#and then reader he did not lmao for an entire year while he was working on his basically im gay vid | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astraystayyh · 2 months ago

Text

Bleeding heart dove

pairing: idol!chan x lawyer!reader. youngerbrother!seungmin.

genre: f2l. slow burn. angst (lots of it). fluff. (un)requited love. forced proximity. law/corruption sub-plot.

warnings: parental loss. grief. self-depreciating thoughts. suicidal thoughts. reader has she/her pronouns. this is a work of fiction. the actions and timeline depicted in the story don’t represent the idols in real life.

word count: 25.7k.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

a.n: she’s finally here!!!! i haven’t written for chris in such a long time and i’m so grateful to @kayleefriedchicken for commissioning this fic :,) it spiraled and i took some creative liberties that’s why it’s so long now LMAO but i hope you’ll enjoy reading!!!! i challenged myself writing this, it is a bit different from my other fics. much heavier too. but i’m slowly finding a writing structure i truly enjoy. i love you all 🤍 thank you for waiting for me

They say that smells are little vessels of memories, wrapping themselves around moments in time. When a certain scent floats by you, it doesn’t graze your shoulder like a stranger in the streets, never to be seen again.

No, smells seize you by the wrist, their nails sinking deep into the softness of your skin. Scents do not pass. They pull. They lead you into the locked corridors of your mind, to places you thought had crumbled into dust, memories buried seven feet under by the weight of years.

You smell rust.

Many may not recognize it, most might not even notice it. But you do. The scent of rust is etched into your nostrils, carved along your nerve endings, again and again. It smells earthy, metallic, sharp—like blood smeared on your tongue against your will.

As everything in your life has ever been.

Every orphanage you lived in reeked of rust. It seeped into the walls, staining them beneath layers of pale, lifeless paint. It curled into the battered beds and damp linens. You tried to pinch your nose shut at night, suffocating against the foul scent. But rust was patient. Rust had time. And so, naturally, rust always won.

It was a cruel smell at that— the scent of things stolen— childhood, innocence, soft mornings, your very ability to dream.

You were ten years old when both your parents died in a tragic accident. A drunk driver slammed into their car and made it combust into flames. He was quickly caught and cast into prison. But what did that serve you? Your parents were gone. What respite would this semblance of justice bring you?

That part of your life remains hazy since there was no room to mourn, only movement, hands ushering you from one orphanage to another. Each time the walls could no longer contain any more children. Any more grief.

And you were only ten.

But Seungmin was only six.

Your brother didn’t understand what was happening. Why did he have to leave his shiny toys and Pochacco-themed bed behind? He cried at night for your parents, his wails cresting and receding like waves against a fragile shore.

Sometimes, he cried so fiercely that no one could calm him—not even you. You would leave him to sob until exhaustion claimed him. You envied him, in a way. Sleep refused to visit you. You were sentenced to lay awake instead, burdened by responsibilities too heavy for your small hands. Yet, when you glanced at Seungmin’s resting form, the ache in your chest eased, just slightly. If he could rest, that was enough.

You didn’t know it then, but this thought would become the basis of your entire life. You’d give and give, tear at your own flesh if it meant Seungmin would remain intact and safe.

The first orphanage was small. Twenty beds crammed together in a single room. It was a temporary holding place while the city council decided your fate. Orphans, you realized, were like misplaced luggage—tagged and eagerly discarded, waiting for someone, anyone, to claim them.

The second orphanage was somewhat worse. There were a hundred beds this time, a larger playground, warmer food. But the older kids were cruel. That’s what you remember. Rust and cruelty, entwined.

They shoved you hard against the ground on your first night there. And then, they turned to Seungmin. The moment their hands reached for him, something primal surged within you—a burning, blistering rage as if your very being was dipped into scalding water. You lashed out, punching the nose of one of the older boys. Blood. Yours, his, theirs. It all blurred together.

Then, punishment quickly followed: no more dinner for three days.

Seungmin didn’t understand. He tugged at your sleeve, crying that he was hungry late at night. That’s when you decided it was better to endure in silence. To take the blows, as long as your brother could eat.

By thirteen, you arrived at Promise Orphanage. Your hand trembled in Seungmin’s grip as Miss Jeeho introduced you both. Forty-four pairs of eyes bore into you, gliding over the faint bruises that painted your arms like ink stains.

You braced yourself for the worst. But then, a girl stepped forward, her hair a messy halo around her face. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright despite the dust coating her skin. She held out her hand, and you noticed how rough and calloused it was for her age. How warm it was too.

“I’m Winter,” she said, her voice soft.

You blinked at the odd name, then nodded. Later, you would learn she had been abandoned as a newborn, left nameless at the orphanage’s doorstep. It was a cold night when the workers found her, with heavy snow. It was surprising she didn’t pass from pneumonia.

Winter chose her name after the season she was born, since her parents didn’t bother to do so for her.

You came to realize that in these walls, even something as mundane as a name was a privilege, something the world could simply not grant you at birth.

“I’m Y/n, and this is Seungmin,” you replied, gripping your brother’s clammy hand. There was steel in your voice as you said his name, ensuring everyone knew he wasn’t to be touched.

But the other children simply smiled at you, and you tried to smile back. Though it came out much more like a grimace. Smiling felt foreign to you, like a muscle long unused.

Promise Orphanage then became your home for five long years. The children were kinder, their grins did not sharpen into unkind hands. Your bed was slightly bigger. You got gifts for your birthday and cake on New Year’s. You always gave yours to Seungmin— the better toys, the bigger slices, the softest pillows. You hoped it would make him feel better, even for a second.

But rust remained.

It followed you when you turned eighteen, into your first apartment. A single room, smaller than your childhood kitchen. But it was enough. Enough to build a life for Seungmin, to earn his custody, to gift him the privilege of dreaming.

Though even then, when Seungmin laughed, when he sang with Winter, when you had enough warm showers to forget the cold of the orphanage, you wondered if other people could still smell the rust like you did.

Perhaps it was your mind’s way of reminding you that, even if you shut your eyes so tightly that colors bloomed behind your eyelids— even if you thought hard enough of your summer home and salt-kissed winds, if you strained to hear your parents’ airy laughter calling you to dinner— this was not home.

It never could be.

“Y/n?”

Han’s voice slips through the fog of your memories, bright and familiar. You blink, the haze receding like chimney smoke to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.

He’s the first one out of the stylist’s room, his hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and silver dust coats his eyes, catching the overhead lights like scattered stars.

“Hey, Han,” you greet, pulling him into a brief hug.

His grin is as easy as ever—warm and full of mischief. “Like the makeup?”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, poking his rosy cheeks.

“The boys are still getting ready,” he says, falling in step beside you as you walk toward the waiting room. Shelves stacked with instant noodles, water bottles, chips, and candy stare back at you.

“Figured.”

Your gaze flickers to the jelly candies, and you smile. You can already picture Hyunjin diving for them first and Seungmin scolding him for his sugar intake.

Jiho, the manager, greets you with a nod, and you return the gesture.

“You seemed far away just now,” Han notes, twisting the cap off a water bottle.

You exhale slowly. “The vents smell like rust. This whole place can quickly turn into a safety hazard. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Han gasps in mock horror, clutching his chest. “Why is it that every time you talk about law, I feel like I’m about to be sued?”

You swat his arm, giggling at his theatrics, before pinching his forearm lightly.

“Hey—“ he yelps and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I should actually sue you for not visiting my new office though,” you point out, doing a neck-slicing motion with your hand.

“Okay, creepy. AND, for my defense, I sent you that fruit basket, didn’t I? Been busy writing songs. You know how it is when inspiration strikes me.”

You do.

It tugs at a distant summer, long days spent on the coast of Jeju Island alongside the boys, to celebrate your first successful case. Han locked away with his notebook while the sea breeze knocked at his window. He only joined you once he had finished writing the lyrics of two new songs. Some of your favorites too, at that.

“There she is! You’re smiling,” Han says, poking your cheek.

“Just remembering our trip.”

He sighs dreamily, before slinging his arm around your shoulders. “Best summer ever. Next time, the vacation’s on me. Pinky promise.”

Your smile softens, warmth pooling within the cracks of your heart.

Han was angry once, when you had first met him. Just like you. But where his anger burned bright, yours hid beneath the surface, smoldering slowly. But time softened his edges. You wonder if the same could ever be said for you.

“You’re here,” Seungmin appears suddenly, peeling Han’s arm away from your shoulder with a scowl. Han retaliates by blowing you an overly exaggerated kiss before wandering toward the vending machine.

“I finished up the case early,” you explain.

Seungmin’s gaze narrows slightly, scanning the lines of your outfit.

“And why are you so dressed up?”

“Can’t a sister look nice for her favorite brother’s first sold-out concert at the Kyocera Dome?” you tease, clasping your hands.

Jiho snorts from his seat. Traitor.

“I’m your only brother, and we both know you’re lying,” Seungmin deadpans.

It’s endearing—the way he shields you from heartbreak as if he hasn’t spent his whole life beneath the cover of your arms.

It’s foolish too— as if you still have a heart that beats hard enough to love, then to break.

“Fine. I have a date after the show.”

“With who?” Hyunjin’s voice drifts in as he steps into the hallway, Changbin trailing closely behind.

You smile. “Jaehyun.”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know I don’t love him.”

“And who said I do?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

“Then why do you still meet up with him?”

“Because he’s fun. And I like spending my time with fun people.”

Changbin leans in, grinning wide. “I’m fun too. Why not date me?”

He drapes his arm over your shoulder, and Seungmin groans, pretending to smash his head against the wall repeatedly.

“Alright, alright, stop the flirting,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I fear you’ll end up killing my brother.”

Seungmin pouts, and you laugh softly, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “Look at you, performing in such a big arena,” the words suddenly catch in your throat, a silky rope tightly binding the syllables together. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

You smile, and Seungmin holds you a little closer.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Thank you for coming. I really wanted you here.”

You clear your throat, stepping back with a playful flick to his arm. “I’ll see you after the show. Say hi to the rest of the boys for me.”

“You’ll do great,” you add, and his smile softens like sunlight melting across the sea.

His voice follows you down the hall. “We’re still talking about this date later, though!”

“Seungmin loves acting as if she isn’t older than him—” Swat.

—

There is one peculiar emotion that always beats within your heart at your brother’s concert halls. It is warm, like beholding a glowing sun within the empty hollows of your ribcage. It swells and swells, spreading within your being like paint spilled on canvas— soaking your heart in wildflower hues.

You feel relieved to see your brother and his friends so loved. You sense it in the cacophony of cheers, in the misty eyes of all the fans surrounding you. You know that the boys can feel it too. In the shaking of their voices as they take turns saying their ending ments. It is a monumental moment for them, something they only dared dream of back when they were still trainees and you had to sneak snacks into their dorm.

It is Seungmin’s turn to speak. His shaking hand barely manages to hold the mic. Seungmin doesn’t cry as often as before. Never in front of you anymore. He suddenly stopped once he turned fifteen, as if he had made a vow to himself, to lift off some of his worries off your burdened spine.

But tonight, unmistakable tears gather at the edges of his eyes, glinting like faraway constellations.

He tilts his head toward the sky, and you wonder who these words are really addressed to.

Deep down you already know the answer to this.

“My sister is here tonight,” he starts and tears glisten in your eyes, all of the sudden. “If I’m here today it’s all thanks to her, so I– I hope you’re proud of me,” he says, voice tight, breaking. But he still speaks. “You know, I… I don’t believe in forever—” his lips tremble like leaves at the mercy of autumn winds. A faint ringing surges through your ears, muffling the sound of everything until only his sharp words remain. “But just at this moment, being with the members and everyone who stood by our side, I— I want to believe in eternity with you.”

The crowd roars at his words. Cameras flash everywhere. The boys quickly move forward to wrap Seungmin in their arms.

But you’re not here anymore.

You’re somewhere quieter. Smaller. Somewhere dimly lit by flickering hallway lights and hushed whispers past curfew.

Your hands shake, pressing into your thighs as if their weight might ground you. But the cold creeps in anyway, walking alongside your veins, settling into your heart like an old companion.

—

He was eight.

His hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls, and the faint glow of the moon reflected onto his eyes like a gleaming water surface.

You remember smoothing his bangs away, tucking him beneath a worn blanket that didn’t quite reach his toes. He didn’t mind. Seungmin never minded the small things.

“Did you make a wish?” you whispered. It was his birthday. Birthdays never got easier for Seungmin, nor for you. Most days you were just pretending— that you knew what you were doing, that your knees were strong enough to hold you upright. Pretending that you had what it takes to protect your brother when you, yourself, were in desperate need of protection.

How do you salvage innocence in halls that spell out loss and grief at every turn? How do you make a birthday a happy memory in such a terrible place ?

Seungmin blinked up at you as his small hand curled around your fingers.

“I said that I want to see mommy and daddy again.”

The air had thickened then, and the knot in your throat twisted so tight it left no room for you to breathe.

You forced on a smile anyway. “You will,” you promised, voice soft but unsteady. “Soon.”

He paused, blinking slowly.

“What’s forever?”

The question felt like a swinging pendulum suddenly came to a halt— Seungmin’s innocence slipping away from your shaky grasp.

“Why do you ask?”

“I told Gyuvin I’ll see our parents soon. But he said that you lied, and it will take forever until then.”

Your chest tightened. You knew Gyuvin had a mean streak—sharp edges chiseled by loneliness and unspoken grief. You never held it against him. He was only eight too.

Still.

“He’s joking, Seungminnie,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Forever just means something that doesn’t end. Like numbers. Numbers don’t end, right?”

He thought for a moment, lips pressing into a pout.

“Would you like to believe in forever?” you asked, teasing gently.

“No,” he said quietly, “Because then I’ll be sad for a very long time. I want the time to pass quickly.”

Oh.

Seungmin drifted off not long after, his breaths soft and even. But you stayed awake—long enough for the world outside to fall silent. Long enough to bury your face in the pillow, stifling the sobs that trembled past your chapped lips.

Seungmin was only nine.

But you were only thirteen.

And you missed your parents, so terribly so. You wished your mom was there, combing your hair with fingers that seemed to be made up of silk. You wished you could press your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, breathe it in, soak in the love that the sound seemed to spell out for you.

You wished your dad was here, holding your hand in his much larger, weathered down one— rivulets of age running between his knuckles. You wished he’d carry you once more on his shoulders, tall enough for you to reach out to the stars, to foolishly believe you’d be able to graze them with your fingertips. You wished they were still here. You hated them for being gone. You hated yourself for hating them, even for a millisecond. For allowing the thought to filter through the endless void that constitutes your mind.

You thought of what it’d be like to float atop the sea near your home. Of letting the waves carry you deep into the darkness of the water. Of sinking deep enough that you wouldn’t feel anything anymore. You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear having a heart that kept demanding you to live. It felt like a curse, like every heartbeat spelled out horrible truths for you. You wished for it to stop. All of it. All of you.

—

“Yah, Y/n why aren’t you smiling?” Changbin nearly shouts in your face and you and Jeongin scurry away on cue, cradling your ears at his loud voice.

You plaster a smile on your face, force the corners of your mouth to tug forward— “Because! You’re all sweaty and pressing onto me,” you say, and a cacophony of protests erupts all at once— “this is the sweat of hard work”, “but our sweat smells nice though!”, a groan, “that’s just you Hyunjin.”

Your yelp as a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, Felix’s, pulling into the middle for a group hug.

“Stop, your sweat will rub off of me!” Your high-pitched shriek causes all of them to back off on cue, giggling loudly.

You don’t give yourself a second to breathe, afraid that your mask will slip away quicker than you can stop it. You take advantage of the commotion to kiss Seungmin’s cheek quickly, avoiding his gaze as you run off to the entrance. “You all did well! I’ll have to go now! My date is waiting!”

You don’t leave him time to respond as you scurry away, leaving the backstage. You can feel the oxygen settle like stones into the pit of your heart, weighing the rushing of your blood down. It takes you excruciatingly long to breathe. Being here suffocates you all of a sudden.

You remember your wish, for the waves to carry you away into whichever place they rest in. What a violent thing for a thirteen-year-old to wish for. What a violent thing to still seek now deep into your twenties. You felt guilty. To be surrounded by many people who love you and yet to not feel loved.

You’re almost outside when a warm hand curls around your wrist.

“Seungmin, I told you I’m—” you turn around expecting to see your little brother’s gaze, full of mischief, full of affection, only to be met with Chan’s worried one. Your retort dies on the tip of your tongue, like a deflating balloon. You try your hardest to plaster a smile on your face but it comes off like a grimace. Chan’s frown only deepens further.

“I—” you think of something quick to say, to get his scrutinizing gaze off of you. You can predict the question forming, swirling his mind, you already know which way this conversation will head. But all your thoughts seem to melt, your mind unable to conjure something to save your facade.

Your phone suddenly rings, Jaehyun’s name lighting up the screen. You go to reply when Chan grabs the phone away from your hands, silencing the call.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asks and it feels as if the walls are closing on you once more. You can hear the waves thrashing around, calling. “And don’t say you’re just feeling emotional because we made it so far.”

You chuckle faintly. You know it’s no use lying to Chan, of all people. “Jaehyun is calling again,” you point to your lit-up screen, and his lips press into a flat line, rejecting the call.

“Cancel your date,” he cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, “you know you have the most fun hanging out with me”.

“Alright, Mr. Cocky,” your heart is heavy as you attempt to smile at him, as if you’re forcing it to perform something it does not wish to, to pump blood for an action as meaningless as smiling. What purpose does it really serve if you are not happy? “I'm not in the mood for you to psychoanalyze me, though.”

“I won't,” his eyes soften as he takes one step closer to you. “We'll go on a drive okay, like old times?”

What is the point of pressing ice to a third-degree burn? Nothing, if not a fleeting respite, to close your eyes and pretend as if the burn would come undone, to soothe the fire only for it to barge in again. With a vengeance. Stronger. Harsher.

That is what being next to Chan is like to you.

“Fine,” you concede, though. Because you despise worrying people. You despise worrying Chan mostly. “I don’t want Seungmin to know though.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiles as he hands you back your phone, his thumb brushing your wrist for a second before he walks back. “I’ll come to your car, alright? Wait for me.”

—

It was a late summer night when Chan first discovered his love for music. He was only five, the air fragrant with the sweetness of strawberries and the tang of lemon zest. His curls were damp, clinging to his forehead from how hard he played with the neighborhood kids. The glass of water his mother handed him felt like the sweetest reprieve against his parched throat. Because Chan was happy, a joy so vivid it seemed to have taken roots within his veins, blooming into gleaming eyes and a smile so vast it could mend every crack in the universe.

He didn’t know it then, but there was a beautiful carelessness in the way he dashed outside, barefoot and giggling to order ice cream from the vendor near his house. Vanilla and bubblegum. In the way he did not use a spoon, instead licking the ice cream directly from the cone, as the sun melted it into rivers of sweetness that coated his fingers, leaving them sticky and fragrant. In the way he paid no mind to the earth clinging to his shorts, the sweat glistening on his face, or the syrupy mess on his hands. Because his happiness was so full he was bursting at the seams with it.

Because he was still a child, and children did not care for perfection. Children did not see the world through a lens that sought out every flaw— Chan did not learn yet how to turn that lens inward, harsher as he aimed it at himself.

His dad had brought him a ukulele, gently placing it into Chan’s small hands. The notes stumbled out, clumsy and wrong at first, as if their melody were caught in the strings, hesitant to be set free. It took a few tries for Chan to untangle them, but he didn’t mind. Because within these notes he found a new kind of joy—one that seemed to amplify his racing heartbeat, spilling into the room and filling it with the decadent taste of happiness.

It was a late autumn night when Chan first hated himself.

It was a particularly exhausting training day, the kind that left Chan barely upright as he walked down the stairs, his legs shaking with every step. He couldn’t bring himself to head back to the cramped dorms just yet, nor did he want to speak to anyone. Or rather, he no longer knew how to talk to anyone anymore. How could he make futile small talk when his soul was seized by a terrible longing, one that lingered bitterly on his tongue like the cough syrup he used to drink as a child?

See, how could he explain to anyone that he even missed that—the syrup, the warmth of his home, the pieces of a life that now felt as if they belonged to somebody other than him. He felt as if the wound only grew larger each day, spreading farther into his ribcage, infesting every part of his heart—every vein, every molecule—tainting them with the blueish colors of sorrow and ache.

Chan had found a quiet spot by the Han River, tucked far from prying eyes, his shoulders slouched under the weight of nostalgia, not the sweet one, rather, the one that felt like pine needles digging into his skin, at once. He liked it here—if he closed his eyes long enough he’d pretend the salty air was Australia’s breeze. He missed the wind there and how it ruffled his hair like an old friend. He missed his father’s grilled meat, his mother’s lemonade, his sister’s shenanigans. He missed his dog.

Would Berry even remember him now? Has it been too long?

It had.

The thought stung sharper than he expected. Was it all for nothing then? Does Berry not remember him for nothing?

Sometimes, it only takes one second for the world to shift off its axis, for the seconds to march forward but for you to remain stranded in the past. It took Chan this single question to break apart. It was as if someone had driven their fist into his chest, their claws digging deep, twisting around his heart until it felt on the brink of bursting— an ugly eruption of crimson, staining the blissful river with its bloodied ache.

What is wrong with me? He’s been asking himself the same question ever since.

It was a late winter night when Chan saw you for the very first time.

He was seventeen, shackles of self-doubt and insecurity wrapped around his ankles, digging deeper into his flesh with each year spent farther from his dream. Chan hated looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hated thinking of home. He avoided thinking of the future, of who he was, of who he hoped to become. Sometimes, he wished his mind could just go quiet. The voices were very loud and very mean.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, there were fragile blossoms of hope that fought to flourish in his chest, tentative, frail, since they grew in barren soil that didn’t quite believe in meeting the sun once more. But they were there.

Because Chan wasn’t alone anymore. Jisung joined him first, a kid with a passion that burns so fiercely it scathes his own heart at times. Then Jeongin, a voice singing of a reverence that shook Chan to his core. Hyunjin, who saw in dancing a form of salvation. Changbin, the missing golden piece to complete the infamous 3RACHA.

And then Seungmin.

It was through Seungmin that Chan saw you.

You had just dropped off Seungmin at the trainee dorms, bags full of homemade food in his hands. You hugged him tightly as he waved you off before disappearing into the building. And then, as soon as Seungmin was out of sight, Chan saw you collapse against the wall, your body wracked by cruel sobs. Cruel, because it was winter, and he knew that crying during the cold was somewhat harsher on the soul. You can’t cling to blooming flowers, to warm sun rays, to anything beautiful to ease your pain.

Cruel, because he recognized himself in you. In the way you rushed to hide your tears, wiping them away with your sleeves so that no one would see you. As if you were not deserving of this moment of weakness. As if you were not deserving of being human too.

“Do you still pick at your nails?” Chan asks, glancing at your figure as the light turns red. “Can’t give up bad habits?”

“You’re the last one to talk about bad habits, Mr. Never Sleeps.”

“Touché,” he chuckles, and you shake your head, the faintest smile lingering on your lips.

The seasons passed, and Chan’s fragmented heart had somehow found itself pieced together again—not to its original form. That would be a fool’s hope. People noticed the external changes—the different hues of his hair, how his muscles grew more chiseled with time—but they couldn’t see how pain and self-doubt had altered him, down to the very molecules of his being.

Because pain doesn’t pass like an angry cloud, casting a dark shadow only to drift away. That would be too kind, too merciful for emotions forged to drain you dry. No, it breaks you, reshapes you, molds you with the thorns in its calloused hands. It forces you to relearn who you are, how to breathe, where to stand, how to cling to the fragile thread that keeps you from stumbling back into the darkness.

The heart Chan carries isn’t his own anymore. It belongs mostly to sorrow now. But it still beats.

And so it did. And that winter passed, and so did spring. Then summer came, and fall returned once more.

And the years went by, and Chan blinked, and suddenly it had been ten years since he first saw you. And yet, it felt as though you remained stuck in winter. Because you did not have anyone’s hand to hold, warm enough to make you believe that summer would come again.

“Is this about Seungmin?” Chan asks softly, his fingernails drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“No, yes—I… I don’t know,” you sigh in exasperation, and he nods, turning his head to glance at you.

You first went on a night walk with Chan when you were still a law student, and his group had just debuted. Your apartment was under renovation, so you had to stay in the boys’ dorm for a few days. It was late into the night, with both of you the only ones still awake, working through your respective tasks in silence. He had offered to go for a walk, and you had accepted.

Neither of you spoke. Chan pretended not to see the stray tears that silently slipped down your cheeks, with no previous warning. He wondered what had weighed on your heart so heavily that it searched desperately for any moment of solitude to escape.

Your eyes are distant now, glazed over as if your mind has carried you to a place where the sun never rises. You bring your hand to your mouth once more, but Chan gently pushes it away, cradling your fingers in his palm.

He has to pretend that the sensation of your hand in his doesn’t feel like a thunderbolt—a surge of electricity that shoots up from the tips of his toes, swirling deep into his chest and settling into warmth in his stomach.

“It will bleed, and then you’ll come whining because it hurts,” he jokes, though his heart pounds in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“When did I do that?” you exclaim, but you don’t pull your hand away.

Your hand is in his.

“Besides,” you say, your fingers slipping from his grasp to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “You know I’m the last person to ever whine.”

Was it normal to still feel your hand on his? For his hand to memorize the warmth of yours so quickly? As if it had been thirsty, like a man astray in the desert, longing for what a drop of water would feel against his parched throat.

“Yeah, you should do that more often, actually,” he chastises softly. You exhale a shuddered breath in response.

It feels like a lifetime before you speak again. “You heard Seungmin’s speech,” you say quietly, like a wounded animal, hesitant and wary of what approaching another human might bring, of what baring your heart might cost.

Chan wants to say: It is safe with me, I would shred my own heart if it meant keeping yours intact.

“Hard to miss, since I was on stage next to him,” he jokes, and you finally giggle—a real laugh, not the artificial ones you’ve been giving him. It feels like Australia’s breeze ruffling his hair, like he can finally breathe again.

“You know,” you say, your voice shifting to something gentler, “It reminded me of Seungmin when he was still young, discovering the concept of forever.” A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “Seungmin was short, pale, and so fragile that I was afraid the faintest wind would break him. You should’ve seen him. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide, his irises pitch black, and they looked so trusting. He was an easy target for the kids who needed someone to blame, someone to pour their anger into, to soothe their bruised hearts. There was no one else to punish. Too much injustice, and no respite.”

Chan’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. To think of such sad times for both you and him. Should he rewrite the march of time, he would have forced the universe to make him your friend, to entwine your hand in his, to stop the cold from making a home within the pathways of your heart.

“I remember when I first saw him. He was very shy. Like he didn’t quite know how to carry himself yet. But he ranked second in the open audition.”

“He did,” you smile. It’s a bit different from all your grins. You’re always different when it comes to Seungmin—softer, bursting with pride.

“And…” Chan trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a wide smile tugging at his lips. “I remember you.”

“Oh, please, no,” you hide your face in your palms. “That’s so embarrassing.”

Chan chuckles softly, but in his heart, he remembers your first encounter with such clarity. He had found you many things—beautiful, brave, human. ‘Embarrassing’ had never been an adjective that crossed his mind when it came to you.

He remembers.

“Here,” Chan handed you a handkerchief, and you looked up at him, a frown deepening in your eyes. Time had somehow stilled then. The seconds felt like years passing on Chan. The cold seemed to dissipate, his heart emanating a warmth he hadn’t known before. Everywhere. Consuming him.

You blinked, and time resumed, and yet Chan was changed.

“Thank you,” you said tentatively. “Something got into my eye.” You attempted to explain, and he simply nodded, humoring you.

“I figured. There’s a lot of dust around here. From the trees and all,” He cringed internally, realizing how silly that sounded. So, he fell into silence, as did you, both of you just looking at each other. Chan had never felt this way before. He ached to ask you what was wrong, if he could do anything to alleviate your pain. If you too would like to break near Han River with him.

“I’m Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher, actually. But you can call me Chan.”

You had giggled then, and his ears burned so fiercely he was sure they were a shade of fuchsia, bright and loud. The sound was melodious, like notes strung along a flute just right. Soothing and warm. He loved your laugh. He wished his piano could recreate it. He wished he could save it so he could dance to it later.

“Alright, Christopher Actually Chan,” you smiled, and his cheeks flared a shade brighter. He silently prayed you’d account for the harsh winds that wrapped around you both.

“And I know you, actually,” you continued.

His eyes widened in surprise, and you chuckled softly at his reaction. He liked making you laugh. He liked it so much he’d make a fool out of himself if he needed to. “I’m not a stalker, Kim Seungmin told me about you. He’s my brother.”

“Right,” Chan responded, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. He was never awkward—social prowess was one of his greatest strengths. Still, with you, all semblance of normal interaction vanished. There was something in your gaze, something so beautifully haunting, like the sight of tree branches in autumn. Something that once was whole, now stripped bare, yet still captivating in its vulnerability. It made him wonder if beauty like this could ever be captured in music.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you bowed slightly, before quickly turning and walking away. Chan watched, breath hitched in his throat, as you paused, and then as if pulled by some invisible thread, you turned back to him.

Without a word, you grabbed his hand, gently placing something within his palm.

A cherry lollipop.

“As a thank you,” you said, a bit sheepishly, eyes still puffy from the sobs that kept you prisoner just a few moments ago. “Ah, and, you better debut with my brother!”

You pointed at him, and in that moment, a grin broke through your face—one so radiant, so full of life, he wondered if this was what witnessing the first sunset felt like to humans. A beauty so grand, so overwhelming, he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Chan’s fate was sealed right then and there—he would spend the next ten years chasing after your smile, no matter how foolish it seemed.

For one would ask, what’s a drop of white against a sea of black? What use are cherries’ scent before the stench of sorrow? And the answer would always be everything. Everything, if it’s you.

Chan clears his throat, settling on the least incriminating adjective of the bunch. “You were brave, Cherry. You still are.”

“You think too highly of me,” you snort.

“I think of you just right, actually.”

You are nearly home when, out of nowhere, you speak. “What if I told you I’m terrified?” The words rush out, as though you are afraid they’d die in your throat before they could reach him.

Chan’s heart tightens in worry. He parks hastily in front of your place, the engine still humming as he turns to face you, you who’s like a Russian doll—layer upon layer of your soul wrapped carefully, each one guarding the other.

“Why?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, thick with concern.

“I didn’t want to tell Seungmin,” you begin, pausing to bite your lower lip. “He’d be heartbroken... I know him, I—” you falter, your voice cracking just slightly. “My new case... It's about Promise Orphanage. They want to tear it down to build a luxury apartment complex. A fucking billionaire’s investment, with pools and golf courses.”

“Sun Corporation,” you explain, “it’s owned by the son of Gyeongdo Holdings’ CEO. They’ve been harassing Miss Jeeho for two months now because she refuses to desert the orphanage. It’s a mess, Chan.” you’re angry, he can feel it, the rage burning bright right beneath your skin.

“The city council caved in and granted them a permit because the land belongs to the state and this project apparently serves public interest, but that’s bullshit. Who would benefit from this other than billionaires?” you bite your lower lip, sucking in a deep breath. “I told you Winter became the vice director of the orphanage, right? She just learned about this and told me. They’re offering compensation but I’ve dealt with those kinds of people. They’re greedy. They’re corrupt.”

“I couldn’t turn my back on it,” you whisper. “I had to take the case. Those kids… they’ll have nowhere to go. And I know how cold it feels, how brutal it is when you lose your family and still have to look for someplace to call home.”

Your eyes glisten, tears clinging to the edge like dew on a leaf, only to be blinked away before they fall. How much does it cost your soul to bear this weight? How much longer until you fracture—like a pomegranate violently split open, bits of your soul scattering out in splatters of raw scarlet.

Chan’s palm finds your knee, squeezing it gently. “You’re worried they’ll end up forgetting about the orphanage and not building a new one?”

“Yeah. They did this before. I checked the civil files. They built over a nursing home and never gave them proper compensation, paid hush money to the owner to keep them from suing. What if I can’t stop them? This is all those kids have. This is all Winter has. Miss Jeeho too.”

“They won’t. you’ll stop them. I know you will, Cherry, alright?” he says with all the sincerity he can muster. You seem dubitative and he sighs, reaching out to hold your cold hands. Please warm up.

“You will, okay? I have no doubt you will,” he repeats with a fire that seems to light you up. A sudden light reflects off the broken shards of your heart.

“I will.”

—

Chan: you up?

Your phone lights up, distracting you from the mountain of paperwork scattered across your desk.

Y/n: What a fuck boyish text

Chan: akldkdkd so you’re definitely up

Y/n: I’m working on the case :(

Chan: open up!! i have snacks

You blink at the message, confused, before padding to the door. When you open it, Chan stands there, a wide grin stretching across his face. He’s wearing a grey varsity jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders perfectly, and a blue navy cap. You still don’t understand why he rarely allows his curls to see the light.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“I got bored alone in the studio,” he shrugs casually. “So I thought I’d drop by.”

“Drop by?” you repeat, laughing softly. “Your studio is on the other side of town.”

“Okay, I guess you don’t want fish cake and tteokbokki—”

“Come back,” you interrupt, wrapping your hand around his forearm and tugging him inside. His body is warm, and it is only then do you realize just how cold your apartment truly is.

“It’s a mess, I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing at the dirty plates in the sink and the papers all over the desk, and the floor, and the couch too.

“Need me to tidy up again?” he teases, grinning as he steps inside.

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You did it once because I was bedridden, and Seungmin was in Japan for a schedule.”

“I don’t mind, Cherry,” he says softly, setting the food down on your coffee table. His gaze flickers to yours. “I’d do it even if you weren’t sick, you know.”

Chan has a habit of saying things that send your heart into a slow, painful thrum—one long pulse that stretches endlessly, forcing you to acknowledge its existence. But, as always, you avoid it. You never allow yourself to question the warmth that only blooms when he’s near.

You both sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the spicy scent of tteokbokki wafting between you. For a while, the only sound heard in the apartment is the soft clink of chopsticks against takeout containers.

“Any updates on the case?” he asks.

You nod, running a hand through your hair. “I filed for an injunction,” you say, sighing deeply. “Trying to stop the demolition for now, at least until I figure out what to do next. The city council is ridiculous.They keep saying this is for the public benefit, but how is that true? Who benefits from luxury penthouses except rich assholes? And because the orphanage is on state land, they think they can just sell it off like it’s nothing.”

Chan’s eyes have been tracking each one of your words intently, drinking in every syllable that drips from your mouth. He has long thought your calling was law, there is a certain logic in you, a peculiar fire that burns in your core that seems inherent to this job. Though oftentimes he wonders if this is truly what you’ve always wanted. Had you been raised in your home would you have turned out differently? Would you like to pursue something else? Would you sing like Seungmin too?

“I’m trying to figure out who’s behind those apartment deals. Jaehyun’s helping me track it down.”

Chan’s eyes darken, like a storm has gathered within his irises. He doesn’t realize his jaw is ticking. You do. You pretend as if you don’t notice.

“Jaehyun… are you guys together yet?” Chan asks, and your heart pauses at the change in conversation. You shake your head. “Hm? No. We’re just friends.” you say between bites.

“You go on dates with your friends?” he chuckles, but there is nothing funny in the sound. His eyes don’t morph into crescents, his dimples refuse to show.

“You know, we’re just messing around, or whatever,” you quickly say.

“Right.”

Chan remembers the moment with striking clarity—when you first mentioned Jaehyun. You were both at a hotpot restaurant, the steam from the bubbling broth curling around you.

You had said his name casually, A journalist you’d met at one of the court hearings, someone with the same fiery passion for justice that you had. He was annoying, you’d said, always bothering you with his questions, his relentless pursuit of truth. But there was something else in your voice when you spoke of him—something new, something soft and fond that made Chan’s chest tighten.

“Anyways, he’s friends with one of the junior employees in the city council,” you continue, voice tinged with frustration. “So he’s been trying to convince him to help us out.”

“An insider,” Chan says absently, his voice flat, like the surface of a pond long undisturbed by pebbles. He’s thinking, how long is it acceptable to harbor a crush on someone? Three months? Six? A year? What if Chan’s been carrying this weight for ten years? 3650 days spent thinking of you, chasing the shadow of your image away from his eyelids at night, yet always yearning for a dream where all he’d glimpse is you.

What if bile rises in his throat at the thought of Jaehyun so close to you, his fingers tracing the lines of your lips, memorizing the shape of your body, the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep? What if he cannot bear it, cannot stand the thought of anyone else knowing you in ways he never will?

You sigh, fingers digging into your temple as the weight of your exhaustion becomes tangible. “It’s tiring, Chan,” you admit as your forehead rests against your knees. Chan feels something shift inside him—a peculiar ache that only surfaces when you are in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand hovering above your back before it settles there. He slowly pats your back, dragging his nails along your spine. It’s very quiet all of the sudden, a calm that only manifests when two souls, not bodies, are sitting by one another. You lean into his touch, your body angling towards him like a sunflower tilting towards the sun.

“Do you remember when the possibility of us debuting became very high?” he says and you nod, resting your cheek against your knee to look up at him. His hand doesn’t stop caressing your back. You don’t wish for it to.

“What is it with you and my most embarrassing memories?” you giggle quietly only to sober up at the sincerity you gather in his eyes. They are like pools of amber, the color of decadent chocolate, like the rich bark of trees kissed by sunlight.

“Everyone was out and I was the only one in the dorm.” He recounts the memory as if you weren’t there; as if he needed you to hear this, not as a participant but as an outsider. “And then you came knocking on my door, disheveled, looking like you hadn’t slept in days. You asked me, ‘Is it true? Are you debuting soon?’”

You close your eyes, the weight of that moment flooding you—how raw and real it was. You remember it vividly: the way his eyes met yours, like he had seen you for the first time right there and then.

“You were petrified. Because yes, you worked overtime to pay off Seungmin’s vocal lessons, you supported him so much his confidence never wavered, and yet, you were scared,” his words soften, and the pit in your throat tightens. You can’t speak even if you wish to.

“I said yes and you started crying. and I hadn’t seen you cry in three years. Not since the night we first met.” You remember his worried gaze, how he sank to the ground with you when your knees crumbled beneath you. He called you Cherry for the first time then, as if he had kept the nickname a secret, wishing to speak it outloud but never daring to. He did it because he thought back to your first meeting, and the cherry lollipop in your hand. You thought of it too.

“Seungmin,” you heaved, “please protect him, Chan, I— please, you have to protect him, please.”

“What’s wrong?” He panicked. “Talk to me Cherry, hm?”

“What if they are unkind to him? What if they somehow find out he’s an orphan and use that against him? He doesn’t like telling me anymore when it hurts. What if he’s hurt and he can’t tell me?”

His thumb swipes at the lone tear slipping from your eyes, gentle and warm. What if Chan is too kind to you? What if your heart wasn’t crafted to handle it?

“Then when all the boys came back ten minutes later you smiled as if nothing happened. I had seen you break down on the floor a few moments prior, and yet, you found the strength to smile, so as to not worry anyone, especially Seungmin.”

Chan’s heart throbs in his chest, the rhythm uneven and insistent. His voice wavers as his gaze locks with yours. Your eyes glimmer, like a river kissed by the summer sun, like stained glass basked in the light of a centuries old cathedral.

His palms cup your cheeks, tentative and gentle, akin to a flower breaking through the soil for the first time. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says, his voice soft, “The most hardworking, too. You care, so much, even when you try to hide it. It’s that passion that makes you the best at what you do. You’ll win this case, and every case after it, because you’re the one handling them.”

His thumb brushes against your skin. “And you believed in me when I said I’d protect Seungmin. So I believe in you, Cherry. Please believe in yourself too.”

You nod, over and over, like a broken record stuck on a single note. Before he can process it, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck, and for a fleeting second, he’s frozen, the world tilting off its axis. Then, slowly, his hands slide to your waist as he breathes you in—your shampoo, your favorite laundry detergent, the faint trace of cherry lingering on your skin like a memory of a distant summer.

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He nods, his voice muffled by the turmoil caging his heart. “You’re welcome, Cherry.”

For how long is it acceptable to love someone who doesn’t love you? Chan doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want an answer. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be a waste if it’s spent loving you.

—

“Three penthouses are already registered under different names,” Jaehyun tells you, handing over a couple of lease contracts. You’re seated in a small café near Promise Orphanage, waiting for Winter to join you. The junior employee in Sun Corp. has finally caved and handed over the registrants to Jaehyun—names of the people who have already secured luxury apartments, long before the project even saw light.

“Park Yuna, Lee Seo-Jun, and Choi Joon-Ho,” you read aloud, glancing up at Jaehyun, who’s already smirking.

“Park Yuna…” you pause, “isn’t she the wife of the city council president?”

“Bingo!” he exclaims, his arms wide open, head tipped back as a sinister giggle rips out of his throat.

“Oh gosh,” you cover your face as some customers turn to look at you. “This isn’t an action movie stop it.”

Jaehyun pouts as you swat his arm and you laugh despite yourself.

“Anyway, you’re right. She’s his wife. I also found out Seo-Jun and Joon-Ho are tied to prominent council members. Second cousin and son-in-law. They had their penthouses promised before the project was ever public.”

“They didn’t even register them under their names. Subtle,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I bet they weren’t even expecting Miss Jeeho to resist the compensation.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “They think those kids are just pawns, something they can move around for their benefit. They don’t get that those children have nothing but each other and the comfort of a familiar bed.”

The conversation lulls. Jaehyun grows quiet as you stare holes into your coffee, swirling the caramel syrup into the dark liquid. But no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness on your tongue—the bitter taste of injustice, of watching people prioritize their greed over others’ lives.

“We’ll gather more evidence of their corruption,” Jaehyun says eventually, his tone firm. “And when we do, we’ll confront them. They won’t risk this becoming public with so many global investors involved.”

You nod. “You’re right.”

He leans back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. “By the way, why did you cancel on me two nights in a row?”

The question catches you off guard, and your mind drifts to last night: Chan showing up at your home, his comforting words, the warmth of his hand on your back, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon lingering in the air, the clean apartment you woke up to. Something stirs in your chest, warm and soft.

“Chan came over,” you admit.

Jaehyun whistles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Chan,” he says, drawing out the name.

“Mhm,” you reply, suddenly shy under his gaze.

“The man who calls you Cherry.”

“Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re so oblivious.”

“Agreed,” a familiar voice chimes in as Winter slides into the seat next to you. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before sitting back with a knowing smile.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t the subject of discussion,” you say pointedly, glaring at both of them.

You’re momentarily distracted by Winter’s appearance. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s poured so much love back into the orphanage she grew up in. Losing it would destroy you both.

“That man likes her,” Winter says casually, sipping from your drink.

You glare at her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s my friend.”

Winter raises an eyebrow at you. “He always looks at you differently. His tone is softer when he talks to you.”

Your eyes drift away, thoughts pulling you back to last night—to how Chan stayed with you until dawn, watching awful dramas with you despite his packed schedule, simply because he was worried.

“What’s the point of him liking me if I can’t like him back?” you murmur, voice barely audible. “My heart isn’t made for this.”

“Have you ever given yourself a chance?” Jaehyun asks and you scoff.

“A chance for what? To hurt someone?” you reply, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to love. I never had the time to learn. I was too busy surviving. We were,” you say glancing at Winter who averts her gaze.

This suddenly felt like a conversation too grim to have in the open. To speak of how your heart has been morphed into a cowardly being, shrinking at the simple thought of being looked at. What would anyone behold anyways? If not an organ that’s too battered, too bloody, unworthy of being seen, let alone to be loved.

“Anyway,” you say, forcing your voice to steady, “Can you set me up a meeting with that employee? We need more insider evidence and he’s the only one who can help us. I’d like to talk to him alone.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to convince him,” Jaehyun reassures you. The three of you nod and dive back into the stacks of paperwork, but the words blur in front of your eyes, forming an incoherent mass.

There are things you’ve always wished to escape—dark truths you thought you'd one day outrun. You still haven’t. Perhaps, you will never.

Perhaps, had you not been shaped by the cruelty of others, had you not been born beneath a star soaked in grief. Perhaps, if you never had to carve pieces of yourself out to survive, if you had the time, the strength to sit quietly with your own heart, to listen to who it wanted you to be, then, maybe, just maybe, you would have known the warmth of another’s touch.

You would have allowed yourself to melt into the softness of their gaze, you would have let your cheeks flush freely with the sweetness of their words, with no restraints, no shame. But the world is not kind. It will not offer you such a path. And so, this is your curse: to be one of grief’s favorite beholders, for you to wear it like a second flesh. To cling to it, as it clings to you because it is all you’ve ever known.

—

Your mother’s fingers were always warm as they entwined with yours, no matter the season. You remember the feel of them particularly when you went on walks by the ocean, her hand tugging you close to her frame. She was like an angel, walking softly on earth, coaxing the waves to slow down their feverish run as she brushed against their milky foam.

You can’t see her clearly in your memories anymore. Your temples ache each time you try to picture the fine details of her features. But you remember her humming along with the waves, as if singing a song to the sea, thanking them for the salty breeze they carry within their tides and swells. You remember closing your eyes to soak it in, as if you had known, even back then, that you’d forget the map of moles drawn upon her face, and the specific hue of her hair against the sun, and yet you wouldn’t forget her voice filling up your heart to the brim.

You remember coming home and trying to replicate her humming, through broken whistles at first, then, adding words where you saw fit. You remember singing to your mother in your living room. You remember feeling as if the sea was lodged right within your heart.

You loved singing, for the three years before your parents’ deaths. You sang in chorals, you sang to the birds and to the flowers blooming in your garden. You sang to the sun and to the moon. You sang to your reflection in the mirror. You sang, because it made you feel like your mother talking to the waves. And then, your parents died, and the music within you did too. The flowers, the sun, the birds… They were all an unworthy audience all of the sudden; since they all turned blind to your voice, allowing for your entire world to be stripped away from you. Leaving you bare, rootless.

You were then forced to learn that there isn’t just one big death in a lifetime. That the heart can perish multiple times before it finally stops beating completely. It felt like a little death when you began to loathe the ocean. It felt like a little death when Seungmin told you that he wished to become a singer.

You too, had wanted to, once. Maybe. If you had been given enough time to think.

It felt like a little death when you stepped into a recording booth for the first time.

You’d told Winter you were desperate for money. She mentioned agencies looking for anonymous artists to record backing vocals for prominent groups. It paid well, she said.

Your voice was well-liked. Not overpowering, but subtle, like a floral perfume—soft, seamless, blending effortlessly with whoever you sang alongside. It paid well to sing lifeless songs, to let your name dissolve into the footnotes of prominent groups, 2PM, Twice… Even your brother’s group when he debuted.

You knew that fans liked to speculate on who you were. You knew that the songs in which you sang were popular. And yet, it did not matter.

It felt like death, to kill your voice and for the sun to keep rising regardless.

“You were brave, you still are, Cherry.” Chris had told you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You wanted for the world to split open and atone for what it did to you. You wanted for the world to mend the cracks in your soul. You wanted for the world to disappear with you in it.

Your legs are growing weary of driving for so long with no destination in mind. Your eyes burn from how long you’ve stared at the road, unblinking. Somehow, you find yourself outside of Chan’s and Jeongin’s place.

It would feel like death too for you to head back to your empty apartment.

You grab your phone, sending Chan a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Y/n: Are you home?

You wait, fingers hovering over the delete button. His reply comes three seconds later.

Chan: yeah, innie is sleeping over at seungmin’s

A heartbeat.

Chan: why? are you here? are you alright?

You sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. What the fuck are you doing? But still, you unbuckle your seatbelt and walk hurriedly to his door.

You knock. He opens immediately, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m okay,” you say quickly, expecting the deluge of questions swarming in his mind.

“It’s 1 a.m.,” he replies, concern etched into his features.

“I can read the clock,” you joke, and his pout deepens as he steps closer. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your soul wish to split open to escape it. It overwhelms you.

“I’m just anxious about the next few days,” you admit.

“What’s happening?” he asks, already taking your coat and leading you to the kitchen. He pours you a glass of cold water, just the way you like it.

“I’m meeting a junior employee at Sun Corp. He’s called San. I need to convince him to give me materials proving the corporation’s corruption for our case.”

Chan’s worried gaze meets yours, and you shake your head quickly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur. “I didn’t come here to worry you. I just… I wanted your company.”

Chan’s demeanor softens at your words, like white foam finally resting against the warm sand.

“I think I feel less anxious around you,” you add, the warmth in your cheeks suddenly betraying you. Winter’s words echo in your mind: That man likes you. What a foolish thought to engrain in your mind.

“Oh, I…” His words stumble, and his fingers flex as if they’re debating reaching for you. Instead, he lowers them and smiles softly.

“So do I, Cherry,” he admits. His voice is gentle, his ears tinting red. “And I could come with you to meet San, if you’d like.”

“Really, you’d do that for me?” his being slacks off, his shoulders sinking low. If you were in a battle, this would be him dropping his sword, kneeling.

“Of course, you don’t even need to ask.”

You see it then—visions of yourself wrapping your arms around Chan’s neck in his kitchen, holding him long enough for his warmth to seep into your soul, shielding it from the many winters to come. You imagine, for a fleeting moment, putting down your defenses and letting one human in.

Perhaps this is the most violent act of all—to have visceral fantasies of something as innocent as a hug.

“Were you working?” you ask, and Chan clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah, working on some new songs. But I’ll take a break now.”

“The mighty producer CB97, taking a break for little old me. How wonderful,” you tease, a giggle escaping your lips. He rolls his eyes, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock exasperation.

“Should we have a drink?” he offers, and you clap your hands excitedly. “Yes, I’d like that.”

It’s easy to recall with Chan—to relive the memories alive in your shared history. The summer vacation in Jeju, grilling meat for the boys, playing video games till dawn. Chan face-planting into the snow, the times you hid backstage to surprise them. You remember him accidentally body-slamming you onto the floor, the way you nearly drowned in the pool from laughing too hard.

The clock creeps toward four a.m., but you don’t feel tired. You’re tipsy, the wine warming your stomach—a bright, crisp taste, like biting into a ripe apricot. And you are happy. Your soul feels satiated, as though this laughter could sustain you for a lifetime.

Your giggles fade, leaving a comforting silence between you. You’re close to all the boys—you care for them deeply. But Chan is different. Because he dropped by only because he was worried. Because he calls you Cherry. So he remembers, and not alot of people remember you.

“I was thinking on my drive home of this… melody my mom used to sing,” you whisper, staring ahead. Your shoulder brushes against Chan’s. You rarely speak about your parents. Never this openly. Chan knows this well.

