#I haven’t watched it in forever I need it now

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: A lot of mood and scene setting—just vibe with it, MC is in her sad girl era, hints of depression and anxiety, masturbation, Yoongi is a new dad y’all he is tireddd af

Word count: almost 6k

Posting date: November 12, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕🫶🏼

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

Namjoon leans back in his seat, sporting an all-too-familiar, slightly conspiratorial glint in his eyes. Hmm. You know that look. 

It's the same one he had when he "casually" set you up to tutor one of his trainee friends in English—the one you let slip was kinda cute. Or when he signed you up to perform with one of his rapper friends in that underground club in Hongdae. Sure, you knew every word of the chorus to eminem’s Stan, but you were not a fucking singer. 

You still did it, though. Both times. 

Namjoon’s especially notorious for volunteering you to do things he insists are "right up your alley." There’s a fire in his eyes when he starts talking about one of his ideas, and before you know it, you're swept up in his vision, already picturing yourself right there beside him, doing something you’d never consider on your own.

Namjoon has been your best friend since forever and for reasons you can’t explain, saying no to him has always been impossible.

Right. It’s definitely that. It’s definitely not because in those two prior instances mentioned, both friends of his are actually the same guy. The one you had an almost crippling crush on over a decade ago. (You’re sooo over it, though. Trust.)

When Namjoon leaned in, you were already bracing yourself.

“So, you know Yoongi, right?”

You blink, pause, and slowly shake your head. It has taken years, but today is the day you tell him, “No.”

“The fuck? What do you mean no?” He replies, already looking hella amused. “I haven’t even said anything.”

Your face feels like a furnace, but you grit and steady your voice. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

He lets out a hum, shifting in his seat, and you get the sense he’s working up to something. 

You sip your coffee, keeping your eyes on him. He gives you an exaggerated shrug, dimples deepening as he lets his shoulder sag. 

God you’re literally already about to break. 

“Fuck. Joon. Spit it out.”

He nods triumphantly, “Ok, there’s something I thought I’d run by you first, before he hears about it.”

The words hang in the air, and you raise an eyebrow. “Joon. What are you getting me into?”

Namjoon chuckles softly as he folds his hands on the table. “So… Yoongi has a son. A baby, actually.” He pauses, watching for your reaction. 

Woah. Someone has fuckboi Min Yoongi all locked down?! Huh. You never saw that coming.

You let that sink in, surprise filling the quiet space between you. “I… didn’t know he had a kid.”

“Not many people do,” Namjoon admits. “Only those close to him know. Yoongi’s a great dad, but his caretaker recently left, and now he’s scrambling to balance his schedule and take care of his son.”

“And his wife?”

Namjoon sighs, gives you a look that means he’s about to say something confidential. “There’s no wife.”

“Baby mama?”

“Out of the picture.”

You let out a small breath, absorbing everything you just heard. You already had an idea of where this is leading up to, but you want it said explicitly. “So what exactly are you asking me?”

Namjoon nods, eyes hopeful. “Look, I know this is a big ask. I’m putting this out there because you’re one of the best with kids I know. And Yoongi—well, he’s pretty wary about letting new people get close to his son.”

You take another sip of your latte as he prattles on.

“While you’re still getting your bearings back, maybe you could take over the caretaker job, even part time?” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly as he says your name. “I just thought you might consider it. You’d be doing us both a favor. Yoongi really needs help, and I’d trust you more than anyone with this.”

You sit back, letting Namjoon’s words settle. Namjoon knows exactly what he’s asking—knows exactly how hard it is for you to refuse when he gives you that puppy dog look, especially when he’s throwing Yoongi into the mix. Honestly, you hate how you're apparently still soft for him even after all these years.

Namjoon also knows your current situation. Does he not realize it’s a bit unfair to ask this of you right now? Not when you're still picking up the pieces after your breakup with your long-term boyfriend. Not when you need time to heal. Not when you literally uprooted your life and just moved back to Seoul a month ago.

But somehow, you can’t shake the curiosity. What would it even be like to see Yoongi as a dad? To get a glimpse of this whole other life he’s got now?

It’s probably a terrible idea. 

Yeah, no. You don’t need this right now. Money isn’t tight. And you need to focus on… 

You take a slow breath, mentally tracing the edges of this mess. There are a hundred reasons to say no, and only one reason you’d even consider saying yes. And because it’s for Yoongi… damn, maybe that’s reason enough.

The next time you see Yoongi, it’s at HYBE’s massive rehearsal space. Namjoon had invited you to watch the group practice—innocent enough, though you know it’s also his way of nudging you toward the job. Joon thinks he’s subtle, but you know his plans are, more often than not, clunky as hell.

You settle in one corner, holding on to your half-finished iced Americano. A few staff are scattered around the studio, there was another girl (maybe a member’s girlfriend, you’re not sure), but it’s mostly empty. The boys are warming up, stretching or chatting, and you wave to Jungkook and Taehyung before finding yourself glancing toward Yoongi.

Wearing an all black outfit and a baseball cap, he’s standing off to the side, arms full with a fussy baby, and a bassinet stroller in front of him. The boy can’t be more than a few months shy of his first birthday. He’s close to tears, twisting and squirming, while Yoongi, visibly flustered, tries to hand him a toy, then a bottle, then anything he can find. Nothing works. Soon, the baby’s fuss turns into a full-on tantrum.

Oh, damn. Poor Yoongi. 

He drops the bottle, spilling milk across the floor just as the stroller, half-locked, rolls a few feet away. He lunges for it, fumbling as the baby’s wailing intensifies, tiny fists flailing in frustration. Yoongi’s eyes dart around, panicked, while a couple of female staff start toward him, hands outstretched. But he waves them off, his face set in a mix of fierce determination and mild desperation as he rocks and hushes the baby.

It honestly hurts to watch the scene unfold. You almost want to do something.

Namjoon starts clearing people out, Jimin dims the studio lights, and Seokjin picks up the spilled bottle, wiping down the floor. Hobi taps a white noise track on his phone, placing it near the stroller. Your heart warms at how effortlessly everyone pitches in, their movements so practiced it’s obvious they’ve done this before. But it makes you wonder just how many rehearsals have paused for these moments. It’s probably why Namjoon wants to help find a solution, a.k.a you.

You meet your best friend’s gaze and he cocks his head toward the door, signaling for you to file out with the others, but your feet take you somewhere else entirely.

“Is he okay?” you ask, approaching Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t hear you at first, too focused on calming his son. His face is etched with exhaustion and something fragile, an uncharacteristic crack in his calm. He finally glances up, half-exasperated. To your mild relief, a look of recognition crosses his face, before he replies, “Yeah, he’s—he’s usually not this fussy.”

You watch him struggle for a bit, then, before you can second-guess, you step forward. “Do you mind if I try?”

Yoongi hesitates, studying you like he’s weighing the decision to trust you with his son. His eyes flick towards Namjoon who was standing by the door, before it goes back to you. After a tense pause, he nods, handing the baby over.

You hold the little boy, shifting him gently away from the mirrors and bright lights, rocking him slowly and humming an old lullaby you used to sing for your preschoolers. Gradually, his cries quiet down, his tiny head resting against your shoulder as he begins to relax, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. Within minutes, he’s fast asleep.

When you glance up, Yoongi is watching, his face unreadable. There’s relief, yes, but also a quiet wonder, an almost surprised gratitude. 

“I owe you,” he murmurs, a softness in his voice you hadn’t expected.

“‘S ok,” you say, quietly, careful not to wake the baby.

The two of you stand there, his eyes on you for just a beat too long, and if you didn’t have the baby to ground you, you feel like you just might float.

“Thank you,” he says, tone soft and sincere.

From across the room, Namjoon watches, his eyes mirroring the same gratitude.

The call from Yoongi comes unexpectedly one evening, just after dinner. You don’t recognize the number, then again you don’t have a lot of +82s yet since you just moved back after many years of being in the States. The last thing you expect is to hear Yoongi’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, it’s…Min Yoongi,” he starts, voice a little rough.

“Oh, hi.”

There’s a short silence, and then he clears his throat. “Namjoonie mentioned you uh might… be interested in helping with my son.”

You feel a strange flutter, both at the fact that Yoongi is talking to you, and at the fact that he’s asking something so personal. “Uh, yeah. I can help out.”

The pause is long enough that you imagine him somewhere, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he finally says, sounding almost apologetic. “I don’t want to… impose or anything. But it would help. A lot.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” You hear Yoongi release a sigh of relief. Then he says the next phrase in a rush, “I know you are overqualified for this, so uh please let me compensate you with your salary as a teacher in America.”

You feel your face flush. Thank god this was not a video call. Seems you’re as uncomfortable as he is talking about money, though it is a necessary evil. “Oh, no, please Yoongi. You don’t have to. Joonie’s my bestfriend and you’re his brother. I can just help until you can find a more permanent solution.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue with you on this. You hear a puff of breath before he says. “Alright. Thank you.”

And just like that, you’re set. He gives you the address, and you’re left wondering for the rest of the night how you’ll manage this strange new gig.

The first day you arrive at Yoongi’s apartment in Hannam-dong, you’re a bundle of nerves, unsure what to expect. 

After you ring the bell, the door opens to reveal Yoongi with his usual reserved expression, a piece of muslin cloth draped on one shoulder.

“Hi,” he says simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You offer him a smile. “Hey.”

He closes the door behind you as you step inside. You look around, taking everything in.

The apartment is spacious but cozy, with a warmth that speaks of careful design—minimalistic furniture in muted colors, shelves lined with books and vinyl records, a few baby toys strewn around the living room. Homey.

This is the first time you get to really see Yoongi. The brief encounter at the rehearsal studio didn’t afford you the chance to appreciate how time has treated him. 

