#Magic Dust Rub

[spotaus]

I am begging on my knees that Tumblr posts this. It has no audio but I cannot send it from my computer to phone and I want it archived lmao-

[deduction-substitute]

Sometimes I wonder where Lucky disappeared to after Miss Nightingale sent him on a "break." (Literally made the au)

Was he just at the back? Forced to listen to his friends' voices coming and going, hearing new voices join the fray?

Somewhere else entirely? A pocket dimension? Wondering when would be the next time he'd be able to see the lawyer who always made him laugh with his sarcastic humor? The thief he always gave not-miss-nightingale approved discounts?

The gardener who always stayed behind an extra minute or two to browse the shop with stars in her eyes? The doctor who left him snacks and drinks whenever there was a special occasion?

Maybe he was just hidden away in the manor, kept out of sight and right under everyone's noses. Despite the number of newcomers that arrive, making the manor more lively, Lucky has never felt so alone.

[blank-potato]

I Love The Girl With Magic Ways

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Witch!Reader

Summary:

He’s there, standing at the foot of your bed, shadows clinging to him like silk. Those eyes, golden and curious, lock onto yours. Not threatening. Not kind. Just... watching. “You dream of me,” he says, not asking. You swallow, and the air thickens. “That's not an invitation to break into my room at night.” He tilts his head, taking a step closer. “You called me. You always do—when your thoughts stray, when your control slips. You think about me more than you care to admit.” You don’t respond. Can’t. Because he’s not wrong. Or When training with Bob goes awry, you come face-to-face with The Void, and he's interested in you; he wants to know what makes you tick.

WC: 2.5k

A/N: Title from Magic Ways by Tatsuro Yamashita (such a good song). I'll probably write a part 2 to this, methinks (linked below). Here's the link to the request here. Enjoy!

Part 2

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Training with Bob wasn’t going well. It was frustrating, more for him than you, but still difficult. When you had tried to help him focus, to channel his power, you’d taken a gentle approach, even though gentleness didn’t come naturally to you all the time.

He’d broken the mirrors and the containment shields in the training facility and accidentally thrown you into a wall with his mind.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know…” You groan, brushing dust off your sleeve as you push yourself up.

You make your way back over to him. He’s sitting on the floor, hands in his lap, and anxiety is coming off him in waves.

“It’s okay,” You say softly, sitting beside him. “You’ll get it.”

You don’t know if the look on your face is reassuring or just tired, but judging by the way he won’t meet your eyes, it probably isn’t convincing. He doesn’t seem any more confident.

You sit next to him, trying to think of how to teach him control in a way he’ll actually absorb. You sigh, watching him.

“When I harness my magic, it’s like… holding energy, shifting it from one place to another—like water between cupped hands. Maybe if I show you how I do it, you can follow. How’s that sound?” You sigh, not meaning to sound tired, but you swear you still have a crick in the neck from hitting the wall.

“I’ll give it a shot.”

You nod, the light glowing in your hands, flickering softly like a heartbeat. Bob finds it beautiful, the way you shape it and mould it with such ease. He doesn’t fully understand it himself, not yet, but there’s awe in his eyes.

“Your turn,” You say gently, passing the moment to him.

He tries. Nothing happens at first, just stillness, but then there’s a faint buzzing in the air, a low hum that tickles the edges of your senses. He can feel it. So can you. His eyes glow as he concentrates.

He’s getting there, but—

“Just a little more…”

Your hand hovers next to his, almost touching, and suddenly, there’s a jolt—like a circuit overloading. Lights flicker, then short out, sparks raining from a fixture above. Half the room is thrown into darkness, the other half stuttering with flickering light.

Bob exhales sharply, his face contorting in frustration. “I messed up again,” he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. It had been at least the tenth mistake in the last thirty minutes, and it was starting to wear him down.

“Control can be hard to learn, but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible…” You say, trying to keep your voice steady, calm, and reassuring.

“I’m hopeless…” Bob murmurs, the words heavy with self-doubt. His chuckle is bitter, empty, and the silence that follows feels louder than any explosion. His eyebrows knit together, and he looks away, shoulders slumping under the weight of his frustration.

You step closer, the glow still dancing faintly in your palms.

“You’re not hopeless. You’re learning. And that’s never a straight line.”

You feel a chill slide down your spine as something shifts, and darkness begins to creep in, curling at the edges of the room like smoke spilling through cracks.

“Bob?” You call again, more urgent now.

The room is fading into a thick, velvet black, seeping into every crevice, swallowing light and colour like a slow tide.

“Bob? Talk to me,” You say, your voice cutting through the dark, a single thread trying to reach him before the void does. It’s too late, though. 

He keeps his head down. It’s clear the words aren’t even getting to him anymore. The darkness overtakes him, swallowing him whole. What emerges is a shadowy figure only being illuminated by the faint flickering light of the broken overheads.

You step toward him, slow and cautious, before you meet his gaze.

His golden eyes glint back at you through the dark, sharp and gleaming with something unreadable. A sinister smile works its way onto his face, deliberate, unsettling in its calmness.

“I’m curious about you,” The Void murmurs, voice low and unnervingly calm. “I want to know what you can do.”

“And I want to talk to Bob,” You retort, eyes narrowing.

“You are talking to Bob,” it replies, with a slight twist of amusement, mocking, almost cruel. “...a part of him, at least.”

You smirk, sharp and laced with sarcasm. “Charming.”

He steps closer and invades your space like a cold draft slithering under a door. The air tightens, heavy and bitter. You can feel his presence: not just beside you, but around you, coiling like smoke, probing.

Still, you hold your ground, looking straight into his eyes. You don’t flinch. “How interesting,” he muses, tilting his head. His darkness moves again, tendrils slipping toward you, tasting the air around your magic, your thoughts, your fear.

But they meet resistance. Your magic flares, and the darkness recoils, hissing as it brushes against your glow.

You remain standing, untouched.

“I’m not afraid of you,” You say, voice like steel wrapped in silk. “And Bob isn’t yours to keep.”

He studies you before letting out a low, curious laugh. “No,” he says finally. “Maybe not.”

“Could I keep you instead?” The Void asks, voice low, almost amused, but there’s something sincere beneath it. He reaches out to touch your face, fingers grazing the space between you.

But you grab his hand before he can. You laugh softly, a little disbelieving.

"I think I suit you quite nicely," he murmurs, undeterred.

"I can see what they can't," he continues, his eyes narrowing, glinting with something ancient and knowing. "The anger, power right at your fingertips and yet you try to play the hero. Why?"

“I’m not playing at anything,” You say firmly, voice steady, eyes locked on his.

He leans in, the shadows around him thickening, curling like tendrils reaching out. They’re dark, hungry, trying to pull you closer, to draw you into their world.

But you fight back. Not with every ounce of will you have, pushing against the invisible pull, anchoring yourself.

“I beg to differ,” he murmurs, his breath grazing your skin like a whisper, cold and intoxicating. “Such wasted potential. All for the notion of being good when you could be so much more.”

You reach out, your hand hovering near his temple. Your fingers glow, light pulsing softly, alive. He watches, unblinking, as your magic stirs in the air like smoke catching fire. It’s ethereal, coiling, licking at him, and it has him curious. 

You're trying to see into his mind, but—

“I think the real question is…” he interrupts knowingly, tilting his head, “…are we inside your mind or mine?”

The words twist around you like a spell, and suddenly, the weight shifts. The darkness starts to peel away from your limbs, sloughing off like ash in the wind. You blink, feeling the ground under you change, reality sliding sideways.

The Void just smiles.

“I’ll see you soon.”

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You’re still thinking about it… about him.

Every time you’re training with Bob, he’s there, at the edge of your thoughts. You’re not in fear. You’re not scared of the Void, not really. It’s more like a wariness, a flicker of unease that one wrong move, one flare of power, might open the door again. Might bring him back.

It was wrong. And confusing. But a small part of you wanted to see him again. 

Your mind drifts when you’re not paying attention—whether it’s during missions, training, or even in bed. He’s in your dreams when you fall asleep, and sometimes, you wake up imagining the ghost of his voice in your ear.

The Void hadn’t tried to hurt you. No, he watched you—studied you. And in some twisted way, he seemed to want you. Not to harm, not to destroy… but to possess, to understand. You just wanted to know why. What did he see in you? What was it about you that drew something like him in?

One night, you’re in bed, the day heavy on your bones, the world finally going quiet around you. You’re slipping closer and closer to sleep…

But you sense it, that shift in the air, a pulse of dark presence curling at the edges of your senses. You feel him before you even open your eyes.

“This is bordering on obsession,” You sigh, eyes still closed.

You hear him laugh, low and amused. The sound crawls down your spine, equal parts unsettling and intimate.

“Not bordering. It is obsession,” he replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice, like he’s proud of it.

Reluctantly, you open your eyes.

He’s there, standing at the foot of your bed, shadows clinging to him like silk. Those eyes, golden and curious, lock onto yours. Not threatening. Not kind. Just... watching.

“You dream of me,” he says, not asking.

You swallow, and the air thickens. “That's not an invitation to break into my room at night.”

He tilts his head, taking a step closer. “You called me. You always do—when your thoughts stray, when your control slips. You think about me more than you care to admit.”

You don’t respond. Can’t.

Because he’s not wrong.

“You’re speechless,” he teases, voice like velvet laced with static. He sits on the edge of your bed, casual, as if he belongs there.

You shift away instinctively, creating space, as if a few more inches could keep him from seeing straight through you.

“Biding my time. There’s a difference,” You reply, keeping your voice even, though your pulse betrays you.

The Void watches you closely, amused by your defiance. Or maybe by the fact that even now, you're still trying to guard yourself. Still playing the game.

His eyes flicker, a faint glow blooming within them like embers. “You may say you don’t want me here, but you keep opening doors.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” You bite back, sharper than intended. He smiles, but there’s something beneath it, something hungry. “That’s the best part.”

His hand twitches slightly, not reaching for you, but close. Waiting. 

“You’re more than you think. More than they let you be, more than you let yourself be.”

The air thickens again, and you’re feeling him again, his presence threads through the room like smoke.

“What do you want from me?” You ask, tired of circles.

Suddenly, he sounds less teasing, more honest. 

“To see you become more than this,” He leans closer as if observing you, “You’re no hero. You’re something else entirely.”

He almost sounds in awe of you.

You want to lie. You want to turn away, pretend you don’t feel it, the weight of his words, the strange reverence in his voice.

But in some weird, completely twisted way…you felt seen.

“Show me what you can do,” he says softly, like a challenge… or a plea.

Against your better judgment, your hands move. Fingers lift with purpose, glowing as your magic rises like a tide. Not to attack. Just to beckon. To draw him in that fraction closer.

And he comes.

He leans in, unflinching, until his lips hover just a breath away from yours. The air between you hums with tension, your power brushing over him.

He doesn’t flinch. He invites it.

He looks at you, eyes gleaming. They weren’t cold, but burning. Goading.

“Do it,” he whispers. “Manipulate me. I want to see you try.”

Your magic coils, crackling faintly between you both, held barely in check. It licks at his skin like fire starved of air. You could push. You could twist something in him, see what bends and what breaks.

That thought strikes sharp and fast, and then you remember.

Bob. Somewhere beyond this darkness, behind the weight of The Void’s presence, he’s there. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t risk hurting him.

You lower your hands slowly, magic fading from your fingertips. The crackle in the air dies with it, and you feel the release.

The Void sighs dramatically. “What? You don’t want to hurt me? I’m disappointed.”

You vanish from in front of him, slipping through space in a blink, reappearing beside him, your lips by his ear, breath warm and taunting.

“I live to disappoint,” You murmur with biting sarcasm.

He chuckles, low and amused, the sound vibrating in your chest more than your ears.

“So you’re playing with me then?” he asks, a smile curling through his voice, teasing and predatory.

You teleport again, this time behind him, close enough to feel his back press against your body like the edge of a knife.

“Something like that,” You say, voice calm, almost bored.

This little verbal spar you had with him was… addictive. A dangerous dance on a wire stretched taut between temptation and control.

But then he shifts, turning around to face you. 

His expression darkens—not angry or violent—but filled with intent. He turns, slowly, deliberately, and starts walking you back with that same quiet pressure in the air that makes your skin prickle.

You don’t step away. You should, but you don’t.

Then, his hand reaches out, and in a second, you’re pinned against the wall. The cold wall meets your spine, and again, before you can blink, he lifts you effortlessly with his mind, sliding you up until your feet leave the ground. His body never touches yours, but his presence crashes over you like a wave.

“I don’t want to play games,” he says, voice low and electric. You meet his eyes, your own burning with something halfway between challenge and adrenaline.

“But this one is so much fun,” you quip back, your tone reckless, like flicking sparks into a powder keg.

His jaw clenches, just slightly. Not in rage. In restraint.

“I came to see you,” he says, eyes scanning your face like a puzzle he hasn’t yet solved. “But all you do is run and hide behind your clever little words.”

“Maybe you need to chase me,” You reply, breath shallow but steady. The Void pauses, his voice surprisingly soft when he answers, “And how long would you make me chase you?”

You meet his gaze, your heart skipping.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you disappear from his hold, reappearing right in front of him, so close you can see the sweep of his eyelashes. You lean in just a little more, the space between you charged.

“Until I think you’ve had enough.”

His eyes widen a little, but he stifles it. 

“Until I’ve had enough…” he repeats to himself, quietly, like he’s tasting the words. He searches your eyes, there’s something in you, something he needs. Finally, a slow, dark smirk spreads across his lips.

“We’ll see.”

The energy between you crackles, thick and electric. You both want this; he wants to pull you into the darkness, to make you lose yourself. Sure, you wanted to play with him, but you could kiss him and still keep him at bay.

But just as your eyes flutter shut and you feel the weight of his presence drawing near, then suddenly there’s only air.

You open your eyes, breath catching. You turn and he’s standing by your door, smiling at you again.

“I’ll see you soon.”

With that, he fades away, leaving you standing alone, still in your mind.

Masterlist

[em1i2a3]

Now that I know asks are open *rubs hands*

I got a bit of juicy drama for you! A magic user!reader who is in a stable relationship with bob. The rest of the team know but they all keep things on the quiet. But Valentina finds out and wants to make a PR stunt out of it.

All The Rage Back Home

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Magic User!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob have been in a relationship for eight months, and somehow everything has managed to stay extremely stable…That is until Valentina Allegra de Fontaine gets her hands on it.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob is in this and on top of that some little plot points are mentioned. No warnings apart from that, there’s some fluff though? Yeah some fluff

Author’s Note: Hehehehe, we love drama, we love drama a lot, and we love when Valentina caused the drama because that just makes it even better. I didn’t know what kind of magic to choose so I settled on Necromancy? There’s too many magical powers to choose from lol. :)

Word Count: 3,641

The room smelled like incense, lemon, and sage–sharp, earthy, and a little sweet. It clung to the linens, soaked into the floorboards, and drifted in the morning light like a second skin over the space. It was one of the things Bob loved most about your room, though he never said it the same way twice.

Most times he would hold you close and quietly ask where you got it–like maybe if he got it bottled, he would be able to bring a piece of you into every room he walked into. But more often than not, he just took in a larger breath of air the second he crossed the threshold into your room, like it was easier to take in with you laced into it.

This morning was no different, as you laid tangled up with one another, whispering as softly as possible, and touching every plane of skin that was available to the both of you.

Bob was on his back, and your head was on his chest, you were listening to his heartbeat–the way it would steadily increase every time you shifted, or how it slowed when the both of you got into a position where it felt like you were more in sync with one another. His fingers were tracing idle shapes along your spine, sometimes it would be random numbers, other times he’d spell out words and make you guess what he was writing, but today it was squares, triangles and circles.

Your hand was against his face, caressing the smooth skin of his cheek, trailing down to his jaw every so often to feel the sharp bone of it.

“We’re like two furnaces when we’re in bed like this.” You whispered, pressing yourself closer to him, looking at the way his face slowly took on this deeper crimson, deeper than the pink that usually dusted his cheeks when he was around you.

”Told you…We need to buy a fan. I have this innate fear that I'm going to give you a heat stroke.” You smirked at his comment, placing a gentle kiss on his chest.

”Can’t kill me that easily Bob.” He let out a breathy laugh, the kind that warmed your hair and curled his chest against your cheek as it moved. His fingers kept up their lazy trail against your spine, not quite mimicking shapes anymore, but just moving for the sake of touching you. His other hand slid down the length of your arm slowly, letting the pads of his fingers catch on every tiny ridge of your skin, watching goosebumps bloom like a silent spell you never had to cast.

Then, with such care and warmth, he took your hand and drew it away from his face, shifting it just enough to look at it properly, cradling your wrist in his palm like if he was holding an ancient relic–something sacred. His thumb brushed gently along the edge of your coven mark, the intricate chain of carved sigils that rested deep in your skin–a scar that never quite stopped whispering.

It wasn’t ink. It had been branded–sliced into you when you came of age, sealed with blood magic and bone ash, symbols of what you were bound to before you even had a choice.

His thumb traced the deepest cut–right near the base of your palm–then slowly, with such gentleness and care, he brought your wrist to his lips, closing his eyes before kissing the mark, like a vow. His lips were wet from the amount of times he had licked them, but you didn’t mind the dampness because the act itself was always something you loved–it was his way of expressing that he loved every part of you, even the ones people feared.

His eyes fluttered open, looking down at you for a second, seeing the soft, golden-haze that lingered over his naturally bright blue irises. His cheeks flushed even deeper when he saw the way you were looking at him–with the tenderness and love you had for him as a backdrop. He pulled off the mark.

”Sorry…” He murmured, voice a little shaky, “I know I do that a lot.” A small smile came up on your lips, as you shifted to get closer to his face, your bare chest dragging along him until you were eye to eye.

”I like it…You know I do. It makes me feel like you’re loving every part of me, not just the normal side.” You whispered, pushing a lock of his light brown hair out of his face so you could get a clearer look at him.

“You do the same though…” He replied, voice barely above a whisper, “With me, I mean…The Sentry, The Void…All of it,” He added, his eyes falling away from you for a moment, “You’ve never made me split myself up…Never forced me to hide anything or be just one…You just take all of it, all of me…Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.” Your hand slid down his cheek to cup his jaw.

“That’s because they don’t scare me, they’re not strangers, they’re just different versions of you, and I love all of them.” You could see the way his eyes softened from the words.

”Even…The Void?” He whispered, voice small and hesitant, like saying its name might conjure it by accident. You nodded, sliding your hand to the back of his neck, your thumb brushing along the little baby hairs that laid there.

”Even The Void Bob…Because it’s still you, and I love every version and every layer of you…Like I always say.” He went scarlet. His eyes flitting up to yours before immediately dropping again with a smile coming up on his lips. Beneath you, his chest fluttered like his heart wanted to bust out of its confines, but he didn’t pull away or hide from you.

”I love you too.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, and he let out a soft laugh, nose brushing against yours.

And just before he could lean in to kiss you.

The door slammed open with a crack that made Bob jump so hard he nearly flew off the bed. You groaned loudly and dropped your forehead against his shoulder with a thump, already knowing who it was.

”James Buchanan Barnes,” You snapped, “It better be important, because the next time you don’t knock, I’m going to make sure we’re doing something way worse than lying here, and you’ll be scarred for life.” Bob turned bright red from your words, blinking over at Bucky who stood with his arms crossed, holding a glossy magazine in his hands.

”Well good morning to you too, necromantic hellspawn,” He replied, “Get dressed. We’ve got a situation.” He added, tossing the magazine across the room, letting it land on the foot of the bed with a slap. Your entire posture shifted in an instant–from soft and pressed against him to rigid and coiled.

Your gaze dropped to the magazine now lying crookedly in front of you, and the photo on the cover hit you in the face like a slap.

There, under bold, gleaming headlines, was an image of you and Bob on the rooftop garden. The lighting was dusky, but you remember that day like it was yesterday. It was just as the golden hour was slipping behind the both of you. The both of you had gone up there to get some fresh air and talk, you had no clue you were being watched, and it was evident by the photo.

Your hand was cupped gently at his jaw, and his fingers were curled around your wrist, the two of you were so close your noses were touching, and it was clear–achingly clear–that you were just about to kiss. Your eyes trailed up to the headline above the image.

”DEATH AND DIVINITY: Inside the steamy new relationship between two of the world’s most powerful Avengers.” Your mouth fell open,

”What the fuck.” You breathed, which got Bob’s attention immediately. He sat up with you, the sheets slipping down his chest, and his hair flopping messily over his forehead as his eyes caught the front page of the magazine.

“W-What? What is it?” He asked, confused, like he was still trying to catch up. You were speechless, so all you could do was pull the magazine closer to him so he could get a better look. He took it out of your hands carefully, and squinted down at the image, then his face went red.

“O-Oh my god…” He whispered, his eyes going wide, “Is that…Is that us? When was this take-”

”Three days ago.” Bucky replied, cutting him off, “I remember because Yelena and I were playing poker in the surveillance room and we were both betting on how long it’d take before you two started kissing.”

“You were watching us?” You snapped.

”No, we turned the screens off before it got all mushy…But someone else was definitely keeping tabs.” He shot back, walking over to the bed to tap on the photo.

”This image is definitely not from the cameras. It’s way too zoomed in, and edited…This was a planted shot.” Bob’s brows furrowed, and you could see the way panic was rising behind his eyes.

“Are you saying someone…Snuck onto the roof?” Bucky shook his head.

”No, this was taken by someone who had access. If nobody apart from us knew…Then it must’ve been Val.” You went still, feeling the rage building in your chest–hot and thick, vibrating just beneath your skin.

”She fucking followed us and waited till we were alone to take these.” Bucky nodded.

”Probably sold them too,” He responded, “Page three has an ‘anonymous quote’ that’s oddly specific how the Sentry ‘looks at her like he’s made of light and she’s the only one who can hold it without burning.’” Bob’s jaw dropped.

”Wait…Wait, that's something you said to me,” He hissed, looking over at you. “I remember because you were sick–how does she know that?” Your hands curled into tight fists against the sheets.

”Because she’s been listening.” Your voice was colder now–quiet and laced with venom, “She’s been watching us, and waiting for us to slip up.” Bob looked devastated at this information. His shoulders hunching forward, as he glanced over at you, showing the guilt that was creeping in behind his eyes.

”I’m so sorry,” He whispered, “I shouldn’t have kissed you on the roof, I should’ve–“ You cut him off, raising your hand up.

”Don’t do that. We didn’t do anything wrong. She did.” Bucky exhaled loudly through his nose.