“She used to hum it to the ocean, to me when I’m about to sleep, when I was sick, when she was cooking,” you smile softly, bringing the drink to your lips. “I’ve been trying to replicate it on the piano but I’ve never managed to.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. His eyes are wide, vulnerable, twinkling like stars witnessing the birth of a galaxy. He licks his lips, hesitant, and your eyes linger on them. They are glossy, red, and impossibly inviting.

“Can I hear it?”

You start humming, singing what you remember off of your fragmented memory. Chan listens intently, his eyebrows tightly knit in concentration. You hear the waves, you taste the salt in the breeze. You miss the sea.

You finish, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing,” he says.

“Thank you for listening,” you whisper, and your eyes are closed, but you feel it, his lips pressing to your temple, soft as a petal. It quakes through you, unmaking you, as though your soul has been cleaved wide open. You are a supernova, unraveling, scattering light in a beautiful, dying burst.

You wake up to a note on the bedside, and a pink plaid blanket draped over you. It hits you then: you’re in Chan’s room. A blush spreads across your cheeks, igniting your skin. When did you fall asleep? Did he carry you here? Of course he did. Did he press another kiss to your temple? Why would you think of that? Still, you can’t help but wonder if he too felt it— the way your soul trembled under the weight of his touch.

You imagine him writing the note, his figure hunched near you, glancing at your peaceful form, his eyes fleeting to yours as if making sure you were still there.

‘I’ve made you breakfast, it’s in the kitchen. I have an early morning schedule, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Thank you for coming to see me :)’

You close your eyes, burying your head deeper into the pillows surrounding you. You can’t help but inhale their scent—traces of Chan lingering in the fabric, pinewood and cinnamon, intoxicating, as though they were made for you alone to breathe in. Your skin tingles with the thought, as you imagine him beside you, what it would be like to press your face into the soft curve of his neck, to take in that scent and to fill all the hollow spaces inside you with it.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

—

You find Chan leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. With his Chrome Hearts beanie nearly swallowing his eyes and a mask covering the rest of his face, he looks almost intimidating. Almost—because you can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top efforts to stay incognito.

“I think we’ll scare the poor boy away,” you tease in greeting, and he huffs, reaching out to lightly punch your arm.

“Do you want me gone? It’s fine, I can leave,” he mumbles, his pout clear even behind the mask. “It’s not like I made all this effort to come here—”

“Oh my god, you’re still a whiny baby at your big age,” you cut him off, laughing as you both step into the café.

You choose a table by the large windows, the sunlight streaming in and bathing the space in golden light. As Chan sits across from you, his grin spreads wide, making his eyes crinkle and nearly disappear. You miss the sight of his dimples, all of the sudden.

San arrives ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes dart to the door every few seconds, as though someone might burst through at any moment. He fidgets in his chair, tugging at his slightly askew tie, beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the cool air conditioning.

Your fingers curl loosely around a lukewarm cup of coffee you’ve yet to sip. “Thank you for meeting me, San. I really appreciate it,” you begin softly, and he barely nods. He reaches for his iced Americano but pulls his hand back.

“Look, Miss Kim,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “I gave Jaehyun the names of the apartment holders, but what you’re asking of me now... it’s dangerous.” He avoids your gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, as if it might open up and swallow him whole. “They’re not the kind of people you cross. You have no idea how high this goes.”

“I do,” you say firmly, leaning forward. “I know exactly how high it goes. That’s why I’m here. And that’s why I need your help.”

San hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickers to Chan before meeting yours again.

You take a deep breath, knowing how delicate this conversation is, how crucial it is too. “Look, I’m not asking you to go public,” you murmur, lowering your voice. “I just need the truth. Documents, emails… anything that proves there’s a corrupt force behind this decision. I’ll keep your name out of it. I promise. Whistleblowers are common in our lines of work. No one has to know where it came from.”

“I want to help you, I do,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “But they will find out, and I’ll lose everything,” he pauses, shoulders slumping, “I’m the sole caregiver for my mom… She’s in the hospital, and I still have bills to pay. You understand, right?”

Your eyes soften as you watch his anxious form. He’s still young, shouldering a burden you know all too well. You think he will understand, only if you bare a part of your heart to him.

“San,” you start gently, “I once lived in Promise Orphanage too.” you admit and his eyes slightly widen. “Before that, I was in two other orphanages in the city…” You pause, looking for the right words. “I still have nightmares about those places. About how cruel some of the people there were.” Your voice cracks, and Chan’s warm hand finds your knee.

“It’s hard to be happy in a place like that, but Promise Orphanage was the only place I ever thought of as home. It felt like family. I still visit to play with the kids. They’re happy, I see it, as best as they can, anyways. But they’re well taken care of. I know Miss Jeeho, I know Winter. They love those children. They allow them to dream. They don’t deserve to have their only familiarity stripped away from them.”

San swallows hard. "And what happens when Sun Corp. finds out anyway?”

“You’re here,” you reply, “you’re afraid, but you also believe in what we’re fighting for. Otherwise, you would’ve rejected this meeting.” You sigh, your voice softening. “You’re a good person, San. Don’t let them corrupt you too. You know this is wrong.”

“I do,” he admits, voice shaky. His resolve is unraveling.

“Look, I know they gifted the city council members penthouses to sway them in their favor. But no judge would consider this hard evidence since I can’t prove intent. What we need is what’s inside your office. You know, emails, memos, contracts, whatever. I can’t do this without you, San. I mean it.”

San stares at you for a long moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “There are emails,” he admits quietly. “Some from the CEO, discussing how to ‘incentivize’ council members. And I’ve seen the transaction logs... Large deposits to personal accounts, listed as ‘consulting fees.’ It’s not hard to connect the dots.”

Your heart leaps in your throat. “That’s exactly what we need. Can you get copies?”

“I think so,” he says reluctantly. Then, in a quieter tone he adds, “I lost my father too, you know.” There’s a rawness in his voice that only those who’ve been burdened by grief can understand. “I’ll find a way. For those kids.”

You reach out, briefly covering his hand with yours. “Thank you,” you whisper, and he nods, a miniscule smile finally stretching across his lips.

“Should we celebrate?” Chan asks, his voice light, once you’re settled in his car. For a moment, you hesitate. Celebration feels foreign to you. You’ve been the prosecutor and the wrongfully accused, you tie the noose and gasp when it tightens. But now, it seems like you’ve closed this case without needing a trial. That’s something worth celebrating.

“You know what? Hell yeah,” you giggle, and Chan’s face lights up like the sun cresting the horizon. “Great! Because I already planned for us to!” His laughter bubbles over, and you yelp as the car suddenly accelerates.

“Cherry! you’re free tomorrow, right?” he shouts over the music, and you recognize the song—No. 1 Party Anthem.

So you’re on the prowl, wondering whether she left already or not…

“Hmmm, let me check if my schedule is clear for being kidnapped…” you tease, pretending to swipe through an imaginary calendar. He chuckles, his dimple deepening, and the sound makes you feel giddy, like champagne fizzing in your veins. “Looks like I am!”

“Perfect! Let’s go on a trip, then!”

Sunglasses in doors are par for the course…

“Where to?” you laugh, and he simply winks in response, “You’ll see.”

“Fine, you be mysterious, and I’ll…” You grab his Fendi sunglasses from the console, perching them on your head, “I’ll be your passenger princess.”

It doesn’t escape him— how readily you’ve let go, how much you’ve placed in his hands without hesitation. It makes him want to drive further, faster, to a place where your bruised hearts won’t catch up with the two of you.

Her eyes invite you to approach…

You stop along the way at a small, unassuming seafood stand nestled along the coast—one Chan seems to know well. The air is alive with the sizzle of grills and the briny scent of the ocean. The ahjumma behind the counter greets Chan warmly, her hands deftly working as she prepares your meal.

You’re served grilled crab, its shell glistening in a marinade of soy sauce, chili, and honey. The flavors burst on your tongue—savory and spicy with a delicate sweetness that reminds you of the sea itself. Chan insists on feeding you the oysters, gently placing each one on your plate. They’re buttery and tangy, kissed with lemon and sea salt and the warmth of Chan’s gaze.

Your heart softens as you watch Chan chatting easily with the older woman, a laugh bubbling out of him as she teases him for eating too fast, as he fist-bumps her grandson as he clears the plates. How tragic it would have been for him to remain closed off, a flower enclosed in itself, never sharing the vibrant beauty of his petals with the world.

And it seems as though those lumps in your throat that you’ve just swallowed have got you going…

You pause again at a roadside shop, picking out heart-shaped sunglasses and trading the ugliest souvenir T-shirts you can find, laughing until your sides ache. Chan drapes an obnoxious orange scarf over his shoulder, striking a runway pose that makes you topple over from how hard you’re laughing. But then, in the mirror’s reflection, you catch his gaze—soft, unguarded, and filled with something you don’t dare name. Your breath falters. You’ve never been looked at like this before, as if someone could unravel you completely and still leave you whole.

Come on, come on, come on…

The road stretches endlessly ahead, the horizon blurring as you feed Chan fresh strawberries from a farmer’s market along the road. You don’t question why your pulse skips each time his lips brush your thumb. You don’t question why you’re suddenly sure the fruit would taste sweeter off of his mouth. You simply let the wind whip past, wondering if his cheeks are flushed from the cold or from you. You pray it’s the latter.

Number one party anthem…

“Welcome to Gangneung,” he announces as the car rolls into the small coastal town. The sea glimmers outside your window, and the houses—painted in pastel blues and greens—climb the hills like a living postcard. A group of high schoolers are biking down a narrow street, their laughter reaching you even as you drive away. While three women walk uphill, groceries in hand, their wide-brimmed hats bobbing as they chatter energetically. They seem to be gossiping. They seem happy.

“You remembered,” you say softly, your gaze flickering to him.

“I’d like to go to Gangneung one day,” you had once told him during a late-night walk. “I heard it’s a small town, and the locals agreed to all paint their houses blue. Isn’t that sweet? I’d love to escape there one day, without telling anyone.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, giggling. “Well, except Winter—so she could pack a bag for you. And Jisung, so the kids wouldn’t worry. But I didn’t tell them where we’re—”

You don’t let him finish. Stopping yourself would feel unnatural, like damming a river mid-flow. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple is hidden.

The look of love, the rush of blood…

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper. He simply nods, a bit dazed, so are you.

Come on, come on, come on…

Both your cheeks are still burning as you pull up by the sea. You’re the first to step out, stretching your arms to shake off the nerves while Chan rummages through the car. A sudden chill creeps over you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

Number one party anthem…

“Here,” he says, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. He’s got a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a basket balanced in his hands. “Come on,” he beckons softly, leading you to the shoreline.

He spreads the blanket atop the golden sand and you both lay on it, admiring the sea. You’re lost in your thoughts as you silently nibble at the cheese and crackers Chan brought with him. You haven’t sat before the waves in so long. For all your bravery in courtrooms, you were a coward in real life, scared that the mere sight of the overlapping water would make your buried wish resurface— to be adrift amidst waves, to sink with the peaceful certainty that you won’t resurface again.

But you haven’t felt this serene in a long time. Like you could draw in a deep breath and not dread the one that will follow it.

“I made you something.” Chan blurts suddenly, and you twist your neck to look at him. You’ve seen Chan in many states— happy, angry, weeping. But you haven’t seen him this nervous before.

“What is it?” you ask, your curiosity tinged with caution as you sit up.

He hesitates, his words tumbling over one another. “I’m sorry if this is too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the melody you hummed. I... I turned it into a piano piece. I recorded it. Do you want to hear it?”

He offers an earphone with trembling hands. Your own shake as you tuck it in, and then—oh god.

“Chan, I—” you choke, clutching his arm as the music flows into you. It’s her. It’s your mother, her voice resurrected in the notes. It’s as though he’s handed you a forgotten fragment of time, lighting it up, brushing away the dust of years. The memories flood back—her hand in yours, the melody she sang to you like a lullaby for your soul. Because she loved you, so much. You were once very loved.

You close your eyes as silent tears slip down your face. It’s a short recording, just fifty-five seconds, so you replay it, again and again, until the night falls gently around you. You want to live, you want to live if only to keep her voice alive.

“Should we go swim, Chan? I feel like swimming.” You suddenly say, a smile breaking through your face. This is the easiest it has been for you to grin in a long time.

“We’ll get sick,” he says, though a grin tugs at his lips.

“We haven’t been kids in so long”, you say and something shifts in his gaze. He understands, so he nods, suddenly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Wait, not like this!” you shout, flailing as Chan hoists you up with ease. But it’s no use—he’s already running and the next thing you know, you’re plunging into the cold water.

He dives in after you, surfacing with a loud laugh that echoes across the shoreline. The water is freezing, but it doesn’t matter. He feels weightless, unburdened, like a child again, like he could do anything he wishes for in this world, like he could get on his knees and confess to you right there and then.

You’re both trembling still by the time you reach the hotel. You linger by the entrance, your gaze tracing the cracked wallpaper and worn-out carpets. Chan is at the desk, talking to the receptionist. Snippets of their conversation float your way—“only one room... unfortunately a pipe broke... an old hotel.”

Oh.

When he returns, his ears are tinged with pink. “There’s only one room left,” he stammers. “The other one has a water leak. But it’s okay! We can find another hotel. I understand you might be—”

“Christopher, I’m fucking freezing,” you interrupt, teeth chattering. He giggles softly, boyish. “I’ll let you shower first, then.”

The room is sparse, reminiscent of a hanok. There are no beds, only two padded mats that side by side on the heated floor, and a small desk in one corner. It feels intimate, ten times smaller as Chan stands behind you.

“Go ahead,” he says, “I’ll wait.”

You quickly grab your bag and retreat to the bathroom. With trembling hands, you unlock your phone.

Y/n: Winter!!!!!!!!!! Are you here?

Winter: OMG are you still with cherry man?

Y/n: Yes, and we’re sharing one room 🫣

Winter: Wooooooo my ship is sailing

Y/n: I hate you. Did you pack me cute pajamas at least?

Winter: Of course i foresaw this

You giggle slightly, gusts of powdery air materializing before you.

Y/n: I’ll kill you once I’m back!!!

Winter: you love me 😘 you’ll have to tell me everything when you come back

Y/n: I will ❤️ He’s very sweet… and confusing

Winter: Just trust your gut

Trust your gut? You’re quite unsure what your gut is trying to spell out for you. You sigh, before quickly heading into the shower. You know Chan must be freezing too even if he tries not to show it.

You hear the water cascade down when he goes in after you, still avoiding your gaze. It feels almost forbidden to imagine him standing there, steam curling in clouds scented with your cherry shower gel. He’ll carry it with him, you think—a faint trace of you on his skin. That thought seems to send goosebumps rippling down your spine.

Later, the two of you lay atop your mats in a quiet darkness. You can hear the hum of the heater, and the splashing of the waves far away. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the cold wakes you, sharp and biting.

“Chan?” you whisper into the quiet.

He hums instantly. He hasn’t slept.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I am.”

“Should we move closer? Body heat and all,” you suggest, your voice barely audible. You hear him swallow in the dark.

Slowly, cautiously, he inches closer until your shoulders brush. You wrap a tentative arm around his waist, and he draws you in, his palm resting on your back. The embrace feels intimate, terrifyingly so, but you stay. He is warm. He smells like pinewood and cherry. He smells like you and him.

“Good?” he asks, voice rough, and you nod. “Yeah, good.”

You hear his heartbeat, frantic at first, mirroring yours, then slowing down as the minutes pass by. It feels familiar to lay so close to him, it feels natural, ordinary.

“Channie?” you whisper.

“Yes, Cherry?”

“How different do you think we’d be, if we hadn’t gone through the things we did?”

You don’t know why you ask, except that today, for the first time in forever, you feel like blank paper—uncrumpled, untainted, left to be.

He thinks for a while, his hand threading gently through your hair, lulling you back toward sleep.

“I think I would open my heart more,” he finally says, voice soft. “I’d be myself without fearing judgment or abandonment. I’d stop chasing perfection. I’d just... exist.”

You nod against him. “You should stop apologizing for wanting the things you do.”

It feels hypocritical coming from you, but you mean it.

“Yeah, Cherry,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “And you?”

“I’d allow myself to love. Without fear. I’d be someone worthy of being loved.”

A pause stretches between you, heavy and sharp. You inhale deeply.

“I’ve dated people,” you say quietly, “it drives Seungmin’s crazy because I know he wants to protect me from heartbreak,” you giggle softly, memories of the long talks Seungmin had dealt you flooding your mind.

“He’s a good brother.”

“He is,” you smile, before sighing. “But I don’t know how to tell him that it has always been for fun. They know what they’re getting into, which is, nothing beyond a few dates because... that’s all I have to give. I’m afraid someone might waste their time peeling away my layers, only to find nothing worthwhile. I’m hollow inside, Chan. A hollow chest can’t beat for another. Not in the way they deserve.”

His hand stills, his grip falters on your back. You hope he has heard your plea, unspoken, that he can read between the lines of your words. Please, you beg. Don’t love me. Don’t hurt yourself.

—

Chan sees it then, as evident as the rising of the sun. The truth of you, the truth of himself. Chan is loved by many, yet he doesn’t feel loved. You do not love Chan, perhaps you will never allow yourself to love another, and yet—he still loves you. Despite your warnings, he does. Even if you paint the image of the most violent of heartbreaks, he still will.

—

You judge heels by two criterias: one, how easy they are to stand long hours in, and two, how satisfying they sound when you walk. The powdery pink Jimmy Choos Seungmin gifted you hit both marks perfectly, sounding particularly delicious as you stride through the halls of Sun Corporation’s headquarters.

From the corner of your eye, you catch employees glancing up from their desks, whispers rising as you breeze past the secretary’s protests, her voice growing increasingly frantic. But you already know where you are headed: straight for the conference room, where you know an important meeting is currently unfolding.

Fun!

The secretary, a petite brunette, jogs after you, her heels barely keeping up with her urgency. She plants herself in front of the double doors, blocking your path, literally, with her arms outstretched.

“Miss, you can’t go in there,” she says, chest slightly heaving. “This is a private meeting.”

You flash her a thin smile, the kind that looks anything but kind. “Private? How convenient! It seems like they’ve kept their corruption private too!”

Her face pales, and she stammers. “I… I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to wait. Mr. Choi is—”

“Expecting me,” you cut her off, brushing past her without a second glance.

With a forceful push, you throw open the conference room doors. The chatter inside ceases instantly, replaced by stunned silence as ten executives turn to face you. At the head of the table sits Choi Min-soo, the CEO. His expression remains calm as his gaze locks with yours. He’s young, roughly in his thirties, surrounded only by men, of course. Perhaps that's why he keeps accumulating one bad decision after the other.

Choi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “Who let you in here?”

“Apologies for the interruption,” you say, though there’s not a shred of remorse in your voice. “I’m here about the demolition permit for Promise Orphanage.”

Choi leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply coolly. “But I thought I’d save your secretary the trouble. Some things simply can’t wait. Surely you understand.”

An executive to Choi’s right clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the table in a measured rhythm. “This is a private meeting. You can’t just barge in—”

“Oh, but I can,” you curtly cut him off, “And I have. Now, if you’d prefer, we can do this in front of the press, but I thought you’d appreciate the courtesy of keeping this internal.”

Choi’s mask of indifference falters ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Sit,” he says curtly.

You ignore him, instead leaning forward, your palms pressing into the polished surface of the table. “No need for pleasantries. Let’s cut to the chase. I have evidence that the city’s approval for your demolition project didn’t come through lawful means. Bribery, to be precise.”

A heavy silence blankets the room. The executives exchange uneasy glances, but Choi’s smirk betrays no concern. Though you know it is all rehearsed. Every expression is part of the masquerade that is their lives.

“I could sue you for defamation, you know,” he says, leaning forward. He’s beautiful, but in a sinister way. Like staring into the core of a bubbling volcano knowing it could swallow you whole.

“Is it defamation if it’s supported by your own emails?”

From your bag, you retrieve a thick stack of documents and toss them onto the table. One of the younger executives fumbles to pick them up, his face paling as he scans the contents.

“These emails detail discussions between your company and key city council members about how to tip their votes in your favor. Then there are the transaction logs. Substantial sums of money deposited into personal accounts, labeled as ‘consulting fees.’ Oddly enough, these transactions occurred right after a cozy dinner at that hotpot spot downtown. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your grin widens as you add, “All of it obtained lawfully, of course.” You know they’re infuriated by you. You’ve learned over the years that men like these don’t fear consequences as much as they despise being brought down by a woman.

“There is nothing illegal about consulting fees,”a voice quips from your right, “it’s standard practice.”

“Standard practice,” you repeat, tilting your head. “How fascinating that these fees always seem to align perfectly with approvals for morally bankrupt projects. This isn’t your first rodeo, Choi, is it? Remember the nursing home? Your big debut? The one that earned you Daddy’s approval?”

Choi’s fist slams onto the table. The sound echoes sharply through the room. You don’t flinch.

“How dare you speak to me like this?”

“And how dare YOU prioritize greed over the lives of children?!” you fire back, your voice rising. “YOU are the one bulldozing an orphanage to fatten your pockets. Not me.”

The room shifts uneasily. The executives glancing at one another, avoiding your gaze.

“You have two choices,” you say, straightening. “Withdraw the permit and take responsibility for the lives you’re willing to destroy, or I’ll take this to the media. Every email, every transaction log, it’ll all be public knowledge. Let’s see how long you keep your title when the truth comes out.”

Choi chuckles, a sinister sound that sends shivers down your spine. Spoiled assholes are always somewhat deranged. “So let me get this straight. You barge in here, threatening ME in my OWN office? Do you have any idea what this project is worth? FUCKING BILLIONS! And powerful people back it, people who won’t tolerate interference.”

You pick up your bag, winking. “Then I suggest you start figuring out how to explain this mess to them. You have five days to withdraw the permit. Good luck!”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride out, the sharp clicks of your heels like music to your ears. You wave at the secretary who looks at you as if she’s just seen a ghost. And so do the rest of the employees. Your voice must have been loud enough then.

Now that was fun.

Winter launches herself at you as soon as you open the door to her car. “Fuck you were so badass!” she laughs, hugging you tightly and you giggle, the sound light and airy, as you take out your phone from your back pocket, silencing the call with her.

“I can and I have,” she repeats your words, voice dipping lower as you high-five excitedly, your palms almost ricocheting off one another.

“God winter you should’ve seen his face,” you laugh, cheeks almost splitting open, “he looked like a big baby throwing a tantrum!”

“Ah I think this is over, right?” she asks excitedly, as she gets out of the parking lot, “they’ll yield or else you’ll drag their reputation through the mud.”

“I think so,” you sigh, resting your head against the seat cushion. “If they’re any smart they’ll know that the general public will always empathize with children. We’ll wait and see,” you grin, pinching her cheeks. “Either way, I’m not letting them take away the orphanage from us.”

“Never doubted you will,” she smiles widely, before elbowing your side, “girls night then? It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

You glance at her as she drives, the sun threading between her blonde strands like molten gold. You’ve always found it ironic that she chose the name Winter for herself when she’s the warmest person you know— she’s the saccharine taste of honey, she’s the colors of the sun and the sounds of a joyous summer. She cannot possibly be a mere human. She’s too kind, too patient for the confines of such a flawed label. You suddenly remember her supporting you as you undertake your law classes, working long hours at the bakery near your home to pay for Seungmin’s lessons. You feel her move for you when your body was too weary to even stir.

“I love you,” you suddenly say, your voice a raspy whisper, and she turns to look at you, her eyes softening. “Yah save this for the sleepover.”

The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, as you talked the night away with Winter, stomachs full of sweetened Soju and laughter on the living room floor. You rest your head on her stomach as she idly runs her fingers through your hair, reminiscing. It doesn’t hurt as much to remember these days.

“So, will you tell me about Chan?” she whispers, and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

She giggles at your reaction, gently scratching your scalp. “Come on. How was your getaway?”

It takes you a few moments to admit it. Out of joy. Out of fear. “It was the happiest I’ve been in a long while, Winter.”

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she observes, and you nod.

“I’m terrified, because he’s confusing me.”

She’s silent, and you gather your memories—the ones that have kept you afloat for the past week, the ones that have mended some hidden part of your heart, though you can’t say which one. It is too scarred to keep count, but you can feel it, something inside you has healed, something caged within you can breathe again.

“He remembered which coastal city I wanted to visit, something I said on a whim during one of our walks, years ago, Winter” you say softly, as though speaking of his memory would make the universe take him away from you.

“He took me to eat oysters; You know how much I love oysters. He wore every ugly souvenir I gave him,” you giggle faintly before quieting down. You choose to skip over your mother’s piano piece secret. You feel as if you’d desecrate it by speaking of it, like it’s a memory that belongs only to Chan, you, and the sea. “And then… since we had to share a room, we cuddled because it was cold.”

You expect her to tease you, but her voice is gentle as she asks.

“How did you feel?”

You think hard of how you felt. How easy it was to fall asleep near him. How beautiful he looked as dreams wrote themselves behind his eyelids.

“I felt safe. Like I could let go, and he’d be there to catch me.”

“I don’t think he would hurt you. I don’t think he could, even if you hurt him.”

You sigh, straightening up to meet her gaze.

“I don’t want to hurt him, Winter. That’s my issue. And I know I will.”

“Why would you—”

“I’m a bundle of issues, grief, and sorrow,” you cut her off, resigned. “You know that. I didn’t choose to be this way, but I am. I will taint him.”

“What I know,” she says, taking your hands in her own, “is that you are a good person. Your heart is warm and full of goodness, despite everything that happened to you. Grief changes a person, injustice changes them even more. But your heart still overflows with love. That’s something not everyone can say.”

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes.

“Winter, have you ever found a flower so beautiful? You see it, and its petals are the brightest colors, almost calling to your soul. Would it be right to cut it and take it home? Yes, it might bring you joy for a while. You’d change its water, add vinegar and sugar cubes. But then what? It’ll falter and die early. Because I was selfish. Because I hurt the flower, even though I loved it so much.”

Your voice cracks, and the tears you’ve been holding back are now dangerously close to spilling. She’s quiet for a long moment, and you begin to believe you’ve imagined this whole conversation. But then—

“What if that flower’s only wish is to be loved?”

Sometimes, words feel like a soothing balm coating your wounds. Sometimes, they feel like a dagger suddenly protruding what’s left of your heart. Sometimes they feel like both.

Your phone pings, and you reach for it through a hazy view, grateful for the small distraction.

Except it isn’t.

Jaehyun: Your cherry man just paid for San’s hospital bills.

You frown, and Winter leans over to peek at your screen.

Y/n: What???

Jaehyun: Yeah, he just called me. An anonymous (beautiful) man (with dimples ;) per the nurse’s description) paid for all his mother’s expenses.

Winter stares at you knowingly as your heart does somersaults—throbbing in your chest, in your throat, in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, Chan, like he’s made a home inside you and is now setting you ablaze.

Does he have to be so kind? Does he have to make it so hard for you not to love him?

Somehow, it’s 4 a.m. before you notice, Winter sleeps soundly beside you while you lie wide awake. You can’t stop thinking about Chan. His desire to be seen, his fear of it too. His voice. His warm hands. His soft lips. His heart. His soul.

You slip away from Winter and head to the balcony, a shawl wrapped around your arms. You hesitate for a moment, then press ‘Call’.

“Cherry?” Chan answers instantly, and your shoulders relax despite yourself. Is this what it feels like to be a flower plucked from millions? Cherished. Loved.

“Hi, Channie,” you whisper, and you hear him rustling in bed.

“Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?” His questions come fast, and you stop him before he can leap out of bed.

“No, no. I just… I wanted to thank you. For what you did for San.”

“Oh, who told you?” he sounds sheepish, timid. “I thought I told the nurse to keep it anonymous.”

“Well, not many men have dimples as pretty as yours.” The words slip out before you can stop them. You don’t hate yourself when you hear Chan chuckling softly, the bed covers rustling with his movements. Does he too chase remnants of your perfume on his pillows? Does he too imagine you laying on his bed once more?

“Well, it’s the least I could do.”

“No, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to take me on that trip, or rearrange your whole schedule to spend a night watching shitty dramas with me. You didn’t have to do any of it. So why? Why do you do these things, Chan?” you ask, breathless.

He sighs softly. “Does it make you happy, Cherry? When I do these things?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Oh.

The silence stretches, long and endless. Your shoulders hurt from always being cowered, tense. You wish you could ease them down.

“Thank you for making me happy. Sleep well, Channie.” You hang up before he can reply, before he can call you Cherry again. Because it makes you feel like dying. To love Chan in a world where you won’t let him love you feels like the biggest of deaths.

—

Seungmin’s earliest memories have always been of you.

There was a hollow space in his small heart, carved with the dullest of knives, something that pulsed even though he didn’t know who was it far. He knew his parents existed, he remembers his old home, but only faintly. They’d been taken too soon, he didn’t have much to hold on to.

So it was always you and him.

He remembers being a whiny child, crying endlessly because he didn’t understand why the world was so cruel—to him, but mostly to you. It confused him deeply, the way people overlooked your kindness. You were his older sister, his light. Why, then, couldn’t everyone else see you the way he did?

By the time he grew more into his body, into his heart, the tears stopped coming as often. He noticed the way a light dimmed in your eyes every time you tried to console him, and it frightened him. He didn’t know how many lights you had to give, or how many were left. So, he stopped crying.

Seungmin started piecing together truths he didn’t yet know how to speak. He began to understand the sharpness in your voice when prospective parents visited the orphanage, the urgency in your words when you told him to hide in the bathroom. You were protecting him. You didn’t want to be separated from him. It was almost impossible for two children to be adopted at once.

He began to understand why you always came back a bit breathless from talking to the older kids, the ones you strictly forbade him from playing with. Why would blue marks always appear on your arms after those conversations. Why he often heard you crying at night when you believed him long asleep.

And it killed him. There was no other way to describe it, because Seungmin had scraped his knee and lost his parents, and yet it did not hurt as much as it did when you were hurt. So, he tried to be as small as possible, as quiet, he tried to not get sick, to get good grades, to do his bed and yours. He tried to be perfect, so you wouldn’t be burned by him. So you wouldn’t cry when looking at him asleep.

Joy was scarce in Seungmin’s life. And it was all tied back to you. He was practical, even as a child, understanding early that he’d have to work harder than most to make something of himself. But not for personal gain, it was all to repay you for everything you gave him.

Then, one day, he stumbled onto something unexpected—a gift. A cheat code. “You’ve got a beautiful singing voice,” Miss Jeeho told him on his second night at Promise Orphanage. She had caught him singing in the garden. He didn’t like singing in front of other people. He feared you’d be punished for it too. “Have you ever thought of becoming a singer?”

The idea felt like cracking open a window in a suffocating room, a breath of air sweeping through the dust and decay of a crushed life. For the first time, he saw a semblance of dream take shape. He felt hope settle below his ribs, softening the thorns in his chest.

So he researched in the library of his school obsessively on this topic. How to be a singer, how to audition, how to win. He kept it hidden from you in all the years you spent in Promise Orphanage. Only Miss Jeeho knew, and she was kind, he didn’t feel scared sharing his hope with her. He was fifteen when he told you, after a year of relentlesses fighting to gain his custody. “I want to be a singer.”

You froze for a second, and Seungmin hasn’t stopped wondering where your mind went in that moment.

“Will you help me?” he asked, voice burning with resolve. “It pays well. I promise I’ll debut, and I’ll make you proud. And I’ll repay you, for all of it, I swear.”

“What’s this talk of you repaying me?” you said softly, your eyes so kind it made him want to weep. “All of me is for you, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin felt a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest at that moment. There she was, his greatest supporter, promising to back his dream. And yet, he felt hideously worthless, as though merely looking at the mirror would make it shatter.

It was then he named it—the poison coursing through his veins, the thorn lodged deep in his throat—the guilt. He wore that guilt like a second skin, its barbed wires sinking deeper into his soul with each passing year. Did you have a dream, too? Did you abandon your own to make room for him? He should’ve asked what your dream was. He should’ve begged you to keep your heart for yourself.

Seungmin could not rewrite the past, could not save his parents, could not undo his own birth so that you would not carry the weight of him. So, he sought to make up for it. He never spoke of his weariness during practice, nor of the pain, the fear, or the anger that gnawed at him. He only shared the triumphs—him ranking second on the entry competition, his voice praised by the vocal coaches at the company, finding friends that turned into family who genuinely cared for him, and you with time, that he would debut soon, that he has made it.

He spent his first paycheck on you, buying you the heels you’ve been eyeing for a long time, the ones you wore to your first courtroom. He spent the next on you too, and the one after it. He overcompensated for the guilt– gifts, flowers, a luxurious coffee machine, a two weeks retreat fully paid. He grew overbearing too, when it came to your heart, when it came to protecting it, disapproving of every person you chose to date.

He understood after a while that you weren’t looking for anything serious, at least not for now. Your dates seemed to understand this too. But he was afraid that one day you’d fall for someone who’s still looking for fun, who wouldn’t care for your heart like it was your own.

His hyungs would always poke fun at him for his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it. He was terrified for you, terrified that a heartbreak would be the thing to take you away from him.

He still remembers the look on your face when you caught him sitting in the same restaurant as your date. You’d laughed, and he’d felt sheepish under your gaze. “I told him it was a bad idea,” Jeongin giggled, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t like him,” he grumbled and you had chuckled, ruffling his hair, “when do you ever?”

You had then spent the night with him at the dorms watching movies with all his members. It was a normal occurrence for you to hang out with them, his found family, because they too had been touched with your kindness, back when they were all still trainees and you insisted on making them homemade food.

Seungmin knew it was your way of clinging to a normal home, that too killed him a little.

He knew that the members loved you, that they too cared for you deeply. Though they liked to annoy Seungmin by flirting with you. Which made you giggle, so, although he despises it, he still lets it slide.

Which brings him to today.

Seungmin hasn’t seen you since the concert at Kyocera Dome. So, he spammed you long enough for you to finally agree to have dinner in his dorm. Except 3RACHA was there too since they were all working on a song. It wasn’t their presence that weirded out Seungmin. Nor the fact that Han and Changbin took turns flirting with you, turning more obnoxious and loud and making Seungmin wish he could hit them with the plates on the table. Not that.

It was Chan. Who looked tense, jaw tight, his fingers flexing each time they sent a flirty remark your way.

Was he… Jealous?

“Thank you honey,” Han says, blowing you a kiss when you hand him his chopsticks. You giggle and Seungmin buries his face in his hands when Changbin grabs your plate, declaring that he will cut the steak for you.

“She doesn’t like meat cut that way,” Chan suddenly says, taking away the knife and plate from Changbin. Your cheeks blush as if a dahlia blossomed there. Han and Changbin exchange knowing looks.

Okay. What?

“Is there something—” he asks when your phone suddenly rings and he quiets down, swallowing the question with the rest of his beer. That would have been a stupid question, anyways.

“Winter!” you pick up, tone cheerful. Though all the color drains from your face as she speaks, the flower withering and turning into ash.

“W-what…?” you ask, slightly dazed, your hand gripping the table.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Cherry, what’s wrong?” so does Chan.

Cherry?

“The orphanage…” you say, Chan seems to understand what you’re talking about perfectly. You don’t finish, getting up and running out of his dorm. Everyone gets up on cue following you. “We’ll take my car,” Changbin says.

—

Is it possible to have sinned right before birth? To have done something so terrible you cannot atone for it no matter how much time passes. You accept it, you accept that your star is an unlucky one. You accept that even the most restless waters will always drown you, not carry you. Still, for how long do you have to pay the price, over and over again? Till how long is it no longer justice? Till how long does it become the universe toying with you? Does it think you can’t break? Does it think there is no limit to how much you can take?

Because there is.

You think you’ve reached it now.

Time seems to have slowed down, so much you’re sure five lifetimes have passed between each of your breaths. You know that there must be people screaming, a loud shatter, the sirens of ambulances and firefighters. Still, it’s quiet in your head. Save for a faint ringing, a buzzing, like a swarm of bees has lodged itself within your ear.

The earth is moving beneath your feet, it threatens to split open and swallow you. And you’d let it. You don’t have the nails to dig yourself out. You don’t have the will. You don’t have the hope.

You almost feel like laughing. You’re cursed. Every bit of happiness comes back to haunt you down the line.

It’s hot, extremely hot, and ashy. And you’re before the orphanage but you don’t smell rust. You smell smoke, pungent and bitter. You smell loss. You smell your last hope dying.

The orphanage is burning.

The kids are outside, covered in blankets and hugged turn by turn by the staff— Miss Jeeho, Mister Seonghwa, the cook, the gardener, the teachers, the psychologist, Winter.

The firefighters are trying to control the fire, but it’s spreading rapidly before your eyes, emboldened by the wooden floors and squeaky doors. You are losing your home again. The fire is eating the room you slept in, the kitchen where you learned how to cook, the garden where you caught Seungmin singing to Miss Jeeho. It’s eating the stairs where you sat with Winter laughing, the attic where you hid when existing became too rough.

It’s eating your memories, it’s eating you.

“What’s— what’s happening?” Seungmin stammers, his hand on your shoulder. You feel like kids again, back when the policeman came to your home and found only you and a toddler inside. A kid caring for a kid.

Winter sees you from afar, rushing to wrap you in her arms. You don’t feel her warmth. You don’t feel anything, now that you’re thinking of it. Has your heart bled dry? Finally?

“Cherry,” you hear but you brush the hand away, walking towards two firefighters once only smoke remains. “Who started it? The fire?” you ask breathlessly.

“Why?” they ask, cautious, “do you have reason to believe it was intentional?”

“Who started it?” you repeat.

“It’s too early to tell,” he says, eyes fixed on his coworker, sweat dripping from his brow, his forehead smeared with ash. “Preliminary findings suggest it began in the garden, which is odd, since there’s no apparent cause and no sign of a cigarette. The owner claims no one smokes. We did find what looks like traces of gasoline, but more investigation is needed. It spread quickly towards to the utility room, where there are electric wires. Something, or someone must’ve sparked it, and now it’s out of control.” He sighs, “We’ll call the police.”

You feel it then, a stone that sinks deep within your gut: they burned it. Sun Corporation burned the orphanage because if there is no orphanage then there is no case. They burned the orphanage and you with it.

—

“Would someone tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin grows more agitated the more you remain silent in your apartment. You can tell everyone is looking at you, waiting for you to snap out of your daze. But you don’t know where to begin. You don’t know how this will end.

“Miss Jeeho called,” Winter says softly, reappearing from the balcony. “There’s enough suspicion to begin an investigation. They need my testimony.” Changbin, without a word, stands and grabs his car keys. “I’ll drive you,” he says. She nods in reply.

“Do the kids have a place to go tonight?” Han asks, his voice laced with concern. Winter shakes her head. “No, Miss Jeeho is still trying to figure that out.”

“Alright,” Han says, pulling out his phone. “Let me call the others for help.”

“You have my card,” Chan says, pressing a sleek, cold card into Winter’s hand.

“Text me,” you tell Han, and he nods, following Changbin and Winter out the door.

And then there were three.

“Would you please tell me?” Seungmin asks again, kneeling before you. His voice is quieter now, laced with something you hadn’t anticipated—hurt, confusion. A part of you stirs alive and you sigh, beginning to recount everything— the apartment, the corruption, San, the meeting, the fire— but your voice feels like someone else’s, void, unfamiliar.

“And why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks once you finish. There’s raw pain coating his gaze, Seungmin has always been an open book to you.

“I was going to tell you,” you murmur, “once the permit was withdrawn. I didn’t want to burden you with this.”

“But I want you to burden me!” his voice rises slightly, as he stands up, pacing before you. “I could have helped you. I would have stood by you!”

“Seungmin, please,” you breathe, the weight of it all pressing against your chest.

“You don’t always have to carry everything alone. It doesn’t make you stronger, it only makes the pain ten times worse,” he presses his eyes shut, “I wouldn’t have hid something like this from you.”

“Well, you’re not me!” You snap, and he flinches, recoiling like you’ve struck him. You’ve never raised your voice at Seungmin before.

There she is, the person who pushes those who love her away, the person who deserves to be punished.

“I’ll go help the boys,” he softly says, walking out, shoulders slumped. He looks smaller now, like you’ve just hurt the child within him mourning his only home.

“Cherry…” Chan’s voice cuts through the tense silence, and you rise to your feet, instinctively covering your face. “Not you too, Chan.”

“Would you talk to me?” His voice is gentle. “You haven’t said a word in over an hour. This isn’t healthy, I know this must hurt so you shouldn’t keep it all inside.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, your voice colder than you intended. Please go, you beg. Please, before I snap at you too.

“Just talk, okay? Say whatever comes to your mind. I’ll listen to you. It’ll feel better if you let it all out.”

“Except it won’t!” The words come out harsher than you meant, and you feel yourself spiraling. You’re throwing up thorns, and you can’t stop it. “You don’t always know what’s best for people, alright? You can’t always fix people, Chan! And I can’t be fixed! Talking about it won’t help, keeping it in won’t help, because this is who I fucking am. This is all I’ve known.”

“Cherry, please. You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, still tender, still trying to reach you.

He still calls you Cherry. He’s still here. You can feel the desperation creeping inside, a bitter realization that they should all run before you curse them too.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, the sound hollow. It feels like daggers slicing through your throat as you speak. “Don’t you see me as a project to fix? Something to make you feel in control for all the years you’ve lost it?”

“Is this how low you think of me?” he asks, taking a step back, his face a mix of hurt and disbelief. “I never thought you needed fixing.”

“Well, it’s how I felt around you,” you say, the words spilling out like venom. Liar. Liar. Liar. “Like I’m the poor orphan and you’re the knight in shining armor, coming to save me.” He looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face.

Does he hate you now? Does he hate you as much as you hate yourself?

“You know, you should stop punishing yourself, Yn.” He says your name, not Cherry, but your name, plain and flat. It feels like all your little deaths combined in one. “You only have one sin and it’s that you wish to be loved.”

He pauses. You feel as if the world was cracked wide open. You feel as if your soul just splattered before his feet, naked, trembling.

“And I love you. God, I’ve loved you for the past ten years, and I wish you could open your heart just a little bit to see it.”

“What?” you ask, breathless, the words barely leaving your mouth before he turns away, silent. He doesn’t answer. He leaves.

He left.

Your feet move before your mind can catch up, and suddenly you’re running after him. “What do you mean you love me?” you shout, the words raw, desperate. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You’re sure your neighbors are peeking from their windows, watching, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now except him, nothing has in a long time. “What do you mean, Chan?!”

“Forget it,” he mutters.

“You can’t say that and ask me to forget it!” you shout and he chuckles, hand tightly gripping his hair in frustration.

“Has it not been clear? That you’d ask me to get you the moon and I'd fucking die trying. Can’t you see that I’d sacrifice the sun if it means making you happy?”

You back away, tears streaming down your cheeks in an unstoppable flow. No. Yes. No. How?

“N–no, you… You shouldn’t love me.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” His voice rises, raw and hoarse. “I’m human too, it kills me to love someone who I know won’t ever love me. But tell me, please, teach me how to pause the throbbing of my heart. Teach me how to silence it when it calls out your name, when it aches because it misses you so much I feel like I’m dying. When there is a void in my soul shaped after your laugh, your smell, your words, how do I—“ his hands land on your shoulders, his forehead resting on the crook of your neck. You can feel the shaking of his hands, you can feel his being unraveling before you.

Your hands curl in tight fists, you are broken, shattered, there is no glue that could piece you back together. Even if gold travels between your shards, it will not make you into something beautiful. You’ll remain a disaster. You’ll ruin him too.

“Look at me.” You shake your head, unwilling, unable to face him. “Please, Cherry, look at me. Even if you’ll leave me right now, please, I— I’d rather you leave while looking at me.”

You bite your lip, choking on the sob rising in your throat.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he pleads, taking your palm and placing it atop his chest.You can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse, alive and desperate beneath your hand. “Say it. Say you never will. Make me believe it, so this thing inside me will die. Please.”

“I can’t say that,” you whisper. The world offers itself at your feet. “I can’t say that because I won’t mean it.” Your eyes finally meet his, you wonder what he sees in yours. You wonder how someone like him could ever love you.

You lick your lips tentatively, tasting the saltiness of your tears and the cherry of your chapstick.

“Do you know what a bleeding heart dove is? It’s a small pigeon, with a plumage so white and pristine it resembles the first snow. But right in the middle of it, there is a patch of crimson, it looks like a bullet wound Chan, it looks like his little heart is always bleeding.” Your voice cracks like glass, Chan’s eyes soften more than you’ve ever thought was possible. “That’s how I feel, like I always always carry this wound that won’t ever heal. It bleeds and it bleeds and the blood oozes so much at times that I choke with it. I don’t want to taint you with it too.”

“What if I want you to taint me?” His warm palms cradle your cheeks, threads of sunlight brushing against your skin. “What if I want you to change me? What if I want everyone who has looked at me to know that I’m loved by you?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “That would be selfish of me.”

“Then love me selfishly, love me with greed. Just love me, Cherry. Please, love me,” he begs, his eyes boring into yours. You peer into him, his soul, the sincerity in his offering to you— his heart, so fragile, yet so resolute in loving you.

“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you gently say, as your palms tenderly cup his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed, tears staining your hands as he leans into your touch, placing his heart right in your hands. “I’d like some time to think of myself as beautiful, too. Would you wait for me? Until I figure it out.”

He softens. “I waited for you for ten years. I’d wait for you for an eternity if I have to.”

A knot forms in your throat. “You’re so sweet, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you don’t pity me, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so overwhelmed and everything spiraled down and I don’t know where to even begin now,” you ramble, and he cuts you off by placing a tender kiss atop your wrist.

“Would you breathe now?” he smiles and your world somehow brightens despite it all. “I'm not mad, alright? And we’ll figure it out together, Cherry. You have us. You always did.”

Your voice is small as you mumble– “Seungmin is mad at me.”

“He’s not. He always wants to protect you so he feels bad when you don’t let him in. You know that.”

You did, of course you do.

You feel a little less ashamed of plucking a beautiful flower out of its soil. You’ll insuflate your own soul in it to keep it blooming.

“Will you stay with me, Chan?”

“Always.”

—

“So, they burned down the orphanage?” Jeongin asks, disbelief thick in his voice as you finish recounting the horrors of the past month.

Your small apartment is packed the day after the fire—Winter, Jaehyun, Miss Jeeho, San, and the boys. Some sit huddled on couches, others sprawl across the floor, leaning into one another. You’ve never known that warmth could become a tangible thing, that it could weave itself around your heart like silk, drip sweetness down your ribcage like rivers of honey. You feel it, despite how harrowing the situation is, because all your friends care. They care for the orphanage like it’s their own.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” you reply. “We got a report of a suspicious van speeding off right after the fire started.”

“And remnants of gasoline were found at the scene,” Jaehyun adds, taking a leisurely sip out of his beer. “The police are tracing it now.”

You nod, thinking back to the police chief who happened to be one of your high school classmates. He got promoted and he promised he’d tell you first, if anything happened. “Yeah, the firefighters confirmed that it was arson. Once the police officer gets back at us I’ll file a lawsuit against them.”

“But can you believe the fucking nerve?” Felix scoffs, “I just read their statement: ‘We are extremely saddened by the news of the burning of Promise Orphanage due to faulty wiring. We promise to work side by side with the community to ensure the children are safe and living in better conditions’. Do they think we are stupid?”

“They’re lying,” Miss Jeeho says bitterly. “Trying to save face while they can.”

Hyunjin’s face pales. “This makes me sick,” he whispers. “The fact that they’d endanger those kids just for their agenda…” He trails off, shaking his head, and the room falls into a heavy silence.

“They stopped communicating through emails after you confronted Choi,” San says, his voice tight. “They must’ve realized someone was leaking information. Now everything’s confidential.”

He slumps, defeated, and you reach over to pat his back gently. “It’s okay. I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to discuss arson in emails anyways. We’ll find another way.”

“What about the kids? Are they okay?” Jeongin asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

“They’re doing fine, considering,” Minho answers, nodding toward Han. “Yeah,” Han adds with a soft laugh. “We visited this morning. They’re warm, well-fed, like michelin chef well-fed, we made sure of it, and maybe a little spoiled, we might’ve gone overboard with the toys.” The group chuckles briefly, Minho throwing a pillow at Han’s face before smiling fondly at him.

“But this is all just temporary,” Winter whispers, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “We can’t keep them in a rented house forever. They’ll need to be sent to different locations, scattered across the country.”

“Is there really no other way?” Changbin asks, as he squeezes Winter’s shoulder gently.

“Unless we can rebuild the orphanage in record time, then no. It’s all gone,” Miss Jeeho sighs, and you feel the knot in your throat tighten. You’ve avoided looking at her ever since the fire, you can’t bear the sight of raw grief in her eyes, specifically.

“What if we rebuild the orphanage?” Seungmin suddenly asks. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice during the night.

“We don’t have the funds for that, Seungminnie” you say softly.

“We do,” Chan interjects firmly, “If we all donate, we can raise the money. Start a fundraiser, maybe?”

You see it then, a fickle of hope blossoming in the air.

“You know, it’s not a bad idea,” Jaehyun says, leaning forward. “Media coverage of the case is really strong and it has garnered a lot of public sympathy. I also told friends in media to keep up intense coverage since something big is simmering beneath the case.”

“I can hold a press conference then,” you say, your voice quipping up. “Expose everything, from the beginning and ask for public support.”

“And me,” Seungmin says suddenly, looking up to meet your gaze at last. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tinged with vulnerability. “I want to stand by your side. It’ll help us garner more attention too.”

“Are you sure?” you ask gently. “Are you ready to reveal where you grew up?”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he replies softly. “It’s because of that place that I’m here today.”

Your heart swells, and tears sting your eyes as you nod. “Alright. Sounds like a solid plan.”

—

You’ve known loneliness long enough to recognize that it doesn’t wear a singular face.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Y/n Kim, and I am the lead attorney representing Promise Orphanage.”

You’ve known the loneliness that slices your bones. That cuts so deep within your marrow you’re unsure whether the sun will rise tomorrow, whether you’ll be even there to witness it. You knew it when you were ten and your parents simply never came back home.

“You are aware that Promise Orphanage has been burnt down last week. A tragedy for our community as this orphanage housed forty children who only have that place to call a home.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t stab, its sharp tip always remaining at the edges of your soul, as if threatening you, reminding you that it could sink within you at any given moment. You knew it when you were fourteen and Winter shook your hand for the first time.

“I am here to explain that this isn’t due to uncontrollable circumstances. But a crime. The fire did not start hazardously but was intentionally caused. By Sun Corporation, the subsidiary of Gyeongdo Holdings.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t fill you, but rather sits beside you on a bench. Loneliness that only manifests when you’re surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. And yet, you feel as if you are enclosed in transparent glass, always keeping you at arm’s length from them. Because your heart is different. Because you grieved a lifetime before you were old enough to understand it.

