#endless ice cream scenes...

[dailycupofcreativitea]

Went to an art gallery and did some gesture drawing 💃

[demoniofleur10]

Kuroo x reader

Kuroo had seen enough.

He had spent too many days watching her boyfriend flirt with other girls, disrespecting the very relationship he was in, and Kuroo hated it. Not because he was her best friend, not because he felt protective over her, but because he loved her. And it killed him inside that she was wasting her heart on someone who didn’t deserve it.

She never saw her own worth, but Kuroo did. Every time her boyfriend disappointed her, every time he shattered her trust, she would come to Kuroo, her eyes filled with unshed tears, her lips trembling with unspoken pain. And Kuroo would listen, offering his shoulder, his presence, his comfort—anything just to take that sorrow away. He could have easily destroyed that relationship with a few well-placed words, exposing the guy for who he really was, but he didn’t. Because the aftermath scared him more than anything.

He knew her. He knew how much she had invested in that relationship, how she had convinced herself that love meant enduring, meant forgiving, meant trusting. If he ripped that illusion away too suddenly, she would break. She would blame herself, question her worth, retreat into herself, and that was the last thing Kuroo wanted. So, instead, he took the long road. The road where he did all the things that a real boyfriend should have done for her.

"Want to go on an ice cream date?" He was there before she could even ask.

"Need a bike ride?" He'd take her, making sure she laughed against the wind.

He held doors open, held her hand when she was scared, watched her walk into her house every night before heading home himself.

And slowly—so very slowly—she started seeing it. The contrast. The way Kuroo treated her versus how her own boyfriend did. Beneath the veil of her misguided loyalty, she realized she liked Kuroo. More than she should. More than just a friend. But she never voiced it out. What if saying it ruined everything? What if he distanced himself from her because of her foolish confession? She couldn't lose him, so she kept her feelings buried.

Until the day it all came crashing down.

The scene played out in slow motion—her boyfriend, the man she had so stupidly trusted, was locked in a passionate kiss with another girl. Right there, in front of everyone, as if he had no shame, no guilt, as if the love she had given him meant nothing.

Kuroo stood beside her, his sharp eyes darkening with fury, his jaw clenching so tight it could break. His hands fisted at his sides, itching to grab that bastard and slam him against the nearest wall, just like he did to volleyballs. But he didn’t. Not because he didn’t want to—but because his attention immediately snapped to her.

Her face had gone blank, devoid of emotion, but her tears betrayed her. They fell, silent and endless, down her cheeks, each one carrying the weight of her heartbreak. Her breathing became uneven, her legs felt weak beneath her, and then—she ran.

She ran as if she could escape the pain.

Blinded by tears, she didn’t see where she was going, didn’t hear the warning honk of a speeding car just seconds away from hitting her. But Kuroo did.

With reflexes honed by years of volleyball, he moved—grabbing her arm, yanking her back with force, pulling her flush against his chest. The car whizzed past, barely missing them.

"Oi! Are you out of your damn mind?!" His voice was sharp, desperate, his arms wrapping around her trembling frame, securing her against him as if to physically hold her together. He could feel her body shaking, feel the way she was breaking apart, and it made his own eyes sting. But he didn’t let her go.

Instead, he turned her in his embrace, letting her bury her face in his chest as sobs wracked her frame. He smoothed his hand over her back in soothing motions, his fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt as he pressed his lips against her rain-damp hair.

He was crying too. But not because she was hurt—because the girl he loved was crying over someone who never deserved her in the first place.

"Y/n," he started, his voice thick with emotion, struggling to find the right words. Only two came to mind, and before he could stop himself, they spilled from his lips.

"Be mine."

As if the universe itself had been waiting for this moment, the sky thundered, and the heavens opened. Rain poured down, soaking them both, but neither of them moved.

She stiffened in his arms, pulling away just enough to look at him. Her eyes, red-rimmed and glistening, searched his face, as if trying to decipher whether he meant it. Whether this was real.

"I’ve..." she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve come to realize that I like you too, but I was scared that you would—"

Her words were swallowed by his lips.

The kiss was desperate, raw, filled with years of hidden emotions and unspoken truths. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her impossibly close, pouring everything he felt into that single moment. Unlike that bastard of an ex, he knew her worth. He knew how precious she was. And he swore, right then and there, that he would never let her cry like this again.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the cold rain.

"You’re mine now," he murmured, his voice low, possessive, filled with love. "My girlfriend, Y/n."

A small, watery laugh escaped her, and she nodded, a smile breaking through the pain. "Yours."

And just like that, under the pouring rain, with passersby watching in awe, their story truly began.

[ticifics]

I have an idea! Reader and dave have to share a bed. They have no problem with it but they didn't know that they couldn't keep their hands to themselves (not in a sexual way) but they could wake up in the middle of the night finding the other one cuddled up to them haha ​​something sweet and tender

Sleeping Spooning

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: Dave was so close it seemed impossible to believe you had started the night with all that space between you. His face was buried in your neck, his dark curls falling on your skin in a soft, almost lazy way. His arms were around you, one of them wrapped possessively around your waist, while your legs were intertwined in a way that seemed as though they were made for this.

Warnings: none

A/N: hi love, hope you can like it <333

You’ve known Dave for as long as you can remember. It’s hard to find a memory that doesn’t include him. Whether it was when you both were kids, sitting on the doorstep of his house, waiting for the ice cream truck to pass so you could find comfort on hot days, or when you got a telescope and spent nights searching for stars in the sky. Dave was always, always there.

But things started to change. Suddenly, the boy who was always slightly shorter than you started growing, to the point that you now had to look up to see him. And when you nudged him to get his attention, you could feel muscles under those nerdy graphic tees.

And, oh, his hands. It was concerning that you paid attention to that, but you couldn’t help it.

Not that you’d ever talked about feelings or anything like that. That definitely hadn’t happened, but you couldn’t stop imagining what would happen if it did. Your heart stumbled imagining Dave, your best friend, returning your feelings. But you wouldn’t dare reveal any of this.

Today, you’d asked Dave to stay over at your house, and although that might sound like the plot of a low-budget porno movie, there was absolutely nothing indecent about your request. Your parents had traveled, and you didn’t want to be home alone. Plus, it would be the perfect opportunity for you both to watch The Amazing Spider-Man (again)—you’d made sure to buy the DVD as soon as it hit stores.

When Dave arrived, you had everything ready: a cozy blanket on the couch, a dizzying amount of popcorn, and sugar-loaded candy. It didn’t take long for you two to sprawl out on the couch, the TV being the only source of light in the room.

“Andrew was born to be Spidey,” you sighed.

Dave, on the other side of the couch, furrowed his brow. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” you answered without thinking. “I mean, I like Tobey, and it’s fun to see Bully Maguire in action, but Andrew is amazing,” you laughed at your silly pun. “And he’s cute,” the words left your mouth before you realized it.

“Cute, huh?” Dave asked, his tone playful, though there was something behind his words. “So you like brunettes?”

Your eyes quickly went to his hair. The dark curls falling gently across his forehead, and you wanted to run your fingers through them, feel if they were as soft as they looked. You closed your hands on your lap, smiling awkwardly before answering, “Maybe.”

The dim light didn’t allow you to see, but you knew his face had reddened. And you swore you saw the corner of his mouth curl into one of those crooked smiles you loved.

You both kept watching the movie, sporadic comments followed by muffled laughs so as not to interrupt the scene. It was easy to talk to Dave. It always had been. He made even the simplest moments feel special, and that night was no exception. The slight, almost imperceptible tension between you two seemed to be part of the natural chemistry that had always existed.

When the movie ended, the credits rolling on the screen in an endless cascade of names, you stretched, feeling your muscles complain after being in the same position for so long. “I think it’s late... we can go to my room,” you suggested, the words coming as naturally as any other request you’d ever made to him.

Dave hesitated for a second, something that didn’t go unnoticed. He looked away, adjusting his glasses that were slipping down his nose.

“Dave?” you called, your voice tinged with slight concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” he answered quickly, but the way he messed with his hair gave away his nervousness.

“Dave,” you repeated, your tone now firmer, but with a touch of tenderness. “We’ve slept together before, remember? There’s no reason to be nervous.”

“I know,” he replied, letting out an awkward laugh as he put his hands in his pants pockets. “But, I don’t know... it’s different now.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Different? What did he mean by that? But you didn’t have the courage to ask. Instead, you simply nodded, trying not to get lost in the avalanche of thoughts that flooded your mind.

In your room, you turned on a lamp, casting a soft glow around the room. Dave stopped in the doorway for a moment, looking around as if it were the first time he’d been there—which, of course, wasn’t true. He looked a little lost, so you pointed to the bed with a calm smile.

“It’s just a bed, Dave,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I know,” he replied, but the way he rubbed the back of his neck showed that he wasn’t as relaxed as he was trying to appear.

As he moved closer, you adjusted the pillow on the left side of the bed, an automatic gesture that he observed with a small smile. You both lay down side by side, each occupying your own comfortable space. There was more than enough space between you, but... for just a moment, just for a moment, you wished it were a single bed. Just so he’d be closer.

The thought hit you like a shock, and you felt your cheeks burn. What was wrong with you? It was just Dave. Your Dave.

You turned to the other side, trying to push the thought away, but it was hard when you knew he was right there, so close, yet so far.

“Are you comfortable?” his voice broke the silence, soft and a little hoarse from the tiredness.

"Yeah," you replied quickly, turning to look at him. He was lying on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but you could see he was biting his lip, a nervous gesture he’d been doing since childhood.

"You?" you asked back.

He finally turned his head to you, his eyes meeting yours. In the soft light, the blue of his eyes seemed even deeper, like a sea you wanted to explore. "I am," he answered, but there was something more in the way he said it. Something that made your heart beat faster.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stayed there, staring at each other. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried a different energy, a sweet tension that made everything feel more intense.

You knew you should say something, break the mood before it went too far. But at the same time, part of you didn’t want that moment to end. So, you just smiled, a small smile, but full of meanings you hoped he would understand.

And Dave... He returned the smile. That crooked, charming smile that made your heart stumble, and you realized, once again, that he was your best friend. And, maybe, just maybe, he was something more.

The night was quiet, with only the soft wind tapping against the window. The sky was starting to show the first signs that the dawn was nearing its end, the dark blue tinged with an almost imperceptible gray. You slowly opened your eyes, feeling the comfort of the mattress, the blanket, and... something else.

That’s when you noticed.

Dave was so close it seemed impossible to believe you had started the night with all that space between you. His face was buried in your neck, his dark curls falling on your skin in a soft, almost lazy way. His arms were around you, one of them wrapped possessively around your waist, while your legs were intertwined in a way that seemed as though they were made for this.

Your heart immediately raced, but not out of fear or discomfort. It was something deeper, something that made your breath hitch and your face warm. With every exhale from Dave, his breath brushed against your skin, sending shivers up your spine that were almost impossible to ignore.

You tried to tell yourself not to move, not to do anything that could wake him, but that thought faded when your eyes landed on his hair, the dark strands tousled and falling over his forehead. Without even realizing it, your hand started to move, hesitant, until your fingers finally touched the curls. They were as soft as you imagined.

And that’s when you lost it. Your fingers gently curled into his hair, a delicate, almost reverent touch. You felt a small, involuntary smile form on your lips, your heart still beating out of rhythm as you absorbed every detail of that moment.

Dave murmured something incoherent, a muffled sound that seemed like a satisfied sigh. Before you could pull away, his arm around your waist tightened, pulling you closer. You held your breath, but didn’t have time to think because he let out a sound that was almost... a purr?

Your face became hot enough to melt any ice. He wasn’t fully awake—yet. He seemed caught between the dream world and reality, his expression calm and relaxed as he pressed his face closer to your neck, as if seeking even more contact.

“Dave,” you murmured softly, more to test your own voice than to call him.

That was enough. He moved again, his eyes blinking slowly as his consciousness finally started to arrive. His body gave a small jolt before freezing completely. You could feel when he realized.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and low, as if still half in the dream world. He started to pull away, but his arms seemed reluctant to let you go completely.

“Wait,” you said quickly, your hand still in his hair.

His eyes met yours for the first time. Even in the dim light, you could see the confusion and insecurity mixed with something softer, something more vulnerable.

“It’s okay,” you added, your voice so gentle it even surprised you. “You... can stay.”

Dave seemed to process your words for a moment, his mouth opening as if he wanted to protest, but giving up almost immediately. He relaxed, still embarrassed, but giving in to your touch, as if he didn’t have the strength to fight it—and maybe he didn’t want to.

“Sorry,” he murmured after a while, his face still close to yours.

“Why?” you asked, your fingers now gently stroking his hair almost unconsciously.

“For, I don’t know, invading your space,” he replied, his tone hesitant.

You chuckled softly, the sound gentle in the silence of the room. “Dave, you didn’t invade anything. It was nice...” The last word came out almost as a whisper, but you knew he heard it. His face turned redder than you thought possible, but still, he smiled. A small smile, but so genuine that it made something inside you warm even more.

The room remained submerged in quiet, only interrupted by the soft sound of your breathing and the occasional rustling of the blankets when either of you made a hesitant movement. Dave was still so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him, and the proximity felt both suffocating and comforting at the same time.

His eyes dropped for a moment, and you followed his gaze, realizing that he was paying attention to your breathing—or more specifically, to how your chest rose and fell against him. That’s when you noticed.

He was so close to your chest that it was impossible for him not to hear your heart hammering against your ribs.

“I can hear it,” he said quietly, his voice filled with surprise, but also with a gentleness that only he seemed capable of reaching.

"Listen to what?" you asked, even though you knew exactly what he meant.

He hesitated for a moment before answering, his eyes rising again to meet yours. "Your heart."

The confession made something inside of you crumble and rebuild at the same time. The warmth that spread to your face was instant, but you tried to hide it, offering a small, nervous smile.

"That's kind of unfair, you know?" you murmured, your fingers still playing with his curls, even though a part of you was screaming to stop. "What can I do if I have a thing for brunettes?"

His jaw dropped slightly, and you saw his cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red—something you didn't think was possible.

"You... talking about me?" The question came out hesitant, his vulnerability so evident that it made your chest tighten.

"No, about Andrew Garfield," you joked, trying to ease the tension, but your expression soon softened. "Of course, I'm talking about you, Dave."

He blinked a few times, as if he needed a second to process that, then let out a low, almost incredulous laugh. His forehead gently rested against your shoulder, and you felt him take a deep breath, as if trying to calm his own heart.

"You're going to kill me," he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled but full of sweetness.

The smile that formed on your lips was automatic, and your hand slid from his curls to his face, your fingers gently caressing his warm cheek. He lifted his face slightly, his blue eyes meeting yours in a look that felt like a shared secret.

Neither of you seemed to want to move away. On the contrary, your bodies remained so close that you could feel every detail, from the texture of his T-shirt to the rhythm of his breathing, which seemed as out of sync as yours.

"Dave," you whispered, not really knowing what you wanted to say but feeling that you needed to say something.

"Mm?" His voice was low and husky, and he tilted his head slightly to the side as if he wanted to hear better.

"Are you going to stay?"

The question slipped out before you could stop it, and for a moment, you almost wished you could take the words back. But the way he looked at you—like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face—made the anxiety turn into something softer, more confident.

"I'm already here, aren't I?" He smiled crookedly, that smile of his, so typically him. "And, as far as I'm concerned... I'm not going anywhere."

The way he said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, made your heart stumble again.

Without thinking, you let your forehead rest against his, your eyes closing for a brief moment. "Good," you murmured, the warmth of his face blending with yours. "Because I like having you here."

Dave stayed still for a moment, as if absorbing what you'd just said. You could feel his breathing slow a little, as if he were trying to control the storm inside him. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low whisper, full of emotion.

"I like being here... with you."

His words were simple but carried a weight that made your heart race even faster. He moved his forehead just enough to look directly into your eyes, their blue so soft and full of tenderness that it made your legs feel like jelly—even while lying down.

You didn’t respond right away, feeling like words weren’t necessary. Instead, your fingers slid gently from his face back to his curls, the light touch that made him sigh involuntarily. Dave closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch, and you couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he looked.

"You know your heart is racing again, right?" he commented, his voice soft but with that slightly playful tone you knew so well.

"And whose fault is that, huh?" you shot back, raising an eyebrow while trying to look serious, but the laugh that escaped his lips completely disarmed you.

"Me?" He pointed to himself, the smile widening as he pretended to be innocent. "I'm just a guy trying to sleep."

"A guy who makes me nervous," you corrected, feeling the warmth rise again to your face.

Dave tilted his head to the side as if pondering your words. Then, with the utmost casualness, he leaned in just enough to brush his nose lightly against yours, a touch so delicate it almost felt like a dream.

"Maybe because you make me nervous too," he confessed softly, the smile now smaller but even more sincere.

The confession made your breath falter, and before you could think too much, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. There was no room for hesitation in that moment; everything felt as natural as breathing.

"Good," you whispered, your heart racing once more. "Because I don’t want you to go anywhere."

He smiled, and the way his eyes shone in that moment was something you knew you would never forget.

"I don’t want to go either."

And as you both stayed there, tangled up in each other, the world seemed to disappear completely. Just the two of you, sharing a moment so simple, yet so full of meaning, that anything beyond that seemed unnecessary.

The last thought that crossed your mind before you closed your eyes again was that, for the first time, you felt everything was exactly as it should be—with Dave by your side.

[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 1

Loki x Reader

Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: A long overdue mini-series for one of my favorite characters of all time. I had this idea when season one of Loki first came out, but never got to writing it, and now with season two coming, I decided to finally do it. There are two important things that need to be said before we head into it though; firstly and most importantly, I will not be following the show's plot at all, this story will only be focusing on the relationship between Loki and the reader, after all that's what it is about and I don't want it to be unnecessarily huge; secondly, this story will be mostly told in moments, which means that not every single scene happening between the characters will be written down in length. Lastly, I do hope you can all enjoy it. <3

Masterlist

Things felt worthless. Everything suddenly seemed unimportant. His whole life, everything he knew, felt small and frail. Because here, infinity stones were mere paperweights.