”You’ve got maybe three hours before this becomes a press frenzy. I would recommend figuring out what kind of damage control you want to do.” You glanced down at the magazine again and looked up at Bucky,

”Is killing Valentina on the list of options?” You muttered, voice flat and simmering.

“Could be arranged, “ He replied, deadpanning, “Might take a few minutes for Yelena and Walker to collect their matching shovels though.” Your lips curled faintly, but the rage still burned beneath your eyes like hot coals. You were already calculating how you could make her life a living hell, and you didn’t know how extreme you wanted to go.

But then you glanced at Bob, seeing the way his eyes were glancing between the photo and the headline. He looked overwhelmed, and it automatically diffused the feelings you had towards Valentina, because she wasn’t the person you cared about the most…It was him.

You reached out immediately, placing your hand over his, curling your fingers so they were pressed against his palm. He looked up at you, seeing that the colour in his eyes had faded into a grey.

”Hey. We’re okay Bob…You’re okay…We will get this handled and I promise we will be fine, alright?” He nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

“I just…I just wish people didn’t see us like that…That’s just for us…” You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment to let the contact settle him, before pulling away.

”They don’t know anything about us, and no matter how they spin it, or how they plaster it on the headlines they will never be able to really understand what we have. That part is only for us to share…I will make sure we won’t have to answer to anyone about our relationship, okay?” He looked at you then, and in that moment you watched the panic retreat from his eyes, like a wave sliding back into the sea. His eyes shifted back to blue, like you had diffused a ticking time bomb.

”Okay…” He whispered, his breath catching a little, “I trust you.” You squeezed his hand once more, before turning back to Bucky who was leaning against your dresser with his arms crossed.

”Set up an emergency meeting,” You said, your voice sharp, “And make sure Valentina is going to be there. I want this handled now.” You added.

”On it,” Bucky replied, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, “Do you want me to tell Yelena to bring her blowtorch?” You exhaled through your nose.

”Tell Yelena no weapons…With all the rage in me, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to handle it.” Bucky smirked, thumbing open his phone.

”Duly noted.” He muttered, “No backup required in the weapons department.” He added.

He was halfway to the door when it opened again, and this time Alexei strutted in like he was arriving at a red carpet event, waving his own copy of the same magazine above his head with pure delight on his face. He looked like he had just won the lottery.

”Death and Divinity!” He boomed, accent heavy and dramatic, “This is sexy, yes? Sounds like vampire opera.”

“Oh god,” You muttered, pressing your fingers into your tear ducts.

“Oh Jesus,” Bob added, sinking slightly lower into the bed, trying to shield his face away from the world.

Alexei, undeterred, flipped through the pages.

”Page four has nice photo. Very very romantic. You are holding his face like he is scared little mouse, and he is looking up at you like you are moon goddess. Very touching.” You groaned again and lobbed your pillow at him, only for him to catch it.

“Alexei,” Bucky growled, already herding him towards the door, “Out…And change that attitude, we need to be a solid front line for these two at the emergency meeting.”

————

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, you didn’t know what exactly you were expecting–but the moment your eyes landed on Valentina, standing smugly at the end of the conference table with a martini in one hand and a matching smirk on her mouth, something sharp and electric lit up in your chest.

She was in a sharp navy power suit, tailored within an inch of its life, not a single wrinkle was in sight. Her heels clicked softly as she turned to face all of you fully, a smile spreading across her lips, while she spread her arms open like she was about to congratulate you.

”There’s the stars of the hour!” She cooed, “The public loves you. Death and Divinity–absolutely genius. Not something I created unfortunately, but it’s still absolutely amazing.

Your steps echoed across the floor as you approached her. Bob stayed close behind you, quiet but tense–his fingers wrapped around one of your fingers while the other one picked at his sleeve. Mel was standing off to the side with her arms crossed, looking at the team you had brought, who were already looking over at her with judgemental gazes, like she had betrayed them.

But it was you Valentina was looking at, as your body slowly casted a shadow across her.

”YOu took a photo of me and the person I love, in a private moment, and sold it to the press without our consent. You’ve been eavesdropping, manipulating, and spying for weeks…And you think we came up here to thank you? For a fucking magazine cover of all things?” Valentina blinked slowly, taking a sip from her glass before putting it down on the table.

”A front cover,” She corrected, unbothered by the rage that was twitching behind your eyes, “On twenty-nine different newsstands worldwide! You’re welcome.”

“Welcome?” Your voice cracked slightly–heat rising beneath your skin, as Bob’s fingers squeezed your one, “You’re using our relationship like it’s a fucking PR stunt.”

“And it worked.” She stated simply. You stared at her, jaw locking. You were pretty sure the lights above the table dimmed for a fraction of a second–like your body was going to snap on her at any second. You stepped in closer to her, but her smile didn’t falter, if anything, it widened, like she was proud of you for showing up with your claws already bared.

”You better have a good fucking explanation,” You said, your voice low and venomous, “Because if I don’t like the next sentence out of your mouth Valentina, I swear on every grave I’ve ever raised–you’ll be joining them.” She let out a short, delighted laugh, and cocked her head slightly to the side.

”You are so dramatic,” She said, her tone leaning on the side of condescending, “It’s charming really.” Bob shifted behind you, and his hand tightened around your fingers, almost like he was grounding you, like he was draining you of what you were feeling, just a little bit.

”We didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Mel chimed in, taking a step forward, “It was a strategic decision–“ You didn’t even turn your head, you just held up your free hand, your palm curled and open.

A faint, eerie green glow pulsed from the center of it–low and steady like a heartbeat in the dark.

”I didn’t ask you,” You said, voice cold as ice, “I asked Val.” The glow made the room go still. Yelena, straightened up ever so slightly, exchanging glances with Alexei, and Walker. Ava gave Bucky a small nudge, almost like she was expecting him to step in, but he remained silent, locking eyes with Valentina like he was daring her to keep going.

Val let out a long exhale, then finally stepped closer to you.

”Do you honestly think the world wants The Winter Soldier as the face of the New Avengers?” She said, voice low, as if she were explaining something to a child who didn’t understand how the world worked, “A walking weapon with a kill count in the hundreds–possibly thousands–most of which are caught in grainy footage? He may be rebranded but you can’t slap a new label on a nuclear warhead and expect the public to forget what it is.” Your jaw clenched so tightly your teeth hurt.

”He was pardoned for all that. Cleared. Redeemed publically. Then he got elected…For y’know…Congress? Remember that? Oh and let’s not forget when Bob went all…Well y’know and he saved New York with all of us.” Yelena cut in, motioning to Bucky, coming to his defence. Val’s eyes glanced over to where Yelena stood, her expression turning unreadable for a moment–like she was weighing whether or not it was worth vocally sparring with her. But then she waved her hand dismissively.

”Doesn’t matter,” She said, as though the conversation was beginning to bore her, “The public only sees what you show them, and as much as you parade redemption papers and congressional ribbons around, it doesn’t erase people's memories. We had the opportunity to give you all a better image, one that isn’t cluttered, and we took it.” You tilted your head slightly, now pointing your open palm at her, which made Bob slowly pull you behind him so there was space between you and Val in an attempt to diffuse the anger pulsing through you.

“Cluttered?” You echoed from behind him, trying to look over his broad shoulder.

“Yes, cluttered,” She repeated, “Between Bucky’s guilt complex, Yelena’s PR liability, Alexei’s Cold War nostalgia tour, Walker's entire existence, and Ava who is always on the brink of leaving, it’s chaos…But now?” She gestured broadly towards the both of you, “Now the public sees something beautiful, something they can sink their teeth into.” Bob’s eyebrows furrowed.

”B-But we’re a team…It’s not just Y/N and I…We’re not at the forefront, it's all of us…” He explained quietly.

“Come on Robert…You think the world wants realism?’ She said with a dry laugh, “They want symbolism, they want a reason to believe in what we’re building here.” She motioned around her.

”Then…Why don’t you actually build something real then…Instead of putting our relationship on full display for the public.” Val’s eyes narrowed, the corner of her mouth lifting like she was enjoying being challenged.

”You think you’re not already at the forefront?” She said, voice honeyed and sharp, “That’s adorable. You’re a god in a golden shell. You were born for the spotlight, all I’m doing is pointing it in the right direction.” Then the elevator dinged.

”Now get ready for your closeups.” She added, with a smile on her face.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

A/N: Another Fern fic at last, requested by a kofi member ^^

Shrinking down to Fern’s side seemed almost fun at first. Getting to save money on food expenses and cuddling with your boyfriend while being the little spoon was great!

It only occurred to you a few hours after becoming a tiny human that you still had to do everything your big self had done before.

Except now you were the size of a pencil.

“Ahh, I still have to write out a report, make my lunches for this week, call my mom, do the laundry-“

Fern watched you panic from his usual spot on your bed, his head propped up by his hands. While you were struggling, he was relaxed and content to have his mate smaller than him for once.

“Calm down, princess. Don’t forget you have me to help. I’ve been this size my whole life, doing your chores can’t be that hard.”

Fern was terribly wrong.

Attempting to type out a detailed report by jumping key to key was exhausting, and after he messed up several times you had to do it alone. It left you too tired to do anything else.

“This would usually only take me 30 minutes, how much time has passed?”

“… three hours.”

You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder as he played with your hair. “How do you do it, Fern? You always seem so happy go lucky, but being small can’t be easy on you.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly. “It’s not easy, but when you’re around it’s hard to be exhausted or angry.”

This made your heart flutter, and you let him guide you to the laundry room.

“My vines aren’t agile enough to help you type, but they can throw laundry into the washer and take them out no problem.”

He used his magic, vines creeping in through your window. They clumsily tossed clothes into the washer, and Fern flew you up so you could select the proper settings.

“Now I need to call my mom and make some lunches… how long will I be like this?”

Fern was too busy soaking in the feeling of you in his arms as he flew towards the fridge to really listen, so it took him a moment to process what you had said.

“… a few hours, maybe a day or two perhaps.”

‘Hopefully longer…’ Fern though, even though he felt guilty for it. Who could blame him? His lover was finally the same size as him, who wouldn’t want this to last forever?

The two of you laughed, both covered in food after struggling to finish packing your final lunch.

“Come, dear. Let’s get cleaned up.”

You sat in the small tub, feeling Fern’s cock twitch as he held you against him. He didn’t acknowledge his erection, a soft pink dusting his freckled cheeks.

“There’s mustard in your hair too, love.”

You pouted at him, feeling Fern’s fingers scrub the mess from your hair. You were glad you had bought such a large tub for fern to use for bathing, it had enough room for the two of you to sit comfortably without being squished.

Again, his erection rubbed against you, a soft hiss slipping from his lips as he clutched your hips. It was clear he wanted you, but was holding back.

“Fern…”

He whimpered when you reached back to stroke his cock, nearly cumming on the spot.

“Mmph! That’s… ahh…”

His hips bucked, a moan leaving his parted lips as he let out a needy whine. Now that you were small, he could truly have you…

Before you knew it you pulled into his lap, straddling him as his cock nudged at your fat pussy. God, he had dreamed of this day…

Getting to watch his cock stretch you out was heaven to Fern. You struggled with his size for a moment, your pussy clenching around him as he rubbed at your clit.

Unbeknownst to you, he had been looking over your shoulder at the smut you read at night, and had learned a thing or two.

As he bounced you on his lap at a steady rhythm, he pulled you in for a kiss, his slipping to the small of your back. You tasted sweet, like the chocolates the two of you ate earlier. He wanted more, so much more…

Cumming deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his seed felt… amazing. Fulfilling. It had to be the best thing to ever happen to him.

You were so beautiful, so warm and tight, he just couldn’t help but spurt thick ropes of hot cum into you, painting your walls and praying that this got you pregnant.

After that, he carefully washed the both of you up, occasionally using his fingers to pump his cum back into you when it started to drip out.

You returned to your full size the next day, but Fern was just happy with the memory of his cock stretching you out…

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

[jeonette]

knockout love — jjk

“I promise I’ll make it out alive, princess.”

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : boxer!best friend, best friends to lovers au, literally felt like I was in a kdrama while writing this.

• also highkey recommend you guys to put on ‘so far away’ by agustd during the final fight scene and loop it until the end hehe… trust me xx

The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and dust, papers scattered like fallen leaves across the table. Bills. Tuition reminders. Rent notices. You rubbed your temple, staring at the numbers like they’d magically shrink if you glared hard enough.

The door clicked open behind you.

“Princess,” a familiar voice called — low, warm, teasing. “Still fighting with those bills? Or are they winning again?”

You glanced over your shoulder. Jeon Jungkook stood in the doorway, hair messy from training, hoodie half-zipped, gym bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. His knuckles were still wrapped in tape, fresh bruises blooming beneath the skin.

“Depends. Are you gonna spot me a billion dollars so I can wipe them all away?” you muttered, tossing your pen down with a sigh.

He grinned and stepped inside, kicking off his shoes. “A billion huh? You aiming low tonight.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at your lips. “What are you doing here so late? Shouldn’t you be home icing those hands of yours?”

He dropped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, sprawling like he owned the place — like he always did. “Maybe I like being here better.”

That made your stomach twist in that stupid familiar way. You shoved the feeling down.

But then he looked at you — really looked — and the playful spark in his eyes dimmed.

“Y/N… I need to tell you something,” he said, sitting up, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice dropped low. Serious. “And you have to promise to let me finish. No interrupting.”

The shift in his tone made your heart skip. “Jungkook… what is it?”

“Promise me first.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the table. Something cold settled in your chest. “Fine. I promise.”

He inhaled slowly. “I’ve been offered a fight.”

You blinked. Relief flickered for half a second. “That’s it? Kook, you fight all the time—”

“Not like this.” His gaze locked with yours, no teasing now. “It’s underground. The kind they don’t talk about. No rounds. No rules. No time limit. No referee. You fight until one guy can’t stand. Or until he doesn’t get up at all.”

Your blood ran cold. The pen slipped from your fingers, clattering onto the bills.

“What…?” you breathed.

“The payout is fifty million.” His voice was soft. Almost careful. “That’s enough to wipe everything. Your tuition. Your rent. You wouldn’t have to worry anymore. You could finish school. Get out of this crappy apartment. Start over.”

Your heart pounded painfully hard against your ribs. “And what about you? What happens to you if this goes wrong? If you lose—”

“I won’t.” His jaw tensed. “I can win this. You know I can.”

“You could die, Jungkook.” The words cracked from your throat before you could stop them. “Or end up broken. For what — me? You’re gonna risk your life because I can’t pay my bills?”

His brows drew together. Hurt flickered in his eyes. “It’s not because you can’t. It’s because you shouldn’t have to. You work two jobs, go to class all day, come home to this stress every night… alone.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “I can’t stand watching you wear yourself down like this. I can fix it.”

You blinked hard, heat stinging behind your eyes. “I don’t care about money, you idiot. I care about you.”

A tear slipped free. Before you could wipe it away, his hand was there — warm, gentle — cupping your cheek like you’d break if he touched too hard.

“Hey…” His thumb brushed the tear, gaze softening. “Don’t cry. Not for me.”

“Then don’t go,” you whispered. “Promise me you won’t do this.”

His lips curved, a small, sad smile. The kind he only ever showed you.

“I promise.” His forehead touched yours, breath warm on your skin. “I won’t do it. Not if it makes you hurt like this.”

You shut your eyes, breathing shaky, letting yourself believe him.

For a moment, the weight in your chest eased. Like the world was right again. Safe.

But deep down, something still twisted. Something unsettled. Like the calm before a storm.

—

It had been two weeks since Jungkook promised you he’d drop the underground fight.

And yet… something felt off.

“Late again, boxer boy?” you called as he stumbled through your apartment door, hoodie soaked with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead. “What’d you do — wrestle a bear on the way home?”

Jungkook grinned, tossing his bag onto the floor. “Please. The bear would’ve tapped out in the first round.”

You crossed your arms. “Seriously though… why so late? The gym closes at ten.”

He bent down to unlace his shoes, voice light. “Coach kept me back for extra work. Said I needed to tighten my form.”

“Uh-huh.” You squinted, walking over and grabbing his wrist gently. His knuckles were raw — scraped fresh, bleeding slightly.

“Looks like you tightened your face into someone’s fist.” You held his hand up. “Who did this?”

“Calm down, princess.” He smirked. “Just sparring. You know I can take a punch.”

“Yeah, but can your face?” you muttered, inspecting the bruise forming under his jaw. “If you get any uglier, I’m gonna have to find a new best friend.”

“Ouch.” He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “Betrayed by the only girl I trust.”

You snorted. “Like I’d trade you. Who else would carry my groceries and open every jar I own?”

He grinned. “Exactly. I’m irreplaceable.”

You fell quiet, eyes scanning his face — the sweat, the busted lip, the bruises that hadn’t been there this morning.

“Kook… You sure you’re not… training for something else?” you asked softly.

His smile flickered — just for a split second. But you caught it.

“Why would I lie to you?” he said easily, ruffling your hair like always. “I told you. I dropped that fight.”

“Mhm. You better have,” you muttered, swatting his hand away. “I swear, if I find out you’re doing something stupid—”

“You’ll what?” he grinned, inching closer. “Yell at me? Cry again? Guilt trip me with those sad pretty eyes?”

You glared, cheeks heating. “I’ll throw this entire shoe rack at your head.”

“Oooh. Scary.” He leaned down, eyes twinkling. “You’re cute when you’re threatening murder, princess.”

“Stop calling me that,” you grumbled, heart thudding.

“Why?” He smirked. “It suits you. My little princess.”

You shoved him lightly, trying not to smile. “Go shower. You smell like a wrestling mat.”

He laughed, grabbing his bag. “Anything for you, your highness.”

But as he disappeared into the bathroom, the knot in your chest tightened.

Because no matter how good his smile was… something in his eyes was hiding something.

And you weren’t stupid.

Something was coming.

—

“Don’t forget,” you called from the couch, flipping a page in your textbook, “you promised to be back by eight.”

Jungkook grinned, crouched by the door tying his laces. “Eight sharp. Swear on my life.”

“You better,” you muttered, glancing at him. “If you show up past eight I’m locking the door and you can sleep outside.”

He laughed under his breath but didn’t stand right away. Instead, he sat back on his heels, staring at the floor for a second too long.

You frowned. “Kook?”

He looked up fast — forcing that familiar crooked grin. “Nothing. Just tired.”

You eyed him suspiciously as he grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder like usual… but his hand lingered on the doorknob.

He didn’t open it.

“Why are you just standing there like a weirdo?” you teased lightly, trying to ease the strange knot forming in your chest.

He turned to you, soft eyes flickering — the way they always did when he didn’t want to say something.

“You sure you’ll be okay here alone tonight?” he asked quietly.

You blinked. “What’s with you? You leave for practice all the time. Since when do you care if I’m fine for two hours?”

He chuckled — but it was hollow, forced. “Just asking, princess. You get lonely without me, don’t you?”

“In your dreams,” you muttered, cheeks warming. “Besides, you said you’d be back by eight. So no time for lonely.”

“Right…” His fingers curled slightly on the door handle. Still not opening it.

“Jungkook.” You sat up straight, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you acting so weird?”

He glanced at you — and for a flicker of a moment, you saw it. The doubt. The fear.

Then it was gone — buried under that usual teasing smirk.

“Guess I just don’t wanna leave my favourite girl yet.” He crossed the room, crouching beside the couch, resting his chin on your knee — like he used to when he wanted you to forgive him for something dumb.

“Stop looking at me like that, you idiot,” you grumbled, but your heart squeezed painfully tight. “You’ll miss practice if you keep wasting time here.”

“Maybe I don’t care.” His voice was soft.

You looked down at him. He stared up, gaze warm but strange — like he was memorising you.

“Jungkook…” you whispered.

He stood slowly. Ruffled your hair like always.

“Eight o’clock,” he said gently. “I’ll be back before you miss me.”

“You better,” you muttered. “Or I’m stealing your favourite hoodie and burning your stupid boxing gloves.”

He laughed, soft and quiet.

And finally — finally — he turned and left.

The door clicked shut.

The apartment was too quiet after that.

You tried reading. Couldn’t focus. Tried scrolling on your phone. Nothing stuck. Even Netflix couldn’t hold your attention — every few minutes your eyes flicked to the clock on the wall.

7:45pm.

7:58pm.

You smiled to yourself. “He’ll walk in any second now.”

But eight came and went.

8:15.

8:30.

You texted him: Still alive, boxer boy?

No reply.

You frowned, chewing your lip. Maybe coach kept him again.

9:00.

Still nothing.

A cold knot twisted in your stomach.

9:30.

You called.

No answer.

Okay… maybe he’s showering. Maybe he forgot his phone. Maybe—

9:45.

Panic now. Full-blown.

You called again. Voicemail.

“Jungkook, where the hell are you? You said eight. Call me back.”

You gripped your phone so tightly your knuckles ached. Something was wrong. You felt it — the way your skin prickled, your heartbeat kicked up, like some terrible storm was creeping close.

You bit your lip. One last call.

Jimin.

The phone rang. And rang.

Then, finally — “Hello?”

“Jimin.” Your voice cracked. “Where’s Jungkook? He’s not home. He’s not answering. You know where he is, right?”

Silence.

You swallowed. “Jimin, please. Tell me.”

A shaky breath on the other end.

“…Y/N.” He hesitated. “I thought… I thought he told you. The big fight’s tonight. The underground one. Warehouse 17. Outskirts. Nine p.m.”

The world stilled.

“No…” you whispered, vision blurring. “No, he promised. He said he wasn’t doing it…”

“I thought you knew. I thought he told you—”

The phone nearly slipped from your hand.

Jungkook. You liar. You promised.

You shot up, grabbing your coat, bag — hands shaking, breath short.

“Jimin—” your voice broke. “I’m coming. Stay there. Don’t let him start—”

“He’s already in the ring, Y/N.”

You didn’t wait. The door slammed behind you as you ran — heart hammering, throat tight — sprinting down the hall into the night.

—

The cold night air bit through your thin jacket as you stumbled toward the warehouse entrance. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, cheeks stained with tears you hadn’t been strong enough to hold back.

“Y/N.” A steady voice caught your attention.

You looked up to see Jimin waiting patiently by the entrance, arms crossed, his usual calm presence anchoring the chaos inside you. To you, he was more than a friend — a brother who’d always been there when things got tough.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You shook your head, voice barely above a whisper. “No. I’m not. He shouldn’t be here.”

