#and it started with my one year old son who I love

[neogotmysam]

am i crazy that this made me cry? im just a romantic in the heart, and this is all i want in life. like genuinely irl being so pushed to the seams and unsure of everything and then reading stuff like this and just wanting to fast forward a few years where maybe this could be my life one day AH.

these were some of my fave parts, the parts that made me YEARRNNN

"walking down an aisle. your coworkers gasping. your parents trying to stay calm. him lifting your veil. kissing you like it was the beginning of forever. sunday mornings with kids and cartoons and coffee. vacations. shared bookshelves. him waiting at the door when you got home." "saturday was lazy and warm and beautiful. you woke up tangled in the blankets, his arm draped over your stomach, his breath soft against your neck. the kind of morning you never thought you’d get to have—where nothing was urgent, and everything felt right. you took turns in the shower, argued over who finished the milk, and spent an hour sitting on the floor flipping through old photo albums you’d forgotten you had. you didn’t plan to show him—but he insisted. and once he started looking, he didn’t stop." "the sound of children’s laughter, the image of you with a soft smile, cradling one of your nephews in your arms. the warmth of this home, the love in every corner. he imagines it—having this with you. kids with your eyes. a house that’s yours. your framed wedding photo on the wall. vacations. birthdays. late-night talks in bed. wrinkles and silver hair, but still loving you with the same fire." "“y/n, will you marry me—not next month, not in theory, not in some future we’re still trying to picture… but now. for real. because i’m yours. and you’re mine.” you didn’t cry. you sobbed. like an idiot. like a girl who had waited her whole life for someone like him. you nodded so fast your vision blurred and fell into his arms, and he kissed you like he was promising you the rest of forever. in that moment, september never felt sweeter." "the moment jaehyun’s mom saw you, she pulled you into a hug, muttering in korean how beautiful you were, how she’d been praying her son would be smart enough to not let you go. his dad was more reserved, but the sparkle in his eye said everything. when jaehyun said, “we’re getting married,” his mother clapped her hands and screamed like she’d just won the lottery. “we’re so happy,” she said, eyes shining."” y/n stood before a mirror in a white gown that made her feel like everything good in the world had been sewn together just for her." "they kissed under sunsets and made love under stars. they danced in narrow streets, shared kisses between sips of ouzo, fed each other olives and sweet baklava. they were ridiculous. and in love. and utterly themselves. “this is the life i want,” y/n whispered one night, tangled in cotton sheets, her cheek against his chest. “then it’s the life we’ll have,” jaehyun said. “forever.” and this time, forever didn’t sound like a fairytale. it sounded like a promise."

marry me, mr. jeong

summary: while everyone around you is getting married, you're left behind—no ring, no lover, just silence waiting at home. but one night, your boss, mr. jeong, makes an unexpected proposal: "marry me." and suddenly, your quiet world begins to burn.

pairing: boss!jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: romance, slow burn, fluff, emotional smut, domestic married life, eventual pregnancy, emotional growth, healing.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), strong language, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy mention (later), minor angst, lots of kissing, crying, soft husband jaehyun, tooth-rotting fluff, crying-in-the-club type of love.

wc: 19,7K

notes: i’m obsessed with jaehyun as a boss, boyfriend, hubby, and daddy lmao. man’s got range 😮‍💨💍🖤 i swear i try to keep it short but my brain goes rogue every time 😭 like girl be fr, when’s the day i finally drop a short fic??? bye lmao 💀

you’re twenty-nine, and the number feels heavier than you thought it would. not because it’s old—not really—but because thirty is close. and thirty means expectations. by now, you were supposed to have it all figured out. at least, that’s what they say. your friends certainly make it seem that way with their photo-perfect marriages, toddlers learning to walk, houses in peaceful neighborhoods. meanwhile, you still live in a quiet apartment with plants you often forget to water and a fridge that holds more takeout containers than groceries.

you work at an architecture firm—clean lines, big ideas, and even bigger egos. the kind of place where late nights are common and recognition is rare. you’ve built a name for yourself, though. you lead your team well, your ideas consistently get approved, and your work ethic has never been in question. the other women whisper that you’re just trying to impress the boss, that your dedication is nothing but a strategic flirtation. they don't know that your passion isn’t about pleasing anyone but yourself. well, mostly. maybe part of you does want to be seen. to be acknowledged by him.

jeong jaehyun.

your department lead. two years younger than you, but somehow always carrying himself like he’s lived three lives already. he doesn’t talk much. doesn’t engage in the small talk that fills the office kitchen or the empty flattery some of your coworkers throw his way. he’s serious, focused, almost too calm. the kind of man who’s unreadable, and yet somehow always watching. you’re not close, not really, but there’s a quiet understanding between you. he trusts you. you can feel it in the way he gives you space to lead, the way he nods subtly in meetings when you speak, the way his eyes linger sometimes—not in a way that feels invasive, but like he’s... thinking.

you’ve never seen him flirt with anyone. never seen him talk about his personal life. no ring, no photos on his desk, not even vague mentions of a girlfriend or family. and while no one dares to say anything to his face, everyone wonders. he's a man, though—no one criticizes him for being single. no one asks him what he's waiting for.

you, on the other hand, can barely go a week without someone making a comment. still not married? you’re so pretty, what a shame. your mother means well, but every call ends with a variation of you’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.you smile through it. you tell them you're happy. you tell yourself that, too. but deep down, there's a quiet ache. because you’ve always wanted a family. always dreamed of being a mother, of coming home to someone who knows you—not just your schedule or your favorite takeout order, but the way you think, the way you feel things deeply and try to hide it. but love hasn’t knocked in years. not since your last relationship ended at twenty-two, before the world hardened your heart. since then, you’ve been too busy, too careful, too tired.

tonight, you're staying late again. the office is nearly empty, save for a few flickering lights and the buzz of a vending machine down the hall. you're finessing the last pieces of a major project, making sure every detail is just right. you're in the zone when you hear soft footsteps approaching, and then his voice—low, familiar, closer than expected.

“you’re still here, byun?”

you glance up to find jaehyun standing by your desk, hands in his pockets, that usual unreadable expression on his face. there’s no judgment in his voice, just quiet curiosity.

you offer a tired smile, leaning back in your chair. “oh, mr. jeong, i just wanted to polish a few things before the presentation. i figured if i leave anything messy, the senior managers will rip it apart. and then you’ll take the heat for it.”

he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that almost looks like a smile. “you care that much about how i look to the execs?”

you shrug, turning back to your screen. “you’re my boss. if you look bad, i look bad.”

he lets out a soft exhale, a sound that's dangerously close to a chuckle. then he leans against your desk, his body relaxed but his eyes still sharp as ever. “you’re too committed.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he shakes his head. “not bad. just... rare.”

a brief silence settles between you, not awkward, but weighted. it feels like he’s about to say something else, and when he does, it’s not what you expect.

“doesn’t your family mind that you stay this late?” his gaze holds yours. “your husband? kids?”

you blink, the question catching you off guard. your smile falters just slightly, and you look down at your hands before answering.

“no husband. no kids. no one waiting at home.” you try to sound casual, even throw in a little laugh. “i guess i’m just married to the job.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t look away. “i didn’t know.”

you nod, suddenly very aware of the silence around you. “most people assume. but... yeah. i live alone.”

another pause. then, gently, you ask, “what about you, mr. jeong? i mean, you’re always here late too. no one waiting on you?”

he looks away for the first time, his jaw tightening slightly before he answers. “no one yet.”

and there it is again—that silence between you. but this time, it’s different. it hums with something unspoken. curiosity. surprise. maybe even recognition.

you return your gaze to the screen, not really seeing it. he’s still standing there, close enough to feel but not close enough to touch. something in the air shifts, and for the first time in a long time, your chest feels... not heavy, but full.

the next morning, you arrived a few minutes early—just like always. being punctual wasn’t about impressing anyone; it was about control, about proving—at least to yourself—that you had your life together. it made you feel reliable. consistent. in a workplace full of half-assed excuses and people who couldn’t meet a deadline to save their lives, your discipline was something you wore like armor. something no one could take from you.

your outfit was soft, delicate even—rose-pink skirt brushing just above your knees, a crisp white button-up tucked in neatly, the blazer matching your skirt in a subtle pastel tone. your heels clicked softly against the tile floor as you made your way to your desk, and as you passed the reflection on one of the glass panels, you couldn’t help but think: i look good today.

you did. your hair was in place, makeup light but elegant, lips tinted a faint nude-pink. polished. pretty. professional. but beneath all that... you also looked a little alone. not that anyone would say it to your face—but you could see it sometimes, in the glances people gave you. admiration, maybe. pity, sometimes. curiosity always.

you sat down, smoothing your skirt and adjusting your chair, reaching for the little yellow post-it you’d stuck to the side of your monitor the day before. your handwriting was neat, methodical. a short list of pending tasks, each one already being mentally checked off as you booted up your computer. you didn’t waste time—your fingers flew across the keyboard, and within minutes the familiar sounds of productivity filled your small corner of the office: the rhythmic clack of keys, the soft hum and spit of the printer warming up to spit out proposals and reports.

you didn’t hear him come in.

you were too deep in the flow, too focused on aligning the final report with the visual standards the company demanded. your eyes scanned the document line by line, searching for typos, ensuring everything was clean, sharp, presentable. the sound of footsteps behind you didn’t register until you felt it—that subtle, electric awareness that comes when someone is watching.

“good morning, byun. please leave the project report on my desk once it’s ready.”

he didn’t look at you. just passed by, smooth and quick, his voice calm and firm, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, the familiar scent of roast beans and expensive cologne trailing behind him like a silent presence. his stride didn’t falter, his gaze fixed ahead, like he’d already moved on to the next ten things in his mind. you barely had time to nod, mouth parted to respond, but he was already disappearing behind his office door.

you blinked.

right. the report.

you gathered the last printed pages, slid them into the presentation folder, double-checked the order, smoothed the cover with your palm before rising from your seat. your heels clicked softly against the floor as you made your way down the short corridor, your fingers lightly tapping the edge of the folder, nerves tightening with each step even if there was nothing to be nervous about. it was just work. just jaehyun. just another report.

you knocked once and entered when he answered. he was seated behind his desk, sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, the dark veins of his forearms visible as he typed something on his laptop. he glanced up, briefly, then reached for the report when you held it out.

“thank you,” he said, flipping it open with precision, already scanning the contents. “at two p.m. we have the meeting with upper management. you’ll be joining me at the table. along with choi and hwang.”

you nodded. “understood.”

“good. go over the numbers one more time before then. they’re likely to ask.”

“yes, mr. jeong.”

and that was it. no warm smile. no thank you. just professional, cold efficiency. you turned and left, closing the door gently behind you before returning to your desk, the weight of the upcoming meeting settling on your shoulders like a familiar cloak. you’d been through this before. plenty of times. but it never got easier. not when the room was full of men in suits who barely hid their condescension, who chewed through ideas like tasteless gum until someone—usually jaehyun—said something smart enough to catch their interest.

you spent the next few hours fine-tuning the financial section, making sure your data was clean, graphs properly labeled, estimates realistic but still ambitious. it was a delicate game—making things sound innovative without actually suggesting anything too risky. they didn’t want bold. they wanted impressive illusions of boldness packaged in safe wrapping.

the meeting room was as bland as ever. too much glass, too much beige. you sat at the long table beside jaehyun, your laptop open, presentation ready. the managers arrived first, already complaining about another team’s failed prototype. the director entered last, stone-faced as always, his tie perfect, his opinion impossible to read.

as expected, the meeting dragged. they picked apart the proposal, paragraph by paragraph, expressionless until one of them grimaced like the very concept of originality offended them. you watched them, these men who nodded at each other but rarely smiled, who offered feedback that wasn’t feedback, just empty phrases like “it needs more punch” or “is this trend even scalable?”

then jaehyun spoke.

his voice was calm, slow, measured. and yet he made every single line sound convincing. powerful. like there was no other way forward but the one he was laying out. the room shifted around him. the tension eased. eyes narrowed—not in skepticism now, but interest. he wasn’t just presenting; he was selling a vision, and you felt yourself straightening with pride even if the credit wasn’t yours.

until he said your name.

“y/n,” he said, still facing the director. “if you could present the budget projections.”

you froze for a half second. not out of fear—just... surprise. you hadn’t expected him to call on you so soon.

you stood, smoothed your skirt unconsciously, and took a breath before switching slides. your voice was steady, even if your palms were clammy.

“these are the projections for the next two quarters,” you began, pointing at the chart. “we’ve estimated a moderate increase in cost during the development phase, with a break-even point projected for the beginning of q3. depending on the approved budget, we’re looking at a return on investment of approximately—”

you kept going, explaining the graphs, walking them through the numbers with careful clarity. no embellishments, no guesswork. facts. you swallowed once, clearing your throat before the final slide, then ended with a nod.

when you sat back down, jaehyun glanced at you. just a moment. a flicker of something almost soft in his expression.

like you’d done well. like you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.

the rest of the meeting blurred. the managers began tossing in extra suggestions—small changes, tweaks they hoped would impress the director. the man nodded, offered vague praise, and you remained at your seat, listening to it all with a practiced, patient expression.

when the meeting finally ended, you stood beside jaehyun again. he didn’t say much—he never did—but as he packed his laptop, he looked at you.

“good work today,” he said. “you’re an essential part of the team. if you keep this up, i’ll make sure your name’s considered for the upcoming promotions.”

you stared at him, momentarily stunned. the words hit harder than you expected. you’d worked for five years, given everything to this company, and this—this was the first time someone above you had said something that felt... real.

“thank you,” you said softly, trying not to let your smile get too big. “really.”

he nodded. “you earned it.”

later, when the director extended the dinner invitation, you didn’t hesitate. it wasn’t optional. the team needed to show up, needed to mingle, to pretend everything was a celebration and not an endless cycle of office politics masked with clinking glasses.

the bar was upscale but casual enough to loosen people’s ties. smoke from grilled meats hung faintly in the air, the tang of sweet sauces and roasted garlic filling the space. you sat between your supervisor and jaehyun, trying not to feel too stiff in your work clothes. everyone was drinking, toasting, laughing louder than they had all day.

the supervisor leaned forward, voice slightly slurred. “you know,” he said to the director, “the whole prototype? the mockup? the execution timeline? all her. y/n practically carried the whole thing.”

the director turned to you, surprised. “really? how long have you been here?”

“five years,” you replied, sipping from your glass.

he raised a brow. “how is it possible i haven’t noticed you until now?”

jaehyun, still beside you, said nothing—but you felt the subtle tension in his posture.

“you’ve got a good employee,” the director told him. “it’s your job to shape her. teach her. sounds like she’s already on the right path. with the right guidance... she’ll move up in no time.”

he raised his glass. “to y/n.”

“to y/n,” echoed around the table.

you lifted your glass, cheeks warm—not just from the alcohol but from the unfamiliar sensation of being seen. you smiled, surrounded by coworkers and approval and good food, and for a moment, just one moment, everything felt like it was finally going somewhere.

you were finally going somewhere.

the dinner had blurred into noise.

conversations overlapping, laughter rising and falling like tides. glasses clinked, meat sizzled on the grill, the warm lighting softening everyone's expressions into something hazy and unguarded. you sat at the long table, just a bit to the side, the smoky scent of barbecued meat in your hair and the echo of compliments still lingering in your chest. across from you, your supervisor had long since slipped into a drunken retelling of his glory days. to your left, jaehyun sat quietly, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. his arms were strong, veins defined even in the low light, and on his left wrist, a sleek, expensive watch glinted every time he reached for his glass. he hadn’t touched his soju in a while, though. he just held the rim between his fingers and occasionally let his gaze wander across the room.

when your eyes met, it was casual, almost accidental. but you didn’t look away.

“you’re not drinking,” you said, quietly enough that only he could hear.

he offered the ghost of a smirk, the kind that barely pulled at one corner of his mouth. “someone has to remember what was actually said tonight.”

you laughed, a soft breathy sound, grateful for his clarity amidst the chaos.

a silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. rather, it felt like a small space carved out just for the two of you—unbothered, untouched, a bubble where you didn’t have to keep smiling or pretending. you let out a quiet sigh, swirling your untouched drink in your hand.

“do you ever feel like you're running out of time?” you asked, voice low, not even sure why you were asking him of all people.

jaehyun looked at you, brows drawn slightly, intrigued but still calm. “time for what?”

you hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass. the alcohol was warm in your chest, but not enough to numb this confession.

“for everything,” you admitted. “i mean, professionally… things are going great. i can’t complain. i’ve worked hard, and it’s starting to pay off. but…” you looked down, lips pressing together. “sometimes i feel like i’m trapped inside a giant hourglass, watching the sand fall, grain by grain. i’ll be thirty in a few months. and i know that shouldn't mean anything, but in a world where people expect you to have everything figured out by now—marriage, kids, some picture-perfect life—i feel like i’m falling behind. like my dreams are moving farther and farther away.”

you took a breath, not daring to look at him.

“it’s just… sad,” you continued. “when you achieve something big and there’s no one waiting at home to celebrate it with you. no partner, no family. no one to say, ‘i’m proud of you.’”

jaehyun was quiet for a moment. then his voice came, soft and even.

“i can celebrate with you.”

you looked up, surprised, blinking at him. “thank you, but… that’s not what i meant. it’s not the same.”

he held your gaze. then, calmly, like he was offering a solution to a logistics problem, he said it.

“then marry me.”

your brain stalled.

you didn’t understand at first. maybe you misheard him. maybe he was joking, or drunk—except his voice hadn’t changed. his tone hadn’t wavered. your stomach dropped.

“…what?” you whispered.

“you want a family. you want someone to come home to. marry me.”

the words hung between you like smoke. absurd. unreal. your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. you glanced around—everyone else was too busy laughing or slurring their next toast to notice what had just happened.

you leaned in slightly, voice tense and hushed. “mr.—jeong—what are you talking about? we don’t even know each other like that.”

“we know enough,” he said without blinking.

“we’ve never even had a real conversation outside of work until now.”

“so let’s have more,” he replied, as steady as always.

you felt like your heart was beating too loudly. “are you… are you seriously suggesting we get married?”

“i’m not suggesting it. i’m telling you i’d do it. if you said yes.”

you stared at him, at the cool detachment on his face, the quiet certainty in his voice, and felt your world tip on its axis.

he shrugged. “how long until you turn thirty?”

“…my birthday’s in november,” you muttered, the words escaping before you could even process them. “it’s april now. that’s seven months.”

jaehyun nodded slowly. “then you have seven months to decide.”

he finished his beer in one slow, final gulp. then he stood up, reaching into his wallet and placing a few bills under his empty glass. you were still frozen when he stepped beside you.

“i’ll take you home,” he said.

you tried to protest, voice stumbling over half-formed refusals. “you don’t have to—i can call a cab, really—”

he looked down at you, expression unreadable.

“that wasn’t a request. it’s your boss giving you a ride.”

and with that, he turned, waiting for you to follow. your legs felt heavy as you stood, your mind racing, still reeling from what had just happened. marry him? seven months? he was serious. he was actually serious.

you had no answers. only questions. and one man who had just offered you everything you’d spent your life pretending you didn’t need.

you didn’t sleep.

not really. you tossed and turned, arms flung across the bed one minute and buried under the covers the next. jaehyun’s words echoed in your skull like an intrusive melody, looping over and over again.

then marry me.

you have seven months to decide.

like some sort of countdown had been triggered.

you must have stared at your ceiling for hours, trying to make sense of what he meant—what it meant for you—and whether he’d been serious. but the worst part wasn’t the proposal. the worst part was how calm he’d been, how effortlessly he’d said it, and how easily he’d walked away afterward like it hadn’t upended your entire sense of self.

your alarm went off at seven, and you hit snooze five times. by the time you dragged yourself out of bed, you felt like your bones had aged a decade overnight. you put on your makeup with the heaviness of someone trying to erase exhaustion from the inside out—concealer, color corrector, foundation. you went over your under-eyes twice, then a third time. you looked like yourself, but blurry. off.

you arrived to work twenty minutes later than usual, which was already enough to earn a few raised brows. no one said anything, but they noticed. you noticed them noticing.

you sat at your desk and stared at your drawers, forgetting which one you kept the monthly reports in. your fingers shook slightly as you shuffled through folders, trying to find the stupid paperwork you'd seen a million times. a stack of them slipped from your grasp and scattered onto the floor like a metaphor. you groaned and crouched down to collect them, muttering under your breath. your brain still felt like it was swimming through molasses.

then—

“good morning.”

his voice. that casual, bored tone he always used in the office. neutral, even, no trace of anything buried beneath it. no sign that he’d ever said something as life-altering as what he’d said last night.

you startled so hard you hit your head on the underside of your desk.

“good—ouch!” you winced, clutching your scalp with one hand and your pride with the other. “good morning, mr. jeong.”

he kept walking. didn’t glance down at you. didn’t smirk. didn’t check if you were okay. he passed your desk like any other morning, like he hadn’t proposed to you over beer and smoke and shared loneliness.

a few coworkers peeked over their partitions, concerned. you gave a shaky thumbs-up and a whispered, “i’m fine,” even though you felt anything but fine.

you weren’t like this. not at work. not ever. your name was synonymous with precision. discipline. control. and here you were, dropping papers and bumping into furniture like your brain had short-circuited.

you finally gathered the reports and brought them to his office.

he was seated at his desk, focused on his screen, the sleeves of his dress shirt still rolled to his elbows. your eyes caught briefly on the line of his forearm, the watch still there, still ticking.

“these are the reports from last month,” you said, setting the folder down.

“thanks,” he replied without looking at you.

you lingered.

“mr. jeong.”

he finally looked up.

his eyes were calm. cool. like nothing was wrong. like he hadn’t detonated a bomb and walked away from the wreckage.

you hesitated, your throat dry. “about what you said last night—”

his expression didn’t change.

“we’re at work,” he said simply. “i’m being professional.”

you blinked, almost offended. “so that’s it? you say something that insane and then just—go back to normal?”

“we’ll talk after work,” he said, returning to his screen. “if you want to.”

you stood there, gripping the folder even though it was already out of your hands, heart thudding with something sour and hot and unnamable. frustration? humiliation? confusion? all of it?

he was treating you like you were the one out of line. like you were being inappropriate for even bringing it up.

you turned around without saying anything else and walked out of his office, pulse hammering in your ears. the rest of the day dragged like wet cement. you couldn’t concentrate. you couldn’t remember what you were supposed to be doing half the time. you reread emails four times before hitting send. and every time someone walked past your desk, you wondered if it was him, if he’d say anything, if he’d look at you, if he even remembered what he said or if the memory of it belonged to you alone now.

you’d never felt so out of control.

you didn’t know what was worse—his silence or the fact that you wanted him to break it.

you tried to focus. god, you really did. you stared at spreadsheets until the numbers blurred into static. you answered emails with words you didn’t remember typing. every time the phone rang, your heart jumped, irrationally convinced it might be him—even though you were in the same building, separated by maybe thirty feet of glass, air, and unspoken tension. it felt like the longest day of your life. your temples throbbed with a slow, building ache, like your thoughts were pressing too hard against the inside of your skull.

you popped two painkillers around lunchtime, washed them down with lukewarm water from your reusable bottle, but they didn’t help. not really. because the pain wasn’t just physical—it was mental. emotional. a kind of pressure that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

your mind wouldn’t shut up.

you kept looping the same questions, over and over again, like your brain was stuck on a carousel with no exit.

why would he say that? why now? why you?

he already told you he'd wait. seven months. seven impossibly long, slow-burning months.

so why talk? why meet? it wasn’t for him. it didn’t serve him. he’d been clear. he had time, he had patience. this conversation—it was for you. you were the one desperate to make sense of it. to understand his motives. to justify the insanity of it all.

but how were you supposed to justify something that made no sense?

he’s twenty-seven. handsome. polished. wealthy. he could have anyone—literally anyone. girls younger than you, brighter than you, women who weren’t crawling toward their thirties with a fading list of half-achieved dreams and a fridge full of takeout leftovers. why you?

a mid-level employee in a department no one paid much attention to. someone who had to fight tooth and nail just to be noticed in board meetings. someone who had accomplishments but no one to toast with. someone who fell asleep most nights with their phone face-down and on silent because no one was texting anyway.

why you?

you didn’t have an answer.

you finished your tasks—barely—and the moment the clock hit the end of your shift, you shut your computer down with shaky fingers and grabbed your bag. your steps felt heavy, reluctant, as you made your way through the hall toward the entrance. part of you wanted to bolt, to pretend nothing had ever been said, to go home and crawl into bed and put on a show you wouldn’t really watch. to sleep off the confusion like a bad hangover.

but the doors opened before you could entertain the thought. those clean, automatic glass doors slid apart with a hiss, and there he was.

leaning casually against one of the white pillars just outside, his suit jacket draped neatly over his forearm, his other hand gripping his sleek black briefcase like it weighed nothing. he looked like something out of a commercial—well-dressed, composed, the perfect image of success. but when his eyes met yours, something flickered beneath the surface. maybe restraint. maybe tension. maybe nothing.

he walked toward you calmly, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the smooth tile.