Loki scoffed as he pushed himself up from the floor, one hand coming up to tug at the collar still wrapped around his neck. This place made him feel as if his brain was melting, it was all too much, too sudden—sacred timeline, variants. A sense of utter helplessness started to weigh heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Yet he couldn't hold himself back from sitting at the single table in the middle of the dim-lit room. The checkered image of the Avengers right in front of him seemed to be taunting him.

This was still the same day, right?

Or maybe not, Loki wasn't certain anymore; it sure didn't feel like the same day.

For a split second, as he looked down at the red, round device resting on top of the table, he thought about how everything here looked so old-fashioned. It was almost ironic, for a place out of time.

Loki couldn't help himself. His curiosity got the best of him eventually. But if anyone had their whole life just a click away, they'd probably do the same.

So he watched, through glimpses passing on a screen, a life that was supposed to be his. He watched his mother die, and then his father; he watched as Thor called him a brother with a smile on his face again, and as they made earth a new home for Asgard. Loki's eyes were already a pool of tears as soon as his mother's lifeless body had appeared in front of him, they cascaded down his cheeks freely, leaving behind a damp path of a lifetime worth of mourning, now seen in less than a minute. The loss somehow felt greater, because now he wouldn't even have those moments to begin with.

But suddenly, amidst the moments of suffering and mistakes, an unfamiliar face appeared. She had a smile on her face most of the time, and even through the static of the image in front of him, Loki could clearly see the glint in her pupils, the crinkle beside her eyes. She was quite captivating, maybe that's why it took him a second to realize she was smiling at him.

A frown etched itself in Loki's eyebrows, he leaned forward on his chair as he pressed play again. Curiosity and... apprehension twirled wildly inside his stomach.

The moments with her were endless. Walks on the beach, shared ice creams, quiet nights watching a movie, dancing together in a dark kitchen, the golden rays of a sunset shining against her hair in a memory tucked away like a treasure; and even a moment of her talking with Tony Stark and the others, while her hand held tightly onto Loki's, the other Loki, that is. All of them looked futile, a simple existence Loki would never have considered fit for him; so why did these moments feel important?

Inside TVA's lonely room, Loki held his breath until his lungs ached. His heart was threatening to jump out of his chest and his eyes were stinging for a whole new reason. He could feel the shaking of his own hands. That look in her eyes, it was one of love, anyone who saw would know it. But the cause of the sudden lump in Loki's throat was the fact that this look was always directed at him. That love in her eyes, that smile on her lips; was for him.

Several minutes went by with him silently looking at the paused image of her on the checkered screen. A few stray tears rolled down his cheeks, and he wasn't sure why yet. If it was for the shock of learning that someone could love him this much; or because of the envy, the longing for something that wasn't even his, not really, he never got there after all.

There was a hole in his chest, a missing piece of something he never had. Loki didn't even know her name, yet a part of him was screaming it anyway.

He eventually moved on, and almost threw up when he watched Thanos take his life from him. Loki watched his brother cry over his lifeless body, yet he wasn't seeing her.

And despite the boatload of information thrown at him, the questions clouding his mind were only; who is she? Where is she?

Lost. Loki felt more lost than he probably ever did in his entire life. He had just watched what was supposed to be the rest of his life, yet... it wouldn't be. So what now?

He sat down on the small stairs of the room, burying his head in his hands.

And then there was this girl; smiling and laughing and holding his hand as if he had been the best thing to ever happen to her. This feeling, warm and heavy, squeezing Loki's heart, was a foreign one—he couldn't quite place why that look of pure adoration in her eyes was directed at him.

He needed to know who she was. He needed to find her and ask her why. He needed to know what she was, or- would be to him.

The sudden sound of the door opening startled Loki, he watched as Mobius walked into the room, his steps overly cautious. "Loki? Nowhere left to run."

Gulping back a sob clawing its way through his throat, Loki took a deep breath. He slowly glanced up, voice calm and defeated as he asked a question he already knew the answer to; "I can't go back, can I?"

Mobius simply looked at him, his eyes holding some kind of sympathy as he spared Loki from hearing the truth out loud.

Loki pursed his lips, his gaze slowly trailed back to the screen on his left that again adorned a paused image of the mysterious girl. Her lips were turned up just slightly, dark sunglasses covered her eyes, and she held a slowly melting ice cream in one of her hands. "Who is she?" he asked quietly.

Placing his weapon on the table, Mobius let out a long sigh, "I was hoping you wouldn't ask about her."

The words made Loki snap his head towards him, a frown coming to his eyebrows immediately.

"She..." Mobius hesitated, "she is someone almost as annoying as you."

"That doesn't answer my question." Loki nearly sounded offended. He got up then, taking slow steps towards Mobius. "She seemed... important, yet I don't know who she is."

"I'm afraid you haven't met her yet."

"Then tell me who she is."

Mobius grimaced; "I don't think it's my place to say it."

"That's absurd," Loki scoffed, "it's my life we're talking about here."

"How about we help each other then, hm?" Mobius offered, and when Loki only frowned at him, he continued; "a fugitive Variant has been killing our Minutemen."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "And you need the God of Mischief to help you stop him?"

A small smirk came to Mobius' lips; "That's right. You help us stop him. I get you an opportunity to meet her and you can ask her whatever questions you want to know."

A meeting with someone didn't feel like much for his end of the bargain, but that same voice inside Loki was still screaming a name he didn't know how to spell. He had to know.

"Deal."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 2 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Loki’s taglist:@milkiane @v1ci0us

[jibitzlesscrocs]

matt sturniolo x reader

warning : none

the whole series and more

kid for a day pt. 4

in which, riley is a daddy’s girl

From the moment Riley was born, Matt dove into fatherhood with endless love. Whether sharing ice cream, handling tantrums, or playdates, his bond with Riley grows stronger every day.

———

1: Stubble Matt

Riley is nestled in the crook of Matt’s arm, her little legs dangling over his forearm like she belongs there—and she does. The two of them are camped out on the couch, surrounded by a pile of plush animals and an episode of Bluey playing softly on the TV. But Riley’s not watching anymore.

No—she’s too busy brushing her tiny fingers back and forth across Matt’s jaw, completely entranced.

You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene like it’s your favorite show. Your heart pulls tight and warm at the sight of your husband—tattoos peeking from his hoodie sleeve, thick lashes low over his eyes as he grins down at your daughter. His scruff is a few days old now, darker and a little rougher than usual.

“Again?” you call, amused. “She can’t get enough of that beard, huh?”

Matt looks up, his mouth twitching into a smile as he whispers, “She thinks it’s soft. Like her teddy bear. Been calling it ‘teddy face’ all night.”

You walk over, bend down behind the couch and kiss the top of Riley’s head, then shift over to Matt. His eyes trail over you, slow and easy, like he’s already forgotten what the show’s about.

“She’s not the only one who likes it,” you say under your breath, letting your hand drift over his jaw too, scratching gently. “It’s hot.”

He raises an eyebrow, voice low and amused. “Yeah?”

You kiss him. It’s short, just enough to leave him wanting more—but it says everything.

“Yeah.”

Matt leans into it, one hand steadying Riley on his chest while the other slides behind your neck, thumb brushing your skin in that way that always makes you shiver. His stubble scrapes your mouth just a little. You don’t mind at all.

“Later,” he murmurs, teasing. “When someone’s in bed.”

Riley squeals at a sudden cartoon sound and both of you turn to look, but Matt’s still got that quiet heat in his eyes, the kind that says he’s already counting down the minutes.

And for now, you just sink down beside him, tucking yourself into the curve of his side. One arm around you, one arm holding Riley, and that sexy stubble you both can’t get enough of.

You lean your head on his shoulder and whisper, “I love your face.”

He grins. “I love my girls.”

*******

2: Slow and Sleepy Riley Mornings

You hear them before you open your eyes.

Tiny, babbling giggles. And a low, gentle voice—half-awake but already full of love.

“Shhh, Mama’s still sleeping, baby,” Matt whispers. “You gotta whisper. Can you do that?”

Riley doesn’t whisper. She squeaks. Loudly.

You smile into your pillow, still facing the wall. You know exactly what’s happening.

Matt must’ve scooped her out of her crib the moment she called for him. He always beats you to it—half because he’s obsessed with her and half because he wants you to rest a little longer.

“Do you want to read your book?” he asks softly. There’s the sound of a board book opening, a page turning. “What’s this one? The bear? That’s right, bear!”

You finally roll over.

Matt is sitting at the end of the bed, legs crossed, Riley in his lap in a cozy sleeper with stars all over it. She’s tucked against his chest like she’s never known another home. Her hair is a messy fluff and she keeps trying to turn the page before he’s done reading.

“Hi,” you murmur.

Matt looks up with that crooked grin—the one that makes you feel like the sun just came up twice.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says quietly. “We were trying to be quiet, but…” He glances at Riley. “Somebody’s got no volume control.”

Riley sees you and immediately kicks her legs. “Mamaaa!”

“Come here, sweetheart,” you say, arms open.

Matt carefully lifts her and hands her over. “She already had a diaper change and her bottle,” he tells you proudly, like he’s ticking things off a checklist. “And we brushed her hair. Kinda.”

“She let you brush it?”

He shrugs, amused. “Barely. I think she thought it was a game.”

Riley climbs up your chest and settles in like she belongs there. Matt leans in and kisses her cheek, then yours, before sitting back beside you and brushing her hair out of her eyes again.

“She’s been all giggles this morning,” he says, watching her like she’s made of stardust. “Like… everything’s funny. I love it.”

You glance at him, heart full to the brim. “You’re such a good dad, Matt.”

He nudges your leg with his. “She makes it easy.”

The three of you lie back together, Riley between you, tiny fingers wrapped around both your hands. And for the next little while, the world slows down. There’s no rush. Just your family—warm, safe, together.

*********

3: The Ice Cream Incident

You had only been gone for a little while—barely two hours tops—but somehow, when you open the door, it smells like vanilla sugar and… mischief.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Then you hear it. A soft giggle. The kind Riley makes when she’s feeling extra pleased with herself. You step into the kitchen and immediately stop.

Riley is sitting cross-legged on the counter. The actual counter.

Matt is standing in front of her, holding a spoon like he’s feeding royalty, and the two of them are sharing a pint of cookies and cream like it’s a sacred ritual.

You clear your throat.

Matt flinches so hard he almost drops the spoon. Riley just lights up. “Mama!!”

Matt freezes mid-bite. “Okay, listen—before you say anything—”

You raise an eyebrow. “She’s on the counter, Matt.”

“She wanted to see what was in the freezer,” he says, as if this explains everything.

You walk closer, arms folded. “So naturally, you gave her ice cream.”

“She picked it herself!” he defends. “I asked, ‘Do you want apples or yogurt?’ And she reached past both and grabbed the pint like she’s done it a hundred times. She’s got taste!”

Riley holds out a spoonful to you like she’s in on the deal, eyes sparkling. You melt just a little—but you hold strong.

“She’s supposed to be having fruit.”

“Babe,” Matt says, gently picking Riley up and settling her on his hip like she weighs nothing, “She said ‘ice keem please, Dada.’ With the hands. The little voice. I swear I blacked out. I didn’t even know I’d opened it ‘til we were three bites in.”

You look at Riley, who’s now laying her head on Matt’s shoulder like she’s already gearing up for a nap. Her fingers twist into his hoodie, and her thumb pops into her mouth. She’s full, happy, and clearly convinced that Matt is the greatest human to ever walk the earth.

“She’s a total daddy’s girl,” you mutter.

Matt beams. “I know. It’s kind of the best.”

Riley yawns, soft and slow, and snuggles deeper into his chest.

“She even kissed me on the cheek after the second bite,” he adds, looking smug. “Like, thanked me. We shared a moment.”

“You two are unbelievable.”

“You love it,” he says, leaning in to kiss your temple with Riley still tucked in one arm. “Admit it. You love how obsessed she is with me.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not wrong.

The smugness doesn’t last long, though.

———

Later that evening, Riley sneezes three times in a row and Matt’s nose starts running like a faucet. You find the two of them wrapped up on the couch under your favorite throw blanket—matching socks, matching sniffles, and a cup of warm apple juice between them.

“She’s sick,” you scold, checking her forehead.

“We’re sick,” Matt croaks dramatically. “It was worth it.”

Riley nods solemnly and hummed. “mhmm”

You sigh, already grabbing tissues. “You’re both banned from the freezer.”

Matt snorts. “Fine. But only if you’re the one putting her to bed tonight.”

You pause. Riley is curled into his chest, half-asleep, her fingers still tangled in his hoodie.

“…No deal.”

He grins, kisses your wrist, and holds his little girl tighter.

Daddy’s girl. Through and through.

********

4: Play dates with daddy, uncle Chris, and uncle Nick

It starts with Matt shouting over the vacuum:

“Hey, babe! The guys are coming over!”

You pause in the hallway, holding Riley on your hip. “For what?”

Matt peeks around the corner with a grin that says something’s up.

“Playdate.”

You blink. “A playdate? With Chris and Nick?”

Matt shrugs. “They begged.”

“They’re grown men.”

“They’re obsessed with Riley.”

He’s not wrong. An hour later, the door bursts open and in come her uncles, loud and full of snacks, toy dinosaurs, and energy drinks.

Chris is the first to drop to his knees dramatically. “WHERE’S MY NIECE?”

Riley, safe in Matt’s arms, lets out a squeal so high-pitched it could shatter glass. She wiggles violently until Matt lowers her to the floor—and she runs straight into Chris’s arms.

“I missed you so much, princess,” Chris croons, like he hasn’t FaceTimed her every other day.

Nick follows, holding a tiny soccer ball like it’s the golden ticket. “She ready for her first scrimmage?”

“She’s two,” you remind him.

“Perfect age to go pro.”

Matt claps his hands and takes over like he’s running summer camp. “Okay, we got the ball, we got crayons, we got blocks, and we got snacks. Chris, take coloring duty. Nick, backyard game. I’ll handle cleanup and crisis management.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

Matt grins, lifting Riley high in the air, making her giggle. “She’s got me trained.”

And honestly? You’re not even needed.

Chris draws wild animals with Riley and pretends each one is a different family member. “This one’s Uncle Nick ‘cause he yells too much,” he tells her, while she smacks the page with pink marker.

Nick teaches her how to gently (read: chaotically) kick the soccer ball back and forth. Every time she even touches the ball, he throws his hands in the air like she’s won the World Cup.

And Matt? He hovers, not too close, not too far. Always watching. Always ready. When she trips on her shoelace, he’s there in half a second, scooping her up and kissing her scraped knee.

“You’re okay, baby. Gotcha.”

Riley clings to him for a moment, just long enough to catch her breath, and then wriggles down to run straight back to the chaos.

You catch Matt looking at her like he’s never going to recover from how much he loves that kid.

“She’s fast,” Nick pants, dropping onto the grass. “Why is she faster than me?”

“Because she’s part me, part lightning,” Matt replies, plopping down next to you and stealing a sip from your drink. “You good?”

You nod, watching Riley chase after Chris with a wild giggle. “She’s living her best life.”

Matt leans back on his hands, squinting up at the sun. “I want a thousand of her.”

You laugh. “Let’s try sleeping through the night again before we talk about a thousand.”

He grins, bumping your shoulder with his. “Fair.”

You sit like that a while—your lap full of snacks, your yard full of love, and your daughter, right in the center of it all, wild and giggling and home.

******

5: Riley’s First Tantrum

It starts with something small. Riley’s favorite toy—one of her many stuffed animals—has somehow been “misplaced.” It’s not really missing. It’s just tucked under the couch cushions, but to a two-year-old with an overactive imagination, it might as well have vanished into thin air.

You’re in the kitchen, sorting laundry, when you hear it—a loud, high-pitched cry. You freeze for a second, then hear it again. This time, it’s a full-on wail.

“Matt,” you call, already feeling the storm brewing. You grab Riley’s favorite snacks from the pantry. “Please tell me this is not happening yet.”

Matt’s voice comes from the living room, calm but strained. “She’s looking for it. She’s… really upset.”

You turn the corner to find Riley standing in the middle of the room, little fists clenched at her sides, tears running down her face as she sobs in frustration. Matt is kneeling on the floor, speaking softly to her, trying to soothe her, but it’s not working.

“Riley, sweetheart, we’ll find it, okay? It’s gonna be okay,” Matt says, rubbing her back gently. But Riley’s not hearing it. The tantrum is full force now.

You can see Matt’s patience already wearing thin, but he doesn’t show it. He picks her up, holding her securely in his arms. She’s stiff, her body rigid with frustration, but Matt’s voice is steady.

“Hey, look at me,” he says, his tone the kind that always makes you stop and listen. “We’re gonna find it together. I promise.”

But Riley’s not having it. She’s kicking her little legs, crying louder now, wriggling out of his arms, and the sound of her anger fills the room.

“Matt…” You step closer, worried but not panicked. You’ve seen him handle tough situations before, but this is different. “What do we do?”

Matt stands up, cradling her against him, one hand gently cupping the back of her head. “Let her ride it out,” he says quietly. “She’s frustrated, but she’ll calm down. We just have to be patient.”

You nod, watching as he shifts Riley onto his hip, his fingers rubbing circles on her back in a comforting motion. She keeps crying, but her sobs slow down, and eventually, she buries her face in his shoulder. Matt doesn’t rush to stop the tears—he just holds her, his breath steady, like he’s waiting for her to let it out completely.

And then—just like that—it stops. Riley goes from loud sobs to sniffles, then to hiccups. Slowly, she lifts her head and looks at him with wide, teary eyes.

“Where’s my… my bunny?” she asks in a tiny voice, still catching her breath.

Matt kisses the top of her head, not missing a beat. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you. Let’s find your bunny.” He gently sets her down on the couch, where the toy had fallen earlier. Riley’s eyes light up the second she spots it.

She grabs it, holding it tightly to her chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world, and the tantrum seems to evaporate completely.

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, watching the way Matt’s expression softens, the worry lines from a moment ago disappearing. He sits next to her, his hand resting on her tiny shoulder.

“There we go,” he says with a smile. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Riley snuggles into his side, clutching the bunny like it’s the safest place she’s ever been.

You watch them for a moment, feeling the tenderness between them. “You handled that so well,” you whisper to Matt.

He shrugs with a half-smile. “She’s my girl. I’ve got her.”

And you know he does—through every tantrum, every moment of frustration, and every soft whisper that brings her back to calm.