Jimin sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, he gently rested a hand on your shoulder. “I know. But he’s here. And I know he needs you.”

You let out a shaky breath and tried to pull yourself together, leaning on him as he guided you inside.

The warehouse was thick with tension — the smell of sweat, metal, and adrenaline hung heavy. The crowd roared in the distance, but your eyes locked on the center of the chaos.

There he was.

Jungkook, standing in the ring with his coach, his fists wrapped and bruised, eyes sharp but flickering with exhaustion.

Without hesitation, you pushed past the crowd and climbed up to the edge of the ring.

“Kook!” you shouted, voice breaking but fierce.

He looked up, startled, then relief and guilt washed over his face.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, but you didn’t care.

“You promised,” you scolded softly, stepping closer so only he could hear. “You promised you wouldn’t do this.”

He swallowed hard, eyes darkening. “I had to. For you.”

Your heart clenched.

“You idiot,” you breathed.

Before you could say more, Jungkook reached up, fingers tracing your cheek with surprising tenderness. “I’m sorry. But I’m here now. And I’m not leaving until I win.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, eyes locked on his.

Then, with a playful smirk, he whispered, “Now, come on — if you want me to win, you better cheer louder than anyone out there.”

You laughed through your tears, heart pounding.

“I’m not letting you off the hook, princess.”

He winked.

And for that moment, surrounded by the roaring crowd and the flashing lights, the world narrowed down to just the two of you — fierce, tangled, and full of everything you’d never dared to say out loud.

—

The backstage corridor was quiet except for the faint hum of the crowd beyond the walls. Flickering lights cast a soft glow, making everything feel fragile and suspended in time. You stood close to Jungkook, your fingers still trembling slightly from the rush of emotions by the ring.

He leaned casually against the wall, but you could see the tension in his jaw and the way his eyes darted away every time they met yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“So,” you said softly, breaking the silence, “you picked a hell of a night to get all mysterious on me.”

He cracked a small smile, one eyebrow quirking up. “You know me — I like to keep you guessing, princess.”

You rolled your eyes but your lips twitched. “That nickname again?”

“Can’t help it,” he teased, stepping closer, voice low. “You’re the only one who gets it.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, but you fought the urge to lean in. Instead, you kept your voice steady. “Why now, Jungkook? After all this time… why wait until right before you jump into something this dangerous to tell me?”

He looked down for a beat, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, then back up, eyes soft but full of something like vulnerability. “Maybe I was scared. Scared I’d lose my nerve, or that telling you would change the easy way we have—”

“—The way we don’t have to say things out loud?” you finished for him, stepping closer. “Yeah, I get it.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “But sitting here, with you standing right in front of me, knowing this might be the last time for a while… I couldn’t keep it in.”

Your breath caught. “And what exactly couldn’t you keep in?”

He took a shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper as he stepped closer, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart seize.

“Y/N… I’ve been carrying this inside me for so long… pretending it was just friendship, pretending I was fine with that.” His voice cracked, vulnerability breaking through the usual calm. “But every time I saw you, every time I heard your laugh, felt your hand brush mine… it wasn’t enough. It never was.”

He swallowed hard, pain flickering behind his eyes. “I’ve been scared—scared to admit it, scared of what it would mean if I said it out loud. But I can’t hide it anymore.”

A pause. His breath hitched.

“I like you. More than a friend. More than I ever dared to hope. I’ve been falling for you — every single day — and it terrifies me how much I want you to feel the same.”

The silence hung thick, your breath catching in your throat.

Your hands trembled as you reached up, cupping his face. Tears spilled down your cheeks, but a shaky smile broke through your fear.

“You idiot,” you whispered, voice cracking. “You really are… but I’ve waited for you to say that for so long.”

You laughed softly through your tears, the tension in your chest melting just a little.

“I thought you’d never say it. I thought you were scared too.”

He brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his own eyes glistening now. “I was. Still am. But I needed you to know — before I walked into that fight.”

You leaned in, your forehead resting against his, breath mingling.

“You promise you’ll come back?” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” he said, playful light returning. “Hey, if I make it out alive, let me take you out on a proper date.”

You smiled through your tears, poking his chest lightly. “You better win. Or I’m crashing that fight myself.”

He laughed, pulling you into a gentle hug. “Deal. And princess?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not just fighting for the money anymore.”

Your heart squeezed tight as he pulled back, eyes shining with quiet determination.

“For you.”

—

The warehouse vibrated with noise — stomping feet, wild cheers, curses echoing off the iron walls. Smoke curled through the air, and the lights above the cage flickered harsh and cold.

You stood frozen near the edge of the ring, knuckles white around the metal bars, your heart hammering so loud it drowned out the crowd.

Jimin was right behind you, quiet but firm, his hand on your arm. “Stay still,” he murmured. “Watch him. He can handle this.”

But your eyes never left Jungkook.

He stood in the cage — alone — his fists clenched, his chest rising and falling slow, steady.

Across from him was a mountain of a man, bigger, heavier, brutal looking, grinning like he’d already won.

Jungkook licked his cracked lip, shaking out his arms, gaze steady, jaw tight.

I have to win. For her.

The bell clanged.

The crowd exploded.

They circled each other — slow at first, tension stretching tight as a wire. Jungkook feinted left, testing, dodging the first wild swing.

He’s fast… but that guy’s heavy. One wrong step…

A swing missed. Another grazed his arm. Jungkook ducked, countered — sharp jab to the ribs — the man grunted but grinned wider.

The crowd roared.

Suddenly — too fast — the fighter lunged, driving his shoulder into Jungkook’s chest.

The air cracked.

Jungkook staggered back, ribs screaming, the cage rattling behind him. But before he could recover—

BAM.

A brutal hook crashed into his jaw.

His head snapped sideways, sweat flying. His vision exploded in white.

BAM. Another punch — this time to the gut — folding him like paper.

“Jungkook!” you screamed, panic raw in your throat.

He stumbled, legs buckling — and then fell.

Face down. Hard.

The crowd gasped… then cheered wildly.

“STAY DOWN!” they chanted.

“STAY DOWN!”

Your body lunged forward, but Jimin caught you, wrapping both arms around your waist, holding you tight. “No — no, Y/N — wait. He’s not done. He’s not out. Watch.”

Your hands trembled violently. Your vision blurred. “Jimin — he’s not moving—”

“He’s got this,” Jimin said fiercely. “Just watch him.”

On the mat, Jungkook groaned, chest heaving, head spinning. Blood in his mouth. Lights flickering. His body screamed at him to stay down.

But then…

Through the haze — he saw you.

Your face — beautiful, tear-streaked, full of fear — pressed to the cage, crying his name.

His heart clenched so tight it burned.

No. Not in front of her. Not like this.

He pushed against the mat. Trembling. Slow.

Up to his knees. Then one foot. Then the other.

The crowd roared again — shock, excitement, disbelief.

His vision swam, blurry and broken — until he focused.

On you.

And only you.

A shadow moved beside him. The fighter.

The man chuckled darkly, leaning in close, sneering in his ear.

“That little princess yours?” the man mocked lowly. “Sweet. Maybe I’ll take her out when you’re done here. Maybe I’ll show her what a real man—”

Something in Jungkook snapped.

He turned — slow, dangerous — eyes dark as midnight.

And he smiled.

A low, wicked smile.

The fighter barely had time to flinch.

Jungkook exploded forward.

Fist to his jaw — CRACK.

Knee to the gut — THUD.

Left hook — blood sprayed.

The man stumbled, stunned — but Jungkook was already on him.

For her.

Another punch — vicious, wild, merciless.

For every tear she cried.

A jab to the face — teeth breaking.

For every night she struggled alone.

A savage blow to the temple — the man dropped to one knee.

And then — the last punch — an earth-shattering uppercut that lifted the man clean off the ground before he crashed down, flat, unmoving.

The crowd froze — silent.

Then a thunderous, deafening roar.

But Jungkook didn’t hear it.

He stood over the broken man, chest heaving, eyes blazing — staring straight at you.

At his girl.

The reason he rose. The reason he fought.

And the reason he would never lose.

“AND THE WINNER… BLUE CORNER!!”

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, barely heard over the eruption of the crowd — a thunderous wave of cheers that shook the metal beams of the warehouse.

Jungkook stood in the center of the ring — chest rising and falling in deep, ragged pulls, sweat and blood dripping from his jaw, fists still clenched by his sides.

But his eyes — God, his eyes — were on you.

Locked. Unmoving. Like the crowd, the lights, the screaming world around him didn’t even exist.

The referee grabbed his wrist and yanked it up high.

“BLUE WINS!!!”

The crowd roared even louder. Stomping feet. Fists pounding the rails. Cameras flashing in frantic bursts.

You gasped, a messy sound of relief and joy breaking from your throat as your knees gave out — but Jimin caught you, holding you steady.

“He did it,” Jimin breathed beside you, grinning wide. “He really did it.”

You shook him off, stumbling toward the ring. “Jimin — boost me — I have to—”

He laughed softly and gave you a lift up onto the apron, pushing you gently under the ropes. “Go get him, princess.”

You scrambled inside — breathless, wild — heart hammering against your ribs.

And then… you froze.

The noise faded into a dull hum.

The air thickened — slow, heavy — like every second was stretching into eternity.

There he was.

Jungkook.

Standing tall under the harsh lights, battered, bruised — beautiful. His chest rose slow, steady. His hair damp, clinging to his forehead. Blood on his lip. But his gaze — soft and burning — was only for you.

Neither of you moved.

Just staring.

Drinking each other in.

Like a scene pulled straight from a movie — pure, slow, fragile.

A corner of his bruised mouth lifted.

“See, princess?” His voice was rough, broken, but teasing. “Told you I’d make it out alive.”

Your breath hitched.

Tears filled your eyes — falling warm and fast — and before another word could escape him, you ran.

Straight into his arms.

He caught you instantly, strong and trembling, pulling you tight against his chest as your arms flew around his neck.

You clung to him like life itself, sobbing into his shoulder — messy, gasping, relieved sobs. Your whole body shook.

“You stupid—stupid—idiot!” you cried into his neck. “Why did you do this to me?! You scared the hell out of me— I thought— I thought I’d lose you—”

His arms tightened around you, hard and warm. He dropped his head into your hair, breathing in like he needed you to stay upright.

“Shhh… I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

And slowly, knees weak, the two of you sank — collapsed — onto the mat, tangled together in the middle of the ring, the roar of the crowd swelling all around.

Your faces stayed close — breathing, shaking — forehead to forehead.

Jungkook cupped your cheek gently, brushing away your tears with the softest touch.

“I love you,” he breathed, voice trembling, eyes wet. “I love you, Y/N. I fought for you. I lived for you.”

Your chest broke open with a shaky, laughing sob. “You absolute idiot… you could’ve told me that before nearly dying, you know…”

He smiled, soft and ruined. “Would’ve been less dramatic.”

And before you could say more, he kissed you — hard, slow, desperate — like this was the only moment in the world that mattered.

The crowd exploded into wild cheers.

Cameras flashed.

Jimin whistled from the side, grinning wide as he cupped his hands around his mouth:

“YEAH! ABOUT TIME! LET’S HEAR IT FOR THEM!!”

The warehouse shook with the sound — whistles, shouts, stomping feet — but none of it touched you.

Only him.

Jungkook pulled back, panting softly, thumb tracing your jaw, eyes drinking you in like he was afraid to blink.

“Hey…” he whispered, teasing, raw. “Told you I’d win. For you.”

You laughed through your tears, leaning in, pressing your nose to his.

“I hate you,” you murmured, breathless. “But I love you more.”

His smile was crooked, beautiful, full of every unspoken promise.

The world spun — lights, sound, chaos — but here, in the center of the storm, it was just you.

Just him.

And finally… everything was exactly where it belonged.

—

“…and that was the first time your dad ever kissed me. Right there. In the middle of the ring, bruised, bloody, and grinning like the world was ours,” you finished softly, eyes warm with the weight of old memories.

Your sixteen-year-old daughter sat cross-legged beside you on the couch, hands clutching a cushion to her chest, wide-eyed and grinning.

“No way,” she gasped. “You’re telling me Dad actually confessed in the middle of a fight? Like in some K-drama?!”

You laughed gently. “Exactly like a K-drama. Lights. Cameras. The whole crowd cheering. He waited until the most dangerous, ridiculous moment to tell me he loved me. Typical Jungkook.”

She groaned dramatically. “Ugh… so extra. I can’t believe you fell for that.”

“I couldn’t help it,” you teased, ruffling her hair. “He was impossible not to love.”

She giggled but hugged the cushion tighter, suddenly shy. “…He’s gonna do the same to Jae when he gets here, isn’t he?”

“Oh definitely.”

As if on cue — the sound of keys at the front door.

“I’m home, princesses!” Jungkook’s familiar, deep voice called as the door opened. He stepped inside, pulling off his work jacket, shaking his slightly messy hair. “Did I miss the storytelling session?”

“Just finished telling her about the ring kiss,” you smiled, tilting your head. “You drama king.”

Jungkook smirked, walking over to drop a kiss on your cheek. “Best confession ever, no regrets.”

“Gross,” your daughter muttered, face burning. “Please don’t start kissing again—”

The doorbell rang.

Jungkook’s brows lifted. “Is that him?”

Your daughter leapt to her feet. “Don’t—! Don’t be weird, Dad—please—”

Jungkook grinned wide and opened the door.

Standing awkwardly on the porch was Jae — hair neatly combed, holding a small bouquet of baby’s breath flowers.

“Uh… h-hi, Mr. Jeon. I’m Jae. N-Nice to meet you, sir,” he stammered, bowing politely.

Jungkook eyed him slowly, arms crossing. “Hmm. So you’re the one taking my daughter out tonight.”

Jae swallowed hard. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Your daughter tugged Jae’s arm with a groan. “Dad… stop. You’re scaring him—”

Jungkook leaned forward, eyes narrowing teasingly.

“You know the rules, right? Home by nine. No funny business. And if you make her cry—” he flashed a slow, dangerous grin— “I still remember how to throw a punch.”

Jae paled. “Yes sir! No funny business! Nine o’clock, sir!”

You bit your lip, smiling behind your hand as your daughter smacked Jungkook’s arm. “You’re embarrassing me to death—”

Jungkook chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Can’t help it, baby. First dates are serious.”

He looked over at the trembling kid in front of him, lightly chuckling before patting his shoulder.

“I’m just playing, kid. You guys have a good time tonight yeah? Take care of her.”

He chuckles, fist bumping the boy, now with a more relaxed look on his face.

“Have a good night princess, I love you, text me if you need anything.”

You watch your husband kiss your daughter on the head softly, your heart melting at the sight.

They headed out the door, Jae nervously glancing back until they were gone, the soft click of the door behind them.

Silence settled.

Warm. Familiar.

Jungkook sighed, sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as you leaned into his chest.

“First date already…” he murmured, pressing his lips into your hair. “Feels like yesterday I was dragging you into underground fights and confessing in the stupidest way possible.”

You chuckled, turning to look up at him. “Still the best confession I ever heard.”

“Still the best fight I ever won,” he whispered, eyes soft.

His thumb brushed gently along your jaw — and he leaned in, pressing a slow, quiet kiss to your lips.

“Worth every bruise,” he breathed against you.

“Worth every scar,” you whispered back, smiling.

And just like in the ring all those years ago…

Neither of you ever planned to stop fighting.

For this life.

For this love.

For each other.

a/n : okay highkey- why am I proud of myself for this…. also is it obvious I LOVEEEEE making jimin the matchmaker/the one that’s always their #1 supporter 😐 Anyways I hope you loved this one lovelies mwah mwah xx lmk what you think! 🥹

[himasgod]

Hiiii could I request a Rapunzel type reader with Vil? Nothing too specific just maybe the long hair and a Rapunzel-ish personality! Do whatever you please with it really <3

VIL X READER

Where you look like Rapunzel

Where you transfer as a new student from RSA, and Vil can't take his eyes off you after you join Pomefiore and make a mess of things.

probably one of my favorite vil things i have <3

“Who is that?”

The words left Epel’s mouth with the kind of innocent wonder that usually earned him a glare. And sure enough—

“Do not gawk like a bumpkin,” Vil drawled, casting an icy look at the first-year. “It’s unattractive.”

Epel winced. “Sorry, Vil. It’s just—look!”

Pomefiore courtyard was usually serene—prim apple trees, elegant hedges... Which made the sight of you even more surreal. You were standing near the bushes, humming softly to a group of birds perched on the gate, and your hair—

Saints, your hair.

It cascaded down your back in endless waves, golden and glossy, trailing nearly to your ankles. It swayed behind you like a living creature, each strand almost impossibly perfect.

“Is that enchanted?” Rook asked from nowhere, eyes gleaming. “C’est magnifique.”

“She’s a transfer student from Royal Sword Academy,” Rook explained, leaning in. “I heard her magic channels through her hair. Something about magic saturation from birth.”

Vil blinked. “That’s absurd.”

“Still pretty,” Epel mumbled.

And Vil Schoenheit scoffed.

You looked untouched. Like someone who hadn’t been bent to fit any mold. Like you didn’t even realize the attention you drew.

Naive. Unrefined. And absolutely radiant.

Vil frowned. That could be a problem.

You were, by every measurable social metric, a disaster.

You got lost three times your first week. You called Professor Crewel “sir puppy-coat” by accident and then tried to braid Jack's tail because you thought it was “pretty.” You asked if alchemy classes included painting.

And when you walked into Alchemy with a loose braid, Vil nearly had a coronary.

“Darling, what is that?” he hissed, grabbing your arm.

“What’s what?”

“Your hair. It looks like you rolled out of bed, tangled yourself in curtains, and then got caught in a wind tunnel.”

“Oh,” you said thoughtfully. “That’s kind of poetic.”

“It’s horrifying,” he corrected.

You didn’t seem offended, just tilted your head.

“I like when it’s free. It gets sad when it’s pulled too tight.”

“Your hair gets sad?”

“Yes. Don’t yours?”

Vil stared at you. You stared back.

Then, completely seriously, you said,

“You’re very shiny. Are you royalty?”

“…Close enough,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

Vil tried to ignore you.

He tried.

But then you joined the Pomefiore dorm (“A perfect match for your magic affinity,” said Crowley, likely after throwing a dart at a wall) and began leaving strands of hair everywhere—on the banister, the staircase, the library chairs, even once trailing behind a moving tea cart like a golden ribbon.

And yet—despite the chaos—you were impossible to stay annoyed at.

You complimented everyone with alarming honesty. You greeted Rook’s dramatic entrances with claps and sparkling eyes like he was performing just for you. You offered to brush Epel’s hair “to make it extra floofy,” which he weirdly didn’t hate.

You braided flowers into your own braid and left extra ones for anyone who looked like they needed one.

And every morning, you smiled like the world was a gift.

Vil caught you one evening humming as you combed your fingers through your hair under the moonlight.

He sighed and stepped closer.

“You missed alchemy today.”

You turned to him, eyes wide.

“I didn’t mean to! I was helping a dust bunny out of a bookshelf and then I got distracted—”

“Enough,” Vil waved a hand. “I’m not here to scold you. Much.”

“You’re always very… sleek.”

“Thank you?”

“You remind me of a mirror, very shiny. And kind of cold.”

“That’s not a compliment most would take kindly.”

“I meant it nicely.”

And damn him, he almost believed you.

You’d float into the lounge while Vil was doing skincare, and he’d pretend not to look when you sat nearby, trying to braid your hair with too many ribbons.

He’d tut when you forgot conditioner, roll his eyes when you used flower water as toner, and scold you endlessly when you tried to trim your hair with hedge clippers.

But Vil realized something.

You took his advice to heart, asked thoughtful questions, even showed up at his mirror one morning with a shy,

“I tried the thing with the satin pillowcase. My hair didn’t cry today.”

He’d never wanted to scream and laugh at the same time before.

“You are…” he said one day, fingers brushing through your golden strands as you sat between his knees, “a complete mess.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

You twisted to look at him, eyes bright. “But I like the way you say it.”

Vil rolled his eyes and refocused on your braid.

“Why do you let me do this?”

“Because it’s preferable to watching you destroy your own scalp.”

“But you don’t have to,” you pressed. “You’re Vil Schoenheit. You’re busy and glamorous and probably have a million better things to do.”

He looked at your reflection in the mirror. The way you watched him— something softer.

“I do it, because you listen. Because you make this place…” he paused, searching for a word. “…brighter.”

You beamed. Vil groaned.

“Don’t look so pleased. I’m trying to be serious.”

“You’re being sweet.”

“I’m never sweet.”

You turned around on the stool, facing him. “Maybe just with me.”

And Saints help him, he didn’t deny it.

And you kissed him first.

Not dramatically, not in a burst of emotion.

He’d just finished pinning the final flower into your braid. You looked up at him and whispered, “You’re my favorite part of NRC.”

And then, without waiting, you leaned up and kissed him.

It was gentle. Like the way sunbeams feel through a window after rain.

Vil didn’t speak for a full minute.

“You are a menace.”

You smiled.

“…Yes,” he sighed finally, brushing your hair from your face. “My radiant menace.”

[endofthelinegang]

the witchy type

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  thunderbolts x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦��𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  in a world frayed by shadows and war, each Thunderbolt finds an anchor in a witch whose magic threads through their wounds, memories, and buried humanity. love blooms quietly—in blood-soaked silence, stolen rooftop sunsets, and the spaces between survival and surrender.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ none besides bad words

John walker found himself with a Hex-Witch (combat-based, sigil-driven magic; rooted in practical mysticism and battlefield protection)...

At first, John doesn’t trust you. Not because of the “witch” thing—he's seen weirder—but because you're not predictable. You fight with whispers and flicks of your fingers instead of fists, and that unnerves him.

You, in turn, don’t like his aggression. His All-American soldier act rubs you the wrong way—too much ego, not enough awareness of what lies beyond the veil.

But he learns fast. Starts watching the way you carve symbols into the air mid-battle. Notices how you keep him alive without him realizing it—redirecting bullets, hexing weapons to jam.

He's not used to someone fighting with him like that—quiet, efficient, terrifying in ways he can’t define.

Over time, he becomes protective of you in a very "I don’t believe in magic but don’t touch her or I’ll break your jaw" way. You make him a sigil to etch into his armor. He acts like it's dumb. But he wears it.

You hex his nightmares once. Just once. He doesn’t ask again—but he sleeps easier near you.

There’s tension between you two, like gunpowder and lit candles. Controlled... until it isn’t.