But for the first time in years, you don’t feel lonely.

Not when the people in your life have worked tirelessly with you for the orphanage, for justice, for the children. Not when a room full of journalists hang onto your every word, cameras flashing, questions flying. Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your loved ones in the back. They nod.

The legal case is airtight. You’ve worked tirelessly with your team to gather the proof—police reports, financial records, surveillance footage. You exhale, steadying yourself, and nod toward the screen.

“We have obtained documentation, in collaboration with the authorities, confirming that a van was seen fleeing the scene moments after the fire started getting out of control. That van was rented by a company in which Sun Corporation holds 45% of the shares. The individual who rented it is also an employee at Sun Corporation, whose identity we’ll keep anonymous. For now.”

Your eyes meet San’s, and he winks—he’s the one who verified the identity, right after depositing his resignation letter at Sun Corporation.

A journalist raises his hand. “Are you saying Sun Corporation committed arson?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But don’t take my word for it, of course.”

You press a button on the laptop connected to the speakers.

The room falls silent.

Then, the recording crackles to life.

“Are you insane?! I said a warning, not a damn inferno!”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, cameras shifting toward the speakers as the voice, angry, panicked, continues.

“You idiots lost control of it! The fire department is involved, you know that bitch is going to the police too. Do you have any idea what’s at stake? BILLIONS! I wanted to sue them for neglect and now we are the ones who will lose EVERYTHING! Fix it, or so help me—”

The recording cuts out. The silence that follows is deafening.

Journalists erupt all at once.

“Who is that speaking?”

“Was this obtained legally?”

“Is Sun Corporation under criminal investigation?”

You raise a hand, and a hush falls upon the room.

“The voice belongs to Choi Sungho, CEO of Sun Corporation,” you confirm. “This recording was obtained from a whistleblower inside the company and has been turned over to the authorities. The police are actively investigating Sun Corporation for arson, conspiracy, and fraud.”

You think back to the brunette secretary. You now know her name—Jia. She once dreamed of becoming a lawyer too, but she needed money for her sister’s medical bills, so she had to give up her aspirations. She heard snippets of the conversations authorizing the fire and recorded the aftermath. You know she’s watching this at home too.

“This is not just a case of reckless endangerment. This is a coordinated criminal act, executed for financial gain. Sun Corporation had previously filed for a demolition permit for the orphanage, but the permit was granted under questionable circumstances.”

You gesture toward the documents on every table.

“There is evidence that Sun Corporation bribed city officials to fast-track the permit process. However, because of our legal scrutiny, the project was delayed. Burning a part of the orphanage to argue neglect was their alternative. But as you can see, it backfired.”

More whispers, more frantic typing. A journalist from the back calls out, “Are you pursuing legal action?”

“Yes. We are also working closely with law enforcement to hold all responsible parties accountable, including those within the city council who enabled this corruption.”

You suck in a deep breath, nodding towards Seungmin who was standing behind the curtains, veiled from everyone’s view.

“There is someone I’d like you to meet now.”

He steps forward, taking the mic from your hand.

The camera flashes become incessant as the interrogations ripple from everywhere.

“Is that…?”

“Wait, Kim Seungmin?”

“What is going on?”

“Hello,” he says, voice reverberating around the room. “My name is Kim Seungmin. Some of you may be familiar with who I am, but today, I do not speak to you as an Idol.” A pause. “I am here as one of the children who once lived at Promise Orphanage.”

The cameras shift, zooming in on his face. Jaehyun excitedly signals that the viewer’s count is rising up rapidly.

“I’ve never spoken about this publicly before, but I am an orphan. My sister,” he nods at you, “raised me. My fans may recognize her voice from some of our songs,” he smiles softly, before sobering up. “We moved from place to place, but Promise Orphanage was the only orphanage that felt like home. The only place where we were truly taken care of, where I was allowed to dream, thanks to Miss Jeeho, the director. She’s the one who helped me become a singer. She’s also the one who helped my sister in her fight for my custody.”

He swallows hard, steadying himself.

“This crime is not just about corporate greed. It’s about children who lost their home overnight. And now, they face being scattered across different locations, losing the only family they have left.”

His gaze fixes every camera, every journalist in place. You feel pride swell in your heart, loud and bright and all encompassing.

“We are not just seeking justice. We are seeking solutions. We are launching a legal fund to rebuild Promise Orphanage. We ask for your steady support in holding Sun Corporation accountable and in ensuring that these children are not left behind.”

“Please don’t let this injustice go unanswered.”

He bows deeply. You follow. Cameras flash, a deluge of light and sound.

It’s done, now. The end of the beginning is finally over.

—

Sometimes a month is just a month. Sometimes a month stretches like ten lifetimes crafted solely to hurt you. Sometimes a month slips through your fingers like running water, not yours to keep.

The past six months have been both, somehow.

You spent sleepless nights building the most solid case against Sun Corporation. Exhausting weeks passed before the judge finally struck his gavel against the wood, charging them with arson, criminal activity, bribery, and interference with civilian law. It took the sweat and tears of many to rebuild the orphanage from the charred ground. It took a lot of love to fill its multicolor walls with children’s laughter again— yours, your brother’s, your friends’, the fans’, the general public’s too.

And yet, when it was all over, when you could finally exhale without fearing the consequences of letting go, you were left with a gaping hole in your chest. Void was an insatiable creature gnawing at your heart, void was a creature that sought something you could not name.

That is until Seungmin talked to you.

“Can I sit?” he asks, pointing to the patch of shade near you. You nod, scooting over as you both lean your backs against the freshly planted pine tree. For a while, it’s quiet as you watch Han and Felix, dressed as clowns, playing hide and seek with a group of children at the orphanage’s reopening party.

“They look happy,” he whispers and you smile softly, letting their giggles waft to your ears.

“They do.”

“I never apologized for that night,” he suddenly says, turning to look at you. “When I got mad because you didn’t tell me about the orphanage.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” you sigh. “I knew how much this place means to you. I knew this was where you figured out what your dream was. I just… didn’t want to burden you, not when you already have so much atop your plate” you explain, gently smoothing down his bangs. “I guess a part of me still sees you as the little kid I have to protect.”

“You were a child too, protecting me,” he whispers, voice hoarse as he places his warm palm over yours. “You don’t have to protect me anymore. I promise. I’d rather you look after your own heart. Listen to what it really wants.”

Your eyes drift toward Chan. He’s playing guitar for a group of older kids, their small hands clapping to the upbeat melody. His smile is the sun. His smile tastes like the ocean breeze.

“Do you like him?” Seungmin asks softly.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“Chan. I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you, mostly.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Why would your happiness ever bother me?” He smiles, and you feel a weight dissolve in your chest. The creature within you perks up at his words.

“Then yes,” you admit, breath hitching. “I like him. So much it terrifies me.”

You speak your feelings for the first time, and yet, the sky does not collapse, the earth does not tremble beneath your feet. It feels almost miraculous— to voice what you long for and not be punished for it.

“Sometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones that make us happiest,” he says. “Because we’re scared of allowing ourselves to feel joy. Because we’ve conditioned ourselves to think we don’t deserve it.”

Tears prick your eyes, and you crack a soft smile. “Look at you, saying such wise things.”

“I’m literally twenty-four,” he deadpans and you laugh, ruffling his hair. “But you’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Seungminnie.”

“All right, all right.” He laughs, pulling you into a side hug. “But would you do it? I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me, it must have hurt to do so,” you go to interject but he stops you, “Please. Would you listen to your heart for once?”

It takes a week away from everyone to do just that. You return to Gangneung, you walk past the blue houses, you talk to the locals and play chess with the grandpas and drink tea with the kind women at the local market. You twirl barefoot by the waves until salt clings to your skin, you lay on the sand and trace constellations with your fingertips. You sit in stillness. And you listen, truly listen, to the silence between each of your breaths. And then slowly, the melody emerges. Faint at first, like a distant lullaby. Then clearer, insistent, unwavering—stuck on a single note.

Chan.

You’ve never quite known who you were. When personality quizzes asked how your friends would describe you, you hesitated. Funny? Sweet? Practical? What about nothing—an emptiness that expands to swallow you whole? You never knew what to say when interviewees asked about your strengths and weaknesses, the things you’d like to change in your being, the ones you’d like to keep. You felt like a water lily floating aimlessly atop the still water, untethered, with no roots to return to.

But you knew you were a coward when it came to your heart. That you craved love so violently you could cleave the earth open with your ache. You knew that your mind had convinced you that you were cursed, flawed, undeserving.

But for the first time, you allow yourself to simply feel human.

You sit by the waves once more, the endless sea stretching before you. The sun disps slowly beneath the horizon, the clouds are dusted pink. Are they blushing too, at the thought of what you are about to do?

You had asked Chan to meet you on the beach at Gangneung whenever he could free himself, and he did—without hesitation. Seungmin texted you that he left the mid-writing session and jumped into his car with no second thought. He seemed happy, he said. That made you happy too.

“You look different,” Chan observes, and you turn away from the sea. His eyes are kind and you don’t shy away from his gaze, for once.

“Different?” you echo.

“At peace.”

You nod, curling your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them. He follows suit, his legs grazing yours now and then, grounding you in his presence.

“I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be human,” you murmur. “To soften my heart, to open doors I thought were long sealed. I don’t have all the answers. But I found something.”

“What is it?”

“I found you,” you confess, so softly like you are speaking of a prayer. His eyes widen but you press on. “I weighed in the pros and cons, of what I want, of what losing what I want would cost me. And yet, in all my most horrible twisted scenarios, where you’d leave me heartbroken and bleeding, it still feels worth it. It feels worth it if it means you’d love me for a while, and that I’d love you too.”

He gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, as all his touches are.

“A while? The only way for me to stop loving you is if my heart stops beating, Cherry.”

“So you still love me?” you ask, a bit shyly, too hopeful.

Chan blinks, then deadpans, “Are we sitting by the sea?”

You burst into laughter, the sound rolling out of you freely. As it fades, you see him—your beautiful Chan—the faint smile lines etching themselves around his lips, the kind warmth in his eyes, the remnants of dimples on his cheeks. He is so achingly beautiful it feels like an axe splitting your chest open. It feels like being born once more.

“I haven’t listened to my heart in so long,” you confess, brushing your thumb against his cheek, letting it trail softly over the corner of his mouth, a whisper against his lips. “But right now, it only wants one thing.”

“I’m yours,” he breathes, lips slightly parted.

There is no one around but the two of you and the sea. Who is there left to pretend for? The play is over. You bow to the sadness. You bow to the grief.

You take a deep breath. You dive into the water. You finally kiss Chan.

You knew that his lips would be as soft as silk, that pressing your mouth to his would be akin to breathing in oxygen for the first time, and yet, you did not imagine it to be this soul-shattering. You did not foresee the fireworks going off behind your eyelids, the bees and the bleeding heart doves singing in your chest, the garden buzzing in your stomach, telling you that you are alive, and that you are loved, at last, and that that is all that matters.

You did not imagine that he would taste like salvation, like honey and cherries and everything beautiful in between. You did not imagine that his tongue dancing along yours would feel like floating atop the sea, warm as sun, carnal like surrendering to your heart’s rawest desires.

You did not foresee that his warm palms would cradle your cheeks, that he would kiss you with the urgency of a starved man. That he would not tire of you, never ceasing, never faltering. That he would lay you on the sand and kiss you till night fell above you both, till your lips are both swollen, tender, and bleeding cherries.

“I love you,” you finally breathe, your heart throbbing all over your body, “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

“Nonsense,” He smiles against your lips. “Even if you only loved my last dying breath, it would still be enough for me.”

—

“So, does this mean I can officially no longer flirt with you?” Han asks, eyes wide with mock horror. Seungmin flicks his forehead in response, and Chan tosses a napkin at him, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Wait, pause, I can’t believe I lost to Chan,” Changbin pretends to weep, earning a laugh from the others.

“She’s mine,” Chan cocks his eyebrows at them, leaning back on his chair. “Go find yourselves your own partners.”

You are tucked away in a remote town of Japan, a hard-earned vacation after the turmoil you’ve went through the past months. You figured it was the best time to tell the boys that you are dating, only for wave of questions (and indignation, mostly) to immediately crash over you, followed by a group hug that lasted two full minutes, courtesy of Felix.

“Wait, but we liked you first!” Han protests once more, and Seungmin groans, his face contorting in annoyance that borders on anguish. “God, I thought I would be free of this torture.”

“I literally liked her before you guys even saw her,” Chan chimes in with a satisfied grin.

“So you’ve loved her for ten years now?” Hyunjin shouts, raising from his seat dramatically. “Wait this is so romantic.”

“I’m sorry, Jisungie, Binnie,” you tease as you press a lingering kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“Oh my god guys he’s BLUSHING!” Minho shouts, pointing excitedly at Chan. “This is too funny! Channie hyung is so flustered,” Jeongin laughs, whipping out his phone to capture the moment. “Wait, Innie pan over to Seungmin’s face!” Felix claps in pure delight, and you turn to see your brother sulking.

“What? I’m still not used to… this,” Seungmin grumbles, wiggling his fingers in front of you both in exaggerated disgust, but there’s a soft gleam in his eyes. He’s happy for you, only after threatening Chan five hundred times to treat you right, but he’s happy.

“Who wants ice cream?” Chan suddenly asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs your hand and pulls you away.

“What was that?” you ask once you are out of the house.

“Nothing, I just wanted you all to myself for a bit,” he smiles bashfully, and you giggle, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re making it a habit to kidnap me,” you tease.

“Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Also, it’s Changbin and Jisung for you,” he chastises, a big pout tugging at his lips.

“Does Mr. Bang feel jealous when I call them Binnie and Jisungie?”

“Yes, I am. Sue me, I worked day and night to be yours. Day and night and for ten years at that too,” he sighs dramatically and you tip your head back in laughter. Your giggles lull when you see it.

“Are we standing underneath…” you draw out.

“A cherry blossom,” Chan whispers, his gaze soft and full of warmth. His smile is so wide, so radiant, it feels like your soul is buzzing, melting underneath his light.

“This reminds me… Did you fall for me because I gave you a cherry lollipop?” you tease, wrapping your arms around the nape of his neck, his hands instinctively finding your waist.

“Yeah, you must have laced that lollipop with something,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if we hadn’t met at all?”

He softens, his palms cupping your cheeks gently. “I would’ve found you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. He can almost taste it, vanilla and bubblegum. “In the streets of Gangneung. As you swam in the sea. In one of your courtrooms… I would’ve found you, my Cherry, and I would’ve loved you just the same.”

What does it mean to soften your heart? What does it mean to open the doors of what you thought was long sealed? The answers didn’t come to you all at once, you found them serendipitously, as you rounded up corners of paths you never thought you’d walk in.

You learned that softness is the greatest act of courage. You learned that to tear down your defenses is the greatest act of rebellion. You learned that love is a patient being, that it is all encompassing, that it heals, but only if you allow it to, only if you let it make a home out of your ribcage.

You learned that being human, unapologetically so, in all of its sorrowful and joyous shades, is to forgive, first and most. To forgive the world, for being sharp at times, for being cruel. To forgive yourself, for depriving your soul of happiness, for doing what you had to do to survive the cold.

To forgive the rust, for walking by your side for a long time. To let cinnamon and pinewood and cherries invade your senses instead, settle upon your sheets and waft into your home. To let the fire within you simmer, to let the anger go, even if it had kept you warm for a while.

For you have the sun now.

You have Chan, and he has you too, at last.

704 notes · View notes

natalicss · 2 months ago

Text

Like We Were In Paris

kwon ji-yong x american pop star!reader

part two

summary: you and ji-yong have been dating for a couple years, keeping it under the radar the entire time. you’re both invited to the gala de pièces juanes 2025, and it’s the first time you get to see him perform live

warnings: not proofread at all, celeb!reader, implied age gap (reader is like…mid twenties?), whole lot of fluff, basically ji-yong being a simp, taeyang & rosé being captains of the ship, use of y/n, i don’t use tumblr so bare with me while i figure this out. i tried to keep descriptions of the readers outfit vague so you could imagine it to your liking!

word count: 4.1K

nat’s notes: hey y’all! i was convinced into writing a g-dragon fic (by like 3 people). i’m kinda obsessed with this. i had so many ideas while writing it & so im kind of tempted to write more of these two, but i don’t know!! this is my first like… irl person x reader (ive only written one other fic on here lmao) & i am new to g-dragon, bigbang, all that so i kept it pretty current. to me these two are very dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift coded (or just reputation coded), i cant explain why it just makes sense. the divider right below is from enchanthings here on tumblr, and the other one later on….idk its for my wattpad LMAO. anyways i hope you enjoy, and im sorry in advance if you hate it. toodles!

You still remember the first time you met Ji-yong.

You were in need of some inspiration. Working on your fourth album, the intense gaze of your record label, your management, your fans, and your musically gifted peers was crushing you. It seemed to do more harm than good. For weeks, you stared at notebooks and computers and instruments. Your manager tried to get you with various song writers. Nothing worked. So, after some persuasion from your best friend (who knew you better than anyone, having been your best friend since you were kids), you decided to do a vacation. Just you and some required security (per compromise with your team). You decided to go to Seoul, having loved it in the few times you’ve passed through on a tour. The fans there were great; always warm and welcoming and always one of your loudest shows. The culture was breathtaking. It felt like the perfect opportunity.

Your team had found a studio for you to work in. You were only there for a few weeks, but they wanted some hope that you’d come back to America with something. It was week two when you met him. You were walking towards your studio, he was walking out of his. The two of you made eye contact, and you were instantly swarmed with warmth. You didn’t believe in love at first sight (neither did he, to be fair), but you started to question it as you walked past him.

From then on, each of you seemed nosy about the other. He asked his friends who the girl was in the other studio. “Oh! The American! That’s Y/N,” He recognized your name, and now your face. He hadn’t seen you outside of a red carpet or a concert venue photo, so he didn’t recognize you with little-to-no makeup and comfortable clothes. But once it clicked, it clicked. You had asked someone working at the studio about him. They mentioned his name, Kwon Ji-Yong, and you googled him that night in your rental house.

You knew about G-Dragon, the impact he had on K-Pop and the music industry. You had heard a song here and there, but you had never seen him. Not til that day in the studio.

It was a few days until you saw him again. Your schedules just missing each other. Then, one day, your producer was running freakishly late to your meeting time, and Ji-yong was walking out of his own studio. You stood there, more like paced there, tapping wildly on your phone trying to get in contact with your producer, whispering to yourself in frustration.

Ji-yong had the courage to speak up, say hello, and the rest is history. Stories for another time, maybe.

Your friendship eventually blossomed into a relationship, defying all cliches of long distance and the terrors that often comes with it. It helped that he was on hiatus and you had became a professional of staying out of the public eye. You both wanted to keep what you had to yourself. Your teams did, too, but they got less strict as two months eventually became two years. It was on your terms now, when you'd let everyone know about your status, but neither of you had felt ready to let the world in on something so…yours. So peaceful, so effortless, so pure. It was easy, the two of you traveling between South Korea and America to spend time together, or going on vacations together, or just taking quiet retreats into each others homes.

Nobody ever thought of it, either. There was no reason to. Unless they’d been in the studio that day, the media had no way to expect any crossover of America’s Princess and the King of K-Pop. The media would rather gossip about you in relationships with the usual Hollywood celebrities, some of whom were just friends, some you’d never met. Neither of you mind rumors, it kept the media out of your relationship and sometimes they were hilariously ridiculous. So, you let the press talk their talk. You and Ji-yong kept to yourselves, careful on your information you’d share with friends (it was easy for things to be leaked, these days).

When Ji-yong told you he was officially making his comeback to the industry, you were ecstatic for him. You knew how much he loved making music and performing. You also knew, though he’d never admit it, sometimes when he’d sneak to join you on tour, he got a bit jealous watching you sing and dance on stage. He’d watched you collab with numerous artists, tasting just about every genre you could before eventually finding your new sound. It made him sad, some nights, missing that glow you often had instead. But most nights? Most nights he was beaming from behind the stage, watching you do what you loved most. Most people sink in this world, but you? You swam, no, you effortlessly floated in the sea of fame. And it was obvious to anyone around you. Part of what he loved most about you was your creative drive, something he shared. It inspired him, more than you’d ever know.

Ji-yong's comeback had been more than successful, as expected. Throughout your relationship, the two of you had fumbled with varying songs and styles for each other. Oftentimes more playful than not. You guys fueled each other in the best ways. You released your newest album in 2024, and you were about to start your world tour in the early months of 2025. Ji-yong would follow suit, his first solo album in years coming out soon and then starting his own tour.

Both of you were wracked with nerves, spending days in rehearsals, wardrobe tests, photo shoots, traveling all over for various projects. It had been weeks since you’d seen each other. After the holidays you were swimming in press for your new tour. He had been equally busy, filming his show, performing at various shows. You both loved it. You loved your jobs and you loved each others jobs. But even you two would struggle on the days where it’d been long, exhausting, and mentally draining; wanting nothing more than each other’s warmth.

The Gala des Pièces Jaunes, a show that helps collect donations for charity in Paris, had invited both of you to perform, along with other various stars. Little did they know, they had invited the world's most popular secret couple. You had been ecstatic. Not only did you love the message the event had, but you loved the idea of sharing the stage with so many extremely talented artists. Including, your boyfriend.

The night before the show, you had inconspicuously snuck your way towards Ji-yong’s room. You had wanted to get a hotel room together, but knew that you had to be careful with the amount of eyes on both of you this weekend. Still, that didn’t stop you from wondering around until you ended up at his door. With your special knock– each knock a syllable in your names –you waited patiently for him to open up the door to you. His eyes were sparkly, even in the shitty lighting. They always seemed to do that with you.

“Finally,” He breathed, pulling you into the room quickly. You giggled as he used your body to shut the door, his arms around you tightly. You had seen each other, earlier in the day during rehearsals. Pretending like it was your first time meeting him and Taeyang was hell. Pretending you didn’t know their names, pretending Ji-yong didn’t pick out your outfit on FaceTime, and pretending you didn’t want to latch on to him and never let go.

The only people who knew about you two were Young-bae, of course. He and Daesung had known about you for a while now, teasing their friend and bandmate for not telling them right away. The other person was Rosé, who’d been your friend for years and one of your closest friends in the celebrity world, both of you having blown up in popularity around the same time. Both of them seemed equally amused, watching you and Ji-yong try to act nonchalant around the other. Young-bae chuckling as Ji-yong watched your rehearsals in a stunned silence. He knew every song of yours by heart (even the ones from before he met you), and even when trying to act like he didn’t he could feel himself mouthing the words as he watched you and your dancers on the stage. Rosé would wink at you when she’d walk past you, and everytime you almost missed it cause you were too busy watching Ji-yong talking with his team.

But now, the two of you didn’t have to act. You couldn’t stop laughing in awe, Ji-yong smothering your face in feather-light kisses. You held on to him, your face turning pink as he continued his full-blown kiss attack. “I missed you, jagiya, so much.” He muttered against your skin. Finally, he pulled back to look over your face, pressing another kiss to your lips. You melted into his arms, your mind momentarily fuzzy. There was nothing else but him. His hands on your waist, his shirt clutched in your hands, his scent that had became your favorite. Him. Him. Him. It was always him.

“I missed you more,” You whispered, running your fingers through his minty-colored hair. He closed his eyes softly, as if soaking in your touch. Your heart swelled, as it always seemed to do with him. You had never felt this way, not in any of your previous relationships. You had been positive for a while now, Ji-yong was it for you. “Are you excited?” You asked him, tilting your head in curiosity.

He slowly opened his eyes, meeting your soft expression. He loved how you looked at him. It was something you couldn’t hide, not even at rehearsals. He sighed, pulling you by your hand further into the hotel room. “Yes. Nervous, too.” He added. You nod in understanding, he had only performed a few times since the comeback. He loved it after, always, but the nerves had been hard to shake off, even still.

“I’m excited to see you,” You beam, still keeping your fingers interlocked. You hadn’t seen him live, not yet. You had been back in America finishing up your album and starting a press tour at the time, but you always called him right before he went on to give him a final good luck, and you always snuck onto a live stream to watch.

He rolled his eyes shyly, leaning his head into your neck. “Young-bae is going to make so much fun of me.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m more nervous for you to see my performance than I was at MAMA.”

You laughed at that, bringing his face into your hands and looking at him. “You’re going to be amazing. More than amazing. You’re going to be perfect.” You reassure him, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. “And I am not afraid to bully Young-bae,” He laughed at this, throwing his head back slightly. He knew it was true, your friendship with Taeyang almost too sibling-like, to the point you two teased each other about everything.

“Are you nervous at all?” He asks you, looking over your expression, as if he’s trying to find your answer in your gaze. He did this a lot, knowing you for so long he began to pick up on things, even before you did.

“I am, but only a little,” You decide finally. It was a short set, only a few songs to perform. You had picked your most popular hits and your newest single for the setlist. And your outfit was your favorite part, matching your dancers whilst still making sure you stood out and felt confident. “Oh! I have to tell you about this thing I saw.” You pulled out of his arms, suddenly distracted by something you wanted to tell him about when you were in your room.

Ji-yong watched you quietly. His eyes filled with a lightness and admiration. He listened to you talk as you grabbed a water, waving your arms wildly to dramatize the story. He smiled, leaning against the couch in his room as he thought about how much he loved you. He loved everything about you. From the way you talked about your passions to the way you scrunched your face when you ate something you didn’t like. He loved the way you danced in the car when your favorite song came on. He loved the way you loved the people around you. He loved the way you waltzed into his heart like it was your home, and wrapped your arms around him like you were his home. You are his home, he’s sure of that. Even now, as you ramble into near nonsense about something he has no understanding of. He still watched you like you had been the most beautiful work of art he’d discovered. He was certain that was true.

Le Gala des Pièces was in full swing. Everything was going well, perfect, all of it. And you were backstage, getting your makeup touched up as you saw someone walk past your open door. You recognized him instantly, you always did. And part of you couldn’t let him go on stage without a final goodbye. “I’ll be right back!” You pushed yourself out of your chair, rushing after him. You could see him walking through the hall, too busy with his own thoughts to notice you coming to grab his wrist.

Ji-yong felt your touch, his head moving so fast he swore he heard a crack. His eyes met yours instantly, then looked you over in surprise. He hadn’t seen your outfit yet. It complimented his, something he wasn’t sure if you had done on purpose or not. A black and red outfit, the red the exact same shade as his tie. As he looked you over, you could see the different emotions flicker on his face. Admiration, lust, maybe hunger, and love. He looked up at your face again, smiling, “Hi, Y/N,” His name feels unfamiliar on his tongue, now. Over the years, nicknames had become your normal. Another thing to add to the list of things you hated about pretending you didn’t know him.

Your mouth hung open for a moment as you looked at him. You hadn’t been sure if you’d see him before he went on, so you hadn’t exactly planned your choice of words. “I wanted to wish you luck,” You stuttered out, suddenly aware of how many eyes could be on the two of you.

Ji-yong’s eyes were laced with amusement, seeing your cheeks turned pink. “I have to grab something to drink, come with me?” He asked, playing it as cool and casual as humanly possible. You itched to reach for his hand, but kept to yourself as you followed him.

As soon as you were in a dark corner, away from prying eyes, he was on you. The two of you pressed your lips together like perfect puzzle pieces. Your hands roamed his chest as his roamed your waist. You hummed happily, wishing this moment with him would never end. Adrenaline, nerves, excitement all were running high. From the show, from being around each other, from sneaking around. You felt his hands squeeze your hips, the two of you forcing yourselves to pull away. You smiled up at him, almost dizzy from him simply being in front of you. “Good luck,” You beamed.

“Is that how you wish everybody good luck?” He asks playfully. You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest as you adjusted yourselves. “I’ll see you as soon as I’m done,” He leans to kiss you again, “I love you,”

“I love you more,” You winked as he sauntered off towards where his team was waiting for him. You stayed back a moment, blushing wildly and hopping in place happily before rushing back to your own people.

You watched from backstage, wrapping yourself in a black robe to hide yourself as much as you could from the crew around you. You had passed Taeyang, who gave you a subtle handshake as he passed by for his cue. You watched in awe, seeing Ji-yong, no, G-Dragon on that stage. Seeing him do it all in person…it was ethereal. The way he moved through the stage and carried himself with this aura. He was almost mesmerizing, distracting you from the chaos backstage and your own nerves. It didn’t shock you, you’d known forever how talented he was. You’d seen videos of him from before you met, you’d seen him work for hours upon hours in studios, and you’d seen him on set for his music videos. But this was different. This was really him. This was what he was born to do, if destiny and fate were real. This was exactly that.

“Hey, pretty,” You turned your head to Rosé, Rosie, who only smiled knowingly. She linked her arm with yours, leaning into you. “You happy?”

“Happiest,” You answered, “He’s so good.”

“He is.” Rosie agreed. She giggled at your face. The two of you had met years ago, you had blown up in the music scene shortly after Blackpink. The two of you crossed paths at an event, not knowing anyone else there, and you two stuck by each others sides much like you were now. You two had been closest friends. When you told her about your first date with Ji-yong, she was ecstatic. She knew Ji-yong, and she knew that he’d be good to you. She wanted you to be happy, and that's what you were. Always when it came to Ji-yong, you were the happiest person she'd seen.

You watched the rest of his set. You smiled giddily as he and Taeyang performed together. You bit your thumb nail as you watched him move around the stage in the second outfit with the sparkling black jacket. Rosie nudging you every time she noticed you blush.

When he was off the stage, he had found you waiting for him amidst the crowd of people. He smiled happily, reaching you without much thought about anyone else. His arms swooped you in, hugging you tightly. You laughed, hugging him back. “That was amazing!” You beamed. For a moment, the two of you forgot where you were. Forgetting the curious eyes who thought you barely knew each other. When your senses kicked in, he was quick to put you back at a friendly distance. Your gaze moved to Taeyang, “You guys are phenomenal!” You hugged Young-bae too, hoping that if you acted friendly with everyone it wouldn’t cause more suspicion. “Thank you,” Ji-yong muttered, suddenly shy again. He bowed quickly at you, trying to play it off. In moments, you were hearing your name called, and his own team was surrounding him. You smiled warmly, disappearing in the crowd of crew and stars.

Ji-yong wanted to keep close to you. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms until the very moment you were on stage, but that was impossible. You were back in your greenroom, getting makeup and hair touched up, and then you were taking photos with crew members and doing more vocal warm ups. You were being whisked around every which way. He and Young-bae were staying close together, feeling the most comfortable with each other as they simply watched the show continue.

Young-bae was smiling to himself. He had been so happy for Ji-yong when he introduced you to him and Daesung. It was blatantly obvious to see how happy you made him. You made Ji-yong smile at every moment, you'd giggle at his jokes (even if Young-bae didn't think they were that funny), you would help him if you noticed his hesitation. You encouraged him. You built him up. You even started secretly learning Korean, calling Young-bae for help every now and again. The next time you visited Ji-yong, you had managed to say your first sentence in Korean, and it was actually good. You were this ray of sunshine. Anyone who knew the two of you knew that. He was honored to be in on your guys’s little secret. Otherwise, he’d feel cheated out of watching two people he cared about falling in love.

Unfortunately, Ji-yong didn’t get a chance to see you before you were whisked away under the stage to make your entrance. Still, he watched quietly from backstage. He clasped his hands together, watching the crowd scream with anticipation as your intro started. Fog began to cover the stage, the lights flashing every which way with the music. Your dancers surrounded the area you’d rise from. Once you did, you immediately went into the first song, dancing on every note. The crowd was wild. Ji-yong smiled proudly. On stage you were someone else entirely. You were confident, you moved with ease and exact precision. Your body moved with your dancers, most you’ve known for years. Their hands grazing your hips as you all moved together in sync. Ji-yong never got jealous, knowing how these things worked. He was no stranger to any of it.

He’d seen you perform, maybe a hundred times now, and yet it never got old. As the song transitioned to another popular track, the crowd somehow getting even louder, he thought about how you might’ve looked earlier. Standing in the same spot, only a short time ago. He could only assume you looked much like he did now. Body swaying to the familiar music, mouthing the words, eyes sparkling at him like he had hung the moon and the stars only for you. He wasn’t sure what he did to get so lucky.

He clapped as the crowd did. You were at the far end of the stage now, dancing with another male dancer to the third song. The song had been written for him, though not many people knew that other than you and him. A romantically charged song. It was one of his favorites. He remembered the day you showed it to him, all shy and quiet, which was unusual for you. You had told him you had a song to show him, wanting to release it as a single in the future. When you played it, you only stared at his face while he stared at the computer screen. He considered marrying you right there.

As you performed your fourth and final song, he found his way to where you’d end up off stage. He played with his sleeves, smiling shyly as people greeted him as they passed by. He wanted to see you. No, he needed to see you.

And he did. You came off the stage, glistening from glitter and sweat. You hugged your dancers and thanked them, high-fiving other members of your crew. As your eyes met his, he could see them light up. But you stayed put, not wanting to make another scene. He winked at you, moving in the direction of your greenroom.

It took you a couple minutes to get your micpack off and head towards your dressing room to change. Once you did, you smiled wide at the man waiting inside. “We did it!” You beamed as you jumped at him. He caught you easily, swinging you loosely in his arms as you pressed your lips against his. It wasn’t rushed or adrenaline-filled like before. This was softer, still full of energy, but only relief, love, and pure joy. “We fucking nailed it, baby,” You said as you looked up at him. He swore he might die from the way you love him.

“You were beautiful,” He hummed, leaning into your hair. He hummed, squeezing you tighter. “I love you. So fucking much.”

You closed your eyes, taking in the moment as best as you could. There was no place on this planet you loved more than being in his embrace. You could be anywhere, at any time, anything could be happening, and all you’d want is him. That’s all you’d ever need, The lazy mornings in your LA home where you’d surprise him with breakfast in bed. The romantic nights in Seoul where he’d take you out to dinner at your favorite place. The bustling mornings when one of you had a meeting to get to. One of you having a mouth full of toast trying to run out the door, only to scramble back to give the other a kiss. Late nights in studios, falling asleep in random spots as you tried to come up with new lyrics and beats. Your favorites were the quiet nights, the two of you tangled in bed sheets as he stared at each other, talking about whatever came to mind as one of you played with the others hair, or traced shapes on bare skin. Gentle kisses passed back and forth. Life was perfect, and he was perfect.

“I love you, Ji,” You whispered, kissing him again. He hummed into it, smiling. You looked him over appreciatively, fiddling with his outfit. “I need to change, wanna pick my outfit out for me?” You asked, raising a brow. His eyes flicked with mischief as he looked back at the rack of clothes you had. He looked back at you, pulling you back into him again.

#kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #kwon jiyong #gdragon #bigbang x reader #gdragon fanfic #kwon jiyong fanfic #fanfic #x reader #kpop fluff

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anifever · 10 months ago

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Dating Darry Curtis HC’s ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Darrel “Darry” Curtis x Fem!Reader

୨୧ : What I think dating ‘Superman’ would include

A/N : I’ve been busy but school’s out now so hopefully I can work on requests 💔. Also ily Jake Gyllenhaal but they should’ve never remade Roadhouse..

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🕊️ ˚₊‧⁺˖

୨ I hate to say it (not really), but you’re like a married couple

୨ The gang calls you mom and dad as a joke

୨ You guys are so sitting on a porch with wind chimes and birds chirping in the bg and the warmth of the sun hitting your skin coded

୨ You’re so disgustingly in love and it makes everyone sick

୨ I feel like bcs of how he’s portrayed and the responsibilities/stress he takes on from the entire gang, it makes him seem way older than he is

୨ That’s also probably due to Patrick Swayze being 31 instead of 20 while filming and also being 15 years older than C Thomas Howell irl instead of the 6 year age gap their characters actually had…

୨ Anyways, you help him actually act more his age

୨ You convince him to go out more, etc

୨ Everyone’s happy to see him let loose once in a while

୨ Like you guys mess around when you bake/cook together by throwing flour at each other and giggling omg I’m vomiting

୨ You guys are sometimes (very rarely) even spotted at Buck’s together and Dallas has to do a double take

୨ You also bribe the boys to give you guys or just him in general some alone time LMAO

୨ You absolutely slow dance in the kitchen. Idc.

୨ He’s the type to call you “a real treat” when you dress up or do something nice for him

୨ Going shopping together and him walking around with his lil’ glasses reading the grocery list while you push the cart

୨ Sitting in his lap while he reads the newspaper ohahahwbrbrbnrne

୨ You guys definitely met early on; slow burn

୨ You were SO ‘So High School’ by Taylor Swift when you were a little bit younger

୨ Been in the works of writing a ff abt that..

୨ FINALLY officially asked you out senior year for prom and you’ve been together since, even though you guys were in love way before that

୨ You definitely have to get in between his and Pony’s fights a lot

୨ Soda comes to you for advice, no matter what it is- he thinks it’s refreshing to have someone new to talk to rather than constant arguing, yada yada

୨ Dallas either flirts with you to piss Darry off or he has a relationship with you like he did with Mrs. Curtis. No in between.

୨ The type of man to give you foot massages

୨ On the contrary, you also massage his shoulders

୨ Johnny probably had a tiny crush on you when you first met him years back, but it went away when you guys started dating

୨ Went away to an extent at least..

୨ Him standing between your legs while you’re sat on the sink shaving his face for him GODODODODID

୨ He says “honey, I’m home” unironically

୨ He’s able to pick you up pretty easily no matter your weight

୨ He does it a lot and it’s mainly to show off LMAO

୨ You guys play checkers together and genuinely enjoy it which doesn’t help your mom/dad allegations

୨ EXTREMELY good at calming you down whether it’s a panic attack, etc

୨ He might lose his temper a lot on his brothers, but he never does it with you

୨ If he ever does accidentally snap at you, he apologizes to no end

୨ He’s touching you whenever he can; a hand on your waist, around your shoulder, keeping you on his lap, a finger in your belt loop, etc

୨ Speaking of belt loops, you pulling him in by the loops or his belt buckle to kiss him⁉️⁉️⁉️ I’m losing it

୨ Whenever any sort of errand needs to be run, he either forces Pony/Soda to do it, or makes you come with him alone

୨ He buys you flowers whenever he has the extra money ☹️

୨ Has his moms wedding ring kept someplace safe to give to you one day

୨ On another note, she loved you so much before she passed

୨ She was also constantly teasing him about you two when you guys were younger

୨ If he’s exhausted from work and flops onto the couch with you, don’t expect to be getting up anytime soon

୨ Back to the ‘him going out more’ point- you guys go to rodeos together whenever he knows Pony is being watched by someone else

୨ Calming lil’ picnics together by a lake

୨ He unfortunately will have to cancel plans a good amount because of work-related stuff, but you completely understand

୨ He’s pretty stubborn about letting you help with money, but he gives in sometimes

୨ You leave him cute notes in the lunch that he takes to work <\\3

୨ He for sure keeps a hand on your thigh or knee while driving

୨ There’s no doubt in my mind you’d grow old together

୨ He’s thankful for you in so many ways and is glad you’re able to help his life feel normal again and like an actual 20 year-old

#darry curtis x reader #darrel curtis #darry curtis #darrel curtis x reader #darry curtis x you #darrel curtis x you #the outsiders #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders x you #the outsiders darry #darry curtis imagine #darrel curtis imagine #outsiders x reader #outsiders #curtis gang #patrick swayze #curtis gang x reader

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2i1han · 17 days ago

Text

— request time

𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎

pairing : tourguide!leehan x fem!reader ⭑ wc 5.9k

genre : oneshot fluff , romance

synopsis: you've liked leehan since seventh grade, but over time, you drifted apart. now, you reunite while working at the same aquarium. and, as you spend more time together, you realize your connection never truly faded.

(thank you to the anon who requested this! it was really fun and cute to write, though the word count ended up longer than i expected. also, this is the peak fish leehan ff i've ever written. it's also giving a slowly then all at once alternate universe, except leehan isn't a brooding loser here LMAO.)

ever since seventh grade, you've never quite gotten over your first crush—the quiet biology nerd who always sat alone by the pond, watching the fish swim as if it were his own personal netflix. his chocolate eyes would follow their every movement, his fingers occasionally adjusting the hem of his uniform reflexively, completely immersed in a world of shiney scales and rippling water. you used to steal glances from afar, wondering what thoughts swam through his head as he watched them. even now, years later, as a college student, that same fluttery feeling overtakes you whenever you think of kim leehan.

growing up in a small town meant living in a loop—same streets, same people, same predictable routines. it wasn't separation from him that you feared—it was how close you always were. ever since that first conversation in middle school, when leehan had filled the silence with enthusiastic talk about fish anatomy and marine ecosystems, you'd been left staring, struggling to keep up. his voice had been calm but full of life, his hands gesturing in small movements as he explained something about gill respiration. meanwhile, all you could do was nod along, mouth slightly open, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

after that, you never dared to strike up another deep conversation with him. not because you didn't like his nerdy ramblings, if anything, you found them endearing, but because you were afraid. afraid you wouldn't be able to keep up, that your lack of knowledge would make him lose interest in talking to you.

so, instead of giving up, you did something ridiculous. you spent years secretly studying marine biology, at first just to understand him better, but somewhere along the way, it stopped being about leehan and started becoming something you genuinely loved. the books stacked on your bedside table, the late nights spent watching documentaries about ocean ecosystems, the hours scrolling through marine biology forums—it all became second nature.

but none of that mattered now because you had bigger problems.

"we'll just call you if we decide to hire you," the restaurant owner said, offering you a polite but clearly dismissive smile.

you forced a tight-lipped smile in return, bowing slightly before stepping out of the small diner. the second the door swung shut behind you, you let out a groan, rubbing your temples in frustration.

this was your fifth stop today. the heat of the afternoon sun pressed down on you, sweat sticking to the nape of your neck as you trudged down the sidewalk, your steps were heavy. your stomach rumbled from hunger, but you ignored it, too exhausted to even think about food.

as you walked, slouching under the weight of your disappointment, a voice called out.

"still nothing?"

liz, your ever-reliable best friend, caught up to you effortlessly, her sneakers scuffing against the pavement as she matched your pace. she held a cold drink in her hands, condensation dripping onto her fingers.

"yeah, this sucks so bad," you muttered, rolling your eyes, blowing a strand of hair out of your face.

then, casually, as if she wasn't about to change the course of your entire life, liz dropped the biggest, most life-altering suggestion of your existence.

"maybe you can apply for a job at the aquarium where leehan works."

you stopped in your tracks so abruptly that liz took two more steps before realizing.

your gasped, eyes widening as if she'd just handed you a winning lottery ticket. "wait, what?"

liz turned to face you, unfazed. "leehan. he's been working at the new aquarium since last month, you didn't know?"

no, you didn't. how could you not have known? your heart pounded against your ribs, giddy surging through you like a wave. this was perfect. like a missing puzzle piece snapping into place. you had spent years pouring yourself into marine biology, and now, not only did you have a chance at working with what you loved—you had a chance at being close to leehan again.

"i- i haven't heard from him in so long," you admitted, gripping liz's arm, as if to steady yourself in reality.

"well, now you do," she said with a grin. "and now you have a shot."

a slow smile spread across your face. "thank you, liz. i'm going first thing tomorrow!"

and, true to your word, you did exactly that.

at the first hint of sunrise, you bolted out of bed, running errands for your grandmother at record speed, wiping down countertops before she could even ask, running to the market, sweeping the floor with urgency that dust swirled in the air like a mini storm. you weren't about to let anything get in your way today.

then came the most important part—choosing the perfect outfit. you had spent an embarrassing amount of time standing in front of the mirror, eventually settling on your all-time-favorite blue denim jumper, paired with a white off-shoulder long-sleeve top. your well-worn bambi sneakers completed the look, the same ones you had owned since you were fifteen. not that it mattered much. you never grew taller anyway, still barely reaching leehan's shoulder.

by the time you arrived at the aquarium, the town was lit up in soft morning light. the air smelled crisp, tinged with the faint scent of saltwater from the nearby shore.

you took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your bag and tightening your ponytail before pushing your square glasses up the bridge of your nose.

the building's glass entrance reflected your slightly disheveled reflection, the nervous excitement evident in your posture.

you followed the receptionist down a hallway lined with vibrant posters of marine life, framed images of colorful reefs, deep-sea creatures, and conservation efforts decorated the walls, making you feel both excited and slightly nervous.

the hiring manager, a middle-aged man with kind eyes and graying hair, sat behind a sturdy desk in a modest office. behind him, a large observation window revealed a floor-to-ceiling tank.

"so," he began, flipping through your résumé, "you're interested in the tour guide position?"

"yes," you replied, straightening in your seat. "i've been studying marine biology for years as a personal passion. i love sharing information about marine life, and i think guiding people through the aquarium would be a perfect way to combine that."

he nodded thoughtfully. "we need people who are both knowledgeable and engaging. guests, especially kids—should feel excited when they learn about the ocean. are you comfortable speaking in front of groups?"

you hesitated for half a second before nodding. "i think so! i get a little nervous, but when it’s about something i love, i can talk for hours."

that made the manager chuckle. he leaned back in his chair, giving you an assessing look before finally nodding. "alright. we'll start you on a trial period. you'll shadow one of our senior guides this week, and if all goes well, we'll make it official."

it took a moment for his words to sink in. your hands tightened around the strap of your bag as excitement flooded your chest.

"really?" you asked, eyes wide.

"really," he confirmed with an easy smile. "welcome aboard."

you thanked him repeatedly, barely containing your enthusiasm as you shook his hand. after running through a few more details, he dismissed you, and you stepped back into the main aquarium hall.

you wandered through the exhibits, the aquarium was even more breathtaking than you had realized—massive glass tanks stretched across the walls, casting a dreamy blue glow. families huddled around displays, children pointing excitedly at the creatures swimming inside. a pair of stingrays drifted lazily near the glass.

you paused near a large touch tank, watching a group of kids giggle as they carefully dipped their fingers into the water to touch a passing starfish.

and then— "you look a little lost."

the voice was familiar, enough to send a sudden jolt through your chest.

you turned quickly, and there was leehan who stood a few steps away, his dark blue staff polo neatly tucked in, his id badge clipped to his collar. a clipboard rested in his hands, though his attention was fully on you. his brown hair was slightly tousled, probably from running his fingers through it too many times—a habit he never seemed to grow out of.

"leehan," you blurted, staring at him as if he were a mirage.

he blinked, then let out a small chuckle. "didn't expect to see you here."

you shook your head with a breathy laugh. "yeah, i—uh, i just got hired."

leehan's eyebrows lifted slightly. "here?"

"yep," you said, still a little dazed. "as a tour guide."

he tilted his head, processing that. "you? giving aquarium tours?"

you pursed your lips. "wow, okay, thanks for the vote of confidence."

leehan grinned, amused. "no, i mean, i just didn't know you were into marine life."

you hesitated before rubbing the back of your neck. "i wasn't… at first. but then i got really into it over the years."

"huh." he studied you for a beat, then chuckled softly. "i always thought i talked too much about fish back in school. didn't think anyone actually listened."

your cheeks warmed. "well… i guess someone did."

leehan smiled, a genuine one this time, his posture relaxing. "then i guess you'll be stuck seeing a lot of me. we're probably gonna work together pretty often."

your heart fluttered. "yeah," you said, grinning. "i guess so."

leehan tilted his head toward the tanks. "want me to show you around? might as well start getting familiar with the place."

you nodded, unable to hide your excitement. "i'd love that."

the rest of the day passed in a motion of laughter, glimmering water, and the sound of leehan's voice weaving through the air. he led you through every corner of the place, pointing at different species of fish with consistent enthusiasm. even though you had spent years studying marine life, he still managed to surprise you with little details and fun facts that you had never come across before.

"see that one?" leehan gestured toward a tank where a tiny, almost translucent fish wiggled between coral. "that's a glass catfish. their bodies are so clear you can see their organs."

you leaned closer, watching in awe. "that's insane… how have i never read about this before?"

leehan chuckled, the corner of his lips quirking up. "guess i still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

and honestly, that just made you admire him more. he was smart, kind, and effortlessly passionate about what he loved—something that had never changed since middle school.

at some point, while strolling past the jellyfish exhibit, leehan casually mentioned, "oh, by the way, i'll be your co-worker since... we're the only tour guides around."

your steps faltered. "wait—seriously?"

he turned to you with an amused expression. "yeah, didn't i say that?"

no, he absolutely did not. but if your heart could physically do somersaults, it would have done a whole routine.

you barely managed to keep your excitement in check, nodding in what you hoped was a casual manner. "that's… cool. we'll be working together a lot, then."

leehan hummed in agreement, hands tucked into his pockets. "guess so."

the thought of seeing him almost every day, working side by side, was enough to make your entire week.

after the long tour, when your feet were starting to ache and the aquarium lights dimmed slightly for the evening, leehan suddenly suggested, "hey, want a snack? there's a hotdog stall outside."

you didn't even hesitate. "absolutely."

so there you were, sitting side by side on a wooden bench facing the seaside, the distant sound of waves filled the street. the scent of grilled food mixed with the salty ocean breeze as the sky painted itself in hues of orange and pink.

leehan took a bite of his corndog before glancing at you with a small smile. "it's actually nice to see you again, y/n."

you turned to him, heart fluttering slightly.

"you're the only one who approached me in seventh grade," he continued, voice softer now, almost thoughtful. "you actually listened to my weird fish agendas. never called me an oddball for it."

your fingers tightened slightly around the napkin in your hand as warmth bloomed in your chest. god, if your heart could physically leap out of your chest, it would have already.

you ducked your head slightly, cheeks heating up. "me too," you admitted with a wide smile. "and, well… i think fishes are nice."

leehan let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head in amusement.

"yeah," he said, nudging your shoulder lightly. "they really are."

after that day, you had to part ways with leehan earlier than you wanted, as he had to return to his post. if this had been any other situation, you would have sulked in your room, reminiscing about every interaction, but tomorrow held the assurance of the start of your job. luckily, it arrived sooner than expected.

the first days of your internship went smoother and far beyond your expectations, if you're going to be honest. the first few minutes of your shifts were always easy—walking around the exhibits, chatting casually with leehan before the guests started approaching. at first, you felt a little awkward, your words occasionally stumbling as you tried to recall all the information you'd studied.

"that's an anemone," you told a curious child, crouching beside the tank. "it may look like a plant, but it's actually a marine animal!"

the kid gasped, eyes widening as he pressed his face closer to the glass. "like in finding nemo?"