———

Through every cuddle, tantrum, and moment of laughter, Matt’s love for Riley deepens, building a life full of unforgettable memories.

taglist : @courta13 , @sunkissedsturniolos

MAI’S STORE

requested by @leahfaith !! thinking of turning this into a series HAHA lemme know what yall think !! and feedback on the fics would be greattt

[strangevynl]

Our Last Frame Together | H.HJ x AFAB!Reader

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :･ lover!hyunjin x afab!reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ :･ angst | ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs :･ character death,smut scenes but not that bad,cunnilingus, nipple stimulation,clitoris stimulation. sub!hyunjin, munch!hyunjin, reader struggles with depression| wc :･ 25k | Part 2

©️strangevynl Do not repost, translate, edit or otherwise use my stories without my permission.

The door clicks open just past midnight. You hear the jingle of keys, the soft shuffle of tired footsteps, the quiet sigh that spills into the empty air. You don’t move from where you’re sitting—cross-legged on the couch, a book open in your lap but unread.

Hyunjin steps inside, his silhouette outlined by the dim glow of the streetlights outside. His hair is damp from the night air, strands falling into his eyes, exhaustion settling into the curve of his shoulders. The moment he sees you, though, his lips twitch into something soft.

“You’re still up?” His voice is hoarse from travel, from long days of speaking in another language, from the weight of the world he now carries.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Wanted to see you.”

He exhales, something slow and warm, and crosses the room. His suitcase is abandoned by the door, his coat shrugged off and draped over the armrest. Then he’s in front of you, his knees hitting the floor, hands finding your waist. He presses his face into your stomach, breathing you in.

And just like that, you feel yourself unravel.

Hyunjin has always had this quiet kind of presence—one that fills the room without a single word. He’s reserved, thoughtful in ways that most people don’t notice. You do, though. You always have.

His fingers tighten slightly, like he’s anchoring himself. “Missed you,” he murmurs, voice muffled against the fabric of your sweater.

Your chest aches. “I missed you too.”

You run your fingers through his hair, pushing back the strands that fall into his eyes. He’s beautiful, even like this—tired and undone, dark lashes fluttering as he leans into your touch.

But as you look at him, really look at him, something in your heart twists.

It wasn’t always like this.

Back then, life was simple. It was skipping class to share ice cream on the school rooftop, stealing fries from his tray at lunch, laughing over things that didn’t matter. It was late-night bike rides, wind in your hair, endless conversations about dreams too big to hold.

Back then, the world felt limitless.

You were supposed to see it together.

But life had a way of slipping through your fingers. The years stretched thin between you, time unraveling like thread. Hyunjin’s world expanded, his name etched into stages and airport terminals and hotel rooms in places you’d never been. And you—

You stayed behind.

You told yourself it was okay. That this was just another part of the journey. But sometimes, in moments like this, when the silence stretches too long and the air feels heavy with things unsaid, you wonder.

Wonder how something so bright, so full of promise, could turn into something so plain.

You swallow hard. “How was Japan?”

Hyunjin lifts his head, resting his chin on your lap. His eyes, dark and tired, hold yours. “Busy. Beautiful. Lonely.”

Lonely.

Your fingers still in his hair.

He doesn’t say anything else, just watches you, like he can see the thoughts unraveling behind your eyes.

You force a smile. “You must be exhausted.”

“I am.” He shifts, pressing a kiss to your knee. “But I’m home.”

Home.

The word used to mean so much more.

You don’t realize your eyes are burning until Hyunjin reaches up, thumb brushing gently under your lashes. “Hey,” he whispers, brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

His gaze lingers, searching, but he doesn’t push. He never does.

Instead, he sighs and shifts, pulling himself up onto the couch beside you. He tugs you into his arms, burying his face into your neck. “Just stay,” he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion. “For a little while.”

So you do.

You curl into him, let the warmth of his body seep into yours, listen to the steady sound of his breathing. And for a moment—just a moment—you pretend that nothing has changed.

The quiet hum of the room settles between you, warm and familiar. Hyunjin's fingers trace absent patterns on your back, his breath slow against your skin. He’s exhausted—you can feel it in the way his body molds into yours, the weight of his day sinking into your bones.

You hesitate, biting the inside of your cheek before asking, “Do you have any free time tomorrow?”

You don’t expect much. Hyunjin’s schedule is always overflowing—photoshoots, rehearsals, meetings that stretch longer than they should. You’ve gotten used to the way time no longer belongs to just the two of you.

But then—

He hums, barely lifting his head. “Yeah… I do.”

You blink, momentarily stunned. “You do?”

A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest, his lips quirking into a small, amused smile. “Why do you sound so shocked?”

“Because I am.” You pull back slightly, peering at him. “Are you sure?”

Hyunjin shifts, resting his chin against your shoulder. His dark eyes hold yours, tired but open, like he’s already made up his mind. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”

A warmth spreads through you, soft and unexpected. It’s been too long since you’ve had him all to yourself, too long since you’ve been able to do something just for the sake of being together.

A thought tugs at you, small but insistent. “Then let’s go to the mall.”

Hyunjin blinks, lips parting slightly. “…The mall?”

You nod, determined. “Yeah. Let’s just—walk around. Eat something good. Go into stores without actually buying anything. Be normal.”

His expression is unreadable, a flicker of something you can’t quite place.

Then, a sigh. “That’s such a you thing to want to do.”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, the corner of his lips twitching. “Nothing.” A pause. Then—softer, quieter—“Okay. Let’s go.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shifts again, pulling you fully against him. “If it makes you happy.”

Something inside you aches.

It shouldn’t feel like a big deal, but it does.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “You’re the best.”

He laughs, breath warm against your hair. “I know.”

The night folds around you, slow and gentle. Hyunjin holds you close, fingers tracing lazy circles against your back, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. And for the first time in a long time, you feel something close to content.

Maybe things have changed. Maybe the world isn’t as simple as it used to be.

But right now, in this moment, it’s enough.

Quick Pose!📸🎞️……..

The mall hums with life—voices rising and falling like waves, the distant echo of footsteps against tile, the faint melody of a song neither of you recognize. But none of it touches you. Not when Hyunjin is beside you, his fingers brushing yours, the warmth of him something steady in a world that keeps shifting beneath your feet.

You pull him toward a small boutique, its door swinging open with a soft chime. The air inside is thick with scent—warm vanilla, aged wood, the lingering trace of lavender and musk. The kind of place where time slows, where the world outside ceases to exist.

Hyunjin exhales, shaking his head with a small smile. “We always end up here.”

You glance at him, eyes shining with something close to nostalgia. “It’s tradition.”

He doesn’t argue. He never does.

Because this has been your ritual since college—since the days when life had no script, when the future was a foggy thing you didn’t yet fear. Back when you shared a dorm, back when the world was only as big as the next day’s lecture hall.

You’d wander through stores just like this, fingers grazing the glass jars, lifting lids to chase after scents that smelled like home.

“Too floral,” Hyunjin would say.

“Too musky,” you’d counter.

And eventually, always, you’d find the one—something rich, something warm, something that made the gray of winter afternoons feel a little less lonely. A scent to come home to after long hours buried in textbooks, after late-night talks that stretched into morning.

Back then, everything was uncertain.

Some days were drought—dry, dull, weighed down by assignments and exhaustion. Others were rain—slow and lingering, eight-hour breaks spent watching the city blur through water-streaked glass.

But at least you had each other.

At least you were happy.

Now, standing in this store, with a candle in your hands and Hyunjin at your side, you wonder when that changed.

Hyunjin lifts a jar, tilting it toward you. “Earthy citrus,” he murmurs. “This one reminds me of—”

His voice fades.

Because you’re not listening.

You’re staring at the flickering candlelight on the shelves, lost in something heavier than nostalgia, something bitter and sweet all at once.

Because back then, you never planned for this.

You never planned for life to feel this plain.

next pose?📸🎞️…..

The restaurant is the same. The warm glow of pendant lights pooling onto linen-covered tables, the quiet murmur of conversations overlapping like waves, the scent of rosemary and fresh bread curling through the air. It’s all the same—untouched by time, unchanged by memory.

But everything else is different.

Hyunjin sits across from you, stirring his drink with slow, absentminded movements, eyes tracing the rim of his glass like he’s trying to find something there. Maybe an answer. Maybe a distraction.

The conversation is light, weightless, drifting over safe topics like smooth stones skipping across water. His flight. Your week. The weather. Small things, inconsequential things, things that mean nothing and everything all at once.

But there is something heavy beneath it.

Something pressing against your ribs, coiling in your throat.

You watch him, tracing the shape of his face with your gaze, memorizing the way the light catches the tired edges of his eyes. He is here, sitting in front of you, close enough to reach—

And yet, he feels impossibly far away.

Somewhere between the main course and the check, the silence grows too thick to swallow. And so, you break it.

"Do you remember that summer?"

Your voice barely rises above the clink of silverware, but it still cuts through the air between you.

Hyunjin blinks, his fingers stilling around his glass. He looks up, eyes flickering with something unreadable. "Which one?"

You breathe out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “The one where we had nothing but time. The one where we’d sneak out with spare change and buy those awful gas station sandwiches, then sit by the train tracks until the sky bruised into night. We talked about the future like we were unafraid of it. Like it was ours to claim."

Something shifts in his expression. A flicker of something lost. A shadow of something once known.

His grip tightens ever so slightly. "Yeah,"he exhales, voice carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid things. "We really thought life was simple back then."

You nod, your throat aching around the words you don’t say.

“It was."

But neither of you say what comes next.

And then we grew up. And then the future came, and it wasn’t what we thought it would be.

The candle between you flickers, melting wax pooling at its base, a slow and quiet loss.

Neither of you look at it.

The city air is thick with the scent of summer—warm pavement, melted sugar, a breeze that carries the laughter of passing strangers. The weight of the restaurant lingers on your skin, heavy with things unsaid, but you shake it off as you fall into step beside Hyunjin.

Because this part is familiar.

Your feet lead you down streets you’ve walked a hundred times before, toward a small ice cream shop nestled between brick buildings. The neon sign flickers faintly above the entrance, humming like a memory.

Hyunjin steps inside first, the bell above the door ringing softly. The cold air kisses your skin as you follow, a welcome contrast to the heat outside.

You don’t need to look at the menu. You both know exactly what you’re getting.

“Still sticking to that weird flavor?” Hyunjin teases as you place your order, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips.

You scoff. “Says the guy who gets matcha with honeycomb every single time.”

“It’s superior,” he argues, tapping his fingers against the counter as he waits for his turn.

“You’re just predictable.”

He nudges your side, and it’s so effortless, so natural, that for a moment, you forget about the space that’s grown between you. For a moment, it’s just like before—two people, two ridiculous ice cream flavors, the rest of the world forgotten.

The worker hands you your cup, the swirl of your favorite strange combination sitting prettily beneath the fluorescent lights. Hyunjin gets his next, and without thinking, you both grab a single plastic spoon from the counter, muscle memory guiding you.

Outside, the night stretches wide and endless. You find a spot on a quiet bench, the distant hum of traffic filling the silence between bites.

Hyunjin scoops a bit of his ice cream and holds it out to you. “Try it.”

You roll your eyes but lean in anyway, the cold sweetness melting on your tongue. “Tastes the same as always.”

“Exactly,” he says, and there’s something almost wistful in his tone.

You don’t comment on it.

Instead, you offer him a bite of yours, watching as his nose scrunches slightly at the first taste. “Still weird,” he says, swallowing.

You grin. “Still perfect.”

Hyunjin huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

But there’s no bite to it, no real protest. Just warmth. Just familiarity. Just the echo of a hundred nights like this, stretching all the way back to the beginning.

And then—

You see it.

Tucked between a souvenir shop and an old bookstore, almost hidden in the shadows of the alley, stands a photobooth.

Your breath catches.

It’s the same kind you used to squeeze into back in college, laughing as you rushed to pose before the flash went off. You’d always take two copies—one for your wallet, one for his.

It’s been years.

And yet, it’s right there.

Waiting.

Hyunjin follows your gaze, his own expression unreadable as he takes it in.

You turn to him, heart beating a little too fast. “Wanna take some pictures?”

For a second, he doesn’t say anything.

Then—

He smiles.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Let’s do it.”

Nice!📸🎞️…..

The walk to the photobooth is quiet, save for the soft scuff of your shoes against pavement. The streetlights buzz faintly overhead, casting a golden glow onto the cracked sidewalk.

The world outside feels far away, muffled beneath the thick velvet curtain. In here, it’s just the two of you—pressed close, knees knocking, shoulders brushing, hearts stumbling over a rhythm they once knew by heart.

The air smells of dust and old film, of something left behind but never quite forgotten. The seat beneath you creaks softly as you shift, but neither of you speak. Neither of you move away.

Hyunjin exhales, a quiet thing, barely there.

"Ready?"

His voice is softer than the hum of the machine, softer than the weight of this moment pressing against your ribs.

You nod.

Even though you’re not sure you are.

The screen flashes. The countdown begins.

Three. Two. One.

The first flash erupts like a second of frozen daylight, illuminating the space between you.

Click.

The first photo captures a smile—small, uncertain, but real. Hyunjin leans into you, his temple resting against yours, his warmth folding into your own. It feels like muscle memory, like slipping back into something that once felt easy. Like the space between then and now doesn’t exist at all.

The machine pauses, the gears turning, as if giving you time to soak in the moment before it moves on.

Another countdown.

Three. Two. One.

Click.

The second photo catches laughter mid-bloom—his fingers finding yours, tangling without hesitation, gripping tight. His palm is warm, steady, a quiet promise even if no words are spoken. The photo seals the moment in ink before you can second-guess it.

The machine hums again. The seconds between frames stretch longer this time, as if the world itself wants you to stay here, just a little while longer.

Three. Two. One.

Click.

The third photo is different.

Your smile fades. His eyes don’t move from yours. The space between you feels fragile, like it’s holding too much, like it might crack open if either of you breathe too hard. The camera flashes just as his thumb brushes against your cheek, tracing a path only he can see.

The machine hesitates, as if it knows what’s coming.

The final countdown.

Three. Two. One.

Click.📸

The last photo captures something softer, something heavier.

His lips press against yours, slow and reverent, not rushed like a stolen kiss but lingering like a goodbye. His hands cradle your face with the kind of care that makes your chest ache, like he’s afraid to let go. And maybe he is.

And maybe you are, too.

The machine whirs one last time, the mechanical hum cutting through the thick silence. A quiet offering. A moment turned into ink.

The strip of photos slides into the tray below, still warm to the touch, the images smudged slightly at the edges from the rush of printing.

You reach for it with trembling fingers.

Hyunjin watches you. You watch the photos.

Laughter. Light. Love. Something unspoken. Something breaking.

You don’t say anything when he takes them from your hands, folding them carefully, tucking them into his pocket like something precious. Like something irreplaceable.

Like proof.

Proof that this moment was real.

Proof that you both were once real.

this is so much fun!📸🎞️….

The train ride home is quiet, but the air between you hums with something neither of you acknowledge. Not yet.

Hyunjin sits beside you, his arm resting lazily along the back of the seat, fingertips brushing the curve of your shoulder every time the train jolts forward. He doesn’t move away. Neither do you.

The city lights blur past the window, streaks of gold and red against the dark. You watch them without really seeing, too aware of the warmth radiating from him, of the way his knee is just barely pressed against yours, of the photo strip tucked safely in his pocket.

You should say something. Maybe about the day, about how nice it was, about how things felt almost like they used to. Almost.

But you don’t.

Because something heavier lingers between you, settling into the spaces where words should be.

It doesn’t leave when you step off the train, nor when you walk side by side down the familiar streets leading home. It clings to the night air, thick with something unnamed.

By the time you reach your apartment, the silence between you has turned into something else entirely.

Something charged.

Something waiting.

Hyunjin follows you inside without question, slipping off his shoes, stretching his neck, rolling his shoulders. You watch the way his body moves, the way exhaustion clings to him—long trip, long day, but still, he’s here. Still, he came home to you.

And maybe that’s what undoes you.

Because it’s been a long time.

Yes, there have been nights tangled in sheets, breaths stolen between rushed touches, the comfort of familiarity in the dark.

But this is different.

This is longing, raw and unspoken, the kind that aches in your bones, in the spaces between your ribs. The kind that comes from missing someone who’s still right in front of you.

You step closer. Hyunjin watches you, his eyes dark, unreadable, but he doesn’t move back.

The air shifts. The city hums outside your window.

Then—

His hand lifts, fingertips ghosting along your jaw, tilting your face just enough for his gaze to catch yours.

There’s no hesitation this time.

Just warmth. Just need. Just the slow, inevitable pull of gravity between two people who have spent too long orbiting each other without colliding.

The air between you is thick with anticipation, every breath weighted, every glance stretching into something unspoken. The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows across your skin as your fingers find his—tentative at first, then surer, more desperate.

"You sure?" he murmurs, voice low, but the answer is already there in the way your body leans into his, in the quiet hitch of your breath when his thumb brushes over your wrist.

His hand trails along your arm, slow and reverent, as his lips find yours. The kiss starts soft, almost hesitant—until you sigh against his mouth, and then restraint crumbles like a sandcastle against the tide.

His lips barely leave yours when he speaks, voice dripping with something dark, something teasing.

"Do you wish to see me on my knees? Is that it, darling?"

The words send a shiver down your spine, pooling heat low in your stomach. His hands, warm and steady, skim down your sides, fingers pressing just enough to make you ache for more. He’s watching you now, waiting, eyes glinting in the dim light like he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it.

The air between you is thick—hot, electric. Your throat is dry, but your body answers for you, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him smirk.

"Say it," he breathes, sinking lower, lips grazing the bare skin of your stomach. "Let me hear you."

His breath shudders the moment your heel meets his chest, pressing him down with just enough force to keep him there—to make him feel it. His fingers flex at his sides, itching to touch you, but he doesn’t dare move. Not until you allow it.

"Beg," you say, tilting your head, voice smooth as silk. "Maybe I'll consider."

A desperate whimper escapes his throat before he can swallow it down. His head falls back against the floor, eyes glassy, lips parted as he struggles to breathe around the need clawing at his chest.