John isn’t used to falling for someone like you. You’re unpredictable, untouchable in ways that unsettle his soldier brain—but God, does it keep him up at night.

The first time he realizes he has feelings for you is after a mission. You get hurt—not bad, just bloodied—and instead of patching yourself up, you use the last of your energy to cast a protective sigil over him. He’s stunned. Angry. Confused. In love.

He pretends to hate when you tease him with “witchy” stuff—blowing out candles from across the room, making his gun jam when he mouths off—but deep down? He gets a little soft about it. Thinks it's cute. Will never admit that.

He brings you practical things as gifts: a new combat knife, a fireproof journal for spellcraft, a custom patch to sew onto your gear with a barely-visible warding symbol. He acts like it’s “just tactical,” but the way he watches you smile after? Yeah.

You enchant his dog tags with a small hex of protection. He says it’s pointless. But he never takes them off again.

He’s touch-starved, but doesn’t initiate often. The first time you reach out and thread your fingers through his gloved ones, his entire body goes still. Then soft. Like he forgot what it felt like to be held without being used.

When he kisses you for the first time, it’s after a brutal mission. You’re both scraped up, bloody, alive. He cups your jaw like you’re breakable, like your magic doesn’t terrify him half as much as how badly x~~~he wants to be yours.

He calls you “witch” like it’s a love language—gruff, protective, a little mocking. You hex his coffee in return so it’s always exactly the temperature he likes. Balance.

When he sleeps next to you, your magic quiets. And he does too. For once.

🥀 damn soldier 

The night hangs heavy, thick with fog that clings like a damp cloak, and the air tastes of burnt ozone and scorched metal—a bitter reminder of battles fought just beyond sight. Beneath your fingers, the rough concrete is cold and unforgiving, gritty with dust and flecks of ash you smear into a crude, jagged symbol. Your hands tremble slightly, stained with iron and the raw pulse of magic that hums beneath your skin.

John’s pacing nearby is a stark contrast to your stillness—boots scraping softly against cracked stone, breath shallow, the faint metallic clink of his dog tags whispering in the silence. His voice cuts sharp through the quiet, snapping like a whip. “You done whisperin’ to the dirt yet?”

You don’t meet his gaze. Instead, your eyes stay fixed on the symbol as your lips part in a slow, almost reverent murmur. “Almost. Unless you want to walk into an ambush and leave your bones scattered across the alley.”

He stops, jaw tight enough to see the strain beneath the skin. “I’m not afraid of a couple of mercs.”

“It’s not mercs,” you say, voice dropping, rough and low, the words coated with something older than him—an ancient warning. “It’s what’s riding inside them.”

The space between you shifts. The silence thickens, buzzing with an unspoken weight.

The final stroke of ash is barely a whisper as you finish the symbol, your incantation slipping from your tongue in a language older than any flag John’s ever fought under. For a heartbeat, the symbol burns a searing white-hot glow, then fades into nothingness.

John’s gaze stays locked on you as you rise, fingers brushing ash from your palms like shedding a second skin. “So what now?” His voice is rough, but there’s a hint of awe threading through. “You summon lightning? Melt their faces?”

“No.” Your smirk curves soft and dangerous. “Now, we walk in... and nothing will touch you.”

He finally meets your eyes—really meets them. The storm behind your gaze is fierce, but there’s something else there, something that threads through the tension and settles deep in his chest. “Why me?”

You step closer, the fog curling around your ankles like it knows to give you space. Your voice is softer now, but sharp with truth. “Because you keep stepping in front of me.”

His breath catches—a slow exhale, low and ragged, like he’s been holding it far too long. The rough edges of his voice turn almost tender. “Damn witch.”

You reach out, fingertips ghosting over the curve of his jaw—warm against the cold bite of the night. Your smirk deepens into something softer, a promise buried beneath teasing words. “Damn soldier.”

And for a moment, the fog parts just enough for two impossible people to stand on the same side—waiting to fight, to fall, to maybe… stay.

Yelena Belova finds solace in a Spirit Medium…

Yelena doesn’t flinch when she finds out what you can do. She’s seen too much to fear the dead. But she does flinch when she sees how it’s eating you alive.

You’re not flashy with your power. You listen to voices no one else hears. You light candles that burn cold. You disappear sometimes—drawn into the veil between life and death. She pretends it doesn’t scare her.

She watches you, silently. The way you close your eyes when you feel the grief around you. The way you speak gently to empty air. The way your hands shake after summoning something that didn’t want to be remembered.

You tell her the dead don’t lie. That they’re more honest than the living. She says, “Then I’m surprised you still talk to me.”

She brings you food when you’re drained. Tells you dumb jokes when your eyes go distant. She doesn’t say she cares—but she never lets you drift too far.

One night, you channel someone she lost. You don’t mean to. She doesn’t ask you to. But when it happens, she doesn’t walk away. She just... listens. Tears running down her cheeks silently. You never speak of it again.

She doesn’t believe in soulmates. But she ties a thin red thread around your wrist—“for protection,” she says. You feel the way it hums with her energy. You never take it off.

🥀  too much 

The motel room is dim, shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink, lit only by the soft, uneven flicker of a single candle perched on the battered nightstand. The wax drips slowly, a quiet rhythm against the stillness. You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers tangled in the worn, threadbare sheets—cool against your skin, rough with age—eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the peeling wallpaper and cracked ceiling, lost in the flickering light.

The scent of stale cigarettes and old coffee lingers faintly, mingling with the faint, earthy smell of sage burning somewhere deeper in the room—your attempt to cleanse the heaviness that clings to your bones.

Yelena leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, her silhouette sharp against the thin strip of hallway light. The leather of her jacket creaks softly with the subtle movement. “You’re listening again,” she says, voice low but steady.

You nod once, not trusting your voice.

“Anyone I know?”

You pause, swallowing the heaviness lodged in your throat. “No. A boy. Eight years old. Doesn’t understand he’s dead.”

Her expression tightens, jaw clenched, but you hear the slight hitch in her breath. “Can you help him?”

“I already did,” you murmur, voice barely above the candle’s sputter. “Just... had to let him tell his story.”

Without waiting for an invitation, she moves across the room, settling beside you on the bed with a quiet sigh. Her warmth presses against your side—steady, real. A balm to the cold edges inside.

“You take on too much,” she says, the words gentle but carrying weight.

“So do you,” you reply, eyes still tracing the dance of shadows on the wall.

A silence falls, thick and heavy, until she breaks it with a soft, tentative question. “What do they say about me? The dead?”

You glance at her, surprise flickering in your chest. “They say... you carry your ghosts well.”

She scoffs, the sound rough but almost tender. “Figures. Even in death, people lie.”

Your fingers reach out instinctively, brushing against hers—the rough calluses of a fighter meeting the softness of vulnerability. “Not to me.”

Yelena exhales—a breath caught between relief and something deeper, shaky but sure. Slowly, deliberately, she laces her fingers through yours, the touch grounding and electric all at once.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, eyes cast downward, voice steady. “So if you start slipping into some spooky dead zone, drag me with you. Deal?”

A smile tugs at your lips—soft, genuine. “Deal.”

The candle flickers one last time before settling into a steady glow. Outside, the veil between worlds seems to thin just enough to let the silence breathe. For now.

Bob Reynolds finds himself more than in love with a Threading Witch…

When Bob meets you, he doesn’t understand why the voices in his head go quiet around you. He’s used to fear, to internal war, to the Void clawing at his insides—but you’re like static turned into white noise. Not peace. Just... stillness.

You don’t look at him like the world does. You don’t fear him, even when you should. Especially when his eyes flash gold or his hands shake and he whispers, “I don’t want to break again.”

You tell him you’ve seen worse things than gods. That you’ve rewritten fate in blood. That theuniverse has cracks—and you live inside one.

Bob watches you work a probability hex once—make a bullet curve mid-air, miss him by a centimeter, and ricochet into someone’s gun. He doesn’t breathe for ten full seconds. “That’s not possible,” he says. You smile. “Exactly.”

You know how fragile he is under all that strength. You become his grounding tether. The anchor point in the chaos. The one constant that refuses to break—even when he does.

He once asks you what you see when you look at him. You answer without blinking: “Potential. To save everything. Or destroy it.”

And then, softer: “But I think you’ll choose right. Because you already did when you didn’t kill me.”

He tells you later, “You’re the only variable I can’t predict.” You kiss him like a question. He answers with a storm.

Bob’s a guy who’s seen hell and isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty—emotionally or physically. He’s tough, abrasive, and quick to shoot down softness, but with you, that rough exterior cracks in unexpected moments.

Your threading magic feels foreign to him at first—too delicate, too precise—but he respects it because he can see how it calms you, how it can patch things even when bullets can’t.

When he’s frustrated or angry, you don’t push. Instead, you quietly thread a thin, warm line around his wrist or heart—something only he can feel. It’s subtle, but enough to ground him.

Bob rarely opens up about his past or his pain. But one night, when he’s too wound tight to sleep, you thread his fingers in yours and whisper a charm to untangle the knots inside him. His grip tightens, but he doesn’t pull away.

He’s awkward with affection at first—gruff “here, hold this” moments that slowly evolve into lingering touches and quiet, steady presence.

When you tease him about his bad luck or reckless attitude, he smirks and fires back with a joke—trying to keep things light, but there’s an honest warmth in his eyes.

Bob’s fiercely protective, not just of you but of your magic. If anyone tries to disrespect what you do, he’s ready to fight—no questions asked.

He’s not one for grand declarations, but he shows his feelings by small, consistent actions: offering you the last cookie, silently carrying your bag, or catching your hand when you stumble.

🥀 a star called the sun 

The sky above is too bright. Not metaphorically—literally. The sun’s harsh light bends lazily around Bob in swirling spirals, like the universe itself can’t decide which angle to hit him from. The air hums with warmth and a faint electric charge, the kind that makes your skin tingle just being near him.

You sit cross-legged on the weathered rooftop next to him, the rough concrete pressing cool against your palms. The sweet, tangy scent of pomegranate juices drips from your fingers as you casually pop a seed between your teeth, the crunch sharp and satisfying.

“People don’t usually sit next to me when I’m glowing,” Bob says, voice low and gravelly, eyes fixed on the city sprawled below, avoiding your gaze.

“Most people don’t see what I see,” you reply softly, watching the way the sunlight catches in his unruly hair, setting golden edges ablaze.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, skeptical but curious. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

You chew slowly, savoring the burst of tartness. “You’re like a prism. All that power, refracting off a million cracks. It’s not broken. Just... scattered.”

Bob exhales sharply, a short laugh like a gust of wind. “Romantic way to say I’m barely held together.”

You reach out without hesitation, plucking a thread of shimmering magic from the charged air between you—fine, silver, and invisible to anyone else but you. It twists and coils in your fingers like liquid light, a fragile filament of ‘what if’.

“You’re held together,” you murmur, your voice almost a caress as you thread the glowing strand around his wrist like a delicate bracelet. “And now... slightly luckier.”

He stares down at the subtle shimmer wrapped around his skin, a flicker of wonder crossing his face. “What did you just do?”

You grin, eyes bright with mischief and warmth. “Nothing dangerous. Just made sure your shoelace won’t ever untie itself again. Oh, and your next coffee will probably be free.”

Bob blinks, surprised, then lets out an actual laugh—short, sharp, and genuine, like the sound surprises even him. “You’re a menace.”

“Chaos is a lifestyle,” you shrug, leaning back on your hands, feeling the sun’s heat seep into your bones.

He watches you for a long moment, this impossible person who bends reality with just her presence and doesn’t run away from the chaos he carries. Something softens behind his guarded eyes.

“I like you,” he says quietly, voice rough but sincere.

You smile, a secret shared between just the two of you. “I know.”

With a playful flick, you toss him the other half of the pomegranate. He catches it instinctively, golden eyes wide in the fading light.

The sky begins to settle.

And somehow, today, the world doesn’t end.

Ava Starr is more than happy to accept a Temporal Rift Witch into her space…

Ava is startled by you. Not because of your magic, but because you’re never entirely present—or always toopresent. You’ll speak to something two seconds ahead, react before things happen. She doesn’t trust it at first.

You never try to fix her phasing. You don’t offer pity or solutions. Instead, you exist beside her, synced in a way that makes space for her disjointed reality.

The first time she phases and you don’t flinch—just calmly wait—it rattles her. You blink in time with her rhythm. Like you can hear the tick of the clock she’s stuck between.

You call her “constant,” and she nearly snaps at you. “I’m anything but.” But you smile, patient. “You’re still here. That’s constant enough.”

You’re quiet with her. Not silent—but slow. Gentle. She’s used to being weaponized, watched. With you, she’s just Ava. And that’s terrifying. And addictive.

You anchor her. Not physically—but energetically. With whispered words tied to the rhythm of her molecules, and fingers brushing just close enough to remind her she exists.

Eventually, you teach her a trick—a breath pattern, a focus phrase—that lets her phase intentionally for a few seconds longer. She doesn’t thank you out loud. But she sits closer after that. Just a little.

🥀for her 

Ava’s half-phased through a wall when you find her—her shoulder trapped in the crumbling brick, fragments of dust and mortar drifting down like slow-falling ash. Her eyes are squeezed shut tight, lips pressed thin, breath shallow and uneven like the fragile flutter of a dying bird.

You don’t panic.

You kneel across from her, the rough concrete cold beneath your knees, your voice steady and low, a soft anchor in the chaos. “You’re not stuck. You’re drifting.”

She grits her teeth, the tension pulling at the lines of her face. “Can’t pull back. It’s—loud. Everything’s too loud.”

Your fingers move gently through the air, weaving invisible threads of magic—silken strands of moment-to-moment, delicate as spider silk but strong enough to hold a fractured soul. You hum a slow, steady rhythm, a lullaby of time itself. “Then listen to me instead.”

She doesn’t respond at first—but you watch her chest rise and fall, slow and steady, matching the cadence of your hum.

“You’re here,” you say softly. “Now. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. Just now.”

Her jaw tightens. “I don’t know what that means anymore.”

You smile—soft, bittersweet—like a quiet promise in the dark. “That’s okay. I’m keeping time for both of us.”

Your hand inches forward, trembling slightly with hope and intention. Even though she’s barely real in this moment—half a ghost caught between here and elsewhere—she feels the warmth radiating from your skin, the steady pulse of your heart pressed into your touch.

Ava exhales, a breath that seems to carry all her fear and exhaustion. The phasing shudders, flickers like a weak flame caught in the wind—then stops.

She collapses forward, weight finally giving way as she falls into your arms, solid and trembling. Real. Tangible.

You hold her—not tightly, just enough to remind her she’s not alone.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice cracked and raw.

“For what?” you ask, voice gentle like a caress.

“For not knowing how to stay.”

You press your cheek softly against her temple, feeling the rapid pulse of her heartbeat slow beneath your touch. “You’re learning. And I have all the time in the world to wait.”

She closes her eyes, sinking into the warmth of your presence. For the first time in years, she believes it.

Bucky Barnes and his Bloodhound Witch…

Bucky doesn’t ask what kind of witch you are. He doesn’t have to. The first time you say his true name—all of it—he feels it. In his bones. Like something old inside him recognizes you.

You don’t touch his metal arm without permission. And when you finally do, it’s not in fear or reverence. It’s to draw a sigil against the cool surface, something simple. Protective. A tether. He asks what it means. You say, “It means you come back.”

He watches you prepare rituals like it’s an artform—mixing herbs with blood, knotting thread, burning names into wax. He doesn’t understand all of it. But he respects it. Deeply.

You both carry guilt like armor. But you treat his gently, never demanding he "let it go." You say, “It’s part of your blood now. But it doesn’t have to rule it.”

The first time he bleeds in front of you, you catch it in your palm and don’t flinch. You whisper a binding—not to hold him, but to protect what’s already his.

He never says “I love you.” Not directly. But he gives you his dog tags. Lets you etch an old protection rune on the inside of his vibranium wristplate. Learns to breathe through your grounding spells when his nightmares get sharp.

And when he finally lets you write his name—James—into a charm of blood and silver, he does it with a nod. Silent permission. Trust deeper than words.

Bucky’s instinct is to protect and to run from pain, but your magic reveals things even he can’t hide—from the blood on his hands to the scars in his soul. He’s wary at first, but slowly he learns to trust your insight.

When he’s haunted by nightmares or memories he can’t shake, you softly trace a circle on his wrist with your fingers, weaving a quiet bloodhound spell to keep the darkness at bay.

His metal arm and your magic feel like two halves of a whole—steel and spirit—combining strength and intuition. When you entwine your fingers, the threads of your magic pulse along his metal like a heartbeat.

Bucky is rough with affection—gruff touches, a hand lingering too long on your back, a quiet hand squeeze when words fail. Your magic threads through those moments, making them more tender, more profound.

You’re the one who finds him when he disappears, tracking his trail through blood scents and spectral whispers. When you pull him back, it’s not just your magic—it’s your quiet, unwavering presence that grounds him.

He’s protective, but he lets his guard down enough to let you “read” him, sharing pieces of his past he’s never told anyone else. Your magic weaves those fragments together, creating a tapestry of healing.

Late nights, he holds you close, your fingers lightly resting over his chest where the metal meets flesh. Your bloodhound magic hums softly, syncing your rhythms, sharing a calm only you two understand.

Sometimes, when the weight of the world gets heavy, you let him lean on you. Not just physically—emotionally, magically. He feels your magic tracing protective sigils along his spine, a shield woven from trust and love.

Bucky may never say it outright, but in the quiet moments when your magic brushes against his skin, when your eyes meet, he’s saying the words his lips won’t: You’re my home.

🥀remember me, remember you

Bucky sits on the edge of your work table, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearm, the metal gleaming softly in the flickering candlelight. Shadows dance across the room, warm and intimate, wrapping around you both like a secret kept from the world. The faint scent of ink and iron hangs in the air, mingling with something more subtle—your own magic, electric and alive beneath your skin.

You stand before him, holding a shallow bowl filled with a thick mixture of ink and blood—a potent blend that carries both vulnerability and power—in one hand. In the other, a slender silver thread catches the candle’s glow, shimmering like liquid starlight.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, but steady.

He meets your gaze without hesitation—those haunted, storm-grey eyes steady and unflinching. “I want to,” he says simply.

You swallow, the weight of the moment settling between you. “Once your name is bound,” you warn softly, “it’s not just protection. It’s memory. It’s weight. A tether to who you were—and who you are.”

His jaw tightens, but he nods. “I’ve carried worse.”

Carefully, reverently, you take the silver thread and dip it into the dark, viscous mixture. The ink coats the metal like a shadow, and you begin weaving, fingers nimble and sure. Each loop and knot hums beneath your touch, weaving layers of magic into the charm. Your lips part slightly as you speak, voice low and melodic—the cadence of your spell coaxing power into the delicate weave.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you murmur, each syllable rolling off your tongue like silk woven with sorrow, binding his full name into the spell.

The charm vibrates softly, a heartbeat in your hands, pulsing with quiet strength.

Slowly, you lift it and tie the finished charm around his wrist, just beneath the edge of his metal arm. The cool silver contrasts against the warmth of his skin, the thread shimmering faintly as it settles into place.

He watches your hands—steady, reverent, tender—like you’re handling something sacred.

“What does it do?” he asks, voice rough but curious.

“It remembers who you are,” you say softly, looking up to meet his gaze again. “When you forget. When others try to rewrite you.” Your fingers linger for a moment, brushing his skin gently. “It brings you back.”

Bucky’s eyes soften, and for a long beat, he says nothing. Then, slowly, deliberately, he covers your hand with his—flesh over flesh, rough against delicate—holding on as if afraid to let go.

“Thank you,” he breathes, the words rough and heavy with meaning, like it hurts to say, but it means everything.

A warmth blooms in your chest, and you smile—small, sure, full of quiet promise.

“Always.”

The candlelight flickers once more, casting long shadows around you, but for this moment, in this room filled with whispered magic and unspoken trust, everything else falls away.

[niwaart]

Secret of the Shadows

(Y/N Constantine x Batfam)

-part1..

It was just another night in Gotham—dark, restless, and thick with the promise of trouble.

Oracle’s voice crackled through the comms, sharp with urgency. “Bats, we’ve got a situation. Armed mercenaries just snatched a group of civilians, demanding ransom. No IDs yet, but they’re moving fast.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “Track their route. We need a location.”

The Batcomputer whirred, but before Oracle could narrow it down, Red Robin spoke up. “I’ve got it. Abandoned warehouse near the docks—southside. Camera feed caught suspicious movement.”

Nightwing shot him a glance. “That was fast.”

Red Robin shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

Batman didn’t question it...not yet. Civilians came first.

The team moved in. The fight was brutal—gunfire, shouts, the desperate cries of hostages. They subdued the mercenaries one by one, but the last thug had a child in his grip, a gun pressed to their temple.

“Back off!” the man snarled. “Or I swear I’ll—”

A loud CRASH cut him off. A chair from the second floor slammed into him, knocking him out cold. The child stumbled free, and the vigilantes looked up, just in time to see a young man dusting off his hands, his binds clearly cut.

“Nice throw,” Red Robin muttered under his breath.

Y/N smirked, then he looked at Red Robin for a long time, then winked at him.

Red Robin barely suppressed a grin.

As the team secured the scene, Red Hood lingered, his helmet tilted toward Red Robin. Then, toward Y/N.

Something wasn’t right.

Back in the Batcave, Batman reviewed the footage.

“Red Robin,” he said, voice low. “How did you locate that warehouse so quickly?”

Tim didn’t flinch. “Like I said—cameras.”

Oracle frowned. “I hadn’t even pulled up that feed yet.”

A beat of silence.

Nightwing crossed his arms. “Okay, spill. What aren’t you telling us?”

Before Tim could answer, Red Hood leaned against the console. “Oh, I’ll tell you what’s up. Red Robin’s got a source.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “What source?”

Tim exhaled. “Fine. It’s my roommate.”

“Your roommate?” Dick repeated, incredulous.

“Yeah. He’s… observant.”

Jason snorted. “Observant? That guy in the warehouse? The one who mysteriously got free and took out a guy with a chair? That’s your ‘roommate’?”

Bruce’s voice was steel. “Who is he?”

Tim hesitated... but not because he didn’t know. Because he did.

“His name’s Y/N,” he said carefully. “And before you ask... no, he’s not in the system.”

Batman’s glare darkened. “Why not?”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Because he… particular about privacy.”

Jason scoffed. “What, is he some kinda spy?”

“Worse,” Tim muttered. “He’s John Constantine’s kid.”