Seeing him after six years, he’s both the same and somehow different. He has always had that calm confidence—a steady, grounded energy that feels both nostalgic and new. His usually colorful hair, now in its natural hue, casually frames his face. He wears a simple white tee and you can tell the noodle arms are gone. His shoulders are much broader, arms stronger than how you remember him. The silver earrings are still there, subtle reminders of his edginess, softened by time.

But beneath it all, there’s a layer of, hmm… exhaustion, you guess? A shadow under his eyes, faint lines hinting at the weight of sleepless nights. His lips are chapped, there’s a tiny red bump on his chin. He’s a new dad, he hasn’t prioritized himself for a while. Still, his face carries a tenderness in the fatigue, like he’s tired, but happy.

“He’s napping right now,” Yoongi clears his throat, motioning toward a small crib by the window, where his son is sleeping peacefully, bundled in soft blankets. 

“You haven’t told me his name.”

“Haneul.”

“That’s beautiful,” you reply, and Yoongi nods, almost shy.

He hesitates, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. Then he says your name. “I… um, I didn’t know how this would go. His last caretaker was actually my aunt, but she got sick and had to go back home.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He nods, “But after seeing how he calmed down with you… I think he’ll be alright.”

He gives you a tour of his apartment, the baby monitor clipped in his jean pocket. His place is modern, spacious, baby-proofed. There are pictures that line the walls of the hallway linking the nursery, his studio, guest room, guest bath, and the masters.

You spend some time going through Haneul’s things—familiarizing yourself with the layout of the nursery. He shows you where the baby food and snacks are. Talks about his favorite toys and activities. 

While he downloads the 101 on Haneul, the one thing you were curious to know was, where is his birth mom? You obviously don’t want to be a prick so you swallow the question down. Maybe you’ll find out in the future. But for now, you just need to know where the baby wipes are.

For the first few days that you come over, Yoongi keeps close, hovering just within earshot as you ease into the cadence of his son’s needs. He’s there with his arms folded, watching as you handle Haneul, a cautious yet respectful distance. You get it though. You’re a virtual stranger he just let into his home and his son’s life. Who wouldn’t be guarded?

You quickly notice that Haneul has a sweet temperament, but has a bit of a sensitive side. He doesn’t take to loud sounds, so you keep your voice low and movements gentle, singing him lullabies and nursery rhymes under your breath while Yoongi quietly observes, even if he pretends to be engrossed with something else.

On your third day, Yoongi has to leave to attend an important meeting at HYBE. He’s been pacing by the door, making sure his son is settled before he goes, even though you’re right there, holding the baby with practiced ease.

“Are you sure you’re… good with this?” he asks, his brow furrowed, as if still convincing himself to leave.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Go. I got him. He’ll be fine.”

He hesitates one last time, eyes fixed on you, and then he finally gives a small nod. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as the door closes, you’re left with the quiet hum of the apartment and a very awake, very curious baby in your arms. You spend the next hour rocking him and singing songs, amazed at how easily he settles, almost as if he’s known you longer than a few days.

After his nap, you take a video of the babbling Haneul enjoying his yogurt gems and send it to Yoongi. He replies almost immediately with a smiley emoji and a curt: cute.

Yoongi returns around dinnertime right as you’ve settled the baby down in his bed. He steps inside the nursery quietly, watching as you tuck the blanket around his son. When you look up, he’s standing there, holding two cups of steaming liquid.

“I, uh… thought you might want some tea,” he says, looking slightly awkward but endearing.

“Always.” You take the mug with a grateful smile. “How was your meeting?”

“Could’ve been an email,” He shrugs and stuffs the empty hand inside his pocket.

You grin as you take a sip, remembering how you’ve always enjoyed his dry sense of humor, in the rare occasions you hung out in the past. Ooh, this tea is… your favorite.

“Silver moon?” you asked.

He nodded, “There’s a TWG shop that just opened near the office. Namjoonie might have mentioned it was your favorite, so.”

Your ears warm up just as well as your throat as you savor another drink.

“How was Haneul? Did he give you a hard time?”

“Not at all,” you shake your head, looking over to the little angel. “I’ve had a lot of practice, you know.”

“I can’t imagine handling a whole classroom full of them,” he says, looking at you with a mix of admiration and amusement. “One’s hard enough.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” you reply wistfully, suddenly feeling a tug at your heartstrings. ‘What I would give…’ you almost utter out loud.

The thing is, you actually do, without realizing it. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi files the thought away, a subject he might bring up one day—when the time comes that he thinks you trust him, too.

The days blur into a steady rhythm. You arrive in some afternoons, not really everyday, only when Yoongi needs the extra hand at home or if he needs to leave the house for a day of rehearsals. You both establish that this is merely a favor so he doesn’t treat you like you’re at his every beck and call. Usually it starts with a short message in Kakao, and if you’re free, he would send a car to pick you up. Your meals are always ready, delivered on the dot. Conveniences are always within your reach—your favorite tea, extra clothes in case there are food or poop blow-outs, etc. The cleaning lady that goes thrice a week, Mrs. Kwon sometimes keeps you company and assists you with anything.

As you help take care of his baby, you feel that he’s looked out for you, too. Which is nice.

On days that he is working from home, Yoongi brings his work into the living room, just to be nearby during playtime with you and Haneul. 

One evening, when his son falls asleep in your arms after a particularly fussy day, Yoongi glances up from his laptop and leans back in his chair, a tired but grateful smile breaking through.

“He’s really taken to you,” he observes, sounding almost as if he’s admitting it to himself.

You smile, feeling a strange warmth at his words. “I think he’s just a really sweet kid, Yoongi. He’s easy to love.”

The smile he gives you after that is probably the gummiest one you’ve ever seen. 

A few weeks pass, and a subtle partnership has started forming between you, like you’re both slowly finding a rhythm in the chaos of caring for Haneul.

Bath time becomes a kind of unspoken relay: you gather the towel and clothes, while Yoongi preps the tub, testing the water with careful fingers. There’s a brief exchange of glances—no need for words, just a nod as you pass off Haneul, who’s already giggling happily.

Snack time turns into a ritualized watch party. You set out the applesauce and crackers for Haneul, and Yoongi brings a bag of chips and his laptop over to the living room, joining you and Haneul for yet another episode of Miss Rachel. Occasionally, he’ll mutter a sarcastic comment under his breath, trying (and failing) to disguise the fact that he’s memorized the songs, too. (And in English, no less!)

There was one particular afternoon that you walk in on the father and son having a heartwarming exchange.

Haneul, who’s wobbling on his unsteady little legs, is reaching eagerly for a stuffed tiger Yoongi is holding just out of reach.

“Oh, no, no, no—you gotta work for this,” Yoongi teases, eyebrows raised dramatically. He moves the tiger side to side, adding a low, exaggerated growl that makes Haneul squeal with laughter. Yoongi leans fully into the act, growling and making faces, finally swooping Haneul up with a playful roar, both of them dissolving into laughter.

You can’t help but laugh along with them, your heart catching slightly at the sight. The way his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement, his mouth relaxed into a wide gummy grin. And you’re startled by how… soft he looks, how fucking attractive he is when he’s like this. When his usual quiet intensity is replaced by this playfulness, by this open warmth. It hits you somewhere deep, a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you can’t quite ignore.

Yoongi catches you watching, his smile faltering for a moment, but he holds your gaze. His expression shifts, something curious reflecting in his eyes as if he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he swallows a lump in his throat, cheeks dusting a faint pink as he looks down, bashful.

You force yourself to glance away, feeling warmth creep up your neck. For the first time, you’re struck by an awareness of him that wasn’t there before, and it lingers, even as you turn back to whatever it was you were supposed to be doing. The image of his smile, his laughter—it all stays with you, stirring something you can’t quite put a name to.

And just like that, you’re settling into this role in the life of the Min men—something you know is temporary, but is infinitely meaningful.

When you’re not in Yoongi’s apartment, your own place feels strangely foreign.

God, you hate it here. You can’t even bring yourself to call it home—it’s just a room with white walls, half-opened moving boxes, a stack of unread books Joonie gave you, a mattress on the floor, and a fridge with a single egg. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You could fix the place up—it’s not like you can’t afford a bed frame or groceries—but for some reason, you’re punishing yourself. Like this is the way someone like you—unwanted and rejected—ought to live.

Nothing in this flat tethers you to it, and maybe that’s why you prefer being out.

You’re afraid your heart is stuck somewhere in limbo, somewhere between Seoul and LA. Maybe it’s still floating above the clouds on that flight back. You don’t know when it’ll come down, but you hope it’s soon.

Tonight, you’re restless, tossing and turning in your makeshift bed, replaying fragments of your old life—a love that once felt solid, a future that had once felt certain. Your mind drifts to those last conversations with Jiyong, your ex, the ones where he shut down every hope you had for a family, making you wonder if wanting more was somehow wrong.

You probably deserve it, though. You want a family, but you can barely cook for yourself. What do you hope to feed a child—takeout? Junk food? It’s laughable. You can’t even make a home feel like one. Jiyong probably got tired of you because you’re useless at it.

Stop. You close your eyes, focus on your breathing, try to still your mind. 1, 2, 3…

Some nights, you especially hate yourself. Tonight is one of them.

You need to call Namjoon. He can usually talk you down, ease the self-loathing. You ring him three times, but each time, you get his voicemail. Fuck. Maybe he’s out, maybe he’s getting laid. Good for him, honestly.

But that might actually work. You rummage through one of your boxes and find the one purple bullet that’s gotten you through plenty of spirals. With a flick, the vibrator buzzes to life, and you slip it beneath your panties, pressing it right against your clit. You’re not in the mood to drag this out—you want release, quick and easy, something to take the edge off.