"Please," he gasps, voice wrecked, raw. "Please, I need you. I—" He swallows hard, his hands gripping the floor like it’s the only thing grounding him. "I'll do anything. Anything. Just—just tell me what you want, I'll give it to you. Just don’t leave me like this."

You press your heel down against his aching bulge just a little harder enough friction for him to get more desperate, watching the way his body trembles beneath you. His breath hitches, his hips twitching like he’s chasing even the ghost of your touch.

"Not good enough."

A strangled moan tears from his lips. He’s fully gone now, undone beneath you, pupils blown wide with something between desperation and devotion.

"Please," he pleads again, voice breaking. "Please, darling, let me have you. Let me worship you. I can’t—I can't take it. I need you."

His breath is ragged now, breaking apart at the seams as he presses the first kiss to your ankle. It’s shaky, barely controlled, and when he exhales, it comes out as a whimper—small, needy, like he’s unraveling right there beneath you.

"Please, baby..." His voice trembles, thick with desperation, but his eyes—God, his eyes—burn with something deeper, something wrecked. There's still that dominant fire flickering beneath the surface, but it’s fragile now, crumbling under the weight of his need.

His lips move higher, dragging along your calf in slow, reverent kisses. His hands fist against the floor like he’s forcing himself not to reach for you, but his whole body is shaking with restraint. Another kiss. Then another. A choked breath catches in his throat, and when you look down, his lashes are damp, eyes glassy, brimming with something raw and overwhelming.

"You—" His voice cracks, and he swallows hard, blinking rapidly like he’s trying to hold it together. But he can’t. He’s falling apart at your feet, unraveling beneath your touch, your presence, the unbearable distance between what he wants and what he’s allowed.

"I haven’t had you in so long," he whispers, and this time, a tear slips down his cheek, trailing over the flushed skin of his face. His forehead presses against your thigh as he takes a shuddering breath, clinging to the moment, to you, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Then, quieter, so soft it nearly breaks you— "I’ve missed you. I need you. Please."

He lifts his head again, looking up at you through wet lashes, lips parted, eyes pleading. He’s never looked more vulnerable, more undone, more yours.

When Hyunjin’s lips trailed lower, slow and reverent, his fingers followed, tracing along the curve of your waist like he was memorizing you. When he reached the waistband of your underwear, his hand slipped around to the front, palm pressing firmly against your heat.

A sharp gasp left your lips, body shuddering beneath the delicate graze of his fingers. He moved torturously slow, stroking over the thin fabric, back and forth, his touch featherlight—just enough to tease, just enough to make need coil tight in your stomach. The ache of it spilled from your throat in a quiet, frustrated whimper.

"You’re wearing too much," Hyunjin murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. There’s no teasing in it this time—just quiet urgency, something fragile, something aching. "Let me see you. Let me remember you."

His fingers glide up from your stomach, slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. When he reaches the ties of your top, he undoes them carefully, his breath unsteady, his hands trembling just the slightest bit. The moment the fabric loosens, he exhales sharply, almost as if it hurts.

He pulls it down in one smooth motion, but there’s nothing hurried in the way he touches you. His gaze roams over you like he’s seeing you for the first time, like he’s seeing you for the last. His hands follow, cupping you with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. His thumbs ghost over your skin, reverent, lingering—memorizing.

"You’re perfect," he breathes, but his voice cracks at the end, betraying him. His fingers tighten, not out of lust, but something deeper, something desperate—like he’s trying to hold onto this moment, onto you, before it slips through his fingers.

Then, slowly, he leans in. His lips press to your skin, warm and trembling. His tongue drags through the valley of your breasts, slow, savoring, as if he’s trying to carve the taste of you into his memory forever. A quiet sound escapes you, a soft whimper, and he shudders against you, his grip tightening as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"I don’t want this to end," he whispers, voice wrecked. "I don’t want to let you go."

His forehead rests against your chest for a fleeting moment, breath uneven, eyes squeezed shut. Then he kisses you again, deeper this time, like he’s pouring every unspoken word into it.

Like he’s trying to make you remember him, too.

Hyunjin only hummed in response, low and pleased, as his lips continued their descent. But his ministrations turned hungrier, rougher—his hands gripping tighter, his mouth trailing back up to your chest with newfound urgency. He all but worshipped you, lips closing around the peak of your breast, his tongue soothing over sensitive skin before his teeth scraped just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

He sucked greedily, desperately, like he was trying to drown himself in the taste of you. His free hand tangled in the sheets, as if even that wasn’t enough to hold him steady, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured between kisses, voice breathless, aching. "I’ve missed you. I need you." his fingers playing with the cotton that covered your core, "you're already so wet baby.”

He moved down and brought your panties with him. His breath hits your core, "You smell, sweet." he adds before kissing your pussy, prompting you to groan.

"Is that okay baby?” Hyunjin says with a soft hum lifting his head. "Fuck that’s so good hyune" you say breathlessly. Hyunjin licks your pussy and sucks on your clit, forcing you to groan somewhat louder. you gasp as his tongue begins to draw circles on your clit. Your hands travel to his hair, grabbing the his soft black locks.

the feeling of Hyunjin’s warm breath hitting your core felt as if your toes where curling so hard and his tongue making swirls around your clit was a feeling you've never felt before. sloppy sucking down you clit.

The sensation of his lips around your clit, his tongue slipping hot and heavy between your folds, and his long, thick fingers diving into your cunt and perfectly curling against your sweet spot are all assaulting.

The pleasure is almost intolerable, but in the most wonderful way, as his fingers slowly fuck you, filling you up so deeply and drawing you nearer the brink with experienced ease. a sharp contrast to the way he sucked at your clit, with his mouth hot and moist and with his cute pink pouty lips swollen.

He then made the decision to roughly push your thighs up till they struck your chest. He then eats you like a ravenous animal, groaning and grunting into your heat while simultaneously spreading his two fingers separating your glistening entrance as his tongue and lips abusing your pussy, sloppy sucking your clit taking turns pushing his tongue down your pussy.

Tonight seemed to be all about you, him, and your wishes. And you and your sweet pussy were all that mattered in his head right now . He presses his tongue as deep into your gut as possible, giving you a better feeling than you could have ever dreamed.

You get euphoric from the constant, sloppy kitten licks and the pumps that come in and go out of your pussy. With every pump and lick, you can feel the knots in your stomach and back starting to arch more and more. Eventually, you make the most obscene sounds, which might wake up your neighbors enough to say, "fuck, Hyunjin!" As you arrive, you feel Hyunjin lick it clean, using only his tongue to clean you up.

Hyunjin leans back, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of heavy breaths. His skin glows under the dim light, a few strands of damp hair sticking to his forehead. But his eyes—his eyes are fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

You’re still catching your breath when he reaches out, fingers tracing the edge of your jaw, then lower, brushing over your collarbone like he’s memorizing the moment. A slow smirk tugs at his lips.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice thick, still laced with what just happened.

A scoff leaves your lips, but the way your body reacts betrays you—heat rushing to your face, your pulse still thrumming under your skin. “Says you,” you shoot back, but your voice is softer than you intend.

He hums, tilting his head as if considering something, then leans in, his lips barely grazing yours. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just lingering.

“Round two?” he teases against your mouth, and you feel the curve of his smirk.

Your breath hitches, fingers tightening against the sheets. “You’re impossible.”

His laughter is warm, low, sending a shiver down your spine. “And yet, you’re still here.”

And just like that, the fire between you isn’t quite out yet.

📸🎞️…..

The morning is slow. Soft.

Golden light spills through the curtains, warming the sheets tangled between you. The room smells like sleep and skin, like something tender, something lived in.

You wake to the weight of Hyunjin beside you, his warmth seeping into the spaces where the covers don’t reach. He’s already awake, lying on his side, watching you with an expression you can’t quite place.

You blink up at him, your body still heavy with sleep, with the remnants of last night. The air between you is different now—still full, still charged, but quieter.

Like something has settled.

Like something has been understood.

He reaches out, tracing a slow, lazy path along your arm with the back of his fingers. It’s not rushed, not with intent—just touching for the sake of it, for the comfort of knowing you’re here.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

Hyunjin huffs out a quiet laugh but doesn’t look away. “So are you.”

You don’t deny it.

Because how could you? When he’s right there, when the morning sun catches in his hair, when his eyes are softer than they’ve been in a long time?

When he’s finally within reach?

For a moment, neither of you speak. There’s nothing to say. Or maybe there’s too much.

Then—

“Get up,” he says, voice light, teasing. “We’re going somewhere.”

You frown, stretching your arms above your head before sinking deeper into the pillows. “Where?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, already pushing himself upright, the blankets slipping from his shoulders. “It’s a surprise.”

You raise a brow. “A surprise?”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “Do you not trust me?”

You hum, considering. “That depends. Are you taking me somewhere ridiculous?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “Define ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no real protest behind it. Because the way he’s looking at you now—the way he’s trying, in the way only Hyunjin knows how—makes your chest ache.

You sigh, dramatic, pushing yourself up beside him. “Fine. But if this surprise is awful, I’m making you buy me lunch.”

Hyunjin grins. “Deal.”

He stands, stretching, the soft glow of morning painting over the lines of his back. You watch him for a second longer before following, shaking off sleep, shaking off whatever still lingers in your chest.

You don’t know where you’re going.

But when Hyunjin takes your hand, guiding you toward the unknown—

You think maybe it doesn’t matter.

The streets hum beneath you, the morning light catching on storefront windows, washing everything in soft gold. The city is waking up—slow, steady—but the world feels smaller from where you sit. Just you, Hyunjin, and the hum of something unspoken between you.

The motorcycle waits by the curb, just like it used to.

Hyunjin runs a hand over the seat, the familiar weight of nostalgia settling over his shoulders. You know the feeling—it’s there, thick in your throat, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breathe.

It’s been years. But it looks the same.

He turns to you, tossing a helmet into your hands. “Still remember how to get on?”

You scoff, slipping it over your head. “I should be asking you that.”

Hyunjin only grins, sliding onto the seat, body moving like second nature. He watches as you follow, arms looping around his waist without hesitation, the way you always used to.

And just like that—

You’re back.

Back to long rides with no destination. Back to wind pulling through your hair, back to the sound of an engine replacing the noise in your head.

Back to a time when the future was uncertain—when everything was messy, and unclear, and terrifying—

But somehow, still better.

Hyunjin squeezes the throttle, and the world moves beneath you.

The city blurs past in streaks of color, buildings shifting into nothing but shapes. Your grip tightens around him, the leather of his jacket cool beneath your fingers, his warmth seeping through.

You close your eyes.

Breathe.

Try to hold onto the moment before it slips away.

Because if you could—

You’d go back.

Back to then.

Back to when everything felt simpler.

Back to when you had all the time in the world.

The wind is crisp against your skin, sharp where it slips past the collar of your jacket, but you don’t care. Not when the world is rushing past you in streaks of color, not when your arms are wrapped securely around Hyunjin’s waist.

The motorcycle hums beneath you, steady, rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Like something alive.

Hyunjin rides like he always has—effortlessly, leaning into every turn like second nature. The city bends and blurs around you, golden light bouncing off glass windows, the streets buzzing with life. You pass familiar landmarks, places that once held meaning, places where time used to stand still.

A café where you’d spend lazy afternoons, your fingers sticky with melted chocolate from the pastries he’d always insist on sharing.

A bookstore where he once fell asleep in a chair, a poetry book open in his lap, his face slack with exhaustion but so, so beautiful in the soft glow of the overhead lights.

A bridge where you stood together in the middle of the night, watching your breath curl into the cold air, making wishes on city lights instead of stars.

Everything has changed, but the streets remember.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you could be going back. Back to a time when the future was uncertain but bright, when all that mattered was the next adventure, the next moment, the next ride.

You close your eyes and lean into him, the scent of leather and the faintest trace of his cologne grounding you.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel lost.

But then—

A flash of movement.

Too close.

Too fast.

A sound—metal shrieking against pavement, sharp and unnatural.

Hyunjin tenses beneath your grip.

And then the world tilts.

The impact is sudden. Unforgiving.

One moment, you are flying—weightless, untethered, slipping through time and space.

The next, you are hitting the ground.

Pain explodes through you, white-hot and searing, ripping through every nerve like fire. The pavement is hard beneath you, unyielding, the breath forced from your lungs on impact. Your body skids against the asphalt, the rough surface tearing at fabric, at skin.

The world spins wildly, colors bleeding together. Screams. The screech of tires. Distant, muffled voices.

Everything is too loud, yet somehow, the only thing you hear is silence.

The silence where Hyunjin’s voice should be.

Your vision blurs as you force your body to move, every muscle screaming in protest. You turn your head, just barely, just enough—

And then you see him.

Hyunjin.

Sprawled out on the pavement, a few feet away.

Unmoving.

Something inside you shatters, the kind of breaking that doesn’t make a sound but destroys everything in its wake.

“No,” your voice is weak, barely there, drowned out by the noise around you.

You try to reach for him, fingers trembling, but your body won’t listen. Pain pulses through you, unbearable, crushing.

Hyunjin, please.

Move.

Breathe.

Look at me.

But he doesn’t.

The world tilts again, the edges of your vision darkening, pulling you under.

You fight it.

You try to stay.

But the last thing you see is Hyunjin’s still form, the blood staining the pavement beneath him.

And then—

Nothing.

📸🎞️….

The first thing you notice is the beeping.

Soft, rhythmic, steady—pulling you from the depths of unconsciousness. It echoes in the quiet, a sound too artificial, too detached. Not the hum of a motorcycle beneath you, not the laughter of the city, not the warmth of a voice calling your name.

Just machines.

Just the sterile scent of antiseptic and something metallic.

Your body feels heavy, like you are made of stone, like the weight of the world has settled into your bones. It takes everything in you to pry your eyes open, to let the blinding white of the hospital room seep into your vision.

A slow inhale. Your ribs ache.

A slow exhale. Something in your chest tightens.

You’re alive.

The realization doesn’t bring relief.

Your eyes move sluggishly, searching, finding nothing but the empty chair beside your bed. There’s no warmth in the sheets, no lingering presence in the room. Just the quiet hum of machines.

Just the hollow ache in your chest.

You try to move, but pain splinters through your limbs, sharp and cruel, pinning you in place. Your throat is dry, lips cracked, body screaming in protest. But none of it compares to the cold dread creeping up your spine.

Something is missing.

Something is wrong.

Then—

The door creaks open. A familiar face steps inside—someone you know, someone who shouldn’t be crying but is. Their lips part, but no words come. Just grief, raw and unbearable, written in the lines of their face.

And in that moment—

You know.

Before they even speak, before the words can leave their trembling lips—

You know.

Your heart stops. Your breath catches, a sharp, strangled thing.

No.

Not him.

Not Hyunjin.

The world tilts, lurches violently beneath you. A sob claws its way up your throat, but it never fully forms, never escapes. It gets stuck somewhere deep inside, tangled in the disbelief, the denial, the devastation.

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, desperate for something—anything—to hold onto.

“Hyunjin…” his name slips past your lips, a whisper, a prayer, a plea.

They hesitate. Then, quietly, painfully—

“He’s gone.”

Gone.

The word shatters through you, a brutal, unforgiving thing.

Gone.

Like he was never here.

Like the laughter, the dreams, the late-night rides—like he—

Was never here.

Your breath comes in short, uneven gasps, the hospital walls closing in around you. The beeping of the machines quickens, but it’s distant, insignificant, nothing compared to the unbearable weight settling over you.

“Why…” your voice trembles, weaker than you want it to be. “Why not me?”

No one answers.

No one can.

Because there’s no answer that could ever make this okay.

Hyunjin—who was so full of life, who worked so hard, who was meant to do so many things—

Is gone.

And you—who never had a clear path, who never knew what to do with yourself, who was supposed to go first—

Are still here.

The injustice of it all crushes you, makes you want to scream, makes you want to disappear.

Tears burn hot against your skin, slipping past the barrier you tried to keep up. Your chest heaves with the force of your grief, with the unbearable ache of missing someone who should still be here.

Hyunjin should be here.

Hyunjin should be the one waking up, staring at an empty chair, asking why you’re not there instead.

Not you.

Not you.

But the universe doesn’t care.

And the machines keep beeping.

The house feels different now.

It’s quieter—too quiet. The kind of silence that seeps into your bones, pressing against your ribs until it hurts to breathe.

You step inside, the air thick with absence, with memories suspended in dust and dim light. Hyunjin’s presence lingers in everything—his shoes still neatly placed by the door, his jacket draped over the back of the chair, the faintest trace of his cologne clinging to the fabric of the couch.

Like he’s just out running errands.

Like he’ll walk through the door any minute now, laughing about something ridiculous, tossing his keys onto the counter, looking at you like you are the only thing in the world that matters.

But he won’t.

He never will again.

The weight of it crashes into you all at once.

Your knees buckle.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until the tears blur your vision, until the sound of your own sobs fills the empty space.

You stumble forward, searching, needing—something, anything.

And then you see it.

The plant.

Hyunjin’s favorite.

The one he took care of religiously, whispering to it like it could hear him, adjusting its place by the window to make sure it got just the right amount of sunlight.

Your hands tremble as you reach for it, wrapping your arms around the ceramic vase, holding it to your chest like it’s him, like it’s the last piece of him you can still touch.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for—maybe for not stopping him, for not being the one to go instead, for still being here when he’s not.

Your body shakes with the force of your grief, tears soaking into the fabric of your clothes, into the soil of the plant he loved so much.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Nothing feels real.

The hours pass in a haze.

The sky shifts from gray to black, the house sinking deeper into shadow, but you don’t move. You stay curled on the floor, clutching what’s left of him, drowning in a sadness so heavy it feels impossible to climb out of.

But then—

A thought. A pull.

The police station.

You don’t know what drives you there—anger, desperation, the need for answers—but suddenly, you’re moving.

Your body feels disconnected from your mind as you slip on your shoes, as you grab Hyunjin’s jacket—the one still carrying the faintest trace of him—and drape it over your shoulders.

You walk through the streets like a ghost, barely aware of the world around you. The city hums with life, oblivious, uncaring.

None of them know.

None of them feel it.

How the world has tilted off its axis.

How nothing will ever be the same.

By the time you push open the heavy doors of the police station, your hands are shaking.

Someone approaches you, their face unreadable, their words a blur.

You swallow hard, forcing out the only thing that matters.

