots of spices and strong flavors. Especially if you’re the one who cooks it

He snores when he sleeps, and pretty loudly at that. If you’re not a deep sleeper who can sleep through it you’ll probably need a white noise maker or something

He uses you as a fidget toy quite often, playing with your hands, massaging your arms and thighs, twirling your hair. Sometimes he’ll mindlessly start squeezing your tits, not even in a sexual way necessarily, just cuz they’re squishy

Wants kids with you, but is terrified of leaving your children fatherless if his disease gets the best of him

Everything in your house has the potential to be a new invention, you’ve lost count of how many appliances have been modified in some way

He likes puzzles, on the rare occasion he has free time to do them for leisure. He can even do those crazy multi thousand piece ones

One of his main love languages is definitely parallel play. He loves spending time with you even if it’s in silence doing separate things

Loves when you lay on top of him. He doesn’t care how heavy you are, you’re his favorite weighted blanket

He likes to keep his personal life private from most people, but never in the sense that he hides you. Everyone knows you’re together, but very few know how much you actually mean to each other

He leaves marks and hickeys on you even when he doesn’t necessarily mean to, simply because his canines are so sharp

Whenever he and Jayce are asked to travel anywhere to meet with Hextech investors, he always brings you with him. You couldn’t afford a honeymoon when you first got married, so he makes up for it by turning work trips into vacations

He likes to leave you love notes sometimes when he wakes up and leaves before you, but his handwriting is so messy you can rarely read them. He usually says what he wrote when he sees you next anyway though

[bueckers]

UNFINISHED BUSINESS ━━━ paige bueckers ( 2 )

synopsis: putting an end to everything, drea thinks she’s totally and completely done with paige bueckers. that is until the blonde is finally honest with her.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem oc

warnings: angst and smut. they’re so toxic but also like made for each other.. alcohol use, scissoring, fingering, lots of paige’s hands.

notes: another long one so there wasn’t any major cliffhangers, hopefully this makes up for the wait.. :) also a paige & flau’jae feature because i love them sm.

The morning sunlight filters through the hotel curtains, and she’s sitting at the edge of the bed. I can feel the space next to me where she was lying, still warm but empty now. She’s moving around, getting dressed, and I’m fighting the urge to reach out and pull her back into bed. But I know I shouldn’t.

“You don’t have to go yet,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s more of a plea than an offer, and I hate how desperate I sound. I can see her hesitate, her back to me as she fiddles with her shirt. For a second, I think she might stay, but then she turns to face me, and I can see the determination in her eyes. Why was it so difficult for me to just say it?

“Except I do. We never actually talked… if you missed that part,” she says, and I try to ignore the slight raise in her voice.

In attempt to busy myself, I grab my shirt from off the ground and pull it over my head. “The whole point of last night was to avoid that, Drea. We ain’ gotta talk about it.” I respond, and I’m only half joking, but I still wince at how much of a dick I sound.

She’s serious, and instead of agreeing or starting an argument, she ignores it. “Look,” she starts, and I can see her struggling to find the right words, her eyes glued to the bedsheets. Not me. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to say anything, that I get it, she deserved an explanation. But I don’t want to make it easy for her. Not when I know this is probably the last time we’re going to be like this.

“Last night.. it shouldn’t have happened.”

I furrow my eyebrows. "You don’t gotta say that. It’s not like we didn’t both want it,” I huff out.

She looks at me a certain way, and I can tell she hasn’t put much thought into what she’s saying. But she’s saying it anyway. "That’s not what I mean," she says quickly, like she’s trying to fix it. "I’m not saying I didn’t want it. I just… I shouldn’t have let things get so deep between us. How things ended.. it’s my fault.”

Her fault? She shouldn’t have let things get so deep? Theres no way she means these things, right? She stands there, biting her lip, and I know she’s waiting for me to say something. My throat feels tight, and my mind is a mess. I’m caught between wanting to shout at her, to tell her how wrong she is, and just shutting down completely.

This is Drea. The one person who’s always known how to get under my skin, in ways both good and bad. And now, while she’s standing right in front of me, telling me she regrets how deep we got, that basically, she thinks I cut her off because she caught feelings, I can’t help but feel like a fool. I spent so much time convincing myself that she didn’t feel the way I did, that I’d imagined the whole thing. Now it turns out she was in it too. And I don’t know what to do with that.

I wanna tell her to stop, to not say anything more. But I can’t let myself be that vulnerable, not when I’ve spent so long trying to protect whatever pieces of myself I have left. This is, like, the biggest joke of my life, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

When I finally do speak, my voice comes out quieter than I expect, almost detached. “So, what now? We just pretend none of this ever mattered?”

Drea’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something flicker in them—regret, maybe, or doubt. It seems like this is the most straightforward conversation we’ve had about the way we actually feel, and everything’s coming to light and an end at the same time. Just as quickly, she pushes it away, her expression hardening, and it makes every dot in my mind connect. “I’m not saying it didn’t matter. It did. That’s why we need to stop.” She’s trying so hard to be the rational one, to be the one who ends this cleanly. But nothing about this is clean.

I nod slowly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” God, I even sound bitter.

She looks at me like she’s searching for something—maybe a reason to stay, or maybe just confirmation that this is the right choice. But then she sighs, her shoulders sagging with the weight of it all, and I know nothing, at least in this moment, would change her mind about me.

“Please take care of yourself.” She kept me grounded when I couldn’t find my footing, and those words just feel so cruel. It sounded like we’d never be speaking again, and I hated that thought.

I nod, unable to trust my voice, and then she’s gone. And just like that, it’s over. Or at least, it’s supposed to be.

A few days pass in a blur, and my time in Phoenix is slowly coming to an end. It’s safe to say the events of the city had only temporarily kept my mind off of everything, and now I’m sitting in a bar with Flau’jae, trying my best not to let the rain cloud over my head poke out. She’s talking, animated as ever, but I’m only half-listening, my mind drifting back to Drea more often than I’d like to admit.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Her voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

I blink, forcing out a smile. “Sorry,” I apologize, stretching my arms out in a way to reset. “I’m listening now. Promise.”

Flau’jae narrows her eyes at me, clearly not buying it. “Nah, you’re not,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “What’s got you so deep in thought? You’ve been acting like you’re here, but not really here, y’know?”

I shrug, trying to play it off. “Just tired, I guess. Been a long week.”

She studies me for a moment, her gaze sharp. “Uh-huh. And this long week wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain someone, would it?”

I bite my lip, trying to stay cool. Flau’jae doesn’t know about Drea and me—no one does, really. We made sure of that. But if anyone’s gonna pick up on something, it’s her. I should’ve known better than to think I could just sit here and pretend everything’s fine.

“Maybe,” I say vaguely, hoping that’s enough to satisfy her curiosity. “I just got a lot on my mind, I’m fine,” I reassure, furrowing my eyebrows as if it was nothing to worry about.

She raises an eyebrow, leaning in like she’s about to uncover some big secret. “Stuff, huh? Girl stuff?”

I roll my eyes, trying to play it off. “You’re too nosy for your own good, you know that?”

She grins, laughing a little. “Paige! Come on, spill. Who is she?”

I hesitate, and for a second, I consider telling her everything. But that’s a slippery slope, and I’m not ready to go there. So instead, I won’t reveal too much. “It’s complicated,” I sigh.

Flau’jae crosses her arms, fully intrigued. “Complicated how?” She could be a detective.

I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “Just... complicated. Things didn’t end the way they were supposed to. And now I’m stuck trying to figure out what to do next.”

She nods slowly, taking that in. “So, you and this girl… y’all were close?”

“Yeah,” I huff out, nodding as I press my lips together. “Real close.”

Flau’jae gives me a knowing look. “Thats who you was texting last night at the game?”

“Maybe,” I drag out, a shit-eating grin gracing my face. Then I slip up. “I was jus’ too scared to say anything to her face.”

Her eyes widen, and she brings a hand up to cusp her lips. It takes me a bit to realize, and as soon as I do, she cuts me off. Damn it. “Thats why you was hugging her a little too long after the final buzzer.”

“Hey! I ain’ even say a name,” I say quickly and louder than intended, trying to backtrack.

She leans forward, eyes wide with amusement. “You didn’t have to! You gave me everything I needed to know. Paige, what the hell? You and Drea, for real? I didn’t know you had game like that.”

I jerk my head back, scrunching my face up at her. There was no doubt that Drea was one of the prettiest faces in the game, and the fact that she can ball too just really adds to it. “I can show you what these rizz hands can do,” I joked momentarily. “It wasn’t even supposed to be a thing, though. We kept it on the low for a reason.”