At first, your limbs relax as that familiar tingle begins, little sparks shooting from your core, teasing you with hints of pleasure. You keep at it, determined, but after a few minutes, the sensations stall. It’s like your body’s stuck, lingering on the edge without tipping over, leaving you stranded and more frustrated than when you started. You decide to cut your losses.

Maybe a shower. Maybe you can pop by the GS25 down the block for a bottle of soju.

But then your phone pings. It’s Yoongi.

Your tummy suddenly feels funny.

You immediately swipe up and read the string of messages that has popped on your Kakao.

Yoongi: Hey so I found this in Haneul’s crib Yoongi: image.jpg  Yoongi: u got this for him? he is lowkey obsessed. Yoongi: But WTF is it? 

You cackle. Loud and hearty. A sound you didn’t think you were capable of on a shitty night like this.

You: A capybara! Look it up! Yoongi: Oh Yoongi: never heard of it You: They’re cute Yoongi: ? You: Don't be mean You: Haneul and I love bora Yoongi: ?? You: thats her name Yoongi: noted

That night, the Kakao thread becomes your lifeline. Yoongi asks about your next visit, what you had for dinner, and when you say goodnight he sends back a grainy selca of him and a sleeping Haneul with Bora. The photo brings unexpected joy, something to remind you that you aren’t as alone as it sometimes feels. Finally, you succumb to slumber, clutching your phone to your chest, thoughts of Yoongi and Haneul floating in your dreams.

After that, you become more and more aware that Yoongi’s place has become a sanctuary. There’s Haneul’s bright laughter, the way his tiny fingers curl around yours, and the sound of Yoongi’s soft, steady voice, creating a background that somehow starts to feel comforting. With them, you’re too busy to dwell on the past or the ache left behind by someone else’s rejection. Instead, you’re present, stable.

And it’s in those moments—when you’re reading Haneul a story or soothing him to sleep—that you feel a glimmer of something you’d thought you’d lost: hope. The simple act of holding him, soothing him through his small struggles… It’s healing in a way you can’t quite put into words, as if this little boy is slowly fusing pieces of your heart you’d almost forgotten were broken.

And Yoongi—he’s part of it, too. His presence, his quiet strength, the way he’s trusted you with something so precious. 

You know this is just a phase, that this isn’t your life, but a part of you can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were. To be here, day after day, with this little family that’s somehow found its way into your heart.

You’re still healing, still putting yourself back together, but this—this feels like the start of something you could believe in again.

What you couldn’t believe though was the email from your building administrator with an acknowledgment receipt for next quarter’s rent payment—all settled. You haven’t made the deposit yet, how come it’s saying it’s been paid for already?

You pace your room staring at the email from your phone as if it holds all the answers. 

What is happening? Who paid for this? You didn’t sign up for some sugar baby service… 

Wait. Something clicks in your brain. Suga. Baby.

Your first instinct is to call Namjoon, meddler extrordinaire. He picks up on the second ring, sounding annoyingly chipper.

“‘Sup, buttercup?” he asks.

“Don’t act cute, Joonie,” you warn. “Did you know about this?”

There’s a pause. “About what, exactly?”

“Yoongi,” you say, practically hissing his name. “He paid my rent, didn’t he? Three months’ worth. How did he even know where I live?”

Namjoon lets out a hum, his tone maddeningly calm. “Ah. That.”

“Yes. That. Care to explain?”

“Look,” Namjoon says, unbothered. “Yoongi asked, so I gave him your address. He said you refused his offer, but still he wanted to pay you back somehow.”

“But Joon! It’s too much—” You pause, scrambling for the right words. “How did he even get a hold of the landlord and settle all this without my knowledge?”

Namjoon chuckles, which only makes you more annoyed. “Yoongi hyung is an influential guy, you know. If he wants something, he’ll fuckin’ find a way. Just take it, okay? You’re helping him, he’s helping you. It’s fair.”

You huff, still not convinced. “It’s just… a lot, Joon. I don’t need anyone swooping in and paying my bills. And you could’ve at least warned me.”

“I get it. But you’re helping him with something really important. This is his way of saying thank you.”

You sink back into your chair, the irritation draining out of you. “Fine,” you mutter. “But if he pulls something like this again, I’m coming for your ass.”

Namjoon laughs. “Aishh. Why the hell is it my fault?”

“You’re a smart man. Figure it out.” You hang up.

You spend that afternoon at Yoongi's. He was in a rush, dashing out for some shoot as you arrive. You hear him return around seven, just as you're finishing putting Haneul to sleep. Once the baby is settled, you tiptoe out of the nursery with the baby monitor on hand, following the sounds of soft clinking and the rich aroma wafting from the kitchen.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you call out, stepping into view. “Haneul’s all tucked in. I was just gonna—”

“Stay for dinner?” Yoongi’s eyes light up, his voice gentle but hopeful as he turns, holding a pot in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It looks like he came straight from his shoot, his hair still styled in soft, precise waves that swoop perfectly across his cheekbones. He’s wearing the softest, oversized yellow sweater layered over a crisp white shirt, and his jeans hug him just right. But it’s his smile that really draws you in—light radiates from him, his face glowing not just from a bit of skincare, but from something more.

Goddamn. The man is looking fine as hell.

You’d planned to meet up with Namjoon tonight, but one look at Yoongi—whose eyes are too shy to hold yours as he ladles red sauce into a ceramic bowl—and you know you are absolutely staying put. Joon will understand.

“Ok, yeah, that looks really good,” you say.

“It is.” Yoongi smirks, just barely, and gestures to the fridge. “I’ll plate this up if you can grab some drinks?”

You procure a couple of beers from the chiller and set them on the dining table, shooting off a quick text to Joon afterwards.

You: Hey, raincheck? Yoongi made dinner and it looks good ngl

His response is instant.

Namjoon: You blowing me off to play house with hyung. K. I see how it is.

This asshole.

You’re about to call and give him a piece of your mind when Yoongi’s voice pulls you back. “Everything okay?”

Your gaze shifts to the plates of spaghetti he’s just set down, the aroma working wonders to sway your thoughts. “Yeah, just Joon being a pain in my ass as usual.”

“Sit.” Yoongi gestures to your chair as he settles into his.

“Wait.” You grab the baby monitor from the kitchen counter, setting it between you and Yoongi. The screen shows Haneul fast asleep, Bora tucked securely under his arm.

“There. Now we can eat.”

Yoongi nods, and the two of you dig in.

It hits you that this is actually the first time the two of you have shared a quiet dinner together like this. You were expecting Yoongi to let the silence linger, but he starts a conversation mid-way.

“I, uh, was surprised to see you back here,” he says casually, twirling a forkful of pasta.

“Me too. It was… kind of abrupt.”

He nods, not pressing, just listening. You don’t think you’re ready to talk about that so you try a joke.

“Didn’t think you’d ever see the girl who carried your performance of Stan?” you add, smirking. “I basically launched your career.”

“Carried?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Nah, you were choking.”

“Hell no.”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs softly, shoulders bobbing. “Rewriting history….”

“Fine. I sucked. Joon totally went behind my back with that one. Not that he’s the only one who likes going behind my back,” you add pointedly, of course alluding to the matter of your paid-off rent.

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, looking almost guilty. “Sorry for overstepping.”

“Just don’t start paying my utilities behind my back, too. Because—”

He shifts awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“Yoongi?”

He clears his throat. “Just your electricity. I… may have asked the landlord to include it this month.”

“Oh my god.”

“And water,” he adds quickly, eyes widening like a kid who just got caught.

“Add my Netflix subscription while you’re at it.”

“Done.”

“NO!!! You’re actually worse than Joonie,” you groan, though a smile quirks at your lips. “But, thank you:”

He nods, briefly pausing before he speaks up again, a little too flippantly. “So… you and Namjoonie—what’s the deal there?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, looking somewhere over your shoulder. “You know what we all think? That he’s playing some kind of long game with you.”

You wrinkle your nose, laughing. “Oh god, no. Y’all are waayyy off. Namjoon’s like my brother, that’s it.”

Yoongi nods slowly, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you.

“Everyone thinks that, huh?” you ask, leaning in, a little bolder than usual.

“Mhmm.” Yoongi gives a slow nod, as he nibbles his lower lip.

“All the members?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching you carefully.

“Including you?”

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though something shifts in his expression, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know existed.

“Interesting,” you murmur, swirling your glass.

“Why?” he narrows his eyes on you, wheels turning in his head.

Maybe it’s the beer loosening you up, bubbles lifting your usual filters. You’ve always been a lightweight.

“You never wondered why Joonie suddenly set you up for English tutoring with me—just you—even though your company had a professional hired to teach everyone?”

He blinks, eyes narrowing a bit more.

“Or why I ended up singing with you at that damn club?” You laugh, leaning back.

His lips mold into a small pout, processing, but you’re already laughing.

“Joonie’s been throwing me into your orbit, Yoongi,” you say, giggling, the alcohol hitting you hard now. “And you’re telling me you never noticed?”

He looks like he’s having a full conversation with himself, his mouth opening and closing like a stunned goldfish inside a gallon bottle. All he manages is an eloquent: “shit.”

“Well, for the record,” you pause, “I thought you were cute, but it was obvious you weren’t interested. Don’t worry, though,” you say lightly, glancing down on your almost empty plate. “I’m a big girl now. It’s all in the past.”

As you stab the last meatball, you miss the way Yoongi’s gaze softens.

You have no way of knowing what’s going through his head. But if you did, you would find that he’s thinking:

If he could go back in time, he’d kick his younger self straight in the balls for not noticing, and tell him to get his head out of his ass long enough to realize this one shocking truth: 

You were not Namjoon’s girl.

And he actually had a chance with you.

Because maybe you’re right. Back then everything was about the dream—y’know, big house, big cars, big rings, and all that shit. So yeah, maybe, he wasn’t ready then.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t now.