“The accident,” you say, voice hoarse, raw. “I need to know what happened.”

The police station smells like paper and coffee gone stale. Like cold metal and quiet indifference.

You stand there, trembling, fists clenched at your sides, Hyunjin’s jacket hanging loosely from your shoulders. It feels too big now. Too empty.

The officer in front of you—Chief something, you don’t remember his name—leans back in his chair, fingers laced together. His expression is unreadable, his voice calm, too calm, as if he’s talking about something insignificant.

As if Hyunjin was insignificant.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But there’s nothing we can do.”

The words hit like a slap.

Nothing?

Nothing?

You blink at him, disbelief cracking through your grief like lightning splitting the sky.

Hyunjin is dead. Gone. His laughter, his dreams, his entire existence—wiped out in an instant. And they’re telling you there’s nothing?

“You don’t understand,” you choke out, voice shaking, barely holding together. “It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t—”

The officer exhales, slow and deliberate, like he’s already tired of this conversation.

“There were no other vehicles involved,” he says. “No reckless drivers. No drunk drivers. Just you two.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a noose tightening around your throat.

Just you two.

Like Hyunjin's death was an accident you created.

Like you are to blame.

Like you should’ve died instead.

Your hands curl into fists, nails biting into your palms, grounding you in pain.

“So that’s it?” Your voice wavers between hysteria and rage. “He just dies, and no one cares? No one takes responsibility?”

The officer sighs. “I understand you’re grieving—”

“No, you don’t.”

Your voice is sharp, shaking, cracking in the middle. The room tilts, your breath coming too fast, too ragged.

You slam your hands onto the desk. “Hyunjin worked for everything. He fought for everything. He deserved more than this—more than some half-assed excuse that ‘there’s nothing you can do.’”

The officer watches you, expression impassive. “We reviewed the reports. The road was slick. Speed was a factor. And you both made that choice.”

That choice.

As if Hyunjin chose to die.

As if you chose this.

“You’re saying it was our fault.”

The officer doesn’t answer.

And that’s all you need.

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes you—raw, broken, ripped from the hollow space inside your chest.

“Then what?” Your voice rises, thick with grief, anger, devastation. “Do I get to pay for it too? Do I get to carry his death like it’s some kind of debt?”

The officer clears his throat, eyes flicking downward.

And then— “You do owe a debt.”

The world stops.

“What?”

He gestures vaguely toward a file on his desk, words clipped, clinical. “The damage caused by the accident. Medical expenses. Compensation for public property repairs. You’re the only one left. It falls on you.”

You stare at him.

Something inside you fractures beyond repair.

Hyunjin is gone. You woke up to an empty world, to a home that no longer feels like home, to a future that doesn’t even feel like yours anymore.

And now they’re telling you that you owe something for it?

That Hyunjin’s life has a price tag, and you’re the one stuck paying it? Something explodes inside you.

Your vision blurs with rage, grief, unbearable sorrow. Your hands grip the edges of the desk, white-knuckled, the room spinning around you.

And then—

You shove everything off his desk.

The files, the papers, the neatly stacked reports—scattering like falling leaves, like a life unraveling.

The coffee cup tips over, liquid spilling, staining the floor like blood.

“I owe nothing,” you spit, voice shaking with the weight of every sleepless night, every sob you swallowed down, every second you’ve had to exist in this nightmare alone.

“I lost everything—” your breath stutters, catches, but you don’t stop—“and you’re telling me I have to pay for it?”

The officer stands, eyes sharp now, jaw tight.

“Miss, you need to calm down.”

Calm down.

Calm down.

Like this is a misunderstanding. Like you’re overreacting. Like they’re not trying to put a price on the one person you loved most.

Something inside you snaps.

Your hands shake as you grab the first thing you see—a stapler, something useless, something meaningless—and hurl it across the room. It smashes against the wall, clattering to the floor, but it does nothing to release the unbearable agony clawing at your chest.

“I should’ve died,” you whisper, voice hoarse.

The words feel foreign, like they belong to someone else, like you’re hearing them from outside your body. But they’re yours. They’re real.

Because if Hyunjin had to be gone—if the universe took him so cruelly, so easily—then why did it leave you behind?

Why not you?

Why not you?

No one answers.

No one ever does.

The rain comes down in waves. Heavy. Unforgiving.

It soaks into the pavement, into the fabric of Hyunjin’s jacket, into your skin. The cold settles deep into your bones, but you don’t shiver. You just walk.

You don’t know where you’re going.

The world moves around you—cars rushing past, headlights cutting through the downpour, strangers weaving through the streets with their umbrellas held high, safe under the illusion of shelter.

But you don’t have an umbrella.

All you have is Hyunjin’s jacket.

It hangs off your frame, too big now, weighed down by rain and memories. You clutch the lapels, pulling it tighter around yourself, as if that will bring him closer, as if the fabric still carries the warmth of him. But the scent—his scent—is fading. The rain washes it away, leaving behind nothing but the sharp sting of reality.

You inhale sharply, but it does nothing to steady you.

The air feels different tonight. Heavier. Thicker with something unspoken.

And then—

You see it.

The photo booth.

It’s tucked in the same place as before, wedged between a convenience store and a rundown café. The sign flickers weakly, half the bulbs burnt out, the edges of the metal rusted with time.

But it’s still there.

Like a ghost. Like an echo. Like a piece of your past frozen in place, waiting for you to come back.

Your breath stutters.

The last time you were here, Hyunjin was beside you.

His laughter had filled the cramped space, his hand warm against yours, his voice teasing when he leaned in, murmuring, Let’s make this one special.

You take a step forward. Then another.

The rain drums against the metal roof, trickling down in uneven streams. Your fingers hover over the peeling edge of the curtain, hesitating.

The sample photos outside are still there.

Rows of lovers frozen in time.

Some are laughing, their mouths open mid-joy, their heads thrown back like nothing in the world could ever touch them. Others are kissing, soft and slow, their fingers tangled in each other’s hair, lips pressed together in a moment so full it hurts to look at.

And then there’s you.

Your photo strip—creased, tucked into a pocket somewhere you can’t bring yourself to look.

You close your eyes, and suddenly, you’re there again.

The dim glow of the booth casting shadows across Hyunjin’s face.

The way he looked at you, eyes full of something you couldn’t name.

The way he leaned in, his breath warm against your lips, whispering, One more shot.

The way he kissed you.

Slow. Desperate. Like he knew.

Like he already knew.

Your fingers tighten around the jacket.

You step back.

The city blurs, neon lights smearing against the rain-soaked pavement, car horns distant and muffled. Everything feels wrong. Off.

Because this isn’t just a photo booth.

It’s a graveyard of what could’ve been.

Of stolen moments and unspoken words. Of a boy who loved you and a future that never got the chance to exist.

Your breath shudders out of you, uneven.

You press your forehead against the cold metal, eyes squeezed shut, heart unraveling.

And for the first time since the accident, since the hospital, since the funeral you couldn’t bring yourself to attend—

You break.

The rain keeps falling. And you let it.

You’re attention then suddenly shifts to the fluorescent lights of the convenience store hum softly, buzzing like a mosquito against your skull. It’s too bright in here, too sterile. The air smells like cheap instant coffee and something fried in oil that’s been used one too many times.

Your fingers trail over the condensation on the drink cooler before grabbing something—anything. It doesn’t matter. You just need something to hold. Something to fill the space in your hands.

And then, as if it’s second nature, you reach for a pack of cigarettes.

You’ve never smoked before.

But Hyunjin used to.

Only when he was stressed, only when the weight of everything felt too much to carry. You used to scold him for it, stealing the pack from his hands, laughing when he pouted. This is bad for you, Jinnie.

But he would just smile, lazy, tired, leaning into you like he could pour all of his exhaustion into your body and you would carry it for him.

You know.

The memory stings.

At the counter, the cashier barely looks at you as he rings up your items, eyes glued to his phone. You slide over a few bills, take your change, and walk out without a word.

The rain hasn’t let up.

It spills from the sky in thick sheets, running down your face, your hands, your lips. You don’t bother finding shelter. You just stand there, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, staring at nothing.

Your fingers fumble as you try to light it. The rain makes it impossible, but you keep flicking the lighter, over and over, until finally—

A small flame.

You inhale, and the smoke burns down your throat, settling deep in your lungs. The taste is bitter, acrid. It doesn’t feel good. But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe you need to feel something bad. Something sharp enough to carve through the numbness.

The city moves around you—people rushing to get out of the rain, the sound of tires slicing through puddles, distant voices, distant lives. None of it touches you.

You exhale, watching the smoke curl in the air, and for a moment, it almost looks like Hyunjin’s breath in the cold.

Like the nights you’d sit on your dorm balcony, wrapped in mismatched blankets, watching the city blink below you.

Like the way he’d sigh after a long day, leaning his head on your shoulder, murmuring, We should just disappear, you know?

Like the ghost of a life that was once yours.

Your eyes drift.

And then you see it.

The photo booth.

Still there. Still waiting.

The dim glow inside flickers weakly, a heartbeat barely holding on. The rain slides down its sides, pooling at its base, but it doesn’t wash it away. Nothing ever does.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

It’s just a machine. A box full of old film and cheap wiring. A relic of something outdated, something useless.

But tonight, it feels alive.

Like it’s breathing. Watching. Waiting.

You take another drag of the cigarette, but your hands are shaking now.

It’s drawing you in.

Pulling you back.

The past calls your name, and you don’t have the strength to ignore it.

Your feet move before you can stop them.

One step. Then another.

The cigarette burns between your fingers, the rain drips from your lashes, the weight in your chest grows heavier with every breath.

And the closer you get, the louder the silence becomes.

The rain has soaked through your clothes, through your skin, through the marrow of your bones. It drips from your fingertips as you pull back the curtain of the photo booth, stepping inside as if crossing the threshold of something sacred.

Inside, the air is still—thick with the scent of old film, of dust and something metallic, like rusted memories trapped between the walls. It’s colder in here, untouched by time, untouched by anything beyond its own quiet existence.

You sit down slowly, the wooden bench creaking beneath your weight.

Everything is the same.

The same dim light flickering above you, casting soft shadows over the tiny space. The same peeling instructions plastered to the wall, warning you to sit still, to prepare for the shutter. The same sample photos lining the side—strangers frozen in laughter, in love, in something fleeting but *real.*

Your fingers trace the edge of the machine, feeling the chipped paint, the etchings left behind by people who once sat where you are now.

Hyunjin had sat here.

With you.

Your hand drifts to your pocket, feeling the worn edges of the photo strip you’ve carried for so long. You don’t pull it out. You already know what it looks like.

Click. The first frame—his smile, soft and easy, the kind that felt like home.

Click. The second—your fingers intertwined, the warmth of his hand in yours.

Click. The third—his eyes lingering, his touch hesitant, as if memorizing the shape of you.

Click. The last—his lips pressed to yours, not in playfulness, not in haste, but in something desperate. Something aching. A kiss that felt like an ending before you even knew it was one.

Your chest tightens.

Your gaze shifts to the coin slot.

The price hasn’t changed.

Just a few spare coins to capture a moment. To make it real.

You reach into your pocket, fingers brushing against cold metal before dropping it into the machine.

The coin clinks, disappearing into the abyss.

The machine hums, groaning as it wakes, gears turning, light flickering.

The countdown begins.

Three…

The first flash explodes, white-hot against your vision.

Click.

You stare at the camera. Blank. Empty. Your reflection is barely visible in the smudged glass. A hollow version of yourself.

Two…

Your throat tightens. Your hands curl into fists. The grief sits heavy, pressing against your ribs, clawing its way up.

The second flash goes off.

Click.

Your eyes shine with something unspoken. Tears threaten to spill.

One…

The dam breaks.

A sob tears through you, raw and violent, shaking your shoulders, ripping from somewhere deep inside—somewhere untouched, somewhere ruined.

The camera captures it.

Click.

The third frame freezes you mid-collapse. A portrait of grief.

A monument to loss.

Zero.

But something is wrong.

The machine groans, shuddering beneath you, its heartbeat uneven. The air shifts—thick, suffocating. The walls feel closer now, pressing in, wrapping around you like hands, like arms, like the past refusing to let go.

The final flash is different.

It isn’t just light.

It’s blinding.

It consumes everything.

You don’t even have time to gasp before it swallows you whole.

And then—

Nothing.

The world disappears.

No sound. No breath. No weight.

Only darkness.

Only silence.

Outside, the rain falls.

The machine hums.

And the photo strip slides out with a soft mechanical whisper, curling into the tray—

A story captured in ink.

A love caught between light and time.

©️strangevynl ; Hello I hope everyone is doing well! I’ve been working on this story for months and just didn’t have the motivation to write it down. This story was heavily inspired by straywrds one of my favorite writers in stayblr and their writing really amazes me every time. but I will soon post part 2, sorry if this was quite lengthy but it’s for the plot. That’s all please take care of yourself ^^

taglist for this mini series🏷️; none yet!

[appleepies]

while you were gone I couldn't stop thinking about femcellie (I need help) and I thought... ellie can draw, right? so I imagined she'd totally draw herself with her favorite characters or even reader ‹3

Yes Ellie would draw her fav characters, that’s how it’d start. Watching endless drawing tutorials on YouTube when she was younger just to be able to put her dirty fantasies to paper. And then it’d progress to drawing you, drawing you in scenes and positions she wanted to put you, way before they even happened. She’d start by imagining you with your top off, the colour of your nipples, if your ass had cellulite, stretch marks, the wideness of your hips. She’d filled entire pages once with just drawing what she thought your body looked like.

But then when she actually had you, actually felt the fat of your hips spill through her fingers. Actually cupped the fat of your ass, squeezed and caressed it. And actually tasted the sweetness of your nipples in her mouth, then Ellie would go from filling pages to filling entire journals. Filling them with scenes of you, lewd and non-lewd. With images of the time ice cream dripped down into your cleavage, and the time you fell asleep on her chest, or the time she could see your underwear through your sheer leggings, the first time she came all over your face and hair, the time you wore a microbikini to the beach and made her wrap her arms around you for some more coverage, the time she added little beads to your hair and you were so ecstatic.

She’ll add an entry when you’re asleep, when you’re gone, when you’re at school, when you’re on FaceTime but have gone quiet. She finds it meditative. It feels like practicing drawing the most beautiful landscape, getting better and better. More detailed and pronounced. Her memories printed on paper with graphite.

[gohyemi]

the curse fate

Part 3

Jeonghan and Y/N had agreed to take things slow, to truly get to know one another. In the weeks that followed that turn into months, they went on countless dates—each one somehow better than the last. Movie nights, spontaneous lunch meetups, late-night drives, and even the occasional sleepover where they'd fall asleep mid-conversation, hearts full and content.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to learn more about him. Turns out, Jeonghan only worked part-time at Mingyu’s café for fun. His real job? A lawyer. That explained why he was so sharp with his words and could win any argument they had in mere seconds. But despite his silver tongue and clever comebacks, Y/N had discovered his one weakness: her pout. One well-timed pout, and Jeonghan would crumble like a house of cards.

As for Y/N, she worked as a doctor at a clinic just a few doors down from Mingyu's café. Lately, the clinic has been busier than usual, with a steady stream of patients coming in and out each day. Meanwhile, Jeonghan was caught up in one of the biggest cases—a high-profile money laundering case that demanded long hours, endless research, and constant court appearances.

As a result, the time they spent together had grown scarce. Their usual coffee breaks turned into brief text exchanges, and late-night phone calls were often cut short by exhaustion. They both understood—it was life, and they had responsibilities—but that didn’t make the distance any easier.

“Only one cone?” Y/N asked with a teasing raise of her brow.

So they agreed to end the week with something simple: ice cream and a sunset.

Jeonghan smirked as he held up the single cone between them. “One cone, two spoons. Romantic, right?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. “You just didn’t want to spend extra money, admit it.”

“Hey,” he nudged her gently with his elbow, “this is my love language, sharing things.” he leaned in with that charming grin of his, “sharing tastes sweeter when it's with you.”

She flushed, trying to hide it by licking the ice cream first.

As they sat down on a grassy hill, the sky painted in warm hues of orange and pink, their fingers brushed and eventually intertwined. No glowing strings this time. Just warmth.

“You know,” Jeonghan said softly, watching the horizon, “if fate really did tie us together with those bracelets… I think I’m starting to believe it wasn’t a mistake.”

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, smiling into the fading sunlight. “Me too.”

As Jeonghan walked Y/N to her apartment, a sudden voice called out from behind.

"Hannie?"

Both of them turned toward the sound. A girl was approaching—dressed with turtle neck covered from head to toe despite the hot weather. Before either of them could react, she threw her arms around Jeonghan and hugged him tightly, clinging to his neck as if she belonged there.

Y/N stood frozen, her smile slowly fading.

Jeonghan's expression immediately changed. His eyes hardened, and his body stiffened. Without causing a scene, he gently but firmly removed the girl's arms from around him.

“Wha- Why are you here, Nara-shi?” He asked 

Jeonghan’s tone was polite, but his posture said otherwise. He stepped slightly back, instinctively moving closer to Y/N.

The girl pouted, clearly unbothered by the tension she had just stirred. “What? I haven’t seen you in so long, Hannie. Thought you’d be happy to see me.”

Jeonghan didn’t smile. Instead, he glanced at Y/N, whose eyes had dropped to the ground, as he about to hold her hands she crossed her arms as if to shield herself.

The girl looked between the two and smirked. “Girlfriend?”

“Soulmate,” Jeonghan said without hesitation.

The girl blinked, her smirk fading. “Oh… wow. Didn’t think you were into those types of things .”

She turned to Y/N and gave a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well… hope you two last.”

Then, with a flip of her hair, she added with a sly grin, “Hannie, if you ever find yourself single again, you know where to find me.”

With a soft, mocking laugh, she finally turned and walked away.

Y/N stood frozen, arms folded across her chest. She didn’t say anything at first, but her eyes were clearly fixed on the spot where the girl had disappeared.

“Im so sorry for that love”

A pause. Then, Y/N let out a small sigh.

“That was really awkward. And lowkey humiliating.”

Just then, a familiar sensation wrapped around their wrists.

Both of them glanced down as the thread connecting their bracelets began to glow softly and tighten once more—gentle, warm, insistent. 