“get in the car,” he said, voice even. “we’re going to talk. like you wanted.”

not a question. not a request.

he turned without waiting for your answer and made his way to a parked luxury sedan—shiny, deep black, windows tinted so dark you could barely see the interior. he opened the passenger door for you, as if the conversation that waited inside was just another part of his routine.

you hesitated, only for a second.

but then you followed.

because no matter how messy your thoughts were, no matter how terrified or confused or unworthy you felt, one truth cut through the noise:

you wanted to know.

you slid into the passenger seat, trying to calm the way your heart was sprinting inside your chest. the door closed beside you with a quiet thunk, sealing you into a space you weren’t sure you were ready for.

he walked around the front of the car and got in behind the wheel, smooth and unhurried.

you stared straight ahead.

ready—or not—to finally ask the questions that wouldn’t leave you alone.

the silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable. not exactly. but it was dense—like fog inside your chest, heavy and silent and there to stay.

you stared out the window as the city drifted past, familiar buildings made foreign by the storm in your head. beside you, jaehyun drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. there was music playing—low, jazzy, old—but he didn’t speak. not until you passed a traffic light and he tilted his head, casually.

“did you get enough sleep last night?” he asked, like he was commenting on the weather.

you didn’t look at him. “not really.”

“figured,” he said, turning smoothly into another avenue. “you looked like hell.”

you gave a humorless chuckle, resting your elbow against the door and propping your chin in your hand. “thanks for the compliment, sir.”

“anytime,” he said dryly.

and that was it. that was all the small talk he offered. nothing personal. nothing intimate. just an acknowledgment that he saw you. that he’d noticed.

the drive was short, and before you could make sense of anything, you were already parking in front of a modest little korean restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore. it smelled like steam, garlic, and simmered bone broth. a place where people went for real food and no-frills comfort.

“this place has the best gomguk in the city,” jaehyun said, grabbing his briefcase from the back. “been coming here since i was a teenager.”

you hesitated at the door. “you like bone soup?”

“love it.”

you wrinkled your nose. “i can’t stand that stuff. never could. not even as a kid.”

he paused mid-step and gave you a look, slightly amused. “well,” he said, “there’s our first disagreement as a couple.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “what?”

“now i know you don’t like gomguk. guess i’ll have to avoid cooking it for you.”

you said nothing.

because he wasn’t joking. not really. not entirely. and that was the part that made your mouth dry.

how could he say things like that so easily? so naturally? as if you hadn’t spent the entire day unraveling at the seams while he strutted through the office like nothing had happened?

he sat across from you at the table, unbothered, scanning the menu like it wasn’t even necessary. he already knew what he wanted. meanwhile, you still didn’t know why you were there.

you picked something else. kimchi jjigae, maybe—safe, familiar, strong enough to mask the taste of your confusion.

once the server took your orders and disappeared behind the curtain, you leaned forward, folding your hands together to stop them from trembling.

“why me?”

his eyes lifted slowly from the empty table to your face. “there’s no reason,” he said. “i just want to give you what you want.”

“do you say that to all women?”

he smirked. “if i did, i’d probably be married to half the city by now.”

you shook your head. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“don’t treat this like a mission,” you snapped, trying not to raise your voice. “i don’t need your pity. i shared something vulnerable with you, yeah. but that doesn’t mean you have to swoop in and rescue me from a miserable life of solitude by offering a ring. this isn’t some fairytale. i don’t need a man to save me.”

“i never said you did.”

you exhaled slowly. “i want to love and be loved. to build something. something real. not this... whatever this is. a contract. a deal. a deadline to escape loneliness.”

his expression didn’t shift. not a single flicker. but his voice softened.

“then let’s say this. if in seven months, you still haven’t found someone—someone who makes you feel like you can build something... try it with me.”

you stared at him. hard. trying to read every intention in the lines of his face.

“just like that?”

“just like that.”

you couldn’t look away.

and then he said it. the words that settled into the cracks of your resolve like warm rain after a drought.

“we can love. i can love you. you can love me, if you want to. if you want to date, we can date. you don’t have to feel pressured. i just think... you’re worth the risk. and i don’t think you should torture yourself every day that passes just because you haven’t ‘settled down.’ opportunities don’t always come twice. sometimes you have to grab them while they’re here. or regret it forever.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

you looked at him then—not as the cold, polished man who walked the halls like a ghost in tailored suits. not as your boss. not as someone who confused and overwhelmed you.

you saw him as a man.

a man who knew what he wanted. who wasn’t afraid to take action. who looked you in the eye and offered you something you weren’t even sure you deserved.

his jawline. his eyes. the little wrinkle between his brows when he got serious. the calm way he listened. the confidence. the clarity.

you saw him differently.

you weren’t ready to give him an answer. not yet.

but something inside you had shifted.

you just didn’t know what to call it.

he didn’t rush you.

he didn’t push.

he just sat there across from you in that tiny booth, his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened, waiting with the kind of quiet confidence that only made your heart beat louder. he stirred his soup gently, letting it cool, occasionally taking a sip without ever looking away from you for too long.

and then he said it—casually, as if proposing something as simple as lunch next week.

“let’s do this. i’ll pick you up after work from now on. we’ll go out. have dinner. spend time together. see what happens. let it unfold naturally.”

just like that.

your breath caught. “i… i have doubts,” you admitted, almost in a whisper. “i don’t know what to say. i don’t know what to feel. this is all so sudden, so... fast.”

he nodded, unbothered. “that’s okay.”

you blinked. “that’s okay?”

“yes. it’s not a race. but you heard what i said—opportunities don’t always knock twice. you don’t have to say yes right now. just think about it.”

but you were thinking. too much.

his voice played on repeat in your mind: we can love. i can love you. you can love me. and god, wasn’t that the exact thing you’d been terrified of never having?

your fingers trembled under the table. your palms clammy, your mouth dry. you rubbed your hands together slowly, grounding yourself in that simple motion, trying to breathe.

he didn’t flinch. didn’t ask again. just kept sipping his soup, patient as stone, like he’d already accepted whatever answer you’d give him.

you stared at your food, at the steam rising, the way the aroma filled the space between you and him like something sacred. you still couldn’t stand bone soup. but somehow, being across from him made it smell less... offensive. less like something to run from.

and you remembered.

all those nights crying in silence.

all those mornings brushing your teeth with tears stuck in your throat because you didn’t know if ever would come.

ever finding someone.

ever being enough.

ever being loved without begging for it.

maybe he wasn’t what you imagined.

maybe he was better.

you looked up at him.

“okay,” you said, softly. then stronger. “okay. i’ll try. i’ll let you pick me up. we’ll go on these dates. maybe… maybe i can love you. maybe i can let myself be loved by you.”

he paused mid-sip, eyes lifting.

your voice cracked slightly when you added, “maybe i can stay with you.”

for a beat, the world went still.

he didn’t smile wide. didn’t gloat or tease.

he just gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. his eyes warm, deep, but controlled—like someone who’d been expecting this moment and didn’t want to scare it off.

“good,” he said. “that’s all i needed.”

you swallowed hard.

and for the first time since that strange proposal, something in your chest loosened.

you weren’t sure if this was love.

but it was a beginning.

the next morning. everything is different.

you walk into the building like you own the damn place—heels sharp, suit immaculate, makeup clean and fierce, ponytail slicked high like a crown. the memory of yesterday—your stumble, your throbbing head, your wandering thoughts—now felt like a distant, irrelevant dream. that wasn’t you. this was.

a woman who knew what she wanted.

a woman who said yes.

you smiled to yourself in the elevator. not just any smile—that kind. the kind that curled at the corners, the kind that held secrets, the kind that felt like sin dressed in silk. the kind that belonged to someone with a man waiting outside a restaurant, ordering bone broth, and talking about love like it was something simple. doable. inevitable.

you were early. again. not by accident this time, but by choice.

you slid into your desk, organized, efficient, present. the hum of the office hadn’t started yet, and you took advantage of the calm, catching up on reports and scheduling the week like the good girl you were trained to be. but this time, it was different. you weren’t surviving the day. you were anticipating it.

and then—at exactly the hour—he walked in.

jung jaehyun.

same black suit. same silver watch. same air of cool detachment.

but today, when he passed by your desk and muttered his usual, “good morning,” you didn’t just nod like before.

you stood up—too fast.

too happy.

“good morning, mr. jeong!” you sang, voice lilting and almost musical, like you’d just won the lottery.

it was instinctual. not calculated. just... you.

the entire floor stopped.

heads turned.

some eyebrows shot up. a few eyes narrowed.

jaehyun himself halted in his tracks, looking back at you slowly, his brows drawn together in the tiniest frown. he cleared his throat.

“everyone, back to work,” he said, voice firm. and then, after one last look—eyes narrowed at you in something between confusion and amusement—he turned and walked away.

you bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, barely suppressing the giggle building in your throat.

the memory of last night echoed in your mind, maybe i can love you, maybe i can stay with you—and now here you were, trying not to beam like a teenager with a crush. you watched his back disappear into his office, and your lips curled up, despite yourself.

you could still feel his eyes on you. even if he wasn’t looking.

after work, you waited by the entrance as the glass doors slid open.

he was already there—like he promised. leaning casually against his car, black coat folded over one arm, briefcase in hand, gaze scanning the horizon like the perfect ceo out of a drama. but as soon as his eyes met yours, they softened—barely, subtly—but you noticed.

“get in,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.

you slipped in without protest, heart beating faster than it had any right to.

once the car pulled away from the curb, the silence settled—but it didn’t last long.

“you can’t do that,” he said, not harshly, just... firm.

“do what?” you asked, knowing damn well.

“greet me like that. like that.” he glanced at you sideways. “at work.”

you shrugged. “what? we’re dating now. aren’t we?”

“we’re seeing where this goes,” he corrected. “but we still have to be professional. people talk. your position can be affected. and mine—”

you cut in, not harshly but with a certain fire. “i’m not going to apologize for being happy.”

“i’m not asking you to apologize.”

“then don’t ask me to pretend. i’ll dial it down, sure. but i’m not going to act like you don’t mean something to me when we’re under the same roof eight hours a day.”

he stayed quiet for a beat, tapping the wheel with one hand, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile.

“is this how you are with all your boyfriends?”

you grinned. “i’m worse.”

he laughed. actually laughed. that deep, velvet sound you hadn’t heard much outside of formalities.

“well, i’ll brace myself,” he said. “i might enjoy it.”

you turned to the window, hiding your smile. this was really happening.

the drive back was quiet at first—a comfortable silence that didn’t demand immediate conversation. the kind of quiet that says: you don’t need to perform, just exist here with me.

the radio was on. a soft playlist of english ballads played in the background—songs about longing, beginnings, maybe even second chances. you doubted jaehyun picked them himself. it was probably just the algorithm. still, the timing felt so precise… so intentional, that you wondered if the universe was helping him out tonight.

you played with your fingers over your thighs, crossing and uncrossing your legs slowly, watching the night pass outside the window. city lights in the distance. trees swaying softly in the wind. you tried to guess where he was taking you next, but the truth was… you didn’t really care.

not knowing was part of the charm.

“where are we going?” you finally asked, unable to resist the curiosity.

he smiled without turning to look at you, eyes steady on the road ahead.

“it’s a secret,” he said. “you’ll have to wait and see.”

you squinted at him with mock suspicion, amused—and yet, inside, your heart started to thump a little faster with every mile.

there was something strangely beautiful about not being in control this time. about letting yourself be taken somewhere, not out of submission, but out of trust. you weren’t used to that. you weren’t used to letting anyone drive. but tonight, you wanted to believe you could lean back and just... be.

and then… the car turned down a dark, barely lit road, and you saw it.

a wide, open lot. a giant projector screen glowing at the far end. dozens of cars parked in neat rows, some with trunks open, fairy lights, blankets, snacks. couples curled together under the stars.

it was a drive-in movie. like something out of an old romance film.

you gasped, both hands flying to your mouth as you turned to him.

“oh my god. no way. are you serious?! i love the movies—but i've never done this. i’ve always wanted to, but… i don’t know. it just never happened.”

jaehyun glanced at you sideways. and this time, he smiled. really smiled. not the polite, composed smile he wore in the hallways or meetings—but something warm. something real.

“then it was a good idea,” he said simply.

he parked in the middle row. good view of the screen, but far enough for privacy. you were already melting—and then he popped the trunk.

a thick blanket. two small pillows. a tote bag with snacks—popcorn, a big soda bottle, even the exact chocolate bars you’d once said you liked during a random, probably drunk, late-night conversation. you didn’t even remember mentioning it.

he did.

“did you plan all of this?” you asked, curled slightly sideways in the passenger seat while he arranged everything with care between you.

“i just wanted you to be comfortable,” he said. “i wanted it to be... special.”

no posturing. no hidden motive. just sincerity. you felt it in the way he unfolded the blanket and draped it gently over your lap. in how he checked the window—cracked just enough to let in the breeze, not enough to let in the cold. In how he handed you the soda first, before even opening his own drink.

the movie started. some lighthearted rom-com with ridiculous dialogue and cheesy plot points, but it didn’t matter. it was perfect. low-stakes. no pressure. you curled your legs under you, blanket snug, the flickering light from the screen dancing across your skin.

every once in a while, you’d glance at jaehyun. and more than once, you caught him watching you instead of the film.

“are you bored?” you whispered.

“not even close.”

“you haven’t laughed once.”

he turned to you, that sarcastic little smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed just slightly.

“you’re already making enough noise for the both of us.”

you gave him a playful slap on the arm, pretending to be offended.

“that was a compliment,” he added, amused.

you rolled your eyes—but smiled. god, you smiled so much that night.

as the credits rolled, something shifted in the silence. the mood thickened—not heavy, just… deeper. weighted with something. a moment hanging on the edge of change. your head leaned against the window as the screen dimmed, your eyes distant but your heart so very full.

he still didn’t touch you.

he didn’t grab your hand. didn’t lean in.

but his presence wrapped around you all the same—solid, patient, waiting. not pushing, just there. learning how to be near you without demanding anything in return.

“thank you,” you said softly, voice almost too quiet to hear. “for this. for everything.”

“you don’t have to thank me.”

“yes, i do. it’s not every day someone goes out of their way like this.”

he paused before answering. his tone was steady, but low.

“i want this to work,” he said. “and if that means planning teenage-level dates with blankets and popcorn, then… yeah. i’ll do that.”

you laughed, eyes dropping to your lap.

“you’re doing well so far.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

and then you looked at each other. just looked. no words needed.

but inside… you felt it.

your shoulders, usually tense, were light. your heart, bruised and cautious for so long, was opening again. quietly, but surely. as if whispering, i’m still here. i still want to believe.

you weren’t sure where this would go. if it would last. if it would end in tears or something worse.

but right now, in his car, under the stars, with the last notes of the film still echoing through your skin…

you wanted to find out.

you wanted to try.

the next morning at the office felt different—less chaotic, more grounded. you greeted the receptionist with a small smile, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor as you made your way in, clutching your coffee cup like a security blanket. you weren't glowing, exactly, but something about you was… softer. less guarded. like a petal finally relaxing in the warmth of spring after a too-long winter.

jaehyun noticed immediately.

you caught him watching you from the glass-walled conference room as you entered the bullpen. he didn't stare, not in a way that would make it obvious to others—but his eyes followed you, just long enough to clock the change. your navy blue pencil skirt hugged your hips, the slit in the back offering just the right amount of grace as you walked. the cream blouse you wore was modest but elegant, the top button left undone, showing the delicate line of your collarbone. your hair was half-up, your makeup minimal, professional—but the gloss on your lips and the quiet shimmer on your eyelids betrayed a whisper of mischief. not overt. just enough for someone paying attention.

you met his gaze briefly through the glass and raised your brows in a silent hello before looking away, sipping your coffee with forced nonchalance.

by the time you crossed paths an hour later—both of you heading into a smaller briefing room—he gave you that look again. the one that asked, really? amused, but faintly disbelieving.

"good morning, mr. jeong," you greeted him politely, eyes straight ahead as if you hadn't spent the last night wrapped in his blanket, watching a movie with your legs tangled under it.

"miss y/l/n," he replied, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he held the door open for you. “very formal today.”

you didn’t rise to the bait. just gave him a brief, professional smile and walked past, heels clicking, not looking back. you were committed to the bit.

the meeting was brief, technical—a review of deliverables, some feedback loops, nothing out of the ordinary. you contributed where you needed to, kept your tone measured, avoided lingering glances. even when he made a rare joke and the room chuckled, you only allowed yourself a small, polite laugh, hands folded neatly on the table.

he didn’t push. but when you passed each other near the coffee station later, his voice dropped low, just enough for you to hear.

“you’re really leaning into the whole executive assistant with boundaries thing, huh?”

you smirked as you refilled your mug, still not looking at him. “just trying to keep things professional, mr. jeong.”

“of course.” he nodded once, pretending to adjust his tie. “wouldn’t want to cross any lines.”

you bit your lip to suppress your grin. the game was on.

at 3:47 PM, your phone lit up with a text from his office number: meeting with the department heads in fifteen. boardroom. don’t be late. signed J.J.

you rolled your eyes but your stomach did a little flip.

the 4 PM meeting dragged—there was a lot of back and forth over campaign numbers and rollout schedules, but you held your own, taking notes, speaking clearly when your insight was needed. you could feel jaehyun watching you when others weren’t—his gaze warm, grounding—but he didn’t speak to you directly unless it was related to the discussion. you appreciated that. It let you stay in control, let you breathe.

after everyone had trickled out and the room was quiet, you stayed behind a moment, closing your laptop and straightening the chairs without a word. he didn’t move from his seat at the head of the table, just watched you as you moved, his fingers idly spinning a pen.

“dinner?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.

you didn’t look up right away. “are you asking as mr. jeong or...?”

he tilted his head, eyes playful. “just jaehyun.”

you looked up, meeting his eyes. something flickered between you—recognition. of the past few days, the softness in your chest, the way your shoulders had finally stopped bracing for disappointment.

“okay,” you said quietly. “dinner.”

he didn’t take you to a fancy restaurant or anywhere showy. just a quiet little rooftop place downtown, dim lights and mellow music, open air and the sound of the city below. you sat across from him at a small table, knees brushing under the surface. you shared dishes, laughed softly, talked about nothing and everything. he asked about your childhood; you asked about his first heartbreak. there was no rush to get anywhere. just being there—together—was enough.

at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you.

at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you with that open expression he reserved for moments like this—unguarded, gently curious.

“you said you grew up outside the city,” he said, casually swirling the remnants of his drink. “what about your parents?”

you set your fork down and rested your elbows lightly on the table, exhaling. “they still live in the same town. a couple hours from here.”

he nodded. “siblings?”

“one,” you replied. “older brother. married. two little boys.”

jaehyun smiled at that. “you’re the cool aunt.”

you laughed softly, the sound bittersweet. “i try. i send them stickers and weird snacks from the city. but i think i’m mostly the mysterious aunt who lives alone in seoul and doesn’t have a husband, which is a major point of concern for my parents.”

jaehyun raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “concern?”

“oh, huge.” you leaned back, crossing your arms with a mock-serious nod. “they think i’m one heartbreak away from crawling back into my childhood bedroom with a suitcase and giving up entirely. i get the same call every weekend—‘have you met someone yet?’ and ‘when are you coming home, sweetheart?’ like my single status is a national emergency.”

you smiled, tried to make it sound light. funny. but the knot in your chest tugged a little tighter with each word. because underneath the teasing tone, it hurt. the weight of expectation, of having let them down without really meaning to. you’d always thought, by now, you’d have that picture-perfect family. a husband. maybe a child. but life had taken its own sharp turns, and somewhere along the way, you'd lost the map.

before your thoughts could spiral too far inward, you turned your eyes toward him and asked, “what about you? any siblings?”

he shook his head. “only child.”

“wow. that explains the drama,” you teased.

he grinned, playing along. “what drama?”

you shrugged, playful. “the perfectly tousled hair. the quiet confidence. the whole mysterious boss with a tragic past vibe.”

jaehyun laughed, the sound low and warm. “nothing tragic, thankfully. my parents own a condo complex back in busan. they keep to themselves. ever since i moved out, they’ve stayed out of my decisions. no guilt trips. no blind dates.”

he smirked a little, taking another sip. “which is great for me.”

you smiled at that, but there was something about the way he said it—casual, yes, but laced with a kind of loneliness you recognized. the kind that came with being left alone a little too much. with being successful but still carrying a shadow no one quite asked about.

you watched him for a second longer than necessary. then nodded slowly. “that does sound kind of great.”

he looked at you then, really looked, and the silence between you shifted—deeper now. heavy with things not said.

the city hummed around you. glasses clinked from other tables. somewhere, a violinist was playing faintly near the street below. but you only heard the soft cadence of his breath, the way it matched your own.

and then he stood and offered you his hand.

you didn’t hesitate this time. you let him lead you to the edge of the rooftop, where the view was clearer, the air colder. your arms brushed as you looked out together, shoulder to shoulder, warm skin against cool wind.

he turned to you first, eyes darker now, thoughtful. “you don’t need to rush anything. marriage, or whatever they want from you. you’re… okay. just as you are.”

you looked at him slowly, your heart caught somewhere between gratitude and ache. “thanks,” you whispered. “sometimes i forget.”

he stepped closer—barely—but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

you met his gaze, and something shifted between you again. tighter. stronger. the kind of tension that doesn’t demand to be broken, only… felt.

he leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn’t.

your lips met his softly, a single, tentative kiss that carried the full weight of everything left unspoken. sweet, searching, the kind of kiss that says i see you. that says stay.

and when you pulled back, your eyes didn’t dart away.

they lingered.

because something had begun. and neither of you was pretending anymore.

there was no big speech. no sudden declarations.

just the quiet gravity of this moment. the closeness. the way his eyes searched yours with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

april melted into may in soft, golden increments—like a candle burning slow at both ends. the weather grew gentler, the evenings warmer, and with each passing day, your relationship with jaehyun unraveled in small, tender pieces that neither of you rushed to name.

you had more dinners together. nothing extravagant—he wasn’t the kind to impress with grand gestures—but always thoughtful. ramen tucked away in a quiet corner shop with mismatched stools. a spontaneous detour after a work meeting that led to an art gallery’s closing hour. coffee at a tiny cafe with mismatched mugs and jazz playing softly from a dusty speaker. with every outing, something softened between you. the way you spoke to each other, the way you lingered a second longer when saying goodbye, the way your eyes found his in a crowded room and stayed there.

still, at work, everything remained perfectly composed. restrained. you never touched, never called him anything but mr. jeong. no one suspected a thing—and that secrecy gave it all the thrill of something sacred. childish almost. like passing notes under a desk. a shared joke disguised in a spreadsheet. your fingers grazing when you exchanged documents. a glance too long in the breakroom when he poured your coffee before you even asked. you could feel it in the air, that charged silence of two people pretending to be just colleagues, and failing quietly, deliciously.

the project itself was moving well—smooth timelines, promising data. it gave you an excuse to spend more time in his office, laptop open across from his, sometimes both of you too focused to speak for long stretches. sometimes one of you talking while the other typed, nodding with half-listening affection. sometimes, on the slow days, the lines between work and personal conversation blurred gently, like ink on damp paper.

today was one of those days.

you sat across from him, legs crossed under the conference table, scrolling through performance reports while he adjusted a chart on his screen. outside the windows, the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting pale lines across the carpet and the sleeves of his shirt. he leaned back, stretching slightly, then caught your gaze with a small smile.

“so…” he said, voice lower than usual, “what are you doing this weekend?”

you glanced up, biting your lip to hide a smile. “why? do you need me to run more numbers?”

“maybe,” he said, teasing. “but i was thinking something less tragic. maybe the museum? or that poetry cafe you mentioned.”

you shrugged, trying to sound casual. “depends. are you asking as mr. jeong or as… jaehyun?”

he smirked, eyes playful. “i guess that depends on your answer.”

you were about to respond when the door opened without a knock. both of you sat up straighter instinctively, like students caught passing notes. the supervisor from the analytics division stepped in, scanning the room with barely concealed curiosity.

“mr. jeong,” he said, tone clipped, “the director wants to see you.”

jaehyun stood immediately, buttoning his jacket with an easy nod. “i’ll be there in a moment.”

the supervisor looked at you then. his eyes lingered—not long, but long enough. something unreadable passed over his face. “you’ve been spending a lot of time here,” he said, like it wasn’t a question.

you gave him your most neutral smile. “just supporting the project. we’re on a tight schedule.”

“mm.” he said nothing more, just nodded once and stepped out.

jaehyun glanced at you before leaving, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. or quiet warning. you went back to your laptop, fingers pretending to type while your heart tried to calm its sudden gallop.

the evening found you both in his car again. the sun had already begun its descent, turning the sky a soft shade of apricot. you slid into the passenger seat, closed the door behind you, and without thinking too much, leaned over to kiss his cheek.

his skin was warm under your lips.

he blinked, clearly caught off guard, and for a second, he forgot to hide it. the tips of his ears flushed red. he cleared his throat and reached for the ignition, like nothing happened, but his smile lingered, crooked and faint.

“you keep doing that,” he murmured, not looking at you.

“doing what?” you asked innocently.

he shook his head, eyes on the road. “making it hard to pretend we’re not dating.”

you grinned and didn’t answer.

he drove you to the han river, where the breeze was cool and kind, and the crowds were light enough to feel private. you sat cross-legged on the grass, sharing tteokbokki and fried dumplings from paper trays, watching cyclists blur past under the lamplights. a small speaker nearby played an old ballad, sweet and melancholic, and you leaned into his shoulder without needing permission.