Flau’jae shakes her head, holding her lips a little tighter now. “You know what Twitter would do with this? You been out here sneaky-linking and didn’t even give me a heads-up?”

Sneaky-linking? Was that really what it was? “Can we stop talking about this?” I say, half-laughing despite myself.

“And y’all met in high school, too. That’s some next-level soulmatism or something.”

I chuckle, licking my lips as I lift up my drink. The clinking of the ice fills the silence, and I’m able to put a close to the conversation. “It’s over now, anyway. Doesn’t matter.” It’s a lie. We’d clearly went over that it did matter.

Flau’jae studies me for a moment, her eyes narrowing as if she can see right through me. But then she lifts her hands up in surrender, a smirk playing on her lips. “Alright, if it’s really over, how about you find someone tonight? You could use it if I’m being honest,” She retorts, referring to the mood I’ve been in the entire night because of my situation.

“Chill!” I laugh, shaking my head as I lean back in my chair myself. “You make it sound so easy.”

She shrugs, and I hesitate, taking a second to let my eyes wander around the bar. A couple of eyes meet mine, lingering longer than what’s considered normal. I’m not sure if they might know who I am, or just think I’m attractive. Or maybe both.

Flau’jae seems to notice too, shooting me a wild and bright smile. “See? you still got it. Just make a good choice.”

The car hums beneath me, the city lights flashing past as I sink into the leather of the backseat, my head leaning against the window. I can still taste the alcohol on my tongue, and my mind is replaying the past few hours like a hazy, disconnected reel. All I can think about is her.

You’d think after a night out I’d at least be able to get the mass of Drea off my mind, but I think it just made everything worse. No matter how hard I try to push her out, physically and emotionally, she’s always there, right on the edge of my thoughts.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, my thumb hovering over her contact. I know I shouldn’t text her. I know it’s a bad idea. But our last conversation on repeat and the emptiness from earlier are making my judgment untrustworthy, and before I can stop myself, I’m typing out a message.

Yo, you up?

I stare at the screen, the words staring back at me. It’s a weak attempt, but I’m past caring. A part of me almost hopes she won’t respond, that she’ll leave me to deal with the consequences of my choices alone. But then I add another text, like I can’t help myself.

Idc if you’re not

It feels like a challenge. Like I’m daring her to ignore me, to stay out of it. But I know that’s not what I want.

I swallow hard and send one last message, my fingers trembling slightly as I type.

You still in Phoenix, right?

The words hang there, waiting for her response. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s from the countless amounts of dirty shirley’s or the anticipation of hearing from her. Or both. I really hope I don’t throw up in this car.

I lean back in the seat in attempt to relax, but I can literally hear my heart beating. I wonder if the driver can, really. I don’t know what I’m hoping for, but I know that if she’s still here, if she answers… I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist whatever comes next.

The minutes stretch out in silence, broken only by the occasional sound of the car’s tires hitting a pothole. I keep my eyes glued to the screen, watching the three little dots appear and disappear. I should put my phone away, maybe even go back to the hotel and sleep this off, but I can’t. I’m too far gone for that.

The Uber turns down another quiet street, and I feel the weight of my decisions pressing down on me. It’s not just about tonight. It’s about all the nights that led up to this, every bad choice that brought me to this moment. The thought of facing it alone is unbearable, and I realize that’s why I texted her. Not because I want her to come over, but because I don’t want to be alone. Or that I do, just with her.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and I almost drop it in my rush to check the screen.

Why?

A single word, blunt and to the point. She’s guarded, as usual. But the fact that she responded at all makes me happy enough.

I just… I hesitate, staring at the blinking cursor. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, but I settle on honesty.

Just wanna see you. Is that so bad?

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. My fingers hover over the screen again, and then I add another message.

I don’t wanna stop seeing you fr

It’s more than I planned to say, more vulnerable than I planned to be, but it’s the truth. And I’m too tired of pretending otherwise.

The reply comes quickly this time, and I can almost hear her voice in the words.

Are you drunk texting me right now?

And no, you mean you don’t wanna stop fucking me

Her words hit me like a punch in the gut, and for a moment, I just stare at the screen, the bright light from my phone casting harsh shadows in the dark car. I can feel the truth in what she’s saying, but it’s only part of it. Yeah, we’ve been physical, and I’m not denying that’s been a big part of this whole thing, but it’s not just that.

No, Drea. It’s more than that. We both know it always was.

You said it three days ago.

I hesitate before hitting send, but I know I have to. I can’t keep hiding behind the bullshit. She deserves better than that even if she won’t appreciate it.

The reply doesn’t come right away, and the silence feels like it’s pressing in on me from all sides. I shift in my seat. This whole thing—this whole night—feels like I’m balancing on a razor’s edge, and I’m terrified of falling off.

When her response finally comes, it’s short.

It’s 2am.

Ok, it’s not ideal. but I can’t stop thinking about everything you said.

And everything I didn’t say.

There’s another long pause, and I can almost picture her on the other end, trying to figure out what to say. We’ve been dancing around each other for so long, caught up in this push and pull, and now it feels like we’re on the verge of something, but neither of us knows how to take the next step.

Then, her next message comes through, and it’s enough to make my chest tighten. It’s hesitant but willing.

Where are you?

Outside your hotel.

Her reply is instant this time.

Come up.

I shove my phone into my pocket and step out of the Uber, my mind on a million as I make my way to her room. Every step feels heavy as if I’m walking through mud, but there’s a part of me that knows this is where I need to be—where I’ve always needed to be.

When I reach her door, it swings open almost as soon as I knock, and there she is, standing in front of me. Her eyes are guarded, just like her text messages, but I can see something softer underneath. Something that tells me she’s just as scared of this as I am.

“Paige,” she says, her voice a little wistful as she fiddles with the door knob. She looks me up and down, almost as if I’m being examined before I’m allowed in.

I don’t know what to say, so I just step forward, closing the distance between us. “I’m not drunk,” I state, shooting down her concerns from a few moments ago. She wouldn’t proceed if there was a chance I wouldn’t remember anything in the morning.

She looks at me for another long moment, like she’s trying to decide if she believes me. Then, with a sigh, she steps aside, letting me in. The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I lean against it. Suddenly we’re alone in her room, the reality of the situation settling around us.

“I know I shouldn’t have texted. But I did, and I’m glad I’m here.” I ramble, although still stern.

She sighs, and the curls that fall perfectly over her shoulders bounce a bit. Shes in a pair of short pajama shorts and a long, grey Nike tee-shirt that could’ve been mine. Correction, it definitely is mine. “You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.”

“It doesn’t have to be hard. We can make it less complicated.” I try to reason.

She stiffens, her breath catching as she looks at me, her eyes searching mine. “I—“

“I’m serious,” I cut her off, my voice low as I step closer to her. I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking. “I don’t know when I’m gonna see you again. And I can’t… I can’t leave tomorrow without letting you know how much I care.”

I don’t say it out loud, but the words are there, hanging in the air between us. I love you. And I’m sorry. But I can’t bring myself to say it. I don’t know why. Instead, I just hope she can feel it, hoping she knows without me having to spell it out.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she says quietly, her back turned to me as she walks further into the room. “Running to me when you’re feeling lost. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” I admit, taking a step closer. “But I’ont know how to stop. I’ve tried, but… since you’ve been apart of my life it’s been hard to let you go. I don’t wanna lose you—“

“You already did,” she cuts me off, turning to face me, and it scares me how serious she sounds. There’s pain in her eyes, but there’s also something else—something that makes me hope, even if just for a second. “We both did.”

I close the gap between us, and I can tell it catches her by surprise because of the look she gives me. My hands gently cup her face. “Then why am I here? Why did you let me in again?”

She glances down at my lips, and despite being angry, she doesn’t respond with words. Physicality has always been our response for everything involving each other. It’s all we know. She leans into my touch, and it feels like a birthday gift. Her eyes flutter shut before she opens them again, and it’s enough to make me lean in, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that’s more desperate than anything else.

She kisses me back, her hands finding their way to my shoulders as she pulls me closer, and for a moment, it feels like everything else fades away. It’s just us, tangled up in each other, trying to find something solid to hold onto.

But then she pulls back, breathless, her hands still resting on my shoulders. She’s looking down, like she’s fighting some internal battle. “Oh my God,” she whispers, shaking her head. “You are drunk.”