“You know,” Y/N said quietly, eyes lingering on the bracelet around her wrist, “it’s been a while since this thing acted up.”

Jeonghan glanced at her, then down at his own wrist, Y/N met his gaze. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. But when she looked into his eyes, something in her chest softened. There was warmth there. Familiarity. But also mystery. As much as they’d shared, there were still parts of him she hadn’t seen.

“Who is she?” she finally asked, voice low but steady.

Jeonghan blinked, He looked away briefly, lips pressing into a thin line before he sighed and Jeonghan reached out and gently took her hand.

“Someone from the past,” he said after a beat. “We weren’t really… anything serious. Not officially, at least. She wanted something casual. And at the time, I convinced myself I wanted the same.”

Y/N watched him, waiting.

“I ended this casual thing a long time ago. If you dont believe me, you can ask Mingyu. Really!" he put his hand on his chest

"But I guess she thought she could still show up whenever she wanted."

She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing. “I’m not asking for every detail,” she said softly, her gaze warm. “But… thank you for being honest with me.”

Jeonghan smiled, a little relieved. “Anytime, love. I have many pasts,” he said, eyes gentle, “but that one? I wish you wouldn’t worry about it. I swear with our bracelet that its not happening again.”

Y/N gave a small nod, a smile tugging at her lips. But then she raised a brow, tilting her head slightly.

“Is there more, Jeonghan-ssi?” she asked playfully. “I don’t want to wake up one day and suddenly find out you actually have a wife and four children hiding somewhere.”

Jeonghan let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back. “A wife and four kids? Woman, how bad do you think I am?”

“I don’t know,” she teased. “You give off this mysterious ‘I have many secret’ sometimes.”

He leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I swear on this bracelet—and maybe our future dog’s life—I have no hidden family, no secret, and definitely no kids. Unless you’re planning on giving me one someday.”

Y/N gasped dramatically, swatting his arm. “Jeonghan!”

“Just one!” he laughed. “Or two, if they inherit your stubbornness and my charm.”

She shook her head, laughing with him, their fingers intertwined naturally— the string of fate knew exactly what it was doing.

- after a few weeks -

The room is quiet, tense with the weight of final judgment. All eyes are on Jeonghan, standing tall before the judge and jury. His voice is calm, persuasive—years of experience backing every word.

“Your honour, the evidence presented today points clearly—undeniably—to the truth.” Jeonghan point out.

But then—a sudden pulse of heat shoots through his wrist.

He flinches—just slightly—but enough to make the paper in his hand tremble. Underneath his tailored suit, the bracelet glows faintly, a silvery light escaping the cuff like a living thread.

He clenches his jaw, brushing it off.

Jeonghan clears throat, continuing "The motive, the timeline, and the testimonies all align—"

Tightening. The bracelet digs into his skin this time, sharp like a warning. The sting causes him to pause mid-sentence, breath caught in his throat. His heart races. Something's wrong.A murmur stirs in the courtroom.

The judges start to frown looking at his behaviour "Mr. Yoon, is everything alright?"

Jeonghan's strained smile "Yes, Your Honour. Just a moment—"

He steadies himself with a deep breath, trying to focus. But when he lifts his eyes to the gallery—his breath catches.

A man. Sitting near the back. Wearing a worn, tan coat, hat in hand, face lined with age… and eyes that pierce straight through Jeonghan’s soul.

It’s him. The old man from the shop. The one who sold him the bracelet. Jeonghan blinks—and just like that, the seat is empty.

After Jeonghan regained his composure, he resumed his closing argument, trying his best to ignore the persistent sting radiating from his wrist. The past few days had been nothing short of overwhelming. Between the intense pressure of the trial and the unexpected reappearance of Nara—who had started showing up more frequently since that night outside Y/N’s apartment—his mind was a mess.

Y/N knew about Nara’s visits. She never said anything, never questioned him. He tried to explain further, but y/n does know how to avoid the conversation. But her silence was louder than any confrontation. It lingered between them like a fog, making Jeonghan feel even more restless, more guilty.

To make matters worse, the bracelet had been acting up again. Glowing unexpectedly. Pulling. Tightening. But this time, it wasn’t like before. There was something different—more urgent, almost warning-like. It was as if the connection it represented was shifting, or breaking… and he didn’t know what it meant.

“That’s all from me, Your Honour,” Jeonghan said firmly, offering a polite nod before returning to his seat.

But the moment he sat down, the sting returned—sharper this time, searing through his wrist like fire. He winced, clutching it under the table, trying not to let the pain show on his face.

His eyes darted around the courtroom, scanning the gallery. Something wasn’t right.

The judge dismissed the court with a bang of the gavel, but Jeonghan barely heard it. The trial was over— the victory was on his client's side, spared from conviction—but Jeonghan wasn’t relieved.

Not even close.

As the crowd began to disperse, he caught a glimpse of the figure again—that old man, already heading toward the exit at the back of the courtroom.

Jeonghan shot to his feet. He pushed past the reporters and curious onlookers, ignoring the congratulations from his colleagues. His gaze never left the retreating figure.

“Hey—wait!” he called out, voice rising with urgency.

But the man didn’t stop.

Jeonghan broke into a light run, heart thudding, wrist still aching, as he made his way through the crowd. Something told him that if he didn’t catch the old man this time, he might never get another chance.

After the chase through the courthouse, Jeonghan found himself at the back of the building. The sky had already darkened—the trial had gone late, and now the evening air felt thick with tension. He was sure he’d seen the old man disappear down to the back of the building in this narrow path.

Jeonghan slowed his steps, listening closely.

Footsteps.

Light but steady—echoing just ahead. He followed the sound, careful not to lose track, his wrist still throbbing under his sleeve. The path twisted into a narrow alley he had never seen before, hidden between old brick walls that looked forgotten by time. It was dimly lit, the only light coming from a flickering streetlamp at the corner.

Then he saw it.

The old man.

He was just ahead, walking calmly—like he had all the time in the world—toward an old back door on a connected building.

Without hesitation, Jeonghan picked up his pace and watched as the man pushed the door open and disappeared inside. Jeonghan stood frozen for a second.

‘What is this place?’ he thought, glancing up at the unfamiliar building and door.

He reached for the handle—and opened it.

A burst of blinding white light flooded his vision, forcing him to raise his arm and shield his eyes. For a moment, everything around him blurred. The air shifted, warm and oddly nostalgic.

As his sight gradually returned, Jeonghan blinked. His heart dropped.

He was standing inside the same old shop—the one that had been visited, but he found nothing. Everything was exactly how he remembered it. The creaky wooden floors, the shelves lined with strange, glimmering trinkets, and the faint scent of aged paper and incense lingering in the air.

“What the fu—”

“I don’t allow foul language in my store, young man,” the old man interrupted calmly, his voice as crisp as ever.

Jeonghan snapped his mouth shut, stunned, as the old man nonchalantly hung his hat on a wooden coat hanger. Without looking back, he gestured for Jeonghan to follow.

“Come,” the old man said. “There’s much you still don’t understand.”

Jeonghan finally found his voice. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said quickly, stepping forward. “They said this shop hasn’t existed for decades, and suddenly there’s light—and the back door, I don’t even know how I got he—”

He rambled, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush of confusion.

The old man, unfazed, calmly handed him a steaming cup of tea. “Sit down,” he said gently. “You look exhausted from that trial. I imagine it’s hard keeping your composure when the universe is pulling on your wrist.”

Jeonghan blinked, staring down at the tea in his hand.

“And yapping,” the old man added with a sly grin, “seems to run deep in a lawyer’s blood, doesn’t it?” He raised a teasing brow, waiting for Jeonghan to settle. The warm, familiar scent of the tea began to ease the knot in Jeonghan’s chest, but his mind was still spinning.

“Alright, then,” Jeonghan said, finally taking a seat. “You owe me an explanation.”

The old man looked at Jeonghan calmly, his eyes reflecting a strange glint of knowing.

“Tell me, has the bracelet ever come off your wrist?”

Jeonghan shook his head with a tired breath. “Since the day I put it on, it’s never untied. I don’t even know why. At this point, I’ve stopped trying to understand it.”

“Give me your hand,” the old man said gently, holding his palm out.

Hesitant but curious, Jeonghan extended his arm. The old man wrapped his fingers around Jeonghan’s wrist, and the moon-shaped charm on the bracelet began to glow faintly—soft and silvery, like it recognized someone.

Then, as if responding to his touch, the red thread loosened.

Jeonghan’s eyes widened in disbelief as the bracelet unlatched effortlessly, slipping away into the old man’s hand.

He stared at his bare wrist. “What the hell… How did you—?”

The old man turned the bracelet slowly in his hand, eyes distant with memory.

“This,” he said quietly, “was once mine.” -tbc-

The next chapter is going to reveal the old man's story

tag2!: @ateez-atiny380 @dreamingofpcy

<< part 2 Final >>

[neptunescore]

hi pooks! can you write for brocedes with the random word hotel 🙈 lysm mwah mwah congrats on 600!!

Prompt word: Hotel | Pairing: Brocedes

The scene in front of him is breathtakingly beautiful.

A cacophony of blues, pinks and reds that intertwine and blur into each other, casting hues of gold into the sea as it begins it’s slow embrace of the sun.

Nico could stay here forever — watch the honeyed sunlight melt into deep waters till there's nothing left, and then wait right there as a new day passes and the cycle starts all over again — endless.

He shifts a little; his back sore from the uncomfortably-shaped balcony chair he's seated on, he knows Lewis is going to be cross with him later, is probably going to lecture him about self-care and what not, but the world champion is too tired to care about anything right now — let alone Lewis’ weird protectiveness over his health.

Nico sighs, he missed Lewis.

For all his infatuation with the sight before him, the blonde haired man would give it up in an instant if it meant having Lewis by his side again — the slow dance of blues and pinks and reds may take his breath away; but the soft golden-brown of Lewis’ skin, the infinite black of Lewis’ eyes, that— that left him with no air at all.

He’d been cooped up in this hotel room for a week now, lazily shifting between the bed and the balcony — an occasional trip outside sometimes; walking down streets shaded by never-ending trees, sitting on benches wrapped in leafy vines as he licked drops of melted ice-cream off his fingers.

Nico never wanted to leave. Wanted to spend the rest of his life like this. Didn’t even want to think about the plane ticket he’d placed in the bedside drawer.

A quiet ruffling draws the man out of his thoughts, blue eyes moving upwards as he tries to find the perpetrator of the noise.

There are two birds a few metres in front of him, brown feathers brushing against white ones, their wings stretched out and tense while loose talons tear against the clouds surrounding them. There is something wrong with the white one, it’s left wing crooked and bent, yet—

Oh. Nico’s eyes crinkle, lips curling softly. What a wonder it is, he thinks — watching where the brown sparrow had placed itself. To live. Right below the lower left side of it’s counterpart’s body. To love. Holding up the extra weight that the other could not.

“Man, what are you doing?”

The retired driver looks behind him, musings of wings and feathers vanishing immediately as a pout falls on his lips, “I missed you.”

“Nico-” A chuckle, I was gone for ten minutes.”

Nico sniffs haughtily, “ten minutes too long,” he frowns.

“Babe! I literally asked you if you wanted to come with me!”

“Yes. Well-”

“Oh shut up and come inside before the food gets cold. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’re sitting on that chair again.”

Nico rolls his eyes, pulling himself up and arching his back as he steps inside — groaning in pleasure as he feels a few satisfactory pops, “I want a hug.”

“Oh my god, you are so clingy.”

Yet there are arms wrapping around him instantly, blanketing him in a cocoon of warmth and love that he lets himself melt into.

“You okay, babe?” Lewis asks quietly. And Nico can feel the sincerity, the care; he can already feel the tears forming, can’t really believe that he has this now — will have this forever. Maybe.

“You won’t leave me when we go back home, will you? When the season starts? I won’t be on the grid anymore.”

“Oh Nico. I’m not going to leave you ever,” Lewis murmurs into his hair, “I know I can’t change the past few years, but that's never going to happen again, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” A nod, beaded braids brushing against the skin of his face, “Never again.”

Dark lips graze against his closed eyes. Nico’s grip on Lewis’ sweater tightens, a sudden lightness in his chest.

Liv!!! Finally done with this for you, and honestly, I just had to do fluff bc I have read way too much angst abt them😔✋🏽. I hope this matched ur expectations, meri jaan💗 ALSO, in the time it took me to write this, I gained a 100 (A HUNDRED😵‍💫🤭) more followers!! So the happiness just keeps going<3

I have also just given up on finding aesthetically matching pics of the drivers😭 (I scoured pinterest for an hour bfr ending up on nico's YouTube vids and taking ss's from there🙂🔫)

ANWAY, FEEL FREE TO DROP BY WHENEVER POOKS (this goes to all of you)🫶🏼😘

Divider creds to @cafekitsune as always♡

Rules and details☆°•~

[ticifics]

Come back to me

Tom Ryder x fem!reader

Summary: "Why are you here, Tom?" Your voice was firmer this time, despite the pulse hammering in your ears. "Because you left me." He tilted his head, and the slightly joking tone disappeared for a moment. "And honestly, I thought it was clearer that I don't let things get away so easily."

Warnings: suggestive , just Tom being Tom

The sound of knocking on the door echoed through the dark room, interrupting your peaceful night. You settled into the couch, the tub of ice cream balanced in your hands and the spoon between your teeth, frowning. It was too late for visitors. For a moment, you stood still, hoping whoever it was would give up and go away. But the knocking persisted, steady and rhythmic, as if the visitor knew you were home.

Sighing, you put the ice cream aside and stood up, hurriedly adjusting your short pajamas. The soft fabric hugged your skin, the fuzzy socks muffled the sound of your footsteps on the floor. You hesitantly unlocked the door and opened it just enough to peek in.

There, framed by the pale light of the hallway, he stood.

Tom Ryder, with his perfectly trimmed beard, his hair tousled in a calculated way, and that unbearably confident expression. The expensive leather jacket and the impeccable shirt underneath were in keeping with the image of a movie star he carried like a trophy. Even his tailored pants and leather shoes gleamed ridiculously opulent.

“You?” Your voice came out louder than you intended, betraying your surprise.

He smiled, one corner of his mouth turning up, his blue eyes boring into you as if they knew a secret you didn’t. “Now, don’t look at me like that. Are you going to leave me out here? That’s not very polite of you.”

“How… How do you know where I live?”

His smile widened, tinged with an almost irritating smugness. “I know more than I let on, honey.”

You blinked, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. He, the man who had practically turned your life into a circus with his endless post-its and absurd demands, was standing there, in your doorway, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“I… I don’t think…” you started to reply, but he raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, as if he was gauging your resistance.

“If you’d rather have our picture taken and it become news tomorrow, fine. But personally, I think it would be better if we talked away from the cameras. Don’t you think?” His eyes trailed down to your ridiculously short pajamas, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped a few octaves. “And I’d hate for anyone else to see you like this.”

Before you could form a response, he walked past you, his woodsy, expensive scent filling the air between you. Your house suddenly felt smaller with his presence, overwhelmingly filled with an energy that was impossible to ignore.

“Lovely, by the way,” he murmured as he walked toward the living room, glancing sideways at your fuzzy socks with a half smile.

You closed the door behind you, still processing the surreality of the scene, feeling the blood pool in your cheeks. There he was, collapsing on the couch as if he owned the house, his arms resting on the backrest and his legs crossed in a relaxed manner.

“Are you comfortable?” Your question was laced with sarcasm, but he just laughed.

“Much more than you seemed in the office.” He reached out, grabbing the tub of ice cream you’d left on the coffee table. Before you could protest, he dipped the spoon into the ice cream and took a generous bite.

“Strawberry,” he murmured, a smile curving his lips deliberately. “It suits you.”

Heat rose quickly to your face, but you weren’t sure if it was from irritation or the way he said it—his voice low, almost like a purr. He held the tub of ice cream with an irritating ease, as if it were completely normal to break into your house and steal your dessert.

"Hey, you weren't invited to get this!" You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way he'd settled himself on the couch, taking up even more space, and the way his presence seemed to make the room feel suffocating.

He looked up from the bowl, his blue eyes staring at you with intensity. It was a gaze that stripped you bare, that seemed to register all the details you didn't want him to notice: the short pajamas that exposed your thighs, the skin that heated up under his gaze, as if he were touching you without even moving.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, without a hint of remorse, returning the bowl to the table with sloppy elegance. "But you can't really blame me for this. That ice cream was asking for it."

"Asking for it?" you repeated incredulously, but your voice sounded weaker than it should have.

"Yes. Just like you seem to be asking for a break, my dear. Do you want me to explain myself or are you going to keep looking at me like that?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but couldn't form anything. He leaned back on the couch, his long fingers resting on his bent knee, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and something much darker, almost predatory.

It was overwhelming. The couch seemed too small to contain him, too small for the two of you. Your home had never felt so strange as it did now, filled with his scent and the force of personality he carried.

"Why are you here, Tom?" Your voice was firmer this time, despite the pulse hammering in your ears.

"Because you left me." He tilted his head, and the slightly joking tone disappeared for a moment. "And honestly, I thought it was clearer that I don't let things get away so easily."

"Get away? I'm a person, not a contract!" You snapped, trying to ignore the way he leaned forward slightly, his beard shadowing his jaw in a way that made it hard to look away.

"I know that." His tone softened, but it didn't lose its intensity. "And that's why I'm here. Because… I needed to remind you that no one does what you do. And honestly, I refuse to accept anyone else in your place."

"So this is about work?" You glared at him, crossing your arms again.

"Is it?" He raised an eyebrow, letting the question hang in the air.

Your heart gave an uncomfortable leap in your chest, especially when you noticed his gaze slowly trailing down your face and neck, before continuing to the soft swell of your breasts, covered only by the thin fabric, leaving little to the imagination. It was a second—a moment too quick to be considered deliberate—but it was enough to set your skin on fire.

You wanted to scream, wanted to tell him to go away, but all you could do was look away, only to find him fixed on you again. That smile was back, a teasing half-smile that he made seem natural, but that was carefully calculated.

“Did you bother coming all the way here, in the middle of the night, because you can’t accept someone saying ‘no’ to you for once?” you asked, trying to ignore how your voice had gotten lower.