Notes: Oh-KKKAYYY!! How are we feeling? Anything you liked in particular in this chapter? Where is the baby mama? Do we even care atp?!

Part 2 is where things get more flirty, spicy, and all that good stuff.

Tell me your thoughts and theories. See you in the comments! <333

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful, human 💕🫶🏼

Taglist:

@yoongznme @nnybtitts08 @rinkud @nbjch05 @perfectiondazesworld

@marnz1990 @mxrauds @queenbloody @jadestonedaeho7 @futuristicenemychaos

@direnediane @glossdebut @maryhopemei @theresstardustinmyblood @mggv97

@wobblewobble822 @kam9404 @supernoonanyc @damn-u-min-yoongi @ot72025

@busanbby-jjk @granataepfelchen @jajabro @tarahardcore @marihoneywk

@ryryvna @tea4sykes @mar-lo-pap @lilkittenjenjen

@captainchrisstan @thelittlecatonthecake @flaneuseonthestreets @sexytholland @diamonddia-mond

@yronathaniel @as-hs-blog @amarssfanfic @mafersame @amarawayne

@eurydiceofterabithia

Sorry if I'm unable to tag you. Did my best to include everyone who commented and asked!

[jjenthusee]

Racing Hearts Pt. 5

Pairing: F1!Driver!JasonTodd x Reporter!Reader

A/N: sorry for the late late late update 😭 i was having so much problems with trying to enjoy this series again that I felt that if i rushed it it would ruin the series for not just me but a lot of people. Thank you for all the patience and i hope u enjoy this much needed chapter. ENJOY and flowers for all of u 😫💐 like if you’re comfortable and please tell me your thoughts as the story continues <3

Check out the Racing Hearts Masterlist!

Word Count: 1.9k (sorry but i’ll work my way up again 💪)

Jason finally had time to check his phone. He removed any miscellaneous notifications he forgot to silent before getting to the track this morning, but he was checking for a familiar name and icon.

It was like a little surge was invading his bones. He couldn’t help smiling at your conversations, it was like he was back to a teenager nervously trying to talk to a crush, but he didn’t have a lot of experience with those.

The times he rarely did have a fling, he kept it private, left it before it could be a scandal that he would be chewed out for.

But this.

This was new. He knew it was different when he was trying to get any attempt to still make sure you were fine with being with him.

What really made his stomach churn was when he couldn’t bring you to the airport to see him off. It felt wrong to leave your place without you behind him, leaving you to kiss only him goodbye, but not asking to follow him to the airport.

He tried to brush off the feeling the entire flight, but he couldn’t squish the thought that he wanted you here. That other than a quick romance, he could talk to you about his personal life, and he was fighting to throw you on the next plane so you could watch him race.

Maybe a dramatic kiss after he won would be nice. But, that was too cliché.

While deep in his thoughts, Roy tried to peak over Jason’s shoulder, trying to see what he was looking at, but it was not smart to try that on such a tall man. All he could manage to see was an open browser with plane flights.

“You tryna leave me here by myself?” Roy calmly asked, keeping his eyes down at the phone.

Jason frowned, not surprised at the nosey man.

“You get a little friend and now you want to leave me?” Roy feigned tears, placing his hands gently onto Jason’s shoulders. “If you must, then go! I can get us a championship. I can handle that for us.”

Jason sighed, closing his phone.

“Shouldn’t you be watching Lian? Why are you bothering me and what are you talking about?” He asked.

“Lian’s always with the crew, she’s more interested in the buttons than behind the wheel—don’t try to distract me, I’m not stupid, Jaybird. I knew you were a two timer.” Roy pointed an accusing finger into Jason’s face. “I saw that interview and I know that look in your eyes. I even commented on that video.”

“Uh, huh.” Jason ignored him and walked away, this time looking back at his phone to try to type, not reacting to Roy’s antics.

“I’m surprised your brothers haven’t bothered you about it. Dick’s gonna be jealous when I tell him you’re trying to get a flight back for love.” Roy aimlessly followed Jason, adjusting the cap on his head as he playfully wiggled his brows.

“That dickwad is probably too busy hiding behind a badge for that. He needs to find better things to do than bother me.” Jason stopped pacing, looking back at the red hair tail that can’t seem to get off him. “And you need to watch your daughter and also stop bothering me.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Roy sung. “Just me and you on this track forever, plus Lian, never leaving each other while we embrace—with Lian, of course.” He opened his arms for a hug.

Jason gave Roy an impassive look, not bothered to even give him an expression.

Still with open arms and a smile on his face, Roy waited before a small voice shouted out.

“JayJay! JayJay!” Lian’s small shout catches Roy’s attention.

“My Lian!” Roy reached out to grab his daughter walking with one of the crew members, finally relieving them from their babysitting duty. “No Jaybird today, Lian, he’s trying to run away.” He cooed happily to his daughter as she laughed, large noise cancelling headphones were bouncing around her neck and a bright smile spread on her face as he booped her nose.

“I’m not—the flight isn’t for me.” Jason sighed, not willing to look at Roy fully in the eyes.

Roy’s eyes widened as he heard the admission. A small silence lingered.

Lian broke the pause by reaching out for Jason. She made small grabby hands before he immediately gave in to grab her underneath her arms, settling on his chest.

She whispered a small “JayJay” before laying her head down, exhausted from an hour of playing while Roy and Jason were busy racing in the practice sessions.

While Jason patted Lian’s back soothingly, Roy watched as the two most important people in his life were embracing. It brought a smile to his face.

“I’m happy for you, Jaybird.”

It was all that was said between the two as Lian closed her eyes, but Jason felt content. He was given support.

—

“I’m never afraid of the track, it’s the fastest you can ever be on the ground and I wanna be the best.” Jason spoke to the interviewer on your TV screen, the Australian sun surrounding his face.

“How important is this race for you?” The off-screen voice asked Jason.

“Every race is important. I’ve gotten RedBull multiple wins these past couple years and I want to add another one. I feel better than I’ve ever have.”

You sat on your couch, dinner in your lap, watching your partner on screen wave goodbye, giving one final dazzling smile while taking off to his car.

He looked like he was in his element, a kind of happiness that only sprouted in him from Formula 1. A kind of motivation used for racing.

“Welcome to another race of the Formula One World Championship. What a great weekend to continue a new season.” The introduction boomed from your TV, setting up the Sunday excitement, ready to end another race weekend.

Ding. Ding. Your phone notifications rung next to you as you took a bite of your dinner.

You: I told you to hold a peace sign to the camera, now you owe me dinner

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: *thumbs down your message*

You laugh at your phone screen.

You: Loser

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: *thumbs down your message*

You: Send me a picture of you in your gear

As you wait for the reply, your TV catches your attention. A driver you’ve never seen before now standing in front of the microphone.

“Todd? How is that guy a threat? He just hides behind the RedBull emblem, but he’s nothing but another racer.” The raspy voice sent a chill through you.

“Jason Todd is a back-to-back four-time World Champion, do you plan on breaking that streak?” The interviewer pressed on.

“Ha! Like that’s hard, did you see how he crashed his vehicle last year? Bet he wouldn’t want that happening again, huh?” The man’s voice twisted something in you.

Formula 1 did have it’s competitive moments, but how was someone like this rude man competing?

Ding.

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: please I am more than my body

Despite Jason’s words, a flattering picture of him came in. A good look at his hands and body in the RedBull uniform. Gosh, you missed him.

You saved the photo with a smile on your face. A new lock screen.

You: don’t injure that pretty face of yours <3

“Thank you for the interview, good luck on your race.” The interviewer finished up, stepping in front of the camera to replace the rude driver.

You glanced up to get one final look at the screen, watching the rude racer walk away, expecting him to get bombarded with another interviewer and a brand new set of cameras, but he walked in a different direction, away from the crowd.

You were confused at the racer breaking the long chain of interviews happening on race day.

At the very edge of the camera, you could see the racer joining another man, adorned in a suit, turning his head sideways, but you couldn’t recognize who that was.

You whipped out your laptop. Maybe you missed an upcoming rookie the last year or there must’ve been a change you missed in the racing industry.

Your mind buzzed remembering the blurry man putting his arm around the rookie racer before your ringtone shouted at you.

Life is a Highway started to play as Jason’s contact picture brightened on the screen, a nice side view picture of his smiling face when you took him out for dinner.

You quickly picked up.

“Hey Jay! How’s Australia?” You gleefully asked, contrasting glancing back and forth to the TV screen and your laptop before the camera changed to the racetrack, no longer seeing the mysterious men.

“It’s fun when Roy isn’t talking his ass off.” Jason’s voice faded as he yelled at Roy to back off from him. “I gotta race soon, but I just wanted to hear ya before I had to leave. God, I miss you.”

Your breath hitched hearing Jason be so direct. You tried to reason with yourself that it was from the adrenaline before the race, but it made you feel like you were floating off the couch.

“I miss you too. Maybe when you have a chance to get back here, we can go out to eat like we normally do.” You suggested, a little more brightness in your voice.

You watched the compilation of Jason’s previous races playing on the screen. You saw him zooming down the narrow lanes at horrifying speeds as you heard him softly speak to you through your phone.

“I wanna fly you out here before then. I mean, I’ll be down for Vegas, but that’s too long. I gotta get you down here next to me.” Jason’s voice smoothly went in and out of your ears.

Your felt yourself reddening at his delightful words to you.

“I’ll see what I can do about work leave, but maybe i’ll take a couple sick days?” You spoke to Jason, happiness surging through you. “I would really love to fly out there.”

A loud engine roared through your phone, cutting off Jason’s voice briefly.

“Shit, sorry about that, I gotta go. I lo—” Jason hesitated before he was about to end the call, following up by several louder engines revving, overshadowing his voice despite how close he was to the phone. “I, uh, I’ll call you later.”

“Stay safe, Jay.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Beep.