"exactly!" you chuckled, watching as he turned excitedly to his mom to repeat the new fact.

moments like these made your job fulfilling. it also helped that leehan was always nearby whenever you hesitated on identifying a particular species.

"that's a flashlight fish," he murmured one time when he noticed you squinting at a glowing fish behind the glass. "it uses bioluminescent bacteria to light up and communicate with others in the dark."

you blinked up at him, impressed. "that's so cool… i mean, i knew that, of course," you joked, nudging his arm lightly.

he only smirked in response.

the way he effortlessly spoke about the sea creatures, made you admire him even more. your heart had been set on marine biology because of him, and now here you were, sharing this space, learning from him, existing in his world.

and he didn’t seem to mind your presence at all.

for the next few weeks, a routine settled between you two. you love your job, the people were kind, and every day ended the same— walking to the convenience store across the pedestrian lane, where leehan would insist on buying you your favorite kimbap and milk.

"you don't have to pay for me every time," you huffed, nudging his arm as he handed you the food.

"just let me," he grinned, brushing off your protest like it was nothing. "i promise tomorrow you're on your own."

but, of course, tomorrow always came with him pulling out his wallet again.

leehan was easy to be around, much easier than you had expected. he was warm, soft-spoken yet surprisingly funny, always throwing in quiet remarks that made you laugh when you least expected it.

"you know, if you stare at the seahorses any longer, they might start staring back," he teased one afternoon as he caught you zoning out in front of one of the tanks.

you turned to him, flustered. "i wasn't!"

"you totally were," he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

the only problem? his face—his distractingly, unfairly handsome face. you would try to focus on what he was saying, nodding along as he spoke about coral bleaching or deep-sea fish, but half the time, your brain just screamed, wow, he's really pretty. blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff

and the worst part? it wasn't just his looks anymore. the more you got to know him, the deeper you found yourself sinking. he wasn't just the quiet, nerdy boy you had admired from afar—he was kind, attentive, and effortlessly charming in his own way.

but did he see you the same way?

that thought haunted you late at night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every interaction. maybe you were overthinking. maybe he was just being friendly. after all, you were the only one who had ever shown genuine interest in his passion. maybe he was just grateful for that.

you sighed, frustration bubbling up. why can't my crush like me back? but then, you reminded yourself that this was already more than you could have asked for.

you had become his friend. his co-worker. you got to spend time with him in a way you had only dreamed of back then. and for now, that was enough.

the day off had finally arrived, and by all means, you were supposed to be curled up in your room, wrapped in the comfort of your onesie with a book in hand. instead, here you were, standing by the shore near the aquarium, the salty breeze tousling the loose strands of your hair. the morning sunlight bathed the scene before you—the gentle waves rolling onto the sand, the distant chatter of families and tourists, and the seagulls gliding lazily above.

you wore a light blue gingham dress, the soft fabric swaying slightly in the wind, and over your shoulders, a white knitted cardigan kept the chill at bay. your hair was tied up into a neat bun, though a few strands had slipped free, framing your face. you leaned against the metal railing that separated the shore from the cement platform where various food stalls and the aquarium stood in the middle of it all.

it still felt surreal that leehan had asked you to hang out today. the moment you saw his message hours ago, you had flung your phone onto your bed, pacing the room in a frenzy before bouncing off the walls in excitement. you could've gone with your usual default look—your trusty blue jumper, striped shirt, sneakers, and a messy ponytail, but something about today felt different, special. so, instead, you took the extra time to put yourself together, wanting to look at least somewhat presentable next to him.

would it be silly to think that dressing up for a casual hangout with your crush was totally justifiable? probably. but would it stop you? absolutely not.

you were so lost in your thoughts, replaying the past few hours in your head, that you barely noticed when someone stepped beside you, leaning against the railing quietly.

"enjoying the seagulls?"

your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. snapping out of your daze, you turned your head, and immediately wished you hadn't.

leehan stood beside you, dressed in a black shirt, with beige cardigan that complimented his fair skin, paired with jeans. his usual oversized hoodie and sweatpants were nowhere in sight. instead, his, brown hair was neatly tucked behind his ear, with a few loose strands falling perfectly around his face. and to top it all off, he wasn't wearing his glasses today, revealing his soft, expressive eyes that you suddenly found impossible to look away from.

you felt yourself freeze, blinking once, twice, just to make sure this wasn't some sort of hallucination. dressed up leehan was a rare sight. a painfully attractive one, at that.

he raised a brow at your delayed reaction, a small smile tugging at his lips. "you okay?"

crap, say something. anything.

"uh- yeah," you blurted out, feeling your face heat up. you quickly turned back toward the ocean, willing yourself to focus on the waves instead of the ridiculously handsome boy standing beside you. "weather's pretty clear today."

leehan smirked, "yeah, it is."

the silence that followed wasn't awkward, but rather comfortable—just the two of you standing there, the wind carrying the distant sound of chatters and crashing waves. you stole a quick glance at him, only to find that he was already looking at you.

"let's walk?" leehan straightened up, pushing himself off the railing and turning to face you.

you nodded, smiling. "alright, let's go."

as the two of you strolled side by side, you instinctively took your place on his left. but before you could settle into your place, leehan gently tapped a hand on your shoulder, guiding you to switch places.

"bikes and people running past—might hit you," he explained, flashing a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

you pursed your lips, trying to contain the grin trying to spread across your face. "oh- yeah, right," you stammered.

as you walked, you could feel his gaze on you. you caught glimpses of it from your peripheral vision, but you didn't dare look. if you did, he would see the shade of tomato blooming on your cheeks.

then, in that soft, teasing tone of his, he spoke. "you look different today, hm."

your brows furrowed as you turned to him. "different? me?" you pointed at yourself, playing dumb.

leehan nodded, keeping his gaze forward. "mhm, pretty different." he paused, eyes drifting off as if suddenly fascinated by the stalls lining the street smirk, "like, pretty."

then, he broke into a giggle. you let out an embarrassed laugh, nudging his arm. "why are you laughing? you probably didn't even mean that."

leehan's giggles faded into a small smile, one that felt sincere. "i mean it," he said, glancing at you again. "you look nice."

your smile faltered for a split second—not out of disappointment, but because internally, you were already soaring a thousand miles above the ground, but on the outside, you tried to play it cool.

"thank you...?" you scratched your cheek, voice coming out higher than you intended. "i mean—you look great today too." you chuckled, quickly averting your eyes, "no glasses suit you."

leehan hummed, touching his temple. "really? i'm wearing contacts right now."

you tilted your head slightly. "mhm, well..." you hesitated before finally turning to look at him directly. his eyes met yours, and for a moment, you simply observed. but apparently, your gaze held more power than you thought, because leehan visibly tensed, his ears turning bright red.

you smiled. "you look nice without glasses, but with glasses... you're leehan."

he blinked, processing your words before narrowing his eyes. "i'm what?" he asked.

you shifted on your feet, feeling like you'd just set yourself up for embarrassment. "you're you when you wear glasses... and, well, we're also matching."

the second the words left your mouth, you wanted to disappear. 'matching?? am i deadass?'

leehan didn't say anything at first. just a slow nod. then, after a moment of silence, he suddenly pointed at a food stall. "let's eat there. my treat."

you opened your mouth to object, but before you could get a word out, he swiftly shushed you. "shh, no buts."

with that, he turned on his heel and stepled toward the stall, leaving you standing there, still recovering from the rollercoaster of emotions he'd just put you through.

but then, just as he walked ahead, he casually threw over his shoulder, "also... i'd wear those glasses every day from now on."

he didn't even look back, but you could hear the grin in his voice. you bit your lip, shaking your head with a smile as you caught up to him.

the entire day from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. was a wrap. usually, spending this long outside with liz would leave you drained. you could already picture yourself slumped on a bench, legs aching, hair a mess, and sighing dramatically about the cruelty of existence. but with leehan? it was different. not a single muscle in your foot felt strained, your throat wasn't dry from talking too much, and even your hair, somehow—remained perfectly in place. if anything, every hour with him felt like a breath of fresh air, rejuvenating instead of exhausting.

and then there were the stolen glances. the ones that made your stomach flip and your heart flutter. every time you caught him looking, his ears would turn a bright, almost comical shade of red, and he'd break into giggles like he had just been caught doing something illegal. which, honestly? in the court of your heart, that was a crime. because what was he doing looking at you like that? did he like you? did you have something on your face? or god forbid, did you look ugly?

now, the two of you stood in front of one of the large aquarium tanks, deciding to walk around before it closes. the dim blue light reflecting off your faces as you both gazed at the marine life gliding through the water. schools of silver fish shimmered as they rippled around, and a stingray floated lazily. you and leehan stood close, but still in your own little bubbles, existing side by side.

out of nowhere, leehan let out a soft chuckle, brushing the back of his hand over his mouth as if trying to stifle it.

you turned to him with a puzzled smile. "what?"

he shook his head, hands slipping behind his back, eyes flickering between you and the tank. "i just remembered something," he said, grinning. "back in seventh grade, i was staring at a koi pond, and it's still one of my best memories."

your eyebrows furrowed. "what, just… looking at a pond?"

"not just any pond," he said. "the one where you suddenly sat beside me."

your face scrunched up in confusion as he continued.

"you were wearing a jumper and a blue shirt. your hair was in these…" he gestured vaguely to his own head. "uneven pigtails."

you gasped in mock offense. "they were not uneven!"

"oh, i still remember, they definitely were," he teased before chuckling. "i thought you were, like, some nerd who also like fishes like me, so i just started blabbering about different koi breeds."

leehan paused, biting back another laugh. "but then i turned to you, and you were just..." he suddenly mimicked your exact expression from back then—mouth slightly agape, wide-eyed, and staring so intently at him that it could've burned a hole through his forehead.

you gasped. "i did not look like that!"

"oh, you so did," he said, doubling over laughing as you lightly shoved his shoulder.

"fine, i admit i had no clue what you were talking about back then," you admitted, crossing your arms. "but it's also the exact moment i got interested in fishes, so there."

the second the words left your mouth, your mind froze. you had just exposed yourself.

his laughter faded into a softer smile. "wait… really?"

you nodded, shifting on your feet. "yeah- i mean... at first, i was just trying to understand what you were saying so i wouldn't look dumb, but then… i actually got into it."

leehan's lips parted slightly, as if something was dawning on him. then, with a boyish grin, he hummed, "huh… that's cute."

your face warmed. "shut up."

"i just—" he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "i honestly thought you were super into it that day. i didn't realize you were just trying to keep up."

"well," you fumbled, twisting the fabric of your skirt between your fingers. "i wanted to be your friend so i thought learning about something you love would help… and besides, marine life is actually interesting."

leehan hummed, nodding slowly as he kept his gaze on the tank. then, without looking at you, he muttered, "i actually thought you were really adorable back then."

your heart skipped a beat, but before you could say anything, he continued. "but then you… kind of disappeared. well, not literally," he clarified, squinting as if trying to find the right words. "more like, i noticed you stopped talking to me as much. i thought maybe i weirded you out that day, and honestly?" he let out a self-deprecating laugh. "i got a little sad about it."

you felt a pang of guilt and embarrassment drop in your chest. "it wasn't that," you admitted softly. "i was just… scared you'd think i was uninteresting because i didn't know anything about your hobby." you rocked on the sole of your feet, staring at the glowing reflections on the floor. "that's why i started learning about marine biology. but the more i learned, the more i actually loved it."

leehan turned to face you fully now, a lopsided grin forming. "so you're telling me… you did all that just so you could be friends with me?"

the teasing in his voice made your stomach flip, but before you could deflect, he let out a dramatic sigh, clutching his chest. "that's so heartbreaking. here i was, thinking you actually liked me back then—ow."

you would've laughed, but instead, you internally cursed your luck. he used to like me when i thought i was the most boring person he had ever met?!

forcing out an awkward giggle, you tried to conceal the disappointment in your chest. "oh- really?" you bit your lip, shifting your eyes elsewhere. "well, yeah… what a shame, really."

leehan studied you for a moment, his teasing expression softening into something more sincere. he exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. "honestly, it was the most embarrassing crush ever. i even tried to stop liking fish because i thought it made me weird."

your head snapped toward him. "and here i was spending my entire life liking fish because i thought it'd make you like me," you said with a small, incredulous smile.

he let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "i already liked you, fish or no fish." he sighed. "but… knowing that you found a passion because of me?" his voice was quieter now. "that actually makes me really happy."

your lips parted slightly as you finally looked at him—really looked at him. his eyes sparkled under the dim teal glow of the aquarium, his was relaxed, the light reflected off his face in a way that made your heart feel like it was trying to escape your chest.

and then, his voice dropped even softer. "actually—no." he hesitated, swallowing before continuing. "i like you. i was genuinely happy when i saw you here a week ago. and when you told me you were going to work here, i swear, i was kicking my feet home."

you swear you were soaring up high. your hands clenched at your sides as you tried to process his words. it was like a dream, a dream so surreal that you subtly pinched your leg just to make sure it was actually happening.

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. leehan seemed to take that as hesitation because he quickly backtracked. "no,you don't have to say anything. i'm sorry if that—"

"no," you cut him off, your voice barely above a whisper. "leehan, i like you."

he froze.

"i lied about the whole 'friend' thing," you admitted, your head dropping to the floor. "i just… didn't think you'd like me."

you suddenly felt the presence of leehan's palms hovering near your cheeks, his fingertips hesitating just inches away. "can i?"

you gave a small nod. that was all he needed. his palms, warm and slightly trembling, finally cupped your cheeks, his touch was careful as if he were holding something fragile.

"i can't really say you shouldn't think like that," he assured, his voice dipping lower as he leaned in, his torso bowing slightly to match your height. "because i thought the same too—i thought you wouldn't like me."

your chest pounded at his confession, but before you could speak, he continued, his voice tuned with something raw, and vulnerable.

"but now that i'm close to you again, it feels like a door has reopened. and you don't even know how long i admired you, and waited for this."

your eyes finally flickered up to meet his. a small, barely there, laugh escaped your lips, "me too. it's almost funny."

leehan exhaled, his shoulders loosening slightly, and his other hand came up to cup the other side of your face, thumbs brushing over your smooth cheeks in slow, tender strokes. neither of you spoke. the world had shrunk down to just the two of you—the distant, rhythmic bubbling of water, the gentle gliding of fish behind the glass walls of the aquarium, the silence muffling between breaths.

his starry eyes were locked onto yours. you felt the moment shift, your pulse thrumming louder in your ears as he inched closer. your eyes fluttered shut, and that was his cue.

then—his lips met yours. soft, featherlight, barely a touch, yet enough to send warmth spreading through your entire body. his lips moved with gentle care, patient and unhurried. his thumbs caressed your skin, tracing slow, soothing circles against your cheeks.

your hands, instinctively, reached for him, fingers curling around his torso, pinching around the fabric of his cardigan. he tilted his head slightly, pressing another tender and soft kiss. but you didn't need to tiptoe, didn't need to reach because he was already there, leaning down to meet you effortlessly.

just as slowly as he had pressed a kiss to your lips seconds ago, he pulled away with the same careful hesitation. lingering for a moment. his eyes remained closed. then, slowly, they fluttered open—widened pupils reflecting the soft twinkles of light around you.

both of you let out a breathy chuckle. your hands, which had instinctively wrapped around his torso, loosened their hold, instead trailing down to grasp the hem of his sleeve.

leehan glanced down, noticing the way you clung to his clothing. without a word, he reached for your hands, gently removing them from his shirt—but instead of letting go, he brought them up, his fingers handling yours delicately. his gaze softened as he lifted your hand to his face, pressing a featherlight kiss against your knuckles.

his breath was warm as he whispered, "i've only been dreaming of this... i thought i was waiting for the impossible. and yet, here it is."

his fingers intertwined with yours as he lowered your hand, still holding onto it.

"ditto." you breathed out the word, an indescribable happiness spreading across your face, butterflies stirring restlessly in your stomach.

leehan exhaled a snicker. his fingers brushed a few stray strands from your face, tucking them into place. "would you… want to go out with me?" he asked, his lips curling into a hopeful smile. "a proper date?"

you let out a giggle, tilting your head. "well... isn't this already a proper date?"

leehan let out a grin, shaking his head in amusement. "then," he started, tightening his hold on your hands and swinging them lightly, "would you want to go out with me on a second proper date?"

you let the moment stretch just a little, teasingly squinting at him before breaking into a smile. "yes, yes, leehan. i would." you blinked at him, feeling his hands wrapping warmly around yours.

he laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners, before adding, "and… adopt corydoras too?"

a soft chuckle escaped your lips as you echoed, "and, adopt corydoras too."

#bnd x reader #kim donghyun #boynextdoor #fanfic #leehan #kim leehan x reader #romance #leehan fluff #leehan boynextdoor #leehan bnd #leehan x reader #leehan fanfic #au #bnd ff #bnd #boynextdoor fanfic #bnd fanfic #kim leehan

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nick-writes-stuff · 2 months ago

Text

Safety Measure

Hwang In-ho x gn!reader

summary: You have been living with In-ho in his apartment for a year, still haunted by the experience you had in these very halls. When a breach of security happens, your life relies on the safety measures put in place to protect you as well as the fury of the Front Man himself.

!warnings: canon-typical violence, reader is manhandled and held at gunpoint, home invasion, description of a panic attack, hurt/comfort fic

a/n: YIPPEE! I love this one, guys. This is kind of a follow-up to One-sided Reunion, but it can be read totally standalone. (also yeah i'm implying the games work like the olympics, it made sense for the narrative lmao)

Things between you and In-ho had been going great. You had been living with him in his suite on the island for about a year now. That meant the annual game cycle had just begun. You were still hesitant about them continuing. You weren't entirely sold on the societal benefits of them, but you weren't going to actively try to stop them.

You weren't going to deal with the games this time. You basically wanted to forget they were happening. It felt wrong for you to do that, ignoring the fact that people were going through the experience that left you wishing to avoid them. You should feel vindicated to end their suffering, but you just couldn't. The idea of being involved in them, either as an aid or a hindrance, was terrifying to you. In-ho had tried to give you a tour of the compound once, and you got panicky the second you saw the pink, yellow, and blue stairs.

However, that didn't mean you were locked away in the suite all day. He showed you a way to get outside that didn't involve wandering through the familiar settings that haunted your mind. There was a beautiful garden area that you had taken up maintaining while In-ho was busy with the games.

He felt so much better now that there was something he cared for. The suite no longer felt suffocating and lonely. There was someone to return to. Usually the nights had been long and quiet and filled with a little too much whiskey at times, but now he had you. He could come back to the suite and let the mask go and just be himself.

And you were more than willing to be there waiting for him. Even if he had other responsibilities, he always made you feel like you were a priority because you were a priority to him. His devotion to you was greater than his devotion to the games by tenfold at least.

He was always thoughtful. He would take every opportunity to give you things. Not always something expensive or showy, either. Sometimes he would give you an origami crane he made while he was bored in a meeting or a snack he knew you loved that had arrived in the latest shipment that he definitely didn't go out of his way to arrange.

His thoughtfulness extended into anxiety about your safety. Since Gi-hun's attempted uprising, fear had been eating at him. They had been so close to finding their way into the management area. And also after his brother's stunt when he ended up in the suite. He was a bit hypervigilant at times, something you liked to tease him about occasionally.

So when the research and development team brought updated microchips to his attention, he was all ears. Everyone who worked on the compound had one of the chips implanted behind their ear, just like the players did. The new version of these chips included the ability to send a distress signal via pressure sensitivity. Rubbing your fingers over the chip with moderate pressure would be able to send an alert. They had proposed the idea because it would be a way to ensure protection without having an outside device. A phone or a button would draw attention. The person in danger would have a harder time hiding a handheld device and using it covertly. If they were able to use the chip, there was no evidence of the device for the perpetrators to see.

He rolled out the new chips for everyone involved in the compound. You received one as well, obviously. You didn't mind much seeing as you had already had one before. In-ho felt more at ease knowing that the key to your safety was behind your right ear.

He just wished he never had to see its usefulness. But what can go wrong will go wrong.

You had finished your work in the garden and had come back to the suite to start fixing dinner. It was a Tuesday, which was typically the day In-ho had a majority of the evening free. He liked having the time to be away from the games, having the time to take off the mask. You had quickly changed out of your clothes and headed into the kitchen. You washed your hands and heard the door to the suite open behind you.

You glanced at your watch. “You're here early.” You called out in a questioning tone. You dried off your hands and turned around, but it wasn't who you expected. It wasn't him at all.

You were looking down a barrel of a rifle, a man in black holding it toward you. You dropped the towel, lifting your hands into the air. “Who the hell are you?” You asked. You tried not to tremble. This was the first time you had seen a weapon since you were escorted to the suite after your time in the games.

The man glared at you. “I could ask you the same question.” He shot back. He took a step toward you.

You wanted to say something to him, but you couldn't get the words out.

“Here's how this is going to go,” He said. He closed the distance between you. You backed yourself against the counter. “You're going to tell me where my sister is, and I won't put a bullet between your pretty eyes.” He said through gritted teeth.

You flinched as he aimed the gun at your head. You couldn't look at him, too scared to look at the metal he was holding.

He was impatient and angry and holding a gun. “I'm not gonna ask you again.” He yelled. You let out a whimper, as if you couldn't look any more pathetic.

“I don't know who your sister is. I don't know anything, okay?” You said. Your voice was shaking as much as your hands were.

“Is she in one of these rooms?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I don't know where she is. I just live here.” You said.

He scoffed at you. “Bullshit.” He spat, "I know she's here. You did something to her." He was getting more irate, practically screaming.

You shook your head frantically. "I don't know, okay?!" You cried out. He rolled his eyes at you. "I'm not the one in charge here. I just live here."

He slung the rifle over his shoulder and pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip. He pointed it at you. “Get over here.” He ordered. You froze. “Get the fuck over here.” He yelled. Your mind was still frozen, but your legs followed his order.

He grabbed you roughly, holding you in front of him and pushing the cold metal into your back. “If you aren't the one in charge, you're going to lead me to who is.” He said. You were glad he couldn't see your face as you smirked slightly despite the circumstances. In-ho was the last person he wanted to encounter right now.

“I don't know this place well, but I can try.” You said.

He scoffed at you. "I thought you lived here?" He yelled.

"I live in the apartment. I don't go out there." You said.

He tightened his grip on your shoulder, leaving you wincing from the jolt of pain. "Awfully convenient." He muttered.

He shoved you forward toward the exit of the suite. “What are these rooms?” He asked, his loud voice ringing in your ears.

“They are just rooms in the apartment. One is a bedroom and one is a storage room.” You said shakily. He looked at you skeptically. He didn't believe you. He turned to open the door of the storage room. He was tearing the room apart. You didn't even know what was in there. You never bothered to ask.

You took that as your moment. You raised your trembling hand and dug your fingers into the skin behind your ear. You definitely did it with more force than necessary, but you just wanted to make sure you got it to work. When you see him start to turn around, you let your hands return to your sides.

He stepped out and grabbed your shoulder again and jabbed you in the back with the barrel of the gun. His fingers dug into your skin. You knew he would probably leave bruises. “Let's go.” He urged, pushing you forward. You were leading him blindly, but you hoped you would make it convincing enough for him.

–

In-ho was watching over the voting process after the first game. It was a rather tedious task, as he was really just watching a few hundred people getting in line to push a button. That was until he heard the alarm start to sound off. He turned to one of the managers, the blank eyes of the mask staring into the square outline. “What is that?” He asked, but he already knew. His blood ran cold, and he had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“It's, uh-" the manager paused to think of the way to phrase it, "It's their alarm, Sir" You didn't have a title in the compound since you hadn't been involved in the operation yet. Most people didn't even know you were still on the island. Only a very select few of the managers knew that you were here.

“Where are they?” He said. The filter in his mask helped to mask the growing anxiety.

“They are just leaving the suite now.”

In-ho didn't waste time. “Start investigating the breach. You two,” He ordered, gesturing to the two triangle soldiers posted at the door, “with me.” He said. He rushed out of the control room. He had the upper hand of knowing the layout of the building.

You were trying not to lead the intruder in circles, but you literally had no idea where you were going. “Are you sure you're going the right way?” He snapped.

“I don't know the layout here, I told you that.” You said. You didn't want him to realize it, but you were crying now.

“You're fucking useless.” He hissed, digging the barrel into your spine again. You whimpered, scared of what he would do.

In-ho was able to hear that exchange, and he was seething. He pulled out his own revolver, keeping it low at his side, before turning the corner, and his eyes landed on you and the man.

The man quickly moved the gun from your back to your temple. You tried to flinch away from it, but he tightened his grip on your arm. He was using you as a shield, but he was looking over your shoulder.

You looked at In-ho with wide eyes. Your breathing was shallow as you panicked. Any source of comfort you could gain from his presence was hidden behind the mask, literally and metaphorically. You couldn't see his face, and he couldn't say anything comforting to you because he knew showing an attachment could create problems later on.

You understood his reasoning, but it wasn't enough at the moment. You could very well die here, and the last thing you see of him is the black polygonal mask. You were also scared that he would have to watch you die if something went wrong here. He would have to watch it and hold in his grief because the others couldn't know. You didn't want to become one of the ghosts of people from his past that still haunted his mind.

“I take it that you're looking for me.” In-ho said coldly. The mask was hiding it, but he was scared right now. He couldn't even remember the last time he was scared. But seeing you treated like this terrified him.

The man laughed angrily, “Looks like you weren't as stupid as I thought.” He snapped, punctuating his statement by digging the barrel of the gun into your skin. He looked over your shoulder toward In-ho. “Now, you're gonna show me where my sister is, or I'm gonna put a bullet in-”

The man was cut off by a gunshot, the bullet going straight through his skull. You screamed, scrambling away from the man. For a second, you thought the man shot you. You put your hand up to your temple, pulling it away to see blood. But it wasn't yours.

In-ho froze for a moment, taking a deep breath. He was still holding out his revolver, finger on the trigger after he took the man out. Once it registered in his brain that you were safe, he turned to the soldiers.

“Deal with this.” He said shortly to them. He took a step forward and grabbed your hand. He led you back toward the suite. He didn't do or say anything to you at first. He didn't need any of the soldiers realizing that you were a vulnerability of his.

Once the door shut behind you both, he pulled the mask off, letting it clatter to the ground as he pulled you into his arms. You cried into his chest, hands clenching around the fabric of his jacket.

He tried to calm you down, but it was obvious that he was shaken up by it as well. He gently ran his fingers through your hair. “Hey, it's okay now. You're safe now. He's gone. It's okay.” He whispered repeatedly.

You tried to calm down, but you couldn't manage it. You could feel the man's blood drying on your face and hand. You could still feel the dull ache where he grabbed you. You were shaking in his arms, breathing ragged and shallow.

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "I'm right here, okay? We're safe in here." He murmured. You nodded slightly. After a few minutes, your grip on his jacket loosened slightly. Your breathing slowed somewhat, but you still weren't calm.

“Do you want to go sit down?” He asked. You looked up at him. Your eyes were still wide and were now glassy and red from crying. You nodded. You couldn't even think about forming words right now.

He led you over toward the couch with a gentle hand on your elbow. He avoided touching your shoulders as he didn't know if you were hurt, and he certainly didn't want to remind you of the man's touch. After you sat down, he looked down at you. “I'll be right back, okay? I'm just going over to the kitchen.” He said. He waited for you to nod slightly before walking away.

He returned with a wet towel and a glass of water. You haven't moved since he left, still staring at the same spot on the floor with a faraway gaze. He got on his knees in front of you, setting the glass on the hardwood floor for a moment.

“I'm just going to wipe off your face, okay?” He asked. He placed his hand gingerly on your jaw, using the other to wipe the blood off. He tried to steady his own hands to no avail. He gently grabbed your hand and wiped it as well. “Do you want a drink?” He asked. You shook your head. He nodded. He walked over and placed it and the towel on an end table.

He sat down next to you. You turned so you were sitting perpendicular to him. You laid your legs across his and leaned into him. Your head rested against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, which served to ground you. One of his arms wrapped around you while his other hand found its way into your hair.

You were still crying, but you had definitely calmed down somewhat. “Deep breaths, okay? Can you do that for me?” He murmured. You nodded slightly. You instinctively matched his breathing as he rubbed your arm. His anxiety was definitely lessening, but he still felt an intense anger in the back of his mind. Part of him wished he left the man alive so he could make him suffer.

After a few minutes of sitting like that, he moved his hands. One cupped your cheek gently, guiding your gaze to him. “If you don't want to, you don't have to, but could you tell me what happened?” He asked gently. It would be helpful to know so he could properly investigate the incident, but he also knew it wouldn't be a pleasant thing to discuss.

You sat quietly for a moment, moving back to your original position. “I was starting to make dinner, and I heard the door open and..." You said, trailing off as your breathing started to quicken again.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." He said, hushing you quietly. His embrace tightened slightly, resting his chin on the top of your head. "We don't have to talk about it now. Don't worry about it, okay?" You nodded slightly.

You both sat there for a moment. You started to shakily take deeper breaths. In-ho started humming softly. You didn't recognize the song, but you knew it had to be one of the pretentious classical songs that he held in high regard but you had never heard of. It definitely helped to soothe you, however

He took a deep breath. “He didn't hurt you, did he?” He asked. His tone was gentle, but you could tell there was an anger behind it.

“Not really.” You said. You felt him tense up, so you elaborated. “I mean, he grabbed my shoulder pretty hard and dug the barrel into my skin, but I'm fine.” You mumbled.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

You nodded.

You both sat like that for a moment before you spoke. “I'm sorry for scaring you.”

He looked down at you, puzzled. “That's not your fault.”

You shrugged. “I just feel bad because I know you had to hide it until we were alone.” You said.

He held you a bit tighter. “I'll admit, I was really worried. But it's not your fault at all. You have nothing to apologize for.” He said somewhat sternly.

In his mind, the anxiety he feels is just a manifestation of his love for you and his desire to keep you safe. It wasn't your fault that he was worried, and he didn't mind that he was. It was a good thing in his eyes.

You looked up at him, a slight smirk on your face. “At least we know the chips work.” You said with a giggle.

He smiled. There is nothing like some ill-timed humor to lighten the mood. “Maybe next time, we'll leave product testing up to the manufacturer.” He said. He gave you a soft kiss on your forehead.

You returned to listen to his heartbeat. “Can we just sit here for a second like this?” You still felt a bit nervous and shaky, likely from the adrenaline leaving your system.

He nodded. “Of course. Whatever you need.” He said gently. He rubbed your arm slowly. “What were you doing in the garden today?” He asked. He knew you both could use a distraction right now.

You jumped at the chance to talk to him about it, hoping it changes the topic and mood of the conversation. You told him about what you planted in the new planter and how the weeds around the rhododendron bush were stubborn. You updated him on your recent attempts to hand-feed some of the birds that nested in the area. He chuckled and picked on you for your insistence, but your determination and stubbornness were a bit inspiring, honestly.

When you had stopped talking, you had calmed down significantly. You were no longer shaking, and you felt like you could breathe again. And In-ho had calmed down too, seeing as he was considerably less tense. “Do you want to start on dinner? I'm going to make a call to the control room, and I'll be in to help.” He asked.

You looked up at him, giving a skeptical look. You've heard this one before.

He sighed. “It'll be quick, I promise.” He said.

“Sure…” you said, drawing out the vowel.

He rolled his eyes. “You are insufferable sometimes.” He said without malice.

You gave a look of mock surprise. “Rude.”

You got up to the kitchen while In-ho walked over to the rotary phone on the desk. You tried not to eavesdrop on the conversation, but most of it was just him ordering them to investigate the breach. He also ensured he could be with you the rest of the evening, something that brought a smile to your face. He was down bad, wasn't he?

The evening went smoothly for the two of you. He didn't need to be called into the control room at all.

You both got into bed for the night. You looked over at him. “Thank you.” You said softly.

He looked confused. “For what?” He asked.

“For staying with me tonight.” You murmured. “I know the games are important, and they need you. So this means a lot to me.”

He chuckled softly. “Of course I would. You're important to me too, you know?” He said. You could tell from his tone that he was tired. You pressed a kiss to his lips, and you felt him smile into the kiss.

You pulled away slowly. “I love you.” You mumbled.

“I love you too.” He said. He wrapped an arm around you, and it wasn't long until you were able to drift off.

It also wasn't long until In-ho woke up with a start. He jerked awake, breathing quickly. He jerked his gaze over to find you, making sure you didn't have the gunshot wound he had just watched you get in his nightmare.

He thought he hadn't woken you, but you eventually sat up with a yawn. “Hey, what's going on?” You asked sleepily.

He looked down at you. “Nothing, it's fine.” He said softly.

You caught on to what was happening, but you didn't say anything. You rolled over, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arm around him. “Love you.” You murmured before dozing back off.

He looked at you and smiled with a lovesick grin. What did he do to deserve you? He thought about it until he drifted off to sleep himself.

#nick writes stuff #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game x you #in ho x reader #front man x reader #hwang in ho x reader

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the-winter-spider · 5 months ago

Text

Willow | 1/2

Pairings: 1940sBucky x Agent!Reader, Bucky x agent!reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: Nothing really

A/N: This fic was inspired by @vibraniumqueen message sent to me!! Hope its sort of what you requested! I got carried away and now have to post this in 2 parts lol

Im not like the biggest fan of this buuuuut after writing over 15k words total for the whole fic i gotta post it lol ALSO i definitely did not edit this lmao oopsie

The door slid open, and in walked Nick Fury, his presence commanding the room as always. He didn’t bother with formalities; he never did.

“Agent,” Fury began, his voice low and steady. “We’ve got a mission. One that never happened, and one you’ll never speak of again.”

You nodded, your face impassive, though your mind was already racing. Missions like these were your specialty. You didn’t operate in the spotlight. You weren’t one of Fury’s public heroes or a celebrated Avenger. You were a shadow, a weapon honed in the dark, moving through the world unnoticed. A ghost.

Fury crossed the room, his trench coat brushing the floor as he moved. “We’ve identified a Nazi stronghold in 1941, deep in occupied Europe. They’re in possession of critical documents, plans and technology decades ahead of their time. We can’t let those files survive the war.”

You glanced at the map, your mind already calculating. “Time travel,” you said, your voice calm, though the weight of the mission began to settle on your shoulders.

Fury nodded. “You’ll be stationed as a nurse with the 107th Infantry. They’ll be arriving at a field camp near the stronghold in a few days. Your cover is simple: blend in, gain access to the target, retrieve the files, and get out. No deviations. No attachments.”

You resisted the urge to scoff. No attachments. That had been drilled into you since the beginning. You were trained to be invisible, to serve a mission and then disappear without a trace. Your past in the Red Room had taught you that much, and SHIELD had only refined it.

“I assume I’m working alone,” you said.

Fury’s expression didn’t change. “You always do.”

It was true. You were a ghost in every sense of the word. You’d spent your entire life operating on the fringes, never part of a team, never part of their world. You knew of the Avengers, of course, who didn’t? But they didn’t know you. You weren’t a part of their grand battles or their legendary victories.

Well, except for one. Natasha Romanoff. She’d been a fleeting presence in your life, a reminder of your shared origins in the Red Room. You’d trained in the same shadows, fought the same demons. But even then, you hadn’t truly even known her, you wouldn't let yourself. She’d been a specter of a different life, one that had moved on without you. While she got recruited there, Fury thought you were best suited in the shadows.

You refocused as Fury handed you a dossier. Inside were detailed maps, forged documents, and a small vial containing a glowing blue liquid. The device that would send you back in time.

“You know the drill,” Fury said, his tone as sharp as ever. “You’re not there to change history, only to secure our future. In and out. No one remembers you, and you don’t bring anything or anyone back.”

You nodded, flipping through the dossier. “And the 107th?”

“They don’t know who you are, and they never will. You’re a nurse. That’s it. But one name on that roster might ring a bell.” Fury tapped the folder, and you found it instantly. Barnes, James Buchanan.

The name didn’t spark recognition, but it did send a strange ripple through your thoughts. “Why him?” you asked.

Fury shrugged. “No reason. He’s just another soldier in the unit. But don’t let that distract you. This mission isn’t about making friends, and it damn sure isn’t about saving anyone who doesn’t need saving.”

You clenched your jaw. Fury’s words were a reminder of the line you couldn’t cross. You’d trained for this moment for years, honing your skills to perfection. You were designed to be unseen, unheard, and unfelt.

Fury’s voice snapped you back. “You’ve got your orders. Do your job, Agent. Leave no trace.”

You took the dossier and the vial, tucking them away with practiced efficiency. “Understood,” you said, your voice steady, devoid of hesitation. But as you turned to leave, the familiar mantra echoed in your mind: No attachments. No connections. You’re a ghost.

When you finally opened the dossier, your eyes landed on a photograph. Barnes. The name was familiar, but it wasn’t until you stared at his face that something inside you stirred. A strange sense of recognition flickered in the back of your mind. You knew him or at least, it felt like you did.

You flipped the page, your pulse quickening as more details came into view and then, you saw it.

The Winter Soldier.

The words stared back at you, cold and unfeeling, but they sparked a storm of emotions you weren’t prepared for. You knew the name, of course. Everyone in this business did. The ghost story whispered in shadows, the assassin whose presence was felt long after he disappeared into the night. But what you didn’t know was the man behind it.

Your gaze drifted back to the photograph, and for a moment, everything else fell away. His eyes. Even through the grainy black-and-white image, they stood out haunted, distant, yet somehow familiar. There was innocence there, a quiet humanity buried beneath the weight of the darkness he would come to bear.

You tightened your grip on the file, your knuckles whitening. Ghosts weren’t meant to feel, and yet here you were, shaken by a face from the past you couldn’t place but somehow couldn’t forget.

Flipping through the pages, you scanned his history—Brooklyn, 1941, the 107th Infantry. Your breath caught as more images filled the pages. Pictures of him before he became the Winter Soldier: laughing with other soldiers, standing beside a scrawny young man labeled Steve Rogers, of course you knew him as Captain America but no one would ever know you. Then, the darker photos followed. HYDRA. The experiments. The cold, dead stare of a man who had been stripped of everything.

The door to your quarters slid shut with a soft hiss, and for a moment, the silence was almost suffocating. You placed the dossier and the small vial of glowing blue liquid on the steel table in front of you. The mission parameters were clear, the risks higher than usual, but none of that was new. You’d done this before, moving through missions like a shadow, leaving no trace. Yet, something about this one felt… different. Heavier.

You sat down, the cold metal of the chair grounding you. Flicking open the dossier, you reviewed the details again, committing every piece of information to memory. Maps, personnel lists, cover identities. You’d be stationed as a nurse in a field hospital near the front lines. A perfect cover for blending in. Your forged papers were flawless, down to the tiniest detail.

Your name was different now. Your past erased, rewritten to fit the narrative of a 1940s nurse.

Ghosts didn’t get attached. Ghosts didn’t feel. You weren’t there to alter history or forge connections. Your mission was simple: retrieve the files, destroy them if necessary, and get out.

You pushed the dossier aside and picked up the vial, turning it over in your hands. The blue liquid shimmered faintly, a reminder of the power it held. Time travel was a delicate operation, one that required precision and absolute control. There was no room for error.

You placed the vial carefully into the injector and secured it around your wrist. The faint hum of the device powering up was the only sound in the room.

Your internal monologue began to surface, unbidden.

You weren’t supposed to be here, not in this timeline, not in their world. You’d been forged in the Red Room, molded into an instrument of precision and silence. SHIELD had found you, given you purpose beyond the shadows of your past, but you had never stepped into the light. You were designed to operate in the margins of history, invisible to the heroes who saved the world.

It hurt thinking of Natasha, her voice, her presence in the Red Room. She had been a beacon of strength. But she had walked away from that world, found a new family. You? You remained in the shadows, bound to missions that no one could know about, missions that didn’t exist on paper. You didn't exist on paper. You just didn't exist, you never would.

You stood and approached the small mirror on the wall. The face staring back at you was calm, unyielding. But behind your eyes, you could see the tension creeping in.

You’re not doing this for glory or recognition. You’re doing this because you’re the only one who can.

You reached for the pack of clothing and equipment laid out on the nearby table. The nurse’s uniform was meticulously crafted, down to the period-accurate buttons and insignia. As you slipped into the attire, you felt yourself becoming the role. The transformation was seamless, automatic, a ritual that pulled you deeper into the identity you were about to assume.

Finally, you secured the last piece: a silver locket around your neck. Inside was a tiny microchip, a piece of technology far beyond anything the 1940s could comprehend. It was your failsafe, your tether back to the present.

A soft chime from the injector reminded you it was time. You glanced around the room, taking in every detail, knowing this might be the last familiar sight you’d see for a while. Then, you pressed the button on your wrist.

The world around you began to shift, colors bleeding into one another as time folded in on itself. Your heart pounded, but your expression remained stoic. You’d trained for this, prepared for every contingency. You were ready.

As the light around you intensified, your final thought was simple, resolute: You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

The world snapped into focus, and you were standing in a field hospital in 1941, the distant sound of artillery fire echoing through the air.

The mission had begun.

The salty breeze off the English Channel carried the smell of sea and steel, a sharp reminder of the battles waged across its waters. You stood at the edge of the field hospital camp, the makeshift tents and wooden crates around you blending into the mud-soaked earth. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows as the air grew cooler.

From where you were stationed, you could see the transport ship docking at the pier. Its hulking frame loomed against the gray sky, the gangplank lowering with a heavy groan. One by one, soldiers began to disembark, their boots clanging against the metal as they descended.

You were trained to observe, to analyze every detail without drawing attention to yourself. These men were exhausted, their faces grim and hardened by the horrors they had faced. Their uniforms were wrinkled and stained, helmets tilted at weary angles. They moved like a unit, but each step spoke of personal battles, of stories carried in silence.

You stayed rooted in place, your nurse’s uniform a perfect blend of authority and anonymity. A clipboard in your hand gave you an excuse to linger, but no one paid you much mind. This was war. You were just another face in the chaos.

Your eyes scanned the line of soldiers disembarking, cataloging them with practiced precision. You were supposed to be looking for weaknesses, details that might help you blend in more effectively. But then, your gaze landed on one man.

He walked with a quiet confidence, his posture upright despite the weight of fatigue. Dark hair peeked out from beneath his helmet, and his steel-blue eyes scanned the camp with a soldier’s wariness. His face was sharp, shadowed by stubble, but it was his expression that caught you equal parts focused and distant, as if he were both here and somewhere far away.

James Buchanan Barnes.

It felt weird knowing his name, his story or at least, the parts that history would remember… the parts in the folder. But standing here now, seeing him in the flesh, was something else entirely. He wasn’t just a name in a dossier or a ghost from the past. He was real, and the weight of that realisation hit you like a wave.

I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night.

His arrival had stirred something deep within you, something you couldn’t explain.

You weren’t supposed to feel this way. Your mission was clear: stay invisible, complete the task, and leave. No deviations, no entanglements. But as you watched him, your chest tightened with an inexplicable pull. There was something about him, something magnetic.

Bucky paused near the base of the gangplank, helping another soldier with a crate of supplies. His voice was low, his words lost in the din of the camp, but the kindness in his gestures was unmistakable. He was a soldier, yes, but there was a warmth to him, a spark of humanity that hadn’t been extinguished by war.

You forced yourself to look away, focusing on the clipboard in your hand. Stay sharp. Stay focused. You couldn’t afford distractions, not here, not now.

Your eyes betrayed you, flickering back to him as he moved through the camp, his presence impossible to ignore. You told yourself it was just curiosity, a natural reaction to seeing someone you’d only read about.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to wonder what it would be like to speak to him, to share even a fraction of the weight you carried. But the thought was fleeting, quickly buried beneath the weight of your training.

You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

The smell of antiseptic and damp canvas filled the air as you moved between the rows of cots in the makeshift medical tent. Their arrival was what you’d been waiting for.

You were focused on checking supplies when a familiar commotion at the tent entrance caught your attention. A group of soldiers sauntered in, their uniforms caked in dirt and their faces shadowed with fatigue. Among them was a man who immediately stood out. His dark hair curled slightly at the ends, his blue eyes bright despite the grime smeared across his face. He carried himself with an easy confidence, even as he favoured one leg.

Your mission dossier hadn’t prepared you for the sheer presence of him.

As the soldiers dispersed to their assigned cots, he made a beeline for you. His limp was subtle but noticeable, and despite yourself, your training kicked in.

“Take a seat,” you said, your voice steady as you gestured to an empty cot. “I’ll take a look at that leg.”

Bucky flashed a crooked smile, his eyes sweeping over you with interest. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, his voice smooth, tinged with the faintest Brooklyn accent. “And here I thought this camp was all bad news.”

You arched an eyebrow, setting down your clipboard. “Flattery won’t get you out of a medical exam, Sergeant Barnes.”

His grin widened as he sat down, wincing slightly. “So, you know my name. That’s a good start. What do I call you, Nurse…?”

You hesitated for half a second, then gave him your cover name. “Nurse Johnson.”

“Well, Nurse Johnson,” he said, leaning back on his hands, “if I’d known there were nurses like you out here, I’d have gotten shot a long time ago.”

You gave him a pointed look, crouching in front of him to roll up the tattered leg of his uniform. “Let’s try to avoid that, shall we?”

Bucky’s laugh was soft but genuine, his gaze never leaving your face. “You’re all business, huh?”

You pressed lightly on his shin, watching for a reaction. “Someone has to be. Looks like you’ve got a nasty sprain, but nothing’s broken.”

“Guess I’ll live to fight another day,” he said, wincing slightly as you adjusted his leg.

“Barely,” you muttered, grabbing a bandage from your kit. As you wrapped his leg, you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his attention almost unnerving.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, his tone playful but curious.

"Thats the line you're gonna go with?" The corners of your lips slightly turned as you tied off the bandage, sitting back on your heels. “Helping stubborn soldiers like you survive long enough to get home.”

Bucky chuckled, his head tilting slightly. “You got a smart mouth on you, Nurse Johnson. I like that.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up and crossing your arms. “And you’ve got a sprained leg. Try not to make it worse.”

He grinned again, leaning forward slightly. “You know, if you’re ever looking for a dance partner when this war’s over, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Despite yourself, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You better. A guy like me doesn’t make that offer twice.”

Shaking your head, you gathered your supplies and turned to leave. “Try to stay out of trouble, Sergeant.”

“No promises,” he called after you, his voice warm and teasing. “But I’ll do my best if it means seeing you again.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back, finding him still watching you, his smile softer now. Your mission had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

The first few days at the field hospital were a blur of motion and noise. Soldiers came in with fresh wounds, some minor, others devastating. Your hands worked tirelessly, stitching cuts, setting broken bones, administering whatever pain relief was available. You moved through it all like a machine, your focus never wavering.

You’d trained for moments like this, where life and death were separated by a thread, but this mission wasn’t about saving lives it was about staying hidden long enough to complete your objective. The files you needed were still buried somewhere in enemy hands, and every moment you spent here was one step closer to obtaining them.

Still, blending in was vital, and that meant interacting with the men around you. They were polite, for the most part, offering nods of gratitude when you patched them up. But one soldier in particular seemed to be making it his mission to capture your attention.

“Hey, Nurse,” a familiar voice called out one evening as you worked on organizing supplies. You turned to see Bucky leaning against the frame of the medical tent, a lopsided grin on his face. “Got a minute?”

You raised an eyebrow, but kept your expression neutral. “That depends. Are you here because you need actual medical attention, or are you just bored?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Bit of both, maybe.”

You sighed, setting down the bandages you were sorting. “Let me guess...another soldier got into a scuffle and you decided to play referee?”

Bucky stepped closer, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Something like that. You know how it is. Boys will be boys.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and despite yourself, you felt a flicker of amusement.

You crossed your arms, feigning exasperation. “Well, if you’re not bleeding, you’re wasting my time, Sergeant.”

“Ah, but see, you didn’t check.” He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Maybe I’ve got a battle wound you missed.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile threatening to break through. “If you’re trying to flirt, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Flirt? Me?” Bucky placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “I’m just trying to keep morale up. Can’t have our best nurse getting all serious on us.”

“Best nurse?” You arched an eyebrow. “You’ve known me for all of three days, Barnes.”

“Three days is all I need,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping just enough to send a small shiver down your spine. “I’ve got a good eye for people.”

You turned back to your supplies, determined to maintain your composure. “Well, maybe you should use that good eye to look out for your men instead of distracting me.”

Bucky chuckled again, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I do that too. Multitasking, you know?”

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, another soldier poked his head into the tent, interrupting the moment. “Sarge, we’ve got a situation by the south perimeter.”

Bucky’s demeanour shifted instantly, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by sharp focus. He gave you a quick nod, then turned to follow the soldier out.

“Don’t work too hard, doll,” he called over his shoulder as he left. “Wouldn’t want you wearing yourself out.”

You shook your head, finally letting out a small laugh once he was gone. Bucky Barnes was trouble, that much was clear. He was charming, confident, and far too good at making you forget the rules you were supposed to live by.

But he was also a soldier, just like the rest of them and you were here for a mission, not for him.

Stay focused, you reminded yourself, though it was getting harder with every interaction.

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Bucky found every opportunity to stop by the medical tent, whether it was to check on his men or to toss a teasing remark your way. He seemed determined to pull you out of your shell, to coax a smile or a laugh from you no matter how busy or serious the day became.

One afternoon, as you were tending to a soldier with a shrapnel wound, Bucky appeared again, his presence filling the tent like sunlight cutting through a storm.

“Thought you might need some help,” he said, leaning casually against a supply crate.

You didn’t even look up. “Unless you’ve suddenly become a medic, I think I’m good.”

“Hey, I’m a fast learner,” he quipped, stepping closer. “Show me what to do, and I’ll be the best assistant you’ve ever had.”

You finally glanced up at him, your expression skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He grinned, unflinching. “C’mon, Nurse. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You sighed, gesturing toward the supplies. “Fine. Hand me the gauze.”

Bucky’s grin widened as he moved to your side, and for the next few minutes, he actually did as he was told, passing you tools and supplies with surprising care. But of course, it didn’t take long for him to start talking again.

“So,” he began, his tone light, “you always this serious, or is it just an act?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe I’m trying to keep certain soldiers in line.”

“Ah, so I’m a bad influence,” he teased, leaning a little closer. “Good to know.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, trying not to let his proximity affect you. “You’re definitely something.”

The playful banter continued, but beneath it all, you felt the weight of unspoken truths. Every moment with Bucky was a reminder of what you couldn’t have, of the life you were just passing through. But for now, in the fleeting quiet of the field hospital, you allowed yourself to enjoy his presence.

Just for a little while, you told yourself.