“I told you I’m not,” I murmur, trying to find her eyes and pull her back to me by the waist, but she resists, her fingers gripping my shoulders tighter. Her resistance is strong, her fingers digging into my shoulders as if she’s trying to push away the intensity of the moment. “Please, Drea.”

She shakes her head, eyes still averted. “I can taste the alcohol!” She brings her thumb up to brush over my lips. “I knew it, why the fuck would you lie?” She’s trying to walk away at this point, but my grip is too tough. I won’t let her go.

“No, listen,” I say, more eager and clear. “What I said, what I meant—none of that has to do with being drunk. I’m here because I need you. Because I want you. This isn’t just about tonight.”

Drea’s resolve falters, her eyes flickering back to mine with her perfectly arched eyebrows crinkling up just a bit. “You’re saying all the right things, but I can’t just ignore—”

I cut her off by pulling her closer, my grip firm but gentle on her hips. My thumbs move beneath her shirt, stroking her skin and feeling the muscle. “I know.” My lips are ghosting over her ear. “But please, just for tonight, let’s not think about it.” I press a kiss right below it. “Just be with me. Let’s just be here.”

“Paige..” she starts again, her voice softer this time, and I love it when she says my name. I lean in, silencing her with a kiss that’s both insistent and tender. She melts into it, her resistance breaking as she wraps her arms around my neck. Shes quick to sneak her tongue in, the movement making me wince, furrowing my brows at how good she tastes.

I guide her backward until her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she falls onto it with a soft thud. I follow her down, my body pressing against hers as our kiss grows more fervent. My hands explore her curves, skimming over the fabric of her shirt as it rides up, and I feel her shiver beneath me.

“Is this mine?” I breathe against her lips, the warmth of her hands on my cheeks making my face flush a vibrant red. Drea nods, her breath hitching as she catches the look in my eyes. Without another word, I grab the hem of her shirt and yank it up over her head, tossing it aside. The shirt hits the floor, and she starts giggling like a school girl, her chest now fully exposed and daunting.

The sound of her laughter makes my stomach flip, and I can’t help but grin, leaning down to capture her mouth in another kiss. This time, there’s no hesitation, no holding back. Our bodies press together, her skin warm and soft against mine, like it was made for me.

My hands begin to wander a bit too much, all the way down to her shorts. Slipping my hand in, I can already feel how wet she is. She lets out a soft gasp as I trace slow, deliberate circles against her clit firmly. “Tell me what you want, baby,” I whisper, my breath fanning over her neck.

Her body has always reacted to every touch, every word. She’s trying to stay composed, but I can tell she’s barely holding on. Her hips instinctively push against my hand, silently begging for more, but I keep my movements steady, torturously slow and sloppy. I want to hear her say it.

“You,” she breathes out, her voice wavering. She’s antsy, I can feel it—the way her muscles tense, the way her breath comes in shallow pants.

“C’mon,” I murmur, nipping at her earlobe. “You can do better than that.”

She whimpers, her hands gripping my shoulders, nails digging into my skin as she tries to find the words. “Please… I need—” She breaks off, a soft moan escaping her lips when I press harder, right where she needs it most.

But then she grabs my wrist, stopping me just before she can fall over the edge. Her eyes lock with mine, and they’re low, dark, and daring. Three words that are very Drea. “Stop,” she says, her voice firmer now, even though I can tell it’s taking all her willpower. “I wanna feel you.”

The way she says it—so raw, so desperate—it’s enough to make me slip into a trance. I pull back, my gaze lingering on her as I strip off the rest of my clothes, watching as she does the same. Every inch of her is so perfect to the point where it should be a crime, and I want to touch every part.

I lay back on the bed, and she climbs on top of me, her movements deliberate and careful as she positions herself right over the bottom half of my body. I let my hands slide down her sides, tracing the curve of her waist before coming to rest on her ass. I tilt my head slightly against the pillows, mouth slightly agape. I can’t resist giving her a gentle squeeze, eliciting a soft noise from her. I smile, and my hands linger there, holding her close as she settles into place. We’ve done this countless amounts of times, and every single time it feels different. Better.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, you know that?” I pull her hips down, aligning our bodies perfectly, and the feeling of her heat against mine makes my breath catch, but I’m still focused. “Could stay like this all night.”

Drea licks her lips, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she adjusts herself, the friction and jolting of our bodies a whole whirlpool of pleasure. “You better,” she whispers back, a teasing smile tugging at her lips as her hands grip my legs so she can find herself.

Slowly, she starts to move, her hips grinding down against mine in a smooth rhythm. Every slide of her body against me is agonizingly perfect, and I can’t help the groan that escapes as she finds a pace that makes my whole body push up against her.

My eyebrows furrow as I take sight of where we meet, her pussy flat against mine. The squelching of our juices together fills the room, and I lose it. Maybe the alcohol is accentuating the feeling for me, or she’s just this good. “Fuck…” I breathe out, my hands roaming up her back, feeling the muscles flex and move beneath her skin. “You feel so good. Always so good.”

Her response is a soft moan, her head falling forward slightly as she loses herself. I let my hands slide back down to her ass, guiding her movements, making sure every grind, every brush of our bodies, hits just right. I can feel her trembling, her thighs shaking as she picks up the pace, chasing that high.

I can’t resist teasing her a little, my hands kneading her ass as she rides me, my fingers brushing just along the edge of her entrance, close enough to make her squirm but not enough to give her what she really wants. She lets out a frustrated moan, hips moving harder, trying to get more.

“Paige!” she groans, voice full of need and just the right amount of anger, her breath coming out in ragged pants. “Stop playing with me. I can’t take it.”

My grip tightens, and I keep her exactly where I want her, reaching up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, my fingers lingering as I brush my thumb gently along her cheek. “You can take it, baby,” I whisper. “I know you can.”

She looks at me with those pleading eyes, her breath hitching as she adjusts herself, arching her back more. The movement pushes her even closer to me, our bodies pressing together, and the feeling almost sends me over the edge.

Without warning, I dip two fingers into her entrance, the sight too pretty to resist. It makes her gasp, her body collapsing forward against me. Our skin sticks together, warm too from the sweat, and her chest is pressing against mine as she struggles to catch her breath.

Before she can lose herself entirely, I slide my hand to her lower stomach, pushing her back up, guiding her into place. “Nah, stay up w’me, ma.” My voice is shaky with the effort of holding it together. Out of breath, mouth wide open. “Hold that shit.”

She whines out, her voice high and so pornographic. “Mm—oh, I can’t…” Her words trail off into a desperate moan, her body shuddering as my fingers move in that come-hither motion, curling inside her just right. The feeling of her slick is almost too much to bear, making my head spin.

I push through, keeping her steady even as I feel myself starting to lose control. “You can,” I pant, my breath coming out in ragged bursts. “So close, I know you can do it.”

She’s trembling, her thighs shaking as she tries to follow my command, but I can see the strain on her face, her dilated pupils, the way she’s fighting to keep herself together. My fingers work faster, deeper, and she bites down so hard on her lip I swear it might bleed.

Finally, when I feel her body tighten around me, right on the edge of breaking, I tap her ass lightly with my palm and pull my fingers out just enough to catch everything. “Now, baby. Come for me.”

The moment I say it, she lets go, and we come together, our bodies moving in sync, the room filled with strangled noises. The pleasure is blinding, overwhelming, and I cling to her as we ride it out. She’s finally able to fall on top of me comfortably, hand resting on my chest.

We stay like that for a moment, tangled together, both of us shaking with the aftershocks, until we finally start to come down. I press a soft kiss to her temple, my heart still racing (for more than one reason I’ll admit) as I hold her close.

I can feel her hesitance, scared to move or say anything. But I can also feel her tiredness, the way her body sags against mine like she’s too worn out to keep up any walls.

Gently, I shift, moving my body so I’m laid up next to her, our limbs tangling together naturally. My arm stays draped around her, holding her close as she nestles her head into the crook of my neck, her breath warm against my skin. It feels good—too good—like maybe we could stay like this forever if we didn’t know better.

“I want you to mean what you said. All of it.” 

Her words hang, and I can feel her hesitation, the fear that I’m just saying things because it’s easier than dropping the bomb or just straight losing her. I swallow, pulling her closer.

“You’ont think I did?”

“Paige.”

“Drea, I do.”

She doesn’t respond right away, just presses herself deeper into me, like she’s trying to believe it, trying to let herself see us being more than what we are right now without it turning into shit. I know how hard that is, how many times we’ve proven we aren’t made for each other.

“Then prove it,” she finally murmurs, her voice a little stronger now, like she’s challenging me, daring me to back it up.