The call clicked to end. No longer hearing the bustle around Jason as he was inching closer to his race.

Your heart beat rapidly in your ears as you continued to hold your phone in your hand despite the call ending moments ago.

You can’t assume.

There are numerous words that start with that sound. Maybe it was a mistake?

—

“What the fuck, Roy?” Jason yelled over Roy revving his engine multiple times. “I was almost done—will you stop—Roy!”

Roy lifted his foot, no longer making the obnoxious noise.

“Get your helmet on, we gotta go. If you win, then you can talk on the phone all ya want.” Roy was ready to pull onto the track. “Unless you want to stay on the phone and I can win this for us?”

Roy laughed as he sped off.

Jason sighed in disbelief as he walked back to get make sure the final checks on his car were done.

Roy was the only one who could compete with him on the track, so maybe his words weren’t just to instigate him.

He needed to focus because he wanted to see you and win while you were with him.

Jason put on his helmet, getting any last-minute safety precautions checked before he got the signal to drive out.

Tag List: @jaybirdstreet @kalzzen @meowkn @velvetberries @i0lovepink00 @rayaskoalaland @spidernuggets @janybabyy @deimks @yasmin-oviedo @bigraga-sk @indulgentdaydream @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @idontknowanythingsblog @xakilicious @livvyliv15 @whatsupstark @maxi-ride @kolmikaelsonslover

[atalldrinkofcaprisun]

Don’t Wait For Me After I’m Gone (pt. 2)

silco x gn!reader - he didn’t die AU - tw: canon compliant violence, drug use - 18+

howdy!!! reposted and edited again! I’m having trouble with all of the links so sorry they’re not super functional right now. But anyways, I MISS MY WIFE TAILS!!

also on ao3 xx masterlist

The screaming was the worst part. You had been posted outside of The Doctor’s underground laboratory/cave for three hours now, under the orders not to enter unless you wanted to be sedated until the procedure was over.

When the Scientist arrived at the factory, he had started work immediately. The bullets nimbly extracted and quickly stitched, his hand feebly squeezing your own when he could. You had pressed kisses to his damp temples and pushed hair out of his face, back into his rumpled style. He’d even notice sometimes but it was clear he was in agony.

“It is good you kept that with you,” The Doctor nodded his head towards the injector lying cracked on the floor towards the far wall. You had thrown it off as soon as it had emptied, “He would have been unreachable if you had not administered the medicinal serum. It gave him just enough to hold on.”

“So, he’s going to be okay?” You asked, trying to give that little flame of hope in your chest something to fuel itself.

“He will survive, yes. Survival at least.” the bandaged man replied cryptically before returning his full attention to Silco, “I suggest making plans to move him to safety. Your opponents will be hunting for you soon if they haven’t started already.” He’d put a hand on your shoulder, “I know where they will not find you.”

Shortly afterwards, you had sprinted all the way back to The Last Drop. Exhausted and shaking, you’d only managed a stammering, “Silco. He’s- the warehouse…” before promptly passing out into Ran’s arms. You’d woken up in your bed, apparently you had only been out about 20 minutes.

Now, here you stood, arms crossed and leaning against a rough stone wall. Your nails dug into your skin, trying to center yourself. You couldn’t leave, not when he was in pain. Jinx had been permitted in. Whatever had transpired between Jinx and The Doctor had created a new trust. You had wanted to protest but when Jinx set Silco down on the examination table and sat quietly in a chair in the corner, her eyes not moving from Silco, you had surrendered. Jinx needed to know her father wasn’t going to be one more thing to haunt her. You could keep watch this time.

Sevika was elsewhere getting her arm fixed once again, and keeping all of the intelligence open for signs of what had been happening in Piltover. She’d headed back to The Drop. Running Zaun directly or alone had never been something you wanted. Especially now, with the love of your life still in danger of being lost forever, and your child being the cause on top of whatever had been done to her-

There came another string of rambles, ranging from terror to agony to anger. Occasionally you would hear The Doctor muttering. You could feel the wave of emotions settle between your shoulders, winding up the muscles like snakes tensing to bite. You needed a distraction.

Threats were going to be coming from all sides. Jinx had officially crossed the carefully toed line of impertinent interference that Silco had perfected. You didn’t know what the aftermath of the missile had been, and it didn’t take a genius to guess. A part of you didn’t care. Fuck the Topsiders for needing to be brought to the battlefield. Still, you couldn’t ignore the stiffness setting in your arms and neck, your hands clenched into fists as tears began to resurface.

Another moan of pain, this one low and mournful… your name again. You covered your ears and tried to fight the urge to bust through the door.

Fuck it. You’d rather be sedated then hear one more second of this without being able to help. Hands flew to the door handle of their own accord, but were met with the empty air as the door opened first.

Jinx’s pink eyes bore into your own, flat, “Doc say you can come in. Apparently he’s though the worst. Dad’ll- be okay.” She sounded completely drained.

You gathered Jinx in a tight hug, wanting to offer any sort of comfort you could, “He’s going to understand. We’ve been so worried about you, Blue.”

“I killed him.” She mumbled into your shoulder, “I almost-”

“But you didn’t,” you pulled back to look in her eyes, your hands pushing her bangs off of her forehead to finally get a good look. She was so pale now, worse than before, almost spectral. Her freckles and dark makeup only making her appear more sickly, she was smeared with dirt and blood and crusted tears. Her eyes weren’t glowing anymore, but their pale blue had been consumed by the eery magenta of Shimmer. “He knows how much you’re struggling. He isn’t dead. It was an accident. He knows that.”

Jinx didn’t look convinced, only lifting your arms off of her and pushing past into the fissures beyond, “I just need to be alone.“ She turned before she crossed behind the faint lantern glow, “You know where to find me,” and then she was gone.

You waited, letting the compulsion to run after her and comfort her dissolve for a later time. If anything would be able to get through to Jinx it would be Silco himself. In order for him to get the chance, however, you needed to make sure Silco would stay alive. Jinx was smart, and knew when and how to lay low. She would be alright for a few hours. With a deep breath and you headed into the attached cavern.

“Doctor, Is he-“ your gaze mimed fixated on the disheveled and miserable man strapped to the gurney. At the sound of your voice Silco’s eyes landed on you, relief washing over his expression the moment he processed what he was seeing. “Thank Jannah, Sil,” you sighed, stepping and crossing the space. Your hand fell into his, fitting perfectly into his palm, warm and alive and responsive. With a smile you took your free hand and pushed the strands of charcoal and ash hair out of his face, “Hey there, handsome.” You beamed.

The once bright orange iris, now matching his daughter’s pink hue, was scanning along your features, relief washing over the face you had come to love more than you had ever thought possible. His pale blue eye was just as intently looking at you, but his eyelid hung heavy with exhaustion, “What’s a creature like you,” his voice was strained and low, rumbling out of his chest more than his throat, “doing in a place like this?”

Your mind played the first time he had said that to you as you grinned, “That line is still too cheesy to work.”

“Better than the look you gave me when I said it then.” He hummed as your hand moved from his hair to brush his cheek, “Did I ever tell you it was Jinx’s idea?”

“To try and hit on me after saving my life or?” You laughed lightly.

“To tell you,” he wheezed for a second as a flare of purple raced up his skin and into his damaged iris, “ah, how pretty you looked.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and the pain seemed to become just a little less.

“So you settled on calling me a creature?” You scoffed teasingly.

“Is now the time for such, frivolous things?” The Doctor’s tone was annoyed as he cut in. He started undoing the straps holding Silco down, and he motioned for you to help him.

You looked at the scientist with one brow raised as Silco sighed, “I’ve nearly died today. It makes a man think about things… differently,” his gaze didn’t move from your face, like he was studying it for the first time. You were used to his staring habit, but this felt different. Maybe it was the drugs, “so beautiful,” he muttered so low, he probably hadn’t even noticed he’d said it.

“Shut up, old man,” you smiled, “Save your breath.”

The Doctor moved to your side of the table, batting you away as he began to unstrap his arm and head. Which was only fair since you hadn’t even started to undo the buckle. Your hand slipped away from Silco’s and you immediately missed the feeling. The anxiety that boiled in your stomach was vicious and your skin seemed to itch with the need to continue to make sure Silco was truly alive and real, on the mend and going to survive. Once the kingpin was free, the Doctor took his pulse, then gently helped him rise to a sitting position. His face contorted with the pain but eased as he breathed through it. At last, Doc looked towards you and nodded, giving his permission, you could fully take in your paramour.

Silco’s left arm was protectively hugged around his bandage wrapped torso, his smoldering eye still pulsing pink as was it’s seafoam counterpart. His hair was haphazard and his makeup smeared away long ago, the ashen skin of his scar visible in large smudges. You wrapped your arms around him as gently as you could manage, still causing him to hiss ever so slightly. His heartbeat thumped away under your ear, protected in his rib cage, fast and a little irregular. His smell was tainted with blood and sweat but it was still him. His free arm pulled you closer, his nose resting on top of your head. Together you breathed. Just for a moment that to you, felt like the exact eternity you needed to find your voice.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

He chuckled deep in his chest, “I promise to try and not make it a habit, my lovely.”

You only burrowed further into his arms in reply. Your home was here. Safely by Silco’s side, in his arms, breathing and basking in the gift of having more time. Just as the tension had begun to ease from your shoulders Silco spoke again, “Where is Jinx? Is she alright?”

You met his gaze, “She’s… upset. She didn’t mean to kill you. I think she’s headed back to her lab. I wanted to go with her but…”

“But you needed to make sure I would be alright first.” He gently finished and ran a hand through your hair, “Thank you for saving me. Now we’re officially even.” He let his fingertips stroke your cheek, “We need to get to Jinx. I need to tell her I forgive her.”