He laughed, a deep sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s because, as unbearable as you are, you’re the only person who can stand me.”

For a moment, the silence between you was thick, heavy with a tension that felt palpable. Your eyes met, and the space between you on the couch seemed nonexistent. You could feel his heat, every little movement reverberating in the air as if it were amplified.

“So?” he murmured, his tone almost hypnotic. “Are you going to make me beg or are you going to accept that you’ve always been the only person who could put up with me?”

And in that moment, it was impossible to deny the power he had over you—and how annoyingly aware he was of it.

Your heart was beating so hard it felt like it was trying to escape your chest. But you weren’t going to show it. Not to him. Not to Tom Ryder.

He was still sitting on the couch, his legs relaxed, his hands resting on his knees in a way that oozed confidence. But his eyes… Oh, his eyes. They were following you, analyzing you, challenging you.

“If you think I’m just going to go back because you came all this way, you’re more delusional than I thought,” you said, crossing your arms and lifting your chin, though your voice had lost some of the firmness you’d intended to convey.

He tilted his head slightly to the side, a smile playing on his lips, as if you’d just issued a challenge he was more than willing to accept.

“Then I’ll beg you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, each word laden with a calculated softness that seemed to wrap around you like silk.

“I’m listening,” you snapped, trying to ignore the heat that was creeping up your spine, getting harder and harder to contain.

“You’re the best, you know that, don’t you?” He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his thighs as his eyes held yours like invisible threads. “It’s not just the work you do—although that’s unbeatable. It’s you. How you’re impossible to ignore. How you walk into a room and everything feels different. There’s no one like you, and I won’t find anyone else who does half of what you do. Who is half of what you are.”

His words were like a spell, each one packed with an almost addictive sweetness. And before you knew it, your feet were moving, small, hesitant steps toward him, as if he’d become damn gravity.

“Keep going,” you said, your voice no louder than a whisper.

He smiled, a flash of triumph shining in his eyes as you stopped right in front of the couch, between his long legs. "Do you have any idea what it's like to look at you and know that I can no longer count on your patience? Your… strength? You're the kind of woman who makes any man lose his mind, and you know it."

The air between you seemed to vibrate. He lifted his hands, his deft fingers touching the fabric of your pajamas in an almost experimental way. Just one touch, and you could already feel the heat radiating across your skin. He laughed, a low, husky sound, before letting his hands slide to your hips, steadying himself there. The pads of his fingers tracing lazy half-circles.

The touch wasn’t invasive; it was deliberate, almost reverent. But the heat he brought was overwhelming.

“Tom…” You began, but the word died on your lips when he tilted his head up, his eyes now dark with an intensity that seemed to burn.

“I need you,” he said, his tone so low you could barely hear him. “And I don’t just mean work. I mean you. I want you to come back. To me.”

The world seemed to stop. The heat of his hands on your skin was unbearable, his fingers just enough to remind you that he was the one touching you. His smile, his voice, his eyes—everything about him seemed to conspire against your sanity.

But the worst part was that you liked it. You liked the way he seemed unable to hide how much he wanted you, liked the power it gave you, even when he was the one who seemed to be in control.

His fingers tightened on your hips, firm, as if to reinforce the urgency in his words. The touch carried something more than a request; it was a demand, a reminder of how much he wanted you, how much he needed you.

“Will you come back to me?” His voice was barely a whisper now, but it carried an urgency that made you tremble.

You tried to resist, tried to remember all the reasons he was insufferable, all the times you wanted to scream at him—but none of that seemed to matter now. The warmth of his hands on your skin, his eyes burning into yours, the woody, expensive scent that surrounded you… it was overwhelming. Far beyond anything you could ever dream of bearing.

A weak "yes" escaped your lips before you even had time to realize what you were saying.

That was all he needed.

Before you could react, he pulled you firmly to him, positioning you on his lap in one fluid movement, as if you were made to be there. The initial shock was replaced by an overwhelming heat as his hands moved from your hips to your back, holding you with a strength that seemed to say he wouldn’t let go any time soon. Your hands gripped his broad shoulders in an attempt to find some balance, your breath coming in short gasps from the intensity of the moment.

“Finally,” he murmured, his tone filled with an almost dangerous satisfaction, before pulling you into a kiss.

There was no room for caution or hesitation. His kiss was desperate, almost savage, as if he had been waiting for this for years. It tasted sweetly like strawberry ice cream. His lips were warm and demanding, and you barely managed to hold back the moan that escaped you when you felt his beard lightly scratch your skin, adding a touch of roughness to the contact. You felt his fingers curl into the bare skin of your waist, as if he wanted to leave a mark.

Your fingers moved instinctively, tangling in his hair, tugging lightly, as if they needed to anchor him there. He responded to the touch with a low sound in the back of his throat, a sound that made every cell in your body vibrate.

His hands didn’t stop, exploring your back, moving up and down with a possessiveness that made your heart race even faster. It was as if he was trying to merge the two of you, holding you as if he feared you would disappear. The room seemed to have disappeared; the entire world had been reduced to the heat of his body against yours, to the taste of him, to the way he held you as if you were the most precious thing he had ever touched.

When you finally broke apart, it was only for the need of air. But he didn’t pull away, his forehead lightly touching yours, his blue eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath falter.

“I warned you,” he said, his voice husky and full of desire. “I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

And in that moment, it was impossible to tell who was in control. Because no matter how hard he’d pulled you in for the kiss, no matter how hard he’d initiated it, it was you who seemed to have the power to make his heart beat as fast as yours.

[pumpkin-the-girlie-girl-vixen]

**A Man is Nothing Without His Borderline Personality Disorder Girlfriend: Hilarious Tales from the Trenches of Love**

Let’s face it: relationships can be wild rides, and when you throw in a girlfriend with borderline personality disorder (BPD), you’re in for an adventure like no other. As someone who’s been in this kind of relationship, I can confidently say that a man is nothing without his BPD girlfriend—especially when it comes to the endless stories that come from navigating the quirky world of love and mental health.

**The Emotional Rollercoaster**

First off, dating someone with BPD is like getting a VIP pass to the emotional rollercoaster of a lifetime. One moment, she’s on top of the world, showering you with love and affection like you’re the last slice of pizza at a party. The next, you’re standing in the eye of the storm, wondering why she’s suddenly convinced you’re the villain in her life story. “Did I forget to take out the trash?” you ponder, while she’s accusing you of plotting to ruin her life. Spoiler alert: No, you didn’t forget to take out the trash— but now you’re questioning every life choice you’ve ever made.

**Love and Fear of Abandonment: The Ultimate Combo**

Then there's the classic “I can’t believe you’re leaving me!” scenario every time you run to the store for milk. It’s a routine grocery trip, but suddenly, you’re walking into a scene reminiscent of a dramatic soap opera. “You’ll find someone better! I know it!” she cries, clutching her stuffed penguin like it’s the last lifeline on a sinking ship. Little do you know, this is just a friendly reminder that your seemingly mundane errand could threaten the very fabric of your relationship.

**Communication Shenanigans**

Let’s talk about communication, or as I like to call it, “The Game of Telephone on Steroids.” Conversations often morph into full-blown debates over the slightest misunderstandings. You could say, “Wow, it’s a beautiful day!” and end up with her convinced you’re subtly hinting that she’s not as bright and sunny as the weather. You know what they say: “It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.” And trust me, if you say anything that can be interpreted as a hidden insult, you’ve just opened Pandora’s box.

**The “I Love You, I Hate You” Tango**

If you’re in it for the long haul, you’ll quickly learn that the “I love you, I hate you” tango is the official dance of your relationship. One minute, you’re cuddling on the couch, watching romantic comedies and discussing your future together. The next, you’re being accused of not caring enough because you forgot to ask about her favorite flavor of ice cream. The irony? You both just polished off a pint of her favorite flavor! But logic? Who needs that in a whirlwind romance?

**The Quirky Quirks**

Now, let’s not forget the quirky quirks that come with the territory. There are spontaneous road trips to nowhere, where you find yourself navigating to a destination you didn’t even know existed, all in the name of “let’s find ourselves!” You might even discover that your new favorite hobby is deep-diving into mental health articles, not for your sake, but to keep up with the whirlwind that is her life. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and by the end, you’ll probably be a certified expert in BPD—complete with a degree in emotional navigation.

**In Conclusion: Embrace the Chaos**

At the end of the day, dating a woman with borderline personality disorder may come with its challenges, but it’s also filled with unforgettable moments, lots of laughs, and a kind of love that’s fierce and unwavering. Sure, there will be bumps along the way, but every relationship has its quirks. The key is to embrace the chaos, find humor in the madness, and remember that love comes in all forms—even if it includes an emotional rollercoaster or two.

So here’s to the men out there who find themselves navigating the tumultuous waters of love with a BPD girlfriend—may your adventures be wild, your stories be hilarious, and your relationship be a journey worth taking! Just remember, without her chaotic charm, you’d be left with a very boring life…and who wants that?

@bigmikeyde ❤️ @pumpkin-the-girlie-girl-vixen

[ronsenthal]

George Luz x Reader

Summary: It became quite clear after all the hell you went through together from Camp Toccoa to Berchtesgaden that George Luz was something else. 

A/N: Hello there! Dear @ithinkabouttzu, I am so happy I can finally say that I am your summer gift exchanger from the @hbowardaily summer exchange event!!!I was so excited when I learned this because I’ve been a fan of your works for quite some time so I tried to make something nice for you in return. I really hope you like it!

The endless days of chatting and the countless late hours in the night of comfortable silence between you two filled your heart with joy and hope.

With the whole weight of the world on your shoulders you felt like you didn’t have the strength to keep going, but that’s when he showed up to help you ease all the pain, to help you handle it. It was always him.

Of course now it was really easier to even begin to put into words, it was almost like all the pain and the fear you went through the whole damn war blocked your eyes so it took you some time away from the boys to realise how much you did miss them. Your hands were trembling when you reached this cream white envelope in the pile of mail that came in earlier, it has this fancy calligraphy on the front and a tiny little wax seal on top, it was an invitation addressed to everyone from Easy Company to come at the Nixon’s house for a reunion, the first one since “the split”. 

You counted the days and hours to see all the guys together, to hear their stories, to see their faces and hug the hell out of them. 

When the day came you woke up really excited, got into your fav dress and headed to the party, well, at least you expected it was indeed a party given it was Lewis Nixon as the host. After you reached the address you had to blink like ten times before your eyes adjusted to the scene. The bastard came up with a whole amusement park for everyone. 

As you took your steps towards the host you saw a bunch of familiar faces, some different ones. The war changed everyone but the post-war added some civilian clothes, different hairs and even beards.

“Hey kiddo I thought you were not coming? You never replied to my letter!!!” Nixon said with a smile on his face and a big bottle of whiskey in one hand.

“I wanted to surprise you, asshole” You said with a cheeky smile on your face and rushed to hug him tight. 

“It’s so good to see you too” he said, rubbing your back while you stayed there holding each other. 

“Where are the rest of the gang?” you asked looking around “Ronald came in? And what about Dick?” 

“I was looking for the headhead myself, he is probably having another ice cream or something. Ron sent his apologies and couldn’t make it, he was busy with some fancy army thing he said he couldn’t talk about or he would have to kill me” Nix said while rolling his eyes which made you laugh out loud.

You had so much to catch up, you looked around and saw Lipton quietly having a beer with Martin and Bull, Liebgott arguing with Webster just like the old times. At this point Nixon and Winters were just walking around like those couples in old romance books but your eyes were scanning all the faces, your heart ready to skip a beat at any moment. 

When you saw his face it was like the world got warmer, his smile sent you back in time and forward into the future and the sound of his laugh was like the most beautiful symphony to your ears. Your feet had their own mind and when you realised they were leading you to him. 

He suddenly saw you too and got up and left poor Buck talking to a tree as he started to walk towards you. 

“Hey you showed up! I was starting to worry because Nix said…” you cut him as you wrapped your arms around his torso to give George the biggest hug ever. 

The familiar smell and the way his chest went up and down had some weird calming power over your body, felt like home. But after some time you let him go just to get a hold on his arms as you two walked around and just chatted about life.

You laughed so hard when you saw Shifty walking with this huge teddy bear he got from the balloon shooting game stall and George watched your eyes glowing so he took you by the hand and dragged you to the stall. 

Poor boy was dejected after he failed almost all his 5 shots and got you only a small plush duck. It didn’t matter, the small duck meant so much to you because it came from him!

It was starting to get dark and everyone was quite drunk already when Dick called up for some announcements. He made a beautiful speech about how he was happy and proud to see everybody. It was getting too emotional when Lewis cut him off and invited everybody for the barbecue dinner he arranged. The scene was so familiar, everyone holding up a plate in a long line waiting to get some food. Martin called you both to share a table and chat a bit more.

“So how is everything back home? Anyone we should worry about and talk to?” Martin asked you with his protective tone and suddenly you felt like everyone was watching you? 

“No! No one and if there was someone you guys would be the first to know” you replied trying your best not to blush or look at George, but sometimes you felt like he could read your mind and see your heart like no one else, in that moment he covered your hand with his. 

The subject then naturally changed but his hand stayed in place for everyone to see, but the guys didn’t seem to notice even when he started to rub circles at the back of your hand. That was it, the final straw.

“Georgie, can I talk to you for a second? In private?” you said biting your lip, your heart beating faster and faster.

“Of course sweetheart” he said fastly taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out in the ashtray on the table. He got up and waited for you to take his hand so you could lead the way.

The eyes of all the boys followed you with confused looks as you nervously went out dragging an even more confused George behind you.

“Is everything okay?” This time there was no confusion on his face, instead it was fear.

“No it’s not okay” You said with a trembling voice “This was a big big mistake” you continued pointing at everything around. 

“I don’t understand, what is wrong?” He sounded exasperated, curious and scared. 

“Forget it please, it’s stupid let’s go back the guys are waiting for us” 

“No I’m not going anywhere else until you tell me what is wrong, because THERE IS something wrong” he said holding your hand once more. 

This sent some kind of electricity as his fingers touched you and you froze in place. He took a step forward and you closed your eyes, shaking your head rapidly. 

“You don’t understand George, do you?”

“What is wrong? Did I say something wrong? Please tell me, you’re scaring the shit out of me sweetheart. Talk to me!” tears started to roll down your cheek and you closed your eyes even harder. 

“That’s the problem, you are the problem, you are my friend George! My fucking best friend”

“And what is wrong with that? I don’t understand it please….”

“You fucking idiot” you said wiping away the tears with the tip of your fingers “I love you!”.

You finally let out the words that were stuck in your throat for so long, eight letters that were fighting so hard to be free, that were constantly tormenting you floating around your brain and growing inside your heart, fighting to survive. 

You quietly let all the tears flow when you felt his arms wrapping your body, as always it worked its magic and calmed you down. It was almost like you could finally breathe again.

“Well now we have a problem” he said with a huge smile on his lips.

“What? Of course we have a big fucking problem George! Didn’t you just hear what I said?” you looked really confused now. 

“Yes, yes we will get there sweetie” he said laughing “But first we will have to endure the endless shit show the guys are gonna pull out the moment they learn that we are a couple, because sweetheart… I don’t even know how to say it but I love you back”

He gave you a quick kiss on your lips and started to drag you back to the table with a cheeky smile and a little wink, just for you.

And of course he was right, there were applauses, screams and whistles when you two finally emerged holding hands.

Taglist: @mads-weasley, @footprintsinthesxnd, @sweetxvanixlla, @xxluckystrike, @malarkgirlypop, @lostloveletters, @next-autopsy, @ewipandora, @executethyself35, @easycompany123, @whollyjoly

[lamemaster]

A Gremlin's Dream

AN: Felt cute. Might delete later.

Genre: Modern male reader in ME (sorry ladies and other folks this couldn't be gn)

Summary: Without thinking, you grab Beleg’s hands. "Don’t do it," you hiss. "Don’t save Turin Turambar. That guy is a walking disaster. Leave him to his tragic fate, trust me. It’ll save you a lot of trouble."

"Ahhhh!" "Ahhhhhh!" another voice echoed back, just as horrified.

You blink into the darkness. One moment, you had been enjoying ice cream with Princess Diana in what you assumed was a perfectly normal, if slightly bizarre dream. Now, you’re here, yanked into an unfamiliar scene.

"It is I, Beleg!" Hands shoot out of the gloom and grab your flailing arms.

Standing before you is a tall, glimmering figure with the kind of ethereal glow only an elf could pull off. Behind him, another figure shuffles nervously, looking just as confused as you feel.

"What the fuck?" you whisper, your heart pounding. You squint at the elf, and then it clicks. "Beleg Cuthalion? The guy from The Silmarillion? The chad who dies? Holy shit!" Your eyes dart to the gleaming blade in his hand. "Is that… Anglachel? Oh my God, it’s the doom sword. The smooth, freaky sword of doom! Later to be forged into Gurthang."

Beleg nods gravely, as though your outburst makes perfect sense. "Yes, I am Beleg."

Your brain short-circuits. Maybe it’s time to cut back on caffeine before bed.

"And I am Gwindor," the other elf adds, stepping forward with an awkward smile.

You blink, trying to process this. Of all the moments from The Silmarillion to dream about, your subconscious decided on The Children of Hurin. The part with the most tragic, dramatic nonsense. Clearly, your inner mind is a sadist.

Without thinking, you grab Beleg’s hands. "Don’t do it," you hiss. "Don’t save Turin Turambar. That guy is a walking disaster. Leave him to his tragic fate, trust me. It’ll save you a lot of trouble."

Beleg frowns, his expression skeptical but patient. He doesn’t pull away as you, driven by sheer desperation, launch into a frantic explanation. You ramble about Turin’s endless brooding, the accidental wife situation, and, of course, the dragon.

Gwindor, meanwhile, looks increasingly uncomfortable. His eyes flick to Beleg, silently asking if this is normal behavior.

As Beleg leads you through the dark woods, you marvel at your dream stamina. Somehow, you’re keeping up with the elves’ impossibly fast pace. Is it adrenaline? Dream logic? Or sheer pettiness keeping you going?

Maybe this is your chance to rewrite The Silmarillion. Who needs Turin when you could have political drama and Thingol being weirdly tall? You start plotting.

If you can get Beleg to return to Thingol’s court, maybe you can even catch a glimpse of Queen Melian in action. This dream is shaping up nicely.