“i like this,” you said softly.

“what part?” he asked.

“this part. where everything’s… quiet.”

he didn’t speak immediately. just reached over and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“me too.”

you looked at him, really looked—and it hit you in that moment how far you’d come. from formal greetings and polite distance to soft laughter and shared silence. from stolen glances to kisses on the cheek that left him blushing.

and somehow, without realizing it, you’d stopped keeping count of how many times you thought about him during the day. because now he was part of your days.

and you didn’t want to imagine them without him anymore.

june arrived with a subtle shift in rhythm—projects moved faster, deadlines drew closer, and the sun stayed longer in the sky. the office felt heavier in the afternoons, warm with late spring air and the quiet hum of new beginnings.

one of those beginnings came in the form of kim jungwoo.

he was transferred from the incheon branch—a bright-eyed analyst with quick wit and a laugh that filled corners. you were told he'd be supporting the data team, and since your department handled most of the projections, he was placed right in front of your desk, where your eyes met every time you looked up. your first impression of him was that he was disarmingly charming—too friendly, too easygoing for the stiff, quiet culture of the office—but undeniably efficient. he asked questions that made sense, learned fast, and had a way of easing tension with a joke delivered just under his breath.

you kept things professional, as always. showed him how you sorted the quarterly metrics, how to navigate the company’s outdated database system without crashing it, how to color-code your sheets for easier reading. he listened, smiled, nodded. and eventually, he joked. made you laugh when you’d been staring at the same budget chart for hours. brought you coffee with your name scribbled on the lid in dramatic calligraphy. sometimes too much, sometimes exactly what you needed.

you liked him. platonically. comfortably. it was easy to like jungwoo.

but jaehyun noticed. of course he did.

at first, it was subtle. he’d call you into his office more frequently, asking for reports he usually didn’t request until later in the week. you didn’t think much of it—until you realized he was keeping you in there for hours. even when the topic had already run dry, even when both of you were silently pretending to still be discussing something relevant. you’d glance at your watch, mumble about needing to check on jungwoo’s progress, and jaehyun would give you this look—tight-lipped, unreadable, almost irritated.

the third time it happened, you couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“are you seriously going to keep me hostage in your office every time jungwoo asks me a question?” you asked, laptop balanced on your knees, arms crossed.

jaehyun didn’t answer right away. he leaned back in his chair, one hand draped lazily over the armrest, watching you. but there was tension under his cool expression, the kind that coiled in his jaw.

“you’re my girlfriend” he said, voice low, measured. “even if we have to act like colleagues in this building, you’re not just anyone to me.”

your breath caught. not because of what he said—because of the way he said it. with that sharp, quiet certainty, like it wasn’t up for debate.

“you’re jealous,” you muttered, trying to smile, to turn it into something lighter.

“of course i’m jealous,” he said, leaning forward. “he’s new, he’s charming, and he’s looking at you like he already knows what you taste like.”

your face flushed.

you looked away, but only for a second.

because when you met his eyes again, he stood.

in two strides he was in front of you, taking the laptop gently from your knees and setting it on the coffee table without a word. then he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you—deep, slow, and hungry. there was nothing tentative about it. it wasn’t sweet or shy. it was possession, poured soft and molten through the shape of his mouth on yours. you sighed into it, hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulse thudding in your throat.

he pulled away just enough to speak, voice rough. “don’t tease me about this.”

you nodded, breathless. “okay.”

and then he kissed you again.

the kiss tasted like all the things you weren’t allowed to say out loud. frustration. longing. the ache of pretending, day after day, that you were only what the world let you be. his thumb stroked your jaw as his mouth opened against yours, deeper now, slower. you felt your knees weaken and your thoughts scatter, all logic melting into the heat of the moment.

that night, like every night since the start of your secret, you met him outside the office. his car waited at the edge of the lot, tinted windows and the soft thump of quiet music playing through the speakers. you slid into the passenger seat, your heart already dancing.

this time, he didn’t say hello.

he reached over and kissed you—harder than before, lips parting yours in a way that made your body sing. the car wasn’t moving. neither of you were thinking. you kissed like it was all you knew how to do. mouths hungry, breath shallow, his hand tracing the edge of your thigh just enough to make you gasp. every time you pulled away for air, he followed. every time he groaned into your kiss, you shivered.

he never rushed.

never crossed that line you hadn’t yet spoken about.

but you felt how close it hovered. just under the skin.

and as your lips brushed his one last time before pulling back, your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “i like it when you get jealous.”

his smile was crooked. dangerous.

“you better not like it too much,” he said, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, “because next time… i might not let you leave so easily.”

thursday crept in quietly, with no big plans or messages of anticipation. the city, usually loud and hungry for excitement, felt unusually tame that week—like it had spent itself on too many events, too many evenings out, too many people chasing novelty in crowded cafés and rooftop bars. maybe it was just you, though. maybe everything had started to feel dull because your world had shifted to revolve around something—someone—entirely new. and nothing outside of that circle could compare anymore.

you barely spent time in your apartment lately. always out. always in his car, in places that weren’t quite home but felt more real because he was there. so on that afternoon, with your head tilted against the cold surface of your desk and your brain spinning from spreadsheets, you blurted it out between quiet keyboard taps.

“don’t make any plans tomorrow night.”

jaehyun glanced at you from across his office, pen in hand, eyebrows drawn. “should i be worried?”

you smiled without looking up. “you’re staying over. the weekend. at my place.”

the pause was heavy. not uncomfortable, but... loaded. you didn’t dare lift your head until he spoke.

“wait—what?”

and there it was. you looked at him finally, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide. he looked stunned. genuinely caught off guard.

“you heard me. pack a bag. pajamas. toothbrush. snacks. i don’t know. whatever you need to survive two days with me.”

his face went red. a deep, rich pink that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. you laughed. he was thinking things.

“ya, what were you imagining?” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk.

“nothing!” he defended too fast. “i just... i didn’t expect we’d be spending the weekend... alone like that. it’s not a bad thing. i like it. i like the idea. i just—i mean, we’ve been doing great. this relationship. it feels good. real. and... if it keeps going like this, who knows—maybe one day we’ll get married.”

you froze.

he didn’t say it as a joke. it was quiet. casual. but he meant it.

married.

you hadn’t thought about that in weeks. you’d been so swept up in the rush of the new—new glances, new kisses, new secret dates and stolen evenings. but that word made your heart skip, stumble, leap. it opened a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

married to jeong jaehyun. walking down an aisle. your coworkers gasping. your parents trying to stay calm. him lifting your veil. kissing you like it was the beginning of forever. sunday mornings with kids and cartoons and coffee. vacations. shared bookshelves. him waiting at the door when you got home.

you shook the image out of your head.

“you can’t just say things like that,” you whispered, barely breathing.

“why not?” he asked softly, his eyes sincere. “it’s where we’re going, right?”

friday night came like a slow exhale.

he arrived with a small black duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a sheepish grin. you wore mismatched pajamas—striped pants and a faded hoodie from a school club you barely remembered joining. the sight of you like that made him laugh, and the sound was so unguarded it made your chest ache with affection.

you stayed in. ordered too much food. picked a cheesy rom-com that made you cry halfway through. he kept making sarcastic comments at first, trying to pretend he didn’t care, until somewhere in the middle he got quiet. his hand found yours under the blanket, warm and steady. when the credits rolled, your head was on his shoulder and your eyes were puffy.

“i hate that you made me cry,” you sniffled, wiping your face.

“i didn’t make you cry. blame julia roberts,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

the rest of the night blurred. an improvised dinner of instant noodles and wine, soft music from your phone speaker, him dancing stupidly in the kitchen with a wooden spoon, trying to make you laugh. and you did. hard. the kind of laugh that made you forget to be careful.

when it got late, and the lights dimmed, the kisses came back. slow. long. searching. his hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, breathing each other in like you were afraid to stop. the heat built, like always, but neither of you pushed further. it wasn’t time. not yet. but god, it was close.

saturday was lazy and warm and beautiful.

you woke up tangled in the blankets, his arm draped over your stomach, his breath soft against your neck. the kind of morning you never thought you’d get to have—where nothing was urgent, and everything felt right.

you took turns in the shower, argued over who finished the milk, and spent an hour sitting on the floor flipping through old photo albums you’d forgotten you had. you didn’t plan to show him—but he insisted. and once he started looking, he didn’t stop.

“wait... this is you in high school?” he asked, pointing at a photo.

“yeah,” you said, embarrassed. “why?”

“you were so cute.”

you rolled your eyes. “i wasn’t popular or anything. i had one boyfriend. lasted a week.”

he stared. “a week?”

“he said i was too uptight and boring.”

jaehyun’s mouth dropped open. “that guy was an idiot.”

you laughed. “no, he was probably right. i’ve always been... structured. controlled. even back then. guess that’s why i’m like this now—such a workaholic.”

he didn’t laugh. instead, he kept looking at your photo—finger brushing over the glossy paper like it meant something.

“if i had met you back then,” he said quietly, “i would’ve fallen in love with you. no doubt.”

your breath caught.

he didn’t look away. “i wouldn’t have let you go. not for a second.”

“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, unsure what else to say.

“i do,” he said, firm. “you’re not boring. you’re brilliant. you’re thoughtful. you see things no one else sees. you work harder than anyone i know. and... you make me want to be better.”

tears pricked your eyes again. not from sadness. just—too much emotion. too much truth.

“you’re going to make me cry again,” you whispered.

“then cry,” he said, pulling you close. “but only if you let me hold you through it.”

the rest of the weekend passed like a dream.

grocery runs in sweatpants. a half-burnt attempt at making pancakes. arguments over which playlist was better for cleaning the kitchen. you wore ridiculous socks with cartoons on them. he made fun of you until you found his even worse ones.

you kissed between chores. kissed while brushing your teeth. kissed while folding laundry.

it wasn’t glamorous.

but it felt like home.

and when sunday night came, and he packed his bag again, you didn’t want him to go. not because of the sex, or the thrill, or the high of newness. but because somewhere between instant noodles and high school photos, you realized something terrifying and beautiful—

you were falling in love.

for real.

for the first time.

towards the end of the month, your phone rings. you’re in your apartment, folding laundry with the window cracked open to let in the soft breeze of early summer. the sunlight filters through sheer curtains, painting everything in golden hues. you glance at the caller id and feel a knot tighten in your stomach. mom.

you answer.

“it’s your father’s birthday this weekend,” she says, skipping greetings as always, her voice a mix of cheerful anticipation and subtle reprimand. “you should come visit. he’s been asking if we’ll see you.”

you agree, almost without thinking, but then comes the dreaded question.

“and? have you found a boyfriend yet or do i need to talk to mrs. lee again?”

you rub your temple. “mom—”

“her son is still single, you know. owns a good piece of land. sells vegetables to that big food corporation. you’d be set for life.”

you exhale deeply, eyes closing in frustration.

“i’m… i’m seeing someone.”

a pause. then her voice lights up like fireworks. “you are? oh, this is wonderful! finally, you’re not wasting away alone up there in that office job.”

“mom, we’ve just started seeing each other,” you say, hesitating. “it’s too soon to—”

“no,” she cuts in firmly. “you don’t have time to be unsure. the train is about to leave the station, sweetheart. you either get on or it’s gone. bring him. we want to meet him.”

before you can argue, the call ends with a clipped goodbye, and you’re left staring at your phone, pulse racing and chest tight.

the rest of the week, you feel like a ghost of yourself. distracted at work, distant on your dates with jaehyun, your mind spinning in loops. he notices immediately—of course he does—and it only takes one missed joke and a quiet dinner for him to call you out on it.

you’re sitting across from him, poking at your food. the restaurant is softly lit, cozy, but there’s a distance in your eyes.

“y/n,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. “what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you mutter, but he leans in.

“don’t give me that. we’re together now, remember? you can talk to me. or… if you’re second guessing this… if i’m moving too fast, just tell me. i can handle it.”

your heart aches at his words. you reach across the table, grabbing his hand.

“it’s not that. i’m not doubting us,” you say quietly. “it’s just… my mom called. she wants me to visit this weekend for my dad’s birthday. and she… kind of expects me to bring you.”

he blinks. then, without hesitation, he says, “okay. then i’ll come.”

you blink right back. “wait, seriously?”

“yes. if it means that much to them—and to you—I want to go. i want to meet your family, y/n. it feels right.”

your chest swells with something warm and terrifying. you nod, silently.

friday comes and your suitcase is zipped and ready by the door. you’re wearing a floral summer dress, light and breezy, with your favorite pair of nude heels that make your legs look longer than they are. your hair is pinned loosely, lip tint soft and rosy. there’s a nervous flutter in your chest when you step outside.

jaehyun is already waiting beside his car, leaning casually against it like he belongs in a photoshoot. he’s in cream linen pants and a sage green button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open at the throat. his sunglasses reflect the afternoon sun, and he looks, frankly, too good to be standing in your quiet little street. you gulp.

“need help with those?” he says with a grin, reaching for your bags before you can answer.

the ride is filled with music, laughter, and long, thoughtful silences. the kind that don't feel awkward, but full. pregnant with meaning. he holds your hand on the highway, thumb stroking the back of it lazily, his warmth anchoring you through your nerves.

when you pull up to your parents' house—a modest home with stone finishings and a neat little front garden—your heart thunders. everything feels smaller, more fragile, like stepping back in time. your mom rushes out first, apron still tied around her waist, eyes wide and wet with excitement.

and when she sees jaehyun? she nearly cries. “you’re real,” she says, pressing her hands together like she’s witnessing a miracle. your dad comes out next, chuckling as he wipes his hands on a dish towel.

“so this is the young man,” he says with a knowing nod, clapping jaehyun on the back. “your mother hasn’t shut up about you since she found out.”

inside, the dining table is set with your dad’s favorite dishes. everything smells like memory. you sit in the living room afterward, your parents across from you, jaehyun beside you on the couch, close enough to feel his knee brushing yours.

he speaks up first, voice calm and clear.

“i just want to say that i’m very serious about your daughter,” he says. “i have genuine intentions. we’re still getting to know each other, but… if things keep going the way they are, i’d like to build a future with her.”

your mother gasps, reaching for a tissue. your father nods slowly, visibly moved.

“this… this is the best birthday gift i could ask for,” he says.

you shrink into the couch, cheeks burning, while jaehyun’s hand finds yours again and squeezes gently.

then comes the chaos.

your older brother, baekhyun, bursts through the door with his wife and two kids in tow. he takes one look at you and smirks.

“who’s the guy and what have you done with my perpetually single little sister?”

you groan. “shut up, baek.”

the two of you bicker like teenagers, tossing playful insults back and forth while your nephews cling to your legs, shouting your name with delight. you hand them the toys you brought and their eyes light up like it’s christmas.

jaehyun watches it all, amused, until one of the boys climbs into his lap and hands him a toy too.

he freezes.

and in that moment, something shifts in him. the sound of children’s laughter, the image of you with a soft smile, cradling one of your nephews in your arms. the warmth of this home, the love in every corner. he imagines it—having this with you. kids with your eyes. a house that’s yours. your framed wedding photo on the wall. vacations. birthdays. late-night talks in bed. wrinkles and silver hair, but still loving you with the same fire.

he blushes.

and you notice.

“what?” you whisper as you lean close.

he shakes his head, smiling to himself. “nothing. just… i really, really like this. all of it.”

the night unfolds gently. dinner turns into stories, stories into laughter, and soon the sun has long set and the house is lit with warm yellow lights. you and jaehyun sit outside for a moment, watching the stars.

he wraps an arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“you feel like home,” you whisper, not even realizing the words have slipped out.

he turns to look at you, eyes soft. “so do you.”

and in the quiet, with the cicadas singing and the echo of your family’s voices drifting from inside, you know.

this might just be the beginning of everything.

the months of july passed by with little to no complications. your parents were pleased with jaehyun, and you could tell that their approval meant the world to him. jungwoo, on the other hand, was playful and teasing, but with a newfound sense of respect, especially as jaehyun started to show more signs of being protective, making sure that jungwoo didn’t cross any boundaries. you were still professional with everyone at work, but the chemistry between you and jaehyun was undeniable. nights together were spent laughing, and weekends were filled with stolen moments of joy, where you both shared something more than just professional courtesy.

jaehyun had made a habit of calling you during the day, just to check on you, and you found yourself doing the same. the conversations were simple, but they felt important. visits to his office became more frequent, sometimes just for work, but other times, it was an excuse to sneak in a kiss or two. the passion between you two continued to build, a slow, steady fire that became increasingly hard to ignore.

one night, a wednesday, you both ignored the weather forecast and decided to take your date out in the city. the air was warm, and the lights of the city sparkled as you walked the streets together. the mood was light, but as midnight approached, the weather took a sharp turn. dark clouds rolled in, and soon, rain began to pour, turning into a violent storm. the wind howled, and the streets quickly flooded. jaehyun’s car struggled against the force of the water, and you couldn’t help but grip the seat, anxious.

jaehyun tried to keep calm, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. “it’s okay, nothing’s going to happen,” he said, though you could tell he was also feeling the weight of the storm.

the rain pounded against the windows, and the car barely moved as the currents began to grow stronger. after what felt like an eternity, you both agreed that waiting in the car wasn’t safe anymore. as you both discussed where to go, a motel appeared in front of you. it seemed like an odd choice, but the parking lot was dry, and there were few other options at that hour. both of you hesitated, unsure of what to do. it was a strange situation—neither of you wanted to suggest anything that could be misinterpreted.

jaehyun was the one to break the silence. “let’s just use the parking lot, at least we’ll have shelter from the rain,” he said. “and if it lasts all night, we’ll have a warm place to stay.”

you nodded, a little nervous. “yeah, i mean, we’re not going to do anything else, right? just sleep, then in the morning, we’ll head back to our places and go to work, right?”

jaehyun smiled at you, trying to ease your nerves. “of course, just a safe place to wait out the storm. no pressure.”

you both parked and got out of the car, a little stiff from the tension, but the moment you entered the motel, things started to feel different. jaehyun took the lead, making sure you were comfortable and settled in, giving you space to breathe. He didn’t rush you, always checking to see how you felt.

both of you were tired from the day, and the weather didn’t help the situation, so after some brief, awkward glances, you both decided to take separate showers to unwind. you both changed into something more comfortable, but since it was summer and it was warm, you decided to just sleep in your underwear. when you looked at jaehyun in his, the moment felt almost surreal. his gaze lingered for a moment before he quickly turned away, as if both of you were still trying to adjust to how close you had become.

“you know,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence, “you don’t have to feel awkward. we’re taking things at our own pace.”

you smiled, feeling your heartbeat quicken at the sound of his voice. “what if i want to go faster?” you said, your words surprising even yourself.

jaehyun looks at you, eyes widening slightly before they darken with something deeper—something he’s clearly been holding back. “are you sure?” he asks, voice low, almost trembling with restraint.

you nod, stepping closer, your fingers brushing against his bare chest. “i’m sure.”

his hands find your waist gently at first, testing the waters, but when you lean into him, he pulls you in like he’s been waiting forever to hold you like this. his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft, exploratory, but quickly deepens, hungry and needing. he walks you backwards slowly until the back of your knees hit the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp, taking him with you.

his hands roam your body, reverent and slow, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. he whispers your name against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, and lower still. your breath hitches when his mouth lingers between your thighs, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for any sign to stop—but you nod again, your fingers threading into his hair, guiding him closer.

what he gives you isn’t rushed. it’s worship. like he’s been dreaming of this moment for too long to waste it. you lose yourself in the rhythm of his mouth, the way he listens to your body, adjusting, teasing, giving. he doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking and your voice is broken with moans you couldn’t hold back.

when he finally crawls back up your body, his lips kiss yours again, slower this time, tasting you. he whispers, “still okay?” and you nod, pulling him closer.

when he slides into you, it’s not hurried or careless. it’s deep, slow, and overwhelming in the best way. you cling to him, breathless, as your bodies move together like they were made to. he holds your gaze, foreheads pressed together, sweat-damp skin sticking in the summer heat, but neither of you care.

you whisper his name like a prayer, and he answers with yours, over and over, like he’s trying to brand it into the moment.

you fall apart in his arms, not once, but twice, and he follows soon after, burying his face in your neck as he trembles against you. 

his lips are still on yours when he pushes deeper inside you, and this time, there’s no hesitation. your body arches under him, the stretch of him delicious and overwhelming all at once. he fills you slowly, inch by inch, like he wants to feel every reaction he pulls from you.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes out, forehead resting against yours. “been thinking about this for so long.”

you moan softly, nails dragging down his back as he starts to move, slow at first, rolling his hips into you with precision that makes your legs tremble. he kisses down your throat, biting softly at your skin as he picks up the pace, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. the headboard taps gently against the wall, a quiet rhythm that matches the sound of your breathy moans and his soft, low groans.

your fingers clutch the sheets, the pleasure building with every thrust. jaehyun’s hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider for him, and the new angle has you gasping his name, your voice breaking. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—lost in the feel of you, the sounds you make, the way your body clings to his like it’s the only place it belongs.

he pulls out just enough to see the way you take him, watching your slick coat his length before sliding back in with a filthy, wet sound that makes your toes curl. “look at you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip, eyes locked on yours. “so fucking beautiful like this.”

when he shifts, propping one of your legs over his shoulder, the angle has you crying out, your whole body shuddering. “you’re so deep,” you whimper, and he groans, hips snapping faster, harder, chasing both your highs like a man starved.

your climax hits hard—white-hot and blinding—as your walls clamp down around him, dragging him over the edge with you. he cums with a strangled moan, burying himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering as he spills into you. he stays there, chest pressed to yours, breathing heavy, hearts pounding in sync.

after a few moments, he pulls out slowly, carefully, kissing your shoulder as he lies beside you and pulls you into his arms.

your body’s still trembling when he runs a hand down your spine, voice low and thick with affection. “think we’re still just sleeping?”

you laugh softly against his chest, lazy fingers tracing circles on his skin. “not a chance.”

he kisses the top of your head. “then let’s not sleep yet.”

and before you can even respond, he’s already kissing down your body again—because one round clearly wasn’t enough.

you barely have time to catch your breath before jaehyun’s mouth is back on your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, over your stomach. his hands roam your thighs with greedy fingers, and even though you’re still sensitive, your body responds instantly—needy, aching, already ready for him again.

“you’re still so wet,” he murmurs, spreading you open with his fingers, dragging two of them slowly through your folds. “fuck, baby… you’re dripping.”

your hips jerk when he circles your clit, light and teasing, and you whine, fingers gripping the sheets. “j-jaehyun…”

he smirks, dark eyes meeting yours as he sinks his fingers into you—slow, deep, curling just right. “you can take it, can’t you?” he says, voice thick with lust. “you want it again.”

you nod helplessly, mouth parted as your back arches off the bed. he fucks you with his fingers until you’re trembling again, begging for him, grinding down onto his hand like you can’t get enough—and you can’t.

when he pulls his fingers out and lines himself up again, there’s no patience this time. he pushes in all at once, rougher, deeper, making your breath catch in your throat. the stretch, the pressure, the heat—it’s almost too much, but you crave every second of it.

he fucks you like he owns you now, one hand on your hip, the other pressing down on your stomach so he can feel himself inside you. “you feel that?” he groans. “you’re taking all of me.”

your moans turn shameless, high-pitched and raw, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with every thrust. the bed creaks, the headboard pounds against the wall, and you don’t care who hears. he flips you onto your stomach without warning, pulling your hips up, and slides back into you from behind.

you cry out at the new angle, your hands clawing at the sheets as he drives into you, deeper than before. “god—jaehyun, i’m gonna—”

“cum for me,” he growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back to kiss the side of your neck. “cum all over my cock, baby.”

your orgasm hits like a shockwave, blinding and hot and overwhelming. your whole body shakes, legs giving out beneath you as he keeps fucking you through it. he follows moments later, groaning your name as he fills you again, hips jerking against your ass, the sound of it all so filthy and perfect.

this time, when you collapse together on the bed, everything is soaked in sweat and heat and the scent of sex. your body is limp, your mind dazed, and he just pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he’s never letting go.

“okay,” you whisper, laughing breathlessly. “now we might need to sleep.”

he chuckles against your hair, voice rough. “maybe. after round three.”

that night at the motel changed everything.

it wasn’t just the sex—though, god, it was incredible. it was the way his hands learned your body like a second language, the way he whispered your name like a secret, the way you both let yourselves fall without fear. that night was messy, breathless, and soaked in want. but more than anything, it was a turning point—a quiet, unspoken agreement that this was no longer just something casual. not for either of you.

after that, the line between love and lust blurred beautifully. sex became part of your rhythm, part of how you communicated. stolen glances in the office turned into stolen kisses in the elevator. late nights became sleepovers, and every morning-after was filled with lazy touches and knowing smiles. you memorized each other’s moans like favorite songs, found new ways to say i want you, even when the words themselves weren’t spoken.

but there was one night that stood out. the one you still think about more than any other.

it was the night you stayed over at his apartment—just the two of you, no distractions, no storms outside, only the slow burn between your bodies. dinner turned into kisses. kisses turned into the first round on his kitchen counter, then the second in the shower, steam fogging up the mirror as your bodies tangled and slipped together like water and flame.

by the third round, it was past midnight. you were already sore, breathless, but insatiable. he pulled you back into bed, whispering things in your ear that made your skin burn. he was rougher that time—hungrier—gripping your hips as he fucked you deep and slow, drawing out every moan until your voice was hoarse and your mind was gone.

you were on top, riding him with lazy, desperate rhythm, your head thrown back, your nails digging into his chest. he looked up at you like you were something divine, his hands guiding your pace, eyes locked on the place where your bodies met.

and just when your orgasm started to hit—when everything went hot and tight and unbearably good—the words slipped out of you.