Silence...

“What.”Batman’s voice was dangerously calm.

Dick blinked. “Wait. The John Constantine? The guy who—"

“—makes deals with demons and pisses off every magical being in existence? Yeah. That one.” Tim sighed. “And before you freak out, Y/N’s not like him... Mostly.”

Bruce’s fingers clenched. “You’ve been hiding this. Why?”

“Because Y/N asked me to,” Tim admitted. “And because Y/N’s helped me out more times than I can count. He’s not a threat.”

Jason crossed his arms. “Then why’s he sneaking around Gotham?”

“Because someone has to keep an eye on the magical side of this city,” a new voice drawled from the shadows.

Everyone turned.

Y/N leaned against the Batcave entrance, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. “And let’s be real... Bats sucks at magic.”

Bruce’s eye twitched.

Y/N strolled forward, hands in his pockets, completely unfazed by the fact that he’d just walked into the Batcave uninvited.

“So,” he said, glancing around. “this is Batman's secret cave? Cozy.”

Batman stepped forward, looming. “How did you get in here?”

Y/N grinned. “The magician does not reveal his secrets.”

“Y/N,” Tim warned.

“Fine, fine.” Y/N rolled his eyes. “I hitched a ride on Red Robin’s bike. Magic cloaking. Easy.”

Jason looked at Tim. “You let him?”

Tim shrugged. “He was gonna follow me anyway.”

Bruce’s patience was thinning. “Constantine’s son.”

Y/N mock-bowed. “The one and only.”

“Why are you in Gotham?”

“School. Rooming with Tim. Avoiding my dad’s endless messes.” Y/N smirked. “And, y’know, keeping demons from eating people in the alleys. The usual.”

Dick frowned. “Wait—you’ve been handling magical threats alone?”

“Not alone,” Y/N corrected, nodding at Tim. “Birdbrain here helps. When he’s not busy being obsessive over cases.”

Tim elbowed him. “Rude.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is a security risk.”

“Oh, relax,” Y/N said, waving a hand. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Just keeping the balance.”

Jason studied him. “You’re way too chill about this.”

“Eh. You get used to weird when your dad’s Constantine.”

Bruce exhaled sharply. “You’re staying off the radar. No more interference in Gotham’s affairs.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Or what? You’ll bench me?” He snorted. “Please. You need me. Gotham’s magical underbelly’s been stirring lately. Big players moving in.”

Tim nodded. “He’s right. We’ve been tracking—”

Bruce cut him off. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Y/N smirked. “Sure thing, Boss Bat.”

Jason choked back a laugh.

Dick sighed. “This is gonna be fun.”

In Gotham Rooftops – Later That Night

Batman’s cape snapped behind him as he landed heavily on a gargoyle, glaring down at the figure lounging on the adjacent rooftop.

Y/N, legs dangling over the edge, tossed a glowing blue flame between his fingers like a coin. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think you’d given up."

Batman’s voice was pure gravel. "You’re interfering."

"Interfering?" Y/N gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Me? I’m just enjoying Gotham’s lovely skyline. smog pollution really brings out the city’s charm."

Batman’s eye twitched. "Leave."

"Make me."

"..........."

"This isn’t a game."

"Never said it was." Y/N smirked. "But here’s the thing... you’re saving the city, but you’re not its mayor. So if you want me to leave, you’ll have to get permission, Boss Bat."

Batman’s jaw clenched so hard Tim, listening through the comms, winced in sympathy.

Batcave – 10 Minutes Earlier

Dick Grayson leaned back in the Batcomputer chair, spinning lazily. "Okay, but seriously... how have we never heard of Constantine having a kid?"

Jason, polishing a gun, snorted. "Probably because the bastard forgot he had one."

Dick tilted his head. "Or… hid him?"

Damian, sharpening a knife, scoffed. "Tt. As if Constantine could be competent enough for that."

Oracle’s voice chimed in. "Actually, according to my very limited files, Y/N’s existence was scrubbed. Professionally. Like, League of Shadows level."

Jason whistled. "Damn. Daddy issues and a secret identity? Kid’s got layers."

Tim, typing furiously on a tablet, didn’t look up. "He’s also right here on comms, you know."

"Aw, you guys do care!" Y/N’s voice dripped with amusement.

Dick grinned. "So, Y/N... magic, huh? Can you, like, turn people into frogs?"

"Only if they really annoy me."

Jason smirked. "So… can you do that to B?"

"Oh, absolutely... but then who’d pay for my tuition?"

Tim choked on his coffee.

Damian rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous. We’re discussing magic as if it’s some parlour trick—"

"Magic," Y/N corrected.

"I said what I said."

Back on the Rooftop.....

Batman had had it.

"You’re not trained."

Y/N rolled his eyes. "I grew up with John Constantine. You think Gotham’s scary? Try watching your dad drink with a demon before breakfast ."

"You’re reckless."

"Tell me about it."

Batman’s patience was gone. "If you get in my way—"

"—you’ll what? Ground me?" Y/N grinned. "Face it, Bats—you can’t kick me out just because I exist here. Unless I break a law, you’ve got nothing."

A long, long silence.

"...Fine." Batman turned sharply. "But if I see you near a case—"

"Yeah, yeah, you’ll grumble at me. Noted."

Batman vanished into the shadows.

Y/N smirked. "He so hates me."

"He so does," Tim agreed through the comm, laughing.

In Jason's safehouse.....

Jason tossed Y/N a beer. "So. Constantine."

Y/N caught it, snapping the cap off with magic. "Yep."

Dick leaned forward. "Is it true he sold his soul twice?"

"Three times, actually. Third one was for a really good kebab."

Damian, arms crossed. "Tt. Liar."

"Ask him yourself." Y/N took a sip. "He’ll absolutely deny it, which is how you know it’s true."

Dick, quietly: "…Do you like him?"

Y/N paused. "He’s my dad. It’s… complicated."

Jason snorted. "Ain’t it always."

Tim flopped onto the couch beside Y/N. "Okay, but real question—can you actually turn people into frogs?"

Y/N’s grin was wicked. "Wanna find out, Replacement?"

Dick immediately grabbed a notepad. "I volunteer Jason—"

"HELL NO—"

Laughter echoed through the safehouse.

Somewhere, in the shadows, Batman has a big scowl on his face.

[levigarden999]

‪♡ quiet, sweaty nights ‪♡ levi x femreader ‪♡

theme : intimate fluffy smut , sweaty and fulfilling sex with levi warnings : smut , p!v sex , sweat , orgasm , missionary , only 18 and over notes : thank you all for the likes on my previous posts , i'm so happy you've enjoyed my writings ‪♡

levi wasn’t the biggest fan of intimacy. he was rarely affectionate towards you, it was usually just his delicate fingers lingering on your thigh or the faint feeling of his hand on your lower back. the subtle touches and hidden moments of love were his ways to show you how much he cared for you. but also how much he needed you.

even though levi didn’t get intimate often, it didn’t mean he didn’t want you. he was just so busy and focused on his work as the captain of his squad, not to mention the duty of being the strongest soldier. even though he hated that word, he knew he was important for the army and that he had a mission to fulfill. for humanity. for his loved ones. for you.

when he did get intimate, it was on those quiet nights. those quiet nights when the only sound that could be heard was the rain drops on the roof and the occasional sound coming from the wooden building materials of the hq. the moon would push its’ light in through the gaps between the curtains, illuminating beautiful shimmer against the plank floors and walls. shimmer where the small pieces of dust lingered in the now blue-ish air, as if magic was suddenly real and allowed you two to have this night without worries, stress or pressure.

the moon would cast light on levi’s face as well. there was single glistening drops of sweat on his forehead and a hint of a deep mysterious blue in his normally grey eyes as he moved on top of you. soft pants escaped his slightly open mouth with each thrust he did, the hovering black hairs on his face casting thin shadows on his skin.

”levi…” you panted quietly as you felt him do those deep, torturous strokes inside of you. the faint redness on his pale cheeks reminded you of the same lust, hunger and love your body was filled with right in that moment. you believed he felt the exact same sensations as you did. the skin between his hips and your crotch was wet and sweaty, so he had to move carefully not to make too sloppy sounds. there was a blanket covering you two, which made the situation even more intimate and hot.

sweat dripped down your temples as you laid on the soft mattress and you tightened the grip around his body. you held him close to you, his hot and steamy skin clinging against you. his other arm was wrapped around your thigh and it held your leg spread, allowing a deeper angle and a better position to manhandle you.

”m’ cumming…” you whimpered as you felt the hardness of his cock rub against your embarrassingly wet and plushy walls. you knew you had to be quiet since the others were already asleep in their rooms, so you held onto him tighter. levi looked down at you with a desperate frown between his eyebrows, and his other hand wrapped behind your head and tangled in your moist hair.

the heat of the blanket and his body was nearly overwhelming, but you hadn’t felt this close to him in a very long time. the thought made you yearn for even more.

”i’ll muffle those sweet moans f' you, love”, he cooed you. even though you were a strong woman soldier who slaughtered titans with practiced ease, you never managed to learn how to keep quiet. so levi had to help you.

he crashed his moist, swollen lips against yours and his tongue sunk into your mouth. it twisted and turned to the point it almost reached the back of your mouth, successfully muffling your moans.

”l-levi…!” you whined again, those sweet sounds of pure pleasure making his skin shiver with need to make you clench around him. he continued his deep thrusts even though he fastened his pace a little, hitting against that lovely spot over and over again. your hips began to tremble and soon your whole body squirmed as the sweaty, beautiful and longed orgasm crashed over you. levi’s mouth sucked in all your whines and moans and he fucked you through your orgasm, the slight grip on your hair making sure you didn’t pull away from the kiss.

[4linos]

the letter pt. 3

han jisung x fem!reader

synopsis: after a devastating breakup over the future you couldn't agree on, you and jisung are left unraveling in the aftermath. you wanted a family. he wanted freedom.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, (unplanned) pregnancy, jealousy & misunderstanding, second chances, exes to ??.

wc: 12,385

[part 1, part 2]

It was early. Too early.

The shrill buzzing of the doorbell drilled into Jisung’s skull like a hammer, and he groaned in discomfort, rolling over to bury his face in his pillow. His head pounded from a night spent drowning memories in whiskey, a futile attempt to forget you, so carefree with another man.

It had only been hours since he saw you walking away with him, the way you smiled, your hand cradling your belly. The sharp sting in his chest wasn’t from the whiskey, but from the way you had left him in the dust. You had moved on, and now, a new life had started without him.

Another round of doorbell buzzing shook him from his thoughts. “Who the hell...” he muttered as he squinted at the time on his phone. It was barely 6:30 AM. He had barely slept.

The buzzing came again, followed by a loud, insistent bang on the door that echoed throughout the apartment. His headache flared, and he cursed under his breath. Who was it this early? His eyes were still half-shut, barely managing to process anything as he stumbled out of bed, legs heavy, his body aching from too much alcohol.

The shirt he grabbed was wrinkled and tossed, probably something he’d left on the floor the night before. He barely remembered the events of the previous evening. All he could recall were images of you, images of him, the man you were with. The one holding you close, smiling, while you smiled back, glowing with happiness.

When he reached the door, he paused for a second, running his fingers through his messy hair. There was a moment of silence on the other side. Then it came again,

buzz. Buzz. Bang. Bang.

Jisung opened the door cautiously. He didn’t even know what to expect. But he certainly didn’t expect Lana.

Lana stood there, her usual stern expression plastered on her face, her arms crossed. She gave him a stiff smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Without waiting for him to say anything, she pushed past him into the apartment. Jisung frowned, still groggy from his hangover.

She didn’t even greet him or ask if he was okay. No small talk. Just that look, the one she always wore when she was frustrated or worried.

“You reek,” she said bluntly, glancing at him as she walked further into the apartment, her nose scrunching up in mild disgust. “And you look like shit.”

Jisung rolled his eyes, too tired and hungover to care much about her bluntness. “Nice to see you too, Lana,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “What are you doing here so early? It’s barely morning.”

Lana didn’t answer at first. She was already busy scanning the room, shuffling through a few papers on the coffee table and glancing through the empty space where your old things had once been.

“Looking for something,” she finally answered, but it didn’t take long for Jisung to realize what she was doing. He hadn’t seen any of your things in months, not since you’d left.

“Everything of hers is gone,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. The words felt heavier than he thought they would. The truth was, it still felt like a knife every time he spoke about you. “It’s been gone for a while now. The only things left are stuff I gave her.”

Lana shot him a look, almost like pity, but didn’t say anything. She moved around, scanning the apartment like it might hold some magical clue that was going to fix everything. Jisung watched her, arms still folded tightly, not sure if he should care, not sure if he even could.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Lana turned to face him, her eyes serious.

“Did you ever read the letter she gave you?” she asked, her voice softer now but full of an underlying concern. There was something there, an edge of frustration, maybe even sadness, as if she knew this was the breaking point.

Jisung froze.

The letter.

His breath caught in his chest as memories flooded back. The image of the torn-up letter, his drunken hands, the whiskey-soaked paper, the way he’d thrown it aside as if it meant nothing. He could still feel the bitterness on his tongue, the sharp sting of rejection, the moment he decided to rip it all away because he couldn’t handle the pain. He didn’t even know what was in it, he never gave himself the chance to read it.

Lana was watching him closely now. Her eyes tracked his every movement. And then, when he didn’t answer right away, her gaze followed the direction of his eyes.

He’d left the letter on his desk, half-shredded, forgotten.

She scoffed, her voice rising with irritation. “You didn’t read it, did you? That’s really great, Jisung. You didn’t even give her the courtesy of reading the one thing she gave you, her words. Her truth.”

The words hit him hard. His stomach churned. A wave of shame washed over him. But he stayed silent, not knowing how to respond, not knowing how to apologize for his stupidity. How could he? How could he make up for all the time he wasted being angry, being selfish, and not facing what needed to be faced?

“Can you blame me?” he finally said, his voice rough with frustration. His anger bubbled up again, and he couldn’t help it. He just couldn’t. “She moved on. She’s pregnant with someone else’s kid. I saw them, Lana. I saw it with my own eyes. She’s with him. She’s living the life I couldn’t give her.”

Lana’s eyes narrowed. She took a deep breath, but she didn’t let him off the hook. “I get that you’re angry. But you’re being a damn fool.” She took a step forward, her eyes locking onto his with fierce intensity. “She’s not with him. Not in the way you think she is.”

Jisung’s heart dropped. What the hell was she talking about?

“She’s carrying your kid, Jisung,” Lana said, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “You think she moved on? No. She’s pregnant. With your baby.”

Jisung blinked, his thoughts spinning in a thousand directions. It felt like the ground was falling out from under him, his breath catching in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He couldn’t process what she had just said. His mind refused to understand.

“What? What are you talking about? How—?”

Lana threw her hands up in the air. “She didn’t move on. She’s carrying your child, Jisung. She found out six months ago. Six months ago! She didn’t want to burden you with it, didn’t want to force you into anything you didn’t want. She let you go. But you didn’t give her a chance. You didn’t even read the damn letter she wrote you. And now look at what’s happening.”

Jisung stood frozen, the words echoing in his mind, each syllable a hammer to his heart. He could feel his chest tightening, his head swimming with confusion, guilt, and panic. Six months.

Six months ago, everything could have been different.

He never gave her a chance. He hadn’t been there for her. He hadn’t even been willing to try to understand what was going on with her.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Jisung’s voice cracked, his hands gripping the back of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him from crumbling.

“She didn’t want to trap you. She didn’t want to force you into a life you weren’t ready for,” Lana said, her voice softening just slightly. “But you left. You left without giving her any hope. You chose to shut down, to drink away your feelings instead of listening to her, instead of hearing her out. She wanted you, Jisung. She wanted you to be there, but you didn’t give her that chance.”

Jisung’s knees felt weak. The weight of everything was crushing him, the silence between him and Lana stretching longer and longer, suffocating him with the realization that he had destroyed something he would never get back.

“I didn’t... I didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She never told me. She never gave me the chance.”

Lana stared at him, her face hardening again. “She did, Jisung. She gave you the chance. But you ripped it apart.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “And now she’s doing it on her own. She’s carrying your baby, and you’re sitting here wallowing in your guilt and anger instead of fighting for her. You didn’t fight. You just let her go.”

His throat was tight. His chest ached as if he couldn’t breathe. Every part of him screamed to go to her, to fix it, but he didn’t even know how.

“I—” He couldn’t finish. The words stuck in his throat, caught by the overwhelming weight of what he had done.

“Figure it out, Jisung,” Lana said with a final, cutting look. “Before it’s too late.”

She turned and left the apartment, her footsteps heavy on the floor, leaving Jisung to face the wreckage he’d made.

The moment the door slammed shut behind Lana, Jisung stood there for half a second, his mind in chaos, his heart thundering painfully against his ribs. The seconds stretched painfully long, his body frozen in place, until suddenly it hit him all at once, he couldn’t just stand there.

Without thinking, without weighing his options, he threw on the first shoes he could find, mismatched even, one a worn sneaker and the other a battered slip-on and sprinted out of the apartment. The door clattered against the frame behind him, left swinging half-open.

His head was pounding from the hangover, but he barely felt it anymore. He didn’t care about the dull ache behind his eyes, didn’t care that his shirt was wrinkled and his breath probably still reeked of whiskey. The only thing that mattered was catching Lana before she disappeared.

He found her a few steps away, still waiting for the elevator, her arms crossed, looking tired and resigned.

“Lana!” he called out breathlessly, skidding slightly as he slowed down near her. She turned, brows raised in a mixture of impatience and exhaustion.

“What do you want, Jisung?” she asked, voice clipped.

He inhaled sharply, tried to catch his breath. “Your address,” he said, almost desperate. “I mean—her address. Please. I need to see her.”

For a moment, Lana simply looked at him, studied him. She must have seen the way his chest heaved, the panic, the devastation, the regret clinging to him like a second skin.

Without a word, she nodded once, curtly. “Come on. I’ll drop you off,” she said.

He blinked, stunned at how quickly she agreed, and mumbled a grateful, “Thank you.”

The ride down in the elevator was silent. Uncomfortable. The buzz of fluorescent lights above them filled the stillness as Jisung stared at the closed doors, every second crawling by slower than the last. His mind raced ahead of him, playing out every possible scenario of seeing you again.

Would you even want to see him? Would you slam the door in his face? Would you cry? Would you tell him to leave and never come back?

His chest hurt at the possibilities.

When they finally reached the parking lot, Lana headed straight to her car, Jisung a few steps behind, heart hammering as he climbed into the passenger seat.

The drive was just as silent.

Jisung fidgeted anxiously with the hem of his shirt, tapping his foot against the floor of the car. He hated how quiet it was. He hated the way Lana seemed so still, almost robotic, her face an emotionless mask.

He needed to say something. Anything.

After a few moments of agonizing silence, he turned slightly toward her and asked, almost in a whisper, “Why are you doing this?”

He hadn’t expected to speak at all, but the words fell out before he could stop them.
“Why are you helping me?”

Lana’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. For a moment, he thought she was going to ignore him, let the silence suffocate him like it had been since they left his apartment.

But just as he was about to backpedal, tell her it didn’t matter, she spoke.

“You know...” she began slowly, her voice low, almost hesitant. “She told me and Jia about yesterday. About running into you.”

Jisung stiffened, shame curling deep in his stomach.

Lana let out a slow breath, her eyes still trained on the road ahead. “She was upset. Scared, even. She didn’t say it like that, not directly. But I could tell.”

Jisung pressed his hand against his knee, his nails digging into the denim of his jeans to ground himself. He hated thinking that he had scared you. Hated it more than anything else.

“And when she told me what happened... how you looked at her, how you walked toward her like—like you hated her, I guess...” Lana paused, her voice tightening. “I felt bad. For her. But... also for you.”

He blinked, stunned, confused. “For me?”

Lana gave a humorless, bitter little laugh. “Yeah. For you. You were so angry. So broken. And you didn’t even know the truth.” She shook her head. “You didn’t even give yourself a chance to know it. You just assumed the worst because it was easier than facing your own guilt.”

Jisung swallowed thickly, throat dry, the lump forming there impossible to speak around.

“I realized... you’re not a villain, Jisung. You’re just a dumbass,” she said, and despite the ache gnawing at his insides, he almost smiled at that. “You’re scared. You always have been.”

The weight of her words pressed down on him heavily. He couldn’t deny it.
He had been scared. He had run from the idea of a future that terrified him, the idea of a family, responsibility, a life bigger than himself. And because of that fear, he had lost you.

He looked out the window, blinking rapidly against the sting behind his eyes.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, voice cracking slightly.
“For what?” Lana asked, glancing at him briefly.

“For... not giving up on me. For helping me even when I don’t deserve it.”

Lana scoffed lightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “You still have to face her.”

Jisung nodded, setting his jaw, determination slowly taking the place of fear.
He didn’t know how you would react.
He didn’t know if you would even listen to him.

But he had to try.

For you.
For the baby.
For the future he realized, way too late that he wanted more than anything.

He had to try.

He owed you that much.

It was early, really for anything other than sleep. But as Jisung stood in the dim light of the morning, standing outside the apartment complex, he couldn’t ignore the churning inside him. His breath fogged in the cool air, his mind racing, his body still fighting the remnants of the whiskey hangover from the night before. His thoughts felt scattered, jumbled in the haze of last night’s decisions. He hadn’t expected to find himself standing here, on your doorstep, hoping for something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Lana’s car had pulled up earlier, and she had given him your apartment number without much ceremony. She told him she wouldn’t come with him. That it would be better if he faced you alone. Her eyes had been unreadable when she said it, but when she spoke, it wasn’t with the usual sass or sharpness. It was more... resigned, like she understood just how badly he had messed things up. She even reminded him sternly, almost motherly, not to say anything about the confrontation with you, or the way he had torn up your letter.

“You go in there, you don’t mention anything about the letter,” she had said, the warning clear in her voice. “This is between you and her. And I’m not involved.”

Jisung had nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His head was still spinning, his chest aching as he stood here. How was he supposed to fix this? How could he even begin to make things right after everything he had done?

The sound of the car’s engine fading as Lana pulled away was the final push for him. There was no turning back now. He was standing outside your door, and it felt like the whole world was waiting.

His feet carried him, almost mechanically, toward the door. Each step felt like it was taking him further into a storm he wasn’t sure he could weather. The thought of waking you up of disturbing the fragile peace you’d probably built without him made his chest tighten. Would you even want to see him?