The sun was setting, painting the horizon in hues of gold and crimson. The camp had grown quieter, the hum of daily activity fading as the soldiers took what little rest they could before nightfall. You were sitting on a wooden crate just outside the medical tent, enjoying a rare moment of stillness. A cup of lukewarm coffee sat in your hands, its warmth a small comfort against the cool evening air.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence, and you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Mind if I join you?” Bucky’s voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge.

You glanced at him, your heart giving a small, inexplicable flutter. “It’s a free camp,” you said, gesturing to the crate beside you.

Bucky sat down with a tired sigh, his helmet resting on his lap. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet settling comfortably between you. He looked different in the fading light less like the cocky sergeant who flirted with you during the day and more like the weary soldier you knew he was. His eyes were distant, reflecting the weight of battles fought and losses endured.

“You don’t talk much about yourself,” he said after a while, his voice thoughtful. “Most of the nurses here, they talk about home, family. You… you’re a mystery.”

You kept your gaze on the horizon, your grip tightening slightly on the cup. “Maybe I just don’t have much to tell.”

“Everyone’s got a story,” he countered, glancing at you. “Even ghosts.”

Your heart skipped at the word, but you kept your expression neutral. “Ghosts don’t have stories. They just… exist.”

Bucky frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Is that what you think you are? A ghost?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by his insight. He was perceptive, more than you’d expected. When you finally spoke, your voice was low. “I’ve spent a long time learning how to disappear. It’s easier that way.”

Bucky studied you for a moment, his gaze softening. “Easier, maybe. But doesn’t it get lonely?”

You swallowed hard. “Loneliness is part of the job.”

He shook his head, his expression gentle but firm. “Doesn’t have to be.”

You turned to look at him then, your eyes meeting his. There was no teasing now, no flirtation. Just quiet sincerity. It made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t really have anyone to talk about,” you admitted after a moment. “No family, not that I remember. My parents… I don’t even know their names.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his eyes filled with empathy. “Were you… a orphan?”

You hesitated, the term feeling both accurate and not. “Something like that. I was raised by people who didn’t care about who I was, only what I could do for them.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you’d intended, but Bucky didn’t shy away from them. His gaze softened further, and he nodded slowly. “That’s a hell of a way to grow up,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, trying to deflect the weight of the conversation. “It made me good at what I do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret. “But it doesn’t mean you deserved it.”

You looked away, unsure how to respond. Empathy wasn’t something you were used to, especially not from someone like him, someone who seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, even in the middle of a war.

After a long pause, Bucky spoke again, his voice softer this time. “You remind me of someone.”

You glanced at him, curious. “Who?”

“Steve,” he said with a small, fond smile. “He didn’t have much either. His mom passed not too long ago, and his dad when we were kids. But it's always been just him one way or another just fighting to survive in Brooklyn. Always getting picked on because he’s small, but he never gave up. He had this stubborn streak, always standing up for people, even when it got him into trouble.”

Steve Rogers. Captain America. You knew his story, but hearing Bucky talk about him like this, like he was just Steve, not a legend, because to this Bucky he wasn’t one yet it painted a different picture.

“Must’ve been tough,” you said softly.

Bucky nodded. “It was. But he never let it break him. That’s just who he is.” He paused, his smile growing a little. “He can't throw a rock without wheezing but he never let that and will never let that stop him.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the warmth in Bucky’s voice cutting through the weight of the conversation.

“He’s lucky to have you,” you said.

Bucky looked at you, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. “I’m lucky to have him too. He’s always been there, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The vulnerability in his words mirrored your own, and for a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the weight of your shared pasts hanging between you.

Bucky reached out then, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re not as invisible as you think,” he said softly. “Not to me…I see you Nurse, and the view is amazing”

The camp was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that preceded something terrible. The usual hum of activity had slowed, and even the soldiers seemed more on edge. You felt it too, the tension in the air, the weight of something approaching.

You were in the medical tent, organising supplies when the call came.

“Enemy movement spotted near the south perimeter!” a soldier shouted as he rushed past. “They’re coming!”

Your heart dropped. You knew this moment was inevitable. The enemy had been closing in for days, and now they were here. But it wasn’t just the impending battle that had your stomach in knots. It was the mission, the files.

You quickly grabbed your hidden satchel from beneath your cot. Inside were the tools you’d need to breach the Nazi stronghold, which was now dangerously close to enemy lines. You’d been waiting for this opportunity, but it was coming at the worst possible time. The camp was about to become a battlefield, and every second counted.

Before you could slip away, Bucky stormed into the tent, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his face set in a grim expression.

“There you are,” he said, his eyes scanning you quickly, as if ensuring you were unharmed. “They’ve called all hands. It’s gonna get rough out there.”

“I know,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

He frowned, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as you tightened the straps on your satchel. “I’ll be fine.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his suspicion growing. “What’s in the bag?”

You froze for a split second, but it was enough for him to notice. "Nothing."

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I can’t explain right now. I just… I have to go.”

His jaw tightened. “Go? Where? The perimeter’s crawling with enemy troops, and you’re talking about running off?”

You stepped past him, but he grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not harsh. “Talk to me,” he pleaded. “You’ve been keeping secrets since the day you got here. Please, dont do this….What’s really going on?”

You hesitated, the weight of your mission crashing down on you. Bucky wasn’t supposed to know. No one was. But in this moment, with his piercing gaze locked onto yours, you realized you couldn’t just walk away without saying something.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you said quietly. “I’m not just a nurse. I’m here on a mission.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed “A mission?” confusion and concern mixing in his expression. “What kind of mission?”

You glanced around, ensuring no one else was within earshot. “I can’t tell you everything. But there’s something I need to retrieve from the enemy. It’s vital.”

His grip on your arm tightened slightly. “You’re planning to go out there alone?”

“I have to,” you said, your voice firm. “This is what I was sent here to do.”

Bucky shook his head, his frustration evident. “You’re gonna get yourself killed. Do you even have backup?”

“No,” you admitted. “This mission is off the books.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he exhaled sharply. “That’s insane. You can’t go out there alone.”

“I’ve done it before,” you said, trying to reassure him. “I’ll be fine.”

But Bucky wasn’t convinced. “Not this time,” he said, his voice resolute. “I’m coming with you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his blue eyes stopped you. He wasn’t going to let you go alone.

“Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You don’t get to push me away now. If this is as important as you say it is, then you’re gonna need someone watching your back.”

You hesitated, torn between the mission and the growing connection you felt with him. Bringing Bucky along wasn’t part of the plan, but the truth was, you knew he was right. The enemy would be everywhere, and the odds of surviving alone were slim.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But you follow my lead. No questions.”

He gave you a small, determined nod. “Deal.”

Together, you slipped out of the tent and into the night, the distant sound of gunfire growing louder with each step. The mission was about to reach its breaking point, and so was your fragile trust in Bucky.

But there was no turning back now.

The camp was already descending into chaos by the time you and Bucky slipped through the south perimeter. Gunfire echoed in the distance, mingling with the shouts of soldiers and the thunderous roar of artillery. The enemy was closing in fast, and every second felt like borrowed time.

You led the way, keeping low as you navigated the uneven terrain. Bucky followed close behind, his rifle at the ready, his eyes scanning for threats. The weight of your satchel bounced against your side, a constant reminder of the mission’s stakes.

“Where exactly are we going?” Bucky asked in a hushed voice as you reached a narrow trail leading toward the enemy-occupied forest.

“There’s a stronghold about a mile from here,” you replied, keeping your voice low. “That’s where they’re keeping the files.”

He gave you a skeptical look but didn’t press further. “And how do you know this?”

You hesitated. “Let’s just say I have access to intel most people don’t.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Fine., I trust you.”

The tension between you was palpable, but there was no time to unpack it. You pressed on, the shadows of the trees swallowing you both as you moved deeper into enemy territory.

The stronghold loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the night sky. It was an old stone fortress, fortified with barbed wire and patrolled by armed guards. You and Bucky crouched behind a cluster of bushes, observing the layout.

“Two guards at the main entrance,” Bucky whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “And a patrol circling every few minutes.”

You nodded, scanning the area. “There’s a side entrance near the east wall. It’s less guarded, but we’ll have to time it perfectly.”

Bucky smirked slightly. “You’ve done this before.”

“More times than I care to admit,” you replied, keeping your eyes on the patrols. “Ready?”

“Always.”

Together, you moved swiftly and silently, sticking to the shadows. When the patrol passed, you darted toward the east wall, Bucky covering your six. The side entrance was a narrow metal door, rusted and worn. You pulled a small device from your satchel, a compact tool designed to pick even the most secure locks. Within seconds, the door clicked open.

“Impressive,” Bucky murmured as you slipped inside.

You gave him a quick look. “Focus.”

Inside, the stronghold was cold and dimly lit, the corridors eerily quiet. You navigated the labyrinthine hallways with precision, your memory of the layout guiding you. Bucky stayed close, his rifle raised and ready.

Finally, you reached a secured room at the end of a long hallway. A heavy steel door stood between you and your objective.

“This is it,” you whispered, pulling out another device from your satchel. It was a miniature explosive, designed to breach the door without causing a large-scale alert.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. “You really came prepared.”

“Like I said,” you replied, placing the explosive, “I’ve done this before.”

The device beeped softly as you set the timer. “Stand back.”

The explosion was quick and precise, the door blasting inward with minimal noise. You and Bucky rushed inside, your eyes immediately scanning the room. It was filled with filing cabinets and stacks of documents, the enemy’s plans meticulously organized.

You went to work, quickly locating the files you needed. As you stuffed them into your satchel, Bucky kept watch by the door.

“So this is what all the secrecy was about?” he asked, his voice low but tense.

“These files could change everything,” you said, your hands moving quickly. “If they fall into the wrong hands, it could shift the balance of power for decades.”

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. “Then we make sure they don’t.”

Just as you secured the last of the files, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Time to go,” Bucky said, his grip tightening on his rifle.

You nodded, and together you slipped out of the room, moving quickly and quietly through the stronghold. But as you reached the exit, the footsteps grew louder, closer. The guards were on high alert now.

“We’re not gonna make it out the way we came,” Bucky muttered, his eyes scanning for another escape route.

You pointed to a nearby staircase. “There’s a secondary exit through the upper level. It leads to the roof.”

Bucky nodded, and the two of you raced up the stairs, your boots barely making a sound on the worn stone steps. At the top, you found the door to the roof. It was locked, but Bucky didn’t hesitate. He slammed his shoulder into it, forcing it open with a grunt.

The night air hit you like a wall as you stepped onto the roof. Below, the camp was in chaos, enemy soldiers scrambling in response to the breach.

“There,” Bucky said, pointing to a nearby tree line. “We jump, head for cover.”

You hesitated, the drop from the roof to the ground far from ideal. But there was no time to argue. With a nod, you followed Bucky as he leapt, landing with a roll in the soft dirt below. You hit the ground a moment later, pain shooting through your legs as you landed hard but kept moving.

Together, you sprinted toward the trees, gunfire erupting behind you. Bullets whizzed past, but you didn’t stop, adrenaline driving you forward. Finally, you reached the cover of the forest, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter.

Once you were safely concealed among the trees, you collapsed against a trunk, your breath coming in heavy gasps. Bucky crouched beside you, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of pursuit.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, clutching the satchel tightly. “Mission accomplished.”

Bucky gave a small, breathless laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You met his gaze, the tension of the moment fading slightly as his familiar smirk returned. “So are you, Sergeant.”

Despite the danger, despite everything, you felt a flicker of warmth between you. The mission had tested both your resolve and your connection, but you’d made it out together. And somehow, that made all the difference.

The firelight flickered across the camp, casting long shadows as the remnants of the battle settled into an uneasy calm. You and Bucky sat on the edge of the forest, just beyond the perimeter, hidden from sight. The distant sound of gunfire and shouting had finally faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the night.

The stolen files were secure in your satchel, now buried beneath layers of medical supplies. You’d succeeded in your mission, but the cost weighed heavily on your shoulders.

Bucky sat beside you, silent for a long time. His rifle was propped against a tree, his hands resting on his knees. The tension between you had shifted no longer marked by suspicion but by a shared understanding.

“You really weren’t kidding about being a ghost,” he said eventually, his voice low and thoughtful.

You glanced at him, the flickering firelight catching the sharp angles of his face. “I told you it was important.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. But you didn’t tell me everything.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling over you. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of frustration. “Because you didn’t trust me?”

“It’s not about trust,” you said quietly, your fingers tightening around the satchel. “It’s about the mission. It’s about keeping things safe.”

Bucky frowned, his gaze searching your face. “Safe from what?”

You hesitated, carefully choosing your words. “From things that could change everything if they’re not handled right.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, the soldier in him catching on to the weight behind your statement. “Sounds like more than just some stolen files.”

“It is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky was silent for a moment, processing your words. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with awe and concern. “And you’ve been doing this alone?”

“It’s what I was trained for,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact. “No attachments, no distractions. Just the mission.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “That’s no way to live.”

You looked at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “It’s the only way I know.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “You’re more than just a mission, you know. You’ve got a life, a soul. You can’t keep shutting people out.”

Your chest tightened at his words. For so long, you’d lived in the shadows, carrying the burden of your missions alone. But now, sitting here with Bucky, you felt the cracks in your armor growing wider.

“I’m not supposed to get attached,” you said quietly. “It makes things complicated.”

Bucky gave a small, rueful smile. “Too late for that….”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt a surge of emotion, a mix of fear and longing. You’d spent years building walls, but Bucky was breaking through them with every shared glance, every quiet moment.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s hand stayed on yours, steady and grounding. His touch was gentle, but there was strength behind it, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t used to.

“I’m here, you know?” his voice soft but resolute. “I’m in this.”

You looked down at your joined hands, the firelight reflecting off his metal fingers. It felt like he was holding more than just your hand like he was holding the weight of everything you’d been carrying for so long.

“I’ve never had this before,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what it’s like to lean on someone, to let someone in.”

Bucky’s thumb traced small, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “It’s not easy,” he admitted. “But it’s worth it. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the vulnerability of the moment making your chest ache. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I mess it up?”

Bucky leaned closer, his voice low and steady. “You won’t and even if you stumble, I’ll be right here.”

His words broke through the last of your defenses, and a tear slipped down your cheek. Bucky’s other hand came up, his thumb gently wiping it away. His touch was so tender, it made your heart ache even more.

“You’ve been through so much,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of his words settling over you. “Bucky…”

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “Just let me be here for you.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the fire crackling softly in the background. The world outside the camp seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the quiet comfort of the moment.

After a while, you finally spoke, your voice barely audible. “You’ve made me feel something I didn’t think I could feel.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “What’s that?”

“Hope,” you said, the word feeling both fragile and powerful.

His lips curved into a soft, bittersweet smile. “Then we’ve got something to hold on to.”

Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It was soft and tentative, a promise of something deeper. When you pulled back, his eyes were shining, and you could see the depth of his feelings mirrored in them.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “One step at a time.”

You nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. “Okay.”

Bucky squeezed your hand, his warmth chasing away the chill of the night. “Okay,” he echoed.

In the days following the mission, the dynamic between you and Bucky began to change. There was a newfound understanding between you, a quiet bond forged in the heat of battle and the weight of shared secrets.

Bucky became more protective, often finding excuses to check in on you, whether it was during your rounds at the medical tent or when you were working alone. His teasing remarks were still there, but they were softer now, laced with genuine care.

You found yourself leaning on him more, allowing him into the parts of your life you’d always kept hidden and despite the danger, despite the mission’s stakes, you had the files you could go back now and have exiled beating your initial time, but you stayed you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something worth holding onto.

But in the back of your mind, you knew the clock was ticking. The mission was complete, and soon, you’d have to leave this time, this time and Bucky behind.

The glow of the fire illuminated the night, the crackle the only sound cutting through. Most of the camp had settled in for the evening, but you and Bucky remained near the fire, sitting side by side on a fallen log. The warm glow danced across his face, softening the sharp angles and making his eyes shimmer like the stars above.

Bucky leaned back slightly, resting his arm along the log behind you. “So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked with a playful smirk, his voice low and smooth.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Really? That’s the line you’re going with….again?”

He grinned, his teeth catching the firelight. “What can I say? I’m trying to impress the mysterious nurse who keeps patching me up .”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get on my good side.”

“Is it working?” he asked, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Maybe.”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more sincere. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the weight of the war, the mission, everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, suspended in this fleeting moment of peace.

He reached up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured.

You felt your breath catch, your pulse quickening. “Bucky…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re strong, smart, brave… and you’ve got this way of making me forget everything else, even when the world’s falling apart.”

His words broke through the walls you’d spent years building. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, and he met you halfway. His lips were warm and soft against yours, the kiss tender but filled with a quiet intensity. Time seemed to stop as the world melted away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the steady beat of his heart.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were wet with tears. Bucky frowned, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Bucky’s expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your cheeks. “Then let me show you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his own tears on his waterline threatening to spill. “Stay. Please stay, for me.”

Your heart shattered at his plea. The sincerity in his eyes, the quiet desperation in his voice it was almost too much to bear. But you couldn’t. Not when you knew the mission, the weight of your responsibilities, and the secrets you carried. You’d always been a ghost, moving through life without leaving traces behind. How could you let yourself stay, knowing the danger you brought with you?

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his hands dropping slightly. “Why not? What’s stopping you?”

You looked away, tears streaming down your face. “Because… I don’t get to have this,” you said quietly. “People like me… we don’t get happy endings.”

Bucky stared at you, his jaw tightening. “That’s bullshit,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You deserve this just as much as anyone else.”

You shook your head, your hands trembling. “You don’t understand if I stay, things could fall apart. I’m not meant to… to put down roots. To belong.”

Bucky reached for your hand, holding it tightly. “If that’s what you’ve been told, they’re wrong, let me help, I want to help."

You squeezed his hand, your tears falling freely now. “I wish you could. But this isn’t goodbye, Bucky. Not really.”

His grip tightened, his eyes filled with pain. “How do you know?”

You gave him a shaky smile, your heart aching. “Because feeling this… it’s the kind of thing that changes everything. No matter where life takes us, I’ll find you again. I promise.”

Bucky pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could keep you from slipping away. His breath was warm against your hair, and for a moment, you let yourself believe in the impossible. In a different world, maybe you could stay. Maybe you could let yourself love him the way you wanted to.

But for now, you clung to him, memorising the feel of his embrace, the sound of his heartbeat. This wasn’t the end. You wouldn’t let it be.

The fire burned low, its warmth fading, but neither of you moved. Instead, you lay back together on a blanket you’d pulled from the medical tent. The stars stretched endlessly above, their light soft and comforting.

Bucky shifted, his arm wrapping protectively around you as you rested your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding you in the moment. He let out a soft sigh, his voice breaking the silence.

“When I was a kid, Steve and I used to sneak up onto the roof of our building,” he said quietly. “We’d lie there, looking at the stars, talking about all the things we were gonna do someday.”

You smiled faintly, imagining a pre-serum Steve beside him, small but full of fight. “What did you talk about?”

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and fond. “Steve always had big dreams. He wanted to do something that mattered. Join the army, help people, change the world.” He paused, his voice softening. “Didn’t care that he was too small, too sick. He just wanted to be better, to do better.”

You closed your eyes, the image of Steve Rogers, Captain America so different now. But to Bucky, he was still that skinny kid with more heart than anyone.

“And what about you?” you asked gently.

Bucky hesitated, his hand absently tracing small circles on your shoulder. “Me? I just wanted to keep him safe. Steve’s always been the brave one. I just… I wanted to make sure he didn’t get himself killed chasing those dreams.”

His words were filled with so much quiet love, it made your heart ache. You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Bucky smiled, his hand brushing over your hair. “Maybe. But I think you’re the brave one here.”

You rested your head against his chest again, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “We both are.”

The silence stretched once more, comfortable and grounding. The crackle of the fire and the distant sounds of the camp blended with the soft rustle of the trees.

Bucky’s voice broke the stillness. “Did you have someone like that?” he asked, his tone thoughtful. "A sibling? A friend?"

You paused, your mind drifting back. “I didn’t have siblings,” you said slowly. “But I had a friend. Her name’s Natasha.” You smiled softly at the memory, though a hint of sadness crept into your voice. “She was like a sister to me. Strong, stubborn, always looking out for me.”

Bucky’s eyes softened. “She sounds like someone you could count on.”

“She was,” you said, your voice tinged with regret. “We went through a lot together, but… I haven’t seen her in years.”

He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Think you’ll see her again?”

You stared up at the stars, your heart heavy with longing. “I hope so. But with the way things are… who knows?”

Bucky nodded, his thumb brushing over your arm in a soothing motion. “If she’s anything like you, she’s still out there, fighting her own battles. And when the time’s right, you’ll find your way back to each other.”

You swallowed hard, his words offering a comfort you didn’t realize you needed. “I hope you’re right.”

The two of you fell into silence again, but it wasn’t empty. The weight of your shared stories, your losses and hopes, filled the space between you.

As the night deepened, you knew this moment wouldn’t last forever. But for now, you let yourself have it, holding onto Bucky like he was your anchor in a storm you couldn’t escape. Beneath the stars, in the quiet of the night, the war and the mission felt distant, like a different world entirely.

You stood near the edge of the camp, the glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the field. The soldiers of the 107th were regrouping, preparing to move out. You spotted Bucky in the distance, his silhouette unmistakable as he spoke with his men. His voice was calm, commanding, but you could see the tension in his posture. He was ready for the next fight, even if his heart wasn’t and so were you.

You adjusted the strap of your satchel, your fingers brushing over the hidden compartment containing the files. This would be your last night here. By dawn, you’d be gone, pulled back to the time you belonged. Everything you’d built here every connection, every moment would be left behind.

Bucky made his way toward you, each step heavy with the knowledge of what was about to happen. When he stopped in front of you, the space between you felt impossibly small yet vast, like an ocean you were both struggling to cross.

“You’re leaving,” he said, his voice low, not a question but a statement, tinged with quiet resignation.

You nodded, your throat tight. “I have to.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with emotions he wasn’t voicing. He looked down for a moment, then slowly reached up, pulling something from around his neck. His dog tags caught the fading light as they dangled from his fingers, the metal clinking softly.

He held them out to you, his hand steady even as his voice wavered. “Take these.”

You stared at the tags, your heart twisting. “Bucky, I can’t—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours. “I want you to have them, please”

You hesitated, the weight of the moment settling over you. These weren’t just tags. They were a piece of him, a symbol of his identity, of the man he was here and now. Taking them felt like crossing a line you weren’t sure you could bear.

But when you looked into his eyes, the quiet plea there shattered any resistance you had. Slowly, you reached out and took the tags, the cool metal pressing into your palm. Your fingers curled around them tightly, as if holding onto them would somehow keep him closer.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bucky gave a small, sad smile, his hand brushing against yours briefly before he let it fall. “Just… promise me you won’t forget.”

Your chest tightened, tears welling in your eyes. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with everything you couldn’t say. You wanted to tell him how much he meant to you, how this short time together had changed something inside you. But the words stuck in your throat, buried under the weight of your mission and the future you knew awaited him.

Bucky reached up, gently cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “You’ve been trained to disappear,” he said softly, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “But not from me.”

You choked back a sob, your hands gripping the dog tags like a lifeline. “I’ve never had to do this before,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how to say goodbye.”

His hand slipped down, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Then don’t,” he whispered, begging one last time. “Stay. Please. Stay for me.”

Your heart broke at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through every defense you had left. But you knew you couldn’t. Staying here would risk everything the mission, the future, his life.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice cracking. “I wish I could, but you know I can’t.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on your hand, his eyes searching yours for something, anything to hold onto. “Why?” he asked, his voice raw. “Why does it have to be like this?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Because this isn’t my time, this isn’t our time” you said quietly.

Bucky’s eyes glistened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, to beg you to stay again. But instead, he nodded slowly, his hand lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer.

“Then I’ll wait,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “No matter how long it takes.”

Tears streamed down your face as you gave him a shaky smile. “You won’t have to wait forever.”

With one last, lingering glance, Bucky leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips, the steady presence of his touch, imprinted itself in your memory, a moment you knew you’d carry with you for the rest of your life.

When he pulled back, he let his hand fall, his eyes never leaving yours. “Take care of yourself Nurse,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You too, Sergeant," you whispered, clutching the dog tags close to your heart.

With every ounce of strength you had left, you turned and walked away. You didn’t look back, knowing that if you did, you might never be able to leave. But with every step, the weight of his dog tags in your hand was a promise a tether that would guide you back to him.

I could feel you sneaking in, As if you were a mythical thing

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #1940s!bucky #james barnes x you #james barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader angst

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asumofwords · 2 years ago

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Modern!Dark!Aemond - Divorce AU - Oneshot

Til Death Do Us Part

SUMMARY: You and Aemond had been married for years, but he was not the man you thought he was. Discovering his affair with his secretary Alys Rivers, you had decided that enough was enough. You packed up your things in secret and left, leaving divorce papers on the table, and booked a one way ticket out of the country.

What will happen when Aemond goes to the ends of the earth to find you and make you his again?

WARNINGS: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. She/her pronouns, stalking, abuse, toxic relationships, infidelity, divorce, NONCON, manipulation, gaslighting, marriage, rough sex, choking, hitting, punching, yandere, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, forced orgasm, violence, daddy kink, dacryphilia, head injury.

PAIRINGS: Modern!Dark!Aemond x reader

Word count: 10.2k

NOTES: Well, well, well.... Here we are. You have all been so feral waiting for this to drop and I am honestly so excited to see you all crawling about in my walls after. Probably shouldn't have to say this by now but will for new folks, READ THE TAGS, this is a DARK!FIC. There is no fluff or happiness lmao. This has been so fucking fun to write hehehe.... Anyway.... Without further adieu... Enjoy ;) <3

The soft hissing of the kettle took you away from the book you had been reading, nestled against one of the many windows in the small cottage you now owned.

Taking the kettle from the stove, you poured the boiled water over your tea leaves, watching the herbal mix swirl in the strainer.

The soft aroma of chamomile and peppermint wafted from the cup and you inhaled deeply, leaning against the kitchen bench as you waited for it to steep, no use going back to your book nook until the tea was ready to take with you.

The leaves from the pine trees in the forest outside had turned a deep green, the cold chill of winter having rolled through the valley of the quaint village you lived in early this year. Condensation rose from earth as the sun heated the mildew on the grass, the smokey illusion seeping from the forest floor.

It was different to the city. No more were the days of craning your head up to look at the crawling skyline of buildings, the sound of traffic, or yelling of people on the street. No more did you hear cars blare their horns or music, or the melodic sounds of people chattering in the late hours of the night or fights between lovers from apartments surrounding.

Now, the most noise you heard was the occasional storm that rolled through the valley, or the deer that wondered the pasture at the back of your property.

You could remember the first night you heard them, such a different and unfamiliar screeching that had set your hair on edge, eyes darting about to each window and front door as you raced around the house to make sure they were locked.

They always were.

You were meticulous that way. Always vigilant, always ready.

But in reality, you shouldn’t still be on edge.

It had been months since you left.

Almost an entire year since you packed your things and left the papers and your ring on the table for him to find. And what’s more, there would be no way for him to find you out here.

Not that he would even try.

You hoped.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t love him, or loved him; the lines were still blurred there. But Aemond had broken you in ways you never knew he could.

The lies, the secrecy, and then, her.

You remembered when you had first met Alys; a work event Aemond brought you along to. The pretty wife and happy family image did wonders for his company and the press, so he often brought you along on his arm, smiles and grins for the cameras, whispers of starting a family or trying for one, until you were out of view.

But that time had been different.

That time, something had changed.

You had known about Alys Rivers for a while, a new hire going months back. A woman from no notable name, nor background, a start up of her own, worked hard to get where she was, or at least, that’s what you had first thought when Aemond had described her to you; his new secretary hire.

An older woman, not one a wife would usually find as a threat.

It’s almost always the younger ones. Older men seeking out their youth between the thighs of a barely twenty-something, whilst their wives are none the wiser, or perhaps knowing and too resigned to care, birthing them children at home as their marriage dissolves into nothing but a loveless legal contract.

But this was different.

She hadn’t come to introduce herself at first, not at all, and that’s what you found the strangest.

Alys Rivers, a few inches taller than you, with pale skin and bright green eyes, had stood in the far end of the hired venue, sipping a glass of red wine, perfectly manicured maroon nails tapping on the glass, whilst she tucked an ebony strand of hair behind her ear.

You had felt the heat of her gaze immediately, your eyes meeting hers, and yet, she didn’t look away, didn’t smile softly, walk over and introduce herself as any other woman would have. She just stared. Right into your very soul. It had sent shivers down your spine, and you knew, in that moment, that something was wrong.

Off.

Aemond had done his rounds with his private investors, higher employees, friends, if you could call them that, and press alike, all whilst you stuck by his side, smiling pretty and responding with shallow answers that didn’t give too much or too little for them to talk about later.

You hated those stuffy events, men and women alike always trying to get closer to you in order to get to Aemond, who was a fortress to begin with. Some people often commented or made joking remarks at how surprised they were that you had married him. That you had managed to thaw the Ice Man himself, that he was even capable of such things, and you would always laugh and make jokes back in good nature, smile never reaching your eyes.

But really, he was amazing when you were first married. Doting, loving, loyal, and always there, though that was sometimes overbearing. There was of course the little things, the teeny red flags that you ignored more often than not, rose tinted glasses and all that, but you had been young and in love and crazy about him, and he had been the same about you.

But as the years rolled by, and the two of you grew, you also both changed. The business expanded rapidly with the death of his father Viserys, and Aemond became more preoccupied with that legacy, most of the empire being passed along to him, and not his older brother Aegon, who had no desire to work and would rather live off his inherited wealth with drugs and weekend benders surrounded by lusty women. Occasionally men too.

And then when Alys came into the picture, it was like a switch had been flicked.

As though the Aemond you had thought you knew, never existed at all.

Alys had sauntered her way over half way through the event to introduce herself, all saccharine smile with razor sharp teeth that looked ready to sink into your flesh. She was polite, pleasant, overly pleasant, too sweet, too complimentary, and it felt off. Like an overripe peach, or wine that had been left open for a week too long.

Your husband had been stiff at your side, hand flexing around the tumbler of whiskey the entire time she stood beside him, too close to be friendly, and most certainly far too close for a boss and his secretary. And really, you should have listened to your instincts then and there, for they screamed that something was amiss.

But Aemond had a way of getting into your head, making you believe every word he said, push away your own instincts, and question yourself over, and over.

And that’s what you had done.

Questioned yourself, over and over.

Yet one day, something in the back of your head nagged at you too loudly. Aemond had not answering his personal number, calls you could understand, but usually he responded to his texts. But that day he hadn't. And so you called the office, where he spent most of his time these days, which had become a frustrating new normal, as was the depletion of your small weekends away, romantic dinners, spontaneous days out together.

The marriage felt stagnant, stale, and you knew in your gut the true reason for it. His desk had rang for too many rings too long. And when Alys had finally answered, she sounded rushed, caught unawares, awkward.

That was all it had took.

You had asked if he had his lunch yet, that you were nearby in the city and wondering if you should drop by, knowing that he had been spending later evenings in the office ‘working’, or weekend trips away to Harrenhal for business there, his secretary tagging along.

Alys informed you that he had just ate, but the way she said it was with that same overly sweetness that set your brain afire.

It was almost smug.

And so, without even hesitating, like you had for months on end, you picked up your keys and left, heading straight to his office.

Your heart had raced the entire time you drove there, weaving through traffic, just knowing, knowing, something, deep in your gut was not right.

And you were right.

Because there they were, caught like two deers in the headlights as you had swung the door open, Alys, seated on his desk, skirt pushed up to her hips, one shoe lost to the floor as Aemond thrusted into her parted legs.

They hadn’t even heard you at first.

But she saw you.

And she had smiled.

You will always remember his face.

He had turned and looked at you with shock at first, but then it turned to anger, as though you were at fault for this, as though you had ruined his fun, as though you should have known better, scar on his cheek crinkling with the sneer he threw your way.

You left in a flurry of hot tears, immediately calling your lawyer.

You drove straight to your best friend Sara’s house, and crashed at hers for the week, ignoring the constant buzz of calls and texts, and yes, even emails from your husband. Aemond in his desperation to reach out to you, even drove to Sara’s house, demanding if you were there. You had hid in the bathroom, holding your breath in the tub, shaking with anger and heartbreak and fighting the urge to go out there, to yell at him, scream at him, or more dangerous still, forgive him.

Then you were gone, speaking to your solicitor to get everything set into motion, friends loyally supporting your decision. You left the divorce papers on the dining room table, packed your bags and left whilst he was at the office, giving him no chance to manipulate you into staying, no chance for argument, and no chance for your heart to win over, taking your essentials and sentimental possessions with you.

You stood in your home, looking at everything inside, at all the memories that you shared in there. From when you had first looked at the house, to buying it, to Aemond's insistence on christening every single surface in the house to make it yours, all giggles and smiles, pleasure and joy.

But gone were those days, gone was the joy and the giggles, the pleasure and the smiles, and so with shaky fingers, you ripped off your wedding ring, finger feeling bare in its absence as you left it atop the pages.

At first you were just hoping to get some space to clear your head and not be manipulated by your husbands lies and very convincing words again. You knew that if you gave him a chance, you would be stuck. You knew that if he pleaded, if he begged, if he smiled with his signature smirk, it would be your downfall. He knew you far too intimately now. He knew how to get you to bend to his will. So you booked the nearest ticket you could and raced to the airport, not once looking back.

You had just landed in Paris when you turned your phone back on, watching the screen as it lit up, where you were immediately bombarded with multiple missed calls from him and a barrage of texts that became more, and more aggressive as time went on.

It was your fault really, to poke the dragon the way you had.

And yet you still did it, answering one of his frantic calls to hear the cool and icy tone of Aemond, barely keeping it together on the other end.

“Where are you?” He had asked, voice deep and quiet, small growl on the end; a tell tale sign that he was furious.

The airport was loud around you, people moving to their next gates, or stopping to move to the small cafes to eat, others continuing onwards towards the baggage claim to collect their luggage.

“It's none of your business.” You had responded, tone clipped, irritation and anger surging through you at his audacity to even be mad.

“I think it’s plenty my business. You’re my wife.”

“Not anymore. Have your solicitor talk to mine. Sign the papers, Aemond.”

You heard him breathe heavily into the speaker, “If you think for one fucking second that I’m going to-“

You pressed the red button on your phone and hung up on him, shoving your phone into your back pocket as you moved lazily through the queue to get through customs.

By the time you had gotten out the other end, you checked your phone again.

There was only one text on the screen that had sent panic blaring through your mind.

‘See you soon.’

You hadn’t planned to run, you hadn’t even planned to leave the country indefinitely, you just needed an out, but Aemond’s aggression had extended it, triggering your flight instincts. You didn’t believe that he would hurt you, but this new anger had frightened you. This new Aemond frightened you.

But Aemond Targaryen’s anger was not new to you either, his possessiveness was not new, and at one point you had even found it endearing. But after years of being married to what you thought was the man of your dreams, the other shoe dropped, and the true man was revealed.

So you made quick work of it, going to an international bank, taking every single cent out of your combined account.

You knew he wouldn’t struggle financially from such a loss, having another seperate offshore account, or two, or five if you were really counting. Not to mention his inheritance which sat in a vault in Budapest.

Comes with being descended from royalty.

But in the end, you knew you needed every dollar if you were going to get away from him and make it stick.

So you got a new passport, ID, and hitchhiked your way across several countries until you finally settled, finding a cottage, nestled in the woods, a solid thirty minute drive from town, buying it from the local farmer in cash. No contract. No deed. Just cash and his silence.

And that’s where you had been ever since.

You took your tea to the window, settling against the nook, pillows and blankets strewn all over as you curled inside. You looked out at the trees, the sun slowly setting for the day.

It was cold in your cottage, not too cold, but cold enough. Winter had come early that year, and you had used more logs of wood for the fire than you had thought you would have needed.

It was strange, to be so far away from the life you used to live. To be so removed from the world. But in some ways it was good. You had no social media, having deactivated every single one you had, and you also had barely any use of your phone unless you turned on the broadband, which was shaky at best and if it was windy, the reception would cut out.

The only people you really spoke to anymore was the people who lived in the town just a ways away, and Sara, who called every Sunday like clockwork, well actually like clockwork, you needed to turn the broadband on for Skype to work on the laptop you had taken with you.

In the almost year you had been gone, you had taught yourself how to make your own clothes, pickle and preserve foods, and even became quite handy at baking the odd loaf of bread here and there. The farmers whose cottage it was previously had left his belongings behind, taking only his clothes and things of memory with him.

There were books almost everywhere, the old man having been an avid reader, and amongst the books had been one on horticulture, and so slowly but surely, you had grown your own self sustaining vegetable patch. It wasn’t perfect, but it prevented you from going into town too often, and also allowed you to not seek employment just yet.

That would come later when Sara would tell you that Aemond would sign the papers.

But every Sunday was the same.

“Any news?” You asked her that morning, Sara had frowned, pixelated to hell, but the frown still evident on your screen.

“Nope. Nothing. The asshole won’t sign them still. Solicitor can’t even find him to talk.”

You sighed, wiping hands down your face angrily.

Why was he doing this?

Why wouldn’t he just let you go?

Something about it made your skin crawl.

Those messages, those calls.

The ‘See you soon’ text.

Something had snapped in Aemond, and you didn’t like it one bit.

Your only consolation was that you were far away with a new name, new life, hidden amongst rolling green hills and large forests.

“How’s Cregan?” You changed the subject, and Sara had given you an update on everyones lives, her brothers first, and his new girlfriend. Then to all your other friends who you longed to see again.

But not yet, you just needed a little more time and for your husband to agree to the divorce.

When the sun had lowered in the sky, you moved to turn the lights in the house on, throwing some logs into the fire and lighting them with a match. You made sure to thank the Gods for solar panels.

The warmth of the fire heated up the small cottage quickly, and you made quick work of reheating a lamb soup you made a few days earlier, crisp homemade bread on the side with butter from a nearby dairy farmer.

It was hearty and warm, and filled you up, having a soporific affect on you. You had a glass of red wine as a treat afterwards, bought from the local markets and found yourself sinking deeper into fatigue.

It was a routine of sort, wake, eat, read, work on the garden or house, eat, drink, sleep. It was comfortable, and it eased much of your worries, always keeping busy. You didn’t realise how stressed and anxious the life you used to live made you.

The week went by, much the same.

The same routine.

The same walls, and floors, and rooms.

Same window nook, and cups of tea, and warming your hands by the fire.

By the time Saturday rolled by, you had been elated, excited even, to get out and look at the homemade wares and farm grown produce. To see the people you had grown to care about and make as your quiet friends. Still at arms length of course with your fake new life, but you let them in more than you had intended to.

It was never a large market, merely the other people who lived in or around the tiny town. But it was cozy, sweet, and some faces were more familiar than others. You looked forward to seeing them all and catching up on their weeks, especially an older lady named Lucy, who crocheted and knitted some of the most wonderful things. She had kind grey eyes, and would always insist on you taking something from her for free.

Today was no different.

“You make this most difficult, hen.” The grey haired woman frowned, coming round the side of her small stall to shove a large, grey knitted jumper into your arms, the same colour as her eyes.

You shook your head, “Lucy, please, at least let me give you some money for it.” Grabbing the soft wool that was pressed against your chest.

The older lady smirked, hands up in the air in submission, “It’s too late,” Her voice was thick with a Scottish accent, “You best be taking that, girly. It’ll be a cold winter that comes round this year, I feel it in my bones already.”

You sighed, “Then let me give you some money for it, and you can buy some more wool to make yourself some warm socks.” Fishing around in your bag to find some cash to give her.

Lucy crossed her arms across her chest, “Gonny no dae that. If you give me any money I’ll be right offended by you, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug. It’s a gift, you dafty.”

You shook your head and chuckled, there was no point in fighting.

You would never win anyway.

“Fine.” You acquiesced, “But I’m coming to drop you some muffins and scones when I make them next week.”

The older lady sat down heavily in her chair behind the stall, “I expect nothing less. Will you bring some strawberries from yer plot? Dang caterpillars got into mine and tore them to shreds.”

“I’ll bring you a mix of goodies from my wonderful garden that has no caterpillars.” You teased, rubbing the woollen jumper between your fingers, “Thanks again, Lucy, but you’re a menace.”

“Got to be when yer married to my husband.” Lucy joked, but it made your heart race instead.

You swallowed thickly and smiled shakily at the woman, nodding before bidding her a goodbye.

You walked through the rest of the market for a while, getting some fresh honey from a local farmer, some potatoes for a stew later on, and even buying yourself a new handmade mug.

It was a bustling affair, small children giggling with their parents, and older members of town who had been born and raised there walking about and stopping to talk with their life long companions.

Bright bunches of flowers caught your attention, and you moved over to look at them all.

Native flowers of all kinds were bunched together; roses, petunias, anything that could survive the chillier climate. And as you looked at a peculiar shaped purple flower, hooded like a bell, the hair on the back of your neck stood up.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and instinctually you turned, eyes darting around the rest of the market, looking at the sea of people, young and old, walking with their wares, chatting amongst each other or smiling.

Not one had that familiar head of silver hair.

You breathed out a sigh, shaking your head.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

You’re safe.

It’s just your anxiety. It was probably just Lucy’s comment that set you on edge.

Not even Sara truly knew where you were.

You looked back at the flowers again, eyes on the purple ones that were nestled amongst pea flowers and other pinks and yellows.

“Devils Helmut.” The man told you, noting your interest in its peculiar shape, “Monkshood to others, or Wolfsbane to those witchy ones.” His eyes looked at you intently, “You ok? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally.”

He was tall, older, but not by much, with deep brown eyes and wavy brunette hair that came to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His jaw was sharp, a nice shadow across the skin from his stubble, with lips that were full and pulled upwards slightly. He had broad shoulders and large hands, tiny freckles dusting the pale skin as he watched you.

He was relatively new to town like you, but not really. Duncan, you remembered, had moved back to the little town after his father had passed away, inheriting the plot of land that was next to yours. Lucy had spilled the tea, over a cup of tea, about him with you a few months before, telling you that he was an eligible bachelor with a wink, trying to set the two of you up.

And although he was undeniably attractive, you worried for the implications of getting to know him, and eventually having to tell him about your marriage, and why you were truly where you were. You doubted the man would want anything to do with your baggage.

“I’m okay, just a bit cold. How have you been?” You asked him, the feeling of being watched prickling at the back of your head.

“Fairly good.” Duncan rolled his r deeply, same low Scottish timbre as Lucy, distracting you from the rancid feeling that curled in your gut, “The winter’s come early this year.”

Duncan leant a hand against the table, and you noted that there was no ring on his finger.

Stop that.

“That’s what Lucy said too. Can definitely feel it.”

Duncan looked pointedly at the jumper still in your hands, “And what’s she given you this time?”

Unfolding the jumper in your arms you held it up, holding it against yourself to show him, “A new jumper. Will be perfect when it gets colder. Wish she’d stop throwing things at me and not letting me pay though.”

Duncan laughed, a deep chortle that rumbled his chest and warmed your cheeks, “That’s Lucy for you. She does the same to me too, the auld blether.”

You laughed heartily, “We should go in doubles to the markets when you’re not selling. There’s strength in numbers, you know.”

Oh gods. Why did you say that?

A soft smile pulled on his lips, “You don’t know Lucy well enough if you think we’d stand a chance against her. She’d bowl us over without even blinking.”

Another laugh, and a shrug, "Worth the try.”

Duncan’s eyes scanned your face softly before he stepped forward, grabbing the bunch of flowers you had been looking at from their little vase, holding them out towards you, “Here.”

You looked at the flowers in his hands and frowned, “What?”

“Take them.” He insisted, “You looked right keen on the Monkshood, mean bloody flower that one. Be careful you don’t touch it too much.”

You shook your head, tucking your jumper into your bag, “I can’t possibly-“

“-Please. I insist.”

You reached forward to take the flowers from him hesitantly, feeling guilt bubble inside of you. What was with all these people and their generosity? It was going to give you an aneurism.

Your fingers brushed against his, and the warmth carried up your arm and straight into your chest. Duncan must have felt it too, because a soft blush creeped across his freckled cheeks.

Holding the bunch of flowers to your chest you smiled.

“You don’t have any pets at home? Any cats that might try and make a snack of the flowers?” Duncan pointed to the Monkshood.

You shook your head, “No it’s just me.”

His eyes danced as he nodded, and you felt as if you had answered his second question without him even having to ask.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

A large hand waved the thanks away, “Dinnae worry about it. Though, I have heard good things about yer baking.”

“Have you now? Has Lucy spilt all my secrets?”

A smirk, “Not yer secrets no. But yer baking, yes.”

Feeling bold, you smirked back, “I could make you something, if you’d like." You held up the flowers in show, "As a thanks, of course.”

“What can you make?”

“Anything you want.” You said quieter, swallowing the anticipation that rose in your throat.

“Can you make a good scone?”

You scoffed, “Easiest of things to bake.”

Duncan mirrored your stance, pursing his lips, “Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that then. Do you have enough wood for yer fire? Snow will be falling soon, and we dinnae want you chittering in the cold.”

“I’ve got some left, but I know I’ll probably have to go over to Douglas and Lucy’s to get some more.”

The brown haired man paused in thought, tongue in cheek before he spun around, crouching down to rifle through a bag beneath his table, pulling out a pen and paper.

Duncan placed the small notebook in front of you.

“How about this, you give me yer number, and I’ll come round and bring you some more wood, maybe chop some for the fire as well, and you can thank me by making some scones. I can bring some of Elsie’s jam with me.” Duncan looked up at you, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

And although he had spoken with confidence, it was clear that he was just as nervous as you.

It was hard to fight the heat that creeped up your neck. Excitement and anticipation coursing through you, the feeling of being desired making you giddy.

It had been so long.

You bit your bottom lip softly nodding, leaning down to write your home phone number, making a note to plug the old thing in, praying that it still works, as well as your address into the notebook.

Duncan smiled softly, taking it back and looked at the note, “You didn’t have to write down yer address, I know you bought Macnair’s property a while back, we're practically neighbours. Not accounting for the acres between us.”

“Oh.” You laughed softly, “Sorry, I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Hard to not know everyone here, especially when you grew up around them all. Plus, hard to not notice the bonnie lass who moved here. Quite the stir you created.”

You shook your head and blushed again, Gods damn him, “Not my intention.”

You both stood shyly for a moment, staring at each other, a warm pleasant tension building around the two of you.

Duncan cleared his throat, and clapped his hands together softly, “Right. Well, It’s a dreich day, so you best be off before the rain comes again.” He held the notebook up in his hand and shook it lightly, “You’ll be seeing me soon then. I’ll be coming to collect some of those scones.”

You grinned, and held the flowers gently in show again, “I hope they’re up to your standards. Thanks again for the flowers. I’ll see you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The blaring ring of the Skype call filled your cottage. You raced from the kitchen to the desk, answering Sara’s call with a bright smile.

“Sar!” You smiled, pulling out your chair to sit in it, looking at your best friends face. But her excitement did not match yours, and instead, her face filled you with dread.

“Sar, what’s wrong?”

You watched as Sara visibly swallowed, leaning towards her computer, “Aemond’s left the country.”

Chills ran over your body.

“Oh, he must have a conference in Rome or Budapest. He always used to-“

“-No.” Sara interrupted you, and her voice instilled a rising sense of fear that you had been battling with for months, “Y/n, I don’t think that’s it. He’s already been gone over a week. That’s why the solicitor couldn’t talk to him him.”

Your heart raced in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

Sara continued as you felt the walls around you move closer, “That’s why the solicitor couldn’t get in contact with him. They went to his office. Apparently he’s on leave, not even Alys was there.”

You licked your lips, swallowing dryly, “What do I do? Fuck, Sara, what do I do?”

“Don’t panic. He doesn’t know where you are! Hell, I don’t even know where you are.”

“I know, I know. But still…” You paused, breathing shallowly, “Sara, I went to the markets yesterday, and it was… Off. Something was off… And I just couldn’t shake this feeling that I was being watched.” You felt like you were going to be sick.

Sara’s face fell, head turning to talk to someone else quietly in the room.

“Who’s that?”

“Just Cregan. He’s talking to Helaena.”

You scoffed sadly, “Helaena won’t know anything. She didn’t even know about Alys.”

Sara shrugged, image becoming pixelated, “I-…-ow…-bu-….-o….-harm…-“

“Sar, you’re cutting up.”

You swore, swatting the computer lightly as her image froze.

Fucking broadband. Gods, maybe you should invest in getting a satellite dish here. At least you could get some cable tv if you did.

“-come to you.” Sara unfroze, the pixels evening out to an almost smooth image.

You groaned, “I didn’t catch any of that. Fucking internet cut out.”

“Can you get a satellite or something like a normal person and not be such a hermit? I said, why don’t I come to you.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you, Sar. Besides, he wouldn’t hurt me, not that he’d ever find me. He’s just an asshole. Probably curse me out and tell me I’m making it all up.”

Sara’s face dropped again, and you wished she was pixelated so you couldn’t see it, the image making your skin crawl, “Y/n. Theres something you don’t know.”

You straightened in your chair, “Is Alys pregnant?”

“No. She’s too old for that. Something else. Something Jacaerys told Cregan one night years ago. I didn’t want to tell you then, you guys were so in love, and I had never seen you so happy. I just,” She sighed, “I didn’t even really believe it until recently.”

“Sar, you’re scaring me.”

She shook her head, “I know, I know. But as you said, he doesn’t know where you are, and he won’t find you. But Y/n, Aemond isn’t who we think he is.”

“Are you about to tell me he’s some sort of international spy, or politician in hiding?” You tried to joke, but the joke fell flat.

Sara’s head looked to the side before back at the screen, “When Aemond was young, he had a temper. A real bad one. Never got along with his nephews.” She took a steadying breath, “When Lucerys was thirteen and Aemond was nineteen, he attacked him. It was probably years of pent up anger after the accident, a fight had been brewing, but he didn’t stop. No-one could stop him, Y/n. It was bad. Really bad.”

Your stomach roiled.

“Y/n, Lucerys nearly died.”

Your mouth gaped open as you could scarcely get air into your lungs.

Oh gods.

“Breathe.” Sara cooed through the computer, “Girl, you need to breathe.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, hand rubbing your chest, “What the fuck?”

“I know. I know. But they were young, I mean, Aemond was a lot older, but still. They were boys. And Aemond would never do anything like that to you. Not that he will ever find you.”

You counted your breaths as Sara spoke to you, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

“Y/n, y-….I-…t wi-…ll be fine-…. I-… ca-…n…-“

You growled at your screen, standing up in anger and frustration, anxiety pulling cruelly at your gut. You paced in front of the desk as you waited for your friend to come back into view.