Eventually, Beleg settles for a camp closer to Melian's Girdle. His mind has not forgotten the limits of your mortal body.

Beleg's heart visibly twists as he gazes at you, his friend, now under some trickery of the foe.

Gwindor stares into the flames, his voice hesitant. "It isn’t unheard of. Perhaps the orcs… tampered with his mind. He will recover. At least Queen Melian should know."

Beleg nods glumly. Something is deeply wrong.

You continue to ramble about visions where Beleg is slain by your-Turin's, as you refer to yourself in third person, hand . The madness in your eyes unsettles Beleg in ways he can’t articulate.

Meanwhile, you crouch by a river, staring at your reflection. Your very handsome reflection.

"Wait," you mutter, tilting your head. "This isn’t me."

The face staring back is sharper and stronger, with piercing gray eyes and long dark hair. Freakishly tall now, you, proud short king that you are—can’t entirely hate the change. But the realization hits like a boulder.

"Oh, come on," you groan, burying your face in your hands. You’ve transmigrated into Turin Turambar’s body.

Standing frozen in the clearing, you look up, wide-eyed. Beleg and Gwindor turn to you, concern etched across their faces.

To their shock, you begin to laugh. The sound is wild and unhinged, echoing through the woods like a battle cry. Birds scatter. Squirrels flee. Even the trees seem to lean away in discomfort.

"Fuck you, Morgoth!" you roar, grinning from ear to ear. "Here I come!"

In Angband, Morgoth frowns. The sudden, inexplicable dread that fills him is a foreign sensation. Somewhere, the melody of Arda trembles, a discordant note twisting through the fabric of the world.

Hurin, chained high in his seat of torment, glances down into the woods below. His breath hitches. His son, standing alongside two elves, is giggling with a manic gleam in his eye. For the first time in years, Hurin feels a pang of something other than despair.

You catch your father’s distant gaze and give a little wave, your grin bordering on maniacal.

"The game is on," you whisper to the skies before skipping back toward Beleg and Gwindor, leaving behind a clearing filled with scattered leaves and stunned silence.

[therese-lokidottir]

In response to that CBR article about why the MCU is hesitant to give Loki his Frost Giant powers, it's not because they think he's such a "vital part of the Asgardian world". If they really thought he was such a "vital part", why would they keep on killing him off and nerfing him? They don't even let him use all of his learned powers! Loki is supposed to be a master of magic, he's supposed to be able to do all these really cool things, things that would make Dr. Strange and Scarlet Witch look like children. Loki is supposed to be a formidable force and look what they've done to him. Normal human beings can manhandle him with surprising ease, he gets tossed and flipped and flopped like a rag doll. There are opportunities where he could use all kinds of magic and power and he just...doesn't. (That pathetic death scene in Infinity War where pulls a knife on Thanos...really??) Because they don't want him too. There's a very specific reason why the MCU treats Loki the way they have, and it's not because they think he's such a "vital part" of Asgard. Vital part, oh please! That really makes me laugh! That's a good one CBR!!

It's because they never meant for him to be this popular and this beloved, and it drives them crazy. They know if they give Loki his Frost Giant powers, or any number of his other powers, people want it too much, and we'll just keep asking for more. That's not what they want. They want to keep him in an endless loop of suffering and sacrificing, dying and coming back. They've discovered it's way more fun to punish and humiliate him for sport than it is to let him be a powerful god. They've forced him into this role of MCU punching bag, and they want to keep him there.

And also, the MCU couldn't care less about Asgard. Look what they've done to it. It's a tourist trap. It's a joke. They'd sooner consider the Infinity Conez Ice Cream Shop a vital part of Asgard before they would Loki.

They don't care about Loki, they don't care about Asgard, and they care even less about the Frost Giants. I'm so sorry for the rant, but when I saw "they consider him a vital part of Asgard" I almost spewed my coffee out onto my laptop with laughter. Bitter, bitter laughter.

CBR article

They never seem to consider the idea that Loki needing to reject the culture that he is from to be a part of the people that stole him is what messed him up so much in the first. That is what made him snap and lead to his path of villain. Loki thought the only way to prove that " his connection to Asgard trumps his birth roots as a Frost Giant" was committing a genocide.

Honestly, I'm not quite sure is these guys.... Watch Thor 2011.

But like anyway

The MCU from the start downplayed Asgard. Now from what I've marvel comics retcon a lot and go back and forth what is a god "God" and what is just taken as god. But consistently Asgard is magic, it is not some kind of planet it is a realm that need some kind of magic to go to and from. The MCU has always been reluctant to let magic be magic.

Loki for who's meant to be a powerful sorcerer barley gets to anything.

and more and more projects Loki was feature in had no interest in the mythological side of thing and had other characters they wanted to be "the most powerful" so Loki is ever left in the dust

[duhragonball]

Stardust Crusaders Liveblog: JJBA ch.247-256

Here comes a special boy.

But first, we gotta deal with yet another henchman in Dio's endless army of bullshit henchmen. After beating D'Arby, Joseph, Jotaro, and Kakyoin wander around the house for a while looking for Polnareff, when they encounter what looks like a young woman. She pleads for mercy and Joseph says they're not working for Dio. No, they're friends. Then Jotaro punches her in the face and adds: "--of justice".

This is Nukesaku, a vampire manservant. Nukesaku is Japanese for "idiot", so I'm pretty sure Dio keeps this guy around for amusement and nothing else. He doesn't have a Stand or anything. His only special power is that he has a woman's face on the back of his head, and boobs on his back, I guess? It's useless as a disguise because his hands and feet are backwards when he tries to play the woman persona.

I mean, he is a vampire, and that's nothing to sneeze at, but this is Part 3, where being an unholy nightstalker doesn't amount to shit. Nukesake could have been a big deal in Part 1, but he's a century late to the party. Jotaro beats the shit out of him with Star Platinum just to get an idea of how much punishment a vampire can take.

As much as this guy sucks, I do appreciate his appearance in Dio's house, as it hearkens back to all the freaky zombies he had back in Phantom Blood. Dio could graft human zombie heads onto dog zombie bodies, and other horrifying combinations like that. It doesn't surprise me that he would make Nukesaku a vampire and then put a woman's face on the back of his head. This sort of crap is like Dio's hobby.

I wasn't prepared for how much the manga version of Nukesaku looks like Vegeta. Kind of unsettling.

Meanwhile, Polnareff uses Dio's curtains to bandage up his wounds from the Vanilla Ice fight... Wait a minute, his let hand is fine! During the last arc, Silver Chariot's left hand got too close to Cream's mouth and two of its fingers were disintegrated. In the next panel, two of Polnareff's fingers fell off to reflect that damage, but now they're back.

I was saying before how these missing fingers are restored when Polnareff shows up in Part 5, but forget that, they come back one chapter after the Vanilla Ice arc.

I'm kind of unclear about how Stand damage reflects upon the user anyway. Punching a Stand will usually cause the user to act like he's getting punched, but the damage doesn't always seem to be proportionate. Heirophant Green wrapped itself around the Lovers, which immobilized Steely Dan. But the Devil tied Polnareff's arms to his bed, and yet Silver Chariot could still move freely.

So maybe if you're in a Stand Battle, and the enemy Stand cuts off a piece of your Stand, you lose the corresponding body part too, but only temporarily? Or maybe the missing fingers were symbolic. Like they were still there, but the comic showed them getting destroyed to show how it felt for Polnareff. He couldn't recover from that "injury" until he defeated Vanilla Ice. I guess? I mean, he's got his fingers back, so that's the best I can come up with.

Anyway, Dio shows up to confront Polnareff, and this is the first time we see his entire face in this Part. I know a lot of JoJo fans insist that you can just skip straight to Part 3, but I think that does a disservice to the continuity that makes Part 3 so awesome. Joseph Joestar and Dio work as standalone characters, but they work so much better when you know their backstory from Parts 1 and 2. Araki was building up to this the whole time, and skipping that buildup seems like a poor decision. It's like skipping the sundae and only eating the cherry.

For example, Polnareff has his own history with Dio, from back when he was a flesh bud slave. So it means something when they meet in this scene. Dio offers Polnareff a chance to return to his service, and tells him to ascend the stair if he wants to fight. Pol tries to climb the stairs, but somehow he ends up a few steps down from where he started. Polnareff is confused, and Dio tries to gaslight Pol into thinking he backed off of his own free will, because he secretly wants to rejoin Dio's team.

It works, even if Part 3 is the only one you read, but it's so much cooler when you know Dio from Part 1, and you remember how he fucked around with people like this back then too. It's just awesome to see this Part 1-style mayhem return.

Dio brings out his Stand, the World, but before Polnareff can fight, the others show up through a hole Jotaro made in the wall. There's daylight behind them, and Dio withdraws to one of the towers of his mansion. Polnareff tries to explain The World's ability, but he can't because he doesn't understand it himself. Oh, and Avdol and Iggy are dead.

The Joestar Group forces Nukesaku to lead them to the top of the tower, where they find Dio's coffin. They tell Nukesaku to open it, and he does, though he begs Dio to understand that he's not doing this to betray him. But when he finally slides the lid off the coffin, they're all shocked to find...

Nukesaku? How'd he get in there? He was opening the coffin, and then suddenly he's inside the coffin, and he's been chopped into pieces. Everyone gets really nervous, and Joseph orders them to get the fuck out of the house.

This is the last we see of Nukesaku. Did Dio kill him? I mean, he's already in lots of pieces, so maybe he's doomed this way. Jotaro punched out one of the wooden baffles in the windows, so unless Nukesaku gets out of the coffin, he'll get a dose of sunlight in the morning and that should finish him off. Still, it's weird how his fate is left unclear. Kind of like Santana in Part 2. You'd think it'd be a loose end, but he's such a joke that no one worries about him.

Outside, the sun is going down, but Joseph wants to continue retreating. He was gung ho about taking the fight to Dio, but the situation has changed drastically. They all know they can't stand up to Dio until they know how his Stand works. In the meantime, Dio will be coming after them until sunrise, so they need to focus on surviving the night.

Polnareff can't accept that. He blames himself for Avdol and Iggy's deaths, and he can't stomach retreat. He wants to go after Dio, and he'll do it alone if he has to. Jotaro doesn't see this as a dilemma at all, though. Joseph wants to fight Dio as they run from him, while Polnareff wants to fight Dio as he chases him. So they'll be fighting Dio either way, and it's like a pincer attack. Everyone seems to like that idea, so Jotaro goes to join Polnareff, while Joseph and Kakyoin buy a truck from the first civilian they can find.

And Dio gets some wheels too, but he doesn't bother paying. Instead he just saunters through town like the diva he is, and takes a seat in a senator's car. This is Wilson Phillips, and he's one of my favorite bit players in JoJo. At first he tries to be nice, but Dio yanks his front teeth out. Senator Phillips briefly recalls his life up to this point, and how he never backed down and always succeeded in life, but Dio refuses to entertain his threats. He just wants Phillips to drive the car and chase after Joseph.

Senator Phillips tries to run for it, but Dio uses his mysterious power to keep him inside the car. Phillips finally complies, more out of madness than fear. When Dio tells him to drive through a croweded sidewalk, Phillips decides that this must be a dream, so his actions have no consequences.

You see what I mean? Part One-y goodness. Dio broke this guy's brain like it wasn't even hard.

Kakyoin sends Heirophant Green to try to slow Dio down, but Dio sends out the World to counter him, and boy does this panel speak for itself. Heirophant Green didn't even see the World coming, and it looks totally outmatched here.

The World is my all-time favorite Stand. Not just because of the "Za Warudo Guy" memes I used to see around 2007, and not just because of its freaky ability or soothing all-yellow color scheme. Mostly, I like it because it looks so fucking cool. You see this guy pop out of Dio and you know someone's gonna get demolished. Dio's a sick fuck who always has this gleeful look on his face when he's fighting, but the World is all business. The look on his face is priceless. If he talked, he'd be like "Nothing personal, Heirophant Green, but you know how this is gonna go."

The only thing that saves Kakyoin is that Heirophant is far enough away from Dio that the World can't hit him with its full strength. Back in the truck, Kakyoin explains to Joseph that the World is a lot like Star Platinum. It has lots of speed and brute strength, but a limited range. If they could sneak up on Dio and catch him unawares, they might stand a chance. But that all gets shot to hell when they find Dio's car has stopped, and then suddenly they get hit by...

Senator Phillips' corspe! Yeah, Dio just chucked a whole-ass person at the truck. This is so much crazier than the rest of Part 3. Tonight, Dio's gonna party like it's 1888.

With their truck wrecked, Joseph and Kakyoin have to use their Stands to swing through Cairo like Spider-Man. Then Kakyoin has an idea on how to force Dio to reveal his Stand's ability. While he sets this up, an inner monologue/narration/recollection informs us of his bond with the rest of the Joestar Group. Like Polnareff, Kakyoin had his Stand from an early age, and this left him disinterested and misunderstood by everyone around him, including friends and family. None of them could see his Stand, so they couldn't understand Kakyoin.

But then he met the Stardust Crusaders, and they became his best friends. Together, they had this common goal of defeating Dio, and that's why Kakyoin is suddenly willing to risk it all just to bring them one step closer to victory.

Kakyoin's plan is somewhat similar to the tactics he used against Tower of Grey way back at the beginning of Part 3. That is to say, he keeps shooting Dio with Emerald Splash, which distracts Dio from noticing that he's being herded into the middle of a bunch of Herophant Green tendrils. Now that he's surrounded, Kakyoin shoots another Emerald Splash at Dio, forcing him to either get hit, or use his Stand to save himself.

So Dio obliges, and we finally see exactly what the World can do. It stops time. Dio crosses the distance between himself and Kakyoin, breaking through the tendrils along the way. Once he's close enough, the World donuts Kakyoin, who has no idea what's happening.

This all takes place in no time at all. Only Dio can percieve the passage of about five seconds during this time freeze. To everyone else, this all seems to happen instantaneously. One moment, Dio is twenty yards away from Kakyoin, surrounded by tendrils. In the next moment, the tendrils are broken, and Kakyoin is suddenly knocked away with a hole in his torso.

And that's it for Kakyoin. Dio turns his attention to Joseph, while Kakyoin uses his final moments of consciousness to try to make sense of what just happened. At last he realizes that Dio can stop time, so he puts everything he can into one last attack. He doesn't fire the Emerald Splash at Dio, though. Instead, he shoots a nearby clock tower, and dies hoping that Joseph can interpret the message.

But before he does figure it out, Joseph lashes out with Hermit Purple. He ties Dio up, and plans to follow through by sending Hamon energy through Hermit Purple to destroy Dio, but it's no good. Dio can rip free of Hermit Purple with ease.

Eventually, Joseph does figure it out, but it won't do him much good to know Kakyoin's message if he dies before he can tell anyone else. Fortunately, Joseph has a plan. Dio catches up to him and it looks like the World has him dead to rights, when suddenly the World stops short.

Joseph can't fight Dio head-on, but he can protect himself by wrapping Hermit Purple around his body and charging it with Hamon. I think he was counting on The World hitting him and then the Hamon power would channel back to Dio and kill him. Would that work, though? Dio's extremely vulnerable to Hamon, but I'm not sure the World is. But Dio seems to think it is, which is why he's not taking any chances.

The enemies compliment each other's cleverness, and Joseph reveals that he knows how the World works. Now that he understand's the time-stop power, it's obvious that Dio can only act for a few seconds within the stopped time. Otherwise, he could have killed the entire Joestar Group back at his mansion. It also stands to reason that there must be some sort of cooldown period for the time stop, or otherwise Dio could just spam multiple time-stops in an unbroken chain.

Dio is impressed, but it doesn't really matter, because Joseph can't defeat him. And Dio is confident that he can kill Joseph without touching him. He uses the World to smash a chimney and the debris knocks Joseph to the street below.

There, in a remarkable coincidence, Joseph finds Jotaro. We last saw him stealing a motorcycle with Polnareff so they could chase after Dio, but now they seem to have gotten separated, so I don't know what happened. Joseph warns him not to approach, and desperately tells him Dio's Stand ability, but that's all he manages to do before...

Dio stops time again, and calmly approaches Joseph. Since he can't hit him without risking a lethal dose of Hamon, Dio swipes a knife from a nearby al fresco restaurant and chucks it at Joseph.

When time resumes, the knife stabs Joseph and that's it for him.

So that's another one down, and Dio points at Jotaro and says "you're next." He sure is, Dio. He sure is...

Maybe I'm underselling it, but I don't know what else I can say about this final arc of the story. It's a classic, period. These lovable dopes came all this way, risked life and limb for a chance to get Dio, and now it's blowing up in their faces. They lost two guys just getting through Dio's house, and now they've lost two more just to find out what Dio's Stand ability is. And with Polnareff so banged up from fighting Vanilla Ice, Jotaro's the only one left to make use of that information.

Let's have one more look at the World before we sign off, shall we?

Mm-mm-mmmph! This guy looks like a million bucks.

[appleitself]

I don’t know who needs this info: but you can take your f/o(s) out on dates/outings!

⟡ Go to a movie and get both your and their fav snack(s)! imagine how they’d react to different scenes! What parts would they chatter about coming out of the theatre? Or would they feel completely zoned out afterwards?

⟡ Go get lunch somewhere cute and local! Get a sandwich that you can split with them, what drink would be their favorite? Would they rather sit inside or outside? What decor or nature would catch their eye while you eat? What will you chatter and gossip about?

⟡ Visit an antique shop and imagine what items they’d joke with you about, what things they’d fiddle with, what they’d actually want to buy! Get something to represent them!

⟡ Go to a lake and go for a swim! Would they splash you? Swim out far? Carry you on their back or climb on yours? Can they even swim?! Maybe after swimming for a while you can go stream hunting with them! And of course you can get some ice cream afterwards, what flavor would they get? What flavor would you? Get a scoop of each in one bowl and ‘share’ !!

⟡ Buy matching jewelry! Make a day of picking your favorite bracelets, necklaces, rings, etc! You can get either one that you can use to represent them or two as a pair! You could even make your own, have a craft night! What sorts of amalgamations or beautiful pieces would they make?

The possibilities are endless! And I promise your f/o(s) will enjoy themself(ves) immensely!