He reached your door, his hand trembling as he lifted it to knock. The sound of his fist against the wood felt unnaturally loud in the silence of the hallway. He waited, every second stretching on and on, until finally, he heard your voice.

“I’m coming,” you said, your tone cool, though he couldn’t help but feel the underlying tension in it.

The door creaked open.

And there you were.

For a moment, Jisung couldn’t speak. His breath hitched in his throat. You were standing in front of him, looking so… so beautiful, like nothing had changed. Your hair was messy, your eyes still half-lidded with sleep, but the moment you looked at him, he felt like everything stopped. He missed you more than he could have possibly imagined. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to feel you close again, but he knew that wasn’t what you wanted. Not now.

You blinked a few times, taking him in. His disheveled appearance, the tiredness in his eyes, the slight frown that had etched itself into his features, it was clear that he had come here not just out of guilt, but desperation. He had so many things to say, but when he opened his mouth, the words stuck in his throat.

Finally, your voice broke through the silence.

“Why are you here?” Your voice was colder than he had ever heard it, and Jisung felt the weight of it hit him like a freight train. There was no warmth in your tone. There was no softness, no kindness. Just distance.

He took a step back, swallowing hard.

“I… I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, raw with emotion. “I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I had to come. I needed to tell you how sorry I am.”

You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing as you took him in. “Why? After everything you said… after everything you did, why are you here now, Jisung?” Your voice was quieter, but the pain behind it cut deeper than anything else he had heard.

He could feel the weight of his past mistakes hanging between you both. How could he have been so blind? How could he have assumed the worst when you were just trying to do what was best for both of you? He didn’t deserve this chance, he didn’t deserve to stand in front of you, asking for forgiveness. But he couldn’t stand the thought of you doing this alone, especially not after everything.

“I know what I said before,” Jisung started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I said I couldn’t be a part of a family, that I wasn’t ready. I… I was selfish. I was angry, and I wasn’t thinking about what you needed.” His hand reached for his pocket, pulling out the crumpled remains of the letter you had left for him, but he stopped himself before he could do anything. The sight of it made his stomach churn.

“I didn’t read the letter,” he confessed, his eyes dropping to the floor, unable to meet yours. “I was just... so angry and upset. I didn’t even give you the chance to explain.”

There was a long silence. The seconds felt like hours as Jisung stood there, waiting for you to say something, anything. He could feel the tension building in the space between you, the unresolved feelings thickening the air around him. He opened his mouth again, desperate to make things right.

“I know I’ve hurt you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but… I want to be here. I want to be here for you, for the baby. I don’t want to miss this. I don’t want to miss us anymore. Please, let me help. Let me be a part of this. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You looked at him for a long moment, your arms still crossed, eyes unreadable. He couldn’t read you, not like he used to. The walls were up, and he had no idea how to break them down.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to let you in, Jisung,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can trust you again. After everything…”

Jisung’s heart sank at your words. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He knew that asking for your forgiveness would be the hardest thing he had ever done. But he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t let you walk away without trying, without showing you that he was willing to change.

“I understand,” he said softly, his voice shaking with the weight of the words. “But if you’ll let me, I want to try. I’m not asking for everything right now, but just… just a chance. Please.”

For a moment, the silence between you was heavy, suffocating. Then, slowly, you nodded, but it was tentative, hesitant.

“I’m not 100% ready to let you in,” you said, your voice small, “but… I’m willing to try. I’m willing to take things slow. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Jisung felt like the air had been knocked out of him. It wasn’t everything he had hoped for, but it was enough. It was the beginning of something, the beginning of the possibility of redemption.

“Thank you,” he whispered, stepping forward, though he didn’t want to push you. He just wanted to be near you, even if that meant just standing in your doorway.

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes softening just a little.

“I can’t promise it’ll be easy,” you said, voice still trembling, but there was a hint of something maybe hope? in your tone. “But I’m willing to try. For the baby, for us... maybe it’ll work.”

Jisung smiled softly, the first genuine smile he had worn in months. It wasn’t a perfect answer, but it was a start.

And in that moment, that was all he needed.

Jisung stood there, completely caught off guard by the way you looked at him, a mixture of disbelief and amusement flashing across your face. His eyes widened for a brief moment before he quickly realized the disheveled state he was in mismatched shoes, a wrinkled shirt, his hair wild from the night he had spent tossing and turning in regret. The haze of the alcohol still clung to him like a bad memory, the scent of whiskey faint but noticeable. His heart sank when he realized just how much he must have looked like a mess standing there in front of you.

Before he could say anything, you gave a short laugh, your eyes twinkling, almost in disbelief. "You really reek of alcohol," you pointed out, your voice sharp but not unkind. You took in his appearance, your gaze lingering on the mismatched shoes, the wrinkled shirt, and then, finally, the way he was standing there, eyes wide with a mixture of regret and guilt.

Jisung's face flushed, and he immediately looked down at himself, noticing the mismatched shoes and the way his shirt had crumpled in all the wrong places. He had rushed out of the house, not thinking about how he appeared, only about getting to you, about fixing everything he had ruined. The realization made him feel even worse. He had come to you like this, looking like he had just crawled out of bed after a long night of self-pity and alcohol. How could he expect you to take him seriously when he looked like this?

But before he could spiral into another fit of self-loathing, he heard you laugh. It was soft, almost nervous, but it was there. The sound of your laughter was like a balm to his nerves, even though he knew it wasn’t coming from a place of warmth or affection. You were laughing, but there was a certain softness in your eyes when they met his.

His lips curled into a reluctant smile, the tension between you starting to melt just a little bit. "Yeah, I guess I do," he said, his voice hoarse, his throat dry from the alcohol he had consumed the night before. His attempt at humor didn’t exactly work, but it was the only thing he could offer. He couldn't believe he had shown up at your door looking like this, of all things.

You continued to look him up and down, your gaze lingering for a second longer than necessary. There was no judgment in your expression, but Jisung could see the traces of concern in your eyes, the way you were trying to figure him out, trying to make sense of this strange encounter. His chest tightened as you glanced down at his shoes, then back at his face. For a second, he thought you might close the door on him and tell him to get his life together before even attempting a conversation.

But then you did something that surprised him even more: you laughed again, the sound a little louder this time. The way you shook your head as you did so made his heart clench. It wasn’t mocking. It was more like you were acknowledging the absurdity of the whole situation, the way everything had spiraled into chaos.

"You're a mess," you said, the words lighter now, almost fond in a strange way. The sharpness in your tone from before was gone, replaced by something a little more... tender, maybe even forgiving.

Jisung stood there, unsure of what to do with that. He wanted to apologize again, but the laughter, your laughter made it feel like there was still a chance for him to explain himself. He could tell you had softened, if only just a little bit. Maybe you weren’t as angry as before, maybe you were starting to see him not as the person who had hurt you, but as someone who was truly remorseful.

His gaze shifted, following your movements as you instinctively placed a hand over your belly. You hadn’t even realized you were doing it, but the way your fingers hovered protectively over your growing stomach told him everything he needed to know. You were already thinking about the baby, about protecting what mattered most now. The thought made something warm and soft stir in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to experience in so long. His mind was clouded with regrets about the past, but in that moment, seeing you like this, seeing how much you had grown, both in body and it hit him hard.

"You're pregnant," he said softly, the realization hitting him like a wave. It wasn’t just the fact that you were carrying his child; it was the way you seemed so much more settled now, so much stronger. The woman standing in front of him wasn’t the same person he had left behind. She was someone who had grown in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine. The confidence in your posture, the way you held your belly like it was the most precious thing in the world, he couldn’t deny that.

You nodded, but there was a slight hesitation in your eyes, as if you were trying to gauge whether he had truly understood what that meant.

"Yeah," you replied softly, your voice steady but tinged with something Jisung couldn’t quite place. "I’m pregnant." Your eyes softened for a moment, the edges of your lips twitching into a small, almost imperceptible smile. But the smile didn’t reach your eyes completely, and Jisung could see the weight of the situation in your gaze. It wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about the future.

He took a step closer, suddenly aware of how much he wanted to bridge the distance between you two. But he didn’t want to overstep; he didn’t want to make the same mistakes again. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable, to push you away when all he wanted was to make things right.

"How have you been?" His question was simple, but it was the first thing that came to his mind. He needed to know how you were, how you were holding up, especially now that he had messed everything up. His heart ached just thinking about it.

You gave him a small shrug, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes, something softer. "I’m doing alright," you said, your voice more honest now. "I’ve been getting by. It’s not easy, but I’m managing."

Jisung could feel the weight of your words. He had no idea what you’d been through, what you were still going through. He had left you behind when things got tough, when you needed him the most. And now, he couldn’t help but feel like he had lost any chance of making things right.

But as he stood there, watching you, feeling the fragile atmosphere between you two, he knew he couldn’t give up. Not when it was so clear that he had so much to make up for. He needed to make things right for you, for the baby, for everything he had taken for granted.

And so, without thinking about it too much, he spoke from his heart.

"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice breaking. "I know I've messed up. But I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever you need, I’ll be there. I can’t undo the past, but I’m here now. Please, let me try to make this right. I want to be a part of this. I want to help."

For a brief moment, there was only silence. Jisung watched you, desperate for any sign of what you were thinking. Your gaze flickered down to your belly again, as if you were thinking about how much had changed since you last saw him. The pregnancy, the baby, the future everything had shifted, and he couldn’t help but wonder if there was any room for him in it anymore.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you sighed softly and looked back at him. "I’m not sure, Jisung," you said, the words hesitant. "I’m not sure I’m ready to let you back in after everything. But…"

Jisung’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear what was coming next, but he knew he had to.

"But I’m willing to try," you continued, your voice soft but steady. "For the baby. For us. I can’t promise everything will be easy, but I’m willing to give it a chance."

Jisung exhaled deeply, relief flooding through him. It wasn’t the answer he had hoped for, but it was enough. It was a chance. A fragile, delicate chance to rebuild everything he had lost.

"Thank you," he whispered, his eyes shining with gratitude. "I won’t mess this up. I swear."

You nodded slowly, a quiet understanding passing between you two. Neither of you knew exactly what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, Jisung felt like there was hope.

The air between you and Jisung was heavy with unspoken words, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped altogether. Neither of you moved, each of you waiting for the other to say something, but it seemed like the silence was doing its job for now. It wasn’t awkward, not really, just... filled with the weight of everything that had happened.

Then, as if a quiet realization settled in, you spoke, breaking the tension with a soft offer. “Would you like to come in?”

Jisung blinked, caught off guard by your calm tone. For a moment, he simply stood there, his feet planted on the floor, almost as if he wasn’t sure what you were implying. The request wasn’t what he’d expected. He had come here thinking this would be another painful confrontation, something that might make the gap between you two even wider. Instead, you were inviting him in offering a space where you could both breathe.

After a beat of hesitation, Jisung nodded. It wasn’t the grand gesture he’d imagined, but it was enough. It was the first step.

"Yeah," he said softly, almost to himself, as if the invitation was something he had been hoping for without realizing it. "I’d like that."

You stepped aside, holding the door open just enough for him to pass. His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary before he moved past you into the apartment. It felt surreal, the sudden shift from anger and hurt to a fragile kind of calm that seemed to hang in the air like fog, both of you treading carefully through it.

The inside of your apartment was cozy, nothing too extravagant, but it had a quiet, homey warmth to it. The light streaming in from the window made everything feel softer, gentler. As you moved into the kitchen to start preparing your tea, Jisung took a seat in the small dining area. His eyes wandered over the room, his gaze catching on something unexpected: two ultrasound pictures stuck to the fridge with a magnet.

It was like a punch to the gut.

The realization hit him before he could process it fully: the baby, his baby, was real. The ultrasound images, two of them, one from earlier in your pregnancy and the other more recent were right there in front of him, displayed so casually, as though it wasn’t the kind of thing that would completely change everything in his life.

He stared at them for a few moments, his breath catching in his throat. His mind spiraled again, and for a second, he almost forgot where he was. The weight of it all settled on his chest: the baby that was growing inside of you, the future that was unfolding whether he was ready for it or not.

You noticed where his attention had gone, and without turning around, you spoke. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been keeping them there to remind me that it’s real,” you said, your voice low. “It still feels surreal sometimes, even with everything going on.”

Jisung didn’t know what to say to that. His mind was still working through the images on the fridge, but there was something about the way you said it, something so matter-of-fact that made him want to be there. To be a part of that reality. But as quickly as that thought came, the flood of guilt followed it. He wasn’t sure he even deserved a place in that future, but the idea of walking away from it again seemed impossible.

“I never wanted to leave,” Jisung said suddenly, his voice cracking just a little. You could hear the sincerity in his words, the rawness of it. His eyes were on the ultrasound pictures, but you knew he wasn’t just talking about the baby now. He was talking about everything. About you.

He was sorry. You could hear it in his voice.

You took a slow breath and, without thinking, began to gather the tea bags and cups. You could feel the weight of his words, but the tension in the air was still too thick to address it fully. You needed to give it some space before you let everything out.

Jisung followed your lead, though, moving to the kitchen to help you. He was tentative at first, like he was worried that being too close would make things worse. But his eyes didn’t leave you as you began preparing the tea, the soft clink of the ceramic cups filling the space between your words. You looked up at him as you set the kettle down and asked, “Do you want sugar or anything?”

Jisung paused for a second, considering the question, before shaking his head. “No, just straight. Thanks,” he said quietly. He watched you as you made the tea, your movements fluid and familiar, and in that moment, something about it made his chest tighten. Everything about you felt so... settled now, so different than the chaos of the past.

When you handed him the steaming cup, he took it gratefully, his fingers brushing yours in the process. The contact was small, but it felt significant, like a small thread of connection that hadn’t been completely severed.

You both moved to the small living area after that, sitting across from each other at the table. For a while, you sipped your tea in silence, the sound of the quiet ticking clock in the background the only thing breaking the stillness.

Finally, you set your cup down and looked at him, really looked at him. The expression on your face was softer than before, but there was still a guardedness there. It wasn’t anger anymore, not like it had been the last time you saw each other, but there was an undeniable caution. The sting of everything you had been through still hung between you two.

“Jisung,” you began slowly, your voice almost too calm for what was about to come next. “I didn’t... I didn’t want any of this to happen.” You paused, collecting your thoughts before continuing. “I didn’t want to push you away, but I also couldn’t keep holding on to something that wasn’t... real anymore. I wanted to make this work with you, more than anything, but I needed to know that I was enough, that I wasn’t just waiting around for something to fall apart.”

He nodded, his throat tight. He could feel the sincerity in your words, but it was difficult to take it all in without feeling the weight of his own mistakes. He had let his fear, his pride, get in the way of something that could have worked. Could have meant something more.

“I get it,” Jisung said, his voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t there when you needed me to be. I let my own bullshit cloud everything, and I—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. He needed to get this out. “I didn’t want to be a father, but I never stopped wanting you. I just... I didn’t know how to fix everything I broke.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were full of regret, but there was something else there too: determination. Like he was willing to do whatever it took to make it right, even if it meant starting from scratch.

“I’m not perfect either,” you said softly. “I made mistakes too. I wasn’t honest with you about how scared I was. I didn’t let you in. I didn’t... I didn’t let you be part of this because I thought I could do it all on my own.” You let out a small, bitter laugh. “Turns out I can’t.”

Jisung’s eyes softened at that. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he said, his voice steady now. “I’m not asking for everything to be fixed in one day. But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

You looked down at your cup, swirling it absentmindedly before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t know if I’m ready to let you back in,” you said, your voice quiet, almost apologetic. “But... I’m willing to try.“

Jisung didn’t speak right away, but the quiet relief in his eyes was unmistakable. You weren’t saying you were ready to forgive him completely, but you were willing to take the first step, the most important one. He could work with that. He’d take whatever you were willing to give.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I swear, I won’t mess this up.”

You nodded slowly, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You weren’t sure what the future would look like, but at least, for now, you were both willing to find out.

As the door clicked shut behind Jisung, you stood there for a moment, your hand still resting on the doorframe. The quietness of your apartment felt almost too loud after everything that had happened. You took a slow, deep breath, feeling the tension leave your body in waves. It was as if the moment he stepped out, a weight you hadn’t even realized you were carrying was finally lifted off your shoulders.

For the first time in months, you felt something that resembled peace, something you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. The tightness in your chest that had been there ever since everything fell apart had started to ease, just a little. The storm inside of you, the one that had raged every time you thought about him, about what could have been seemed quieter now. You hadn’t expected it, but the feeling of calm that washed over you was almost surprising.

You walked slowly back to the couch, each step lighter than the last, and gingerly sat down. The soft hum of the city outside your window mixed with the calmness inside, a strange but comforting contrast. You rubbed your belly absently, still feeling the warmth from the conversation you’d had with Jisung. It hadn’t been perfect, it never could be, but it was the first real conversation the two of you had in months. It felt like a small start, an opening to something that could, maybe, be better.

As you leaned back into the cushions, your mind replayed moments from the conversation. Jisung’s sincerity, the way his eyes softened when he spoke about wanting to be there for you and the baby, even when he had no idea how to fix the mess he’d made. It had been raw, real, and full of regret, but also hope. He wasn’t expecting things to be fine overnight, and neither were you. But that first step? The one where he admitted that he had been wrong, and that he wanted to try? That was everything. It meant more than the words themselves, more than the mistakes he had made. It was a promise. A promise that he would try to make it right, no matter how long it took.

You pressed your palm to your belly and let out a soft exhale. That feeling of warmth and comfort began to spread through you, almost like the little kicks that had become more frequent lately. You closed your eyes, focusing on the movement inside you, each little nudge a reminder of the life you were creating. It was as though the baby inside of you could sense that something had shifted, that you were making the decision to move forward in a way that felt right, not just for you, but for them, too.

The tiny movements against your hand felt almost like reassurance, like a little voice whispering in your heart: It’s okay. You’re doing the right thing. You’re not alone. The idea that Jisung might really try this time, that he might actually want to be there for both you and the baby, settled in your chest like a comforting embrace. You weren’t sure if you were ready to let him all the way in yet, there was still so much hurt, so many walls to tear down, but the thought that you might finally have the chance to build something together, something stable, was enough for now.

A second chance. That’s what you had just given him. A second chance to prove that he could do what he had promised. And a second chance for you, too. A chance to heal. To open yourself up to the possibility of something different. Something real.

It wasn’t going to be easy. There would still be hurdles, and there was still so much to sort through. But in that quiet moment, with the subtle rhythm of your baby’s movements underneath your hand, you allowed yourself to believe that things could get better. You could try to make them better.

You let your hand rest on your belly, smiling softly. It wasn’t perfect, and it was far from where you wanted things to be, but it was a start. And sometimes, that’s all you needed: the belief that you could make it work, one step at a time.

The tiny kicks continued, like a reassurance, a little reminder that you were doing the right thing. You weren’t alone. You had made your decision, and now, no matter what happened, you could move forward. You could allow yourself to heal. And, maybe, just maybe you could allow yourself to hope again.

It was the beginning of something new. A second chance. For you. For Jisung. And for the baby who was growing stronger inside of you every day.

After sitting there for a little while longer, soaking in the quiet and letting yourself feel everything relief, nervousness, hope you finally got up from the couch. You made yourself another cup of tea, needing something warm to hold, something grounding.

The day outside had started to brighten, golden sunlight peeking through your curtains, casting a soft glow across your apartment. It made everything feel even more surreal, like the heavy fog that had been hanging over you for months was finally starting to lift.

You weren't naïve. You knew things wouldn’t magically fall into place because of one conversation. You knew trust didn’t rebuild itself overnight. But still, you had to start somewhere. And you had chosen to start here.

Meanwhile, across the city, Jisung sat alone in his apartment, the overwhelming aftermath of the morning sinking in. He was finally sober now, feeling the full weight of his mistakes. He replayed everything, your guarded but soft voice, the look in your eyes when you told him you were willing to try. It was a second chance he hadn’t deserved but one he swore he would never take for granted again.

For the first time in months, he didn’t feel like drowning himself in work, distractions, or alcohol. Instead, he felt determined. He needed to get his act together, for real this time. He needed to show you, not just tell you, that he could be the man you and the baby needed him to be.

The first thing he did was clean his apartment really clean it, not just a lazy sweep. He threw out the alcohol bottles, aired out the rooms, and opened the windows to let fresh air in. It was a small, physical act of change, but to him, it felt important. A symbol of letting go of the past he’d been clinging to.

The next few days were careful, tentative. Jisung texted you, not overbearing, just small check-ins: “Good morning, hope you’re feeling okay today.” or “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be around.” Simple, unobtrusive. He was careful not to pressure you, to give you the space you needed to adjust, but he wanted you to know he was there.

And surprisingly, you found yourself responding. Short answers at first, but they warmed up quickly, especially when he’d send you cheesy jokes or tell you random little things about his day, just trying to make you laugh. There were still walls between you, but you could feel them starting to thin out, piece by piece.

You were moving slowly, and that was exactly what you needed.

Then, one afternoon, a week later, Jisung asked if he could come by no pressure, no expectations just to drop off something. You hesitated but said yes.

When you opened the door, he was standing there with a small, awkwardly wrapped package in his hands. It was a simple thing, a tiny onesie, soft and pastel, with a silly little duck on the front. He handed it to you with a sheepish look, scratching the back of his neck.

“I saw it and thought...you know, maybe you could use it later.”

It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t a perfect apology. But it was effort. It was real.

And in that moment, you realized...maybe things could really change. Maybe it was okay to hope for something better after all.

So you smiled, small but genuine, and you invited him inside again.

It was a beginning. Your beginning.
Slow, fragile, but real.

-

It happened more naturally than you would have ever expected.

You hadn’t spoken to Jisung much in the past week, not because either of you was upset or because something had gone wrong, but simply because life got busy. He had warned you ahead of time that he would be caught up with work, that there were long studio nights coming, meetings, deadlines. You’d appreciated the honesty; it had been a small, early test of communication between the two of you, and he’d passed. Still, the silence had been a little strange not painful like before, but noticeable. You found yourself missing his casual updates, his small jokes, even just the way he asked how you were feeling every day.

That morning, you had been going through the list of things you still needed for the baby the hospital bag essentials, a stroller, bottles, a few more newborn clothes, blankets and the weight of it felt heavier when you realized how close your due date actually was. Your first instinct had been to call Jia or Lana, but somewhere deep inside you, an impulse stirred.
You pulled out your phone, hesitated, but finally typed out a message to Jisung:

"Would you want to go baby shopping with me today? If you’re free."