I nod against her, not sure if she can even feel it, but I know what she means. It’s not about words anymore—it’s about what comes next, and whether we can make it work. “I will,” I promise, and for once, I really believe it.

[knight-arts]

Hello Gappleduo enjoyers.

I started working on this shit 5th of November. I’m FREEEEEEE

Anyway. Something from the Fellow in the North AU, if any of you remember lol. I originally posted about it … TWO?? years ago lol. It’s named after a song of the same name by Cold Weather Company. (Which you should listen to. That’s one of my fave songs of all time. Please?) Anyway this is why Dream wears his mask lmfao. And not long after this he’ll draw a smiley face on it and it’ll make Phil laugh.

I’ve posted about it before here and here (I consider this one part of the au but more because it sparked the idea) Feel free to send me asks about this au if you’d like.

Edit: Bruh I sent it to a friend and then a group chat and none of them pointed out there was a mistake god dangit. It’s gone now tho but m a n. Man.

Under the cut: me rambling about stuff and things

Okay so uh the way I “note” things down is mostly just by rambling things to my friends through text messages and whenever I need to find them again I just look it up in the chat logs. But I did find some key notes about this au in a google docs. Tell me why my immediate reaction to something I wrote myself was just

(Image stolen form Pinterest)

“HE WHAT-”

Anyway

If I ever continue this story, fair warning that c!Wilbur is in it (Dead. Bro is completely fridged even before the story starts.) I wrote a pros and cons list of him being in here and he was several of the cons. Unfortunately I found the story to be more interesting if he was in it so. Yeah :/

Also show some love to @kyo-mei for always being willing to look over my shit and make corrections and listen to me when I ramble. They’re awesome and I love them.

Bonus: Something dubiously canon, set after the escape from the forest and done before I got a better idea of what I wanted Dream’s hair to be like

Bonus bonus: wip collage

Also also I’m not to sure how but I am now very much into TRANSFORMERS of ALL THINGS??? THE JUMP FROM MCYT TO K-POP WAS ONE THING BUT JUMPING BACK TO MCYT AND THEN TRANSFORMERS WAS ANOTHER. Anyway I read all of More Than Meets the Eye + Lost Light (comics) and uh. Honest to god cried when I reached the end so. Yeah. I’m still not over the fact that I got into the robots that turn into cars. I’m still not over that basic fact. I remember it once in a while and just get a hundred yard stare. My fave guy is a Decepticon called Soundwave. He’s cool. He’s got pets(?) kids(?). (… I’m cringe but I’m free I’m cringe but I’m free I’m cringe but I’m free) Oh and I’m pretty sure at one point I watched Rise of the Guardians and it stuck in my head enough that I made an oc about it. (I make ocs just about every new thing I get into. The one I have from Transformers is weirdly developed to a higher level than usual so I might do something with that one day. Or not lol)

Anyway

Yeah :>

[starfruitbats]

I want to learn more about circuitbreaker they're so cute!

Aaaa thank you!!! I’m not sure what you wanna know specifically but here’s a basic rundown!

CircuitBreaker, who more commonly goes by just Circuit, is my fankid OC between Sabotage (my other oc) and Thundercracker!

They use they/them pronouns, and were born at around the mid point of the war.

Circuit is an outlier with electrical capabilities. They can generate and discharge electricity which they use for their scientific endeavors. They specialize in weaponry, ship maintenance, and general machinery.

After the war, Circuit decides to pursue their love for science by boarding the Lost Light and doing an apprenticeship under Perceptor (and by extension Brainstorm). They get plenty of support from their parents, even if they aren’t necessarily keen on them ‘leaving the nest so soon’. Thundercracker would’ve much preferred if they stayed on Cybertron and mentored under someone else, but understands the wanderlust.

They’re blunt, monotone, straight to the point, and can come across as cold. Ironically, despite all this, Circuit is a certified yapper. Mostly talking about their projects. They actually do enjoy people, even if dumb ppl drive them nuts, but because of their general vibe, and being a much younger mech in comparison to others, they don’t tend to have a lot of friends. Circuit tends to be a bit of a stickler for rules, and only tends to sway if there’s something they can benefit from.

Circuit’s electrical outlier ability is used pretty frequently by them, whether it be jumpstarting a generator or using it to power small (rarely large) machinery. Their outlier ability is not without its flaws. It takes a lot of energy, and will result in exhaustion when used execessively. It also creates a pretty strong appetite, making them particularly easily the wavered by snacks. (Their favorite being energon sticks)

Circuit is pretty close with both their parents. Although has some repressed issues with Thundercracker they need to work through. But by nature they’re kind of the opposite of an open book. So the only people who really know about those issues are them and their parents.

Other than that, they’re mostly just a silly scientist on a silly ship.

If there’s anything specific you wanna know feel free to ask!

[disgracedghostprincess]

“I promise the brainworms are gone! I am a normal person just like all of you!”

*trips and all these drawings fall out of my coat pocket*

“….. These aren’t mine—“

I’m not even sorry at this point the brainworms have overtaken my brain and basically made me a walking corpse. I loved everyone’s OC’s interacting with Skylar-Chilli’s (he deserves so much love) and the brainworms are like “he has a friend group now” AND HERE WE ARE

Do I know the name of the group??? NOPE BUT THEY’RE NOT GONNA LEAVE FOR A BIT SO I APOLOGIZE SO MUCH IN ADVANCE

The brainworms are not dying down so I’ll still draw some things with my Maria and Skylar-Chilli but I also wanna draw these guys some more cause why not

I apologize for not fully coloring the rest I got severely lazy

Lume and King (snake) belong to @sonic-syndrome

Maria (former Glup) belongs to @deszczowedni

Skylar-Chilli belongs to the one and only @cyucya

And Maria (gonna call her Mar for my sanity in these) is by me :D

Sonic masterpost

References I used:

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Mafia AU, Stray Kids one shot

𝑾𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒍?

Synopsis: When his enemies strike during a family visit, the truth shatters their world; Chris is a mafia Capo. Forced to leave him for your safety, you tried to avoid him, but Chris convinces you to stay. You built a happy life together, until Christmas brings a devastating loss. Leaving Chris to exact the only gift he can give in return.

Warnings: Reader's death (the idea was voted yes in this poll). Mention of blood, guns, violence, explosions, tears(LOTS of it), angst. OC!enemy. Dad Chris. Reader is a doctor and is called 'Dove'. Might have overused some words.

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: This is my first writing outside soft, contemporary romance. It's probably not my best work, but I wanted to write it while the motivation was lingering. The story is HEAVILY inspired from a south Indian movie, it's basically in that universe but switched to Mafia.

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 7.6k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Shoot! Bang!

The gunshot vibrated through the air, the echoes ricocheting off the cold, concrete walls. For a moment, time stood still, then the heavy thud of a lifeless body hitting the floor shattered the silence. 

Blood spilled out in thick, crimson waves, pooling beneath the corpse, the metallic scent tainting the air. No one dares to step in his territory. 

Chris stood over it, his chest rising and falling with steady control, the barrel of his gun still smoking, though his eyes burned with something dark and cruel.

Around him, the others shifted in the dimly lit room. Jisung exhaled, while I.N knelt to check the pulse—unnecessary, but instinctive. "It's done," he muttered, wiping his hand on his jeans, the stain spreading like ink.

Hyunjin leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. “They’re getting too close.” His voice was low, laced with tension.

Chris didn’t respond. His grip tightened around the gun, the weight of it familiar, grounding. He had made his decision long ago. This life came with taking blood and brutality. 

There was no other way.

Then Chris’s phone tinged, a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence.

He pulled it out, and the moment his eyes landed on the screen, his heart faltered when he saw your name. 

Dove: Can we meet? There's something I need to tell you. Cafe at 5?

For a second, he forgot where he was—forgot the blood, the bodies, the weight of the life he led. His thumb hovered over the screen, the tension in his chest was unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable.

“Who is it?” Changbin asked, arching a brow and walking towards Chris.

He hesitated before slipping the phone back into his pocket. "No one.” He shrugged nonchalantly, straightening his leather jacket. “No trace of him should be found,” Chris pointed the gun at the corpse, “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Changbin knew better than to push Chris with more questions, he nodded and walked toward the body. Chris turned around, walking into a changing room and changed to an entire different outfit that hid his true identity perfectly. 

After a while Chris reached the location you had texted him, you waited outside, nervousness crawling across your skin. He was always punctual, but today he was just a teensie bit, five minutes late. 

You spotted him walking towards you, removing his sunglasses, the hoop hearings glinting under the shining sun, a dimple grin that made your heart flutter.