When she de-pixelated and came back, you leant heavily against the table.

“You got your phone with you?” You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Yea.” Sara lifted her phone to the screen.

“Okay, I’m going to give you my address. When do you think you can come?”

A cry flew from your lips.

The cottage was bathed in complete darkness, generator slowing to halt outside, the soft hum of electricity disappearing. Your heart lurched into your throat as you stood in the darkness. Skype screen blaring a ‘Lost Connection’ notification at you.

You took shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself.

This wasn’t unusual.

Just last month a squirrel had been trying to burrow into the electrical box for warmth and chewed through a cable. Luckily for you, Douglas had come over to fix up the wiring and helped you on your way. But with all that had been happening, it gave you a right scare.

Your heart did not slow in your chest, nor did you calm with the way your ears pricked at any noise inside or out. You stumbled through the darkness of the cottage to the kitchen, searching beneath the sink for your emergency torch.

Grasping it in your hand, you clicked it on, lone beam of light shining a path for you through the house to the front door. You crept slowly forward, the sound of your loud breathing in your ear as you got to the door.

You would have to go out and flip the switches manually, and make sure the damned squirrel wasn’t back.

Throwing on your wellies, you unlocked the four deadlocks you had installed on your door one by one until you opened it wide, the valley blanketed in the darkness of the night, clouds shrouding the moon and stars. The shadows of the forest around your house made you more on edge, every trunk or branch causing your eyes to linger that moment longer to decipher what it was.

But they were just that.

Trees.

You trudged around the side of the cottage, shoes crunching on the ground below as you made your way to the back. The icy air nipped at your skin, and you tugged the jumper that Lucy had knitted tightly around you.

They were right, winter had come early this year.

You would have to thank her later.

When you reached the electrical box, you tugged it open, shining the torch on all the different switches inside.

The main switch was flicked off.

For fucks sake.

The broadband must have blown it out.

The cottage was old, and the electricals likely older. But the solar panel were new, and you had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps the different generations of technology were clashing. You briefly wondered how costly it would be to have someone come to rewire the house for you.

As you looked at all the other switches, making sure they all looked in order, and the wires coming from out the back were all in tact, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

You never liked coming out here in the dark.

It was scary, and although there was nothing out here to hurt you, unless there was a miracle lone pack of wolves that came strolling by, which you knew could never happen, since Lucy had told you wolves were hunted to extinction there. So it was just you, the trees and the moon.

The sound of a twig snapping in the woods made you spin on your heel, shining the torch out at the trees in vain. The light didn’t reach very far, illuminating just the front row of trunks, leaving the rest to be bathed in its dense darkness. Your heart thumped in your chest as your eyes scanned the woods.

It’s fine.

It’s nothing.

I’ve just worked myself up.

Gods.

It was probably just a deer or something.

You remembered the day you woke up to a whole herd of deer outside your cottage one morning, quietly munching on the grass outside. You had nearly screamed with joy, but kept the excitement inside, tiptoeing to sit in your window nook and watch them graze.

Holding the box open with one hand, you popped the small torch in your mouth with the other, holding it in your teeth as you flicked all the switches off, and then back on again.

You looked to the house.

Still dark.

You groaned, and did it again.

Again, nothing.

No hum of the motor kicking back on.

“Third times a charm.” You mumbled with the torch in your teeth, flicking the power back on.

The steady buzz of electricity came back, and the lights from the house illuminated a path for you back inside. You all but slammed the box shut and sped back inside to the safety of your cottage, spinning quickly to shut the door behind you, rapidly locking it tight with the deadlocks.

One, two, three, four.

You sighed a breath of relief.

See? Nothing. Just country electricals and wild deer.

You toed off your gumboots, hanging your keys on the hook beside the door.

You needed a glass of wine.

That would do it, a glass of wine and maybe some baking.

“Took me a while to find you.”

Ice ran down your back. Your heart leapt out of your throat as you spun on your feet, fear crashing over you.

You blinked.

And there he was.

Standing in your lounge room.

He had found you.

Aemond’s jaw ticked.

You were so in shock, so terrified that you couldn’t move, entirely rooted to the floor in place as your breath was caught in your throat. Your mouth opened as you tried to suck in air, head feeling light, but you couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t even let the scream out that clawed at the back of your throat.

He had found you.

Aemond took a step towards you, dressed in all black, his long silver hair pulled away from his face in a braid, “I told you, I would see you soon.”

Instincts kicked in, and like a startled deer, you ran. Tearing down the short hallway to get to your room, where you knew the old shot gun Macnair had left behind was hiding beneath the bed. But Aemond was quicker, and you heard his loud steps before you felt him, grabbing you from behind as you kicked your legs back and screamed, trying to get out of his grip.

“Did you really fucking think you could get away from me?” He grunted, holding you impossibly tight, “That I’d ever let you go? It was just by chance that I saw you today, I didn’t even think to go to the markets.” He explained, and tears prickled in your eyes.

You were right, you were being watched.

“But there you were. The Gods brought us back together again, Y/n. I was about to give up. But it was fate that our paths crossed again. It was meant to be.”

You thrashed against him, his arm locking around your chest and neck tightly. You turned your head and bit down on his arm, hard, tasting blood fill your mouth. Aemond hissed, tearing himself from your teeth as he dropped you to the ground, knees collapsing beneath you as you scrambled along the floor to get away.

“Fucking bitch.”

Pain rippled up your scalp as Aemond gripped you by your hair, throwing you back against the floor. Your head hit the wooden boards, eyes sluggishly blinking as the room spun and nausea curled in your stomach.

Your husband stood over you, sneering.

“You’ve been hiding out here for months whilst I’ve been looking for you. Having an affair with that other man who gave you the flowers.” Duncan, “Almost paid him a visit, but that can be done later. Spent all this time searching for my ungrateful cunt of a wife, but you didn’t hide well enough.”

His lone eye narrowed as he looked down at you, lips pulled back in a sneer. Strands of his silver hair had fallen from his braid and puffed with each breath as he stared down at you, chest rising and falling roughly.

You scrambled backwards, nails digging into the wood as he stalked forward, hunting you like prey.

“Money talks. And I have a lot of money. Which you would know, since you cleared out our joined account. Very naughty, Y/n.”

“Fuck you. Get out!” You screamed, kicking a leg at him.

Aemond laughed, dodging your kick, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my wife.”

“I’m not your fucking wife, you psycho.”

“No?” Aemond paused, cocking his head, “Then why are we still on the marriage register? Hm?”

Your back hit the side of the bed, hands swiping underneath desperately in search as you kicked at him again. Aemond swatted your legs away with ease, smirking down at you meanly. But he couldn’t block your kicks forever, and your foot hit him squarely in his groin.

Aemond grunted, doubling over in pain.

You took your chance, desperate to escape as you crawled forward, away from the bed, dizzy and horrified, all instincts telling you to run, not fight.

Besides, you didn’t even know how to use the gun, let alone if it was even loaded.

You stood, side stepping him as you moved to run out the bedroom door.

Your head hit the wooden frame with a crack, smashed into it by Aemond’s large hand. Stars bloomed behind your eyes, pain shooting through your skull. You tried to catch yourself on the door, your nails digging painfully into the wood as you cried, the hand gripping your hair, pulling you back into the room.

Aemond threw you onto the bed, looming over you, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? To see you again? How hard it was to find you? And you’re acting like such an ungrateful little bitch.”

You grunted and cried, trying to get away, desperate to get yourself off the bed as he pushed you back on it.

“Get off me!”

“But a husband needs his wife,” He leered down at you, pupil wide, “I’ve been dying without you, Y/n. I’ve been bereft ever since you left me. Abandoning me like a coward.” Aemond shook his head, “You could never really leave me. You’re mine.”

“I hate you!” You screamed at him.

Aemond smiled down at you softly, stilling for a moment. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked at him, “No you don’t.”

His smile dropped from his face in an instant, shadow cast over his scarred cheek as he looked at you blankly, “And if you do, I’ll make you love me again.”

His hands slid down your body, and began to tear at your pants, busting the button from your jeans, sending it flying across the room, then ripping the zipper apart.

Sobs flew from your lips as you pushed up at him, desperate to make him stop, fear escalating within you, “Stop! Aemond. Stop!”

Your fingers tangled in the bed sheets as you kicked at him, knuckles going white as you tried to drag yourself up and away from him on the bed, nails pulling sharply as you used every ounce of strength you had left. The room still spun as your head throbbed with every movement or jolt of your body.

Long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans and tugged them and your underwear down your legs as you struggled and cried and clawed at him.

“Been a while since you played this game with me.” Aemond chuckled darkly, “Do you remember when you used to pretend you didn’t want it? When you’d say ‘Stop! Please, no!’ and cum around my cock all coy?”

You blinked, memories erupting inside your brain. But those days were consensual, that was fun, something he had even introduced you to. But now? This? This was different. This was not a game. This was not play.

You kicked at his chest, heel clipping his shoulder sharply, a grunt falling from his lips. Aemond slapped a leg away, other hand gripping your thigh tightly. You cried out in pain as his fingers dug into your skin meanly, pain rippling up it.

Your hands tried to pry his fingers away, but the glinting of his wedding ring caught your attention.

He was still wearing it.

He ripped open his belt, and terror struck inside of you.

“Aemond, no. Please. Stop! Aemond stop, please!”

But all the man did was smile down at you crudely, “Gods, I’ve missed your begging. So sweet and small when you’d get on your knees and beg for my cock.” He pulled his length from his slacks, hard and angry, a drop of arousal smeared across his tip, “You’re so fucking beautiful. And you’re mine. My wife.”

You felt like you were going to throw up, thrashing beneath him as he crawled atop of you.

You dug your nails into his arms, trying to swipe at his face and neck, your teeth bared, ready to bite down onto whatever limb came into their collision course.

“Stop.” He growled, slotting himself between your thighs, overpowering you completely.

You sobbed beneath him, begging him to stop, screaming at him to get off, grunting as you twisted beneath the sheets, your head still spinning with small stars that continued to multiply in front of your eyes, the corners of your vision shrouded in black.

In one final attempt, you went for what you knew would hurt him, what you knew would stop him, slow him down.

Give you time.

And so with the heel of your hand, you thrust it upwards into his face, connecting with his prosthetic eye, clipping the painful scar tissue that would sometimes wake him in the middle of the night in tears.

Aemond’s head withdrew with a sharp and pained cry, one palm pushing into his eye socket as he tried to calm the agony. You pushed against his shoulders, trying to move out from underneath, but Aemond was quicker, and his enraged gaze landed on you. The hand that had been pushing into his face, curled into a tight fist.

Your head whipped to the side, and a cool blanket of darkness washed over you.

You laid in it for a while, with no thoughts, no terror, no fear, just that darkness that curled around you quietly.

It was nice for a moment, almost comforting.

Just the feeling of not being there.

But then the blanket faded away, and pain bloomed in your face, iron on your tongue as you blinked in confusion.

There was movement and a weight atop you. Something sliding against your core.

And then, pain.

You whined, hands shoving against the chest above you as Aemond speared you on his length, thrusting sharply and dryly into you as he reached his hilt, the tip of his cock pushing painfully against your cervix.

You gagged quietly, head throbbing as the room spun, your arms weakly pushing at him, feeling as though they were made out of lead. Each movement of your body sent pain rippling through your skull, and bile into your mouth.

“Take it like a good wife.” Aemond growled, pulling his length out of you before thrusting it back in sharply.

You cried loudly, pain spreading through your core as you felt him tear at your walls.

He was always larger, much larger than anyone you had had before, and when you were together, he would have to spend ample time to prepare you, but you would always be wet to help.

The only wetness you felt now, was from your own blood.

Aemond began a harsh and rough pace, with long sharp thrusts that jolted you up the bed on his length, cries of pain bleeding from your lips as you cried, turning your head away from him.

You still tried to push at his chest weakly, nails scratching at him through the dark shirt he wore, but it was no use.

He grunted above you, picking up his pace, wrapping his hands around your neck for leverage. He squeezed, not tightly, but as a warning, and your eyes shot open to look up at him, hands clawing at his to try and get him to release you. The more you dug your nails into his skin, the more he tightened his hands until you were wheezing beneath him.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you just need to give in, baby. Come on. Be a good girl for me. Be a good girl for daddy.” He groaned, one hand leaving your neck to pull up the soft woollen jumper to reveal your breasts to the room.

Your nipples stiffened in the chill of the air, fireplace not having been lit yet and the cool of the early winter air seeping into the cabin.

“Fuck.” He hissed, hand coming to squeeze your breast roughly, pinching a stiffened peak between his fingers, rolling it through forefinger and thumb.

You whined in protest, hand trying to move his away.

Aemond lightly slapped your face, “Behave.” He accentuated with a hard thrust, another warning, sending pain shooting through your gut, “I’ll even let you cum. Be a good girl for me and I’ll let you cum, hm? Is that what my pretty wife wants?”

You shook your head weakly, tears overspilling from your eyes and down your cheeks, a sob working its way through your lips.

Aemond bent down and licked the trail of tears from your cheek, “Fuck.” He moaned, thrusting into you faster, “Forgot how fucking tight you were. Gods. Gonna have to make up for time lost aren’t we? You’ve been such” Thrust, “A naughty” Thrust “Girl.” Thrust.

Your core clenched around him instinctually, Aemond adjusting his hips upwards so that his length would brush against the soft spongey spot within. His pace faltered, and a smirk pulled at his lips. Warmth spread through your gut.

“There she is.”

“No. Please, stop. Aemond, please. I’m begging you.” You wailed, hands gripping his arms as your nails clawed into him.

Your husband smirked down at you, “Not so cocky now that you’re mine again, huh? Where’s that bratty attitude from on the phone?”

Aemond continued to fuck at you from the new angle, one hand on your neck in a promise, the other pulling a limp leg up his hip, revulsion barreling through you as you found yourself growing wet from the angle, your body betraying you.

The sound of your slick was loud in the room, adding to your shame.

Aemond only tutted at you, “See? Only I can make you feel like this. Duncan would never be able to make you cum the way I do. No-one can. You’re mine. This pussy, is mine. And what I do with it is for me alone.”

The light in the room was too bright above you, making your head spin even more, the clapping of his hips against yours loud in your ears as his thrusts rocked your head and body backwards, a familiar coil beginning to wind in your stomach.

It was all too much.

Even the smell of him overwhelmed you.

“Can feel you squeezing my cock. You gonna cum for me, baby?” He cooed, mocking you.

“P-Please st-op, Aemond. It h-hurts.” You sobbed.

“Oh it hurts does it?” The sneer was back, Aemond’s head leant down beside your ear as he pushed to his limit, your walls gripping him tightly, and whispered, “Now you know how it felt when you left me.”

You weeped.

“I hope it fucking hurts.” Aemond leant back, fucking into you with new found vigour, sitting back on his haunches as he pulled your hips onto him, the coil getting tighter and tighter.

It was horrifying, to find your body finding pleasure from his assault, but you couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. He knew you too well. Knew your body too intimately. Knew everything that made you tick, twitch, or moan. He had spent hours, years, learning how to expertly map out your body, and he knew your body better than you did.

A slick thumb pressed down on your bud.

“Come on, baby, cum for me. Wanna feel you cum on me. If you cum for me, I’ll forgive you, okay? You cum for me and I’ll know you love me back. Come on, be a good girl, cum for me.”

His thumb swirled roughly against your bud, your hands tightening around him, unsure if you were pulling him toward you or pushing him away. Your mind hazy and confused, the world having been turned upside down.

You came with a cry, back arching off the bed as Aemond praised you through it, fucking into you harder and faster. Warmth spread through your limbs, your eyes scrunched tightly shut, bright lights behind them as your skull throbbed.

Aemond fucked your limp body, thumb leaving your clit as he held your hips with both hands, drilling into your wetness with a painful force, pulling agonising pleasure from you.

You weeped below him, keeping your eyes shut as you just wished for it to be over. For him to just finish.

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna fill my pretty wife up so we can have a baby. Hm, doesn’t that sound nice? Start a family.”

You sobbed loudly, hiding your face in your hands as you turned your head away from him, the taste of blood still thick on your tongue from where he had struck you.

His pace became sloppy, thrusts uneven as he began to lose himself to pleasure.

“Fuck!” He hissed, thrusting into you sharply as he came, hot ropes of cum coating your walls as he thrusted weakly through his climax.

You chest stuttered with sobs, head spinning, but exhaustion taking over.

You were so tired.

So tired.

You just wanted to sleep.

Wanted to fade away back to that darkness again. Back to nothing.

“Shh,” Aemond hushed you from above, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss against your wet cheek and forehead, “It’s okay now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

You sobbed even harder.

Aemond pulled out of you with a hiss, a small whimper falling from your own lips as you felt pain strum through your brutalised walls. He flopped back onto the bed, dragging your body up beside him as though you weighed nothing, black blooming before your eyes as you knocked your head against the pillow, a wave of sickness rising inside.

But you didn't fight it.

There was no point.

No escape.

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere to hide.

You couldn’t run, even if you wanted to.

And so you laid in his arms as he held you whilst you cried, curling into him as the tears kept coming. He cooed at you softly, rubbing a gentle hand up and down your arm in a way he always used to.

It was so stomach turning, the different sides of Aemond, and if it wasn’t for the concussion that you certainly had, his actions alone would send your head spinning.

Because this Aemond, the soft Aemond, was the one you had known. The one who used to hold you to him, and whisper words of praise. But that was a long time ago, and the Aemond who held you now was a different man.

Someone you didn’t even know.

This Aemond was not the man you married.

Aemond pressed another kiss to the top of your head again, “It’s okay, cry it out. I know you’re sorry. And it’s okay. I'll forgive you. Alys was a mistake, but she’s gone now. She won’t be a problem anymore, okay? It’s just you and me.”

You sobbed louder, and he pulled you closer to him, tangling his legs with yours.

“I know, baby." He cooed sweetly, but it was insincere, hollow, cold, "I’ve missed you too. I love you so much, Y/n." Aemond exhaled hotly at the top. ofyour head before his voice fell to barely a whisper, "So much, you don’t know what I’m willing to do to keep you with me.”

A chill rolled down your spine.

You knew now what he was willing to do.

And with the added news of what he did to Lucerys, you wouldn’t put it past him to harm anyone that came between you again.

A wave of mourning crashed over you.

Mourning your past.

Mourning your future.

And mourning the person that you would become with him. There was no escaping this.

Him.

You inhaled his scent deeply.

He still smelt as he always did, but there was a lingering smell of pine in his clothes. The pines from the woods surrounding your home.

How long had he been out there?

How long had he been waiting?

“You’ll love me again, I know it. I’ll never leave you again. We will be happy together. Here.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide against his chest.

“You’ve chosen the best spot, baby. You always were clever, we can start our family here. Somewhere quiet, no-one around. Just you and me, and eventually the children. Like it was meant to be.”

A shiver rolled through you.

“Marrying you was the best decision I made in my life.” He kissed the top of your head again, smoothing your hair down with his hand lovingly, “I’ll make you see.”

You laid there as you cried, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. Having no real power over the situation, having no real way to escape or get out. If not for Aemond's sheer will, the four dead locks on the door assured it as well. He hummed softly as he let you cry, pain crashing through you in waves.

Aemond paused in thought, his thumb coming beneath your chin as he tilted your head to look up at him.

Your vision was fuzzy from the tears, and the edges were seeped in black, but you could see it. The crazed look in his eye as he gazed down at you with a hungry possessiveness.

“Do you remember our vows?” He asked, watching as you blinked at him, your lip wobbling as you tried to stop the endless stream of sobs that worked their way up your throat.

His thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, a sharp sting sparking in it as his finger brushed over the split.

And then he smiled at you, in the same way that he had the day of your wedding, lips pulled wide, teeth revealed.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him.

The man you had loved, the man you had married and planned a future with.

The man you had been on the run from.

His mouth parted again, smile becoming softer.

“Til death do us part.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know on the general taglist post here :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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wolverigrl · 6 months ago

Note

Hugh x reader.

Reader is a mom of two young kids, something like Pre-K and 4/5th grade. She gets her hopes too high thinking her ex husband will at least show up for the kids 1st day of school but they all get disappointed; Hugh as the gentleman/sweetest dad he is steps up and takes care of it making a surprise for them

Broken Promises

Hugh Jackman x f!reader

A/N: I hope I won't trigger someone's serious daddy issues like I did to me lmao. But seriously, I had fun writing this one, too!

Warnings: angst, some swearing here and there, mentions of unavailable parent

---------------------------------------------------

The house was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Too quiet. I found myself pacing the living room again, eyeing the clock, then the door, and back to the clock. I had done this routine enough times to know how it usually ended. Ethan and Mason were perched on the couch, peeking out the window every now and then, waiting for the unmistakable sound of their father’s car pulling into the driveway.

"Mom, when's Dad coming?" Ethan asked for what felt like the hundredth time. His voice had that hopeful, uncertain edge that always tore at my heart.

Ethan was nine now, old enough to sense when something wasn’t quite right but still young enough to wish it wasn’t true.

I ran a hand through my hair and forced a smile.

"Soon, sweetheart. He said he’d be here."

Ethan nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. He was too smart for his own good. Mason, on the other hand, was sprawled across the floor with his toys, blissfully unaware of time and promises. At four, he was still full of that magical childhood innocence where you believe everything will always work out.

The boys weren’t the only ones waiting. Hugh, Ava, and Oscar were here too. Ava, Hugh’s 12-year-old daughter, was curled up on the couch, nose buried in a book while Oscar, his 17-year-old son, was tapping away on his phone, though he glanced at me from time to time with a knowing look. Hugh was in the kitchen, pretending to busy himself, but I knew him well enough to catch his subtle glances toward the front door. He was watching too.

Waiting.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the tense silence like a knife. Mason jumped up immediately, his little face lighting up with excitement as he dashed to the door. "Daddy!" he shouted, his tiny hands struggling to twist the doorknob before Ethan quickly helped him.

And there he was. Matthew.

My ex-husband.

Standing there with that familiar polished grin, the same one that had fooled me for years before I realized it was more charm than substance.

He looked every bit the smooth-talking lawyer he was, hair neatly combed, wearing an expensive suit that screamed 'I don’t have time for this', but here I am anyway.

"Hey, buddy!" Matthew exclaimed as Mason leapt into his arms, his voice dripping with enthusiasm. He shot a quick glance at me, his smile faltering for a second before he smoothly recovered. "Sorry I’m late. Busy day at work."

"Of course you are." I muttered under my breath. But the boys didn’t care.

They only saw their dad, and that was enough for them. Ethan approached more cautiously, his eyes studying Matthew, almost as if he were waiting to see if this time would be different. I knew that look all too well.

"Hey, Ethan!" Matthew said, ruffling his son’s hair. "Got something for you both." He reached into the sleek black bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out two shiny, brand-new backpacks.

Mason squealed with delight, clutching his in his arms like it was made of gold, while Ethan’s expression shifted from excitement to hesitation.

"Cool, thanks, Dad." He said, a polite smile on his face. I could see the wheels turning in his head, though. A backpack didn’t make up for missed promises, no matter how shiny it was.

"Are you gonna come tomorrow?" Ethan asked quietly, looking up at his father with those wide, hopeful eyes that always broke my heart. "For the first day of school?"

"Of course, buddy!" Matthew said without hesitation. He leaned down, crouching to their level and placing a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. "I wouldn’t miss it for the world! I’ll be there, bright and early."

I crossed my arms, leaning against the wall, watching this scene play out like it always did. Matthew was nothing if not consistent in his ability to make promises he couldn’t keep.

Before I could say anything, Hugh walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His presence was calming, always steady and reassuring. He gave me a small, knowing smile before turning his attention to Matthew.

"Matthew." Hugh said, his voice polite but firm as he extended his hand.

"Hugh." Matthew replied, shaking it with the same rehearsed friendliness he used with clients.

They had met a handful of times, and while Matthew had never said anything outright, I could tell he wasn’t thrilled about another man stepping into the lives of his children.

The boys were still fawning over their backpacks when Ava and Oscar joined us in the living room. Ava smiled warmly at Mason, ruffling his hair.

"Nice backpack boys!"

Oscar stood beside Hugh, his tall frame giving him an almost protective air.

"You guys excited for school tomorrow?" he asked, nudging Ethan playfully. Ethan grinned full of excitement.

Matthew didn’t stay long. He never did. After about twenty minutes of small talk and handing out gifts, he was already looking at his watch. "Alright, I’ve gotta go." he said, standing up and straightening his suit. "But I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay? Bright and early as I said!"

The boys hugged him, clinging to him like they always did, desperate for any time they could get with him. And just like that, he was gone.

I watched the door close behind him, and a familiar tightness settled in my chest. The boys turned back to their new backpacks, their excitement renewed, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that tomorrow would end in disappointment. Again.

Hugh caught my eye from across the room, sensing my unease. He walked over, his hand resting on the small of my back, and leaned in to whisper. "You okay?"

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "I don’t know. I want to believe him, but… I can’t keep letting the boys get hurt. Ethan’s starting to get it, Hugh. He knows when Matthew’s lying now."

Hugh’s expression softened, and he pulled me closer. "Hey, I’ll be there. We’ll be there. They won’t be alone. I promise."

I leaned into him, closing my eyes, letting his warmth seep into me. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You’ll never have to find out, love." he whispered into my hair, kissing the top of my head.

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of pancakes. The house was already buzzing with energy, far earlier than I expected. I shuffled downstairs, still groggy, only to stop in my tracks at the sight that greeted me.

The living room was transformed. Balloons and streamers hung from the ceiling, and a colorful banner that read 'First Day of School!' stretched across the doorway. The kitchen table was covered in every breakfast food imaginable - pancakes, bacon, eggs, fruit, even little bowls of candy that Mason would definitely notice first.

I blinked, rubbing my eyes. "Hugh, did you…?"

He turned from the stove, grinning at me like a kid who had just pulled off the best surprise. "Figured we’d make it special."

Tears welled up in my eyes, unbidden, and I pressed a hand to my mouth. "I-I can’t believe you did all this!"

Hugh crossed the room in a few strides, pulling me into his arms.

"It’s their first day of school. Gotta make it a big deal, right?"

The kids came rushing down the stairs next, their faces lighting up at the sight. Ethan and Mason squealed in delight, darting between the living room and the kitchen like it was the best thing they had ever seen.

"This is awesome!" Ethan shouted, his eyes wide with excitement.

Ava grinned as she joined us at the table, patting the seat next to her for Mason, while Oscar laughed at his little brother’s excitement. "Told you Dad goes all out!" Oscar teased.

Hugh winked at me, flipping another pancake onto the stack.

"It's a big day. Gotta start it right!"

And it was. For a few precious moments, everything felt perfect. The kids were happy, the atmosphere light and joyous, and the worries from yesterday seemed far away.

But when we got to the school, reality came crashing back. We stood outside the classroom door, surrounded by other excited parents and their children, and the boys kept glancing toward the entrance. Waiting.

"Is Daddy coming?" Mason asked again, his voice laced with hope.

"He said he would." I murmured, though I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince anymore.

The minutes ticked by, and the crowd around us thinned as more and more families said their goodbyes and headed inside. But Matthew never showed. And I could see the hope fading from Ethan’s eyes.

Hugh stepped forward, crouching down to their level. "Hey, guys.." he said, his voice soft but upbeat. "Your dad’s probably stuck at work, but that doesn’t mean today isn’t special. You’ve got all of us here, and we’re so proud of you. Right, Ava?"

Ava nodded, smiling warmly at Ethan. "You’re gonna rock it, Ethan! I just know it."

Oscar clapped Mason on the back, grinning. "And Mason, you better show them how it’s done, okay?"

Mason giggled, his spirits lifting, but Ethan was still quiet. Hugh reached out, gently tilting Ethan’s chin up. "You’re gonna be amazing today. And no matter what, we’re always here for you. Okay?"

Ethan swallowed, his eyes glistening a little, but then he nodded, managing a small smile. "Okay."

I pulled him into a hug, my heart aching for him. "I love you so so much, Ethan. You’re going to do great!"

Mason was next, clinging to my leg before I knelt down to hug him properly.

"Be good, okay? Listen to your teacher, and have fun. I love you so much!" He nodded eagerly, bouncing on his toes, the weight of disappointment not yet touching him the way it did Ethan.

We said our goodbyes to Ava and Oscar, sending them off to their own classes, before Hugh and I turned to leave. As we walked out of the school, my chest felt tight.

The weight of everything - the missed promises, the endless hope that Matthew would change, the constant pain in Ethan’s eyes - was pressing down on me harder than usual.

I could feel Hugh’s arm around my shoulders, warm and reassuring, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the hurt. We stepped out into the parking lot when I heard someone call my name.

"Y/n! Wait!"

I froze, my blood running cold as I turned to see Matthew jogging up the sidewalk, his suit jacket slightly askew, as if he had hurried over at the last minute.

My stomach twisted in knots.

Now?

After all this time, after the boys had gone inside? My hands balled into fists at my sides.

"I’m sorry!" Matthew said, breathless, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "I got caught up at the office, but I’m here now. I didn’t want to miss it."

Something in me snapped. All the hurt, all the frustration, all the times he had let our boys down over the years, rushed to the surface. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, my vision blurring as they spilled over before I could stop them.

"You’re sorry?" I spat, the words escaping me in a choked sob. I stormed toward him, fists clenched, my body trembling with rage. "You missed it, Matthew! You missed everything! They went into class without you!"

He looked startled, stepping back as I shoved his chest. "Y/n, come on, I said I’m sorry- "

"Sorry doesn’t fix it!" I screamed, slamming my fists into his chest again, harder this time.

"Do you have any idea how much Ethan was looking for you? How many times he asked about you?! Mason kept asking when you’d get here, and you didn’t show up! You weren’t here, Matthew! Again!"

I kept hitting his chest, my tears flowing freely now. My voice was loud, too loud, but I didn’t care. The dam had broken, and everything I had bottled up for years came pouring out.

"You promised me! You promised them you’d be here, and you weren’t! You never are!"

Matthew tried to catch my wrists, his face pale, eyes wide. “Y/n, stop- "

But I couldn’t stop.

The pain of watching my boys be disappointed time and time again was too much.

"You don’t get it! You don’t get to swoop in at the last second and act like everything’s fine!" I sobbed, my fists still pounding against his chest until I felt Hugh’s hands gently but firmly wrap around me, pulling me back.

"Y/n.." Hugh’s voice was steady, his grip gentle but unyielding as he pulled me away from Matthew. "That’s enough."

I collapsed into Hugh’s chest, my body trembling as I sobbed, the fight draining out of me as quickly as it had come. Hugh held me close, one hand cradling the back of my head, while I clung to him, my tears soaking into his shirt. He rocked me gently, whispering soothing words I couldn’t quite make out, but the warmth of his embrace calmed me, slowly but surely.

Matthew, still standing a few feet away, looked completely stunned, his mouth opening and closing as if he didn’t know what to say. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure.

"Look.. I’m sorry.." he said again, his voice weaker this time. "I really did try to make it.:

"That’s the problem, Matthew.." I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying. "You always try. But trying isn’t enough anymore."

Matthew’s face twisted with frustration. "I’m doing my best! It’s not like I’m trying to miss these things, you know. I have a job- "

"A job?!" I cut him off, my voice rising again despite myself. "I have a fucking job too! You think that’s an excuse? Ethan sees it, Matthew! He knows when you’re lying. And Mason? He’ll start seeing it soon too. They don’t care about your job. They care about you being here!"

Matthew clenched his jaw, his own frustration building.

"I don’t have the luxury of just playing house like you do, y/n! I have more responsibilities!"

"Playing house?" I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "You have no idea what it's like to raise them. No idea what it feels like to watch their hearts break every time you don’t show up!"

"You don’t think I care?" Matthew shot back, his voice growing louder. "I’m doing the best I can with the time I have!"

"And it’s never enough.." I whispered, the fight leaving me again. I wiped at my eyes, exhausted.

"Hey." Hugh’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. His tone was sharp, but not raised. "That’s enough. You should be ashamed of yourself, Matthew."

As soon as Hugh said it, I saw Matthew’s posture change.

His eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. For a split second, I could see the switch flip in him, the smooth, collected persona cracking. Matthew wasn’t used to being challenged, especially not by someone like Hugh. Not by someone who had quietly stepped into the role Matthew had always fumbled.

"Excuse me?" Matthew’s voice was low, his eyes locked on Hugh. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Hugh didn’t flinch.

He met Matthew’s glare head-on, his expression calm but firm.

"I think I’m the man who’s been here for your kids when you couldn’t be bothered to show up. And I’m telling you - what you’re doing is hurting them and y/n."

Matthew took a step forward, his face flushed with anger now. "You think you can just walk in and play daddy, huh? That you know what it’s like to juggle everything I do? You don’t get to stand there and judge me, Jackman."

I could feel the tension crackling between them, thick and heavy. Hugh was calm, still, like a rock against the storm that was Matthew’s rising temper.

My heart was pounding, the last remnants of my tears still clinging to my lashes as I watched, half-dazed from the emotional rollercoaster of the last few minutes.

Matthew sneered, stepping even closer. "You think you're so perfect, don’t you? Mr. Hollywood star, swooping in to save the day. You’re not their father. You’re nothing to them. Just a simple placeholder."

Hugh’s jaw tightened, and I saw the muscle twitch there. But he didn’t react the way Matthew clearly wanted him to. Instead, he exhaled slowly and said, "You’re right. I’m not their father. But I’m the one they can count on. I’m the one who’s here when they need someone. That’s what matters."

Matthew’s face twisted in frustration, his fists clenching tighter. He pointed at Hugh, his voice rising.

"You have no idea what it’s like to have your own life, your own responsibilities, and try to make time for everyone. It’s easy for you to stand there and act like the hero when you’ve got nothing else pulling you in a million directions!"

I stepped forward before Hugh could respond, my voice shaking with anger. "You think Hugh doesn’t have responsibilities? You think he doesn’t make sacrifices? He does all of this for our kids while you barely lift a finger! And you know what? He never complains! Never makes excuses. He just shows up. That’s what they need, Matthew - someone who shows up."

Matthew’s gaze flicked between me and Hugh, his expression growing darker by the second. He laughed sarcastically.

"You’re really going to take his side over mine, y/n? After everything?"

I scoffed, wiping the lingering tears from my eyes.

"I'm taking my sons’ side, Matthew. Because they deserve better than what you’re giving them. This isn’t about sides. It’s about what’s right for them."

Matthew again let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. You really think I don’t care, don’t you? That I don’t want to be there for them?"

"Well, If you wanted to be here, you would be." Hugh cut in, his voice sharp now, no longer willing to play nice.

"You wouldn’t be showing up late, making excuses, and disappointing them over and over. You’d be here, Matthew. It’s that simple."

"That simple?" Matthew’s voice was nearly a growl now.

"You have no idea what I go through - what I have to balance! It’s not as easy as you think, playing ‘Super Dad.’!" He stepped forward again, and for a second, I thought it might come to blows.

But Hugh, steady and calm, took a deliberate step forward too, closing the distance.

"As we said before.. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being there. No one’s asking for you to be a superhero. They just want their dad to show up. You owe it to them to do better."

The tension between them felt like it was about to explode, and I could barely breathe, watching it unfold. I knew Matthew’s temper. I had seen it flare too many times. And I knew Hugh was protective, fiercely so, but not one to back down when it came to the people he loved.

Matthew’s nostrils flared, his fists still clenched at his sides.

"You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? You think you can just walk into my life and replace me?"

Hugh’s gaze was steady, unwavering, but he couldn't help himself and let out a soft laugh.

"I don’t want to replace you, Matthew. But I won’t stand by and watch those boys get hurt because you can’t figure out your priorities."

I felt my body trembling again, but this time from the frustration and helplessness of it all. I had spent so long trying to protect my boys from this, trying to shield them from the disappointment of their father’s broken promises. And now, here it was, boiling over in front of me.

"Enough!" I yelled, my voice breaking as I stepped between them.

"This isn’t about either of you! It’s about Ethan and Mason. And I’m so tired of seeing them get hurt because you can’t keep your word."

Matthew blinked at me, his anger momentarily giving way to something else - something that looked like shame. But just as quickly, his walls went back up, and he shook his head, stepping back.

"This is ridiculous." he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I didn’t come here to be ganged up on."

I crossed my arms, feeling the weight of exhaustion press down on me.

"Then what did you come for, Matthew? Because if it wasn’t to be there for your sons before they go attend their very first day of school, I don’t see the point."

For a long moment, Matthew just stared at us, his jaw tight, his expression a mixture of anger and something else I couldn’t quite place. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed off down the sidewalk, leaving us standing there in the empty schoolyard.

I let out a shaky breath, my legs suddenly feeling like jelly as the weight of the moment caught up with me. Before I knew it, Hugh’s arms were around me again, pulling me close, holding me up as I leaned into him.

"You okay, love?" he whispered, his voice gentle, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back.

I nodded, though I didn’t trust my voice just yet. The anger, the hurt, the frustration - it was all still swirling inside me, but Hugh’s presence, his steady calmness, helped anchor me.

"I'm sorry.." I whispered, wiping at my tear-streaked face. "I didn’t mean to… to lose it like that."

"Don’t apologize." Hugh said softly, kissing the top of my head. "You had every right to say what you did. He needed to hear it."

I took a deep breath, finally pulling back to look up at him.

"I just… I hate that this is what it’s come to. That the boys keep getting hurt like this."

"They have you." Hugh said, his voice firm but full of warmth. "And they have me. We’ll get through this."

I nodded, though my heart still ached. "Thank you." I whispered. "For everything. For being here."

Hugh smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I’m always here, y/n. You and the boys - you’re my family too."

I felt a fresh wave of emotion wash over me, but this time, it was mixed with gratitude and love.

As we walked back to the car, hand in hand, I knew that no matter what happened with Matthew, no matter how many times he failed to show up, we would be okay. Because Hugh was right.

We had each other.

And that was enough.

---------------------------------------------------

Tags: @angelofthorr @haytchee

#hugh jackman #wolverine #marvel #hugh jackman x you #x men #hugh #jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman imagines #fluff #angst #dad #theson #f!reader

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reiderwriter · 2 years ago

Note

hi 💖 I’m literally ✨obsessed✨ with your writing atm and I’ve never done a request before so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity!!

I would love to read an established couple fic where reader drops by !professor spencer’s office and spicy times ensue 🌶️👀 the trope where reader is inexplicably jealous of the girls auditing his class gets me every 🤌 single 🤌 time 🤌 (but don’t feel like you have to include that trope!! I’m a sucker for any !professor spencer smut lmao)

- 🐺 anon

A/N: Thank you sm for your request!! I am also slightly unhinged about Professor Spencer (I think this is my second one this month lmao) so I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: use of sir, degradation, fingering, no contraception, PinV sex, semi-public sex, jealous reader (she's like 27 beefing with undergrads), age-gap (15 years), Spencer keeps a souvenir of her visit 😊. Also I don't even know if American lecturers have office hours, so like... For context I am a European living in SK lmao. 18+ MINORS DNI

W/C: ~2k

Check out my masterlist!!

You’d lost count of how many times you’d visited Spencer in his office now that he’d started lecturing semi-regularly. The break from his regular activities as a member of the BAU suited him well, and you had no complaints either, loving having an excuse to drop by the college campus he was based on to visit the cute student-run coffee shops and explore the space. And since you’d started working from home while you wrote your novel, you definitely had the time to visit.

Usually, you’d find him in some lecture theatre or the other, but having walked around all his regularly scheduled rooms, he was nowhere in sight. You shrugged a little, figuring that he must be in his office if he was nowhere else. You were right, of course, but he wasn’t exactly alone.

A line of undergrads had formed at his door as you noticed the sign pinned to his door mentioned his updated office hours for the semester in the run-up to finals week. Typical. You were never the best-timed person, and you could see that you weren’t going to get his attention for a while from the look of all the students. You waited outside for him to open the door and summon the next student into his office, settling onto a couch opposite his door.

You weren’t trying to listen in to the multiple conversations going on, but you couldn’t help it when they were being so loud and open.

“God, he’s so fucking hot, I just want him to bend me over that desk and-”

“-wonder if he’s single. If he is, I’m totally going to make a move-”

“-I just know it’s big-”

“- in that lecture about the serial rapist, all I could think about was his hands-”

You blushed a little deeper with each of their confessions. They didn’t know who you were, of course they didn’t, and you sure as hell weren’t going to tell them. But now you knew why it was that they were here, and honestly, you couldn’t blame them for lusting after the man, you’d done the same thing. Your relationship had started in a similar way. You’d knocked on the doors of the FBI with a case back when you were a journalist, and been met with those big brown eyes and it had taken your entire strength to not jump him then and there.

So you understood. But you didn’t have to like it, and you certainly did not. The longer you sat there, the older you felt, constantly resisting the urge to yell at these kids in an old maid's way. Gods he was old enough to be some of these girls’ fathers. You weren’t exactly close in age with him yourself, a gap of about 15 years separating the two of you, but come on.

The door to his office finally cracked open, and you followed the sound of his voice, still rambling out facts as he let the student out.

“Now that you have the difference between stressor and trigger down, you’ll find it easier to interpret some of the readings, just keep in mind that sometimes they can be one and the same.” The student nodded and thanked him before leaving, a slightly disappointed look shadowing her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” His smile lit up the second he saw you, and you held out the coffee you’d bought him earlier to him.

“Thought I’d drop in and see you. I missed you.” Maybe it was petty of you in front of literal teenagers and people who couldn’t even legally drink yet, but you wrapped a hand around his waist, underneath his suit jacket, and looked up at him with a big grin, fluttering your eyelashes. He looked at you with knotted eyebrows, trying to decode your words as if they were the key to cracking a case he was working on.

You felt the eyes of the students burning into you, heard them whispering to each other and your grin deepened. You’d marked your territory successfully.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got office hours for the next 25 minutes, do you mind waiting?” He looked apologetically down at you, speaking with a bit of an awkward tone, not used to the notable PDA.

“That’s fine. I can wait out here, right?” You asked, trying to give him your most innocent look. He nodded his assent, and you returned to your seat, grabbing a book from your bag and settling in as he welcomed the next student to his office.

An hour later, all the students had finally dispersed. A fair few of them had given up after you made your identity known, embarrassingly slinking away from the queue, but a fair few had stuck it out, still just wanting a glimpse of him. The conversation had dimmed though, now back on the topic of college parties and TikTok stars or something.

When the final student slipped out of the office, you jumped up enthusiastically and joined Reid inside, letting yourself in with a small knock and a sing-song “professor.”

He was sat at his desk, glasses perched on his nose looking down at some papers, and looking as attractive as he had the day you’d met him. You slunk over to him, swirling his chair around so you could sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a deep kiss to his lips.

“What’s gotten into you today?” He asked, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him, obviously not objecting to the sudden physicality of your affection. “It’s not an anniversary, we’re only on our 1,813th day of dating which doesn’t mark any milestones or other special cultural holidays, so what gives.”

“You know I love it when you talk numbers to me.”

“You know I love it even more when you spill and tell me what’s going on? Come on, Y/N, something’s different.” You pouted at this goddamn superhuman perception. It was going to be embarrassing to admit that you saw the gaggle of girls that had been crowding around his office as competition.

“There were a lot of students today.” You said, simply changing the topic a bit, hoping you wouldn’t have to explicitly name the green-eyed monster that had taken over you.

“Not really, that’s about the amount I get every time I open office hours.”

“Every time?” He’d told you often that you were an absolutely open book, your facial expressions baring your every thought and feeling. So you cursed yourself at the pout you felt forming on your lips.

“Woah, what was that? Y/N, are you… are you jealous?”He laughed a little bit as your frown deepened, a flush coming up to cover your face.

“So what if I am?”

“Have I not been paying enough attention to you, baby?” He trailed his hand up between your thighs and your breath hitched as you felt the tone of the conversation immediately shift.

“They were talking about you, y’know?” your breath hitched at the last word, as his hand found its way to your clit, beginning to press the tiniest of circles around that nerve.

“Oh? What were they saying that made my princess so upset?” The hand gripping your hip was nearly painful now, as he clasped you tightly, letting your legs spread for him as he slowly picked up the pace, your back now flush against his chest as he looked down to between your legs from over your shoulder. Your head was thrown back against him, your chest rising and falling with every small movement.

“They were talking a-about your hands,” you moaned out. His eyes stayed fixed on your center, but his free hand trailed up to your blouse, popping a few buttons expertly so he could see the rise and form of your chest, see your nipples sticking out through the thin bra you’d chosen that morning.

“Hmm, is that it baby? They just talked about these hands?” He continued at his agonizing pace on your clit as his hand lifted to your nipples, pulling one breast free of your bra and beginning to roll it between his fingers. You writhed at the touch, trying desperately to keep quiet, knowing from your time outside just how thin these walls were.

“Baby, I think you didn’t hear me. Was that all they said?” His tone was darker now, and you knew you had to answer before he made you.

“No!” You moaned out, trying to gain back some composure when all you wanted to do was relax into his hands and let him pull your release from you. “They… they said they knew you were big… Down there.” He laughed a little at that and shifted his hips underneath you.

“And are they correct baby?” You feel him pressing against your leg now and it takes everything in you not to let your eyes roll back in pleasure and let him use you as he wants.

“Yes, sir. They were… they were right, you always fill me up so good.” Your hips start grinding down into his, his hand stilling as you use him to get yourself off.

“There’s something else they said, right, baby? You’re holding something back?” He smiled, dropping hot open-mouthed kisses to your neck as you frantically rubbed yourself up against him. Your moans were ripping out from your mouth now in frustrated moans, as you felt needy in a way you’d never quite experienced before.

“Stop teasing, Spencer.”

“No. This is my office, and you come in draping yourself all over me like a whore in front of all of my students. You don’t get to call me Spencer right now, you’re going to have to show a little bit more respect.” With those words he pushed you up to your feet, pulling his hands off of you before quickly clearing a space on the desk and bending you over it.

“I heard this bit. They said they wanted me to bend them over and take them like this, right?” You heard him unzip his pants, bringing the tip of his cock to your entrance as he started teasing you, pulling your panties to the side. You moaned out a yes, but that wasn’t enough for him anymore.

“Use your words, baby. What did they want me to do to them?”

“They wanted you to bend them over the desk and fuck them like a little whore, sir.” With that confession out in the open, he finally pushed into you, stretching you out with a sinful groan slipping from his mouth.

“Fuck baby, so tight and wet for me…” His thrusts were hard and slow, and you could feel the wetness seeping down your legs, the wet sounds of your activity filling the space infinitely. His pace picked up and so did your constant mewls from the contact, the sounds completely unmistakable for anything but base lust.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, sweetheart. Going to come, right here on my cock in my office, huh?”

“Yes, sir, I’m going to…. Shit, I’m going to cum.” He grabbed your hair and pulled your face up to his, swallowing each of your moans with his mouth as he let his tongue explore, your body twitching still under his ministrations. He kept his rough pace up for another minute or two before hitting his peak as well, pulling out to empty himself out on your thighs.

“Shit, Y/N,” he mumbled, falling back into his chair and running a hand through his tousled hair as you fell forward back into the desk, chest heaving. He was at eye level with the results of his labour and you heard the sound of his phone camera clicking before you could pull yourself together.

“Spencer!” You giggled awkwardly, looking back at him with an incredulous look as he pulled some tissues out of the desk drawer and started cleaning you up.

“What? I always take notes during my office hours.” He grinned up at you, as you turned around and planted another kiss to his lips, pulling him back up to you.

“How many students do you think will actually turn up to your class tomorrow?”

“I’ll be lucky if the module actually has any sign-ups next term.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut #Requested #🐺 anon

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 3 months ago

Text

Heart on a Chain (Scrooge!Aemond x Reader)

Christmas day and a recently rediscovered ring bring unpleasant and unwanted memories.

Pairing: Ebenezer Scrooge-coded Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Angst :(

Author's note: The guy that played young Scrooge at the Christmas Carol I went to today was hot and the way he carried himself reminded me of Aemond so... here we are. Wrote this in less than two hours lmao.

Heart on a Chain

Christmas Day.

For the past two years, Aemond had not given more than a passing thought to the holiday. That thought being annoyance at having to pay his employees a full day’s wages for no work.

It was just another day. He woke, read the papers while he ate, then went to the office. He balanced the books, double-checked the work of his clerks, and inspected the warehouse’s stock. He sat with his business partner and discussed new prospects.

Even now, Cole was telling him about a potential new partnership he’d identified. A newly founded firm, desperate for reputable clients, would be almost too easy to maneuver into a contract that would heavily favor Targaryen & Cole. Ordinarily, Aemond would be eager to sink his teeth into the prospect, but now…

Now, he could not focus on Cole’s words. He could not bear to look at the pages of figures strewn on the table before them. He couldn’t even remember the name of the new firm, or what it was they did.

His entire world had faded to the ring that sat in his pocket.

Dull, cheap gold set with a pathetically small cabochon – he didn’t remember what the stone was, just that it was vaguely red. It looked ridiculous against the fine gold chain he’d purchased. That was the reason it remained in his pocket, rather than around his neck, he told himself.

It certainly wasn’t because he was afraid to see it out in the open, to be reminded of the slender hand it had once graced and the woman it had belonged to.

He hadn’t thought of her in years. Had not let himself, from the moment the door closed behind her. The same door that now loomed behind Cole, where the dented brass bell swayed slightly from the draft, just as it had three Christmases past…

“Aemond?”

He held back a sigh. Why did she have to come now? He was busy, as he told her he would be. He did not want to be disturbed, as he also told her. He had even agreed to go to Christmas dinner at her parent’s house that evening to ensure she would not bother him during the day.

Yet, here she was.

“Yes, dearest?” he called as he climbed off the ladder. Best to be sweet now, to soothe whatever mood had taken her this time. If she came all the way down to Cornhill and made it past Cole in the office, she must be in quite the state.

Indeed, as she found him amongst the massive rows of shelves, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone with tears that sparkled with the reflection of his lamp. Still, she was beautiful. If only she would content herself with what he had to do to ensure the security of their life together.

She stopped, straightening her shoulders. Her furious blinking betrayed the fact that she was battling her tears to keep them from falling. “Aemond, we need to speak.”

“I assume there is something particular you wish to speak about?” He was distracted as he walked toward her, the label on one of the crates he passed catching his eye.

That order was supposed to be shipped out days ago. He’d dock Cargyll’s wages by half this week for allowing such a major error. The recipient of this shipment was very particular and would undoubtedly complain that his goods were late.

“We must discuss our agreement,” her voice, now bordering on shrill, reclaimed his attention.