“You won’t be able to walk on your own yet, old friend.” The Doctor spoke up again from his desk across the room, apparently he had returned to his more important projects, “Your body is still processing the serum. You don’t have your daughter’s vitality.”

Silco frowned over at the old scientist, “I think I can manage. And anyways,” he looked down at you, “I won’t be alone.”

You nodded, and stepped out of his embrace to help him down and onto his feet. As he touched the stone floor however, his legs seemed to buckle and he fell onto you heavily with a grunt of pain. You caught him and let him get his grip on the edge of the gurney. His teeth grinding as he pulled himself upwards, “Sil? Are you-?”

“It’s fine.” The ever stubborn Eye of Zaun commanded. The Doctor and you shared a quick look.

You knew he was lying but he had more pressing concerns than his own comfort at the moment, “Can you?” he gestured vaguely around himself. Asking for help was still not something he was completely comfortable with, but you knew what he meant.

You shifted around him, so one of your arms was around his midsection, the other was holding his hand as his own arm swept over your shoulders. Jinx’s Lab and The Last Drop were a bit of a walk away. The Doctor, grumbling all the while, retrieved a cane from some depths of his caverns and gave you what doses Silco might need if he took a sudden turn. With measured steps you began to lead Silco to the door. Just before you crossed the threshold, Silco tugged and stopped, “Thank you, Doctor. My family owes you a great debt.”

A stiff and matter of fact “I know.” was the only reply he received.

Silco pressed a kiss to your temple and together you set off.

[tiramisuucakeee]

SWAN LAKE ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

( reader x park sunghoon )

IN WHICH: every night, at 2am, park sunghoon meets his dream girl by a swan lake, and she’s always there for him.

BTW: omg why is this man so whimsical and angelic, i haven’t been able to write anything good 4 jw cause of hoon.

read more !

the sky stretched wide and endless, an ocean of soft lavender and indigo. the air was warm, and the grass beneath unghoon’s feet felt like a gentle whisper against his skin as he walked.

his movements were slow, almost as if he weren’t quite in control, as if something beyond him was guiding him forward, leading him to this place.

a flower field. the wild blooms — delicate petals of pale pink, lavender, and white — seemed to sway in rhythm with the breeze, a soft lullaby in the air.

sunghoon didn’t know how he got here, but he never really did. he never asked questions when he found himself in this world. there was no need. it was as though this place had always been waiting for him.

he walked without thinking, his feet moving of their own accord, pulling him gently toward the lake in the distance. the trees around the lake swayed like silent guardians, their leaves shimmering under the soft moonlight.

and there you were — by the water's edge.

you crouched down on the soft grass, your presence serene and otherworldly. a handful of crumbs scattered gently around you, and swans glided, their pure white feathers almost glowing against the silvery surface of the water. the scene was peaceful, suspended in time, like something from a forgotten dream.

sunghoon stopped at the edge of the lake, his gaze drawn to you, mesmerized by the way the moonlight seemed to caress your face, as if the night itself had chosen you. your skin seemed to shimmer faintly, as though you were made of light itself.

every night, you were here. and every night, he found himself returning to you, though he had no memory of how or why. still, he knew you were the one constant in this world, the one thing that made everything else feel right.

sunghoon stepped closer, careful not to disturb the calm. his heart beat just a little faster.

"you’re here," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, unsure if it was meant for you or for himself. you turned toward him, throwing him a smile, soft and knowing, like you had been expecting him all along.

"i’m always here," you replied, your voice like a breeze, light and comforting. you didn't stand, didn't move to greet him, but your presence alone was enough. always enough.

you let your gaze linger on him with warmth, as though you could see into his soul, into the places he kept hidden, untouched.

the swans, serene and majestic, circled around her, gliding effortlessly on the glassy surface of the lake. for a moment, everything around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you and the gentle rustle of the night.

sunghoon felt an ache in his chest, an unfamiliar pull. he wanted to say something, to ask, but the words felt fragile, too heavy to speak aloud. instead, he just watched you, the way the soft light danced around the dream, the way you seemed to belong here, as though this place and the stillness of the world were woven into your very being.

you caught his gaze again, a glimmer of something deeper in that bright color of your eyes eyes. "you don’t have to ask me again sunghoon," you said softly. "i will always be here, for you."

and somehow, in the quiet, he understood. he understood that this place was your place, the lake and the swans and the soft flowers that whispered in the breeze.

he wanted to stay, to hold onto this moment forever, but the pull of the world beyond this dream was strong, and he knew — without knowing how — that the night would end. but for now, in the stillness, he was content to simply be with you.

the swans dipped their heads into the water, and the soft ripples mirrored the quiet, unspoken connection between them.

your voice broke the silence again, soft and tender. "it’s almost time, but you’ll come back to me, won’t you?"

he nodded, a quiet promise forming in his chest. "always."

and with that, the dream began to shift, the world around them starting to fade. but he held onto the image of you, your smile, your calm, like a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty. as the soft hum of his alarm and the light of a new day claimed him once more, he knew he would return.

he always did.

the morning passed in a blur. sunghoon went through his usual routine — shower, breakfast, the mundane tasks that set the tone for the day.

though his mind kept drifting back to you. it was hard not to, even though he knew you wouldn’t be there, not in the world he walked through every day. yet, there was something about this routine that always made him search for you, like an echo he couldn’t shake.

as he sat in his lecture, eyes scanning the room, he found himself looking for you in the faces around him. every glance seemed to pull at him, a quiet ache in his chest when he couldn’t find what he was looking for.

sometimes, when he was lost in thought, he’d find himself staring at someone, expecting to see you in their eyes, hoping maybe this time, the person sitting next to him would be you.

but of course, they never were. and he always felt the disappointment settle like a weight on his chest. no one ever looked quite like you.

he was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed when the professor called an end to class, his voice snapping him out of the trance he hadn’t even realized he’d slipped into.

as the room began to clear out, and sunghoon quickly gathered his things, his mind still on you, on the lake, on the feeling of your presence that stayed with him even in the waking world.

without thinking, he made his way to the patio outside, where the small artificial lake sat in the courtyard. it wasn’t as grand as the one in his dreams, but it was enough. the water was calm, the soft murmur of the fountain in the middle of it echoing in the quiet. sunghoon sat on a bench near the edge, gazing out at the lake, lost in his thoughts again.

his heart ached with something he couldn’t name. the feeling of being torn between two worlds, neither one fully real, neither one fully his.

he stayed like that for a few minutes, just breathing, letting the cool air and the distant sounds of campus life wash over him. but the peaceful silence didn’t last long. voices interrupted his solitude — laughter, the shuffle of footsteps.

sunghoon turned slightly, finding heeseung and jungwon approaching him, both of them wearing concerned looks.

"hey," heeseung said, his voice light but with a hint of worry. "we’ve been looking everywhere for you. what’s up? you left class in a hurry."

jungwon mirrored his friend’s expression, tilting his head. "are you okay? you seemed kind of out of it."

sunghoon blinked, momentarily disoriented as he came back to reality. he wasn’t used to his friends seeing him like this, lost in his own head. he gave them a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"yeah," he said, his voice a little distant, "i’m fine. just… needed some air."

heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t push. instead, he plopped down next to sunghoon on the bench, nudging him lightly with his shoulder. "you sure? you've been kinda off lately. it’s not like you to zone out in class so much."

jungwon leaned against the railing, arms crossed, looking down at the water. "you’ve been acting weird for a while now," he said, his voice quieter, almost concerned. "is something on your mind?"

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. how could he? how could he explain to them the strange pull he felt, the dream world that was always there, waiting for him? the girl he’d never seen, but always knew, the feeling of her presence that never quite left him, no matter how many hours he spent awake.

instead, he just sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i don’t know," he muttered. "just… thinking about stuff."

"stuff?" heeseung pressed. "like what?"

sunghoon looked out at the lake, unsure how to explain the emptiness he felt, the constant ache he couldn’t quite shake. he wanted to say something — anything — but the words seemed to slip away before they could take form.

"nothing," he finally said, quieter now, his voice almost lost in the soft noise of campus life around them, "just nothing."

his friends exchanged a glance, but they didn’t push him further. instead, jungwon spoke up with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood. "well, if you’re ever up for talking, you know we’re here."

heeseung and jungwon didn’t linger on the topic for long. after a moment of quiet, heeseung broke the silence, his voice light and teasing.

“by the way,” he said, glancing at sunghoon, “everything’s set for the camping trip next weekend. jake’s been texting you non-stop, asking if you’re coming. he’s worried you won’t show up since you haven’t replied to any of his messages.”

sunghoon blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts. camping trip? he’d almost forgotten.

it was something they did every year, a weekend getaway with their friend group — just to unwind, get away from the grind of school or uni, and have some fun. he usually looked forward to it, but this time, the thought felt distant.

“right,” sunghoon murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’ll go.”

heeseung raised an eyebrow. “you sure? we’ve been trying to get you involved in stuff, but you keep slipping away from our fingers. like you’ve been spending your time in something else.”

“i’m fine,” sunghoon said, forcing a small smile. “i’ll be there. tell jake i’ll go.”

jungwon nodded, though he still looked a little skeptical. “alright, if you say so. but we’re going to need you to actually answer his calls this time, okay? no disappearing on your friends.”

“i won’t,” sunghoon replied, though his thoughts were already elsewhere.