“i love you.”

your voice cracked around it, high and trembling, your body still grinding against his, your climax crashing over you like a wave. for a split second, everything stopped. you felt him freeze beneath you, heard the sharp intake of breath, saw the shock in his eyes.

you hadn’t meant to say it like that. not in the middle of fucking. not when you were bare in every sense of the word.

it was reckless. vulnerable. raw.

but not wrong.

his hands gripped your waist tighter, and then he was sitting up, arms wrapping around you, thrusting up into you so hard and deep that you sobbed out his name.

“i love you too,” he groaned against your neck. “fuck, i love you so much—too much.”

and then he came—hard and fast, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

afterward, you just lay there on top of him, chest to chest, skin to skin, hearts pounding in unison. there was no awkwardness. no regret. only this strange, beautiful calm that settled over the room like dawn.

it was in that moment you realized just how deep your feelings for him ran.

what had started as a simple plan—just something to avoid growing old alone—had become the best part of your life. somewhere along the way, between the office visits and shared glances, motel rooms and quiet mornings, you had fallen hopelessly, madly in love with jaehyun.

and the craziest part?

you couldn’t imagine ever thinking of anything—or anyone—else but him.

august wrapped around you like a golden ribbon, thick with heat and filled with the kind of breathless anticipation that only comes after months of hard work. the project was done—finally—after weeks of stress, endless reports, last-minute corrections and late nights. but it was done. and not just done, but successful. glowing feedback, client satisfaction, numbers that sang. it was more than you had dared to hope for.

and then—the email.

subject line: promotion confirmation.

you stared at it for a full minute before opening it. and when you read the words “congratulations, supervisor,” your breath hitched. you covered your mouth. you gasped. and then you ran.

jaehyun wasn’t even at his desk anymore, he was just walking into the hallway when you caught him. “jaehyun!” you called, your voice trembling with a kind of joy that had nowhere to go.

he turned, concerned for half a second—until he saw your face. and then you said it.

“i got it.”

“you got what?” he blinked, confused.

“the promotion.”

his eyes widened. he froze for a second. and then—his arms were around you before you could even finish breathing. he lifted you, spinning you once, twice, both of you laughing as you clutched his shoulders and buried your face in his neck.

“oh my god, baby—you did it! i knew it, i knew you would!”

you were dizzy, and not just from the spinning. he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips. everything was warm and golden and right.

he took you out that night.

you didn’t go anywhere fancy—jaehyun insisted that celebrations should be personal, not performative. so he drove you to that one little pizzeria you loved, the one that made the potato crust just the way you liked it. he ordered your usual without asking, and when the wine came, he raised his glass first.

“to you,” he said, his eyes soft and gleaming under the low light. “my brilliant, unstoppable, incredible woman.”

your heart swelled so fast it almost ached. the clink of your glasses felt like the sound of a new chapter opening.

“i’ve never had this before,” you confessed, fingers curling around the stem of your glass. “celebrating something this big. with someone i love. it feels…” you laughed, shy and overwhelmed. “it feels like everything’s different now.”

jaehyun reached for your hand, his thumb stroking the back of it slowly.

“it is different,” he said. “because now, every good thing that happens to you—we get to celebrate it. together.”

you stared at him, your chest tight with emotion, with the kind of love that had no bottom, no edge. just more.

you leaned across the table, kissing him slow, deep, grateful. pizza between you, wine in your veins, your laughter echoing off the walls of that tiny booth.

you didn’t need fireworks.

this was better.

this was yours.

mid-september arrived with a softness that clung to the air—warm enough to feel like summer still lingered, but mellowed by the early hints of fall. the leaves hadn’t turned yet, but something in the wind carried change. maybe that’s what had been stirring inside you all week—a restless certainty that had taken root in your chest and bloomed with every kiss, every sleepy morning wrapped around each other, every whispered i love you that escaped your lips without hesitation. it had been five months, five months of chaos and clarity, of fire and softness, and you knew now—you didn’t want to wait anymore.

you wanted jaehyun. not in a month. not after careful plans. now.

so you climbed the steps to his office, heart thudding like a war drum, nerves tangled with determination. you paused outside the door, breathed once, twice, and knocked.

“come in,” his voice called, muffled behind the heavy door.

you stepped in and found him at his desk, back slightly hunched, focused on the glow of his screen. he looked up, and the moment he saw you, he smiled—that slow, dazzling smile that always made your knees feel like melted wax—and stood immediately, walking toward you without hesitation. he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you like he’d been waiting to do it all day.

“jaehyun,” you said, voice almost trembling, more from the gravity of what you were about to say than nerves. he pulled back slightly, tilting his head.

“yeah?”

you met his eyes and, without giving yourself the chance to second-guess it, you let it fall from your lips.

“i want to marry you.”

his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his features. he blinked, as if trying to be sure he heard you right.

“i know, baby,” he said, a soft chuckle lacing his words. “that was the whole deal, right? but remember—we said after november. we’d have more time to plan, get everything ready—”

“no,” you interrupted, stepping forward, clutching his hands tightly. “i don’t want to wait till november. i mean it. i want to marry you now. today, tomorrow, next week—i don’t care when or how. i just want to be yours. forever.”

he stared at you, quiet. processing. his brows drew together, and then lifted again like the meaning had just landed fully. his hands gripped yours tighter.

“but—what about the wedding? your parents, mine—”

“we’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “but this... this love we have, i don’t want to keep treating it like something that needs to be scheduled. it’s real. it’s now.”

he took a breath, deep and full. and then, his expression softened into something vulnerable and glowing—his eyes shone with something deeper than just affection. he leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “you want to be my wife.”

you nodded, lips brushing his as you breathed, “more than anything.”

his thumbs brushed over your cheeks, as if committing this moment to memory. “then we’ll do it. not because it’s rushed, but because we know. we’ve known. and if you want to be my wife now... then i’ll make it happen. we’ll get married. i promise.”

and he kissed you again, this time slower, as if sealing an oath between your mouths.

the proposal happened three days later.

he told you it was just a normal date—dinner, then a walk somewhere scenic. no pressure. he even played it off by wearing something casual: a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled, soft beige slacks, and the cleanest pair of loafers you’d ever seen. he looked devastatingly handsome without trying.

he picked you up and drove toward the edge of the city, toward the river trail where the summer festivals were usually held. the area was quiet now, early autumn having driven the crowds away. but fairy lights still dangled from the trees, twinkling faintly as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a warm, honeyed hue over everything.

he walked with you along the wooden path, your fingers tangled. his hand was slightly clammy. you noticed, and your heart fluttered, thinking—he’s nervous. the realization made you giddy.

and then, just as you reached the little bridge that overlooked the water, he stopped.

“wait here,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “don’t move.”

he jogged a few steps ahead, ducked behind a low fence near a cluster of trees, and returned with a bouquet of peonies—your favorite. you hadn’t told him that. he remembered.

your eyes began to water.

he handed them to you, smiling shyly, and then pulled something out of his pocket.

a velvet box.

he opened it without a speech, without fanfare. his voice was soft, his eyes locked on yours like the world outside didn’t exist.

“you already said yes,” he whispered. “but i want to do this right.”

he got down on one knee, the gravel crunching beneath him, and held the ring up.

“y/n, will you marry me—not next month, not in theory, not in some future we’re still trying to picture... but now. for real. because i’m yours. and you’re mine.”

you didn’t cry. you sobbed. like an idiot. like a girl who had waited her whole life for someone like him. you nodded so fast your vision blurred and fell into his arms, and he kissed you like he was promising you the rest of forever.

in that moment, september never felt sweeter.

telling the company was a whole thing.

it started with a scheduled meeting—a weekly operations check-in with the usual suspects: team leads, upper management, the supervisor, and a couple of sharp-eyed executives who never missed a detail. it was jaehyun’s idea to make it official at work, to do it clean and direct and proudly. no rumors. no hiding. just the truth, glowing and solid like the ring that now lived permanently on your finger.

you both walked into the meeting room together, which wasn’t unusual, but something in the way your hands brushed as you took your seat already had jungwoo giving you the side-eye.

the presentation started, charts and projections lighting up the screen behind jaehyun as he stood with calm confidence. it was business as usual—until the last slide.

"before we wrap up," he said, glancing back at the room, his eyes finding yours briefly before turning to the group again, "i have one personal announcement to make."

you swallowed. jungwoo leaned forward like a damn hawk. mr. choi narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if he'd been waiting for this moment since spring.

jaehyun smiled—soft, boyish, unbothered. “as some of you may know… or have guessed," he said, and gave jungwoo a teasing look that made him gasp, "i knew it," he muttered dramatically—"y/n and i have been seeing each other for a while.”

the room exploded. a gasp from the secretary and the supervisor actually choked on his coffee. someone in the back whispered “what the fuck” under their breath.

jaehyun held up a hand, a little smug, a little amused.

“and, as of last weekend… we’re engaged.”

your cheeks were burning. your heart thundered. you expected chaos, maybe disapproval, but what followed was—

cheering. clapping. wide eyes and stunned smiles. even mr. choi looked like he was trying very hard not to grin.

“you’re marrying jaehyun? our jaehyun?” he blinked at her, then looked at jaehyun like he’d just discovered a double life. “okay, i knew something was going on. i’m not blind. but marriage? dude, that’s insane. like, insane in the good way, but—holy shit.”

you stood up, feeling brave. “we just didn’t want to hide it anymore,” you said. “we’re really happy. and we hope you’ll be happy for us too.”

the room burst into applause again. someone shouted, “wedding invites or we riot!”

the parents came next.

you visited your family first. your mom opened the door and immediately noticed the ring. she gasped, dropped the dish towel she was holding, and squealed in that way only mothers can. within seconds, your dad was there too, grinning, eyes glossy, holding jaehyun’s shoulder like he was already part of the family.

"are you kidding me," your mom kept saying. "you're engaged? oh my god, you're engaged!"

you nodded, trying not to cry as she hugged you so tight it hurt.

“he’s everything i ever wanted for you,” your dad told you quietly, before giving jaehyun a very serious handshake. “you take care of her.”

“always,” jaehyun promised, voice thick with sincerity.

then it was his parents' turn.

you were more nervous, but you shouldn’t have been. the moment jaehyun’s mom saw you, she pulled you into a hug, muttering in korean how beautiful you were, how she’d been praying her son would be smart enough to not let you go. his dad was more reserved, but the sparkle in his eye said everything. when jaehyun said, “we’re getting married,” his mother clapped her hands and screamed like she’d just won the lottery.

“we’re so happy,” she said, eyes shining. “you are already family.”

they brought out food, wine, photos from jaehyun’s childhood. his mom made you take home a tupperware of kimchi and a crocheted doily she claimed she made for whoever he married one day. she said she just had a feeling it was going to be you, and jaehyun turned red.

it turned out that weddings—real weddings—took a lot more time to plan than y/n had expected. even with jaehyun’s calming presence and the help of a surprisingly competent wedding planner, the months passed like petals falling from a tree: softly, quickly, too beautifully to hold onto.

they settled on march 28. it gave them just enough time to breathe, to build, to dream together.

from the moment they told everyone—first their friends, then their families, and finally, in a hilariously formal email, the entire company—the whirlwind began. the announcement caused a stir so loud in the office that y/n had to leave her desk just to get some peace.

the directivos were equally shocked, though mostly amused. her supervisor just nodded sagely, like he’d been betting on this since the beginning.

“you two were always ‘too in sync’,” he said, raising his coffee mug in mock toast. “i give it six months before one of you becomes the other's boss at home too.”

and then came the parents.

jaehyun’s mother cried when she met y/n, tears slipping down her cheeks as she hugged her tight and whispered in korean, “you’re even more beautiful than he said. and i knew he was in love the first time he said your name.”

her own parents, after recovering from the initial shock, became obsessively involved in the planning, sending flower samples, playlist suggestions, and opinions on wedding favors at all hours of the day. but none of it was overwhelming. not with jaehyun there, always pulling her back into calm. always making sure this was their wedding, not anyone else’s.

they chose a venue outside the city—a small vineyard with soft hills, blooming wisteria, and golden light that melted everything it touched. march 28 arrived with the scent of earth and lilac, a warm wind, and the sky so blue it almost hurt to look at.

y/n stood before a mirror in a white gown that made her feel like everything good in the world had been sewn together just for her. she could hear the quiet rustle of guests arriving, the soft music playing in the distance, the laughter of children running between the rows of flowers.

and then, jaehyun.

when she saw him waiting at the altar, dressed in a suit that fit like second skin, with his hair slightly tousled and a look in his eyes that could undo galaxies—she forgot how to breathe.

he mouthed “you’re perfect” as she walked down the aisle.

she mouthed “you’re mine.”

the ceremony was intimate, emotional, wrapped in vows that made everyone cry—even jungwoo, who tried to play it off by pretending he had allergies.

“i promise to protect your dreams as fiercely as my own,” jaehyun said, voice trembling slightly, “and to always make sure your pizza has the right amount of potato crust, even when we’re eighty.”

“i promise to choose you, even on the days we forget how lucky we are,” y/n replied, tears in her eyes. “and to never let the fire between us die, even when we’re old and gray.”

they kissed.

and the world felt new again.

their first dance was under strings of fairy lights, barefoot on the grass. the song was soft, a slow jazz tune that jaehyun had played for her once in the car when she’d been crying. now, with her head against his chest, they swayed like the wind had been made just for them.

“we did it,” she whispered.

“we did,” he said. “and i’d marry you again tomorrow if i could.”

the honeymoon came a few days later. they chose santorini, greece, not for the postcard beauty or luxury, but because y/n had once told him, offhandedly, that she always dreamed of watching the sun melt into the sea from a white rooftop. he remembered.

their suite was perched on a cliff, overlooking the caldera, with white walls and blue domes and windows that opened to eternity. the first night, they sat on the balcony with a bottle of wine, their feet touching, their hands always searching for each other.

they kissed under sunsets and made love under stars. they danced in narrow streets, shared kisses between sips of ouzo, fed each other olives and sweet baklava. they were ridiculous. and in love. and utterly themselves.

“this is the life i want,” y/n whispered one night, tangled in cotton sheets, her cheek against his chest.

“then it’s the life we’ll have,” jaehyun said. “forever.”

and this time, forever didn’t sound like a fairytale.

it sounded like a promise.

three years passed like chapters in a love letter—written slowly, lived fully.

you and jaehyun made a home out of a sleek little apartment tucked into the rhythm of the city. it was all black wood and soft gray, velvet cushions and open windows where sunlight poured in like gold. it wasn’t big, but it held your whole world. your toothbrushes leaned against each other. your shoes tangled by the door. your laughter lived in the walls.

mornings were sleepy and soft—coffee mugs clinking, your legs wrapped around his under the kitchen table, newspaper pages ignored in favor of each other’s eyes. nights were even softer—blankets twisted around you, movie soundtracks playing in the background while your fingers danced across his skin. the kind of love that didn’t need grand gestures—just the warmth of his palm on your thigh and the way he said “come here” like home itself.

but then, one evening, the quiet changed.

you were in the bathroom. pacing. heart in your throat. your phone timer ticked like thunder in the silence. the test rested on the sink, small and still—like it held the weight of the universe. you sat on the edge of the tub, knees pulled up, trying to breathe.

when the timer stopped, you moved like you were underwater. slow. hesitant. scared.

two pink lines.

you stared. blinked. stared again.

your lips parted, the shape of a whisper you couldn’t form. your hands trembled, and for a moment, the whole world tilted—just you and that tiny piece of plastic and everything it now meant.

you stepped out of the bathroom, barefoot, holding the test like it might shatter.

jaehyun was on the couch, lounging with his phone, one leg bent lazily, hair tousled from running his hand through it too many times. he looked up. paused. frowned softly. “baby… what is it?”

you didn’t answer right away. just walked toward him—slow, like the floor might disappear—and placed the test in his hand.

“we’re gonna be parents!!”

the silence cracked. and then—

jaehyun surged forward, arms wrapping around you so tight you gasped. he lifted you off the ground, spinning you around the living room like a kid on christmas morning, laughter bursting from his chest, from yours, from some place deep inside where all the hope had been hiding.

you were both crying. laughing. kissing. saying “we did it!” over and over again like a prayer you never thought you’d get to say out loud. he pressed his forehead to yours, voice shaking, “we’re having a baby.”

“we’re having our baby,” you whispered.

months passed like petals falling from a blooming tree.

you were glowing. exhausted, but glowing.

your blush-pink maternity dress clung gently to your growing belly, printed with tiny white florals that made jaehyun smile every time he saw you in it. your feet were bare, your ankles swollen, your back ached constantly—but he was always there, hands rubbing your spine, lips on your shoulder, whispering, “you’re magic, you know that?”

the nursery was nearly finished—lavender walls painted with care, gold stars twinkling on the ceiling, and a soft mobile that played lullabies like stardust. the crib waited, delicate and perfect, with a plush bunny nestled in the corner.

jaehyun was kneeling by the dresser, sweat on his brow, tongue between his teeth as he finished the final drawer. he looked up, eyes finding you immediately, and god—he looked at you like the whole sky lived inside your smile.

“she’s gonna love this room,” he said, standing to press a hand to your belly. his palm warm. grounding. full of quiet awe. “our little moon.”

you leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “i hope she gets your eyes,” you whispered.

he smiled, eyes soft with wonder. “and your heart,” he murmured. “especially your heart.”

the room went quiet again—except for the soft hum of the mobile spinning slowly above the crib. gold stars turned, catching the light.

and in that moment, just one suspended, breathless moment, everything was still.

you. him. her.

and the love that built it all.

finally. completely.

beautifully yours.

[yvaineseleneposts]

would you ever write singlemom!reader x Nico or anyone? 🥹

A/N: I hope this does your request justice, because I have no clue how to write singlemom!reader or any motherly fics

Requested: yes by @one-sweet-gubler

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Singlemom!Reader

Words: 2k

Warning(s): none (I think)

You weren’t looking for anything — especially not love — when you agreed to take your six-year-old son, Jamie, to his first Devils game. Hockey had always been something your ex loved, but Jamie had taken to it in his own way. Obsessed with jersey numbers and face-offs, he chattered endlessly about his favourite player: Nico Hischier.

“I like him because he’s the captain,” Jamie said solemnly, clutching his tiny Hischier jersey, too big for him but worn constantly. “And because he always skates fast, even when he’s tired.”

You smiled and ruffled his hair. “Then let’s hope he scores tonight.”

You didn’t expect to catch Nico’s eye. You certainly didn’t expect him to catch yours — not in a sold-out Prudential Center, not from your modest seats near the glass. But in the third period, after a hard-won goal, he skated by, met your gaze — and lingered.

Maybe it was just coincidence.

Except… after the game, a staff member tapped your shoulder and said, “Nico Hischier asked if you and your son would like to come down to meet him.”

You blinked. “Sorry, what?”

Jamie was beaming. You were stunned. And Nico? He was… surprisingly shy.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, crouching to Jamie’s height. “Nice jersey.”

Jamie couldn’t speak, just nodded, eyes wide.

Nico grinned, then looked up at you. “I hope this isn’t weird. I just—saw you in the stands. Thought your son might like this.” He handed Jamie a signed puck. “And maybe… I thought I’d like to say hi.”

You blinked again, heat rushing to your cheeks. “That’s very kind of you. He’s a big fan.”

“I can tell.” Nico’s voice softened. “And you?”

“I’m… more of a coffee fan,” you replied, half-joking. “But I’m warming up to hockey.”

He laughed, that boyish, crooked smile melting something in you you hadn’t realized was still frozen. “Maybe I could help with that. If you ever want to… grab that coffee.”

You hesitated. It had been a long time. You weren’t sure you remembered how to do this. But then you glanced at Jamie — who was still talking Nico’s ear off now — and realized you were already doing the hardest job in the world. Maybe you deserved something soft. Something sweet.

You nodded. “Okay. But only if you promise not to quiz me on power plays.”

“No promises,” he grinned.

Nico never rushed you. Never made you feel like your son was an obstacle. In fact, half your “dates” took place at playgrounds or pizza joints with booster seats. And somehow, he never minded.

“I like this,” he said once, after helping Jamie tie his skates. “It’s real.”

You weren’t used to real. But you were starting to crave it.

He kissed you on a Thursday. Lightly. Like a question. And for the first time in years, you said yes.

It had been three months since Nico kissed you. Three months since he'd officially become part of your orbit — not just yours, but Jamie’s too.

You'd worried, in the quiet of night, whether this was fair to Nico. Whether the weight of loving you and your child would be too heavy for someone with skates instead of roots.

But he never gave you reason to doubt. He showed up with hockey cards and coffee, sat through school plays with his arm around your shoulders, and texted you photos of Jamie napping in his lap after “movie night with the boys.”

So when he asked, "Will you come to the team family skate?" — it felt more like a milestone than an invitation.

You hesitated. “Won’t that be weird? I’m not a wife or a fiancée or—”

“You’re my person,” he said, voice low and sure. “That’s all anyone needs to know.”

The rink felt different when it wasn’t packed with roaring fans. Empty stands. Warm smiles. Players skating with toddlers holding onto their sticks for balance, wives wrapped in puffer coats, babies strapped to chests.

Nico had his hand wrapped around yours, Jamie bouncing beside him in his tiny Devils beanie.

“Are you sure you can skate?” Nico teased as you laced up your borrowed skates on the bench.

“Barely,” you muttered. “If I fall, you’re catching me.”

“Always,” he said, eyes soft.

You didn’t fall — not at first. You wobbled, held onto his arm like a lifeline. Jamie took to the ice like he was born for it, zig-zagging with more confidence than grace.

“You look good out here,” Nico said, smiling.

You raised a brow. “I look terrified.”

“Still good,” he murmured, leaning closer, brushing his lips against your cheek — public, tender, intentional. Like he wanted everyone to see.

That part surprised you most: how proud he was. How openly he loved you.

A woman skated by and gave you a warm smile. “You must be Nico’s girl. He talks about you all the time.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Good things, I hope?”

“The best. And that little guy?” She nodded toward Jamie. “Nico already calls him his shadow.”

Later, Nico was skating backwards, arms open, coaxing Jamie forward. “Come on, bud, bend your knees! I’ve got you!”

Jamie grinned, wobbled, then threw himself forward — Nico caught him, lifting him like he weighed nothing.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, watching them. A lump formed in your throat, thick and unfamiliar. Was it happiness? Relief? Hope?

He skated over with Jamie on his hip. “He says he wants to be captain when he grows up.”

You laughed, brushing snowflakes from Jamie’s beanie. “Ambitious.”

“He’s got good taste.” Nico looked at you — really looked. “So do I.”

Later, in the locker room hallway, Jamie sat sipping hot chocolate, wrapped in Nico’s extra hoodie that swallowed him whole.

Nico took your hand. “You okay?”

You nodded. “More than okay.”

He exhaled, nervous now. “I know this isn’t how most things start. But I’m not going anywhere. I want this—” he gestured toward the two of you, “—you, him, all of it.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Even the hard parts?”

“Especially those,” he said, stepping closer. “I want to be the guy who shows up. Always.”

You kissed him. And this time, it wasn’t soft or uncertain. It was a yes. A promise.

That night, as Jamie fell asleep in the car, Nico glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“What?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Just thinking… he called me ‘my Nico’ today. Not Mr. Hischier. Not ‘the hockey guy.’ Just… mine.”

You rested your hand on his. “You are.”

Jamie’s cheeks were flushed, curls poking out from beneath his new youth team helmet. He skated wobbly but determined toward the bench, his jersey hanging off him like he was still growing into it — which he was. The name on the back read YourLastName — but Nico had joked they’d need to stitch Hischier underneath one day too.

“Nice hustle, bud!” Nico called out, kneeling on the ice in his Devils tracksuit, whistle hanging from his neck.

Jamie beamed.

You sat in the stands, watching the exchange. There was something deeply full-circle about it: Nico guiding Jamie through drills the same way he once coaxed him across the family skate rink months ago. Only now, there were other kids, other parents. And yet somehow, Nico made Jamie feel like the center of it all.

“He’s so patient with them,” one mom beside you said, watching Nico tap a kid’s stick and offer a quiet high-five. “He doesn’t act like he’s a star.”

You smiled softly. “He doesn’t have to act. That’s just who he is.”

But the season brought new challenges too.

Road trips got longer. Away games meant silence in group chats and phone calls that dropped before bedtime.

One night, Jamie padded into the living room in his pyjamas, clutching the stuffed hockey puck Nico had won him at a carnival.

“Is Nico coming home tomorrow?”

You hesitated. “Not tomorrow, buddy. Couple more days.”

Jamie’s lower lip trembled, but he nodded. “I just miss him.”

You pulled him into your lap, his weight familiar and comforting. “Me too.”

You hadn’t meant to say it. But it was true. When Nico was gone, it was like a light dimmed in your home — like something was always slightly off. You used to be good at being alone. You had to be. But now… now it just felt empty.

Two days later, Nico showed up with coffee and that smile. You opened the door before he knocked.