What was there to discuss? He’d agreed to go to her house after he finished work at six, and… damn. When he pulled his watch from his waistcoat, he found it was already half-past seven. Still, dinner wouldn’t be served until eight. He had time. “I admit I’m running late, but with all the workers out for the holiday – ”

“Not about that agreement, Aemond. About our engagement.” A heavy stone settled in Aemond’s stomach, chill as ice. She continued, “I cannot help but feel that an idol has displaced me in your affections.”

The stone turned hot and rancid with anger. “And what is this idol, may I ask?”

“A golden one.” Her tears vanished, replaced with cold righteousness. “Wealth and power, and everything else your father denied you.”

“Is it a sin to seek security? To endeavor to escape the cruel grasp of poverty and helplessness?”

She came closer to him, setting a gloved hand on his arm. He had to resist the urge to pull away. “Your fear and resentment have overpowered your nobler aspirations,” she said softly. “Now, your only passion is gaining more and more, beyond what is necessary.”

Aemond took her hand, suppressing the urge to seize her shoulders and shake sense back into her. “Even if that were true, I am not changed toward you.”

To his horror, she pulled away, shaking her head.

“Dearest?”

She flinched as if the word struck her. “Our agreement was made long ago. When we were poor and in love and content to remain so.”

“I was a boy, then,” he scoffed.

“And I loved that boy!” She fell quiet for a moment, turning away from him when he reached for her. “But that boy is gone, and my heart aches for him. It is in his memory that I release you from our agreement.”

Until that moment, Aemond had nearly forgotten he had a heart. But her words shattered it, and pain wracked through his chest. Juvenile fear and distress took hold of him. He approached her, oblivious to her feeble attempts to move away, and took her in his arms. “Dearest, I do not understand. Have I ever sought release?”

“Not with words.”

“In what, then?”

She finally faced him again, and he knew he would never forget the horrible sight of her heartbreak and disdain – disdain for him. “In a changed nature and spirit. You do not look at me as you used to, Aemond. I used to feel beautiful when you looked at me, but now, I feel like a burden saddled upon you.”

“That is not true,” he begged.

“Tell me, honestly,” her gaze and voice steadied, even as tears spilled down her soft cheeks. “If you were to make the choice today, would you choose a dowerless girl?”

Aemond wanted to say no. But the world would not form. All he could say was, “You think not.”

The tension in her body vanished, her shoulders sagging and her head drooping. She looked up at him with despairing conviction. “With a full heart, for the love of who you once were, I release you.” She backed away from him, and his heart went with her. “May you be happy in the life you have chosen.”

She had only taken three steps away when he called her name, extending a hand to her.

But when she set her hand in his, he harshly pulled away.

He extended his hand once more. “My ring.”

It was her ring, he knew. It always was and always had been, even when he had forgotten about it. It was likely why, that night, he had thrown it carelessly into a dresser drawer to get it out of his sight. To forget the pain that had been contained within that strange, reddish stone.

But his maid had found it three days prior and given it to him, unleashing all that pain back into the heart-shaped hole in his chest. It was ruining him, that pain, clouding his mind and stealing away his better judgment.

“Aemond?” Cole’s voice was filled with annoyance. “Have your senses fled with the workers? What is wrong with you?”

Wrong? Nothing was wrong with him. Something was missing. She was missing. “Forgive me, Cole,” he said. “I must have eaten something odd. I’m afraid I am out of sorts.”

“Well, you’re no use like this. Go home. Come back all the earlier tomorrow, though!”

Aemond was already out the door, his coat only half-buttoned.

Home. He needed to go home, eat a hot meal, and go to bed early. Yes, a good rest would fix whatever had gone wrong inside him. He just needed to get home.

His feet didn’t take him home. They carried him to a place that he may once have called home but no longer. Equally traitorous, his hand raised in a fist to knock on the door he once would have entered without a second thought.

A cheering from beyond the door halted his movements, and Aemond moved to glance through the nearest window.

There she was. Just as radiant as he remembered. Even more so, for she smiled.

She smiled at the babe she held in her arms.

A babe who bore the same smile as its mother. But its eyes and hair were different. Those had been inherited not from its mother but from the father who stood behind the child and mother, looking on them both with unabashed adoration and pride.

Aemond had looked at her in much the same way, when he had been capable of feeling such things.

All the air left his chest. Had he ever been able to breathe? Perhaps he would die before he remembered how to. Part of him wanted to.

But somehow, he pulled enough air into his lungs to fuel his body as he walked across town to his own home. He ate his dinner, read the evening papers, and retreated to his bedroom. There, he readied himself for bed. Yes, a good night’s rest would cure him of this ailment.

He did not realize until he laid upon his bed that the cool metal of a chain rested against his skin.

If he could not bear his heart in his chest, he would wear it around his neck.

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sweetrevxnge · 9 months ago

Text

Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter Seven

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 3.6k

Chapter-specific CW: torture (what fun!), period-typical sexism

A/N: the dead speak! lmao at least that's what it feels like coming back after an entire YEAR??? I kinda got sucked into playing 1,200+ hours of baldur's gate 3, romancing a certain vampiric elf time and time again, which gave me plenty of inspiration to continue this fic. I never meant to be gone for so long, so if you're still interested in this story, please let me know!

───────── ❅ 🦇 ❅ ─────────

What have you done?

To say that you were restless would be an understatement. The first order of business when you returned to your chambers was finding a safe place to store your stolen weapon, and now, hours later, you had yet to succeed.

You paced the room, wearing holes in the soles of your slippers as you wondered if you had made the right decision. It was unlike you to have sticky fingers, but then again, these were unprecedented times. Boldness meant survival.

Above all, you feared Ren was privy to your thievery, despite his silence on the walk back to your chambers. The prick of blood seemed enough to distract him for a moment, or perhaps he was practiced in hiding his tells. Either way, the consequences of him knowing gnawed at your sanity.

Rey had tended the hearth while you were away, ensuring your chambers were kept warm and filled with the familiar scent of dry wood. Her diligence as a handmaid proved to be an unforeseen complication in hiding your contraband.

Instinct urged you to keep it close to your bed, but reason told you it would be found too easily there. Same with the lounges circling the hearth, whose velour cushions could conceal many things if asked to. Though a dagger lodged in one’s rear would raise many concerns, as well as promise unspeakable punishments to come.

For these reasons, you ultimately settled on the bookcase.

Towering in the corner was a collection of books and texts, dense enough to put even the most curious scholars to sleep. A perfect place to hide a dagger.

Dragging a footstool over as a makeshift ladder, you reached for a leather-bound book embossed with gold letters along its spine. Imperium Nunquam Fuit. Though written in Old Basic, you understood its meaning.

The Empire That Never Was. A phrase coined by Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin to describe the destruction of Alderaan during the Revolution. An unsavory way to speak about a fallen civilization—considering he was the man responsible.

You made quick work of hollowing the historical text, skimming the page you’d turned to before defacing it. This passage detailed the last of the Imperial attacks on Alderaan, near the end of the Rebellion. One of the more infamous sieges of the war, earning its place in history with a tithe of blood and destruction.

The lines of script told the story of how Imperial soldiers salted Alderaan’s lands and butchered the citizens—babes and crones included. The Empire was thorough, wiping out an entire civilization over a mere conspiracy. With few survivors, and even fewer successors, Alderaanian blood was a rarity. You supposed that was one of the many things that set General Organa apart from the rest.

Considering the contents, it was a book of little interest to the First Order—a perfect hiding place.

The point of your blade pierced the parchment with ease, as if slicing through a block of butter rather than a thousand-page text. Tragic as it was to ruin a book like this, what other choice did you have? Hosnian Prime’s Grand Archives likely stored dozens of copies; one locked away in the depths of the First Order’s fortress would not be missed.

The fit was snug, but it would do for now. As for the pages you’d carved out, they laid in a pile at your feet, a messy reminder that your room was not private.

You slammed the book shut and returned it, hurrying to clean the shreds of paper scattered across the red carpets. Despite your efforts, the fragments proved too difficult to clean with just your hands alone, forcing you to sweep them into your skirts.

As you carried the pieces to the hearth, a gentle knock sounded through the oak doors. “Gods,” you muttered as you rushed towards the fire, dumping the pages unceremoniously onto the crackling wood.

Another rap on the door.

“Just a moment, please!” It was impossible to hide the panic in your voice as you prodded at the withering pages with an iron poker. Time seemed to slow as you watched the flames engulf the ink, turning Alderaan’s history to ash once more.

“It’s me, my lady.” Muffled by the wood, Rey’s voice was barely audible over the fire, hissing with fresh fodder. If any good came from her being your visitor, it was her staunch etiquette. She would not barge in uninvited—unlike some of the castle’s residents.

Brushing the slivers of evidence from your gown, you opened the doors, mindful of the lingering ash in the hearth. “My apologies. I was…” You cleared your throat, smoothing out your skirts before finishing your lie. “Indecent.”

Demure as ever, Rey dropped her gaze as she curtseyed before you. “It’s no matter, my lady. I was sent to fetch you; the Supreme Leader requests your presence.”

The moment his name left her lips, cotton filled your mouth, forcing its way down your throat as you swallowed your fear. What reason would the Supreme Leader have to summon you—at this late hour, no less?

Your thoughts immediately turned to Commander Ren. Perhaps he had noticed your theft after all and reported your offence to Snoke. If that were true, you vowed to slice his throat first.

“Did he give a reason?” you asked, trying to maintain your resolve.

Rey’s throat knocked in her slender neck. “He did not say.”

Part of you wanted to take the damned blade with you, but recklessness wouldn’t serve you. Though you did not recognize him as your ruler, you were not keen on adding treason to your ledger.

You sighed, coming to stand beside Rey at the door, shoulders pressed back and hands folded over your lap. “I’m surprised he didn’t send you with manacles.”

She said nothing, but the trace smile on her lips told you all that you needed to know. You couldn’t blame her for watching her tongue around you. Given what transpired last night, you would do the same in her position.

The two of you walked in near silence to the throne chambers, passing countless tall windows with panes stained a deep red, dark enough to block most light from entering. What little light did manage to seep through painted the halls crimson, giving the appearance of blood spilling over the floor.

The burned pages of text flashed in your mind.

Every step forward was committed to memory, including the number of paces between notable fixtures, as well as where each one stood in relation to your chambers. Still, there was no sign of an access point in this section of the castle. But your resolve did not falter. If there was a means of entry into this accursed fortress, there must also be a means of escape.

As you rounded the corner to another corridor, you glanced at your handmaid, noticing that her usual singular bun had evolved into three smaller ones, meeting the nape of her neck in a uniform line.

“You’ve changed your hair.” The observation came out as more of a question than a comment.

“Yes, my lady,” she said, delicate fingers reaching to touch the one near her collar. “An effort to be closer to the gods.”

You furrowed your brows. “How’s that?”

“As there are three of them, there are three knots. We servants are forbidden to worship openly, so we find other ways.” She closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her chin towards her chest. “Divine strength allows clarity of the mind.”

While you were not necessarily a pious woman, you were familiar enough with the gods from your upbringing to understand what she meant. As a child, you often prayed at your family’s shrine, asking for a bountiful harvest, good health, and, most of all, peace in the realm. For many years, they fulfilled your wishes. Now, your faith provided you with little comfort.

“Certainly,” you said, not wanting to discuss the subject any further. “Are we nearly there?”

“Just down this hall,” she said, her tone clipped. Either she was annoyed with the change of subject, or just as uneasy about seeing the Supreme Leader as you were.

True to her word, Rey came to a stop near the end of the corridor, leaving a short distance between you and the two looming oak doors, with iron enforcements woven into the grain and a guard posted on either side. Their faces were concealed by crimson veils, the signature regalia of the Praetorian Guard. Those tasked with protecting the ruler of these lands, whether they carried the title of Chancellor, Emperor, or Supreme Leader.

The warmth drained from your face at the sight.

“This is where I leave you, my lady.” Her face lacked its usual peachy hue, her freckles washed away by the candlelight. “The Supreme Leader does not allow us to enter these chambers, save for when he is passing judgment upon us.”

Standing before the faceless guards, you understood her unease.

“Will you be here to escort me back?” you asked, palms growing damp as you clutched the fabric of your gown.

“It is late. I must turn in for the evening.” She shifted her weight, eyes darting between you and the guards, whose presence seemed to loom over you from meters away. “Besides, I should think you do not require my assistance from this point.”

With that, she turned on her heels and retreated, her steps muted as she faded into the stretching darkness of the hallway. Turning to face the guards, dread settled in your stomach. Surely these warriors would not accompany you back to your chambers.

You studied them for a moment, the strategist in your mind seeking to understand what threat they posed. Both were tall and well-fed, given the size of their uniforms. The one to your left carried a bisento, while the other held a tall voulge, both equally unnerving. Their blades were pristine, foreign to combat. You wondered if the same could be said for those wielding them, too.

As if seeking to test your theory, they readied their weapons as you approached, each blade humming as it sliced through the air.

You came to a halt, the hair on the back of your neck now stiff. “I’ve been summoned by the Supreme Leader.”

The two remained poised to strike for a long moment before returning to their sentry state, offering one another a brisk nod as they pushed the heavy doors open, revealing the grand throne room. With tentative steps, you approached, pausing at the threshold.

Black marble columns lined the walkway to the throne, each manned by a knight of the Praetorian Guard, their crimson armor matching the First Order banners draped along the cobbled walls. Above the throne was the room’s sole window, with red stained panels filling the space between the spokes of the First Order insignia. Six steps carved of the same dark mineral as the columns led to the throne, lined with black velvet upholstery and a towering slate backing. Perched comfortably in the seat was Supreme Leader Snoke, draped in golden robes that flowed over his limbs like smelted ore, barely concealing the matching jewelry wrapped snugly around his fingers.

The paragon of humility.

He was joined by another: the fire-haired General Hux. His gaze snapped to you as the doors creaked open, beady eyes piercing you like darts from across the chamber.

“Ah, my guest of honor,” Snoke crooned, clasping his hands before his chest in delight. His tone fell icy as he turned to address the General. “Leave us.”

Confusion spread across his pale features as he turned to face Snoke once more. “But, Supreme Leader, there is still much to be discussed.”

“Perhaps I did not make myself clear. You are to leave these chambers at once, General Hux, or you will be removed.” Snoke’s gravelly voice rumbled through the hall with the force of a thousand footsteps, and reluctantly, Hux obeyed.

You watched the scene play out before you from the safety of the doorway, your feet rooted to the floor.

Snoke relaxed in his chair once more, beckoning you in with a hand gesture. “Please, come in, darling.”

Willing your feet to move, you did as he asked, eyes flitting between the Praetorian guard and the approaching General Hux, whose expression could only be described as irate as he brushed past you, black coat fluttering behind him.

Your heart was lodged in your throat as you neared the throne, feeling like a lamb being shepherded towards the maw of a lion. You stopped in line with the last of the guards before the Supreme Leader, leaving some distance still.

Snoke watched you with keen eyes, a stark contrast to his stoic front. “I do hope you are well, my dear. I can only imagine the days spent in anticipation of your wedding are agonizing.”

You frowned. “Is that why you summoned me? To ask me about my wedding?”

“Of course not. But pleasantries are the foundation of any proper conversation.” The humor fell from his voice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” The words left a sour taste in your mouth, like wine crafted from grapes plucked too early.

Satisfied, he settled back into his throne, resting his hands over the ornate armrests. “See? Deference needn’t be cumbersome.”

His mocking tone made your vision red, but you held your tongue. Invisible threads tied you to him and his guards, each one pulled taught in the silence. It would take nothing more than a misstep to cause one of them to snap.

He spoke again, this time with authority. “It has come to my attention that you are unaware of what is expected of you as a noblewoman.”

You let out a terse exhale. “I suppose I am. Perhaps that is because of the conditions under which I am becoming one.”

A thin smile curled on the Supreme Leader’s lips. “These are unprecedented times, lieutenant.”

The emphasis on your title made your skin crawl. Snoke was calculated, sadistic. With his power, he was untouchable. The red veils surrounding you served as a constant reminder of his invulnerability.

“Now, I am curious. How did you manage that?” he added, tilting his head in intrigue. “A commoner like yourself rising to the rank of a commanding officer is no easy feat—even more so for a woman.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hardly see how this is relevant to my new status as a noblewoman.”

Despite your outward naivety, you knew too well what being a noblewoman would entail. You’d known from the moment your betrothal was announced. You were to be the docile wife of a commander, providing him an heir, a spare, and a warm bed whenever he pleased. Your military career would be swept away by the title of Lady Ren, all traces of your independence lost to time. You couldn’t think of anything less appealing.

“As a Lady of the First Order, you will be granted privileges seldom given to others, such as this.” Snoke motioned to the surrounding space, and you found yourself unable to decipher his meaning.

He isn’t referring to having an audience with the ruler of the realm as a privilege, is he?

He continued, “The safety of the castle. Our stronghold. You will be protected within its walls.”

Oh. Of course.

You suppressed a scoff. “I find that hard to believe, considering Commander Ren has attempted to strangle me twice over since my arrival.”

“I see,” he mused, pressing an index finger to his lips in thought. “My mercurial underling. If only his mind were half as quick as his temper.”

Somehow, your first instinct was to defend Commander Ren from his inflaming remark. While the Supreme Leader was correct about Ren’s temperament, he didn’t see the side of him that you saw—however infrequently it may have showed itself. There was a tenderness to him, fleeting in nature, like a luminescent star ripping through the night sky. You saw it in his eyes as he sat before your hearth, again when he laced your bodice.

Or perhaps what you felt was just the lingering effects of his charm.

Snoke’s rough voice broke your reverie. “Nevertheless, I’m sure Commander Ren had his reasons. Just as I’m sure whatever actions may have led to these outbursts will cease henceforth, won’t they?”

Before you could answer, a searing pain sliced through your skull, its barbed tendrils reaching into the deepest part of your consciousness. Every muscle in your body became succinctly rigid, frozen in place as an invisible force suspended you midair. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to call out; for the gods, for your mother—even for Commander Ren.

“You will behave yourself, insolent girl, or you will be disposed of.”

Despite your efforts, no sound would come from your throat. An eternity seemed to pass as the Supreme Leader kept you trapped, holding your feet to the fire of his anger. Mustering every ounce of strength, you forced your chin down in agreement, hot tears distorting your vision.

Without moving a muscle, he relinquished his hold on you, your knees cracking against the marble floor in an instant. The violet fabric of your gown pooled around you like the blood of a slain enemy, collecting the tears that fell from your chin.

Before you could find your voice, the creak of wood and subsequent rustling of armor behind you swiped your attention. The guards had readied their weapons, aiming at something other than you.

You flinched as the doors slammed shut, followed by a heavy—yet quick—footfall.

“What is the meaning of this?” Commander Ren’s voice was biting, filled with untamed fury as he entered the grand hall. His cloak rippled behind him like the night sea, silver sword in hand as he marched forward.

You scurried backwards on your tender palms, caught between his rage and the throne. He drew closer, only stopping at the intersection of two of the guards’ blades.

“Commander Ren, what a welcome surprise,” Snoke crooned. “Your bride was just leaving.”

His eyes found yours in an instant—wild and dark. Silently, you pleaded for his cooperation. If he were to strike at the guard, your life would be forfeit.

Outnumbered by eight blades, he stowed his own. “What have you done?” he demanded.

Though he was looking at you, his question was directed at the man atop the throne, whose enthusiasm at his subordinate’s display was palpable.

“Nothing you have not already done yourself,” Snoke growled. With that, he stood to his feet and stepped down from his throne, closing the gap you’d deliberately left and standing over you. “See her back to her chambers, Commander.”

A snarl flashed across Ren’s face as he pushed past the guards and kneeled before you, extending a gloved hand for you. Though he was quiet, his eyes were heavy with guilt.

With legs like a new foal, you accepted his help, gripping his hand like a lifeline as you stood. “Thank you.” The words floated from your mouth, burning your throat as they passed through.

He only nodded in return, guiding you away from the chamber. Because of his intrusion, the outer guards were now sealed inside, allowing some privacy in the dimly lit hall.

Ren came to a halt, moving both of his cool hands to rest on your shoulders, inspecting you. “Are you hurt?”

Averting your eyes, you shook your head dismissively, ignoring how your knees seemed to rattle with every step.

He let out an amused hum. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you will, Commander,” you managed to say through your dry mouth. “I’m fine.”

At that, the two of you carried on in silence, meandering through the castle, passing knights and servants alike down each corridor. Ren’s emotion rolled off of him like heat from a flame, slowly dwindling the further you were from the throne room.

As your legs regained their strength, so did your voice. “How did you know I was in there?”

“Does that really matter?”

“I’d say so. For all I know, you’re the reason he summoned me in the first place,” you argued, head spinning as you tried to recognize your surroundings. Only when you realized these walls were unfamiliar did your pace falter. “Stop!”

He obeyed, meeting you where you stood. “What?”

“Answer me.”

He let out a terse breath. “No, I am not the reason he summoned you. Come, we can discuss this later.”

At that, he began his stride again, but you didn’t follow. “No. I will not take one more step. Not before I know where you are taking me, as it is clearly not my chambers.”

“I’m bringing you somewhere private,” he finally answered.

“Are my chambers not private enough?”

“By the gods,” he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “As I’m sure you’re well aware, it is unbecoming of me to be seen entering your chambers before we are wed.”

You scoffed. “How pragmatic of you.”

Ignoring your comment, he continued, “After your encounter with the Supreme Leader, I think it’s best if we avoid unnecessary speculation—for your sake.”

You couldn’t argue with him. If Snoke was inclined to submit you to the rawest agony over the slightest display of defiance, you could only imagine what else he was capable of.

“Fine,” you conceded, seeing reason in his words. “But let it be known that my cooperation does not reflect my satisfaction with this decision.”

A smile ghosted over his lips. “I know.”

282 notes · View notes

narcissarina · 5 months ago

Text

•Lost, Acceptance, and Love again•

Before reading, please take note that:

This is a work of fiction, events that have happened here are entirely fictional and it's all in the authors imagination.

You may or may not agree with what the characters say since it's only for the sake of the plot to continue the story.

May or may not contain spoilers from the actual Silent Hill 2 remake game.

The author would like to apologize for her shit ass writing because she's rusty as hell.

Words used: 17,965

This story contains, slow burn, single mother reader, grieving James, trauma and smut.

Please beware that this may be ass, but the author had to post and edit this at 4:08 in the morning in her country. (Save yourself pls)

The author hasn't finished the game, and may have flaws while she researches something on the internet rather than playing the game itself (waiting for her fav ytuber to upload)

Tumblr is being ass for the 10 picture limit that the author couldn't use her Lost, Acceptance, and Love again divider. So please bear with the ~~~~~ lmao.

Lost, Acceptance and Love again...

It was morning, the sunlight creeps in and the cheers of your kids blessed your ears—their little feet carried themselves and pushed the door of your room open, “mommy, mommy!” They said, helping one another to set foot in your bed and tackle you.

You smiled at their tactics, finally opening your eyes as you were greeted with the biggest smile you ever witness. The four of them steps on your bed, Veronica on your lap, Kenan clings to your arm and Junior messing your hair. Since they’re only two years old, they are loud and more energetic than you are.

“Alright, alright.” You sat up and tried to get Junior’s hand off of your hair, untangling his super grip and tried to find their other brother: Leo. Leo seems busy watching what the others are doing, “you four go play in the living room, mommy has to make her bed and make you devils some breakfast, okay?” You said, putting Veronica down the ground as Kenan and Junior followed, then Leo.

“Mommy, somwone move in next dwor.” Leo informed you, “and where did you heard that, baby Leo?” you asked, standing up to stretch your arms and legs—throwing question at Leo, “the other neighbwors, mommy.” Pouts Leo.

After making you bed, you told them to run along the living room while you make them breakfast but since you’re now informed that someone moved in next door, you thought about giving the new neighbor some warm welcoming like how you first moved in. Gifts and homemade foods is what greeted you on the first day, you wanted to welcome the new neighbor just the same.

Someone deserve to feel welcome, right?

Setting down your utensils, facing your kids, “you kids want to help me make something to give next door?” silence as the four little blonde kids looks at one another as they nod to agree to assist you.

“What do you kids want to give to our new neighbor?” You asked, rummaging through your kitchens top drawer snd the pantry closet, “cookies!” suggest Veronica, “muffins?” said Kenan in a timid, shy tone, “Can I eat wone?” asked Junior, his mind drooling about eating cookies and muffins.

You smiled at them with a nod, “cookies and muffin then.”

The four little blonde kids helped you knead the cookie dough, this also helps them find entertainment for cooking—one of the fun activities that they never knew they’d enjoy, after making a mess on the table, with the flour and chocolate chips spread through the table.

Letting them experience to clean and help you with basic house chores while waiting for the cookies and muffin to bake.

Sitting with the kids in the living room, they’re drawing on their papers, Leo is taking a nap on your lap while the others draw. “Ms. Lay fwom next door says that the new guy nexts dwor is a bit gwumpy looking, but I think he’s just sad.” What Junior said struck you, the new guy next door is… sad? Why is that your kids say that the man was sad?

You thought, maybe having a little chat with him and try to befriend him would make a difference. Maybe he’s lonely or could use a friend, it’s totally all right to rely on someone when they needed it most, right?

You asked yourself, losing yourself in thought as Kenan bit your knees to snap you out of it, “Ow—” you wince, almost kicking your knee up as Kenan backs away, “cookie and muffin owlready done mowm.” He pats and continues to draw with Veronica and Junior as you settle down Leo to nap on the couch.

Thinking back again as you took two trays out of the oven, you can’t help but wonder what must that guy be going through, why he moved alone next door. You sigh and took each one of the cookies and muffin out of the tray, calling your kids to let them decorate it to whatever they pleases.

Junior put a blue icing and put don’t be sad, have a muffin.

While Veronica draw hearts and flowers, Leo on the other hand just put a frown and smile together. Kenan just wants it to be a simple swirl.

They help pick a box to put in to give it to the man next door, a pink with white stripes box as you neatly put a ribbon around it, then taking a box out to give the man a few cookies to enjoy while the rest are for yours and the kids to enjoy.

You smiled at the masterpiece that your kids made, and of course, an A for your effort too.

“Let’s hope that he likes it.” You smiled at the four eating their own muffin, stuffing their face with icing.

Still wearing your apron on, kids were on your side. Veronica holding the muffin box with both of her hands, smiling from ear to ear as if she’s delighted to share the masterpiece that she and her brothers made, Kenan clings to your pants while Leo walks in front of you. You rang the door bell and looks down at Leo—who’s expression is uninterested to be here right now and holding the box filled with cookies.

It took a few minutes and two doorbells before the man opens the door, before you, you saw a tall dark blonde man with tired eyes in a slightly ajar door. Is he not sleeping well? It’s quite worrying to see him at such a state, but Veronica’s voice filled the silence with her usual loud and cheery voice, “HELLO!” she beams, startling the man, “me, my mowmi and my bwothers made these for chu!” She started walking towards him, taking his hand and giving the box to him.

Leo goes up next, didn’t say anything and shoves the box to the mans knee—making him kneel down to pick up the box, “Leo!” You called out with a slight frown, “I-I’m so sorry for my son, sir.” You flash him with a soft smile, “we were informed you had just moved in, we thought we might give you something to welcome you.” You added, Veronica is clapping with a giggle while Kenan on the other hand, is hiding from the man.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Grunts the dark blonde man, taking box filled with cookies in his hands and set it to the nearby table in his home, you told him your name while he told his, “I’m James…” he said, “James Sunderland.”

You nod, looking down at Junior that’s in front of you, “mister awre you high?” asked Junior, your eyes wide and knelt down quickly to cover Juniors mouth, “I am SO sorry.” You apologize for your kids behavior, earning a small chuckle from James, “just kidding, mommy.” Junior giggled at his own words, “Junior that’s not nice.” You tut and got to your feet again.

The kid walks towards James and pushed the door to open more, giving the man a hug to his knees, “don’t be sad, miwster.” Junior tries comforting the man, looking at James with his baby blue eyes, “just eat a mufwin.” He grins and quickly got back to you. James eyed your kids one by one, nodding at Juniors words, “I will, kid.” James smiled, his day a bit better because of your little devils.

You had a long and friendly conversation with James, the kids asking him questions and urging him to take a bite of what they made, asking him who’s muffin is better—giving James the pressure of answering the so called ‘winner’.

Finally got back inside, your kids bursting with energy and zoomies around the living room. They’re playing tag while you watch them play and turn on your television to watch something, turning channels to see if there’s something interesting to watch but since there’s none, you just read a book while Leo decided to take a nap on top of you while you read.

James smiled today, amused by the kids and made his day a little better. You smiled to yourself and look back at your children, they sure are a bundle of joy—bringing a smile to someone’s face with their unique personality and odd choice of words talking to a stranger… that now strangely turned into a friend.

You are thankful that you have them to bring joy to someone’s day… even if it’s just for today.

It’s now nighttime, you look to the window and see that James never set foot outside for once today, he might have something a lot to worry in his mind. The bags under his eyes… You’re worried, but not to worry! You have set a goal to yourself that you’ll break down James’ walls little by little until he shares his worries with you. That he’ll see that he’s not alone, that he’s free to share his burden with you.

You asked your kids to take a bath (you dried them one by one with a towel of course), brush their teeth and waste their energy to their last playtime for today and set off to bed.

Tucking Veronica first in her own separate room from the boys, she giggles as you kissed her forehead. Pulling the blanket up to her neck and setting Mr. Bunny to her side.

The boys are chatting and Junior being the clown to their group is making a joke to make them laugh, “okay, boys. Off to bed now.” You smiled, leaning against the doorframe then walking to their beds as they scatter to their own.

Tucking Kenan and Leo in their own, giving them a goodnight kiss on their forehead, setting their comfort animal stuff toys to their side. You also tucked in Junior last, he’s sitting on his bed, smoothing out his blanket with a smile then finally lying down.

“Mowmmy,” he called, “yes, baby?”

“I wayk James.” He stated with a giggle, “why is that?” you asked, interested that he had taken a liking to James, “he seems to be a nice guy.” You nodded, agreeing to him.

“He is.”

“But chi seems sad and lonely..” Juniors tone became hush and blue, he shoot you a pity look, “c-can we bwe chis fwend?”

His question stunned you a little, but seeing that James seems to be feeling blue and lonely, why not try right? You nodded and kisses Juniors forehead goodnight, “we’ll try, baby. Let’s invite him to every plans we have. Ease his mind a bit yeah?” you smiled at him.

Junior yawned and leans towards you touch, “I like that vewi much, mowmmy,” he yawns mid sentence, “I wuv you vewi much…”

Your heart swells with so much love, adding more fuel to your determination and make James be part of the family so he would never be alone. Not when they’re here with him.

“Mr. Sunderland?” knocking on his door then ringing his doorbell, calling him out while your kids were chatting among themselves, you waited for James to come out.

“Mr. Sun—” the door open, you almost hit James by the chest when you’re suppose to knock, “yeah?” he responded to your call, eyes still tired as ever then he pinch the bridge of his nose—finally looking down at your kids that’s dressed up. For what? A party or play?

His mouth open, but couldn’t pin point the words he wanted to say, “is—is everything all right?” he asked, looking down at Veronica who’s giggling at James, “yes, everything is fine. About yesterday, uhm…” taking a sharp breath, you gather your courage to invite him out, “you see, my kids had taking a liking to you and—”

“No, I dwon’t” pouts Leo.

You shush Leo and gave him the stare, “that’s not nice.” You quickly warned Leo, “bwut I like James.” Said Junior with a smile and Veronica steps up to James giving him a big hug to his knee, “wiw you pwease come with chas mister?” Veronica asked with a pleading tone, not letting go of James because well… she doesn’t take a no for an answer.

Waiting for his response, James kneels down to Veronica’s level and pats her head, “I can’t.” he said, trying to untangle her grip to his leg, “whys?” She asked with a pout, not letting go of James, “I uhm…” he cough and start looking around his house, “a bit busy.”

“wayer.”

He sigh and smiled, “I’m… not.” He pauses and took his gaze off Veronica’s pleading look, puppy eyes and all. “Pwease?” plead Veronica, stomping her little legs, “pwease, pwease, pwease.” She repeatedly plead, hugging James’ leg tightly.

Taking Veronica off of him and cradling her in your arms, you just faintly smiled at James’ polite refusal, “it’s okay, Mr. Sunderland,” you said, patting your daughters back as you two could hear her sob. You pamper her with kisses on her cheek to cheer her up, but she hugged you tightly around your neck and silently sob.

“We’ll just go,” taking Leo’s hand, taking Leo away because he’s giving James the glare. Junior waved his hand bye-bye and took Kenan with him.

Seeing the tears that the girl shed, it made him feel bad—a guilty feeling that he hates to feel because he refused a little girls request, “wait!” he yelled, stopping the five of you in your tracks, “w-wait… I’ll just get uh… ready.” He awkwardly stated and shut the door first, probably going to have a quick wash to his face.

You could hear him tripping inside his own home and almost loud banging in there, is he all right? You asked yourself, then turn to the crying Veronica, “look, baby. He’s now coming with us.” You coo her, bouncing her on your arms as Veronica smiled and nodded, wiping her tears with her little hands.

His door open and locked it, walking down to his porch steps and pocketing his keys. First time seeing him in the light as he walks over to you, he sigh—knowing that he accepted defeat when he witness Veronica cry.

“All right…” he sigh, “where to?”

“Up.. up..” Veronica lift her arms and tried to get to James to carry her, “all right.” Accepting her request, he cradle her in his arms then felt like the heavy stare faded from him, Leo was glaring at him but not anymore—now that he sees his sister content and happy being carried by James.

“Just the playground.”

Arriving at the park, the kids dashes off to either the swing or slides, you sit beside James on the bench and watch over them. “So.” You start, glancing over him while he’s leaning forward.

“any kids?” you question, he slowly shakes his head, “no.”

Awkward…

You start again while watching the kids from the distance, Veronica pushing Kenan on the swing while Leo helped Junior to slide down the slides, “any particular reason why you moved in to town?” you asked, there was an silence that gap between you. As if, James’ is reflecting on to his own thoughts.

“Well, it’s—… it’s not that it’s wrong to move in.” you almost eat and stutter your words, pursing your lips and looking down to your knees. He’s refusing to answer doesn’t he? Better not push it, maybe it’s quite personal to him.

You heard a tuning song from the distance, oh look. An ice cream truck! Better buy some to make him and the kids better.

Standing up from your seat and taking your purse, target locked to the truck from the street as James’ mutter in his breath, “just… to run away from something.” He said. You catch what he said and nodded, brows furrowing to what? Pity or worry?

“watch the kids for me, can you?” asking a small favor for him, he nods and lean back to his seat, taking a closer eye on four of your kids while you run along with your heels clicking and across the street buying ice cream.

James’ eyed on Veronica closely… There seems to be a stranger talking and coming closer to her, giving her what? Candy? His eyes squinted and stood up from his seat, walking closer to your daughter. He could hear what they’re saying, “oh you want more candy?” the stranger asked.

“ches, more pwease.” Veronica demanded, gesturing on her hand to give her more, “excuse me?” James’ voice cuts their little idle chat, making the stranger flinch and look at the man before him, he leans down to Veronica (who is licking her candy) tapping her shoulder and nod to the stranger before her, “you know this person, sweetheart?” James asked, she chin up to meet James’ gaze—she shakes her head to a no, not knowing who might this stranger be.

The unknown person stood up and backed away, “so.” James warned as he stood and took Veronica in his arms, cradling her. “It’s either you scram or I’ll take you out myself.” His voice might be calm and collected, but it hints a warning and threat.

The unknown person backs away and out the park that’s filled with children, James’ decided to warn the parents that’s present on the park—warning about the guy who is suspicious and could possibly kidnap the children out of sight.

James took the children to the bench and waited for your return.

When you came back, plastic bag on your wrist filled with cup ice creams and two big ice cones for you and James’—witnessing them look gloomy sitting on the bench while Veronica is happily chewing on her candy.

“I’m back, what happened?” you asked, walking in front ofhim and giving James his cone, then gave the four children their own small cupped ice creams, “someone tried to bribe your daughter with candies.” He looks at his own cone and took a big bite on top, “he looks suspicious so I warned the other parents that are present.” He added, looking worried as she snap your gaze to Veronica.

“Baby, what did I told you when strangers that looks sketchy offered you candy huh?” your voice firm but with worry.

“Bwut mowmmy, I intwend to take a few then rwun away. It’s buswiness.” Proud and smug as Veronica gesture a ‘pay me’ gesture, letting out a scoff and put your free hand to your face as you gaze back to James’ “thank you so much, James. I don’t know what could’ve happened to her without you watching.” You let out a huge sigh and looks down at Veronica, “you do understand that I’ll give a good scolding for later, right Nica?”

Veronica pouted but made no objections but instead, nodded—she knee that she made you worried and got in a little bit of struggle, since she didn’t want to left out her three brothers by not having a candy, she took the risk in mind.

You couldn’t believe that one of your kids already made some trouble for James, you sat down with them and you glance at James’ ice cream cone… It’s already gone? Huh?

Eyes wide that James already ate his at a split second, he looks at you with those same tired green eyes, “what?” he asked, “n.. no-no no, it’s nothing.” Licking your own cone and minding your own business, eating ice cream a little too quiet.

“you might want to have your daughter check, you know… incase that the candy was drugged.” Almost choking on your own cone, coughing and hitting your chest—your face went pale as the thought of the possibility that the candy might be drugged is your worst nightmare.

Your turn your head to Veronica and asked her, “baby, do you feel weird or sleepy?” Veronica shook her head, still eating her ice cream cup, “we’ll go to the hospital first before we go to you and your brothers favorite diner, all right?” you let out a small chuckle and took the kids empty ice cream cup to the trash.

You nod your head to James’ with a smile, “Lets go.”

“I’m still invited?” he asked, getting up to his feet.

“Of course, plus. I think you’d do that for the kids right?” you said with a grin, Veronica with pleading eyes as she now demands to be picked up.

“to the hospital?”

“to the hospital.” You nod.

“Well, the test result came quick and good news.” Says the doctor as he smiled and pats Veronicas head, “there are no drugs from your daughters system, miss.” The doctor added and gave Veronica candy—which Veronica is reluctant to take, asking you for silent permission using her eyes.

You smiled and kisses her head, “you can take the doctors candy, sweetie.” The doctor let out a chuckle at the cuteness and cautious Veronica, “it’s all right, you can trust me.” Said the doctor with a proud tone, “you know, I have a daughter that has the same name as you.” He winks playfully and left the room.

“Do you hear that baby? It means your name is special.” You coo as she devours the candy, Leo is sleepy on the other hand and had been itching to go home, “so I suppose we’re going to a diner next?” James asked, raising a brow—seeing that Leo is nodding off, he picked Leo up to his arms and cradle him, letting him nap to his shoulder.

Nodding to his words, finally leaving the hospital as the sun is almost setting and entering the diner. Taking your seats as Leo is still gripping on to James’ shoulder, not wanting to let go and disturb his nap.

“What would you like to have?” you asked, flipping over to the menu’s.

“Anything that you’re going to order.” Answered James as he tried to gently tug off Leo and reposition him to a comfortable position to nap.

You nod to his words and after a while, finally calling a waiter to order. Well, you ordered a few stuff that what you think he might like and your kid’s favorite, “you can wake him up when the food is here.” You told James, smiling from ear to ear from the sight and knowing Leo? He gets grumpy and loud when he gets his nap disturbed, you might want to consider working on your kid with that one.

“he gets better when the food is here.” You added with a smile to James, Veronica patting on his shoulder and leans in, trying to engage a friendly conversation with him with her own curiosity to James.

Time passed and when the food arrived, James almost got his hand chewed by Leo for waking him up, but since the food arrived—the boys demeanor changed and turned slightly happy that he gets to eat his dinner now. The dark blonde man was thankful that he didn’t woke the little man up before the food arrive or else he’ll get teeth marks on his hands.

Exchanging friendly chat and opinion on several things with him is fun, having a few deep talks with James is something you never expected.

“do you think that when a person die, they’ll wake up again in their next life?”

“What do you think ones purpose in life when they were brought to this world?”

You threw various question to James and he didn’t refuse to share his own thought and feelings, even some cultural reference, happy to say that… James is the man you never thought would be your friend that you could talk things like this about.

The kids were so confused and worried about each and every answer and question, Veronica throwing you a look to stop asking James about something like Life and Death.

Well, there are a few things James learned; one is that your family is fun to hang around, two is that his burdens were shared even for a little bit and that he feels safe and secure to be having those kind of conversation with you. And three, the kids made him smile as if he couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy…

It had soon became dark, the kids knew they had to go home now and that they’ll be separated from James for today… But knowing a kid, they get attached a little too quickly when they had taken a liking to someone, James just happened to be a lovable man to them. He makes them feel safe and laugh, even though he, himself is a little miserable in life.

He just lost someone…

He’s afraid…

To what?

To get attached and lose that person again…

“Mary…” he mutter.

“Did you say something?” you asked, snapping him back to reality and see that he’s already back home, well—at your home to be precise, he probably daydream along the way and never noticed that he accepted your invite to stay inside your home for a while.

You saw that he’s at it again, after drying the dishes with clean cloth, you sat down beside him on the couch—your hand on his shoulder as you lean to see his face, “hey…” you called, tilting your head to the side, “you don’t look fine, mind sharing what’s on your mind?” you asked, soothing his back in case he needed it.

Hearing a sigh from him, he leans back (which you quickly took your hand off because it’ll get squish by his back), “i-it,’s nothing… just…” he paused, “just.. thinking about my wife.” He murmur, brows furrow and his feeling sink into longing and regret.

Your eyes wide at the news of hearing that he has a wife, “oh, really?” you gasp, not reading him quite well, “you have a wife? Where is she then? I would love to make friends with her.” You chuckle but stop, the look on his face is what would you see in a grieving person.

You stop and scoots to him closer, patting his hand, “what.. what happened to her?” you asked, seeing a nice guy that’s depress like James hurts you… You hate the look on his face when he had done so much for you and you, well, couldn’t do much for him.

Just company and talks.

James already thinks that just hearing you laugh, talk, or even coo your children and bring him company is already enough for him.

“Mary?” he uttered his wife’s name to you, “is Mary her name?” you smiled, “you know, people who tends to have a name Mary is usually the most nicest and beautiful people you’d ever met.” You told him, maybe it’ll cheer him better and… it did.

He lets out a soft chuckle and nodded, agreeing with you, “yeah… Mary is kind, beautiful and the most sweetest woman I have ever met…” he opens up, you listen intently—not wanting to break this moment for him, “she likes to play the piano, though she claims that she’s not very good at it. I’ve always love to hear her play again.”

You smiled at his words and nodded, “well, where is she now?” you asked, his smile slowly fading—regret and longing kicking in, “Mary’s dead.” He said.

As if your breath had caught to your throat, words won’t come out as your heart drops from the news—sharing the same mournful feeling with him and soothing him by his shoulder, “do you know the cause of her death?” you asked.

James sigh and rest his elbows to his knees, covering and wiping his face with both of his hands, “she was sick, the doctors told us that she only has three years maximum to live, it became a problem to both of us… She would’ve still love to visit our special place.” You smiled at the mention of them having a special place, “but then, the disease she made her almost unrecognizable, sever mood swings where she would attack you.” His breath hitches, recalling the painful memories he had with her.

You wanted to ask if the illness she had was curable, but I guess James already read your mind, “no, they couldn’t find a cure for it.” He said, his tone low and mournful. “so, she died from a disease..?” You asked, resting your elbows to your knees like his, “and where is this special place she loved?”

“Silent Hill.”

You nod, smiling, also recalling some childhood memories from that place—but now is not the time being about you, isn’t it?

“So, Mary had three years maximum to live, meaning that she died three years ago?” you summarized in question on what he had told you so far, “am I right?” searching for reassurance.

But instead, he shakes his head and bow low, “no…” he murmur, “what do you mean?” you asked, brows slightly frowning, heart beating rapidly and almost holding your breath back.

“I killed her.”

As if your ears had gone deaf, ringing and your mind swirl with a lot of questions. Snapping out of it, you just let out a nervous chuckle, “you’re joking… right?” breath hitches, heart pounding rapidly as he didn’t react, he turn his head away and didn’t fill the silence.

Quickly getting up to your feet, finding something to do to busy yourself and distract your mind—it’s impossible, right? How could someone as kind like James kill someone? He spoke about Mary full of love and sincerity yet… he killed her.

Why..?

“I uhm…” you start, James stood and called your name, calm and gentle yet—those are the same lips that loved Mary and what killed her, “… could you please..” James hums, walking up to you, your back facing him as he tried to reach for your hand.

Flinching to his touch, you turn and cover then wipe your face with your whole palm. You couldn’t even look at him in the eye, “y.. you should go,” you remark, his lips parts but no words fell from it, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow…” you added, “I just… uhm… need some time.” James, of course, understood. If someone he wanted to be closed to told him that they had killed someone that the person really loves, he’d react the same too.

He'd doubt, isolate himself or even just cut ties with them.

Probably.

If he has the heart to.

Why now? He would asked himself, why now did he have to open up so soon? He just ruined another relationship that he thought he finally could keep. He just need time, just another time and chance to explain himself. But he couldn’t redeem himself to the crime he had done with the same hands that held your kids…

His hand stop reaching out to you, seeing how terrified you were with the information he just laid out to you, it’s terrifying and he knows that… He just… didn’t want Mary to suffer, if he could just say those words, will you understand why he had taken the life of his late-wife?

No. No you won’t, you won’t forgive him nor would he forgive himself, his mouth were open but no words were uttered out, “James…” he snaps back to reality, out of his mind yet again, “please, you and I need uhm… some rest.” You voice out, whispering as the kids were already fast asleep.

He nodded, understanding that it’s already night and… You need sleep and to avoid him for this night, “all right, I understand…” he mutter, slowly backing away and turn to face the door, he called out to you before walking out, “… good night.”

You hum in respond, “yeah… Goodnight too, James.”

Toss and turning in bed after an hour has passed, his words keeps haunting your mind, you could only ask yourself why? Why did he do it? Is it because Mary is too ill and that her illness isn’t curable, does that mean he just didn’t want her to suffer and ended her life with his own hands?

How could he? You thought, can’t sleep properly. James is a nice person, calm and collected when around your kids, even protected them from possible kidnap of Veronica, warned other parents about that suspicious person.

It's just, maybe, hard go believe. He couldn’t possibly, right? You don’t want go believe it, he’s starting to grow in you—letting your heart open ajar for him, just one more push and you’re attached.

Maybe he just said it to push you away? He said horrible things to himself just to distance people away from him, you can’t just ignore his existence and continue with your daily life when your own kids got attached to him.

You’ll go talk to him tomorrow, just need some good night sleep.

But how? When James himself is convinced that he’s a monster.

This all stresses you out, your mind is already tired of thinking and before you knew it, your eyes were closed as slowly your consciousness had taken a deep slumber, while your heartaches for James, a single tear shed from one corner of your eye.

You woke up a little too early, drinking coffee and reading a book on the kitchen table. Surprised that Leo was the first one to wake up, “mowmmy?” he called, putting your mug down and picked him up to your arms, “yes, baby?”

“Whwere’s James?” he asked, yawning and nuzzling his head to the crook of your neck, you hum him in your embrace, trying to put him back to sleep. Leo is smart from his siblings, he understands things that should’ve been terrifying to kids, you wanted to ask him about something, “Leo?”

Leo hums, pulling himself together and rubs his eyes with the back of his palm, “I want to ask you something baby.” You coo, “what would you do if someone you love is suffering in an incurable illness, what would you do?”

It takes time for the question to fully register in Leo’s mind, he blinks at you with his sleepy lidded eyes and huffs out his answer, “I uhm..” he almost mumble, “If its incwurable, I would wike them to stwop suffewing.” He hums, still sleepy yet he could answer your question.

“bwecause, i-if.. mhm.. if they cwontinue to swuffer, it’ll ownly pain them but fwor as long as thwey are stwill alive, I would want to cweate lots of memories with thwem.” He added, you nod. You know this to yourself that you shouldn’t be asking the child such dark question, but you did it anyway.

“But, baby, what if the person was the one who ended that persons suffering, what then?”

He squints at you hard, judging you badly.

Silence filled in as Leo was now fully awake and aware, “did swomeone killed swomeone mwommy?” he asked, rubbing his eyes, shaking your head as an answer with a smile, “just curious what would your answer be, Leo.”

He tilts his head, “lawfuwwy, it’s illegal and cwould be set in jail to swerve sentence fwor attempt murder.” He huffs, kicking his legs to be put down and sit on your lap, you sat back down to your chair and made him sit on your lap. He continues, “bwut, if—IF,” he almost yelled, “itw’s not like I’m dwefending a mwurderer or something.” He coughs and clasp his tiny hands together, “if thwat person feels guilty abwout it, and that thwey wish they dwidn’t done it and wanted to gwow back that thwey didn’t kwilled them. Thwen it means thwat thwey still have a gwood heart, bwecause they regwet.” He finishes and yawns, “mwurders are sometwine put to trial and serve swentence to jail, why is that mwommy?” he asked you.

You thought about it, “because they believe in being sober and second chances, and that they give them months or years in prison to reflect.” Leo nodded at your words in agreement, “exwactly. Now, if ywou will excuse me, I’m still eepy.” He huffs, stomping down to his feet hitting the ground, he looks back at you, “and mwommy, I bwelieve in secwond chances. Maybwe that pwerson thinks its fwor the best or that the pwerson with the illness mwakes it their wish.”

After that, he storms off back to his room, taking another nap with his brothers, it’s still eight in the morning, probably eight and thirty-five, what Leo just said left you speechless and in awe. He really is smart and gifted.

Making up your mind, Leo is right. Maybe… Maybe Mary really had requested it to James to kill herself. Give her life up because she doesn’t want to suffer anymore? Who knows, you’re not there when they’re story happened. You will have a talk with James’ later…

Oops, you need to prepare breakfast first, or else the house will be loud with complaining children about breakfast and having zoomies.

10:30AM.

Kids awake, Veronica somehow knew James’ phone number and invited him over without your knowledge, you only knew that when James told you, “huh? Veronica said you invited me over to come eat breakfast with you guys.”

Spacing out on the table, mind is full of thoughts and question while Veronica is standing on James’ chair while he sits, being also fed by the little girl when James could feed himself, but since knowing Veronica for being a little overdramatic. James couldn’t help but to play along to Veronica’s antics.

James would steal a glance at you every minute while letting Veronica yap and Kenan asking him question about stuff that curious the little boy, though you still refuse to speak the things that are on your mind yesterday—about what he had told you, maybe… just maybe…

Cradling Leo into your arms, looking at him taking a nap on your embrace—thinking about what he had told you earlier when he got his sleep disturb, is it by the lights or perhaps he had nightmares that he never told you about?