"alright, cool," heeseung said, standing up and giving him a playful shove. "you better not bail on us last minute. jake’s already planning the whole thing around you."

sunghoon smiled faintly, standing up as well, though his gaze lingered on the lake a moment longer before he turned to follow his friends. "i promise i won’t," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

heeseung and jungwon headed back toward campus, talking about the trip, their voices fading into the distance. sunghoon walked a few steps behind them, his mind once again wandering. the camping trip was something he’d usually be excited for.

he shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts, and quickened his pace to catch up with his friends. for now, the real world was waiting, and he had to find his way back to it. even if it felt a little more empty than usual.

the dream that night felt different, darker somehow. sunghoon drifted into sleep, but when he closed his eyes, it wasn’t the peaceful dreamscape he was used to. this time, the world was cold. the sky was a heavy shade of gray, and a relentless rain poured down in sheets, soaking everything. the air was thick, suffocating, as if the weight of it was pressing on his chest. nothing felt right.

he stood in the middle of it, feeling his clothes stick to his skin, the wetness seeping through him, but his gaze was locked on the lake in the distance. it was quieter than it should have been. no swans gliding across the water, no soft ripples breaking the surface. just you.

you stood there, alone, at the water’s edge, staring out into the endless, gray horizon. your hair clung to your face, wet strands dripping down your cheeks, and your clothes were soaked through, clinging to your form as if the storm had claimed you. the sight of you, so different from the peaceful, ethereal presence he was used to, twisted something in his gut.

he ran toward you, his heart pounding loudly as he called out. “y/n? what happened? what’s going on?”

you didn’t turn to him right away. you just stood there, staring into the distance, as if you hadn’t even heard him. he could see the tears in your eyes, and the sight of them made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.

it wasn’t just the storm, the rain, the chaos — it was the look on your face, something he’d never seen before. You were hurting.

finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper, carried away by the wind and rain. “sunghoon,” you said. “i need you to tell me what you feel about me.”

sunghoon froze. his heart skipped a beat. his mouth went dry. he wanted to answer, but the words seemed tangled in his throat, as if saying them might somehow break something. or maybe it was the fear that they wouldn’t change anything at all — that no matter how much he said, the outcome wouldn’t be what he hoped for, because at the end of the day, you were just a fragment of his imagination.

but your eyes were still on him, waiting, expecting.

he took a step closer, unsure of what to do. “i… i don’t know why it matters,” he stammered. “what would it change?���

you didn’t reply at first. you just looked at him, your eyes wide with something he couldn’t read, something deeper than the sadness that clung to you. the wind whipped around him, the rain stinging his skin, but all he could focus on was you.

“you can tell me,” you said again, softer this time. “what is it really?”

sunghoon closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of the question pressing on him. he had always felt it — this deep, almost overwhelming pull toward you, this ache in his chest that was like a constant companion. you were his dream girl, his perfect vision, the one he could never reach. the one who wasn’t real, and yet, somehow, felt more real than anything else.

his mind raced, his heart was a mess of thoughts and feelings, and he wondered if saying it out loud would somehow ruin everything — if confessing the depth of his feelings would make you disappear, like something too fragile to touch.

but the rain kept falling, and the cold seeping into his bones wouldn’t go away. you were still standing there, waiting. so, finally, he whispered the truth, though it felt like it might tear him apart.

“i love you,” he said, the words slipping from his lips in a breathless rush. “i’ve always loved you, since the day i first saw you. you’re everything. and when i’m awake… it’s like you’re still there, calling to me. but you are never there.”

he waited for you to say something, to do something. but instead, you stepped back, your face falling into a quiet sorrow. the storm raged around you, but all he could see was the way you trembled, the way your shoulders shook as if the weight of the world had suddenly settled on you.

his heart broke. no, no, this isn’t how it was supposed to be. why are you crying?

“no, please don’t cry,” he begged, stepping closer, but the space between you felt impossibly wide. “please, don’t. i need you. i need you to stay. why — why are you crying?”

you wiped your eyes, though the tears kept falling, mixing with the rain on your face. “i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the storm. “i wish i could stay. i know i promised to be here, but i can’t. i’m not real. i can't stay in this world.”

sunghoon felt his chest tighten, the panic starting to rise in his throat. “no, don’t say that. i don’t care. i don’t care if it’s real or not, i just need you to stay. you mean everything to me.”

you shook your head, your lips trembling as you took a step back, the distance growing between you like an invisible wall. “you don’t understand. i can’t stay here. it’s not my dream, it’s yours.”

sunghoon reached for you, desperate, his heart hammering in his chest. “then tell me! if it’s my dream, tell me why i can’t make you stay, what’s wrong, why are you leaving?” he pleaded.

but you only looked at him, your gaze full of sorrow and something else — something he couldn’t name. “you’ll find the answer soon, i can’t be here anymore.”

the words hit him like a blow. “no, please — don’t go.”

you took another step back, your form beginning to blur, the rain washing over you as you faded, like a memory slipping through his fingers. “maybe… when the time is right, you’ll find me again at the swan lake. but now, you have to let me go, sunghoon.”

sunghoon’s breath caught in his throat. “i won’t forget you. i won’t — ”

but then you were gone. the storm, the rain, the lake — it all vanished in an instant. and he was left standing alone, drenched, the emptiness clawing at him. he called out, but there was no answer. no echo. just the hollow silence of the world without you.

sunghoon woke with a jolt, his chest tight and his heart racing, the remnants of the dream lingering in the darkness. he lay there in his bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling that something was slipping through his fingers.

his body restless under the blankets, the room too still, too empty. the darkness felt suffocating, pressing in on him, as if it were mocking him. the world outside was quiet, but inside, his thoughts roared, each one louder than the last, each one circling back to you.

he squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to sleep, desperate to return to that world, to you. but it felt impossible. there was no comfort in the thought of closing his eyes anymore. he couldn’t shake the fear that if he fell asleep, he wouldn’t find you. you wouldn’t be there, waiting for him at the edge of the lake.

his heart clenched at the thought, and he turned over. his body felt heavy, exhausted from the emotional turmoil, but his mind refused to rest.

his hand went to his chest, and for a moment, he let the silence of the room envelop him. maybe it’s just a nightmare he tried to reason, though the thought didn’t sit well with him. maybe that wasn’t dream you, but nightmare you. but even as he thought that, a part of him recoiled. he didn’t want to let go.

he rubbed his eyes, exhausted, but sleep still felt like a cruel joke. he didn’t know how long he laid there, but eventually, he sank deeper into bed, hoping, praying that when he closed his eyes, he would be pulled back to the place where you waited for him.

but no matter how much he wished, no matter how many times he closed his eyes, you didn’t appear. there was no lake, no soft glow of moonlight, no ethereal swans gliding across the water. just darkness. just silence.

he was completely alone.

the next week was a blur for sunghoon. he barely slept, running on nothing but coffee and the remnants of his dreams, which now felt like cruel taunts rather than escapes. he couldn’t shake the emptiness inside him, that gnawing sense that something was missing.

and no matter how hard he tried to focus, to convince himself that he was just tired or stressed, the truth lingered in the back of his mind like a shadow that wouldn’t leave.

his friends noticed, of course. heeseung would throw concerned glances at him, jungwon would nudge him every time he spaced out, but no one knew what was really going on. they didn’t know the world he kept slipping into at night, or how the weight of his unspoken feelings was slowly crushing him.

by the time the camping trip arrived, sunghoon barely felt like he was even present. the drive out to the site, the laughter of his friends, the hustle of setting up tents — it all felt like background noise.

everyone was too caught up in their own excitement, their own energy, to notice how empty he was. how far away his thoughts were from reality.

heeseung, always perceptive, was the first to speak up. “hey, sunghoon,” he called, throwing a glance over his shoulder as he worked on getting the tent pegs in the ground. “could you go grab some wood for the fire. we’ll need it soon.”

sunghoon nodded, too tired to protest. he didn’t care. the physical exertion would be a welcome distraction, something to occupy his hands, to make his body move, instead of just floating through everything like a ghost.

he dragged himself toward the nearby woods, the sounds of his friends fading into the background. the path ahead was shaded and quiet, and as he stumbled through the underbrush, his mind wandered again, tracing the memories of the dream. when will i ever see you again? it was the only thought that filled his mind, over and over, louder than anything else.

he didn’t even notice when his feet began to follow a small trail of flower petals scattered along the path until the first one caught his eye.

he paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. the petals were soft, delicate, each one a perfect, pale shade of white with hints of lavender. they seemed out of place here in the woods, where the earth was muddy and the trees blocked out the sky. but still, they led him forward, each step drawing him deeper into the woods, each petal leading him toward something he couldn’t yet name.

he crouched down to examine the trail, his fingers brushing against the petals as if afraid to disturb them. am i asleep? he thought, half-expecting to turn around and find nothing. it felt like a sign — something that could break through the endless emptiness inside him.

he stood up, his heart picking up its pace as he began to follow the trail, his senses sharpened in the thick quiet of the forest. he wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. maybe it was a moment of peace, something to make the aching stop. but part of him feared what it might lead to.

but as he walked, the trail of petals grew clearer, more distinct. they led him toward a small clearing, surrounded by tall trees, the light filtering through the leaves in muted beams. and then he saw it.

there, in the center of the clearing, was a small lake.

his breath caught in his throat.

it’s the lake. the one from his dreams.

the water was perfectly still, reflecting the gray sky above, with an eerie silence that felt too familiar. swans danced in the water surface as they calmly went about.

and this time, you were there.

standing at the edge of the water, just like before. your hair hung around your face, but this time, it wasn’t the stormy scene from his dream. you looked different — more peaceful, like a soft glow radiated from you, the only thing that seemed untouched by the harshness of the world around you, still, you looked like he could reach out to you, and finally feel something.

sunghoon's heart raced as he stepped forward, his feet moving almost instinctively, drawn to you like a magnet. “you’re here,” he whispered, barely able to believe it.

but you turned to him, and for a moment, everything else faded away. the ache in his chest, the exhaustion in his bones, the worries that had followed him for days — all of it seemed to vanish in the presence of your eyes, the warmth of your gaze.