“Hi,” he said, soft and tired from travel.

“Hi,” you said back, trying not to launch yourself at him — and failing.

He wrapped his arms around you, face tucked into your neck. “Missed you.”

You closed your eyes. “Me too.”

Jamie came flying down the hallway, nearly skidding in his socks. “NICO!”

That was the best part — watching Nico drop his bag and scoop Jamie up like nothing else mattered. And maybe that was when it clicked. He was part of this life. Your life. Not just on weekends. Not just when the schedule allowed. He was woven into the fabric now.

Later that night, with Jamie asleep and your couch dimly lit by a single lamp, you curled into Nico’s side, finally speaking the truth that had been pressing on your chest for weeks.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to be two people,” you said quietly. “Nico the boyfriend. Nico the NHL captain.”

He turned to you, expression soft. “I’m not trying to be two people.”

“But you are doing it all,” you whispered. “And I know that’s not easy. But I also know… I want you here more. In my life. In Jamie’s life. Not just for skates and sleepovers and Sunday dinners.”

He looked at you then — really looked. Like your words had landed exactly where they needed to.

“I want that too,” he said, voice low. “I already feel like I live half here anyway.”

You gave a quiet laugh. “Then maybe it’s time we stop doing halves.”

He leaned forward, forehead against yours. “You mean it?”

You nodded. “Come home, Nico. For real.”

There was a beat. Then his hand slipped into yours, anchoring you.

“I was just waiting for you to say that.”

The next morning, Jamie bounded into the kitchen to find Nico making pancakes in his socks, whistling some cheesy pop song.

“You stayed over!” Jamie grinned, eyes wide.

Nico grinned back. “Think your mom’s gonna let me stay a lot more.”

Jamie didn’t even blink. “Good. You make better eggs anyway.”

[elkitot]

So I’ve seen people talking about what the characters would wear if there was a Halloween episode and here’s my two cents 😌

Starting off I do think the night shift and day shift would have a bet going for best costume

I feel like the nurses Dana,Perlah and Princess would choose to go with Halloween scrubs instead of a costume

Robby:Superman-He would Be wearing his usual cargo pants/hoodie/glasses outfit but with a Superman shirt under his hoodie so he can recreate the famous Superman pose

Abbot:Batman-now abbots costume is simple just his usual black scrubs but he’s sewn a Batman symbol on the pocket. what really brings it together though is the fact that for his whole shift he will only talk In the Batman Voice

Collin’s:Dionne Davenport-now imo Collin’s isn’t that big of a fan of Halloween but she LOVES to dress up and the added bet for best costume just adds fuel to her fire. She would ultimately choose Dionne’s Famous Plaid Blazer Skirt outfit hat and all.

Langdon:Han Solo- Langdon is definitely a huge Star Wars fan and when given the chance will dress up as his favorite character,Han solo. His costume is so accurate that the Pitt crew is convinced he started working on it in like march. (he accidentally ends up matching with Mel)

Mohan: Cat-Like The Nurses Mohan Decides To Keep It Simple, all black scrubs paired with cat ears and drawn on whiskers. But abbot does end up asking her if she’s catwoman.

McKay: The Scarlet Witch-McKay Decides to go as the scarlet witch because of her son’s love of marvel, she decides to match with Mateo who’s going as vision. Both of them wearing red scrubs, McKay wearing the scarlet witch crown and Mateo wearing the mind stone on his forehead.

Mel:Princess Leia-Mel Loves Halloween,Her And Her Sister Go All Out every year, Becca helps Mel Choose her costume from their shared love of Star Wars. Mel does her hair up in the iconic Princess Leia buns and wears white scrubs to match leias gown.

Santos:BeetleJuice-she definitely loves the movies and is a big fan of the musical, so when she hears there’s a bet going around she works passionately on her costume. She paints her face, wears a wig and even finds black and white striped scrubs to match beetlejuices suit.

Javadi: Ms.Marvel-so before javadi settled on her costume she asked Mateo what he was going as secretly hoping they could match, but as he tells her he’s matching with McKay the usual feeling of awkwardness overtook javadi “oh I love marvel,I’m actually going as ms marvel” Javadi actually knows the basics of marvel and that’s it. She ends up working her shift dressed in red and blue scrubs hoping no one would quiz her.

Whitaker:Spider-Man- His Favorite Spider-Man Being Tobey Maguire, Whitaker Chooses to Wear A Spider-Man suit for his Halloween shift, he has his Spider-Man suit under his scrubs the long sleeves of the costume poking out and the hood hanging out of the back of his scrubs shirt

Garcia: Morticia Addams- Garcia loves three things Halloween,Surgery and Bets. Dressing up as Morticia Adams was something she’s always wanted to do so with a little makeup and black scrubs her Halloween costume was made

Shen And Ellis: every year shen and Ellis do a matching costume, this year they both decide to dress as their superiors Abbot and Robby. Shen As Robby And Ellis as Abbot, they are dressed like old men. Shen wearing A zip up jacket and cargo pants paired with a grey wig. Ellis is in black scrubs and a curly grey wig. Both of them have amazing impressions of Robby and Abbot.

[husbandjoel]

daddy daycare | tommy miller

3 times tommy miller put himself out there +1 time it got him a date.

pairing: au single!dad tommy miller x daycare assistant fem!oc - oc is referred to as sugar.

trigger warning: bad language, bad flirting, oc is a massive flirt!! obvious intentions, age gap (oc is younger but not a questionable younger), kissing, family loss, grieving and death. sexual themes but no smut, tommy is an ass man through and through, a bit of a spit kink briefly mentioned - word for word the scene in sinners ifykyk

word count: 5.1k

a/n: this is not proofread thoroughly!! love u maria but i had to kill u off for the plot. mwah u can come back as soon as i post this. this is still set in jackson post!outbreak. i personally froth at the mouth at the idea of single dad, tommy miller trying to get back out there after the love of his life passed away

gif credit: @optional

Grief was immeasurable. There was no limitations to the pain felt in your bones when you presumed you had defeated the steep hill to overcoming the emotions of losing someone close in your life. It lurked in corners, in the distance and crept up on you unexpectedly, disorientating your composure for awhile to mourn the emptiness and refusal to acknowledge that the sound of the person's voice would slowly be forgotten the less you heard it.

Grief found Tommy Miller under dirty diapers, burp cloths and spit up on every single shoulder of his button downs.

Maria Miller had passed away unexpectedly two months after giving birth to their son, Benjamin Miller. Leaving no time for Tommy Miller to process her death as he was fully fledged to navigating through newfound fatherhood — Benjamin counted on him.

        Sometimes, he'd find himself sucking in a sharp breath when Benjamin opened his eyes after sleeping peacefully in Tommy's arms. Maria Miller staring right back at him; making his shoulders shake, cheeks wet from tears as he allowed Benjamin to grab onto his finger with his minuscule hand.

        His face crazed, as he bounced his screaming baby, speaking to his brother over the wails, "You think I should cut a hole in my top an' stick the bottle through? So, he thinks it's a breast?"

        Joel Miller shook his head, large hands offering to take the baby who quietened down as he hushed him against his chest.

        "He can feel your anxiety, Tommy." Joel informed, "It's OK to feel that, jus' don't think he needs fed every time he cries. I found that out real quick with Sarah."

        Tommy felt like a failure. He had boasted about his helping hand when Sarah Miller was a babe. Assuring Maria, whilst her belly swelled through the seasons, that he had parenting locked in and he had every confidence that he would know exactly what to do in every situation.

        He was the opposite of what he had said.

        He had no idea what he was doing.

        With time, and a few silent meltdowns at three in the morning as Benjamin Miller cried, Tommy started to get the hang of being a single parent. With each month, came a new hurdle, one he had to adapt to quickly with the help of his older brother Joel with some experience with children under his belt.

Before he could settle into the so-called 'newborn bubble' everyone had spoken about, Tommy blinked and Benjamin Miller was a walking, comprehensible — to a certain degree — two and a half year old. A carefree boy, who knew only the bounds of the Jackson Commune and smiled like his mother when he felt the pure innocence of joy.

They were a team. And Tommy adored him. Despite the extra grey hairs that had sprouted in his wake.

Taking the time to mingle back into the community, Tommy had found the itch to get back on Patrol. Joel and him had, had an in depth debate about the gravity of Tommy leaving his two year old toddler behind the safety of the walls in search of trouble. Softened over the years, Joel had a surprising approach of disagreement to Tommy's stance. Suggesting it'd be best to withhold from a risky job and stick to the mundane jobs to save Benjamin from becoming an orphan.

Without question, Tommy Miller — naturally — went against his brother's advice and he was ordered Patrol duty the week after their talk.

        "Don't come cryin' to me in the afterlife when Maria smacks you round the head." Joel had said with crossed arms and a gruffer tone than his usual.

        "Yeah, yeah." Tommy waved his comment off, "Don't you worry, your little head. Benjamin is signed up for the daycare on Main Street when I'm on the job."

The Crayon Commanders, it was called. A little cheesed out in the name, but it was the only Daycare in town despite the growing population of children being introduced back into the civilisation the Jackson Commune had built.

Tommy had no doubt in the capability of Ms. Maeve, the teacher in charge and her capable team of assistants.

        The first introduction was albeit brief but changed the trajectory of Tommy Miller’s lone wolf mentality.

He found himself frantically banging on the door for the Crayon Commanders glass panelled door — one he had actually fitted alongside Joel — the bitter air catching his breath, his gloved hand pulling at Benjamin's as the kid tried to run off to a nearby puddle.

        "C'mon, c'mon." He mumbled, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Quick to peer round the side to check for any teacher in the playground, Tommy kissed his teeth when he returned to the front door. His prayers being answered as he squinted to see a body approaching.

        He saw her eyes first. Behind large framed glasses, the darkest shade of brown and wide from worry, the woman unlocked the door, pushing it open; her pretty lips parted enough to catch a glimpse of her teeth as she stared between Tommy and his son.

Holy shit. She was an angel.

        "Mr. Miller?" How the hell she knew his name and he didn't even recognise her face was a topic for another time. Her voice laced with worry as she pulled at the cardigan that had slipped down her bare shoulder, skin nipped by the Wyoming winter.

        "'M sorry, ma'am. I really hate to ask this of y'all, but you see, I've been unexpectedly called on duty for this mornin's patrol." Tommy gestured to the walls of their Commune, "I'd ask my brother to take Benji here but—"

She waved a hand to stop him.

"You wanna split the waffles with me for breakfast, Benji?"

"Sip." The toddler states. "Sip, Sugar."

"Yep. I got syrup." Sugar hummed and took Benjamin in by his shoulders. She met Tommy's glazed eyes as Benjamin did a celebratory bounce. "I'll take good care of him."

"Thank you, baby. Thank you from the bottom of my heart." Tommy patted his chest.

When Tommy returned to collect Benjamin, Joel had mentioned he wanted to see his nephew and tagged along. The towns babies bottle-necked as they poured out the front door, flat footed as they raced to the open embrace of their caregivers.

The two brothers craned their necks to find Benjamin. The daycare wasn't exactly teeming with hundreds of kids as of yet, people had been too fearful and headstrong to bring a kid to raise up in a world where the Outbreak had taken the simplicity of their uncomplicated lives before. Jackson Hole, Wyoming was slowly changing that. So, when Benjamin didn't rush out, in true brotherly fashion: their brows furrowed in unison.

Hand tugged, Sugar exited the Daycare with Benjamin Miller pulling at her, incoherent but she presumed 'Joel-Joel' was the brooding salt and pepper haired male standing shoulder to shoulder with Benjamin's father. Jackson Commune was relatively small, but she hadn't acquainted everybody in the town.

Little hand slipping from her grasp, he took off into his father's arms, before reaching one arm over and pulling at his uncle's neck to bring him in for the family hug.

It warmed her heart.

Her hands clasped, she respected Benjamin's wishes to introduce herself to his uncle, regardless of the intimate moment between family members that she was encroaching on by watching so closely. As they pulled back — Joel tickling his nephew's armpit — all eyes went to her.

Without missing a beat, Sugar leant forward, hand extended, "You must be the infamous Joel-Joel." She stepped back once Joel shook her hand, "Benjamin dotes on you. The both of you, actually."

"I am his favourite uncle." Joel affirmed.

Tommy drawled, "You're his only uncle." He looked toward Sugar, eyes crinkling as she picked up on the humour, "Thank you again for takin' him in so early. I know y'all are busy here at the Daycare with all these terrors runnin' round your ankles."

"It's nothing, really." Sugar waved him off, "Benjamin is my favourite — we keep that to ourselves, though."

The blood pumped through Tommy's chest as he blinked at Sugar leaning forward to give his son a low-five in which he aced with accuracy. He swallowed hard enough, he thought he might've swallowed his tongue. Eyes drifting to Joel, he noticed his brother side-eyeing him from his peripheral, not missing the slight quirk at the corner of Joel's lips.

He hated his brother sometimes.

Adjusting Benjamin on his hip, a grunt escaping his lips in the process, Tommy spoke freely, "Well. I jus' think you might be our favourite too."

There was a glint in her eye when he said that.

Chin tucked into her shoulder, she verbalised her gratitude, "You flatter me, Mr. Miller."

"Tommy—Please."

Joel felt sick watching them.

"Tommy." His name sounded so sweet on her tongue. He had to snap out of it. She continued, "Well, I'll be heading in. It was nice to meet you Mr. Miller—" She was referring to Joel who grunted in return, "Show your dad the drawing you did when you get home, Benji!"

She waved them off, turning on her heel, not missing the toddler that ran full force into her leg to give her a hug before running off again. Tommy watched her figure sway, eyes caught drifting south on her.

Joel was quick to clear his throat.

Tommy began to walk with Benjamin still in his arms, "What?" He asked when his brother shook his head in dismay.

"You're a dog, Tommy Miller."

        The second occasion that Tommy Miller bumped into the Daycare Assistant, Sugar, was on his way for a briefing before the morning patrol. OK, it wasn't by coincidence that he happened to be in the right place at the right time for them to cross paths again. Tommy partially knew of the schedule she ran on, fleeting glances of her entering the Crayon Commanders building prior to open at the exact same time every morning.

        Their last encounter had left him craving just a little bit more. Fearful it may come into a full Sugar-addiction, Tommy hesitated time and time again when his morning patrol aligned with her routine mornings. Often pacing in the snow before trudging away feeling rather sheepish as he muttered self-depreciation under his breath.

The thought of dating again after Maria Miller, the love of his life, had been such a far off concept that hadn't crossed his mind. She was his soulmate, bonded for life with the evidence of their devotion to each other in the form of Benjamin Miller.

        But, what he was doing wasn't exclusively dating. Right?

        He was familiarising himself with Benjamin's Daycare Assistant that he hadn't met prior to his drop-offs and pick-ups. 

        And, there he was, snow kicked beneath his boots as he slowed down past the one colourful building in all of Main Street. A one story building, but it stuck out like a sore thumb with its vast array of colours.

        He saw her first.

        Boxes stacked so high that Sugar had to peer round the side to mind her step, she struggled to keep them balanced as she walked across the street. Blatant that she had overestimated her skills in balancing and co-ordinating steps in the snow, Sugar swore at herself, a few paintbrushes and glue sticks for their Arts and Crafts day, falling from the opened box at the top.

        Being the man who couldn't rest until his — as Joel had mocked — Help-O-Meter was fulfilled, Tommy rushed over, gloved hands dipped in the snow to pick up the runaway items. Plus, it gave him the conviction to finally speak to her.

"Oh!" Sugar twisted her head to see Tommy Miller picking up her pieces, "Gosh, you don't have to do that. I would've just come back out."

Tommy shook his head, "Now that just wouldn't be so gentleman of me."

Sugar smiled, "Well, consider you the upmost gentleman I've met. Thank you, Mr. Miller."

"I thought we weren't on formalities—I got them, baby." Tommy feigned hurt in his Southern drawl, as he took the boxes from Sugar.

"Slip of the tongue. I mean, my name isn't even Sugar — the kids just call me that." Sugar explained as she fumbled in her pocket for the keys to the door, mumbling an apology for making Tommy wait with the boxes, "I'm the one that gives them treats at Snack Time. Suppose it's easier for two year olds to say that than my name." She spoke her name out and Tommy raised his brows.

A pretty name for a pretty woman.

        "Well, I'd like to think they call you Sugar for more reasons than the sweet treats you give 'em." The door unlocked and he gestured for her to go in out of the cold first. Eyes drifting downward as she walked by him.

        "It's definitely the sweet treats." Sugar insisted. The back of her neck felt hot at the obvious compliment Tommy Miller threw her way. Sugar thrived on praise.

        She turned back to face him, a knowing smirk gracing her lips as she caught the end part of Tommy's eyes flitting upward to her face. Hands out, she took one box off of the stack, placing it down on her desk, the motion signalling Tommy to do the same with the three others.

"Thank you, again." Sugar jutted a hip out as she huffed a breath, hands on her waist.

"Anytime." Tommy pulled the edges of his gloves to readjust them back onto his fingers, "I'll be takin' leave. Got Patrol this mornin'."

"Oh, then all the more reason for you to have just walked on by. I apologise if I've made you late!" She wasn't really, she was glad — but she had to remain somewhat professional.

"Nonsense. I was gonna make myself late anyway, wanted to speak to you n' all." He was an honest man, with honest intentions. Tommy clicked his tongue, "Well—Have a good day with them terrors."

Sugar followed him to the front door, "I'll see you around, Tommy."

"I'll make sure of it."

The third time was out of office hours.

After Tommy bid farewell after their brief meeting at the dawn of the day, he spent the rest of the day internally crucifying himself the longer he thought about his actions. He still wore his wedding band from the day that he and Maria swore themselves to each other. The gold caught his eye in the bright winter sun, taking it as a sign from Maria that he needed to reel himself back in.

He deserved to be happy. Tommy wouldn't deny himself the emotion. But, he was sure he could find pockets of happiness in other aspects of his life, rather than chatting up Benjamin's gorgeous Daycare Assistant.

        Hypothetically, he was still a married man.

        From then on, Tommy avoided Sugar like the plague, or rather, the Cordyceps virus. Before he could get roped in, if he saw her, he'd simply turn in the other direction. And, during Drop-Off and Pick-Ups, there was no such thing as dillydallying in the hopes he could see her; maybe catch her perfumed skin that had sent him reeling.

        Tommy Miller was dedicated to his son. And, in turn, that meant to his deceased wife. The last thing he wanted to do, was disappoint her with his sloppy actions toward another woman.

After some monotonous construction work, Tommy and Joel hit the Tipsy Bison, — Benjamin in Jesse's company for a few hours —their backs ached as they sat on the barstools, waving Seth down for a dram to aid the dull ache. Neither brothers were as agile as they once were.

Sarah Miller would've reminded them of that.

A couple of whiskies in, Joel had retired for the night, mentioning that he was going to try make amends with Ellie Williams on the way back.

The drams not touching the sides for Tommy, he ordered up another, nodding at Seth as he took a large sip; kissing his teeth as it burned his throat on the way down. He sat, clinking the half empty glass, his mind elsewhere.

"Mr Miller." It came out so silky from her lips. It got Tommy's ears perking at the tone, his posture straightening as he turned his head to see Sugar smiling back at him. Fuck. "Can I sit?"

For a mere moment, he thought she meant his lap. She looked at the empty barstool that Joel once occupied and Tommy swallowed, nodding with his hand out to help her up. Her expression gleeful as she took her hand away from his calloused one, body turned to the bar as she watched Seth stalk back and forth, tending to all customers.

It may have been the whiskey hitting him all at once, but Tommy's self-control fell short when he held his gaze on her side-profile. Brown eyes drifting down every feature he could see from the side, his eyes dropping lower to her figure that was perched upon the cushioned stool. Her bra strap had fallen down her shoulder, and he couldn't help himself licking his lips as he watched her thumb and forefinger drag the red strap back up, a soft 'snap' against her supple skin close to her décolletage.

Her soft looking lips pressed against the glass that Seth had given her ordered beverage in, a trickle of condensation dripping down her chin, sliding down the length of her neck before she took a napkin and dabbed it away.

If Tommy could've bit down on his knuckles he would've.

So, he settled for taking his hand and rubbing it against the stubble of his face.

"Busy with work?" Sugar asked after a few minutes of silence. She didn't seem hurt by his avoidance, then again, his only intentions that she had seen were some shameless flirting.

"You could say that." Tommy shrugged. Man, he needed another drink. "How 'bout you, baby?" He waved Seth down.

Sugar hummed into her drink, "No rest for the wicked." She paused, "I love my job, though."

        Tommy chuckled, "I can tell. Don't you worry."

They continued to talk for two drinks on Sugar's behalf, Tommy quick to flash his vouchers to Seth to pay. She was sweet on him, tactile when conversing, her eyes feigned innocence to her act as she pulled at the cherry stem from her drink, with her mouth.

Having to bite the inside of his cheek, Tommy narrowed his eyes at her, talking with his expression for her to behave with her flirtations.

Once finished and a little more tipsy but nothing she couldn't handle, Sugar called it quits with the drink; Tommy quick to offer to walk her home since it was dark. The Jackson Commune wasn't distrustful, but that didn't stop Tommy from maintaining obvious protection.

Arm linked in Tommy's, they walked the empty streets in silence. Sugar staring up at the bright stars, her face showing peaceful content in that moment as she swayed lightly from the buzz from the alcohol in her system. Hands in his denim jacket pockets, Tommy scuffed the stones from beneath his feet, blowing hot air out of his mouth to watch the cold snatch it into a little fog cloud.

        He fell into it so easily with Sugar and that doomed feeling crept up the back of his neck — quick to push it down until alone.

        "Say," He started in ordinance to distract himself, "D'ya think you could ask Ms. Maeve to write down a summary of anythin' Benji had been shown and learnt when I'm off on a longer Patrol? With him sometimes stayin' with Joel, that old man can't remember half the things Benji shows him. . . I wanna be as involved as I can be with his learnin'."

        "Oh, sure. I could even tell you, verbatim. As the assistant in the toddler room, I have to know the daily schedule for the kids." She halted at a home, presumably hers, the porch dimly lit. "Please, just ask at any time."

        Tommy felt like he could fall in love with her. That sick feeling in his stomach that he was told were damn 'butterflies' but he chose to call them moths, as it felt like they were eating away at his stomach. His lungs expanding to take in a deep breath, something so simple about her passion for the kids made it harder for him to stick to his word about finding pockets of happiness in other aspects of life rather than love.

        Because, he had already found it. He'd be greedy to ask for it again.

        Ignoring the pit forming in his stomach, Tommy shifted on his feet as Sugar continued to gloat about the toddlers in Crayon Commanders.

        "You free this Sunday?" He asked.

        Sugar nodded, "Sure. That's the best time as I'll have the fresh schedule for that week."

        "No, baby." Tommy let out a hearty laugh, "I meant for the New Years' Dance."

        Sugar's face lit up.

        "You're saving a dance for me, Mr. Miller?"

        "I will if you stop that formalities." Tommy pointed a finger at her sternly, feeling his cheeks hot.

        Sugar showed a smile, acting coy as she waved a hand at him, "OK—OK. Stop flirtin' with me. I'd love to go with you, Tommy."

"Alrigh'. Goodnight, sweetheart." He might've followed that with a kiss if he didn't have a shred of impulse control. Sugar bid him goodnight and stalked down the short pathway to her front door — Tommy's eyes going to where they had been going each time Sugar walked away from him.

He was starting to think Joel Miller was right about him.

+1

        As punctual as ever, Tommy Miller arrived at Sugar's doorstep in his best button down and jeans accessorised with his favourite buckle. Hair washed away sweat and residue from the afternoon Patrol, he rid his hands of any bloodshed and replaced them with a bouquet of flowers for his date. He had knocked thrice on her door, looking back onto the street to admire the construction work he had done on the house across from hers. He didn't recall fixing Sugar's house, but that thought soon distanced from his mind when the front door creaked open to reveal the warmth of the glow within.

        Sugar had the door opened wide, her glasses pushed the bridge of her nose as she grinned at Tommy Miller with flowers in his hand. Flowers just for her.

        "Don't you look dapper." She complimented in a teasing tone and Tommy looked down at his attire and back up — it was hard to wear nice clothes after the Outbreak. Nevertheless, he made an effort and Sugar's heart swelled for him.

In a simple long-sleeved grey tee and jeans, herself, Tommy thought she looked damn near perfect. If not better than perfect.

Floundering like a fish out of water, Tommy coughed, and handed Sugar the flowers.

"I didn't get you anything." Sugar tutted.

Tommy huffed a laugh, "You're givin' me your time and that's as good as it'll get for me."

"Your mama raised you sweet, huh?" Sugar sung. She couldn't help grin from ear to ear before telling Tommy to wait whilst she grabbed a vase and stuck the flowers in. She took his arm that he offered when she returned, the pair spoke effortlessly, finding more in common than anticipated.

        He held the door to the Church open, the warm lights brightening her glowing features, the scene reflective in her glasses. Heads turned to welcome them, Tommy noticing his brother mingling, their eyes met and Joel gave him a subtle nod.

        The dance came into full swing after Tommy and Sugar retrieved some drinks, fingers picked at the variety of food brought in for the potluck. They had resided in a corner of the Church, knees knocked together as their feet tapped to the music.

"You know some line dancin'?" Tommy asked over the music.