You didn’t expect a fast reply. Maybe you even prepared yourself for him to say no, he was busy, after all, and you didn’t want to be disappointed.
But barely a minute later, your phone lit up.

"Of course. I’ll come pick you up. What time?"

No hesitation. No excuses.
Your heart thudded heavily, emotions a little tangled nervous, happy, scared. But above all, hopeful.

An hour later, you stood by the window of your apartment, watching the street below. Jisung’s familiar car pulled up, and you grabbed your bag quickly, giving yourself one last glance in the mirror. You smoothed your hands over your dress, instinctively resting a palm against your belly as you took a deep breath and headed out the door.

When you slid into the passenger seat, you found him smiling nervously at you.
“You look great,” he said, and there was something so genuine about it, not just an empty compliment.
You thanked him quietly, your cheeks warming, and the two of you set off.

At first, the drive was a little quiet. Not uncomfortable, but tentative. Jisung asked about how you were feeling lately, about the baby’s kicks, about if you were sleeping okay. You answered honestly, and then you found yourself asking about his work, about how he’d been managing everything. The conversation picked up from there, flowing more easily the longer you talked.

By the time you reached the baby store, some of the tension had melted away completely.

Inside, everything felt overwhelming at first. So many options, so many tiny clothes, gadgets, things you didn’t even know existed. You stared at a wall of strollers, feeling a little helpless, until Jisung bumped your shoulder playfully.
“Looks like we’re going to need a map for this place,” he joked.
You laughed, the sound breaking the last bit of awkwardness lingering between you.

The two of you wandered the aisles together, picking out onesies, swaddles, a diaper bag. He was attentive, reading labels, asking questions, genuinely interested. Not rushing through it, not treating it like a chore.

At one point, you found a tiny beanie, soft and knitted, and you held it up to show him. Without thinking, he leaned down, brushing his fingers over the fabric and then so carefully over the curve of your belly.
“They’re gonna look so cute in that,” he murmured, almost to himself.
You swallowed hard, trying to fight the sudden sting in your eyes.

That moment, so small and simple was when you truly let him in. Not because of anything grand or dramatic, but because he was just there, with you, in a way that he hadn’t been before.

You smiled at him, and he smiled back, something soft and vulnerable in his expression.

Later, when you loaded the bags into the trunk of his car, Jisung surprised you again by suggesting you both grab dinner, no pressure, he said, just something casual. And for the first time in a long time, you said yes easily.

It was still early evening by the time you and Jisung finally pulled into the parking garage of your apartment complex, the car packed full of bags, far more than you had originally intended to buy.
It had been... easy with him today, far easier than you would have thought a few weeks ago. You were tired now, but it was the kind of exhaustion that came from a full, good day, not the emotional kind that usually dragged you down.

You unlocked your front door, letting Jisung in first as he carried several bags over his arms, insisting you shouldn’t be lifting too much. You laughed under your breath but didn’t fight him on it, your back was aching slightly anyway, and truthfully it was nice having someone there to help.
Once inside, you both got to work unpacking everything, laying it out over your couch and coffee table. Tiny onesies, a mountain of soft baby blankets, bottles, pacifiers, diapers, little pairs of socks so small they barely fit in the palm of your hand.

You sat back against the couch for a moment, letting out a small sigh of contentment. Jisung settled next to you, holding up a pale yellow onesie you had picked out, his lips curving into the softest smile you had seen on him in a long, long time.
"Look at this," he said, voice full of wonder. "It’s so tiny... I still can’t believe we’re going to have a tiny human wearing this."

You chuckled lightly, resting your hand on your belly instinctively as you leaned over to look at it with him.
"I know," you murmured, a little awe in your own voice.
Without thinking, you both leaned your heads together, admiring the onesie like it was the most precious thing in the world. It was such a warm, natural moment that your heart squeezed painfully in your chest, not in a bad way, but in the way that happens when you feel something real settling inside of you.

But then

BEEP BEEP, the code to your door punched in.
The door swung open with a loud bang as three very familiar faces burst through: Jia, Chan, and Lana.

You and Jisung both jerked upright, startled, the onesie slipping out of Jisung's hands and landing softly on the couch.
For a long second, none of you moved.

Jia’s eyes widened almost comically, her mouth opening slightly but no words coming out. She glanced between you and Jisung like she couldn't quite piece it together fast enough.
Chan’s brows lifted, but unlike Jia, he didn't look angry or shocked, more curious, even a little relieved.
Lana... Lana just stood there, her arms crossed loosely, looking more amused than anything else, like she had expected this and was just waiting to see how it would unfold.

The air was thick with tension and awkward silence.
You were the first to move, standing up slowly, brushing your hands down your sides in a nervous gesture.
"Uh… hi," you said, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Jisung stood too, glancing at you uncertainly, waiting for your lead.

Jia finally managed to say something, although it came out more like a strangled squeak.
"We, uh… we just came to check on you! Not, uh, not to—interrupt?" she said, her eyes darting to Jisung again.

You could feel your cheeks burn, but you forced yourself to speak calmly.
"I was going to tell you guys..." you began, feeling a little defensive but mostly just embarrassed. "I just… wasn't ready yet."

Chan gave you a small, understanding smile.
"You don’t owe us an explanation," he said gently. "As long as you're okay."
His words and the genuine way he said them, made some of the tension in your shoulders ease.

Lana, meanwhile, just lifted a brow and muttered, "Well, I’m glad someone finally stepped up," earning her a sharp nudge from Jia.

You glanced at Jisung, who gave you a tentative but encouraging nod, silently telling you he was here for whatever you needed to say.
You inhaled deeply and looked back at your friends.

"Jisung and I... we’re trying," you said, the words tasting strange but right in your mouth. "We’re not rushing into anything. We’re just… trying to figure it out together."

Jia still looked a little wary, like she wanted to protect you but was biting her tongue.
Chan gave Jisung a small, respectful nod, and you could see the slight relief on Jisung’s face like maybe he had been expecting Chan to punch him or something.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

Slowly, your friends trickled further inside. Lana picked up a few of the baby things, making little comments about how adorable everything was. Jia offered to help organize, and Chan drifted over to the kitchen to grab drinks for everyone.

Jisung stayed close to you, not too close, but enough that you could feel his presence solid and steady by your side.
When you caught him looking at you that soft, unguarded look again, you realized something.

You weren’t alone anymore.

Not in the way you had been, not even when you had your friends around.
This was different.
This was the beginning of something healing, something real, something that could one day, if you both worked hard enough, be a family.

And maybe, just maybe, you were finally ready to let that happen.

-

The evening settled into a kind of chaotic comfort, the kind that only happens when you're surrounded by people who feel like home.

Jia and Chan were bickering loudly over the TV remote, their voices rising in playful (but intense) competitiveness.
"You picked the last movie!" Jia accused, trying to yank the remote from Chan's hand.
"You didn't even watch it! You fell asleep twenty minutes in!" Chan shot back, holding the remote high above her head.

Lana, sitting cross-legged on the rug, sighed dramatically and tried to mediate, though she clearly wasn’t really trying that hard.
"Just give it to Jia," Lana said, her tone half-annoyed, half-amused. "You're just making it worse, Chan."

You sat on the couch, a little farther away from the chaos, with Jisung beside you.
There was a little pile of tiny onesies and newborn clothes between you both, freshly laundered and soft to the touch. You were showing him how you liked to fold them, smoothing the tiny sleeves inward, then folding up the bottom half carefully.

"Like this," you said, demonstrating slowly, smiling a little to yourself at the concentration on Jisung's face as he tried to mimic you. His brows furrowed, his tongue poking out slightly in focus as he carefully mirrored your actions.

You couldn't help but giggle quietly, nudging his elbow when he finally got it right.
"There you go," you praised, and he looked so absurdly proud that it made your heart twist in your chest.

The noise from Jia and Chan faded into the background as you and Jisung worked together, folding onesie after onesie, your hands brushing once in a while.
It was easy, surprisingly easy. And even though you were still cautious, still hesitant deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you felt lighter around him.

At one point, after folding a particularly small pair of socks, Jisung shifted closer to you slightly, setting the socks down neatly before speaking.
His voice was low, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should break the comfortable quiet between you.

"I'm really... thankful," he said, glancing over at you, his eyes earnest and soft. "That you have them. Jia, Lana... even Chan. It’s clear they care about you so much."

You smiled, following his gaze to where your friends were still tangled in a ridiculous argument about movie choices.
"Yeah," you said softly, your heart swelling a little. "They’ve been here for me... when I didn’t even know how much I needed someone."

Jisung nodded slowly, his fingers playing with the hem of a tiny shirt.
"And... I’m thankful," he continued, voice a little rough now, "that they didn’t treat me like... like I didn’t belong here. They didn’t make me feel like I wasn’t welcome. Even after everything I did wrong."

Your breath caught a little in your chest. You looked at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were open, vulnerable, no walls left.
He wasn’t perfect, you both weren’t. You had hurt each other. But he was trying. He was here.

You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing lightly over his knuckles where his hand rested on his knee.
"They know I wouldn’t have let you in if I didn’t want to try," you said gently. "And they trust me."

Jisung’s lips curved into the smallest, most grateful smile you’d ever seen.

For a long moment, you both just sat there, your friends’ laughter and squabbling a warm, distant hum around you.
You realized you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time not fully, not truly.

Hope.

It wasn’t going to be easy.
You still had to rebuild trust.
You still had so much healing to do, separately and together.

But maybe, just maybe, it was possible.

You and Jisung finished folding the last of the baby clothes, placing them carefully in a basket you’d set aside.
And when Jia finally wrestled the remote away from Chan and put on some random cheesy movie, and everyone settled down to watch, Jisung stayed close.
Not too close, not pushing any boundaries, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, steady and solid beside you.

It was a start.
And for the first time in a long time, a small, genuine smile tugged at your lips, not out of obligation, not out of politeness.
Out of real, tentative happiness.

Because maybe you weren’t alone anymore.
Maybe you hadn’t been for a while.
Maybe... you were finally ready to believe that you could build something new, something better not just for you, but for the tiny life growing inside of you too.

The next few months passed like a series of soft, tentative steps forward. Nothing was rushed, nothing was forced, it all unfolded in the kind of natural way that only happens when two people are really trying, when the effort itself means something.

As your due date crept closer and closer, the atmosphere around you changed too, like a gentle hum in the background of your everyday life. Things weren’t perfect, there were still tough days, moments of uncertainty where you questioned whether you were doing the right thing by letting him back into your life, but they were outweighed, slowly but surely, by the good days.
And Jisung, he made sure you had more of those good days.

He became part of your group almost seamlessly, something you never would’ve expected when you first opened your door that early morning and saw him standing there, a mess of mismatched shoes and regret.
It was awkward at first, of course it was.
Especially with Chan.

At first, there was a lingering tension between them whenever they were in the same room. Jisung was polite, if a little stiff. Chan was friendly, but you could tell he was holding back a little too, unsure of where the boundaries were supposed to lie.
There was a certain unspoken protectiveness that Chan carried when it came to you, and even though you had never given him any reason to think you wanted anything more than friendship, you could understand why Jisung might have felt a little... threatened.

But one afternoon, after you had gone into the kitchen to grab some snacks during a movie night at your apartment, you overheard them talking.
You paused, just out of sight, feeling a little guilty for eavesdropping but too curious to stop yourself.

“She’s lucky to have you,” Jisung had said, voice low but sincere.
Chan chuckled, a little awkwardly. “Nah, man. She’s strong all on her own. Always has been. I’m just glad she has more people looking out for her now.”

There was a brief pause, the kind that spoke volumes.
Then Chan added, “I’m not gonna pretend it wasn’t weird at first. But if you’re serious about being there for her and the baby... that’s what matters.”

And from then on, things got easier between them.

They bonded, slowly, mostly over music at first, it was neutral ground.
Chan had experience producing a few tracks for friends back in Australia, and Jisung, passionate and hardworking as always, immediately lit up whenever they talked shop.
You’d catch them having full conversations about studio software, instrumentals, and beat progressions, both completely oblivious to the fact that the initial awkwardness had faded.

Jia and Lana were relieved.
They had been watching everything unfold with eagle eyes, ready to swoop in if needed.
You knew they were still protective of you, but their relief showed in their softer smiles and in the way they treated Jisung more like he was one of them now, no longer an outsider trying to claw his way back in, but someone they were cautiously welcoming back for your sake... and maybe for his own too.

It meant the world to you.
Because it wasn’t just about your relationship with Jisung anymore, it was about your world, your community, your support system.
You needed them all to mesh, to get along, to coexist in a way that didn’t leave you feeling like you had to pick sides.

And Jisung, he tried.
He was there for every little thing he could be.

If you had a doctor’s appointment, he’d move mountains to be there, even if it meant showing up straight from work in slightly wrinkled clothes, with tired eyes but a bright, excited smile.
He read every book you mentioned offhandedly, studied every article about pregnancy and baby care until he could quote things you didn’t even know.
He was there when you were too tired to get up from the couch, cooking you simple meals (even if sometimes he had to call Lana for help halfway through).
He was there when you needed a hand up from a chair, when you dropped something you couldn’t bend down to pick up anymore, when the loneliness crept in during the nights and you didn’t know how to tell anyone somehow, he just knew.

There were late-night calls that turned into sleepy conversations where he told you about his day and asked you about yours, moments where you’d accidentally fall asleep on the phone and wake up to a simple "goodnight" text he’d left after hanging up.

There were moments when you’d catch him staring at your belly with this look of wonder like he couldn’t believe this was real, that he had almost thrown it all away.
He’d ask to feel the baby kick, and every time he felt the tiny flutter of life beneath your skin, his entire face would light up like the sun had decided to live inside of him.
It was healing, in its own slow, imperfect way.

You still weren’t naive about it.
You still had your guard up sometimes, and he never pushed you past what you were comfortable with.
You both knew there were still conversations that needed to happen, still trust that needed to be rebuilt fully.

But you were getting there.
Step by step.
Moment by moment.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the future didn’t feel like a scary, lonely thing anymore.
It felt like something you could walk into together bruised but stronger, fractured but healing, cautious but hopeful.

It felt like maybe, just maybe you could have the tiny family you always dreamed of.
Even if it looked a little different than you had originally imagined.
Even if it took a long, winding road to get there.

You weren't alone anymore.
And neither was he.

Your baby boy arrived exactly on your due date, and somehow, despite the chaos and the endless scheduling, Jisung had managed to be there. He had told you countless times that he would make it work, that no matter how busy his schedule was, no matter what meetings or recording sessions he had, he would be there for you. And true to his word, when you felt the first rush of contractions that morning, he dropped everything and rushed to your side.

It was a long and exhausting labor, but with each breath, each push, you felt a sense of clarity. There was no going back from this moment. You weren’t doing this alone. The presence of Jisung, his hand in yours, his voice murmuring words of encouragement through gritted teeth, made all the pain and uncertainty fade into the background.

And when the cries of your baby boy filled the room, it felt like the world had shifted, like everything you had fought for, everything you had hoped for was standing in front of you, in his tiny, wriggling form.

Jisung had been there the entire time, right by your side, holding your hand through the hardest moments and softly kissing your forehead when you could barely hold your head up. But it was in the quiet moments after, when the rush of the birth had settled and you both were left with your son in your arms, that you truly saw the difference in him.

You’d been watching him quietly for a while now. Jisung was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, your baby boy cradled in his arms. His face was a soft picture of awe, his gaze fixed on the little bundle of joy in his arms like he was the most precious thing in the world.

He was so careful, so gentle with the baby, like he was afraid to breathe too loudly in case he’d break him. He rocked him slowly, softly, his eyes never leaving your son’s little face as he tried to wrap his head around everything that was happening. It was such a beautiful, surreal moment that you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh when you watched him. The sight was almost too perfect to be true. You had expected him to be nervous, to fumble a little. But no, he was doing this so naturally.

And then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you broke the silence with a teasing comment. “So, this is the baby you didn’t want, huh?”

Jisung’s head snapped up, his eyebrows furrowing as he gave you a playful glare. He shifted the baby gently in his arms, like he was preparing for an argument, but you could see the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Really?” he said, his voice still thick with the emotion of the moment, but his teasing tone clear. “That’s the first thing you’re going to say after I just helped bring this little guy into the world?”

You let out a light laugh, the sound a little breathless from the exhaustion of labor, but your heart was lighter than it had been in months. “I mean,” you said with a smirk, “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about what you said, you know? You weren’t exactly enthusiastic about having a baby back then.”

His eyes softened at the reminder, and you could see the shift in him, the genuine remorse that still lingered from the moment he realized he’d almost lost you, almost lost the chance to be a father to his child.

He leaned closer, his voice quieter now, as though speaking only for you and your son to hear. “I know I wasn’t ready back then, but... I’m here now. I’m here for both of you.”

You studied him for a moment, your heart swelling. Jisung wasn’t just holding your baby, he was holding your family in his arms. And there was no question in your mind now: He was ready, more ready than you had ever imagined.

You softened, smiling up at him. “It’s too early for jokes like that, huh?”

He nodded, a knowing, teasing smile finally reaching his lips. “A little too soon. He’s only a few hours old, give him a break.”

The moment settled between you, warm and quiet, as you both let your eyes linger on your son. You couldn’t stop the tear that escaped down your cheek. It wasn’t from sadness, though. It was joy, pure, overwhelming joy.

You reached out and gently touched the little hand that Jisung had been holding so carefully. “I’m really happy you’re here, Jisung. And that you want to be here for him.”

He squeezed your hand back, looking at you with sincerity. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, for him, for you... for us.”

The gravity of his words sank in, and for a moment, there was nothing else in the world but the three of you, together. Everything that had been so uncertain between you two, all the hurt, the doubts, the tension seemed so distant now, so irrelevant. This was where you were supposed to be.
This was your family.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

[taglist: @kenqki @mbioooo0000 @bearseuming @alisonyus @justjxnniie @chungdol @captainchrisstan @stilesks @banana-bread-thread @linosgrape @chaosandcandies @energyjuice4life @st4rv3lly @hanniebunch @nchhuhi @changbin-wife @felixleftchickennugget @psychobitchsthings @puppymsworld @silly250 @uyyoyyu @beppybeesnuggets @413ktz @emilyywhyy @betda @anastasiiiiaaaaa @vixensss @ready2readnwrite @hansmic @sunnysidesins @m-325 @b2ngch2n @zelianlop..]

[wileys-russo]

Hiii! I have an idea for an Alexia x R soft fic.

So you know how Barça shared ig stories of Alexia being at the bona diada event, then she jumped into training right after (captain duties, we know).

Inspired by that, Alexia falls asleep in r’s arms right after lunch break and the team snaps a photo of them cuddled up

heavy eyelids II a.putellas

"you do know that looking at your phone or the door every five seconds does not make her appear any faster?" your eyes moved to meet frido's teasing gaze as you pulled a face and rolled your eyes.

"i wasn't! i know she is busy, and she will be here later." you huffed, tucking your phone away in your locker and bending down to lace up your shoes.

"again! you are doing it again!" frido laughed a moment later, catching your eyes once more lingering toward the changing room doors hoping your girlfriend would be walking through them everytime a new body appeared.

"no! i was..." you trailed off with a slight frown, struggling to think of a suitable answer. "looking for alexia." ingrid chimed in as you sent her a fierce scowl, crossing your arms over your chest.

"shut up." you grumbled, sick of their teasing and standing to head out to the field.

"oh amiga we do not train for another...ten minutes. do you not want to spend them staring at the door trying to make alexia appear with your magic laser eyes?" patri's arm fell over your shoulder as she gave you a cheesy grin and laughter rang out among your teammates.

"pew pew pew!" pina poked your cheek, pointing at your eyes and ducking your fist that swung at her with a wolfish smile. "like you two can talk. amor idiotas enfermos!" you muttered, a beat of silence passing before you raced out of the room with both girls hot on your heels.

"bon dia!" you managed to get out with a smile toward the iphone camera filming the walks in before pina landed on your back, sending you stumbling forward and nearly losing your footing.

you struggled to throw her off, grins painted on both your faces as her arm wrapped around your neck and eventually with a puppy dog look sent to patri she called her girlfriend over and off you.

you moved to join in for stretches, having already popped in to see the physios to have your hamstring taped up and looked at, a hard tackle yesterday giving you a little discomfort and promising your girlfriend you'd not ignore it.

your girlfriend whom you'd briefly dusted with a few light good morning kisses before she'd all but rolled out of bed and into the shower, her morning schedule much more jam packed than yours.

"ale. mi amor that is your second alarm!" you warned quietly with a smile of amusement, kissing her bare shoulder as she exhaled tiredly into the pillow her face was pressed against.

"i told you to go to bed when i did." you chuckled, the blonde having insisted she'd join you shortly but by the time she did you were dead asleep, leaving her with only a few short hours of decent rest.

"despierta guapa." you cooed, another tired exhale and you were scooting over to give her enough room to roll onto her back, hazel eyes blinking tiredly as she reached up to rub them.

a few sleepy kisses and she was pushing up and out of the bed, making a beeline for the bathroom as you watched her go, eyes lingering over the assortment of intricate inkings scattering her toned bare back.

despite the fact you could have slept another couple of hours and alexia's insistence you do so, she'd stepped out of the shower to the smell of coffee and breakfast and smiled, chuckling to herself at the thought of you ever actually listening to her.

a driver already downstairs to collect her, hair and makeup was up first which you know despite pretending to hate alexia secretly quite enjoyed, you'd prepped her breakfast and caffeine to go.

"qué haría yo sin ti?" alexia sighed, strong hands grabbing your hips and pulling your body into hers. "sleep in and starve." you teased, leaning up to press your lips against hers, mumbling about how she'd be late and wrenching yourself away.

then with one more lingeringly soft kiss, the front door was closing with a click and the apartment you shared was just a little bit quieter.

"oye, tonta!" you zoned back into reality as fingers clicked in your face, pushing away mapi's hand and resuming your stretches.

"and now she is trying to imagine alexia is here, so sad." mapi tutted with a sarcastic sigh, yelping as you reached over to pinch her calf and darting to hide behind her own girlfriend.

"she might not need to imagine." ellie piped up next, tapping your shoulder as your head whipped around to where her finger pointed, perking up and not even caring how it looked as you scrambled to your feet.

you heard the jeering and teasing behind you but paid it no mind, using all of your restraint not to sprint across the field as your girlfriend hurried into training, a polite smile and greeting flashed at the media team.