“You’re late,” you huffed, crossing your arms, a pout forming on your face. “Five whole minutes, Chris. I was starting to think you stood me up.”

Chris sighed dramatically, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips as he leaned down, pressing his lips on yours. “Sorry, love,” he murmured against you. “Traffic was hell.”

You rolled her eyes, but the ghost of a smile betrayed your irritation. “You always say that. But anyways, I'm nervous. Come fast.” Your hand wrapped around his wrist as you pushed the door open and pulled him inside.

“What happened?” Chris asked, his brows furrowing as you walked inside the huge restaurant cafe. 

“You're going to meet my father.” You said nervously as you kept walking. Chris stood on his feed, as if he was chained, making you stop. 

“Baby you could have told me earlier, I would have prepared something.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Is this an exam? For you to prepare?” You bit your lip, nerves building in your stomach. 

“At least give me a clue about him, Dove.” His fingers lingered across your cheek. 

“The word he despises the most in the English language…” 

You started walking again. “Is it sorry?” He asked jokingly. 

You eyed him head to toe. “Police.” 

Chris’s heart skipped a beat at your words, remembering that you never knew about what he truly does, but he quickly masked his reaction with a small chuckle, slipping his hand into yours as you led him deeper into the bustling restaurant café. 

“I see,” he said smoothly, offering you a reassuring smile despite the unease simmering beneath the surface. “So, no cop jokes, then?”

You shot him a nervous glare, your fingers squeezing him. “Chris, I’m serious. He’s… intimidating. Just be yourself, okay? My dad’s really protective.”

You finally reached the table where your family sat, and Chris instantly felt the scrutiny in your father’s gaze. He was a tall man with a sharp jawline, streaks of silver in his dark hair, and eyes that seemed to pierce right through him. 

Your mother, on the other hand, was warm and welcoming, a kind smile tugging at her lips as she observed Chris. And then there was your younger sister, who looked at him with curiosity.

“Mom, Dad… this is Chris,” you introduced, gesturing toward him with a small, hopeful smile.

Chris stepped forward, extending his hand confidently. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said, maintaining steady eye contact with your father.

Your father didn’t immediately take his hand. Instead, he studied Chris with a hard gaze before finally shaking it, his grip firm and unyielding and gestured to him to take a seat. 

You sat next to Chris, taking a deep breath, waiting for one of them to start a conversation. Right when Chris cleared his throat to say something, your father interrupted.

“I have no intention of seeing my daughter with you.” He cut straight to the chase, his tone sharp leaving your heart to sink like a stone thrown in an ocean.

“Dad—” you spoke but his icy gaze pinned you down and Chris held your hand tightly beneath the table. 

He felt you tremble slightly in his grasp but he gave it a reassuring squeeze, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. He could sense the tension in the air thickening, pressing down on both of you like an invisible weight. 

His jaw clenched, but he kept his expression calm, composed—even though your father’s words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“I understand your concern, sir,” Chris said, his voice steady but gentle, careful to show respect without backing down. “I know how much she means to you.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed, a storm brewing in their depths. “You think you do.” His words were cold, slicing through the air like a blade. “She’s my daughter. My responsibility. And I won’t hand her over to just anyone, especially someone who arrives five minutes late.”

You stiffened beside Chris, your cheeks burning with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. “Dad, please…” you pleaded softly, but Chris gently squeezed your hand again, signaling that he had this under control.

“I apologize for being late,” he said sincerely, looking your father in the eye. “It wasn’t intentional. But with all due respect, sir, my commitment to her goes beyond being on time for dinner. Now it’s my responsibility to protect her, to cherish her.” 

His voice was firm, yet there was an underlying warmth to it that made your heart ache in the best way.

Your father leaned back in his chair, studying Chris with an expression that held skepticism, like a man weighing the worth of the person before him. 

“You say you’re in law enforcement,” he said finally. “That’s a dangerous job. You’re putting yourself in harm’s way every day. What happens when that danger follows you home?”

Chris met his gaze head-on, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. If only your father knew just how deep that danger already ran. That he was beyond just a loyal cop. That his job was with violence, guns and blood. 

But instead, he answered with practiced ease. “Sir, danger exists everywhere. My job is to keep it as far away from her as possible. I would never put her in harm’s way.”

Your mother, sensing the rising tension, placed a gentle hand on your father’s arm. “Let the boy speak, dear,” she said softly, offering Chris a kind smile. “He’s here because he cares about our daughter.”

Your father sighed, rubbing his temples. “Care isn’t enough,” he muttered, his voice gruff. “What happens when things get hard? When work comes before family?” He leaned forward, his sharp gaze piercing. “Because I’ve seen men who thought they could handle it, and they ended up failing their families.”

Chris nodded, his grip on your hand firm but comforting. “I won’t fail her, sir,” he said without hesitation. “Your daughter means the world to me. I know my job isn’t easy, but I assure you, her happiness, her safety, our life together will always come first. I’m not here to make empty promises. I’m here to prove to you that I’m worthy of her.”

You glanced at Chris, your heart swelling with emotion. The conviction in his words, the way he spoke with such quiet confidence, made you fall for him all over again.

Your father’s gaze softened. Just a fraction. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “Big words,” he muttered. “We’ll see if you can back them up.”

Your little sister leaned forward with curious eyes. “So, you’re really a cop? Like… badge and everything?”

Chris chuckled, leaning in conspiratorially. “Top secret, but yeah. Badge and everything.”

You laughed, nudging your sister. “Leave him alone, will you?”

As the evening went on, Chris found himself slipping into the conversation effortlessly. He complimented your mother’s cooking, shared amusing stories that he carefully crafted to fit his “police officer” persona, and even managed to get a small chuckle out of your father. Slowly but surely, he was winning them over.

But just as those smiles were about to last a bit longer, Chris caught a reflection of a masked man walking behind him from the mirror hanging from the wall in front of him. 

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, his other hand flying to the gun resting on the waistband of his pants and before you could register what was happening, he screamed.

“ON THE FLOOR!”

The restaurant, once filled with warm chatter and clinking silverware, was now a battleground of panic and confusion. The masked men charged forward, their heavy boots pounding against the tiled floor.

“Get the Capo!” one of them roared, his voice slicing through the chaos like a blade.

Capo? The word echoed in your head. Isn't that the term used in the Mafia?

Your father stood frozen, eyes wide in shock as Chris drew his gun with precision and fired. The sharp crack of the shot echoed through the room, sending one of the masked assailants crumpling to the ground. 

A second later, Chris was moving. Swift, calculated. He overturned a table, using it as temporary cover while bullets whizzed past, shattering glass and porcelain.

Screams filled the air, people scrambling for the exits, but Chris stayed rooted to the spot, shielding you with his own body. “Behind that door!” he shouted, motioning toward the back exit.

You hesitated, your eyes locked onto him, filled with fear and confusion. “Chris—”

“GO!” His voice was sharp, but his eyes softened for a fleeting second.

Your father finally snapped out of his daze, grabbing your arm and pulling you along with him. Your mother and sister stumbled behind, clinging to each other. Chris fired another shot, buying time as he watched you disappear behind the door. Relief surged through him, but it was short-lived.

More men stormed in, their weapons raised. Chris’s muscles tensed as he ducked behind a column, swiftly reloading. “So it’s you lot?” he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. “You picked the wrong fucking night.”

He lunged forward, taking down another man with a precise shot to the leg before slamming his elbow into another’s jaw. The fight was brutal, relentless. Fury and sweat soaked the air. Chris was outnumbered, but years of experience and instinct guided him. 

Fists flew, gunfire rang out, and blood stained his knuckles, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

You watched Chris through the glass window, not missing a single move and breaking the arms of anyone who came in his way. The banging sounds of the guns made you shake, cover your ears and close your eyes. 

Finally, the last man fell, groaning in pain on the floor. Chris wiped the back of his hand across his brow, chest heaving. His ears still rang from the gunshots, but the only thing he could focus on now was you. He turned sharply, heading towards the door you had escaped through.

But his heart sank when he saw it.

Through the shattered window, he spotted your father pulling you away, your eyes wide, pleading, your lips forming silent protests. “Dad, please! Christopher—”

But your father’s grip was firm, his face set in grim determination. “You’re done with him!” he shouted, dragging you away.

Chris’s chest tightened. He took a step forward, but the weight of the moment crushed him. Your father’s eyes met his. Full of fear, anger, and something he couldn’t quite place.

And then, just like that, you were gone.