Sugar shook her head, "No, it looks pretty simple to me though." She looked back to Tommy who was already looking at her, "Why? Are you going to ask me to dance?"

"If it so pleases you, my lady."

Hand slipped into his, Sugar stood.

"I thought you'd never ask."

He tried his damn best to teach Sugar some two-step line dancing moves but turns out, some people were just born with two left feet. She wobbled, stepped on Tommy's pinky toe a handful of times and forgot the dance, leaving Tommy with deep laughter lines next to his eyes.

"OK. How 'bout we just dance together." Tommy insisted after the heel of Sugar's foot met his pinky-toe for the fifth time. Not awaiting an answer, Tommy pulled her in by her waist, positioning them both to dance, "I've got you, baby."

Sugar giggled — making Tommy swoon — as she followed Tommy's lead around the dance floor.

Their closeness furthered as the band began to string out a slow-paced song, Sugar smiled against Tommy's chest as she leant her head to listen to the thrum of his heart. It thumped quickly against her eardrum and she closed her eyes, feeling content at where they were. Tommy, chin rested atop her head, started to see the groups of eyes on them whilst they swayed on the dance floor. Mouths leaning to ears to share a whisper, Tommy swallowed at the idea that they were speaking about him.

Perhaps they also thought he was doing a disservice to his late wife who built the Jackson Commune from the ground up.

        Then came her touch. Warmth spread across his skin wherever she touched, fingertips rubbing across the fabric of his flannel making him look down at her. It pulled him from the inner turmoil, the clouded presumptions cleared as she smoothed the deep wrinkle of worry between his brows.

“Whatever you think they are thinking, they’re not, Tommy.” She read him like a book. On their first date, of all.

“‘M sorry.” He mumbled close to her, a frown capturing his features once again. “Jus’ don’t want them thinkin’ I’m a lousy father. A son without a mother and I’m here dancin’.”

Sugar acknowledged his concern, “Well—Imagine what they think about the Daycare Assistant getting all cosy with Tommy Miller. I bet I’m a real floozy in their eyes if it ever crossed their mind that you’re a lousy father.”

“You are far from a floozy, Sugar.”

“Then it’s even.” Sugar squeezed his hand, “You’re not a lousy father if I’m not a floozy.”

“Touché.”

“I mean it.” She was serious, the most serious her tone had been. “You’re as present as a widowed-father can be. Trust me. Very few parents ask for a weekly round-up of their kids’ schedule so they can transition it into the days they spend at home with them. Does that shout lousy to you?”

“No, ma’am.”

Sugar triumphed as Tommy dropped his hand to the small of her back, “Then don’t let me hear you say it again.”

Tommy pulled an expression of hilarity at her sternness. It had taken him by surprise how effortlessly she whipped her usual kind and tender personality for a combative one to put Tommy Miller and his self-deprecation in place. He found it incredibly attractive, alongside the subtle praise that came with her chastising.

His body felt hot when he stared at her. Like, really stared at her. A beaming vision of true womanhood. Strong-headed and confident in the knowledge of what she wanted: which was Tommy Miller.

He dipped his head so his lips ghosted the shell of her ear, “Wanna take leave?”

“For the second time, Tommy Miller—” Sugar released herself from his grip, her eyelids heavy and Tommy was not born a fool to her antics, she began to saunter away, finger curling in an ushering motion, “I’d thought you would never ask.”

Bonus:

Their first kiss had depth to it. His large palms trailed over ever aspect of her body before they settled on her hips, a low hum coming from the back of his throat as she leant into his touch, chest pressed to his for closeness. Tommy couldn't help prevent a smug smile appear as they continued their kiss, Sugar pausing it for a moment to raise a brow at his smile.

"Are you going smug on me, Mr. Miller?" She hushed her tone, fingers threaded at the hair at the nape of his neck.

Tommy shook his head, between pecks he mumbled, "I told you to stop calling me Mr. Miller."

"Yes—" Sugar agreed, slender index finger against Tommy's lips to stop him from kissing her lips off. In turn, he pressed a gentle kiss to it. "—But, I've seen the way it makes you blush."

This had Tommy chuckling, finger removed from his mouth, he resumed their kiss, hands sliding to the meat of her thighs, quick to hike her up around his waist as she squealed into his mouth.

Her house was considerably smaller than Tommy's — she notably didn't have a husband and kids — and it took nothing but three strides across the room before Tommy turned on the spot and planted himself on her couch; Sugar remained atop his lap, their kiss not broken.

He could feel his heart stammering as her softer hands rubbed at his chest. Tommy Miller was in tranquillity, hands rested and occasionally squeezing at Sugar's backside, the shorts of her pyjamas she had changed into upon their arrival at her home, had ridden up in her position so he could feel the crease where her cheek met her thighs.

        Actions halted, the two pulled apart, still close enough to feel their quickened breaths.

        Tommy blinked at the sight of Sugar, his thumb coming to swipe the corner of her mouth where spit was trickling down.

        "You droolin', baby?" He asked, his thumb moving back over her swollen lips where she parted them to take his thumb in; teeth nipped at the skin which took Tommy by surprise.

        She smiled as he removed his thumb with a 'pop', nodding to his question. "Yeah—You want some?"

    A beat not going a miss, Tommy Miller eagerly nodded, a primitive grunt leaving his mouth as he manoeuvred the pair, his back hitting the cushions of the base of the couch.

        Thanking his lucky stars for the patrol member that he took shift from.

[fordiaz]

Leaving it Behind (Eddie Diaz) ⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ

“But I need you to know I’m trying. I’m trying to be the man you deserve. And I want to be the person you can trust.” 🤎ྀིྀི⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪🎻

Synopsis: After a string of broken promises and a failed relationship with Marisol, Eddie Diaz returns to El Paso hoping to rebuild his life—for Christopher, and for himself. There, he meets someone new: grounded, kind, and refreshingly honest. For the first time in a long time, Eddie allows himself to believe he can start over. But when a trip back to Los Angeles threatens to unearth the parts of him he swore he’d left behind, both he and the woman he’s falling for are forced to confront a difficult question: can you truly move forward if you’re still tied to the past?

Genre: Angst

AU: None

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Nurse!Reader

Warnings: Cheating because all men are dogs, Bobby’s funeral (😭), Eddie’s MESSY love life.

Note: I decided to be a menace for once and thought that maybe I should shake it up and try to make something super angsty, especially since I’m already at the point in S7 where Eddie is basically lying to himself and Marisol about Kim. I hope you guys like this, and no, I am not sorry for the gut wretching angst journey you are about to embark on. Happy reading!

El Paso wasn’t where Eddie thought he’d end up again. Not after everything he’d built in LA — the 118, the friendships, the years of growing into someone he could finally look at in the mirror.

But choices had consequences. And sometimes those consequences wore the face of your twelve-year-old son, standing in your parents’ kitchen with clenched fists and eyes rimmed red.

“I know what you did,” Christopher had said. No yelling. Just hurt. Quiet and heavy like a thunderstorm sitting low in the sky. “I know why Marisol left.”

Eddie hadn’t been prepared for that. He wasn’t sure what part stunned him more — the fact that Christopher found out or the way he didn’t scream. He just withdrew. Packed a backpack. Told him he was staying with Abuela and Abuelo “for a while,” because of Eddie’s actions.

Eddie stood there, breath stolen from his lungs. Watching his son walk away like he was just another mistake to sort through. And maybe, in that moment, he was.

He hadn’t meant for things to fall apart with Marisol.

She was safe. Kind. Familiar in ways that didn’t challenge him too much. And that’s exactly why it failed. Because Eddie wasn’t good at being vulnerable with people who didn’t push him past the surface. And when things started unraveling, instead of fixing it, he ran — into a mistake he couldn’t take back.

A one-time thing, a moment of weakness he couldn’t explain even if he tried. But it was enough. It always is.

Marisol had left without slamming the door. Just said she hoped he figured things out — not just for himself, but for Christopher.

But Christopher had already figured things out, and it broke Eddie more than the silence Marisol left behind.

So he packed up. Took a leave. Moved back into the house he grew up in, the one that never felt like home until it held the weight of his guilt.

There were days he didn’t speak much. His parents gave him space. Tiá Pepa dropped off food. Christopher barely made eye contact.

Eddie let it happen. Let the space fill with consequences and time and things he couldn’t erase.

He tried to be there. Tried to show up for every school event, every quiet breakfast. He even helped Christopher with a science project one weekend, and when he said “thanks,” it was the first word they exchanged in three days.

Eddie knew this wasn’t just about infidelity — it was about trust. About Christopher growing up in a world that already felt unpredictable. And now his father, the one constant in his chaos, had proven to be just as unreliable.

So Eddie started from the bottom again.

Therapy twice a week. No excuses. Long runs in the morning before sunrise. Checking in with the rest of the 118 even though it felt like salt in a wound. Keeping in touch with Buck — sporadically, because hearing his voice only reminded Eddie of what he left behind.

But what mattered most was Christopher. And Eddie was ready to earn his place again — not with empty promises, but with consistency. Time. Honesty.

He didn’t know what the future looked like.

El Paso wasn’t LA.

There was no 118, no chaos-driven adrenaline calls, no rhythm to fall into. Just this: a quiet city, a disappointed son, and a man trying to figure out what redemption could even look like.

Eddie hated the new Uber gig — if he was being honest with himself. It wasn’t the driving or the waiting or the awkward small talk; he just missed the uniform. The purpose. The feeling of waking up and knowing exactly who he was.

But ever since moving back to El Paso, he’d needed something to fill the silence. And he wasn’t above rebuilding himself from the ground up — again.

He told himself it was temporary. Just a way to stay busy when Christopher was at school. It gave him a reason to leave the house, clear his head, and, if he was lucky, make enough to buy himself some independence outside his parents’ walls.

He wasn’t expecting you, though.

You were standing on the curb outside a coffee shop, half-lost in your phone and half-wrapped in sunlight.

Your name popped up on his app — quick ride, five stars, “pick-up at 9:20.”

When you climbed into the backseat and greeted him with a smile that could cut through morning haze, something in his chest tightened. He glanced at you through the rearview mirror.

Your sunglasses slid down the bridge of your nose as you adjusted your seatbelt, and when you looked up, you caught his eyes.

“Morning,” you said, voice bright but casual, like the day hadn’t started until just now.

“Morning,” Eddie echoed, mouth dry. “You, uh, heading to work?”

“Something like that. Interview.”

“Good luck,” he said without thinking. “Though you don’t look like you’ll need it.”

You let out a surprised laugh, glancing out the window with a smile tugging at your lips. “Do you usually flirt with your passengers?”

“Only the ones who look like they could ruin my life.”

It was meant to be a joke. A throwaway line. But when your eyes met his in the mirror again, there was a pause — just long enough to feel like maybe neither of you wanted it to be just a joke.

There was something about you. Maybe it was your energy — confident, a little chaotic, alive.

It reminded him of something. Someone. Shannon, maybe. But not quite. This was different.

You talked the whole drive. About how you just moved to El Paso. About trying to find something new after too many years of making yourself small in cities that didn’t deserve you.

Eddie listened. Really listened.

And when you got to your destination, you didn’t get out right away.

“Thanks for the ride, Uber man.”

He grinned. “Eddie.”

“Eddie,” you repeated, like you were trying it out for size. “You always this charming, Eddie?”

“Only when I’m lucky.”

You smirked, thumb hovering over the door handle.

“Well. Maybe I’ll get lucky enough to ride with you again.”

He watched you go, heart doing something he hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t love — not yet. But it was the start of something. He knew it in his bones.

Later that night, he kept checking the app, wondering if he’d ever see your name pop up again.

He didn’t know then that the universe — messy, loud, inconvenient — had already decided.

You weren’t just a passenger. You were going to be something else entirely.

Ever since that day, the evening felt different. Eddie’s house was quiet, the soft hum of the fridge and the faint rattle of the air conditioner the only sounds.

The dim glow of the kitchen light cast shadows on the walls, making everything feel intimate, private.

You sat at the counter, your hands wrapped around a warm mug of coffee, eyes occasionally darting over to Eddie as he moved around the kitchen.

He had a way of doing everything with ease — a methodical rhythm that came with years of practice.

The familiar clink of utensils and the sizzling of something in the pan were oddly comforting. But tonight, it wasn’t just the food that had the atmosphere thick with tension.

You could feel it. There was something on Eddie’s mind. He had been quieter than usual, his smiles more forced, his movements more deliberate.

It was almost as if he was waiting for something — or someone — to make the first move.

You set your mug down, catching his eye. “You alright?”

Eddie paused mid-slice, his knife hovering over the cutting board. He glanced at you, offering a tight smile.

“Yeah, just… thinking.”

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. You had been with Eddie for a few months now, enough time to know when something was bothering him.

“About?”

Eddie’s gaze dropped, his focus shifting to the vegetables in front of him. His voice came out low, hesitant.

“A lot of things. Mostly about… what we’re doing here.”

Your heart skipped a beat, sensing the gravity of his words. You knew Eddie was a man who carried a lot of weight on his shoulders.

You’d seen the way he carried the burden of his past, the guilt that still lingered after everything he’d been through. But this — this was something new. Something raw.

You slid off your seat and walked over to him, not saying a word, just standing beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your presence.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” You whispered, voice softer than you intended.

“I’m not going anywhere, Edmundo.”

Eddie’s eyes flickered to you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled deeply, setting the knife down with a soft clink.

He leaned against the counter, turning towards you fully. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve never really told anyone this,” he began, his eyes meeting yours, vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to seeing.

“But I guess… I guess it’s time.”

You stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue. You could feel your heart racing, your chest tightening with the weight of his words.

“You know I screwed up,” Eddie said, his voice thick with guilt.

“With Marisol… With my son. I wasn’t who I should’ve been. I wasn’t even close. I made mistakes — big ones. I hurt people. And I didn’t know how to fix it. So I ran. And that’s what I’ve always done. When things get tough, I run. I shut down, I push people away, and I pretend like it doesn’t matter.”

Eddie’s hands were trembling now, but he didn’t seem to notice. He took a step closer to you, his eyes dark with the weight of his confession.

“I don’t want to do that anymore,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t want to run away from this. From you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Eddie…”

He held up a hand, his other hand trembling slightly as it reached out to you, brushing your arm with the gentlest of touches.

“I know it’s not going to be easy. I know I’ve got a lot of baggage. But… I want to be better. For you. For Christopher. For me.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the quiet desperation to make things right, to rebuild what he had broken. And as much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this — this — was the moment where everything would either fall apart or finally come together.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me for everything,” he added quietly, voice trembling with the weight of his emotions.

“But I need you to know I’m trying. I’m trying to be the man you deserve. And I want to be the person you can trust.”

Your heart ached for him.

You had known there were parts of his past he wasn’t proud of, but hearing him speak so openly about it — the guilt, the shame, the fear of losing you — made it hit home in a way that words couldn’t quite capture.

Eddie had been carrying all of that for so long, and you could feel the weight of it in the room with you. You reached for his hand, gently pulling him closer.

“You don’t have to carry it alone anymore, Eddie. We’re in this together. I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat as you spoke, his eyes softening, that same guarded expression starting to melt away. He let out a shaky breath and pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

You could feel the tension in his body, the weight of everything he had been holding back for so long.

“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered against your hair.

You shook your head, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes.

“You’re not perfect. And I’m not expecting you to be. But I’m here. And I know you’re trying. That’s enough for me.”

Eddie closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours, the two of you standing there in the quiet of the kitchen.

It wasn’t perfect, not by any means, but it was real. And for the first time in a long time, Eddie felt like maybe — just maybe — he was on the right path.

He let out another breath, slower this time, and opened his eyes. “I don’t know if I can ever make up for the things I’ve done,” he whispered.

“But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying.”

You smiled softly, reaching up to cup his face in your hands.

“You don’t have to make up for everything, Eddie. Just… be here. Be the man you want to be. For you. And for us.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in the softest of kisses.

When he pulled back, his smile was small but genuine, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Eddie truly believed that maybe — just maybe — he could be the man he always wanted to be. And you’d be there, right beside him.

“I’ll try,” he said, voice firm, yet filled with the kind of hope he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

And for the first time in a while, you believed him.

Trust didn’t happen overnight.

It wasn’t born out of one heartfelt conversation or a single night of vulnerability. It had to be built — slowly, steadily, like the way Eddie once learned to rebuild his life after the army, after Shannon, after every time he’d broken something he wanted to keep.

He told you he was trying. And he meant it.

The next morning, he made breakfast before you could even blink — not to impress you, not as some apology in the form of eggs and toast, but just to show he was there.

He passed you your coffee with the exact amount of creamer you liked, no questions asked, as if memorizing the tiniest details about you was his new favorite thing to do.

He didn’t push you to talk about what the night before had meant. He just… let you be. Gave you space but stayed close enough that you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

And then came the small promises — the ones he didn’t even say out loud.

He texted when he got home from shifts, just to let you know he was safe. He picked up extra groceries when he knew you’d had a rough day, even if it was something silly like your favorite granola or that weird candy you mentioned in passing.

He showed up — emotionally, mentally, and physically — every single time you needed him.

It wasn’t flashy. It was simple, honest effort.

Eddie didn’t date with ease. He’d never been great at navigating love without fear. But something about you made him want to get it right this time.

You reminded him of a version of himself he forgot existed — the guy who used to laugh more, talk about books and movies, draw comics with Christopher on the weekends.

And you saw all of it. Not just the tough guy, or the single dad, or the soldier. You saw him.

But trust wasn’t just about what Eddie did — it was about what you let him do.

There were days you pulled away slightly, still uncertain if this was too good to be real. If he’d wake up one morning and decide it was all too much. But Eddie never flinched. Never took your distance personally.

He was patient, even on the days you weren’t sure how to explain the knot of fear in your chest.

One night, a few weeks later, you had a bad day at work.

You didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to explain why you felt raw. You just showed up at his place unannounced and sat on the couch like a ghost of yourself.

Eddie didn’t ask questions. He just sat beside you in silence and let your hand find his. Thumb brushing against yours in slow, comforting circles.

“I’m here,” he whispered, voice so low you could barely hear it. “You don’t have to say anything.”

It was the first time you cried in front of him.

Not the sobbing kind — just quiet, exhausted tears from the kind of safety that surprises you. The kind of safety you forgot was possible.

He held you for hours. Not once did he pull away.

You started to realize that Eddie wasn’t just telling you he wanted to be better — he was showing it.

In the consistency. In the vulnerability. In the way he never once looked at you like you were too much to hold.

You weren’t used to that.

And maybe that’s why it mattered more.

It wasn’t a perfect relationship. There were still shadows. Still memories of Marisol, Ana, Kim, and Shannon, and mistakes that neither of you could completely erase.

But Eddie was doing the work. He went to therapy regularly again. He talked to Christopher openly about feelings, about what he learned from messing up — not just as a partner, but as a father.

You watched him slowly rebuild himself, not for you, but with you.

One night, lying on his couch with your head on his chest and his fingers gently tracing lines along your back, he whispered it again — not the words “I love you” just yet, but something that felt just as sacred:

“I’m not gonna mess this up. Not with you.”

You looked up at him, smiling softly, the kind of smile that comes when something broken finally feels like it’s healing.

“I know,” you said softly, knowing this wasn’t going to be easy, but slow movement is better than no movement.

“Sometimes grief doesn’t just reveal what you’ve lost—it shows you what you never really had.”

The city felt different the moment the plane touched down in Los Angeles.

It wasn’t the skyline or the dry California air. It wasn’t even the taxi ride that weaved past familiar streets Eddie used to talk about with fondness. It was the weight.

The weight of loss.

You’d never met Bobby Nash, but from the way Eddie had described him—father figure, moral compass, rock of the 118—you understood what this funeral meant.

It wasn’t just laying someone to rest. It was saying goodbye to the man who raised a firehouse full of broken people and gave them a home.

Eddie had been quiet since the news. Not withdrawn, exactly—just… cloaked. Like he was protecting something inside himself, and he didn’t want you to see it.

When he asked you to come with him, you didn’t hesitate.

You packed your bag, held his hand on the flight, and offered silent comfort as his eyes kept flicking out the window. You knew this wasn’t just about grief—it was about returning to a version of himself he thought he’d left behind.

The 118 turned out in full, along with more firefighters than you could count. There was something unspeakably reverent about the ceremony: the folding of the flag, the low hum of bagpipes, the weight of silence as the bell rang in Bobby’s honor.

You watched as Eddie stood beside Chimney and Buck—two men who seemed to carry just as much pain in their eyes. Hen offered you a soft, acknowledging nod from across the pew.

When your gaze met Buck’s for the first time, there was something unreadable in his expression. A flicker of curiosity, maybe. Or caution.

You didn’t blame him. You were new. And you were standing beside Eddie Diaz at Bobby Nash’s funeral. That meant something.

After the service, the wake was held at Athena’s—warm food, quiet chatter, a house that suddenly felt too big without Bobby in it.

You found yourself in the kitchen helping restock drinks when Buck appeared beside you, gently brushing past to grab a beer.

“You’re Eddie’s new girlfriend, right?” he asked, voice quiet, but not unfriendly.

You smiled, a bit caught off guard. “Yeah. I’m Y/N.”

“Buck.” He shook your hand like someone who knew his own grip scared people and tried to dial it back.

“I know. Eddie’s talked about you guys a lot.”

Buck gave a half-smile. “Good things, I hope?”

You laughed softly. “Only the best.”

There was a beat of quiet, a pause that didn’t feel awkward, just thoughtful.

“I’m glad he has someone out there,” Buck said, not meeting your eyes. “It’s hard to rebuild… when part of you never really left.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. But it stayed with you.

The next few days in LA were mostly a blur—visiting the firehouse, seeing where Eddie used to sleep, where he used to eat, where Christopher used to run up to the bunks and draw little doodles on the whiteboards.

You saw how tightly the team clung to each other.

And how tightly Buck clung to Eddie.

There were moments that made you pause.

Like when Buck asked Eddie if he was going to swing by Chimney’s with the rest of them, and Eddie glanced at you and hesitated—just for a second—before replying,

“Maybe. We’ll see how she’s feeling.”

It was small. Barely a pause. But it lingered.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting outside with Hen. She was warm and grounded, easy to talk to, and you’d mentioned how surreal it was to step into a world you’d only heard about through Eddie’s stories.

“He’s been through hell,” Hen said, looking into her wine glass. “We all have. But Eddie? He tends to bottle things up until the pressure’s too much.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ve noticed.”

“He’s not a bad man,” she added quickly. “Just… still learning how to be the man he wants to be. Even now.”

The words weren’t harsh. They weren’t even meant to be cautionary.

But they settled into your chest like an echo.

The next day, the return to Texas was quiet.

After the heaviness of LA, the stillness felt jarring. No radios blaring at the station. No long waves goodbye from a firehouse family. Just Eddie, driving you home, one hand on the wheel, the other clenched in a fist on his thigh.

You noticed it.

How he didn’t reach for your hand. How he didn’t turn on the music like he usually did. How he dropped you off at your apartment instead of asking if you wanted to stay at his.

“Just tired,” he said, brushing a kiss to your forehead. You nodded.

But something in you already knew.

After going back to work since the visit to LA, you didn’t expect to see him that night after your shift.

You were walking back from the clinic after picking up extra hours. You weren’t far from the bar Eddie sometimes mentioned when he caught up with old friends. And you wouldn’t have looked — wouldn’t have even noticed — if the laughter hadn’t been his.

The unmistakable sound of Eddie Diaz trying to charm his way out of guilt.

And then you saw him.

Sitting across from a woman with long, painted nails and a knowing smile. She touched his arm. He didn’t pull away. He leaned in.

Too close.

And the worst part?

The relief in his face.

Like he wasn’t trying to hide.

Like this wasn’t a mistake — it was intentional.

You heard his key in the lock before the door creaked open. He didn’t expect to see you there — not seated on the couch in the dark, not awake. His steps halted.

“Y/N,” he breathed.

You turned slowly. No panic. No rage. Just the kind of silence that scares a man more than shouting ever could.

“Where were you?” you asked, your voice calm but cold. A glacier waiting to crack.

“I… I grabbed a drink with someone,” he said, avoiding your eyes. “One of my buddies from highschool.”

“No, Eddie. You were at the bar with another woman. I saw you.”

His breath caught. The truth stunned him like a slap, but he didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try.

So you nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

You stood then — and your presence filled the room. Strong. Rooted. Devastated, yes, but far from broken.

“Why?” you asked. “Why bring me into this if you knew you hadn’t changed?”

“I have changed,” he said, standing too now, desperation creeping into his voice.

“I didn’t plan for that to happen. It just… being in LA again… it reminded me of who I was. Before all of this. Before I tried to be someone I’m not.”

“Someone you’re not?” you repeated. “You mean loyal? Committed? Honest?”

“That’s not fair—”

“No,” you cut him off, eyes sharp with clarity.

“You know what’s not fair? Telling me I was safe to trust you. That you were working on yourself. That this—us—was something you wanted to build. That’s what’s not fair.”

Eddie stepped forward, but you didn’t budge.

“I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I wanted it. I still do.”

“No, Eddie. You wanted the illusion of stability. You wanted to believe you could do this… but the moment it felt too real, the moment you were surrounded by your past, you unraveled.”

His eyes shimmered, glassy with shame.

“I felt free there. Like the version of me before the guilt, the expectations… like I could breathe.”