You were in the park with James, watching the kids play while Leo takes a nap in your embrace. Silence was deafening between the two of you, for James—it’s like you were out of reach to talk to because of yesterday’s conversation. He thought about explaining, but what is to explain when in the end, he still took an innocent life?

“You know, I have thought about it…” you start, filling the silence and giving James hope to finally talk to you again, “yeah?” he respond, taking his eyes off from the kids playing and searching something in your eyes, “w... Why did you killed Mary?” you asked, covering Leo’s ear incase he’ll hear.

James just shook his head, opening his mouth then closing it again, finding the right words to say, “I… I just didn’t want her to suffer.” He sighs, covering his face with both of his hands, “I-I know she still has three years to live and yet, I.. I killed her, I…” he starts to stutter and slur his words, his heart racing and his ears ringing—getting a bit dizzy when he speaks his situation, it’s too much for him.

Why? Is all he could ask himself.

Why did he do it?

Someone’s calling out to him… “h… ey…” it said, his breathing became shallow and making it hard to him to breathe.

“James!” you yelled, hand grasping his shoulder while the other is still cradling Leo asleep, you frown in worry— how his face went pale and starts sweating cold sweats, “are you okay?” You asked, voice shaking because it looks like he’s going to collapse any time soon.

He shakes his head and finally snaps out of it, “I-I’m fine.” He assures, blinking a few times as he leans back to the bench, “memories are probably getting to me… Even that place.” He murmur, leaning his head back and letting out a big sigh.

“Silent hill?” you curiously raised a brow, Leo steer awake and sat up to your lap, “mwommy…” Leo whines, hands clenched to your shoulder while he used the other to rub his eye, blinking at James, “Jwames?” he murmur, “yeah buddy?” James smiled, unexpectedly—Leo lift his arms to James, silently asking for James to pick him up to his grasp.

Silence filled in yet again, you two just sit on the bench while Kenan, Junior and Veronica still plays on the slides and swings. Leo eyed on the two of you, as if trying to crack an unsolved case, “awre you in love with my mwommy, James?” Leo squint his eyes to him, brows frowning at James—the man could also let out a small chuckle, “I like your mom as my friend, bud. Why do you ask?” he says, Leo shook his head that says ‘nothing!’

Leo could only play with James calloused hands, tracing his small finger tips to James’ fingers, your conversation with James was just interrupted by your son—but it doesn’t matter. You already heard James’ reason for killing Mary, but it still isn’t justified why he took her life…

But now that you think about it…

Three years to live with the disease that really made a huge impact in your life… Slashing out to your cherished ones without a reason, no complete control of your temper and mood, almost completely losing your mind because of the sudden change of your mood swings… Then drugs are fed to you just to have a complete grasp of your actual self.

Wouldn’t you wish to just die too?

Letting out a sigh as you finally come to a conclusion in mind, “James… was Mary been fed some type of drugs just to have… you know, to have a complete control of herself?” you asked, it takes a few minutes before he answer, nodding faintly, “yeah.. yeah, probably…” he hums, Leo is tracing the indent or trace of a ring to James’ ring finger.

Leo lifts James hand up and asked him, “you has ring?” the boy asked, “is Jwames has wife?” he added, James nodded to his question and Leo shot you a look, “mwommy, James has wife which mweans you cwan’t shoot youwr shot.” Said Leo, making you gasp and speechless at what your son just said, you? Hit on James? As if, right?

“but,” start James, looking down at Leo’s baby blues, “bit, my wife is gone… to a happy place, you know?” he pats his head and smiles, “oooh…” Leo’s lips form in a shape of an O then said, “she’s died.” With a straight innocent face and nodded with understanding.

James doesn’t know whether he would laugh at him or just be concern how Leo knew that, you almost snicker but cough and cleared your throat—neither of you spoke such things with Leo again.

The kids finally got tired and asked to go home.

What a day, right?

Walking back home with James helping you with the kids, again. In his arms are holding two of your kids that took a nap on each of his shoulders; Veronica and Kenan got very tired, Junior on the other hand, had some energy left to just walk home by foot.

Since they’ve already eaten dinner (went out to eat dinner), James helped you change your kids into their pajamas and put them to sleep in their rooms, leaving Junior last because he isn’t sleepy for now, “Junior, you’ve already change into your jammies,” you raise your brows at him, “c’mon now, let’s get you tucked in bed.” Gesturing your hand to him to come to you.

Junior waved his hand to James then off to bed, “bye-bye James.” Junior murmur, you could tell he still likes to have a dew more minutes with the man but he needs his sleep, tucking him in bed and kissing his forehead goodnight.

Which leaves you and James alone in your own home, silence and gap between you as you reluctantly sat down beside James, and knowing you’re still bothered. He created some distance between the two of you, you glanced at him, he’s still as miserable as ever but he’s trying to have a positive look—especially when the kids were around.

You let out a sigh, leaning your back to the soft cushion of your couch, “d-.. do you think Mary would forgive you?” you asked, finally looking over him at the other end of your couch, large distance he made to make you comfortable, it takes him a few courage to look and meet your gaze, “I.. I don’t know… But the most thing she’ll ask is… why did I killed her.” He murmur.

You just nod and let silence sit between you, heart heavy and the atmosphere gloomy.

“But she did want the pain to end soon right?” you asked, slowly scooting over to him, “James, knowing you these past few days—” you cut yourself off, bluffing your words, “I mean, three entire days to be exact. It feels like I’ve known a friend for a long time, you became a familiar feeling so… I wanted to say that…” you took a sharp breath and takes his hand to yours.

“You have many things left unsaid, don’t you?” caressing his hand and tracing the indent mark of his ring finger, “doesn’t it feel heavy, to just bottle it all up?” You asked, your tone soft and understanding—just like Mary he thought. But he couldn’t compare you to her, you’re you. And Mary is herself. Yet he finds solace to your comforting words and tone, your presence too.

He misses this feeling, how his heart pounds out as he lets out his cries—you see tears finally running down to his cheeks. You let out a soft sigh and soothes his back, letting him weep and cry his heart out, “there are still some things you want to say to Mary, right?” you asked, “ask her… If she could forgive you for what you’ve done, and that she may understand why you had done it.” You hum.

But it still doesn’t change the fact she’s gone…

A minute passed and he finally calmed down, his breath hitches as he just stared off to your floor, “tea?” you offered a mug to him which he happily takes it and sips, “how about we visit Mary tomorrow?” you suggested, sipping on your tea while staring blankly at the wall too.

He thought about it, maybe it’s time to finally say the things he left unsaid… His regrets, his happiest time with her and the life that they had, though in just a blink of an eye, it was all gone… She’s gone.

James nod at your suggestion, caressing the mug that he’s holding, “yeah… I think I would love that…” a small smile tug from the corner of his lips, you smiled back but you don’t know whether to judge his character or not… But it’s up to Mary to decide that.

“Great, I’ll call my friends and father to come babysit my kids tomorrow morning,” she hums, “well, since it’s scheduled that my father will take them anyway for some bonding time for a whole week.” She chuckles, taking the mug from your hands to wash it on the sink.

He stood up and nod to your words, “well, I better get going then.” He voice out, although a bit trouble to turn his back and leave, “goodnight.” He said, you nod and said your goodnight to him too, but something caught his eye. Something was covered with a white floral fabric, it looks like a piano of some sort?

His brows furrow with curiosity, looking back at you washing the remaining dishes and back at the covered piano, “h-hey..” he called, “what’s this?” he points, you turn to look at him but what he’s pointing at is being covered by the wall, “wait,” you dry your hands with a clean cloth and walk towards him.

You turn to see what he’s pointing at… Your piano, “oh.. I-it’s uhm.. a piano,” you nervously chuckle, “why’d you cover it?” James took the white floral fabric off and revealing a black upright piano that goes against the wall, you thin your lips because you covered the piano because of Mary.

“You play?” James asked, lifting the cover to reveal the keys, “you still haven’t answer my first question though.” He added and sat on the piano stool, just to feel the keys. You sigh and just tell him why you covered your piano up, “yes I play and I covered it because well… It reminds you of Mary, you said that Mary plays right?” you smiled and pressed one key down, hoping that your kids wouldn’t hear it.

“I just.. don’t want you to remember a painful memory when you’re with us…” you admitted, looking down at the keys, “I play for my kids whenever they want to hear me play, then sometimes they will play the piano badly to the point where your ears would bleed.” You chuckle, sharing one precious memory with him, opening up just like how he did to you.

He smiled and let out a small laugh with you, “well uhm… Play one for me then?” he requested, you raise a brow and nodded, “uhm, yeah sure…” preparing your fingers up to the keys and asked him, “what song?”

“something that resonate with you most.”

You nodded and fulfill his request, it was slow and melodic… It suddenly became fast and your fingers easily pressed the right keys swiftly, quick and smoothly taking one finger off to pressed another key…

You played river flows in you by Yiruma.

It’s something about that song that hits home, how it describes ones person love, representing how love grows on two different people with two different worlds and yet… Love always make things hurt or work, it’s a representation of feeling in love… But for you, the song also makes you cry and how you dedicate this song to the person you also lost.

James stayed silent to the whole song until it ended, “wow” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. You’re not Mary, and never will. You played it like a pro and James now knew the difference and accepted that, he wanted to clap but was outdone by someone else.

“wow mwommy!” claps Veronica, beaming despite being sleepy, you snap your head to look at the kids being awake, how long were they standing there to watch you play?

You suddenly stood up and looks down at them, “how long were you guys watching huh?” you asked with a sweet soft smile, kneeling to their level to give them an individual kiss on their cheeks, “mwommy, play us again pwease…” plead Kenan while sitting on the floor with his stuffed plush on his arms, Leo had his arms fold… here we go again.

Raising a brow at Leo while James pulled down the cover of the piano keys, still sitting on the piano stool, “mwommy are you confwessing ywour wove to Jwames or somethwing?” Leo asked with suspicion, you snicker at his words and shake your head, “James asked me to play a song that resonate with me most, baby. Why do you asked?”

“bwecause mwommy, wivers fwows in you repwesent the feeling of bweing in wove.” He smartly answers and tuts at you, “so, it’s nwormal fwor me to assume thwat you’re confwessing mwommy.” He added, you just gently flick his forehead for his smartass answer and picked him up.

Junior comes and hugs your legs, gripping tightly with his sleepy eyes looking up at you, what Junior asked shocked you most.

“is Jwames now our daddy?”

“…”

Silence…

Junior blinks at you with his sleepy eyes, yawning and waiting for your answers—he just doesn’t know what he said wrong, always jumping to conclusions when given the opportunity, you open your mouth to answer but no words were uttered out but Junior speaks again, “bwecause mwommy, I vewy like Jwames…” he yawns, admitting his likeness to James.

James on the other hand, is smiling from the piano stool. It feels like, he’s wanted—belonged even, his heart swells when an innocent kid thinks high regard of him, even though in his mind. He’s just a normal guy doing nothing special, “well, hate to break it to you buddy,” said James, getting to his feet and meeting his level, “I-.. I’m not.” He thin his lips as he breaks it to Junior, shaking his head—meeting the kids innocent gaze.

“…oh.” Juniors late reaction, he’s still sleepy but you can tell he’s a bit upset about it, clasping your hands together and breaking the news to everybody that it’s bed time and a little late and that everyone needs sleep for tonight.

Taking the kids back to bed again, Junior frowning when he finally sleeps. It took a little while for Leo to comfort his brother that got really attached to James, you couldn’t blame him. James may see himself nothing special, but to the kids—he is special. To them, and to you (as a friend)

Tomorrow, your father would take the kids for a whole week to bond and some alone time for yourself, and tomorrow… You’ll accompany James to Mary’s grave… Help him say his goodbye and support him along his healing journey along the way, it’s time to say goodbye and start anew right?

James bid goodbye for the last time to get himself some sleep and prepare himself for tomorrow, recite what he wants to say probably? Recall the memories he want to share and his burdens and regret. But what about the letter..?

What letter..?

Woke up early, needing to pack the clothes of your kids, make them breakfast, give them shower and let them choose what kind of stuff plush they’d bring with them. They were excited and Junior probably forgot yesterday’s conversation, he thinks it’s just a silly little dream… But he did share his thoughts with you when he woke up feeling good.

“Jwames became our daddy!” he said that when he woke up first thing in the morning, the kids loved that guy to the point that one by one—they’ll think James is now their daddy.

After packing a one suitcase since the kids also have clothes at your fathers place (gifted and bought by friends too), so you and your kids waited a few minutes outside to be picked up by car by one of your closed friends, when they arrived—they chill for a few minutes, engaged conversation with you and catch up for the times that you had missed with them.

Then they left to with your kids, they’ll be arriving at your fathers place to take care of them and of course, your friends too. And now… You’re alone.

Not entirely… You have James, and today is the day you’ll be accompanying him, getting ready and had your breakfast. You need at least to look good and give Mary a good impression to meet her, befriend even the dead, right?

You heard a knock on your door, you put on your beret hat and smooth out your dress. Heels clicking that even James could hear from outside, the door open and revealed James before you, “hi.” You smiled, “good morning, how’re you?” you asked, taking your purse with you as you step outside.

He tilts his head, eyes squint a little as he points slowly at your attire, “what… uhm… are you wearing?” he asked slowly, not wanting to sound offensive, you huff and put your hand on your hip, “well, if I’m meeting your late-wife, I at least need to look presentable so that she’ll like me as your friend.” He just nodded and whispered, “okay.”

Stepping down to your porch step, turning back and look at him, “what? Come on now, let’s move.” You tut, he shakes his head with a small smile—walking down towards you, guiding you to his car as you sat down on the passenger seat of his car.

“It’ll be a long ride though.” He advised you, buckling his belt as you did yours, pulling out your mirror to tidy your hair, “yeah, that’s fine.” You assure, he looks over to you—finally starting the car and drove off, “yeah? What about your kids?” he asked out of concern, looking at the road and back at the rearview mirror.

You hum, repositioning yourself in your seat—still looking at yourself in the mirror not until you heard some paper crunch or something, “oh, shit. I think I just sat on to something.” You curse softly, completely caught off guard when you heard.

“Yeah, you don’t have to worry about the kids, my friend picked them up.” You assured, looking down at your seat and finding the paper that you just sat on, “my father and possibly some friends will help to take care of them.” You added, “ah—ha!” you finally caught the paper you sat on under your seat, “you have a letter, James. Don’t you want to read it?”

He's assured that your kids are safe and sound with your father and friends that’ll love them and take care of them with all of their hearts, “a letter?” he asked, taking a quick glance of it on your hands, “oh…” his face turned gloomy again, the same first look you saw from him when you two first met.

“Are you all right?”

“Nothing… I still haven’t read that letter.” He stop at the red light, a light traffic jam, “oh, you want to read it now?” you asked, “and who is it from?” it piqued your interest, but you wouldn’t open to snoop around and find out, right? James finally drove the car again, letting out a small sigh.

“Mary.”

“sorry what?” you asked yet again, busy inspecting the envelope of the letter, “it’s from Mary.” He repeated, steering the wheel to the right, as he continue, “the nurse gave it to me when… Mary passed.” He cleared his throat, clearly a sign that he doesn’t want to talk about it—you just nod and caress the letter on your fingertips.

A few minutes in the ride, atmosphere a little heavy as silence carried on. You could only watch from the car window—tress, houses nor clouds pass, James could only steal a glance at you from time to time until he finally spoke about the letter, “could you… uhm…” he cough.

You almost nod off, but quickly gathered yourself together, “yeah?” you sleepily respond, yawning a bit and rubbing your temple, “what’s up?”

“could you read the letter for me, so.. you know, I know what Mary wrote before I face her.” He hums, turning left and straight ahead of the road, you nod at his request and open the glove compartment and took the letter to your hands. Letting out a sharp breath because opening a letter that meant to him made you nervous.

Slowly opening the envelope and taking out the folded paper inside—unfold it and cleared your throat as you began to read what Mary had wrote to James, “are you ready?” you asked, you could hear his breath shake as he nod, “ready.”

You finally start from the very beginning…

“Well, this letter has gone on too long, so I’ll say goodbye. I told the nurse to give this to you after I’m gone.”

You stopped for a moment and looked over to James, his knuckles almost turning white from gripping the steering wheel too hard, his eyes quickly glanced at you and assured you silently that he’s fine.

“Which means that, as you’re reading this, I’m already dead.”

Your lips thinned, brows furrow as your heart aches from Mary’s letter, and as if James’ ears had gone deaf and that it’s Mary’s voice is all he could hear.

“But that’s okay. I’m not afraid of it anymore, I just hope that the pain will end soon so that you remember me for who I was…”

Pause…

“and not what the disease made me… I want you to go on, I want you to live… For yourself and for the others, like you did for me.”

Your voiced cracked and held back a tear to shed, you look at James in silence before continuing on—his eyes were full of tears, silently sobbing and trying to focus on the road.

“You’ve given me so much and I haven’t been able to return a single thing. That’s why I want you to live for yourself now. Do what’s best for you James.”

Can’t help but share his burden as tears fell from the corner of your eyes, burning your cheeks as you read the last line.

But you also called his name…

“James… You made me happy.” It said when the letter ended, but even when the letter ended, you also called out to James who seems to park to stop for a while—you reached out and soothe him to his shoulder, his breathing hitches as he inhale sharply.

Scooting a bit close so you could lean close to him, “it’s okay, we can stop for now…” you mutter, stopping your own tears from falling, cooing him and soothing him down as he waves his hand to dismiss it, “n-no.. no…” he cleared his throat, leaning his head back to his seat, “we’re already here…”

You stayed with the car, getting some fresh air after reading Mary’s letter to James, you’ve witness it—how deeply hurt he is and how he regretted everything… But it seems to you that in the letter, no matter what—Mary would always forgive and wait for James.

He walked towards Mary’s grave, he didn’t brought anything with him except some flowers to give her. He knelt in her tombstone and wipe a dust off of it as you watch him from your distance. Since it’s for the best that James do his thing first before introducing yourself as his friend to her.

“Hey..” James called as he knelt down, he looks down at Mary’s craved name on the tombstone as he look for the right words to say, “Mary… I’m here, sorry to keep you waiting.” He smiles as he continues, placing a single flower on her stone.

He searches for something, but she’s not here with him—she couldn’t look at him and meet his gaze, she’s dead. He knew that but his eyes still searched and longed for her presence, how he could tell her that he loved her for the last time, share one… just one more moment with her.

But he never knew that the last moment he would share with his deceased lover would be her tombstone staring right back at him with her named craved on it.

“you know…” he starts, “I was convinced that… I..” he takes a deep breath and continue, “I just… can’t go on without you…” he huffs, touching the stone in front of him in his thumb, “I couldn’t forgive myself for what I’ve done… And… I miss you so, so much.” He sob, sharply inhaling and gathering his thoughts and putting it into words.

As if his mind was playing with him, he could hear her reply to him—engaging a conversation with him for the last time, maybe he’s in denial but it’ll be their last…

“shh, it’s okay, James…” the spirit smiles as he let out a chuckle, he thinks he’s out of his mind but he continues, “I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me for what I did… I should’ve made more memories with you, Mary…”

“yet you’ve already given me so much.”

He smiles faintly, tears burning his face as he sniffle, “I’m so, so sorry… I know this isn’t what you’d want.” He scoff to himself, “seeing me like this, but it doesn’t matter anymore… right?” he asked the wind.

Chinning up to the sky as the clouds covered the blue sky, “you’re not here… are you?”

No answer… Maybe his mind is playing tricks with him, maybe he’s just mad and crazy or maybe too depressed than he thought, he looks down at her tombstone again, “you don’t have to keep waiting for me, Mary… Just as you wish, I will try to go on and live…” he murmur, taking out a photograph of Mary and setting it down with the flower.

“for myself.. and maybe for the others too,” he smiled at the smiling photo of her, “I found another home… that made me happy, like how I did for you too..”

He stayed silent for a little while, turning his head around to quickly glance at you, “Mary.” He called, closing his eyes and as if to feel the wind hugging him.

“thank you.”

From the distance, it feels like James is giving his all—doing his best to word it all his burdens out and the problems off of his shoulder, you could only wait for him to call you to introduce you to her.

He’s having the time of his life chatting with her, you could really see that… he really did love her. Oh, how you wished to find a man that would also love you like how James loved Mary…

You’re alone with your own thoughts as you watch the clouds move pass and cover the blue sky, you seem to be nodding off when James came over to you—his hand grasp on your shoulder and snap you back from reality, “woah!” You let out a yelp, got startled a little as you look over and saw James in front of you.

“yeah? Already good?” you asked, brows furrowing with worry but you could tell that his heart feels a little lighter than it is in the past few days. He nod, taking your hands to his as he gently tug you away from his car, “c’mon…” his voice soft when he whispers, urging you to walk with him to her grave.

You knelt down after James did and met with Mary’s photograph with the flowers on top, your heart swells with so much pleasure and honor to finally meet her—even if it’s just her tombstone…

You introduced yourself with four kids that are quadruplets and shared a story that your little devils had taken a liking to James, even joking about how one of them even asked if James is now their daddy. He chuckles at your story and how enthusiastic you are to share this with Mary, he also share some memories with you when he’s still with Mary and that the two met by a mutual friend. He shares the piece of memory that Mary plays the piano and how bad she is.

But even so, James’ told Mary that, “I would still love to hear her play.” With the sweetest smile that you’ve ever seen, it took almost hours just to tell and share a story nor a memory with a friend, you and James bid a final farewell as James asked you to be the first one to get in the car and that’ll he’ll follow.

He took something from inside his jacket… His wedding ring, he kneels down and buried it with her, “I know you wanted me to be happy… And yet.” He turns back and looks over to you inside his car, “I think I’ve found my happiness, Mary… Another reason for me to continue living on with my life, but this time it’s not with you, but them.” He emphasize and thought about the kids and obviously… you.

Maybe it was Mary’s wish to have a family and he granted that wish, she’s still alive in his mind and in his heart—he carried on to her wish for a family and… James found that family, he smiled at her tombstone for the last time, leaving the ring buried with her.

Thank you, Mary… Thank you…

James finally got inside and start the car, you smiled over to him as he backs and drove off, “already accepted it?” you asked as he gave you a smile and nod, “I’ve finally learned to accept it.” He said, now aiming for the two of you to go home…

Where is home to James?

Home is where he’s needed most, which means home is where you and your kids will be…

It’s now time for him to start a new book, new pages and chapters in his life without Mary, but with you and your four devils… And he couldn’t wait what’s in store for him and his fate…

It gone dark, and James parked his car to his garage. He looks over to you and see that you had gone asleep while he drives the two of you back home. Didn’t think that the visit will get you this tired, wouldn’t you?

Still in his car and thinking what will he do… carry you inside and let you sleep in his bed while he takes the couch or… look for your keys on your purse and carry you inside your own home and leave?

But, you know what? He had gone to the first option and carried you inside his home—you only just live next door so it’ll be no problem, right? Carefully setting you down to his own bed, smoothing your dress down so it won’t cripple up and think of him as a pervert. He then takes the blanket and tuck you in while he takes your purse and hat, setting it to the bedside table and taking your heels off too.

His hands on his hips as he let out a huge sigh, you’re not that heavy to carry—it’s just, he got tired too easily and he’s having trouble opening the door with one hand, trying to not wake you up while he’s at it.

You stir and turn to your side, tasting the air as you peacefully have your slumber. He kneels down beside you, brushing off a strand of hair from your face and stared at you for a while…

Maybe… Just maybe…

He had already fallen for you.

But not because you share the same similarities of Mary’s personality, it’s because you’re you… you’re on your own person, why does he have to compare you to another? You’re unique and different.

Maybe that’s why, he has finally gave in to the feeling and sensation of butterflies.

“that’s it… I admit,” he says, smiling at your sleeping face, “you don’t know how far I’ve finally fallen for you.” He murmur.

You heard someone murmur so close to you, but you didn’t heard it quite right, a mumble perhaps and just get your goodnight rest and James on the other hand was true to his word and sleeps on the couch, making himself comfortable.

Shit, maybe this new chapter of his life will be the death of him.

You were at peace, your surroundings are a little too quiet for your surroundings—where are the kids? They usually jump on your bed and shake you awake, a smile spread from your face when you remember that Junior asked if James is now their daddy… It was ridiculous, but what if it’s possible that you two dated..? You didn’t think James would actually agree to it, since well… Being a father is a big commitment for you and for the kids.

Then you remembered, you were suppose to accompany James’ visit to Mary yet you fell asleep. What if he needed your support? What then..?

You stir in your sleep, heart pounding and awake in cold sweat as you heard someone fumble right on the living room, “ow—” the voice said, eyes fluttering as you rub your eyes and temple, sitting up in bed and look around—this isn’t your home.

Well, where were you then?

You groan, feeling a bit heavy as you focus your vision, “James..?” you called, the rearing of something like a vacuum turned off—hearing footsteps come closer and louder as the bedroom door opened, “yeah?” it was James. He’s just cleaning his living room, “oh yeah, sorry. You were uhm…” he looks around and set the vacuum down then came closer and sat on the edge of the bed, he sat in silence as he meets your gaze. You smiled at him, seeing how the spark in his eyes were back.

“Did I fell asleep?” you asked, rubbing your eyes. He then helps you sit down next to him, “I’m sorry, I know I’m supposed to be there with you while we visit Mary.” He hushes you and nod, “hey, hey…” he called, looking down at your tired state, “it’s okay,” he softly smiles, “we were supposed to get home anyway, and uh… I don’t know that if I should wake you up so you could go home and rest but—” he pauses, thinning his lips—feeling a little ounce of shame, “I just carried you inside my house and let you rest on my bed.”

You smiled and let out a big yawn, you mind finally at ease as you meet his eyes, “I hope I didn’t wake you up though,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I was cleaning while you were asleep, didn’t want a guest to see my home in such a messy state.” He added, his white teeth almost showing.

You let out a sigh and pat his shoulder, “it’s okay, big guy.” You snicker, “I get you.” You added, then sat in silence. You two could only have a stare off and the tension is odd, clearing your throat as you get up to your feet and hands on your hips, “I should be going… Sorry for uhm…” awkward, he stands up after you and waves his hand, “no, no. It’s okay, you were exhausted and we both cried our eyes out… so yeah.”

And there it is, the awkward tension between the two like it’s the first time they have met, but why does it feel that James is more of a changed man? As if he’s finally at peace with his own mind now that he’s smiling more often, his eyes even shone a little if you weren’t mistaking it.

Maybe because of Mary, he just needed to let those feelings out and talk to her—she was the reason that makes him what he is now, you smiled and grab both of his shoulder and utter the words you’re meaning to say, “I’m so proud of you.”

Tilting your head to the side, he froze and smiled at your words, “yeah… I’m proud of myself too, you know?” grinning from ear to ear as you look at the time, “wanna get breakfast?” James spoke, cutting you off before you could even speak and suggest that you two should eat breakfast, looking at him—feeling a bit smug as you squint, “all… right, sure I would love that.” Accepting his invitation, you first will take a shower and change into a new set of clothes.

Gathering your shower thoughts and thinking back at Mary’s grave, when you were watching him from the distance—he was pouring his all and heart out, you don’t know whether there was a fog on their or the wind was picking up, but as if you saw someone responding to him… or your mind is just playing tricks?

Nonetheless, it made him at peace finally, learning to finally accept things the way it were—he regret and renew for the better, for himself and as Mary said—and for the others.

Finally got yourself ready to meet James outside, waiting on your front porch, “James?” you called, closing your front door and locking it with your keys, coming down your porch steps as you brush off strands of hair from your face, “yeah? Ready to go?” he asked, eyeing you from your feet up to your face, “so, do I look all right?” you asked him with a small smile, he nod slowly—taking it all in, heart pounding, letting out a sharp breath, “y-.. yeah, you look fine..?” he almost slurs his words from stuttering, his words almost coming out as a question than validation.

You let out a snicker, finding his sudden shyness cute, like how any other guy felt when they had a crush or some type of feels that gives them butterflies, you just nod at him with a grin on your face, “all right,” ignoring the way he talks, he’ll be self-conscious about it, “where to?” you asked, nudging his shoulder.

“you wanna get some breakfast, right?” he asked, raising a brow, you shrug in response, “I mean, yeah, surprise me.” You remark, blinking at him with a cheeky smile—you reach out and grab his arm and tug him towards the town.

For James, it feels like it was meant to be a date—he’s a coward; how would you know he’s taking you out for a date? He’s scared to ask; if he did, then he might chicken out and ditch. But he wouldn’t do that; it’s not like in the past few days that it meant nothing—it means everything to him. How every passing day, he is slowly accepting and falling deeper into the feeling that he had once lost.

A home.

He’s also quite thankful that your kids wouldn’t be here for a week. Then he will try and make you fall for him within a week, not that he hasn’t fallen for you yet. Little did you know… He’s falling very, very hard. As if he’d be willing to drown and swim deep into the ocean for you.

How come you didn’t question that in every shop that you point at, he’ll encourage you to come inside yet when you didn’t find what interested you; he will keep asking you question like; “are you sure?” “how about this one?” “don’t you think this suits you?”

It's like he’s convincing you to take at least one then you two could leave the shop, he pays for everything and even takes the ones you had touch to the counter, and pays for it. You glare and tried to stop him but his response is always the same; “it’s fine, think of it as my repayment.,”

Repayment for what exactly? You asked yourself, as you finally find yourself sitting on a café and he orders lunch for the two of you. You sit in silence, gathering you own thoughts and confront James about it and these… 10 paper bags that’s sitting on the side of his chair, you pinch the bridge of your nose and think about repaying him with all the stuff he bought for you.

He came back with a number plate to have the waiters serve the order to your table, “what’s up?” he asked, taking his seat as he rest his elbows on top of the table, he frowns when he finds you looking troubled, “hey… you okay?” he reached out to brush a strand of hair off from your face.

You shake your head slowly in response with a faint smile, “it’s nothing… It’s just, you bought so much stuff.” You point out, finger-pointing at the paper bags from different stores in town, he looks down from each of it and nodded, “yeah, they’re for you, though.” He utter, tilting his head to the side, “don’t you like it?” he question, his tone a little down and sad—did he go too far and crossed the line?

“No, no… I love it, you’re so thoughtful and generous… I’m just worried about uhm… how much you just spent on every bag…” you murmur, voicing it down so other people wouldn’t hear and assume that you two are arguing. You think about the offer you’re about to give him, and you know what?

Fuck it. You clasp your hands, startling him and making him almost jump up from his seat, “you scared me.” He smiled, the waiter finally had gone to your table and set down the drinks and slices of cakes down. You two muttered thank yous to the waiter with a smile then back at meeting each other’s gaze.

“So.” You start, “how about I repay you?” you hush him before he could protest, “a-upupupup!” you squint, “I’m not finish, like. How about half the price of all these bags?” you asked, “you just spent too much, James. I feel bad.” You frown, taking one of the bags and looking at what’s inside, a plush that you wanted to get but couldn’t and yet James bought it for you.

“No, you d—”

“James, please.”

You plead, his eyes fixated to yours—even your eyes seems to be pleading at him. He finds it so… adorable? Cute, pretty, stunning, and all of the above. His heart racing just hearing your plea. He cough and took his eyes away from you, picking up his fork and slicing his own cake to shove it down his throat.

It feels like he just ignored you and kept eating his slice. You cleared your throat to get a reaction, you sigh when there’s none, reaching out and put your hand on top of his, he flinched and looked back at you—drinking his frappe. You frown at him, pulling his hand to his surprise, pinning it down with your elbow as you took your purse and started to count your paper bucks.

You gave a hundred bucks and closed his fingers around it, as he finally had his hand back, he sucks in his cheeks and counted it in silence—you’re content and start to eat your own slice and sip the drink he had bought you, not until he slides back a few bucks back at you.

Taking it quickly to your hands and counted the money, he only took ten and gave you the rest, you frown and anger rising, “James!” you yelled, he chuckles and put his index finger to his lips and pointed at the people behind him, knowing you wouldn’t cause a scene, though they got startled too and looked back as you shot them with an apologetic look. Widening your eyes at James, finally eating lunch in silence.

After the day ends (which James considered a “date”), he walks you back home with the ten paper bags that he’s carrying, attracting attention from the other neighbors, you open your door and pulled him inside so they wouldn’t be questioned, “you can just leave the bags on the couch.” You advised and gone to your kitchen to wash your hands, “yeah, sure.” He hums, you could hear him gently rummage off the bag from his hand one by one, carefully placing each one down.

You admit, it was fun being alone with James. Being showered with gifts that he voluntarily bought you, buy you lunch and the simple gesture that made you happy. You smiled while you dry your hands, James came towards you and tap your shoulder, “hey.” He called, you turn with a big smile on your face, “hey… uhm… You know, today uhm..”

“No, it’s okay, I know I went overboard but I couldn’t help it.” He sighs and took your hands to his, spreading his own warmth to your own hands, “no it’s okay, it’s just— James, I feel really, really bad that you had spend so much money and not give me a chance to spend my own.” You frown, not liking that one person is spending too much on another.

James smiled and nodded, “yeah.. uh… fine, I’ll calm it down.” You heard him chuckle, it was soft and gentle—you feel your own stomach do the thing but it’s just friendly gesture towards friend, right? Thinning your lips as you nod, you gave him a hug, letting out a sigh, “I’m glad to have you as my friend, James. You made my day… I badly needed it.” You chuckle, pulling yourself from him and pat his shoulders.

Friend..? He’s still considered as your friend… He knew he got to try harder, but not get overboard or it’ll throw you off. He sighs and nodded, “yeah, I figured…” he pauses as you turned around to check your fridge, “oh, I gotta get some groceries.” Mutter to yourself, he caught that and maybe… Grocery date?

“oh, uhm…” James reached out, “Are you free uh—” he cough, shaking his legs and shift his weight, “like uhm..”

“free this week? Yeah, I am but I gotta get some groceries, my fridge is almost empty…” you mutter, scratching your chin with your index finger, “yeah, it’s fine. I could help with that.” James spoke quickly in response, clearing his throat as if its itchy. You closed the fridge and squint your eyes at him, smiling, “okay, I expect some company tomorrow just for buying groceries, huh?”

He pursed his lips and nod, “yeah, I could help you carry them.” He smiles with his eyes, longing and touch starved. He wants to hold your hand for a bit longer, but he resisted; you might see him as a freak if he did.

“All right, it’s set then?” you asked and he nodded, “you should head home, getting a bit dark now.” You added as you escort him to your door, “oh, and James?” stopping him for a second, holding his wrist and looked at him in the eyes, “thank you.” Then let go.

James paused and nodded, his finger brushing a strand of hair from your face and set it behind your ear, “you’re welcome.” He says softly and left.

The next day came and he really did helped you with your groceries, pushing the cart and sort them out when you just throw it in and don’t sort it out so he’s doing the job for you. So that when you’re going to check out, it’ll be easy for the packer to pack and separate the snacks, detergents, raw food, and some cooking essentials—all the hygiene materials you need are on the basket beneath the cart.

He insist paying on the half but fought him for it, smacking his hand from giving the cashier his money—he winces and just laughs about and let it slide, don’t want to cause a scene and for him. The date was slightly at success, his goal was to make you smile and laugh… Enjoy your day and surprised you with a single flower that he picked up from a bush that grew some daisies.

After grocery, he invited you to have a stroll around town and be familiar with it—asking you directions and taking your hand to have a stroll around. Chatting and telling stories of your past as he asked you questions about your favorites along the way, like; “what’s your favorite color?” “roses or tulips? No?” “okay, so. Dresses or..?”

Some common questions that you wouldn’t notice that he’s hitting on you and taking notes of what you love and dislikes, what you’d do on your spare time and favorite thing to do. He’s making an effort—he really is. He just… felt a connection, he really fell hard—too hard that he’ll probably let you suffocate him (with a pillow or with love?)

It took, two days… three to a whole week of spending time with him everyday without the kids, he’s grateful for that but what the fuck—he’s stressing because you always dismiss his romantic gestures to a friendly one, assuming that he’s just being kind and a caring friend.

“Aw, aren’t you such a good friend?”

“why thank you, my good friend.”

“we are friends, right?”

And… he would be lying if it isn’t stressing him out and a week had already passed, the kids would be back home in a few hours, he sighs and waits outside in case that a car would park in front and take the kids per your request to James, you said to him that you two would wait for them outside but you’re taking so long inside your home.

Worried, he steps inside and couldn’t see you on the living room to the kitchen, he saw the door of your room ajar—he pushed it wide and saw you looking at your nose on your body length mirror, “hey.” He called, leaning on the doorframe, hands on the pockets of his jacket, “you good?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine…” you turn to him, trying to fix your nose contour and adventuring with it, but to him; it looks like you broke your nose from the distance as panic sets in his eyes. You didn’t even get to blink when he dashed towards you, grabbed your cheeks with two of his hands—squishing your cheeks as he inspects your nose, “what the hell happened to your nose?” his tone raised with concern and curiosity.

You groan, having your head tilt with the direction he wants, tilting your head to the side, “ow— James..!” You mumble, lips pouting as his eyes were still wide with horror, it just look like you had broken your nose in such way that’s not possible, “its just my nose contour!” you muffle out, taking his wrist to your hand and trying to pull his grip down, “no, my nose isn’t broken. I’m just having fun with it.” You added, letting out a small snort and laugh.

He rest his forehead to yours and let out a sigh of relief, “not going to lie, that scared me.” He murmur, his breath close to yours as you snicker at him, “I’ll wipe it off and I will do what I usually do on my nose contour.”

“okay, I’ll be right outside okay?” his thumb caress both of your cheeks, tracing circles in a longing and loving way as his eyes bores into yours… the look of being in love, you hum in respond and to him, time and the world stopped just by looking at your eyes.

You two stayed in the same pose for a little while as you notice that he’s been sleeping and eating well, taking good care of himself while he’s admiring you, but before you could touch his face—you heard a small pitch voice coming from your door, “oooh!” you looked as James quickly retreat his hands and put it back to his pocket, and you saw a grinning Veronica from the door of your room.

The kids were already here and witness something that’ll make them go crazy and assume things, “OMG!” yelled Junior, running towards James and hugged the back of his legs, “Jwames is now daddy!” he says, giggling and rubbing his face to James’ jeans.

“Wow.” Says Leo, Kenan on the other hand is sitting on the floor with his stuff plush in his hands—watching his other sibling make a ruckus about the two of you, Veronica giggling and getting butterflies, Junior keeps repeating that James is now their ‘daddy.’

Being a father (well, step-father) is a big commitment, he knew that but… he couldn’t help but fell in love with these kids too, how he feels needed and would look for, they would look for James if he had gone missing, he can take that especially Junior and Veronica would cry if he disappeared.

He welcomed them with open arms, you got down to their level and greeted them with big hugs—running at you with their little arms flying to your neck and giggles and their little aggression roar. Trying to out best you with your tight hug, but they couldn’t, and love your big tight hugs.

You and James did indoor games for the kids, bake them the snacks that they want (and helped in the kitchen too, making a mess on the process), for James—it’s like the family that Mary would want, he’ll carry her wish and fulfilled it with you. Just with you.

~~~~~

Still as dense and oblivious as ever, Leo could even see that James is literally FLIRTING with you with simple yet romantic gestures; flowers, opening the door for you, tying your shoe laces for you, carrying the heavy stuff for you.

But he convinced himself to just wait yet; days, weeks and even a month has passed, flowers bouquet of your favorite type of flowers is almost overflowing to your kitchen, vases and even in your bedroom. He is stressing badly, and yet—he’s babysitting the kids while you were out, Leo’s reading a kids book and the three kids were playing dolls and houses and tea parties.

Leo stared at him, eyes squinting as the boy tilts his head to his side, “ywour in love wit mwommy, aren’t wu?” he asked, asking the question with obvious answer, yet it seems like that Veronica is as nosy as ever and heard it, “I’M TELLING MWOMMY!” she yelled with the most mischievous grin he’d never ever seen to someone.

“shh!” James return her playfulness and picked her up to his arms as James got to his feet, “you’re not telling, mommy aren’t you?” he asked, pinching her nose, making Veronica giggle and pinch him back, “mhmm!” she thinks, pointing her index to her chin and quickly shakes her head, “no!” she said, “but, pay fwirst.” She added with a grin, making the pay me gesture again.

He sets her down, rolling his eyes as he took his wallet out and takes out a dollar, “is this enough?” he asked, giving Veronica the dollar—she grins and nodded, shrieking with excitement, “now, you’ll keep your lips sealed right?”

She nodded and off to play with Kenan and Junior again, as he watches the three kids from the distance, Leo patted your clasp hands and got under and give him a hug, “ywou don’t have to wowwy,” he assured, “I know mwommy likes you too, she pwobably just feels a wiwwle gwuilty about something.” He added, the boys eyes bore into his. Guilty about what?

Guilty for stealing him from Mary if you did.

But Mary’s gone, yet it feels wrong if you answered his silent confession, doesn’t it?

James breath hitches and nodded, knowing what it is—he planned to have an indoor movie date for today, he called the kids and share his plan with them being his wingman’s, they help him with decorating and scattering few petal flowers to the floor and Leo puts the big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table (Veronica took a few and Junior took two snacks along with the popcorn.)

He's making it more obvious, no more low-key hints and just full on saying that he likes you with the petals and romantic shits he could ever think off, the kids then called their uncle to take them away for tonight (James will probably pay for Veronica’s efforts other than just a single dollar).

A few minutes later and the kids were with their uncle, bidding farewell, Leo and Veronica eyed him with a proud glint in their eyes saying ‘good luck’ and that he’ll need it.

“ywous gives us baby?” asked Kenan before being pulled away and his mouth covered by his sister, the question echoes through his head and turned crimson from the thought. A baby is too soon, don’t it? He waits anxiously since the living room literally screams his obvious feelings towards you.

Tapping his feet, holding the bouquet in one hand. Focusing on his breathing as he dims the light, making it more intimate and more obvious since he knew you’re literally avoiding the hints or oblivious about it, and it’s starting to piss him off a little.

He didn’t check the time and it feels like almost twenty-four hours had passed when he could finally hear your keys rattle and the knob turning. He got to his feet and open the door before you, looking down at your purse as you were surprised that James opens the door so suddenly, you smiled and show him the plastic bag you’re carrying, “I bought some fried shrimp to eat for dinner.” You beam.

Noticing that inside was dim, “is the kids already asleep?” you asked, not knowing that their uncle took them out for a while to give James some alone time with you, he needed more time.

“oh yeah, put them to sleep.” He lied, stuttering as he finally opens the door wide enough for you to enter, “is this for me again?” you asked as he handed you a big bouquet of red roses, “uhm…” James took your hand and guided you to sit on the living room couch, “wanna watch a movie?” he asked, taking the remote to his hand and trying to find something that you would love.

Letting out a sigh while you inhale the scent of the roses, you knew where this was going and yet, you’ve always been afraid to answer his silent hints of confession—he is trying hard and you should give him an A for his effort, but in the back of your mind… It just feels so, so wrong.

“James, I know where this is going…” you murmur, placing your hand on top of his, giving him that same longing look that he shows you (he didn’t knew he was so obvious about his expression and couldn’t control it when it’s his feelings), you sight, taking his right hand on two of your hands—giving him warmth since his hands were so cold from his nervousness.

James’ looks over to you, opening his mouth and closing it till he finds the right words to respond, “y-you do?” he stutter, you nod in response and bring his knuckles to your lips, “yeah, but I can’t… it’s just… wrong, you know?” your brows frowned as you utter out, “what do you mean?” asked James, setting down the TV remote.

“is this about Mary?” he asked, cutting you off first before you could answer, you nod faintly as you feel bad about it, he shakes his head and scoots closer to you, “hey, it’s all right. I get it, it feels wrong for you but…” his lips thin, his hand reach out and grabs your chin to look at him, “this.. this is what Mary would want, to move on and continue living my life, to live for myself.”

Silence sets in as you couldn’t find the right words to answer him, “just…” he sighs, hands slowly wrapping around your waist and his forehead resting on top of yours, “give me a chance… please…” he whispers, his tone sincere and loving. Making you melt once you gaze into his green eyes that’s been longing to you, he wished to touch you and have you even be part of your family.

He'll beg and plead for you…

Just, give him a chance.

Please…

The tension was heavy, you let go of the breath you didn’t knew you’re holding back—he’s caging you in his arms while sitting in silence, it feels so wrong to have fallen for a man like him. Yeah, you really did fell for him. Hard.

It’s as if he’s weighting you down to your couch, his right hand around your waist while the other support the two of you sitting up, not wanting to fall and lie down completely. But that didn’t matter did it? Just in a flash, you couldn’t tell who leaned in and finally got each others lips.

Your lips was softer than he thought, his left hand quickly cup your cheek and pull you close—your lips parted as he finds his tongue devouring your lips and mouth, his hands roaming around your curves and thighs, pushing you down completely on to the couch as he’ll lose his mind completely if you keep groaning, letting out soft moans against his lips.

His hands going down to your rear and squeeze your ass, making you shudder and yelp from surprise while his lips were kissing your neck—he pulls back and looks down at you, messy yet beautiful. God, you’re going to be a death of him as he snaps from his thoughts, “sorry, I..” he swallows, “I got carried away I…”

“James.”

“yeah?”

“it’s okay.” You smiled, grabbing him by his collar and pulling him to a fierce kiss, he groans and support the back of your head with his hand while his other roams around your thigh—pulling it close to his hip. He pulls his lips away and inhale your scent, spoiling kisses to your jaw and neck as he nibbled against your flesh.

“Let’s take this to bed.” You just knew that this man will give his all to please you in bed, and that thought made you clench your legs.

He carried you to bed, gently lying you down to your back as he handles everything, taking your hand to his as he slowly kissed each one of your fingertips—muttering how much he waited for this, how you captured his heart and like an arrow shot right through his chest. How beautiful and messy you’d be when he finds his way to your heart… and to your core.

“James…” you moaned softly, he hushes you while slowly kissing his way down from your chest and to your abdomen as he slowly strips your bottom clothes away. Pants and panties, gone. He lifts your legs up to his shoulder as he strips you from your shirt and cardigan.

He chuckles and buried his face to the crook of your neck, “look at you, so pretty f’me..” he mumbled, his fingers circling around you inner thigh; slowly making his thumb to your slit, drawing circles gently to your aching numb, making you twitch and mewl, “J-James..” he loves how his name fell from your lips, drawing pressure from your numb as he lowers himself and faces your wetness.

You could feel your heart pounding but it races more when he blew air over to your core and quickly laps on your pussy without a warning, making you shriek and tense up, hips jerking as you mewl almost loudly, “a-at least w-warn me next t.. time!” your thighs squeezes his face as you felt a vibration while he apologize, “sorry.” Then chuckling, licking your slit hard, his thumb drawing circle again on your sensitive numb.

Your muscle began to tighten up as you could feel your growing release, yet he pulled away to strip himself off of his clothes—jacket then shirt, his belt and unzipping his pants.

He then pulls out a condom from his pants pocket, you squint and asked him in heavy breath, “w-where the fuck did you get that?” he grins and chuckle, “well, I uh… been saving it, just you know… in case something like this happens.” He points down to your naked body, full of sweat and his kisses.

Face turning crimson as you could definitely see that he came prepared.

He pulls down his pangs just eight around his hips, setting his hardness spring free—tearing the condoms packaging and put it on him, you watch him do his job, pulling down the condom to his length and spit on his finger to prepare you.

You hiss as he entered one of his finger, slowly maneuvering hos finger inside you—pressing and stretching you out as you hiss and mewl in response, then putting two fingers in to loosen you more, he wants to shove it inside and fucks you into oblivion but he knew you don’t deserve that, you deserve a slow and careful sex—showing his love for you and make you feel good, not pain.

“I think that should be good.” He mutter to himself, tasting his fingers knowing that you came, he grins and leans down towards you—spoiling kisses to your cheeks and neck, “take a deep breath for me, baby…” he lines himself between your thighs, slowly pushing the tip of his length to your core, stretching you real good.

“J-James!” you mewl out, letting out a sharp moan as he pushes himself deeper till he bottoms himself out. He groans and muffle himself to your neck, letting you adjust and tighten around him, “fuck baby, fuck..” he hisses, wanting to move but he’s waiting for your signal, waiting if it’s okay for him to finally move.

It took a while for you to adjust to him and tap on his broad back, “you can move..” you moan against his ear, he groans in respond as he slowly pulls out and pushes back in—ravaging you deep and slow, taking his own sweet time; hearing you moan his name right beside his ear, your tone pitchy and high, pleading and calling out to him.

What once was slow started to move with desperation and urgency, his thrust became more pressing—he mutter praises right beside your ear while you were already screaming and moaning out loud, “that’s it, baby. Scream it all out…” he mutter, his fingers dig to your hips—pressing you down as he almost pulled out all the way till he slammed it all inside again, making you shriek and tear up.

He hugs you, kissing your shoulders as you desperately clung to him, his hips snapping harshly at your core—the condom feels too tight and yet he wouldn’t remove it, and if it breaks… It breaks, doesn’t matter—he’ll take good care of you, treat you like a queen and do all the chores if he accidentally rip and shoots his load in.

“James!” you whine, a tight coil feeling on your stomach as you have your eyes close, your walls tighten as you scar his back with your nails, he snaps and gives you a few harsh thrust before exploding his load and you get to feel your own peak, and good news. The condom didn’t break.

He grinds his hips, still spilling his load—letting out a small whimper from your lips as he does so, he collapse on top of you while he held you by the waist. He pulls out and skillfully tied the condom and shoots it to the trash bin, “you all right?” he asked, seeing that he tired you out.

He sighs, cupping your cheek and brushing a tear off from the corner of your eye, “did I…” he stops as you shake your head, “n-no… it’s okay…” you assured, nuzzling close to him. Your tired tear shed eyes bore into him, giving him a kiss to his eyelid as you lovingly confessed.

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you so, so much.”

He smiles, covering the two of your bodies under the sheet—holding you close and tight as if afraid to lose you, “I won’t be going anywhere,” you assured him, kissing his forehead goodnight. He tired you out and sex makes it easy for you to close your eyes and fall asleep.

Watching you sleep so vulnerable beside him, he snuggles (trying to be the little spoon), as he buried his face to your neck and let out a sigh, “I love you too.” He murmur, a tear fell from the corner of his eye as he finally let his consciousness fade into a deep slumber.

Maybe it was all thanks to her, he gets to have another chance and another love.

Ones once lost and finds acceptance, yet not only did one found acceptance, he also found a home and love.

Lost… Acceptance… And he found love again.

#james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #James Sunderland smut #James Sunderland x reader smut #slow burn #silent hill #silent hill 2 #James Sunderland imagine

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