The weight of what just happened settled over him like a suffocating fog. His cover was blown, and worse. He had dragged you into his world of blood and violence.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, sliding his gun back into the waistband of his pants.

But one thing was clear. He wasn’t letting you go that easily.

~

It’s been 3 weeks. Chris’s calls and texts were unanswered. He went to the hospital you were working at, but they refused to give your details. He wasn’t one to beg, but for you, he had swallowed his pride more times than he cared to count.

Tonight, he was done waiting.

Chris leaned against his black car parked discreetly across the street, watching the entrance of the hospital with sharp, dark eyes. The hood of his jacket was drawn low, shielding his face from prying eyes, but there was no mistaking the tension in his stance. His fingers twitched at his side, itching for something. 

For you.

And then, finally, you appeared.

Chris straightened the moment he saw you step out of the hospital doors, the soft glow of the entrance lights framing you in a way that made his chest ache. You looked exhausted, the white coat hanging on your arms, your hair hastily pulled back. The familiar warmth he once found in your eyes was absent, replaced by something colder and distant.

He pulled his phone out and dialed your number, your phone rang in your hands but when you saw the name on the screen, you pressed the volume button, silencing his call. 

Anger and rejection fueled his chest, you hadn’t noticed him yet, too busy rummaging through your bag as you made your way towards the street. Then unintentionally your eyes landed on a familiar pair of dark eyes.

Chris took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he pushed off the car and stepped into your path. “Dove.”

You looked at him and then turned away, as if you didn't hear him. Frustration took over him, you halted frozen when he called you by your name. 

You turned back around, your gaze on the ground, heart in your throat. You couldn't look at him the same anymore. How could you? He wasn't who he told you he was.

His identity was revealed that evening, surrounded by chaos and danger. Your father was right.

But you weren't mad at him for hiding that he's a Capo. If anything you were scared. Scared of what dangers and threats that would follow him.

Chris walked towards you until his figure enveloped you, the strong scent of mint and leather engulfing your senses.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was tired, but sharp.

His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours desperately. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

You hugged your bag closer to your chest, stepping back instinctively. “I thought that was pretty clear.”

Chris exhaled sharply, taking a cautious step forward. “You can’t just shut me out, Dove. Not like this.” His voice softened.

“It doesn't matter Chris, I don't think this isn't going to work out.” 

“What honey?”

“OUR LIFE!” Your voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. Chris's breath was clogged in his throat, unable to see the fear and pain etched across your face.

Your chest rose and fell with the weight of emotions you had tried so hard to suppress.

Chris stared at you, his jaw tightening, his eyes dark with unspoken emotions. "Dove..." he reached out, but you took a step back, shaking your head.

"I love you," you choked, your fingers clutching the strap of your bag so tightly that your knuckles turned white. "But love isn't enough when I'm scared every second of what might happen to you! When— when those men came at you, almost shot you, I—"

His hands gripped your shoulders, making you calm down, his index on his lips asking you not to shout.

Your gaze locked with his, pleading. "I can't afford to lose you, Chris. And if you love me too... you'll find a way out of this.”

Chris swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he took a hesitant step toward you. "Alright, then tell me what you want me to do." His voice was soft but laced with desperation, his fingers brushing away the cold tears streaming down your face. 

"You give me a solution for this.”

You looked at him, hope flickering in your eyes despite the pain. "Leave it all, Chris."

He blinked at you.

"Whatever you're doing, whatever mess you're tangled in, just leave it behind. We can go somewhere far away, where no one can find us. We’ll get married, start over... just you and me." 

Your voice broke, tears slipping down your cheeks. "Please... if you can’t do that, then…”

Your voice wavered as you took a deep breath. "If you can't, then hail me a taxi. And we'll end this right here, right now.”

He watched you, his heart pounding violently against his ribcage. He wanted to say no. He wanted to promise you a life far from the blood, the danger, the lies. But deep down, he knew, there was no walking away from this world.

Silence fell between you like a heavy storm cloud, suffocating, pressing in from all sides. Chris's lips parted, his hands twitching at his sides. The war in his eyes was painfully clear, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might choose you.

But then, without a word, Chris lifted his hand and flagged down a passing taxi.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the yellow cab slowed to a stop in front of you. The cold night air felt heavier, suffocating. You blinked up at him, disbelief washing over your features.

His jaw clenched, his eyes filled with unspoken regret, sorrow, love. He reached for the door handle and opened it for you, your heart shattered into shards. 

Right as you were about to get in, he said, “Won't you give me one last goodbye hug?” 

His sense of humour at this situation made you rage, your bloodshot eyes stung as you got inside the taxi without sparing another glance at him and closing the door shut. 

“Okay, I'm sorry.” He raised his hands up in surrender and turned to his back, not wishing to watch the cab pull away. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose closing his eyes, swallowing the hard lump in his throat when he heard the breaks behind him, that made him chuckle.

You got out of the car, running to him, slapping your coat against his body.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?! Huh?” Another hit and Chris laughed in response. “Are you trying to chase me away?!”

Chris let out a chuckle, catching your wrist mid-air before you could land another hit.

“Silly girl, I knew you would come back,” his fake laugh was uncontrollable, “But I didn't think you'd come back this fast.” 

You slapped your hand against his arm, your chin wobbling. 

His fingers curled gently around your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your skin. "Dove," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions. "You know how much I love you.”

"And I love what I'm doing now as Capo as well," he admitted, his voice soft but unwavering. "But I will never give up or lose you for it. Okay?"

You stared at him, your chest rising and falling in time with his, then you wrapped your hands around his body, burying your face against his heart.

His arms wrapped you tightly, his heartbeat thundered beneath your ear, steady and strong, but the warmth of his embrace did little to soothe the fear still clinging to your heart.

You looked up at him, your breath warm against his skin. “You will never leave me right?” You asked, your voice shaking.

Chris’s fingers sank in your hair, pressing your face flush against him. 

“I promise… I will always be with you sweetheart.” 

The warmth of his body, the way his arms caged you in so securely, made you want to believe in his words, made you want to trust that he could protect you from the cruel world that kept trying to tear you apart.

You sighed, the tension in your body slowly melting under his touch. "Okay," you whispered, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. "But if you ever get a bullet wound, I swear I’ll kill you myself."

Chris laughed softly, the sound vibrating against your cheek. "Noted," he said, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead and taking your lips in his, erasing away your fears and doubts as the world blurred around you. 

~ 

1 year later. On the night of Christmas Eve.

One whole year passed by in peace. You and Chris built a beautiful life together, you got married a few weeks later, Chris managed to convince your father who in the end only wished for his daughter's happiness.

You moved into his mansion, a strangely comforting place that slowly began to feel like home. It was far from the chaos you once feared, tucked away in a quiet part of the city where you could pretend, for just a little while, that Chris wasn’t who he really was.

Each morning, you woke up wrapped in his arms, sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, casting golden hues over his face. He looked so peaceful when he slept, his guard down, his breathing slow and steady.

He came home every night, exhausted but safe, his arms always reaching for you, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in his life. And you were. Every night he made love to you, sometimes fast, rough and hard, other times long, sweet and slow. 

But there were moments when the illusion cracked. When you caught glimpses of the weight he carried in his quiet stares out the window, or when he’d disappear into his office for hours, his voice low and serious on phone calls you pretended not to hear. 

You never pushed. Because deep down, you knew the truth. The world he came from, the one he tried so hard to keep you away from, could never truly disappear.

When you surprised him with a small box that contained a pregnancy test, he was overjoyed. You brought light into his dark world, and from that moment on, Chris changed in subtle ways. 

He became softer, more attentive, and even more careful. He pulled away from some of his more dangerous work, delegating tasks to his most trusted men, ensuring that his time at home with you was sacred.

Tonight, on Christmas Eve as you were stacking away the presents for your family to open tomorrow morning, Chris came downstairs, exhausted but a smile spread across his face after putting your baby to sleep. 

He spotted you in the living room, fixing the lights on the huge Christmas tree, he walked towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Sweetheart…you seem very happy,” he murmured between the kisses he kept brushing on your neck.

You turned to him, his gaze piercing with yours, you could count each lash that was brimming his whiskey eyes. 

“I feel complete.” you said lowly. 

“Hmm?” He tilted his head to the side. “Give me details Dove.” 

“I have a loving husband. A beautiful home. An angel as a daughter. What else would I need?” You smiled. 

“So I feel complete.” You pecked his nose sweetly and he playfully scratched it.