You let the words sit in the air for a moment before speaking.

“Then you should’ve stayed there.”

That made him flinch.

“Because I won’t be your halfway house,” you said, voice rising just enough to cut through the air between you.

“I won’t be the woman who holds your hand while you figure out how to not betray her. I’m not a stop along the way to you finding yourself. I know who I am.”

Your chest ached, but you didn’t let it crack. Not in front of him.

“I’m not perfect, Eddie. But I’m worthy. Worthy of someone who means it when they say they’ve changed. Someone who doesn’t mistake old ghosts for new beginnings.”

He tried again. “I swear, I didn’t plan it. I just got lost for a second.”

“A second,” you whispered, more to yourself than him. “That’s all it took to throw away everything we were building.”

He stayed silent.

“I loved you,” you admitted. “And I let myself believe you were different. That you were done running. But I see it now — you’re not done. You’re just getting better at disguising it.”

The room was heavy now. Quiet and full of things unsaid.

“And if this is what freedom looks like to you — lying, sneaking around, hurting someone who only ever showed up for you — then I hope you enjoy it,” you said, voice steady and laced with steel.

“Because you’ll be enjoying it without me.”

You walked past him, grabbing your keys from the counter.

“I deserve something whole. Something real. Not this watered-down version of love you’re still trying to figure out how to give.”

Eddie reached out, but you shook your head.

“Don’t. I won’t let you make me doubt my worth again. Once a cheater, Eddie… no matter how much you try to bury it, that part of you always finds a way out.”

And with that, you left.

Not in pieces — but finally, for once, intact.

It was the second night you hadn’t slept. The silence in the apartment was heavy, the shadows deeper somehow—almost like they knew. Like even the walls were mourning something that wasn’t dead, just lost beyond return.

Your phone lay face-down on the couch cushion beside you. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to blink away the sting behind your eyes.

The ache wasn’t loud. It didn’t shout. It whispered. It echoed. It lived in the empty coffee cup still sitting on the kitchen counter.

In the jacket Eddie left hanging by the door. In the memory of his hands on your waist as he kissed your shoulder and said, “We’re building something real here, you and me.”

But he hadn’t built anything. He had wandered.

And he had left you behind in the wreckage.

You didn’t even know who to call. You were new here. You had no family in El Paso, no lifelong friends. It had always been Eddie and Christopher—your whole small, carefully built world. And now it was just… you.

You thought about calling Hen, maybe Chimney. Ravi, even. But there was only one name that kept circling back to your heart like a warm current in freezing water.

Buck.

You hadn’t spoken much since Bobby’s funeral. He had been kind, a little guarded, but incredibly present.

When you met, it felt like an echo of something familiar. Like someone who carried similar scars, even if they weren’t visible at first glance.

You swiped up your phone and stared at his name. You didn’t want to be a burden. But you also didn’t want to feel like you were vanishing.

So you hit the button.

It rang twice before his face filled the screen, tousled curls and all. His brows furrowed in concern the second he saw your face.

“Y/N?”

Your voice cracked. “Hi.”

His smile faded. “Hey. What’s wrong? You okay?”

You swallowed. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

He nodded, gentle and calm. “You don’t have to explain. I’m here.”

That was all it took.

The tears came fast and unfiltered. Ugly, broken sobs that clawed their way out from the hollow in your chest.

You held your phone like it was the only thing tethering you to solid ground, and Buck didn’t flinch. Didn’t rush you. He just stayed on the other side of the screen, letting you cry.

“Eddie—he said he changed,” you finally managed, voice hoarse. “And I believed him, Buck. God, I believed him.”

He sighed softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“I thought he was it. He made me feel safe, like I could finally let go of everything I was trying to prove. And then I saw him with someone else, and it just… shattered everything. It felt like I was the problem again.”

“You’re not,” Buck said firmly, eyes steady. “You’re not the problem, Y/N. Don’t let what he did trick you into thinking you’re less.”

You wiped your cheeks, your hands trembling.

“It’s just… When I left everything behind and met him, I built a life here thinking it would grow roots and let him in. And now I don’t even know where home is.”

Buck leaned forward on his end, his voice low and sincere.

“Home isn’t always a place. Sometimes it’s just people who see you. Who stay. Who don’t make you question your worth every time things get hard.”

You blinked at him. “You really believe that?”

He nodded. “I’ve lived that. My parents didn’t really see me. Not the way I needed. It took years to realize that family isn’t blood—it’s the people who choose you. Over and over.”

You were quiet for a long moment, breathing in the calm he offered.

“I’m so tired, Buck. Tired of trying to be enough. Tired of picking up pieces I didn’t break.”

He smiled gently. “Then don’t pick them up alone. Let someone help. Let me help.”

You exhaled, shaky but real. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because I know what it’s like to lose your sense of self in someone else,” he said. “And because you don’t deserve to go through this alone.”

Something in your chest unclenched at that.

He didn’t pity you. He understood you.

So you kept talking. For hours.

About Eddie, about your family, about the parts of yourself you’d fought to protect. And Buck listened—really listened—until the heaviness didn’t feel so suffocating.

By the time you ended the call, the sky outside had shifted to early morning gray. You still hurt. You still felt hollow in places.

But for the first time in days, you felt seen.

And safe.

© fordiaz 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[myadagoat22]

                        Hey guys, this is my first story. Please go easy on me and let me know any feedback that you have. My name is Mya.

Bat and Super Family (Yes this is poly and Y/N is BLACK)

An early quiet morning did not last long in this house with 8 kids and a super dog. Every morning you spent with them was like a rare date. Who are they? Well, they are your husbands Bruce Wayne, aka Batman, and Clark Kent, aka Superman, and you were Superwoman, one of the strongest superheroes in the Justice League. You will never forget the day you met those two lover boys.

15 years ago, your small town was destroyed by the enchantress, you were the remaining survivor due to your powers (super strength, healing factor, flying, super agility, fireproof) you will never forget that day. It was a sunny day when you were gardening, the only mother you ever knew had passed away, so you took care of her flowers, you always knew you weren’t from Earth, you were different from everyone else but your mother made sure you were happy, and all you had from whatever planet you were from was a sword it was silver and huge and every time you playfully used it you felt like a warrior. But as previously stated you were gardening then the enchantress came and blew up the entire town when you woke up you were met with Supergirl she held your hand and took u to Wonder Woman aka your best friend Diana, when Diana first saw you she immediately recognized the sword and knew you were from planet Amazon.  “What’s your name” was the first thing Diana said “Y/n… what happened to my… home” you replied tired Supergirl and Diana told you everything, cleaned you up, made u food and had you laughing. Diana also told you that you were from planet Amazon and your powers saved you, then Supergirl said you must meet the team, so you did and that’s when you met Batman and Clark it was love at first sight, and at the time they liked each other. As days went on you were taught to fight by Super Girl and Diana and you, Clark, and Bruce would quietly steal glances and subtle flirt until finally while you and Clark were watching a movie Bruce came in and said “So you guys want to go on a date” and that day changed your life forever.

Of course. The media couldn’t believe Bruce Wayne was going out with two ppl, but you didn’t care and if Dick a 7-year-old boy could understand that his dad was in love with two ppl then the world could understand as well. But here we are 13 years later with our oldest son 18-year-old Dickson, 18-year-old Jason, 17-year-old Stephanie Brown, 16-year-old Connor, 14-year-old Tim Drake, 13-year-old Damien, 11-year-old Jon (that y/n and Clark biologically had) and finally 10-year-old Duke (Bilogically y/n and Bruce child) and ofc Super dog plus a sassy butler named Alfred.

You were happy and that’s all that mattered but back to the present you woke up as soon as you heard heavy footsteps and someone yelling “MOM WHERES BREAKFAST” After you woke up then Bruce woke up smiling at you saying “Good morning my beautiful wife”

“Good morning handsome” you replied then a loud BANG downstairs woke Clark up as you and Bruce rolled your eyes at how bad these kids are, Clark not wanting to wake up said “It's morning already, what happened to nighttime” You and Bruce chuckled then y’all heard someone screaming “IT WAS DAMIEN”

Yeah, quiet mornings are rare, but you wouldn’t trade them or your husbands for the world.                                    

This is all for now. I will be making this into a series like I said all feedback is appreciated. This is my first time, and I want to start writing fanfic for not just this, but I have LOADS of ideas for lots of different genres. Love and thanks❤️

[crow-with-a-pencil]

One year anniversary of the kelp blorbo who changed my brain chemistry forever

Happy birthday Beetle :)

[unforgivingchorus]

I’ve been deconstructing my ideas of Tim to separate fanon from canon for the purpose of my solo run idea. What do you mean Batman calling him Jason was a canon event. I understand fanon has a basis in canon but I thought that was a development of fanon maybe. Eye is twitching I’m bringing back all of my deconstructed emotional disconnected mentor Batman thoughts

[airandangels]

I first learned the word "bogus" from Danny the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl, in which Danny warns us that if somebody smiles with their mouth but the look in their eyes doesn't change, "it's sure to be bogus." In some editions (I'm not sure if this is a US/UK thing or an updating thing) the word is replaced with "phoney," which I find less satisfying. There are just a few words where I can specifically remember what or who I learned them from; "bogus" is one and "brittle" is another (my mother explaining why I might not be able to keep the little plastic cocktail animal* that was on the rim of my milkshake glass at a restaurant forever)

In both cases, I think I initially thought of the word as just having that extremely specific meaning (the falsity of a smile that doesn't reach the eyes, the fragility of thin inflexible plastic), didn't encounter it again for some time, and when it came up again in a different context I was like "What are you doing here?"

*twas a donkey

[bumblebee-be]

i had the WEIRDEST fucking dream last night

[iniziare]

This feels so good to do. Tag drop: Ezio Auditore. Verses for GI/HSR/DA are a WIP.

[somnoir]

Little star's favorite

It all started when Talia came to Gotham with a gift.

The gift in question was a twelve year old boy.

Bruce stared at the boy who was almost the exact replica of Damian if not for the blue eyes and longer hair. He looked utterly perplexed at the sight of Bruce, tilting his head before frowning at his mother with a visibly displeased look.

"Beloved, may I introduce you to Danyal, our Damian's twin brother. He was... Away... On a mission until recently." Talia hummed, a hand on Danyal's back.

"You... You didn't think to tell me about him when you told me about Damian?" Shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked down at the boy who looked a little more like him than Talia and felt himself softening. "Hello Danyal."

"Hello."

Talia smiled, before her expression fell. "A little warning, beloved. The twins do not get along. Damian is quite the competitive child and Danyal... Well, he's the nicer one if I must say." She shrugged, running her fingers through her son's hair before pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Go on now, Najmi As-Sagheer (my little star)."

"Ummi... Must I join them? I am perfectly fine with remaining in the league." Danyal muttered, eye twitching but his expression was quickly schooled into neutrality.

"Yes, Danyal." She sighed, "I have no intention of letting father keep you."

Bruce raised a brow at her words.

"That is a conversation for another time, habibi." Talia lazily insisted, gently pushing Danyal towards Bruce.

Bruce, for all he's lived, immediately recognized a feral cat in the form a child. Yep. Another Damian. That was seemingly the nicer one.

But he was scruffy little thing who was being called little star by his mother. Bruce blinked, offering his hand to Danyal (like how a person would do by letting a cat sniff his hand to see if they were safe).

Danyal, more twitchy and annoyed than his brother, looked at the hand like it had personally offended him.

And that is how Batman brought home another child while holding him by the scruff.

(Danny hated everyone except for Alfred—both cat and butler)

Danyal was a much quieter person compared to Damian. Unlike his brother who had practically came into their lives guns blazing and declaring that he was the rightful heir to the bat, Danyal mainly ignored them. He would glare, snarl, and scowl, but not in the way Damian did. The kid was obviously threatened by them, but more for his own safety rather than inheritance.

He avoided them like the plague, only welcoming the company of Alfred and occasionally Cass.

He didn't join in on the vigilante business, opting to stay back with Oracle and just quietly direct them on their missions. It was strange in all honesty.

They didn't know much about Danyal, aside from the fact that his mother called him little star for his natural love of space. That he liked to tinker with gadgets and make his own weapons. That he really liked fudge.

Aside from that, the kid was quiet and was usually hiding out in his room.

Tim wasn't particularly thrilled to have another demon brat in the family. He avoided Danyal as much as possible expecting for the boy to be just like his brother and attack him.

But apparently not.

It's one of those unfortunate times that Tim's sleep deprivation and overload on energy drinks gets him benched by Alfred and not Bruce. No one particularly wanted to argue with their beloved butler/grandpa so Tim was stuck in place. It was a much quieter night than usual, almost peaceful (as much as Gotham can get).

Babs was relieved of her duties to have a night off, rest and relax and such, while Tim manned the bat computer in Oracle's place. He almost didn't notice the mop of black hair that suddenly appeared beside him.

Tim didn't want to admit it, but he flinched at Danyal's presence and how he was quietly standing there with a tray of coffee and cookies. Blue eyes blinked at him, silently pushing the tray forward to offer Tim the lone cup (most likely for him) and the plate of cookies.

Suspicious, Tim narrowed his eyes. "Alfred wouldn't make me coffee after benching me for this kind of thing."

Danyal shrugged, "Made it myself. Thought you'd need it since the others will be gone for a while."

"That's poisoned."

"It's not." Danyal frowned, immediately taking the cup and taking a couple sips himself before once again offering it to Tim.

Now, Tim wasn't stupid enough to ignore the possibility of Danyal having some tolerance to poison. But Tim was also tolerant to a lot of poisons so might as well.

When taking one sip, he was already feeling weird. One, there was no poison. Two, it was actually pretty good.

Danyal just sat there and stared at the screen, munching on cookies and pointing at the screen whenever Robin started to stray from the patrol route. Tim had a lot of fun reportingtattling to Bruce about it.

Eventually, it became a routine.

Danyal always sat beside Tim. Quiet and just offering random stuff, either food, some little gadget he made, or just the most bizarre stuff he found while at school.

Tim learned many things about his weird little brother. How cameras go crazy around him. How he had his reasons for not being touched. How Danyal was more silent than Cass. How Danyal vanished and reappeared at times.

(The glowing green eyes were the most concerning.)

He never really took notice of how Danyal started to gravitate to him. Always with him, barely without.

(Tim refused to admit that he was just the same.)

"Can I go on patrol with you?" Danyal asked, tugging at his Red Robin suit with a curious look. "I wanna meet Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn."

And Tim didn't really see much of a problem with that. Danyal was a highly trained assassin that Ra's apparently trusted to go on a solo mission while Damian had to be whisked away from the league. It wasn't too absurd for Tim to just shrug and let his kid brother tag along.

He was also very sure that his baby brother was an eldritch being with how the shadows seemed to rise around him. Yeah, the baby was a cryptid amongst a family of supposed cryptids. Very fitting.

It's a nice night. With Danny running amok with Tim, clearly having fun. But that one looks of sadness didn't escape Tim when Danny paused and looked to the sky with longing.

Tim remembers how Danny rambled about the stars in their shared moments, where it's just them.

Tim remembers how Danny would describe the sky in Nanda Parbar and how he often snuck out just to see it.

Tim remembers how much his little brother likes space and turns to the cloudy sky of Gotham that hides the stars.

Tim remembers how he was often depraved of the brotherly love he wanted. How he didn't get the full experience of having an older brother.

"You okay, little star?"

Danyal snapped his head towards Tim, eyes blown wide and flashing green (he knows that wasn't normal but he ignores that in favor to the way Danyal visibly softens at the nickname).

"'m okay, akhi." Danyal muttered, following after Tim after adjusting his own hood.

And it's like his heart stops.

Yep.

Tim has had Danyal for barely a year and he was willing to throw hands with Ra's, Talia, and Bruce for him.

"C'mon, qalbi(my heart). Batburger's still open."

He barely noticed the shift after that. But others think it's a glaring change that often made them stop and stare.

Danyal went to Tim whenever he needed anything.

If Danyal wasn't in bed, you'd find him snuggled up to Tim.

Danyal hated it when people touched him... Except for Tim.

Danyal liked Tim the most.

The day Dick thought it was a good idea to call Danyal 'Danny' (a nickname that was only used by Tim and Alfred), he almost got stabbed. Well, that's where all the stabbiness went to.

Safe to say, Tim was Danny's favorite.

And Danny was Tim's.

"Drake! What have you done to my brother?!" Damian pointed a katana at Tim, who lazily glanced his way before turning back to Danny who was comfortably snuggled up to him and watching Blue while Tim scrolled on Tiktok.

"I haven't done anything to Danny, demon brat. Now shoo!" Tim's irritation could be heard from a mile away, shamelessly shooing Damian away with a flick of his wrist. Then the next second, he was combing his fingers through Danny's hair and listening to his younger brother make a purring noise.

(Another point of investigation because that is not fucking normal, Tim. Cute though!)

"I refuse to believe that Danyal would prefer you over me!"

"You're just salty that he stabs you like you stab me." Tim waved him off again, watching as Danny yawned and continued to ignore everyone else.

The click of a camera immediately alerts him and he's tugging Danny down before the much younger boy lunges at Dick.

"Woah! What's up with him?" Dick nervously asked, instinctively raising his phone above his head.

"Delete that!" Tim snarled, pulling Danny closer and guiding his brothers face to his shoulder. "You know he hates it when people take pictures without consent!"

(Tim doesn't tell them that something goes every wrong with the footage if Danny was ever in the picture.)

"Dick." Tim warned, effortlessly picking up Danny, because yes, his seemingly cryptid baby brother could become weightless, and snatched Dick's phone. Yep. Instead of Danny, there was a very strange figure, a glitching silhouette of black and green. He deletes it immediately.

Dick was pouring, "I don't have any pics of Danny—"

"Don't call me that, Richard." Danny scowled, clinging to Tim like a koala. He was strangely more child-like than Damian, muttering about annoying people who interrupted bonding time. (Dick was just forced to pout.)

"Danyal." Damian crossed his arms, scowling at Danny who was still comfortably cuddled up to Tim. "It is not appropriate to cling to Drake in such a way! You will embarrass our mother and father if you are seen acting like a petulant child!"

Tim wanted to argue that no, he wouldn't embarrass Talia and Bruce by being a kid, but Danny just grabbed a cookie from nowhere (note to self, add possible teleportation powers to cryptid baby) and shoved it into his mouth.

Danny just yawned, fixing Damian with a lazy glare.

"Tuhali, can you shut up?"

Damian stood stock still, while Jason and Bruce choked on their own spit. Jason slapping a hand over his mouth and Bruce just staring at his twins like the apocalypse was about to return.

"What did you just call me?"

Danny yawne again, "My spleen."

Tim knew what Tuhali meant. Of course he fucking knew Arabic! But to think that his cryptid baby brother was straight up calling Damian his spleen?

The spleen that Tim doesn't have.

The spleen that's important to the immune system but you can survive without it?

Tim grinned, grabbing his cryptid baby and made a run for it.

Yep.

Danny was definitely his favorite.

Credits to: @strangergraphics for the dividers used.

[chuluoyi]

✎ all of me

- gojo satoru x reader

you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship (you're married & have a son!) argument, feral gojo, mentions of injury & blood, fluff

note: if it isn't obvious by now i'm in the mood of angst-hurt/comfort this week HEHE :)) this is longer than the usual love entry, so i hope you'll enjoy it!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Bantering with your husband is not uncommon―in fact, it happens on daily basis.

"Satoru― I'm talking to you!"

But having serious arguments with him is another matter entirely.

Your fists tightening at your sides, facing his unamused expression. How insufferable is he? You told him that everyday, but right now, he's truly surpassed previous levels of infuriating behavior.

"And I can hear you, sweetheart," he retorted, casting a glance your way. The term of endearment he used for you sounding almost like a sneer to your ears and you felt offended.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously," you griped, trying to calm your emotions, still balling your hands. "Someone is following our son on his way back from school―how can you be this... flippant?!"

Numerous photograph of your son exiting the school building from different angles had arrived in your mailbox, and if it wasn't a creepy warning from those who placed a target on his back, then you didn't know what it was.

Satoru let out an exasperated grunt. "I'm telling you, I'll pick him up for the rest of the week. No one will lay a hand on him."

You gritted your teeth. "And I'm telling you, they're trying to make you do just that. Even morons know not to mess with you― they're leaving hints, and you're taking the bait!"

Contrary to what you believed, Satoru felt just as worried as you upon knowing that someone might have marked his precious son, who was now six years old and had recently started attending preschool.

But this is where your approaches differ. You are always the cautious one, overanalyzing each detail, while he leans towards being impulsive, often resorting to brute force.

"Who do you think can stand a chance against me?" Satoru challenged with a real sneer this time. "Remember my words, wife, no one is going to hurt me, you or our baby. I'll end them where they stand."

"That's not the point!" you threw your hands in the air, irate. "Satoru, they're going to take advantage of―"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you." Satoru's gaze was hard on you, his tone clipped, and it made you stiffen. "His safety comes first— and you, of all people, should know I'd never let anything happen to him. You need to quit nitpicking and have a little faith in me."

"I know you are more than capable, but you are not―!"

And then he said it, and his words piercing through you like a knife―

"Don't compare me to you," your husband remarked a little too coldly. "I can do things you can't. Just rest your pretty head, I'll take care of the rest."

Nevermind that he blatantly dismissed your skills as a jujutsu sorcerer, nevermind that he totally didn't listen to you at all―he just went and made himself look like some sort unparalleled god, forgetting how much his hubris could actually take him.

And all these thoughts only made you angrier.

"So be it then." You tried desperately to hold yourself from shaking because you'd be damned if you showed it to him. "A word of advice, Satoru: beware of your arrogance."

With those words, you spun around, marching off toward your son's room, because no way in hell was you going to sleep with that obnoxious prick tonight.

But when you caught the sight of your baby scuttling away from the gap in the door, a fragment of your heart crumbled. Oh. He has seen it all.

In Gojo Satoru's mind, he is made of two things: a powerful jujutsu sorcerer and a family man.

With his immense strength, comes a certain responsibility. And with that responsibility, certain habits have formed. If you just took a few seconds to breathe and looked back throughout the past decade he'd spent with you, you'd know that in fact―

It was also his way to shield you. Satoru stands by the principle that you and his little boy must be protected at all cost, and he most certainly would pull all stops to do just that.

But frankly, he couldn't deny that he felt insulted by how defiant you were. Did you really think he would let anyone ever touch your―his―son? He wouldn't, they'd meet his wrath first and you should've known that.

Still, something akin to guilt nudged at his conscience as he lay alone in your shared bed that night. It felt strange not having you cuddling him. He felt empty.

. . .

None of your shampoo-scented pillow, none of your nightdresses, all of it replaced by a single photo hanging in the wall and the urn of ashes—

Abruptly, he jerked his eyes open, shaken from the most dreadful nightmare he had experienced—

Of you no longer by his side.

“Mama.” Your little boy looked up to you with his doe-blue eyes in the next day, his hand gripping yours. “I’ll be fine.”

You were accompanying him to the preschool. While Satoru had requested Ichiji to drive him, you insisted on tagging along to keep a watchful eye as well. You'd leave your husband to pick him up later just as he wanted.

“Huh?” you turned to him, tilting your head.

“I'll stick by Uncle Ichiji's side the entire time,” he replied in a murmur. “And papa will be picking me up too later. If there are bad guys, they'll get him first.”

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. Your boy witnessed your outburst last night and hadn't inquired about it until now, and even then, he was trying to reassure you.

“So… don’t fight.” His round, cerulean eyes then darted towards you, blinking hesitantly, causing you to catch your breath.

He looks so much like Satoru. At six years old, he was the spitting image of him, except his personality—he took after you in that area. It was as if your son was a softer, more innocent version of him. And your heart twisted, remembering your argument last night.

Don't compare me to you.

With a sigh, you bent down to be eye-level with him and managed a smile, holding both of his little hands. “I’m sorry… it was just misunderstanding last night, okay? Don’t worry.”

“…really?”

“Really. Mama and papa were just tired,” you tried to reason, a thin smile on your face. "It's going to be okay, just like you said, yeah? Papa will beat the bad guys out there."

“Will he pull through...? If they bring a knife, and he's just there laughing, they can cut him.”

A giggle escaped your lips at your baby's innocent wonderings, easing the ache in your heart as you recalled how Satoru humored him in so many ways.

You gently poked your son in the cheek. "Nah, do you remember what he always goes on about?"

He puffed up his cheeks in response, his expression turning sour as if combing through memories of hundreds of shenanigans Satoru had instigated to recall his words. You let out a hearty chuckle, finding him so adorable.

"He's strong, he's going to win. He always does."

"Oh. Mmm." Your son scrunched up his nose cutely, before looking away and squeezing your hand. A sincerer smile bloomed in your lips, heart melting at the sight of your growing munchkin.

You will protect him. And maybe you could patch things up with Satoru later that night. Maybe yesterday you were just too paranoid.

That was the plan... at least until your son suddenly screamed—someone wrenching him from your grasp. Without a second thought, you reacted, flipping the attacker away from you and him.

. . . and that was the beginning of how everything started to unravel so terribly that day.

"Gojo-san...! There's been an incident!"