"hola." alexia smiled, and despite how well she often hid it you could see the exhaustion in her eyes as she did so, the two of you having clear boundaries around your displays of affection in professional settings.

so you settled for the brief but sincere hug the two of you shared, a subtle kiss to your shoulder and a quiet i missed you in your ear.

"qué?" alexia frowned at the amused look you were giving her, the pair of you moving back toward the group as the rest of the coaching staff filed out to the field to start training.

"muy bonita." your thumb traced her jaw, her makeup from the event earlier still clear and evident on her face. "no time to take it off." alexia grumbled and your smiled only widened, knowing that secretly your girlfriend wasn't as upset about this as she might seem.

regardless she played her part, pushing and smacking at both vicky and jana whose teasings continued throughout the session.

mocking cries of 'salve la reina' echoing about the field before your girlfriend silenced them with skill, a rainbow flick over vickys head and into the goal having her jaw dropped and the moment the whistle blew she was by alexia's side begging her to show her how.

you watched with a fond smile as the blonde dragged the younger girl in for lunch in a headlock, a kick to the back of your knees having you stumbling and then sprinting off after mapi.

"oh look there is alexia entering the room. there is alexia getting her lunch. there is alexia-" you swallowed your mouthful of food and tried not to choke as fridos hands smooshed your cheeks, forcing your head to follow your girlfriends every move.

"déjame en paz!" you huffed, yanking her hands off and shrugging her away as she moved to slide into the seat across from you with a wink.

"you are so annoying on mondays." you grunted, the blonde pulling a face and falling into conversation with the rest of the table.

"oh and look here is alexia sitting down!" she paused speaking with esme to announce, your girfriend giving her a strange look as she settled beside you, knee knocking into yours in a silent hello.

"ignore her." you grumbled, frido sending you both a happy smile and turning away again. "pareces cansado amor." your face scrunched a little in concern, hand brushing hers beneath the table.

"estoy bien." alexia murmured, lips quickly pressing against your cheek reassuringly before ingrid called her name and tugged her into conversation.

however throughout lunch you noticed her contributions became less and less, sentences turned to singular words which turned to only hums of agreement and to show she was even listening which truly you weren't sure she was.

when you'd both finished eating you hurried to grab her tray and yours, dismissing her protests as she got up and followed after you none the less.

there was still a half hour left of your break but you could see the exhaustion still clear in her eyes as you tugged on her shirt and nodded for her to follow after you.

"dónde?" the blonde frowned as she fell into step with you none the less, the chatter of the lunch room fading behind you and your hand found its way into hers.

"cariño. i thought we said-" you glanced toward her as you tugged her into the media room where everyone was due to spill into for the afternoon. "oh no! we are not here for that, putellas." you laughed, recognizing the way her eyes raked over your body.

"qué hacemos aquí?" your girlfriend asked and you didn't miss the way her other hand grazed your hip causing you to chuckle. "you are going to take a nap." you smiled, a look of disgust painted on your girlfriends face as you took a seat and patted the chair beside you.

"a nap? i am not a child!" she scoffed as you wordlessly patted the seat beside you. "vale. then just come sit with me, look at social media, rest." you shrugged, the blonde looking like she was going to continue to argue but with a quirk of your eyebrow she relented.

"gruñón." you teased, poking her cheek as her eyes rolled but her body leaned into yours none the less, her focus down on her phone. you jumped a little in shock as not a minute later it fell into your lap and you had to put a hand over your mouth to stop yourself laughing.

"idiota." you smiled, carefully adjusting your position so the taller girls head slumped to your shoulder, chest rising and falling as you resumed the doom scrolling of your own phone.

but the peace didn't last long as you heard the chatter and giggles which meant the two of you wouldn't be alone for much longer, one of your arms wedged behind alexia as she slept on, her own arms crossed and a stoic look on her face even as she rested.

something you'd teased her for endlessly and it appeared you wouldn't be the only one as the first group of girls burst into the room, silenced by the murderous glare you shot their way, giggles dying and voices hushed as they hurried up to the back of the room.

"vicky." you warned quietly as the girl hung behind her friends, phone in hand and a slight smile on her face.

"no." you shook your head as her smile grew, and you sighed as she snapped a few photos and raced off after the others. but she wasn't alone as several of the girls did the same, none quite loud enough to wake your girlfriend but all capturing the moment of her asleep half on top of you before hurrying to their seats.

but of course, there was one person who would never be one to let her rest, intentional or not.

"oye capitana, despertar sunshine!" mapi cooed bursting into the room as alexia shot up as if someone had poured cold water all over her and ingrid winced, smacking her girlfriend and shoving her into a seat.

"ow! what?" mapi grumbled as ingrid told her off quietly, shaking her head as the defender huffed and sulked in her chair. "i fell asleep? you should have woken me." alexia sighed, sending you a tired glare as she stretched her neck.

"you needed the sleep cari, it was only a little while." you promised, squeezing her knee as the older girl sighed but nodded, settling back into her chair as the lights were dimmed and pere entered, starting to set up the presentation for you all to watch.

"vicky!" you jolted again in surprise as alexia's head whipped around, phone in hand and eyes narrowing into a glare at the younger girl sat at the back of the room whose smile dropped and she paled.

"delete that story, ahora mismo. or you can run laps until you drop!"

[mit0bee]

ace probably just lets himself into your home. it doesn't matter if you're there or not. even when you lock every door and window, you'll still arrive after a long day to him lounging on your couch with some chips in hand. he didn't even try to hide his shame most times, rather opting to give you a half-assed excuse and a sheepish smirk.

"hey, prefect! long time no see!" It had only been a few hours since you were at school. "You know, these are really good." He held up a blue plastic bag, a boyish grin on his face.

"ace, it hasn't been that long." you sat next to him, feeling your muscles relax from the tiring day. you had been running around campus constantly, helping staff (crowley) and students alike. as much as you loved it, it was a pain. you let out a pained sigh, rolling your shoulder.

"are you good?" he asked, a rare amount of concern lacing his tone. you knew he'd never admit it, though.

"i'm fine, just a little sore."

dropping the chip bag unceremoniously on the coffee table, he glared into your eyes. it was almost as if he could sense the lies seeping from your skin.

"look that way." he pointed away from himself. "with your entire body."

you were confused, but did as you were told. you obediently turned your back to him, slouching slightly from the aforementioned exhaustion. you were rewarded for your efforts, though, by a pair of gentle hands coming to rest on the sensitive part of your shoulder. you almost winced, if you didn't quickly realize what he was doing.

his hands rubbed firm, yet soft circles into your skin. he was pretty good at it, too.

minutes went by in a comfortable silence before he finally removed his hands from you, who felt much better.

"where'd you learn to do that?" you asked, rotating your head to look into his ruby eyes.

"its magic." he assured, "don't worry about it."

"well, maybe your magic isn't so bad."

"was it bad in the first place?!"

"ehhh......." you tilted your hand from side to side, a fake grimace on your features. there was a pause, and then you both burst out in laughter.

maybe his spontaneous visits weren't all that bad. you could deal with it.

extra: "wait, you didn't touch me with chip dust on your hands, right?" "oh. um." "ace." "you know, i think deuce might need some help back at the dorm." he stood up suddenly, pointing to the door, "so, ya know. bye." and with that, he turned tail and ran towards your door. "ACE!"

-------

i love doing drabbles

m.list @mit0bee 's work. do not copy, repost, or otherwise steal.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

MICHELLE PFEIFFER- J. TODD

day fourteen of the june bug masterlist

pairing: older! mechanic! jason x innocent! fem reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: your car starts acting funny in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service or tow trucks in sight. you do the only thing you can do- wave now the nearest truck and pray for the best. luckily, your prayers are answered, because the man helping you turns out to be jason todd, a mechanic whose pretty... good with his hands.

warnings: SMUT! smuttiest of the smut, heavy praise kink, pet names, not manipulation per say (maybe a little but its jason todd who cares he can do whatever he wants to me) - but a power imbalance? (reader really has to rely on jason), daddy kink, finger sucking, degration/ heavy dumbification, manhandling and huge size kink

i was rlly horny when i wrote this lol. but im proud and happy with it :)

 “and everythings easier way out west, wholly mad and half undressed, i love the way it always feels to miss you. i tell all my friends everything you do, a sick obsession that i still try to prove- and but it's no good, cause who am i without you?”- michelle pfeiffer, ethel cain 

This was probably one of the worst things that could be happening at this very moment.

And of course, it had happened to you.

Here, all alone- in the hot summer heat, your tire gone flat. On the hottest day of the year, barely a tree for shade and your car already low on gas- you realized you had hit a new all time low.

Tears spilled out from the corners of your eyes, the humid wind brushing them away as you stepped out of the car- pulled off on the side of the road.

You had a spare tire- but you didn't know how to put it back on.

Needless to say, you could try.

There was no cell service out here to call for any means of help, as you were in the deep country, surrounded by hay bales and brush.

Your lower lip quivered, and you braced a hand on the car, as if your touch could magically fix the issue. You had to be a big girl, and figure this out yourself, you told yourself- but god you just wanted to sob more than anything.

Then- as if God himself had heard your call- a truck came up over the bend- leaving a trail of dust in its wake. All you could think to do was stand on your tippy toes, trying to get the driver's attention as you waved.

Please. Please stop.

And he slowed.

You could just make out his figure, tall and large, built of solid muscle. He looked strong. He could lift the tire, knowing damn well you couldn't by yourself.

His truck engine sputtered to a halt as he parked behind you, and you were so relieved you started to cry again. He stepped out, streaks of grey in his darkened hair, tattoos snaking around biceps that were the size of your head.

He was old enough to be your father. But his eyes were so pretty, all warm and coaxing as he approached you, as if you were a startled dog.

“Hey sweetheart what's going on?”

His gaze instantly dropped when he got close enough to see the tears staining your cheeks, rushing to place a hand to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Awh little fawn don't cry. Shh, shh it's alright. What's going on? Why are you here all by yourself?” he asked softly, as you tried to pull yourself together.

“I was just driving and I just- my car-”

”Hey, hey calm down. It's okay. I promise.” he smiled and you nodded, wiping your fresh tears.

“I got a flat tire and I don't know how to put on the new one. And it's too heavy for me to grab and I just-”

You sighed, trailing off, kicking the ground.

“Well you’re in luck, fawn, I happen to be a mechanic. M’ Jason. Jason Todd.” he rubbed your arms in a soothing motion, forcing you to look up at him, staring into his intoxicating blue eyes.

“I’m Y/N. Thank you, so, so much Mr. Todd.”

“Oh god don't call me that. You make me sound old. I don't need reminders.” he teased, making you giggle.

“There's that pretty smile. See? It's alright fawn. Let me just get your spare, okay?”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him do his thing. He was so large he seemed to tower over your little camino, lifting the tire with ease from the trunk. You watched in awe as he hoisted it up onto his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

A drip of sweat trickled down his bicep, tracing the ink on his skin and you caught yourself ogling like a cartoon character. You wouldn't be surprised if little hearts fluttered around your head, and you trailed behind him as if he was a fresh pie through an open window.

Stranger danger was a foreign concept today, but honestly, you didn't like to think about that danger.

Everyone was nice, at least you liked to think so. And Jason was super nice.

Stopping to help you fix your car? He just seemed to be the nicest man in the whole wide world.

A cluck of his tongue and a sigh broke you from your lovesick trance, and you peered over his shoulder as he crouched, examining the tire with a shake of his head. “Is everything okay Jason?”

He sighed. “M’afraid not fawn. This tire is no good either.”

“Oh! Well…what's wrong with it?” you asked timidly, trying to get a better look. He blocked your view from the commotion though, sweeping you up with his syrupy voice and southern charm.

“Nothin you need to worry your pretty lil head about darlin. But, I dont think it's safe to drive on. Do you wanna come with me to my shop and we can grab a new one and come back?” he asked, empathy rolling off him in waves you were swept up in.

Why couldn't you trust him? He was nurturing, wanting only the best for you. Plus, wasn't it dangerous for a little girl like you to be out here all alone?

You would be safe with Jason, he was a nice old man who probably just wanted to keep you hydrated and out of the sun- and any bad onlookers who would lure you in their trap.

There was no question to be asked, no second guessing.

You felt yourself nodding, happy and eager for him to lead you, a large hand on your lower back, all warm through the thin fabric of your little white dress.

“Good girl. No more tears, okay? I got you sweetheart.”

·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

“Look at you, pretty lil thing. All those pretty tears.” Jason cooed above you, pounding into your tight cunt so hard you started to see stars.

All that could be heard was his sweet praises and gentle coos, mixed with the sound of skin slapping and your short gasps, and gentle moans. You couldn't help the tears from falling again as he splayed you out on a workbench, dragging you to the edge and splitting you in two.

He was so big and thick you couldn't think straight, and with the pace he was setting- it was as if he had no sign of stopping. You felt his thumb brush away the salty tears as you hiccuped, moaning as he slipped his fingers in your mouth.

You instantly sucked them, pacifying yourself as a means of grounding.

“Atta girl. Daddys gotcha.”

You clenched around him at the name he gave himself, and he chuckled lowly. “Oh you like that, don't you fawn? You like when Daddy takes care of you? Makes things all better, cause you're too lil to figure it out yourself?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed as he thrusted even harder, balls slapping your ass as the bench banged against the wall, making the tools above you jolt.

He had you wrapped around his finger.

That was the plan all along of course. He was always keen to help a stranger, but you? He knew he couldn't leave you, just quite yet.

So yes, he had told you there was an issue when there truly wasn't- but could you blame him? How else was he supposed to take care of you the way you so desperately deserved?

Jason could tell as soon as he saw the quiver of your lip and the anxious fidgeting with the hem of your dress that you had needed this- needed him for a while. And he was more than happy to oblige to your needs.

He watched as your legs started to quiver from pleasure, like a little newborn fawns. His little deer.

A thin line of spit trailed his fingers as he pulled them away, letting your whines and moans get louder. You clawed at his biceps, gripping them tight as his pace refused to falter.

Daddy daddy ohhh- Was all you could muster out, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Yeahhh sweetheart just like that. Grippin me so tight- s’like you were made for me hm? You needed someone to take care of you baby? To split this lil cunt in half like she deserves?”

You nodded absentmindedly as you let the pleasure wash over you- holding onto him as if he were your savour.

He was- your savior. And he’d be damned if he’d let you forget it.

“Gonna cum please daddy can I-”

“Can you? Oh look at you, using your manners without me even reminding you. You’re such a good girl baby, go ahead n cream around this cock lil fawn.”

You cried, wails bouncing off the walls- sounding like sweet music to his ears, as if it was coming from his old radio in the corner he’d whistle a tune to while he worked.

But your sounds were much, much better. So sweet and delicate- your face all contorted in pleasure, nose scrunched, eyes clenched shut as you let go around him.

All he could do was coo at you, his sweet little girl, planting soft kisses to your face. You were so soft and gentle to him on the ride over, thanking him endlessly, clenching your thighs as he dared to slip a hand down to rest on your thigh.

Swooning over him, like a love sick puppy.

He didn't miss the way you stared at him when you thought he wasn't looking. And maybe it was wrong, for him wanting to corrupt such a sweet angel like you, so innocent and eager to do right by him for a simple gesture of kindness.

But he couldn't help himself.

And this? Peering down at the bulge in your stomach from where his cock rearranged your insides?

This was payment, and then some. 

[emacrow]

Raven and Tim were the next one to know as Babs brought them in a room with a powerpoint about the fairy boy in Alfred's garden.

Raven because she knows most all mythical creatures in her personal library books and hopefully has a solution to how to capture and relocate the fairy..

Tim for the strategy and backup plans, but his mouth was currently being duct taped shut because Babs will kill him if he say those words.

"Alright, do you have any questions, and what are your solutions plan for capture misplaced Fairy?" Babs said after finishing the powerpoint.

"How exactly did Alfred acquire this flower that the winged fae resided in?"Raven said, looking through her books of Fae history and homes.

"Alfred saw it was the only thing left on the sale, and discount flowers stand at his favorite grocery store, but he got it for free since the tag for it was gone and the manager did had a crush on him. I believe it is a bit far too coincidental." Babs continues to explain.

"I checked the groceries camera footages and it seem to just appear out of nowhere, like some type of glitch in the system."

"... It sounds like a misplaced infinite realm random natural portal incident.." Raven mumbled a bit, flipping a book's pages with her telekinesis to the correct page with the number at the very end chapter of fae and infinite realms.

"Infinite realm..?" Tim voice a bit after tearing off the double duct tape off his mouth, rubbing his stinging lips.

"Yes, seem the little fae was judge as an offering that was rejected to a Higher being of the Infinite realm or offended due to a defect such as his wings are missing." Raven thought about it after several examinations.

"The fae still has sparkling dust on his clothes that was likely fae powder-

"-Pixie dust" babs said a bit too excitedly

"Scars all over his body and on his back look to been recently that he was tortured and his wings were Intently torn off to make sure he didn't had a chance to escape back to fae realm, along with being placed back into his home flower stuck in hibernation phase while contaminated with the infinite realm energy.

Seem the nature portal randomly was this fae saving grace, as it instinctly went straight for sugar cube, a blueberry and gem that didn't have silver coating along with its body pushing itself hard to fly with the remaining residue of fae powder that the buzzing sound was likely a former lightning since Fae noises can not be heard by the human ear even with boasting of magic unless you had step into the fae rings." Raven explained as she read the chapter.

"Do fairies tend to die if you say that.." Babs trying to say by pointing at to emphasize the words on the powerpoint that typed words theory of fairies dying if humans say they don't exist??

"Unfortunately, it seemed so as thousand years or so began to humans lost interests, offerings or belief to Fae-

"Fairies-

-Azarath Metrion Zinthos, they tend to lose power and seemingly fade away into a painfully slow death is very rare, which was counter by them cutting off the entrances of their own fairy rings to the world to save their immortalized skin." Raven said after getting interrupt for the second time, using the shadows to cover Babs mouth so she can finished explaining.

Previous post part 3 link Here <-

[isabelckl]

sweet after july

ellie williams x neighbor best friend fem!reader

in the last summer before senior year, you and Ellie hold on to what you’ve always had. but inevitably, growing up means growing apart — even if neither of you is ready to face it.

The house settles into silence — all the lights dimmed except for the bedside lamp, casting everything in a warm golden hush. The kind that makes you feel like the night is pressing pause on the whole world, just for you.

Outside the window, the summer air hums with crickets and far-off cars, a steady rhythm of a town that never fully sleeps. But up here, everything’s still. Held in place. Like a moment tucked inside glass.

You’re sprawled across Ellie’s bed like you’ve always belonged there, legs stretched long and lazy on the headboard, one arm tucked behind your head. Your hair spills over the edge of the mattress, brushing the floorboards, and in your other hand, you’re tossing her beat-up stuffed duck into the air and catching it over and over. Its worn-out wings and crooked beak make it look slightly tragic, but charming in a way only childhood things can be.

Ellie’s on the floor at the foot of the bed, back against the mattress, knees up, a thick astronomy book cracked open in her lap. The pages are worn, bookmarked with old receipts and the edge of a candy wrapper. Her brow furrows as she reads, that tiny crease forming between her eyebrows — the one that only shows up when she’s really focused. She chews slightly on the inside of her cheek. Her thumb rubs a slow circle into the paper’s corner like she’s not even aware of it.

You aim the duck and drop it right onto her head.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just lets out a sigh that sounds like she’s been dealing with your nonsense for years — which she has.

“That was a direct hit,” you say, peering down at her upside down.

Ellie reaches up and adjusts the duck so it sits like a tiny, sad hat on top of her head. “I’m reading about dying stars,” she mutters, unimpressed.

“I think he likes it there,” you say, smiling at the sight of it.

She flips another page. Her voice is quieter now, a little faraway. “Did you know the sun’s technically dying? Like, right now?”

You gasp. “No. I didn’t.”

“It’s in its middle age,” she says, like she’s reading from the book but also reciting something she already knows by heart. “It’s burning through its hydrogen. Past its prime. Slowly collapsing inward.”

“Rude,” you say. “I didn’t ask to be personally attacked at 11 p.m.”

She huffs — not quite a laugh, but the shape of one. You catch the corner of her mouth twitching.

You hold the duck over your face and wiggle it like a puppet. “Miss Ellie,” you say in a squeaky voice, “what are we gonna do when the sun dies? Will we all turn into space ghosts?”

Ellie glances at you, her face close, expression deadpan. “Please stop.”

“Oh, come on. He’s got questions. Existential ones.”

“No more puppet voices.”

You bring the toy close to her face, wiggling its threadbare wings. “But Miss Ellie! What about love in the time of cosmic collapse? Can we still fall for people when everything’s turning to dust?”

That gets her. Barely — but it’s there. The flick of her eyes. The smallest breath of a smile. She snatches the duck midair, sets the book down, and chucks the toy onto the dresser without saying a word.

You sigh dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m the only one here with a grasp on reality.”

“That’s rich coming from the girl reading about exploding gas balls for fun.”

Ellie smiles, this time for real. You can tell she’s holding back a laugh, like if she lets it out too loud, the quiet magic of the room might shatter.

Silence settles between you again — not uncomfortable, just full. The book lies half-open on the floor. Your fingers start tracing lazy shapes on the comforter, mind wandering, and from the cracked window comes a breeze that smells like night air and grass and faint bonfire smoke from some other yard down the block.

You glance toward her — the line of her jaw catching the lamplight, her knees still drawn up, her fingers drumming on her thigh in thought.

“Do you ever think about how we’ll remember this summer?” you ask quietly.

Ellie hums, thoughtful. “Like… in the future?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She reaches down and closes the book gently, resting it against her knee. Her fingers hover over the spine for a second longer than necessary.

“I think about it sometimes,” she admits. “Like how it’ll all blur eventually.” She tilts her head slightly, eyes drifting toward the dresser, where the duck sits like a forgotten sentinel. “Maybe even this.”

You nod slowly, the motion making your hair shift against the wood like a soft whisper. “I don’t want it to blur.”

Ellie glances at you.

“I wanna remember this,” you say, voice softer now. Like it might break if you raise it too loud.

The words hover there. Like dust caught in light. Like something that shouldn't be touched or examined too closely.

You shift on the bed, turning your head, and Ellie’s already watching you. Her eyes are steady. Quiet. Like they’ve been waiting.

The air is thick with something unsaid — heavy but delicate, like that second right before lightning strikes. Your pulse slows and sharpens at once.

“I think…” you start, and your voice is so quiet it almost doesn’t make it past your lips, “…I don’t ever wanna forget.”