Chris’s hands tightened on your waist when he kissed you, murmuring against your lips, “I'm over here about to tell you that our angel might want a baby brother to play with…”

Pink crept your cheeks but you turned away nudging him with your elbow. “Honey, not interested. Our angel is more than enough for me.”

“Okay,” he chuckled. “Our angel is more than enough.”

“But I wanna know something sweetheart,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know that you still dislike what I do…” you chuckled and he continued.

“That you accepted this life for me and you made a lot of sacrifices for me…” The lights on the Christmas tree sparkled in his eyes as he spoke and you watched him carefully.

“What is your dream, Dove?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat, caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice. You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering to the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree before returning to his gaze.

“My dream?” you echoed softly, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “You can't fulfil it.” You joked, innocently tapping his face. 

His brows furrowed slightly, the faintest hint of sadness crossing his face but not noticeable enough. “At least tell me,” he said, encouraging you to speak about the life you always dreamt of. 

You leaned into him, your fingers tracing over his black t-shirt. 

“Mm, in a long far away land, in a small village, we're living in a cozy cottage. I wanna hear the chirping of the birds every morning, with a beautiful climate that's sunny but also rainy.��� 

Chris watched you, patiently listening. 

“Hubby should have a boring job that requires you to go late and arrive early.” He couldn't help but chuckle softly.

“And a small cat!” You jumped, “and his name should be… Simba,” you couldn't stop smiling as you kept speaking.

Chris’s lips curled into a soft smile, his eyes never leaving your face as you painted your dream with such innocent delight. He could see the longing in your eyes, the sparkle of hope despite the life you were already living with him.

“And what about our little angel?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back.

You grinned, your eyes lighting up. “She’ll grow up surrounded by fields of flowers, climbing trees, and chasing butterflies.” Your voice grew softer, more wistful. “She won’t have to know about fear, or danger, or the shadows that lurk in the corners of this world.”

You sighed, the smile never leaving your face. “I want a simple life, just the three of us in a world with no threats, no danger… no worries.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You had it all planned out, didn't you?”

You shrugged playfully. “A girl can dream.”

Chris held you closer, his chin resting atop your head. His voice was thick with emotion when he whispered, “I wish I could give you that, Dove.”

You pulled back to look into his eyes, your heart twisting at the conflict in them. “I know, Chris,” you said gently. 

“But tell me this,” you pecked his chin. 

“How do you feel about me as your wife?” 

His dimple deepened when your arms rested on his shoulder, his hands cradling your sweet face. 

“I feel…that you are…”

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the house, followed by a deafening silence that sent chills down his spine.

You gasped, a sharp intake of breath, your body slipping from his hands onto the floor before he could react. His heart seized, eyes widening in horror as a pool of blood gathered from beneath you. 

"Baby?" His voice was a strangled whisper, barely audible over the ringing in his ears. He pressed his trembling hands over the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding, but the warm, sticky crimson seeped between his fingers.

Before he could process the nightmare unfolding in his arms, another gunshot cracked through the air. Instinct took over. Chris whipped around, shielding your limp form with his body as his eyes locked onto the figure stepping through the broken glass.

A figure dressed in black, his face partially obscured by the shadows, strode inside with chilling composure. Chris recognized him immediately—Damian Voss, the younger brother of the man Chris had killed a year ago.

“You thought you could just walk away, Capo?” Damian sneered, lowering his gun slightly, his eyes dark with vengeance. "Did you think I’d let you live a fairy tale while my brother rots in the ground?"

Chris's chest heaved with rage, his arms trembling as he carefully laid you down on the floor. Your face was pale, too pale, and your shallow breaths tore at his heart. He had to end this, fast.

He surged to his feet, a deadly glare replacing his fear. “You son of a—”

But before he could do anything, a sharp brutal force of an iron rod slammed the side of Chris’s head. A blinding pain exploded in his skull as he staggered back, his vision blurring.

He hit the floor hard, the taste of blood filling his mouth. The room spun, distorted voices echoing in his ears.

Damian crouched beside him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, yanking him up so their faces were inches apart. "You took my brother from me, so I'm taking everything from you," he hissed.

Blood trickled down from the corner of Chris's mouth as Damian dragged his body and layed him on his back against the couch. 

His foot landed on Chris’s chest, the force of it made him gasp your name, you could hear the tortures he was going through as a tear leaked from the corner of your eye but you were unable to move at all. 

“You know killing you right away won't make me satisfied Chris…you should die slow. So…fucking…slow…” Damian sneered as he fired the gun upwards, calling out his soldiers. 

“Plant that bomb. The explosion should erase every last evidence of this fucker’s existence.” Damian ordered his men and walked out of the door. 

As the soldiers fixed the countdown of your lives and filed out of the house, their heavy footsteps fading into the night, the silence that followed was deafening. 

Until a ragged gasp tore through the air.

Pain shot through your body like a thousand knives piercing your skin. You took deep breaths and with trembling arms, you made yourself get up, holding your wound and dragging your weak body across the cold floor, pain flaring with every inch you gained.

Metallic red liquid smeared all over your dress as you crawled, inch by inch, toward Chris who was drenched in blood, his back pressed against the couch.

“Chris,” you shook his shoulder, your voice was barely audible, tears streaking your face as you reached him.

Chris's head lolled to the side, his face pale, his half-lidded eyes blinked sluggishly, trying to focus on you. "D-Dove..." he coughed, his voice rasping with pain and despair.

The blinking red light of the bomb timer flashed in the corner of your vision, a cruel reminder of how little time you had left.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you pushed yourself up, biting down a scream as pain shot through you. Gritting your teeth, you crawled upstairs, gripping the railing to keep yourself steady.

Reaching the nursery, you flung the door open with trembling hands, your eyes locking onto your daughter’s sleeping form in her crib. Relief flooded through you, but it was quickly overshadowed by fear.

You gathered her into your arms, biting back the renewed scream that threatened to escape your throat as fresh pain shot through your side. Her tiny weight pressed against you, grounding you, forcing you to keep moving.

Descending the stairs with careful, painful steps, you fell and knelt beside Chris, tears streaking your face as you cradled your daughter close and shook him, trying to get him up.

“Christopher!” You hand cupped his chin, jolting him awake. 

“Chris, please get out of here—,” you choked fisting his shirt. “please get out…take the baby and go…and leave me back…” your hand fell from his shoulder, breaths began growing slow and shallow, "...I won't survive..." he gripped your arm, his head falling back. 

“...there's no point.” 

The taste of pennies coated his tongue as he swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he reached to hold your daughter, before you hugged her close to your chest.

“Even…after this,” your voice broke, “you wish to be Capo…” You said through gritted teeth. “leave her with me.”

Your voice wavered, but your resolve was firm, fisting his shirt tighter. “But if you love me… if you ever loved me, vow to me—right here, right now, you will be a good father to her. That you will protect her, raise her away from this hell.”

Chris felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He shook hard as his head fell back, his cries bouncing against you. His world was crumbling right in front of him, slipping through his fingers, and he was powerless to stop it. 

His jaw clenched, tears pooling in his eyes as he swallowed hard. “I swear,” he whispered, his voice thick and rough. “I swear, I’ll keep her safe. I promise…”

A faint, tearful smile touched your lips as you gazed at him, your eyes clouding with exhaustion. “Thank you…” you breathed, your head resting against his chest, handing the swaddled baby over to him.

His eyes, heavy with pain and exhaustion, searched yours desperately, his breath ragged as he clutched at your weakening form. Chris pulled you closer, his body trembling with sobs he could no longer hold back. 

“Dove, please stay with me,” he begged, pressing desperate kisses to your temple, your forehead, anywhere he could reach. “Just… just hold on a little longer, baby. Please.”

Your breath hitched, your lips parting slightly. “Hubby…”

“How do you feel about me as your wife…?” you asked him one last time.

“You are the reason for breathing my love.” He cried, burying your face in his neck, his voice so painfully loud, it could shred diamonds.

“You're my peace, my home, my whole life. I didn’t deserve you, but you loved me anyway. You saw the man I tried to be, not the monster I was.”

Tears streamed down your face as his words wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing the ache in your heart. You struggled to keep your eyes open, to stay just a little longer in the warmth of his embrace.

Your eyelids fluttered, and with the last shreds of your fading consciousness, you whispered, "I love you, Chris…” and your eyes closed, your last breath fanning over his blood stained skin.

The moment your breath stilled, a ragged scream tore from his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He held you tighter, rocking your lifeless body in his arms, his sobs raw and unrestrained.

And then, a tiny cry pierced through.

His daughter.