He got that call right after he finished some things with Yaga. Satoru teleported to the preschool right away, only to be greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Several teachers stood outside the building, and police officers were present at the scene. It was all a blur of cursed energy until his eyes caught sight of—

His little boy, red-faced and obviously in fear, was clinging to Ichiji, who was frantically making calls. Some teachers gathered around him were seemingly trying to coax him to speak.

He didn't waste a second to dash towards him, tearing through the crowd.

"Are you okay? Hey, buddy, what happened?" Satoru pulled him away from Ichiji and turned him over, crouching to his level to check for any signs of injury or harm.

And upon seeing him actually here, his son's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and Satoru felt a chill run through his veins as he broke into sobs, which quickly turned into heart-wrenching wails.

"Mama—! F-find mama—!" the little boy choked out through his tears, clutching onto his shirt tightly and crumbling in his embrace, thoroughly inconsolable.

Satoru's sharp gaze quickly swept over the scene, seeking any clues, while he tightened his hold over him. It was then he noticed traces of your cursed energy mingled with blood.

They hurt you.

"Hey, kiddo—listen to me, it's going to be alright, yeah?" Satoru said, gently pulling away to wipe away his tears, holding the boy's face tenderly in his hands. "Go with Ichiji for now, okay? I'm going to bring mama back, I promise."

He didn't need to be told twice. Your son is always obedient when it matters the most. He gave him a small nod, still shaking with tears.

"Don't worry," he flashed a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm the strongest, remember? I'll get her back," he vowed once again. "She'll be fine. Wait for me until then, yeah?"

Ichiji was ready to leave as he had called for those in headquarters as backup in case anything were to happen again. Trusting him to keep his son safe, Satoru took off as soon as he could no longer see the sight of his son's tear-streaked face trying to watch him as the car pulled away.

"I won't repeat myself— where is my wife?"

Satoru wasn't playing this time. He skipped past taunts and just plain threats. These little fries, he thought.

The man he held by the throat was in a lot of distress. "Hyaaa! It's him! Please, please, let me go! I'm acting under orders!"

He then flung him across the wall— might have added more cursed energy than necessary.

At the moment, his entire focus was on trying to locate you. He couldn't let his mind wander to anything else; in fact, he didn't permit himself to.

It didn't take him long to piece together the general location of where you were through the residual of your cursed energy. They stationed several hooligans in this abandoned warehouse to stall him, but he got rid of them quickly and he could sense that you were close by.

"It's Gojo Satoru!"

"Run! Ruuuun!"

What a pain. They picked the wrong person to mess with, and Satoru's lips curled into a manic grin as he opened his palm, pulling them in—

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Chaos erupted as the building collapsed around him. He hoped you would realize he was here and manage to avoid getting caught in the wreckage. He was sure you'd know though.

And true to his thoughts, soon he found you— blasting your attacker away with a powerful kick.

Satoru thought that you were a sight to behold, really. And he was about to call out to you when he felt it.

It happened almost in an instant. The way his heart dropped to his stomach, and how his body reacted, barely whispering the incantation for Red as he shot it at something lurking behind you—

At that moment, the only thing you were aware of was the foul stench of a curse. Time seemed to stop before the overwhelming force of Red expelled it away from you.

But before then, you experienced a searing, white-hot pain that scorched through your flesh and pierced your abdomen—

"Y/N―fuck―!" The voice that came from Satoru's throat was raw and laden with panic.

He pulled you against him protectively as you collapsed, blinded by pain. He immediately felt warmth spreading across his lower body—your blood was rapidly drenching his shirt, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

You held onto him tightly while suppressing your scream, feeling every bit of your strength drain away along with the dark crimson blood that poured out of you.

"―toru―" you managed to croak amidst the scalding pain, curling and whimpering in his hold.

"Hey― sweetheart, please―" his voice rang in your ears, as he pressed down on your wound. His hands were shaking, and you clawed at him and groaned in agony. "I-I'm taking you back now― You're going to be alright, yeah?"

The wound was beyond anything you had experienced before, causing you to cry out and gasp for air. It was almost as if something fried your insides. It was hard to stay conscious.

"I've got you now. You're going to be okay." His voice was coarse, as he hurriedly carried you out. And he tried not to let the full-blown panic take over him when your body went limp in his arms, your breaths slowing, head lolling in his chest.

"You're going to be alright! You hear me, sweetheart? You're going to make it. Our baby― he's waiting for you. I promise you, you're going to be fine―"

Perhaps he was trying to tell that to himself, because despite the excruciating pain, a wave of reassurance washed over you.

You were in the arms of the strongest sorcerer alive, what more could you possibly afraid of?

A special grade curse. They had actually unleashed a potent curse and likely aimed at him as their final card—until it veered off course and struck you, leaving a searing gash across your abdomen.

Satoru felt numb as he sat in the waiting room in his bloodied uniform. You got hurt so terribly right in front of his eyes, and all he could feel was this profound void that seemed to bore through him and pierced his soul.

He was supposed to protect you. He said it to your face that nothing and no one would touch your son, and it was in his wedding vows that he'd protect you with his life too.

And yet what happened?

If only he was faster. If only he was able to pull you to him and protect you with his infinity—none of this shit would have happened.

Seeing your face twisted in agony and smeared with blood made him feel sick to his stomach. Inside that OR, you hovered on the brink of life and death, and he was here, unable to do anything.

Satoru rested his head against the wall, feeling a sharp pain surge through his chest. He remembered waking up to your face every morning, the way your touches felt, and how you had brightened his world for the past decade. If he lost you now... he wouldn't survive it. He would wreck anything, everything—

"Papa!" and came his voice of reason. Satoru immediately discarded his bloodstained jacket by instinct, throwing it away before his boy could see it, with Ichiji and Megumi closely trailing behind.

His son crashed himself into him and threw his little arms around his torso, crying—and in that very second, the thump of his heart sounded louder in his ears. Somehow it felt like a knife that twisted his insides.

"Hey, kiddo." Satoru repositioned him so that he would sit on his lap and hugged him, patting him in the back. "There, there... it's alright, yeah? Mama is inside, she'll get better soon."

Your little boy pulled away and wiped his eyes, and Satoru chuckled as he helped him blow his nose. His child was incredibly adorable, and his actions mirrored yours to such an extent that it made Satoru's heart soften.

"Mama g-got hurt trying to... tell me to g-go..." the boy suddenly said amidst his quieter sniffles. "And... she s-said... papa— i-is strong and g-going to win..."

You believe in him. Ignoring the ache in his chest, only able to reply him with a "Yeah..."

Not long after, Shoko emerged from the operating room and informed him that the surgery had been successful, though you would likely need to have a one-week stay in the hospital for observation. He intended to move you to the VIP suite and stay the night there, but then he remembered his son, who was holding his hand.

Satoru crouched down and patted him in the head, fixing him a smile. "See? Mama is okay, but she needs to sleep here to get even better. Now you go home first with big brother Megumi, yeah?"

Your son adored Megumi and often begged you to let him stay over at his place, but this time he looked hesitant, fiddling with his little fingers. "Really? Mama will be home... soon?"

"Mm-hmm, the more she sleeps here, the faster she'll go back home, alright?"

And with that, his baby nodded and Satoru turned to Megumi with a nod. "Thank you for this, Megumi."

The boy whose life he had once saved on some sort of a whim, now grown up and shared the same concern he had for you, Fushiguro Megumi had never before witnessed his benefactor expressing such sincere gratitude for anything before.

When you came to, your body felt as heavy as lead.

The discomfort in your abdomen made you flinch, and you almost let out a groan until you turned to your side and saw him.

Satoru was asleep while sitting in the sofa next to your bed, dark circles evident under his eyes. It might have been your imagination, but his cheeks appeared to be slightly red too.

You tried to recall what had happened to you when it came back—you urging your son to run away as you let yourself being taken away, almost escaping from that warehouse, the flash of excruciating pain, and Satoru's stricken voice.

So he must've been here since last night. Any remnants of your disagreement seemed to have vanished, seeing him there with you, barely covering himself with the blanket, with a frown still marking his forehead even in his sleep.

You wanted to reach out to him until the movement sent a sharp jab to your stomach and you cried out a bit.

In that split second, Satoru's eyes jerked open, and realizing you were awake, his gaze locked onto yours. "Y/N—" But your strained whimper and expression told him everything. "Does it hurt? I-I'll get Shoko, wait—"

And then he hit the call button. Throughout it all, he kept a firm grip on your hand for reassurance. A few minutes later, Shoko arrived and examined your wound, subsequently administering painkillers to alleviate your discomfort.

"It's going to leave a scar," she explained grimly, showing the mangled skin where the curse had made its mark on you, and seeing that, Satoru clenched his fists.

Shoko sighed, empathizing with her friend's frustration. "It's going to fade with time, don't worry. You did well, Gojo. You brought her here quickly. Had you been even slightly later, there could have been an irreversible damage to her organs."

But your husband remained quiet, unable to bring himself to look at you. And after she left, you tried to finally voice your question to him.

"O-our—"

"He's fine," Satoru immediately answered, squeezing your hand. "Our boy is fine. I'll tell Megumi to visit later—he's with him."

A sigh of relief came out of you. "Thank... goodness."

But his expression seemed to fall even further after hearing your response. Satoru settled himself on the seat next to you and lowered the rail on your bed, allowing you to be even closer to each other.

"Do you not feel any pain anymore?" he asked then, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked so sad, a stark contrast of how he usually was, and it bugged you.

"No... I feel fine now."

"Then, can I hug you?"

Of course you nodded without a second thought, and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close and resting his face on the crook of your neck.

You knew what it was. Satoru was still visibly shaken by what had happened to you, and he wasn't great at expressing himself, so he tried to find consolation through this physical closeness instead.

"I'm okay..." you patted his back, trying to convince him. "I'm alright now, yeah?" But to your surprise, suddenly his whole body started to shake. "Satoru...?"

“…’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled you. “I shouldn't... have let you get this hurt...”

It always amazes you how Satoru always gets this distressed whenever you sustain any injury. You had seen him cry precisely two times now—once after you gave birth to your son and experienced severe bleeding, and now.

"It's not your fault..." you whispered in response. "You... have protected me well."

He held you tighter, his tone faltering. "I didn't."

"You have..." you stroked his hair, trying to convince him. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hearing you say that made Satoru's chest ache. The thought of something like this happening to you was unimaginable, and now that it had, he couldn't come to terms with seeing you hurt right in front of him.

"Don't—" he choked on his voice, his breath trembled against your neck. "Don't ever put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

You couldn't make that promise. Despite the pleading in his voice, you knew deep down that your son's life—and his—meant more, and given the chance, you would obviously save theirs for yours.

“Satoru... I love you, you know that, right?”

So you simply embraced him close, hoping that in this life, you would live long enough that he would never have to see you like this again.

Epilogue

"Papa, how do I become stronger?"

Satoru blinked when his son asked him that so innocently and curiously, taken aback as he led him to your private room later that afternoon. "Oh? What brought this on?"

His first and only son, a perfect miniature of himself, pursed his lips. "I don't want Mama to get hurt again..."

Satoru's heart warmed at his baby’s sincere words, and despite himself, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" his son leveled a glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"Well, aren't you such a good boy? Don't worry, kiddo, I'll teach you my ways~"

"What ways?"

"Well, no need to rush, pumpkin. First of all, you will have to harness your skills and then you have to be more like me—"

"Do I have to be like you…? Is there no other way?"

"—? What's wrong with being more like me?"

"Everything...?"

[maysaasalman]

Hello 👋

Hello, I am Maysa Al-Dahdouh from Gaza. My family and I face death, hunger, and diseases daily. We are a Palestinian family in need of help from anyone with a living conscience, a compassionate heart, and an understanding of humanity.

Help me overcome adversity

I am reaching out to you today, standing firm against incredible challenges. Life in our area has become increasingly difficult due to the ongoing and escalating conflict, and I struggle to secure the basic necessities for myself and my family.

About me and my family

I am married to Hussam Al-Dahdouh, and I am 38 years old. I have five children: Jamal, 16 years old; Muhammad, 14 years old, who suffers from a chronic illness known as Mediterranean fever and must take lifelong medication; Layan years old; Amir, 8 years old;

We have faced death dozens of times. Our home was completely damaged and burned down, making it uninhabitable. We have been displaced more than 20 times and have miraculously survived certain death. We have lost over 100 relatives, neighbors, and loved ones. The area I live in is subjected to rockets, shelling, and gunfire every day. We struggle to find healthy food, clean drinking water, and medication for my son Muhammad. My children can no longer return to school.

Therefore, my family and I have decided to leave Gaza to protect our children from death, hunger, and diseases due to the war, lack of

food and medicine, water pollution, and

How you can help us

• By making a financial donation, even if it's small.

• By sharing our story on social media.

• By offering words of support and encouragement.

The funds raised will be used for:

• Our departure from Gaza and seeking refuge in a country that respects human rights, such as Canada, Belgium, or Sweden. The cost of leaving is high, as each family member needs $5,000 to leave. Since we will be starting our lives anew outside Gaza, we will also need housing, appliances, cooking utensils, education expenses, medication, and health and psychological rehabilitation.

Every contribution, no matter how small, is important

No donation is too small; every contribution brings us one step closer to relief and a better future. Even if you cannot contribute financially, sharing this campaign with your generous network can make a significant difference.

You can donate through the page below

Thank you

Thank you for taking the time to read our story and for your kind generosity. You can help us overcome these difficult times.

[suguae]

Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like. 

And perhaps that's what it was. 

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong. 

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–” 

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted. 

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later. 

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer. 

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi. 

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.” 

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch. 

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking. 

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

next part ->

[bloggerspam]

Cousins, Clones and Conning the Family

Family Reunion AU, where cousins Maddie and Clark try to smuggle their clone children into the family reunion that happens every 5 years and pretend they've been there the whole time.

Spoiler alert, one of them does significantly better than the other. Mainly Kid POV, and also on AO3! Multichapter. ===

The problem with big family reunions, Danny thinks, is how utterly fucking lost Danny is all the gosh dang time.

"Well now, you're Maddie's son now ain'tcha? How old is you now?" The woman standing before him guffaws, ruffling his hair. He lets it, trying desperately to remember the speadsheet Jazz created for the family and (obviously) failing to recall this woman's name.

Agatha? Selene? Riri? No, Aunt Riri is over there—

"Yes ma'am," Danny smiles up at the unnamed aunt, accent going a little twangy like it always does at these functions, "I'll be hittin' 17 in a coupl'a months or so."

"My, my, you youngin's sure grow like weeds!" The aunt coos, gesturing to a height by her hip, "You used to be this tall last time I saw ya, betcha don't r'member me now do ya?"

It's a trap. If he says he doesn't remember, which is expected at reunions such as these that happen every 5 years or longer, she'll start going on and on about the stories she has of the family. Danny would have to stand here and demure and laugh at these cousins he doesn't really remember too well, but know enough to know that she's gotten them all mixed up.

"Pshaw," Danny doesn't react when a whisper breathes the answer into his ear, "I'd never forget a pretty lady like you, Aunt Helena!"

It works like a charm.

The second he's out of her clutches, he feels around for a cold spot. There, trailing just behind him, is Ellie. She's not invisible anymore, so he tucks her under his arm and bee-lines it towards the metaphorical kid's table.

"Thanks, Ellie. Weren't you supposed to stay with Dad?" Danny leads them around, trying to avoid any other mishaps. "Did Jazz send you?"

"She made me flashcards!" Ellie smirks up at him, ignoring his other question and pulling a corner of an index card out from the palm of her hand. She's always been better than him at manipulating the ecto in her body, for obvious reasons. Danny's not bitter about it at all.

"Damn, all I got was a presentation." Danny grumbles. Jazz and Dad somehow know every single one of their family members, which is ludicrous when even Mom doesn't know despite it being her side of the family.

He still can't really believe how big his family actually is, but he supposes that's natural. He only sees them once every couple of years, the only relative they see even on a remotely regular basis is Aunt Alicia, who has no kids and refuses (rightfully so) to remarry.

Danny's fine with that, he gets the best of both worlds after all. Cozy holiday stays with Aunt Alicia and he has places to stay all over the country if he really needs it, no questions asked.

Plus, crazy as they can be, these reunions have always felt like a big country festival for Danny.

"She likes me better." Ellie snickers, tugging him back to avoid Uncle Charlie's drunken stumbling.

"Everyone likes you better," Danny rolls his eyes, pushing Ellie's head down and ducking to avoid a stray kid's toy flying overhead, "I like you better."

As if somehow knowing Danny's being self deprecating again, Jazz shows up to smack him on the head. "I like both of you equally in special ways."

Danny makes a disgruntled noise, grumbling as he rubs his head, "Mooooom, Jazz is therapizing me again!"

Even though he was only half joking, Mom does show up specifically to laugh at him. "Honey, your father and I love all our children equally!"

"It's a secret," Dad says from behind Jazz, kids climbing all over him, "But Ellie's the favorite!"

"Jack!" Mom yells at the same time Jazz screams, "Dad!"

Ellie dissolves into giggles, making everyone but Dad helplessly laugh. It's good to see Ellie laugh, she does it a lot but it still doesn't feel like it's enough. Danny picks her up, giggling mess and all, and tosses her at Dad.

She lands, as expected, straight into the pile of children who scream and accept her easily.

"Nice." Jazz chuckles, this time patting him gently on his head in approval. Danny shrugs, dusting his hands off and heading back towards salvation: the food.

He and Jazz mingle a bit, exchanging greetings and school updates with the Aunts and Uncles they occasionally bump into, making their way slowly through and keeping an eye out for the other cousins.

Eventually, Jazz gets nabbed by Cousin Dermot just as Danny reaches the table, tossing a pig-in-a-blanket into his mouth and chewing with glee. The locals of the family usually something potluck style—and though Dad's genes are strong and the Fentons can't cook, the bulk of the Walker family definitely can.

In fact—Great Aunt Martha said she was going to bring some mini pies right?

Danny spies a pile of them in the middle of the large table and reaches for one, only to bump into the spikes of black fingerless gloves.

The gloves are, of course, attached to someone else.

It's a boy, around Danny's age, in a spiked leather jacket (matching the gloves) and white tee shirt with ripped jeans. He's got the tiniest John Lennon sunglasses and piercings everywhere—it makes Danny squint at him, with how much the sun keeps catching on everything—the spikes, the piercings, the metal arms of the sunglasses, is this dude also wearing lipgloss?

Danny's not judging, a guy can appreciate proper hydration to avoid chapped lips or even just for the aesthetic, but it doesn't help with the glare.

"Sorry, my bad." Right, okay, city slicker then. Not that Danny's much of a country boy or anything. "Did my spikes get you?"

Maybe Cousin Jenny brought a plus one? Danny eyes the guys jeans—they look tight. Was Cousin Mark into guys? Is this dude a guy or possibly a masculine girl? Ack. Stupid sun frying his brain.

"It's okay," Danny says, blinking away and tossing mini pie to the other person. "Aunt Martha's pies are worth the minor injury. You comin' in with one of the cousins?"

"Uh, yeah." Citypunk looks at Danny nervously, "I mean, I am one of the cousins." The guy bites his lips, shrugging, "Uh, one of the Kents, actually. Ma's real proud of the pies."

Danny blinks.

"…You're not Jon." Danny says, very carefully and slowly.

"…No…" Stranger Danger draws his vowels out, "I'm Conner. His, uh, older brother? Can't blame ya for being confused though!"

"…You can't." Danny agrees, because out of the two them, Danny definitely isn't to blame for the confusion.

"Yeah, lots of cousins, and all," Curiouser and Curiouser beams at Danny, shrugging and rubbing the back of his neck, "Plus, I know Jon's more sociable at these things."

"Right, he really is rambunctious, that guy." Danny nods, as if that's the problem, and not the fact that Danny knows every single cousin his age. Big as his family might be, Danny's generation came out the smallest. Cousin Jenny and Cousin Mark are the only two his age.

With Ellie and Jazz each being four years younger and older than Danny, and the other cousins being well beyond those ages in gaps, there is no way this guy is a cousin.

"Don't worry," Punk'd laughs self deprecatingly, "I know he's the favorite. even if Mom won't admit it."

Danny feels a vein throb in his right temple.

He's unsure if he should slowly back away or get up in the guy's face. It's just—now that Danny thinks about it, if wedding crashing is a thing, does that mean family reunion crashing is a thing too?

What's the protocol here? Should he fight this guy for having the audacity to use Great Aunt Martha's name in vein?

Wait, no, that's Jesus.

Is Great Aunt Martha Catholic? ...Is that the one with Jesus, or was that Christianity?

Wait, Danny, you knuckle head, Uncle Clark was adopted. Conner could be adopted too! Even though he looks exactly like that Uncle Clark when he was younger…

"Is this your first time at a reunion?" Danny ventures, "We only have 'em—"

"Every 5 years, yeah." Conner huffs, "Nah, I just used to hide with Ma in the kitchens."

Okay, clearly Great Aunt Martha isn't in on this, because Danny used to hide with Great Aunt Martha in the kitchens. Danny's about to lose his shit on this guy—or maybe sic Ellie on him. Whichever is worse.

"Oh yeah? That's must have been cozy." Danny grits out, taking a deep breath so his eyes don't flash.

"Yeah, it was!" Conner beams shyly. though all Danny sees is a smug smirk. "She's real nice-like, I'm sure you know. Real lucky to have her for a Grandma."

"Real lucky." Danny agrees, because Great Aunt Martha really was one of the better Great Aunts. Though most of the Walker Kin were hardy and tough, in that badass kind of way. Mom really liked Great Aunt Martha's lessons on bull wranglin' back when they were younger. "Speakin' of, she ain't here?"

"Nah," Conner makes a sad little pout. "She hadta stop by Auntie Agatha's for an emergency. She left two days ago, so she's runnin' a little behind. Cl—Dad went to go pick her up."

Danny squints at the possible imposter. That sounded like he was going to call Uncle Clark by his name, which makes things confusing for Danny. Guy will call Aunt Lois Mom but he won't call Uncle Clark Dad easily?  Maybe he's a kid Aunt Lois had before marrying Uncle Clark? But Aunt Lois would never hide a kid, and Great Aunt Martha would never let her treat a kid like that. That's not even taking into account that this kid looks way too much like Uncle Clark for it to be a fucking coincidence. Plus, Danny knew about Aunt Aggie's emergency and how she might not be making it to this year's reunion—this gives Conner's story credibility.

But Danny knows that the best way to lie is with truths, even if the truths are confusing.

So what the hell is going on? Is Clockwork fucking with him? Did an alternate timeline get switched with his?

It wouldn't be the first time, but Clockwork at least had the decency to let him know at least.

"What the—" Danny blinks, as Conner picks up a very familiar, eye-searingly green colored post it note that was stuck to the plate under a mini pie. "Is this yours?"

"Yeah," Danny huffs. taking the note and rolling his eyes as lies roll off his tongue, "Sorry, y'know how it goes with Jazz."

"Oh, yeah." And Danny has to give it Conner, he at least rolls with the punches real quick, "I heard about it but didn't ever uh, see it in action."

"Really?" Danny feigns surprise, head pulsing in irritation at the words all is as it should be written in purple pen. There's no mocking smiley face, but Danny feels it in the ink anyway. "Thought she got all the cousins at the last reunion."

Conner chuckles nervously, "Oh, yeah—Guess I'm just, easy to miss you know?"

"Uh huh…" Danny eyes the guy and his piercings and very distinct style, from the tip of his clearly styled hair and needlessly ostentatious big black studded boots. "…Right."

Conner laughs, wincing. "These're new. High school debut."

"…You're a freshman?" Danny tilts his head, squinting.

"Junior." Conner automatically corrects, before stiffening. "…I just wanted to reinvent myself for Junior Prom."

"Right." Danny repeats, drawing out the vowels and finally giving up. He can tell Conner already knows what Danny is going to ask, and is trying to exit this conversation post-haste.

Fortunately for Conner and unfortunately for Danny, Jazz comes barreling in, almost knocking the former out in the process as she grips the latter's biceps tightly with her eyes wide and nervous.

Unfortunately for Conner and fortunately for Danny, though the look in Jazz's eyes thoroughly distracts the latter and gives the former a window to escape, Jazz's hissed out words end up keeping Conner rooted to the floor.

"Baby Jon has powers!" Jazz hisses as she moves Danny away from the possible imposter a couple feet. Even though she says it low enough for only Danny to hear, Conner's wide eyes as he whips his gaze towards them suggests that Jon's not the only one with powers.

And then words actually register along with that thought.

Danny hisses out the first thing he thinks of. "Since when?? I thought he took after Aunt Lois!"

"Since now," Jazz gruffs, switching her grip to drag Danny away, "and I need you to do something about it!"

"What?" Danny doesn't struggle, going along even as he eyes Conner who seems to be following them at a distance. "Why?"

Jazz pushes him towards the kid's area, rushing out a frantic "He's in the bounce house with Ellie!"

Danny freezes, or tries to even as Jazz keeps tugging him along, before shaking off her hand and booking it towards the bounce house.

Once the bounce house (a castle) comes into view, Danny clocks several things in succession:

One: Ellie and Jon are thankfully the only ones in the bounce house right now.

Two: Ellie and Jon are laughing, and through the mesh Danny can see Ellie watching Jon jump way too high to be considered normal.

And three: The bounce house is about to fucking tip over.

There's a gaggle of Aunts herding the younger cousins towards the food that's dense enough for cover, but sparse enough for Danny to dash through.

Between one blink and the next, he disappears.