“sunghoon,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence like the gentle ripple of water. “i knew you’d find me.”

his breath caught in his throat, and all the words that had been building up inside him — the confessions, the questions — were suddenly impossible to say. he stepped closer, his hands trembling as he reached out, afraid that if he touched you, you would disappear again.

please don’t go. the words were stuck in his throat.

“why?” he finally managed to ask, his voice shaking. “why now? why here?”

you looked at him, your face filled with an expression he couldn’t quite read, a mix of sadness and something else. regret, or maybe love.

“i am sorry for everything,” you said quietly. “for the bad dream.” your voice faltered, and you glanced down at the water, as if the question hung in the air between you. "but it’s not a bad dream anymore. i’m here, with you. and i’m real, and you are too."

sunghoon’s heart skipped, and the words you didn’t say hung heavy between you, both of you feeling the weight of things unsaid. he was close now, close enough to see the faint tremor in your hands, and the vulnerability in your eyes. close enough to see that you were real. he reached out again, his fingers gently tracing the edge of your wrist, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence.

“i didn’t know how to find you," he admitted, his voice soft and raw, "not in that world… not without losing everything.”

you exhaled, a quiet sound that almost seemed like a sigh of relief. there was something in his eyes, something that made you feel like you were finally seeing him — really seeing him — for the first time since everything had fractured. you had thought it would be impossible, but here, in the quiet space between you, it didn’t feel impossible anymore.

“i didn’t want you to think you had to give up anything for someone who didn’t exist,” you said, avoiding his gaze for a moment, the words so fragile you almost didn’t speak them.

“but i would have,” he replied without hesitation, his fingers now lightly cupping your hand. "i would have done anything, if it meant… if it meant you stayed." his voice cracked, and he let the silence settle between you both, the unspoken truth heavier than anything either of you had ever said out loud.

you finally met his gaze, eyes soft but unwavering. “sunghoon, you don’t understand yet,” you murmured, “those dreams, you were in mine too. but they weren’t exactly dreams.”

a part of you knew the weight of those words — how close they were to the truth, but how much more delicate they became the moment you spoke them aloud.

he squeezed your hand, as if to hold onto you, to make sure you were real. “i’m glad you’re here.”

sunghoon’s fingers tightened around yours as the realization slowly seeped into his mind — like a quiet epiphany that had been waiting to be acknowledged. he hadn’t fully understood it before, but now, in the soft light of the moment, he began to piece it together. the dreams. the moments when you were so real to him, yet so impossibly far away. they were like a vision. it all made sense in a way he couldn’t have explained to anyone else.

you and i weren’t meant to meet in that world, he thought, his chest tightening with the weight of this truth. but somehow… we did.

his gaze shifted to the horizon, where the fading light of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, and for a fleeting second, he could almost see it — the distant echo of a future that hadn’t yet happened, but which now felt inevitable.

“do you remember?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “the way we met… in the dream? it felt like... like i was searching for you. like i was always supposed to find you.”

you nodded slowly, your eyes soft but distant, as if you were looking at something only you could see. “i felt it too. that pull. like it wasn’t just me... but something else guiding you.”

he let out a breath, his mind trying to wrap around the idea. “it wasn’t just a dream, was it? it was like... a message. like i was meant to find you, no matter how far away you seemed.”

your eyes flickered with something — understanding, maybe, or a bittersweet longing. “it was the only way for you to really find me. for us to meet."

sunghoon’s breath hitched. his thoughts swirled as if time itself had looped in a way he couldn’t fully explain. the dreams now seemed like fragments of something far more complex than he had ever imagined. they were glimpses — glimpses of a future, or a past, or perhaps a version of himself that knew more than he did.

“a message,” he repeated softly, more to himself than to you. “to find you. to make sure i didn’t miss you again.”

you gave him a quiet smile, your eyes a mix of wonder and acceptance, as if you understood the gravity of what was unfolding between you both. “it’s funny,” you said, your voice carrying a touch of warmth, “i really did think i would never found you, until you found me.”

he turned to look at you, his heart swelling with something he couldn’t put into words. it wasn’t just relief, or joy, or even love. it was everything — everything he’d ever felt for you, all of it compressed into this one moment where nothing else mattered. the world felt smaller now, less uncertain, and he was finally where he was always meant to be. here, with you.

“so…” he said, his voice cracking slightly, “we were never meant to meet in those dreams. but we did anyway.”

you nodded, and for a moment, everything felt like it clicked into place. “i think,” you whispered, “it takes more than just one life to bring two people together. maybe we had to be strangers in one world, so we could be something more in this one.”

sunghoon’s breath caught in his chest, the weight of that truth wrapping around him like a tender embrace. the connection between you both, no matter how inexplicable, was real. and it was here. in this moment. in this life.

he looked at you, his hand still holding yours, the gravity of the realization grounding him. “i don’t know how this happened,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “but i’m so glad it did.”

you smiled, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you in what felt like forever, and it was like the sun had finally risen on a new day for both of you. "me too, hoon," you whispered, "me too."

and somehow, the future that had once seemed so far away, so unreachable, felt closer now. the world, vast and endless, was no longer a place of uncertainty. not when you were standing next to him. together, in this life.

and there you two stood, before the swan lake, the calm waters mirroring the colors of the fading sky. the air was still, carrying only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds. time seemed to slow, as if everything around you was holding its breath.

the years of searching, the longing that had once felt endless, were now nothing more than memories fading into the twilight. there was only the present, this quiet space where everything had aligned perfectly. where the dream had finally given way to reality, and you were no longer two strangers bound by an impossible connection, but two people who had truly found each other.

the lake before you seemed to reflect that truth, its surface smooth and uninterrupted, save for the slow movement of swans gliding gracefully across, their feathers glowing in the last light of day. the scene was serene, timeless, as if nature itself was acknowledging the sacredness of the moment.

in this quiet, under the stretch of the open sky, you understood that everything had led you here. not through dreams, not through impossible hopes, but through something deeper — something real. the distance between you was no longer measured in miles or years or lost moments, but in the quiet certainty that you were here, together, in the now.

the world seemed to fall away, and in the space between heartbeats, you knew you had found something more than just each other. you had something more than just a dream.

EXTRA:

masterlist.

read something similar: angel food !

[f1-stuff]

I just saw your post for the abo arranged marriage charlos fic and I'll be thinking about it forever, what a great atmosphere you created! Now I'm going to re-watch Young Victoria and pretend Charles is the poor isolated future king of England(Monaco) who gets swept off his feet by the hot German (Spanish) who pretends to like Vincenzo Bellini (piano and ice cream industry) to impress the sheltered omega but honestly just wants to play Schubert (golf) to satisfy my need for your (hopefully) future fic

Young Victoria is literally my inspiration! I watched it and couldn’t help imagining omega Charles being sheltered from the world, guided up and down stairs so he wouldn’t fall, not allowed to join in with his brothers in horse riding, treated like something precious to be protected, constantly being pressured to relinquish the rule to his uncle bc omegas shouldn’t rule, and then him being desperate to break free of everyone’s control once he’s crowned.

Then, there’s Carlos, who he meets as a marriage prospect and at first resists out of rebellion, but then actually starts to care for. And them exchanging letters when they’re apart. And Carlos falling for the rebellious little omega who he has to work hard to impress and coax into marriage, and sort of forgetting about his father’s agenda behind the match.

And I haven’t revealed it in any snippets yet, but I cast Seb as the prime minister to Charles’ rule (ignore that he’s not monegasque 🙃), charming and dedicated to his causes, and also determined to rebuff Charles’ marriage prospects for as long as possible so Charles will keep deferring to his judgment…

[cerealmonster15]

My playlist I’ve curated since I got into twst way back when… I haven’t added to it in ages and even tho it’s the product of Many Years I’m shocked there’s nearly 200 vids lol 😭

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

[babyblankyerror]

The rage I feel at finding a perfect anime with the perfect ship dynamic and it’s not out. No manga…Nothing?

Then you ask me why I want to commit crimes. Why I wish for this world to burn.

[bambino1294]

someone needs to give me my work’s playlist, Hozier would really liven things up

[whumpy-wyrms]

Has Aspen watched Wolfwalkers before? I think he would absolutely love that movie :)

YESSSS YES YES ASPEN FUCKING LOVESSSSSS THAT MOVIEEE

AND SO DO I!!!!!!! like i’ve never seen that movie before but i’ve wanted to watch it for a long time and this ask FINALLY made me watch it and oh my god HOLY SHIT IT’S ONE OF MY FAVORITE MOVIES NOW. i literally JUST finished it and i don’t even know what to say besides this

i need everyone to watch this clip in particular because holy shit i cried during it /pos. like i can’t even describe how much i love this movie and how much it means to me just wow WOW it’s absolutely fucking amazing and i definitely recommend it to everyone. the animation is stunning i love the main characters and everything is just so EXPRESSIVE and the COLORS ANR AHHHH THE WOLVESSSS

Aspen loves it. it’s one of his favorite movies now too (maybe his favorite idk i’ll have to think of what other movies he likes) but guys i don’t even know what to sayyyy that movie is sooo good

thank you so much for sending this ask because wow i don’t know what it is with me and wolves now but wolves are COOL and i LOVE this movie i’m so happy i finally watched it!!! :D

[lesbiansanemi]

Lets see how many episodes of revolutionary girl utena I can slog through today before I wanna fucking end it all

[noramoons]

today was such a good day actually

[bloomingdead]

crying cuz gale is governor tryon from outlander

[mostlykind]

…

[ifeelfreewithoutmyshoes]

I’m forcing myself through some classic literature to be able to get the references to it - I did not expect for the first one I get from Moby Dick being ‘it fucking goes on forever about irrelevant stuff’

[milo-is-rambling]

I LOVE YOU PAST MILO -current Milo nauseas head in a sparkling clean toilet I cleaned literally a half hour ago and then got too high while celebrating how clean it looked and feel sick now😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