Chris blinked through his tears, his chest heaving. He looked down at the fragile, innocent life cradled in his arms, her tiny hands clutching weakly at your dress.

He pressed his lips to your temple, his body trembling violently. “I love you,” he whispered, voice broken beyond repair. “Forever.” 

He gently laid you down on the marble floor and staggered towards the door, his legs barely holding him up. 

The blinking red light of the bomb ticked down, a cruel reminder of the life he was leaving behind.

You had given him a new life and took his death along with you.

~

2 years later.

Capo Christopher Bang’s death was the biggest talk of the underworld. The news spread like wildfire, whispered in hushed voices across darkened alleyways and smoke-filled clubs. Some called it a tragedy, others a long-overdue fall from power. But no one knew the truth.

In a quiet, picturesque village far from the city's chaos, Chris was living the dream you once painted for him. He resigned as Capo, living in a quaint cottage surrounded by endless greenery, birds chirping in the mornings, and a peaceful routine that revolved around his daughter, the last piece of you he had left. 

She believed her father had a simple job, working as a librarian and returning home just in time to tuck her into bed, reading fairy tales under the soft glow of the lamp. She knew nothing of the weight he carried in his heart, the life he left behind, or the silent war brewing in his eyes.

Chris’s men were still in the underworld but were loyal to him, played along, treating this quiet life as their own, shielding your daughter from the darkness that still lurked beyond their haven.

But tonight, on Christmas Eve two years later, the past came knocking once again.

Chris was laying next to his daughter who was drifting into a deep sleep, he bent down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, inhaling the sweet scent of baby lotion and warmth.

“Daddy?” her sleepy voice murmured.

“Shh, angel,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “Go back to sleep or else Santa won't come home.”

She blinked up at him drowsily, a soft smile playing on her lips, her small hands touching his face. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

His chest tightened. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Once your daughter was in her slumber, Chris straightened, his eyes hardening as he turned to the two tall figures guarding the doorway. 

“She’s your responsibility tonight.” 

Felix gave a firm nod. “You don't need to worry.”

Seungmin placed a reassuring hand on Chris’s shoulder. “She’s safe with us. Go finish this.”

Chris exhaled deeply and walked to the front door, where Minho and Hyunjin were waiting. Both were dressed in black, three bikes parked in front, their eyes sharp and filled with the same rage that had festered in him for two long years.

“Are we doing this tonight?” Hyunjin asked, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles as he slipped on the gloves. 

Chris’s jaw tightened, his voice cold and unwavering. “That bastard took my wife from me and I'm not stopping until I feel his blood in my hands.”

Minho smirked, the glint of a blade visible beneath his coat. “Let’s make it count.”

As they stepped out into the bitter night, three beast engines roaring to life, Chris took one last glance at the small, warm house behind him. It was a life he swore to protect, a life you had dreamed for him.

But tonight, he was stepping back into the shadows—one. last. time.

For revenge.

Silence fogged the air when the club's lights went off, leaving the room in dread darkness. Damian reached for his gun on his waistband but found his pocket empty. 

He turned around fast, cracking his neck as he felt something crawl up skin and before he could breath, a ragged cloth closed around his head, blocking his airway.

Outside the bar Hyunjin shot and fought Damian's guards until he was standing on a pile of men with broken limbs and cracked necks.

Damian kept fighting until he was pushed against a chair, Minho standing behind him as he removed the cloth off his head, revealing a deadly, wrath fueled Chris standing before him. 

“You fucker…you're still alive.” He hissed and shot forward, aiming his fist at Chris who whipped a thick, iron bar resting on his shoulder, slamming the side of Damian's head in a brutal force. 

Blood splattered out of his mouth, a harsh, loud, strangled scream ripped from Damian’s throat echoing off the walls, as he fell on the ground, feeling his brain vibrate. 

Chris landed a kick with the same force Damian kicked him in the chest two years ago, his hand gripped the bar tightly before swinging it back again at his head, shoving another slam on the other side his face, cracking his skull, blood gushing out Damian's nose. 

The metallic smell soaked the air, each breath he took sharp and bitter. Relentless torture was aimed at the man who took Chris's life away from him, until there was nothing left for him to break. 

Chris stood still, the bar in his hand trembling slightly from the force of his previous blows, dripping with blood, his knuckles were raw, bruised from the reckless pounding, but it was the anger that still coursed through him that made him feel alive. 

“Christopher…”  he croaked, his eyes bloodshot and wide with fear.

Hyunjin and Minho tied Damian on the chair, injecting injecting pure adrenaline into his failing body. He trembled violently, the sudden rush of chemicals forcing him to consciousness despite the overwhelming pain consuming him.

He was unrecognisable because of the destruction Chris had made on his face. 

"You don’t deserve a quick death." Chris whispered, his voice eerily calm. And that was all he said.

Hyunjin tied a time bomb around Damian’s torso, the almost unconscious man looked up at Chris, his eyes begging for mercy. 

His gaze searched Chris’s face, as if trying to find a sliver of mercy in his hard, unforgiving eyes. But there was nothing there.

Hyunjin stepped backward after fixing the time bomb, twisting it to its final setting. “Time’s up,” he said, his tone emotionless.

Damian's desperate, pleading eyes met Chris's one last time. “Please… don’t do this,” he croaked, his voice barely audible.

But before he could finish, the bomb clicked into place, its red LED countdown flashing ominously.

Chris straightened up, taking one last long look at the man who had ruined his life. He could feel the weight of his actions settle on his shoulders, the finality of what he was about to do.

This was it. The end of the road.

With one last deep breath, Chris turned away, his hands stained red, his heart pounding in his chest.

Hyunjin, Minho, and he walked out of the room without a single word, the sound of Damian’s desperate, agonizing cries of pain fading into the silence behind them.

The building was swallowed by the night, a hollow shell of destruction as the countdown echoed through the walls. 

Once the time reached zero, the loud explosion made the birds resting in the nearby trees fly away flapping their wings in terror.

Chris pulled his phone out, the wallpaper of you and him on your first date appearing on his screen.

"finché non ti rivedrò, amore mio." He whispered to himself.

until I see you again, my love

***

The next morning, your daughter came out her bedroom, rubbing her eyes and spotted her father on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate sitting next to him.

“Daddy!” She squealed, running towards him, wrapping her small arms around his neck. Chris hugged her back tightly, pressing his lips on her hair and she nestled close to his chest.

“Where did you go last night daddy?” She asked, her eyes wide and curious, her voice innocent, unaware of the darkness her father went through.

“I didn't go anywhere baby,” Chris said, kissing her cheek that made her giggle. “I will be with you always.” 

She grinned up at him, her eyes filled with wonder, and without warning, she slipped her little hands into his, pulling him onto the floor and began opening her presents. 

Lavish toys, clothes and books her Mafia uncles spoiled her with. 

After a while, her tiny hand wrapped around Chris’s huge arm. “Daddy, can we go outside?” 

His smile deepened as he nodded. “Of course, darling.” 

Lifting her with ease, he carried her in his arms as they stepped out into the crisp morning air, the golden light spilling across their quiet little yard, a fluffy orange cat following behind them.

Your daughter's head rested against Chris's shoulder, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound accompanying their steps. 

The weight of the night’s events still hung in his chest, but he focused on the feeling of her small body in his arms, the steady rhythm of her breath, the calmness that had returned to his world since she had been born.

As they reached the center of the garden, Chris followed her eyes which was glued to a bird gliding gracefully down from the sky, landing softly on the lush green grass. 

Its wings beat gently as it settled, its pure white feathers standing out against the vibrant colors of the morning.

“What bird is that, Daddy?” she pointed at it, her gaze full of wonder.

Chris smiled, his heart swelling with love and a deep, unspoken sadness. “That’s a dove, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and tender as he spoke. 

“It’s so pwetty,” she murmured, her hand reaching out toward the bird as if she could touch its serenity. 

“Do you think it’s here for us?”

Chris’s smile faltered just a fraction, his heart heavy with memories of the past and the promise he had made to you. 

He looked at his daughter, the only living hope of his life you gifted to him. He nodded, though his voice was thick with emotion.

“I think it is,” he whispered. "I think it's here to remind us that even after all the darkness... there’s still light.”

She rested her head back on his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she watched the dove slowly strut across the grass, the little cat's bushy tail brushing Chris's leg.

The dove took flight again, its wings stretching wide as it soared into the morning sky, leaving Chris, his daughter and Simba standing beneath it, in a world that had both healed and broken him in ways his daughter will never fully understand.

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xx,

Ivyy